Chapter 21
Solange stood in the middle of the great ballroom of L’Hôtel de Vernoux. Hundreds of candles lit the space. They were not needed now, as the sun had just set and its refracted light still filtered through the doors and windows. But twilight would soon follow, and the ballroom would blaze with the candlelight. But instead of the kaleidoscope of many dancers moving to the musical airs of an orchestra that should fill the space, the room would be used for another reason entirely. In the empty room, one incongruous item signaled what that reason was. A rack of rapiers stood against one wall.
At one end of the ballroom, doors were open to the garden, but no fairy lights lit the walkways. This was not an evening for lovers to stroll, for gentlemen to linger while they made wagers or exchanged secrets. This was a night for subterfuge, for a farce to be performed, for a desperate plot to unfold. This was the night she would duel with Antonio.
The irony nearly made her break out into hysterical laughter. Once, she had thought to have Antonio duel with Vernoux in the hope the Italian duke would do away with the man who tormented her. The Italian duke was so much more to her now. He was Tonio. Shadow. And not. He was the man she loved.
A breeze shifted the filmy curtains framing the open doors. The air was warm and muggy. She was glad she had decided against wearing the waistcoat and jacket. Her shirt and the cloth strips binding her breasts would be drenched by the end of this night, however it ended—either in her sweat or her blood. Despite the warmth of the air, she shivered.
Footsteps echoed in the hall beyond the ballroom, and Vernoux appeared in the doorway. The bandage on his hand was bloody. It had been bleeding ever since he had backhanded her.
“Solange,” he said with a cruel smile. “I see you are anxious to meet your opponent.”
She did not bother to answer as he stepped into the room. Gide followed, and she was surprised to see the man known as The Messenger enter behind.
“Why are they here?” she asked Vernoux.
“Because I wish them to be,” Vernoux snapped.
“Why not invite all your cronies, like Gravois?” she snapped, her anxiety overcoming her good sense. “Especially Gravois, since he so enjoys tattling tales to you.”
Vernoux glowered and his mouth twisted in distaste. “Gravois is nothing.” His gaze turned chill and vicious. “Beware what you say, ma petite putain.”
The Messenger took a step forward. “I am witness to the proceedings, mademoiselle,” he said quietly, diffusing the tension. His clear blue gaze pinned her for a moment before his dark lashes swept down as he gave a slight bow. “The Legion of Baal has great interest in the life of the Duke of Auriano.”
Of course. The Legion wanted the pieces of the Sphere of Astarte as much as the members of the House of Auriano. The Legion would be very interested if one of their rivals were eliminated.
The Messenger spoke again. “The Lord High has forbidden the members of the Legion from doing away with any of the House of Auriano. Because the Marquis de Vernoux is not himself dueling with Auriano, I have allowed this duel to proceed on that technicality. If you do not kill the duke, then I must bring him before the Lord High so that he himself may have the satisfaction of the Italian duke’s death.”
Solange felt her stomach clench and turn over at the implications of the man’s words. She nearly vomited. No matter the outcome of this night, both she and Antonio would be dead. She had not known that the head of the Legion of Baal wanted his death. Even if by some miracle both she and Antonio managed to stay alive, they would still have The Messenger to deal with. She surmised the man was much more deadly than his mild manner implied. Despite the fact that he had warned her against touching the Crystal Dagger, she did not think he would hesitate to kill her if she attempted to thwart his intent. Something about him spoke of cool ruthlessness.
She turned from those clear blue eyes and looked to Gide, whom she had asked to stay away. He stood beside Vernoux and did not appear to notice her presence at all. His gaze was focused on something beyond the confines of the room, as if he watched a scene in the distance, or as if he could sense something coming and was merely waiting for it to arrive. The Crystal Dagger was stuck into the waistband of his breeches and pulsed softly as if it also waited.
“Gide,” she said, wanting to draw his attention, have him acknowledge her.
His darkened eyes flicked to her, then away, as if he did not know her. The Dagger had him tight in its thrall.
The sound of more footsteps approached the entrance to the ballroom. One set stumbled as if being rushed and pushed off balance. Le Chacal and Antonio. Solange caught her bottom lip between her teeth as a twinge of apprehension slid through her. She was reluctant to see what condition Antonio would be in when he appeared. She wondered if he would even be capable of holding a rapier, never mind dancing in a duel.
