Magic of Fire and Shadows (Curse of the Ctyri Book 1) Page 4

  Roza didn’t seem to notice, however, and she shot Nikolai a coy smile. “You’re so much taller and more handsome than when we last saw you. You fill out your uniform so well.” She leaned forward and dusted some invisible lint from his jacket in a gross breach of etiquette. “I’d love to hear of all of your heroic deeds. I hear you have many.”

  “It is wonderful to see you all,” Nikolai said as he stepped back into the line of royalty, separating them by a distance Roza could not cross without invitation.

  “I-I look forward to our dances; thank you for coming,” Nikolai said, dismissing them all. He nodded to them each in turn, his jaw stiff, and avoided Vasi’s gaze.

  Vasi wanted to make some sort of explanation, but it was too late. The next couple approached the royal family, and heavy disappointment tore a gaping chasm through Vasi’s heart, and her childish hopes ebbed away.

  Former friend, indeed.

  Marika, Roza, and Vasi each curtsied and then stepped away from the dais and into the crowd. The gathering courtiers swallowed them, and Marika turned to Vasi, blue eyes filled with rage. Marika clenched her jaw and stepped closer, the older woman’s lavender perfume saturating the air between them, and she hissed, “You humiliated Roza.”

  “You humiliated me,” Roza whined, pushing her lower lip out as she echoed her mother’s words.

  Vasi refused to take the blame when their presence ruined everything. “You humiliated yourself.”

  Marika lifted her hand, and Vasi flinched, expecting the now familiar slap, but Marika caught herself, patting her headdress instead.

  “Do I truly have a full dance card? I don’t know a single person here who isn’t on the dais,” Vasi said as she stared out at the dance floor where couples were lining up in pairs. She’d not considered what would happen after she saw Nikolai, and unease crawled through her now.

  “You do have a full dance card,” Marika said, a smug smile spreading across her crimson lips.

  Vasi’s unease solidified in the pit of her stomach.

  “You both have full dance cards,” Marika said, pulling out the small booklets from the cleavage of her bodice.

  Vasi hesitated, swallowing the disgust burning the back of her throat, before taking hers.

  Roza squealed as she read hers, her excitement heightening her beauty. “Two waltzes with Prince Nikolai and one with Prince Henryk. Lord Lodje. Lord Dalke. Thank you, Mama!”

  Vasi looked at her card and blinked. But the scribbled names didn’t change, and she held it out to Marika, saying, “There’s some mistake here.”

  Marika shook her head and waved her hand dismissively, her attention still on Roza. “No mistake.”

  “There’s only one name in there,” Vasi said as she looked down at the two-dozen lines. Emeroi Baine was scrawled on each one.

  5

  “He paid me ten gold pieces to occupy your entire dance card,” Marika said, “Wasn’t that generous? Since your father still hasn’t returned, our needs are not being met.”

  Horror washed over Vasi, her stomach roiling. A rabid dog was more appealing than the duke. Shaking her head, she declared, “I won’t dance with him.”

  “How very selfish—” Marika began, her volume rising with each word.

  “Would you make a scene in my ballroom at my ball?” Lord Baine snapped, glaring at Marika as he sidled up to their group. He stepped in front of Vasi, placing his hands on her shoulders, and his eyes heated. “I’m surprised by your choice of attire tonight, Vasilisa.”

  “I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” she said and then gritted her teeth.

  He tightened his hold and tried to lead her toward the dance floor, but she wiggled, wanting to escape.

  “Let go of me,” she demanded. “I don’t care what that card says; I will not dance with you.”

  He halted, leaning in. “Either I take you to the dance floor, or I’ll escort you out of the ballroom, Vasilisa. I’ll find satisfaction either way, but I’ll let you decide. Until the orchestra plays its final measure, you belong to me.”

  “No, I don’t, and I’m not afraid of causing a scene.” She nodded at the courtiers around them, only to find them studiously looking away.

  “I am not afraid of a scene, either.” He glanced down at her dress and whispered, “Right now, I’d rather welcome one. Then there’s no excuse to stay. That dress is hideous.”

  Vasi glanced down at her dated dress and back to his face, trying to grasp the meaning behind his words.

