Sterling (5 page)

Silence divided us.

“I’m sorry,” I finally said. “I understand. We’ll hold to our agreement then? You won’t humiliate me, I won’t touch you.”

More silence.

“Did you mean that? That it isn’t painful? I mean—” He grasped my chin beneath my mask, and hot sparks flared at the contact. “That doesn’t hurt you?”

“N—no. It’s like playing with a candle.”

“A candle?”

I shifted uncomfortably, but extracted the candle from the holder he held. I lifted it and tilted it, letting the liquid wax spill onto my hand, sucking a breath at the burn. The flame glowed a small sphere of light between us that seemed to tighten as I reached for his free hand. When I touched his glove, the odd spikes of our contact sharpened, but he didn’t pull away. I dribbled wax over Erich’s bare forearm. He snapped his arm back and shook it.

“But that does hurt,” he said.

“I like the way it feels—sharp and fiery and alive.” I ran my finger through the candle’s flame as slowly as I could stand.

“You
like
it?”

Before I could answer, Erich moved like a whirlwind, reaching to pinch out the candle. Then he pushed up my mask, pulled my face into his, and kissed me.

The shock of his skin—bare—was a thousand times stronger than that of his gloved hands. Shattering spears of sensation stabbed my lips. The heat seared straight to my cheeks, and I was so addled, I dropped the unlit candle and gripped the bookcase behind me.

He pulled away. “That didn’t hurt?”

“It wasn’t pain,” I managed breathlessly. “It was—”

“We’d better be getting back.” His voice grew distant.

Disappointment swirled in my stomach. I hastily pulled down my mask. Did he not like kissing me? Did he think about my face even in the dark? Was that why he’d pinched out the candle, so he didn’t have to see me? Erich helped re-fasten my gown, despite the dark, apparently as knowledgeable about such matters as a handmaiden. We bumped through the library until we found the door.

He’d marry me! I didn’t have to worry about being rejected. But he must have a reason for kissing me, and it had nothing to do with attraction. What was his aim
?
Briefly, I pondered the idea that he tried to make his mistress jealous. Surely a pretty woman would have served that purpose better. Besides, we were in the dark. No one had seen us.
Oh, what was he doing, and why?
I wished that Serafina awaited me out in the ballroom. She’d know exactly what to do. She’d have a perfect theory for Erich’s motives.

“Wait a few minutes before going in,” Erich said outside the ballroom doors. “To avoid a scandal. We ought not to have crept away together.”

As I waited, I brooded. He didn’t want to be seen with me. Kissing me in the dark cost him nothing, but favoring me in public would be a blow to his pride.

A
s soon as
I re-entered the ballroom, Tirienne Talata glided up to me like a regal silver wraith.

“Where is your father?” she demanded.

“I don’t know. He went out during the dancing.”

“Well, girl, go and find him.”

Girl?
I was the Princess, the heir to the Crystal Throne. She had betrothed her son to me for that very reason.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I hedged. I had no desire to interrupt my father in the midst of an important meeting, or worse, an assignation. I had seen him leaving with a woman, though it was against everything in my father’s character to do such a thing. There had to be some other explanation.

“You must find him. He was to show me Costas Galatien as part of our agreement, to verify that he has Galatien secured and captive. The night draws to a close. Where is he?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

She huffed an aggravated sigh. “Gods, girl, speak up. That mask obscures everything you say.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you know where he’s keeping Galatien?”

“Oh. Yes, but—”

“Take me.” Tirienne grabbed my arm. “Take me to Costas. If one part of the arrangement is not upheld, why should I expect my son to hold to … the other part?”

Her threat cowed me. Panic boiled in my throat as I led Tirienne up the stairs and past my father’s rooms. I almost stopped, for I assumed he’d go there for an assignation, but the embarrassment we all would suffer if I interrupted prevented me. I continued towards the room containing Costas. Papa wouldn’t mind—I tried to convince myself. He’d clearly meant to show Tirienne proof of Costas’s secure captivity. I could do it as well as he could.

I pushed open the door, surprised to find it still unlocked. An odor laced the air, something familiar and foreign at once. Was it tangy? Was it sweet? No moonlight penetrated the windows. A sense of wrongness descended over me. The odor was too strong; the room was too dark.

“Where is Galatien?” Tirienne said. “Where have you brought me?”

Could I have the wrong room?
Costas should be there in his box; the mageglass should have cast a light.

Tirienne lit the lamp on the wall. “Gods in Amaranth,” she whispered, staring over my shoulder.

All my instincts warned against following her gaze. My hands went clammy even as I turned. Shattered mageglass littered the red carpet. Tirienne’s lamp gave off a dull light, enough to reveal horrific images.

Costas Galatien was gone, the mageglass box annihilated, Kyro’s careful spellwork destroyed. Two figures lay motionless amidst the disarray of glass, two figures drowning in blood.

I could hardly breathe as a panic attack loomed.

I’d never seen a dead man before. The first man was
noticeably
dead. He wore a Vhimsantese costume, and he looked young. I did not recognize him. His wide eyes stared straight ahead, his face devoid of expression. He had fallen to his knees as he perished. The cause of his demise: a spear upon which he’d been impaled. The spear held him in an awkward, slightly upright position.

