The Lady of the Storm - 2 (17 page)

He hated leaving Cecily alone in the inn at night, but it took distance and a good deal of ale to prevent him from entering her room and ravishing her.

For reasons he could not understand, the urge to accept the offers of the women who approached him in the taverns held little appeal.

Giles subtly asked about Thomas, but no one appeared to have seen him. Which was no surprise, since the man had the magical talent to fade into the background when he chose. It was what made him such a good spy. The only thing of interest Giles heard was on the third day when a cobbler deep in his cups insisted that he’d heard the crystal mountain sing a death song about the same time Thomas had been in the city. His companions hushed him with an almost superstitious fear, and they refused to explain no matter how hard Giles coaxed them.

After several days of trading, Giles felt it safe enough to pursue their true goal. He took Cecily to the base of the crystal mountain that shadowed Stafford.

Eight

Cecily had never thought much about shoes before. In the village, leather slippers and boots had been more practical, and so she’d always focused on dresses, for she could sew her own. She had not realized shoes could be just as beautiful, or that such a variety existed anywhere in the world.

As she and Giles rode through the cobbled streets of Stafford, her head swiveled from one window display to another. Shoes with feathers, with diamonds, with heels and without. Shoes that buckled or tied. Red shoes, black shoes, lavender, and blue…

Cecily pulled up on Belle’s reins, transfixed on a window display. In the very center, perched upon a slip of lace, gleamed a lovely pair of gem-studded shoes. Made of pale blue silk damask printed with starfish, they sported a crystal-studded buckle that winked in the sunlight, and on closer inspection, tiny silver stones outlining Scallop seashells.

The clear stones looked to be topaz, and the yellow ones most likely a shiny stone called pyrite. Cecily had learned much while she’d traded, and fortunately the merchants had been eager to teach her, but she couldn’t be sure if it had been because of Giles standing behind her, or Lady La’laylia’s support of women in trade.

She sighed with sheer longing at the glorious shoes.

“You could have them, if you want,” said Giles.

“They are too dear.”

He lowered his voice. “I’m sure your mother has funds set aside for you. You need but take up your position in society again.”

She turned and studied his beautiful face. Ah, he still sang that same tune, insisting on pointing out the vast differences in their social positions—despite her avowals that she didn’t care a fig about it. “It is natural for women to admire pretty things, Giles. That does not mean they are willing to give up their happiness for them.”

He frowned, that sculpted mouth turning down at the corners, but some inner emotion lit his eyes. He wore his black hat pulled low over his brow, his blond hair appearing even whiter in contrast, his pointed ears tucked under the brim. A white neckerchief about his throat made his skin look a deeper golden brown, the coloring enhanced by their journey. His eyes shone a vivid green in the sunlight, those dark brows and lashes drawing attention to their brilliance. In his buckskin breeches and wide-sleeved coat, sword belt at his hip, he made such a dashing figure that Cecily did not fault the maids on the walkway for turning to stare.

Her eyes must have given away her admiration, for he shot her a grin of supreme arrogance, and tapped Apollo’s sides with his heels, leading them through the crowded streets again.

Ah, how much she admired… and loved him. It almost hurt at times, twisting at her heart and fluttering in her stomach. So easy now, to admit she had always loved him, since she discovered that he wanted her in turn. But he showed it in a different way, and that realization had confused her at first.

Will had been a simple man, with simple needs. A house, a home, a wife who could cook and sew and raise his children.

Giles Beaumont was much more complicated.

She stared at his back, the elegant posture, the long, flowing white hair. People made way for him through the streets, parting like the sea for Apollo to step through. Giles exuded a confidence—with enough of a hint of danger—for strangers to sense.

And yet, when a young apple-seller held up her basket for him to peruse, she did not show any sign of fear. On the contrary, the child’s eyes shone with innocent trust that he would not brush her aside like so many others had already done.

Giles bought two apples and slowed to hand one to Cecily, his gaze lingering on hers for a few precious moments.