  “Why would you care about my dress, Your Grace?” Vasi asked. She was on the edge of a precipice but had no idea why or how she’d arrived there, and every fiber in her being ached to flee.

  “I do not like when people try to claim what’s mine,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

  What? Vasi frowned and said, “What are you even talking about?”

  Emeroi Baine only stared at her, and after a few moments, the anger visibly drained from his face. He ran a hand through his dark hair while he still held her other shoulder tight. His grip loosened, and he pinched the material of her sleeve, rubbing it between his fingers. “I do not like this dress on you.”

  “Well, you bought all of my other dresses.” She choked the words out, the truth of them slithering through her like a repellant serpent.

  He didn’t respond to her statement, instead saying, “We’re leaving the ball. Now.”

  “You’re forcing me out?” She’d be relieved if she didn’t feel like she was jumping from the frying pan into the fire. “Where are you taking me?”

  “I’ll take you . . . to my carriage,” he said. He grabbed her arm again, tugging her alongside him, though his action was less forceful this time.

  “I can walk fine on my own.” Vasi pulled from the duke’s grip, and they paced side by side out of the ballroom, garnering a few interested glances along the way. Nausea mixed with her panic, and Vasi glanced back at the dais, hoping for help. Her heart sunk; only the tsar and the young woman remained, the latter sitting on the tsar’s lap.

  Vasi followed the duke out of the room and then out of the castle, her mind reeling. Each step pushed the panic higher in her chest, but Vasi’s mind stuttered incoherently for some way to escape.

  Outside, the torches battled to stay alight, their fire whipping about in the chilly spring wind. Vasi hugged her arms, rubbing the gooseflesh as the duke led her toward a carriage. Servants stood stationed along the stairway, and a coachman perched atop the seat, but their presence gave little relief as, just like those attending the ball, they all stared studiously away from Vasi and the duke. As if their lives depended on discretion.

  At the bottom of the stair, Lord Baine broke the silence. “My patience is growing thin, Vasilisa.”

  “I see. I’ll take my leave of you, Your Grace. Goodnight.” Vasi dipped into a shallow curtsy, bending to what etiquette demanded, and turned to the open carriage.

  Lord Baine grabbed her arm and yanked her back as he growled. “Vasilisa.”

  Vasi raised a hand, ready to hit the duke, and opened her mouth to scream, but only a whimper escaped. She recoiled, blinking at the vision before her. Lord Baine’s face twisted and distorted, his skin turned sickly, and hollows appeared under his eyes and cheeks. He raised his hands, but his fingers melted into twisted and mangled chains, the links writhing as he reached for her.

  Vasi stumbled back, and with another blink, the vision shifted, the chains disappearing, and the duke’s handsome young features returned. Vasi’s mind blanked, and she stood rooted and dumbfound as Lord Baine boxed her in. “Vasilisa.”

  “What—What?” She shrank from him, gasping for breath as panic took over.

  “Emeroi,” a man called, his rapid footsteps tapping his pace down the steps.

  Vasi didn’t recognize the voice but sagged with relief as the duke turned away.

  Lord Baine stepped back as Prince Henryk stepped into the light. As in the throne room, a smug smile was fixed on his lips, and he took in the s
cene as if there were nothing wrong and continued, “I was looking for you, cousin. My father asked to speak with you about some special guests. Apparently you have the keys to these guests’ rooms, and he would like to show them some hospitality.” His gaze flickered to Vasi then back to Lord Baine. “That is if he doesn’t take Lord Farris’s wife to a room first.” The prince gestured out toward the castle. “He’s starting to make a scene, and I thought you would want to know.”

  “Yes, of course,” Lord Baine replied with a frown. He looked at Vasi, his gaze dropping to her dress and then rising to her lips. “I was just seeing the Viscountess’s daughter to her carriage. But the tsar’s desires must be attended to first.”

  Henryk glanced at Vasi, and his eyes tightened before he turned his attention back to his cousin. “If you’ll see to my father, I’ll see the young lady safely off.”

  Lord Baine hesitated for a moment, his attention fastened on Vasi. He sighed and said, “Yes, of course, Highness. I wouldn’t keep the tsar waiting.” Turning on his heel, he headed in great strides toward the mansion, the tails of his coat trailing behind as he called out, “I’ll see you very soon, Vasilisa.”

