Skeletons in the Closet (Phantom Rising Book 2)

by Davyne DeSye

  Thank goodness Petter is more like his father in that respect.

  With the unexpected moment of insightful comparison, she remembered the reasoning Petter had presented upon making what seemed a sudden decision to go to London. She sighed.

  I have been wrong and unfair. Unfair to myself, but even more unfair to Petter and to Erik. I belong with Erik. But Petter belongs to the world.

  Christine recognized the approach to her room before reaching it. “Keep going,” she said in the barest of whispers. Erik did not look back at her, but squeezed her hand in acknowledgement.

  “Here,” she said as they reached the Sultana’s room. She bent to peer into the room at the corner of the mirror and said, “I will return immediately.”

  “I’m coming with you,” he said.

  “Don’t be silly. I can explain my presence in ‘my’ bedchamber, but not yours.” When Erik raised a hand and opened his mouth to protest she kissed his chin and triggered the trapdoor. She was being unfair, insisting that she would accompany him in his plan and then denying his ability to accompany her, but she ducked into the wardrobe without hesitation, and crossed the room, not stopping to see if he followed. At the vanity table, she worked to fix the paint around her eyes, and only once dared a glance toward the open wardrobe and the mirror. She imagined Erik on the other side of the mirror, watching her as she worked, and her imagination moved to thoughts of undressing before that mirror, knowing he watched, but unable to see him – and of what would follow.

  The excitement of freedom from my imprisonment and his proximity have combined to make me hungry! She smiled as she completed her task. Her hands were not shaking as they had the first time she applied the eye paint. The result was far more precise.

  Within minutes she was with Erik again in the tunnels. She left the trapdoor open. “We could proceed from this room, if you wish,” she said, gesturing through the wardrobe.

  “No, it would be safer to start from farther along Naheed’s wing,” he answered. He pulled the wardrobe door closed and reset the trapdoor.

  “You shall have to lead me while making it appear that I lead you,” she said. “I am unfamiliar with the palace.”

  Erik grunted his understanding as he pulled her back toward and then past her own room. He stopped at a room that appeared unlit through the peephole.

  “Are you ready?” he asked. Christine exhaled once and nodded. She reached for her head veil to secure it over her face, but Erik stopped her hand and kissed her once more before helping her with the veil.

  In moments they were into the darkened room, and then to its door. Christine took a deep breath and wriggled relaxation into her tense muscles before opening the door. When she looked back to Erik, she was in control of her persona as the Sultana. She gestured to him imperiously, and turned away from him, but not before the darkness returned to his eyes with another small shudder.

  They walked the corridors of the palace without speaking, except for Erik’s occasional directions. “Left, and then up the stairs.” Then later, “Right, down this hallway.” Christine did not nod or make any other acknowledgement as he spoke. She did not look behind to be sure he followed, and did not turn to see if he walked with head high or bowed low. The Sultana would expect to be followed without question. Only twice did they pass servants in the halls. The servants bowed as she passed. She did not respond or react in any way.

  “There. The door with the guards,” Erik whispered.

  Christine strode toward the guards. They granted her the barest of salutes. Their loyalty was not to the Sultana, although they recognized her position as the daughter of the Shah.

  “I wish to enter,” she said, lifting one shoulder in a flicker of a shrug and raising her chin, the picture of haughtiness.

  After the smallest hesitation, one guard opened the door to the room, entered, and closed the door again. The remaining guard kept his eyes forward, looking neither at Christine nor at her mysterious companion, but Christine felt his careful watchfulness just the same. After another moment during which Christine examined her fingernails and made small impatient clicking sounds by running her thumbnail against a ring, the door opened again.

  “You may enter,” the reappearing guard said, and stepped aside to let Christine and Erik pass.

  Before them a young, plump woman was rising from her position amongst the cushions. To Christine’s eyes she seemed very young, but very pretty in her more modest and sedate attire. Her eyes, which Christine thought might often contain laughter, were narrowed with confusion and suspicion at the obvious unexpectedness of this visit.

