The Traveler: Bella's Tale

Chapter Three



Stunning in an ebony velvet gown of a bygone era, complete with panniers and an elaborately embroidered underskirt of white satin, Bella was a sight to behold.  Her blue-black curls were pulled back in a simple knot, while her heartbreakingly beautiful features were half-hidden by her velvet and pearl mask that was a perfect reflection of her true face.  A pair of wide, fragile dragon wings gracefully flared out from her back, their opalescent hue shimmering softly in the candlelight.  The contrast between the stark, simple velvet of her gown and the soft, bejeweled underskirt were perfect.  For the first time Bella was showing the ton her true identity.  She kept nothing back, her petite frame reduced to lithe muscle and slender strength since her illness, an air of fragility still hovering about her. 

The costume had been one of her few extravagances since her come out three seasons previously.  It had originally been commissioned for the Duke of Afton’s masquerade ball in the spring of 1812, which was to culminate the week long houseparty that had proven to be disastrous.  Before her aborted relationship with Tristan and his subsequent departure for Europe, it had been widely assumed that the two would make a match of it; many had expected the announcement of their betrothal to be made at that ball.  Bella herself had believed the same thing until she had played the fool and panicked, fleeing from Tristan merely because he touched her.  She had fought tooth and nail since that day to gain control of the demons that tormented her; now after months of agonizing work she had unmasked them and was ready to face them down.

Tonight was her first foray into the world that had been hunting her since her ruptured romance and withdrawal from society.  Already the whispers were beginning; numerous peers and ladies were abuzz with curiosity about the ebony and silk dragon lady.  No one seemed to recognize the petite young lady with the quiet, yet disturbing grace.  Although she politely acknowledged those around her, she seemed on edge, waiting for someone.  Several of the tons’ most elusive bachelors sought to claim her hand for the first waltz, but she turned them all away, silver eyes ablaze with an ancient fire.

The hum of conversation flitted around her like a gentle summer breeze as the defeated peers moved away.  None had missed the telltale flash of her incredible eyes.  No one spoke her name aloud, but the moniker coined by the very same gentlemen she turned away was suddenly on everyone’s tongue.  “The Mirror Spirit.”

Eyes widened and turned in Bella’s direction as the first notes of opening waltz began.  The Darkkin Lady merely smiled softly, setting her wings a quiver as she moved deeper into the shadows of the alcove.  However, she didn’t get very far as her wrist was seized in a firm but gentle hold.  There was no way she could pull her hand free of the stranger’s grasp without causing a scene; she yielded to the guiding pressure of the hand and soon found herself swept into the polished dance floor of the Bellewolf House ballroom.  She glided into the dance with her captor with the inborn grace of their kind.

Taken by surprise, she took several precious moments to assess her partner, who had managed to elude even her keen senses.  His smile was darkkin, clever and triumphant as he looked down at her, his unique golden eyes bright with silent laughter.  The hand gripping her narrow waist was strong and tanned; the other clasping her hand bore a familiar ring.  It was one of the eight she knew about.  Knowing that she was in the hands of one of the Gregorian members made her release the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.  She heard her mysterious partner chuckle into her curls as she seized a lungful of air.

“I was wondering when you were going to remember to do that,” he said with a laugh.  “The last thing I need is Tristan trying to rip my throat out if you fainted on me.”

Bella’s smile was dark as she tilted her head back to look at him.  He was by far the tallest and physically the most powerful of the Gregorian members she had encountered.  He topped Andrew’s six feet four inches by nearly two inches, with shoulders every bit as broad.  Long muscular legs and lean hips brushed against her wide skirts as he whirled her across the floor.  With her diminutive five foot height paired with his six feet six, Bella knew they must look odd, rather like a bear dancing with a pixie.  The comparison tickled her sense of humor, which finally got the better of her.  She laughed.

Her partner’s smile deepened.  “That’s better; it makes it easy to see why Tristan is so taken with you.”

