by Tanya Huff
“Are you suggesting I pay?” Snarling, lips pulled right off her teeth, Louise surged up off of the chaise and backhanded her cousin hard enough to knock him to the floor.
Jean scrambled to his feet, took one look at her expression, and ran.
Louise smiled as the door slammed behind him. “As Grandpapa always told us, the best defense is an ambush.” It was a useful lesson. Jacqueline had applied it to their grandfather, and now Louise was about to apply it to Jacqueline.
Humming a popular dance tune, she lowered herself back onto the chaise and arranged her skirts around her ankles. Obviously this figurine was very important to the wizard. She was even more strongly convinced that it remained her best bit of leverage.
“Perhaps now that the danger has been defined,” she said thoughtfully to herself, “and the parameters for safety have been established, I’d best become more personally involved.”
Shaking his head, the boatman watched Aurek stagger across the esplanade and up the front stairs of the townhouse. Something bad, something very bad, had happened in the Narrows. He didn’t know what, and his employer wasn’t talking, but the man he’d let off in the early morning was not the same man he’d picked up in the late afternoon.
Sometime during the day, Aurek Nuikin had been broken and just barely put back together again. The boatman had never considered himself an imaginative man—imagination was usually a liability in Pont-a-Museau—but it seemed to him that the wrong word would shatter his employer into a thousand pieces. He could almost see the cracks.
“I guess book learning’s no protection after all,” he muttered, pushing out into the river and turning his boat toward home.
The door opened as Aurek reached it, and he stumbled into the entryway, only Edik’s hastily outstretched arm keeping him from falling on his face. Fingers tight around the servant’s arm, Aurek looked wildly about and muttered, “Can’t you hear him? He hasn’t stopped laughing since I entered the workshop. He laughs and laughs and laughs and …”
“Master!” Edik’s voice cut off the flow of words. “There is no one laughing.”
Aurek sighed and pushed himself erect. “He’s laughing. And why shouldn’t he be? There’s nothing left in the workshop; all of it was destroyed. No book. No spell. No freedom. No redemption. I wanted to die when I saw it, Edik. I wanted to die, but I can’t. I can’t give up, because my Natalia is trapped in horror and I am responsible. I’m as trapped as she is, and I only hope her horror is less than mine.” All at once, he clapped his hands over his ears. “I could go on if only he’d stop laughing!”
Edik closed his hands around Aurek’s wrists and pulled them away. He could see the challenge in other man’s eyes, and he ignored it. “You need food, master. And rest. But first, you need a bath.”
With no denial to fight, the laughter dimmed. Aurek drew in a long, slow breath and savored the absolute normalcy of Edik’s words. “A bath,” he agreed weakly. “Yes.” Ever since he’d seen the destruction of the workshop, he’d felt as though he were falling. Finally someone had thrown him a line. He was still in a pit, dark and grim and echoing with malicious glee, but at least he wasn’t falling anymore.
He allowed Edik to help him up the stairs, strip off his sodden, stinking clothes, and wrap him in a robe. He watched dully through the open door of his bedchamber as the house servants filled the hip bath, and he sank into the hot, scented water with something very like relief. As Edik cleaned old wounds and investigated new bruises, Aurek drifted, obeying instructions—“Lean forward, sir.” “If I could see your finger, sir.” “Please, sir, close your eyes while I rinse your hair.”—but refusing to think. To remember.
But eventually he was clean and dry and fed, and it was time to face his failure once again. As though it had been waiting for his return, fully aware that there could be no real escape, the laughter grew louder.
“Master?”
One hand already on the study door, he was stopped by Edik’s voice.
“There’s something you should know.”
The laughter reached a crescendo.
Struggling to control his rage, Aurek reached out and gently touched the imprisoned spark of Natalia’s life. It felt no different than it ever had, no different than it had the day he’d crawled across his study floor and clasped the figurine in both shaking hands. He had to assume that the day’s events had left her safe and unharmed. He had to assume that, because if even for an instant he thought differently, he’d lose his final grip on sanity.
