Fantasyland 04 Broken Dove (5 page)

I turned my head the other way and saw a pale blue velvet covered chaise lounge with an arch to the side of the back and sweeping arms at top and foot which sat at a diagonal, aimed for a view out the French doors. In front of the doors at the other side was a seating arrangement of two armchairs, including the one Valentine had sat in which had clearly been moved back. A table sat between them with another, smaller vase filled with purple hydrangea blooms.

The wood floors were covered in rugs with intricate but elusive designs, made so by their muted colors of blues, purples, creams and grays.

And set in the walls were more milky-globed sconces intermingled with black framed, cream matted pencil sketches of women all wearing fabulous, chic but old-fashioned gowns from evening wear to day wear to outdoor gear (I knew the last because they were wearing hats and peeking from around parasols).

The room was lavish, yet classy. Opulent, however still tasteful. It was more of everything I’d ever seen of this style of décor—more intricacy in the carving, the sweeping lines more delicate, the colors lusher. In fact, it was totally over-the-top. But weirdly, it managed to be gracious, not garish.

I concluded my perusal of the space thinking,
Okay, this might not be so bad
—the appearance of gas lamps and the understanding that Apollo was handy with a sword and Valentine had to explain that a gun was a deadly weapon and what these might mean notwithstanding.

I was about to throw the bedclothes back, get out of bed and find a bathroom (which I hoped they had) and take a look at my face which felt worse than normal, when the door flew open.

My head jerked that way and I saw Apollo striding in.

He was still in romance novel hero clothes.

But these were better.

Dark brown breeches that fit really well and by that I meant like a freaking
glove
. They left pretty much nothing to the imagination and what they did leave to the imagination, the parts that didn’t told you the rest of it could be nothing but
perfection.

And again, this proved he was all Pol because, at least looks-wise, Pol was all that, top to toe. It was just everything else that made him a jackass.

I stopped thinking of Pol and followed Apollo’s breeches to his dark brown boots that were kind of shiny like someone attempted to take care of them, but they weren’t worn as a fashion statement. They were just
worn.

Up my eyes went and I saw topping these was a cream shirt, full-sleeved and the collar was clearly meant to go up high on his neck and cover his throat, possibly with one of those poofy neck cloth thingies, but he wore the collar open at the throat, exposing the strong column of it, creating a miracle. Because at the sight of his throat, I forgot about his breeches.

I tore my eyes from his neck to look at his face.

Yep, this was Pol Powerhouse.

Or Apollo Powerhouse.

Pol didn’t hold a candle to this guy.

Not even close.

I watched his gaze slide through me and he turned his head toward the door he’d just walked through.

I looked down at the pillow beside me that was dented seeing as his head had rested on it through the night, wondering distractedly how late it was and how long he’d been gone seeing as he was dressed and had already gone about facing the day.

Then I looked back his way to see that he was in the room and he wasn’t the only one.

A troop of women came with him. I stopped counting at six (and
maybe
was half done) when he started talking.

Or more accurately
commanding,
his gaze on one woman. “She’ll need to be bathed and dressed. Take measurements in order that you can commence creating her apparel without delay. You’ll have one week to provide her with a wardrobe that will see her through travel, on land and at sea.”

Uh.

What?

He wasn’t done.

“Send a missive to Lunwyn urgently. They’ll need to prepare for her arrival. We make haste to Lunwyn so inform them that they have two months.”

Wait.

It took two months to get to Lunwyn?

Two months?

He turned to me, took two steps toward the bed but stopped which put him at about ten feet away.

His eyes were blank when they fell on me, which I thought was weird but I didn’t have a lot of time to think on how weird it was because he continued talking immediately.

“Obviously, I was not prepared for your arrival and in your current condition”—he looked to my check then back to my eyes—“the children shouldn’t see you.”

All the air compressed out of my lungs, and due to lack of oxygen they started burning.

Children?

He seemed not to notice my response for he went on.

“Indeed, I had planned carefully for how you would be introduced to them therefore you may be traveling separately from us so I can take that time to prepare them. We mustn’t delay in being away, however, for the witches are conniving with Baldur and whatever strike they intend to make is possibly imminent. We need to make haste in all of us arriving at the Ulfr estate in Lunwyn where I can leave you with the children in safety and rejoin Frey, Tor and the Dax.”

Clearly he thought Valentine was a lot more forthcoming during our conversation last night because I had no clue what he was talking about but he seemed to think I did.

But I didn’t ask.

I was still stuck on children.

Therefore, I wheezed, “Children?”

“Yes,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“
Your
children?” I pushed out.

He stopped looking blank in order to look mildly impatient. “Yes. My children. Christophe and Élan.”

Christophe and Élan.

A boy and a girl.

Or maybe two boys (I’d never heard the name Élan).

It didn’t matter.

Children.

Apollo of this world and his dead Ilsa had children.

Two of them.

Two of them.

Suddenly, I was certain I was going to throw up but luckily he spoke again so I had something to focus on and could swallow it down.

“These women are ladies maids and seamstresses. They will attend you.”

I didn’t need ladies maids and seamstresses. I didn’t even need a bathroom anymore.

I needed Valentine. Like
now.

