Prince of Midnight

by Laura Kinsale

  But that there could be more to it than that; more than the threat of a spur-of-the-moment isolated crime…it seemed incredible.

  He looked at Dove. “These ‘ascensions’ of his. Anyone might be chosen?”

  “Yes. It comes to Master Jamie in a vision.”

  “Are the men ever called?”

  “Oh, no. They’re already chosen; they needn’t be born again.” Dove’s eyes widened eagerly. “Is ascending something wicked, do you think? He belongs to the devil-it must be monstrous sinful. You’ll kill him now, won’t you?” She smiled up at him. “How wonderfully daring you are!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sweet Harmony clung to the girls’ hands on either side of her and watched as Master Jamie walked stiffly to the purple curtain at the front of the church. Her heart beat quickly; she could not seem to get her breath under control.

  Soon… soon… as soon as this service was over she was going to do it.

  She didn’t dare glance to one side or the other, or catch anyone’s eyes. Master Jamie was changing. He looked about him often, as if he knew. As if he truly could see right into their hearts. When his eyes found hers, she trembled down in her throat and her belly; she couldn’t even swallow. He stared at her a long moment, the scratch on his cheek a lurid pink and red in the candlelight, and then raised his arms.

  His right hand didn’t quite reach as high as the left. It shook, his fingers spread wide, white and trembling against the glowing, violet-shadowed background.

  “Hear my cry, O Lord!” he shouted. “Hell’s agents have come; they hound us; Lucifer sends she-devils to prick us and demon beasts to rend us, but You have caused a horse—a dumb animal, one of your humble creatures—to deliver the witch into our power. You have shown us that all nature is on our side; all God’s creation will rise against this curse! We shall not succumb to fear. The witch shall not escape our vengeance, done in Your holy name!”

  “Holy vengeance!” someone cried: Divine Angel’s voice. Some others moaned and muttered, but there was not the great cry that once would have arisen in unison.

  Harmony knew they were all remembering the bruised face of the witch who’d assaulted Master Jamie with a sword. It was a familiar face. An unnerving face. Harmony had seen it when they carried the terrible limp figure, bound and insensible, into Heavenly Sanctuary.

  There were things that were past; things no one spoke of anymore—but the white, vulnerable face of their dazed captive brought it back.

  Other people had lived in Heavenly Sanctuary once. Evil people. There had been things that Master Jamie said his flock must do, and they’d done them. The unbelievers had been driven away, and Master Jamie’s peace settled on the town.

  This witch had been one of the unbelievers. Harmony remembered her, and so did others. They had whispered among themselves this afternoon, behind Master Jamie’s back.

  Behind his back.

  And now Harmony was going to leave. She was not going to obey Master Jamie anymore.

  She was terrified.

  It was the Midnight Prince who’d given her this much daring. Some of the others felt it, too, she thought. It was the Prince who’d made Master Jamie look a clown, made him rage impotently and fall on his rump in the icy street, but the Prince wasn’t here now, and there was no knowing when he’d come back.

  Master Jamie was still master, more master than ever, with his kindness all twisted into rage, with Divine Angel and the men to do his bidding to anyone who wavered.

  So it was necessary to profess faith.

  It was necessary not to shake or hesitate in prayers or waver from what was asked.

  That was why she had to leave now. There was no hope for the witch—she was doomed—but Harmony could not bring herself to help Master Jamie punish her. Or dare to refuse.

  She had only to live through this endless service. Then she would simply move into the shadows of the church as everyone was leaving and wait there until the street emptied. She would walk away. It would be after the midnight penance before Divine Angel would return and find Harmony gone.

  So simple. She could have done it anytime these two years.

  Tears of grief pricked her eyes. It seemed impossible, that everything she loved was crumbling. Without Master Jamie, without her friends, without Heavenly Sanctuary, she had nothing. Her other life was like a dream. She didn’t know where she would go, what she would do, but she could not stay. It was as if she’d been living with scales on her eyes, the way the Bible said.

