Chapter 8
To the Honorable William Frank,
My carriage will await you outside the Ormonde residence at seven o’clock.
Wear white.
E. A.
Mr. Arcos’s carriage arrived precisely on time. Will wore one of his favorite suits, an elegant piece he had bought for the Academy’s graduation ball. Soft shades of ivory and powder blue complemented each other perfectly—perhaps a little daring, even by Capitol standards.
In his mind, he imagined Mr. Arcos’s cool voice ordering him to wear something fitting for him, and the thought sent warm shivers down his spine as he climbed into the carriage.
Will had expected to find the city deserted on this moonless night, but the streets were crowded with carriages, their windows barred and their drivers armed. Only pedestrians were nowhere to be seen.
The opera house blazed with light, though it was modest compared with the Royal Opera in the Capitol, where floodlights washed the night sky and gold, copper, and marble competed for brilliance.
Bloodgrove’s opera glowed red and orange, its entrance yawning wide beneath a pointed arch like that of a cathedral.
His exhilaration gave way to uncertainty when he saw the dark crowds gathered outside. Had Mr. Arcos intended for him to stand out starkly among them? Not that Will owned much black…
The patrons parted around him like a school of fish before a shark. Even after he reached the private box, separated from everyone else, they kept staring up at him, whispering and pointing.
But Arcos was nowhere to be seen. The only other chair in the box, upholstered in red velvet, stood empty. The man had spent a great deal of money on such excellent seats, only to miss the entertainment of watching everyone gawk at Will.
Will clenched his teeth and maintained a mild smile while cursing inwardly. It all felt far too much like the Capitol after rumors of his magic had begun to spread. Every pair of eyes staring openly at him through opera glasses felt like needles against his skin.
The opera began, telling the dramatic story of a golden city’s fall, and Will slowly came to understand Mr. Arcos’s intentions.
He almost laughed at the way the ambassador had put him on display and made a mockery of him, and how na?vely Will had walked straight into the trap.
He ignored the sharp sting of disappointment.
Was Mr. Arcos merely amusing himself, or had he deliberately meant to humiliate him? Perhaps it was punishment for Will having shown his interest too openly. Though he had hardly been as direct as Saint, some men could be quite sensitive to such attention.
The first act was nearing its intermission, the story surging toward its initial climax, when the door opened behind Will. A wedge of light cut through the velvet-red box, and Mr. Arcos stepped inside.
Will was too well-mannered to cause a scene, but he did not spare the man so much as a glance as Arcos slipped into the chair beside him. He merely stopped tugging at the black silk ribbon in his hair and folded his hands over his crossed legs.
“You’re late. The first seeds of betrayal have already been sown,” he said coolly, summarizing the opera.
Despite himself, Will stole a glance at Mr. Arcos. As always, he was impeccably dressed, without a single hair out of place. His black suit followed the lines of his tall, lean body and was fastened closely around the throat.
“Mr. Frank, I owe you an apology. My work kept me,” Mr. Arcos began.
Will did not answer. He fixed his eyes on the stage, and together they listened in silence to the final passage of the act.
The moment the curtain fell, and the audience poured toward the bars in the foyer, Mr. Arcos guided Will out of the box.
Will had barely drawn a breath to raise one of the many issues clamoring through his mind more loudly than the opera’s arias when a cluster of curious patrons gathered around them.
“Mr. Arcos, who’s your guest?” the first nobleman asked, stepping into their path.
They had only just reached the foot of the staircase, where the crowd pressed close, and laughter rang above the clinking of glasses.
Mr. Arcos moved close to Will and placed a hand against his back, precisely between his shoulder blades, where he could undoubtedly feel Will tense.
Will studied him from the corner of his eye. Yellow lamplight outlined his high cheekbones and softened them. Perhaps he truly had misunderstood him; perhaps the ambassador had harbored no ill intentions after all.
“Is he the visitor from the Capitol? I heard he arrived by train two weeks ago,” someone called.
Will drew back slightly and looked around. The cluster of onlookers grew, blocking the entrance to the stairwell. He stood more than a head taller than most of them, but beside Mr. Arcos he fit perfectly; their shoulders were nearly level and brushed in the crush of bodies.
Yet there was something different about these people.
Some had gone grey long before their time, their bloodshot eyes sunken deep in their sockets.
They were all pale, or—where their complexions did not allow for pallor—an unhealthy grey.
Their clothing was fastened so tightly to the throat that the collars seemed to strangle them.
More than one hand stroked hungrily over the fabric of Will’s suit, and he forced himself not to recoil.
Mr. Arcos let them squirm, but soon the questions began to repeat themselves. “Who is this radiant guest of yours?”
“We are here for an evening devoted to art,” Mr. Arcos said. The ambassador feigned modesty, but Will caught the faint twitch of his mouth.
“Is he your secret weapon in the contest for the office of the Red Hand?” A murmur swept through the crowd.
“The Red Hand is in excellent health, and no one will be replacing him anytime soon.”
“But you are one of the seven candidates. Everyone knows that.” Several voices threw questions into the air until they merged into a single chorus.
“It would be a great honor to succeed him.” Excitement rippled through those gathered around them, but Mr. Arcos turned back to Will.
“We all know the steep price one must pay for a ticket, but it was important to me that this rare visitor be brought to our city,” he continued.
“Allow me to introduce Mr. William Frank. My…” He looked at Will expectantly.
And in that moment, Will realized that Eric Arcos either did not know who he was. The ambassador had fallen just as readily for his silver hair and extravagant clothes, believing he had landed some extraordinary prize.
