The Third Son (7 page)

“Prince Damien,” she continued. “I recognize you from the palace. Did you think that I wouldn’t?” she asked when he looked at her, baffled. 

How could she have forgotten him? He had watched her at The Golden Dancer the same way he had at the palace, with the same fiery intensity with which he watched her now. His eyes were emerald flames, causing her skin to tingle slightly when they moved over her slowly.

He was dressed plainly, but his clothes were expertly tailored and of high quality. His olive green coat was without adornment but it clung lovingly to broad shoulders and accentuated the tapering of his waist. His tan breeches showcased powerful thighs that moved with dexterous grace as he walked
and high
brown riding boots were without flaw and highly polished. He was without jewelry with the exception of a ring on his right hand, which Esmeralda could not see in the darkness but guessed that it bore the crest of the royal family.

“I would think you were too busy to
pay attention to
anyone,” he replied. “But I did notice you. You are quite a dancer.” Esmeralda tried not to notice the little thrill that went through her at the compliment. She was relieved when they finally reached the small house at the end of the lane, her home.

“Here we are,” she said, turning her key in the lock. She felt his hand at her elbow and turned in the doorway. Moonlight played softly over his chiseled features and caused his hair to glow angelically.
Yet
this man was no angel, she thought as his eyes roamed over her features. His closeness was an assault on her senses, one she knew she should be afraid of, but one that felt oddly comfortable.

She never allowed a man to get close to her
. A
s a rule she kept them all at arm’s length.
T
his man had the potential to send all of her carefully erected defenses crashing down around her. He traced his fingertip along her jaw, making a slow circle around her chin. “Beautiful,” he murmured, drawing close as if to kiss her. She pushed the door open quickly, nearly jumping over the threshold to put some distance between them. He dropped his hand back down to his side and followed her silently into the house.

Esmeralda tried to see the house through his eyes, which were darting about the small sitting room, studying his surroundings. Much of their furnishings were a collection of things that her father had accumulated during his time as a sailor. There was a great mixture of Spanish and Oriental, and the room was decorated in various bright patterns and colors. The furniture was worn but beautiful, upholstered in red and gold damask. Various unmatched tables with clawed feet were positioned around the room, holding vases of flowers or various trinkets and figurines. Oriental rugs covered the floor and a low fire burned in the stone fireplace. Beyond the sitting room was the kitchen. Beaded curtains shielded the doorways to
two bedrooms
.

She led him quickly up the narrow staircase, past her own bedroom to the room at the end of the hall where her grandmother was. She knocked, three raps as the signal that she was bringing her a customer.

“Come!” she called imperiously from the other side of the door.

“She is ready for you,” Esmeralda whispered, before allowing him to enter. “Before you go in, you must know that my grandmother is not a simple palm reader, or con artist. What she sees and shows to you is real and a lot of people are not ready to face the things she has to show them. Be sure before you go in that you are ready for what she must tell you.”

Before he could respond, she flung open the door and gestured for him to go inside. He stood in the doorway, watching her for a moment before he went in and closed the door.

Damien stepped into the dark room, lit only by candles and the crackling fire in the small fireplace in the corner. Fragrant incense
smoked
on a low table in the middle of the room. The
surface
also held several candles, a peculiar looking pipe and a bowl full of colorful glass beads. Reclining on a pile of cushions was a slim figure wearing peculiar black robes. Esmeralda’s grandmother was a curious woman to be sure, Damien thought and he approached the
petite
woman. 

Her face as deeply lined with age and her slender, long boned hands were wrinkled and gnarled. A tall turban sat high on her head, a large jeweled pin attached to the front. Several ropes of colorful beads were around her neck and large rings adorned almost all of her fingers. Beneath arched black eyebrows were eyes identical to Esmeralda’s, glowing almost yellow in the firelight. “Damien Largess,” she said, extending one of her hands toward him. “Come, I have been waiting for you.”

Damien stepped unsteadily forward. How could this woman possibly know who he was? He was certain he had never seen her before in his life. Damien crossed the room and lowered himself to his knees on the other side of the table. He was curious as to how much more the woman could guess about him. Surely
,
this was some scheme devised to gain money from him. Isn’t that what the Gypsies were known for?

“I am Akira,” she continued, leaning forward and grasping his chin in her hand. Her grip was surprising strong. Damien found himself transfixed, unable to tear his gaze away from hers.

“No wonder she is so affected by you,” she said after a thorough inspection of his face.

“Who is affected by me?” he asked.

She smiled, and shook her head, releasing his face. “All in good time, Your Grace, all in good time. You will see only what I see and what you don’t see hasn’t yet been set by fate.” She lifted the long pipe from the middle of the table. A thin line of smoke curled up from
it
, casting a sticky-sweet odor around the room. Akira inhaled deeply, blowing the aromatic smoke slowly through her nostrils. She extended he pipe to Damien.  “You must partake in order to see,” she urged when he didn’t accept. “Come, come, you may even like it.”

Damien
choked on the first try, the sticky-sweet smoke causing his eyes to water. He coughed, throwing the pipe down on the table. Akira chuckled, taking
it
up from the table and offering it to him
for the second time
. 

“Try again,” she urged. “This time won’t be so bad.”

Damien eyed the unusual woman skeptically, but he accepted the pipe once more. This time, he inhaled deeply and freely, exhaling slowly as Akira had done. A thick haze seemed to form around his field of vision and Akira’s image before him seemed to waver and then disappear altogether. He could still hear her voice though, clear as lightning through the gale of a storm.