  “You wished to speak to me?” the young woman asked. Her voice was tight with strain. Her long-lashed eyes flickered to Erik and back to Christine.

  “Yes,” Christine answered. She turned and looked to the two guards who stood at their backs. “I wish to speak to you alone,” she said, and flicked a hand at the guards in a gesture of dismissal. Neither guard moved or even looked at her.

  Again, the woman’s eyes moved to Erik, and this time lingered there. Christine could not blame her – Erik’s unmasked face often drew attention – but she was surprised to find curiosity rather than revulsion in the woman’s eyes. The woman raised her rounded chin and bringing her eyes back to Christine, said, in a warm contralto, “Guards, please step outside. I will call if I need you.”

  The guards saluted, and left the room. The door closed on their retreating backs. Christine allowed herself a brief exhale of relief although she did not change her posture. She had done it. She had gotten Erik into the presence of this favored wife of the Shah.

  Erik stepped forward and bowed. “Honored wife of the Shah-in-Shah,” he said, and the young woman nodded. “I beg your indulgence, and ask that you listen to what I have to say, and do not raise a cry of alarm.” The woman brought her hand to her bosom, and Erik continued, “Your life is in danger. Yours, and the life of your young son.”

  Her lips moved as though she whispered a name or a prayer, and her head turned toward a curtained alcove to her side. Christine knew the fear that must be thrilling through this young woman and she felt an immediate camaraderie. She wanted to embrace her, and comfort her, but forced herself to maintain her stance.

  “I come to warn you, and to save your lives if I can,” Erik said, and as the woman looked ready to cry out, “I beg you, do not cry out – not if you value your son’s life.”

  Her lip trembled and her eyes again scoured Erik’s face. She raised her chin, and turning her attention to Christine, she said, “What know you of this, Naheed, daughter of my husband?” Her voice again was sharp with suspicion. Knowing the Sultana as she did, Christine could not fault the woman’s suspicions.

  Christine unhitched the veil covering her face, and speaking this time in her own voice, she said, “I am not the Sultana.” She took two diminutive steps toward the young woman – walking without the Sultana’s customary swagger – and curtsied. “I apologize for the need to deceive you and your guards, but the deception was necessary. This man speaks the truth. Your lives are in danger.”

  Christine kept her head bowed and waited for the response. Would the woman shout out, or would she listen?

  The silence stretched as none of the three moved to break the tableau. Finally, Erik said, “Will you allow me to explain? I speak as the father of a beloved son, and come to be the savior of yours.”

  After another hesitation, the woman’s warm voice said, “I will listen. I should not, perhaps, but Naheed is no friend to me or to my son, and that fact that you are not she,” and here she nodded to Christine as her hand came up to touch her own unmarked cheek, “relaxes my suspicion.”

  “Thank you,” whispered Christine. She took another step forward, and the young woman said, “Do not approach. You will remain where you are, and you will speak quickly and convincingly, or I shall raise the alarm.” Her hand disappeared under her veils and emerged with a dagger. “And know that you will die before you harm my son.
” Her eyes blazed as she spoke the last sentence, and again Christine felt a kinship with the woman, knowing the fierceness with which she would fight to protect Petter.

  Christine backed the step she had taken, and Erik backed two steps to stand beside her.

  “Honored wife of the Shah-in-Shah,” Erik began. “You are not wrong to mistrust Naheed.” He told of the Sultana’s plans for their deaths this night. She listened without speaking until Erik finished, never relaxing her defensive posture, nor lowering the dagger still gripped in one fist. Only when Erik explained the reason for his own apparent complicity – including the explanation of Christine’s capture and the ransom Naheed required of him – did she soften. She raised her free hand toward Christine’s face and gestured across the small distance, and while her eyes remained on Christine, she spoke to Erik.

