The Lady of the Storm - 2 (24 page)

But today when people looked at him, it was if they were repulsed. They glanced quickly away or stared rudely in disgust.

His hand stole to his cheek. How badly had he been marked?

Giles shook back his hair and lifted his chin, pulled up on the reins. “You there, girl. An apple for the lady and me.”

The street urchin skipped toward him, a smile forming on her narrow face, the apples in her basket a bit brown and her delight in selling them obvious. But when she reached his side and looked up at his face, her eyes widened and she took a step back.

Giles fished a few coins from his pocket. “Come here, girl. I won’t bite.” And he punctuated his words with a smile. The smile that had always managed to make women of any age swoon.

The child winced, but did manage to fish out two apples from her basket and hand them up to him with shaking fingers. Giles tried to hide his dismay by giving her an extra half pence. The child snatched it and ran.

He pulled Apollo alongside Belle and handed Cecily the brownish fruit.

“I could not see my reflection very well in the water. Has the mark altered me so very much?”

Cecily took a bite of the apple and chewed while she stared at him thoughtfully. “Your features are still as handsome as they have ever been, Giles Beaumont. Shall we find a room before we meet with the professor, or visit him straight away?”

He frowned at the odd way she’d answered his question. “We see the professor now.”

***

Giles escorted Cecily into the room that Higley had directed them to. The old professor had been astounded by their foolishness in entering the Seven Corners of Hell, had been equally revolted by whatever had been done to Giles’s face, and had told him again that he would welcome Giles into the ranks of the academia.

As if Giles’s adventuring days had come to an end.

Cecily did not like going so far down into the depths of the old building, for the laboratories were all located beneath the ground floor, and she continued to shiver even when they entered the warmth of Professor Quinby’s lab.

Various… things floated in bottles of cloudy liquid, and an acrid stench permeated the air. Tubes and jars littered the tables the same way that books had overtaken Professor Higley’s private office. But the man who greeted them looked nothing like his colleague. Quinby looked to be quite a young man for his position, with a shock of red hair and a cherubic face that belied his grisly work in progress.

A cadaver lay on a table before him, a twisted figure of what might have once been a human being. The professor took one look at Cecily’s face and quickly set aside his bloodied tools and pulled a sheet over the lump he’d been carving.

“May I help you?” he asked, his face turning almost as red as his hair, his gaze fixed in stupefied adoration on Cecily’s face.

Giles tried not to bristle while he made introductions, ending with, “Professor Higley sent us.”

Quinby’s eyes flew to Giles’s face and widened until they threatened to pop out. “I don’t need to ask why. Good God, man, don’t you know you shouldn’t be alive?”

Cecily gasped and Giles took a step in front of her. “What do you mean by that, sir?”

The other man shook in his shoes, although whether from fear or excitement, Giles could not tell.

“I’m dreadfully sorry,” the professor replied. “It’s just that I never expected someone with the green plague to walk in through my door. They usually have to be carried.”

“It’s green?” Giles fingered his left cheek. “Give me a mirror.”

Cecily shook her head. “No, it’s not necessary, because you will heal him, won’t you, Professor Quinby?”

The redhead stepped forward, his features suddenly intent with interest, studying Giles’s face. “I daresay, I have yet to meet someone from Seven Corners who remained sane. That is where you picked up the… disease, is it not? For I pray there is no other place of such disastrous magic.”

“I fought a monster within that forest,” replied Giles. “The creature managed to nick me with one of its claws.”

“Claws, you say? I’ve seen several specimens like that, almost as if an animal had somehow merged with the man. But the plague is rarely contagious, even when injected directly into the bloodstream. Of course, my experiments were outside of the magical confluence itself, and perhaps the powers within are responsible for the actual contagion.”

“You purposely injected yourself?” whispered Cecily.

Giles glanced down at her horror-stricken face. “Mirror. Surely you have some type of looking glass, man!”

The professor started, quickly turned and rummaged through a cabinet. He pulled forth a shiny disc of silver and handed it to Giles.

Although not as clear a reflection as a mirror, it still showed Giles a much sharper image than what he had seen in the stream or the glass windows on the street.

