Scholar of Decay

by Tanya Huff

  “Incident?” the head of the family asked coldly. She rested one hand above the neckline of Joelle’s gown, her nails just pricking the skin. “My feelings for Henri Dubois are not to be discussed by you or by anyone else. I thought I made that perfectly clear. If you’re having difficulty understanding my wishes …”

  “No, Jacqueline. I’m sorry, Jacqueline.” Joelle’s voice trembled as she groveled, and she licked at lips gone dry. “I didn’t think. I just wanted to help.”

  After a long moment, Jacqueline let her hand drop to her side. “Don’t do it again. There are limits to what I will accept, even from family.”

  “No, Jacqueline. I’m sorry, Jacqueline.” Wringing her hands, Joelle watched her cousin sweep regally away at the center of an adoring crowd, then took a deep breath and turned to Louise. The benefits would not be as great if Louise took advantage of her discovery, but it seemed a shame to waste such a tasty pair. “What did you think, Louise?”

  “I think I’m going to rip out his liver and feed it to him.” Skirts swirling around her ankles, Louise stomped across the room.

  Joelle dabbed at a drop of blood on her collarbone. “Could be worse,” she sighed philosophically. “Could be my liver.”

  Enclosed by her own circle of parasites and postulants, eyes narrowed almost to slits, Louise watched Aurek Nuikin through gaps that opened and closed with the movements of the swirling crowd of dancers. How dared he ignore her! How dared he share whatever it was he shared with her twin and not grant her even the slightest bit of admiration! The boy with his golden hair and violet eyes was better looking, true, but the boy was nothing. Louise had lived in the shadow of power long enough to recognize it in nearly any form, and she recognized it in Aurek Nuikin.

  The party whirled about him as though he were an island—solid, gray, and uncompromising. Seen against his quiet reserve, the manic gaiety and pockets of deliberate decadence seemed contrived and brittle. The contrast made him even more desirable. In spite of the streaks of white in his long blond hair, Louise judged his age at no more than thirty-seven or eight. His younger brother had the broader shoulders, the more imposing physique, but Aurek was well built enough.

  Not that it mattered.

  She wanted him; it was all she could think of. The heat of desire clouded her senses to the exclusion of all else.

  And he ignored her!

  Her lips curled off her teeth. Bone and muscle writhed within their sheath of silken skin. Hissing softly in irritation, she struggled to banish the red haze from her vision. It took all her strength to fight her way back to control without appearing to be fighting at all.

  “Incomparable one, you’ve gone so pale. Are you ill?”

  Louise glared at the young man who’d spoken. He wasn’t family, merely the son of a man who imported silks and satins. He wouldn’t understand. “Get away from me,” she snapped.

  Hurt and confused, the rejected gallant found himself gleefully pushed back out of the inner circle by those who retained favor.

  The moment she could see clearly again, Louise shoved a babbling cousin aside and began to make her way across the room.

  The currents of power in the ballroom had changed since the sisters’ arrival. Entirely understandable, all things considered, Aurek allowed. For all his preparation, he’d been taken by surprise when brought face-to-face with the Lord of Richemulot. The information he’d been given, while sufficient for him to draw a number of conclusions about who—or rather what—ruled the domain, had been distinctly incomplete as to gender.

  He tracked the larger eddies circling about Jacqueline and watched the cream of Pont-a-Museau society, such as it was, fawn over her in a disgustingly obsequious manner. If her glass was empty, someone filled it. Delicacies of every kind were offered from all sides. Her reaction intrigued him: she stood like the dark eye of an encircling hurricane. It wasn’t so much that she accepted the homage as her due as that she seemed completely unaware of it, the way she was consciously unaware of her arms or legs. It astonished him that anyone at the focus of so much intense attention could appear so alone. Nothing touched her.

  Do I feel sorry for her? he wondered.

  “You don’t look as if you’re enjoying yourself.”

