Ilona Andrews - Fate's Edge

“And the Vikings?”

“They aren’t Vikings. They are the veekings. They’re pagan, they own Canada, and they live to kill. You’re looking at thirteen hundred years of martial tradition, forged by a religion that tells you if you die in battle, your afterlife will be glorious. Their blades are magically augmented. They’re a problem in a fight, especially if there is more than one.”

Kaldar turned and lost his train of thought.

He had forgotten about the green dress. A beautiful moss green, the gown hugged Audrey, sliding over her curves like water. Elegant, pleated at the bottom, the dress was cinched by a length of pleated fabric that wrapped around Audrey’s waist, sliding diagonally from right to left, supporting her breasts, twisting at the neckline, and flaring up to clasp her left shoulder. She’d curled her hair and lifted the golden red mass up and away from her face, leaving her neck bare. She looked . . .

She looked . . .

“Earth to Kaldar,” Audrey hissed.

A knock sounded throughout the cabin.

“Hide in the tulip trunk, love,” he whispered.

She moved toward the back of the cabin, melting into the shadows. A moment later, the latch on the trunk’s lid closed.

Kaldar nodded. Gaston swung the door open and leveled a short-range repeating crossbow at the closest veeking. The seven-and-a-half-foot-tall man sized Gaston up. Gaston bared his teeth.

“Invitation,” the giant man said.

Kaldar passed the rolled-up scroll over. The veeking looked at it for a moment. “Who should we announce?”

“You shouldn’t,” Kaldar said. “But when your master asks, you should quietly tell him that George and Jack Camarine are here, requesting a short respite from their journey. They’re accompanied by Master Olivier Brossard, their tutor, and a groom.”

The veeking peered at them. “Morell de Braose extends his hospitality. You are welcome to the main keep. A kareta will be sent for you and your belongings.”

“Splendid,” Kaldar said.

Five minutes later, a kareta drew up parallel with the wyvern. Sleek and aerodynamic, the vehicle resembled a small bullet train, with its ornate sides painted bright turquoise. The door swung open, and the operator, a slight dark-haired woman, stepped out. The back and side doors popped open, rising up like the wings of an insect, revealing eight comfortable seats inside and a space for the baggage, segregated by a folding wall.

Gaston proceeded to load their trunks, making sure the tulip trunk went in to the side with plenty of room. Kaldar paused by the kareta with a slight bow. George emerged from the cabin, looking slightly inconvenienced, and proceeded into the vehicle. Jack followed. The younger boy had the most priceless expression on his face: halfway between boredom and apathy. Perfect.

“Secure the wyvern,” Kaldar told Gaston. “Be sure to join us before dinner. I have some instructions.”

Gaston inclined his head.

Kaldar took his seat by the exit. The doors descended, the driver climbed into the front, separated from them by a sliding panel of metal mesh, and the kareta was off.

Kaldar cleared his throat. A moment later, the folding wall slid aside soundlessly, and Audrey took a seat next to him. He reached over and carefully adjusted her hair, sliding a large ornate barrette into it.

She looked at him.

“Transmitter,” he mouthed, and tapped the small square of silver clasping the edge of his ear.

The kareta carried them over the bridge, under two barbicans, and into the bailey. The doors opened. Kaldar stepped out and extended his hand, with a bow. Audrey put her fingers into his and carefully exited. The driver blinked.

“Thank you for the ride, Master Brossard.”

“My pleasure, my lady.”

The boys emerged.

“This is the place?” George raised his eyebrows.

Jack shrugged. “I’ve seen better.”

“Manners, children.” Kaldar held out a quarter crown to the driver. The woman decided to stop puzzling over Audrey’s sudden materialization and took the money.

A man emerged from the double doors of the keep. Impeccably dressed, old, and grizzled, he paused before them and bowed. Precisely the kind of butler an old blueblood family would hire, Kaldar reflected. Morell de Braose was very concerned with appearances.

The butler straightened. “My lords, my lady. Please follow me.”

HE had lost his mind, Audrey decided, moving next to Kaldar at a leisurely pace as they followed the old man through a corridor. The polished green granite floor shone like a mirror. The wall alcoves displayed statues and paintings. She had no time to look closely at them, but she bet they were originals.

She barely had enough Weird knowledge to pass on the street without drawing attention to herself. Navigating the Weird’s crème of society was way beyond her comfort zone. No doubt Kaldar had another brilliant and idiotic plan, and she couldn’t even ask him about it because they would be overheard.

She wanted to push him into one of those little alcoves and punch him. Not that it would do any good, since he was apparently a lethal weapon in disguise.

They entered a vast hall. The floor was white marble, the walls tastefully decorated with living plants in white vases. Here and there, clumps of ornate furniture provided little sitting areas. Two dozen people occupied the room. At the far left, a group of young men, obviously bluebloods or hoping to be mistaken for them, discussed something with great passion. A few feet farther, a beautiful dark-haired woman listened to a young man reading her something from a book. The young man wore glasses and peppered his reading with significant pauses. More to the right, a man and a woman in their forties played some sort of board game. Two other men, one blond and one dark-haired, nursed wineglasses. The dark-haired man turned toward them. A slight change came over his face, his features somehow growing sharper. He stared at them with unnerving predatory focus, as if he were imagining breaking their necks. It was like looking into the eyes of a wolf in the forest.

Good Lord.

The man held Kaldar’s gaze. Kaldar smiled at him.

The man turned away.

Audrey exhaled.

“What a handsome, friendly fellow,” Kaldar murmured.

Handsome, yes—if you liked menacing and dark; friendly, no.

On the far right, seated on a congenial grouping of plush chairs, three women discussed something with frequent gasps. Right, the younger men and the loud women were window dressing. The real players occupied the center of the room. Those four looked like cutthroats.

The boys smoothly moved to the left, migrating toward the group of younger men. Kaldar led her to the left as well, and murmured, “Please go to that dark-haired woman next to the kid with the book and tell her, ‘Aunt Murid sends her regards.’”

AUDREY let go off Kaldar’s hand and started across the floor. Jack turned to see where she was going. Ice shot through him. At the far wall, next to some man with a book, stood Cerise.

His gaze swept the room, and he saw William giving him a death stare from the castles-and-knights board game spread out on the table.

George saw Cerise too and stopped dead in his tracks.

Kaldar turned, hiding the left side of his body, and gently pushed him forward with his left hand. “Keep moving.”

Jack found his words. “But that’s—”

“Keep moving.”

“We’re dead,” George said. “We’re so dead.”

They continued to drift.

DO I curtsy or do I not curtsy? Do I bow?

She would murder Kaldar for this.

On the right, a younger woman joined the giggling gaspers on the chairs with a short curtsy. Okay. Curtsy it is.

Audrey put on a bright smile and curtsied before the dark-haired woman. “My lady?”