Read the exciting conclusion to The Order of the Four
Sons series, thirteen years in the making.
Excerpt
“A widow...” King Henri Sarpedonne echoed,
stroking his beard. “I see. Under the new laws, the lady in question would be
her own mistress and keeper of her own property. There is no male head of house
to contend with. Should the engagement be broken, there would be no insult
given.”
Lord Christophe Ecarteur inclined his head.
Henri peered at him. “Very clever, boy, I’ll
give you that. And what of the lady herself? An acquaintance of yours, I
presume?”
“Yes, Your Wisdom. Lady Rosemonde Salacia
Charnabon Catreus. Her late husband was Lord Stefan Catreus.”
“How old is she?”
“Thirty, Your Wisdom.”
A frown creased Henri’s brow. “Thirty?”
“Still well within childbearing years and in
excellent health. She had a son by Lord Catreus, a good, strong lad. Fourteen.
He’s at the Lodge and I’m told he’s an exceptional student.”
“Hm. And what of Lord Catreus’ inspirer?”
“Lord Nicolas Busiris. He has no objections,
Your Wisdom.”
The King gave Christophe a hard look. “If
this is some sort of scheme—”
Christophe shook his head. “No scheme, Your
Wisdom. You asked for an engagement, and I have secured one.”
“Not just an engagement,” the King barked. “I
want him married before the New Year, do you understand? I don’t care who it
is, so long as she can give him heirs. There comes a time when we can no longer
ask the people to wait upon us; we must wait upon them. If I have to drag a
woman in off the streets myself, by the Architect, I will see him wed before
sundown on the thirty-second of Almatheion. Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly, Your Wisdom.”
“Then Lady Catreus is still your choice?”
“Yes, Your Wisdom.”
“Very well.” The King sat back. As he did,
his face seemed to relax, shedding the royal mien. And just like that, he was
simply Henri again, a concerned father. “When will you tell him?”
Christophe sighed. “I had planned to go there
directly.”
* * *
Taking his leave of the King’s chambers,
Christophe went to do exactly that. But as he reached the hallway that led to
both his and Leo’s chambers, he found himself taking a slight detour.
Very quietly, he edged his own door open and
peeked in. There was no one in the front parlor, so he stood for a moment,
listening. He could just make out Madeline’s voice. Brightening, he made his
way to the bedroom, where he found her, stretched out on the bed with little
Angelique. The two of them were surrounded by toys—rattles, pacifiers, a
jointed wooden bear, a stuffed rabbit. Angelique was kicking and gurgling
happily as Madeline dangled toys for her to grab at. Catching the rabbit’s ear
in a little flailing fist, Angelique stuck it in her mouth.
Christophe’s heart swelled at the sight of
them, and for a moment, he simply watched from the doorway. Madeline looked
over and smiled. Leaning back down, she whispered in the baby’s ear, “Who is
that? Who is that over there? Is that Papa?”
Joining them on the bed, he bent to kiss his
daughter. “Hello, little one. Hello, my beautiful girl. Papa’s home.”
Angelique grabbed his nose. He and Madeline
laughed. Picking Angelique up, he cradled her carefully. She sucked contentedly
at one of his fingers, eyes half-closed, long lashes sweeping her cheeks.
Madeline rested her chin on Christophe’s
shoulder, so they were both looking down at her. “She is so good. So happy. The
governess says she is a joy to take care of—hardly makes a peep.”
“Well, she is only two months old yet. I can still
hold out hope for a little hellion.” Christophe stroked the soft red fuzz on
top of her head. She was almost entirely her mother’s daughter-- her features,
her mouth, the shape of her face, all Madeline’s. But her eyes were undeniably
his, the olive coloring that was so distinct to old families like the
Ecarteurs.
Christophe stayed with them for as long as he
could. When he could put it off no longer, he kissed them both, rose, and went
over to the door that led to Leo’s chambers.
* * *
Inside, one would never have guessed that it
was a fine autumn morning. The curtains were drawn. A single crystal lamp
burned at Leo’s desk.
Leo himself was also at the desk. When
Christophe entered, ordinarily, he would be able to see Leo in profile, but at
the moment, all he could make out was the top of his head, surrounded as he was
by books, scrolls, papers, atlases and inkstands. More books were stacked on
the floor around him. The only sound was the steady scratching of his pen as he
wrote. His eyes were almost totally obscured by a pair of emerald glasses.
Christophe shook his head. Some men would
drown their sorrows in drink, others in women. But Leo? Leo drowns his sorrows
in books. He shut the door louder than necessary. “I’m back.”
Without raising his head, Leo said, “I have
found the most fascinating passage in Hyperboreios’ journals. It contains
alchemical formulae that no one has seen in over eight hundred years. When I
finish translating it, I believe it will be most efficacious in manipulating
the structure of crystal matrices.”
For a moment, Christophe could only stare at
him. “I paid a visit to Lady Catreus.”
“Ah, yes. And how is Lady Catreus?”
“She is your fiancée.”
Leo’s pen did not even pause. “Very well.”