  Startled, for he hadn’t heard her approach, he looked down into the open invitation on the face of Louise Renier. A dead man would have responded. Fortunately, as acknowledging physical needs during most of Aurek’s research could result in an immediate and unpleasant death, he’d long since learned control. “I’m observing the crowds,” he told her, to all outward appearances unaffected.

  “Really?” The tip of a pointed tongue moistened her smile. “And what exactly are you observing?”

  “I doubt you’d be interested.”

  “Try me.” It was very nearly a command.

  “Yves! Look!”

  Still furious about what had happened at the docks, Yves ignored his cousin’s imperious order. “Leave me alone, Chantel, I’m eating.”

  Snatching the cake from his hand, she spun him around and pointed across the ballroom. “You can stuff your face later. Look at Louise! She’s hunting the stranger!”

  “So what?” he snarled, turning back to the table and cramming a handful of smoked oysters in his mouth. “If she wants to risk it, it’s none of my business. If I could smell the stink of magic on him, she should be able to, and if she can’t, who cares?”

  Chantel rolled strangely colored eyes under pale brows. Yves ruled their little group because of size and speed—they all bore the scars of unsuccessful challenges—but she was beginning to suspect that, though cunning, he wasn’t very smart. “One little sniff of power that none of the rest of us caught and all of a sudden this guy’s a mighty wizard.” She easily dodged his irritated swing. “You’re missing the point: if Louise is hunting the older stranger, he’s going to be far too busy to protect the younger one.”

  Ignoring the oil dribbling down his chin, Yves slowly faced his cousin. “And if Louise is hunting …” He worked that information through to its logical conclusion. “… we can hunt. But suppose Jacqueline wants him?”

  “She doesn’t. She doesn’t want either of them. I heard her.”

  Yves’s eyes glittered in the lamplight. “Find the others.”

  Across the ballroom, Louise watched a new pattern swirl past and murmured, “I think I would like to dance.”

  Aurek inclined his head. “As you wish.”

  “With you.” She swung her hips in toward him. Although he made no apparent effort to avoid her touch, the contact she’d intended never occurred.

  “I am very sorry, mamselle, but I do not dance.”

  Suddenly standing by himself, though there’d been a knot of townspeople around him a moment before, Dmitri scowled suspiciously at Yves as he and his five companions approached. “What do you want?”

  “To apologize.” Yves swept his arm downward in an elaborate bow, the ragged streamers of multicolored cloth that made up his sleeve dusting the floor. “My behavior at the dock was boorish in the extreme, and I hope you’ll allow me to make it up to you.” At his gesture, Chantel came forward with a pair of immense silver goblets, tarnish dark in the hollows of their heavy embossing. He took them from her and offered one to Dmitri. “Drink with us, and let’s all be friends.”

  “Friends?”

  “Why not?”

  Why not indeed. Dmitri hadn’t lacked for dancing partners nor, for that matter, invitations to a more intimate dance. That he’d declined all of the latter, having no interest in frenzied fumbling with total strangers, only seemed to put him in greater demand. Although he never would have admitted it, while he enjoyed being the center of attention, he was lonely. He missed having a group of people his own age he could spend time with.

  But friends? With this lot? The toothy one offering the drink had insulted his brother.

  Almost as though he’d read Dmitri’s mind, Yves murmured, “Your … brother, is it? Your bro
ther won’t mind.”

  Dmitri followed the direction of Yves’s gaze and saw Aurek by the tall windows that led out to the terrace; Louise Renier was standing so close they were probably breathing the same air. No, Aurek wouldn’t care what he did.

  Why not be friends with this lot? His fist closed around the bulky stem of the goblet. They looked as if they knew how to have a good time. Besides, he reasoned, taking a long swallow of the sweet wine, no one else seems to be offering.

  Aurek had had a single objective for attending the party: acquiring permission to search the ruins. Had he been willing to leave Dmitri alone in such company, he’d have left immediately upon obtaining it. As he was obliged to stay, he found Louise’s attempts to attract him diverting. Well aware that any other man would have begged her to accompany him to a more secluded area after the first few moments of such a lascivious assault, he wondered how long she intended to throw herself at him. It was an interesting problem: how long would the apparently irresistible force continue to waste her time on the immovable object.

