“Hmm,” said Leah and forgot about her brother-in-law’s silences.
* * *
Christina of Severn was once again in the air on a stormy night. She was flying, not with young Gunnar, but with powerful, fully-grown Victor, who pushed her to her limits. The cold air and the vigorous exercise would probably ensure a deep and dreamless sleep for her tonight. She was tired of waking with her heart pounding and her whole body clenched with arousal and the smell of that heartless brute hanging in the air. Ivan Sarkany had bewitched her and moved on. The internet had confirmed that was his invariable custom. The Sarkany brothers were players of the worst type and reputation.
Gossip had it that Hugo Sarkany had been caught by a mortal and been so thoroughly ensorcelled that he was now tamely married and expecting his heir. The latest internet pictures showed him with his visibly pregnant wife. Lord Sarkany looked besotted and so did his countess. But his equally handsome brother Ivan was a different story. He was pictured with a different woman for every event. She had just been a notch on his bedpost, and a not very deep one.
It was unfair that she should be left with such vivid memories. Dreaming futilely of that adamantine body and that huge purple cock. In all her nightmares it sought her pussy with a single-mindedness that could make her lie awake for hours afterward. No matter what she did, her desires could not be cured. No climax could drive Ivan’s scent from her nostrils nor arousal from her body.
She should never have touched that dragon. Never have succumbed to the temptation to try on his necklace. That electric connection she had felt from the moment she placed her palm against his had only intensified after she had put the golden jewel around her neck. It had taken all her self-control to remove it once it had lain against her skin. Wearing it had made her feel so complicated a mixture of longing and contentment that, had she not feared her mother’s questions, she probably would have left it there.
In the last week she had not known a moment’s peace. Had not enjoyed a full night’s sleep. And now they were summoned by Uncle Thorvald to the Chateau Lind in the Loire Valley. The Eldest was justifiably worried about the death of Prinze Reinhardt and he wanted her under his eye. Loire-du-Bois would be enjoying spring, and not this fitful spring of Severn Island, but mild and sunny weather.
She thought Uncle Thor also wanted to discuss her marriage. He sounded as fed up with Felipe as Christina was. Perhaps the Eldest would provide the impetus to Felipe that would get their stalled courtship moving. Lord Lindorm was a Thane. Naturally, he expected her to marry the highest ranking dragon she could find. That was Lord Felipe of Estremaura, destined to be Duke.
Even if she threw Felipe over in a fit of pique, she would not be allowed to marry Ivan Sarkany. He might be the sexiest thing on two legs, he might be one of the richest dragons on earth and from a good family. But when all was said and done, he was not himself the Count of Sarkany. If she married him, she would be Lady Ivan, not Lady Sarkany. Uncle Thor would let loose thunder and lightning to prevent that from happening. And she was no match for Lindorm’s powerful magic.
She sighed. She loved her Uncle Thor. He was not merely the Eldest of their House, but a wise and kindly patriarch. She couldn’t think only of her personal happiness when she chose a mate. She had to pick someone who would fit into their tight clan, someone of whom the Eldest would approve, and that meant Felipe Balcazar Mendez.
She turned her head into the wind and let the savage buffeting of yet another Atlantic storm drive all thought but survival from her churning mind.
CHAPTER TEN
Hugo looked across at his sleeping wife. After dinner, Leah had set her head against the sofa cushions ‘just for a second’ and fallen deeply asleep. He put his fingers to his lips and motioned to his brother to leave the room. He followed Ivan out onto the terrace and shut the French doors behind them.
“Does she do that all the time?” Ivan asked.
“Yeah. It’s a new symptom,” Hugo said fondly. “Doctor said to let her sleep.”
“Fair enough. She looks big enough to be having twins,” Ivan made it a question.
“Ultrasound shows only one big baby. Thank goodness Leah has a big pelvis.”
“Hmm.”
