Читать книгу Bound - Jen Colly - Страница 11

Galbraith

Cleopatra took a small sip of her Earl Gray. This week had been dismal, a slight deviation from the norm, and not even the beauty of the dining hall could lift her spirits. The circular room had lovely gothic alcoves evenly spaced along the wall, the dining tables tucked beneath each.

Near the ceiling and between the alcoves, each aristocratic family’s crest was represented, the fabric hanging so very still. Circling vines and flowers in a rich, red brown had been painted on the walls, trailing onto the ceiling.

Tonight it didn’t move her, and sadly, very few things could lately. Long ago she’d embraced the thrill of being alive. With her dear friend, Arianne, at her side, they’d run through the halls, hid in the church balcony for hours, leaped into the pond. Laughed.

The pond had been the final straw. Arianne’s father had glowered, but never said a word. Her father hadn’t reacted well. Cleopatra had been shut in her home, left in solitude for weeks, and forbidden from seeing her troublesome friend. Her father never changed his mind about her friendship with Arianne, and eventually she’d lost hope.

Arianne had grown up fast, taking on the massive responsibility of ruling her city, but her core defiance remained firmly intact. She was brash, fearless, and enjoyed life even within the limitations of her ruling status. Cleopatra couldn’t help but be envious. They’d been the same. Those qualities had once thrived inside her, but now that she’d grown, she was empty.

They rarely saw each other. Cleopatra couldn’t initiate contact, not when the constant scrutiny of her peers had her second-guessing every move she made. Any unladylike behavior and they would immediately report to her parents. She no longer had the heart to sit through another soul-crushing lecture.

Tonight she craved a dose of friendship, and so she sat alone at her family’s table. The back-lit glass panels under the alcove mimicked windows, made her feel exposed. She had no choice. This was the only way they could meet, just for a while. If the lady of Galbraith sat at your table, you stayed, end of story.

Cleopatra had eaten with her parents and dawdled through the entire meal, annoying them enough that they’d left half an hour ago. Arianne tended to wake late, and others with the same penchant were slowly arriving. Perched alone at her family’s table, prim and proper in her pale blue empire gown, she waited.

Lady Arianne breezed through the open entry doors, her crimson gown crisp and stiff, shifting rather than flowing. Five couples sat scattered throughout the dining hall, and all perked up at the lady’s swift entrance. She ignored every single one.

The lady of Galbraith was not a social butterfly. Never had been. She didn’t gossip, she didn’t mingle, and she certainly didn’t give a damn about whose son made Guardian first. With Arianne, what you saw was exactly what you got. She was a ruler through and through, with no patience for nonsense.

Captain Rye followed on the lady’s heels, and when she paused at Cleopatra’s table, the captain pulled out a chair. Gentleman to the core. Cleopatra liked the captain, mostly because he allowed them to chat as they pleased. He’d raised an eyebrow a time or two at their conversations, but never opened his mouth to impose.

“Lady Arianne,” she said, dutifully greeting her as lady rather than friend. “Captain.”

Neither had a chance to respond as two servants rushed in, each bringing a plate full of food. The plate had barely touched the table and already the captain attacked the chunks of fruit with his fork.

When the second servant approached Arianne, she waved her off, producing a tea bag from a hidden pocket in her gown. She took Cleopatra’s teapot, poured the piping hot water into her cup, and waited, hands folded on the table.

Cleopatra leaned over, whispered to Arianne, “You haven’t taken first meal in two days. I know. I’ve waited for you. And now that you’re here, you’re not eating. What’s going on?”

The lady lifted her chin. “I’ve already eaten.”

“Liar.” Cleopatra sent her a quick sideways glance. “I can hear your stomach growling. Very unladylike.”

“What I eat is my choice, not yours. I want tea.” Arianne lifted her teacup and took a sip as if to emphasize her point.

“You don’t like tea,” Cleopatra said, masking her amusement with a polite smile. “You prefer coffee.”