So Will gave them his most charming smile. “Interior designer.”
“My interior designer?” Mr. Arcos could not hide his shock.
“Yes.” Will grinned shamelessly.
“Eric Maximilian Arcos! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Everyone spun around, and Will flinched.
Duchess Ormonde stormed through the crowd as it parted before her.
He had neglected to tell Elodie about the opera and, to some extent, had deliberately kept it secret.
Yet when he looked toward Mr. Arcos, expecting to find him equally startled, he saw only a broad grin that was quickly hidden beneath an expression of feigned shock.
Oh, so it had been a game after all. Only Will had never been its target—Elodie had.
Now he remembered the surprise on Arcos’s face when her name had slipped his lips, and the sudden change in his demeanor.
Ambassador Eric Arcos had never been interested in him, only in the duchess, and she was furious.
Will did not yet understand why, but he was certain that once they returned to the townhouse, some of that anger would be directed at him.
“Duchess Ormonde, I had no idea you were still so… emotional,” Arcos said. “Your father’s fall into bloodlust was more than half a year ago…”
A gasp passed through the crowd, and even Will drew in a sharp breath. That was a vicious blow. He quickly moved away from Mr. Arcos and took his place at Elodie’s side.
“The sight of your traitorous face makes me forget myself,” she hissed, turning on her heel. “Come, William. The opera has become distasteful.”
With that, she swept away, and Will had to hurry to keep up with her. There was no time to untangle the chaos of his feelings.
The moment they stepped into the street and passed the smokers gathered outside, Elodie slowed and looked around. She cursed under her breath. “My carriage isn’t here.”
“Does your driver know you planned to leave during the intermission?” he asked cautiously, looking down the empty street. Anger and betrayal would have to wait until they returned to the townhouse.
When a damp wind swept in from the sea, Will was grateful they had retrieved their coats from the cloakroom.
“No. Of course not.” Elodie sighed. “We should go back inside.” Yet she remained where she was, and Will understood. No amount of money could have persuaded him to sit beside Mr. Arcos in the display case of that opera box again.
“The mob is waiting in there,” he said.
She worried her lip, and Will watched her teeth sink into the soft flesh. “Let us walk. The streets seemed quiet on the way here.”
Following instinct, he offered her his arm, and after a moment’s hesitation, she slipped her hand through it.
“You must not hold it against me if we are eaten, considering it is your fault we are out here,” she said as she guided him uphill. Her fingers rested lightly on his coat, her wine-red glove a sharp contrast against the dove blue of his sleeve.
“Why were you so angry with Mr. Arcos?” he asked after a while.
“Because you were meant to be my grand reveal. I paid for your ticket. I am housing you. I am going to present a project the entire city will speak of. I will break the curse and open our city to the world.”
“Oh.”
They left the circle of light beneath a streetlamp and walked through the darkness, passing two extinguished lamps before the next pool of light greeted them.
Part of Will’s attention slipped into the shadows, listening for footsteps against the cobblestones and cursing the moon for choosing this night of all nights to go blind.
Not far off, a bottle rolled into the street.
Will and Elodie exchanged an alarmed glance and quickened their pace. Walking through the city at this hour in such fine clothes truly was a bad idea.
“And of course Eric has to ruin everything. How did he even learn that you were staying with me?” She spoke softly enough that every surrounding sound remained audible, but her anger would not release her.
“He happened across me while I was out walking.”
“That dog is always lucky.”
An animal howled somewhere in the distance. Gooseflesh swept over Will’s arms, and he tried to make out the townhouse among the dark buildings.
“What is the Red Hand?” he asked, hoping to disguise his unease.
Elodie’s gaze darted toward him. “Did Eric talk about it?”
“The other guests did.”
“How much do you know about our city?” she paused. “Our King has withdrawn from public life, and the Red Hand oversees the daily affairs of Bloodgrove as his representative. He is the most powerful man in the city.”
Before Will could ask anything further, a figure stepped into the road ahead of them, hunched over and dressed in torn clothes. A bitter, coppery smell reached them first. Like a beggar, the woman held out an open hand.
“My lord, my lady… a donation? Only a few drops?” she whimpered, stumbling closer.
“Come any closer, and I will kill you,” Elodie said, slowly pulling off one glove.
The streets were empty. No carriage or guard was in sight; the houses around them were dark, and bars covered the windows. This was truly not the evening Will had imagined.
“Only a few drops, beautiful lady. You are so young, so tender, your flesh still pink. Give me only one drop.”
The woman advanced toward them.
Elodie drew a small dagger, far too short to cause any real harm.
Will was certainly no fighter—the fencing club at the Academy had been more of a social club than anything else—but he stepped forward all the same.
A breeze from the sea brought the scent of salt and seaweed, driving away the woman’s stench.
“Will, move aside,” Elodie hissed, forcing him back. With one swift motion, she cut across her palm, and at that exact moment, the woman charged.
Her mouth opened wide, and her fingers spread into claws. Every trace of restraint fell away as a guttural shriek tore from her throat.
But Elodie was faster. She drew the blood from her palm like an illusionist pulling a scarf from his sleeve, then flung it toward the woman. In midair, it formed a blade and buried itself in her skull. The body crumpled to the ground with a dull thud.
Will stared, stunned, at the blood pooling across the cobblestones.
“Damned vampires,” Elodie hissed, seizing Will by the arm and dragging him onward.
“That was a vampire?” He glanced over his shoulder, but in that moment the darkness came alive. Figures rushed from the alleys and descended upon the motionless body.
“Run!” Elodie hissed, and they fled.