Immanuel's Veins (8 page)

The entire right side of her cotton nightgown was soaked in blood.

“I couldn't wake her,” Lucine breathed.

“Natasha!” Alek rushed to her. “My dear, my dear, what have you done?”

Toma hurried to the other side of the bed, checking the lock on the balcony doors as he passed them. “What's her condition?”

“Natasha!” Alek looked as though he'd lost his mother. “Dearest Natasha, what has happened to you?”

She moaned softly, smiling from whatever dream had swept her away.

“She's alive! Wake up!” Alek patted her ghostly pale cheek. “Wake up, dear . . .”

But Natasha did not wake. Her smile grew and she began to giggle, then laugh. All the while, Alek watched in stunned silence. She sighed, rolled to her side, hugged her pillow, and settled back into sleep.

Lucine pushed Alek aside and grabbed Natasha's shoulder, shaking her. “Stop this, Natasha! Wake up!”

The twin's eyes snapped wide. She sucked at the air, twisted so that she faced the ceiling, then jerked upright.

“What is it?” Natasha gasped.

Her face was stark white with fright, eyes round like china dishes. The breeze through the open door lifted her blonde hair, showing her smooth neck. There was no blood on her face or her skin, no blemish or cut, no sign of wounding at all. Nothing to account for her blood-soaked gown.

“Are you harmed?” Toma asked.

She faced him. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

His eyes dropped to her gown and she followed his gaze. “What is going . . .” She saw the glistening red stains and gasped at Alek.

“You spilled wine on me?”

“Wine?”

“You've ruined it!”

But . . . this wasn't wine, was it? Lucine looked at the spilled decanter and considered the possibility. It could be as simple as that. And the bedsheet was also stained on the right side, consistent with such a spill. Sweet relief, if that explained it!

“You're not hurt?” she asked.

A coy smile toyed with Natasha's lips. She lifted her eyes to Alek. “Well, well, what did we do? Hmm? You naughty boy.”

“Not this, I swear it.”

Toma touched the wet stain. Rubbed his fingers together.

Natasha slapped his hand away. “My dear, don't be so fresh. They're watching!”

“Who's watching?” Alek demanded.

“You are, dear. Some things are meant to be done in private, don't you think?”

She was making no sense. Toma sniffed his fingers. “It's blood, not wine. You have a cut you don't know about. And you left the door unlocked.”

“Don't be ridiculous. No one was in this room besides Alek.” She slipped her legs off the bed. “Tell them, dear. I can't remember a thing. If there was an intruder after I passed out, it was you.”

She looked about sheepishly.

Lucine pressed the point with Alek. “Well?”

“Well, I don't recall everything. I had more than my normal drink. But this is blood.” Back to Natasha. “You've been wounded!”

“I have?” Natasha said, standing, looking down at herself. She pressed through the stained clothing, touching her skin beneath. “Then show me where.”

“Perhaps someone poured blood on you,” Toma suggested.

“Whatever for?” Natasha walked to the balcony door and faced the breeze with her back to them. “It's such a beautiful day!” She hugged herself, tilting her head back, breathing in the air. “The scent of wine and roses, can you smell it all? Love is in the air.” She spun around, delighted. “It's positively maddening!”

“What is?” Lucine asked.

Alek was grinning with her, stepping up. He took her hand. “Beauty,” he said. “Beauty like this is absolutely maddening.”

Then he kissed her on the cheek and spun back, arms wide. “Now let's leave a woman to make herself more beautiful, however impossible that might be here.”

“I don't like it,” Toma said.

“If it makes you feel any better, I myself will sleep here tonight. To guard against any intruders.”

Natasha laughed and threw her arms around him, kissing his face and neck. “You will be my hero. We will dine here . . .” She stopped midsentence. “Dinner! We have dinner tonight! With the Russians!”

In all the fuss, Lucine had forgotten. Her mind raced to an image of Vlad van Valerik and his aristocrats, wondering which two would accompany him.

“I've got to get ready!” Natasha cried, flying to the wardrobe.