“That’s it? ‘Very well’? That’s all you have
to say?”
“What would you have me say?”
“That you have more than a passing interest
in the woman that you will be producing children with!”
“You wish me to lie to you, then?”
“No, I don’t wish you to lie. I wish you to respond.”
“I have responded. If Lady Catreus is your
choice, then I’m sure she will make a fine wife. Make whatever arrangements you
deem appropriate. I will agree to all of them. In fact, I need not be
consulted. You know I trust you implicitly.” The sound of scribbling continued.
Outraged, Christophe strode over to the desk,
yanked the pen out of Leo’s hand and threw it. It clattered against the wall
and broke, spilling ink onto the rug. Then he knocked the stacks of books off
the desk, kicked at the ones on the floor so papers fluttered about like
pigeons. “Damn you, look at me!”
For a moment, Leo simply sat, arms still on
the desk. Then, very slowly and deliberately, he turned his head and raised his
eyes to Christophe’s. “Are you quite finished?”
His cold tone was only slightly diminished by
the ridiculous glasses he wore. Christophe tore them off his face. “Are you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Now you are lying.”
Sighing, Leo leaned back in his chair. “She’s
gone. What do you want from me?”
“I want you to have hope!”
“She is a seer. If she said she is not coming
back, then she is not. Accept it.”
“She’s wrong. She will come back, I know she
will! How can she not?”
“Any number of ways.”
“Well, do not think of them because they are
not going to happen!”
“Really? And how is it that you have gained
this insight?”
“She will come back,” Christophe repeated
stubbornly. “I know it. She has to, because I will it so!”
Leo looked at him pityingly, despairingly.
“Christophe—”
“She will come back if I have to go Cerulean
and bring her back myself!”
“Do not be absurd, old man. You have a
daughter,” Leo stood up. “Do not even think of gallivanting off to some
strange, foreign world that is currently under siege! Even if you had some way
of locating her, which you do not; even if you had some way of coercing her to
return, which you do not; even if there was some reason to believe that she is
mistaken about her prophecy, which there is not.”
They were already standing close, but
Christophe rose up so they were practically nose-to-nose. “She’s been wrong
before. She couldn’t See that—that creature that murdered her own father! She
is not infallible, I tell you!”
“You cannot compare a master magician who is
able to make himself so thoroughly obfuscated that even the most talented seer
we have ever encountered was unable to detect him, and this situation. It is
not the same thing.”
“You’ve given up on her! Why would you do
that?” Christophe’s voice turned pleading. “Why would you give up on this?”
Leo rested his hand on his inspirer’s
shoulder, his tone softening. “There are many throughout the world who, when a
person they hold dear is gone, would continue to set a place for them at the
table in the belief that somehow, the deceased is going to return. I am not one
of them. I do not have the luxury of giving vent to grief and losing control.
Moreover, there are certain realities in life that must be faced.” Christophe
started to look away. Gently, Leo cupped his cheek to turn him back. “Do you
remember how Endymion would look for James everywhere? Do you remember how
disconcerting it was when he would call me to his bedside, searching for
remnants of my grandfather in me? I am not going to do that. I am not going to
hide from this.”
Christophe shook him off. “She is not dead
yet. Stop speaking as if she were.”
“There is no reason to assume that.”
“I think you’d feel it.”
“In my experience, one does not feel the life
or death of another simply because one wishes to, or because one is close to
them. Unless, of course, one of them is a seer. And the one person qualified to
offer such an opinion has already spoken on the matter.”
All at once, Christophe rounded on him. “I’ll
tell you why you are so quick to give up on her! It’s because you do not feel
that you are worthy of it! That’s it, isn’t it? I know you and your
self-flagellating ways! You think this is somehow your fault. You think you’re
not worthy. You would never let yourself love or be loved in such a way.”
“That is no longer relevant.”
“It is completely relevant. If we found out
that she was dead and you knew where her body was, what would you do? You would
go get her and bring her back here, wouldn’t you?”
Helplessly, Leo shook his head. “Your point?”
“My point is that it matters. It is relevant--
the love you have for her is relevant! It doesn’t stop being relevant just
because she is absent.” Christophe turned away, both hands to his head. “I
can’t stand you like this!”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then,
very softly, Leo said, “If we knew where her body was, right now, this instant
. . . yes. I would have her brought back to Corbenic--”
Aghast, Christophe turned to him. “You would
have her brought back?”
“-- and I would have her buried next to her
father.”
“You have given up on her!”
“Christophe—”
“I won’t have it, Leo! I won’t have it!”
Christophe’s voice rose. “You can’t give up!”
“She’s GONE!” Leo shouted over him. “If I
have no hope, it’s because she took it with her!”
Breathing hard, they backed away from each
other.
For a moment, Christophe hung his head. It
didn’t seem possible that he could look any more anguished—until he raised it
again. When he spoke, his voice was almost too soft to hear. “You’re not the
only one who loves her, you know.”
Leo closed his eyes. “I know.”
Don't miss the bonus excerpt I shared in April.
