Chapter 3 - Glory
Glory
III
The demon’s estate loomed over me through the wrought iron gates. Across the courtyard lay the front door, promising my heart’s desire or my possible death.
The carriage I’d hired to take me here had already driven off, leaving me alone on this long stretch of empty road.
No one else was nearby, and I was grateful for the solitude as it gave me a moment to brace myself.
I adjusted the strap of my satchel and rested my other hand on the gate, but even after three measured breaths, I couldn’t bring myself to open it.
If I was successful in enlisting Cammon Ruxo’s help, then I would be trapped under the demon’s watchful eye for a whole month, my emotions at his mercy. I would need to work hard to keep him at a distance, shut myself down, and stay focused on the goal.
My stomach tightened with nerves, and I shook out my hands to alleviate the uncomfortable buzz under my skin.
I could do this. Hiding myself from an observant, emotion-consuming demon would be a challenge, but I’d proved I was the type to overcome challenges. After all, I’d made my case before the king, hadn’t I? A new job would be waiting for me on my return. I just had to get through four short weeks.
I pulled my shoulders back, tugged on the bottom of my waistcoat—taking the opportunity to wipe my palms on the stiff material—and pushed the gate open over the crushed rock that lined the wide courtyard.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I approached the sprawling mansion with its three storeys of dark grey stone and peaked windows.
The design was similar to the other estates that dotted the expanse of Golthwaine’s countryside, yet the atmosphere was markedly different.
The other fine homes I’d visited showcased the owners’ affluence with impressive gardens and large, weeping fountains.
Cammon Ruxo’s estate, while massive, carried an air of abandonment.
It was well kept but lifeless. Which made sense, I supposed, given the frequency with which he travelled the country in search of his treasures.
Or so it seemed from all the newspaper articles written about him.
The rich brown maple of the front doors was studded with black iron in a design that matched the front gates, and despite my opinions about my unwanted companion, my librarian’s heart appreciated his attention to detail.
I rapped my knuckles against the door, and almost immediately it opened to reveal a starched, severe-looking woman whose posture rivalled mine. The housekeeper, I guessed.
Feeling pinned under her steady stare, I tightened my grip on my satchel.
“I’m here to see Cammon Ruxo on behalf of King Evaniel,” I said, handing her the letter of introduction Segrew had given me.
The housekeeper raised a subtle eyebrow at my tone, and I acknowledged that my lack of social skills might put me at a disadvantage in my task.
My awkwardness morphed into self-consciousness when the woman continued to stare at me, an unusual expression in her striking grey eyes.
Almost like familiarity, which was absurd since I’d never met her.
I was on the brink of asking if she was all right when she blinked and, like a curtain, her mask of professionalism dropped into place. She glanced at the royal seal on the letter, then up at me. “If you’ll step inside, I’ll see if the master’s free. You may have a seat.”
I followed her into the lavish foyer and perched uncomfortably on a bench set against the wall while she walked upstairs with a steady, efficient stride.
If the estate’s exterior had struck me with its overbearing size, the interior was a stark contrast. For all its space, it was warm and welcoming, with brightly polished parquet flooring, wooden banisters, red-and-gold wallpaper, and framed mirrors offset with paintings of jovial parties and couples in intimate poses.
I rolled my eyes and turned away from the paintings, refusing to look any closer. Cammon Ruxo had obviously designed his foyer to evoke the feelings he most savoured. The sense of joy that comes from social engagements, love, lust.
The more I looked around, the more I realized that the effect he strove for wasn’t limited to the artwork.
The bench I sat on was draped in soft velvet, the wooden frame smooth, almost silky.
Soft light came from the heavy black iron chandeliers, the gas-lit flames sending their gentle glow throughout the room, bouncing off the mirrors to add more light.
Even the smell encouraged one to close their eyes and sink into it, a spiced aroma that made my mouth water and my muscles release their tight hold on my bones.
Everything a tease to the senses, suggestive without being overt, as seductive as a feathered caress.