  “Not if I can help it,” Vasi mumbled as she watched the duke’s retreating figure, not feeling safe until he vanished beyond the great arches of his courtyard.

  “Nikolai’s friend, aren’t you?” Prince Henryk asked. He leaned against the carriage, regarding her through narrowed eyes. Vasi started, earning another smirk from the prince, and then he asked, “Are you afraid he’s going to return?”

  “No. I mean, yes.” Still not thinking clearly, she blurted, “I could have sworn I saw his hands had chains extending from his fingers, and his face was . . .” She held up her hands as her brain caught up with her mouth. Not only did she sound cracked, she was confiding in the dark prince of all people. “Apologies, Highness. Please forget what I just said.”

  Prince Henryk stared at her with singular focus, as though for the first time this evening, she’d captured his full attention. The silence between them stretched, and he raised his eyebrows as if he were waiting. When she remained silent, he said, “I would advise against telling people my cousin is a grotesque monster.”

  “I-I wasn’t planning to, Your Highness,” she stammered, feeling the blood drain away from her face. How could she say such a strange thing about the prince’s kin?

  He raised his hands, his gaze narrowing when she instinctively flinched. “Vasi, is it? Please, don’t be frightened of me. I’m merely suggesting you be careful what you say and to whom. And, I strongly suggest you stay away from Emeroi, as in don’t be alone with him . . . or my father. Ever.” After kicking off the carriage, he walked around the front of it and nodded toward the dark grounds. “Come walk with me, calm your nerves.”

  Vasi automatically took a step to follow but then hesitated. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Your Highness. I’ve only just escaped one improper . . . encounter.”

  He chuckled, but this time there was no mirth in the sound. He held up his hands and said, “I swear I will not act in any way that would compromise your honor—”

  “I wasn’t suggesting you would,” she said before realizing she’d not only interrupted a prince, she’d called him a lecher to his face. “This is not my night,” she muttered to herself and then looked at him and said, “I didn’t mean to imply anything about you.”

  “Here.” He unlatched his scabbard and sword and then held it out to her. “Take this for your protection. If I do anything improper, you can run me through. No one need ever know you took a not-at-all-improper walk with me.”

  Vasi very much doubted anonymity as there were guards and footmen around the carriage and the yard, but the prospect of returning home to sit alone in her room with her thoughts made her latch the scabbard belt around her waist as she followed the prince into the dark night.

  “How is it I can’t remember seeing you when Nikolai and I played?” Vasi asked as she rushed across the garden path, lifting her skirts as she stepped over the early summer blooms. The perfume of fresh flowers and moist dirt permeated the air. The waxing moon hovered just over the horizon, its silvery light glowing over the grounds. “Why didn’t you ever join us?”

  Henryk slowed, and as he turned back, Vasi saw his jaw clench. She dropped her gaze and saw his fisted hands relax. When she glanced up, his increasingly familiar smirk was fixed on his chiseled face.

  “If I remember correctly,” he said, “you and Nikolai usually played outside or in the stables, almost never in the castle. And in all the times you visited, you only ever had eyes for my brother.”

  Her cheeks heated, and she was grateful for the cover of darkness.

  They passed into the garden in silence, and eventually, Prince Henryk halted by a fountain, taking a seat on the stone edge. The water splashed, and the night air cooled, reminding Vasi she didn’t belong here.

  “Did you want to speak with me?” Vasi asked warily as she stopped beside him. Had his actions been intentional, and if so, for what purpose?

  “Not particularly,” he said, patting the spot next to him. “Would you like to sit beside me?”

  The offer made her insides squirm, and she tried to think of a way to refuse the prince.

  After an awkward moment, Henryk added, “I promise not to do anything indecent. If you’d like, you may draw my sword, just in case.”

  Blowing out a breath, she settled a couple feet away from him. “It’s not your honor in question, sire. Even if you act completely appropriately, this encounter could earn me a world of censure, and the last thing I need in my life is more censure.”

  Leaning forward, he looked into her eyes, and though shadows consumed his features, Vasi felt the intensity of his attention.

