The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1) (7 page)

“I could do that, but do you not want to claim your legacy first?”

My eyes narrowed.  “Do not play with me,
I beg of you!  I am not in the mood.  The only legacy here is one of madness.”

“Look closer at what you have learned. 
Your grandmother spent time here as a prisoner, but she escaped, which the Count had not expected.  Any secret of hers—remaining for you to discover—will be carefully concealed within these walls.”

“Is there such a secret left to find?  Are you guessing, or do you know?”

“There is indeed something here meant for you that will be important to your quest.”

“Can you perhaps be a little more specific?”

“Now, where is the fun in that?”

I decided then and there to throttle this ambulating smudge, as soon as he fetched me out of here.

I recalled my son had treasures he often hid ingeniously.  Once, I discovered his journal by sheerest accident, chasing down an intruding pigeon atop his wardrobe…  Phillippe, taking a lesson from the cat, had learned that the best hiding places are above eye level, where gazes seldom stray.

My gaze swung to the armoire, ascending to its crown.  I
would need something to stand on.  The chair by the vanity volunteered itself.  Dragging it over, I climbed, and smiled.  A linen bundle lay back from the decorative lip.  I pulled the unwieldy bundle into my arms and climbed down, sneezing from the dust I had stirred.

“It distresses me how easily you found that,” the dark angel remarked.

I ignored him, taking the dusty bundle to the bed.  Inside the sheet, I found a diary.  Inside, accounts were written in a delicate artful script.  I also found a white, hand-tooled leather belt, soft calf-length leather boots, matching leather pants, and a laced bodice that left arms and shoulders bare.  Everything was clean and fragrant, having been packed away with dried lavender.

A small compass lay buried in a pocket, fashioned by a great artisan.  It resided inside silver rose petals on a chain, allowing it to be worn as a necklace.  The needle swung in a constant circle
… curious.  Underneath everything else, I discovered a braided, white-leather whip—coiled, inset with small thorns that looked wickedly sharp.

To think that my grandmother might have owned
—and used—such a thing disturbed me.  It in no way fit into the image I’d created of her as a child.  A strange feeling overcame me, as if Amelia’s ghost were whispering in my ear.  Curious, and with renewed determination to escape this prison, I gathered up the items and went toward the bath to change. 

“Wait here,” I told Azrael.  “I’ll be ready to go in a few minutes.”

I closed the door for privacy and stripped away my travel-stained clothing.  I looked at the claw-footed tub with longing.  The luxury of a bath was tempting, but not in this house.  Not with Azrael so close at hand.  I didn’t know who I trusted least; him or myself.  Thoughts of him came unbidden, distracting me from Phillippe.  I could not understand why this was so.  Surely I had nothing in common with my dark companion.

I dressed in the garments I’d found, and added my original pouch and cloak as I finished dressing.  The locket with my son’s picture
stayed in place.  I simply added the rose compass to what I sported.  My new belt possessed a clasp, so that the coiled whip could ride a hip, opposite my sword.  Fortunately, the boots were a good fit.

The clothing of the White Rose completed me, reinforcing my spirit and my mission.  I unbound my hair, letting it fan out behind me in a white-gold cascade.  I looked formidable and knew it.
  Thus armored, I returned to the outer room where the dark angel remained silent, peering at me intently as if I were some dream escaped from a fantasy. 

At last he spoke.  “You are beautiful.”

“Do not sound so surprised,” I chided, hiding my pleasure at the effect I produced.  “Now, good sir, I want out.”

“Any place special you wish to go?”

“Downstairs will do.  I do not want to go without thanking our host for such a wonderful time.”

The dark angel’s tone darkened, “You are going to kill him?”

“Oh, no!”  I packed conviction in my tone.  “That would be rude.”

“You are going to hurt him.”

Deciding against an obvious lie, I answered truthfully.  “Oh, yes, most assuredly!”

“Then I will not help you.”

Men, they never want to do as they are told!  “Very well, what if I promise not to be first to draw a weapon?  Does that satisfy you?”

“I can live with such a compromise.”

Live with...?
  An odd phrase for an immortal being often mired in death.  It made me realize how little I knew of my new shadow.

He
went to the candle and extinguished it, then the lamp.  Darkness washed over me.  A moment later, I sensed him hovering near, cold air displacing warm.  “Give me your hand,” he instructed.

I held my hand out, as bidden. 
Cold fingers claimed my own with a reassuring pressure.  He tugged me into motion toward the locked door.  It opened.  I stumbled out into light, emerging from a large pantry
on the ground floor.  Impressive trick.  Coming abreast of the stairs’ landing, I put hand to sword.

Azrael stopped me, barring my way. “You promised,” he
reminded me.

I looked into the luminous eyes recessed in his cowl, then over at my grandmother’s portrait.  She seemed to have a disapproving cast of features as well.  I thought of the many times
I had lectured my son on virtues such as honesty, fidelity, and restraint.  With a glower and scowl, I removed hand from hilt.  “Fine, I’ll keep my word.  Now, get out of my way!  I have serious matters to attend to.”

As if used to obeying me, he did as I asked. 

I moved with an easy stride, skirting the dance floor, wading capriciously through guests.  Keeping my eyes on target, I circled the floor, rounding
the knot of doddering fools fawning over Dupree, hanging upon the duplicitous, gilded words dancing off his tongue. 

