Immanuel's Veins Page 10

  But my eyes were now on the man beside her. This was either Stefan, the man I had shot dead three days earlier, or his identical twin.

  Natasha was rushing forward. She flew at me, threw her arms around my neck, and kissed me on my lips. Then she grabbed my hand and dragged me toward the group.

  “Everybody, this is him! Toma, the one who shot Stefan. A brute of a man, as quick and sharp as a whip. The one who loves my twin sister.”

  I was too stunned to speak.

  “Dance with us, Toma!” She released my hand, having maneuvered us among the others, and twirled. “Dance, dance, dance!”

  Stefan, risen from the dead, watched me with a steady, haunting stare. No, his twin, I decided. A fiddle played by a musician who walked out of the shadows drew one long, mournful note.

  “Alek will be so excited,” Natasha cried. “Did you bring Lucine? Please say you did. Not even she is prude enough to resist magnificence.”

  The long violin note lingered, then spilled into a string of notes from very high to nearly a growl. Natasha spun in rapture to the sound while I stood at a loss. The others watched, waiting for something, perhaps Stefan, who now wore a mischievous smile.

  He stepped up to me, leaned forward, and kissed me on the cheek. “All is forgiven,” he whispered in my ear. “Call me by his name.”

  Then he lifted his arms over his head, clapped twice, and started to dance with Natasha. The others laughed and twirled, and the fiddler’s fingers flew over the strings at a dizzying pace.

  The dance resembled no movement I had ever seen—a twisting, twirling affair that might be better suited for dervishes than ladies and gentlemen. It was at once beautiful, even breathtaking, and terribly sensuous, in part because of the way the women were dressed in their tight-fitting leathers and boots.

  “Natasha,” I managed to croak, now flushed with uneasiness.

  She cast me a coy smile and rotated her hips. “Dance, Toma.” Her face was pale like her hair; dark circles swept under her eyes. Stefan stepped up to her, took her into his arms, and kissed her lower lip. He took it into his mouth. She closed her eyes in rapture.

  He was biting her? Biting her! The blood on her bedsheets . . . Surely it hadn’t been from her mouth.

  All of this took only moments as I stood like a tree, rooted in stone.

  Stefan pulled away, leaving her laughing with her head thrown back. Blood glistened on her lip.

  The sight pushed me to the edge of panic. “Stop!” I cried. And when they did not, with my full chest, I thundered in the hall.

  “Stop this!”

  Now they did. The fiddler ceased midstroke; the Russians froze in dance; the entire room came to perfect stillness.

  “What did I tell you?” a voice murmured behind me. Johannes, reminding me of my promise.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” I demanded, glaring at Natasha. “Where is Alek?”

  From behind again. “You promised—”

  “Quiet!” I shouted, twisting back.

  Johannes still stood with the young woman, his chin on her shoulder. Neither looked affected by my rebuke.

  “It’s for your sake, not mine,” he said.

  Another spoke. “Leave us.” I could hardly forget Vlad van Valerik’s voice, now reaching to me from somewhere in the room.

  When I spun back to find the source of that voice, the space was empty. I saw the blur of one moving through a doorway to my far right. Between the time Valerik had issued his command and my own turning, the Russians had all vanished.

  All but the tall master himself, who now stood in the middle of the room, dressed in his long coat perfectly cut to form. And Natasha, who looked forlorn on the dance floor.

  The duke started to walk toward me, boots clacking on the marble floor. Then another sound came from my left: lighter feet, clipping on the same floor. I turned to the sound and saw the Russian seductress who had stared me down at the Cantemir estate.

  Sofia. And her eyes were no less alluring.

  Vlad van Valerik stopped five paces from me. Sofia crossed to Natasha, kissed her on the cheek, and spoke in a soft, kind voice.

  “Leave us, dear. Go see to Stefan.”

  Natasha smiled and hurried out the back like a girl running to share a secret with her playmates.

  “I have come for her,” I said.

