panels. To get in without welcome would not be easy... and he was willing to bet that every room on the second and third floors was similarly well-appointed—as were the servants’ quarters.
He also measured every painting and rug and precious object as they ascended. This family was high up within the glymera, with coffers choked with coin and an enviable bloodline. Thus, the fact of their unmated daughter going missing affected more than just their heartstrings: She was a marketable asset. With this sort of background, a female of mate-able age was a thing of beauty... and social and financial implication.
And that was not the full extent of it. As with all such valuations, the converse was true as well: To have such a daughter ruined, either in fact or by rumor, was a taint that would take generations to even dim. The master of this mansion no doubt loved his daughter honestly, but the weight of all this distorted the relationship.
Darius quite believed that in the male’s eyes it was better that she come home in a pine box as opposed to breathing, but defiled. The latter was a curse, the former a tragedy that would garner much sympathy.
Darius hated the glymera. He truly did.
“Here are her private quarters,” the doggen said, swinging open a door.
As Tohrment stepped inside the candlelit room, Darius asked, “Have these been cleaned? Have they been tidied since she was herein?”
“Of course.”
“Leave us, please?”
The doggen bowed deeply and disappeared.
Tohrment wandered around, looking at the silk draperies and the beautifully appointed sitting area. A lute was in one corner and a fine piece of needlework that was partially completed in another. Books by human authors were stacked neatly on shelves along with scrolls in the Old Language.
The first thing one noticed was that nothing was out of place. But whether that was a case of the staff or the circumstance of the disappearance, it was hard to know.
“Touch nothing, yes?” Darius said to the boy.
“But of course.”
Darius went into the lush bedroom. The draperies were made of thick, heavy tapestry such that the sunlight couldn’t hope to penetrate and the bed was ringed with more of the same, great panels of cloth hanging from the canopy.
Over at the wardrobe, he pulled open the carved doors. Gorgeous gowns in sapphire and ruby and citrine and emerald hung together, full of beautiful potential. And a single empty hanger rested on a hook on the inside of the panels, as if she had taken the night’s choice from its padded shoulders.
The dressing table had a hairbrush on it and various pots of unguents and scented oils and tinting powders. All of which were arranged in neat rows.
Darius pulled open a drawer... and let out a soft curse. Jewelry cases. Flat leather jewelry cases. He picked one up, popped the golden clasp, and lifted the lid.
Diamonds gleamed in the candlelight.
As Darius returned the box to its comrades, Tohrment stopped in the doorway, his eyes focusing on the fine woven rug that was done in peaches, yellows, and reds.
The faint blush on the male’s face made Darius sad for some reason. “You’ve never been in a female’s boudoir then?”
Tohrment got even redder. “Ah... no, sire.”
Darius motioned with his hand. “Well, this is business. Best to put aside any shyness.”
Tohrment cleared his throat. “Yes. Of course.”
Darius went over to the two sets of French doors. Both opened onto a terrace and he went out with Tohrment right on his heels.
“You can see through the distant trees,” the boy murmured, walking to the balcony.
Indeed one could. Through the spindly arms of the leafless branches, the mansion on another property was visible. The great house was of comparable size and distinction, with fine metalwork on its turrets, and gracious grounds... but as far as Darius was aware, it was not inhabited by vampires.
He turned away and walked the length of the terrace, inspecting all the windows and all the doors and all of the handles, hinges, and locks.
There had been no kind of break-in, and given how cold it was, she wouldn’t have tallied with anything wide open to the elements.
Which meant she had either left of her own volition... or let whoever had taken her in. Assuming the entrance had been gained up here.
He looked through the glass into her rooms, trying to imagine what had transpired.
To hell with the ingress, the exit was more the point, wasn’t it. Highly unlikely the abductor would have dragged her out through the house: She must have been spirited away during darkness or else she would have been burned to ash and there were always people out and about during the night hours.
No, he thought. They had to have left from this suite of rooms.
Tohrment spoke up. “Nothing is disturbed, inside or out. No scratches on the floors or marks on the wall, which means...”
“She may well have let them in and not struggled o’er much.”
Darius went back inside and picked up the hairbrush. Fine strands of pale hair were caught in the stiff bristles. Not a surprise, as both of the parents were fair.
The question was, what caused a female of worth to bolt out of her family’s house right before dawn, leaving nothing in her wake... and taking nothing with her?
One answer came to mind: a male.
Fathers didn’t necessarily know all of their daughters’ lives, did they.
Darius stared out into the night, tracing the grounds and the trees... and the mansion next door. Threads... there were threads to the mystery herein.
The answer he was searching for was here somewhere. He just had to stitch it all together.
“Where to?” Tohrment asked.
“We shall confer with the servants. Privately.”
For the most part, in houses such as this one, the doggen would never dream of speaking anything out of turn. But these were not normal circumstances and it was entirely possible that pity and compassion for the poor female would override the staff ’s reticence.
And sometimes the back of the house knew things the front did not.
Darius turned away and strode for the door. “We shall become lost now.”
“Lost?”
They stepped out together and Darius looked up and down the hallway. “Indeed. Come this way.”
He chose the left because, in the opposite direction, there was a set of double doors that led out onto another second-story terrace—so it was obvious the staff stairwell wasn’t down there. As they walked along, passing many well-appointed rooms, his heart ached such that his breath became tight. After two decades, his losses registered still, his fall from his station echoing as yet along the bones of his body. His mother he missed the most, ’twas true. And behind that pain was the demise of the civilized life he had once lived.
He did what he was trained and born to do for the race, and he fed certain... indulgences, and he had earned a respect from his comrades at war. But there was no joy for him in this existence of his. No wonder. No captivation.
