The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) (22 page)

Somehow, I did not believe him.

He casually flipped the knife over to the padded seat of his throne.  The blade landed on the cushion with only a slight sound.  The king continued, “You will find it pleasant to surrender responsibility and mold your will to mine.  Learn to please me in all things,” moving closer, his gaze smoldered with a miser’s passion, “and I can show you ecstasies such as you have never imagined.  In the end, you will beg for the kiss of dark fire that only I can give.”

Not so long as Phillippe needed me.  In my head, all possibilities dwindled to a single desperate act.  The only question was when to make my play—now or later. I felt there was little value in waiting.  Besides, if I did not act now, his mastery of me might seep into my bones, and I might never again find strength for defiance.  But first, I would see if he could be lulled into carelessness.

I let my voice tremble, as if I hardly dared to speak.  “My Lord…”

“Yes?”

I cast my gaze to the floor as though cowed.  “I beg you to be patient with me…”

“Go on,” he commanded, lifting my chin so I must look him in the eyes.

“I am at the limit of endurance, having passed many trials to reach your side.  This entire world is new to me, and I am overwhelmed by such changes as you offer.  I would be grateful for time to reconcile my heart to these circumstances, to wash the dust from my body, and to rest a while—”

“You are right,” he said.  “I have been a poor host.  I will have you shown to a room worthy of your station.”

He thought me Amelia, not knowing I had no station except for what I had won at sword-point.  My grandmother was the true Bride of Death, thus a valuable hostage; I only played dress-up in her clothing.  That fact, however, was not one I needed to share with him.

I wavered on my feet as if I might collapse right there.

He added support, catching hold of my arm.

“Can you help?” I asked.

“Of course, I always take good care of my possessions.”

His gaze slid along my shirt, tracing the shape of my breasts.  I read desire in his rapt attention.

“How nice,” I murmured.  He had anticipated my use of the knife, but did not know about the charmed mask dangling from my left hand, in the folds of my cloak.  Bauku had known of it, but strangely, had let me keep it.  Therefore, I had two choices: wear the wolf face as protection against the red fire, or use it offensively as a weapon.

My free hand snaked up his chest, past his neck, to cup the back of his head.  I leaned against him in a most provocative manner.  He offered no resistance, as I pulled his face closer, seeking a kiss.  As our lips fused, my right hand caressed the side of his face.  My fingers brushed the headband he wore.

His eyes opened.  He seized my fingers, and pulled them away, as he laughed into my face.  “Ah!  So that is your game!”

I showed him shocked confusion.  “My Lord, I do not understand.  I thought you wanted me.”

“Oh, I do, but this is not
you.
  Your true self is still hiding from me.”

“No!”  I played at open candor.  “My true self is here!”

With that true admission, I thrust the silver mask over his face and willed it to stay in place, making him as bestial outwardly as he was within.  There came a sound like hot metal being quenched in cold water.  Aracus screamed.  He thrashed, knocking me to the floor.  I stared up at him as smoke poured out of the eye slits and gaping jaw.  His prying fingers smoked as well, burnt by silver as he tried to remove the mask.

The jeweled headband and mask interacted violently—items of conflicting magics.

As the king howled, hunching over in pain, I scrambled to my feet.  My hand closed on the discarded knife.  So far, his anguish had prevented him from summoning the red-fire.  I had to act before that changed.  I hurled myself at him as he straightened abruptly.

The mask skittered across the floor.  He had forcefully ripped it away along with several layers of skin.  His flame-ravaged face shocked me, but my hand did not abandon its task; the knife slid into his body, up to the hilt.  I had meant to drive the point into his heart, but he deflected my hand, and I gutted him instead—a more lingering death than I had intended.

His eyes bulged with murderous hatred.  He bared teeth in a grimace.  His hands clawed weakly at me as he slid off the blade, to the ground at my feet.

Shocked by my own actions, I let the knife fall between us with a clatter that seemed abysmally loud.  I stumbled back.  I leaned against the throne, as my lungs fought for breath.  I closed my eyes and waited for my pounding heart to ease.

Aracus’ moans and whimpers tore at my soul.  I tried to armor my heart against sympathy, but found I could not.  Though I had to leave quickly before my actions became known by those in the rest of the fortress, I could not shirk one last responsibility; I needed to help the king, or finish him off with mercifully haste.

I was spared that decision by the sudden reappearance of Bauku.  The sorcerer sauntered over to the fallen king, studied him a moment, then lifted his orb-headed staff.  He brought the butt down with explosive force.  Aracus went inert and silent—most probably dead.

“There, that is much better.”  Bauku turned my way, his face bland, his dark eyes flashing.  “I see you made good use of my knife.”

“You felt me take it,” I said.  “You wanted this to happen.”

“Certainly.”  Bauku knelt to grab the headband with its black-diamond eye.  He put the thing upon his brow.  “The king is dead, long live the king.”

I played for time, trying to figure out my next move.  “Why arrange for me to start what you have finished?” I asked.  “Why not strike him down before this?”

“Aracus’ sympathy to the Darkness surpassed my own, gifting him with greater power.  I would have lost a direct challenge.  This works out much better.”  He came toward me.

I braced myself to fight, knowing he could not leave a witness alive to implicate him.  He had to kill me, or die trying.

