24. Kotys
Kotys
“Shall we have that dance?”
Louna dragged her attention from Tennyson’s cloak as he made his way out of the great hall and turned to Cristian, who had appeared beside her. “Of course,” she said, summoning her brightest smile. “I would be delighted.”
Cristian’s face was flushed with pleasure beneath his mask, and he grinned as he swept her into his arms. “You really are a miracle worker,” he said in a low voice.
Louna dipped her head. “I’m happy I could help.”
“It’s truly amazing what you’ve put together in such a short time,” he went on. “Your florists, your musicians, the masks—how did you get it all done?”
“Many people owe me favors,” Louna said.
Or they used to. Now she was the one in debt.
Cristian watched her, guiding her expertly around the dance floor in a testament to the privileged lifestyle he’d been raised in.
“Come work for me,” he said abruptly. “I’ll pay you a retainer, and you can organize all my future events.
You’re worth a fortune, and you’ll have it from me—you and anyone else on your team. ”
“That’s a generous offer,” Louna said, softening her refusal with a squeeze of her hand in his. “Please know that I appreciate it. But I can’t.”
Cristian sighed. “I hope you will change your mind,” he said. “But I’ll say nothing more about it now. Tonight is for enjoyment only.”
As if punctuating his wishes, the musician who had replaced Tennyson sent a trill of panpipe music through the room.
Cristian had suggested her, and Louna was happy with the quality of her work—but she was not Tennyson.
She did not have the same way of infusing emotion into her notes, or the shiver-inducing tenderness in her expression as she played.
And as much as Louna loved a good dance, Cristian was exhibiting some of the same flaws.
He was taller than Tennyson, and she had to reach to keep her hand on his shoulder.
He did not communicate his intentions as well as Tennyson did, and after a few steps, Louna found herself falling into her old habit of back-leading.
Cristian did not seem to notice. He allowed her to direct him across the room, away from the shrill piping and the harpsichord, and her latest lie.
Tennyson had known, like he always did, and the memory of his expression made a flush rise to her cheeks.
She could feel the weight of Hartmann’s card in her pocket like a razor, waiting to make its final cut.
The song ended, and Louna forced a smile to her face. “I’m going to get something to eat. Will you join me?”
“Not yet,” Cristian said, as Louna had hoped he would. “I can’t leave until Adina is finished with her set. But go, enjoy yourself. I will find you again in a little while.”
Louna pressed his hand and made her way from the room, smiling at each of Cristian’s guests, thanking them for coming.
“I’m outside,” Tennyson said. “Almost ready.”
She took a breath and pulled her earbud free, dropping it into her pocket and withdrawing her phone and the card.
The electric candles in the main hall cast quivering shadows against the walls, and each corner was draped in gossamer cobwebs of lace and silk.
Black peonies and trailing ivy were clustered in vases throughout the room, perfectly spaced to catch the light as people moved between rooms. The hall was a masterpiece, and she almost wished she had time to paint it.
She would try to remember it. Maybe, when this was over…
She had many things to do when this was over.
Louna waited until there was break in the crowd, and then she hurried up the spiral stairs and into the bedroom she’d been using earlier and dialed the number on the card.
Hartmann took the call without answering, and Louna spoke into the silence.
“I’m ready. I will meet you upstairs.”
“Upstairs,” Hartmann repeated. “Why not outside?”
“Tennyson is outside,” Louna said, her voice steady and calm. “If he sees you, he’ll stop us. And I want to talk before I agree to go with you. I have my own terms.”
“You are not in a position to make them,” Hartmann said.
“Upstairs,” Louna said again. “Now.”
She ended the call and put her phone and the card back in her pocket, then sat on the corner of the settee to wait.
It did not take long. She heard his footsteps through the open door, and she stayed where she was as Hartmann entered cautiously, his gaze flicking through the room.
“There’s no one else here,” she said.
Hartmann stepped inside and stood with his back to the wall.
She let a beat of silence pass, then steeled herself and plunged ahead. “I want you to take me to Harlow.”
