Immanuel's Veins (12 page)

“Yes, well, according to the stable master they did take two horses for a ride two hours ago. It's possible. Or they might be frolicking about in the woods stark naked, for all I know. I wouldn't put anything past Natasha. She's cut from my cloth, not that I would have it that way, mind you.”

I paced behind the chairs, thinking, stroking my chin, aware of Lucine's eyes on me.

“And tell me,” I said without looking, “what was the duke's purpose in visiting?”

They exchanged a glance. “He would like to court Lucine, naturally,” Kesia said.

“Court?” I said.

“Yes, court.”

I had to be delicate, I thought. They did not know of Catherine's arrangement yet, as far as I was aware.

I managed to look at Lucine. “And how do you feel about this?”

She didn't answer at first but held my eyes. “How do
you
think I should feel?”

“I'm not you, madam.”

“I think you misunderstand her question,” Kesia said, wearing a coy smile.

“Do I?”

“I think she's toying with you. Begging you to tell her that she would be a fool to even consider any other man.”

Now I felt flustered. “What on earth could that mean? I look at Vlad van Valerik as a potential threat to this estate and to the empress's wishes.”

“Of course,” Kesia said, lifting her glass. That she thought my statement a complete farce was obvious from the sparkle in her eyes.

Now I wanted out. And I felt my rage against the duke increase, knowing without question that he had come to secure his position as a suitor for Lucine. I couldn't dare ask if they'd given permission, and that only made my blood boil more.

But rather than upset Lucine here, I would deal directly with Vlad van Valerik and put an end to all of this.

“This has gone far enough,” I said, no longer tempering my tone. “I have a man to uncover and a daughter to protect.”

Kesia rolled her eyes. “They'll be back by morning.”

“Sooner.”

“You're going up there?” Lucine asked, sitting up.

“I must. Now, if you'll excuse me . . .”

Lucine stood abruptly, sending her chair toppling back. “I'll go with you.”

“No. That would accomplish nothing.”

“I will give the duke my mind in person and end all this mystery with Natasha.”

I had half a mind to allow her, but the danger would be too much. And her being with me would surely be a terrible distraction.

“No. It's too dangerous.”

“Too dangerous? But—”

“No!”

I turned my back and left them alone, determined to do my duty and to recover my conscience and, if fate so permitted me, to teach Vlad van Valerik a lesson or two.

TEN

M
y pale mount had just recovered from our earlier long ride when I threw my leg over his saddle and nudged him into a trot. We crossed through the estate and past the new rampart by the main entrance. A bright, round moon peered at me around flat, dark clouds. This was the ever-watchful eye of Her Majesty, into whose service I was bound by honor.

But it was also Lucine's face, gazing down on me as if to ask why I would run away from her without confessing my true heart.

I kicked the steed into a gallop and veered onto the road that led west, into the Carpathian Mountains looming black against the moonlit sky. I had taken the road into the mountains to study the lay of the land several times but only a few miles past the property. Now I pushed my mount farther along the thin strip of road that ended at the Castle Castile. Trees rose higher here, clawing for the sky on either side, blocking out the moon's glow. With such little light the way would be difficult for many, but I wasn't so limited by darkness because I had ventured deep into enemy territory under cover of night on numerous occasions. Indeed, darkness could be one's dearest friend.

Even so, the night now bothered me. Or perhaps it was the solitude of my horse's pounding hooves, driving deeper into that night. I pulled up once to listen and heard only a distant wolf's howl. Oddly, no other creatures of the night.

My ride had taken only half of the hour when the road steered to the edge of a cliff that fell several hundred feet to a rocky bottom. The terrain here could be treacherous for any who did not advance with caution, because the path was only wide enough for a single carriage.

As I rounded a corner I saw the Castle Castile in the mountain pass framed by the dark sky. A ravine separated me from it. Four spires stabbed at the moon and were bridged by thick stone walls that looked as formidable as the mountain from which they were carved.