Her question was answered when he appeared in the doorway. He stood straight, tall, relaxed as if he had never been Le Chacal’s prisoner. Of course. She should have known he would be able to survive and outwit the outlaw. She remembered he had once mentioned he healed very quickly. His tormentor, Le Chacal, stood smugly beside him with Le Marteau and Roux looming behind.
Antonio’s wrists were bound at his back. He met her eyes and bowed awkwardly. “Solange,” he murmured, her name a caress.
His voice curled around her and surrounded her heart. He had saved her by giving himself up to Le Chacal. She loved this man and would do anything to keep him safe.
“Ah, we are all here,” Vernoux said grandly. “Wonderful. Then let us begin. We will watch from here.”
He had already moved to the low raised platform where normally the orchestra would be situated during a ball. The Messenger stood slightly apart from him. Gide stood on Vernoux’s other side. Le Chacal untied Antonio’s wrists but kept a hand wrapped around his arm. With a jerk of his head, he dismissed his two thugs. He and Antonio remained just inside the entrance to the ballroom.
“So, Solange, Auriano is here, ready to fence with you,” Vernoux said. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
As Antonio rubbed circulation back into his wrists, he glanced at Solange. His brows went up in a silent, surprised question. Le Chacal had evidently not told him the reason for his presence, and Solange could not bring herself to inform him.
The small bundle stuck in the back waistband of her breeches suddenly seemed much larger and heavier than it was. She could feel Antonio’s gaze, but she would not meet his eyes. Her mind scrambled for a reason to delay, to keep possession of the piece of the Sphere of Astarte. It belonged to Antonio, not Vernoux and his Legion of Baal. She had brought it not because she knew Vernoux would ask for it, but in the hope of being able to pass it to Antonio.
At her hesitation, Vernoux made a sound of impatience. “Come, come, Solange. I know you have it.”
Still, she made no move to give it to him. She desperately wanted some way to refuse. If she relinquished the object that would cure Antonio, she would hate herself more than she already did for what she was about to do.
Vernoux frowned in displeasure. He stretched out his arm toward Gide. Solange watched, appalled, as her brother pulled the Crystal Dagger from his waistband and turned the point toward his chest.
The marquis focused his attention on Solange. “I would prefer not to have to kill your brother, ma petite putain, and I am sure you would prefer to have him alive.”
Horrified chills swept down her back. She did not dare use her power against Vernoux, for she was afraid of what would happen to Gide. “Don’t,” she croaked. “Please don’t.” Hoping she could find some way to get the piece of the Sphere to Antonio, she took the small bundle from its hiding place.
While Vernoux kept one arm extended toward Gide, he held out his other hand to her. Avarice glittered in his eyes. “Bring it here,” he ordered.
Slowly, Solange stepped forward. Perhaps she could slip the piece of the Sphere to Antonio as she passed. She headed in his direction as if she merely wished to speak to him. As she neared him, his face paled, and his lips tightened. She remembered his severe reaction to the piece when they had been in the Catacombs. She wondered again why something that was supposed to cure his curse could have such an adverse effect on him. Her steps faltered. If she passed the piece to Antonio, she feared it would weaken him too much to be able to defend himself.
“Solange.” Vernoux’s voice, threatening in its deadly calm, echoed across the open space.
She halted. Vernoux’s hand twisted, and Gide pushed the Dagger towards his chest.
“To me, Solange,” Vernoux ordered silkily. “Don’t force me to kill your dear brother prematurely.”
Reluctantly, she turned her footsteps toward the platform where he stood. She did not dare look at Antonio, but she could feel his stoic dismay as she passed. As much as the piece made him ill, it was still his legacy and should be in his possession. His gaze felt like chilly fingers on her back.
Sorrow bled through her. She wanted Antonio to do something, say something, reassure her that he understood. He remained silent.
She placed the bundle containing the piece of the Sphere in Vernoux’s outstretched hand. He unwrapped the cloth to reveal the intricate piece of amber.
“Why, that’s—” Le Chacal exclaimed, obviously recognizing it. “You stole it.” He flung his angry accusation between her and Antonio. Then he clamped his lips together when Vernoux aimed his cruel gaze at him. The King of the Thieves fell back a step.
Before Vernoux could close his fingers around the piece, The Messenger swept it from his palm. “I will keep this to be sure it reaches the Lord High,” he said.
Vernoux swung to The Messenger. Fury mottled his cheeks.
