Chapter 28
A demon, an Anointed wilder, three demigods, and an Anointed sage. Our group of six certainly didn’t lack power.
Still, it was easier than I’d thought it would be to sneak into the Lemaire estate of Briarcourt—an ease that pushed my nerves to their limit.
Hundreds of hopeful refugees crowded the narrow dirt road that led south from the estate, out of the Knotwood, and into open country.
Tangled trees flanked the road, thick-trunked and monstrously tall.
High above us, their branches met in a dark canopy that blocked out the wintry night sky.
And they hissed. It wasn’t loud, but I could hear it underneath the road’s clamor: a low, malevolent thread of sound that turned my blood cold.
I’d never been to the Knotwood, or to Vauzanne, but I certainly knew how to read giant magical barriers, and I got the distinct feeling that the Knotwood wasn’t happy about being held back from this road.
Whatever bargain the Lemaire family had struck to make this happen, I felt in my gut that it wouldn’t last forever.
Someday the Knotwood would lose its patience and consume this road, and Briarcourt, and everyone who lived there.
I just hoped that day would not be today.
We pushed our way up the road, a task made monumentally easier by Talan and Farrin.
Every time eyes fell upon us, Talan sent the owner a feeling of contentment, and they looked away, languid and happy, utterly uninterested in us.
And since the moment we’d left Kirsa’s house in our borrowed finery, Farrin had been singing a song of disguise and stealth under her breath.
When I glanced at her, noting the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead, doubt crept into my mind.
Our passage across the Gloaming Sea, cradled in the shell of Mother’s power, had been swift but staggering.
We’d arrived at Kirsa’s house in Westry wrung out and dripping with sweat, and Mother hadn’t lingered to help us recover.
One moment she’d been there, shimmering in her platinum armor, fully resplendent and golden-eyed—Philippa’s humanity completely overshadowed by Kerezen’s godliness—and the next she’d been gone.
The only sign that she’d been there at all was a dark circle of flattened grass, faintly steaming.
Traveling across such a great distance in the grip of such powerful magic could have done more to drain us of strength than I’d realized. If Farrin used up all her energy simply getting us through the doors, getting us back out again would be infinitely more difficult.
I glanced at Ryder, a question in my eyes. He shook his head slightly, the corner of his mouth quirked into a smile. He looked fierce with pride. Farrin, that look told me, would be just fine.
As we followed Talan up the road, I scanned the crowd for signs of trouble.
But not even my demigod senses could make sense of the commotion.
There were too many sweating, squirming bodies trying to reach Briarcourt’s doors, too many voices crying out desperately in case the Lemaires heard their pleas and took pity on them.
Everyone wore gowns and suits, coattails and stoles; some were clean and understated like the ones we’d borrowed from Kirsa, others as flashy as peacocks, still others threadbare patchwork.
And though Talan and Farrin carved us a path through the chaos, the roaring crowd pressed in on us from all sides, and as we pushed deeper and deeper into the Knotwood, the trees became enormous, some twice as tall as Rosewarren’s highest tower.
By the time we slipped past Lemaire’s guards and into the house, every hair on the back of my neck was standing up.
In a few quick seconds, I surveyed the room: 316 guests; thirty-four guards carrying weapons I could see; another thirty who were not obviously armed.
The main ballroom was three stories high; the railings on the upper floors were festooned with silver ribbons, golden bells, frosted winter foliage.
Tables piled with food and drink lined the room.
Three enormous chandeliers hung from the ceiling, dripping with hundreds of flickering candles.
Each tall, gilt-framed window boasted a view of the great black wood outside, which dwarfed the grounds and made the Lemaires’ mansion feel like a dollhouse.
On a low stage in the northeastern corner of the room, a ten-piece orchestra played a cheery waltz.
And perched by the grand staircase were Lord and Lady Lemaire.
Glamorous and glittering—he in a suit of light green and silver brocade, she in a matching gown—they presided over the room amidst a crowd of fluttering admirers.
A line of guests waited at the foot of their dais, arms laden with gifts.
A young woman in a modest gray gown knelt before them and offered their guard a small velvet pouch—full of coin she couldn’t afford to lose, no doubt.
Fury rose in me as we circled the room. These people made refugees compete for shelter, forced them to go through this mockery of a ball, and still had the nerve to accept tributes. Perhaps they even required them.
If this mission ended up affording me even a few minutes of spare time, I’d use every second of it to terrify the Lemaires so completely that they’d have nightmares for weeks.
As planned, Talan and Farrin began slowly easing back on their power, and by the time their protections lifted and Farrin stopped singing at last, we’d split into three groups of two: Gemma and Talan, Farrin and Ryder, Gareth and me. Being in pairs would make it easier to blend in.
Gareth took my hand, grabbed a goblet of wine from a nearby table, and led me to a velvet chaise pushed against the wall.
He lounged on it with ease, sipped his wine, wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
I leaned into him, put my hand on his thigh.
To the other guests, I hoped, we’d look like nothing more than a lucky couple enjoying the party.
