The moon felt so real and so did the warmth of the place and of his skin in my hand. The perfection of every little detail was stupefying. I wondered how powerful his mind was.
Suddenly, I was dressed in a beautiful burgundy tunic that had little eight-point stars embroidered in gold thread that fell in layers down to my feet. My head felt somewhat heavy. I took off a gold crown that resembled more a cap or rounded helmet engraved with the most intrinsic figures of winged beings—Strzyga, gilded by more eight-point stars. My hair had been braided into hundreds of lines adorned with real gold. A gold serpent curled softly over my arm and around my neck, almost as if it was magically asleep.
Demyan’s saffron skirt-wrapped tunic over his slim waist and my tunic were from different times, not exactly Greek or Roman but something more exotic, even more ancient. His crown had a strange, large conical shape. I had seen pictures of it in Akkadian history books. Suddenly, my gaze locked over his naked chest. A gold cross with twelve points and a blue sapphire hung on it—a Cathar cross.
It was the Sidhe Medallion—it had to be. I gasped, bedazzled. My hand reached for it. The medallion felt real in my hands, but it was just an illusion. Demyan had some freaky powers. He offered me another beautiful grin when my eyes looked at him directly. I bit my lip. He sighed.
“Where are we?” I asked, distracting us from our lips and hoping the location would determine the fate of the medallion through the pass of time. I placed the crown back on my head to appreciate the place we had suddenly appeared in. There I stood in awe, inside a Herculean arched balcony with small blue tiles adorning every corner and nook of the room. It also displayed beings in wings (Strzyga), other creatures with pointy tails like those of a scorpion (Draugr), werewolves, eight-point stars, and other mythological beings.
On our plain view was a large city, framed by very tall walls that had towers embellished with the same blue from our balcony. The balcony had large torches displaying flags and banners with the emblem of a king, who had the body of a horse and the head of a ruler, wearing the same crown Demyan had.
“In one of my recurrent dreams, the first one I ever had where you were there,” he said He added more at my confused gaze. “Of course, I didn’t know then that you, were the same you now,” he explained. Did he just confess that he dreamed of me before?
“You have dreams of me?” I raised my eyebrow, wondering what kind of dreams. He brushed my cheek with his hand. I snuggled my face into it, wanting more than that from him.
“Just dreams, Miss Pearson. Just harmless dreams,” he said to me, sighing as he stepped away from me.
“Tell me why are you helping me.” I needed desperately to change the direction of my thoughts. Why was it that I felt so confused around Demyan? So vulnerable?
“Because I made a promise to your father.” He sighed again at the sudden change of subject. There were so many unknowns, so many things he could tell me more about.
“Please tell me what happened to him,” I asked him.
“I will. I promise. But not tonight.” He was even more cryptic than Francis was. This subject had made him sad again, but there was no guilt in his eyes.
I should be the one with the sadness, not him. But I felt cheated, even angry at Asmodeus. I knew he had something to do with this. I made an impatient snort and looked at him with frustration. A silence built like a wall between us.
Demyan Greco turned his gaze to the magnificent view of this kingdom. At that exact moment, my attention was drawn to the large marking on his back-left torso that ran up to his shoulder and neck. I had missed noting it before. It was like a black tribal barcode mark. Different from the Strzyga signum but… Crap. I gasped at the sight.
I had seen that tattoo before—the fresco in Émil’s secret chamber. The painting depicted a man with a similar tattoo or signum with some sort of a neck choker and a chain held by Asmodeus. I wasn’t exactly sure of the meaning of the tattoo itself, but the implication of this was huge. Asmodeus wasn’t exactly Demyan’s mentor. Demyan was his slave. What kind of slave? Were there many kinds?
Maybe I was misinterpreting the painting. I just wished I had taken pictures of those paintings.
“You have a tattoo?” I tried not to sound too anxious.
“Miss Pearson, I am surprised you don’t already know the answer to your question, but I will indulge your curiosity.” He paused and crossed his arms, and he looked at me directly. “I was born with this tattoo. It is different because I am a half-blood not a pureblood Strzyga like yourself.” His tone a touch of resentment. Of course. Touchy subject, duly noted. So it was a signum but not a Strzyga one.
