The Fire Lord's Lover - 1 (3 page)

   "No." She felt her smile falter as she thought of the enormity of her task. "I cannot think of myself, Thomas. Nor you, nor my father… nor the elven bastard, for that matter. The freedom of the people of England is at stake. And just the chance"—she clasped her hands tight—"the mere chance of ending these ridiculous war games and setting the king in power once more is worth my soul."

   "Not to me." She opened her mouth again and he held up a pale hand to quiet her. "Enough. Do you know your eyes glaze over like a nun at prayer when you say such things?"

   "Had I not been chosen for this task, I would have liked to have taken the vows."

   Thomas laughed at her, slapping his knees. "Oh no, my girl. Becoming a nun is not for the likes of you."

   Cass raised her chin, miffed at his opinion of her. "I would make a very good nun."

   He laughed harder, wiped the tears from those wicked gray eyes. "Sometimes I think I know you better than you know yourself. There's a fire within you, Lady Cassandra. I felt it in your kiss. And one day it will be set free, and heaven help the man who stokes it." He motioned her to the chair across from him and Cassandra took it, although her back stayed as stiff as a rod. He eyed her for a time in silence, only the crackle of the fire and the muted sounds of a carriage rumbling past the window disturbing the quiet.

   All trace of humor vanished from his expression, and he leaned forward, his brow creased in earnestness. "I do not think your father did you a favor by having you raised among all this religious dogma. You've taken it to heart and I'm not sure if it will help or hinder you."

   Cass frowned. She'd always considered Thomas's lack of faith a peculiarity, another oddity to his character compared to those she'd always been surrounded by. She pitied him for it.

   Thomas sighed. "Well then, there's no help for it. Despite my teaching, the nuns have managed to keep you pure, anyway. What a paradox you are, my dear. The court won't know what to make of you."

   "Unless they get in my way, they hardly matter."

   "I daresay. Now, this will probably be the last time we will be able to meet privately."

   Cassandra felt her stomach twist. In many ways, Thomas had been her only friend. How would she manage without his company?

   He patted her hand, then snatched his away, as if he had to force himself not to hold onto her. Their conversation today, that kiss of his, had changed their relationship, it seemed. Perhaps it would be better if they did not meet again.

   "Don't worry," he assured her. "You shall still see me. But not as Father Thomas. Viscount Althorp, however, will reappear at court, to the surprise and delight of all, I am sure." He gave her that crooked grin that had once made her younger self swoon. "But it wouldn't be safe for us to talk often or privately, so listen closely."

   She nodded, relieved they had resumed their familiar roles as tutor and student.

   "I don't know," he said, "if having the king's court in Firehame will make your task easier. See if you can aid Sir Robert Walpole, but do not risk your task for his sake. We've never had an assassin this close to an Imperial Lord before. Your mission is far more important than the leader of the Rebellion, do you understand?"

   Cassandra nodded.

   "Your magic for the dance will not be enough. You never would have returned home after your trials if you had enough magic to truly threaten the elven lord. Only surprise and skill will overcome him."

   Although Cass vaguely remembered her trials, she knew her father had been disappointed when she hadn't possessed enough magic to be sent to the elvens' home world, the fabled Elfhame. His friend, Lord Welton, had bragged for years that his son had been a chosen one, and the duke had been decidedly put out when he could not say the same of his only child.

   It had soothed her father somewhat when she'd become affianced to General Raikes. And now that her intended had won the king…

   "It may take you years to get close to the Imperial Lord," continued the viscount. "It will help you immensely if you can manage to make your new husband trust you. But even then do not rush forward blindly. Remember your most important lesson."

   The words fell from her mouth without thought. "Patience."

   "Just so. Practice it with Dominic Raikes. I'm sure he will tax it."

   Cassandra smiled. Thomas did not return it this time. Instead he leaned forward, his gray eyes hard as steel. "Make sure of your opportunity before you seize it. If nothing else, remember that, my girl."

"I will. I promise."