  “And you will have her,” Valerik said.

  Sofia walked up to me, placed one ruby-nailed finger on my cheek, and drew it to my chin.

  “Hello, Toma.”

  ELEVEN

  Lucine Cantemir paced by the fireplace, torn by her thoughts. She was at once confused and certain, adamant and reticent, found and completely lost.

  “You worry too much about your sister, Lucine,” Mother said. “She’s not a child.”

  “And yet she acts like one. I can’t bear this.”

  “So you’ll what? March up there and redeem her? Toma’s sword isn’t enough for you?”

  Lucine lifted her fingers to her cheek and brushed it lightly, feeling the slight tremble in them. “He’s as lost as Natasha.”

  “Toma? Please, you know nothing about him.”

  “I think he cares for me.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “You said it yourself.”

  “That was confusion. Either way, I can assure you he isn’t a man you want.”

  “And you would know?”

  “Your mother would know. Yes. Be mindful of that.” Kesia looked past her, out the window at the black night. “You’ll need a man of standing and wealth, one who can command a country, not a battle in the field.”

  She was talking about the duke, naturally. But Lucine found the suggestion offensive, not because she had no interest in a man of the duke’s standing, but because Mother held such double standards for her and Natasha.

  “Natasha can run off with a man like Alek, but for me—”

  “You are not Natasha! You are Lucine, my daughter, and I know my daughters. Both of them. Natasha was born for a warrior. You were born for an emperor!”

  Lucine had never heard her speak like this before. Mother might mean well, but such a broad proclamation only increased Lucine’s offense. In her own way, Mother had steered Lucine and Natasha in these directions for years now without saying as much. Lucine recoiled.

  “You know your daughters, but I know myself. And I’m not indifferent when a man looks at me. How can I mistake the way Toma looks at me? If I did allow myself to be taken by someone like him, it would be my decision, not yours. You’ve always encouraged us to think for ourselves.”

  Her mother’s face fell flat, and fire lit her eyes. “You can’t be serious, he’s a warrior!”

  “He’s a war hero.”

  “He’s a ruffian.”

  “He’s wild, and tamed when he needs to be.”

  “He’s not even in the same league as the duke!”

  That was it, of course. Mother was infatuated with Vlad van Valerik. Until he had come along with his courting call, she had winked at Toma’s apparent interest in Lucine. Now she saw it as a threat.

  This attitude only inflamed Lucine’s interest. She held her mother’s stare.

  Kesia stood and walked to the window, clasping her hands behind her back. This was the precursor to the most earnest talk. With her chin firm and the last hint of smile and tenderness gone from her face, she spoke evenly.

  “You must consider the duke, Lucine. I demand it.”

  “What on earth has gotten into you, Mother? A single Russian blows into the country with a single credential and you demand your daughter lift her skirts for him? This isn’t like you!”

  Mother faced her. “He’s not any single Russian who’s blown into the country. He’s the son of Peter Baklanov, cousin to the empress. He has royal blood. And some would say that he’s the rightful heir to the throne of all this land, if he chose to pursue it.”

  Lucine stood, disbelieving.

  “Wealthy beyond measure. In any case
, it is in his power to run Russia if he wishes. Toma would serve in the duke’s army, hero or not.”

  “I’ve never heard such a thing. How do you know this?”

  “He told me. And he showed me a letter confirming it.”

  “Then why wasn’t I told?”

  “Because he insisted he win you without any advantage.”

  “But I don’t want to be won by him!”

  “And I’m telling you, Daughter, you need to find a new sentiment. His path is entirely noble. He could rip this land from us. And I can tell you by looking into his eyes that few can woo like him.”

  “Then let him woo you. I’m not interested.”

  “Why?” Mother cried.

  Why? Because of the way he looks at me, Mother. The way he undresses me with his eyes. The way he thirsts for me. But she could not say this.

  Kesia said it for her. “You’re afraid of raw desire?”

  “Please.”

  “He’s royalty! Does that mean nothing to you?”

