The Third Son (31 page)

He continued his sweep of the area, passing several bodies, strewn out along the way. He recognized some of the palace guards laid out among the villains hired by the masked man. Damien gazed into the face of each corpse, relieved by each passing second that his brother was not among them.

He swiveled around and drew his sword at the sound of a low groan. A crumbled form of a man shifted nearby and Damien ran toward it, followed by the faithful guards.

“Lionus,” he whispered as he neared his brother. “Thank God you’re alive.”

Lionus groaned again, his hands pressed tightly over his stomach. His shirt was drenched in blood and Damien inhaled sharply as he knelt beside him. Lionus had been completely impaled. He lifted Lionus into his arms and trudged toward his horse slowly, straining with the effort it took to carry a man who was inches taller than him. Lionus mumbled incoherently, his head lolling on his shoulders.

“Damien,” he managed. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” said Damien, holding his brother tightly against his chest. “I am the one who is sorry. I should have been here. Perhaps the outcome would have been different.”

“Serge,” Lionus rasped. “They dragged him….” His voice cracked and tears sprung freely to his eyes. “I saw them drag him.”

“He is still alive,” Damien reassured him as they neared his horse. The guards helped him lift Lionus into the saddle. Damien came up behind him, allowing his brother to lean back against him. He placed his arms on either side of Lionus, grasping the reigns. “I need you to stay alive too, do you hear me?”

Lionus had already lost consciousness, but he still breathed
. T
he sound was shallow and ragged. Damien dug his heels into Persephone’s side. He thundered down the road toward the palace, his men following close behind.

****

Esmeralda and Isabelle sat in silence, waiting to hear news of Damien’s return. Isabelle’s skin was pallid and cold and she stared listlessly into the fire. Esmeralda was at a loss for words to comfort her friend. She could not lie and tell her that everything would be all right because she was not sure things would ever be the same.

Raina and Akira sat on the other side of the room, also silent. Akira clutched the small pouch containing her medicines tightly, watching the open doors of the parlor for any sign of movement. If someone were brought back injured, Akira would be ready. The physician had not yet arrived, but Jarvis had assured them he would be there soon. Esmeralda dared to believe that Lionus and Serge would be found alive and unharmed, but each passing minute chipped away at that hope.

A commotion in the front hall brought the women to their feet. Esmeralda clearly heard Damien’s commanding voice, shouting instructions to Jarvis, who fluently passed them on to the waiting servants. She followed Isabelle into the hall and reached out to support her friend, who muffled a strangled cry against her hand and crumbled at the sight that greeted them.

Serge was being carried as swiftly up the stairs as possible by two footmen
. H
is clothing tattered and hanging from his body, his limbs twisted at impossible angles. Damien held Lionus in his arms, his cheeks tinged pink from the biting winter cold, snow sprinkled over his greatcoat. He handed Lionus over to two more waiting footmen.

There was so much blood. Lionus’
shirtfront
and coat were stained with it and Damien’s clothes were
smeared
with it as well
.
Esmeralda was relieved when she realized it was not his own.

“They both live,” he said, his own voice a foreign sound to his ears. He could hardly believe that his brothers lived and held out hope that they would survive the night.

All was in chaos when the physician arrived. Maids bustled about with hot water, towels, bandages and fresh linens. The doctor was brought up to speed on both patients’ conditions and decided to see Serge first. Akira chose to tend to Lionus. Damien exchanged his blood-soaked shirt for a clean one offered by the stalwart valet, Hopkins and swiftly followed the doctor to Serge’s chambers, leaving Isabelle in Esmeralda’s care.

“Oh God,” Isabelle moaned. “I don’t think I would survive if he died,” she said to Esmeralda, clinging to her tightly. “Do you think he’ll die?”

“I don’t know,” Esmeralda answered honestly. She had seen briefly the wound through Lionus’ middle. His chances were slim. She led Isabelle back to the parlor and settled her down on an overstuffed couch beside Raina, who had brought along some of her calming tea. She’d had Jarvis prepare a pot upon their arrival.

“Drink this,” Raina said softly, pressing a cup into Isabelle’s slim fingers. “It will calm you and you must be calm now for your husband. We can do nothing but wait.”

“They are both still alive for now,” Damien told them an hour later. He ran a hand over his tired face and sank down into a chair across from Isabelle and Esmeralda. “Akira mixed a potion to help them sleep.”

“Will they live?” Esmeralda asked. 

Damien shrugged. “We have no way of knowing at this point. We had the devil of a time trying to stop Lionus’ bleeding. He sustained two wounds, both through and through.
H
is injuries are nothing compared to Serge’s. Both is arms and legs are broken and the doctor suspects internal injuries. They don’t expect him to last the night.”

Isabelle was silent, staring blankly ahead as she had been for the past hour, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Raina patted her shoulder gently. “Did you hear that, Isabelle? Lionus is all right. Maybe you can go up and see him now.”

Damien nodded. “That’s a good idea. I believe I’ll go look in on Serge.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Esmeralda, rising to follow him. They walked in silence, neither of them willing to say what needed to be said. Their voyage to America would have to be postponed, perhaps indefinitely.

Akira was hovering over Serge’s still form, trying to pour a thin broth down his throat. “He’ll need his nourishment if he’s to fight for his life,” she explained, placing the bowl aside and mopping Serge’s chin with a handkerchief. Esmeralda felt tears springing to her eyes and she looked down at Serge. He face was severely bruised and swollen in places
. A
jagged scar ran the length of one side. Clean, white bandages bound his injured head, and his broken limbs had been set and bandaged as well. His breathing was nearly imperceptible, almost nonexistent. One had to strain to see the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Akira gathered her various herbs and placed them back into her little pouch. “He is broken,” she said, her voice a barely audible whisper. “But is he strong. He has the will in him to fight.”