Bella lowered her dark lashes, hiding her eyes as she finally spoke.  “You seem to know a lot about Tristan, but I still don’t know who you are, other than a member of the Assemblage.  Would you care to enlighten me?”

The highway man, which was his costume, flushed guiltily.  “I apologize, my lady, my wits have gone awandering, having secured a dance with the elusive Mirror Spirit.  My mother will surely take me to task should she discover my appalling lack of manners.”

Bella heard the whisper of true affection in his voice at the mention of his mother, but she still had to prod him.  “We both already know your manners are horrendous, so for propriety’s sake what is your name?”

His smile turned slightly smug at the slight bite in her tone.  “I’m glad to see the kitten has claws.  Tristan has been too autocratic for far too long.  You’ll give him a run for his money that he deserves, but enough about my bullheaded cousin.  Captain Lord Marcus Richard Symington Blackburn, Earl of Blackburn at your service.”  His black queue, tied neatly with a narrow green ribbon, swung back and forth as he bowed his head in introduction.  It was prefect with his costume as a highwayman.

With his teasing smile still flashing above her dark curls it was his turn to prod.  “Now you know my name and connection to Tristan, but I still don’t have a name to stick to you other than the Mirror Spirit.” 

Bella’s pale cheeks turned bright pink.  “Lady Isabella Miri Moncreiffe, my lord.”

“Just as I thought,” he replied, “but since I hope we will soon be more than just casual acquaintances, please, call me Marc.  When people address my as ‘my lord’ I start looking around for my father.  He’s been dead for nearly five years, but I’ve been deployed with the Light Dragoons for the last decade and have yet to adjust to civilian life.”

At the mention of the Light Dragoons recognition flared as Bella lowered the shields she had thrown up to cloak her Darkkin abilities from unfriendly eyes, she knew would be attending this gathering as a matter of principle, simply because of their connections.  Lady Angelica Sinclair was just one such example.  Her eyes flashed in the candlelight.  “You’re the fifth.  You were the one with Tristan in France and across Spain.”

Shock rippled across Marc’s angular features at her sudden statement.  His brows furrowed in consternation.  “How the devil did you find out about that?”

It was now Bella’s turn to reveal her Darkkin smile.  “A mere touch is all it takes; you’re spirit pulse is well cloaked but to the senses of a Keshilii there is no hiding the truth.  You are one of us, you are Taboo.”

Marc’s brow cleared as he looked down at the faerie child in his arms.  “You’re one of them yourself, aren’t you?”

Bella nodded.  Marc pressed.  “Which?”

Bella’s voice was little more than a whisper.  “The Traveler.”

Marc laughed out loud, a huge grin splitting his handsome face.  “How perfectly fitting, Tristan the bona fide bookworm fell headlong for the most dangerous of the Ladies.”

Lady Isabella lifted her brilliant silver eyes and glowered at him.  “If you know so much about Tristan and me then why did you even bother to trap me into this dance?”

Marc’s massive grin did the impossible; it widened even more.  “To fan the flames, my Lady, to fan the flames.”  Now it was Bella’s turn to smile.

She was just selfish enough to find pleasure in tweaking Tristan’s nose for his idiotic behavior three years prior.  “If that’s the case, you have my full permission to carry on.  Not only that, but it will appease Freddie and Andrew, who have become convinced I’ll die a spinster.  Are you game to prove them wrong?”

Marc’s outrageous grin now stretched ear to ear as he tightened his clasp on Bella’s fingers and swept her along with the billowing notes of the waltz.  All heads, save one, lifted and turned in the direction of the dragon princess and the highwayman.  They seemed part of a separate world lesser mortals could never fathom as conversation ceased and the music took over.  Bella’s skirts swirled about her as Marc put her through her paces; his eyes alight with laughter, knowing if Tristan were actually paying attention his temper would be sorely tried.  Instead his cousin was lost in a world of his own memories, definitely not what Marc had in mind when he had captured the little dragon queen.

