Page 4 of You Only Love Twice
Chapter 2
"The Ivory Tower," Gemma breathed, peering through the windows as the carriage pulled up in the courtyard of the enormous marble-sheathed tower that stood where the remains of parliament had once lain.
It had been built during the despotic prince consort's reign, the founding stones laid years ago when he overthrew the king. When Princess Alexandra came of age, he'd forced her to marry him, promising to build a dynasty of power and might. The Echelon—the aristocratic blue blood lords who'd infected themselves with the craving virus—had become formidable and dangerous under the prince consort's rule, until three years ago when the humans, Nighthawks, and mechs banded together to overthrow the prince consort.
Now the queen ruled from the heights of the tower, though it was said she despised the signs of her former husband's excesses and often preferred to reside at the smaller keep of Windsor. The Echelon remained, but it was stripped of its previous power, and there were new rules to keep them in check.
"May I ask whose body I'm supposed to be looking at?"
"You'll see," Malloryn replied, as one of the Coldrush Guards who protected the tower jerked the hack door open. The guard's hair was a pale blond, typical of his blue blood status.
Before the revolution, the craving virus remained the exclusive right of the aristocratic Echelon. It gave them enhanced senses, extended their lives, and increased their ability to heal until they were almost invulnerable. The blood lust was an unfortunate side effect, and the photosensitivity tended to inhibit their movements during the day—especially as they aged and their craving virus levels bloomed—but that mattered little to an entire social class who did most of their frolicking at night anyway.
While the Council of Dukes had once held the power to limit who received the blood rites—prominent sons of influential members of the Echelon mostly—accidents tended to occur when the craving virus was so proprietary and bloodletting was the prime means of a blue blood's diet.
Any "rogue" blue blood was offered one of three options; join the Nighthawks who patrolled the London streets and served as thief-takers and hunters; the Coldrush Guards who protected the Ivory Tower and the queen; or be executed.
Malloryn slipped out of the carriage impatiently.
Gemma followed.
"This way," he said, leading her toward the squat tower at the northern edge of the walled courtyard. Thorne Tower.
Oh, blast.
Home to traitors, political hostages, and those prisoners whose crimes were dangerous enough to warrant further questioning, Thorne Tower loomed over the courtyard like a watchful guardian. She was responsible for a good handful of its inmates.
"I know you enjoy holding all your cards close to your chest, but I'm about to expire from curiosity."
"We have a slight problem," Malloryn replied. "Jonathan Carlyle is dead."
"The Chameleon?"Dead?The man had been wanted for the murders of fifteen high-profile blue blood lords. He'd had the aristocratic Echelon on edge for years.
Nobody knew whom he worked for, though she and Malloryn suspected. Nobody knew why he'd killed the men and women he had. And for an assassin, he had a peculiar signature style unbecoming for the trade.
It was as if he'd wanted the world to know which deaths belonged to him.
Even as he'd spent years protesting his innocence once he'd been caught.
"Why is it a problem if Carlyle's dead?" Gemma's mind raced. "Half the Echelon will sleep better at night knowing he's no longer breathing. He tried to kill you too, if I recall."
"Tried." Malloryn gestured her through the main door to the tower, ignoring the pair of guards on duty. "He's not the first. And I'd like you to draw your own conclusions. You were the one who captured him. You know him best. I want your opinion on something."
Malloryn. Always as bloody oblique as he could be.
"Your Grace." One of the tower guards waited inside, wearing the proud livery of the Coldrush Guards. "I've kept the scene for you."
Malloryn hadn't yet viewed it? Hmm. This was rather disconcerting.
"Ah, Jamison. I've bought my secretary to take some notes for me." Malloryn gestured obscurely toward her. "Now, show me to his cell."
Secretary. She could work with that. Gemma immediately let herself fade into the background, hunching her shoulders a little and lowering her gaze. No sign of the flirtatious Gemma Townsend remained behind, and nobody watching would ever notice how much she could take in during such an act.
Thank God Malloryn had made her clean her face and strip off her rumpled overdress in the carriage.
Gemma followed him up the circular stairs leading to the prisoner wing, tugging her cape jacket neatly into place as she went and smoothing her rumpled skirts and hair. By the time they reached the top, she'd completely shed her flower girl persona, twisting her hair into a neat chignon.
"We found the first guard here," Jamison said as they turned the corner into the prison wing.