She bit into the tart fruit, a rush of sweetness countering the sharpness, licking the juice from her lips. Giles swallowed and took the lead again.

Cecily smiled. She thought she now knew Giles better than he knew himself. He’d had so many women throwing themselves at him that he could not separate love from the physical act. So she had made sure he connected the two with her. That one had been easy enough for her to rectify, although she still flushed at the way she had fondled him so boldly.

Still, just because she drove him mad with physical desire did not mean he could admit to loving her. She didn’t know how long it might take for him to realize his need to protect her stemmed from that emotion.

Or did it?

Cecily shook her head, the hood of her cloak slipping down off her mobcap. No, she would not doubt herself anymore. Hadn’t she held back her feelings for years because of the mistaken idea that he would reject her again? She had thought she was not attractive enough for him. What an illuminating experience to discover that he felt he wasn’t good enough for
her
. She had only to fully convince him she cared little about the social positions that separated them.

Cecily pocketed the core of her apple to give to Belle later, and smiled at her own confidence. She was no longer that woman who had once hid in her little village. She had become someone who could endure the hardships of the real world to find her father.

The crowds thinned as they reached the edge of the city, stately mansions replacing the brownstone shops. Gems glittered in the very bricks of the homes, winking in a myriad of colors. Statues carved of crystal into the shapes of animals and birds glowed softly from cornices above, and beside the stairs of grand entrances below. Lions roared, dragons spread their wings, and gargoyles leered.

It seemed that the cities had grown more brilliant the farther they rode into the interior of Stonehame, their construction enhanced by the local crystal called from the depths by La’laylia of Stonehame, the crystal itself often colored and striated with vibrant hues. Cecily could not imagine what Stonehame Palace might look like, for Giles had told her it had been crafted entirely of amethyst.

At first it felt odd to see a crystal spire jutting from the middle of a swath of grassland, but Cecily had become accustomed to it the farther they had traveled into the sovereignty. But the mountain of stone that came into view once they’d cleared the buildings of the city astonished her.

Gray clouds moved over the skies, covering the brief morning sunshine, but even in that dimness the mountain of crystal blazed, as if it possessed some inner light. It sat in the middle of a field of tall grass, the enormous base of it a cluster of square-shaped stones angling inward toward the top into four-sided capped spires.

“Oh, dear,” muttered Cecily.

A river ran straight to the base of it, and they rode parallel alongside. Belle snorted at the tall grass that swished against her belly, the much taller Apollo eyeing her with a merry gleam as he stepped lightly over the growth.

“Do you hear that?” asked Giles.

Cecily cocked her head. The river gurgled beside them, the grass rustled in the rising wind of the coming storm, the leather of their saddles creaked, and from far away, she could hear the faint sounds of the city. And between and betwixt those soft noises shivered a song that she couldn’t quite catch the tune of.

“It’s the mountain,” she replied. “The crystal is singing.”

Giles nodded, pressing on a bit faster, the song becoming louder the closer they came to the mountain, until it nearly set Cecily’s teeth on edge when they reached the base of it.

She soon became accustomed to it though as Giles made his way round the big pile of rock. They came to the river again on the other side of it, for the water seemed to flow directly under the mountain. They searched for a shallow place to cross, then continued their journey back to the river across from where they started.

Giles dismounted and placed his hand against the smooth wall, snatching it away in surprise before holding it up again. Cecily dismounted and followed his lead, but when she felt the vibration of the stone beneath her palm she did not start, for his reaction had prepared her.

“It shivers with its song.”

“Aye.” Giles stepped back and craned his neck upward. “But it can’t be alive, despite appearances to the contrary.”

Cecily wasn’t so sure, but Giles had proven to be extraordinarily intelligent as well as beautiful, and she trusted his judgment. She stroked the smooth, cold stone, trying to peer into it, for it had a cloudy translucence to it that made her think if she looked hard enough, she could make out the shapes beneath the surface.

“It’s going to be hell trying to climb this,” said Giles. “I don’t see any hand- or footholds, but I suppose the stone may be soft enough to chip my own.”

