Immanuel's Veins (19 page)

Lucine was dressed in a baby-blue dress cut from the sky itself. A white hat shaded her head. It was a mere stroll without a hint of any danger.

The duke suddenly laughed again, took her hand, and kissed it.

I could not remove my eyes. He was kissing her hand . . . That monster was placing his lips on her hand and she wasn't jerking it away like she wanted to. I very nearly ran out then to stop this obvious infraction. But as I watched, my outrage turned to horror.

Vlad van Valerik drew her closer, leaned over, and whispered something in her ear. She chuckled.

She did not slap him, she chuckled.

Then he kissed her cheek and walked on.

She did not slap him, she walked.

I pulled back, barely able to breathe. My head pounded. New thoughts crashed into my head, insane ones that might get me locked up if voiced. I wanted to kill him, or find a way to banish him from Moldavia. I wanted to challenge him to a duel, to break his legs, to drop a tree on his head.

But I kept my senses, turned from the large tree, and hastily retreated to my horse. The only way to approach this was to expose Vlad for his less than honorable intentions, whatever they might be, and expose Lucine to my own love. But not here like a fool while she skipped along by his side!

I had already made my own grave here by putting duty above love for too long; I would not lie down in that grave so quickly.

I let the better part of an hour pass as I made my way back to the estate, keeping to the high ground so I would see that black carriage rolling back. But they seemed to be in no hurry, and each passing minute gave birth to new imaginations of what he might be doing to her. Questions crowded my mind.

Why had they gone by carriage, why not just by horse?

Why leave the carriage, once in the wood?

Why leave the estate at all when so many rooms had tables for tea?

Why had Lucine granted him the right to court?

And these were just the most obvious. There were many more that had little bearing in common sense, subjects that I had rarely dwelled upon, like what kind of perfume that beast was wearing.

More than once I nearly turned back to check on her again, but I chided myself and pressed on.

The sun was already heading behind the towering Carpathian peaks when I entered the house, and still they had not returned. No longer able to contain myself, I went straight to find the lady Kesia in her sitting parlor.

She was humming.

“Toma! You've returned. Did you find them and shatter their dreams?”

I paced, torn.

“Yes?” she pushed. “Is she in mortal danger?”

“More than you could possibly know.”

“He's attacked her, then? Ravaged her there in the wood?”

She was playing me and I had no patience for it.

“I must tell you something, but I must swear you to secrecy,” I said. I had to tell someone.

“We keep no secrets here.”

“There are too many secrets here! I beg you, don't breathe a word of what I say.”

“How delicious! The strong man makes his confession. I swear.”

For a moment I considered fleeing before I opened my mouth and ruined myself. But the urge to unburden myself was too much.

“I am in love with Lucine,” I said. My voice was unsteady.

“Yes? But what is your secret?”

“I am smitten!”

She just looked at me, and now I had done it, so I said it all.

“From the first night, I was taken. She is my everlasting love. I can't remove her from my mind. I can't sleep or eat. I can't do my duty. I am a slave to her.”

I believed I might weep with those words, so I said no more.

“Is that so?”

I had said too much.

“Then you are a fool, Toma.”

“A complete idiot,” I said.

“What kind of man doesn't tell the woman he loves that he has deep affection for her?”

“A man bound by duty and order.”

“The man who puts duty above love is the fool.”

“Then I am a fool.”

I stood there looking at Kesia, who was seated, staring back at me. For a moment I thought I had found a friend who could help me.

“What do you intend on doing with these feelings?” she asked.

“If I can't vow my love for her, then I will die. So I will forsake my duty.”

She sighed, stood, then crossed to a bottle of wine. “It's too late for that.”

“I saw her there in the wood with him. And I couldn't bear the sight. This isn't something that we can take lightly any longer. I am beside myself with it!”

“If you had won her earlier, then she wouldn't have considered the duke.”

“I was bound by duty!” I thundered.

