"Faith, Sophia, it makes me feel worse to have anyone fuss over me." And with those parting words, his wife swept up her skirts and left the box.

"Sometimes I think she is too independent for her own good," grumbled the taller woman, her final parting shot at Dominic before returning to her cl.u.s.ter of court ladies.

He supposed Lady Verney suggested that he take his wife to hand, but the general had little desire to do so. Despite his fear for her safety, he liked Ca.s.sandra just the way she was. Self-sufficient nature and all.

But Dominic decided that it would seem an eternity sitting through the entire performance before he could he join his wife in their rooms. Before he could prove he had no further interest in Aggie or even acquiring another mistress to replace her. That he might no longer need such a shield.

He watched Lady Verney and her bevy of court ladies continue to whisper and glance his way while they took their seats for the next scene. His wife's false headache this eve would only solidify the rumor of her pregnancy among the entire court, and he did not regret it. Indeed, he vowed to make the rumor true within a fortnight.

Dominic made it through the performance by envisioning his wife's face lit with golden fire. He had never shared his magic in that way with another woman... had never had the desire to. But he had wanted to bring her pleasure in a way she'd never experienced before. In a way no other man could give her. And judging by her tremors, he'd managed to do so with startling success.

Before his marriage, he would never have guessed the serene little woman to whom he'd been affianced would possess such a fire for pa.s.sion within her.

His thoughts flew in ever-creative ways as he considered the benefits his magic could bring her. Perhaps he could endeavor to experiment tonight, a.s.suming he could manage to make her forgive him.

His thoughts made the time pa.s.s so quickly that he started with surprise when the performance finally came to an end. It took all the general's composure to slowly rise, to exchange pleasantries with debutants and dandies, to appear serenely oblivious to his wife's absence. His father spoke with Walpole again, and Dominic felt grat.i.tude for the way the prime minister engaged Mor'ded. Clever man. Despite Walpole's all-too-human features, he must have inherited more than his fair share of elven charm from somewhere in his family line.

Dominic had just managed to extricate himself from another boring conversation, this time purposefully heading toward the exit of the box, when one of his lieutenants stepped through the open door.

"Sir."

"What is it?" The general's men rarely bothered him with trivial matters.

"The girl has escaped, sir."

Dominic didn't need his man to specify which girl. He'd given special orders to his men regarding only one prisoner. And with those few words, the general suddenly knew. He knew why his wife had looked so nervous this evening. Why she'd pretended a headache and excused herself without escort. Knew who had helped Breden's half-breed escape. He quickly positioned his body between his lieutenant and Mor'ded's line of sight.

"You have dispatched men in pursuit?"

"Aye, sir."

"Then they won't get far." Dominic knew he lied. With Ca.s.sandra to aid them, they had a betterthan-average chance of escaping his men, especially with the fools he'd set as guards. Or so he hoped. But he didn't want to alert the lieutenant to the fact that he knew Breden's b.a.s.t.a.r.d had help in her escape. "Report directly to me when you've returned her to the tower."

"Aye, sir."

The man dallied and Dominic knew his lieutenant expected him to join the pursuit. Indeed, he would have, if only to find a way to protect his wife from exposure. But although he had some faith his wife would find a way to outwit his men, he knew she wouldn't stand a chance against his father. And despite his attempt to shield the lieutenant from Mor'ded's line of sight, he could feel his father's eyes boring into his back.

"Dismissed," he snapped, no longer capable of suppressing his fury. Ca.s.sandra had acted without confiding in him, had risked herself for no reason, since he'd had every intention of rescuing the girl tonight... without alerting half the palace guards. And his father.

The lieutenant practically leaped out the door, and Dominic slowly turned. Walpole waved his hands, trying to keep Mor'ded engaged in their conversation, but his father stood facing Dominic, curiosity flickering in those cold black eyes.