“Now?” Hartmann said, raising an eyebrow. “In the middle of your party? What a surprise. I’m sure that once I have you outside the castle, Stone will not use the distraction to release his friend.”
“Do you think Tennyson would let me speak to you alone?” she asked.
Hartmann studied her as he considered. “No,” he said finally. “He does not like to use bait. But that doesn’t mean you are not trying to use me.”
“It had to be during the party,” Louna said. “It was the only way to keep Tennyson from interfering. He will be busy with the rescue, and you and I can get away.”
“Then you want me to let him free the American,” Hartmann said.
Louna nodded. “Those are my terms. You let Tennyson and Lindsey go free, and I will return to Harlow.”
An unpleasant smirk twisted Hartmann’s mouth. “Herr Harlow does not want just you.”
“No,” Louna said. “But if I go to him, Tennyson will follow.”
“You think he will rescue you,” Hartmann sneered.
“I know he will,” Louna said. “Nothing you or Harlow could do will keep him away.”
The challenge was as obvious as it was honest, and Hartmann rose to it. He let out a dry chuckle and looked her over again, evaluating. “And if I refuse?”
“You will tell Harlow that I was willing to return, and you didn’t let me?”
“You’re free to go,” Hartmann said. “You don’t need an escort.”
“Tennyson will catch me before I can get away,” she said.
A glint of satisfaction stole into his eyes. “So you need me to stop him.”
“Without hurting him,” Louna said.
“Of course,” he said dryly.
Louna stood, stepping before him and standing close enough to adjust the immaculate lapels on his coat. “And I want to know where Polina is.”
“That will be up to Herr Harlow,” Hartmann said.
He towered over her, forcing her to crane her neck back to look into his face, and she had to force down a shudder when she saw the cold gleam in his eyes. He was enjoying this. The intimidation, the fear, the threats… Tennyson may have done Harlow’s bidding, but he wouldn’t have enjoyed it.
With a glare, she held out her hand and swallowed her revulsion at having to touch him. “Then we have a deal?”
He lowered his head, his gaze landing on the cut running alongside her palm. “As you wish, Frau Despereaux,” he said, reaching to take it.
She held his hand firmly, wincing when he tightened his grip over her injury. He was watching her face, a smirk twisting his lips, relishing in the pain he was causing.
He never saw the handcuffs.
She had closed one end around the cast iron radiator on the wall when he took her hand, and when he squeezed, she clicked the other cuff over his wrist. His eyes went wide, but she slipped her hand free and stepped away before he could grab for her.
“Feel free to call Harlow,” she said, holding up the phone she’d picked from his pocket. “Just give us a head start before you do.”
He lunged at her, but the radiator held, and she fled before he could break it. She had had Ilya’s cousins replace the door handle the night before, and she locked it behind her as Hartmann shouted his futile anger.
She hurried down the stairs, tossing Hartmann’s phone into a vase of flowers as she went.
One obstacle down, on to the next. She needed to make her theft.
Once she did, she could contact Tennyson and raise the alarm, and they could release Lindsey and then return to Hartmann to find out what he’d done with Polina.
And she knew exactly what to take.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she slowed and plastered a smile to her face, checking the crowd for Cristian before slipping into the study. It was empty, and she swept across the room to the shelf behind the desk.
Louna drew a silk handkerchief from her pocket and wrapped it carefully around a statue on the top shelf, a small carved statue polished black by centuries of wear. The figure stood with her hands clasped before her, holding a bundle of flowers and vines in her arms.
Kotys, the Dacian mother-goddess.
“What are you doing?”
Louna froze. The voice was Cristian’s, and she turned slowly to face him, not bothering to hide the statue in her hands. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“Really?” Cristian said. “Because it looks like you’re robbing me.”
Louna inclined her head. “Then, yes. It’s exactly what it looks like.”
Cristian stared at her. For a moment, she wondered if he would move at all—if she could just walk past him and pretend that he had never seen her, that she had never been here, that none of this had ever happened.
But then, the plan had always been to raise the alarm. It didn’t really matter who did it.
“Mr. Ardelean,” Louna said, holding the statue in one hand and offering her other to him. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m the Black Swan.”