The Lord of Illusion - 3 (37 page)

“Aye. How did you know?”

“I think there are many things we will not lose.”

“And our freedom to gain,” said the man with the midnight eyes. “Damn, does not the air smell sweeter? Does not the earth feel lighter?”

A swell of sound interrupted him, and they all turned to look through the trunks of the trees.

“What is that?”

“Another storm?”

He held up his palm to halt the flow of questions, a slow grin crinkling the lines on his face. “It is the army. It is the sound of thousands of humans cheering.”

And then it seemed as if they must all join in, and Camille sat and watched the half-breeds shout their own joy and triumph. She should feel the same. She should know why they rejoiced. But she did not. For she still heard seven voices in her head. Still heard them calling to her. And her mind joined them, until the world she sat in began to darken, to fade, until she could no longer feel the cold snow beneath her or the warm arms around her.

“Camille.”

She turned and looked into the golden eyes of the stranger just before her vision darkened to solid black.

“Do not be afraid,” he said. “I will wait for you. No matter how long it takes.”

She could not find her own voice among all the others in her head. And she had no idea what he might be waiting for.

Seventeen

Drystan sat within the king’s private study in Firehame Palace. Well, he supposed it was now called the Houses of Parliament, but despite the lack of fire on the walls and throughout the rooms, he still could not think of it as anything other than Firehame.

King George sat behind an ornately carved desk, his blond hair tousled from constantly running his hands through it in frustration. “How am I supposed to take a small mock government and expand it into a functioning decision-making force for the entire country?”

Drystan glanced around the mahogany-paneled study. Save for a few, the same group who had met once before to plot the overthrow of the elven lords occupied this room.

“You are doing well, Your Majesty,” soothed newly titled Lord Dominic Raikes.

“Fie, ’tis easy for you to say. You are off to live an easy life in the country.” The king scowled. “Had I known bequeathing you a title and lands would absent you from court, I would not have done it.”

Dominic smiled, something he did rather often, lately. Lady Cassandra sat as close to her husband as propriety allowed. They would leave today, and Drystan would miss them. But they had stayed to support the king for longer than agreed upon, and he knew they were anxious to settle in a new home.

Far from Firehame Palace.

“It would not have mattered,” replied Dominic. “Or do you not recall that my wife has her own title and lands? Do not begrudge us a life of leisure, my king, for you know we have earned it. Besides, I shall leave you in good hands. Is that not right, Alexander?”

The Duke of Chandos, resplendent in coat and breeches of chocolate satin, bowed his head. Only the points of his ears peeking from the gathering of his brown hair gave away his elven blood, a fact that aided the king enormously. A tide of hatred toward anything elven had swept the country, and although Drystan understood it, he feared what it portended for half-breeds.

“My father is right,” said the duke. “You have a roomful of advisors you can trust to the death. It is a rare man who can say that.”

The king sighed. “I suppose that is true. But must you leave on the heels of Sir Giles and Lady Cecily?”

Drystan smiled at his foster father, who flushed at the new honorific. Giles had never expected to hold a title, and it flustered him to no end. He grew even more discomfited when Lady Cecily reminded him he had always been a brave knight to her.

Giles straightened in his chair. “You know it is imperative we return to Carreg Cennen if we are to preserve the history of the elven. I already have two carriages full of artifacts and records, and it will take me most of a year just to sort through those. Especially when I must train a new curator.”

Drystan shrugged off the remark. “I will not leave until she is well.”

Lady Cecily quickly intervened, before the argument could start anew. She knew Drystan would not live in Wales, for he had an estate in Herefordshire to run one day—although he had yet to see it. But Giles wanted him back, and Giles could be stubborn. “Drystan is right to keep Camille here, with people she knows. And as soon as she is feeling better, he shall visit our little cottage by the sea. Is that not right, love?”

“Of course,” replied Drystan. “After I see my mother. Her letters are getting rather persistent.”

The king cleared his throat. “I received another missive from Lady Hawkes a few days ago.”

Drystan scowled. Since she did not appear to be getting anywhere with her son, his mother had resorted to appealing to the king. Drystan understood her eagerness to see him. But he would not attempt a journey that might jeopardize Camille’s fragile state.