The Messenger pocketed the piece and calmly met the rage of the marquis. “It is, after all, at the pleasure of the Lord High and for our common goal that we search for it,” he said.
Vernoux visibly struggled to contain his anger. Finally, with a swallow and a breath, he nodded once. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “Please convey it with my compliments to the Lord High.” He scowled at Solange. “Let’s get this farce over with,” he snapped.
Solange wiped her palms down the sides of her breeches, then turned in the direction of the rack of rapiers. “Come,” she said to Antonio with a small gesture. “Please choose a weapon.”
She kept her attention on the blades, but she heard his footsteps trail her across the polished floor of the ballroom. Those steps sounded different somehow, not quite so sure and strong as usual, but perhaps that was only her imagination. She sensed his presence, commanding and confident, next to her as she pulled one of the weapons from the rack.
“What is this about, Solange?” he asked quietly.
“Didn’t Le Chacal tell you?” she said, keeping her tone light. She risked a peek at him. Now that he was so close, she could see the lines of pain around his eyes and mouth. What horrors had he endured? She did not want—could not—think on that. She could show no compassion, not with Vernoux watching so carefully. “We are to duel, you and I,” she said flippantly, for their audience.
“What madness is this?” he hissed.
“Choose a weapon,” she hissed back.
He pulled out one of rapiers, bent it to test its flexibility. “Did you bargain with the Devil, Solange?” he murmured.
What answer should she give? Yes? That she bargained because Vernoux held her brother in his thrall and would kill him if she did not play out the farce? That dueling with Antonio would postpone his death, either by Vernoux or the Lord High? That dueling with him allowed her one more glimpse of him before one or both of them died? That she loved him more than her own life and planned to die on the tip of his weapon? No, she could not say any of those things, because Vernoux watched, and Antonio would not allow her to die.
Besides, if the marquis discovered her true feelings for Antonio, Vernoux would kill him slowly, painfully before her eyes to punish her, despite the prohibition that the Lord High of the Legion of Baal had placed against killing members of the House of Auriano. She had to push Antonio away. To save him.
“You gave me back to Vernoux,” she accused.
“Si,” he agreed.
“You betrayed me.” She was careful to keep anger a thread through her words.
He replaced the rapier and pulled another. “I gave you back to Vernoux to keep you from becoming a sacrifice to Nulkana,” he replied.
His words, spoken so calmly, sent a point of painful sorrow through her chest as effectively as if he had plunged his rapier through her. She had not wanted him to save her. Her intent was for her to save him. She needed to stoke his rage so that he would fight her.
“That was so thoughtful of you, Monsieur le Duc,” she sneered. “You kept me from death only so that I might remain in this living hell.” Before he could reply, she slapped him across the face. “That is what I think of your heroics,” she spat.
Something—was that hurt?—flashed through his eyes, then they turned stony. “My apologies for trying to save your life, Madame de Volonté. I assumed you wanted the chance to remain breathing, but I was evidently mistaken.”
“Choose a weapon,” she repeated in a growl. Even as she said the words, remorse twisted through her for hurting him.
He tapped the tip of the rapier against the parquet. Looking down at it, he said, “This one will do as well as any other.”
The resignation in his voice made desolation open in her chest like a bottomless pit. She steeled herself against the pain. She would sacrifice herself to save Antonio. The reward—knowing that Antonio lived—was worth this torment. Turning away, she strode toward the center of the ballroom.
Antonio watched her resolute steps. Her back was straight, and her long braid swung provocatively between her shoulder blades. She seemed determined to punish him for an imagined wrong, but something was off-kilter. He glanced to the platform where Vernoux stood with Le Chacal and the Englishman, who had so elegantly swiped the piece of the Sphere from Vernoux’s grasp. Insight flashed through his brain, obviously muddled by Le Chacal’s torture. Solange was in a dire situation, one he had placed her in by giving her into her brother’s care. Gide gazed off into space, the Crystal Dagger held by his side, but with the point up rather than down. The Dagger had him in its thrall, and Vernoux seemed to be able to control him through the weapon. By threatening Gide, Vernoux controlled Solange.
Antonio studied her as she approached the middle of the ballroom and faced him. Her mouth was drawn in a tight line, and her eyes were downcast, hiding any emotion. A tiny tremor in the hand holding the rapier revealed her agitation. The anger she had shown him and her cruel words had pierced his heart. His dismay at her betrayal when she gave over the piece of the Sphere to Vernoux sat like a rock in his gut.