Opening his eyes, he traced the perimeter of the maze spell with trembling fingers, smoothing over the disruption the wererat’s death had made in the pattern.
Not until he had fully reassured himself that his Natalia’s protections were unbreachable did he turn to Edik.
“Why—” he began, then repeated it a little more loudly as the mocking laughter threatened to drown out his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me about this the instant I entered the house?”
Edik considered his answer for a moment, and when he spoke, the words emerged with the conviction of truth. “I believed it would drive you mad.”
Aurek wet his lips and forced his rage to give way to reason. “You were probably right.” He ground the admission out through clenched teeth. Had Edik told him about Natalia’s danger immediately upon his return, he’d still be falling into that black pit. But, while he acknowledged the need to take care of himself before he could hope to take care of his beloved wife, he didn’t have to like it. He wanted to destroy something, he needed to destroy something, and Edik was all there was to destroy. “Get out,” he growled, pounding his fists into his thighs. “Do not return until I send for you.”
“But …”
“I said GET OUT!”
When the red cleared from his vision, Aurek was alone with the trapped spirit in the study. He had never kept anything from her, and he couldn’t start now. He was all she had. Sinking down to the floor at the foot of her pedestal, he stared up at her with tears in his eyes. The laughter found his tears amusing.
“I went back to the Narrows today, Lia …”
When he finished, he asked for her forgiveness, much as he had a thousand times before. She stared at him in mute horror, unable to forgive.
“There’s a chance,” he said quickly, almost babbling in his need for absolution, “a very small chance that the book survived, that it was taken from the workshop before the place burned. A wizard’s spellbook is a powerful artifact.…” His voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying, and he closed his eyes. Moisture trickled down each cheek and into his beard. He had no need to tell Natalia about the attractions of a wizard’s spellbook.
The explosion lifted him up and smacked him hard against the wall. He heard Natalia scream his name, he heard laughter—no longer merely maniacal, but insane—then he heard nothing at all for some time. When he regained consciousness, he was alone in the study except for a corpse with a crushed temple and a tiny porcelain statue of his wife, her hands lifted in a futile attempt at protection, her face twisted in horror.
Between the red leather covers of the book nothing remained but a fine gray ash.
When Aurek opened his eyes his beard was wet, and he could still hear the laughter. He brushed his hair back off his face with shaking hands. “No. The shield spell, I forgot the shield spell. Only another wizard could have removed the book through the shield and have it survive the passage, and I am the only wizard in Pont-a-Museau.
“The book has been destroyed.”
And with it hope?
He felt the pit open beneath his feet, and he longed to let it swallow him. He was so tired. But if he surrendered hope, he surrendered Natalia and, while life remained, that he could not do.
The mad wizard in his head stopped laughing long enough to point out, That’s guilt, you fool, not hope! but Aurek ignored him.
“I found the spell once, Lia. I can find it again.”
“Phew! What stinks?” Shrugg
ing his multi-caped greatcoat up onto his shoulders, Dmitri waved a hand in front of his nose. “You haven’t been swimming in the sewers, have you, Edik?”
“No, sir, I have not.”
Dmitri’s eyes widened as he recognized the clothing held between the servant’s thumb and forefinger. “Hey, that’s Aurek’s. Don’t tell me he went swimming in the sewers?”
“Very well, sir.”
As Edik passed, Dmitri took a closer look. “It looks as though he went for a roll in a fireplace after he got out of the water. What’s going on?”
“I can’t say, sir.”
“Of course you can’t,” Dmitri agreed bitterly. “You can’t, and he won’t. I suppose he’s locked himself in his precious study with his precious little statue doing some precious studying of whatever precious bit of crap he dragged out of the sewer or the fire this afternoon.”
“No, sir. Your brother went to retrieve something today, something very important, and found it had been destroyed.”
