Page 63 of The Devil in Her Bed
He traced some flare of art on her mask with his fingertip, a tender lion courting a fox.
“Did you know this place has never had a woman in our Triad of leaders? Perhaps it is time that changes.”
“Why select me to lead when I’ve never followed?” she asked. “I’m no devotee of yours.”
“Perhaps that’s exactly why I’m considering you.” He reached out and adjusted her hood, his fingers sliding through her hair.
It took every bit of her will not to shrink from his touch.
“You are bold and worldly enough to lead, but young enough to abide. This council grows stagnant with old men and, to be honest, I’m in need of a physical heir to my earldom, as mine are no longer viable.”
At this, Francesca couldn’t contain an audible gasp. How could he speak of his dead children like that?
“You have a decision to make tonight, Francesca. You could take the first step toward becoming the most powerful countess in the world. Or… the Mont Claire tragedy could be complete.”
Simple enough. Take his offer or die.
Evil men called choices like that freedom, and idiots fell for it.
“What must I do?” she asked.
“You must only watch. And then you must decide.”
Watch who? Decide what?
He turned from her then and motioned to the stags, two of whom parted from their compatriots to open a cavernous set of doors to a dark hallway. An expectant hush fell over the crowd, and Francesca felt certain the entire ballroom could hear the pounding of her heart.
She didn’t know who or what she expected to emerge from the dark hall, but it certainly wasn’t the Lord Chancellor.
Had he escaped from the Secret Service? Or had he been delivered to this dangerous, powerful man by agents from within?
As much as Francesca despised Sir Hubert, she fought a spurt of pity. Not because she’d forgiven him his unforgivable sins, but because he appeared so pitiable. To see the man who held an office arguably as high as the Prime Minister, a man who held power over all the courts of Great Brittan, stripped bare and brought so low was less than palatable.
For an old man, he had the body of a toddler, wobbly and potbellied, wrinkled and dimpled at the joints. He walked without chains, cuffs, or ropes. The stags didn’t touch him; in fact, it appeared that the Lord Chancellor led them to the dais. The Crimson Council parted for him and then closed ranks as he passed, like displaced liquid forming around a sinking ship.
Francesca was both mortified and mystified. Again, she clung to the knife she’d strapped to her arm, waiting for someone to make a move.
It was the Lord Chancellor who spoke first. “As a member of the Triad, I prostrate myself at the will of the wild. It is our way to prey upon the weak. To cast out from our presence one who has failed us absolutely. I have endangered the council, have profaned its precepts, and in doing so I am condemned by the laws of the realm to forfeit my life.”
“What is it you desire?” Kenway asked, his voiceechoing into fractures around the chamber, seeming to come from many directions at once.
“I offer myself in the stead of the sacred seven. I will be the vessel of devotion. The bond that ties our council together. My actions will renew our vow toPredonius Primus.”
Predonius Primus. Francesca searched her knowledge of Latin. The alpha predator.
Kenway turned to the room at large. “The actions of this…” He paused and raked Hubert with a withering glare. “Manrobbed us of our sacrifices. The rite of devotion has always been a sacrifice of innocence. Of blood. On this day, unfortunately, we will only be allowed one of these, as innocence is beyond you. But… you offer something else that will redeem you, Hubert.”
He did? Francesca watched with trapped breath screaming in her lungs. The Lord Chancellor had not one redeeming quality. He’d been a cog in the machine that had caused the Mont Claire Massacre. He’d captured young girls and kept them chained like dogs in the catacombs beneath Cecelia’s estate. He’d perverted justice of the realm during his tenure countless times to serve his causes. His and, it would seem, the Crimson Council’s.
She’d have not lost any sleep if he hanged in the tower.
So why did the thought of watching him die make her feel weak-kneed?
“In lieu of innocence you offer us influence. May your sacrifice be deemed sufficient.”
“May it be so.” Hubert lowered his head, and Kenway put his hand upon it as if he were the pope blessing a supplicant.
Francesca readied herself for the worst. Tensed with a frenzy of thought. Would he stab himself? Commit some sort of seppuku, right here in front of a crowd of onlookers?