“Show me how to stash coffee in my pocket, and I won’t have to choke down this tea just to catch a spare moment with you,” Arianne muttered, then suddenly turned to face her. “I don’t mean to be harsh, but are we really still tiptoeing around your father after all these years?”

Cleopatra glanced away, wishing, as she often did, that she possessed Arianne’s strength. “It’s easier than dealing with his anger.”

Arianne gently laid her hand on Cleopatra’s arm.

“I’m not here to talk about him.” Cleopatra smiled and straightened in her chair, ready to breeze past the subject of her father. “I’m concerned for you. This is the third night you haven’t eaten.”

“I…” Arianne faltered, her words momentarily lost. She stared into her teacup. “My favorite chef is on holiday.”

“Holiday? But why would…” Dear Lord, were the rumors true? Cleopatra lowered her voice. “Several years ago you disappeared for weeks, and when you returned, you looked so very…”

“Unhealthy?” Arianne supplied with a sour twist to her lips.

Cleopatra nodded. “I never asked you. Were you truly poisoned?”

“One of the few rumors about me that were true.” Arianne cleared her throat. “Ready to move past my lack of food?”

“Would you prefer to discuss dead prisoners and dismissed councilmen?” Cleopatra said with a sly smile. “I’m all ears.”

“Heard about that, did you?” Arianne glanced around, and verifying that all others were out of earshot. “Be my council for a moment, then. As a citizen of Galbraith, what concerns you more? Rumors of demons in Paris, or a prisoner found murdered in his cell instead of at the hand of the High Justice?”

“Murdered prisoner, most definitely. Was it a Guardian, do you think?” Cleopatra asked, but before the lady could answer, she continued. “I heard the prisoner intended to murder you. Is that true?”

“Yes,” Arianne whispered behind her teacup. “He made quite the effort.”

“Then I amend my answer.” There was a depressing amount of evil in the world, and a frighteningly large portion of it seemed aimed at Arianne. “That he died in a sealed and protected cell concerns me, however his death does not. I don’t care by whose hand he died. His death was warranted.”

“You condone such an act when it was done outside our laws?”

“He would have been executed in a day or two, anyway. The time or place doesn’t matter. Not to mention…oh, no,” Cleopatra said when she caught sight of the young girl eying them from across the room. Of all the irritating people with poor timing, it had to be her. She bumped Arianne’s leg and sent her a warning whisper, “Melisande.”

“Poor thing. I think the hair is her mother’s doing,” Arianne said as the young woman bounced their way.

At sixteen years, Melisande Legard was too old to bounce. Nevertheless, she did, all the way to their table where she stopped abruptly and tipped her head to her shoulder. Her long, dark hair had been curled into tight ringlets and pinned back just above her ears. With a permanent smile on her face, Melisande curtsied in her pink, tea-length dress, complete with puffy skirt. A creepy, giant doll come to life.

“Melisande,” Cleopatra said, the exchange of pleasantries second nature. “So nice to see you.”

“Mother is sending invitations, of course, but I wanted to ask you in person,” Melisande said in a rush, then fell silent. Seconds passed. Had she forgotten her purpose?

“Invitations for what?” Cleopatra prompted the girl.

“Mother is hosting a masquerade for me in two weeks. Will you attend?” she asked, a giddy grin on her face. When she didn’t get a response, Melisande tacked on, “Lady Arianne?”

Lady Arianne spoke through her false smile. “I can’t imagine finding a costume ridiculous enough in only two weeks time.”

“But she will try,” Cleopatra promised quickly with a cheery smile.

“Oh, thank you,” Melisande said, dropping into a choppy curtsy. “And you must come too, Cleopatra. My brother will be so disappointed if you don’t.”

“I’ll be there. I promise.” She and Arianne kept smiles plastered to their faces as Melisande practically hopped back to her mother.

Arianne cringed. “You’ll be the reason I start slipping brandy into my tea.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t already,” Cleopatra said with a winning smile she hid behind her cup.

“Dreadful child. I’m certain she plans on forcing us to listen to her play piano for hours on end. Thank goodness she’s not as awful as her brother.” Arianne winced. “It’s been years and my ears still hurt.”

