The Lady of the Storm - 2 (13 page)

“That’s blackmail,” hissed Cecily. “If you have it within your power to help me find Thomas, then you will, make no mistake of that, sir.” And without any conscious volition of her own, the stoppers on the decanters suddenly popped out, hitting the ceiling with enough force to dent the plaster. Port and brandy and gin swirled from the containers, forming tiny cyclones above the sideboard.

But Sir Robert didn’t seem to notice, his attention suddenly fixed upon a creaking sound coming from the side of the fireplace. “I don’t think this is wise,” he muttered.

A portion of the paneled wall suddenly swung into the room, and the most dazzling couple Cecily had ever seen stepped from behind it.

“Ah, Robert. I adore that secret passage from the palace to your library,” said the woman, brushing cobwebs from her shoulder. “It makes me feel like one of your spies again.”

Sir Robert quickly rose and bowed deeply. “Have you ever stopped, my lady?”

She laughed, a trilling sound that made the man beside her smile tenderly in response, and Cecily could not help but stare at him. He did not need the black scepter in his hand for her to know that the elven lord of Firehame stood before her. Mor’ded’s ethereal beauty gave him away. Like Giles, he had pale white hair, but the elven lord possessed the silver sparkles in those thick strands that made it glow with a sterling sheen. His eyes were similar to her own, large and luminous, faceted like crystals, but a midnight black to her blue. His skin was so pale and translucent it nearly glowed with its own light, and his face so exquisitely formed he did not seem quite of this earth.

Cecily preferred Giles’s golden tan and green eyes. It made his beauty at least human.

The woman stepped forward, unperturbed by Cecily’s gawking, and held out her hand. “It has been too long since I last saw you, Cecily Sutton. You have grown into a beautiful woman.”

Cecily frowned, for she could not remember the lady, but she rose and clasped the hand extended to her. “I’m sorry, but I don’t—”

“Allow me to introduce you,” Sir Robert smoothly interposed. “Lady Cecily, meet Lady Cassandra Brydges, mother to the future Duke of Chandos, and lady to the elven lord of Firehame.” He bowed deeply to the elven lord. “Your Most High, allow me to introduce Lady Cecily Sutton, daughter of the widowed Countess of Warwick, and bastard to one of your people, Elven Lord Breden of Dewhame.”

Cecily felt grateful for Giles’s warning of her mother’s status, for surely she would have been flustered by the introduction. Instead, she calmly curtsied, keeping her lowered position until the elven lord bade her rise.

Lady Cassandra still held her hand, and helped her upright. “You remember me, do you not? I am the lady who rode next to you on your escape from Firehame.”

Cecily had tried so hard to forget that wild flight. The feel of the rain slapping her face, the laboring beast beneath her, the power as it flooded her veins while she called forth the lightning that blasted their pursuers…

“Oh, my dear,” said Cassandra. “Please forgive me. I did not wish to remind you of something painful.”

“No.” Cecily took a deep breath. “No, it is all right, and best that I acknowledge it now. I owe you my thanks, my lady, and I am grateful I can finally voice it.”

Lady Cassandra patted her hand, a puzzled look on her face. “Well, it is good to see you again, safe and well. How is your mother, the Lady Eleanor?”

“My mother… she was killed when Breden of Dewhame’s army invaded our village.” Cecily tried not to think of how much she still missed her mother, or she would surely start crying in front of everyone.

Cassandra’s lovely face fell with even more sympathy. “I am so sorry. It seems you have been through more trials than any young woman should have to face.” Then she reached out and enfolded Cecily in a warm embrace, her empathy so genuine Cecily could not help but respond to it. Had Lady Cassandra not already saved her life, she would still adore the other woman. Her anger faded somewhat.

Cassandra guided Cecily back to her chair, while Giles quickly dragged a velvet settee closer to the fireplace, taking up his station by Cecily’s side again as soon as the elven lord Mor’ded had seated himself.