The moment I noticed I was succumbing to his ploy, I stiffened and scowled up the stairs as though the demon himself had made an appearance.
Demons weren’t common in Golthwaine. They were a vice-ridden race, known for encouraging people to give in to their desires. Some were strong enough to affect the minds of those they dealt with, lowering their inhibitions to tap into deeper emotions.
Some, of course, went too far and drained their victims dry, leaving them empty, mindless husks that existed solely for the pleasure of their demonic masters.
Not unlike the vampires the old Golthwainian king had outlawed, yet they weren’t banned from the country.
No monarch would strike such a political blow. Unfortunately.
The fact that Cammon Ruxo’s foyer had gotten under my skin was warning enough that I would need to stay on my guard in this demon’s presence. Olodin’s bookcases, the next four weeks would be exhausting.
My friend Ashara’s voice echoed in my head. Careful, Glow-worm. You know what these demons are like. You’ll go in there asking for help and walk out in love with him, willing to tell him anything.
I snorted. In love with him. No one had ever accused me of anything so foolish.
“The master will see you.”
The suddenness of the housekeeper’s voice made me jump from my seat, and my face warmed. She stood close enough that she would have heard my very unladylike snort.
I pressed my lips into a tight smile, readjusted my satchel, and followed her up the curving staircase to the second storey. At the top, she struck left, leading me down a gallery decorated with brown-and-gold wallpaper, more emotion-evoking paintings, and treasures.
They were obviously prizes from the demon’s various escapades, and at first, I did my best to ignore them, not caring about his displays of wealth and adventure.
Yet one by one, they caught my eye, and before we reached halfway down the long corridor, I found myself lingering over various pieces.
Jewellery, a crown, a sword, each one no doubt rife with fascinating history.
My fingers itched to pick up the cameo to see what information I could glean from it, and I squeezed my arms at my sides to not give in to temptation.
Much as I tried to avoid looking at the paintings, not wanting to supplement the demon’s dinner, one in particular made me stop in my tracks as we neared the end of the gallery.
A beauty with luscious brown hair lay on a forest floor, surrounded by full, thick red roses against her bare, creamy skin.
Her lips were parted, her back arched ever so slightly, her pupils dilated until only a faint green ring remained around the black.
Above her, a semi-reclined, chestnut-haired man stared at her, and his black eyes were hungry.
Starving. As though she were the first viable meal he’d seen in months.
Pure fiction, of course. That sort of wild, romantic passion, that depth of desire, only existed in art.
A worn bench sat opposite the painting, giving the impression that many people stopped to take it in, and I wondered if their reaction was similar to the unexpected pang that stirred within my chest.
I cleared my throat and forced my gaze away from it. Foolishness. Everything here was manipulative foolishness, and I had no time for it. Recruit the demon, find the amulet, save Princess Brynna, and secure my position in the library. Those were my only desires.
I turned my attention to the housekeeper to find her also staring at the painting. No, at me. Looking between me and the painting. When she caught me watching her, she pulled her shoulders back. “This is one of the master’s favourites. He painted it himself based on a dream he had.”
The treasure hunter had a hobby? When did he have time? And with such skill. Ugh. His ego had to be insufferably large.
The housekeeper opened the double doors, and my breath caught as I took in the room within.
Lit by soft gas lamps on the walls, books upon books upon books took up the space to my left and right.
Leather-bound tomes and thick atlases. Piles of scrolls and a few stone tablets.
By the look of it, the demon’s collection rivalled the palace library for quality if not for size, all the more impressive because it had been gathered by one person rather than generations of royal servants.
I longed to have a room like this instead of the measly single wall of bookcases in my small apartment.
The wall behind the large, imposing, mahogany desk bore three shelves showcasing more treasures Cammon Ruxo had collected over his years of exploration, which made me think at least some of these books were also treasures, either finds he’d picked up along the way or research that had led him to his prizes.
My mouth watered and my fingers tingled with the need to flip open a few of the more tempting spines, but I reminded myself why I was here. Not for the books, but for the demon.