The Lord of Illusion - 3 (20 page)

She did not shy away from his touch. Instead, she looked up at the silent dragon. “You were there, when the elven lords came to our world. You know how they opened the gate. Are the joined scepters the key?”

Grimor’ee lifted a claw, scratched at a golden scale, the sound like knives raking across stone. He then studied the sky, idly twitched his tail at a mound of snow, sending it scattering in all directions.

“He does not answer, which means I am right.”

Grimor’ee’s massive maw lifted in what might be a smile. “Well done, Camille Ashton, descendant of the white witch. I have hope for humanity’s future after all.”

Drystan began to pace again. He had not truly believed he would find the key to Elfhame. And now that he had, he dared not imagine what might happen next. The scepters had sent him hunting for it, after all, and he trusted their motives less than he trusted the dragon.

“I will take this information to the Rebellion, Camille, while I send you somewhere safe. It is up to the Prime Minister to decide what the Rebellion does with it, and how the task might be accomplished. My main duty is to protect you.”

“No.”

The single word brought Drystan’s pacing to a halt.

Camille hugged her shoulders, her face a study of mixed emotions. “I am coming with you.”

“You cannot,” replied Drystan. “The Prime Minister resides in Firehame, and that sovereignty is currently besieged by Breden of Dewhame. Not to mention that Firehame borders Verdanthame, and Annanor has already engaged her troops against it. Once Roden marches—no. The land is awash in war and magical chaos. I will see you safely away from it, Camille.”

She set her mouth in a stubborn line. “And I will see myself in the midst of it. I would help England fight for freedom.”

Drystan suddenly sympathized with Giles. He felt like tearing his hair out. “But you already have! This key to opening the door is the closest we have come to finding a way to defeat the elven lords. At the very least, it will bring hope to the Rebellion at a time when they shall need it the most.”

“Perhaps it is my ancestry with this white witch, but I feel I am needed.” She dropped her hands, shrugged with a rueful smile. “I know I am only a slave and may make very little difference. But for the first time in my life, I have an opportunity to do so. I will not turn my back on it.”

The dragon shifted, scales screeching on stone. “She is right, Drystan of Wales. You must take her with you.”

“Stay out of this,” snapped Drystan. Monster-size beast or no, he would not allow the dragon to interfere more than he already had.

“I have killed men for less,” remarked the dragon.

Drystan ignored him. He feared nothing except the loss of Camille. He knelt at her feet. “Do not do this to me, my love. My sword arm is strong, but my magic is weak. I do not know if I can protect you.”

“Then teach me.”

“Teach you?”

“As you promised. Teach me how to defend myself. With sword and pistol.”

Drystan gathered her hands in his, her fingers so cold within his grasp. Despite the strength of Grimor’ee’s own vision, he suddenly smelled apple blossoms. “To defend yourself, yes… but not to have you join the Rebellion. I would rather send you somewhere safe. Do not ask this of me.”

She twisted her hands from his hold. “For the first time in my life, I have the ability to act upon a decision of my own. Indeed I ask this of you.”

He knew what it felt like to be subjected to the will of others and had vowed to give Camille her freedom. He could not go back on his intentions just because he did not like the cost to himself.

Drystan rose. “I had intended to send you to Wales with Talbot, while I joined the rest of the court marching with Roden of Dreamhame to war. When his army reached Firehame, I planned to sneak away, which will involve crossing battle lines. It will not be an easy journey, my lady. It will not be like the books we have read, for there will be little glory, and mostly privations and horrors.”

Her full lips curved in a smile. “I am used to such things.”

“I know. And I hoped to make it otherwise.”

“You do not have much time,” interrupted Grimor’ee.

Drystan spun. “What do you mean?”

“The elven lord marches in two days.”

Worse and worse. How could he teach Camille to wield a sword and pistol in two days? “I will consult with Captain Talbot tonight. Beg, borrow, or steal, I will get you an enchanted sword that requires nothing more of you than to hold on. I just wish pistols did not resist spells, but I suppose teaching you to shoot will not be so difficult. It is not as if guns are known for their great accuracy.”

Camille smiled at the resignation in his words. Such a brilliant smile that Drystan felt his legs go a little weak in the knees. He wondered if she realized how much power she had over him, and then realized he did not care if she knew.

It might cause her to trust him more.

