The bell rang, signaling the end of prayer, and made both of them jump. Thomas smiled at her rather sheepishly, and Ca.s.sandra feared the smile she gave him in turn held too much sadness in it.

He walked her to the door, bowed low over her hand. "If you ever need me, leave a message for Father Thomas. I will come... if it's safe."

She understood. From this moment forward, she should depend only upon herself. She turned to leave, but he would not let go of her hand.

"Are you sure?" he murmured.

"Yes." Oh, how confident she sounded! Was it false or true? She supposed the next few days would tell.

His grip loosened and she felt her entire body grow cold. Would she ever be truly warm again?

"Farewell, then, Lady Ca.s.sandra. You have been a most excellent student."

She might never see him again, at least in this guise. She wondered what he would be like in the full role of Viscount Althorp. "Good-bye, Father Thomas."

Ca.s.s slipped out the door almost as quietly as she'd entered. Some of her training had become pure habit. The hall flowed with the colorful skirts of the ladies of quality, and she insinuated herself within the crowd of students with barely a notice. She knew she should go to her rooms, that her father had sent his servants along with her wedding gown so she would be prepared for tomorrow.

But the entire encounter with Thomas had shaken her belief in the path she had chosen to take. Her widowed father had no idea of her involvement with the Rebellion; he would have disowned her, since he stood to gain status and funds with her union to the champion.

She'd missed her mother over the years, but never as much as she did at this moment.

So when Ca.s.s pa.s.sed by the chapel, she slipped inside and closed the door behind her. She'd always had G.o.d to talk to. For a moment she enjoyed the silence, the chatter of the girls m.u.f.fled behind the walls. Prayer time had ended, and so she had the entire place to herself.

She pa.s.sed the pews and went straight to the altar, then sank to her knees on the bare stone, as close to the cross as propriety would allow. She bowed her head, pressed her palms together, and continued her interrupted prayer, her words barely above a whisper.

"Almighty G.o.d, please let my new husband be happy with me tomorrow so I can murder his father."

Ca.s.sandra sat within the carriage, trying not to rumple the silk of her wedding dress. The sunshine streamed through the windows and struck the silver edging decorating the cream fabric and shot tiny sparks of light around her. Father had insisted on the silk, had chosen the pleated gown himself. He wanted his daughter to shine.

Ca.s.s wanted only to disappear.

She glanced across the coach at her father. The press of traffic to Westminster Abbey impeded their progress, and the Duke of Chandos grumbled again.

"Devilishly foolish of the lot. They're all here to see the wedding, and they can't have one without the bride. We shall be late because of all the gawkers."

He checked his gold watch for the hundredth time. Age had not diminished her father's handsome looks. His silver-white wig made his hazel eyes appear lighter, and they made a striking contrast against his tan face. He loved to hunt, spent a great deal of time outdoors, which had kept up his youthful physique. He had not mourned Ca.s.sandra's mother for long, although she supposed she couldn't blame him, when women kept throwing themselves at his feet.

He'd inherited only a pretty face from his elven blood.

"Please, Father, don't be concerned. They will wait for us."

"Eh?" He glanced up, as if he'd forgotten her presence. "Yes, quite right." The Duke of Chandos leaned over and patted her hand. "As you are my only child, your son will inherit the t.i.tle. Of course they'll wait."

Ca.s.sandra gave him a weak smile and turned to stare out the window. Her new stays itched. And Father had insisted she wear the most outlandishly wide hoops; as a consequence they kept popping up in her seated position. She gave a sigh of relief when she saw the Gothic arches of the Abbey. The carriage stopped in front of the ornately carved entry. The area had been roped off to hold back the crowd, and a line of uniformed officers standing in rigid military attention created an aisle for her to walk through.

Their uniformed escort leaped down from the back of the coach and opened the door, stepping aside to create another barrier against the watching crowd. Ca.s.s felt as if she were on display and confined all at the same time.

A sudden flare of cool white fire highlighted the officers and the entrance to the church, dancing upward past the tops of the spires in curling waves of crystal scintillation. Ca.s.s could feel the strength of the Imperial Lord's magic like a shiver in the very air. Her hands began to sweat inside her silk gloves.

Father stared out the window and swallowed. "Don't worry, my dear. We'll do just fine."

She couldn't be sure if his words were to rea.s.sure her or himself.

Father exited the carriage first, adjusted the lace at the sleeves of his satin coat, and held out his hand to her. Her fingers trembled as she clasped it. The sweep of her gown preceded her from the carriage, and when she raised her head a sudden beam of fire touched her satin pinner, radiating outward to join the already swirling beams. Her knees felt like pudding and for the first time in her life, she thought she might swoon.