“I had a long chat with Prinze Wilhelm this afternoon,” Hugo continued. “It’s official: The Grand Duke was poisoned. The autopsy showed traces of sodium pentothal. Pathologist found a needle mark in the crease of His Highness’s knee. Which information makes the police suspicions understandable. Of course, they found no hypodermic to go with the needle mark. So it’s definitely murder, not suicide. The police came back for a second round of investigation. Wilhelm says they have trampled over the evidence they didn’t expect, and ignored the stuff that doesn’t fit their theory.”
“Which is?”
“That Wilhelm was tired of being an heir and injected his father with sodium pentothal.”
“Jesus.” Ivan whistled. “Patricide! Not that I believe that Uncle Wilhelm killed his father. The idea is obscene.”
Hugo sighed. “The Council is concerned. Roland thinks that Wilhelm might get convicted. He wants another pair of eyes to look the scene over. Uncle Wilhelm has also asked for the assistance of the Council. He thinks his father’s death is all part and parcel of the plot against me and Voros.”
“Landor again? That seems a little farfetched.” Ivan said.
Hugo shook his head. “Not really. The Key to the Treasury is missing.”
Ivan stared flabbergasted. “The Key is gone? Are the Bulows certain?”
His skepticism was not unwarranted. Dragons had a tendency to be careless with their treasures. They preferred them massed in heaps rather than displayed tidily. Misplacing a valuable object was not exactly unheard of. And the Bulows had not needed their Key in years, since Lord Lindorm was not merely Treasurer, but himself one of the Guardians of the Treasury with his own Key.
“So Prinze Wilhelm says. And I do not think our cousin would lie. Not to me, nor to the Council. Nor to Lord Lindorm. Who would dare lie to our Treasurer?” Hugo asked.
“I don’t see the point of stealing the Key?” objected Ivan. “The Treasury belongs to the Guild of Dragons and one key alone is not enough to seize it. All the Bulows know that. They grow up knowing as we do that they are Guardians of the Treasury, but that without the words of power which are known only by dragons of our House and the House of Lindorm, the Treasury can neither be seen nor entered.”
“I don’t think that fact is known throughout the Guild,” Hugo said thoughtfully. “I know that since I became Eldest of Sarkany, I haven’t been asked to open the Vault. And before you ask, our Key is where it is supposed to be.”
“Good to know. Are Uncle Wilhelm and Hector sure Uncle Reinhardt hadn’t misplaced it?” Ivan asked.
“As it happens, yes. Reinhardt kept his seal in the same place, and they had the seal out the week before the Duke’s death. The seal was still there — but the key was gone.”
“Huh.”
“Apparently the Key was hidden in the Grand Duke’s own rooms, so the intruder could have taken it when he killed Prinze Reinhardt. Wilhelm says his intuition warned him to open the hiding place before he called the police.”
“Really?” Ivan was skeptical. “He finds out his father is dead, and the first thing he does is check for the key?”
“Apparently there was a glass of water and a spilled bottle of Percocet on the bedside table. Knowing his father had refused to take any when they were prescribed, Wilhelm did not believe he had overdosed either accidentally or deliberately. When he opened the hiding place, he was actually worried about the seal which is the Treasure of their House.
“Ah.”
“Wilhelm and Hector hoped that Prinze Reinhardt had moved the Key and hidden it away without telling them. Since the funeral, they have been searching through Reinhardt’s hoard. They took inventory. Reinhardt might have massed his hoard, but he kept meticulous records. They haven’t found a trace of
it.” Hugo’s voice trailed off unhappily.
“And the Bulows blame Landor?” Ivan asked.
“Vladimir the Enforcer more like.”
“Always provided that Vladimir exists,” Ivan pointed out cynically. “The only one who has ever mentioned him directly is that bear Roland interrogated on Tarakona. And he’s dead.”
Hugo made a face. He gazed out over the white rocks below the Schloss before he turned his eyes back to Ivan. “We cannot discount Vladimir just yet.”
“I just spent the last two months trying to get a lead on Vladimir all across Eastern Europe,” Ivan reminded his brother. “Vladimir the Enforcer was no more than a ghost.”
“You met too many men who were terrified of the name for that really to be the case,” Hugo said wryly. “From Ukraine to Kirghizstan, shifters were afraid to speak of him. That suggests that he is a very real villain and still a threat to the Guild.”