As they moved to the lilting strains of the violin, Marc briefly set aside his plans to set his spurs to his cousin and for the first time in more than a decade let himself enjoy the simple pleasure of dancing with a talented and willing partner.  The look of peace on her face was well worth the efforts he had taken to conceal his presence from her and the other Darkkin.  It was easy to see why Tristan had fallen so hard after a single touch, much less a dance.  Anyone who held this angel in their arms would have to be among the happiest on earth.  For all her black gown and raven hair, she was an embodiment of joy.

Shadows clung to her a cloak, but her inner fire burned more brightly than the heaviest black velvet, shining through the darkness.  For the first time since Almack’s, Bella’s shields dropped and her smile illuminated the room.  Friends and relatives who had seen her, the shrouded wraith child, just days before couldn’t believe their eyes as they watched her whirled by in the arms of the highwayman.  All eyes, young and old alike, followed her path across floor as a silent cheer went up among the Darkkin; a Lady had found her wings and had just issued a blatant challenge to her Gregorian counterpart.  The members of the Assemblage now waited with bated breath to see if he would accept the gambit.

As swiftly as it had begun, the last lilting visages of the waltz faded as the musicians drew their piece to a close.  The change in the atmosphere was palpable to those belonging to the world of the Darkkin and their ilk.  A fire that had been banked and dormant had finally stirred to life again.  Waves of tightly reigned passion, wild flight, and steely determination were rolling across the ballroom, buffeting the spectators of the ton.  Most attributed the charged air to the copious amounts of champagne and wines being consumed, but there were those who knew better and still others who hadn’t sensed the trilling pulses.  It was this one member of the Darkkin tribe who was nearly knocked flat by the force of electrified atmosphere when he finally recalled his wandering mind.  His current partner, Lady Katherine, merely smiled as she watched him disappear through the throng in search of her brother and best friend.

The soft song that had lulled Tristan to sleep every night since his ill-fated flight to the Continent seemed to be echoing through his skull with a frightening intensity.  The simply melody line had increased in tempo and power and hitherto unexplored dimension of the achingly beautiful piece revealed themselves to him as he scanned the ballroom for Freddie and Andrew.  The song was no longer that of Bella’s lullaby, but that of a Darkkin Lady at the height of her power; it was a song of challenge and battle.  Her song, however, wasn’t the only one of the Darkkin sliding across his mind; there was another one, much deeper and more weighted than hers.  It was one he knew almost as well as his own.  His cousin was here, within very close proximity of her.  Jealousy stirred and his dark side bared fang.  No other male had come close to her since the Court, but now they were encroaching from all sides.  Her shields were down.

A black cloud descended across his brow as his hooded, glacial gaze sharpened.  He caught sight of Freddie and Andrew deep in conversation, both fittingly dressed as a pair of Greek gods.  The two stood well above the heads of the other members of the ton, making them fairly easy to find in any crowd, and for the first time in his life, Tristan found himself giving thanks for his relatively normal height.  It made it relatively simple for him to blend in with the well dressed merrymakers around him.  His fire bright hair was concealed beneath his elaborate mask and rich court dress of the previous century.  All black satin and bleached linen, he was a sight to behold.  He was dressed as a member of the Gregorian; a costume so obvious most wouldn’t be able to see the forest through the trees.

He cast a parting glance over the milling guests to see if he could spot the object of his obsession.  He caught sight of a faint glimmer of pearl and silver at the far end of the ballroom.  The shining points quivering gently as their owner passed through the crowd.  Tristan allowed himself a slight smile.  Bella’s wings.  The smile quickly became a scowl as he spotted the tall, elegant highwayman trailing in her wake, his cousin Marc.  He fought back the urge to storm across the room, plant his jovial cousin a facer, and forcibly remove Bella from all other gentlemen of the ton, who suddenly seemed to be clamoring for her attention.  The beast in him was telling him to grab her and run, the consequences be damned.  He tamped down the thought and put a stranglehold on his unruly emotions.  Now was neither the time nor the place to lose control.  He would speak with his friends and then secure his waltz with Bella.  Knowing Kitty and Bellewolf, the viscount knew there was bound to be at least three more waltzes over the course of the evening.  One was sure to be the supper dance.