“Thank you for your help,” said Damien. “I will have a carriage readied to escort you home.”

Akira nodded, turning to Esmeralda. “You stay here and watch over him for me,” she said. Esmeralda wasn’t sure if she spoke of Serge or Damien
but
she vowed to watch over both. “Of course, grandmother.”

“I’ll return in the morning with a tonic for His Majesty,” she said as she turned to leave. “If he survives the night it’ll do him much good.”

As Akira exited, Jarvis entered. His face mirrored the exhaustion and angst that Damien felt within. “Why don’t you retire for the night, Jarvis,” he suggested. “You’ve certainly earned a decent night’s rest.”

“Of course, Your Grace. There is just one more matter that requires your attention. I thought it should wait until morning, but the man was quite insistent he speak with you tonight.”

“Who the devil would be here at this hour, Jarvis? Send him away. I have far too much on my mind to be bothered with him tonight.”

“Mister Forth was most insistent,” said Jarvis. “He said he would not leave until he had spoken with you.”

“Forth?” Damien was suddenly interested. The name was well-known by many in the royal court. “As in August Forth, the silversmith?”

“The very same, Your Grace.”

Damien turned to Esmeralda. “Will you stay with him until I return? I’ll only be a moment.”

“Of course,” she said, settling into the chair beside Serge’s bed. Jarvis informed Damien that he had shown the man to his library and had taken the liberty of offering the man a drink. Damien thanked him and made his way t
o the library, his mind racing.

Serge had gone to all three silversmiths in town in an effort to learn the identity of the owner of a very remarkable walking stick. Two of the silversmiths denied ever having heard of such a thing. They both advised Serge to seek out the only other silversmith in the city, a man who was most known by members of the aristocracy for his extravagant, one-of-a-kind creations. When Serge had gone to see the man, he had been informed that the silversmith was away on holiday and would not return for several weeks. That silversmith’s name was August Forth.

Chapter 18

“I thank you for seeing me, Your Grace,” said August Forth, standing to bow as Damien entered the room. The tall, bony man removed his beaver hat and waited for Damien to be seated. Damien took his place behind his polished mahogany desk and motioned for Mr. Forth to be seated.

“Jarvis assured me that your visit was of the utmost importance,” he said, helping himself to a liberal splash of brandy.

“My business is actually with your brother, Prince Serge,” August said, adjusting his wire-rimmed spectacles. “But your butler informed me that he is feeling ill and cannot receive visitors.”

Had Jarvis been in the room, Damien would have kissed him. He understood as well as Damien that discretion was critical. No one needed to know what had occurred on the side of the road that night. He would give Lionus and Serge time, give the doctors time to make a better guess at their prognoses.

“I give you my word that whatever information you have for my brother will be communicated to him as soon as he is well enough to receive it.”

“Very well,” August said, reaching into a slim leather portfolio. He removed several sheets of thin parchment and laid them on Damien’s desk. “Your brother left a message at my shop that this was of the highest importance. He inquired about a custom made walking stick, featuring this figure in pure silver.”

Damien looked down at the drawings of an eagle, wings outstretched as if in flight. The eagle was entangled in the vicious hold of two snakes, both posed on either side with their fangs exposed as if to strike. Akira’s cryptic words came back to him in a rush of memory:
“Within the house of the king, there lies a viper…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”
. He studied the drawings carefully, knowing he had never seen this symbol before.

August cleared his throat. “Your brother seemed quite insistent I inform him immediately of the identity of the man who commissioned this remarkable cane. I found the request quite odd, to say the least.”

Damien’s brows snapped together in confusion. “Why should you find it odd?”

“Because, Your Grace, the owner of this cane is a member of your family. I found it strange that Prince Serge seemed oblivious of this fact.”

Damien’s blood ran cold. A tiny frisson of dread ran through him, and he stood watching the silversmith, still as death. “Oh God,” he said, his hands curling to fists on the desk. “Nicolai.” August Forth’s nod confirmed it.

He did not want to believe the truth. Surely someone had stolen the cane from his cousin, or seen it and had an exact copy made. There could be no other explanation. Fighting for composure, Damien turned to Mr. Forth with a forced smile. “I appreciate your coming tonight, Mr. Forth. I cannot tell you why, but I would appreciate your discretion in this matter. Tell no one that you spoke to me tonight.”

August stood, shuffling the drawings back into his portfolio and donning his beaver hat. “Of course, Your Grace, I spend too much time in my shop to gossip. I only know that your brother seemed quite adamant that I inform him of the owner’s identity immediately upon my return. I hope the information proves helpful to you.”

“Oh yes,” Damien said softly. “You’ve been most helpful.”

Damien turned and began pacing the length of his library, thinking over the events of the past few weeks. Nothing added up. Nicolai had aided them in their search for the masked man
. H
ow could he possibly be the culprit? He searched his mind for any inkling, any speckle of truth that could prove or disprove his suspicions.

He thought objectively and first pondered all the reasons that Nicolai could not be the culprit.
H
e had been just as dedicated to finding Adare’s would-be assassin as he and his brothers had been.

For another thing, the criminals who had been hanged for their part in the masked man’s plot had told them that the man sought justice for wrongs committed against him by the royal family. What possible revenge could Nicolai seek to gain by murdering members of his own family?

The final reason was the most obvious
.
Nicolai was like a brother to him. The four of them had been that way their entire lives. He could not imagine that his normally amused cousin could nurse even an ounce of hatred.