  “Your wife has suffered at the hands of the Sultana.” She touched her own cheek, dropped her hand to her side, and turned to Erik. “How much easier for you to have done as Naheed required, rather than to warn me. Why have you warned me? What am I to you?”

  “Please do not take offense when I say that you are nothing to me. But I have a wife whom I love deeply, and it is well known that you are the favorite of your husband. I have a son for whom I would die, and you are a mother. Apart from that, I do not share Naheed’s black heart, and have no taste for killing.”

  For the first time, the young woman relaxed her stance, and after a glance again toward the curtained alcove, said, “I have listened. What now do you intend?”

  “I would have your husband, the Shah, learn of this plot,” Erik answered. “Both for your safety, and for ours.”

  “You have risked much,” the woman said, and sighed. “But favorite though I am, I do not think my husband will believe this of his daughter. He is blind with his love for the wretched woman, and I do not think he will accept your word over hers.”

  “Naheed herself told me that your husband begins to suspect her nature. He will believe,” Erik said, but the woman shrugged her shoulders and lowered her head.

  Christine, seeing the pain and resignation in the woman’s eyes, could no longer contain herself. She took a step toward the woman, hands raised before her. “My husband has a plan,” she said. “Will you listen for a small time longer?”

  The woman did not raise the dagger again at Christine’s forward movement – as Christine thought she might. She looked to Erik and nodded her willingness.

  “Honored wife of the Shah-in-Shah,” he began again.

  “Delara,” she interrupted. “You may call me Delara. It means…”

  “Beloved,” finished Erik.

  A tiny smile bent one corner of Delara’s mouth as if she found her name ironic or as if Erik had amused her, and then she nodded.

  “Delara,” Erik began again. “My plan is to show your husband the true nature of his daughter. Surely he would believe her nature if he were given the proof of it?”

  “How do you intend to do this?” she asked.

  Erik paused before speaking, and Christine could see how he struggled with what he must say, with how he might gain her trust enough to complete his plan.

  “You have no reason to trust me, outside of the fact that I have put my life, and the life of my wife, in your hands. I know you need only call the guards and our lives would be forfeit.”

  “I know it,” she answered matter-of-factly.

  “I ask you then to trust me,” he said. His voice was low, but full of fervent pleading.

  “In what should I trust you?” she asked. The suspicion was returning to Delara’s voice.

  Erik cleared his throat and said, “I ask you to allow me to administer the Mazenderan scent to you. And to your son,” he said.

  “Absolutely not!” she answered, her voice rising above the calm quiet volume in which all three had been speaking. Her dagger was again extended between them. Heart pounding, Christine turned to look toward the doors, expecting the guards to enter, but the doors remained closed.

  “I will explain,” Erik continued, but Delara shook her head.

  Again, Christine could not restrain herself, although she was interrupting Erik’s careful explanation. “Delara, please,” she said. “I too am a mother – the mother of a son I have had the pleasure of raising to manhood. He is my pride and delight, and although I have had trouble releasing him into the world…” Christine turned to Erik, and taking his hand, said, “Yes, I see now that I must.” Erik squeezed her fingers, but Christine could not take time to bask in the warm approval of his gaze. She turned back to the young mother before her. “I cannot imagine losing him. I cannot imagine not having had all these years with him – and all the years that are to come, seeing what he will make of himself. I cannot imagine losing him through murder. And not if I could do anything to prevent that murder.”

  Delara again shook her head, but not as vigorously as before, and Christine thought the gesture now represented a denial of the thought of her son’s death.

  Erik spoke into the pause. “Come, you must know that if your deaths are not achieved this night, the Sultana will attempt to procure your deaths at some other time through some other agent. Can you hope for another warning?”

  Delara closed her eyes in painful acknowledgement of Erik’s statement and shook her head.

  “I am offering you a chance to live,” he added.

