The Black Lily (Tales of the Black Lily) Read online

  His bride. Hearing it aloud made her flinch. She ignored the irritable feeling and plowed on. “Because we just attempted the assassination on the prince is the exact reason it will work. Don’t you see? They’ll never see us coming. They would never suspect something like this.”

  He shook his head, staring at his bound fingers. Arabelle bit her lip, hoping his hand would heal, knowing how he loved his work with the forge.

  “The princess will be guarded with the best of escorts. We won’t have enough men to take them down.”

  Sienna tapped the table with her fingernail, bringing his attention to her. “But we will have enough wolves.”

  Deek grinned, his gold tooth winking in the morning light. Relief washed over Arabelle. She needed him on her side before she moved forward. Now she had it.

  “Right. So here’s the plan.”

  …

  “We must find these villains and bring them to justice, my son.”

  Marius’s mother paced near the window of his father’s study. His father, stalwart and grave, stood near the marble fireplace, swirling a glass of amber liquor. Marius caught the golden flicker of the fire through the liquor and thought instantly of Arabelle. Of course, he thought little of nothing else these days.

  “I understand your concern, Mother.”

  “Apparently, you don’t. They have successfully killed one of our own, yet you still defend this…this rabble and that filthy peasant woman who tried to kill you.”

  Marius winced at her words but kept calm. “Please hear me. I agree. They should not be able to get away with murder. And we will find those responsible and bring them to justice.”

  “And we’ll hang them in the palace courtyard for all to see,” said his father.

  “No!” Marius commanded on a growl. “No, we won’t.”

  They’d been going round and round, the three of them, for nearly an hour. He’d told them everything about the meeting at Chance Crossing and received a tongue lashing like no other from his father for not informing him and bringing an entire battalion to the trade, wherein he should’ve simply surrounded them all and taken them prisoner. Marius knew this would’ve been his father’s strategy, which was precisely why he hadn’t told them of the note he’d received from Arabelle by the young boy, Nate.

  “What is it?” asked his mother.

  She strolled closer, her dark hair pinned tight and her face unusually drawn today, not her typical expression of regal reserve. She stood before him, her maternal scowl in full force.

  “Are you infatuated with that peasant girl? If so, by all means, take her, drink her dry if it will get her out of your system. No one will punish you for it. But do not put her welfare or the welfare of the filthy peasantry before your own people.”

  If she had slapped him in the face, it would’ve been more kind. He realized there was certainly no reasoning with her. The fact that his own mother had told her to break their laws to slake his thirst, to “drink her dry,” gave him pause. He’d not dare tell either of them of Arabelle’s accusations of sanguine furorem infecting the palace. That would be enough for them to hunt her down and kill her on the spot for making such wild accusations. He needed proof before he took any action.

  “Mother, Father,” he said coolly, “if you gather the perpetrators together and publicly hang them, you will make martyrs of them, which will only spur on this uprising that has already begun.”

  “Not if we kill them all,” said his father, turning his glacial gaze to Marius.

  “And how will you know you have them all? Cousin Friedrich said he heard whispers of the Black Lily in his own province in the north. It’s more widespread than you know. We need to handle this smarter, not with more aggression.”

  His mother huffed back toward the window, crossing her arms in defiance. His father walked toward the map of the entire empire on a display table. He gazed in deep thought for several minutes. Marius waited. Hoping.

  “You are right, son,” he said, tracing his finger from Sylus to the next province and the next. “We must organize with our own nobility to quell this…rebellion. Before it begins.”

  The queen whirled from the window with a fresh look of tranquility.

  “Perfect.” She glided back to stand before Marius and straightened the lapel on his jacket. “The nobility has already begun to arrive. Princess Vilhelmina will be here in two days’ time. When Friedrich arrives, we’ll gather them together for a council regarding this matter.” She smoothed a stray lock of her black hair back in place. “In the meantime, darling,” she said, ignoring his snub of her usual affections, “prepare for your bride. She will arrive here soon and will be expecting the attentions of her husband-to-be.”

  Marius grit his teeth to keep from starting another row. He had no intentions of spending time with his bride before the wedding. He’d be saddled with her for centuries thereafter.

  “Good day,” he said with a stiff nod to both of them, refusing to acknowledge his bride’s arrival.

  His mother’s frown reappeared. He couldn’t care less. She was more concerned about weddings and tradition than her own people. He wondered for a moment how he’d sprung from these two, their focus in life so well beyond his own. He strode from the room, frustrated and annoyed.

  Nikolai waited outside, as did his mother’s guardians. Nikolai fell into step with him as he marched down the corridor leading to the kitchens.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere we might find answers.”

  “About the, uh, you know?” asked Nikolai, not daring to say the words blood madness or sanguine furorem aloud.

  “Yes. That.”

  They marched on down the corridor of parlors and studies, passing his own, coming upon a small party of Legionnaires led by Sergeant Adrian Loman. Marius remembered the way the man held Arabelle in his arms the night of the ball. Some devilish instinct urged him to strangle the man for even considering the lascivious thoughts he knew were running through the vampire’s mind that night. Sergeant Loman had a reputation for being rough with the ladies and for having an insatiable appetite.