11. THE BLACK ROSE

I remained alert for sudden moves, but kept my muscles relaxed to better serve me.

Bauku stopped short.  “You need not fear me.  I still have need of a queen.”

“I would like to believe you, but in aiding me, you have committed treason.  I have to believe you need to silence me for your own protection.”

In an amazing coordination of dissimilar emotions, he laughed heartily, but shook his head sadly at my suspicions.  I began to believe that the man was as deep as the darkness in his eyes.  He went on, “You will say nothing to harm me.  To leave, you need my good will.  And if you decide to stay, you cannot assail my power without casting away your own.  The king’s death ties our fates together.”

“I do not trust your assurances.”

I edged as if for the door, but my real objective was the silver mask.  If he were capable of using the band to summon the ribbons of light, I needed protection.  With the inside fouled by a residue of burnt skin, the last thing I wanted was to don the snarling mask, but I could not let fastidiousness get me killed.  There was a possibility that the mask would no longer serve.  Contact with the black diamond might have damaged its enchantment.  If so, I had to hope that the headband itself had become equally impaired.

I managed several steps.

Bauku pointed the orb of his staff at me.

I froze in place, understanding the warning.

He crossed to me, but laid no hand upon my person.  He leaned toward me as if drawn by some magnetic force, and secured my gaze with those bottomless, black eyes of his.  His sonorous voice wrapped me like a blanket.  “You are in no danger.  As a prisoner of war, you had every right to kill your captor.  And as the next king, I can guarantee that no vengeance will be taken.”  He held out his hand.  “Trust me.”

“How can you be sure that you will be the next king?  Are there no heirs, no other candidates?”

“Our kings are chosen by the Black Flame.  It favored me strongly at the last time of choosing.  Aracus won his position by the smallest of margins.  Enough games!  Come with me, and I will show you why you have nothing to fear.”

His hand remained between us, outstretched, waiting to be graced by my own.  I either needed to fight him, or put myself at his mercy.  I searched his face, weighing his sincerity.  If he wanted to strike me down, he was close enough and armed with magic.  What gave me greatest pause was that my mission, my son’s fate, rode on this as well.  It was hard to take such a chance.

“Set aside your mystic tools and I will go with you.”

“My, you are so distrustful!”  He released a deep breath as a slow sigh.  “I need the diamond for what I want to show you, but here, take this as a sign of
my
trust.”  He extended his staff, putting his power in my hands.

The gesture impressed me.  “All right, after you.”

He nodded.  “This way, then.”  He made no effort to see if I followed, but strode toward the door through which Aracus had first come.

I snatched up the silver mask and fallen knife, and ran after Bauku.  The staff was heavy and hit my leg, often grazing the floor.  Feeling a bit like a raven gathering shiny trinkets, I would have been amused—were this business not so grim.  Some dark humor must have shown in my face, for laughter danced in Bauku’s eyes as he turned my way, waiting on the threshold for me to catch up.

“Do not say a word,” I warned.  “I will not be amused at my own expense—not here and now.”

I supposed he could not refrain.

“You know, I find spirited mistrustfulness in a woman quite appealing.”

“I have been fighting for the soul of my son,” I said.  “If you have real feelings for me, do not stand in the way of what I must do.”

His face sobered.  “That is not my intention.  In fact, I believe that I can help you.”

“Because you, too, fancy that you would like to own me?”

His eyes flashed with a fierce intensity I had not expected. 

“No, I only seek whatever gratitude I can earn.  I do this so that your heart might give itself to me willingly.”

He went into a narrow hallway.

I followed, throwing another question at him.  “So, you are a romantic?”

His voice came back, a ragged whisper, “Among other things.”

The hall led to a winding staircase that kept our world closed in.  At least confined spaces had no power to afflict my nerve—that would have been one burden too many.  I
continued to count my blessings as we wound down into the bowels of the fortress, our way illuminated by fingers of lavender crystal set into the wall.  Fading into view, overhead webs caught the light.  The former strands had become dust, long abandoned by any spider.

Thankfully, the caking dust was only disturbed underfoot by boot prints, not the tracks of rats which I have always abhorred.  Of course, dark things might lurk below the
Dar’kyn city that might make rats welcome indeed.  I could easily imagine that such was the case, where my footsteps echoed, thrown back at me transformed by my fear.

I shook away such thoughts.  It was dangerous to lose focus; Bauku could attempt deceit at any time.  I had to watch him—carefully.

I didn’t know what he thought I needed to see beneath the fortress, but down was not a good direction for me.  I was already farther from the surface than I wanted.  I supposed he would tell me when it suited him.

His words broke our mutual silence.  “Almost there.”

I jumped a little and the staff’s end rapped sharply against a stair.  The
chuthunk
echoed around me like the single beat of a monstrously slow heart.

“Careful with that,” Bauku said.  “You do not want it to explode.”

A thrill of fear went down my spine and pooled in my stomach.  “Surely, you jest?”

“Fortunately, yes, though to die at your hands would be the greatest pleasure.”

He was flirting with me, willing to win me over in stages.  Such efforts were doomed.  Even if he were not a likely threat, my heart’s interest lay elsewhere.  Of course, that potential union was nearly as hopeless; Azrael was a reaver, an angel of death, more cold shadow than anything else.  I wondered if there was something wrong with me—I kept giving myself to impossible causes as if there were no others.