   The bell rang, signaling the end of prayer, and made both of them jump. Thomas smiled at her rather sheepishly, and Cassandra feared the smile she gave him in turn held too much sadness in it.

   He walked her to the door, bowed low over her hand. "If you ever need me, leave a message for Father Thomas. I will come… if it's safe."

   She understood. From this moment forward, she should depend only upon herself. She turned to leave, but he would not let go of her hand.

   "Are you sure?" he murmured.

   "Yes." Oh, how confident she sounded! Was it false or true? She supposed the next few days would tell.

   His grip loosened and she felt her entire body grow cold. Would she ever be truly warm again?

   "Farewell, then, Lady Cassandra. You have been a most excellent student."

   She might never see him again, at least in this guise. She wondered what he would be like in the full role of Viscount Althorp. "Good-bye, Father Thomas."

   Cass slipped out the door almost as quietly as she'd entered. Some of her training had become pure habit. The hall flowed with the colorful skirts of the ladies of quality, and she insinuated herself within the crowd of students with barely a notice. She knew she should go to her rooms, that her father had sent his servants along with her wedding gown so she would be prepared for tomorrow.

   But the entire encounter with Thomas had shaken her belief in the path she had chosen to take. Her widowed father had no idea of her involvement with the Rebellion; he would have disowned her, since he stood to gain status and funds with her union to the champion.

   She'd missed her mother over the years, but never as much as she did at this moment.

   So when Cass passed by the chapel, she slipped inside and closed the door behind her. She'd always had God to talk to. For a moment she enjoyed the silence, the chatter of the girls muffled behind the walls. Prayer time had ended, and so she had the entire place to herself.

   She passed the pews and went straight to the altar, then sank to her knees on the bare stone, as close to the cross as propriety would allow. She bowed her head, pressed her palms together, and continued her interrupted prayer, her words barely above a whisper.

   "Almighty God, please let my new husband be happy with me tomorrow so I can murder his father."

* * *

Cassandra sat within the carriage, trying not to rumple the silk of her wedding dress. The sunshine streamed through the windows and struck the silver edging decorating the cream fabric and shot tiny sparks of light around her. Father had insisted on the silk, had chosen the pleated gown

himself. He wanted his daughter to shine.

Cass wanted only to disappear.

   She glanced across the coach at her father. The press of traffic to Westminster Abbey impeded their progress, and the Duke of Chandos grumbled again.

   "Devilishly foolish of the lot. They're all here to see the wedding, and they can't have one without the bride. We shall be late because of all the gawkers."

   He checked his gold watch for the hundredth time. Age had not diminished her father's handsome looks. His silver-white wig made his hazel eyes appear lighter, and they made a striking contrast against his tan face. He loved to hunt, spent a great deal of time outdoors, which had kept up his youthful physique. He had not mourned Cassandra's mother for long, although she supposed she couldn't blame him, when women kept throwing themselves at his feet.

   He'd inherited only a pretty face from his elven blood.

   "Please, Father, don't be concerned. They will wait for us."

   "Eh?" He glanced up, as if he'd forgotten her presence. "Yes, quite right." The Duke of Chandos leaned over and patted her hand. "As you are my only child, your son will inherit the title. Of course they'll wait."

   Cassandra gave him a weak smile and turned to stare out the window. Her new stays itched. And Father had insisted she wear the most outlandishly wide hoops; as a consequence they kept popping up in her seated position. She gave a sigh of relief when she saw the Gothic arches of the Abbey. The carriage stopped in front of the ornately carved entry. The area had been roped off to hold back the crowd, and a line of uniformed officers standing in rigid military attention created an aisle for her to walk through.

   Their uniformed escort leaped down from the back of the coach and opened the door, stepping aside to create another barrier against the watching crowd. Cass felt as if she were on display and confined all at the same time.

   A sudden flare of cool white fire highlighted the officers and the entrance to the church, dancing upward past the tops of the spires in curling waves of crystal scintillation. Cass could feel the strength of the Imperial Lord's magic like a shiver in the very air. Her hands began to sweat inside her silk gloves.

   Father stared out the window and swallowed. "Don't worry, my dear. We'll do just fine."

