Guardian of the Gate (23 page)

“Thank goodness,” Luisa breathes. “There is Dimitri.”

I follow her gaze and see him making his way toward us. I do not think it is my imagination that his smile is private and meant only for me. He stops in front of us, taking both of my hands.

“There you are.” He says it simply, as if he has been searching for me forever only to find me in a most unexpected place.

He has traded his daytime trousers for tighter-fitting black ones and wears a matching black tunic in place of his white one. The black makes him seem dangerous, and in the glow of the candles hanging from the chandelier and those placed at the periphery of the room, he is more handsome and thrilling than ever.

When he leans in, I think he means to kiss my cheeks, but instead his lips find my mouth. The kiss is lingering but not unseemly. I sneak a glance around the room, noticing that those in attendance look either chagrined or surprised, and I know Dimitri has made a declaration. He has told them that
he is with me, whatever they may say. I do not think it possible, but my heart opens to him even further.

“Hello,” I say. My voice is not as bold as I would like it to be, but I am caught off guard both by the mood of the others in the hall and by Dimitri’s gesture.

He grins, seeming more like the private Dimitri I have come to know. “Well, hello.”

And now my smile is real, for somehow when I am with him, it does not seem to matter what the rest of the world thinks or says.

He links one arm with mine and one with Luisa’s and escorts us toward a table at the center of the room. It is a cue of sorts, and the crowd begins talking again, first in low murmurs and soon enough in voices so loud it is as if the awkwardness of the past moments was only a dream.

“I’m sorry you had to make your way to the dining hall alone.” He has to speak loudly to be heard over the din. “I thought Una was bringing you, or I would have come for you myself.”

“She was going to,” I say. “But she wanted to check on Aunt Abigail. It seems she is still not awake.”

He nods gravely, and I see from the concern on his face that I am not the only one who is worried about Aunt Abigail.

We stop at a long table directly underneath the chandelier. It is already mostly occupied, though there are three seats remaining, reserved, it seems, for us. I worry for a moment that Luisa will not be permitted to sit with her new beau, but when her face breaks into a beatific smile I follow her stare
and realize Rhys is already seated at our table. I shall have to ask Dimitri later if it is by chance or design.

An older woman with raven hair rises first. She bows a little in greeting, her steely eyes meeting mine, and I realize she is the Sister who led us up the path just before I fell unconscious.

“Welcome to Altus, Amalia, daughter of Adelaide.” Her voice is lower than I remember.

It is strange to hear my mother’s given name spoken aloud. I don’t think I have heard anyone speak it since before her death. It takes me a moment to gather my wits.

I return her bow. “Thank you.”

Dimitri turns to me and bows formally, fulfilling his part in some kind of ritual I do not understand. “Amalia, Lady Ursula and the Sisterhood welcome you.”

I return his bow, feeling suddenly shy.

Dimitri repeats the small ceremony with Luisa, and introductions are made around the table. Everything happens so quickly that I forget most of the names as soon as they are spoken, but I know I will not soon forget Rhys’s piercing eyes and the way they seem to see only Luisa. He is as dark as Dimitri, but quieter and less able or willing to make conversation. I should like to ask Luisa what they speak about when they are together, but I believe speaking may not be among their most favored activities. She is, even now, sitting so close to him that I see their thighs touch under the table.

As soon as we sit, the others in the hall take their places at tables across the massive dining hall. Food is brought in short order, and I can hardly keep pace with the dizzying array of
fruits, vegetables, crusty bread, and sweet wine, though I do notice that there is no meat.

As we are served I catch my dinner companions casting curious glances my way. I cannot blame them, I suppose. Using Dimitri’s earlier argument, I imagine they have many questions that politeness begs they not ask.

It is immediately clear that Ursula holds stature, but I do not have a private moment during dinner to ask Dimitri for the details of her title. She takes full advantage of her position, though, whatever it may be. The server has not yet stepped away from our table when the first question is fired.

“Dimitri tells me you endured quite a journey to find us, Amalia.” She sips from her goblet of wine.

I finish chewing the fig in my mouth. “Yes. It was… grueling.”

