never presumed to put his mouth on mine.”
“Obviously I’ll be a different kind of friend.”
The lighthearted words served to calm her, until by the time they emerged into the main gardens, she was the angel who ruled New Orleans and its surrounds once more—hard and powerful and without vulnerability. “You will discover who hurt Mimosa,” she said to Noel, “and you will tell me.” There would be no mercy for the perpetrator.
The first thing Noel did after escorting Nimra to her personal study, was to head out to track down Violet. The maid had given him a fleeting but significant look when she’d brought him the plastic bag— the contents of which he’d surrendered to Christian earlier, because he’d needed to be by Nimra’s side when she buried Mimosa.
However, he hadn’t taken more than three steps out of the private wing when Violet walked into the corridor with a tea tray. “I saw Lady Nimra return,” she said, lines of worry around her eyes. “Should I . . . ?”
“I’ll take it in,” Noel said. “Wait for me here.”
The teenager gave a swift bob of her head while Noel ducked inside. Nimra was standing by the window, her back to the door. Leaving the tray on the coffee table, he walked to stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “Eat something.”
“Not yet, Noel.”
Knowing she needed to grieve in private, this strong woman who had the heart to love a creature so very small and defenseless, he left her with a fleeting stroke through her hair.
Violet was half hiding in an alcove, her eyes fearful. “If she sees me, Noel, she’ll know.”
“Who?” he asked, though he had a very good idea.
“Amariyah.” The girl hugged herself tight. “She thought no one was in the kitchens when she came in because I always hide when she’s near—she’s spiteful.” A gulping breath. “I saw her take the meat, and thought it was strange but didn’t really worry about it.”
“Thank you, Violet,” he said, certain she spoke the truth. “No one will know the information came from you.”
The maid drew up her shoulders. “If you need me to, I’ll swear witness before the whole court. Mimosa dying so soon after Queen, it’ll have broken my lady’s heart. Some say she doesn’t have one, but I know different.”
Noel stayed in the corridor for long minutes after Violet left, considering the maid’s statement. His faith in her aside, the fact was, it was her word against that of a vampire. A vampire who was the child of the most trusted member of Nimra’s court. Amariyah could turn around and accuse Violet of the same act.
It was dusk by the time he decided on a course of action. Heading away from the private wing, he walked down not to the main dining room, but toward Fen’s cottage. As he’d expected, Amariyah was at home with her father. Entering at Fen’s invitation, Noel sat with the elderly man for a while, talking of nothing and everything.
When the subject of Mimosa came up, he made sure his gaze met Amariyah’s. “I have a very good idea of the person behind the cowardly act,” he said, making no effort to hide his contempt. “It’s just a case of how hard they’ll make it.”
From the way Amariyah’s face drained of blood, it was clear she understood the threat. And if there was one thing in the vampire that was true and good, it was her love for her father. Her eyes beseeched him not to bring up the subject in front of Fen. Since Noel had no desire to hurt the old man—would’ve never carried through with the unspoken threat—he excused himself after a few more minutes.
“I’ll walk with Noel a little, Father,” the female vampire said, rising to her feet in a fall of vivid violet fabric that appeared as light and airy as the wind, the simple gown leaving her arms bare and flirting with her ankles.
“Go, go.” Fen chuckled. “Just remember, he belongs to an angel. Don’t go poaching there.”
From the rigidity of Amariyah’s smile, she didn’t appreciate the reminder of her place in the hierarchy of things. But her tone was light as she said, “Do credit me with a few brain cells.”
That elicited a wracking laugh from Fen, his chest rattling in a way that concerned Noel. Amariyah was immediately by his side. “Papa.”
Fen waved off the help. “Go on, Mariyah.”
“We should call a doctor,” Noel said, not liking the strain in Fen’s breathing.
Fen’s response was a laugh, his dark eyes twinkling. “Ain’t nothing a doctor can do about age. I’m an old man with an old man’s bones.”
When Amariyah hesitated, Fen urged Noel to take her outside. Noel would’ve insisted on a doctor, but one look at Fen’s face told him that would be a lost battle—the elderly man’s body might’ve turned frail, but his will remained strong as steel. Such a will demanded respect.
“Until we next speak,” he said to Fen as he left with a nod, taking Amariyah with him.
Fen’s daughter was silent as they walked deep into the verdant spread of the gardens, her steps jerky, her spine stiff. “How did you know it was me?” she said the instant they were in a private spot, beneath the arms of a gnarled old tree with bark of darkest brown.
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is the why of it.”
Her shrug was graceful, her beauty marred by the petulant ugliness of her expression. “What do you care? Her
Noel had glimpsed Amariyah’s inexplicable animosity toward Nimra soon after their first meeting, but this callousness was something unexpected. “Why, Amariyah?” he asked again, catching a leaf as it floated to the ground.
Hissing out a breath, the vampire pointed a trembling finger at him. “She’ll live forever, while I have to watch my father die.” A fist slamming into her heart. “He asked to be Made, and she refused him! Now he is an old man taking his last breaths, and hurting every instant.”
Noel didn’t know how angels picked those who were to be Made, but he’d been part of Raphael’s senior guard long enough to understand that there was a level of biological compatibility involved. From everything he’d witnessed of Nimra and Fen’s relationship, it was clear the angel would’ve Made Fen if she’d been able. “Does your father know you feel this way?” he asked, rubbing his thumb over the smooth green surface of the leaf in his hand.
Her face twisted into a mask of rage. “He adores her—as far as he’s concerned, the bitch can do no wrong. He doesn’t even blame her for the fact that he’s dying! He told me that there are things I don’t know! That was his justification for her.”
It was impossible not to pity the pain that had driven Amariyah to such an abhorrent act, but it didn’t in any way lessen her crime or his anger. “And the Midnight?”
“I didn’t do anything at midnight.” A scathing response. “I gave the cat the meat just after dawn. There, you have your confession. Take me to the one who holds your leash.”
The dig had no impact. Unlike Amariyah, Noel knew who he was, and, though Nimra might disagree, he understood that even an angel could not stand alone. Raphael had his Seven. Nimra would have Noel. For, secrets or not, he was becoming ever more convinced that what he saw was the truth, Nimra’s cruel reputation the cleverest of illusions.
Instead of taking Fen’s daughter to the private wing, he put her in the downstairs library and—seeing Christian—asked him to make sure she remained there.
“Do I look like your servant?” A glacial question.
“Now’s not the time, Christian.”
The angel’s shrewd eyes narrowed before he nodded. “I’ll keep watch.”
Nimra shook her head in stunned disbelief when Noel told her the identity of the perpetrator. “I knew she was a little resentful, but never would I have believed her capable of such.”
“I’m convinced she had nothing to do with the Midnight,” Noel continued in a pragmatic tone, but in his eyes she saw the cutting edge of blackest anger. “She seemed genuinely confused when I mentioned it.”
Ice, bleak and cold, invaded her veins. “So I have two who hate me in my court—it puts my ability to read