“He told you that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, that just figures.” Dmitri spat out the words. “He’ll tell you—a servant—but he won’t tell me—his brother. Well, he can just keep his lousy little secrets.” His lip curled up into a sneer he’d learned from Yves. “I stopped caring weeks ago. He can’t shut me out if I don’t want in!”
Edik winced as Dmitri slammed the door behind him, the draft blowing out three of the five candles illuminating the entry hall. He supposed he should have anticipated the young master’s reaction. The situation had deteriorated too far for the knowledge that a servant knew more than he did about his brother’s pain to cause anything but anger.
Anger being a young man’s way of expressing fear. Fear of yet another rejection. Fear of not measuring up. Fear of never being thought necessary.
Perhaps he should’ve spoken sooner. Or not at all.
“I’m not sure I should give you my hand.” Louise peered at Dmitri through lush lashes, her fingers held back just out of his reach. “You look as though you’d like to bite it off.”
“Not your hand!” Dmitri objected vehemently, capturing it and covering the back with heated and enthusiastic kisses. “I worship this hand. I adore this hand. This is the hand of the most beautiful woman in the world, to whom I have lost my heart.”
“Yes, yes.” With a toss of her head Louise dismissed his continuing vows of infatuation. While approving of the content, she was beginning to find the boy’s extreme moods a tad tedious. “Whose hand would you like to devour then?”
“My arrogant brother’s!”
“Of course.” Lowering herself gracefully to the settee, she patted the red velvet cushions beside her. “Sit down and tell me all about it.”
“All about it? That’s just it.” He sat where she indicated and turned an indignant face to hers. “I don’t know anything about it because Aurek doesn’t see fit to tell me. Edik knows what’s going on. Edik can go into Aurek’s precious study. But not me!”
“Who,” Louise asked, “is Edik?”
“Aurek’s servant. Been with him for years.”
Louise frowned. She supposed that the servants at the chateau had names, but even those who’d survived with the family for years had never presumed to burden her with them.
“Take today,” Dmitri went on, pleased by his companion’s interest and completely unaware she expected to hear about Lucien’s untimely death. “He went out as he always does, looking for magical junk, and something went really wrong. He ended up in the sewers, and then went rolling through ashes, and it turns out that something really important he went to get was destroyed. But did he tell me, his brother, all this? No. He told a servant. I’m not good enough for him.”
“Ashes?”
“Yeah, there was ash smeared all over his clothes.”
“Did this … Edik, did he tell you what had been destroyed?”
“No.” His voice rose. “Nobody tells me anything!”
“Don’t shout.” She laid a finger against his mouth. He began to nibble on it, then up her arm, then across her shoulder to her lips. Distracted by her thoughts, she responded absently. Had the workshop been destroyed? It certainly sounded as if it had. While continuing the estrangement between Dmitri and his brother was still her best path, it did leave holes in the information she received. Curiosity finally got the better of her, and she pushed Dmitri aside.
Surprised to find himself suddenly thrown into the far corner of the settee, Dmitri pulled himself back into a sitting position and stared at Louise in astonishment. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Rising, she smiled down at him. “I just remembered I had plans for this evening. Can you show yourself out?”
“Louise …” Mouth open, he watched her leave the library, certain of only one thing—stopping her would not be a good idea. “Oh, plans for this evening,” he repeated in hurt disbelief. Snatching up hat, gloves, and coat, he headed despondently for the door. “I’m sure.”
As he crossed in front of a crimson, wingback chair, he stepped on a large, dark stain in the carpet that squelched under his boot. The smell rising up from it was vaguely familiar, sweetish and not entirely unpleasant. On any other evening, he’d have mentioned the wet area to someone, but tonight he didn’t see why he should.
Because he never looked behind him, he never saw that the single footprint he left was a sticky red-brown.
