Alexei shook his head gently. «No. Your father alone has both the wealth sufficient to replenish mine and the social rank high enough to bolster my … sadly sagging reputation. And there's a certain lovely justice in my becoming his son‑in-law, don't you agree?» His smile hardened. «Think, girl. We're alone. There's no one to help you. One way or another, Maria, I do mean to have you. One way or another, there will be a wedding.»
She refused to let him see her fear. Unable to meet his gaze, she moved quickly to the room's one window, staring blankly out, mind racing with panic—
Until she noticed the garden below. Soft earth… and it wasn't so far to the ground, not so far at all, and the wall beyond it looked quite scalable… She remembered her younger days, scandalizing the household with her tree climbing…
But then Alexei was at her side, putting his hands possessively on her shoulders, and Maria pulled away, returning to the table.
«There will be no wedding," she said firmly.
«Come, let's be civilized.» Alexei moved smoothly to her side. «You'll have to marry someone. And who's to say the man your father picks won't be old, or ugly, or cruel? I'm still young, and I know you don't find me uncomely, and as your husband, I'll treat you kindly enough. And when I'm your father's son‑in-law," continued Alexei blithely, «why, he'll treat me kindly as well, and we'll all live happily forevermore, just like folk in a minstrel's tale.»
«No! Alexei, this is ridiculous. Let me go. Let me go, and I won't say anything about — "
«Oh no, my dear.»
With that, he lunged at her. Maria didn't wait to learn what he intended. With one quick twist of the wrist, she neatly flipped the contents of her winecup full in his face. Alexei gasped, clawing the stinging wine out of his eyes, but Maria was up and away, out the window before she had a chance to think twice about it, hanging by her hands for an instant, then letting go, falling, landing in a breathless but undamaged heap. Back in the house, Alexei was swearing in a choked voice, but he hadn't called to his guards, not yet—
«Maria!»
It was a horrified gasp. Maria scrambled to her feet to find Vasilissa staring at her, a rather rumpled and red-faced Vasilissa, and with her an equally disconcerted Afron, tall and golden and weak of chin. Maria caught her breath enough to say sharply, «We're leaving. Now.»
«But where—how‑Maria! Wait!» Lissa grabbed her by the arm, whispering frantically, «You can't tell Father where we were!»
Maria glared, jerking her arm free, ready to spit out some furious reply. But the childlike panic she saw in those big eyes made her bite back what she was going to say and mutter instead, «I wasn't planning to.»
«But what on earth are you doing here?» Vasilissa, shaky with relief, was struggling to slide back into proper aristocracy. «Alone, with a man — "
«I wasn't the only one! And this is hardly the time or place for a—a chat!» Maria whirled to the two men at the gates. «Guards! Open those gates! Stand aside!»
It was her father's tone of voice. And it worked. Startled, the guards obeyed. But then they were looking uneasily past her, and Maria spun about to see Alexei, winestains darkening the front of his clothing, anger darkening his pale face. «Good day, my lord," said Maria hastily, and virtually dragged her sister out to safety, praying Alexei wouldn't try to stop them.
But Alexei made not the slightest move to stop them. As Maria and Vasilissa and the sheepish Afron hurried off, Alexei merely stood, as though turned to stone.
«My lord?» It was one of the guards. «My lord, should we go after them?»
«No, you fool! Leave me.»
«But — "
«Leave me!»
The guard bowed, cringing from that cold, cold face, never guessing at the terror lurking behind the frozen facade or twisting at Alexei's bowels.
His creditors; his debts. The debts that now he could never hope to pay… Assuming those creditors let him live long enough to worry about it…
Oh, God!
How could things have gone so wrong? It had seemed such a simple, foolproof plan: frighten the girl, play the gallant rescuer, have her fall about his neck in gratitude… But she'd thrown him off balance right at the start by being so damnably clever about those leather boots— Why hadn't he remembered to warn his men not to wear them?
Yes, but even so, Maria had been weakening beneath his charm; he'd felt it. He should have been able to win her over quickly enough, with pleasure in the winning for both of them; clever creature though she was, she was still only a young woman, innocent in the ways of men. But‑dammit, how could things have gone so wrong?
I had her! I had her, and a way out of this mess, and I let her escape!
So what if the foolish thing had thought she wasn't willing? It would have been so simple, so easy—some quick, rough bed-sport (who knew? she might even have enjoyed it!), a few tears, and the girl would have agreed to wed him. She would have had to wed him, or have the whole city know she'd been ruined.
But he'd underestimated her and her nerve, there it was. He'd let her escape. Now she would go straight to Danilo. And that, realized Alexei in new horror, would be the end of everything.
Danilo again! Alexei bared his teeth in a hating grin, remembering all the years he'd needed to be humble to the man, all the years he'd forced himself to bow beneath that condescending kindness.
Danilo, always in his way. Proud Danilo, honorable Danilo‑Damn the man!
Alexei drew in his breath with a sharp hiss. All right, then. No more playing about. It would have been simpler, safer, to have married Maria, but there was still a way out. In his strongbox were certain letters, forged with care by a scribe who knew how to let himself be bought, and how to stay bought. They had cost Alexei a good deal of gold, those letters. But what price glory? Or his life?
It was a risky plan. It might not work, and failure might well mean his death.
And if he played the noble fool, and did nothing? Why, it was just a matter of which death he preferred: the mercifully swift axe of the headsman—or the clubs and daggers of his creditors: a dark alley, and pain, and himself left broken, to bleed out his life in the filth…
No, he mustn't think of that. He must think only of seeing himself elevated, and Danilo humbled! And old Svyatoslav was such a suspicious sort… Oh, it might work after all. It would work! And when it did, all hail Alexei—and farewell Danilo.
Chapter Ill
The Wolf
Now, what good is it, thought Finist, to have oh-so-wondrous magical gifts if you can't use them to reshape this unwieldly monster of a throne?
It was a splendid thing up here on its high dais, too rich in history for him to dare any tampering. Cut from the trunk of some enormous dead tree about the time of the Pact, the throne had originally been left as plain wood, polished and covered with intricate carvings symbolizing forest, field and magic. But over the generations, changing tastes had seen it plated with gold, then enamelled, then encrusted with so many gems that it fairly blazed with light.
Unfortunately, the original carvers had had a ridiculous idea of royal grandeur, and the throne was for too wide; it was impossible for Finist to reach both armrests at the same time. The thing was also too deep for him to rest his back against its back without his feet dangling foolishly off the floor. And, thought the prince, it was damnably hard on the royal backside, even with a bulwark of cushions. The only way to get comfortable was to sprawl sideways. And that, Finist conceded with an inner grin, would hardly look regal.
At least his discomfort was merely physical. Finist glanced out at his boyars, those supposed «equals among nobles» who, he knew, actually had a stern pecking order in which status depended on their service to him and their ancestors' service to his ancestors. He bit back an impa-tient little sigh at the sight of them in their overstuffed sobriety sitting in neat rows on the benches lining the audience hall. Custom decreed they attend any meeting other than that of the Inner Council, so here they were, all of them looking bored to the point of yawning, yet none having the nerve or spontaneity to simply beg his pardon and leave. Their dullness was incongruous in that great, grandly ornamented halclass="underline" thick stone pillars supported the sweep of its vaulted roof; and ceiling and pillars and walls were rich with color, blazing with paintings of Kirtesk reflected dazzlingly by the polished marble floor.