The second figure did not draw the eyes. Or my eyes refused to look. I could not see his face, but I recognized his bulk. Papa’s body lay there like a mountain, unmoving. I did not need to touch him to know that no life remained inside him. The pool of blood circling his body told me that.

I hung close to Tirienne Talata, but she made no move towards the men. We both stood there, helpless, staring.

“We must get help,” she finally whispered.

She turned, but I couldn’t move. Part of me wanted to run to Papa’s side, to wrap my arms around his fallen form despite the blood mess. The other part of me wanted to flee to my bedroom, stuff my head beneath my pillows, and rub the Emerald Ophira over my upper lip to soothe away the screaming distress that obliterated my mind.
This could not be.
Papa, dead? Not my father. Not strong, certain Xander Ricknagel. He was as constant as the sunrise. He had been the last thread anchoring me in the world.

Without Papa, I had no one. No one.

“Come with me,” Tirienne said sharply. Limned in lamplight, she looked like a ghost.

I moved towards Papa instead.

“Sterling Ricknagel!”

Before she could stop me, I grabbed Papa’s limp left hand, pulled free his signet ring, and shoved it onto the middle finger of my left hand.

“Now!” Tension laced Tirienne’s voice.

I shuffled to her side, glad to be commanded.

“Amatos,” Tirienne muttered as she looked at me. “What am I going to do about you?”

Her question did not expect an answer. I recognized the declaration in her words; House Talata’s loyalties had lurched. With my father murdered, the Ricknagel rebellion had lost both figurehead and purpose. No one would follow
me
; I was no leader.

In a daze, I walked over to the white cradle, which stood where I’d left it earlier, what seemed like a lifetime ago. It was empty. The baby was gone.

Costas Galatien had escaped with his son, and I could only feel it was my fault. I’d pushed the babe into the room with him, shown him that his son was within his reach. Had this been the final straw that had instigated the escape? Concern for his boy? Tears dripped down my cheeks.

Costas would reclaim his throne. Already, sands were shifting beneath my feet. Tirienne stood framed in the doorway, glaring at me. I could nearly see the gears of her mind turning. Unless she maneuvered carefully, House Talata would be alone in rebellion; no one but Papa had the men and the support to go against the Galatiens. If Costas reunited with his own forces, Papa’s gains would be lost. The Ricknagel rebellion was in shambles. Tirienne would not stand against Costas without Xander Ricknagel behind her—she wasn’t a fool.

She would be looking to win back the good graces of House Galatien.

At which point I, Sterling Ricknagel, last scion of my house, would be truly, utterly alone. Alone in my heart and alone in the world.

Brainless as a sheep, I followed Tirienne down the red hallway and back to the ballroom. I did not know what else to do.

The ongoing party affronted my senses. Dresses swirled, masks jiggled, mouths flashed smiles at lovers. The world continued to turn. The only sharp angle in the scene was Tirienne, cutting a jagged path across the room towards her beautiful son. I could not move past the ballroom doors, but Tirienne did not seem to care. She darted first to Erich and then towards members of her entourage, men dressed in Talata’s colors of grey and sky and white, her personal guard, her mages. As Tirienne and her guards made their way through the room spreading whispers, the ball underwent a slow transformation. As the whispers arrived at the Duke of Engashta, understanding crept over his face like dusk falling.

Don’t be a fool
, Serafina’s voice rang in my head, sharp and clear as though she stood right behind me.
These people will turn on you in an instant. Your family is in revolt. Your father is dead, and you have lost a war. Don’t stand there, escape!

I made my feet move. I had to get to my room, get my things, and get out.

As I riffled through my belongings, looking for jhass and jewelry, Erich entered without knocking.

An infantile part of my mind felt pleased that I still wore my mask, that he had no opportunity to see my terrible face again.

“What are you doing, Sterling?” he demanded.

I clutched a reticule in my hands. “I don’t know,” I whispered, stepping so that the backs of my legs hit the bed.

“My mother sent me to find you.” He moved towards me.

My brain, though shocked, had never been slow. I’d figured out my peril, I simply didn’t know what I could do to avoid it. With my father dead and Costas free, Tirienne would revoke any alliance with House Ricknagel. The betrothal no longer existed. Erich’s presence could only be a trap. Tirienne sought to take me captive and use me to gain advantage with House Galatien, to sell me off as a prize to buy herself back into their favor, as Ghilene Entila had done with Costas’s baby son.

Erich offered a treacherous smile. Did he think me so naïve that I would trust him?

I refused to look over my shoulder at the nearby high window. No one would imagine I’d climb out a window. I didn’t want to tip Erich off by drawing his attention to it. Oh, how could I get rid of him?

“My father is dead,” I told him.

“I heard. I’m sorry, Sterling.”

“Stop saying my name!” It felt too familiar.

“I like your name.”

“I won’t go to your mother. I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me.”
Gods, had I no guile? Someone should cut out my tongue.

“How? And where will you go?”