He could not speak. A dark patch covered the left side of his face, as he had noticed before. But what he had not been able to tell was the putrid green color of it. A vivid color that reminded him of gangrene… and the hideous decomposition of the creature he’d fought. He could not see past the revolting color of the blemish covering the side of his face to his own even features, for the mark demanded attention.

Giles had never thought of himself as particularly vain. Until this moment.

How had Cecily hidden her revulsion?

And how could he ever continue to spy for the Rebellion, when he carried such a distinguishing mark? Thomas had taught him how to blend with a crowd, how to use his good looks to glean information from even the most reluctant maid.

Something broke within Giles. Perhaps his dreams. Perhaps his self-esteem. But he knew he might never heal unless he rid himself of this mark. Giles mentally shook himself and picked up the thread of conversation between Cecily and the professor.

“—but it will not turn him into a monster, will it?” she asked.

“Are you sure it hasn’t spread since this morning?”

“I am sure. It ceased to grow the moment we left the forest.”

“And yet you said nothing,” interrupted Giles.

Cecily clasped her hands together. “There was naught to do about it. Until now.”

Giles turned on Quinby. “So? Is there indeed something you can do?”

The other man shrank backward. “I can only offer you some assurances, sir. Have you felt the impulse to… kill anyone?”

Giles shrugged. “I leave that up to my sword.”

“I see.” Although clearly, he did not. “You speak quite rationally, so I can deduce that the plague has not spread to your brain and infected it with madness. And based on my own observations of the cycle of this disease, and confirmed by Lady Cecily, I do not imagine it will progress any further.”

“But you can’t be sure?”

“Alas, no, I’m afraid not. The truth is, you are the first sane creature—er, man I have met who carries such a mark. Lady Cecily says you possess a healthy amount of elven blood within your veins, and I believe this, along with the removal from the vicinity of the influencing magic so soon after initial infection, has halted its normal growth. However”—he paused, glancing at Cecily—“I would suggest you pay attention to any signs of unusual rage. This may be an indication that the plague touched your brain, however lightly.”

Giles felt furious at the moment, but nothing beyond his usual limits. “You do not need to fear for her,” he said, sensing the direction of the other man’s thoughts. “The moment I suspect madness, I will fall upon my blade.”

Cecily made a strangled sound within her throat, and Giles placed a hand on her shoulder to help steady her. He must take her from this place—its smells and green body parts floating in jars—before she collapsed.

“But you cannot remove this… disfiguring mark from my face?”

“I’m afraid I cannot, sir. I have not found a cure for the plague, and cannot venture into the forest where I can study the growth of it. But I will promise to renew my experiments with more vigor on your behalf, and will contact you through Professor Higley, should I achieve any success. I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

“It is more than I would have expected, Professor Quinby. And I thank you.”

Giles led Cecily from the room, out into the night, absently noting that it had started to rain. He pulled out his cloak and hid within the folds of the hood all the way to the inn they had stayed at previously, leaving it on and allowing it to pool water on the common room’s floor while he made arrangements for two rooms.

Cecily hissed a protest in his ear, but he did not acknowledge it until they entered her room upstairs.

“Why do we need two?” she demanded as soon as he’d shut the door behind them.

Giles set the lantern the innkeeper had provided him and busied himself at the fire, building it up to a bright glow. He then flung back his hood, catching a glimpse of his disfigured face within the looking glass across the room. “How could you have made love to me this morning? When I look like… this?”

She looked confused, and then angry. “Do you think me so shallow, Giles Beaumont, that a little mark could alter my love for you?”

Giles tore off his sodden cloak. She did not understand that everything had changed. But in time, she would. To avoid prolonging the inevitable, he spoke as truthfully as he could. “We shall not marry.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“I can no longer marry you, Cecily. I will not subject you to such danger.”

“This is complete nonsense, Giles Beaumont. You heard the professor; you will not turn into a monster. And you promised me you wouldn’t. So there.” And she stomped her tiny foot.

The gesture would have made him smile. But an hour ago. “I promise you I will kill myself before I allow that to happen. But there is more to consider than you know, and once you’ve had time to think on it, you will realize this.”

