Chapter 29
The October full moon was celebrated with a masquerade ball. For the first time, the guests revealed their true faces, their laughter sounding like the howls of animals, the scrape of shoes across marble like unsheathed claws.
Will watched them from his quiet balcony on the second floor, sipping his water and wishing it were alcohol. But tonight, he intended to remain alert.
A strange sound, like metal hitting metal, made him pause and glance over his shoulder.
A black monstrosity approached through the dim corridor.
A knight encased entirely in black steel, from the tip of his helmet to the buckles of his boots, strolled towards him.
His attention rested so intensely on Will that he thought he could feel it like a touch, although the visor concealed the eyes.
Will recognized the man nonetheless, as though a cord had suddenly drawn taut between them, connecting his chest to the knight’s breastplate. There was only one man who could retain the grace of a dandy even in a suit of armor.
“Mr. Arcos.” Will leaned against the balustrade.
Behind him, the drop stretched many meters below, and he could almost feel the heat of the ballroom guests against his bare back.
Perhaps he had learned nothing after all.
So exposed, he seemed almost to challenge the guests to cut him open and subjugate him with his own blood.
But as Elodie had said, he was a mage, and he had a powerful ally.
“Mr. Frank.” Mr. Arcos stopped several paces away and looked Will over from head to toe. “An angel of vengeance.”
Will imagined himself through Mr. Arcos’s eyes.
Against the red-lit abyss, his figure was made entirely of white and gold.
Six wings fanned out behind him, like the angels that held up the Capitol’s skyscrapers, the tips of their white feathers dipped in golden powder.
White leather straps crossed his bare chest, supporting the magnificent wings and allowing them to shift with every movement of his shoulder blades.
Pearls had been woven into his silver hair, with more hanging from his ears and from the golden chains around his neck.
His loose silk trousers sat low on his hips.
Will would have liked to be a better man, but he had chosen the costume out of spite. He wanted to remind the people of Bloodgrove where he came from, that he was not like them. Elodie had helped him, delighted by the idea.
He had not allowed himself to imagine how Mr. Arcos might react to him.
But now, as he studied the expanse of exquisitely worked steel, his breath caught.
Mr. Arcos was a nightmare made flesh, and Will wondered whether this was his true face after all—cold and impassive, forged in fire until no emotion remained.
“An angel of vengeance?” Will’s voice sounded far too unsteady.
Mr. Arcos hummed in agreement and strolled closer until he closed a steel claw around Will’s chin.
The pointed tips pressed into his skin and forced his head back so the man could examine him more closely.
It was too dark to see through the slits in the visor.
Only the red glow from the dance floor reflected along its edges.
Will had no idea whether Mr. Arcos was once again drunk enough to permit himself such an intimate touch or whether he simply felt secure behind his mask.
Will melted anyway, savoring the hard grip.
“You remind me of the angels from the opera. Do you know the ones I mean? How your angels descended upon Bloodgrove, struck us down, and banished us to the hell in which we live today.”
“That is not what our angels are like,” Will managed, though the angle of his neck was becoming almost painful. “They brought progress upon their wings. They lifted us from the swamp in which you choose to wallow.”
“Is that what you think of us?” A gloved thumb stroked Will’s cheek, glittering with golden powder.
“I do not believe we sent you to hell. All I see are people who choose anew every night to remain in it.”
Mr. Arcos laughed dryly, released his chin, and stepped beside him at the balustrade.
The sheathed sword brushed Will’s arm as he turned to face the crowd as well.
As always, he searched for Elodie, but she was nowhere to be seen.
She had sent Will ahead alone, mentioning only in passing that Duke Wilkinson would collect her.
Midnight was approaching now, and even the Red Hand had noticed her absence.
Will was not surprised to see the man dressed as the god of hell.
“What are you supposed to be?” Will asked, tearing his gaze from the Red Hand with a shudder. He turned toward the ambassador and folded his arms across his chest, which felt painfully bare beside all that armor.
“We have a legend about an infamous vampire hunter, a black knight. The people loved and hated him, because rumors claimed he was himself a monster beneath the armor. And so they imprisoned him with the vampires in the harbor district, forcing him to fight for his life night after night.
