“This is just a bit too civilized for an entrance from the Underground.”
“Perhapsh. I must say it’s shmuch… much better than how I first arrived here. Through a crypt, no less.”
The door suddenly swung open and a liveried footman bowed to them, showing no surprise at welcoming a panther, sprite, and sword-wielding knight. “Lady Millicent and company? We have been expecting you. Please follow me.” And he turned smartly on his heel.
Gareth had not felt odd within the Underground, but as they passed through a cellar, up the stairs, and into an elegant hall, he imagined they made an unusual group within the fine trappings of this home. Magic permeated the walls, with enormous paintings of sparkling lakes that rippled beneath a golden sun, where birds flew in a cloudless sky and fish jumped above the waves. Chandeliers of crystal beads wrought in the shape of teardrops created a glittering rainfall above them, and the mosaic floors beneath their feet shimmered with designs of silver minnows racing like lightning.
The footman halted halfway down the hall, threw open a pair of gilt double doors, and bowed them through.
A lady stood within a parlor, which was covered in shelving from wall to ceiling. So many different objects sat upon each shelf that Gareth could not make sense of the vision they created as a whole. He would have happily studied each in turn, from odd-shaped seashells to clear paperweights with moving figures inside, if the lady herself had not commanded his attention.
She wore a loose evening gown of soft pinks, the material floating around her as if she stood in a mild breeze. With tousled black hair, thin red lips, and an extraordinarily long, hooked nose, the lady was more striking than beautiful. Gareth bowed, and she nodded at him.
“I apologize,” she said, her voice so at odds with her serene appearance that Gareth started. She punctuated each word with a soft honking noise. “I just had to meet these friends of Bran’s… you are quite lovely, my dear.”
She spoke to Millicent, who responded by sitting on her haunches and licking one black paw. Gareth’s hope that she would shift back to human out of politeness faded. He stepped forward. “Sir Gareth Solimere, at your service, my lady. My companions; Ambrose the sprite, and Lady Millicent.”
“Lady Roseus, good sir,” she replied. “I thank you for allowing me to satisfy my curiosity about my guests.” She glanced at Millicent, who responded by switching to lick her other paw. “My man will see you to a guest room, where I have laid out several gowns for Lady Millicent to choose from. They are all visiting gowns, since I understand she is to venture out tomorrow to pay a call on a friend of hers…?”
Gareth nodded, unwilling to satisfy the lady’s curiosity to the extent of telling her the name of Millicent’s friend.
Lady Roseus honked a yawn and quickly covered her mouth. “Please excuse me. I am not used to such late-night visits. But know that you are welcome here, and should you have need of anything, my staff is at your disposal.”
“You are most gracious, my lady.”
Millicent spun and padded out the door, Gareth following a bit more slowly. He turned and looked up at Ambrose, who hovered near his shoulder. “You should return to Bran and let him know we arrived safely, and all is well.”
Ambrose wobbled in the air. “But… but Lady Millicent might have need of me…”
“Go.”
The sprite threw a glance at Millicent, who flicked her tail but otherwise ignored him, following the footman up the stairs. Ambrose grunted sadly and then whizzed away, heading back the way they’d come. With a gratified sigh that the little man had left without much of a fuss, Gareth hurried up the stairs to catch up to Millicent, his frown increasing with every step he took.
By the time they reached the guest bedroom, Gareth wore a scowl.
The room had been decorated like the rest of the home, the walls painted with magical lakes fading to clear shallows. But a starlit sky glittered above these waters, and the floors had been crafted with carpets in flecks of brown and cream, with tiny bits of sparkling stone spread throughout, so the entire room appeared to be a sandy shore. An occasional swell of water would flow from the walls to lap over the floors at the edges of the room. A low bed sat in the center of the space, a canopy of bushy silklike fronds covering the top, one small window beside it.
“Ring if you need anything, sir,” said the footman before closing the door firmly behind him.
Millicent sniffed the room, then settled on the bed, her nose on her paws, her eyes closed.
“I know what you’re doing,” said Gareth, leaning against the closed door.
The panther sighed.
“You’re staying in your were-shape to avoid speaking to me.”
He thought he detected a twitch of Millicent’s lip.
“You were incredibly rude to Lady Roseus.” He stepped over to a wicker chair, several gowns laid over the top. “And look how generous she’s been.” Gareth suddenly had an alarming thought. Perhaps Millicent cared for Bran more than he had imagined… surely not. But he prodded anyway. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of her?”
At least his question had the desired effect of shifting Millicent back to human. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s a flamingo.”
Ah. That explained a few things about Lady Roseus, including her unusual decor. “So?”
“I am a panther.” She sniffed. “In the hierarchy of shape-shifters, we do not compare.”
Gareth stepped over to the bed, sat down beside her on top of a coverlet embroidered with flowering rushes. “Why are you avoiding speaking to me? I know what you must be feeling… do you still blame me for Nell’s death?”
“No. I… I am sorry for blaming you. It was unfair of me.” Millicent rose and stood facing the wall, a long stretch of indigo water with a night sky above, the twinkling of the stars reflected in the gentle waves.
Gareth rose and stood behind her, breathing in the scent of her hair. How did she always manage to smell like a grassy meadow? “You were overwhelmed by grief. And I do not think you are done with it.”
Millicent firmed her mouth. “I will be when I expose Ghoulston.”
Gareth laid a gentle hand on her arm. “My lady, do you still mistrust me so?”
“What do you mean?”
“I can see the grief in your eyes, in your face. You do not have to keep up your guard with me. Allow me to help.”
She took a deep breath. “This is why I did not want to speak with you. You will not let it be… I wish I was still angry at you. It would make things easier.” She turned, staring up at his face, her own features lined with a deep sadness. “What do you want me to do? Cry and tear out my hair? That won’t bring Nell back.”
Gareth thought his imaginary knuckles would be bloody by the time he finished pounding at the wall around her heart. “No. But acknowledging your grief might make her loss easier to bear.”
“I haven’t cried since… since my mother died. And it did me little good then.”
He understood. She had been broken too long. But it was time for her to heal. “I love you, Millicent. I vow I will never leave you. Ever.”
Her eyes suddenly welled with tears. “Damn you, Gareth.”
He folded his arms around her. Her forehead collapsed against his shoulder, and she began to shake.
“Bloody hell,” she sobbed. And then she spoke no more for a very long time, until she had soaked his tunic, and quit trembling.
Gareth spoke to her the while, nonsense words of comfort and love. His lady cried so quietly that he would not have known it but for the wetness of his tunic.
She finally looked up at him, her eyes rimmed with red, irises glistening an amber color in the starlight. “I feel… drained, now. Empty. Make love to me, Gareth. Fill me with your goodness.”