  “Am I a slave?”

  Her mother blew out some air in frustration. “You can be so stubborn at times.”

  “Like my mother.”

  “I swear on my grave, if you let this pass, I will never forgive you. And if you think Toma cares for you like Alek cares for Natasha, you’re sadly mistaken. You’re no longer the kind who can draw any man the way your sister does. You’ve been scarred by your history.”

  Lucine felt the words more than heard them, each cutting. She was speaking of the miscarriage.

  “How dare you speak of that.”

  “I’m being truthful.”

  Lucine forced her bitterness down and took a deep, calming breath.

  “You are wrong, Mother. It’s not that I can’t devastate any man I choose at any time I choose. It’s that I choose not to. And I’m telling you now that I choose not to have the duke. I don’t care who he is, because as I see he’s the devil. And in my eyes, Toma could put him on his back and slit his throat before that devil could draw his weapon.”

  “Well, isn’t that a wonderful trait? Then the two of you could run off and live in the hills like paupers while all of Russia hunts you.”

  Lucine felt her resentment for the Russian deepen. In that moment Toma Nicolescu and poverty looked the better choice by far.

  Mother must have seen the look of resolve on her face, because she spoke quickly, with urgency. “Don’t be a fool. Toma loves you no differently than he loves Alek. He cares for those he serves, that is all. He’s loyal to the bone, and that loyalty is for the empress.”

  “This isn’t about Toma. And it’s certainly not about royalty. It’s about your daughter, Natasha, who has lost her mind.”

  Lucine turned on her heels and walked from the room, mind resolute.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To bed, Mother. Good night.”

  But she had no such intention.

  It took her only a quarter hour to change into riding clothes— pants and a long jacket—and slip out the balcony door. Her reasoning was simple and she rehearsed it with a fixed jaw.

  She wasn’t willing to be shoved aside while Natasha trampled their reputation and cavorted with danger.

  She trusted Toma’s ability with a sword, but even he had shown some weakness in dealing with his emotions. Hadn’t the Russian woman Sofia flustered him? Whatever had seduced Natasha and Alek could just as easily seduce Toma. This business had gone too far.

  She would drag them all back if she had to, and while she was there she would give Vlad van Valerik a reason to leave her alone forever. And while she was at it, she would see for herself what all the fuss was about. Natasha wasn’t the only one with a heart.

  Lucine saddled her own mare, hoisted herself on the horse’s back, and set out under a bright moon for the Castle Castile.

  TWELVE

  I stood facing Sofia at a momentary loss. The whole business seemed to have unraveled me somewhat. This realization rang warning bells I could not ignore.

  “Please, madam, step aside.”

  She smiled. “Such a gentleman. Yet with so much blood on your hands I can smell it. I find the combination irresistible.” She stepped to my side and faced the duke.

  “I hope Sofia’s attraction doesn’t confuse you, Toma Nicolescu,” he said, wearing only a faint grin.

  “I’m here to see you, not her. You have my man Alek and my charge Natasha Cantemir. All I ask is that you allow me to return them to their rightful place.”

  The duke raised his arm slightly and held his palm out. Sofia moved to him, like a dark angel, gliding more than walking. I could not ignore her beauty, but she held no appeal to me because I had given my heart to another, however I might have denied it. Surely Sofia saw in me no return of her own affection.

  She took his hand and he lifted it to his lips. Kissed it. Then released her and she stepped to one side.

  “As I said, we will find your Alek and you may do what you like with him.”

  “Find him? Bring him, if you don’t mind. And Natasha.”

  “Find him. As you can see, the castle has many rooms. Even more beneath us. He could be anywhere. Yes, Sofia?”

  “Anywhere,” she purred.

  “Any man who can speak a word and make his subjects vanish can surely speak another and bring them out. I have no desire to make a search for—”

  “But I’m telling you, good sir, that this is the way it is here. I command only those loyal to me. Your man isn’t in my charge. You’ll have to find him. I would think that you, being a man who understands the value of knowledge, would appreciate the opportunity to know more about our”—he indicated the walls with one hand without removing his eyes from mine—“home.”

