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Rogue stood and drew me up with him, his fingers brushing over the diamond on my hand like a talisman.
He spoke words of welcome and general hospitality that sounded likeblah blah blahto me. A nonsense political speech. Everyone smiled at me, particularly the brainless lady, her bright bird’s eyes fastened on me with unwavering attention. Unsettled, I clung to Rogue’s hand, as if that might stop a kidnapper from grabbing me.
Then everyone stood and cheered, startling me. Rogue gave me a warning look, which made me think that I wasn’t behaving appropriately, so I forced a smile.
“To the dancing!” Rogue proclaimed.
If I’d hoped to lag back, whisper my concerns in his ear—no such freaking luck. Servants pulled apart the table in front of us and we stepped from the raised platform and down some steps, leading the way to the ballroom through a narrow aisle of congratulatory faces that made my head swim.
“I have to talk to you.” I hissed the whisper at Rogue.
He patted my hand on his arm and stepped into the ballroom. “Later,” he said. “Not now. Not here.”
“But I—”
“Have a care, my Gwynn. I do not say this lightly.” With a gracious demeanor that belied his curt tone, he led me to the center of the ballroom. Apparently we would lead off the dancing. From where we stood, the mosaic tile floor radiated in a spiral, like the start of the yellow brick road, only crimson. It spun all the way to the walls, also circular and entirely paneled with mirrors. I’d never been in this room, having been drugged and carried off for torture before the dancing started last time. Not that I was bitter.
Okay, I was bitter and I really needed to let go of that stuff.
“Thank Titania,” Rogue commented in a dry tone.
So he was happy enough to listen in on that thought? Excellent. I pictured the spy and—
“Stop.” He wrapped his arm around my waist and gripped my right hand in his, levering me up enough that I stood on tiptoes, my heart skipping in alarm at the warning in his eyes. “Dance only.”
The music flared into life and Rogue swept me into a whirling waltz that took all my attention to keep up with. Not that I had any choice. No surprise, but Rogue led with irresistible certainty, making following a foregone conclusion. Probably he would have picked me up and carried me along if I resisted.
The headiness of it took me over, allaying my fears for a small space of time. He held me so tight that no one could separate us. The 3/4 waltz rhythm synced with his heartbeat and that of the life inside me, soothing me further. Rogue’s flare of anger subsided into intense regard, his blazing blue eyes intent on my face, ignoring all else as we danced in widening circles.
We were tracing the path of the spiral, I realized. Like following a meditation path, only via the flowing dance Rogue was waltzing us through. As we neared the mirrored walls, I glimpsed our reflection in the gaps between the assembled guests.
With a bolt of renewed alarm, I saw myself multiplied tens, if not hundreds, of times. It seemed a terrible omen.
We finished the dance and, in what should have been a heart-wrenchingly romantic gesture, had I not been worried out of my mind, Rogue dipped me over his arm and kissed me thoroughly, to the delighted applause of the assembly. I clung to his neck, tempted to spring a claw, just to get his damn attention.
“Don’t do it,” he said against my mouth. “One or two more dances and we can politely retire. Then you can share what concerns you so much.”
“Don’t let me out of your sight,” I urged him.
“Never,” he promised and brought me upright. “Besides, you are safe inside the castle. If that weren’t the case, I would never have left you alone this afternoon. There’s a reason we have it locked up and with a full guard on alert.”
Except for sleeper spies and people like Fafnir. What shape had he taken, to creep through the chinks? The guests surged around us, congratulating and making polite noises, then taking to the dance floor themselves.
“Lord Rogue. Lady Sorceress.” Fafnir appeared at my elbow, as if I’d called his name, bowing with his characteristic gravity. “Seeing you dance together did my old heart good. I greatly hope, Rogue, that you forgive my dancing with your lady during yourabsence.” He put a light flourish on the final word, making it clear he knew as well as we did where Rogue had been.
“I understand there’s nothing to forgive,” Rogue replied, absently, as if far more interested in the dancers, his frivolous mask in place. “What is one dance?” He waved a hand. “Nothing.”
“I believe we danced several, but true nevertheless. Compared to having your lady for life.” Fafnir’s gaze rested on me and I had to clear my face of the reflexive wince at him needling Rogue. He might have been seeing long-dead Cecily, the way his gaze grew melancholy. “In that case, Lady Sorceress, will you pity me and dance with me once more?”
“Oh, I couldn—”
Rogue squeezed my hand—I really began to miss my claws, and somewhere deep inside me the cat purr-growled in agreement—reminding me that the whole diplomatic-incident thing still applied. “Go and enjoy yourself, my lady.” Rogue laid my hand in Fafnir’s, smiling at the man with clear challenge. “I shall keep a close eye on you from here.”
As Fafnir pulled me into the crowd of dancers, into the center of the spinning reflections, the fractured images of my hundred selves kaleidoscoped through my mind.
Asking Rogue to watch for me had been a dire mistake.
Chapter 14