She faced me, glass in hand. “Then bind yourself again, Toma. Because she has decided for the duke, and you are now outmatched.”

“She will decide that.” I pressed closer, aiming my fingers to the west to make my point now. “I was there last night and I found it to be a very dangerous place.”

“Do tell.”

“There's bewitching up there! The drinking of blood. Obscene intoxications!”

“Sounds fun. I thought you didn't believe in God or the devil.”

“This is worse. I fear your daughters are in mortal danger there.”

“Oh, please, Toma! This from the man who is raging with jealousy. Of course the duke is a devil in your eyes. He's just stolen your bride!”

She was driving me mad with her calculated rhetoric. Her logic was too persuasive for my liking.

“Say what you will, I know only one thing now,” I said. “I will confess my heart to her and then let the stars fall if they must. I cannot live with myself otherwise.”

“I told you, Toma, you are too late.”

“And I told you that she will decide when I tell her.”

“But I doubt you will be telling her of your love.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Lucine may be gone.”

“Gone where?”

“The duke has invited her for dinner tonight. She told me that if she does not return by eight, then it is because she has decided to go with him to the Castle Castile.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

Kesia smiled. “I think she will go. So you see, my friend, you will tell her nothing, at least not tonight.”

SEVENTEEN

I
t had all happened so quickly, Lucine found it hard to believe that she was here, at the Castle Castile, being wooed.

The night before had been the kind she once imagined nightmares were made of. But having walked through this valley of death, she had only found a new life.

“A toast, my friends,” Vlad said, standing with his glass.

They were seated at a long, dark wood table bordered in gold leaf, Vlad at the head, she on his right hand, and Alek, Simion, and Stefan across the spread of food. Pork, veal, carrots, red potatoes, and caramelized onions with all the trimmings were piled on gold platters between tall white candles. Beside Lucine, Natasha and the sisters, Dasha and Sofia.

They all rose, but when Lucine lifted her glass to stand, Vlad's hand rested on her shoulder. “No, my queen. We honor you.”

She felt awkward with all the attention, and reticence warmed her face. But she couldn't deny her appreciation for their honor. She'd never been held in such a lofty regard.

“To the woman whose mere consideration of my devotion sets my world upon a new axis,” Vlad said.

“To the woman,” they said. And they all drank.

“To the blood,” Vlad said.

“To the blood.” They drank again and then sat.

Blood, which was wine, held a central part in all Vlad talked about. She'd never heard such poetic words as those that came from him. He was a romantic to the bone, as Natasha had said.

Last night she'd rushed from the castle, cursing her own shame for clinging to an ideal that had failed her. She'd collapsed into bed and cried herself to sleep.

And when she awoke, she resolved to embrace a new kind of love, freed from the restraints of convention that had bound her for so long. She would no longer be the prude twin, reserved and proper, while the rest of the world found satisfaction in abandon.

But she hadn't immediately associated that new kind of love with Vlad van Valerik. His presence had haunted her dreams, and she couldn't deny that her impression of him had been reshaped by the night's events.

Mother was the one who'd sent for the duke, Lucine learned later. When he appeared midmorning and bowed before them, she knew that she must entertain his offer to court her. Not that it would go anywhere, but she could not keep sending opportunity into a dark corner while she awaited the perfect suitor.

If Natasha swore by this man's love, then she must reconsider.

So she'd gone with Vlad to the wood, and there he'd spoken like a true gentleman, always considerate, full of wit. And beautiful. As beautiful as Toma, who slept off his revelry in his room.

When Vlad asked if she had decided whether to join him for dinner that night, she had surprised herself by answering straightaway.

“Yes.” Then even more: “I would like that.”

He'd kissed her hand and her cheek. The sensation of those hot lips on her skin lingered still.

