Labyrinth Gate by Kate Elliott
“I am intrigued, your highness, by what I can only deduce from that proposal must be your opinion of me. As you know, I am already betrothed.”
“To a chit of a non-titled girl with no connections—not even a beauty, I have heard. You know perfectly well that she can be disposed of quite easily.”
“Of course I know it,” he said. “It is one of her chief attributes. But let me be frank. I have no interest in the Princess Georgiana, and less in the throne. I do have an interest in Pariamne. My intended bride gives me complete leverage to indulge that interest. Try to harm her in any way, and I will use every means at my disposal to injure you in return.” He sketched the slightest of bows. “Your highness.”
She smiled. “Have we descended to threats already?” she asked. “Is there no middle ground we can agree on? Tell me the location of the city. You know I do not possess enough liquid funds to buy out your interest from this professor. Instead, I will send a few of my own people, discreetly. They will not interfere with your expedition in any way.”
“As I said before, I am not at liberty to disclose any information about the expedition.”
Her eyes narrowed, a look meant to pierce even the iciest hauteur. “Surely your duty to your Regent supersedes that to a mere professor!”
“Undoubtedly it does,” he replied, unperturbed. “But it does not supersede my duty to myself. Do you not know the motto on the Elen crest, your highness? ‘Build first thine own estate.’”
“Are we so different, Lord Elen?” Her tone became more soothing. “Are the sources of our power so utterly opposed? By joining forces we can gain the more.”
The earl smiled for the first time, a grim expression indeed. “Somehow, I doubt you appreciate the source of my power—and might disbelieve it if you knew. I think there is no point in our joining forces.”
“None at all?” she asked sweetly.
“None. With your leave, your highness—” He inclined his head.
“I had hoped for better, Lord Elen. But I must respect your refusal. You have my leave to go.”
His bow was curt, but not disrespectful. He turned and with almost preternatural grace left the chamber.
She mused in front of the fire for some time, examining the flames again as if in hope of seeing those arcane creatures he had seemingly called from their depths. Nothing appeared.
At last she moved to the bell pull and rang it. A servant appeared immediately. “Send Nastagmas,” she commanded.
The elderly man appeared within a few minutes, giving a low bow in the doorway.
“Ah, Nastagmas.” She watched him make a careful circuit of the room, checking the two doors and the windows. “You were right. The earl has refused my overtures.”
The thin face registered no surprise. He nodded merely.
“I must accomplish all the spell on my own, then, and in such a way that I am never forced to forswear myself and thus jeopardize my power.”
“So the boy will be doubly necessary, then.”
“Yes.” She turned sharply to face him. “The boy is still safely disposed?”
“Yes, highness. The loyalty of the factory owner will not waver. The boy is safe on all counts, and easily retrievable, but not easily found should any seek him deliberately.”
“Good. Now. I must find one person in this expedition whom I can bribe to act as my agent. I have, therefore, two tasks for you.” She fingered the gold brocade of the chair again, relishing the sensuous roughness of the fabric and stitching. “First, find me one who can be bribed. Not the bride, I think. Unless she is stronger than I imagine, the earl will quickly penetrate all her defenses and control her easily. But her father, perhaps, if his obsession extends far enough. You said he has a secretary. Any others connected with the expedition—one of them has a price that can be met. Bring me that person.”
“Yes, highness.”
“Yes,” she echoed. “Then, I want you to hire on as a laborer. Can it be done?”
He considered. “They are hiring laborers from Heffield, it is true, highness. Offering rich wages, but still not finding all the workers they need. I am strong, but perhaps they look only for younger folk.”
“I can augment your strength and give you the illusion of youth, an illusion none but the earl will be able to penetrate.”
“Then, highness, as a common laborer I will simply take care never to come to the earl’s notice.”
“Not a difficult task, I expect. I will arrange a means of communication. And order a troop of soldiers to be stationed in that area. All this I can accomplish—just find me an agent within the group accompanying the expedition. How soon do they leave?”