“One day, a gate broke, and the vampires threatened to flood the entire city. The black knight considered leaving the city to its destruction. But in the end, he sacrificed himself. He fought until dawn, and when the people found him standing atop a mountain of corpses, they drove him from the city. To this day, he is said to roam the mountains, and no one knows whether he truly was a monster.”
Will listened, mesmerized, and for a moment, he thought he could see it—the flicker of fire upon black armor, the howling of vampires, the wild beast fighting in the first glow of morning.
A moment later, the vision vanished, leaving only the lights of the celebration and the voices of the revelers.
Mr. Arcos removed his helmet, a treacherous smile on his lips. “But if you ask me, he made the wrong choice. There is no salvation for the damned.”
“I wonder whether you would tear the gate open farther and rule them all as king of the vampires, or burn everything down with you in one final act.”
“That is the question, I suppose…” His sharp face and hard eyes turned to Will with unbearable intensity, and Will wished he would put the helmet back on.
“Is that why you want to become the Red Hand?”
Arcos never had the chance to answer. At the entrance to the ballroom, the crowd parted to make way for two new arrivals.
Elodie, Duchess Ormonde, entered on Duke Wilkinson’s arm, enveloped in a red nightmare.
Hundreds of eyes covered the sweeping skirt, returning the stares of the onlookers.
Every inch of the gown was embroidered, if not with eyeballs, then with imitations of wild-growing flesh.
Will shuddered at the sight of her small figure, which appeared larger than life tonight.
“Duke Wilkinson and his betrothed, Duchess Ormonde!” the master of ceremonies announced, and Will felt the entire room falter before erupting into waves of whispers that swelled into thunderous applause.
Beside him, Mr. Arcos went rigid. The poor man gripped the stone railing, and it almost seemed as though the stone grew cracks beneath his claws. His face was a mask of shock and pain.
Will watched him with a mixture of satisfaction and jealousy.
“Betrothed?” Mr. Arcos echoed, and in the same breath, his polite expression snapped back into place. He transformed into edges and coldness, an armor he wore more easily than the bracers and breastplate covering him tonight.
“Yes,” Will sighed, looking back toward Elodie, who well-wishers now surrounded. From the corner of his eye, he saw a servant whisper into the Red Hand’s ear, but the man’s response was concealed by the fan a slave lowered before his face. “Apparently, she has been planning it for some time.”
“And you knew?” Mr. Arcos hissed.
“Yes. Since yesterday.”
Mr. Arcos’s silver-black eyes narrowed, and he leaned toward him. “What does Elodie want from you? Why is she confiding her plans to you?”
Will smiled sadly and shrugged, making his wings flutter. “I do not know, and that frightens me.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling Mr. Arcos the truth of all people, but this man was his best chance for finding answers.
Mr. Arcos snorted. “Then you are even more na?ve than I thought, little pup. This city will devour you alive if you follow Elodie blindly.”
“Then help me. You know Elodie better than anyone.” Will moved closer to the black knight. His delicate hand, with its long, slender fingers, looked fragile upon the balustrade beside the black claw.
“How could you possibly know that?” Mr. Arcos asked.
Will shrugged again, and the uncertainty in the question only confirmed his suspicions. “I have a feeling you are the knight who sacrifices himself. The only question is why.”
“Do not mistake me for a hero.”
“No, indeed. You are the beast. But I have heard the devil makes the best bargains.”
Mr. Arcos gave a brief laugh, but his eyes no longer left Will.
“What could you offer me?” Once again, he let an assessing gaze travel over Will’s bare torso.
“You look like a blood whore,” he said contemptuously, slowly leaning closer.
“I only need to drag my claws across your skin, and I would have enough blood to force you to your knees before me. Willing and ravenous, you would beg to obey my every command.”
Will’s lips curled into a crooked smile. With an unhurried gesture, he swept a strand of hair over the leather harness. “Careful. It almost looks as though the beast is drooling.”
Mr. Arcos squared his shoulders and turned his gaze toward the guests. “Very well. I promise to help you discover what Elodie wants from you—and protect you from it if necessary.”
“And in return, you want my soul? Or will it be enough for me to kneel before you and hold out my tongue?” Will smiled when he saw the faint blush coloring Mr. Arcos’s cheeks and the way his Adam’s apple jumped above his collar.