Ca.s.s muttered a prayer, took a deep breath, and walked forward to her doom.

But the moment she entered the grand abbey, the carved images of saints and apostles calmed her. Statues of angels stared lovingly down at her, the feathers in their wings, the very folds of their robes, appearing softly real from the skill of the artisan that had sculpted them. Father led her down the nave, and she ignored the hundreds of staring eyes of the n.o.bles who sat in the pews, keeping her gaze focused on the great cross over the high altar. The music of the choir soared above and beyond the Imperial Lord's magical fire that had led them inside, and she let the melody carry her slippered feet down the very, very long aisle.

She didn't trip on her gown. Father didn't stumble in his new high-heeled shoes. Ca.s.sandra thought she might manage this public display without too much fuss after all, until they neared the altar. And she saw her intended. And his father.

General Dominic Raikes's handsome features had always fl.u.s.tered her. But today she realized the elvenkind had brought the beauty of angels to earth for them... and Dominic looked so strikingly similar to his elven-lord father. Her intended stood with military precision; indeed, he'd worn his uniform, although she doubted he wore this version in battle. The red wool had been replaced by red velvet, with gold trim about the sleeves and flared skirt of the coat. Dozens of gold b.u.t.tons trimmed the wide cuffs of the coat and down the opening, although only one clasped it closed at the waist. His cravat and sleeves dripped with black lace, and that color matched his shiny boots and the velvet cloak slung over his shoulders.

Not the normal dress for a marriage, but it suited him well.

He wore no wig, of course, since after all, the reason the gentry wore them was to copy the elvens' silver blond hair, and the general had inherited the original. As she drew closer to him, she noticed he wore battle braids in his hair, but they'd been drawn back and fastened behind his head, revealing his pointed ears and the high cheekbones in his face.

Ca.s.s had her attention riveted on him, but he didn't return the favor. Indeed, his gaze roamed the vaulted ceiling and he looked... bored.

She glanced over at Imperial Lord Mor'ded. He'd dressed in the same manner as his son, although Ca.s.sandra imagined he'd never fought on a real battlefield in his life. His face looked slightly paler than his son's, his shoulders narrower, his legs less muscular. And his black eyes...

Ca.s.s's face swiveled between the two of them. Large elven eyes, as shiny and black as coal-they almost looked like they had facets in them. Both their eyes would be beautiful-glittering like exotic jewels-if they hadn't looked so very cold. So very cruel.

Instead of the angels to whom she'd compared them, she should have been thinking devils.

Ca.s.s turned her attention toward the archbishop and kept it there as her father brought her to stand next to General Raikes. He didn't so much as blink to acknowledge her presence. Her head just topped his shoulders, and she fancied she could feel the heat of his body.

She refused to allow her intended to intimidate her by his mere presence.

The entire wedding party waited in a frozen tableau while the choir finished its song. Yet beneath Ca.s.s's dress her toes continued to tap in time to the music. She felt the dance swell inside of her, seeking direction. A brief thought came to her and made her stomach flip. Could she kill Mor'ded now and put an end to this farce? She'd resigned herself to the knowledge that she wouldn't survive the a.s.sa.s.sination. Surely the Imperial Lord's son would kill her if she moved now. What better way to send the sovereignty into chaos and advance the tide of the Rebellion?

Her heels lifted. Her knees swayed.

General Dominic Raikes leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Do you have an itch?"

The archbishop frowned at them. Imperial Lord Mor'ded fastened those cold eyes on her.

Ca.s.s froze. Had she detected a note of mockery in the general's deep voice? She stole a glance at him. His emotionless eyes stayed fixed on the archbishop as well, but the corner of his mouth twitched. She vowed she'd seen it twitch.

She felt a flush creep from belly to nose and knew her face had turned a deep red. And knew her opportunity to act had pa.s.sed. The choir ended with a crescendo of glorious song, and without further ado the archbishop began the ceremony.

Perhaps it was just as well. Thomas had cautioned her for patience and she'd almost rushed forward. And as she stood through the painfully long ceremony and went through the motions required of her, she chided herself.

Imperial Lord Mor'ded's body nearly vibrated with tension, his eyes watching the a.s.sembled guests without appearing to. His white fire magic still swirled among the guests, and she suddenly wondered if it had all been for show. Could he search for hidden dangers with it? Could he sense an attack, whether magical or physical, with his power?