  “From your stepmother in particular?” he asked with a grimace. “She seems like a pain in the ass.”

  A snicker bubbled out of Vasi, the humor a foreign sensation to her lips. She’d never heard anyone openly insult the Viscountess, and Vasi murmured, “She is that.”

  “Would you like me to have her banished to Temavy?”

  The prince’s words sparked an eagerness within Vasi’s heart, and she leaned toward him and asked, “Do you have the power to do that?”

  “No,” he said with a chuckle, though his gaze remained intense. “I definitely do not.”

  “Then you shouldn’t tease me with the offer.” She huffed with disappointment.

  Henryk watched her with a furrowed brow. “I just wanted to say something to make you smile again.”

  “Well, thank you for that,” Vasi said. Her shoulders relaxed, and she sighed. “Even if it wasn’t in earnest. Alas, without your aid, I’ll just have to wait out my stepmother’s moods, avoid her notice as well as your cousin’s, oh, and your father’s until my papa returns.” She’d started her sentence in jest, but by the time she finished, she exhaled a long breath, realizing the impossibility of what she proposed. “It’ll be . . . fine.”

  “It doesn’t sound like the best plan if you ask me. Can you stay with someone: an aunt or cousin, perhaps?”

  “No.” She couldn’t. Vasi’s father had no siblings, and her mother had been raised in Zelena, and the whole of that country was now behind a wall. Vasi forced a smile and said, “Don’t worry about me, Your Highness. I’ll be fine. Thank you, though, for your concern.”

  The prince lapsed into silence, and his furrow returned, a stark contrast to the lull of water splashing and crickets chirping.

  Vasilisa was just about to ask for permission to be excused when the prince asked, “May I ask you something?”

  “You just did,” she replied, and then she shook her head. “Sorry, I have no manners to speak of. Please, go ahead.”

  The prince directed a grim smile at their feet. “Do you think my brother will make a better tsar than our father?”

  Vasi’s smile slid off her face. The treasonous undertone and way Henryk had asked his question made her answer f
eel vital. If tonight was any indication, the tsar had an obvious weakness for wine and beautiful women, even if that woman was married to another man.

  “Yes,” she whispered. She met his gaze in the moonlight and held it. “At least, I think so. Your brother cares about the people of Beloch . . . or at least he did back when I knew him.” Is this why he’d brought her out here?

  The dark-haired prince pursed his lips as he watched her.

  “But what do I know of these things?” she asked, forcing a laugh.

  He took a deep breath and rose. Offering his hand, he said, “More than most, I think.”

  She accepted his help. His warm and calloused fingers wrapped around hers, and he brushed his thumb over the back of her hand, sending a thrill of pleasure up her arm with the kind touch.

  “Are you cold?” he asked, tugging her closer. He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, resting his hand atop hers, and then led her back toward the carriage.

  It’s dark, she reasoned; he only held her close so she wouldn’t trip. Her heart danced a waltz in her chest, and she was hyper-aware of the feel of his skin. As soon as they exited the garden, she tugged her hand away.

  He peered at her, his lips pulling up into his familiar sardonic smile.

  “Thank you, sire. I can see now. And here . . .” She fumbled a moment before unhooking his sword and scabbard, and then she held it out to him. Giving him another curtsy, much deeper this time, she said, “Thank you very much, Highness, for your time. I appreciate you seeing me off.”

  Bidding her traitorous heart to behave, she rushed past him and climbed into the carriage, turning just in time to see the door close.

  He leaned in the window, moonlight illuminating half of his face in a soft glow. “I’ll tell my brother you’re safe, Vasilisa. He’s the one who sent me after you. He saw Lord Baine take you out of the ball and wanted to make sure you were unharmed.”

  “Oh.” Vasi sat back on the velvet cushion as a small bud of hollow disappointment blossomed in her chest, quelling the silliness that had been rampant there moments before. Why had she thought Henryk, a prince she didn’t even know, would come to save her? Of course he was only doing his brother’s bidding. Prince Nikolai would be too busy to come to her aid as the celebration was on his behalf. Vasi fixed her gaze on her skirt and smoothed her hands over the wrinkled fabric. “Thank you for passing on the message.”