  As a coquettish movement lifted a silken cluster of curls, he also wondered who’d bitten the chunk out of her ear.

  The wine was stronger than what Dmitri had been drinking, thicker, sweeter, and the moment he drained the goblet, one of the identical twins filled it again. “Aubert?”

  Lips twitched back off long yellow teeth. “No. I’m Henri, the good-looking one. That ugly thing there is Aubert.”

  Dmitri blinked at them, trying to clear the fog from his head. “But you look exactly alike.”

  When they all laughed, he laughed with them.

  As Dmitri swayed where he stood, Yves leaned forward and dropped his tone to a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you finding it warm in here?”

  “Yes, a little.”

  “Come on.” Yves linked his arm through Dmitri’s, easily holding him upright in spite of their difference in size. Indicating that the other five should follow, he steered him around the edge of the dance floor toward the windows. “Let’s go outside and get some air.”

  There was something familiar about Aurek Nuikin. Distracted by desire, Louise couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was.

  Eyes locked on his face, searching for a response, Louise realized that nothing seemed to be working. She fought the urge to snarl and, instead, wet already moist lips. “You’re the first Borcan noble I’ve ever met.”

  “I’m afraid we’re merely a minor house.” And were considered nobility only because Ivana Boritsi, who owned everything in the domain, had created a class suitable for her to socialize with.

  “Have you left a wife back in this minor house?” Determined to have him, Louise moved closer, laid her hand lightly on his arm, and was amazed to feel the rigidity of the flesh beneath the cloth.

  “My wife is dead.”

  “I’m so sorry. How long ago did it happen?”

  “Not long enough.” He plucked her hand off his sleeve. “Your pardon, mamselle.”

  Louise watched him walk away, too stunned by what had just happened to prevent him. He actually plucked her hand off his sleeve. Did he think he could offer her such an insult and survive it? He was either incredibly stupid or the most arrogant man she’d ever met. She took a step after him and forced herself to stop, nails digging bloody half-moons into her palms as she struggled to control her rage.

  No, she told herself. Not here. It’s too public.

  It was too likely she’d be interrupted before he really started to pay.

  According to the little tête-a-tête he’d had with Jacqueline, Aurek Nuikin intended to spend his time searching the ruins of the city. A great many unpleasant things could happen to a man in an abandoned building, Louise mused darkly, eyes glittering in the lamplight. Especially an abandoned building in Pont-a-Museau.

  Outside on the terrace, the night was darker than Dmitri remembered its being. The wine made the shadows whisper and move in ways shadows were not supposed to. With his left arm tucked in the crook of Yves’s elbow, and with Chantel a warm presence at his other side, he staggered over the uneven paving stones toward the river. “Where are we going?”

  “For a walk.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “Behind us.” Chantel pushed closer, and Dmitri could feel the heat even through his clothing and hers. Her hair gleamed in the lamplight, the flickering flames adding color to the pale blonde curls.

  He half-turned, saw a pile of cloth on the path, and thought he saw a humped shadow move toward the river. There could be no mistaking the silhouette. Rat. But far larger than any rat he’d ever seen—and during the short time he’d been in Pont-a-Museau he’d seen some big rats. Before he could say anything, he stumbled. Yves caught him and, laughing, set him back on his feet.

  Dmitri searched the limited visibility thrown by a single lamp hanging high on a canted pole. “Where’s Chantel?” He peered around in confusion. One minute she’d been by his side; the next she was gone. “It’s not safe for her to wander off. I just saw the biggest rat.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Show me.”

  He turned, but except for Yves, the path was empty. Not only was there no rat, but his new friends had disappeared as well. “Where are the twins? And Annette? And Georges?”

  “Annette and Georges are also twins. Henri and Aubert merely work harder at using it for protective camouflage.”

  “But where are they?”

  “Perhaps the rat got them.”