Alek's face darkened. “Ready? It's not yet breakfast.”

“Oh.” She slid to a stop, then turned slowly. “Right. Then there's no rush. Now if you'll permit me. I feel like a bath.”

SIX

I
endured that day with dread in my belly. Not the kind that precedes outnumbered battle—that sickening realization that today might be your last—but a sense of deep unease, like the feeling of entering a dark unknown space.

It wasn't the fact that the Russians were coming for dinner. I could handle them well enough if they got out of hand. No, my dark unknown was Lucine.

Where I had resolved to confess my love for her, the letter from my empress had cut me off at the knees. Now my duty was clearly drawn, and the consequences of putting my love above that duty would be devastating.

I tell you, I still considered confessing all. Now my turmoil was even greater than before. The letter had made me realize my love all the more.

This was my lot as I begged the hours to pass quickly. I made myself as busy as possible, though there was nothing left to do but stand by and watch Alek's light step as he tracked down any excuse to be with Natasha.

It occurred to me that if I penned my thoughts in my journal, the words might free me from this prison.

I retreated to my bedroom in the early afternoon. I barred the door, took up a position at my desk, and began a new journal entry in the middle of my book, where it would be hidden.

The quill scratched on the paper as I laid down my words.

My dear Lucine—

I stared at the three words, tempted to strike them away. My fingers shook. I dipped the quill in the ink jar and freed my mind so that it wouldn't burst out there, in the public world.

I have exhausted my mind to steer my heart
But it has taken leave of my body and is enslaved by you
I've roamed the night and cried at the moon
But found only an aching that refuses me rest
I am sick with a longing for my heart to return to me
Or to join it there, in your tender embrace
Then I would kiss your lips
Then I would—

I lifted the quill and stared at my words. I could not give in like a child, not even here in my secret hiding.

I slapped the journal closed, tied it tight with the worn thong that secured its leather covers, and slipped it under my mattress. The rest of the afternoon crawled by like a snail navigating the edge of a large pond.

The Russians came at nightfall. My mind wasn't on them until they were framed by the door.

The dining room was perhaps the most spectacular room in the mansion. It was filled with so much crystal that guests had the illusion they were surrounded by diamonds. The long, ornately carved wood table was always set for twenty with nine to a side and one on each end. White china, each embossed with a gold-leaf Cantemir crest, and crystal goblets sparkled under a hundred candles. The walls were lined with cases, some holding old books, some keeping silver plates and more goblets, and some the best silverware.

Kesia Cantemir took her role as hostess very seriously, and there was no better place to entertain guests than around food and drink. This night she had outdone herself, I thought.

A roasted pig from the Castle Castile had arrived three hours ahead of the guests. The head of that boar was now perched on a silver platter as a centerpiece, surrounded by decorative apples and pears. They'd replaced the boar's eyes with pickled cherries.

I didn't see the appeal in the red eyes, but they delighted Kesia and Natasha. And when Lucine said that she found them utterly charming, I liked them immediately.

Lucine was dressed in a long red gown with a slight petticoat that rounded her figure. With dark hair flowing from a blue-feathered hat over white shoulders, Lucine looked the perfect goddess, a standard by which all other creatures should be judged.

I was dressed in a dark blue suit that Kesia insisted her tailor alter for me. At the Cantemir estate all men must have at least six suits for all occasions, she said. It fit well and put me at ease in the company of such stunningly clothed hosts, Kesia in particular. She wore a jeweled emerald gown that spread at her waist like a bell.

There would be eight of us including the three Russians. Four to each side with the end seat left vacant. I was ushered to a chair next to Lucine, across from where our guests would sit, Kesia explained. She was quite particular and she wanted us seated when they arrived to show that we waited for no one.

“A toast before our guests join us,” Kesia announced. She held up her crystal goblet, brimming with burgundy wine. “To the Cantemirs. May no one say we did not live.”

“To the Cantemirs.”

Our glasses were still raised when the doors opened, and Godrik, the butler, stood before us, bowing. “Madam, your guests have arrived.”

