Though Maldynado wasn’t intimidated by the castle itself, uneasy twinges assailed his gut as he approached the drawbridge. He dreaded a chat with Mari. He might not have volunteered to be disowned, but he hadn’t fought it either. No longer having to attend family gatherings had been a relief.
Basilard pointed at the moat. Two crimson eyes stared at them from the surface of the water. It seems the alligator stories are true.
The stories didn’t mention glowing eyes, Maldynado signed, thinking of the tainted creatures the team had encountered while seeking the makarovi-infested dam.
More magic. We had better pay close attention inside.
Because you’re the help supposedly, my sister-in-law will ignore you. You might be able to slip away and snoop.
Yara stood by the door, her hands on her hips as she waited for Maldynado and Basilard to catch up. They’d barely stepped off the drawbridge when she grabbed an iron knocker wrought into the broad ursine head of a grimbal and clanked it three times.
A clink-clunk emanated from behind the walls, followed by a faint hiss. The doors groaned open, revealing a brighter entryway than one would have expected from the grim stone exterior. Though the inner walls were also stone, they had been whitewashed. Gas pipes, also painted white, ran along the walls, powering countless lanterns and an elaborate chandelier dangling from a high, arched ceiling. Landscape and portrait paintings mounted between the light fixtures displayed a mixture of the straightforward unimaginative styles of the empire and more exotic and fanciful images from faraway lands. The signatures were all from historically significant artists, meaning the paintings had cost someone a fortune to purchase.
“Pretty,” Yara grunted in a tone that suggested she preferred the utilitarian decor of an enforcer office.
“Yes, but not so pretty as you, my lady.” Maldynado swept into a bow, figuring people would be observing them by now.
Yara looked like she might throw up, but refrained from telling him to stuff his compliments up his-
“Lord Marblecrest?” a man asked, stepping down from one of four stairways that tunneled into the walls, leading upward from the stone foyer. The slim, mustached butler wore an ornate blue suit choked with gold and silver trim and adorned with coattails one would have to be careful not to trip over. If he didn’t feel ridiculous in the outfit… he should. But he likely had no choice. With pale skin and straight blond hair tied back in a braid, he appeared Kendorian or Mangdorian. Maldynado wondered if he had been hired because he’d work cheaply or if he might be an illegal slave, as Basilard had been. Either way, if foreigners comprised most of the help, Basilard might have an easier time wandering about and spying.
“Yes, good fellow.” Maldynado stepped forward. That the man had called him “lord” was a good sign; it meant Mari hadn’t squashed his story of having a right to the family name again. He’d best lay on the warrior-caste arrogance thickly. “I insist on rooms for the night and to be taken to see Mari Marblecrest at once.”
“Er, rooms?” The butler had been walking toward them, but he halted, almost stepping on one of those flowing tails. “I hadn’t realized you’d been invited to spend the night.”
Maldynado adjusted his hat, giving it a jaunty tilt. “This is a resort, is it not? You do have rooms available, do you not?”
“Yes, of course, my lord,” the butler said in the soothing tones of one who had mastered the art of placating self-important aristocrats. “They are generally by invitation only, but I can add you to Lady Marblecrest’s party. Yes, I’ll tend to the accommodations promptly.” The butler stepped backward a few paces, avoiding the dangling coattails with subconscious skill that could only come with practice, and extended his arm toward an arched doorway. “You and your party may wait in the Relaxation Grotto.”
The double doors at the entrance groaned shut, and Maldynado tried not to find their resounding thud ominous. The butler paused and frowned, his gaze darting about as if he were looking for something. Oh, right. The ambulatory artifact Basilard had booted over the cliff.
“Wait?” Maldynado sniffed, drawing the man’s attention to him. “The service here is terribly slow and antiquated for an exclusive resort. I can’t imagine what drew Mari to the place. Did she also have to hike up a mountain simply to knock on the door?”
“Maldynado, do you never stop whining?” Yara asked. “The longer you stand there and complain, the longer we’ll be kept from the steam baths and our private room.” She gave her hips a suggestive wiggle. Though it wasn’t as practiced and comfortable a wiggle as Maldynado usually saw from women, it did draw one’s eyes to her curvy parts, and he found himself forgetting what he was doing and why he was doing it.
“Er, yes,” he managed. “The Relaxation Grove, was it?” Maldynado waved for her to enter first.
“Grotto.” Yara brushed past him, their bodies touching for an all-too-brief moment. “Do pay attention, Mal.”
Yara gave the servant a wink before she disappeared through the doorway. Despite her admirable acting job-so admirable that Maldynado had to take a deep breath to re-gather his thoughts-the servant’s frown remained. As much as Maldynado would love to spend the night entertaining Yara in their “private suite,” he had a feeling they should get what information they could and skedaddle off the island as soon as possible. He hoped Sespian and the others had already found an opportunity to slip aboard the steamboat.
Warmth and humidity wrapped about Maldynado as he entered the so-called grotto. The dimness and a return of the gray stone walls, albeit ones carpeted with numerous species of flowering vines, brought a cave to mind, if a luxurious one. Furs muffled the team’s footfalls as he, Basilard, and Yara walked around padded benches and lounge chairs, gurgling fountains, potted palm trees, and coal-burning braziers with dancing flames.
Once they were all inside, the door thudded shut behind them.
“I guess we’re not supposed to wander,” Maldynado said.
Yara skirted a steaming pool with meandering curves and stopped before an oak door on the far side. When she tried the latch, it didn’t budge. “It seems not.”
Maldynado didn’t see any other doors, though the foliage growing from pots and wandering up the walls obscured the view. He walked to the front of the room where a long, cushion-covered bench ran below a window that stretched from side to side and almost to the twenty-foot ceiling. During the day, it must let in ample light and offer an impressive view of the river, but all Maldynado noticed in the darkness was the moat. Two sets of red eyes floated past.
Numerous black iron bars made up the window frame, holding the hundreds of square panes in place. Basilard ticked the metal. Sturdy.
Indeed. Nobody could jump out that window.
“Relax,” Maldynado said, as much for himself as for the others. “This is a resort, not a dungeon.”
“A resort in a very functional-looking castle.” Yara strode over to Basilard and extended her hand, palm up. “Do you still have it?”
Basilard lifted a pant leg and fished something out of his boot-a sheathed knife with a leather strap wrapped around it.
“Thank you.” Yara propped her foot on a planter, hiked the calf-length hem of her dress up to her waist, displaying a view of a muscular yet shapely leg, and strapped the sheath to her thigh.
A tap on the shoulder drew Maldynado’s attention.
“What?” he asked Basilard.
Do you believe we are likely to be attacked? Basilard’s firm signs emphasized the fact that he was repeating himself.
Sorry, Maldynado signed back while Yara finished with the knife. I was… somewhere else.
I noticed.
Maldynado cleared his throat and told himself to focus. “I don’t know.”
Is it possible we’ve walked into a trap?
“It’s a little soon to assume that, don’t you think?” Maldynado had been proud of himself for taking charge and scheming up a plan to get the team onto the island. He’d hate to think that he’d been ensnared somehow, and that someone had all along wanted to get him here, with the emperor in tow. It had been quite a coincidence that he’d happened to run into Cousin Lita in a city with a population of fifty thousand. And it had been rather easy for him to snob his way into an invitation to step foot on the island. Not to mention how quickly the servant had agreed to overnight accommodations.