Knowing that she would be safe with Marc for the time being, Tristan put a stranglehold on his rioting emotions and made his way to the small circle of elderly Assemblage members gathered around the Duke of Afton and the Marquis of Bellewolf.  Conversation ceased abruptly as he merged effortlessly with the group.  Several of the matrons glared at him, while their husbands scowled.  They all knew he had fled to the Continent in a jealous rage leaving a broken hearted child in his wake.  He would have to work hard if he were to redeem himself in the eyes of the ton.  Even his great uncle, the one relative other than his paternal aunt, the Dowager Countess of Taverton, of whom he was genuinely fond, pinned him with a lethal stare. 

The aged Lord Breckenridge, Marquis of Fleehedge rose from his chair and drew himself up to his full height of two inches over six feet.  Towering above his heir and favorite, he didn’t even bother with a greeting before he bit into the younger man.  “She’s issued challenge, Tristan, yet here you stand letting her wander off alone.  Have your wits gone abegging?”

Tristan’s attempt to smile came out as a snarl.  “She isn’t alone; my offish cousin is trailing after her like some lovesick puppy.”  Grizzled old Talon, lounging at the Marquis’s feet, growled at the comment.

Breckenridge’s shrewd gaze glinted.  He knew right were the chinks in Tristan’s armor lay, and like Marc, wasn’t afraid to exploit them.  Over the course of the last three years, little Bella Moncreiffe had come to mean a lot to him.  Both had a shared past of shadows, hidden secrets, and Tristan.  They found solace in each others’ company and several shared interests, their mutual love of music and Darkkin lore.  Within the depths of the old lord’s library the Marquis kept his silent vigil over his petite charge, giving Bella’s bruised heart a chance to heal while she came to grips with her destiny and Tristan’s tenacious determination to remain abroad.

“Three years, you’ve been gallivanting about, tweaking Boney’s nose after breaking that child’s heart and first thing you do is come in with that wretched creature hanging on your arm.”  Breckenridge’s gaze strayed to the corner where the stonily beautiful Angelica Sinclair was holding court.  “You’re lucky the Ladies didn’t rip you from the sky and shred your wings as soon as you reached these shores.  It’s what you deserve for what you did to her, Tristan, as well you know.”

Tristan didn’t even attempt to refute his uncle, his anguish written in his face.  “I know I played the martyred fool and the coil I’m currently in is that of my own making, but I want to make this abundantly clear to everyone of you gathered here.”

In a muted whisper he continued.  “I will not let her go without a fight; I will meet all who challenge me, bloodsong, tooth, and talon.  Be warned.”

Andrew and Freddie had the gall to look both offended and smug.  Freddie’s mobile brows rose in disbelief.  “I hope you’ve informed Bella of your decision, you unmitigated chawbacon.  You’ve avoided her like the plague for the last three years; now you come marching back in expecting to pick up the pieces and pretend everything is right with the world.  I don’t know if you’ve addled your senses or if you’re skull is just that thick, but the air around us is virtually aquiver with her song and the challenge she’s issued.  The power radiating from her tonight is enough to cloak the presence of the entire tribe.  She’s through waiting, my friend.  She has found her talons and teeth.  You’re in for the fight of your life if you’re going to get her back.”

For the briefest moment Tristan lowered his guard and allowed his friend to get a glimpse of the feral golden eyes of the beast clamoring for release.  “My senses are not addled, Afton, they’re burning hot.  Her song and scent are like the intoxicating call of the gems in my blood and brain.  I know she is done waiting.  It was her song that brought me back.  She has issued a challenge to the entire tribe and I intend to answer it.”  The marble floor beneath them trembled slightly as he spoke.