  They were torn away now—but how could something that had seemed so wonderful and safe be horrible? Like turning up a shiny stone to find worms and corruption underneath.

  “Sweet Harmony!”

  Her head jerked up.

  “Sweet Harmony—I call you!”

  Master Jamie stood with his eyes closed, his arms spread wide, his hands clenched into fists.

  “Sweet Harmony… oh, Sweet Harmony.” His voice dropped to a caressing whisper. “The time of your blessed ascension has come. Rise up. Rise up and follow me!”

  She sat, frozen in terror.

  Master Jamie began a hymn, and the others took it up, swaying in the pews. As they sang, he kept calling her name above the words. The girls next to her let go of her hands, leaving her palms cold and clammy.

  Divine Angel came up the aisle and stood at the end, holding out her hand. Everyone seemed to be looking at Harmony, their mouths moving in a song she couldn’t even comprehend.

  Slowly, she rose. The others stood up and let her pass. Most of them were smiling, believing: an ascension was a happy occasion. Harmony remembered that she was supposed to be joyous at being chosen. But she could not make her mouth obey her and produce delight.

  Angel’s hand closed over Harmony’s. She counted every step to the front of the church, watching her feet carry her forward over the gray stone. Master Jamie lowered his head and opened his eyes. He took her hands in his, gazing at her avidly. The cut and his freckles stood out, sharp and shocking against his bleached skin.

  He hates me, she thought wildly, suddenly. He hates all of us.

  She knew the simple ritual. Her knees collapsed of their own accord. She stared at his waistcoat as he bent over and laid his hands on her head, then kissed her hair. The sound of the song rose around them, echoing in her brain.

  He raised her. She knew he must feel how her hand was shaking; the shudders were coursing through her whole body.

  She faced the purple drapery. It radiated light and shadow from the candles behind. He pushed her inexorably forward, and the strips of silk brushed across her face, enveloping her for an instant in amethyst, closing around her behind and in front. Master Jamie’s hands were at her back. As the silk fell away from her face, he gripped her shoulders.

  Behind the curtain, the altar was empty, with candles burning all around it. The rising hymn filled the space and drowned out any other sound. Master Jamie moved her up the steps until she stood in the midst of the candelabra, and then gently faced her back toward the purple curtain.

  She didn’t see the man in the shadows below the pulpit until he stepped forward.

  He was a stranger, with elegant clothes and pale eyes and a high wig, white as chalk. He looked up at her from the base of the steps as if she were something holy, something extraordinary and fascinating, and for a confused moment it almost seemed as if it were possible she truly was going to ascend to somewhere beyond this reality.

  When he moved, it was with a sudden eagerness. He strode up the steps, took her face between his cold hands, and ground his mouth brutally into hers.

  The dreaminess of the moment shattered. While the hymn went on, Harmony fought, writhing and jerking to free herself, but Master Jamie had her hands; he bound them behind her. Both men shoved her back. The stranger held his hand over her mouth. Harmony struggled to bite him, until Master Jamie slipped a soft rope around her neck and drew it tight. Pain choked her; she bucked frantically against the hands that he
ld her. The hymn swelled to a roaring in her ears and blackness closed in.

  It seemed only an instant. She came to her senses in confusion, gasping for breath. The long hymn was drawing to its last ecstatic chorus, bouncing through her ears in waves of fear and frozen trembling. She was bound with her hands above her head, her back arched over the altar and her throat burning. They’d taken her dress; she’d only her shift to cover her bare skin as the stranger leaned over her, his mouth against her ear.

  “Make a sound, and I’ll kill you,” he said—and the cord around her neck tightened slowly.

  She heard Master Jamie’s voice, raised again to the congregation. He was going on with the service, speaking of his joy; preaching of God and his goodness.

  The stranger smiled and put his hand to her throat, caressing the silken rope. He leaned on her heavily. Another hymn began, the innocent female voices rising in exhilaration.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t.”

