Black Night (19 page)
She was about five foot ten with the body of a lingerie model, and she wore a floor-length purple silk gown that clung to every curve on the way down. Her blond hair was piled artfully on her head and she wore jewels everywhere they could be worn. She held her hands out to J.B.
“My prince,” the faerie said, and of course she had a breathy, Kathleen Turner–type voice on top of that body that screamed sex.
“Lady Violet,” he replied, kissing her fingers.
I felt a weird little flutter, almost like jealousy, but I decided that couldn’t be it. I did want to ask J.B. when he had suddenly turned into Rico Suave, but the skinny bitch clinging to his arm gestured for us to join them.
“Ambassador Black, I am Lady Violet, the queen’s right hand,” she purred, giving me the once-over and finding me not worth her time. “My queen is awaiting your arrival in her court. Lord Nathaniel ap Zerachiel, you also are welcome as a member of Ambassador Black’s party. And who . . . is this?”
Violet couldn’t keep her nose from wrinkling in distaste as she looked at Beezle, still perched on my shoulder.
“This is my gargoyle, Beezle,” I said.
“A gargoyle. How . . . quaint.”
“I’m assuming he’s as welcome as everyone else in my party,” I said pointedly.
J.B. widened his eyes at me, but I wasn’t going to let her or anyone be rude to Beezle. And really—I was a princess, not just an ambassador. I outranked her, and from everything J.B. and Beezle had told me, rank was everything with these faeries. Best to remind her of that.
Violet’s face had reddened slightly at my rebuke and she flashed me a venomous look before she had a chance to hide it under the smooth mask of welcome. Oh, well. I didn’t think we were going to be BFFs anyway.
“Of course. You are welcome to Queen Amarantha’s court . . . Beezle.”
Beezle gave her a regal nod from his perch, like he was a king deigning to acknowledge a peasant. High color flared in Violet’s cheeks. I wanted to give him a high five but that seemed like it would be bad form.
I felt rather than heard Nathaniel give a little sigh next to me. Whatever.
Violet turned on one spiked heel, her arm still firmly curled around J.B.’s.
“If you will come this way, please, Ambassador. Your coats and luggage will be brought to your rooms.”
We pulled off our outer things and handed them to more faeries who appeared out of nowhere. They didn’t speak, simply took our coats, bowed, and slipped away again.
“Passages in the walls, you think?” I whispered to Beezle.
He nodded thoughtfully, then took off from my shoulder to fly ahead a little. I think he wanted to eavesdrop on the conversation between J.B. and Violet. The two of them were having quite the little tête-à-tête as we strode along.
If there were passages in the walls, that meant there was always a chance of our conversation being overheard. I made a mental note not to speak too freely while we were here.
J.B. and Violet walked ahead of us down a long stone corridor lined with medieval armor. Amarantha apparently really enjoyed playing queen of the castle, down to all of the accessories. Then I got a closer look at one of the helmets on the suits. Inside was a human face, frozen in terror, mouth open, eyes wide. I gulped.
Nathaniel noticed the direction of my gaze. He leaned close to me as we walked.
“Those are soldiers from the War of the Roses in 1460,” Nathaniel whispered. “Amarantha kept them as trophies when she helped the Earl of Warwick defeat the Lancasters at the Battle of Northampton. She added the armor later.”
“Isn’t that in England?” I said.
“Yes. Amarantha had her castle moved brick by brick when she migrated here two hundred years ago.”
“Just how old is she, anyway?” I asked. This corridor seemed to be taking forever, especially now that I knew the suits of armor were filled with bodies.
Nathaniel frowned. “I am unsure of her precise age, but I believe she has recently entered the 1107th year of her reign as queen.”
“Wonderful,” I said sotto voce. “How come everyone I meet is a kajillion years older than me? They’ve all had centuries to practice being crafty. Me, I’m just a thirtysomething thrown in the deep end of the pool without a floatie.”