He glanced out the window into the garden, a riot of red roses and flowering trees. As soon as Captain Talbot and his new wife, Augusta, had shown up in London and asked to remain in Drystan’s service, he had sent them directly back to Dreamhame, to fetch Molly Shreves and Ann Cobb, hoping the two former slaves might jog Camille’s memories. They sat near her now, no longer slaves but paid companions, idly chatting and throwing crumbs to the songbirds. But Camille stared off into the distance, her mind and thoughts unaffected by the presence of the women.

“Apparently,” continued the king, “the dowager viscountess decided she would not wait for you to come to her. She insists she has the right, given the circumstances. I rather imagine she will reach the palace today.”

Drystan returned his attention to the king’s words, taking a moment to comprehend them. Odd, but he felt no leap of excitement. After years of yearning to be a part of his true family, he found it did not matter. Not without Camille as a part of it.

“That is wonderful news,” said Lady Cecily. “Now I can leave you in good conscience, knowing that she will be here to help Camille.”

Drystan nodded, turned away from the window to grant his foster mother a smile, albeit a forced one. As much as he would miss them, he could not regret their leaving. Giles beamed with happiness, and Lady Cecily glowed from within. They could not wait to return to Wales and live a life without fear for their charges. Although most of the orphans had been returned to their families, some had lost their parents, or they could not be located. The children needed the goodness and kindness of Giles and Cecily’s fostering.

He glanced at Giles. “I will send you my observations of the gardens as I write them.”

Giles nodded, but he hardly needed the reassurance. Although the creations of the elven lords had vanished with them, those natural things of the earth wrought with their magic still remained. Drystan had taken it upon himself to continue to study and analyze the gardens of Elfhame, for Camille seemed happiest among those altered plants.

Lady Cecily rose, a rustle of indigo skirts, and her husband rose with her. “By your leave, Your Majesty. If there is nothing else you require of us, our carriages await.”

The king gave a disgruntled sigh, but nodded, and rose to clasp hands with Giles, and accept an informal hug from his foster mother. Lord North and the rest offered their farewells, but Drystan had already said his good-byes privately last evening. With Camille standing vacant-eyed by his side.

If only he could manage to get her to speak. Surely that would bring her back to him—

His foster mother hugged him one last time; Giles shook his hand and told him to have faith. Drystan felt a sudden urge to demand that they stay. Not for his sake, but for Camille’s. Her glorious rainbow-colored eyes always seemed more alert when Lady Cecily spoke to her.

But he knew they had an important task for the king, in preserving the knowledge of elven magic. In case that door had not sealed shut. And he of all people knew they deserved their happiness.

Dominic and Cassandra took their leave next, the petite lady granting hugs as enthusiastically as Lady Cecily. But the new Lord Raikes only nodded his farewells, reserved as always.

Drystan nodded back. “Thank you.”

The older man did not ask him what for; he only raised his brows.

“For teaching me what courage is, without ever having to say a word.”

Dominic still looked confused. Lady Cassandra hugged Drystan and whispered in his ear, “I shall explain it to him later.”

They left in a swirl of velvet and lace, the couple who had dealt the first fatal blow for the Rebellion.

Silence fell over the room.

“Well then,” said the king, “I will have to rely on the rest of you. Lord North, what news do you have of Lord Dorian and his lady?”

The heavy man blinked, then shook his jowls. “They are near to completing their mansion in the Seven Corners of Hell, thanks to the generosity of Your Majesty. Lord Dorian is quite content among the trees, and reports that there has been no… unusual activity in the area. He does suggest sending a few more troops to guard the spring. Too many curiosity seekers.”

Drystan snorted. The tale of the final battle with the elven lords had been told all across England. And still there were those who would see the proof of it.

He hoped never to get near the damn place again.

“What say you, General Cavendish? Can you spare the men?”

Samson nodded, the scars on his face now even deeper than before. But he had enough elven blood to counter the effect, and it did not detract from his handsomeness. The deeper slash marks made him look only more dangerous. “I have called several in from the field. Order has been restored to England much more quickly than we had ever hoped for.”