She nods. “It seems you are not one to shy away from tasks both difficult and dangerous.”

The words themselves sound like a compliment, but something in her tone tells me they are not. I want to be witty, to see the question behind the question, but my brain is still recovering from the extraordinary lack of sleep. I decide to take her statement at face value.

“The prophecy has taught me well that some things must be done however much we wish to avoid them.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Do you? Wish to avoid them?”

I look at my hands, folded together in my lap. “I think anyone would wish to avoid some of the things I have experienced this past year.”

Ursula tips her head, contemplating something before she
speaks again. “And what of your sister, Alice? What does she wish to avoid?”

My head jerks up at the unexpected mention of my sister, as if Alice’s name might conjure her presence. I wonder why Ursula would be interested in my sister when it is a well-known fact that Alice is in violation of the Grigori and their laws.

I try to keep my voice level. “My sister rejects her role as Guardian. In your great knowledge and wisdom, I imagine this is something of which you are aware.” I bow my head, hoping it passes for respect when in fact I am only trying to hide my growing disdain.

I do not look up to meet her eyes, but I feel her gaze harden. When she finally answers, I know it is because she must, because staying silent any longer will make her look weak. The concession brings me a bizarre sense of victory. “What I am
aware
of is that the future of Altus, of the very world, is at stake. Surely you understand that your role is one of privilege, do you not? Especially given the nature of your
rightful
role in the prophecy.”

I hear the danger in Ursula’s low, leisurely voice. It is far too easy to think it is that of a cat when it is in fact that of a lion. But I am too new to the ways and people at play in the prophecy to alienate a possible friend or foe. For I see now that it is a game, best played three or four moves ahead.

I look up and meet Ursula’s eyes while the other eyes at the table are all trained on me. “Privilege speaks to something that implies fortune.” I pause. “What have I to gain compared
to all I have lost to the prophecy? A sister, a brother, a mother, a father…” I think of James and our lost future, and the melancholy hits me, even as I privately acknowledge my feelings for Dimitri. “Forgive me, but in my experience, the prophecy has been more a burden than a privilege, though that doesn’t mean I will not honor it.”

It may well be my imagination, but it seems the rest of the hall has grown quieter, as if everyone is listening with half an ear to the conversation at our table.

Ursula taps her fingers against the thick wooden tabletop as she considers her move. She tips her head. “Perhaps you should leave it to others better suited, more willing, to accept its
burden
.”

I consider her words, but they do not make sense under the circumstances. “It is not as if I have a choice in the matter, is it? No choice worth contemplating. I would never allow Samael to use me as his Gate.”

“Of course not,” she murmurs. “But you are forgetting the other option available to you.”

I shake my head. “What other option?”

“Do nothing. Allow the responsibility to pass to another Sister.”

I look around the table, noting how the others seem to shift nervously in their seats and avert their eyes as if seeing something distasteful. All except for Dimitri and Luisa. Luisa looks as confused as I feel. She meets my eyes and I see the questions there. Questions I cannot answer. Dimitri, on the other hand, shoots daggers at Ursula.

I look back at her. “It could take generations for another Angel to be appointed by the prophecy.”

She nods slowly, waving her hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Or it could take no time at all. No one knows what the prophecy dictates.”

For a moment, I believe I am going mad. Is a Sister of the prophecy, an Elder no less, suggesting I do nothing? Is she asking me to pass my duty to another even when it might mean waiting centuries for the prophecy to end? Centuries in which Samael’s Souls would gather in our world?

Dimitri suddenly speaks, his voice icy with rage. “I beg your pardon, Sister Ursula, but it seems quite clear what the prophecy dictates, does it not? It dictates Lia as more than the Gate — as the Angel, the one Gate with the authority to summon or refuse Samael. As such, Lia may exercise free will to choose either course. In all your wisdom, would you not agree that we owe her a debt of gratitude for choosing the side of right?”

Checkmate
, I think. At least for now.

I squeeze Dimitri’s hand under the table, for while I do not want to cause him more trouble, I cannot help but be grateful for his intervention.