“What can there possibly be to consider but our love for each other? I have waited my entire life for you, and damn if I will allow anything to destroy that.”

Giles closed the distance between them, caught her small hands up in his. He resisted the urge to kiss her mouth, and instead, kissed her fingers.

“And I love you, my dear. Which is why it is impossible for me to marry you. Perhaps you can overcome my… disfigurement, but others will not. If we marry, you face a life of exile and uncertainty. I cannot do that to you.”

“Stop this, Giles.” Her breath hitched, and her eyes welled with tears.

Damn, he could not take much more of this. “Don’t you see that my life… my happiness, ended when that creature marked me? I will no longer be able to pursue any of my dreams. Including the glorious fantasy that has been my last few days with you.”

“You are just feeling sorry for yourself. It ill becomes you, Giles.”

“Perhaps. But it is my sorrow to bear… alone.” And he dropped her hands and walked out the door, no longer able to look at her.

No longer wanting her to look at the ugly thing he’d become.

Eleven

It rained throughout their entire journey back to London. Cecily gloried in the feel of water covering her body, felt her skin drink it up until she felt stronger than she had since leaving Dewhame. At least in body. Her mind, on the other hand, spun in frantic circles of argument, which she subjected Giles to whenever she thought of a new way to refute his stubborn insistence that he’d ruin her life by marrying her.

She tried every one of them on Giles, to little affect.

He was determined to sink into a misery of silence and self-pity, and she could find no way around that barrier. Not even by enticing him with her body, which she tried as a last resort.

Although he trembled with need, although his body quickly responded to her invitations, the stubborn man managed to rebuff all of her advances.

And now she had run out of time, for even through the downpour, she could see the glow of the fiery walls of Firehame Palace in the distance. Their return journey seemed much shorter. Panic curled in her breast and threatened to rob her of the ability to think clearly. She might never see him again.

“Giles, I can go on no farther. I must rest.”

He gave her a measured look, as if he could see into her mind and knew what she planned to do. “You will manage.”

“But I can’t go to Sir Robert’s looking like this. Can we not stop at an inn so I can tidy my appearance?”

He sighed. “Cecily. You cannot change my mind. You cannot weaken my resolve.”

Had he read her mind? “Even if I were to fling myself at you bodily without a stitch of clothing on?”

He would have smiled at that, but a day ago. But this new Giles did not smile. Instead he reached up and pulled the hood of his cloak farther down his head until shadow covered his features.

“You do not love me enough,” snapped Cecily, suddenly furious at his stubborn resolve. His self-pity. His inability to understand she loved him for more than his beautiful face. “If you did, you would not let something so small come between us.”

He did not answer for a long time. She heard nothing but the sound of the rain pelting their cloaks, the squelch of the horses’ hooves through mud, and then the clack of them across the cobblestones as they entered the city.

When he finally spoke his voice sounded deep and sorrowful. “It is because my love for you is so strong that I will not allow you to marry a monster.”

“You are not…”

But he hunched his shoulders and she knew—like so many times in the past hours—he would not listen to her reply. The understanding that she had truly lost him, after barely having gained his love, struck Cecily like a blow, and she stared at the city around them with blind eyes.

They rode past hovels and then tall brownstone buildings, down a wide street lined with elegant shops, clubs, and coffeehouses. Finally turning down a narrow lane that backed grand mansions, until Giles pulled up the reins next to a stable. He swung down from Apollo and fetched a boy to care for the horses, and then escorted her through the back entrance of Sir Robert’s manse.

The grandeur of the home no longer made her feel small and insignificant. Cecily had been through too much to ever feel that way again. But she couldn’t bear soiling the plush carpets, so dispersed the rainwater from their clothing and hair with a quick wave of her hand. Giles did not acknowledge the gesture.

When they entered the library and Sir Robert rose to greet them, he studied Cecily with a frown and then nodded, his gaze quickly traveling to Giles. “Report,” he demanded.

Giles threw back his hood and the older man gasped.

“Egads, man, what happened to you? No, no wait. I have specific instructions that I am to call them first before I hear of your journey.” Sir Robert strode over to the fireplace, the skirts of his coat swishing with his steps, and pulled upon a sconce set within the stone.

