The lady smiled. She was indeed lovely. Her fingers trembled when he strode over and took her hand.
“Tell me, lady,” he murmured, “what do you see?”
She blinked up at him. “I do not understand.”
“My features. What do you see?”
She frowned, but replied, “Oh. You have dark golden hair, and eyes a shade lighter.”
Gareth nodded. She did not see him as his true self. But Millicent had…
He followed the lady from the room, through a grand mansion oddly decorated with living peacocks from doorway to newel post, and so he felt no surprise when he saw a carriage shaped like a water lily and pulled by two white peacocks. Gareth unfolded a petal and handed Lady Yardley into the carriage, then ducked inside, admiring the illusion of sitting in a flower as they jolted along the streets.
“You must be talented,” he commented. “It even smells as if we are sitting within a lily.”
She flushed in pleasure at his compliment, and did not deny her magic had created the illusion, and she relaxed a bit as they traveled. London glittered by lamp- and fairylight, the aristocracy out in their finest, the late hour just the beginning of their social gaiety. Grand mansions, decorated with even more fanciful illusions than peacocks and water lilies, shone with light from window and doorway. Guests entered and left: ladies dressed in gowns of sparkling silver and gentlemen in coats of prismatic color. Carriages passed their own conveyance, drawn by flaming horses, white stags with majestic glowing antlers, and even several types of birds: gold swans and crimson pheasants and long-legged herons.
Lady Yardley’s peacocks paled in comparison.
They neared Buckingham Palace, the diamond-studded walls twinkling in the light of the moon. Near it stood a smaller building, no less impressive for its size, for the walls roiled in a dizzying motion of color from the magical wards surrounding it. The Hall of Mages, where titles were made or broken. The headquarters of the Master, and the training ground for many sorcerers.
And far beneath it, a vault containing many of the relics of Merlin.
“I have been here only once,” murmured Lady Yardley, “when they tested me for my magical abilities. I had thought never to enter those doors again… it is such an odd place.”
“There is nothing to fear,” assured Gareth.
She gave a nervous titter. “No, of course not. I have a knight to protect me, after all.”
He gave her a smile, and although he knew it did not reach his eyes, the lady looked reassured by it. When he exited the coach and turned to assist her down the steps, she clasped his hand with a firm grip, and nodded briskly at him.
“Right, then. We shall have to get past the front desk, and if it’s anything like the Houses of Parliament, I will need all of my self-confidence to parley with the officious steward.” She squared her shoulders, stuck her chin in the air, and strode for the door.
Gareth opened it in time for her to sail through, and lazily followed a few steps behind, glancing around the massive entrance hall. It held a desk, a few pots of greenery, and a gilded staircase, nothing exceptionally impressive, except for the multitude of doors lining the hall. Magic seeped through the cracks of the frames—a miasma of sapphire, emerald, and crimson color—and curled upward to snake along the ceiling.
“I would like an audience with the Master,” said Lady Yardley to the bespectacled man sitting behind the desk.
“Madame, do you have any idea how late it is?”
“Do not be impertinent, sir. I am in complete possession of all my faculties and am quite aware of the hour. I should be attending a ball at this very moment, and the fact that I am not should impress you with the urgency of my task.”
The man did not raise his eyes from the stack of documents in front of him. “His Grace is out, attending that very thing. Unless this is a life or death magical emergency, he cannot be disturbed. Shall I leave him a message?”
Lady Yardley crossed her arms beneath her bosom. “No, you may not. This could very well be a life or death situation… if you consider that falling in love with the wrong man could ruin your life forever!”
The clerk let out an audible sigh. “What exactly, is the nature of your business?”
Gareth took a step forward. “Me.”
The clerk looked up. His eyes widened as his gaze traveled over Gareth’s clothing, settling on the sword at his hip.
“What ball is his lordship attending?” demanded Gareth.
“It is not a masquerade, sir, so your costume is—”
A roar shook the building, rattling the teacup on the clerk’s desk. Lady Yardley gasped as a group of baronets suddenly surrounded them. Gareth recognized the man with the mane of thick golden hair and the scarred face. The spy had been pursuing Millicent for weeks.
Gareth bowed. “Well met, gentlemen.”
“I told you I smelled the stink of relic magic,” growled the man to his fellows before turning back to pierce Gareth with a golden gaze. “You finally decided to give yourself up, eh?”
“Only for good reason.”
The shape-shifter laughed, his booming voice echoing down the hall. “I told you he’d come for the girl, men. You won’t be giving us any trouble now, will you mate?”
Gareth froze. “What girl?”
The other man frowned. “The were-cat. We caught her this afternoon… you didn’t know, did you? Then why are you here?”
Gareth took a step forward. Several growls and hisses from the baronets followed his action. He ignored them, his attention completely focused on the were-lion. “If you have harmed her in any way, I will kill you.”
The other man blinked, then threw back his head and laughed again. “Damn, man, I believe you.” He lowered his face and wiped a tear from his eye. “Come now, I know all about the curse. We don’t have anything against you, old chap; it’s the magic of the bracelet we want. You just happen to be attached to it. And we can’t have anything lying about that may be stronger than the magic of the Crown, can we? So be a good lad and play nice, and your lady will remain unharmed.”
“Take me to her. Now.”
The were-lion cocked his head and considered. “Give me the bracelet. Millicent—yes, of course we know her name—didn’t have it on her.”
Lady Yardley swayed beneath his hand. Gareth gave her a reassuring squeeze, and a meaningful nod.
“Are you sure?” she whispered.
“Most assuredly.”
She drew up the sleeve of her gown, the moonstone twinkling in the light of the wild magic dancing on the ceiling. Odd, it looked as if the gem had a small crack in it. But Gareth did not have time to study it, for the baronet with the orange stripes in his black hair made a purring sound similar to Millicent’s contented rumble, and Lady Yardley yanked off the bracelet and handed it to the were-lion with trembling fingers.
“Well done,” murmured Gareth. “Go home now, Lady Yardley.”
She raised her face to his. She had lovely hazel eyes, but they could not compare to ones of golden-brown.
“You will still need me,” she replied. “Besides, if you think I shall not see this through to the end, you are sadly mistaken.”
Ah, he could see why Millicent had chosen her for a friend. Beneath her air of cultured sensibilities, the lady possessed a will of steely resolve.
Gareth turned and raised his voice. “You’ve got what you want. Now take me to her.”
The clerk went back to perusing his papers again.
The were-lion clutched the bracelet tightly and nodded. “Follow me.”
They strode down the hall, the half-dozen shape-shifters following, some of them shifting to their animal forms as they went: the tiger, an enormous raven, a shaggy-haired wolf.