Chapter 16 The Infirmary
Outside the ballroom, rain poured down upon the veranda.
Celise found herself once more gazing at the entrance to the garden maze.
Her eyes searched the menacing hedgerows for any sign of movement.
Her imagination played tricks on her. A conspicuous topiary became a creeping, lumbering monster under the stormy moonlight.
She found herself shrinking behind Elias’s strong presence.
Were more daemons prowling the Gravenmere grounds? The supersoldier seemed to think so.
She glanced up at the war hero next to her.
She still didn’t know if his proposal was serious or not.
It all seemed like a grand performance to appease the papers—and perhaps it was.
Elias had charmed the room with his romantic speech, but now, standing next to her, his jaw stiff and brow stern, she only saw a hardened soldier.
A group of people was waiting for them on the terrace near the balustrade that enclosed the space.
To her back, warm light spilled through the ballroom’s tall windows, casting stripes of gold and indigo blue across the stone landing.
A man dressed in a white jacket and wide-legged trousers faced them at the top of the stairs.
With a start, Celise recognized him. It was Kiran Kindale, the same officer who had come to the Moongazer Tower earlier that day.
It seemed he knew the duke quite well.
Two soldiers stood to each side of Kiran.
Celise’s eyes passed over them curiously.
The soldiers wore blackish-blue uniforms with gold insignia on their breasts.
Their badges looked like glowing flames.
Shined helms covered their foreheads, glowing softly in the darkness from their mana.
These soldiers were different from the guards she had seen posted around the estate.
Multiple swords and daggers hung from their belts.
The weapons were all shined, she was certain.
Was this the Daemonguard?
“Lord High Commander,” Kiran Kindale bowed while clasping a fist across his chest. His hand glinted gold in the light from the ballroom. Celise’s eyes widened. Where the knuckles should be, she saw intricate rows of gears and knobs. Was it a prosthetic?
“I’ve assembled a task force to search the grounds,” Kiran said in a rich voice. “Where would you like us to start?”
Elias’s eyes flickered over the four assembled soldiers. “Is this all the men we have?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
He tutted under his breath. “Try to be quick about it. Use horses if you have to, but remember the steeds here are not trained for battle. Begin with the garden maze, then work your way through the different pavilions. Ensure the grounds are safe for our guests.”
“Yes, sir. Will you be joining us, Your Grace?”
“I will shortly.” His eyes drifted to Celise. “First, I will escort my betrothed to the infirmary. Let’s reconvene here in an hour’s time. I will join you for the remainder of the hunt. You are dismissed, officers.”
Kiran saluted smartly again with his shined hand. Then, with a circle-up motion, he led the four soldiers down the steps. They moved silently, drawing weapons as they entered the maze.
“Well then?” Old Blackwood called from behind them. “What now? Is it safe for the guests to come out?” The old duke, accompanied by Lord Dhastel, hovered by the stone archway that led into the dance hall.
“We should keep the guests inside the ballroom for now,” Elias said.
“I can keep them for a bit, but the nobility are not easily handled,” Blackwood replied. “They’ll want to return to their beds soon. The hour grows late. Your guests are tired, Elias.”
“Then they can sleep on the ballroom floor.”
“Nonsense! Not at Gravenmere. This isn’t a wartime encampment, son. I will arrange escorts for the guests to return safely to their rooms.”
“What if they’re attacked along the way? How will that look for your publicity?” Elias’s voice was thin and icy.
Celise glanced back and forth between the two Blackwoods, shocked. She had never imagined the Mad Dog would address his own father with such disrespect, but there it was.
Old Blackwood firmed up. Then he said, “Can’t anyone escort the guests back to the castle? Where is the Daemonguard?”
“Patrolling the grounds, as they should be,” Elias snapped. “I am taking Celise to the infirmary for a medic to look at her arm. I suppose, if any guests are staying in the castle proper, I can watch over the flock as we cross the grounds.”
“Good, excellent, I will make an announcement. It will take some time to organize everyone—”
“Five minutes.”
Old Blackwood stared at Elias. Celise sensed a brief, intense battle of wills. Then, with a grimace, the old lord turned about on his heel and strode back into the ballroom, waving a hand at a group of servants in green livery. Celise watched him walk away.
It seemed his son, the military commander, was now in charge.
“How is your arm?” Elias asked, turning to her.