Around the table, a silence ensues that can only be called awkward. We are saved from attempting to rescue what little remains of our pleasant dinner when Astrid appears, making a small bow at Ursula’s elbow.

“Mother? May I sit at your table? I should like to get to know our guests.” Her voice is sweet and timid, minus the
condescension that was present when she spoke to me in my room.

Mother?
Mother?
Ursula is Astrid’s mother.

Ursula smiles, but not at Astrid. Her eyes remain fixed on me even as she answers her daughter. “Of course you may, my love. Take your seat next to Brother Markov.”

Astrid’s cheeks flush scarlet, and she bows toward her mother briefly before making her way to the other side of Dimitri. Once seated, she looks up at him, her adoration evident.

“Altus was not the same while you were away,” she says demurely.

I think I note impatience in his eyes, but he covers it well. “And I am never the same without Altus.” He turns to me and smiles. “How was your dinner?” Leaning in close enough so I can smell the wine on his breath, he whispers, “Aside from the company, of course.”

I grin. “Lovely.”

We pass the remainder of dinner without incident. Astrid sulks on the other side of Dimitri while Luisa remains thoroughly immersed in Rhys. Before long, a strange sort of music starts up at the front of the hall. Rhys stands and holds a hand out to Luisa. Together, they depart the table to dance, as do many others at our table and those nearby.

Dimitri reaches into a bowl on the table, plucking a luscious red strawberry from its interior and holding it to my mouth. This time I bite the glistening fruit cleanly from the stem without a thought. He smiles, and something secret and warm passes between us.

He dispenses with the stem on his plate, and his expression grows suddenly serious. “I’m sorry, Lia.”

I swallow the rest of the strawberry before answering. “For what?”

“For Ursula. For all of it.”

I shake my head. “You needn’t be. It’s not
your
fault.”

He looks around the room at the couples swirling across the floor to a slow, sad song in a kaleidoscope of violet and black silk. “These are my people. My family. And you… well, you are something even more, Lia, as I’m sure you must know by now.” He lifts one of my hands and kisses my palm. “I want them to be kind to you.”

I take one of his hands and repeat the gesture.

For a moment, it is as if I am looking into his eyes for the first time. I am lost, and nothing else matters. Then the music abruptly shifts to something merry, and Dimitri stands, pulling me to my feet.

“Do me the honor.” It is not a question, and before I know it, we are in the middle of the room among the other couples. I think I catch a glimpse of Luisa, but she disappears into the crowd before I can be sure.

“But… I don’t know how to dance to music like this!” I say, looking around at the swiftly moving dancers.

He places one of my hands on his shoulder and the other on his waist, doing the same to me. “Not to worry. It’s quite simple, I promise. Besides, you cannot call yourself a Sister if you won’t dance!”

And then we are off and moving through the crowd in time
to the music. At first, Dimitri more or less drags me around the room. The footwork is every bit as complicated as the dances we learned at Wycliffe, and the music makes it hard to get my bearings. It does not flow the way Strauss and Chopin do. It trills and bounces and lilts.

We bump into more than a few people as I try to familiarize myself with the steps, and Dimitri leads me through the room calling out “Pardon me” and “Very sorry.” After a while, though, I begin to feel more confident. Dimitri still leads, but I manage to keep up without stepping on his feet.

I am just starting to have fun when the music shifts. A happy roar erupts from the floor and in a moment, Dimitri is gone. I scan the bodies crowding around me, but before I can find him, another gentleman is on my arm.

“Oh! Hello!” I say.

He wears the same clothes as Dimitri without the same flair. But he is pleasant enough, and he returns my smile. “Hello there, Sister.”

Just as I am thinking it will not be so bad to pass the time with this nice gentleman until Dimitri returns, the man disappears into the crowd and is quickly replaced by another. This one is fair, with hair as golden as Sonia’s. We do not have time to do more than exchange a smile before he moves smoothly away and is replaced by another.

The pace of the music, and the dancing crowd along with it, grows increasingly frenzied, and I have little choice but to keep up as best I can through a parade of partners. There seems
to be some method to their madness, some order in which everyone changes partners, but I am at a loss to explain it.