  He smiled. He pressed his thumbs into her throat. She tilted her head back, struggling against it.

  His breath came fast, blowing humid heat on her skin.

  He filled up all her vision, blocking the candles, his face a dim silhouette that seemed to waver and flow in her terror. The sound of everything throbbed unnaturally; when he ripped her shift open, she couldn’t even hear it for the strange pounding that seemed to. be growing and growing and growing in the song, rising over it, until the voices faltered and the thundering exploded into screams. The man above her went still. Harmony sucked in air.

  Strange sounds echoed in the church, squeals and shrieks and the clatter of horseshoes. The Prince, she thought, and knew she must be dreaming, must have gone mad; it was the church and no horse would be in it, nothing real would make that sound of hooves on stone.

  The weight lifted from her body. She could suddenly see beyond the stranger as the purple silk pitched and twisted and fell away. The screams of shock and confusion reverberated in her ears. She saw the white horse emerge from a cascade of violet, the center of a nightmare scene: all of Master Jamie’s flock crowding away, out of reach of the whirling sword that cut at the silk and sent it flying; out of reach of the horse’s hooves as it reared; out of reach and scrambling back from the wild rider in the painted mask.

  The silver flashed on his gauntlets as he turned the horse and drove it up the stairs. Harmony couldn’t close her eyes, she couldn’t even move as the horse lunged toward her, huge and looming, its mane flying out in luminescent strands of fire against the candles. The other man had disappeared from her vision; it was only the horse and rider and sword she saw, the flash of steel that swung wide, whistling through the air over her head. Her hands and throat jerked painfully for an instant, and then her arms dropped free.

  She slipped, sliding to her knees, unable to make her legs obey her. The horse’s legs and hooves seemed enormous, appalling, too close. She staggered back, her torn shift gaping, as the animal danced sideways toward her. A black and silver hand opened in her face, offering support, but she shrank against the altar in panic.

  “En avant!” he shouted, leaning down.

  She looked up into the dazzling mask, trying to find the eyes behind it. There was nothing but glitter and darkness. He grabbed her suddenly by her bound hands and lifted, hauling her in a bruising, tearing pull halfway up onto his thigh. His arm came around her waist and dragged her over the pommel onto her stomach.

  She tried to help then, struggling, trying to draw her knee up beneath her. The horse turned. She felt herself sliding. She whimpered frantically, making a desperate heave with her arms and elbows to stay on. Steel clashed; the horse whirled again. Beyond the saddle and the Prince’s thigh she caught a glimpse of the stranger.

  His wig had flown askew, but his face was set in murderous intent. He ducked the Prince’s sword and attacked with his own. Harmony pulled her bound hands over her head and turned her face into the horse’s shoulder as the blade came at her, heard the ring of steel and harsh breath of the man above her as he fought. Her chin banged painfully on the saddle; the pommel pressed sickeningly into her stomach.

  The horse moved, rocking her forward as it plunged down the stairs. She began to slide off, feet first. A solid hand clamped down on her buttocks and shoved her back to bumping equilibrium.

  She let herself go limp. For an instant, she turned her head, opened her eyes and saw the pews flicker past upside down. The rider leaned forward over her. They passed the inner door, the air growing frigid on her bare legs. She saw splintered slats of wood on the floor and one great oak door hanging loose on its hinge, just before the horse jolted down the outside stairs into the night.

  The white horse hit the pavement at a bone-jarring trot. Shouts followed them, all male, receding into the distance while Harmony wriggled and panted and tried to hold on to her position.

  “Merde,” the Prince muttered, shoving at her rump. “Leave off squirming, will you?”

  The horse broke into a gentle, rocking canter, making it far easier to obey the command than it had been at the bouncing trot. The loose reins flapped in her face. She felt his body twist above her, heard the hiss and rattle of metal as he sheathed his sword. With both hands, he hauled her upright against his chest.