Two entered, dressed in black as they had been on their last visit. The first was Sofia, wearing a gown that showed her shape without a formed petticoat; it was hiked up to reveal black boots that rose higher than the hem. Another gentleman was with her, hair long and black over a high blue collar. Sofia's eyes were on mine. The man's were on Natasha.

Before our glasses could be lowered or anything said, Vlad van Valerik walked in, dark eyes scanning us all. There was something at once alluring and commanding about his eyes, as if he saw what was desired and could offer it without reservation.

He was dressed in pitch black slacks that ran over tall boots, and the same suit he'd worn to the ball, with its long tails, a red scarf, and red silk cuffs. A white collar cupped the back of his neck.

We stood. “Good evening, kind sir,” Kesia said, dipping her head. “Your presence is our pleasure.”

“A toast?” Valerik said, crossing to the table, and even as Kesia motioned to the seat opposite her, he lifted the decanter and filled the glass by the plate at the table's head, ignoring her completely. “Then let us join you in your toast. Sofia, Simion.”

Sofia stepped up to the seat directly opposite me; Simion opposite Natasha. They lifted filled glasses and stared at us.

“To the Cantemirs,” Valerik said. “May no one say you did not live.”

He'd been listening at the door? Nevertheless, we toasted.

As one we looked at him, expecting something more from such a bold man. He gave it to us. “Let us drink, eat, laugh, and find the deepest pleasures tonight, before we die tomorrow.”

I swear, I should have shot him dead, but honestly, I didn't see the danger then.

He sat at the head of the table, within arm's reach of Kesia. The pork was cut and served, and not a word was said as we all began to eat. If I'd been in another state of mind, I might have found it strange, but I was seated next to Lucine.

Her scent—that of roses, slightly musky yet so flowery. Her hand reaching into my view to pick up her glass—such delicate fingers with red, tidy nails. Her breathing . . . You see, even her breathing distracted me.

“. . . just for the summer,” our guest was saying. “But perhaps you would like me to stay longer. I can't imagine better company.” His voice was smooth, like the purr of a cat.

“And I don't think you would find any,” Kesia said. “But perhaps your friends need to learn how to appreciate company without pouncing all at once.”

He chuckled. “Discretion is not their strong suit. But they have many others.”

Silence settled around us, cut only by the clinking of silver on expensive china. The sound of swallowing drink, the cutting of meat. I chanced a glance at Lucine and saw that her face was flushed and her eyes were angled down. They darted to me, then away nervously.

Then I saw past her to the head of the table, where Vlad van Valerik sat eating, staring at her. At me. And his dark eyes sent a shaft of fear through my heart. There was a line of white around the dark centers of those eyes, and they pulled at me, like a wolf with an undeterred stare.

Sofia was eyeing me as well. Her eyes were dark, rimmed in the same silver. I looked into them and was almost certain she spoke to me.

I find you beautiful, Toma
.

My teeth froze around the piece of pork I had just placed in my mouth. Her lips had not moved. Then it had been my imagination. But I could have sworn I heard her.

I lowered my eyes to my plate. The table had gone silent. Only now did I find it strange. It wasn't like the Cantemir table to be so gripped by silence.

Alek broke it. “Well, well, this is quite the scene. Isn't it?”

“It's a beautiful evening,” Sofia said. And her eyes were on me still.

“Perhaps we should all appreciate our
own
beauty,” Alek said.

“But we are,” Simion said, speaking for the first time. His eyes were on Natasha, who had remained oddly quiet. “It's like this, you know,” he continued. “The tastes, the scents, the meat, the colors . . . They steal your mind away if you let them. Wouldn't you agree, madam?”

His voice swam with enticement.

Natasha returned his stare. “I would.”

“Enough!” Alek slapped his knife down on the table.

“No,” Simion said. “It's never enough.”

“She's not a piece of meat to consume with your eyes!”

“Alek!” Kesia glared at my friend. “Mind yourself at my table.”

Lucine set her hand on mine. The weight of her palm against my hand warmed my blood. I would protect her at any cost!

But I saw no immediate danger, only this flirting. So I remained still.