When Natasha had been summoned, she threw her arms around her sister. “Oh, Lucine! I heard.” She immediately checked her exuberance and dipped her head at the duke, took his hand, and kissed it. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

Then she'd bounced around and clung to Stefan and generally showed her delight that Lucine had returned. “What did I tell you, Lucine? What did I tell you?”

Lucine had been ushered into the main hall, where sixty or seventy of the coven waited. They stood as Vlad walked in with Lucine on his arm, and to a person they'd bowed.

“Now you see her, as I said you would,” Vlad said, and his voice held them in a trance. “She is mine. And the castle is hers.”

They stared at her with dark eyes rimmed in gray, a stunning sight caused by the variety of wine, Vlad said. In the sun his own eyes had looked golden brown, but here in the dim light, they too were dark.

His companions bowed when she left the room again, followed by Natasha and the others who now sat at the banquet table—Vlad's lieutenants. She didn't bother to ask why they used rankings if they were simply aristocrats. These Russians referred to everything in poetic terms. Queen, blood, coven . . . it was all said with a flair for the unconventional.

Even the way they dressed was sensuous and made a bold statement of exclusivity.
We stand above it all and are proud to do so. We are royalty
.

She felt conspicuous in her own blue dress, like a nun at a ball.

The banquet was presented in silence by two servants. They kept staring at Lucine, but not a single word was spoken. The unnerving stares from their first dinner with these Russians now struck her as hauntingly beautiful. She had a hard time keeping her eyes off of them as well.

She might have expected Alek and Natasha to be more talkative, but both seemed content to play the role given to them by their host. Something about their state still bothered Lucine—the look in their eyes and their pale faces—but with as much wine and as little sleep as they took here, it wasn't hard to understand. They had thrown themselves at these Russians. Too much. Lucine would have to take them aside and talk . . .

But no. No, that was past now. She would not play the spoiler here.

“Then eat!” Vlad said, snapping his serviette. “Drink! And above all, love.”

He said it with his eyes on Lucine, and she felt herself blush.

“To love!” Stefan said. And again they toasted. Lucine watched Simion drink, eyes on her. When she turned back to Vlad, his chair was empty. He was behind her, warm hand on her shoulder. He traced her neck with his finger and whispered into her ear.

“Tonight belongs to you, Lucine. Whatever you desire. I am your servant.” And he lifted her glass from behind and fed her a sip of wine.

She was at once embarrassed by his extraordinary attention and thrilled by it. His finger trailed off her cheek and he walked to a great window draped in purple velvet. He grasped the curtains with both hands and flung them wide to show the night.

Vlad stood there with his back to them, arms wide on the drapes. His black suit was cut long, hanging down to his knees, gathered in the middle of his back with a brass buckle. He released the drapes, took his collar and dropped the coat off his back, then threw it across a chair.

Such a magnificent specimen, Lucine thought. She could see the strength of his shoulders through his shirt.

Vlad spoke, facing the night. “Some kinds of love are worth the wait of a thousand years.” He spun, eyes sparkling with mischievousness. “I'm afraid that I have lost my appetite for this mortal food.” He was positively beaming. And in a moment he was seated again. “But I will eat with you anyway—I'm told the veal is delectable.”

It was all so very strange, yet so fascinating. No wonder Natasha had returned again and again. Had she been treated like this? Lucine doubted it, but seeing the Russians with unmasked eyes now, she suspected any interaction with them would be intoxicating. They were like honey drawing bees.

Knives and forks chimed on the plates. The scent of freshly cooked meat was heavy. A fiddler's mournful tune drifted in from another room.

Together they ate and drank. And they watched each other, feeding as much on each other's gazes as on the veal and pork. Lucine felt like she was on the cliff, ready to fall. But even that apprehension drew her, if only to know what awaited in the black chasm beneath.

Natasha had been there and was grinning like a child.

Alek had descended and come back with dumb happiness.

Toma had let himself go . . .

Lucine hardly had an appetite and the wine was getting to her head.

“May I ask a question?” she asked.