   She couldn't be sure if his words were to reassure her or himself.

   Father exited the carriage first, adjusted the lace at the sleeves of his satin coat, and held out his hand to her. Her fingers trembled as she clasped it. The sweep of her gown preceded her from the carriage, and when she raised her head a sudden beam of fire touched her satin pinner, radiating outward to join the already swirling beams. Her knees felt like pudding and for the first time in her life, she thought she might swoon.

   Cass muttered a prayer, took a deep breath, and walked forward to her doom.

   But the moment she entered the grand abbey, the carved images of saints and apostles calmed her. Statues of angels stared lovingly down at her, the feathers in their wings, the very folds of their robes, appearing softly real from the skill of the artisan that had sculpted them. Father led her down the nave, and she ignored the hundreds of staring eyes of the nobles who sat in the pews, keeping her gaze focused on the great cross over the high altar. The music of the choir soared above and beyond the Imperial Lord's magical fire that had led them inside, and she let the melody carry her slippered feet down the very, very long aisle.

   She didn't trip on her gown. Father didn't stumble in his new high-heeled shoes. Cassandra thought she might manage this public display without too much fuss after all, until they neared the altar. And she saw her intended. And his father.

   General Dominic Raikes's handsome features had always flustered her. But today she realized the elvenkind had brought the beauty of angels to earth for them… and Dominic looked so strikingly similar to his elven-lord father. Her intended stood with military precision; indeed, he'd worn his uniform, although she doubted he wore this version in battle. The red wool had been replaced by red velvet, with gold trim about the sleeves and flared skirt of the coat. Dozens of gold buttons trimmed the wide cuffs of the coat and down the opening, although only one clasped it closed at the waist. His cravat and sleeves dripped with black lace, and that color matched his shiny boots and the velvet cloak slung over his shoulders.

   Not the normal dress for a marriage, but it suited him well.

   He wore no wig, of course, since after all, the reason the gentry wore them was to copy the elvens' silver blond hair, and the general had inherited the original. As she drew closer to him, she noticed he wore battle braids in his hair, but they'd been drawn back and fastened behind his head, revealing his pointed ears and the high cheekbones in his face.

   Cass had her attention riveted on him, but he didn't return the favor. Indeed, his gaze roamed the vaulted ceiling and he looked… bored.

   She glanced over at Imperial Lord Mor'ded. He'd dressed in the same manner as his son, although Cassandra imagined he'd never fought on a real battlefield in his life. His face looked slightly paler than his son's, his shoulders narrower, his legs less muscular. And his black eyes…

   Cass's face swiveled between the two of them. Large elven eyes, as shiny and black as coal—they almost looked like they had facets in them. Both their eyes would be beautiful—glittering like exotic jewels—if they hadn't looked so very cold. So very cruel.

   Instead of the angels to whom she'd compared them, she should have been thinking devils.

   Cass turned her attention toward the archbishop and kept it there as her father brought her to stand next to General Raikes. He didn't so much as blink to acknowledge her presence. Her head just topped his shoulders, and she fancied she could feel the heat of his body.

   She refused to allow her intended to intimidate her by his mere presence.

   The entire wedding party waited in a frozen tableau while the choir finished its song. Yet beneath Cass's dress her toes continued to tap in time to the music. She felt the dance swell inside of her, seeking direction. A brief thought came to her and made her stomach flip. Could she kill Mor'ded now and put an end to this farce? She'd resigned herself to the knowledge that she wouldn't survive the assassination. Surely the Imperial Lord's son would kill her if she moved now. What better way to send the sovereignty into chaos and advance the tide of the Rebellion?

   Her heels lifted. Her knees swayed.

   General Dominic Raikes leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Do you have an itch?"

   The archbishop frowned at them. Imperial Lord Mor'ded fastened those cold eyes on her.

   Cass froze. Had she detected a note of mockery in the general's deep voice? She stole a glance at him. His emotionless eyes stayed fixed on the archbishop as well, but the corner of his mouth twitched. She vowed she'd seen it twitch.