Francis had said that many Strzyga kings had ruled half-bloods a danger to the kingdom. Marcum had mentioned that the royals would have executed him on sight because of his impure blood, and Scarface had also mocked Émil’s craziness, saying, “Not every bloodline is pure,” according to him. The Strzyga were way too overly concerned with bloodlines. So what would they think of the one exception to the rule, a half-blood like Demyan?
“Next,” he challenged, changing the touchy subject and straightening himself to make himself more comfortable. I still had to look for the medallion, and I still had to vanquish Asmodeus. Nothing had changed.
“Where is the medallion?”
“There are things better left alone, Miss Pearson.” He shook his head. “You have a long day tomorrow. You must go back. I will be quite intrigued to see how you handle the prince tomorrow. He seems quite in a rush to speed things up,” he said, somewhat serious. As if…
Oh, no… Crap, crap, crap. He had seen or heard about my embarrassing encounter with the prince.
Chapter 38
Enit’s familiar knocking at my doors told me it was time to get up. Gratefully, her friendly soft voice helped me get through the morning. My apprehensible behavior with the prince and my clandestine dreams with Demyan weren’t my only worries. I worried about Gavril. He was hurting because he was in love with me. How could that possibly be?
“Francis is waiting for you in your drawing room,” Enit said
She let Francis come into my private sitting room while I was showering. I came out wrapped in a nice plush blue bathrobe. I grinned at Francis, greeting him. It had been a while since we had early mornings. He poured me a cup of tea, amused at the ornateness of the room.
“I know you like tea, but why does everyone seem to like it in the palace? We are in France.” I was curious. He arched his brow amusedly.
“The queen is-was Briton.” He sighed sadly and put his tea down. “The queen kept the tradition with the influence of the Britons after they claimed this part of the territory a few centuries ago.”
“What happened to her?”
“We don’t know. After the death of the king a year ago, she just disappeared. I think His Royal Highness has come to the end of his fruitless search. That is why he has also returned to the palace,” Francis said, then he inhaled deeply as if he was clearing his heart more than his mind. We sat sipping our tea for a minute before he spoke again and shifted his attention back to me.
“Ailie.” His smile wavered, and his green eyes were so intense, I felt like I was looking into an endless stretch of an emerald forest.
Ut-oh. I hated when he looked at me like that.
“It is my understanding that Enit has explained to you under what serious circumstance the flea-ridden mongrel is.” He paused, rubbing his eyebrow.
I nodded back at him. He was referring to Enit telling me about the explosive collar on Gavril’s neck.
“It is my job to protect you, even when you feel I have failed you.” He was apologetic.
I sipped my tea nervously.
“The collar has a camera, and His Royal Highness has ordered his execution on site if he even sees the color of your shoes. Do you understand?” he said, explaining what I already had found out from Demyan.
It just made me want to crack any of the priceless flower vases on Nicholas’s head
. I closed my eyes for a second, inhaled, and held my breath, waiting for him to give me the main point of this conversation.
“Gavril wants to speak to you.” He took his cup of tea and sipped.
I sat back in my chair, surprised at the news. “Really?” The idiot could have talked to me anytime, but I knew he was trying to make this as formal and as ridiculously stupid as possible.
“Well, he shouldn’t, but he is stubborn and insistent. If I don’t concede, the fool might get himself killed, and frankly, I have no desire of spending another night in the dungeons with a charge for conspiracy.” Francis blew air deep from his lungs. He was frustrated with Gavril.
I smiled. Gavril could do that sometimes. However, Francis was right. I had to prevent a tragedy. I had to stop him from being such an idiot.
“Where is he?”
“Outside your room. Remember he isn’t allowed to see you or—” He passed his index finger across his throat as a warning. Crap. I really, really needed to get Nicholas to free him.