The burns and slices across his abdomen, chest, down his arms, and along the bottoms of his feet stung and throbbed at every move. He had suffered the torture from Le Chacal gladly, knowing that Solange was alive. But he had made a mistake giving her to Gide. He should have taken his chances in a fight with Le Chacal and his men in the Catacombs.
He swished his rapier through the air several times as he tested its balance, then stepped toward the center of the room. Delaying this foolish duel, even for a few moments, might give him an advantage. Very soon, the moon would rise, and he would be Shadow. Then he would have the opportunity to spirit Solange away.
He faced the platform with its array of members, each present for a different reason. “My apologies, gentlemen,” he said. “Perhaps in my befuddled state I have missed something, but I would like to know why I should bother fencing with Madame de Volonté.”
“I understood that you enjoyed the sport,” Vernoux said.
“Quite, but I find I am not in the mood.” He yawned and made a desultory motion with his hand.
Vernoux’s eyes turned calculating. “Perhaps knowing that Solange would be desolated if her brother came to harm might encourage you.” He made a twist with his hand, and Gide brought the point of the Dagger against his own throat.
“Ah,” Antonio said, feigning comprehension. “And at the outcome of this duel? What then? Will we both be allowed to go our separate ways?”
“Oh, no, Monsieur le Duc,” Vernoux said with a cruel chuckle. “One of you will most certainly be dead.”
“I see.” Antonio cast a quick glance at Solange.
He saw fear and desperation in her eyes, then she turned away. His heart clenched. This brave, glorious woman was forced into this duel by the man who had controlled her since she’d grown into womanhood. Because he had wanted to save her from the other man who had controlled her since she was a child. He understood what she intended. And he knew what he would do. His heart unclenched and swelled. He loved this woman. More than life. He would fight her but he would not win. He would sacrifice himself to save Solange. Turning back to Vernoux, he said, “If Solange lives, you will set her free, along with her brother.”
Vernoux shook his head. “You are in no position to bargain, Auriano. If you are dead, you will have no way to enforce your little bargain. And if you live, you will be going with this gentleman to meet with the Lord High, who is most anxious to make your acquaintance.” He motioned to the stranger at his side.
The Englishman bowed. “I’m afraid we have not had the pleasure, Your Grace. I am called The Messenger.”
“Si, I’ve heard of you,” Antonio said.
“Then I am flattered,” The Messenger said.
Vernoux made an impatient gesture. “This is wasting time. You have no options, Auriano.”
Antonio glared at the Frenchman. “There are always options, Vernoux.” He swished his rapier. “Come, Solange,” he said, “let us, as Monsieur le Marquis so delicately put it, get this farce over with.”
Solange watched him approach his mark opposite her. He was a study in nonchalance, but she could tell that beneath his casual surface, he was in tight control, more deadly and dangerous than any heated rage. She was frightened but resigned to her fate. By the end of this duel, nothing would matter.
Antonio shrugged one arm out of his coat. At the edge of the armhole of his waistcoat, a bright red stain had seeped into the white of his shirt. He was injured. Of course. That was the reason he had moved with less than his usual grace. Guilt, shame, and remorse were an ugly tangle in Solange’s chest. She could not imagine what Le Chacal had done to make him bleed so. He should not be dancing in a duel with her. He had sacrificed himself to save her. She glanced down at the rapier clutched in her fist and could see no way to extricate them from this terrible situation.
When she looked up again, across the middle of the ballroom, Antonio waited, his blade held lightly, its tip dipped to the floor. He stood in shirtsleeves, bright and dark patches staining the white—fresh blood and dried. Solange wanted to gently peel that shirt from him, bathe his wounds, kiss away the pain. Instead, she gripped her rapier more tightly and faced him, prepared to die at the end of his weapon to save him. At least if he lived, he would have a chance to escape. If she had reckoned the days correctly, he would soon be Shadow.
They saluted each other with their blades. Solange could tell nothing about what Antonio was thinking, for his face was devoid of expression. Anxiety tightened her muscles. She wanted to drop her sword and step to him, place her hands against his cheeks and put her lips gently on his mouth. Instead, she gripped the hilt of her blade harder and took her stance.
Antonio echoed her position. They lightly touched blades. And then he did nothing. She realized he was waiting for her to make the first attack. He raised a cool brow. His composure nettled her. After her slap, he should have been furious with her. Instead, he calmly invited her to begin her assault with his passive attitude. She was not about to let him sacrifice himself. She had already decided that he would be the one to walk away.