“Yeah, Lindorm’s sword bearers had no better luck either. But there isn’t much to go on. It’s like that bastard is an illusion, every lead goes nowhere.” Ivan’s voice was flat. “What does the council propose to do?”
“A large percentage thinks we are wasting time and money seeking phantoms.”
“I only wish that were true.”
The two brothers were silent for a long time as they gazed out over the valley.
Finally, Hugo spoke. “Voros wants the Bulow mess investigated. He’s afraid that Prinze Wilhelm will be arrested.”
“He’ll need someone sharp and tough to deal with those stiff-necked German dragons. Who will he send?” Ivan asked.
“Your name was mentioned. I said you would accept any task assigned you by the Council. This week, you are to make an official visit of condolence to Juist on behalf of our House. I’m going to send Steve Holden with you.”
“The mighty sleuth?” Ivan asked.
“Steve will watch your back, and I know no one with better skills as an investigator.”
“I thought Steve was in Chicago settling in as Chief of Ops,” Ivan said.
“Sarkany Security will have to do without their Chief of Operations for a week or two,” Hugo said. “This is too important to leave to mortals.”
“True enough,” Ivan said. “When do I leave?”
* * *
“Felipe is to announce his Mate Hunt before the Council this year,” Mamma said at breakfast. “Did he tell you?”
“Yes,” Christina said quietly. She drank coffee with a sick sense of doom.
Mamma looked through the pile of papers at her elbow. “Your uncle has sent us the list of dragons who have applied to declare their Mate Hunts.” She held out a computer printout to Christina.
“Hmm.” Actually, Felipe had mentioned his declaration in passing, the last time they had talked, but not with any urgency. He had been more concerned that his polo match might be canceled. Christina read through the short list of names. Her cousins Kian and Nils she knew about. Richmond Drake of Jersey. Ivan Sarkany of Balaur. For a moment she saw the list through a white hot burst of light. Quickly she controlled her talent and by the time Mamma looked up, her eyes had returned to normal.
“Your Uncle suggests we go early to France,” Mamma said. “Maria hasn’t mentioned it, but if he is declaring, that must mean he is ready to get married. Don’t you agree?”
“Maybe. He hasn’t said anything to me.”
“It would give you something to do,” Anna said.
Christina could feel her mother’s disapproval from across the table. “What? Making babies? Or running one of the Estremaura houses?
“Planning your wedding.”
“Felipe has yet to ask me to marry him.”
Anna sighed. “We might be expecting too much of him to think he will give you hearts and flowers when this match was made so long ago. We have to be sensible.”
“Sure. Sensible. I can do sensible,” Christina said into her coffee cup.
“It’s natural to have cold feet,” Mamma said. “But when you see Felipe again, you’ll remember why you want to be his wife.”
“Sure I will.”
* * *
“The police let us back into Grandpapa’s rooms two days ago,” Prinze Hector said opening the double doors to the Ducal bedchamber. The suite bore all the hallmarks of a thorough and insensitive search. Grey powder still coated every surface. And paper and chalk marks disfigured the richly patterned Aubusson carpets.
“They didn’t find much. No fingerprints, no sign of entry — except for some marks on the windowsills that they declined to find significant.” Hector’s voice was a good match for his grim face.
“Did you search again for the key in here, sir?” asked Steve Holden. He surveyed the room with a practiced eye.
“You are welcome to search for it yourself, Herr Holden,” Hector said curtly. He looked with disfavor at the stocky bearshifter.
Steve inclined his closely cropped head. “Thank you, sir,” he said calmly, “I will.” He wandered off to inspect the three large windows. The curtains were drawn. “Which one of these did he enter by?”
“The one to your left,” Hector said.
Steve found the cord and pulled the draperies open, revealing a pair of eight-foot-high interior shutters. He unlatched them and opened the shutters flat against the curtains and examined the casements he revealed. They were four-foot high. On top of them was another sixteen window panes set into a four-by-four-foot window. “I take it the window on top doesn’t open?” he murmured.