“I am your floatie,” Nathaniel said.
I giggled. I couldn’t help it. Nathaniel looked so stiff and formal, as he always did, even when he said the word “floatie.”
“You do not believe my assistance will be valuable? I assure you, I have had many dealings with Queen Amarantha,” he said, his voice frosty.
“Of course I believe you’ll be valuable,” I said, not wanting to deal with one of his hissy fits right now. “It’s just that—”
I was cut off as we finally rounded the corner at the end of the corridor and we were greeted by a set of polished oak doors. Violet finally took her claws off J.B.’s arm and turned to face us.
“If you will wait here for a moment, I will alert the queen to your presence.”
She disappeared inside the double doors so quickly that I didn’t have a chance to peek at the throne room behind them. Based on the rest of the castle, though, I was sure that Amarantha’s court would be dazzling, ostentatious and probably a little scary. I took a deep breath and steeled myself. Beezle fluttered back to my shoulder and gave me a reassuring squeeze of his claws.
A few minutes later the doors swung open and I heard a voice announce, “Ambassador Madeline Black ap Azazel, on behalf of Lord Lucifer. Lord Nathaniel ap Zerachiel, escorting. Prince Jonquil of Queen Amarantha’s court, escorting.”
I gave J.B. a sideways look. “Jonquil?”
He took my arm very firmly and pressed his lips together. “Not a word.”
“Oh, no,” I whispered. “I am definitely not going to forget this.”
We stepped into the breach, J.B. on one side of me and Nathaniel on the other, both of them holding my arms. I felt like Dorothy skipping down the yellow brick road between the Tin Man and the Scarecrow. Too bad I didn’t have a basket to put Beezle in.
The throne room was pretty much what I’d expected, although from a slightly different era. Rather than sticking with the medieval theme here, Amarantha had gone for Baroque. The ceiling was high and covered in gold foil and curlicues. The windows were draped with pink velvet and gold tassels. The parquet floor was polished to a high gloss. I half expected to see Louis XIV come striding down to meet me.
The room was the size of a ballroom rather than a throne room, and it was packed to the gills with faeries dressed like they were at a black-tie wedding. Amarantha’s throne was on a raised dais at the opposite end of the doors, so that we had to promenade in front of the assemblage in order to reach her.
As we entered the room, there was a momentary hush, and then the murmur of voices started up again, many of them declaring in disparaging tones that I looked terribly ordinary and other things to that effect.
I was reminded of the first time I entered Azazel’s court, when so many of the angels had found me wanting. I just hoped that this visit wouldn’t end the way that one had—with someone getting their head chopped off. I still had nightmares sometimes about Greenwitch’s head rolling to my feet, her pale eyes staring forever into the void.
J.B. patted my arms reassuringly. “You’re better than they think.”
I smiled at him. “I know that, but thanks for saying it anyway.”
He smiled back, and I felt that little flutter again, this time in the vicinity of my heart.
The crowd parted before us in ripples, and I finally got a look at Amarantha. She was looking pretty damned good for a woman over a thousand years old. She didn’t even look old enough to be J.B.’s mom. Of course, Azazel looked like he could be my handsome older brother. That was just a symptom of being the half-human child of an immortal.
Amarantha had mahogany hair pulled to a low knot at the base of her neck, the same glittering green eyes as J.B. and a perfect heart-shaped face. Rather than go overboard on the fashion front (as I’d expected, given the crazy gold and velvet all over the room), she’d chosen to set off her flawless skin with a simple, fluid dress the color of champagne. It left her shoulders bare and highlighted the diamond the size of my thumb that she wore nestled between her perfect breasts.
We drew to a halt in front of the dais, and the queen rose from her throne to greet us. She did not, however, step down to our level. Point taken. Her eyes were hard and watchful, and I could almost see the calculations moving behind those green orbs. She was taking my measure and, like so many others, finding me to be less than she’d expected. Well, that was fine. When people have low expectations of me, I find that it’s easier to take them by surprise.