She attacked in a flurry of movement.
He parried with barely a shift of his wrist. His counter attack invited her to engage. They lunged, parried, attacked, feinted and counter-attacked. Solange could see that he was a master swordsman as their duel danced them over the parquet. Sweat ran down her back. Antonio looked cool and focused. But she sensed he was biding his time, waiting for the moment when he could step into the point of her blade. She was determined that was not going to happen. In desperation, she executed a riposte, inviting his attack. He lunged, sliding his blade down the length of hers until their guards locked and they stood inches from each other.
“Do not think you can lose this duel, dolcezza,” he murmured. “You will walk away, and find some way to escape and live your life.”
Solange sucked in a lungful of air. The scent of his sweat and that faint aroma of rosemary and lemon that was all him filled her nose. She savored it even as she glared at him.
“You’ve had your way too often, Monsieur le Duc,” she snapped. “Do not think you can sway me to do your bidding.” With a mighty shove, she pushed him away and attacked once again.
Solange had no idea how much time passed. She began to tire, the light rapier becoming heavier and heavier. Even injured, Antonio was stronger and faster than she was. She knew he was holding back, but he was losing strength as well. His mouth was drawn tight with concentration. Pain showed on his face with every step. She decided it was time to end this drama.
During a disengage, he glanced across her shoulder to the open doors behind her. His gaze settled back on her and his lips curved in a tiny smile as if he had learned some bit of information. Solange understood. The moon was beginning to rise. He would be Shadow soon. And then he could escape. A tiny spark of hope lit in Solange’s heart. Time to end this evil dance.
He feinted and invited, leaving an opening. She lunged, fully expecting him to parry. Instead, his sword dropped away. Off balance, she fell forward. Her rapier plunged into his chest.
Horrified, she froze. Afraid to move, afraid to breathe, she stared at the spot where the point of her rapier disappeared into his flesh. A small red circle seeped onto his shirt around her blade. Stricken, she met his gaze.
His eyes were soft, despite the pain he must have felt.
“It’s all right, Solange,” he said.
She gave her head a little shake. No, no, it was not all right at all.
Wrapping his hand around the blade piercing his chest, he gave it a little tug, but the rapier remained firmly embedded. He winced, then smiled. “You are an excellent swordsman, little thief.” His words were strained as if trying to control his pain.
Solange shook her head again. She could not think. Her hand still held the hilt of the rapier that pierced his chest. She should pull it out. She was afraid to pull it out.
“I love you,” he murmured.
Her eyes widened. Had she heard him correctly?
His dimple appeared, then he stepped back, at the same time wrenching the blade from his flesh. He swayed for a moment. A large bloom of bright blood on his shirt marked his wound. His eyes slipped shut. Then he collapsed.
Solange stared at his crumpled form. No one moved. No one spoke. The silence in the room pulsed from its walls. Her mind could not make sense of what she was seeing. She still clasped her rapier, and from its point hung a single drop of blood. It balanced there for a moment, then fell to the floor with a tiny plop. She watched it spread into a rosy blossom on the parquet.
Blood.
Antonio with her rapier lodged in his chest.
Blood.
Antonio smiling, wrapping his hand around her rapier.
Blood.
Antonio saying he loved her.
Blood.
Antonio pulling the blade from his body, falling.
Blood.
So much blood.
She screamed as her mind and body finally connected what had happened. She dropped her rapier, fell to her knees beside Antonio, and pressed her hands over his wound to try to staunch the flow of blood.
“No-no-no-no-no,” she chanted, denying what she knew was happening. “You’re not dead,” she mumbled. “You can’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.”
Someone knelt beside her. A hand closed around one of her wrists and gently tugged. She flung it off, pressed down against that horrible rush of blood. The hand captured her wrist again.
“Mademoiselle,” the Englishman said next to her. “Please stop. You can do no more.”
He pulled her hands away from Antonio, then spread the coat Antonio had discarded across that beautiful face.
Numb, Solange knelt beside Antonio. He was gone. How could he be gone? So vibrant, alive, passionate, and then… nothing? She stared at the blood on her hands, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. Silence filled the ballroom.
Two heartbeats of silence.
“Well,” Vernoux said briskly. “That was an interesting development.”