“In five minutes,” I murmured close to Gareth’s ear, a sly smile on my face, “we’ll move toward that tapestry to your left. The lounges just past it are full of gambling tables. Everyone’s loud and drunk. We’ll be able to slip through them without anyone noticing.”
Gareth turned his head toward me and laughed a little, as if I’d told a wonderful joke. “I understand,” he said quietly. “How many guards?”
“Three, and they’re distracted.”
“And drunk too, I hope.”
“One of them certainly is. He can’t quite keep his balance.”
A passel of giggling girls hurried past us, their hands full of lace-trimmed fans and sloshing goblets.
I recognized the leader by her hair. Kirsa, Talan, and Gemma had briefed us on the Lemaire family—three girls and a young man of twenty, all of them with their father’s unmissable locks, icy-blond and striking.
All of them were botanical elementals like my mother had been before the goddess living inside her had awakened.
As the girls passed, Gareth leaned in to kiss me.
His mouth tasted of wine, and when his hand slid around my waist to pull me closer to him, my stomach tightened and heat gathered between my legs.
He held me to him until not even my sensitive hearing could detect the girls’ chatter over the noise of the party.
When I pulled back from him, he smiled, his green eyes sparkling. “I know this is a deadly mission and all, but I have to say, I’m having a marvelous time so far.”
The low tone of his voice sent a frisson of desire through my body. “Stay focused, Professor.”
“What were they talking about? Anything helpful?”
“Aralinda Lemaire is angry with her parents. Something to do with her brother and a woman named Lily. She doesn’t think Lily is suitable for her brother, but her parents won’t do anything to discourage him from pursuing her.
And she’s annoyed with her sister too. The youngest, Griselda. She has a weak stomach, apparently.”
“Family gossip.”
“But not the useful kind.”
Gareth frowned. “I’m not sure why someone having a weak stomach is grounds for annoyance.”
I glanced past him at the crowded ballroom, quickly noting my sisters’ locations.
The gowns we’d borrowed from Kirsa were sturdy but unremarkable, the fabric in need of a good laundering: dusty blue for Farrin, dull olive green for Gemma, faded lavender for me.
We’d chosen them in order to blend in, but even in plain gowns that didn’t fit quite right, my sisters stood out more than I was comfortable with.
Gemma and Talan had settled themselves at one of many high tables, a plate of food between them; Farrin and Ryder danced in a throng of others. But my eyes went to them immediately.
Was it simply because they were my sisters? Or was it because my sharp eyes couldn’t help but notice the trace of Kerezen’s power that lingered upon us?
“What’s wrong?” Gareth murmured, leaning back to sip from his goblet. “You’re restless.”
“I don’t like waiting. I like moving.”
“And you move most excellently, in all manner of scenarios.”
“Please don’t make jokes right now.”
He glanced at me. “Something is wrong,” he said quietly. “Tell me.”
“My sisters are too obvious. They have a glow about them, and they don’t look frightened enough.”
Gareth shifted on the chaise and lazily surveyed the ballroom over the rim of his goblet. I allowed myself a brief moment to admire how his borrowed coat, vest, and trousers hugged his long, lean body.
“I see no glow,” he said. “And isn’t the point of this party to convince the Lemaires that you’re having a good time so they’ll keep you around? If Gemma and Farrin were cowering in the corner, they’d draw much more attention, I think, and not the good kind.”
He was right, of course. But I couldn’t shake my unease, and Aralinda Lemaire’s laughter echoed through my mind, raising alarm bells I couldn’t explain. The sooner we completed this mission, the better.
“I sense you’re about to tell me that we should get started,” Gareth added, “even though it hasn’t yet been five minutes.”
“You sense correctly.”
“Before we do, I must tell you one very important thing.”
I bit back an impatient curse. “Go on, then.”
He put down his goblet and turned to kiss my hair, his arm still loosely about my shoulders.
“Even in your borrowed dress,” he murmured, “you look beautiful. If this were an ordinary party, I’d dance all night with you, stopping only occasionally to pull you into some shadowy corner and kiss you senseless.
Then, after we got back home, I’d take you upstairs and—”
“Home?”
“Come now, you stopped me at the best part,” he said, gently teasing.
“What home, Gareth?” I didn’t know why the word had pierced me so deeply, but it had, and for a moment I couldn’t quite catch my breath.
“Our home,” he said simply, and then pulled back to look at me, his smile wavering. “It was only a daydream. I wanted to fill your head with nice imagery before we dashed off to spy and murder. I’m sorry.”
Our home. I took Gareth’s hand and kissed it, my heart thudding against my ribs. I wasn’t sure if what I felt was terror or terrible happiness.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” I said, standing, not quite looking at him. “Let’s go. I can’t bear to sit here any longer.”
“Easy, Mara.” He tugged gently on my fingers. “We’re meant to look like partygoers, not assassins.”
He was right, of course. I forced my muscles to relax and looped my arm through his. As we wandered toward the gambling rooms, his words flitted through my mind with every heartbeat, like starlight scattered across a dark sea: Our home. Our home. Our home.