Ca.s.s couldn't be sure. The information that the Rebellion had on the elven lords was sketchy. Thomas had done the best he could, but she suddenly realized she'd been ill prepared for her task. She could feel the power of Mor'ded's magic, and the tiny bit she possessed seemed negligible by comparison. Perhaps the wiser course would be to discover all she could about the elven lords and their magic before she acted at all.

Ca.s.s now stood facing her... new husband. She supposed she'd have to get used to that idea. Although she didn't think she could ever get used to the coldness of his beautiful eyes. She'd hoped she could use the general to gather information about the elven, but right now he did not look like a man who could be used. Indeed, when his eyes met hers for a moment, a shiver of dread went through her.

The few times she'd visited him, he had treated her with a disinterest bordering on contempt. She'd foolishly thought that when she became his wife that might change, but it appeared the ceremony affected him not at all. Faith, how would she manage to share his bed tonight? Best not to think of that.

She blanched as her new husband slid a ring on her finger. A band of gold with a rose carved atop it. But the rose looked so real, the edges of the petals as delicate as the true flower. Ca.s.s couldn't resist the impulse to bring it closer to her face, then nearly jumped when the petals curled closed, changing the carving to a tight bud.

He'd given her a ring crafted with elven magic.

Her eyes flew up to his in alarm.

General Raikes lowered his head. "It won't harm you," he muttered, a note of exasperation in his velvety voice. And then he lowered his head and kissed her, signaling an end to the ceremony.

Ca.s.s's heart flipped over. She stood quite frozen, unsure of what had come over her. The general had done nothing more than press his lips to hers. And her entire body had shivered. From that one dispa.s.sionate touch.

As the onlookers broke into polite applause, Mor'ded leaned close to his son and said, "Surely the champion can do better than that."

She watched her husband glance at his father. Saw his face harden with challenge. Then the general wrapped his arms around her and roughly pulled her against his chest, and Ca.s.s could only pray.

Her new husband kissed her again. But this time he kissed her like Thomas had, bending her backward in his arms, moving his mouth over hers as if he sought to eat her alive. But the experience was totally unlike the one she'd shared with Thomas.

The world seemed to fall away. Ca.s.s became aware of nothing and no one but the man holding her in his arms. The heat of his mouth, the fire that ran through her body, the sheer exhilaration of the taste of him. Her senses heightened. She felt her b.r.e.a.s.t.s tighten and strain toward him. Felt a wetness between her legs that frightened and excited her all at the same time. His tongue pressed against her lips, and lacking any experience of what to do, she opened her mouth and he invaded it, stroking and tasting until she just forgot to breathe.

Her new husband abruptly let her go and set her away from him. Ca.s.s swayed. The applause in the room had risen in volume, and she blushed again to realize she'd behaved in such a manner in front of an archbishop, half the country, and in the house of the Lord, no less. She couldn't account for what had come over her.

General Raikes gave his father a heated look. "Will that do?"

Mor'ded chuckled.

When Dominic took her hand and led her back down the nave, Ca.s.s could do nothing but weakly follow. But she noticed the rose in her ring had come unfurled, spreading out into a glorious open blossom.

Three.

Ca.s.s sat at her wedding breakfast within the great hall of Firehame Palace, still slightly dazed. Her new husband hadn't spoken a word to her in the short carriage ride back to the palace. Indeed, he had appeared to be furious with her... but surely she must have been mistaken, for the general would have to possess feelings for her to arouse them so.

When they'd arrived at the palace, he'd turned back into the man with whom she'd become familiar. Cold, disinterested, and aloof. He sat across from her at table, next to a beautiful woman with hair pale enough to require only the lightest touches of powder. He completely ignored his new wife in favor of the blue-eyed creature.

Mor'ded sat at the head of the table and leaned to his right to speak to Ca.s.sandra. "That's my son's mistress, Lady Agnes."

Ca.s.s dropped her spoon and it clanged atop the china. The rose on her wedding ring twisted into a tight bud. General Raikes finally turned to look at her. How dare he bring his mistress to their wedding breakfast? Is this how the court behaved? Well, she didn't give a fig what the others considered acceptable. She glared at her husband and his beautiful companion.

Again, a twitch of the lip. So she continued to amuse him, did she?

The elven lord laughed. "Don't worry, my dear. You will have your husband's full attention until he gets you with child. He knows what's expected of him... as should you."

She heard the threat and squashed down her anger. She reminded herself that her marriage to the champion was nothing but a falsehood, a way to get close to the elven lord. She must appear to be as cold and unconcerned as he. Ca.s.sandra kept her voice steady. "I look forward to giving you a grandson, my lord."

