Cordelia glared at the lock until it turned itself. Then she gave the door a gentle push with her hand, and it swung open silently, on well-oiled hinges.
There was only the one candle, but its glow reflected off data screens, holo-cube readers, holo-cube files—and an improvised bed, cushions clustered together, and on them, snorting and heaving, shuddering and gasping ...
Cordelia froze, wide-eyed. She would have turned on her heel if she could have, but the sight held her, horrified, fascinated. She was intruding on a very private moment, but ...
"Take your enemy while you can," Geoffrey breathed in her ear. "In fact, as she would have done to me." He stepped past her, gliding toward the bed like a shadow left by a moonbeam.
Cordelia shook off the spell, remembered the sleeping assassins and the bloodstains on Alain's floor, and followed.
Geoffrey levelled his sword and spoke very loudly. "Hold!"
Cordelia stood by, reaching out with her mind, ready to throw every movable object at ...
(The man lifted his head, shocked, and found himself staring at a sword's tip.)
...at Forrest.
Cordelia stared, appalled. Inside her, she felt something sicken and shrivel.
The bandit chieftain saw it in her eyes. He scrambled out of the bed, remembered himself just in time, and whipped a corner of the sheet over his midriff, then raised his hands to Cordelia. "My lady, forgive! A moment's impulse ... I weakened ... Never again..."
His voice ran down as he saw the look on her face. Beyond him, Delilah lay back against the pillows, halfcovered by the rest of the sheet, watching Cordelia with a vindictive, triumphant smile.
Cordelia stood, stunned.
Delilah's gaze flicked to Geoffrey, filled with malice, one finger drawing a circle on the sheet over her breast, spiralling in. "Come, seize the moment—and me. You knew me for what I was; use me now, for you'll never have another chance."
Geoffrey's sword point swivelled to her throat.
She stared at him, indignant, affronted—for the look on his face was only one of amusement.
Forrest bowed his head, shamefaced.
But Delilah's eyes glinted malice at Geoffrey, and she laughed, low in her throat.
Geoffrey shrugged.
Suddenly, Cordelia was aware that she might not have been the only one who had been hurt by the scene. Her gaze darted up to her brother's face in concern.
Then she saw how the smile on his face widened, showing teeth. "I knew you for what you were, aye, and was quite willing to take you on those terms—nay, and still would be, for a night or two—but for nothing more."
Storm clouds began to gather on Cordelia's brow. Geoffrey's swordtip moved slowly down Delilah's body, as though seeking the best point.
"Thrust, then," she said with contempt, "at least with the symbol, since you are too much afeard to use the referent."
"Geoffrey!" Cordelia cried, appalled.
Geoffrey gave her a quick glance before he looked back at his target. "Sister, I hope that you did not think that Forrest was anything more than Delilah was."
Cordelia's head snapped back, as though she had been slapped.
Geoffrey went on, circling his sword tip carelessly, nearer and nearer to the smooth skin. "Nay, the two of them are well matched, indeed."
Forrest rose to his knees; hands upraised in pleading. "Lady Cordelia! Sweet lady, forgive!"
"Never could I forgive such a lapse as this!" Cordelia retorted, infuriated. "How could you seek to humiliate me so?"
"To put you in the same class as myself?" Delilah said sweetly. "That is no humiliation, sweet innocent, but a compliment of the highest order."
"Speak not to me, lightskirt!" Cordelia turned on her, enraged. "Were I ever like you, I should wish to die ere I was thrown on the trash heap as a worn-out plaything for any man who wished!"
"Say rather, any man whom I wish!" Delilah writhed out of the bed and up to her feet, her eyes sparking with anger. She slipped past the sword's point, and her open palm cracked across Cordelia's cheek.
"Oh!" Cordelia pressed a hand to the hurt, indignant, anger building to an unprecedented explosion.
"Oh,' indeed!" Delilah stepped back laughing, leaning back, hands on her hips, naked and glorious in the candlelight. "Yes, any man I want, even yours! Any man of yours! Stay awhile, while I go to claim your Prince!"
Cordelia sprang forward, spitting, "False and hollow shell!" hands reaching, fingers hooked to scratch. Alarmed, Forrest caught her, holding her wrists. "No, lady! You shall be hurt!"
"Let me go! Oh, let me go!" Cordelia raged, twisting and thrashing about in his hold.
"Aye, let her go!" Delilah taunted. "Let her follow! I shall have her Prince grappling me ere she can come!" Catching up her garments, she sprang to the door and ran out, bare feet pattering on the floor.
"Will you let me go!" Cordelia cried, still raging. "I must catch her, stop her, ere it is too late!"
"Why, lady, why?" Forrest implored. "You shall only go to your own hurt—for surely, Alain is no better than I!"
"Yes, sister, let be," Geoffrey said gently. "I would not wish you hurted more, if she is right—and I would not wish to spit Alain on my sword, if..."
"But do you not see?" Cordelia cried. "She knows he is the Prince!"
Geoffrey stared.
Forrest frowned. "What matters that?"
"That her men tried to assassinate Alain this night!" Geoffrey snapped, the implications immediately clear to him. "And if she knows who he truly is, it is sure that we guessed aright—it is she who set the assassins upon him! It is not his virtue or his heart that is threatened, but his life! Let be!"
Astounded, Forrest loosed his hold, and Cordelia sprang free.
They leaped after her, out into the hallway ... It was empty save for the two snoring sentries.
They stood, absolutely still, and heard the muffled sound of bare feet padding away, somewhere out of sight ... "The stairs!" Geoffrey snapped. "She can only have gone upward!"
"That would be novel," Cordelia said acidly, but she ran after Geoffrey.
Up the stairs they flew, into the entry hall, where they halted, looking about. There was no loose clothing on the floor, no hint as to where Delilah had gone—only the doors to the solar on the one side, and the Great Hall on the other.
Geoffrey strode toward the Great Hall. "She will be here, if she is anywhere. 'Tis the seat of power for a country squire."
They threw open the doors and strode in ...
And armed men stepped out from the walls. A thicket of swords surrounded them.
At the end of the hall, on the dais, stood Delilah, clothed again now, hands on her hips, head thrown back, laughing long and loud.
Cordelia looked about her, stunned. The trestles and tables had not only been folded and set aside—they had been taken out of the hall completely. The fire was dead, the hearth cleaned and swept. The torches were gone from their sconces, and the decorations had disappeared. Only bare walls and bare floor met her gaze, bleak in the light of the false dawn filtering through the tall windows.
Delilah laughed and laughed, revelling in their surprise. "There is nothing here to throw, witch! How shall you fight now, when there is nothing for your mind to move?"
Cordelia stared, aghast, realizing that she had walked into a trap, and Geoffrey swore. "By Blue, and by all the obscene slitherings from the dawn of time! You have laid your snare carefully and well, lady!"
"And you are caught within it!" she cried in glee. "You have been planning it long and well."
"Aye, since first I learned that Their Majesties would command their son to wed! And you are caught, ensnared more thoroughly than you could have imagined! Know that you shall die this night, Sir Geoffrey!" Delilah's voice suddenly softened, cozening. "Yet the condemned man may have his last wish." Her hands went to the laces of her bodice. "Come, take what you have sought so hard! You may at least die in ecstasy."