  It had been a very large rat. Dmitri searched the shadows and finally turned back to Yves. “I think we should …” he began, but Yves was gone too. “Come on, guys, quit fooling around.” The wine had wrapped his head in sticky fog. “Aren’t we a little old for hide-and-seek?” When no one answered, he giggled. “Okay, I guess not. I’m it. Ollie, ollie, all in …”

  Claws scraped against stone, and a large heavy shape brushed up against his legs. He whirled, was pushed from another direction. Whirled again, nearly fell, got shoved two steps closer to the river.

  Clasping trembling hands behind his back, Aurek searched the ballroom for his brother. His emotions in turmoil, he was furious at himself for forgetting, even for a moment, the reason he’d come to Pont-a-Museau. How could he have been so distracted? How could he have been so inconstant?

  He thought he heard the sound of manic laughter, and he welcomed the welts it left upon his soul.

  When he found Dmitri, they were leaving. Let the boy whine and complain, but he had been reminded of his purpose, and he would not lose it again.

  “If you’re looking for that pretty brother of yours,” Joelle told him, swaying into his line of sight and smelling strongly of brandy, “he went outside with my youngest brother and his friends.”

  Aurek curtly inclined his head, ignored the wanton invitation in her glittering eyes, and made his way toward the terrace windows.

  By the time Dmitri worked out he was being herded, it was long past the time when he could do anything about it. One final shove—he flailed his arms searching for something, anything, to grab—and the dark water closed over his head.

  A half-dozen large, furred bodies slid in after him, their pointed heads and naked tails barely rippling the river. Five were dark enough to blend with the night; the sixth gleamed like a corpse-light in the darkness.

  Fear finally began to burn through the numbing effects of the wine. Water-sodden clothes wrapped shroudlike around him, Dmitri struggled toward the surface. A heartbeat after he desperately gulped a lungful of air, claws caught at his vest and playfully yanked him back under.

  A powerful kick slammed into his shoulder and set him spinning. He lost all concept of up or down. He had to breathe, but he didn’t know which way to go. Sleek bodies brushed by him on either side, squeezing him between them as they passed. Claws raked open chest and back, leaving sizzling lines of pain behind.

  He had to breathe.

  Had to breathe.

 
Had to …

  Then his arm splashed out into the night, and he pushed his head out after it. Gasping and choking, he abandoned pride and screamed for Aurek.

  The elongated shadows of the partygoers through the filth-covered windows a flickering background behind him, Aurek dropped to one knee and scooped a pile of clothing off the path. Everyone in the city below a certain age dressed in the fashionable “rags and tatters,” but he’d seen this fabric before. Brows drawn in, he tried to remember.

  On the dock. Fluttering from the arm of a young man who bore the distinctive physical features of the Renier bloodline.

  “Aurek!”

  Names and terror both carry power. Dmitri’s voice tore through the myriad sounds of the night. Heart pounding, Aurek leaped to his feet and raced toward the sound, hands curled into fists and pale hair streaming out behind him like a banner. If Dmitri had been injured in any way …

  He reached the river’s edge in time to see his brother’s face break the water’s surface, cough, and be pulled under yet again. Dropping to his knees and leaning out as far as he dared, Aurek’s desperate reach fell short. As he clutched futilely at a handful of murky water, he felt a coarse pelt pass mockingly under his fingertips.

  Humped shapes twisted and played in the area around Dmitri’s struggling body. The size of the wererats in comparison to the size of their prey didn’t seem to matter. Not only were there six of them, but they swam with an eel-like agility, almost as much at home in the water as they would be on dry land. Above pointed muzzles, eyes glittered with the enjoyment of the game. Claws ripped at Dmitri’s clothing, caressed crimson streamers from his skin, and every now and then allowed him to breathe lest their fun be over too soon.

  A muscle jumped in Aurek’s jaw as he raised both hands to shoulder height, palms toward the water. His brother would not die as sport for such as these. His lips parted, and the air around him became unnaturally still.