I nodded back in understanding. I walked toward the wall next to the queen’s main entrance doors and slid against it on the floor. I felt Gavril inside my mind, watching me and responding by doing exactly the same and letting me visualize it in my mind. I smiled. We couldn’t see each other but knowing that he was just on the other side of that wall comforted me.
How is Francis treating you? I didn’t even know if he was being properly fed. Francis had taken upon the responsibility of guarding Gavril.
You know, for a fruit bat-daywalker kind of guy—compared to the rest of the crypt dwellers in this palace—he is not so bad, Gavril said inside my head for the first time in what it seemed a long time. But his jest came out without his usual lightness. He sounded dreary.
I never thought they would use that neck thing on you. I am so sorry.
Yesterday, I eavesdropped, and I heard your conversation with Mr. Greco after I left. Gavril changed the subject.
Gavril, I am so-soo sorry, I said, apologizing again, feeling terrible for him finding out like that, that I was not returning his love. I felt like a horse’s shoe.
No. No, you misunderstand. Actually, we all did. The prince thinks you are in love with me, then Francis thinks that we are both somewhat more than friends… and I thought… Well, and then Francis asked me to stay away from you. All I wanted was for you to meet the prince. That was my job, not for you to fall for me—which you obviously didn’t.
Idiot—
Pupating caterpillar. That was a term for a caterpillar that was almost butterfly, and his pet name for me ever since he found the biology book I sneaked one night from St. Mary’s library to study to be funny.
FuzzyWuzzyHugglePups. My childhood nickname for him. He hated it.
I missed you too. He mentally chuckled.
Uh, I was getting quite comfortable without you barging into my head.
I figured out that I had to. I couldn’t let Mr. Greco take my BFF position or try any funny business. Which reminds me, how come you never told me you two have been seeing each other? Ugh-crap. I forgot Gavril could see my mind.
Big brother or not. Not of your business.
Fine. Sucks. Undead courier in freaky yellow tights. Time is up. Talk to you later. Going back to the doghouse. By the way, have fun with the prince.
The knocking at my doors, announcing the prince’s courier, made me get up. He carried a private written message for me this early in the morning. It was a thick, folded piece of parchment paper with a royal wax seal.
I wondered why Nicholas went through the trouble of writing a real message with a formal wax seal. However, I was beginning to suspect that most immortals were utterly intimidated by technology, with the exception of Francis who owned a world of high-tech gadgets.
The penmanship made with real ink was elegant yet very manly, despite the archaic style.
Would you join me for a horse ride?
H.R.H. Prince Nicholas L.
I dreaded another day with all those fashion torturers, with the lone exception of Demyan Greco’s visit. I had been utterly stuck in my chambers with those crazy people, and I would do anything for fresh air. This was also my chance to work on Gavril’s freedom. I hated that he was holding me ransom for Gavril’s life. And in my book, that was a big no-no. No matter how much we attracted each other. It wasn’t real. It was the golden arrow’s power.
However, after sharing dreams with Demyan, it was time for me to make it clear to the prince that we couldn’t continue this. Francis took the invitation from my hand and read it.
“Lady Pearson and I would be very pleased to join His Royal Highness,” he told the courier, who was just a royal guard in circus attire.
I gaped, unable articulate my thoughts to him. The invitation clearly said just me. The courier left.
“You have two-minutes,” Francis commanded and left rushing out the room before I could discuss anything.
I gasped at his challenge and ran into the dressing room. As I was dressing really fast, I couldn’t save myself from thinking that Francis was actually coming too. Crap or yay. Or more like crap. I couldn’t decide which one.
Chapter 39
‘The invitation explicitly asks for me.” I checked my timing on the wall clock. I was twenty-two seconds late as I trotted the grand staircase to catch up with Francis. He carried a crossbow and his long katana over his shoulder. I guess he was concerned about our outing. Primordials were expert far-distance shooters. We had no prayer if they were just waiting for us. We were so screwed. Crap.
“Highly improper that you don’t have a lady companion, but I know that would not just annoy you, it would be highly risky. So think of me as your protector and your modern-day chaperone.” He kept his fast pace next to me.