Cassandra gave Cecily’s hand one last pat before she settled her skirts beside the elven lord. She wore a dress of emerald silk, stiff with embroidery about the hems and sleeves, elbow hoops creating such a wide expanse of cloth that her waist looked miniscule by comparison. Her rich brown hair had been artfully braided with tiny silk roses and pearls and then swept into a high crown upon her head.

Cecily felt dowdy by comparison, her best dress of calico now looking more poorly than it had but a moment ago.

Yet she could not feel jealous of the other lady, merely a sincere admiration. Despite the fact that the other woman sat near the elven lord. Cecily could not imagine getting that close to the powerful man without swooning. His mere name struck terror into the hearts of thousands, yet here he sat, directly across from her, Lady Cassandra’s hand gently enclosed within his own. The way he looked at his lady, with a tenderness that belied his reputation, made Cecily frown in confusion.

Mor’ded of Firehame caught her staring, and those black eyes hardened to flinty coal, a mask of indifference falling over his features. His fingers tightened around the black scepter he held, reminding her he commanded more power than she could imagine. With those talismans, the elven lords held the barrier around England, cutting them off from the rest of the world.

With those talismans, they had the power to destroy everything she loved.

For a moment Cecily couldn’t breathe. She had feared this meeting with the infamous Sir Robert but had faced it with resolve, intent upon finding her father. But she had never expected to meet with Lady Cassandra, much less the elven lord himself. Surely the elven lord could not know that the king’s most trusted advisor, Sir Robert Walpole, led the Rebellion against him? And yet… hadn’t Lady Cassandra said she had been one of Sir Robert’s spies when she emerged from behind the wall? How could that be?

Had Sir Robert betrayed the Rebellion to Mor’ded of Firehame? Or did conspiracies exist that she had no means of understanding?

Cecily glanced up at Giles, who stood as still as a statue, his gaze fixed on some point in the wall across from him, like a servant at table. But his hand stole out again to rest upon her shoulder. She felt prodigiously glad she’d insisted he come. Despite his loyalty to the Rebellion, Cecily trusted him. He would not allow any harm to come to her. The past few days had proven that.

“Robert,” said Lady Cassandra, “you cannot send her after Thomas without telling her the entire story. Do you think I saved her life all those years ago for you to risk it by sending her out blind?”

Cecily stared in confusion at Lady Cassandra, who smiled at her and said in a loud whisper, “Peephole. Over the fireplace. We heard every word.”

Ah. Cecily nodded and tried not to enjoy the sight of Sir Robert squirming in his chair, but she felt secretly glad that he now knew how it felt.

“But we cannot be sure of her loyalties, my lady. How can we trust her with such sensitive information?”

“Because we must. Don’t you see that she will go after Thomas whether we help her or not?” She gave Cecily an admiring glance.

“You do not need to question my loyalties,” Cecily hastened to assure her, “for they will always be to my father. And
his
loyalties lie with the Rebellion.”

“So we have yours by default,” said Mor’ded. His voice startled Cecily, so similar to Giles’s, yet silkier and more melodious.

She gathered her courage and spoke directly to him. “I do not understand, Your Most High. Is the Rebellion in some way aligned with you?”

“You might say that.” His arm stole around Lady Cassandra. “You see, I am not what I appear to be. You do not need to fear me, Cecily.”

“Are you sure?”

Mor’ded smiled, the expression changing his face from merely beautiful to heaven-sent. “I am different from the other elven lords.”

“In what way?”

Flames of yellow fire suddenly erupted in his palms. He formed them into orbs and tossed them in the air, like some juggler performing at the fair. “I am half-human. Like you.”

Cecily narrowed her eyes, expecting some jest at her expense. But why they would do such a thing…

“Allow me to explain,” interjected Cassandra, giving the elven lord a frown. “You see, my dear, Mor’ded of Firehame has been dead for nigh over nine years. The man at my side, the current elven lord of Firehame, is his half-bastard son. And he is as dedicated to freeing England just as much as I am.”