“Two weeks, highness.”
“Then let us start without delay.” She removed her hand from the chair. Her eyes seemed brighter—almost as if lit from within. “Bring two of the boys to my chamber. I will layer the spells on you, starting tonight—that will afford you better protection.”
“Highness.” He bowed and left the room.
She stopped before the window again, rubbing her hands together slowly. Outside, in the great courtyard, the Princess Georgiana walked sedately along one of the paved pathways. Her two young siblings, followed by their elderly governess, trailed behind. Georgiana held in her hand a book. Her face was serious; her lips moved. She seemed to be reading aloud.
“A disgrace.” The Regent stared down with a dispassionate eye on the domestic scene. “That after so many years, the succession should pass out of the female line. It is impossible that those bovine children are William’s seed. I always suspected that that little cow of a provincial princess got her children by other men. A disgrace!” She jerked away from the window. “Passing through the male line, indeed! What a ridiculous notion. This would never have happened in my grandmother’s time. Well.” She paused in front of the small glass above the mantelpiece and examined herself critically. Not a beauty, but she had good features augmented by a fine figure and an air of authority and sensuality that was absorbing, to both men and women.
“And my mother’s features.” Her voice was soft. “None of which I see in those children. They must not inherit.” She turned from the glass, thinking of the task she had set herself for this evening. “Ah, well,” she sighed, letting her tongue moisten her lips in anticipation. “By one means or the other I will gain the treasure of the labyrinth and with it the power to dispose of Georgiana without incriminating myself.” She smiled, sly and satisfied. “And without even killing her. There will be no broken oath on which to break my power. And once Georgiana is gone, and I remain in a position of trust, I will have many years to determine the fate of the other two. And to cover my tracks equally well.”
She smoothed out her skirts a final time, and left the room.
Chapter 9:
The Sacrifice
IT WAS MORE SPECTACLE than wedding, but when such an event involves the most notorious nobleman in the realm, that must be expected.
Folk from all walks of life lined the streets leading to the church, eager to see the parade of fine carriages and rich clothing of those holding invitations to the event itself.
There was at first a good deal of speculation on whether or not the Church would allow the wedding to be held within its sacraments. After all, it was well known, depending on whom you spoke to, that the earl was an active worshipper of the Daughter or that he believed in Heaven and Hell not at all. In general, it could not be decided which was worse.
But when the carriage bearing the boss of the bishop of Heffield passed, there could be no doubt: the Church had, either out of coercion or of generosity and hope, sanctioned the marriage. In general, public sentiment sympathized with the bride, whom it was commonly felt must have been forced into the match by horrible and unthinkable means.
“I feel like we’re in a procession,” said Chryse as their carriage made its slow way down the final avenue that led to the church of St. Lucias the Fallen. She watched the crowds as the carriage inc
“And so it is, my dear.” Lady Trent adjusted her gloves for the fourth time. “So are all weddings, though only the largest ones betray it so obviously.” She regarded the massed faces that in their turn regarded these half-concealed forms inside the passing carriages. “Ceremony is what binds us together. Isn’t that true?”
Kate yawned. “Lost again,” she said to no one in particular. “I had good money riding on whether they’d approach St. Lucias’s by Mexton Street or Eberton Square.”
Chryse choked back a surprised laugh. “Kate! you gambled on which street the procession would take?” She exchanged a glance with Lady Trent, but it was only disbelieving on her side. “I hope you didn’t lose much.”
Kate did not reply, but she looked morose.
Lady Trent cleared her throat discreetly. “Miss Cathcart’s debts are not, I believe, a proper subject for conversation on such an occasion. Miss Charity Farr looked well, don’t you think?”
“Quite beautiful,” agreed Chryse. “Although I still don’t understand why Maretha chose to ride in that awful grand carriage rather than with her father and cousin. I would think the journey would be hard enough for her without doing it alone. I even offered to ride with her.”