But there was also a wide spread of lawn and garden surrounding the estate, and this, along with the blazing torches at the tall entrance, softened the appearance of the fortress.

Fortress. Indeed it was, I thought. Nothing less. A Moldavian prince had built the castle in the mountain saddle, where it blocked any invasion from Transylvania during the first Russo-Turkish war. Exactly how it had fallen into the hands of the duke, I had no clue, but gazing up at that mountain, I wanted to know.

It alarmed me to think that Natasha Cantemir had come this way alone before Alek joined her. What kind of madness had pulled at her?

A single flap of wings brushed the air over my head, and I jerked my neck back to see a large black bird wing directly over me. It soared across the ravine and was quickly absorbed by the dark foliage.

I could have sworn it was a crow. And the only crow that came to mind was the one that had settled on the shoulder of the old man who had warned us. But that was impossible, I thought, and I guided my steed back down the road, toward the Castle Castile.

It took me another bit to make my way up to the pass—surely they saw me coming. But I took solace in my conclusion that in everything I'd seen of these Russians, they did not seem to be aggressive in matters beyond love. Valerik had stepped in to stop aggression on the part of his man Stefan before I'd killed him. And he insisted on leaving the Cantemirs when Simion and Sofia were unable to show restraint at the dinner party.

Indeed, the true threat here was Natasha and Alek, their abandonment of common sense for the sake of whatever revelry called to them from beyond those tall, dark walls. But they had come and gone of their free will and had not been harmed, not that I had seen.

I was not concerned for my life.

I tied my horse to the post at the bottom of stone steps that rose to twin banded doors, lit by torches on both sides. Though I left my sword in the scabbard, I felt more comfortable with my pistol at my breast, loaded and ready to fire quickly.

I pounded on the door, then stepped back.

No one came. Strange, because I was sure they would have seen me.

I pounded again and waited. Still no answer. Now I was concerned. What could they mean by not responding?

The door suddenly swung open an arm's length, and a pale-faced man stuck his head out. “Yes?”

Something wasn't right about the way he looked at me. His eyes were odd.

“Toma Nicolescu calls. I have come to see to my man, Alek Cardei, and the woman under my charge, Natasha Cantemir.”

This fellow looked at me without blinking for some time, as if he wasn't sure what to make of the creature on his doorstep.

“Is that so?”

“It is. Are they here?”

“That depends. Are you going to see to them or make them leave? Assuming they are even here.”

“Please, sir, I don't have time to play with words. They are under my charge and will do what I ask. Are you going to invite me in or leave me out here in the cold?”

“Is it cold out there?”

An unusual fellow, to be sure. If not for my frame of mind, I might have chuckled at his way.

“What do you think? It's the middle of the night,” I said.

“But it isn't. The night's only just begun! If you swear not to be too bossy and march about trying to give orders, I will let you in.”

Bossy?
“Stand aside, man!”

But he just stared at me, so I thought it best to work with him.

“Fine, I promise not to be too ‘bossy.' I've just come to do my duty.”

“And are you capable of having any fun whilst doing your duty?” he asked. “Because we do not favor party poopers in here.”

What was this manner of his speaking to me?

“What do you mean, ‘party poo . . .'” I dropped it. “Listen to me, young man—”

“I am not young. But I am beautiful and so are you. So I will let you in. Just try not to put a damper on things, will you, please?”

“Of course.”

He swung the door open and swept his arm wide to usher me in. I stepped into the Castle Castile for the first time. The door shut behind me with a dull thud that echoed throughout a small vacant atrium. To my right, several coatracks were heavy with clothing. To my left, seven white wax candles burned in sconces. And ahead, another arched door.

My host was standing still, watching me from the side, and I saw what was wrong with his eyes. His pupils were so dilated they nearly blotted out his irises.

“My, you are beautiful, Toma Nicolescu.” He reached for my shoulder and brushed his fingers against me as if to test whether I was real or a ghost. “My name is Johannes. From Rome.” He pulled his hand back and rubbed his fingers together delicately. “Italy.”

“Yes, Italy.”