My gaze darted to the door, the wardrobe, the exit to the bathing chamber, the carpet, the bed. Anywhere but the window.

Somehow Erich knew. He stepped up to the window, pushed aside the gold brocade drapes, and peered out. “You can’t be thinking to go this way.” He stared into the darkness. “You’d have to be crazy.”

“Go away, Erich.”

He looked wounded at my request. “There has to be a better way.” He turned from the window. “Look, everyone thinks I’m searching for you. I’ll go get you a servant’s clothes. We can disguise you and sneak you out one of the servants’ doors. It will only take a few minutes.”

I huffed. “Disguise me? You’ve seen my face.”

“Leave it to me, my lady.”

“But—” He was already leaving. I waited, flummoxed. I’d thought it would be hard to get rid of him. Instead, it had been easy. He thought to help me escape? I didn’t trust him.
Did I?
I turned back to the window. The sash stuck, as if it hadn’t been opened in decades. Amatos!

I went to the bathing chamber and came out with one of the small, sturdy logs for the bath fire. As I wound up to strike the glass pane, Erich returned. He closed the bedroom door and turned the dead bolt.

“Here, I’ve brought you clothes.” Erich shoved an armful of wool into my arms while removing the log from my hands without comment.

The woolen servant’s dress was plain and scratchy, as were the apron and mob-cap that went with it.

“Put them on,” he said.

I simply stood with the clothes overflowing my arms. I couldn’t put them on while he remained in the room.

When I did not change, Erich took me by the shoulders and made quick work of my laces again, despite his leather gloves. Did he wear them to mute the touching thing?

I remained masked, frozen, the back of my ball gown sagging open, hugging the servant’s attire to my chest.

Erich waved a small bottle at me. “Take off that ridiculous mask and put this on your face.”

I shifted the clothing to take the bottle. “What is it?”

“A cosmetic,” Erich explained. “To cover your mark.”

Something deep inside me uncoiled at his words.
Cosmetic?
Like a paint? To cover my mark? “Such a thing exists?”

“Of course.” He cleared his throat and looked almost sheepish. “My—my mistress uses the stuff to hide her freckles. I stole it from her supplies, but she has so many toiletries she’ll never notice.”

Why had no one ever told me about cosmetic? I blamed first my mother and then Stesi. They must have known about it. The two of them had been interested in fashion and hairstyles. I’d been too wrapped up in my maps and books and archery to care for such concerns. But they had known.
They’d known and not told me.

I stuffed the bottle of the precious stuff into my reticule.

Erich stared at me. “What are you waiting for? Get dressed! Fix your face! There’s only so long I can cover for you.” He reached as though to pull off my mask, but I ducked beneath his arm and darted towards the bathing chamber.

“Sterling.” An odd note in Erich’s voice made me pause in the doorway. “Did you—did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” My gown slipped off my shoulders completely.

Erich’s gaze ran over my exposed collarbones, but would not meet my eyes. “What you said about when I touched you. That you liked it? That you would be willing to suffer some pain to—ah—make an heir—”

“The betrothal’s over, Erich.” Was he
blushing
?

“I know. But is it true? I don’t—my touch doesn’t hurt you? You like it?”

What a cad, to pester me about my foolish words at a time like this. My father had just been murdered, and all Erich could think of was that I’d enjoyed his touch? “I don’t have time to enhance your estimation of yourself,” I snapped. “Every girl in Lethemia wants to kiss you, Erich. I’m sure they won’t mind a few sharp sparks to do it. Please.” I stepped into the bathing chamber and slammed the door.

“Where will you go?” he asked through the door. “Sterling you need a plan.”

My hands shook so badly I could hardly cope with my gown and the awful maid’s dress. “I don’t know. Perhaps back to Shankar. Home.”

“Don’t be a fool, Sterling. That’s where everyone will look for you first.”

He was right, of course, but I wasn’t as stupid as he thought—I wasn’t going to tell him where I’d truly go. I took my mask off and scooped a dollop of cosmetic onto my face, smoothing it hastily as I checked the looking glass above the copper basin. At any other time I would have marveled at my skin, as smooth and homogenous as a rose petal. But I only pulled the mob cap all the way down my forehead to hide my hair and face, and turned away from the looking glass.

Erich’s voice from the far side of the door made me jump. “Listen, Sterling, I just bought a house, my own, not my family’s—”

“You
bought
a house?” Erich, as the heir to the Talata family’s vast properties, would inherit not only a palace in Talat City, but also a lavish townhouse in every major city in Lethemia. “Why would you need a house?”

Erich’s silence had a sullen quality. I cursed myself for an idiot. The only reason a rich rake like Erich would need a private house was to keep a mistress.

“You’d be safe there—”

“Save it for your mistresses.” I flung open the bath chamber door and ran past Erich as fast as I could.

“Wait! Do you have money?” Erich called.

Faced away from him, I held up my bag, waving it so the items within clinked together like jhass. “I don’t need anything from you.” I hurried into the hall and mimicked the scuttle of a servant. I did not allow myself to look back at Erich, though I could feel his hot gaze on my back.