  He made a good point. Only my uneasiness with the Russian’s peculiar personality gave me pause, I reasoned. My anxiety wasn’t born of any physical threat but of my own reaction to their demeanor. By not examining the castle I was indeed weakening my position to understand any true threat.

  “Then I will accept your invitation.”

  “Splendid. You will find that we are only a few men and women who love living and teaching others who are inclined to embrace life as we do. A lot of fun and many very late nights, but harmless to body or soul.”

  “Forgive me if I reserve my judgment until I’ve recovered my man.”

  “Of course. Sofia will be happy to show you whatever you want. My castle is yours.”

  “Why her?”

  “You would prefer my company to hers?”

  To say yes would have been rather pathetic. Either way, he spared me the choice.

  “I assure you she knows every nook and cranny of this place. I’m afraid I have business I must attend to. You could wait for me, an hour at the most—”

  “She will do fine.”

  “Splendid.” He hesitated. “Take your time.”

  Then he left us, just Sofia and me, alone in the large hall that had only minutes ago been ripe with revelry.

  Sofia glided up to me, took my hand without showing the slightest indication she’d been hurt by my comments, and led me toward the back of the hall. I wanted my hand back but would have felt foolish if I’d yanked it away. I had never been in such a discomforting position as I was in that castle that night.

  “Madam, I find it difficult to think with my hand in yours,” I said as we reached the door.

  Sofia stopped and turned into me as if she’d expected this. We were in the shadows. “Now listen to me, Toma Nicolescu,” she whispered, looking up at my face. “All of a thousand men peering at us now would beg to be in your position, my dear. Please, if you can pry it out of yourself, enjoy it.”

  It was then that I felt my first shifting toward her. Not that I wanted to, mind you, but I could not deny the way she pulled at me. I didn’t know what to say, because honestly, I did not want to hurt her feelings. She’d done nothing but show me affection.

  “I love someone,” I said, then felt like a f
ool for saying it.

  Sofia watched me for a moment, then reached up and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Yes, I know. Lucine. And she doesn’t know it. Such a terrible pity, to be loved by such a beautiful man as you.”

  “You know?”

  “One look in your eyes the other night and I knew. So does Vlad.”

  “So he intends to court her, then.”

  “Vlad will do what Vlad does. He will win the world.”

  I had already said far too much, enough to earn my head on a platter if this Russian ever reported my confession to Her Majesty. So I did not press the matter. But with Lucine brought back into my mind, I wanted to run from the Castle Castile, take Lucine in my arms, and vow my eternal love for her. Let Alek and Natasha find their own condemnation here.

  For a moment I thought I might do just that. Maybe I should have. I have relived that moment a thousand times and wondered why I couldn’t throw honor and duty and loyalty to the wind just once and rush to the woman I loved with all of my heart.

  Sofia released my hand. “I like you, Toma. You would make a worthy adversary.” Then she walked through the door, and I followed.

  The hall beyond was only seven paces in breadth, but the arched ceiling was so high I could barely see it in the shadows. All wood here, with a long line of candles burning along both walls, illuminating a treasure trove of appointments. Large oil paintings, brass candlesticks, chests filled with bolts of cloth and unusual artifacts and instruments meant for medicine and navigation, but much of it very old looking. Books. Many ancient volumes, stacked or opened on the tables.

  Arching doors appeared halfway down on either side and one at the end. Sofia led me down the hall, past the two doors that remained closed.

  “What is this place?”

  “The way into the main chamber,” she said. “Or do you mean the paintings?”

  “All of it. Did you bring it from Russia?”

  “Impressed, yes? You should see Vlad’s collection. Perhaps he’ll show you. Truly impressive.”

  “And the doors we just passed?”

  She stopped, walked back to one of them, and swung it open. A dark storage room was filled with wood barrels.