“Then let's let the others get a look at you, shall we?”

You have it backward
, I wanted to say.
I'm here to take a look at them, then extract my charge
. My experience thus far was nothing like I could have imagined, and it put me at considerable unease.

“Yes.”

He pulled a string beside the door, likely ringing a bell inside, then opened it.

“Welcome to the festivities, Toma Nicolescu. Don't worry, no one will bite.”

I offered a courteous smile and walked into the inner chamber. There I stopped, facing an expansive ballroom that was dimly lit by thick candles. These blazed in elegant brass sconces along the walls and in a single chandelier that hung on a massive chain at the room's center.

The ceiling's dome was engraved with a horrific creature that might be a devil made to look like a wolf with wings and red eyes. The walls were made of stone and wood, all darkened with age and draped extensively with long black and red velvet curtains. Wide sweeping stairs rose to a balcony on either side of the room.

The floor was made of marble, a rich golden brown, at the center of which was inlaid a large black circle perhaps fifteen feet across. Tables and chairs were set about the room, some filled with bowls of exotic-looking fruits and meat and wine.

But it was the people who arrested me. Not just a few, mind you, or a dozen, but thirty, perhaps as many as forty guests had positions around the room. Some lounged at tables in small groups, some draped over the balcony, arms limp, watching. Some sprawled out on couches and stuffed chairs, goblets held as if permanently affixed to their fingers. Men and women, no children.

Most were scantily dressed in black and reds, and their attention was directed toward the center of the room, where a group of about ten gathered around a slight man. He had long blond hair and was dressed in tight-fitting black leather trousers and a red satin shirt with a black jacket. Both of his arms were spread wide and his head was bowed so that his hair hid his face.

The whole room was fixated; not a breath seemed to break the stillness. I stood rooted by the intensity.

“Now,” someone whispered. Just that one syllable.

And the man in leather threw himself up and back as if to do a backward somersault through the air. But this was no trick I had ever seen. He blurred, graceful and very high, with an arched back and fully extended legs that didn't tuck but treaded the air above him as if he were on an inverted walkway. His jacket flapped behind him as he smoothly completed the rotation and landed on both feet, knees bent, light as a feather.

Whistles cut the silence, a cheer from the group around the flier.

I scanned the others loitering about the room. Most had turned their eyes on me without showing any reaction to what had happened. Indeed, even their gaze on me showed only partial interest. Brooding looks set in dark wells.

“They like you,” Johannes said softly at my shoulder. “But I knew they would.”

Their eyes lingered, emotionless, like cats' eyes with wide black pupils. I wanted to ask what was happening here, but the answer seemed obvious. They were in revelry. Then why did it all seem so strange to me?

In the shadows across the room, a shirtless young man with dark hair arched backward over the arm of a chair. The eyes in his inverted head stared at me. A woman dressed in a burgundy shirt sat on the floor, holding his head in her lap. She idly ran fingers through the man's long hair as she watched me.

Caught staring, I turned. But everywhere I looked, I was surely staring. Though there was no overt sexuality on display here, the room was drenched in sensuality, in tracing fingers and weaving arms and smoldering looks that drew out the wildest imaginations.

The women were dressed like men, with trousers and shirts worn loosely, as if an afterthought. I saw only a few gowns, and these were cut high on the leg. All dark colors—blacks, purples, greens. The guests were exotic, they were beautiful, and they were affecting my breathing.

“I must . . .” A frog was in my throat, and I cleared it. “I must find my man Alek immediately.”

“Nothing is immediate here, my man. And reminding, you promised not to throw a sack over the fun.” A woman no more than eighteen or nineteen approached Johannes from behind.

“Who is this delicious man you've brought us, Jo?”

“A warrior named Toma,” my host said. “He's agreed to play.”

“I've come to collect my man,” I said.

“Play with me first,” the young woman said. Her eyes were rimmed in gray, swallowing me as she glided up to me and touched my chest. She toyed with the strings that tied my vest. “I am very good with men.”