Cecily removed her cloak and took a seat next to the fireplace, allowing the warmth to erase some of the chill from her bones. If not her heart.

The fire lord and his lover must have been eagerly awaiting word of Cecily’s arrival, because the hidden panel soon swung open, and they stepped into the room.

Lady Cassandra quickly made her way to Cecily’s side and crouched, the lace of her skirts piling one atop the other as she looked up into Cecily’s face. “Thomas?”

Cecily shook her head, refusing to allow the tears to come to her eyes.

Lady Cassandra made a choking sound and rose, crossing the room to stare out the window. Rain streaked the panes and hid the view, but Cecily knew the lady had blind eyes at the moment. Mor’ded of Firehame followed his lady, placing an arm gently around her waist.

Cecily glanced over at Giles. He stood near the doorway where they had entered the room, his gaze fixed upon the crackling flames of the fire. She missed his habit of standing at her side. Missed the warmth of his hand upon her shoulder.

“Report,” Sir Robert demanded again, and Giles began to speak. He told every detail of their journey with remarkable accuracy, although he left out the most important parts. How he had discovered his love for Cecily. How they had planned to marry. How Giles had ultimately broken her heart.

By the time he had finished speaking, Lady Cassandra had returned to the fireplace, taking a seat upon the velvet settee as she had at their last meeting, the pretend Imperial Lord Mor’ded of Firehame settling close beside her.

When Cecily met her gaze, a moment of shared grief passed between them, and then Lady Cassandra sighed. “I am so sorry, Lady Cecily. Had I suspected what awaited you at the end of this mission, I would never have allowed you to go.”

Cecily swept the hair back from her face. “On the contrary, Lady Cassandra. I do not think you could have stopped me.” And then she glanced across the room at Giles. “Nor do I regret the journey, for I have learned many things about myself.”

Lady Cassandra and Lord Mor’ded followed her gaze, both of them squinting their eyes at the gloomy shadow Giles stood within. He stepped forward into the light cast by the candles and fire, revealing the full impact of his mark, turning his face so the light caught the green color of it and made it glow hideously, overshadowing his perfect features.

Giles took a breath, strode over to the elven lord, and withdrew the ring from his pocket. “I believe this is yours.”

Mor’ded of Firehame stared at the jewel as if it were a snake. “I regret the price you had to pay for it, Mister Beaumont. England will never know the debt it owes you. But I shall never forget.”

Giles placed the ring in the elven lord’s hand and gave him a sweeping bow. The graceful movement of his body as he performed the gesture made Cecily’s heart ache.

Sir Robert cleared his throat. “This new development… dare I say, Beaumont, that it will alter the missions I had in mind for you. I’d hoped to send you to several sovereignties to rescue children before their testing. But if a child vanishes every time a man with a green mark on his face appears…”

Giles did not shake the hair back from his face, as was his habit, but instead allowed those white-blond strands to lie across his cheeks, partially obscuring that blemish of wild magic. “I understand my life is forever changed, Sir Robert.”

And Cecily lowered her gaze in empathy, knowing how devastating it would be for Giles to give up his plans. If the Rebellion had aided Giles’s brother, perhaps John would never have been sent to Elfhame—which truly meant murdered. Cecily understood Giles would see every child he saved as his younger brother.

“But the Rebellion will surely find other missions for him,” she said.

“But of course,” interjected Mor’ded. “A man of Mister Beaumont’s loyalty and skills is invaluable to us.”

“Indeed,” agreed Lady Cassandra. “Nothing is ever irreparable, Cecily. We are only challenged to find new ways of adapting to change.”

Cecily glanced up to find everyone staring at her.

Yet she cared for the attention of only one man. She gave him a hopeful look of entreaty, but Giles only scowled and stalked across the room back into the shadows.

“Still,” said Sir Robert, “that mark of his makes him easily distinguishable. We shall have to plan carefully, Beaumont, so your next mission will not be your last.”

Silence from the shadows Giles stood within.