“Indeed,” agreed Wilhelmina, who had also insisted on keeping her title as general, although she did not mind being referred to occasionally as the Duchess of Chandos. Especially when Alexander was about. “I believe it is because you have given them a fresh purpose, Your Majesty. Despite our elevating slaves to lost ranks, and demoting followers of the elven lords to commoners, we did not have as much resistance as we expected.”

“Plans for sending a representative from both lords and commoners have met with approval, then?”

“Indeed. They embrace your new—old government. And the abolishment of slavery is met with relief on all sides.”

The king picked up a quill, drew the feather across his cheek absentmindedly. “I am more concerned now about the world beyond our borders. With the barrier gone, foreign ships are landing on our soil, and I fear we must control trade if we are to recover financially. And then there is the threat from other lands that may see England as ripe for the picking…”

Alexander spoke up, revealing his art for diplomacy once again. He had been more help as the king’s representative than Lord North, for not only could he charm a smile from the surliest of the aristocracy, but he’d also had a direct hand in the freedom of the English people. And it helped that he looked more human than elven. “We must face one challenge at a time, Your Majesty. I have already discussed the matter with my duchess.”

“My suggestion,” said Wilhelmina, “is that we build up our naval armada, which has been sorely limited to a few vessels of trade. We can use the additional ships in that capacity, of course, for there is an even higher demand now for elven-wrought goods, and our neighbors will not worry over our activities. But we need to train officers in wartime skills and battle tactics. Just in case.”

The king glanced back and forth between husband and wife. “You make a formidable team.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said the duchess with a grin.

Wilhelmina and Alexander had adjusted well to their life here, as had Samson and Joscelyn. No, they had done better than adjust. They were happy, in love, eager to see the new world they helped to create set to rights.

Drystan wished for his own happily ever after. Just like in his books. Granted, he was no longer the dreamy romantic who had first set off to find the woman of his dreams. He knew love, like freedom, took great sacrifice. It humbled him that Camille made the greatest sacrifice of all. But it had never truly occurred to him they would not eventually live happily together.

Although he had found her, and saved her, he had failed her when it counted most of all.

He felt Lady Joscelyn’s eyes upon him, and turned to meet her gaze. Her happiness was tempered by her sorrow for Camille, and it warmed him to the lady even more.

Joscelyn leaned her head closer to whisper to him, while the rest continued to discuss shipbuilding and finances. “Camille has still not spoken a word?”

Drystan shook his head.

“Does she… does she know?”

He tamped down his frustration. He had no earthly idea what filtered into Camille’s confused mind. Or if she had a mind left at all. He knew what three scepters had done to him, but seven in full possession of their power? He shuddered to think. “She will do what she is asked, and she takes care of her private needs. Beyond that, I do not think she is aware of the changes to her body—”

The doorman stepped into the room. “Lord Malcolm Reese requests an audience, Your Majesty.”

“Ah, the restless one has returned. Show him in.”

The doorman bowed, the curls of his wig flopping over his shoulders, and stepped back so the young man could enter. As a latecomer to the company of the Rebellion, Malcolm did not have the stronger ties they all seemed to possess. Or perhaps his restless nature made him seem ill at ease, his feet constantly shifting and his brown-faceted eyes always looking through one, as if he sought some far horizon.

He bowed his white-blond head, the silver sparkles in his hair making each individual strand glow. Besides Dominic, Malcolm resembled the elven lords the most. Drystan still thought he might have truly loved Lady Annanor, despite everything, and it had hurt the young man to banish her.

Malcolm appeared constantly surprised by their new world. And accepting the guise of the king’s personal emissary, seemed to constantly be seeking something he had lost.

Drystan hoped he would find it, one day.

“I have news from Northern Verdanthame—err, Norfolk. Many of the plants twisted by elven magic refused to be tamed with scythe or fire, and the locals swear the woods are haunted, and will not work near them. I doubt there is anything more to it than superstition… but have you news from Lord Dorian? Is the… spring still dry?”

“It is,” answered Lord North, a frown between his sharp eyes.