“It is an old custom,” Lady Trent explained. “The bride, having chosen, must then make her way solitarily out of the house of her mother—the church has sanctioned the custom forever, although like the high church holidays I believe it a holdover from pagan times. But the church has always proved adaptable at absorbing those customs that folk are least likely to be willing to cast off when they embrace a new religion.”
“Rather heretical of you to say so, Lady Trent,” said Kate.
“Is it?” asked Lady Trent. She smiled in such a way that one could but speculate on what heresies she might have indulged in and cast off in the span of her very long life. “Tell me, Madame Lissagaray: I was curious to know who was that man you were entertaining in the parlour day before last. It quite slipped my mind, what with all the fuss.”
Chryse had to think a moment before she could remember. “Oh yes!” She shook her head. Lady Trent’s dresser had put her blonde hair up in a style called La Hellenika; a few light curls hung down over the shoulder of her gown. “Rather a case of mistaken identity. I thought at first he was the elder brother of one of my students. But then he seemed more interested in the expedition to Pariamne, and it was quite the oddest thing—I almost thought he was—how do you say it—just skirting the issue of whether or not I could be bribed to reveal some information about the expedition. Evidently he decided I couldn’t be, for he soon excused himself and left.” She shrugged, a movement copied from her husband.
“Ah.” Lady Trent smiled. “I did wonder.”
“What?” Chryse laughed suddenly. “About my entertaining strange men? But I’m married.”
“Well,” continued Lady Trent, “it is understood amongst our class that marriages are usually contracted for practical rather than romantic reasons. Such—ah—entertainment is neither unusual nor frowned upon, as long as it is discreet.”
“Oh dear.” Chryse grinned. “How exhausting. Would it be unfashionable of me to admit that ours was a—how would you call it—a love match?”
“Quite unfashionable. You must not spoil the illusion by revealing that particular fact to anyone else.”
Kate laughed.
“I assure you we will attempt to be discreet,” replied Chryse. “But it was a strange visit. Sanjay told me later that he had also been approached, quite openly, by an elderly man about acting as an agent, for some third party, to give them information about the expedition. So obviously someone else is interested, but not quite in an open way. Do you suppose there really is a fortune in gold there? That would explain it.”
“Wherever there is.” Lady Trent regarded Chryse thoughtfully. “Only remember to keep it in mind when you are travelling. The very word ‘treasure’ turns many a good soul into a bad one.”
Kate laughed suddenly. “If there is a fortune in gold,” she said, “perhaps I ought to go. Recoup my losses. Julian is all up in the trees to be going, now. Although he really hasn’t had a direct invitation from the earl yet. But I’m sure he’d frank me. Good old chap that he is.”
Lady Trent turned her shrewd gaze on the younger woman. “The earl or my nephew?”
“Bloody hell! Julian, of course.”
Lady Trent smiled again at some tidbit of knowledge only she seemed aware of.
Chryse stared out the carriage window. A sea of faces stared back; not really specifically at her, but the very number of them overwhelmed her. The carriage began the long loop that led into the square fronting St. Lucias’s.
Lady Trent and Kate had lapsed into an extremely disrespectful conversation regarding the possible chance of attendance by any of the royal family. Chryse considered them with half her attention. Not for the first time, she wondered how she and Sanjay could possibly find and claim a treasure that uncounted others, known and now unknown, were also seeking. A treasure that was not only more legend than fact, but one that they had only a mage’s word existed at all. She sighed and wondered how Sanjay was getting on in his part in this wedding.
“Heaven help us.” Julian took another sip of brandy. “I’d swear this must be foreign. Probably smuggled in from across the Channel.”
“Julian,” said Sanjay slowly. “Am I drinking too much or is there something moving in the fire?” He lifted one hand, palm out and open, cautionary. “Lean forward slowly and look.”