Mor'ded scowled, the expression not diminishing his beauty one whit, and leaned back in his chair. "The devil to that. I want a new champion."

If Ca.s.s had any doubts as to her new role, the elven lord had just made it clear. If she didn't already have the task of killing her new father-in-law, she'd surely wish to do so now.

Mor'ded tapped the triangular-shaped head of his magical scepter against his cheek, watching her with narrowed eyes. She didn't know what expression might be on her face and quickly bowed her head. She watched the room through her lashes, practicing the skill she'd nearly perfected over the years. Despite her position at the head table, she almost succeeded in making herself unnoticeable.

But she felt the Imperial Lord's gaze fall on her time and again throughout the meal.

"Lord Blevin," said Mor'ded, "I grow bored. I daresay I can count on you to liven up the meal."

The lord in question sported a wig with such a long fall of silver-white hair that he'd curled it in his lap. In an attempt to imitate the flawless pale complexion of the elven, he'd covered his face with too much powder, and it cracked as he beamed at being singled out. "Indeed, Imperial Lord, I have just perfected a new spell."

t.i.tters flowed up and down the crystal-laden table.

Lord Blevin puffed up his chest beneath his bright yellow waistcoat. "Although some may laugh at my lack of fire magic, I a.s.sure you my smoke can be just as powerful."

Mor'ded nodded, but Ca.s.s detected a slight stiffening in his posture. Surely the elven lord couldn't be concerned about the magical powers of his courtiers? Not when he held trials thrice a year to test the children born with the elven gifts.

Lord Blevin had scrunched up his face and now held out his hands before him. Smoke did indeed form between his palms, and his hands shook while he shaped it into the figure of a tiny person. He then added wings, and Ca.s.s thought he meant to create a smoke angel, but she should have known better. The wings took the shape of a bat and white smoke formed pointy, long teeth hanging from the mouth. The small bat-person hissed and flew at Lady Agnes, who shrieked a laugh and begged the general to protect her. The man looked quite unmoved by her plight.

Lord Blevin created another much more quickly than he had formed the first, and the ones that followed with even more speed. Soon the entire table lay covered in the beings of smoke, their wings flapping in the faces of ladies and their teeth snapping at the gentlemen who tried to defend them.

One of the nasty beasts lunged at Ca.s.sandra, and she waved her hand through it. The smoke parted and then resumed its previous shape. She sighed and then ducked her head, determined to ignore the nuisance but the creature hugged her face, making her cough. She waved her hand again, her eyes burning and causing tears to run down her face.

Several ladies had started to scream right along with Lady Agnes, and the sound of chairs being pushed back hurriedly from the table added to the cacophony.

Imperial Lord Mor'ded laughed. "Well done, Blevin."

"Ho, ho, it's just smoke," declared another gentleman. "Watch what I can do." And he pointed at one of the smoke creatures; a loud pop of displaced air sounded, and the thing exploded into tiny bits of gray wisps.

"Devil a bit," said a portly courtier. "I can top that, man!" And with a flourish of his arms, the wine in every gla.s.s and decanter poured up, burgundy waves of color, dousing several smoke creatures and more than one lady. The screams escalated.

Lady Ca.s.sandra glanced at her father, who had sat on her other side as still as a stone throughout the entire meal. His hazel eyes had widened in stunned disbelief at the chaos around him.

"This is my wedding breakfast," she said to him.

He turned and gave her a look of apology, glanced at the elven lord, and patted her hand. "Best get used to the whims of the court, girl."

Sudden rage drove Ca.s.s to her feet. Mor'ded had collapsed into whoops of laughter. General Raikes watched the antics of the n.o.bles with disdainful interest, like a man studying a group of monkeys at play. She slapped her hands on the table, rattling the china, finally gaining the notice of her husband. "This is my wedding breakfast," she repeated, but this time with such force that the courtiers froze, turning to stare at her as if she'd just sprouted horns.

Mor'ded stilled. The guests breathed in a collective breath.

"You've got s.p.u.n.k," said the Imperial Lord into the silence. "I'll give you that. But I find s.p.u.n.k amusing only in small doses, girl."

She felt his power throb like the beat of a heart. It made her knees weak, and she collapsed back into her chair. Slowly the other n.o.bles regained their seats, wiped faces streaming with port, and dabbed handkerchiefs at spotted silk.

Dominic Raikes continued to stare coldly at her, as if she'd turned into one of the monkeys. Ca.s.s gave him a look of entreaty.