Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (31 page)

“The door if you please,” interjected Notus, his smile gone.

Blinking as if waking from a dream, the herald coughed. “Yes. Right. Of course,” and straightened his stance. At a clap of his hands the pages snapped to their work. On heavy hinges the doors opened. The herald turned, addressing the hall in a voice practiced and solemn. “Your Royal Highnesses – Father Notus and the Angel.”

The closest to the doors turned their heads to see who the new arrivals were and their inviting smiles instantly transformed into wide gaping stares punctuated with the occasional look of terror. One woman in a flowing saffron houppelande and a chaplet head-dress let out a strangled cry and promptly fainted into the surprised arms of her husband. Gradually, bit by bit, each searching for the reason of the increasing silence, the hall fell quiet.

He did not need to look up to see all their eyes upon him. He felt them. Their heat was overpowering and the smell of mortal blood mixed with smoke and alcohol was intoxicating. He wanted to devour them. He wanted to run. To stop his trembling, he balled his fists and glanced at his Chooser. Notus did not look at all pleased as he walked down the steps to stand before the brightly coloured crowd. Left alone before the doors with sole attention upon him, he quickly followed down the few steps, catching up with his Chooser.

Grabbing the monk’s sleeve, he forced Notus to face him.
You knew, as well as I, that this would happen,
he sent. Panic filled eyes penetrated through his cold mask.
This is why I did not want to come. We never meant the Angel to be revealed, and now I am. Why?

Sad soft brown eyes met his. “I am truly sorry, my son,” apologized the monk, taking his son’s hand between his own.
I often forget how different you are, different from mortals and different from the Chosen. I only see you. I do not see what others see, and I am only reminded at times like these, after I realized the folly of my persistent nature.
“But it’s not only that. His Highness, King Richard, wants to meet the Angel.”

“What?” His voice was strangled. He could not believe this. “Why?”

“I do not know, but he made it a royal command.” Notus’ eyes fell to their hands. “I know you would have definitely not come if you knew about this.”
Sometimes we Chosen must follow the rules of mankind lest we are discovered.

A slow simmering anger fuelled him. Following the rules of mortals always led him to be discovered and it had nothing to do with being Chosen. Notus was right, if he had known he would have left London, or at least tried to. He wanted nothing more to do with these types of people. Now he was here, in another Richard’s home, with another Richard’s guests and trying very hard not to shake like a leaf.
Never do this to me again, he sent. You know I will do anything for you, but never do this to me again.

Nodding, Notus gazed up at his son. His brown eyes blurred with unshed tears.
I swear upon all that is holy, I will never do anything like this again.

He let out the breath he was holding and bowed his head. “Thank you.”

A knowing smile returned to his Choosers lips and Notus patted his hand. “Now that is taken care of –”

“— we will stay to see the night through –” he continued. The corner of his mouth lifted. Maybe the worst was over.

“— and make the best of it,” finished Notus as he slipped his arm through his sons, slowly making their way through the crowd of guests.

Conversation had quickly picked up with his descent into the hall. Most discussion consisted of the new and hot topic for the night – the Angel. He tried to ignore it and focused on the colours of elaborate dress. Gowns of embroidered silk flashed in the light of flaming braziers. Veiled heads of younger women bent together to privately comment on the virtues of current available men. Large plumed hats and turbans with liripipe denoted the men in bright clothing as colourful as what the women wore. Music of harps, drums and flutes overlaid the buzz of conversation. Only the very brave ventured a comment or two towards Notus and the Angel. Others shied away, allowing the strange pair to pass more or less unhindered.

He observed it all, the glances, the gestures, the expressions, and tried to steel himself from it. By far the tallest man in the room it was easy for anyone to spot him, and one person in particular did. Making a bee line towards he and Notus, a man of average size and colouring, wearing religious vestments, ploughed through the crowd, followed by a young man with a lady, no more than a girl, on his arm.

“Father Paul, how good it is to see you again,” declared the man, a smile on his face and he looked up at the Angel. “And you as well.”

“It is always a pleasure, Abbot,” bowed Notus as his son inclined his head. “I hope the evening has been pleasurable despite the rain.”

“Oh quite.” The Abbot of Westminster flashed a brilliant smile that quickly faded. “I wish you would reconsider and come stay at the abbey. Then you would not have to travel so far to the Library. Not to mention many of us would love to have a man of such talent teach the novices your fine craft with quill and brush.”

“I thank you again for the kind offer,” replied Notus, “but I like being close to those who need me most and I don’t think the Angel would find the restrictions accommodating.”

“Ah well, one has to try.” The smile returned and he opened up the space to allow the finely dressed couple to step closer. “Father Notus and the Angel, may I introduce Lord Henry of Bolingbroke, Earl of Derby and of Hereford, and his wife, Lady Mary.”

“A pleasure, my Lord.” Notus withdrew his arm from his son’s and held out his hand.

The young earl brought his attention from the one the Abbot called the Angel and took the monk’s hand. “And mine as well, Father. The good Abbot here has told me much of your kind works.”

“You are the one the people call the Angel.” Lady Bolingbroke’s voice was high and clear with youth, yet hesitant as if she was not yet used to her station. Her husband eyed her suspiciously.

She was pretty. Long brown locks were hidden under a veil yet the plaits before her ears were left free. Her hazel eyes blinked nervously.

