hand, he helped her down from the step
stool the footman had provided, then
began escorting her up the stairs to join
her future husband.
I waited, as I’d been told, until the
bride and her escort were ten steps
ahead. Igor stepped up, his actions a
perfect echo of Gunnar’s, and the two of
us began to make stately progress up the
steps. Ten steps behind us were Lars and
Dahlmar’s brother, Prince Arkady.
Natasha and Sergei took their first steps
just as Gunnar and Adriana reached the
top.
On cue, the entire group turned and
waved. The crowd went wild.
Gunnar stepped aside as Adriana took
Dahlmar’s arm. The cathedral doors
opened of their own accord, thanks to a
little magic. We entered the cathedral in
pairs. As Natasha and her escort crossed
the threshold, the doors swung closed
behind them, muffling the crowd noise; a
moment later, the privacy spells clicked
into place, cutting the sound off
completely as the church became
isolated.
Dahlmar and Adriana had chosen to
keep the betrothal portion of the
ceremony small and private. Even Queen
Lopaka wasn’t present; she was seated
in the nave, in the front pew. That might
have seemed odd to outsiders, but in her
eyes, her daughter was already married.
The ceremony on Serenity had been the
one that mattered to the queen.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust
to the dim lighting, but it was a pleasure
to be inside the church vestibule and out
of the burning sunlight.
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
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 co
rner 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.”
They looked at me as if I were insane.
And not just for breaking protocol by not
using the king’s title.
“Please?”
“What are you thinking, cousin?”
Adriana asked suspiciously.
“This is the place we saw in your
vision in the mirror. If that vision was
accurate,
there’s
a
secret
room
somewhere close at hand. We can hide
the evidence until after you’re safely
married.”
She gave me a doubtful look before
meeting Dahlmar’s eyes. Face set with
grim determination, he strode back to the
kneeler and took his place. Seconds
later, she joined him. She took a breath
and her eyes unfocused for a moment; I
guessed she was recalling the details of
the vision. Then, as she had in that
vision, Adriana reached out to press the
small protuberance at the base of the
kneeler.
With the grinding of stone upon stone,
a door appeared in the far wall, behind
the display of votive candles.
Everyone turned to stare at me in
wide-eyed wonder. Even Igor looked
impressed. Wow. Alrighty then. Trying
not to act too startled that my shot in the
dark had worked, I poked my head into
the secret room. “Gunnar,” Adriana
ordered, “go with her. Let nothing harm
her.”
I waited for Thorsen to join me and
we went through the door, which was
marked with an ornate cross that
matched the one Adriana wore.
It was a small room, not much larger
than a walk-in closet. The walls were
the same white marble of the church
foyer; three of them were lined with
shelves. At the sight of what rested on
those shelves, all I could think was
whoa.
“Impressive,” Thorsen whispered.
Whispering seemed proper, for the
shelves were filled with treasures.
There were paintings, many wrapped in
cloth, others left bare; jewel boxes and
caskets; crowns; gold and silver altar
implements—all
crowded
together
without any kind of order.
Dahlmar started to rise, and I heard
the faint creak of stone. “Um, please
don’t. I don’t want to get trapped in
here.”
He growled in frustration but didn’t
move. “I want to see!”
Remembering
my
quick
history
lessons about Rusland, I answered, “It’s
the missing state treasures, Your
Highness. The ones that disappeared
during the war. I’m guessing that all of
them are here.”
We stepped back out of the room. The
minute we did, King Dahlmar
rose.
Smooth as silk, the cross slid back into
place, concealing the door so perfectly I
would never have guessed there was
anything unusual about the wall. The
craftsmanship was amazing. So was the
concealing magic. As a paranormal
creature, I can usually sense all kinds of
magic, but I’d never have twigged onto
this. Wow. Just, wow.
From the look on his face, King
Dahlmar was about to order someone to
kneel so he could get a look inside the
closet. Before he could say anything,
though, I spoke up.
“Okay,” I said briskly. “I suggest we
put the corpse and Arkad … whoever
the spawn is, in the room until after the
wedding. Um, Lars … would you mind
watching over them? We can’t risk him
getting away.”
Lars gave a brisk nod of agreement.
With Thorsen present, I really wasn’t
sure who was in charge, but everybody
was still looking at me, so I kept talking,
making up a plan as I went along. I said
to Feliks, “If you will go ahead with the
betrothal, I’ll use some of the cloths they
wrapped the paintings in to clean up the
mess as best I can.”
I took a good look at the bride and
groom and realized that they’d both been
spattered with blood when Adriana had
shot Anton. On Dahlmar, it was mostly
invisible—in a few spots the glitter of
his medals was dimmed—but on
Adriana’s lovely gown even a tiny
scattering of red seemed screamingly
bright and obvious. “Oh, there’s blood
on Adriana’s dress.…”
“I have a beauty enhancement charm
left,” Natasha said.
I blinked at her somewhat stupidly.
She was gorgeous, why on earth would
she need—
Sensing my confusion, she explained
as she rummaged in the hidden pocket of
her jacket. “You are both sirens. I am
not. I thought I might need some help in
such company.”
Sergei shook his head, his dark eyes
bright. “You are perfect as you are,
Princess. Then again, you always are.”
I raised an eyebrow at that one, but it
certainly made a favorable impression
on Natasha, judging by her blush. Then
again, maybe he’d known her for years
and was just now speaking up. How
would I know?
“Thank you, Sergei.” Natasha shot
him a smile as she handed the charm
disk to Adriana, who wasted no time
cracking it open. Immediately the stains
on her wedding dress disappeared, as
did the small wrinkles from where she
had been kneeling. The lines of strain