Could it be true? She could not see a trace of humanity in the elven lord who sat across from her… except when he gazed at Lady Cassandra. “But how?” Cecily managed to ask.

“That is a long story and can wait for another time,” replied Mor’ded—or at least, the man who pretended to be him. “For the moment, let us make an exchange. If I douse my flames, perhaps you will allow your little cyclones to calm? They are rather annoying.”

Cecily felt her cheeks redden. She had forgotten about them, and apparently they had not stilled when her anger had faded. With a wave of her fingers she sent the liquid back into their decanters.

“What a lovely talent,” said Lady Cassandra. “Have you explored the full extent of it?”

“I can no longer call the power of a storm, if that’s what you mean.”

“It isn’t, my dear. And I believe I understand why that would be difficult for you to do again. I was there, remember?”

Cecily nodded, feeling a bit ashamed. But why else did Sir Robert suggest a mission for her, unless he sought to use that more formidable power?

“Because I am half-human,” continued Mor’ded as if he had never been interrupted, “I age at a normal human rate, unlike the elven lords, who age so slowly it is nearly indiscernible to us. But I am beginning to show signs… a wrinkle here, a gray hair there. Not enough to yet betray my charade, but it is a condition we are forced to address.”

Lady Cassandra leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Your human side is what I love most about you.”

“Indeed?” He turned and caught a strand of her hair between his elegant fingers. “I thought my
magic
brought you joy, my lady.”

Her cheeks reddened, and for the first time Cecily noticed the ring on Cassandra’s finger. A rosebud of gold that suddenly bloomed into full flower. “Perhaps. But there will always be magic between us, my lord. Of a human kind.”

And then as if he could not resist any longer, the dread lord of Firehame kissed Lady Cassandra, with such passion and longing that Cecily felt her face heat. How she wished for a man to feel such passion for her. She glanced up at Giles without meaning to, and wondered about the look on his face as he watched the two lovers. Did she see an echo of her own longing? Wishful thinking, indeed. He had desire only for adventure and his cause.

And he refused to meet her gaze.

Sir Robert cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Are you familiar with the power of the other elven lords, Lady Cecily?”

“Of course.” She fought to keep the flare of annoyance from her voice—she wasn’t some ignorant peasant. Lady Cassandra obviously felt affection for the leader of the Rebellion, but she could not profess to the same.

“Although the elven lords constantly war and seek to best one another,” he continued, “on rare occasions they play together. Long ago, elven lord Roden of Dreamhame desired the elven lady, La’laylia of Stonehame, and crafted her a ring of gold to hold one of the lady’s magical gems. Forged within the black fire by the former lord Mor’ded, the might of three elven lords working together gives the ring the power to fool them all, and would take the power of three to uncover the truth of it. Fortunately, in our time the elven lords rarely make an alliance long enough to work together… nor would they in this case, to uncover the magic of what they would consider a harmless ring.”

Cecily felt as if Sir Robert wove a bedtime story, and she had to force herself to consider the very real implications of what he said. “Lord Roden wields the magic of illusion and glamour, and Lady La’laylia of Stonehame can enspell her gems for many purposes. So what does the ring do?”

“Ah,” replied Sir Robert, shifting excitedly in his chair, setting his white wig of imitation elven locks slightly askew. “This is where it gets interesting. For you see, the elven lady La’laylia fooled Roden of Dreamhame. She convinced him that her face had begun to age, that she wanted to stay beautiful for him forever, so he cast the ring with the illusion of youth.”

“I can understand the desire,” murmured Lady Cassandra, her eyes downcast. Mor’ded of Firehame took her hand in his and kissed the palm of it.

“But she had no intention of using the ring herself,” continued Sir Robert, pausing dramatically.

Which Cecily considered completely unnecessary. “Then what did she want it for?”

“For her human lover,” said Mor’ded, his midnight eyes fixed upon his lady. “It’s why she needed the might of three to cast it, for only then would she be unable to see through the illusion herself. Despite the differences between the two races, there are times when love, or at least lust, conquers all barriers.”