Page 62 of A Dance Macabre

Constantine waves us off. “Your blood was still spilled during the eclipse, I’m sure the gods will understand. This is for my personal collection.” Her smile is fiendish. “It’s tradition.”

We fall silent, and I give her a nod.

The meeting adjourns not long after. The reality of us having broken a divine law and perhaps being the cursed force behindthese events hangs above Wolfgang and me like a guillotine threatening to sever both our heads.

But we speak nothing of it.

A secret we must harbor alone.

35

MERCY

It’s only back in the ruler’s quarters that I gather exactly how much time has passed since yesterday’s attack. There were no clocks underground as if witnessing time’s passage meant nothing if we had nowhere to go.

Wolfgang and I separated as soon as we made our way back up to the living quarters. It was a confusing kind of relief, one doused with a heavy dose of yearning.

Never quite felt such a thing.

The sun hangs low in the Pravitia skyline, the orange glow glimmering against the buildings and windows. It’s been over twenty-four hours since the bombing occurred and the remnants of its wreckage have been almost all cleared away.

I can hear the noises of the clean-up crew through the open French doors of the balcony even from way up here. I usually keep them closed, especially with all the heavy rain we’ve had lately. But I’m craving the fresh air like a prisoner craving freedom.

All three of my dogs are crowding me as I stand listless next to the open doors. Lost in thought. Lost in feeling. Éclair bumps my hand, and I scratch her head mindlessly.

I should shower.

Flashes of me on my knees, Wolfgang looking down at me with insatiable hunger has me physically jolting in place.

Maybe not a shower.

I should change into something from my own closet at the very least.

A knock at the door pulls me out of my errant, useless thoughts.

“Miss?” I hear Jeremial say.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Vainglory needs you in the drawing room.”

I let out a small impatient groan.What now?

I stalk to the bedchamber door and open it. “Did he say what for?” I bite out, not even certain who or what I’m irritated with—just that Iam.

“You have a visitor from the Agonis House.”

I glance at him questioningly. “You mean Constantine?”

He shakes his head, his back against the hallway wall, hands clasped tight in front of him. “No miss, Albert.”

“Her lackey?” I respond rhetorically as I begin to walk through the enfilade, leaving him behind. “Why would he want to see us both,” I add under my breath.

Entering the drawing room, I find Wolfgang sitting on one of the velvet divans, a tumbler full of amber liquid held loosely in his grip. He’s changed into black trousers and a dark mauve shirt, the collar left unbuttoned. Albert stands near the door. Waiting.

“What is it?” I say as a form of greeting, and both men’s gazes snap to mine.

Albert stands up straighter, his large physique taking up most of the doorframe.

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