Marissa Day (26 page)

Which made Miranda aware of how very thirsty she was. It was as if she’d been dancing for hours rather than just a few minutes. “Thank you, yes. That would be most welcome.” There was something wrong, something she had forgotten, or had been warned about. But she couldn’t seize on it. The music was playing again. She didn’t really want the punch. She wanted to dance.

“I have my orders, then.” Mr. Summerfields stood up straight and clicked his heels in the German style. “And I will return as soon as may be.”

“Well!” Mother opened her own fan. “I can hardly blame you for feeling overheated, Miranda, my dear. Such a charming man!” She was glancing around the room, her eyes hard and calculating. Miranda felt Mother willing her to take the hint, but she couldn’t understand what hint or why. There was something in the way ...

“You said he
asked
to be introduced to me?” Miranda tried to focus on the main doors, and on the wide windows and French doors, flung open to admit the night breeze from the garden. But the music was playing again and her attention kept straying to the dance floor, and as she watched the couples moving through the figures she was acutely aware of a feeling like envy smoldering below her thoughts.

How can I be thinking of dances when there might be real trouble?
Miranda tried to muster some of the urgency of feeling that she had carried all the way down to the ballroom, but the music was filling her mind and there was no room to think of anything else. She would drink her punch, she would smile, and perhaps he would take her onto the floor just once more...

“Apparently he saw you at Lady Featherstone’s party last December,” Mother was saying.

“Strange.” Miranda watched Mr. Summerfields’s straight green back as he maneuvered through the crowd. “I would have thought I’d remember seeing ... someone like him.”

“Well, I’ve always told you that you need to pay more attention. Still, my dear, I have to say I am truly proud of the way you’re conducting yourself this evening. Every inch the lady.” Mother chucked her under the chin and for once Miranda did not feel the urge to flinch. “I always knew something of my lessons must have sunk in somewhere.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Miranda murmured.
You’re laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?

As she thought this, she saw Mr. Summerfields crossing the ballroom again, bearing with him two cups of ruby red punch. Miranda did not remember seeing the beverage on the buffet, but the sight of it reminded her how intensely thirsty she was. Mr. Summerfields handed one cup to her mother and one to Miranda with a bow and his bright smile.

“And perhaps when you’re finished, Miss Prosper, you might favor me with another dance?” he inquired.

“Well! What do you say to that, Miranda?” Mother took a healthy gulp of punch and then held up her cup as if to examine it closer. “This truly is delicious. I must go compliment Lady Thayer.” And she sailed away.

Mr. Summerfields smiled indulgently after her. “Your mother is an ... exceptional woman.”

“That she is.”

“But perhaps a bit much all at once?” he added softly.

Miranda met his twinkling eyes and gave one very small nod as she raised the punch cup to her lips. She smelled cherries and something stronger. Brandy?

“Miranda!”

Corwin!
Miranda turned, but too fast. The brimming cup of punch sloshed, splashing onto the floor and across her sweeping skirts.

“Clumsy fool!” shouted Mr. Summerfields, and rage twisted his face horribly. Miranda shrank back, but it was gone in an eyeblink, and he was himself again.

Corwin was at her side. “Oh, I am sorry! This is my fault, Miranda. I do apologize. You must get to the retiring room. I’ll send Louise to you at once. There may still be something that can be done.”

Miranda felt the blood drain from her cheeks. “Yes, yes, thank you.” She batted ineffectually at her stained skirts. “Mr. Summerfields, if you will excuse me?”

“Of course, Miss Prosper,” Mr. Summerfields said, but his attention was entirely on Corwin. “I do hope there is no permanent damage.”

“So do I,” she said. But neither man was listening to her.

What is it? Where have you been?
She sent the thought toward Corwin.

Miranda bunched her skirts up and shouldered her way through the staring crowd. Mother, Heaven help her! Mother detached herself from Lady Thayer and hurried up behind her just as she entered the old parlor that had been set aside as a lady’s retiring room.

“What have you done?” she demanded, seizing Miranda’s skirts. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake! Couldn’t you manage one night, just one night, without making a fiasco of everything?”

“I was startled; the cup was full ...”

“That is Lady Thayer’s
nephew
out there paying court to you, you silly thing!” shouted Mother, not caring that all the maids in the room turned to look. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes seemed oddly bright. “That is more future than you have the right to expect and you throw it away!”

“It was an accident!” cried Miranda. “A spilled punch! It’s not as if I slapped him.”

“You permitted that Mr. Rathe to speak with you!”

“Mr. Rathe and I ...!” began Miranda.

But Mother cut her off. “Stupid girl, he’s an Honorable! What is a fur trader’s son compared with that!”

Words failed Miranda and she was relieved that at that moment Louise bustled in with a basin and a sponge. Mother clamped her mouth shut and contented herself with tapping her foot impatiently.

“Well?” she demanded of Louise.

Louise sat back on her heels. “I’m sorry, madame; there’s nothing I can do. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear this was blood ...”

“For Heaven’s sake, get up to your room and change, Miranda, before Mr. Summerfields’s attention wanders! I’ll do my best to hold him for you, but you must hurry!”

Mother bustled out of the room, and Miranda stared after her. Then she shook herself.

“Come, Louise. I’m going to need your help.”

Louise got up and followed obediently as Miranda retreated in haste, clinging to the edge of the great hall and then hurrying up the stairs as fast as her ruined skirts would permit.