Cleopatra giggled at the blatant truth. “Be kind. Baron is my friend.”

“Friend indeed.” Arianne rolled her eyes. “If your mother has anything to do with the matter, you’ll be attached to your friend permanently.”

Cleopatra lifted her teacup to her lips, and prior to taking a sip, murmured, “I know you loathe marriage, but Baron would make a good husband.”

Arianne straightened and twisted in her seat to face her. “I’m not against the institution of marriage, or your marriage. Just mine.”

“Would marriage really be so bad?”

“For me? Yes. The last thing I need is a man in the mix tampering with my city,” Arianne said, pushing her cup away from her. “It’s hard enough to accomplish anything worthwhile when someone is always throwing a potential husband or an elaborate gala my way.”

“Yes,” Cleopatra said, rolling her eyes heavenward. “Such hardships.”

“Why must the Legards plan a masquerade every other month? They’re bizarre.”

“The Legards or the masquerades?” Cleopatra blinked innocently.

“Both. I hate you for making me go. Let’s get out of here before I’m trapped into some other horrid event.” Arianne stood, and Captain Rye shoveled two more bites into his mouth before standing at the ready. Then the lady said rather loudly, “Walk with me, Cleopatra.”

Cleopatra had intended to remain in her seat, not wanting to draw attention to them, but denying the lady’s request simply was not done. They could walk out together without anyone suspecting Cleopatra had a hand in their meeting.

When she reached Arianne’s side, they began to move, the captain two steps behind as they crossed the center of the circular room. The few remaining couples glanced their way and exchanged a murmured rumor or two.

“A masquerade,” Arianne said with a shudder, avoiding eye contact with those few remaining as they headed for the door. “And you wonder why I never come to first meal.”

Outside of the dining hall, wispy blue flowers climbed the wide, pink hallway. A short distance away, the hall ended abruptly at a double set of plush dark blue stairs and an elevator nestled between them. A low hanging, three-tier chandelier glowed, the fat raindrop-shaped crystals reflecting enough light to make any gown sparkle. It wasn’t merely the dining hall floor, but a place to make an entrance.

Cleopatra paused and took her friend’s hand, gave it a squeeze. “Tomorrow I had best find you eating again.”

“Or else?”

“Or else I’ll host a ball in your honor,” Cleopatra said, a wicked smile curling her lips.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I’ll have Baron and Melisande play a duet for you,” she boasted, rather pleased by her mischievous threat.

Arianne threw her hands up in mock defeat as she turned toward the stairs. “You win.”

Cleopatra waved good-bye as she stepped past the Guardians who limited access to the elevator leading to the upper floors. She pressed the glowing number one and stepped back. The numbers ran backward here underground, or so she’d read. Above, in the tall buildings of the human cities, the first floor started on the ground and the numbers rose higher the farther you climbed toward the sky. Here, the deeper underground, the larger the level number.

The doors slid shut and she waited patiently for the short ride two floors above, her hands folded neatly before her. Sterling, home to half a dozen aristocrats, made up the entire first floor. This was one of the few elevators with access to the first and second floors. The second floor consisted of Arianne’s home, the council room, and a small private chapel.

A chill suddenly swept over her bare shoulders, sending her body into an involuntarily shimmy. Cleopatra took a step backward, studying the small space, suspicious of the draft. The suspended floor of the elevator jolted beneath her feet, and a man appeared out of thin air.

Disheveled black hair fell in wild waves down over his eyebrows, thick whiskers covered his chin and cheeks, darkened his face. His shadowed blue eyes honed in on her, and like a predator, he tracked each little movement she made. Again, Cleopatra backed away.

He came toward her with one long, slow step. Panic choked out her voice. The distance between them had been short to begin with, but now he could reach out and touch her.

She tried to move out of his reach, but as he took a second step, he stumbled, catching the handrail to stabilize his balance. The man fully blocked the elevator doors, controls, and any chance of escape.