The general suppressed his fury. Snapped his spine rigid and forced a calm indifference on his face while his mind spun with some way he could protect Ca.s.sandra. He could rea.s.sure his father he had the situation well in hand, that he had complete confidence in his men to return the half-breed to Firehame. But if his father sought some amus.e.m.e.nt this evening, chasing a frightened child through the streets of London would certainly appeal to him.

Dominic strode toward Mor'ded and Walpole, and the short distance seemed incredibly long... and far too short. He could think of only one way to protect Ca.s.sandra. Only one way he knew for a surety that would distract Mor'ded's attention from the missing girl.

The memory of black fire sang through his mind, made his muscles twitch with just the memory of the pain.

Father had never tested him in public before. He preferred to keep the torture private, as he kept so many of his amus.e.m.e.nts private. The elven lords preferred to foster the facade of a benevolent overlord not only among the court, but more importantly, for any visiting dignitaries from the world outside the barrier surrounding England. Dominic had to find a way to goad him into it.

He tossed his head with arrogant pride, the last few of his steps turning into a strut.

A mocking smile broke across Mor'ded's mouth. "What news did your lackey bring, champion?"

Dominic bowed to him, a short bob lacking the full sweep with which he usually honored the Imperial Lord. He sent a pointed look in Walpole's direction. "A prisoner has escaped the tower."

They held all the prisoners of war in the old tower, far from the delicate sensibilities of the court, until the inmates were either ransomed or had fully accepted their new lowly status in the world. Mor'ded had decided not to keep the girl with the other children awaiting the trials, since he didn't want the court gossiping about why he felt it necessary to surround them with a contingent of guards. Dominic had followed his father's orders without question as usual but felt relieved at the new location. It would have made it easier for him to rescue the girl. If his impulsive wife hadn't made the attempt first.

Mor'ded knew exactly to which prisoner Dominic referred. His midnight eyes sparkled with antic.i.p.ation. "Perhaps I should a.s.sist in this matter."

Dominic raised a brow, his head still tilted with smug arrogance. "But why trouble yourself over something so minor? My men will track her down soon enough."

Mor'ded's face fell with disappointment.

"Is there something special about this particular prisoner that interests you?" interjected Walpole.

"Nay, of course not," replied his father.

Dominic again felt grat.i.tude for Sir Robert's presence, for his father could not reveal the reason for his interest. And the very question that Walpole had offered made Dominic suspect the man knew more about the prisoner than he pretended. Knew about his wife's involvement. His earlier impression that Walpole might be a part of the Rebellion solidified. How priceless to consider the possibility of the king's prime minister directly involved with the Rebellion.

But the general had to put aside speculations about Walpole for the nonce, for he knew his father might excuse himself at any moment, get involved with the girl's recovery just to relieve his boredom.

How he hated the arrogance of elven boredom.

Dominic had never felt as if he looked into a mirror of his future more so than he did at this moment, as he faced his father with the sole intention of provoking the man. Mor'ded's face held the same contemptuous superiority that he felt on his own.

"I have felt a change, Father." A pure lie. If Dominic held the greater power of black magic inside of him as Ador had revealed, he'd felt not a hint of it. The general knew without doubt that he would fail to withstand the test. He ignored the whisper of the memory of pain.

Mor'ded ceased glancing at the exit of the box and focused his full attention on his son. "What are you talking about?"

"My powers. Tonight I felt as if something has grown inside of me." He took a step toward his father, every nuance of his body language taut with challenge.

"Ah, Walpole. The young pup thinks that just because he managed to impregnate his wife it makes him a man." He kept his voice low.

Sir Robert replied by taking a step backward, and Dominic's estimation of the man's intelligence reached a new height.

"Not a man. But an elven lord. Isn't that what you fear, Father? That I hold enough power to challenge an Imperial Lord himself?"

Mor'ded's face twisted. "You dare."

"Yes. Here and now." And with those words, Dominic called his magic. Not the orange nor the red, but the insidious power of the black. The sound of the chattering court faded from his ears; the smell of mingled perfume and human body odor cleared from his nose; the sight of marble columns and painted frescoes blurred as he focused all his senses on the magic within him.