What just happened?
The question echoed over and over in her mind. They were supposed to be playing their parts, yes, but it was as if Mother had all of a sudden forgotten it was a
game
. If Miranda hadn’t known any better, she’d have sworn Mother’s outrage was in utter earnest.

Her mind reeling, Miranda opened the door to her room, and there, just out of the threshold, she saw Corwin and Darius.

“I’ve changedmy mind, Louise.” Miranda turned, blocking the entrance to the room. “Please tell my mother I’ve developed a headache and have decided to lie down.”

Louise frowned. “If you’re sure, miss?”

“Perfectly.”

“Yes, miss.” Her maid curtsied, but Miranda could tell she didn’t believe a word that was said. It didn’t matter, as long as she left.

As soon as Louise started down the hall, Miranda slipped into her room and closed the door.

Corwin was across the room in three strides, seizing her shoulders roughly. “Did you drink any?” His face was gray as ashes and his eyes were frantic.

“What?”
cried Miranda.

“The punch he gave you. Did you drink any, any at all? Even one drop?”

“No! I spilled it before I had a chance. Let go of me!” Corwin did, and ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Thank all the gods,” he whispered hoarsely.

“What is the matter?” Miranda adjusted her sleeves. Corwin sank into the chair beside the fire. “What is it?”

It was Darius who answered. “You were with a Fae.”

“What?”
cried Miranda again, staring from one of them to the other. “Who?”

“The man in the green coat, the one who gave you that drink.”

“He was a fairy?”

“And if Corwin had been a moment later, you would have been his.”

Miranda’s blood ran cold. She could sense the utter seriousness in both men and it banished any doubts she might have had. “How?” she whispered.

“The drink. It came from the Fae country. Surely you’ve heard the old stories, how you should never eat or drink what you’re given in fairyland or you’ll never be able to leave.” Darius swallowed. “That much of the fairy tales is absolutely true.”

Miranda’s hand flew to her mouth. She remembered thinking she hadn’t seen that particular punch on the buffet. It had smelled so appetizing and she’d been so thirsty ...

“Yes,” Darius answered her thought grimly. “Now you begin to understand.”

Realization hit Miranda and her stomach knotted so violently that for a moment she thought she’d vomit.

“Mother,” she croaked as she wrapped her arms around herself. “She drank the punch. When she was in the retiring room, she was ... behaving strangely. It was as if she couldn’t remember we were just acting a part with Mr. Summerfields.”

“Is that what he’s calling himself?” snorted Darius. “Hardly subtle.”

“Darius, please,” whispered Corwin.

He was still shaking. Miranda stared. Darius too seemed unsteady. The golden Sorcerer leaned against the mantel, and despite his gruff voice, he had no color at all in his cheeks.

“What happened to you?” breathed Miranda.

“I’m beginning to suspect your Mr. Summerfields did,” said Corwin. “We were met when we crossed the barrier.”

“By a Fae,” said Darius. “No one else could have been so strong, or vanished so quickly.”

“We suspected your mother had betrayed us,” continued Corwin. “But if she was already one of their creatures, they would not have needed their potions to enthrall her.” He winced.

“We must warn her!” Miranda remembered the fond look in her mother’s eyes. She had come so close to understanding the woman. She had begun to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there might be something more for them besides contempt on one side and disappointment on the other ... To have Mother endangered because she had agreed to help Miranda ... Miranda’s throat closed tightly and she could barely breathe.

“We can do nothing if you do not help us, Miranda,” Darius reminded her harshly. “You must be able to focus.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Forgive me.”

Miranda stepped between them and took their hands. She closed her eyes and forced herself to concentrate, but it was slow and difficult. The vitality that had come to her so easily before seemed almost beyond reach. She could not banish thoughts of Mr. Summerfields’s green eyes as he danced, as he urged her to drink. She saw again the red stain on her mother’s mouth as she lowered the punch cup from her lips. In memory it seemed to glow as if in warning. And despite all, Miranda could not forget the way she had flown in the dance, the way the music had thrummed through her blood, and some treacherous, terrible part of her yearned to feel that way again.

The connection shattered and Miranda’s hands fell to her sides.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I can’t ... I ...”

“It will do.” He looked to Darius. “As long as we stay together, we can try again ...”

“There’s no time,” said Darius flatly. “We must find your mother now.”

We don’t know what he’s doing to her. We don’t know where he’s taken her.
Darius had no need to say anything aloud. Miranda was already imagining the worst.

Corwin caught up her hand again and looked deeply into her eyes. “You’re her blood kindred, Miranda. It will be very difficult to hide her from you if you open your mind.”

Miranda took a deep breath and held out her other hand for Darius to take. Standing between her lovers, Miranda braced herself once again and she opened her mind.

Mother ...
She stretched her awareness out.
Mother ...

A thousand memories: Mother chiding her, Mother in black beside her father’s grave, Mother dancing and laughing in the ballroom, the most beautiful woman in the throng, the bitterness of seeing Mother on Malcolm’s arm, not caring that her actions broke her daughter’s heart in two ... Mother promising they should talk, Mother’s eyes oddly deep as they sat in the carriage waiting to begin this new and most unlikely stage of their relationship ...

A vision leapt into Miranda’s mind. Mother on a man’s arm. Awareness filled in like details in a dream; Robin Summerfields walked Mother down the low-ceilinged corridor. Mother was laughing. She felt filled with all the brightness and beauty of the girl she had once been, and Mr. Summerfields smiled at her. That smile filled Miranda with dread, as if she saw Mr. Summerfields holding a sword to her mother’s side.