“No,” Hector said. “None of them were made to open.”
Holden opened the windows into the room as wide as they would go. The casements lay neatly on top of the shutters. He poked his head out the window and pulled it back in to examine the deep gouges on the window sill. He bent and sniffed them. “Dragon,” he said in his deep voice. “Not Landor.”
“No,” said Hector. “Not Landor. But that leaves a lot of other shifters.”
“May I?” asked Ivan. Steve stood aside and let the other man inspect the marks.
“This window would be difficult for a mortal to climb to,” Ivan said sympathetically, “I am not surprised the police refused to credit it. But they were definitely made by a dragon — and not one I’ve smelled before.”
“Did he have to break in?” asked Steve.
“No,” Hector said wearily. “The shutters and windows were open. The police think that was odd in itself. But Grandpapa did not like to be sealed in unless the weather demanded it. It was mild for March, so Hummel left the outer shutters latched against the castle walls, the curtains pulled back, and the windows and interior shutters ajar.”
“Hummel? Your grandfather’s valet?” Ivan was examining the shutters. He caught a whiff of human sweat. Probably the policeman who had covered the frame with fingerprint powder. Or possibly the intruder.
“Smell this, Hector.” Ivan pointed to the shutters.
Hector sniffed. “Hummel,” he said. “The valet. He left Grandpapa around ten-fifteen that night. He found him next morning.”
“We’ll need to speak to him,” said Holden.
“Hummel has served our family his entire life,” Hector said. “His grandfather and his father were both valets to the duke before him. But he is the police’s second choice. You have to clear his name too, Sarkany. Grandpapa left him well provided for. He has motive.”
“Hmm.” Ivan stuck his head out the window. There were no screens as there might have been in the States or Australia. He felt for the exterior shutters, but the solid, dark green wooden panels didn’t budge.
Hector spoke behind him. “You have to pull the tilde up to release them.”
Ivan found the heavy S-shaped iron fitting that pinned the heavy shutters to the bricks. “If someone used these to climb on, they would have held his weight easily.” He held the left hand shutter with both hands and leaned into it. And stepped aside so Holden could do the same.
“Just look at the hinges, Ivan,” He
ctor directed. “Each one weighs a half a kilo! And every shutter has six. Six! Those shutters could easily bear the weight of a dragon. But look, the one on your right has pulled away from the bricks. The police said it was age. But age alone would not bend iron nails. Each nail is as long as my hand and driven directly into the stonework. And only the heads are rusty, the shaft itself is as it came from the blacksmith when the house was built.”
“You’ll find handmade nails hard to replace,” said Holden prosaically.
Hector made a noise between a snort and tears.
“What did the police make of these scratches?” Ivan asked running a long finger over the four deep grooves in the glossy paint of the window sill.
“They argued that they must have been made by the dogs. Dogs!”
“Scrambling into the room from outside?” Ivan asked irreverently. He wiped his fingers on his handkerchief. “You keep a pack of flying hounds, do you?”
“Elk hounds. Grandpapa had four.” Hector blew his nose.
“The Council wants to know what else he took,” Ivan said. “What did killing Prinze Reinhardt achieve? Your father says the Key is missing. What else.” He sent his eyes around the lavishly appointed room. Every surface was cluttered with china figurines and boxes of elaborate beauty. The walls were hung with so many gilt framed paintings there was not even a hand span between them. Even the fingerprint powder could not disguise that the room itself was a treasure trove.
“That is half the problem,” Hector said. He waved a hand at the walls. “The police naturally thought that if a thief got in here, he would have taken the Rubens or the Vermeer or one of the two Roos. Or some of the snuff boxes. Or the ivories. They wouldn’t credit that anyone would climb up all that way and take nothing.”
“Unless he stood to inherit it all anyway.”
“Exactly.” Hector’s voice was harsh. “It was a good thing that Grandpapa had divided up his hoard years ago. He gave it all away to avoid inheritance taxes. As soon as his will is proven, there are half a dozen museums that will be very happy to finally collect what they have been promised for two decades or more.”
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