And he felt it.

A shadow of black fire. A mere suggestion of the flame.

But he could not call it forth.

Still, it was enough. Enough for Mor'ded to forget his surroundings, for his fear to launch an attack at his son in front of the entire court.

Dominic staggered backward from the force of the black blaze. He felt his clothes melt into his skin, his skin crackle and flake to the floor. Then the force of it slowed, as if his father sought to prolong the torture. To punish Dominic for arrogantly challenging him in public. Black flame lazily curled into his lungs, sizzled along his nerves, bringing an agony that surpa.s.sed any pain he might have experienced before.

Blackness covered his eyes and Dominic forced himself not to claw at them as they began to burn. To fry like an egg in a pan, the outer edges bubbling, the yolk hardening as the heat reached the core.

Ah, faith, it went on for a very long time.

Twice he felt himself almost collapse. But the thought of Ca.s.sandra kept him upright. His feelings for his wife could not make him strong enough to defeat his father, but this time he did not fall to his knees.

"Stop it, man," cried a voice. Walpole? Dominic couldn't be sure, for the flame crackled in his ears and muted all sound.

"Don't you see he hasn't the power to defend himself? You're killing him!"

And like a candle snuffed by a breeze, the burning stopped. Dominic tried to stand upright. He had hunched over from the pain. But his muscles screamed in protest, and he gritted his teeth as he straightened his back. He could not stop the tremors that racked him, the harsh gasp of his breath in the silence. He blinked his eyes as his sight returned, although they still throbbed in time to the memory of pain that still sang through his body.

Mor'ded gave him a look of triumph mingled with disgust as he pushed past his son and out of the box. A collective gasp followed his departure, and Dominic became aware of the court staring at him with open mouths. Indeed, even the lesser n.o.bles in the seats below had turned to stare upward at the king's box, quizzing gla.s.ses held up to shocked eyes.

Walpole strode forward, grasped his arm. But his skin felt so sensitive he shook off the touch with a grunt of misery.

"Let me help you, man," he murmured in Dominic's ear.

"Get away from me." Ah, his voice croaked from his throat, the smooth elven richness of it burned away by fire. "I am used to this."

Another gasp went round the box and Dominic looked up in fury, straggles of dull white hair creating a curtain over his face. He would not suffer the court's contempt. Not when his every nerve felt seared with heightened awareness.

But the eyes he met did not hold the indifference he'd expected. Shocked horror, yes. And pity. Mingled with an anger that, oddly enough, he did not feel directed toward him. But toward his father. Yet they could not have seen the burning of his skin, the conflagration of his very bones, for the fire had blazed only in his own mind. Perhaps they had seen the black magic as it had enveloped him and guessed at what had happened.

Dominic did not care. He only hoped the drain on his father's power from the a.s.sault would be enough to keep him from pursuing the escaped child and Ca.s.sandra. Or that he had already bought them enough time to gain freedom.

He thought to take a step, the exit door of the box seeming ridiculously far away, but the moment his clothing slid against his skin a grunt of agony escaped his parched throat. Walpole made a strangled sound and again reached out to steady him, but Dominic ignored the gesture. He curled his hands into fists. Called forth every ounce of his elven blood to combat his human weakness. And strode forward, the silence in the theater near-deafening in the complete absence of sound.

And made his way toward Ador's tower, to lick his wounds as he always did after a trial.

The dragon turned his head when Dominic entered his domain, those red eyes narrowing with something akin to the human pity he'd seen on the court's faces below.

"Don't," he croaked. "I will not stand for any more."

Ador blinked, then gave a mighty yawn, the force of it stirring Dominic's hair against his cheeks, creating a new type of pain for him to disseminate.

"Did she escape?" whispered the general.

"I do not know."

Dominic sighed, slowly began to peel off his clothing, until he finally stood in nothing but his breeches. Better. But he wished the wind would stop blowing, for even that gentle breeze felt like small knives etching his skin.

