Steelhands - Jaida Jones [208]
It would be especially cruel for Raphael to return from the dead only to end up buried beneath Thremedon after his homecoming—only I truly couldn’t think about that, or else I’d go mad.
“I thought you might have heard my husband,” the Esarina murmured. She didn’t balk at speaking of him; she clearly wasn’t superstitious enough to believe mentioning him would cause him to appear. I was not so lucky, and I examined the room once more, just to be certain.
“My apologies,” I told her. “In my line of work, I’ve found it better to be safe than sorry.”
“Best to get under way,” Antoinette said, taking the lead by heading for the door. “Before we all start leaping at shadows.”
I heard the whispering again when she pulled it open, but it was as inscrutable as a spring breeze, with no form or words that I could catch. The Esarina started after Antoinette, which left me to guard our perimeter from behind. It was a position to which I was unaccustomed, but it seemed most prudent to have the woman with the most knowledge of the palace leading the way, and me behind to keep the Esarina safe should anything threaten our progress.
We traveled to the end of the corridor and turned left, passing by a vaulted stone archway to pause in front of another room.
“The audience chamber has many passages leading to the palace exit,” Antoinette explained, opening the door and ushering us in.
“I had guessed this was the way we would travel,” the Esarina said.
The audience chamber was an eerie place in the dark, silvery light from the moon shining in through a round window set into the ceiling. Our footsteps were swallowed up by the heavy carpet, so that now I really couldn’t ignore the constant whispering in my head. Slowly but surely it was taking shape, forming a language I hadn’t recognized before because I’d been listening for speech, not the same word repeated haltingly over and over again.
Balfour, it was saying. Just my name. It wasn’t even pronouncing it correctly, as though it was reading the foreign syllables off a sheet of paper.
I didn’t know whether I was hallucinating, or if perhaps my fever had returned. Once we got to the Basquiat, I might be able to speak to someone about my problem; the magicians had a great deal of experience with fevers these days. There had to be someone who could help me.
We’d made it halfway across the room when two doors opened on either side of us, and the sound of boots against stone filled the air. I felt my heart leap into my throat, the way it had when Anastasia—the dragon and not the woman, as I now needed to make that distinction—had gone into a steep dive without giving me fair warning. Uniformed guards poured in from both directions; the light of the moon was enough for me to note that they were not dressed as the Esar’s usual guards but rather in some formal attire I didn’t recognize. Within seconds we were surrounded by men in green uniforms, that resembled very closely what the corps had once worn—epaulettes, tassels, and all. It actually made me irrationally furious to look at them, but now wasn’t the time to let my anger get the better of me.
Antoinette drew the Esarina behind her and even bared her teeth. Covered in dirt and ash from the passage, she somehow looked more menacing—like a vengeful spirit that had clawed her way free of the grave.
“Not a step closer, any of you,” Antoinette said in a tone that reminded me very much of Adamo’s when he was pushed to the breaking point. “I am Lady Antoinette, and if you know that name, you know what I can do to the likes of you. If you value your lives—not to mention your minds, if they can be called such—you’ll get out of my way.”
“Don’t move,” said a voice from within the crowd. I recognized it all too well, but I was still hoping I was hallucinating that voice, too.
The men of the guard parted, revealing the Esar behind them. Much like the Esarina, he was dressed casually in simple clothing and his family rings, though there was nothing casual about his gaze as it