Although,” continued Sir Robert, ignoring the silence and centering his attention on the rest of them, “I would not blame Mister Beaumont if he wanted to retire as a reward for the information he has brought us.” The man rubbed his dry hands together, a sound that made Cecily want to grit her teeth.

Lady Cassandra frowned. “I believe that is the last thing he would wish for, Robert.”

“Fie, Cass, I wished only to remark on the incredible findings of Lord Althorp. Thomas outdid himself this time.”

“At the cost of his life,” snapped Cecily.

“And we must focus on that which we have gained,” replied Sir Robert. “Who would have known the Seven Corners of Hell harbored a doorway to Elfhame?”

“The black dragon of Firehame would have,” said Mor’ded. “But apparently Ador thinks this is another piece of the puzzle that we humans must solve to be worthy of our freedom.”

His voice held a curious mix of fondness and resentment that baffled Cecily. “I do not understand whose side the dragons are on.”

“Ah.” The pretend Lord Mor’ded of Firehame leaned back against the cushions of the settee, his black velvet coat falling open at the unbuttoned waist, exposing an embroidered waistcoat and the frills of his white cambric shirt. “I don’t believe they are on anyone’s side, other than the scepters they are bonded to. The dragon-steeds cannot act directly against the elven lords, but aid us however much they can in their quest to return home. But perhaps I speak too broadly, for I can vouch only for Ador. I do not know how much the other dragons would stir themselves to aid us. They may want to return to Elfhame but I think they have found our world quite… comfortable.”

“Your Most High,” said Sir Robert, “do you think it is wise to reveal so much to this girl?”

“Are you blind where she is concerned, Sir Robert? Do you not see that the girl before us is not the same one that left us but weeks ago?”

Cecily heard the shuffle of Giles’s feet, but she did not turn her head in his direction. When she had not been thinking of ways to bring Giles back to his old arrogant self, she had been thinking about what Father had told her in Seven Corners. And with Giles’s newfound gift for silence, she’d had perhaps too much time to think about it. And she realized Thomas had been right.

She had wanted only to be safe. And happy. She had considered only her own feelings.

Perhaps in much the same way Giles now thought only of his.

So and so. If she had the power to help the Rebellion free England, she could not deny the gift. And right now would be the time to test her newly found resolve. “Does the new information my father provided change the mission you had in mind for me, Sir Robert?”

His jowls wiggled with the force of his head swing. “I daresay…”

Imperial Lord Mor’ded leaned forward, his black eyes glittering like the faceted jewels they so resembled. “It makes it all the more important. We had always thought the scepters were the source of the elven lords’ magic, but now that we know they are but a tool, we have the ability to weaken them even more.”

Lady Cassandra plucked at the lace of her sleeves. “I’m not sure, love, if it would be wise to wrest the scepter away from an elven lord. Imagine the consequences when they tear England apart to hunt for it.”

Mor’ded patted her hand. “I doubt we will ever agree on this matter, but I say again—what other choice do we have? We must make a bold move and I can see no other way to cause such a significant weakening of their hold upon England.”

Cecily glanced between the two, sensing an old argument, swallowing at the import of their words. She would be diving headfirst into more dangerous waters than she had ever thought. “You want me to steal a scepter?” she whispered in disbelief.

“I’m afraid,” said Sir Robert, his attention still focused on Lady Cassandra, “that recent events have only enforced Lord Mor’ded’s argument. Without the scepters, the elven lords will not be able to tap into the greater magic—although their own powers would still be formidable, of course. But imagine, my lady, what would happen if we could—”

Cecily raised her voice, perhaps a bit too loudly, but she could only blame the sheer incredulity she felt as the reason. “You want me to
steal
a scepter?”

They all turned to her in surprise, but only Lord Mor’ded of Firehame reacted, pulling out the black rod from the sheath hooked to his waist. He held it up to the light, where Cecily could see the runes written across the surface. “As you can see, it is not impossible.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Cecily’s mind spun. “But it is said that only an elven pureblood can wield the scepter… that it would destroy any human foolish enough to touch it.”

“I believe in most cases that may be true.” Mor’ded’s fingers tightened on the scepter until black smoke curled around the top of it. “But for a half-breed… we have discovered those with
enough
elven blood can wield it.”