My manner of dress stirred
speculation as I made my way through the throng.  A drone lagged in my wake, swelling in intensity like a storm of locusts gathering to feed.  Several servants moved as if they would intercept me, but a quick stabbing glance halted them in their tracks, compelling cautious retreats. 

Abruptly, Dupree’s head came up like a hound testing the wind.  As I moved closer to him, the guests between us cleared away, leaving him vulnerable to my approach.  His eyes widened as he became aware of my changed attire.  I stopped a few feet from him, letting my eyes flash like a promise of death.  Then, changing tactics,
I smiled warmly, conceiving of greater retribution as a new dance began.

I held my hand out for him to claim.  “My Lord Count, it was naughty of you not to invite me to your party.  Come dance with me.”

“Dance?  You wish to … dance?”  He looked thoroughly confused at my offer.

I stepped closer to him.  He cautiously took my hand, and I went willingly into his arms. 

“You do know how to dance?” I inquired with a guileless innocence, noting his startled face.  “Just move your feet and try not to fall down—or tread on my toes.”

He smiled, ensnared by his own desire.  “I shall do my best, Amelia.”

We moved together smoothly as if gliding across a cloud.  Everyone else shied away, opening up the floor to the matched precision of our steps.  The count knew how to dance after all.  He guided me with a gentle pressure on my shoulder blade, steering a twirling, winding course across the
ballroom floor.

With the gay music, the festive crowd watching us, and shining crystal chandeliers generously reflecting the candlelight, all elements of romance were in place
among high society.  I had always longed for, and hidden from, this pretty dream.  Everyone admires the butterfly, but the caterpillar dies to make fragile wings possible.

For the moment,
I gave myself to the dance, offering Dupree the willing companion he burned to possess.  He dared not trust me, and he didn’t.  I knew this from the subtle tension in his posture.

I moved even closer, setting my head against his shoulder with a soft pleased sigh.

He murmured lovingly into my ear, “Should you become violent, my dear, my men can be upon you in an instant.”

We reached the doors to the
balcony.  They stood open, and out against the stone rail, I saw Azrael.  His eyes were bright stars and the black mist of his face had parted to reveal a mischievous smile.  Something about the expression tore at my heartstrings. 

The music still played, but I stopped moving, wrapping my arms firmly around Dupree.  I stretched up, turning my lips to his in an invitation he was not slow to accept.  I poured passion into the kiss, as though surrendering my soul, wanting to forever sear this moment into his memory
—a flaming brand against his wicked heart.  His arms tightened possessively.  His lips drank hungrily.  I felt his manhood pressing hard against me.  Were we alone, I had no doubt he would have already ripped my clothes
away.  Only the good opinions of the crowd daunted him from doing so now.

At last, the kiss ended
, as they all must.  I opened my gaze to his, offering a final smile.  “I know you are surprised by this change in me.  Shall I tell you what lies behind it?”

“Please, do
,” he answered warily.

“Join me on the balcony.  There’s no moonlight, but we will manage quite well
.”

Keeping an arm locked around my waist, he escorted me through open doors.  I moved in front of him, turning, drawing him along, as if for a better view of the estate and the
morose city beyond the high walls.  Showing no alarm, Dupree remained unaware of the dark angel I pulled him toward.

I jerked free of the Count’s hold, making him stand still by touching hand to blade.  I pinned him with my stare as well.  “I gave you this time so you would appreciate much better all that will never be yours, especially by force.”
Spinning, I launched myself into Azrael, falling into his cold, dark infinity, and left a freshly tattered heart behind. 

I felt no guilt.  Dupree had known of my thorns when he tried to p
luck me.  He should have been more careful. 

4. A QUESTION OF HONOR

Time held her breath, my body was pierced by cold.  I sprawled across a nameless brick street, knowing fresh bruises would follow.  I was definitely going to have to stop tumbling about this way.  My breath emerged as white fog while I picked myself up.

Azrael reached into his shadows and pulled out my cream-colored cloak, returning it.  “Here, you are shivering.”

Touched by his thoughtfulness, I threw the garment over my shoulders.  “I want to thank you.  You have shown me … a wondrous time.”  Indeed, I had found a great deal more about my Grandmother than I had hitherto known.  I prized freedom even more, having tasted of life in a gilded cage.  Azrael had my gratitude for getting me both in and out of Dupree’s house of obsession.

The dark angel’s gaze fanned my face with gentle light.  “I a
m ever your servant, White Rose.”

Something about his manner reminded me of my son just then.  I had to be growing addled, seeing Phillippe in those around me.  Perhaps the desperate ache of my heart made me
imagine what I longed for.  “Can you take me to the Gamesman?” I asked.

“No, White Rose.  I can only help you where the game is not touched upon.  Though not a player, I am bound by its sanctions within this city.”

“Well enough.  I can do this myself—it will simply take a little longer.”  I estimated the path I needed to follow, and consulted my compass.  If only the thing would give me a northern bearing…  Suddenly, the needle stopped and backed up a bit.  I smiled.  I had my bearing.  Apparently, the compass worked after all; I had only to ask for what I wanted.

Walking briskly, I thrust myself deeper into the mysterious reaches of the city, and did not resent Azrael’s company.  We enjoyed a companionable silence, passing street after street.  Eventually, I slowed, my strength ebbing.  Hunger had been nipping at my heels for a while, but now howled stridently.