“Ambassador Black,” she said, and as she spoke I heard conversations hush all over the room. Nobody was going to miss this one. “You are welcome to my court as a representative of Lucifer.”
I gave a tiny nod of my head. I wasn’t going to bow and scrape. I knew my place in Azazel’s court and she wasn’t ranked that far above me. I also wanted to avoid showing this woman my neck, just on principle.
“Queen Amarantha, I come to you as a representative of Lord Lucifer’s court for the purpose of reestablishing relations between the kingdoms of the fallen and the faerie,” I began, quoting directly from a speech Lucifer (or one of his flunkies) had written out for me. I’d barely had time to look at it over the past couple of days what with all the excitement that had been going on. That morning I’d been frantically trying to memorize it over breakfast. I’d felt like I was cramming for a final.
“Lord Lucifer sends his deepest apologies regarding the unfortunate breach of conduct by the previous ambassador,” I continued.
Amarantha cut in, her voice dripping icicles. “And what of the unfortunate breach of conduct by the current ambassador?”
11
THE PREPARED SPEECH DRIED UP ON MY TONGUE. I sighed quietly. She couldn’t have waited until I was done with the preliminaries before going for the jugular? What about all this formality and courtesy that everyone had told me the faeries loved? Thus far I’d seen little evidence of it.
I decided that my best move was to admit nothing. I hadn’t done anything wrong—not on purpose, anyway.
None of the observers were bothering to disguise their curiosity. You could have heard a pin drop in that room.
“What breach of conduct are you speaking of?” I asked, matching frost with frost. I felt Beezle twitch on my shoulder. It was hard to tell if he approved or not. I didn’t want to look at him and break eye contact with the queen.
Amarantha’s face hardened. “Do not play games with me, foolish girl.”
I stepped forward, away from J.B. and Nathaniel.
“Do not speak to me as though I am a child. I am the daughter of Lord Azazel and the granddaughter of Lord Lucifer. I have come here as ambassador to represent their interest and to negotiate with you in good faith. I did not come here to be insulted or spoken to like a servant.”
Amarantha stood from her throne and came down the steps to face me. Her beautiful face was suffused with anger. “And I did not negotiate for months with Nathaniel ap Zerachiel in order to have my kingdom invaded, my forest burned to a cinder and my darling pets destroyed by an ambassador speaking with a snake’s tongue.”
Have I ever mentioned that I have a bad temper, and that it is quick to burn? I stepped closer to Amarantha, so that we were practically nose to nose. My magic surged up, hot and angry, and it crackled across my fingertips. The sound was like a gunshot in the silence.
I felt the change in atmosphere as Amarantha drew her own power around her. Beezle flew backward off my shoulder, apparently sensing that he might be collateral damage if the hair pulling started. Not that I am a hair puller. If it came down to a fight, Queenie would definitely be feeling my fists.
As soon as I had that thought, I made a conscious effort to dial back my anger. My magic receded, still humming just under the surface but less likely to go off spontaneously. Nobody would be happy if I punched out the faerie queen. I modulated my voice. I would not, however, cede ground, so we remained face-to-face.
“Queen Amarantha, I was under the impression that it is generally considered polite to inquire as to the circumstances before making accusations.”
She still hadn’t drawn down her power. I could feel the electric hum in the air.
“Are you attempting to school me, Ambassador?” she said.
“Only if you need it,” I replied.
She seemed to realize that she, too, was on the edge of some precipice and that she needed to step back. If she grew angry enough to kill me (or to try—I wasn’t about to stand still and let her do it), who knew how Lucifer might respond? He might decide to bring the power of the courts of the fallen on her head. After all, I wasn’t just an ambassador. I was the last direct descendant of Evangeline, the only person Lucifer had ever loved. Surely such an insult could not be allowed to pass.
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