Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“And that is exactly why I came to find you. Imagine my surprise to have to send out a search party.”
“Where’s Amal?”
Just then, a gong sounds loud enough to hear in this room. The music of the quartet stops.
“This way,” Senna says, and turns to walk out into the corridor.
“Where the fuck is my wife?” I bellow.
He turns, distaste or hate curling his lip. “You will see her momentarily.”
We follow him. Or, I should say, we’re made to follow him.
The corridor is empty but for a few stragglers hurrying toward the Great Hall. Two men stand sentry at the entrance of it, ready to close the door. I get the feeling even members of The Society aren’t free to roam the castle’s halls.
Senna gestures for the last of them to enter. I’m behind him so I can’t see his face but from the looks on the faces of the other guests, he’s not hiding his displeasure.
A moment later, he fumbles with his mask, pulling it over his face. I’m guessing he’s just realized it is on top of his head and people can actually see his true expression.
Once the last of the guests are inside, Senna gestures for us to enter. The soldier holding onto Sev releases him and Sev walks ahead of me. I follow my brother into the Great Hall where there must be more than two-hundred guests. As I take them all in, I realize how just as all the men are in various shades and fabrics of black, so are the women in creams and whites. This strange fact registers just as the conductor gives the signal, and the quartet begins to play a mournful, almost screeching tune. Something that would better fit a funeral than a festive event.
A sound draws my attention to the top of the grand staircase, its twin curves sweeping down to meet in the center of the room. I turn just as a collective gasp ripples through the crowd. Every guest seems to react at once, as though rehearsed. Only my brother, the soldiers and Senna remain silent.
I see why when two men wearing identical half-masks and black suits, the same suits and masks of every soldier, appear at the top of the stairs, between them the most stunning, unnerving sight I’ve ever seen.
A woman in a dress the color of blood.
Amal.
It’s her. I know without having to see her face because I can’t see her face. No one can. It’s bound up forcefully by lace to match the red of the dress, her dark hair pulled back, tamed for the first time ever in what I guess is a painful knot.
Hands close over my arms again. I realize I’ve taken a step forward, my body physically drawn to her, pulled to protect her as if by some invisible force. But I can’t get to her. Of course I can’t. The soldiers holding me back see to that.
“Now, Jethro, your Amal,” Senna says, moving his arm in a grand gesture as if to present her, as if he’s just drawn the curtain aside. Although his face is directed toward Amal, I can hear the satisfied grin I know he’s wearing beneath that mask. I don’t need to see it to know.
The men who are holding onto Amal release her and she sways a little. She takes two steps to stand at the top of the stairs and looks down into the room of two-hundred masked strangers. I can imagine from here how her heart must be pounding. How terrified she must be because she is what this whole thing is about.
She is the one to watch, not us.
We were mistaken, arrogant to think this ball was to parade Severin and me, to make an example to the members of The Society and remind them what happens when you disobey.
In my mind, I see that wall of vines interlaced throughout all those coats of arms, touching every family, every life. The name, Fairbairn. I’d seen it in her notes. She thought she was looking for her father but all along, that name belonged to her. I see it now. I understand it now. Does she know? Does she understand?
She takes another step, wobbly this one, and I think of a lamb walking to the slaughter. She is that lamb. The sacrifice dressed in bloody red.
My hands fist, rage burning inside me.
I will her to look at me. To see me. Only me.
And a moment later, as if fate will grant me this one wish, she does.
She sees me.
The instant she does, I swear I see that fierce, impossible blue of her eyes as her gaze locks on me even over the distance and through her prison of lace. I swear I see the eyes of the woman I will raze hell to protect and I will my strength onto her.