  Christine again took up her impassioned plea. “Again I beg you, as one mother to another, as one beloved wife to another, take the chance my husband is presenting you to save your life and the life of your son – not merely tonight, but forever.”

  After a moment, Delara spoke. “And of course, to save your lives as well.”

  “Yes,” answered Erik, and again he squeezed Christine’s hand, although he did not look toward her. He seemed to hold his breath as he waited for the young woman’s answer.

  With a slump to her shoulders, Delara said, “What is your plan?”

  Erik explained. Delara’s face twisted with anger and outrage when Erik got to the point in the explanation where the Sultana wished to gloat over their dead bodies, and his plan for evading that wish. As he finished, he removed a vial from his sleeve, and said, “So will you?”

  Defeat was plain on Delara’s face – defeat and fear and sadness. She said, “I will.”

  Erik stepped toward the young woman, hand outstretched, the vials resting in his open palm. Delara reached toward the offered vials, and then dropped her hand. Her eyes narrowed as another look of suspicion tightened her face.

  “Give a vial to your wife. Prove it does not kill,” she said, lifting her chin.

  “No, I…” Erik began, but Christine interrupted him. She knew what she must do for Delara to overcome her suspicions. It was important to the success of Erik’s plans.

  “I will take it,” Christine said, and rushing forward, she snatched a vial from his hand.

  “Christine, I must get you out of the palace,” Erik said, and his frustration was evident in the low burr that entered his voice.

  “Come back for me then,” she said. She put a hand to his face and mouthed three words: I love you. Turning to Delara she said, “Now I must trust you as we are asking you to trust us.” Without waiting for any response, she pulled the stopper from the vial. As Erik moved toward her, she bent over the small bottle and inhaled deeply of the rose scented fluid. The room swam in her vision. She reached toward Erik, felt his arms go around her, and then felt nothing at all.

  Her last vision before blackness claimed her was of Naheed looming over her, twisting a jeweled dagger. She reached for Erik through the darkness, but he was gone.

  CHAPTER 30

  ERIK FINDS THE SHAH

  Erik caught Christine in his arms even as the open vial fell from her fingers to the floor. He lifted her and pressed her limp body to his, holding her against him to counter his impulse to shake her in his frustration. He raised his head to look at the woman who had forced this upon them, but
upon seeing the now complete acceptance in her eyes, he realized that Christine had done well to do as she had. Lifting Christine’s head, he brought his forehead to hers, and with eyes closed, whispered, “I will return for you, my wife.”

  “You love her very much,” Delara said. “And she trusts you with her life.”

  He raised his head to see warm tears in Delara’s eyes. He said, “May I lay her down?”

  “Of course,” Delara answered, and as he moved toward the cushions in the near corner of the room, she said, “No, please, bring her into my bedchamber.”

  Delara pulled down the bed linens and threw several pillows to the floor. “No one will enter here this night,” she said. Erik lowered Christine to the bed and arranged her head and limbs into an attitude of peaceful sleep. As he straightened, eyes still looking down at Christine, he felt a tentative hand on his arm. “I would promise you her safety, but at the moment, I am not assured of my own. If this night goes as you say, if I and my son live to see the sun rising over this palace…” She did not finish, but shrugged and turned away, returning to the room in which they had first spoken. Erik knew why she did not finish her sentence. Even as a favorite wife, she had little power and little protection she could promise. When Erik joined her in the outer room, she was just closing the doors outside which the guards waited.

  “I have told my guards that my guests have left through the other guarded entrance to this suite. They believe I am retiring for the night.”

  Erik nodded, but did not speak or move. It was Delara who must make the next move.

  Delara stood rigid, hands behind her and back pressed against the doors as if summoning her courage for what was to come. She walked toward the curtained alcove. She drew aside the curtain and motioned to Erik. When he approached, she said, “My son.” She smiled as she gazed into the alcove.

  Erik looked into a bassinet at a young boy of no more than two years – probably less. “He is a handsome boy,” he said.