“I don’t think this is ordinary quartz. I don’t think it will be possible for you to break it.”

As if she’d challenged him to do it, Giles tossed her a cocky grin and pulled his sword from his scabbard, whipping it about his head in a completely joyful show of bravado, and jabbed it point-first at the stone.

The mountain shuddered, its song turning into a discordant whine, and they both covered their pointed ears until the sound stopped.

“What the devil,” growled Giles.

Cecily lowered her hands. “I wonder how Thomas managed it?”

“There has to be a way—stop it, you stupid hunk of iron.” Giles wrestled with his blade, which appeared to be intent on plunging itself back into his scabbard.

“I think your sword agrees with me that it cannot break the stone. Let it be, Giles, before it lops your leg off.”

“Coward,” he accused, allowing it to slam back into its sheath.

“It didn’t appear frightened. More like… indignant.”

Giles frowned. “It’s an enchanted blade. I have seen it turn stone to rubble.”

“But this mountain may be enspelled by Lady La’laylia to protect Sebastian’s grave.” Cecily’s heart soared. “Which means Thomas may have found it.”

“If he managed to find a way in. I don’t think any sort of tool will dent this thing.” He slapped the wall.

Cecily took a few paces and then turned, craning her neck upward. Nothing but a bare expanse of smooth rock until near the top, where one crystal formation met another. “I do not see how Thomas could climb this. And we saw no cave or opening.” She refused to believe that her father had given up or had died trying.

“It makes me wonder about the death song,” said Giles.

“What death song?”

Giles leaped to her side. “A cobbler said he heard the crystal sing a death song, but the townspeople wouldn’t explain what it means. I gather they live in fear of something within the mountain.”

“This happened at the time my father was here?”

“You are quick, Cecily. Yes. But we can’t assume that there is a connection to Thomas.”

“Can’t we?”

Giles shook his white-blond hair. “No.”

“But it could mean that he found a way inside.”

“I don’t see how.”

They stared in awe at the height of the massive stone. Then Giles reached out and smoothed the hair away from her cheek, for the wind had risen and tossed it about. Cecily suppressed a smile of triumph. For days now, she had been the one to bridge the physical distance between them.

“You do think Thomas found a way inside,” she accused. “You just don’t want me to worry.”

His hand strayed to her shoulder and rested there. “It is impossible that Thomas managed to scale this mountain, and we can’t even be sure he tried. Perhaps he came across some new clue that led him in another direction. I just think we need more information. Perhaps the Rebellion has some documents in their library about this mountain—or perhaps we should go back and speak to Professor Higley again.”

“That would take too long,” she protested, trying to think despite the distraction of his nearness. “I do not know where Father is sending me those messages from but it cannot be a good place.”

A raindrop pelted her on the cheek, and they both glanced skyward. The gray clouds had turned a smoky black, and they would be drenched before they made it back to the city.

Water.

Cecily strode to the river, leaned forward in a crouch, and trickled her fingers in the shallows, scattering tiny minnows. Her gaze followed the current to the base of the crystal, where it seemed to flow into the very stone itself. But surely it discharged into some fissure or cavern, perhaps far beneath the rock. “If we cannot find a way in from above, perhaps we can from below.”

Giles had trailed her, his green eyes narrowing as his gaze followed hers. He quickly discerned her thoughts. “No man can survive that long under water.”

“But I can.”

“No. No, Cecily, I forbid it.”

“You forbid… Giles, I think you are taking this protection thing a wee bit too far.”

He folded his arms across his chest and scowled. “I cannot follow you in there. Therefore, you cannot go. It seems logical enough to me.”

The rain started to come down in earnest now, plastering Cecily’s cap atop her head, streaming down the corners of Giles’s hat. She rose and tore off her cloak. “There is no danger to me. If the water does not resurface somewhere under the mountain, I will just swim through to the other side. You know I cannot drown and the water will aid me in whatever way I desire.”

“On the contrary. You do not have gills. I admit you can stay under for hours, but you have your limits.”