Page 63 of The Truth About Myths
Dio was right. He resembled Hercules when handling subtlety, clubbing his own foot first and asking questions later. Zeus himself should smite his arse for spouting such nonsense.
"I said that, didn't I?" He lowered his chin to his chest and lifted his eyes to her. "I wonder how you still put up with me."
Sophie ambled closer, her gaze shifting nervously between them. "Your Highness, you promised Lord Diomedes you would rehearse your part today."
"Of course." Isabel stirred, breaking eye contact, and whirled to leave.
He was mentally cursing himself blue enough to make a fisherwoman proud when she paused, her shoulder touching his.
"I put up with you because you are a gifted teacher."
Chapter 22
"Now, now, my good man, this is no time to be making enemies."Voltaire on his deathbed in response to a priest asking him to renounce Satan.
"WhendidCanastraretire?"Pedro Daun asked while working on the door latch.
"One hour. I administered enough chloral hydrate to fell a horse. He should be sound asleep now." Henrique watched both ends of the corridor.
The palace was silent. Moonlight spilled from the mullioned windows, giving a sickly pallor to the slumbering guards. Dio's chambermaid had delivered the soporific wine to the duke's minions. Now both slept, their boots casting shadows on the hall.
He eyed Pedro's black-gloved hands as they coaxed the lock into revealing its secrets. For the tenth time this night, he wondered why Pedro bothered with the king’s letters. Call him a cynic, but he didn’t buy the whole ´the country’s stability is at risk’ speech. Henrique wouldn't be in Spain if not for the king's coercion. But Pedro? He knew his friend well. Ambitious? Always. Patriotic? When it suited him.
The door gave in with a startled click. While Dio stayed outside guarding the corridor, Henrique and Pedro invaded the dimly lit chamber. A single lamp burned in the corner, giving a phantasmagoric sheen to the life-sized paintings. The air was as still as it was stale. While the four-poster curtains were drawn, the heavy drapery couldn't shield them from Canastra's loud snores.
Chests, an escritoire, bookshelves, two tallboys, and a Chinese commode cramped the space. Henrique shuddered at the infinite number of drawers, nooks, and crannies the deranged duke could have used to hide the letters.
After a silent exchange, Pedro took the shelves, and Henrique dragged himself to the Chinese monstrosity. Silently, he opened the first of the dozens of tiny compartments, half expecting to see another Priapus statue. Only the dregs of a lifetime collecting knick-knacks stared back at him.
Even now, ears assaulted by the duke's vibrating uvula, he could not stop thinking about his perfect princess. Somewhere inside the palace, she slept. Did she feel cold during the night? Would she kick her covers and curl her hands near her cheek? He would give up the right to name a new species just to open her door and nudge her aside. When she protested, and knowing Isabel, she would protest, he would tell her he always slept on the right side. That settled, he would pillow her face on his chest and—
"You didn't tell me Canastra was a collector," Pedro said, startling him from his awakened dreams. "He has three El Grecos and two Goyas decorating his bedchamber walls." A hint of bitterness colored his voice.
Henrique chuckled. "I forgot you enjoyed art in between training your horses and conquering the world."
"That's in the past."
When the clock struck one in the morning, Henrique closed the last drawer and paced away from the ornery piece of furniture. How futile. Since Canastra hoarded everything, they would find only moths and dust.
The duke moaned. Then, guttural words escaped his mouth, the Spanish too fast for him to understand.
Henrique stopped pacing. Perhaps finding the letters was one of the herculean jobs requiring more wit than physical exertion. If the duke was a night speaker… "I will ask him."
Pedro cocked his head.
"Canastra is drugged, but his subconscious is still working. If given the right incentive, he might disclose the location."
Pedro nodded. "He can recognize you. I’ll do it."
Henrique walked to the bedside, his steps muffled by a tiger's skin.
Pedro covered his head with his mantle. Dressed all in black, feral eyes flashing through the hood's shadows, he could make Hades vacate the underworld.
Grinning, Henrique whistled under his breath. "You might succeed if you wish to kill him in fright."
"You said he was religious. A glimpse of the Devil will give him the right incentive to pray."
Pedro unsheathed his saber. Moonlight glinted off the steel. Countless men had seen the same shine seconds before their lives were snuffed. Henrique shuddered, glad his army days were long gone.
