Low Country we could see from our tower windows.
The light of the men’s lanterns had pushed back the darkness only feebly, but I immediately recognized a
broad, looming shadow standing at the end of the corridor, near the stairwell. It took me a few moments to
recognized it as Lord Simon Devereux, and only because my father had given me sufficient warning in
advance to beware the lord and his questionable past and pedigree.
Lord Devereux was an ally of Lord Rothschild’s, a sort of wandering mercenary soldier who fought, it
was said, for money rather than honor. He did not come from these lands, but he had fought beside his
friend Rothschild in many campaigns in the Darklands to the far west. Rothschild now employed him as
Captain of the Guard in the Hall. He carried no lantern, but then, he seemed quite at home in the dark and
probably knew his way around the Hall rather well by now.
He was a large, lean, powerfully-built man at the height of his youth and strength, his jet black hair cut just
a hair too long at his collar to be fashionable and swept somewhat haphazardly away from his face, which
was as sharp as a blade. He looked like a formidable warrior, and his face bore the old, pale scars of his
many campaigns. He had strong cheekbones, winter-pale eyes, and a slight underbite that made me think
of stubborn and ruthless men.
The moment he looked upon me, I felt my heart quicken in my chest. He bore a hunter’s look about him,
wary and always watching, and unlike the evening finery of the servants and footmen who had seen us in,
he wore an oiled oxhide jerkin over a doublet, knee-high equestrian boots with big buckles, and a heavy
cloak, like a man who had only just recently returned from the battlefield. A thick belt crossed his chest
from shoulder to hip, and slotted into the belt were a number of finely forged knives. His cloak, when we
drew close enough for our lantern light to fall upon it, revealed itself to be as dark and sleek as his hair. I
thought it might be forged of wolf fur.
He watched us with those pale, silvery eyes as we approached. He did not move at first, but I sensed a
quivering readiness about him, and his thickly muscled limbs looked poised in a way that made him seem
to want to spring, or perhaps to reach for the dirk at his hip. I imagined he’d made quite a magnificent
warrior in his day.
“Lord Devereux,” my father said congenially as we came upon him. “It’s good to see you again.”
Lord Devereux’s nostrils flared briefly, like an animal sensing a dangerous lie, but then he smirked in
return. Perhaps he knew my father had little use for mercenaries. “Lord Belmont. It’s been too long,” he
said in a low, whispery voice that seemed to rumble from deep within his broad chest.
He and my father exchanged brief, stilted bows before Father put his hands protectively upon my
shoulders and said, “My daughter, Lady Marie.” The tone of his voice indicated that this was a formality
not to his liking and that Devereux was to look but not touch.
Devereux fixed those icy grey eyes on me in challenge and I swallowed against the lurching heart in my
chest that was trying desperately to crawl up into my throat. I wasn’t short by anyone’s standards, but the
man still managed to loom over me in a way that could be construed as either threatening or comforting,
depending on his intentions.
I was certain many men feared Devereux. Still, I had never been the type of girl to be cowed by the boys
of my village and so stood up straighter in the presence of this human wall of a man, throwing my
shoulders back proudly and eyeing him with as much cool indifference as I could muster. Let him see I
had no fear of him, or anyone.
A corner of Devereux’s mouth quirked up as if he were impressed by my gumption. The musky smell of
his black wolf fur cloak made my head swim as he drew close enough to take my hand and brush his
surprisingly warm lips just below my knuckles.
“Lady Marie,” he said, and I noticed for a man who had supposedly lived a mercenary lifestyle (at least
according to my Father) he had beautifully white and powerful-looking teeth. Too often, the men in our
own lands came back from Darkland battles dissipated and ill, with rot upon their skin and teeth and the
horrors of war firmly lodged in their frightened eyes, but Lord Devereux looked positively untouched by
his campaigns.
I was about to ask him about his battles when my Father interrupted. “Marie, would you be good enough
to go up to your quarters now and prepare for dinner?”
I hated the way my father tried to instruct me as if I were a little girl! Was I not the reason we were here
in the first place? It was for my aid that Lord Rothschild had personally requested our presence, not my
father. I stubbornly raised my chin to him. “Actually, I was hoping to meet our host, Lord Rothschild…?”
“I’m afraid Elric is indisposed until nightfall and cannot greet you personally at the moment,” Devereux
interrupted, “which is why he sent me to make certain you are well taken care of.”
I immediately turned to look at him and recognized some form of duplicity in his expression. Not an
outright lie, perhaps, but there was something left unspoken. Call it a gift from my gypsy mother. I could
feel when someone was lying to me in some way. Devereux was lying now.
“I hope his health is well,” my father said, thankfully forgetting my insolence for the moment.
Again that insouciant smirk. It made Devereux looked positively predatory. “He’s quite well, I assure
you. Some business of his he could not delay. I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it at supper.” He indicated
the stairwell with a flourish of one long, thin, sinewy hand. “Now, I’m sure you and your daughter would
like to rest after your long journey. If you will, my lord. My lady.” He bowed graciously.
I gathered my skirts and started up the long spiral stairwell, trying not to shiver or cast a look over one
shoulder. I could feel Devereux’s eyes on my back the whole way!
***
Read an excerpt from Devices & Desires (Blackstone Hall #2) by Madeline Apple:
Chapter I
The first thing I saw was light.
The first thing I heard was a man’s exuberant voice saying, “She’s alive! Franz, come see, she’s alive!”
The light sharpened and took on different forms. I saw darkness and shadow and strange, glistening metal
and glass apparatuses surrounding me where I was lying prone on a gurney.
I was in a laboratory of some sort. I saw test tubes, tesla coils, endless shelves of strange poultices in
dusty bottles on the walls. I heard a dull buzzing noise in my head. Out beyond the walls of the lab, I
heard the dull roar of a storm creeping in.
Soon I recognized two men standing over me. One was tall and broad, middle-aged, with greying hair at
his temples and round glasses. His face was severe but very handsome. The second was short and funnylooking.
I realized the second man must be a dwarf. He smiled at me and I smiled back.
“She can smile, Franz. Look.”