-9-
“What do you think?” he asked. Melina had never visited the observatory at night.
“Magnificent,” she breathed. “The best view in the city.”
He felt his blood stir as Melina meandered through the room, her array of rings, bracelets, and other charms jingling and glittering in the light of the glow orbs. She was still wearing her slinky lavender gown from the party but had removed her shoes. The effects of the long night of revelry, the disarray of her blond curls and the smudge of lipstick around her mouth, made her even more ravishing. She was the first woman who had moved him since his wife had died.
Melina drifted across the artistic renditions of the planes of existence that wrapped the support columns and flowed onto the silver floor tiles, letting her fingertips trail across an antique telescope. “Should we contact Fesoj?” she asked, stopping in front of a line of obsidian Spirit Helms hanging on the wall. “See if the probabilities attached to that cursed sword have sunk even further?”
“Tonight?” he said, amused. “You’re even more vigilant than I.”
“I’ll cease to worry when the prophecy is extinguished.”
He waved a hand. “The probabilities are negligible now. The sword and the Blackwood boy are secure. Come,” he said, wrapping her in his arms from behind and inhaling the sweet intoxication of her perfume. “There is a time for war and a time for love.”
“My people are very superstitious,” she said without turning, stretching like a cat in his arms. “It’s one of the few vestiges of my heritage I have yet to shed.”
“I find the concern for my welfare quite charming.”
She reached back to run a hand through his dark hair, sending currents of desire arcing through him. In the corner, streaks of silver light pulsed across the shadowy form of the sole remaining Spirit Liege. Alistair wondered what it felt as it watched them, if it retained any human emotion. Since it was a new class of being altogether, one he and Fesoj had brought to life, perhaps it had a new and unclassified emotional palette.
At times, Alistair pondered the wisdom of revealing his secrets to Melina. Besides Fesoj, she alone knew about the Spirit Liege, the location of the sword and the Coffer, and the prophecy that had plagued him ever since those cursed items had returned.
Of course, desire had played a part in loosening his lips. He was well aware of this. Yet he also knew that Melina desired him as well, that her ambition rivaled his own, and that she would never jeopardize her new standing in the Congregation. He valued her insight, she had no proof of anything, and if she did betray his trust, he could snuff her life as easily as taking a breath.
And, of course, Melina did not know all of his secrets.
She walked over to admire an azantite case showcasing a collection of magical artifacts. “I still think you should kill the brothers as soon as possible. Two are already in your grasp. Why leave the prophecy to chance?”
“Chance is leaving threads untied, my dear. Will is secure in my stronghold, Val is under my thumb, and I will use them both as tools, if needed, to reach Caleb.”
“Can you not reach him in other ways?”
“Of course—but all the better if Valjean convinces him to come to me. Caleb will think he is returning home through a portal, I will kill all three brothers in secret, and there will be no outcry from the people. The foolish Devla think Caleb Blackwood is their savior, their redeemer. The gullibility of human beings never ceases to amaze me. In any event, what better way to defuse a revolution than if their leader chooses to return to his home world, slinking away to a safer place, rather than lead his followers into war?”
“And you’re certain you can convince him?”
“I’m certain Val can. Caleb will listen to his older brother and realize the only possible outcome of his march to New Victoria is certain death. He will choose the portal home—or at least so he will think.”
“And what of Adaira, when she learns of Val’s death?”
Lord Alistair looked away. “Yes, that is most unfortunate. I admit I’m fond of Valjean myself, and were circumstances different, I would welcome him to our family. But things are what they are, and I fear Adaira will take his death poorly. I plan to give her a task to occupy her mind.”
“Such as?”
“I’ll send her on a mission to the protectorates to facilitate the revival of true cuerpomancy. Establish healing centers available to the common born. That will not only heal my daughter’s heart and keep her grief at bay, but bolster my own reputation among the people.”
“I see,” Melina said demurely, reaching up to cup his face in her hands. “Your wisdom and breadth of vision is unparalleled.”
“You flatter me.”
“Of course I do. It’s part of my magic. Yet the secret to my charms is that I speak the truth as well.”
Though Melina had studied sylvamancy at the Academy, Alistair knew her true talents lay in seduction and persuasion. The tinkling jewelry that bewitched men’s eyes, the heady perfume that lowered inhibitions, the mesmeric sway of her hips when she walked, the magically sweet honey in her voice: it was all a calculation, practiced and perfected, her natural abilities enhanced by her magic.
He knew this, and still he had no defense.
“And when the prophecy is no longer a worry?” she asked, swaying closer until their bodies were touching, locking her arms around his waist.
“What do you mean?”
“What becomes of the sword and the Coffer? Will you dispose of them?”
He had not told her, or anyone, that he had tried to force the Coffer open with magic and had failed. A troubling fact. Yet he was certain that, with time, he would unlock the Coffer’s secrets. Then the artifacts would become the problem of his enemies.
With Zariduke in hand, and the Coffer at his side, no mage on Urfe would dare stand against him. The queen would lay her crown at his feet.
“Dispose of them?” His mouth curled into a smirk. “Why ever would I want to take such a foolish action?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You seek to wield them yourself one day.”
“But of course.”
As the Spirit Liege flickered in the corner, Melina disengaged from his embrace, slipped out of her gown, and began drifting towards the wizard chute in the corner. Her gleeful laughter was like swans gliding across water as Lord Alistair flew to meet her, caught her in his arms from behind, and carried her down the chute to his bedroom.