  She flailed at the change in balance. His arm pressed into her middle like iron, choking her breath. She managed to kick her legs over the horse’s neck and took a deep gulp of frigid night air as he loosened his hold.

  “Th-th-th-thank you,” she gasped, her teeth chattering in fear and cold.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, in an amused voice.

  She shuddered, trying to draw her torn shift together. He brought both arms up around her, enveloping her in the warm folds of his cloak.

  Harmony sat with her bare legs against the saddle and his thighs, staring dully at the white shadow of the horse in front of her. “Ohh,” she whimpered, swallowing a sob. Her head drooped forward. “I’m afraid I—I might be sick!”

  The horse danced suddenly sideways and halted. The cloak opened and he bent her over the stirrup, holding her by the shoulders as dry heaves racked her body.

  When finally the nausea subsided, she closed her eyes and hung feebly, unable even to straighten up. Just breathing was an effort.

  “Better?” he asked, in that low, sweet voice she knew she would remember all her life.

  She nodded. He lifted her upright and let her rest back against him, drawing the cloak up again as the horse began to walk forward. Harmony looked around at the shadowy road. They were just passing beyond the last house.

  “We should run,” she said in a shaky voice. “They’ll be after us.”

  “We can outdistance them.”

  “You saved me,” she said. “You saved me.”

  “Aye.” His gloved hand rested solidly over hers.

  “I love you!” she blurted, and began to cry, breathing in deep, throttling sobs.

  He chuckled softly. The horse lifted its poll and broke into another easy canter, without the guidance of the slack reins.

  Harmony managed to suppress her sobs. “Did you kill him?” she asked.

  “What a bloodthirsty lot you damsels are. Kill who?”

  “That awful man. He tore my shift. He was going to… to—” She struggled for breath.

  “Ah. That man.”

  She shuddered.

  The Prince said quietly, “I didn’t manage to kill him, more’s the pity. I couldn’t maneuver in there, not with you aboard. But I don’t think there will be another of Chilton’s ‘ascensions’ soon.”

  “No,” she whispered. “Everything’s falling to pieces. Everything’s mad. The beast… the witch with the sword…” She swallowed. “Perhaps it truly is the devil, come to torment Master Jamie.”

  “Then he’ll have to queue up and wait his turn.”

  She leaned back against him: the only secure warmth in a shifting world. Each swinging stride of the horse pressed her into his chest.


  Tears ran down her cheeks. She lifted her hand beneath the cloak and brushed it against her face. “Forgive me,” she mumbled. “I shan’t cry.”

  “Don’t regard it,” he said comfortably. “I’m perfectly accustomed to female watering pots.” He picked up the reins and turned the horse off the road, heading up onto the starlit heights of the fell.

  It really was too bad, S.T. thought, that Leigh hadn’t been there to see him ride into the church and rescue Sweet Harmony.

  Too damned bad. He hadn’t needed his rapier, after all.

  Harmony lay back against him, her face turned into his chin, as Mistral picked the way in the dark. S.T. could feel her light breath on his throat.

  She’d believed in him. She’d been sure he’d deliver her. No doubt it was for the best if she never realized just what a near-run thing it had been, arriving in time.

  The cave for which S.T. headed was of Nemo’s finding, discovered one night while he fed the wolf secretly, slipping out with a brace of pheasant or hares or whatever he could manage to acquire without causing comment. Nemo could hunt everything from fish to ravens to mice for himself; he could survive for days on nothing at all, but if he went hungry enough to begin killing sheep, it would raise the whole countryside. There’d been no wolves in Britain for generations, but memories were long.

  S.T. wasn’t sure if anyone else had heard that one lonely howl this morning. Likely the wolf had been drawn off after Leigh when she’d ridden out, for which S.T. was grudgingly thankful. She’d still not returned by the time he’d managed to force the girls into leaving with him, but there’d been no time to go out searching for her.