“Now you will see,” she intoned, her voice seeming to float around his head as he fought to regain his equilibrium. His head seemed to sway and he felt as though he were floating above his own body, suspended above reality. Suddenly his vision cleared and he could see.

He saw an image of himself, his face a contorted mask of unmistakable pain, blood smeared on his hands. This vision wavered and another of himself in Lionus’ chambers swam before him. He held his brother’s hand as he lay among the bed covers, his face as pale as death.
Damien
tried to hold on to the image, but it too, wavered and was gone. Once
more
,
his eyes focused on the image of himself, this time with Esmeralda clasped tightly in his arms. Tears streamed down her cheeks, though she clung to him fiercely. Damien’s vision wavered one final time and the image was gone. He was back in the room with Akira and she was watching him closely.

“I have seen what you have seen,” she said, her voice a near whisper now. “There is much unseen, but that is because decisions have yet to be made to set you on this path of your destiny. Esmeralda’s fate is in a way entwined with your own.”

Damien frowned. “But I have only just met her. How can that be?”

Akira shook her head. “That is not for me to say. I know only what we have
witnessed
, though I believe I understand it better than you.”

“Will you explain it to me? Why was there blood on my hands? What is going to happen to my brother?” 

“Within the house of the king, there lies a viper,” Akira began, her eyes focused somewhere beyond Damien. “If you are not careful, this viper that you nurture in your bosom will strike a deadly blow, one that will bring the royal family to its knees.”

Thinking of the plot against his father, Damien fought hard against a lump in his throat. Someone close to his father was trying to murder him. The fact that he had seen Lionus in his vision meant that this plot did not involve only his father.

“What must I do?” he pleaded, feeling oddly helpless.  

Akira shook her head, her eyes growing heavy-lidded and tired. “I do not know,” she said solemnly. “It is not for me to tell you what to do, but to tell you that the road to your destiny is paved with tragedy, tragedy that can be stopped but must be stopped soon.”

Damien sighed. Some fortune-teller. What could Damien possibly do to stop a killer no one could name? No one even knew the reasons behind the attempts.

“And what about Esmeralda?” he asked finally, wondering what on earth the mystifying woman downstairs had to do with his destiny. “How does she fit in to all of this?”

Akira smiled. “Ah, I will not make it that easy for you,” she said, her voice laced with laughter. “The two of you must discover this for yourselves.”

Damien stood, dropping a few gold coins on the table in front of her. “Thank you for your time,” he said. “You have given me much to think about.”

“You will come to see me again, yes?” she asked. Damien nodded. “Then leave me now in peace. You tire an old woman.”

Prince Damien’s face was drawn and reserved as he descended the staircase to where Esmeralda waited for him in the sitting room, leading her to wonder just what Akira had showed him. She had been right to warn him, she knew. Most people found their experiences with her grandmother unsettling to say the least. 

“Did it not go well, Your Grace?” she ventured, placing a hand gently on his arm. He flinched as if she’d seared him with a hot iron and a tiny little thrill ran through her at the feel of his well-muscled bicep beneath her hand.  

“It was interesting,” he said. “She has given me much to think about.”

“Would you care for some tea, Your Grace?” she asked, knowing it was madness to entertain the prince alone, but unable to say goodnight to him just yet. “My mother makes her own special blend. It’s known to be very calming.”

Damien looked beyond her into the cozy little kitchen. “I would love to share tea with you, but only if you call me Damien.”

“Of course, Damien.” 

His
eyes roamed around the small but efficient kitchen. He took a seat at a large table with a marble
surface. The
kitchen was what one would expect to find in a commoner’s home: a simple oven, pots hanging from the ceiling, bulbs of garlic and onions in one bowl, various fruits in another. Yet the tea service she brought to the table was polished silver and the delicate cups she served the tea in were fine, hand-painted china.
He eyed her family’s belongings curiously, seeming to try to reconcile the modest cottage with some of the more ornate fixtures and items.
Esmeralda poured
the tea and took a seat across from him, chuckling softly at his bewildered expression.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, indicating the silver tea service. “You’re wondering how a family of Gypsies is able to afford such fine things. You are probably wondering if they are stolen.”

“No,” Damien stammered. “I wasn’t-” 

“It’s all right,” she interjected, offering him a small bowl of sugar cubes. “My people have a reputation for that sort of thing. But we are not all dishonest thieves. My father was a wanderer who took to the sea. When he met my mother in Spain, he showered her with gifts he acquired from all over the world. Over his life, he managed to acquire quite a collection.”

“How did he end up in Cardenas?”

“Having children made him long for stability.
They
had traveled most of their lives and were ready to settle somewhere. I was seven years old when they decided to settle here. He bought the Golden Dancer and retired from his life at sea.”

“Your father sounds like an interesting man. I would love to meet him.”

“I am afraid that’s not possible,” she murmured, staring into the murky depths of her china cup. “He died a little over a year ago.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, studying her face intently. “So you have inherited the Golden Dancer? Have you no male relatives to assist you?”

“My brother Desmond is not yet seventeen. I am teaching him all of what my father taught me about running the tavern. I have been dancing there for years and know more than anyone about managing it.”

Her sadness faded and Esmeralda felt fierce passion gripping her heart as she spoke of The Golden Dancer. It was merely a small tavern, but it was her father’s legacy and she was proud to have taken up his mantle when he died. Damien watched her intently, his chin resting on his hand, his eyes searing into hers as if she presented a mystery to him. She snatched her gaze away from his and focused on the dark liquid in her cup.