Something snapped together inside her when Solange heard his words. She surged to her feet. She was done with him. She was finished with his control. She had been so afraid of him. Her entire life she had lived in fear of two men. Le Chacal and Vernoux. Two men who had controlled her every moment of existence. Afraid to break away. Afraid to use her power. No more.
“How dare you,” she growled. “How dare you!”
She advanced toward him, raised her bloody hand, and let her power fly from her fingers. Vernoux’s arm swooped up and diverted the energy to the side, where it flashed and cracked against the wall, leaving a black splotch. Le Chacal inched away from him, and Gide merely gave him a stoic glance.
Vernoux laughed coldly. “I have wondered when you would decide to use your power. It is very impressive. But it is no match for this.” He showed her the glowing frog glyph on his wrist.
“That is nothing,” she spat and threw her power at him again.
Once more, he deflected it.
Solange could feel the energy coursing through her. Perhaps even Antonio’s blood strengthened it. And she realized she was more powerful than Vernoux. Enraged, she threw her power at him again and again. At first, he was able to block it, but after a while, it began to spatter against his body, across his face. Vernoux yelped when one vicious blast scorched his cheek. Solange smiled grimly, knowing even if she lost this battle, he would be scarred.
The pent-up rage, the fear that she had lived with under his dominion fed the force running through her. Without thought, she attacked, slowly moving closer, intent on destroying him. The room echoed with the impact of her blasts. The chandeliers above her head sang with the energy. One particularly intense blast ricocheted from one of the silver buttons on Vernoux’s coat and hit Gide on the arm. His head jerked and his eyes cleared. Solange paused, amazed to see the awareness in her brother’s eyes. She watched understanding click through him. Before she could gather another bolt of power, he threw himself at their tormentor and stabbed him with the Crystal Dagger. Vernoux screamed. A blinding green flash filled the ballroom.
By the time Solange could see again, Gide was pulling the Dagger out of Vernoux’s chest. The marquis was a limp body slowly oozing blood from a blackened hole in his chest. Gide wiped the blood from the Dagger on the dead man’s coat and calmly stuck it in his belt, where it glowed with a dull, purplish gray light. It seemed sated, having fed on death.
“He’s dead, Solange,” Gide said. “I killed him for you.”
“For us,” she gently corrected.
As soon as she said the words, she realized they were still in danger. Not from Le Chacal, who was cowering against the wall out of the way, but from the man called The Messenger who stood behind her, near where Antonio lay. She swung to face him.
“I will not challenge you, mademoiselle,” he said, turning his palms out at his sides to show they were empty. “I have the piece of the Sphere of Astarte, and the Marquis de Vernoux has received his punishment for forcing you to kill a member of the House of Auriano. The Legion of Baal and the Lord High have their satisfaction.”
Before Solange could respond, an owl flew in through the doors open to the garden and perched on the mantle of the fireplace. Immediately, she felt the cold creep of evil invade her insides. Nulkana was close. As she had the thought, a column of cloud appeared at the far end of the ballroom, and the sorceress stepped forth onto the parquet.
“Well,” she said, “this is a cozy group.”
She smiled, but it was far from comforting. Solange felt as if a claw had settled in her chest.
“How were you able to get inside this house?” Solange asked. She had no doubt that Vernoux had placed protections on his l’hôtel.
The sorceress smiled and gestured at Vernoux’s body with a jangle of many golden bracelets. “The master of the house seems to have died.”
Solange surmised that with Vernoux’s death, his protections no longer worked.
Nulkana turned her attention to Antonio. “Is this who I think it is?” She tipped her head with curiosity. “Did misfortune visit one of the Auriano whelps?”
Solange backed closer to Antonio. She would not allow the sorceress anywhere near him.
“Why are you here?” she demanded.
“I’ve come to claim what is mine,” she said.
Solange edged nearer to Antonio and held up her hand, prepared to defend him even in death. “There’s nothing here for you.”
Nulkana sneered, “Do you truly believe your paltry power can protect you?”
“She’s not alone, bitch,” Gide said and stepped from the dais. “I have this.” He held up the Crystal Dagger.
Nulkana circled away from him. “You don’t even know how to use it.”
Gide gestured at Vernoux’s body. “I honed my skill on him.”
Nulkana shivered delicately, a pretense of revulsion. “You have done me a favor by ridding the world of him.” She drifted closer. “Did it feel good to kill, boy? Do you want to do it again?” She enticed slyly. “Come with me, and I can let you do whatever you want.” She licked her red lips. “Come with me and learn the real power of the Dagger.”