She rose from her illusory chair, away from the real heat of the illusory fire, and did a most astonishing thing. She approached the dragon, wrapped her arms around his great snout, and hugged him. “I do not know if I shall be able to speak with you again,” she said. “My dearest Grimor’ee. I do not know what enchantments bind you, but they must be very dire. I know you have done for me all you can. I just want you to know I understand.”

Drystan watched in amazement as a rosy hue flushed the dragon’s golden scales from snout to tail. Great wings rose and covered Camille for a moment, apparently the version of a dragon’s hug.

“You humans,” he rumbled, “have such capacity for greatness within your concept of love.” His golden eyes glanced at Drystan, who stood with arms crossed, watching the beast with as much obvious distrust and skepticism as he could display with a raised brow and a sneer.

“And weakness,” added Grimor’ee, removing his wings from around her and pointing them skyward. “We will speak again, Camille. You must promise to visit me tomorrow evening. Will you do so?”

“Yes. Yes, of course, if you wish it.”

Grimor’ee gazed at her silently, the smaller scales covering his forehead folding together as if contemplating a serious and disturbing matter. “I do so wish it.” He stretched out his wings to their full length, easily twice his own height. “Now get the man from my sight before I turn him into a frog. He annoys the human hell out of me.”

She backed up as the dragon stroked the air with his wings, the cozy fireplace Grimor’ee had conjured disappearing as if washed away by the breeze he created. Drystan leaped forward and shielded her body with his as the dragon took to the air, his golden scales shining against the night sky as brilliantly as the stars twinkling above.

“You hurt his feelings,” said Camille.

Drystan sighed. “Dragons have no feelings, Camille. At least, none that remotely resemble a human’s. It is a grave mistake for you to think so.”

“Is it?” She pulled away from him, heading back toward the bridge between castle and tower. “
He
has never lied to me.”

Drystan scowled, trudging after her through the freshly fallen snow.

Devil take it. Could he be jealous of a dragon?

Nine

When Camille awoke early the next morning, she chose the least elaborate of the gowns Lady Hensby had designed, for she had every intention of pressing Lord Hawkes to keep his promise to teach her sword and pistol.

She sighed as she looked in the mirror. The least elaborate costume consisted of a quilted petticoat instead of the wide elbow hoops, a jacket bodice, and a closed skirt. The dark gray silk petticoat had been stitched to create layers of puckered fabric from waist to hem, accented with tiny silver beads that sparkled even in the dim light of her room. It would have been a shame to cover such elegance, except the silk jacket and skirt matched the petticoat, although the fabric was of a lighter, dove gray color.

Camille pinned up her hair and covered it with a ruffled mobcap. She settled a tucker over her shoulders and pinned it across her chest with a diamond brooch, then slipped into leather boots instead of the matching silk-covered shoes, before leaving her room.

Augusta did not glance up from cleaning the drawing room hearth when she told Camille that Lord Hawkes still lay abed, having been up all night in consultation with his captain. Camille wondered how far the relationship between Augusta and Talbot had gone, for the other girl looked annoyed by the captain’s late-night meeting.

But Camille had enough problems of her own and did not ask Augusta about the matter. Instead she made an excuse to visit the kitchens to replenish their sideboard, and darted out of the apartments, giving a nod to the old guard who stood next to the moving picture of an ogre chasing a maiden. Today might be her only opportunity to see Molly before she left Dreamhame Palace.

As Camille made her way down the stairs, she could still not quite believe she would be free of this dreadful place. Drystan Hawkes offered her more hope of doing so than she ever had before, and she prayed he would keep his word and take her with him.

She wished she did not still doubt him. But so many lies surrounded him she could not decide how much might be the truth.

But she thought… having no experience, or any expectation of such a feeling, she could not be quite sure of what it might feel like to love a man. She only knew he made her feel things she never felt before. Like gratitude for saving her, and then continuing to protect her. Although he might have done it all to discover this key for the Rebellion, she still could not banish that feeling.

Nor could she seem to stop replaying the images of their lovemaking. She had never been made love to before. It felt sublime and overwhelming, his tenderness in just one night almost replacing years of abuse. And for him to tie himself up that way to make her feel in control… ah, what sort of man would do such a thing?

Fie, her head felt all muddled. Because she had begun to care for him, did it follow she should trust him as well? Despite his avowals, she knew the Rebellion and its quest to earn England’s freedom held equal importance in his heart. Otherwise, he would have stolen her away the moment he found her, regardless that she held the key to Elfhame.

