I’d seen photos of the church but they hadn’t done it justice. White marble walls soared nearly forty feet upward, the silver-veined stone elaborately sculpted where it framed huge stained-glass windows. The glass depicted the patriarchs of the church, each with their right hands raised in blessing, each image laden with symbols. Sunlight streamed through the windows, painting rainbow patterns on the polished black marble floor.
Once we moved into the main chapel, the eyes of the world would be on us. But not now. For the moment we were a small, quiet group of friends and family in a peaceful, intimate, and beautiful setting. I glanced around, taking it all in at the same time as I automatically checked for threats.
To my right, on the wall opposite where the ceremony was to take place, was a long stand filled with candleholders of bright red glass. Each burning votive represented a petition being placed before God.
Dahlmar and Adriana moved to take their place on a matched pair of wooden kneelers, elaborately carved and stained black, polished to shine as brightly as the floor. Each had an embroidered and tassled cushion to kneel on and a crown resting atop. They faced a cross carved directly into the wall; its exquisite detail mimicked the stones set into the cross Adriana wore around her neck.
Anton, the aged priest who had served as Dahlmar’s confessor from childhood, shuffled slowly into the space between the kneelers. He had asked to give a blessing to the pair before the official ceremony began, and King Dahlmar had gladly agreed. No one suspected anything was wrong when Anton raised his right hand and began murmuring softly. I certainly didn’t—until I felt the swirl of powerful magic building and caught a glimpse of a spell ball clutched in his hand.
“No!” I shouted, lunging toward him. Time seemed to slow. I saw a blur of motion out of the corner of my eye and Arkady body-checked me, slamming me to the floor and knocking the wind from my lungs. My head banged against the marble and I saw stars. I tried to draw my gun, but Arkady grabbed my arm, forcing it away until he pinned both of my wrists to the floor with more strength than any mere human could manage. I’m not human anymore and I still couldn’t break his grip. I shouted in rage, calling for help until Arkady began to strangle me.
Lars, still the image of Olga, moved to help me, but Sergei intercepted “her,” apparently intending to protect her from the violence. His mistake. Lars flung the other man aside as if he were made of feathers. Igor grabbed Arkady, probably intending to do the same to him. But the prince felled Igor with a single blow. Still, in the moment it took him to do that, Lars was upon him. Evenly matched, the two began fighting in earnest, moving away from me. I rolled to my knees as I drew a weapon, knowing even as I aimed that I was too late. Dahlmar and Igor were both in motion, but everyone was moving so slowly.…
With a triumphant cry, Anton prepared to throw the spell ball onto the floor to break it.
He hadn’t counted on Adriana. No one had. Despite all the turmoil around her, she had remained calm. She had pulled my derringer from the holster at her ankle; now, even as Anton laughed, she flicked off the safety and fired.
She hadn’t taken time to aim and she was unfamiliar with the gun, but the bullet hit the old priest squarely in the center of his mass. Anton shrieked in agony as blood blossomed like a hideous flower in the middle of his torso, spreading in a rapid stain over the white and gold of his ceremonial robes.
It was a shot that would kill, but not instantly. With the last vestiges of his strength, the old man tried to fling the spell ball to the floor. Dahlmar grabbed his arm, wrenching the little ball from his hand. Anton fell, dying, onto the cold marble floor that was already slick with his blood.
I turned away. That part of the fight was over. Drawing a One Shot from its slot in my jacket, I watched Lars and Arkady’s struggle and waited for my chance. When I saw an opening, I aimed a stream of holy water directly at Arkady’s face.
He shrieked in shock, pain, and rage, the illusion magic of a demon spawn ripped away by the impact of holy water. Lars was splashed as well and his true form suddenly shredded Olga’s bridesmaid’s dress.
Dropping the One Shot, I drew my Colt. From the corner of my eye I saw Igor draw a weapon from beneath his jacket. Adriana was also taking aim with my derringer. A tiny part of my mind was free to be amused, imagining the picture we made. “Freeze or die.”
They froze. With my mind I sought, and found, John Creede’s thoughts, not far away. John, it’s Celia. Is Prince Arkady with you? I’ve got a spawn here in the church.
He sounded surprised at the clarity of my mental voice and confused, like I should know what was going on. Sure, he’s here. He suggested using an imposter, said he didn’t trust security with so many people in the church. He told me he was going to tell you and the other bodyguards.
Yeah, right. His spawn just attacked me as part of an attempt on Dahlmar and Adriana. The scene is secure but the bride and groom will need to clean up a little before the public ceremony.
The language Creede used in my mind wasn’t polite, but it was certainly colorful. The real Arkady was going to have some explaining to do. Are you all right?
It hurt to swallow and my head was swimming a bit, but by God I was alive, so I wasn’t about to complain. I will be. Don’t let Arkady go anywhere, okay? I want to have a little chat with him, and I know King Dahlmar will, too.
John’s voice in my head was filled with dangerous outrage. Don’t worry. He’ll be right here.
While I’d been talking with John, Natasha’s father had moved away from where he had been shielding her with his body. Feliks knelt beside his fellow priest and began muttering prayers in Ruslandic. I realized that some of the pounding in my head was pounding on the church doors; Lars opened one just wide enough to admit Gunnar Thorsen. Igor smiled at me as the door opened and said, “No one outside will see anything.”
Igor bound the fake Arkady, using fetters handed to him by Thorsen, though where Gunnar been carrying them inside his well-fitted suit, I had no idea.
Dahlmar and Adriana simply stood, holding each other, as Natasha and a red-faced, embarrassed Sergei looked on. Now what? We had a captive, a corpse, and the world waiting for a wedding. If the public found out what had happened, there’d be outrage at the violation of the sanctity of the church. We had a few minutes, at best, to figure out some way to salvage this debacle. I thought furiously, trying to come up with some sort of solution.
King Dahlmar’s face was lined with worry, probably for his rotten brother. I could at least reassure him about that. “Your brother is fine. He’s with John Creede. John will keep him safe and close by so we can question him and see if he’s involved.” Honestly, I was thinking he was. He was Olga’s father and she’d been in this up to her eyeballs. Yes, she could’ve done it without him. But putting a spawn in his place without advising the king looked awfully fishy, and not just to me. I could tell from Igor’s expression that he was looking forward to spending some quality time with the prince.
Dahlmar’s reaction, however, was relief so pure that his body sagged with it. He loved his family. A lot of them hadn’t deserved it, but he loved them. I felt his pain.
“What do we do about the wedding?” Natasha asked. “It must proceed … but this—” She gestured at the mess we’d made of the vestibule.
She had a point. Suddenly I remembered Adriana’s vision. This was the room. Now was the time.
“Adriana, Dahlmar, kneel back down on the kneelers.”