Gide’s body leaned toward Nulkana, even though his feet remained in place. The sorceress was so strong that even with the opposing force of the Crystal Dagger, he was being drawn to her. Solange could feel the pull. She backed one more step until she felt the comfort of Antonio’s body against her foot.
“You’re not taking him anywhere,” she declared.
Nulkana’s gaze fell on her, and Solange felt a shaft of cold like an ice pick through her chest. Then the sorceress’s gaze flew to The Messenger who stood behind Solange. With a hiss, she fell back a step. Immediately, the shaft of cold dissipated.
“What is your purpose here, Priest?” Nulkana demanded.
Priest? Solange wondered.
The Messenger gave a casual shrug. “I came merely to observe. But I can do more if you wish.”
Nulkana’s eyes blazed. Then dismissing him, as well as Solange and Gide, she turned her attention to the dais once more, where Le Chacal was attempting to become part of the wall.
“Jean-Jacques,” she purred. “How nice to see you. I believe we had an agreement, you and I.” She gestured at Solange. “But the little witch is still alive.”
Le Chacal pushed away from the wall. “I would have brought her to you, but—”
Nulkana sliced her hand through the air and the outlaw choked. His face turned red, and he struggled to breathe.
“I do not like my requests denied,” the sorceress said.
With another swipe through the air, she released the King of the Thieves. He dropped to his hands and knees as he drew in great gasps of air.
“I didn’t… I would never…” He gestured vaguely in Solange’s direction. “They dueled. I thought he would kill her. She won.”
Nulkana scowled. “But that doesn’t excuse you, Jean-Jacques. You have disappointed me. I wanted her dead.”
As Nulkana spoke, Solange felt the icy evil expand in her chest, then it wrapped itself around her. She saw Gide go pale and stiff. Le Chacal yelped and began to hop around as if the floor had become too hot to stand on. Then he stopped as if glued to the parquet. Horror crossed his face. Flames erupted around his feet, spread up his legs. He screamed and swatted at them. The flames rose higher and engulfed his body—all except for his face. His agonized shrieks bounced from the walls.
Solange watched in shock. But despite what he had done to her and Gide and Antonio, she could not bear to see him in such torment.
“Stop it!” she commanded and threw her power at Nulkana.
The energy staggered the sorceress, but it seemed to go right through her.
“She’s a projection,” The Messenger murmured. “And she’s hurt.”
Solange remembered when Nulkana had appeared at the shack in the woods, and how her own power had passed through the sorceress then as well. She saw the small black stain at Nulkana’s side that looked like blood. If the sorceress were injured and merely a projection, perhaps she could force her away.
Once again, she threw her power at Nulkana. She aimed at the seeping spot on her side. Again, and again. Each time, as it passed through Nulkana, her image wavered, but then refocused. Le Chacal still howled in agony, the flames still burned, but they seemed to fade.
Nulkana laughed, the evil curling malevolently inside Solange’s chest. “Do you truly believe you have the power to hurt me, little slut?”
The sorceress clenched her hand, and in a furious burst of flame and an agonized howl, Le Chacal incinerated. The flames snuffed out, and all that was left was a pile of ash.
“That is what I do to those who betray me,” she announced. “But I have something much more interesting for you.” Her hand moved in a strange pattern in the air.
Solange could not breathe. She felt as if her heart were being ripped from her. Gripping her chest, she dropped to her knees and fought for air.
“Stop!” Gide yelled. He jumped forward and sliced through Nulkana with the Crystal Dagger.
The sorceress’s image parted where Gide had cut, but when it reformed, it was a bit askew. The owl hooted and whooped and ruffled its wings. Through her pain, Solange realized the bird was somehow vitally connected to Nulkana. Solange summoned all her power and shot it at the owl. Her aim was off, but the energy grazed the bird’s wing. It shrieked and screeched. Nulkana screamed and clapped her hand to her shoulder. The owl jumped from the mantle and dragging its wing, hopped across the floor to its mistress. With a pop, they both disappeared.
In the silence, Solange’s ragged breathing seemed very loud. Before she could catch her breath, The Messenger lifted Antonio as if he weighed nothing, as if he had already turned to Shadow. He dipped his head in a small bow.
“Well done, mademoiselle,” he said. “The sorceress will not bother you for some time. I suggest you and your brother hide yourself someplace far away.” He turned and took a step toward the door.