She could not blame him for his loyalties. The very thought that she could make a difference to England, as well, had consumed her with more purpose than she ever felt in her life.

And that purpose made her feel powerful.

Camille shook off the confusing thoughts as she entered the kitchens, the aroma of grilling bacon making her mouth water. Her new status gave her the courage to swipe a piece off the counter as she walked by, and Cook did not bat an eye.

She unconsciously lifted her chin a few degrees while she ate the savory meat, licking her fingers when she finished. Astonishing, what new clothing could do.

Several soldiers looked up from their plate as she walked past, but quickly turned back to eating. Not a one of them shouted out a ribald comment, tried to catch her about the waist, or stuck out a foot to trip her. Even the new slave master, who sat just outside the hall to her old quarters, did not demand to know her business as she sauntered by.

Despite her show of confidence, Camille heaved a great sigh of relief, allowing the tension to flow from her as she opened Molly’s door.

The slave girl lay sound asleep on her cot, her clothing rumpled and her pale hair spread about her face like some wild hoyden. Camille leaned down and regretfully shook her shoulder.

“Give it a rest, lad,” Molly mumbled.

“It is only I,” Camille said.

Molly opened one hazel eye. “Lud, Camille. It’s about time you came to see me.” Then both eyes sprang open wide when she noticed Camille’s gown. “It’s true then! You have become Viscount Hawkes’s mistress.”

Camille glanced down at the beaded silk and collapsed on her old cot. She realized she could not deny it. The memory of her night with Drystan swept over her in a rush that heated her face.

“I would not have believed it,” said Molly as she sat up, smoothing back her hair. “He must be an extraordinary man to have seduced you. Or…?”

“No, Molly. I went to him willing enough.”

The other girl shook her head. “Well, that’s a relief then. Will you tell me how he managed it?”

“Certainly not.”

“I do not know how I have put up with you all these years. You are no fun at all.”

Camille smiled. Molly’s brashness and sense of humor had saved their sanity more often than she cared to remember. “He says he loves me.”

“Lud, they all say that.” She waved her hand dismissively. “But this Lord Hawkes is a strange one. Perhaps he will marry you and take you away—”

“Impossible,” snapped Camille, not in the mood for pretending.

“Is it true he maimed the old slave master, and had two men killed for your honor?”

“I… I think so.”

Molly huffed a breath. “Not a man to take lightly, then.” She stood and pulled out a wrinkled garment from beneath her bedding. “I don’t suppose you shall still be needing this?”

“How did you manage…? No, I do not want to know.” Camille took the soldier’s uniform from the other girl and began to bundle it up. “I hope I did not put you at risk.”

“You still plan to escape, then?”

“The less you know, the better.”

Molly’s pale brows rose. “That’s the way of it? No, no, you are right. It is better I do not know what you are about, for I have already guessed too much. Lud, Camille, just be careful. I fear I may never you see again.”

Camille unpinned the brooch and handed it to Molly, along with the tucker. “Take this as payment, Molly. And give the kerchief to Ann to make clothing for her golems.”

“I would have done it for nothing,” she replied, her hand reaching out for the sparkling jewelry with mindless desire. “But it is a pretty bauble, Camille. I could never wear it, but…” She stood and removed the brick from the wall and put the jewelry with the rest of her treasures. “But I know it is there, and it is a wonder to think I own something so grand.”

“I am glad it makes you happy. I have come to say farewell, you see, and the thought of giving you something as a parting gift pleases me.”

Molly blinked rapidly. “I hope you are doing the right thing. You have ever gone your own way, Camille, and I suppose you always shall. I wish I could go with you to help you, but I cannot imagine leaving my home, as horrible as it is. The evil you know is always preferable to one you can only imagine. Can you forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive. You have managed to find some happiness here. I must go and seek it.”

“And this viscount of yours? Has he not brought you some—?”

A knock at the door made them both jump, and as one they turned to stare at the flimsy wood. Normally they listened for footsteps in the hall to protect their privacy, for no one bothered to knock on the door of a slave’s room. No one would, that is, except for…

“It is Lord Hawkes,” whispered Camille, rising in one smooth movement. Molly quickly replaced the brick in the wall and smoothed out the wrinkles in her black dress.

Camille opened the door to reveal the man himself, dressed in soft buckskin breeches and coat, with tall boots, and a greatcoat covering the lot. He held a bundle in his arms and stared about the room with an expression of dismay on his handsome face, which he quickly erased as Molly bobbed him a curtsy.