Celise had been trying to ignore the itching, stinging sensation from her forearm. The daemon’s blood was slowly eating little holes through the fabric of her dress.
“It’s alright, I think,” she said.
With a slight frown, Elias channeled mana into his hand, issuing a soft glow from his scarred palm. Celise gazed at his hand in awe. He inspected her forearm without much concern, as though he had seen hundreds of similar stains before.
“Not bad,” he said. “Does it itch?”
“A bit, yes.”
“Alright. We should get you to the infirmary before it burns you.”
“Why will it burn me?”
“Daemon blood is acidic. Certain kinds are more acidic than others. We call that toxicity. We denote it by color. This daemon would be a yellow variety—low acidity. Its many arms and legs we call a tumbler.”
“So a yellow tumbler attacked us, then?”
“Exactly. Some daemons have blood that will melt through solid steel. Those we call violet daemons. Violets are the worst to deal with. Their powers are more potent as well.”
“I see,” Celise said, numb at the thought. Had Elias spent ten years in the Abyss fighting such monsters? How terrible!
Old Blackwood reappeared, leading a large group of sixty guests and servants through the archway from the ballroom onto the balcony.
Another hundred guests or so lingered inside the entrance, waiting for an escort back to their pavilions and cottages across the grounds.
As Celise watched, a small party of regular nightguards and servants ascended the stairs to escort the next group across the grounds.
She saw her stepmother and sisters huddled by the entrance to the ballroom, gazing nervously out into the night, waiting to return to their guest tower. Marcella’s arms were wrapped around Katrina’s shoulders to comfort her. Both women looked traumatized.
Her father, Lord Sebastian Dhastel, was accompanying Cornelius Blackwood and a number of other gentlemen back to the castle proper. Perhaps they were retiring to Blackwood’s private study for a nightcap and a game of cards?
“This way! This way!” The servants directed the crowd, waving bright lanterns in the air. “Gravenmere Castle is a quick quarter mile this way! Watch your step on the stairs!”
The guests looked happy and jovial, if a bit sleepy, as they crossed the landing to the wide flagstone path that led back to the castle. No one seemed concerned by the daemonic threat with Elias in their company. Celise wondered if the nobility thought it was all a publicity stunt.
“A lovely speech,” one of the women said when she passed by Celise and Elias, oblivious to the tension between the young couple.
The gentleman escorting her added, “Very moving! I hope to see your picture in the paper!”
Many other voices chimed in as the guests walked by:
“Such a lovely bride-to-be.”
“An adventurous night! Unforgettable!”
“Certainly the event of the year!”
“Thank you for having us, Lord High Commander Blackwood!”
“When is the wedding? I hope to receive an invite!”
Elias waved and nodded to the various socialites as they walked past. The ladies craned their necks to stare curiously at Celise, who bobbed a few awkward curtsies in her muddy dress while clutching the Starlight Dahlia.
Then she gave up, too tired to bother. She leaned slightly behind her betrothed, and Elias kept his hand locked steadfast on her own.
Hanging back near the ballroom, Ambrosia Verabon and a group of several young ladies gathered around the stone archway, darting little glances at Celise and chatting among themselves.
She wondered what they were saying. Were they talking about her?
Or were they discussing Elias’s scars? The daemon attack? The ball?
Perhaps they were planning to write to The Lady’s Letter?
Celise felt her stomach tie itself in knots. What happened after this?
She yearned to be home again, anonymous and safe in her loft above the stables.
After the crowd passed by, Elias escorted her down the sweeping staircase to the flagstone path that led back to the castle, acting very much like a shepherd watching over his flock.
They hung back about twenty feet or so behind the last of the revelers so that Elias could keep an eye on the group.
As they walked, she stole a little glance up at the side of his face.
She walked on his right side, so his scars were hidden from her.
His skin was tan like the ranch hands that worked in the Dhastel stables.
He was a bit weathered by the sun but still youthful.
His strong jawline and high cheekbones gave his face a roguish, masculine appearance.
She felt a strange little flutter in her stomach. He was, in fact, a very attractive man.
Then Celise’s shoe caught on the hem of her dress. She stumbled forward. Elias caught her. They fumbled with each other for a moment, and Celise found herself once again pressed up against the duke’s chest, his arms wrapped around her, leaning back in the overhang of a block wall.