Safely hidden in the shadows, Jean Renier watched Dmitri Nuikin leave the chateau and scuff his way toward the northeast bridge. It seemed that cousin Louise was finished with him early tonight. Ears pricked forward, eyes glittering in the starlight, the wererat followed close behind, disdainful of human senses. Good. He’ll have more time for me.
Aurek Nuikin had killed his brother. So he would kill the brother of Aurek Nuikin.
All afternoon, his fear of Louise had fought with his growing rage over Lucien’s death. It wasn’t right that a human should kill a member of the family. He gnawed at the problem, chewing it over from every angle, and he finally came up with a solution he felt even Lucien would’ve been proud of.
Jacqueline would be angry when she discovered a member of the family had been killed—her protection would not extend to cover the killer. She would, as head of the family, want revenge. But Jacqueline was in Mortigny; no one knew when she’d be back, so he’d take revenge for her. Then he’d run to Jacqueline’s side, and she’d protect him from Louise.
Tail tucked tight to his body for warmth, he crept closer. He would do it on the bridge, attacking from behind, throw the body in the water, and be safe with the Lord of Richemulot before the scavengers finished eating.
His mood black, Dmitri raised the collar of his greatcoat and stepped out onto the bridge. While Aurek’s preference for a servant’s company over his own hadn’t surprised him, Louise’s sudden departure had. He’d thought he was important to her. Obviously, he’d been wrong.
“No one in this entire city cares if I live or die,” he muttered dramatically, cresting the slight arc and staring down at the esplanade on Craindre Island. Although it was nearly full dark and a chill wind swept down the river from the north, he could see clumps of people moving about under the lamps.
Back in Borca, the middle and lower classes would be readying for bed, but in Pont-a-Museau the shops and cafés opened late and stayed open into the night. The family preferred it that way.
“Isn’t that the little Nuikin?”
“Where?”
“There. On the bridge.”
Chantel peered along the path of Henri’s—suddenly unsure, she checked the scent—no, Aubert’s pointing finger. “I wonder what’s wrong?”
“Now, why do you think something’s wrong?” Yves asked with exaggerated concern. “Surely even you can’t read his expression from here.”
“Just look at him!” Chantel snapped, becoming increasingly tired of Yves’s attitude. “He’s walking as if he just lost his best f
riend.”
“Perhaps Cousin Louise kicked him out,” Georges offered.
Yves shook his head at the sudden light in Chantel’s eyes. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he said sarcastically. “Even if she has kicked him out, that wouldn’t necessarily mean she’s finished with him.”
“She’s toying with him.” Annette slid her hands into the velvet muff hanging around her neck and cocked her head appreciatively in Dmitri’s direction. “Toying with him like a rat with a bug.”
“And here’s poor Chantel—” Yves took Annette’s arm and rubbed his cheek over the top of her head “—still stupidly hoping to toy with him herself.”
Slowly, Chantel turned. “Who did you just call stupid?”
Annette prudently disentangled herself from Yves’s caresses. He’d used her as a shield before when he wanted to get a rise out of Chantel, but not this time. Her gaze drawn past Chantel’s shoulder, she frowned. “There’s someone on the bridge behind the little Nuikin. Family … not Cousin Louise. It’s a male and he’s hunting!”
Yves snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Louise has claimed him and no one in the family, except possibly you,” he directed pointedly at Chantel, “would be stupidly suicidal enough to challenge that.”
“Not everyone in the family is as terrified of Louise as you are,” Chantel snarled.
Georges stepped cautiously between them. When they fought, the whole group took sides, and he still had a half-healed bite on his leg from the last time. “You’ve both forgotten that Herself is protecting him.”
“Jacqueline isn’t here!” Chantel pushed by him, shoving him so hard he slammed into Yves, who jerked aside and let him crash to the cobblestones. Skirts whipping around her ankles, Chantel raced for the bridge.
“You don’t actually think she’d ever challenge Louise over the little Nuikin, do you?” Henri asked as Georges picked himself up.