“Miss Molly, I presume?”

She flashed him a cheeky grin.

He returned it in kind. “Pleased to meet you.”

“What are you doing here?” interrupted Camille, suddenly comparing the small quarters to his richly appointed apartments. He did not belong here, and it brought the differences in their stations grossly to light.

But Lord Hawkes did not appear to notice her chagrin, acting as if he called upon some fine lady in her grand suite, rather than a slave in her hovel. “Looking for you. You promised me an outing today.”

“I did not think you would seek me out
here
.”

“And why not? Look, I have a gift for you.” He glanced at the bundle in her hands, his golden brown eyes lighting up with understanding. “Allow me to trade your burden for mine, my love.”

Molly sucked in a breath at such a boldly spoken endearment.

Lord Hawkes’s sudden appearance and familiar attitude flustered Camille, and she handed him the soldier’s uniform with nary a thought. He gave her a leather girdle in return, with a holster and scabbard attached. She could only stare at it in wonder for a few moments. The reality of what she held suddenly overcame her. She stood in the room that represented a lifetime of slavery—not in Lord Hawkes’s apartments where he had made her believe in the fantasy of freedom. It was illegal for slaves to use weapons, much less to own them.

“You should put it on,” said Drystan.

Molly flinched, and Camille swept a glance at the girl, who shook her head, an expression of horror on her face. Molly knew the consequences of Camille’s actions. There would be no turning back this time. But Camille truly did not want to, for although Molly did not know it, within Camille’s hands might lay the first step in freeing them all from slavery.

Camille buckled the belt about her waist, the weight of it a comfort, not a burden.

“Now, then,” said Lord Hawkes. “I must teach you how to use the weapons so you do not injure yourself.” He gave her a small grin, one that altered his face from handsome to breathtaking, then turned to Molly, whose mouth had fallen open. “Miss Molly, I don’t suppose you know of a private place on the palace grounds where we can practice unseen?”

Her gaze flitted from Camille to the girdle of weapons, then back to his lordship. “I do not think… I am not sure…” She let out a breath. “Within the forest bordering the south of the palace is a garden where even the soldiers dare not enter, for they swear it is haunted. It is said to be a creation of the elven lord to remind him of his homeland, but Roden has not entered it in decades.” She gave a graceful shrug. “Besides the dragon’s tower and the elven lord’s private chambers, it is the only place I know of where no human dares to enter.”

At the mention of the tower, Lord Hawkes raised one dark brow at Camille but did not comment. Instead, he handed Camille her cloak and gloves. “I had the foresight to bring these along.” He crooked his arm in offering. “Shall we, my lady?”

Camille pulled on the fur and covered her head with the hood, tugging on the warm tight-fitting leather gloves. “Good-bye, Molly.”

“Do not speak as if this is the last time we shall see each other,” she replied. “I shall bid you farewell only if you promise you will come visit me again soon.”

Camille shrugged, and then left the room with Drystan, unwilling to make a promise she might not be able to keep. Molly stood at the door and watched them walk down the hall, an expression of hope and dismay on her pretty face.

Lord Hawkes led her through the kitchens and out to the back courtyard, where a stableboy stood with the reins of a small brown mare and a black stallion. The sun chose that precise moment to peek through the leaden skies, lighting up the newly fallen snow on the ground and atop the flowering trees and golden arches to a glowing white. Camille squinted against the brightness, following the path Drystan broke through the drifts, grateful that the courtyard appeared deserted.

The ground near the stables had been turned a mushy brown by hooves and boots, so Drystan took her arm again to prevent her from slipping, and then helped her into the saddle of the mare. He stuffed the soldier’s uniform in a sack attached to his saddle and swung up onto the stallion with one graceful leap, his elven strength making the boy blink stupidly after them as they galloped away.

Camille held on to the pommel of the saddle with a tight grip, the reins an afterthought in her hands. As a rule, slaves did not ride horses, but fortunately her time as governess and companion provided her with an opportunity to learn how. But she did not have the skill that Lord Hawkes did, and could only be grateful the little mare followed the stallion without any guidance from her.

After a few miles the horses slowed, hampered by the thickness of the snow, and Camille managed to relax enough to appreciate the morning. The sun hid behind the clouds yet again, but the sky had turned from gray to a brilliant blue, and the snow still sparkled with tiny dots of light. A stillness lay about the landscape, as if the morning held its breath.