Unable to find his voice, he was relieved with Notus’ response. “Yes he is, my Lady.” The monk flashed a smile that was gratefully returned.

“My cousin speaks oft of the Angel,” replied the Lady, more confidently, “And how no one has ever laid eyes upon him. I must assume, sir, that it is a great honour to have you here.”

He stared at her outstretched hand not knowing what to do or say. The thin blue veins of her translucent wrist held a sweet treasure that he would never allow himself to discover. The Earl and the Abbot stared curiously at his distress.

Take her hand in yours, say thank you, and kiss it,
sent Notus, coming to his rescue.

Her pale hand was warm to the touch and her blood drew him even further. Straightening, he did not return the smile. A crowd of young eligible women watched in breathless anticipation, their eyes focused on him. Their whispers in the midst of the party were easily heard and he turned to stare in amazement when he heard one wondering to one another what it would feel like to be kissed by the Angel. The girl, having noticed his gaze, squeaked in surprise and instantly hid in the midst of her friends giggles.

“Your cousin, my Lady?” asked Notus, bringing his Chosen’s attention back.

“My cousin, Father,” replied the young Earl, “is King Richard the Second.”

He glanced over his shoulder to where two men sat in high backed chairs, one young and handsome, the other older and darker in complexion. On either side sat two young ladies. The two men were caught up in conversation and the girl on the older man’s right smiled at the Earl who nodded his head in response.

Notus’ eyes widened at the revelation and then shook himself as he suddenly remembered the book in his embrace.

“I almost forgot,” the monk held the leather bound package out to the Abbot. “I finished this tonight.”

The Abbot’s eyes brightened as he took it, unwrapping the package and opening a page at random. He gasped at the sight and stood transfixed as he slowly leafed through the pages. Curious, the Earl and his wife peeked at the book and their eyes widened.

“This is more beautiful than I ever expected,” exclaimed the Abbot, breathlessly. Notus’ smile widened. “Such artistry cannot go unacknowledged. It would be a sin!” The Abbot carefully closed the book to the regret of the onlookers, wrapped it up and handed it back to Notus. “You must present this gift with me.”

“What?” Notus stood flabbergasted, the book in hand. “I cannot. It is yours to give.”

“Nonsense,” replied the Abbot, firmly, and grabbed Notus’ free arm, leading him through the crowd before the monk could utter another word of protest.

A smile lit his ruby eyes yet did not touch the rest of his face as he watched his Chooser dragged away. Somehow it seemed justified to allow the Abbot to manhandle Notus so. There was no danger from the exuberant mortal and it was doubtful that the Abbot was in danger from the stunned Chosen he dragged. Without Notus, he glanced down at the young couple. The Earl seemed more interested in the on goings of a small group of men in lavish dress, while his wife stared up at him, a soft smile on her face.

Returning his attention to his wife, the Earl of Derby and Hereford patted her hand and unhooked her from his arm, saying, “Excuse me, my Lady, but I need to talk to Thomas.” He scowled momentarily at his wife’s frown and addressed the Angel awkwardly. “I…if you would be so kind as to stay with my wife, I would deem it a great favour.” He turned and moved off into the crowd, leaving no room for protestation.

He watched as the Earl was consumed by the wave of people. The smile from his eyes now gone, he glanced down at Lady Mary who seemed unsurprised at this turn of events.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” she attempted. “My Lord has a tendency to be focused only on fighting.” She stared sadly in the direction that her husband had gone. She could not see, for all the people in her path that his height allowed, Lord Bollingbroke being slapped on the back from his friends and laughing along with them.

She attempted another smile and held out her hand. At his frown, Lady Bollingbroke cocked her head to the side. “Is there a problem?”

There was a problem. Her husband left her in the custody of someone who craved to drain her of her life, but instead he took her hand, wrapped it around his arm, and was rewarded by a true smile. Her touch and proximity made him nervous. It was not just the lust for her blood as she led him through the crowd along the path the Abbot had trailed Notus along.

“You do not talk much, do you?” she asked demurely, nodding her head in acknowledgement at a guest. “I take it that you would like to be anywhere but here.”

Her astute observation surprised him and he stiffened under her light touch.

“I suppose I can understand that. Tonight you are the talk of the party. Tomorrow you will be the talk of the city.”

He hesitated in mid-step, unsure of how to take the observation.

“I do not mean to pain you, but you are a rare person. Mysterious.” She halted, bringing them to a stop and turned to face him. “I can see, as can any other person here, that your secrets are a temptation to discover and the one who discovers them will be the most sought after person, besides yourself, of course.”

“Why are you telling me this?” He already knew what Lady Bolingbroke had said. He had experienced this in the past but not on such a grand scale. So many people who feared and despised him were also inexplicably drawn to him.

Surprised that he actually said something, it took her a moment to formulate an answer. “Because I would not wish to see the Angel entangled in this royal game.” She threaded her arm through his and led the way.

He gazed down on her and was surprised at the affection he suddenly felt for her. Never before had he been treated in such an accepting manner from a complete stranger. It made the night seem worthwhile.

They halted before a large open space before the enthroned monarchs and in which stood the Abbot and Notus. King Richard was leaning to see the open book in his guest’s lap oblivious to all else. He stood silently at the edge of the crowd, watching, Lady Bolingbroke’s arm resting on his.