“Wait,” she said, barely able to gather enough breath to speak. “Where are you taking Antonio?”
The Messenger turned back, raised a cool brow. “He is no longer your concern, mademoiselle.”
Solange surged to her feet. “He is my concern. I love him. I wish to return his body to his brother so…” She was forced to stop and swallow the tears that choked her. “…so he may be buried properly.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” he said. Those clear blue eyes turned frosty.
“Why not?” she demanded, stepping forward and raising her hand in threat.
“Don’t force me to hurt you, mademoiselle.” The Messenger’s level tone indicated how serious he was.
“How can you hurt me?” she challenged. “Your hands are occupied.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up with humorless amusement. “Some of us do not require our hands to inflict damage.”
As Solange took another step forward, Gide grabbed her by the arm. “Solange,” he warned. “Let him go.”
The Messenger swept his gaze over them both. “Be glad I am not taking either of you to the Lord High.” He turned on his heel and left.
Solange listened to his footsteps echo as he crossed the space to the outer door. Then he was gone. Once again, silence hung in the room.
Solange drew a breath, but she could not fill her lungs. She tried again, but the muscles of her chest had locked tight. Her legs gave out. As she grabbed for Gide, she sank to the floor. He followed her down, his arm about her shoulders, but she felt no warmth from him. Something human, something elemental had been taken from her brother. But at least that dark power did not overtake her. It had been satisfied for now with Vernoux’s death.
Even as she had the thought, the loss of Antonio slashed across her consciousness and landed with piercing anguish in her chest. It gouged out a spot that left her hollow. She had killed him. In her stupid, reckless plan to save him, everything had gone wrong. She wanted to cry but found that no tears would come.
“I’m sorry about the Italian duke,” Gide said. “It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault.”
That ache in her chest constricted, and she gave a dry sob.
Gide’s arm hugged her closer. “Vernoux is gone. And Le Chacal.”
She glanced over to the dais where Vernoux lay, and Le Chacal’s ashes were stirred by the breeze. She should be rejoicing that both their tormentors were dead. Instead, she felt nothing.
“We’re free, Solange,” he said.
She gave a little nod.
“We can leave here.”
As soon as Gide said the words, Solange knew she could not leave. Something held her as surely as Le Chacal’s demands or Vernoux’s threats. She had no idea why that should be. She hated this place, this city.
She shook her head. “No.”
Gide’s stillness indicated his surprise. He rose to his feet. “Why?”
She turned dull, dry eyes up to him. “I can’t.”
Her brother stared down at her, his face expressionless. She expected some argument, anger, some wild reaction. Instead, all he said was, “Very well.”
She thought he was agreeing to stay, so she folded herself into a ball and let her head drop to her knees. All she wanted was to turn back time, to replay that duel, to rewrite the end. All she wanted was to drift in her agony.
“I’ll be leaving in the morning,” Gide said.
Solange’s head snapped up. “What did you say?”
“I’m leaving.” His mouth firmed into a resolute line.
“But…” Unable to voice the stunned thoughts that bounced inside her head, she lapsed into silence.
“I can’t stay, Solange.” Gide’s gaze met hers in a tortured plea to understand. “Something’s wrong. With me.” He wrapped his hand around the hilt of the Dagger stuck in his waistband. “Ever since I took this, I haven’t been right. I have to find out why.”
Solange rose to her feet. “But can’t you stay here to discover the reason?” To lose Gide now when she had lost everything else in her life terrified her.
“I can’t.” His words echoed hers. “I’m a danger to you now. And whatever is making you stay here is making me leave.”
“But Nulkana,” she argued. “She’ll come after you.”
Gide shook his head. “You heard The Messenger. He said to hide far away. I think we’ll be safer if we part.” He gazed at her. His eyes were hard, old, not the young, trusting eyes of the brother she knew so well. “You should leave the city, too, Solange. You’re not safe here.”
Solange noticed he did not encourage her to accompany him again. He was leaving her, not just physically, but emotionally. She was on her own now, with no little brother to care for.
“I’ll leave in a few days. Maybe I’ll go back to our village,” she said, but her words had no substance behind them.
Gide gave a short nod. Then his gaze softened, and he reached out to touch her cheek. Her little brother was still here. The thought made her eyes sting.
“Be safe, Solange,” he said.
She covered his fingers as they lingered on her cheek. “You, as well, Gide.”
He turned and walked away.
She was alone.