“Yes, Your Grace, as you wish. I will be here,” I replied uneasily, bowed, then took my leave.
My brother was immediately upon me.
“I dislike Duir’s words. He is suspicious. I fear you are right to leave, and quickly. If you will still have me, I think I will join you.”
“Peace, Sylvain, please. It is in motion and we shall leave as smoke leaves a chimney. Only I am uneasy with Therese. Duir will engage in more than her theatrical talents this night and I believe she is now tainted with whatever illness has killed her birds and her women.”
“There you are, Sylvain.” Tienne came and hooked her arm through Sylvain’s, a coy smile on her pretty face.
“Come and let us find seats for the theatre! Virago, will you not join us?”
“In a moment, My Lady. I must see to something first. Please reserve a seat for me by your side,” I replied and smiled kindly as she nodded and started to pull Sylvain by the arm.
Before he allowed Tienne to guide him from my presence, Sylvain hastened to my side. “Do as your conscience dictates, for you know my mind on this subject.”
“As my conscience dictates?” I repeated aloud. The words, although mine, were cold. “I have known monsters here and made them my brothers.” My eyes sought and found Cale, his face dark, but his eyes bright. “But I have also known good.” And I saw Seton, his face calm though I knew he ached with exhaustion and pain.
Which am I?
I guess I would have to wait and see which would emerge, the good or the monster.
From the room where the theatre would take place, I heard the sound of applause.
The performance was about to begin.
Chapter 17
I found a seat next to Sylvain, whom Tienne abandoned once Auberon insisted she sit with him in the better seats towards the front of the room.
“Can you smell it?” my brother asked furtively.
“What?” I whispered. Luckily or wisely, Sylvain chose seats to the side of where the stage was set up, so there was no one next to me and a vacant chair next to Sylvain.
“The sickness,” he answered, annoyed. “Therese’s performers.”
I jerked my head to the stage and watched as the silk curtains Therese used for all her theatrics parted and several female performers emerged dressed ironically and morbidly as peacocks. There was a gray pall to them, but I was unsure if it was their makeup, the lighting, my unfortunate view, or the illness.
“Therese wouldn’t risk bringing disease to court,” I said as I watched the peacocks move gracefully across the stage. I saw one flounder, her face blanch with embarrassment as she continued her movements.
“She is sick herself, you saw her.” He shook his head sadly before adding, “It is an unfortunate man who delves between the legs of her women now.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my eyes now transfixed by male performers who emerged. They moved sensually about the women, pulling feathers from their costumes, tickling and teasing them with the plumes. The eyes of the peacock feathers caught the candlelight and glittered.
“I believe this is not a plague one will get from breathing. This illness will spread from within.”
“No!” I jerked my head at my brother. The whores were possibly carrying plague and didn’t know! If this were the case, how many men already carried the disease home to their wives?
As if stating facts he’d read in a book, Sylvain continued. “These women will likely be dead within the fortnight and so will the men who have buried their cocks inside them.”
I stood suddenly, made my way quickly from the room, and sought the fresh air of the night.
The courtyard closest to the theatre was the one named moon garden. The former queen had instructed the men from the north to construct three white marble pools. When filled, the water reflected the silvery moon and cast the courtyard in tranquil light. Tonight was no exception, though as I descended the steps leading to the pools, there was unease about the usually peaceful space. As I passed the first pool, the water rippled. There was a thunderous movement nearby, a struggle and the muffled sounds of an argument. When I saw two figures struggling in the entranceway opposite where I stood, I rushed over and was shocked to find Seton standing before a man who had fallen to his knees. I could smell blood.
“Seton.” His name and in saying it made me realize it had been him I’d missed the entire night. Everything else, every distraction, every foolish word was now meaningless.
“Don’t move, Virago.” His voice was clipped, his breathing heavy.
I saw him swipe his hand across his face and in the movement, my eyes caught the glint of something in his other hand.
“What are you doing?” I asked, confused.
Seton stared at the man before him. “I’m about to slit a throat.” He moved the hand holding the shining object closer to the man on his knees. Pain registered clearly on his face.
I saw this and thought of his long-abused fingers. “Your hands.”
“I told you once I would bleed across the marble of this court before surrendering to its brutality. Now you see I meant what I said.”
“You are dead,” the other man hissed. “You will hang.”
This was a voice I knew. If I knew no other, I would know it, for it haunted my dreams and plagued the minutes of my life worse than a specter haunts its grave.
I saw Seton’s hand recoil. “Oh, aye?” he snarled through gritted teeth. “I will go to the devil and drag you with me! Where I come from, you don’t learn how to play an instrument with one hand and not wield a knife in the other.”
I moved as if I were in a dream, slow and deliberate, and hoping in some blind way it was not the man I knew it was. I tripped