So I asked, “Where’s Valentine?”

“I do not know. She disappeared in the night, as is her wont.”

Disappeared?

Why?

Shit!

“Uh…I think she left a lot out last night,” I informed him.

“I’m late being away to the children’s school. You and I will talk later. But I’ll warn you now, I’ll have little time. There’s much to be done before we embark on our journey, so think on your questions and use that time wisely,” he stated and turned to leave.

Wait.

Hang on a second.

Who was this guy? And where was the guy who was all affectionate and kind and concerned and fierce?

“Wait!” I called when he’d almost made the door.

He turned back to me, definitely impatient now. “Ilsa, as I said, I’m late being away. I should have left half an hour ago.”

“I…” I hesitated and tipped my head to the side. “Are you okay?”

His impatience fled, the blank mask slid over his face and he answered, “I will be, if you leave me to go collect my children.”

“Right,” I said softly. “Of course.”

He didn’t acknowledge that. Not with a nod of his head, a lift of his chin or anything.

He just turned and walked out the door, and without pause, the troop of women rushed forward and descended on me.

* * * * *

It was late evening.

After Apollo took off, I’d been measured for clothing and then led to a room down the hall, which fortunately had a screen painted with a lovely landscape with people picnicking on it, behind which, unfortunately, there was a chamber pot.

I wasn’t fired up about the chamber pot business but it was something that didn’t include me tiptoeing through the tulips (or whatever) to answer nature’s call, so I used it.

The room also had a fabulous porcelain bath with silver claw feet and high sides.

It was safe to say, I was fired up about
that
.

The girls left and I was allowed to take a bath alone but I noted there was no plumbing, although there was a drain. Still, the water was warm, the shampoo smelled of citrus, the soap of lavender, and the washcloth was slightly rough in a loofah kind of way.

When I got out, I grabbed the towel they left me on a dainty stool by the bath. It wasn’t terrycloth but it was soft and absorbent and a fabulous shade of blue.

They’d also left a robe. It was silk, there was a fair bit of delicate lace and it was butter yellow.

Okay, it was safe to say I was getting fired up more and more.

The women came back (three of them) and brushed my hair until it was almost dry then arranged it in a soft ponytail at my nape. They gave me light makeup, taking care with my bruised cheek (the room with the tub also had an oval mirror with scalloped edges on the wall; I looked in it and saw my cheek was not good but still, as bad as it hurt, I’d had worse).

They also gave me undies (no bra, just a pair of white lace panties and they were like panties in my world except a
whole lot better
).

Then they helped me put on a dress that didn’t fit, it was a hint too big, but it was lovely all the same. A gossamer fabric over a phenomenal crêpe de chine, both the color of a bruised peach. It had a scoop neck that showed some serious cleavage, a gathered bodice that led to an empire waist, and the skirts swept down to my feet, the back of it ending in a small kickass train.

After I got the dress on, they gave me four different pairs of slippers that I tried (they were all beautiful, two embroidered, one with a flat bow at the toe and one just plain satin). But none of them fit, (three too small, one too big) so I went barefoot.

And last, they brought me breakfast which was croissants, jam, fruit and, thankfully, coffee.

Then they left.

I tried talking to them but they spoke what sounded like French and I might know what
tout de suite
and
chérie
meant, but I took Spanish in high school so the rest of it was lost on me.

Since Apollo had spoken to one of them in English, which I would assume he’d know she’d understand, I tried to ask for her to come back as she’d disappeared with the women with the measuring tape.

This got me smiles, head tilts, brows drawing and shrugs, so I was thinking they were in the same boat as me and had no clue.

So I gave up.

After I ate, I wandered to the French doors and pulled a set open.

Then I took a step back and winced.

I didn’t wince from pain.

I winced because the rolling countryside was a green so green, a green so extraordinarily beautiful, it was difficult to witness.

In fact, it was so beautiful, it appeared unnatural.

I blinked several times and cautiously moved out onto the balcony.

The view was a unlike any other I’d seen and I’d traveled with Pol, broadly.

But I’d never seen anything like what I was seeing then. That verdant green. The winding, creamy lane that was flanked on both sides by a riot of wildflowers so bright, their stark juxtaposition against that green was unreal.

And that green seemed to go on and on, cut only by steeple topping a church made of mellow rust stone, and opposite that some ways away, a large patch of bushy rows of what appeared to be lavender.

But in the distance, the green darkened in what appeared to be a forest that climbed partly up some jagged topped mountains, their stone a severe gray which was lightened by deep grooves that scored nearly down to the tree line, the grooves filled with snow.

It was phenomenal. Amazing.

Otherworldly.

“My God,” I breathed, finally believing without a doubt I was in a parallel universe.

There was nothing like this in my world and I couldn’t make this up in a dream. No one could make this up in a dream, it was just that phenomenal.

I determined to take a walk and see it close up but decided to do that the next day (if we weren’t “away” by then). After the activity of the morning, my ribs were killing me, my face didn’t feel all that great, and I didn’t speak French (or whatever) so I couldn’t ask the girls if they had ibuprofen or aspirin.

Instead, I drank in the view until it dissolved in front of me as two names laid siege to my brain.