  The sergeant and his men stood to one side at attention as the prince and lieutenant approached. They bowed their heads as they passed. Marius didn’t even acknowledge them, unconcerned whether he came across as an arrogant, disgruntled monarch. It was better to move on quickly than act on his need to punch the man across the jaw.

  Marius and Nikolai wound their way farther from the royal chambers and down a winding stone staircase into the lower level of the kitchens. Steam and pungent aromas wafted up the stairwell. It was always surprising to him how many sweet and savory delicacies a palace of vampires could consume when it did nothing for sustenance.

  Vampires enjoyed their luxuries and decadence. The cooks would be busy creating all kinds of culinary delights to impress the nobility arriving for the wedding. They stepped into a humid atmosphere bustling with activity.

  A servant carried a rack of deer on his back, toward the chief cook who waved his arms about as he spat out orders.

  “On the third cutting board, Peter. Barbara, you dress the rack.”

  A petite girl with a bloodied apron dipped a curtsy and followed the man Peter to the cutting board, where he laid down the slab of meat.

  “And, Celie?”

  “Yes, Chief,” said a thick woman rolling out what must be five pounds of dough on a long table.

  “How are we with the pastries?”

  “Right on time, Chief.”

  “Good. Now we must—”

  The chief stopped mid-sentence, catching sight of the prince and his lieutenant standing in the kitchens. Marius hadn’t been here since he was a child sneaking sweetmeats when no one was looking. Everyone stopped and bowed.

  “Please,” said Marius, waving his hand. “Continue your work. Chief, might I have a word with you?”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  Marius nodded toward a short hallway that led to t
he pantries. The chief led them down the hallway. A large, thick man, he maneuvered into the pantry of spices at the end of the hall and turned, wiping his hands furiously on his soiled apron.

  “What is it, Your Highness? Was something not to your liking?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. We have the most envied kitchen in all of Varis because of you.”

  The man smiled, his double chin more pronounced, his face flushed pink.

  “This is going to be a rather unusual question, and I’d like to keep this conversation completely confidential.”

  “Anything you say, Your Highness. Of course.”

  Marius glanced toward Nikolai, who merely raised his brows as if to say, “This is your show.”

  “Right,” said Marius. “There is a suspicion that someone, a vampire, or perhaps more than one have been…overfeeding in the palace.”

  The chief’s brows pursed together in a puzzled expression.

  “Overfeeding on humans, that is. To the point of death.”

  Chief visibly swallowed, jiggling his jowls.

  “Have you seen or heard of such a thing in the palace?”

  “Why, I—no, no, I’ve never seen or heard such a thing personally, Your Highness. I would never think such a thing of the Varis family.” His agitation mounted with the wringing of his beefy hands. The man’s pulse raced, pounding so loud Marius feared his heart might burst. The scent of fear was ripe in the air.

  “We are not here to accuse you,” said Nikolai reassuringly. “We are actually seeking the truth of any such occurrence. So we might prevent it from happening again.”

  “I’ve never—no—not seen anything.”

  “You said personally,” noted Marius. “Does that mean you know of someone else who might’ve seen or heard something?”

  He clamped his mouth shut. A bead of sweat dripped down from his forehead.

  “Chief, you have been in our household for decades. I would never hurt you for telling me the truth. I know you know something. My senses tell me so. Please.”

  He cleared his throat and dropped his apron, smoothing it down front.

  “Barbara, one of my cooks. I overheard her talking to another girl about a body found outside the kitchen doors, in the back alley where we dump the scraps.”

  Marius exchanged a knowing look with Nikolai.

  “I must speak to Barbara immediately. And you will not speak of this conversation to anyone. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  He exited back into the kitchen. Nikolai exhaled a breath but said nothing. Within thirty seconds, the small girl stood in the doorway, her brown eyes wide as saucers.

  “It is all right,” said Nikolai. “We mean you no harm. We just have a few questions for you.”

  She edged into the room, visibly trembling in their presence. Fear reeked so strong he actually pitied the girl. She stood with her back to the rack of jarred preserves, as if awaiting some brutal punishment.

  “Barbara,” began Marius in a soothing tone. “Please don’t be afraid. We promise that what we have to ask is purely to find the criminals responsible.”

  “It’s about that farm boy, isn’t it?” she asked in a tiny voice.

  “What farm boy?”

  “The one from Hiddleston who delivers the sweet potatoes and beets.”

  “You know this farm boy?”

  “I only knew him because he often flirted with me when he made his monthly deliveries.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Her gaze dropped to the floor and she shook her head, the lace of her white cap quivering as she surely did.

  Marius lifted her chin with his fingertip and implored with a sincere expression.

  “Tell me what happened. So that it might not happen again.”

  She tightened her lips into a line and closed her eyes.

  “I went out to dump the scraps from the night before in the garbage cart. They haul those away to the compost ev’ry mornin’. It wasn’t even daylight, but I could see somethin’ behind the cart. So I went. Saw it was the farm boy. I nudged him with me foot to wake him up. Thought he’d partaken of some drink and was sleepin’ it off like. But he didn’t move.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I peered closer with me lantern to find his eyes wide open, his face white as a ghost. I touched his hand and shook ’im. He was cold as the grave. Then I saw the blood. His throat was”—she caught on a sob—“it was torn wide open. I ran to tell Chief, and when he finally came with me, the body was gone.”