“You’ve scarcely drunk a third of your glass.” Nevertheless, Julian did as he was told. He shook his head. “Fine flames, but not a thing more. We’ll have to work on your head for liquor.”
But Sanjay continued to examine the fire that shot up in the large hearth. It was the eyes, really, that had caught his attention first. In the lick and spit of flame pinpoints of darkness formed and held. Eyes, peering out at him, or perhaps seeing some other sight entirely, one human eyes could not hope to see. As each pair of eyes, black and intelligent, shifted, he began to make out a form as well: here the lifting of a tiny red-gold hand, there a claw tipped with scintillations. He became aware, too, of whisperings, a hush of speech as if spoken just under the breath, blending with the snap of the fire.
All at once he saw, quite clearly, a shape curled in the embers, underlying the main flush of flame. It glowed with the same bright heat as the fire. Its long tail curled in and around itself. Brilliant eyes stared unblinking back at him.
“Bloody hell!” swore Julian suddenly. He set down his glass with an abrupt jar that jerked Sanjay’s attention from the fire. “It’s a damned salamander,” Julian hissed. He stood up. “This whole bloody house must be infested with magic.” Quick, nervous strides took him to the door where he halted, turned, and paced back to his chair. He downed the rest of his brandy in one gulp.
The salamander sat utterly still in its haven of flame. The other creatures continued to whisper and move.
“What I don’t understand,” said Sanjay softly so as not to disturb them, “is why the earl asked you and me to accompany him. I understand that a bridegroom customarily has two male attendants, but why us? Doesn’t he have any relatives? Or old friends—I don’t know—from growing up, from school? Surely he can’t be so solitary a man that we two, scarcely two months met and with just the Pariamne expedition in common, are the closest comrades he can find?”
There was a silence. The fire whispered and crackled.
Julian finally shrugged. “Maybe we are. Who that is the worse for I can’t say. I just hope he agrees to let me go along with the expedition.”
“What made you decide you wanted to go?” asked Sanjay, standing up now as well and venturing closer to the fire. The salamander’s tail flicked slightly, almost like a dog’s tentative wag.
Julian picked up the bottle of brandy from the sideboard and considered it and hi
The salamander flicked its tail again, and disappeared.
“Look,” said Sanjay. “It’s—No. Now they’re all gone.”
A noise at the door. Both men turned, a little quickly, and the door opened to admit the earl.
He was dressed so faultlessly in dark coat and trousers, brilliantly white cravat and perfect coiffure, that for a moment the costume took all attention from the utter coldness of his expression.
“Lord Vole. Monsieur Mukerji.” His voice was toneless. “You honor me with your acceptance of my request.”
Julian bowed.
Sanjay ventured a smile. “The honor is ours,” he said with his usual good humor.
Humorless eyes turned on him, but for an instant Sanjay thought he spied an expression in them: curiosity. It lasted, however, only for a moment. “Is it?” The earl’s gaze shifted to Julian, who looked uncomfortable. “Lord Vole,” he said softly. “I understand you wish to accompany the expedition. I have no objections.”
Julian bowed again, in acknowledgement, but did not trust himself to speak.
“Now,” continued the earl, pulling on spotless white gloves. “Shall we go?”
They went outside without speaking. A silent servant opened the door into a well-made but featureless carriage, not even the Elen crest on the outside to mark its ownership.
Sanjay, last to get in, glanced back at the earl’s house. In a high window, a curtain moved. He paused. A face, white and inhuman, insubstantial as a wraith’s, fluttered for a moment at the glass. Vanished. So brief it could have been merely a trick of the light.
As he settled into the seat beside Julian he felt the earl’s gaze on him, and turned his own to meet it. The earl’s eyes reminded him quite suddenly of the void of space, absorbing all light, or perhaps concealing depths so great that light simply diffused into nothing within it.
“It is as well,” said the earl quite suddenly, “that you and I are working together on this expedition, Monsieur Mukerji.”