Crap. He was serious. I shook my head. But on the other hand, he was right. I needed someone to buffer what was going on between the prince and me. Nicholas was already waiting for us at the stables. I was left without a breath as I exchanged a glance with him.
“Good morning, Your Royal Highness.” I greeted him curtsying ridiculously. I was wearing cream swede jodhpurs that my torturers left for me to wear. They were all settled that I should wear elaborate ruffled shirts, tailored jackets, and swede for the season. That morning wasn’t as cold as it could be in the country south side of Paris, in comparison to this time of the year at St. Mary’s where winters were early and dreadful. This was more like a wonderful crisp and sunny autumn day, instead of an ornery coldhearted winter day.
My experience with horses at St. Mary’s had been a poor one. I didn’t own one, unlike many of the girls at the academy. Although, I was able to learn the basics at St. Mary’s, since Mother Clarisse wouldn’t allow me to leave St. Mary’s grounds. Thankfully, I wouldn’t make a fool of myself—too much.
Francis greeted the prince. “Good morning, Your Royal Highness.”
“Good morning, Lord Tarbelli,” Nicholas muttered awkwardly, passing the reins of a horse to him—a tall, dark nut-brown, and willful Thoroughbred with a name of Saturn. My sight stopped at the horse next to Saturn.
“Her name is Spica,” Nicholas told me, answering my unspoken awe. Spica was a shiny cinnamon Thoroughbred mare with a white marking on her face, a face that instantly greeted me with a nuzzle. I clicked my tongue and fed her an apple I had taken from the courtesy basket on the way out of my room.
“She is gorgeous,” I said, taking the reins from him into my hands and accidentally touching our hands. The magical connection rushed through me, leaving me breathless for an instant before we both retracted our hands from each other. After the pregnant pause, I parted his glance with difficulty and jumped up the foothold to ride Spica. My hearts and breath caught too fast at the intimacy as he helped me reach the height of the horse.
Nicholas looked magnificent, wearing black jodhpurs and long leather boots, riding on his beast of a horse, a black Andalusian purebred stallion who bumped lightly with Spica.
�
��I believe Summanus is completely smitten with Spica and her beautiful rider.” Nicholas gave me his twisted, devil-may-care grin.
I told myself his flirting was harmless, but my cheeks felt burning hot. If I recalled well, according to mythology, Summanus was the Roman god of nocturnal thunder. Together, Prince and beast, both looked as if they had ridden straight from the underworld itself.
“Are you ready?” Francis shook me from my trance.
Nicholas was grinning amusedly at my blunt staring. I bit my lip. I wanted to kiss him—so badly. How was I going to stop this? I was in big trouble if I didn’t. I nodded back and moved along with Spica.
We all moved toward the vineyards. I felt every gaze, sigh, and gesture. I couldn’t help myself from being so connected to him.
Mara, keep an eye on us. Nicholas’s mind ordered his Draugr.
I didn’t want to listen to his thoughts, but it was impossible when all he was thinking of was me. To distract me from them, I turned to Francis’s mind. I found out Enit was also flying above us, keeping an eye from the sky, and Francis was keenly keeping us safe on ground. Even then, Francis considered this outing an unnecessary risk.
Nicholas kept his pace alongside with mine. Francis kept a fair distance behind us as we rode through the vineyards.
“The Romans planted vineyards as early as the second century. In the fourth century, the Latin poet Ausonius lauded the fruit of the bountiful vine…” He made polite conversation as we crossed the many rows of planted grapevines. He slowed to ride with me side by side. It was a gorgeous day.
Butterflies fluttered out of the vineyards as we trotted in peaceful silence. It looked like an explosion of colorful flowers over the vineyards. It was like a surreal dream from a Dali painting; the vineyards had lost most of the leaves, and the only color was that of the butterflies. As beautiful as they were to look at, they were also another unexplained mystery and a recurrent thing for me. Since I was a little girl, butterflies seemed to follow me when I was working in the vegetable gardens but never during winters. This was highly unusual. It made me feel even more self-aware and freaky than usual.
Legends of Astræa_Cupid's Arrow Page 37