  Her shoulders shook with a sob.

  “There now,” said Marius. “It’s all right.”

  “Please don’t hurt me for sayin’ so. But I know it’s not the first time.”

  “You’ve found another before this?” asked Nikolai.

  She shook her head.

  “No. But I talked to me friend at the Silver Crown in Sylus one night. She said her cousin’s man went to the palace for work six months ago. And he never came home. I told me friend, ‘Well, she’s been left off for another woman, for sure.’ And me friend says, ‘Oh, no, Barbara. He was the devoted sort. Would never leave her.’ And I got to wonderin’ if she was right. And if her cousin’s man had fallen to the fate of that farm boy.”

  Marius stood straight, anger rising with every word the poor girl said.

  “Please don’t be angry with me, Your Highness.”

  “I am not angry with you at all, Barbara. I am only sorry that victims have fallen to someone in this castle, where all who enter should be sure of protection.”

  “Here,” said Nikolai, handing the girl a handkerchief. “Wipe your face and you may go back to work, but don’t speak a word of this to anyone. Especially any other vampires.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her little head. “I won’t tell a soul. And I stay clear o’ them, as me Ma told me to. Beggin’ your pardon.”

  Wiping her nose and cheeks, she straightened herself up and left the pantry. Nikolai braced his hand on the stone wall, staring after her.

  “It’s true,” he said.

  “Yes,” agreed Marius. “And now we’ll have to catch him.”

  “Or them,” corrected Nikolai.

  “Or them,” he agreed. “They are stealthy, whoever they are. No telling how long they’ve been piling up their victims while we were unaware.”

  “You have more of an excuse not to have noticed,” said Nikolai, an expression of remorse marking his brow. “You spend your days and nights in the royal chambers. I have no excuse. I’ve been in charge of my own regiment for decades and have never once caught sight of the blood madness running rampant within these walls.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. We are both at fault. Every high-ranking officer and especially the royal family are responsible for not protecting its people. But we’ll find these murderers. We must.”

  They exited back through the corridor, the kitchen, and out the back alleyway. The scent of meat and blood and bones mixed with the smell of dirt and vegetables was everywhere. This was the entry and exit of all the food—raw and uncooked—going in and out of the palace. Nikolai scoured the cobblestone and knelt down on one knee, touching a finger to the stone, and sniffed.

  “There is the distinct smell of human blood beneath the other muck being dragged in and out of here.”

  Marius could smell it from where he was standing. Human blood had definitely been spilled on these cobblestones. It was not uncommon to smell human blood in the palace, with as many bleeders in residency who offered their blood of their own free will to the Legionnaires in exchange for sovereigns. But human blood in an alleyway, in this alleyway, definitely corroborated Barbara’s story.

  Marius strode down the alley toward the exit onto the palace grounds.

  “Where to now?” asked Nikolai.

  “To the stables. We’re going to pay a visit to the Silver Crown in Sylus.”

  “Why the pub?”

  “Because, my friend, that’s where everyon
e drinks too much and talks too much. If anyone knows anything, it’ll be the pub keeper.”

  “And we can have an ale while we’re there,” added Nikolai.

  Marius chuckled. “You and your love of ale.”

  They entered the stables, and Marius was reminded of the night Arabelle tried to kill him and he’d run to the stables, seeking a horse to go in search of her. Who was he fooling? Everything he saw, smelled, remembered made him think of Arabelle. He wondered if he’d ever get the woman out of his head.

  “I think I’ll have a drink with you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Marius and Nikolai worked on their second round of ale while sitting at the bar. Winston, the barkeep, busied himself drying tankards and stacking them along the wall. The Silver Crown was owned by the Baron of Sterling House. The baron didn’t much check on his tenants, so he let Winston run the place as if it were his own. It was clean but sparse, wooden tabletops spread about. Winston tended bar, and his wife cooked the luncheon and nighttime meals. Smelled like beef stew was on the menu tonight. Marius wondered if Winston also resented his employer as Arabelle had implied.

  The few customers that were here when they arrived had cleared out. Marius hated that he had that effect on people. Other than his parents, only Nikolai had ever treated or spoken to him as Marius, rather than the Prince of Varis. And Arabelle. Of course, she’d prefer to spit in his eye than talk to his face, but the thought of her still made him smile.

  Perhaps that’s why he’d never known what was happening right under his nose. The peasants might smile and curtsy and bow properly, but they’d never simply offer him the kind of information he’d discovered this afternoon. He’d had to coerce the chief cook and the kitchen maid to get the truth out of them. And both had walked away shaken and riddled with anxiety after the experience, even when he’d promised no harm would come to them. The Glass Tower had become his own luxurious cage, separating him from the people he was supposed to protect. From people like Arabelle who needed a loyal monarch on their side. He wished like hell she needed him in other ways.

  “Are you going to daydream about your peasant girl all day, or are we going to get on with our questions?”