He felt like railing against the dragon, whose knowledge always seemed sketchy at best. But tremors of fatigue still shook him, and only the thought of his wife's danger kept him on his feet. Ador could fly faster than the swiftest horse, could scent better than the huntsman's most skilled hound. He would not beg the dragon for his own life, but for Ca.s.sandra's... "Help me save her."

"I cannot."

"Or will not."

The dragon swished his tail, scale screeching on stone. "They are one and the same to me, b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Only an elven of great power can wield the scepter, and the scepter cannot move directly against him, for it is bound by the wielder's desires. I am already walking a fine line, revealing so much to you."

Dominic clenched his fists in frustration. "I must break the bond between this scepter and my magic."

"You cannot."

"Then do it for me."

If the dragon had a brow, it would have risen high above his pointed head. "Your estimation of my abilities flatters me. But have I not made it clear I am but a tool of the scepter? And the relic has motives beyond the comprehension of man, dragon, or elvenkind. But I do know it will not reveal your magic until you have enough power to destroy the mad elf."

"By then it may be too late."

"Then we will have failed. And it will be long and long before we see our homeland again." Ador sighed, gazing up at the starry sky, those brilliant eyes dulling to a red sheen, as if he saw a different sky above him, dreamed of a different world that held the comfort of home.

Dominic hung his head. Ah, faith, he felt tired unto death. One last tremor shook him, the memory of pain fading to nothing more than a dull ache. He gathered up his clothes and for the first time in his life, did not stay until his mind had healed from one of Mor'ded's trials. Instead he returned to his apartments to wait for the return of his wife. Or the summons from his men that they had captured her... or that his father had killed her.

And then he would make sure Mor'ded destroyed him.

Fourteen.

Lady Ca.s.sandra leaned low over the neck of her horse; her eyes squinted against the force of the wind, hooves pounding a staccato rhythm beneath her. Only a sliver of moon shone tonight, the pockets of the elven lord's fire across the countryside their only light. They had left the road far behind them, and Ca.s.s prayed that none of their mounts stumbled from a hidden hole. Thomas rode to her left, the child and her mother on his other side, and Ca.s.s sneaked a glance behind them.

Breden's half-breed, Cecily, had refused to leave without her mother, and since the girl looked younger than Ca.s.sandra had expected, they'd taken the older woman along with them without a fuss. But the combined weight of mother and daughter had slowed their horse, and the guards had caught up to them on the outskirts of London.

And they were gaining on them.

She'd felt grateful that the b.u.mbling guards a.s.signed to watch the girl had allowed them to free her without Ca.s.sandra's having to kill any of them. But despite their lack of skill, they had managed to rally quickly in pursuit.

A shot rang out behind them and Ca.s.s pressed her body even lower in the saddle. She glanced across at Thomas, whose face had hardened with grim determination. He must have felt her gaze and met her eyes, a curious mixture of fear and glee sparkling within the gray.

"We cannot outrun them," shouted Ca.s.s.

He nodded, hair streaked like a golden banner behind him. "I will stop and engage them, give you time to lose them in the forest ahead."

Ca.s.sandra didn't think it a likely plan, one man against so many, nor would she allow him to stand alone. But she didn't get the chance to respond to his suggestion, for the girl's mother, Eleanor, shouted her own response first.

"No!"

The look of surprise on Thomas's face nearly made Ca.s.s grin, despite the peril of their situation. For she'd noticed the adoring gaze Eleanor had bestowed on Thomas the moment he'd entered their cell and announced he was there to rescue them.

Cecily sat within the shelter of her mother's arms in the front of the saddle and had to turn her head back to stare up at her mother. Without the silverwhite hair of the elven, the girl didn't appear to have inherited so much of her father's gifts, until one noticed her eyes. Like the Imperial Lord of the blue scepter, they glittered an inhuman crystal blue, large and wondrous in such a tiny face.

Cecily leaned over a bit farther to look around her mother's body at their pursuers, and Ca.s.s felt grateful that the intensity of those crystalline eyes hadn't been directed at her.