Andrew set a placating hand on his friend’s shoulder and murmured.  “Calm down, Ettlesworth.  We don’t need to alert the world to the fact that we have control of the elements.  Afton was merely attempting to braise you for being such a nodcock, but he does bring several valid points to light.  The least of which being the fact that you nearly destroyed Bella, heart and soul, when you ran out on her; now you have an entanglement of another sort.”

Tristan’s rage was barely leashed as he fixed his liquid amber eyes on the statuesque figure of Angelica Sinclair.  “That’s what I need to talk to you about.  I need to find a way out of the trap she sprung on me at the Court, and I’ll need your help to get out of it with my honor intact.”

The Marquis of Bellewolf cast a wary glance about the room to see if anyone had overheard their heated conversation.  No one was paying them the least bit of attention; the well dressed throng was too busy with Bella at the moment, including two of the most notorious rakes in the ton, the Ravenhurst twins.  Andrew’s hackles went up as he watched them circle his ward, trying to get close.  “This is neither the time nor the place.  Meet me in my study on the third floor in ten minutes.”

Tristan’s scowled deepened, not possessing his friends’ height he couldn’t see over the sea of heads surrounding him.  “What’s going on?”

Freddie now turned his attention to the pair of brothers dressed as ravens, the harbingers of death trailing in Bella’s wake.  His usually open and happy features clouded.  “Let’s just say we have several pairs of unfriendly eyes in our midst.”

Understanding dawned in Tristan’s smoldering eyes.  “We wouldn’t want to deprive the ladies of such esteemed company at once.”

Freddie’s face now resembled a thundercloud as he followed the silver and pearl tips of the dragon princess’s wings through the crowd.  “What about Bella?”

Tristan froze at the sudden question, bristling, his dark side barely contained.  “What about her?”

Andrew flicked Freddie upside the head.  “Both of you calm down.  Marcus is with her so she can’t get into too much trouble.”

Both Freddie and Tristan stared at Andrew as if he had sprouted a second head.  In unison they burst out, “This is Bella we’re talking about.”  Their reasons for their outbursts, however, were their own, Tristan from his past experiences with her and Freddie from mounting suspicions.

Andrew’s lethal smile flashed briefly in the candlelight.  “We can’t keep treating her like she’s made from spun glass.  She has to learn to fight her own battles sometime and tonight she seems more than ready; she’s issued a challenge to every man here, her teeth and talons have been bared.  That pair of preening louts won’t get very far.”  His smile shifted from feral to rueful.  “If I know Bella, her rapier edged tongue will slice them down to size in record time.”

Both Freddie and Tristan laughed at the sally before Afton broke in with a grin.  “You should know Andrew; she’s honed it on your leathery hide often enough.”

The elegant Marquis of Bellewolf actually blushed beneath his friend’s ribbing.  “Enough.  Both of you.  Go mingle and find a way out of the ballroom.  We don’t have a lot of time if this is going to work.”  Neither the viscount or the duke needed any further urging. 

As each went their separate way, working the room as they moved, Andrew turned his attention back to the Marquis of Fleehedge, who was still watching him with a hawklike intensity.  Bellewolf’s smile abruptly faded as his topaz eyes traced his wards progress through the gathered mass.  “Keep a close eye on her, my lord.”

Now it was Lord Breckenridge’s turn to smile.  “Not so sure of yourself or the abilities of that little vixen are you, now?”

“After Freddie and Tristan’s outburst, I’m not sure what I believe anymore, except that Bella has truly taken an incredible step tonight.  The power rolling off her is amazing.  The Graces she possesses have got to be extraordinary, and although none of the other members of the Assemblage have seen or sensed it, I think she has misted before.  I know for certain that Tristan has.”

Breckenridge looked over at the flickering wing tips and then back at Andrew.  “What makes you think that?  There has to be more to your suspicions than just that mark on her back.”

Bellewolf was hesitant.  “She knows things no one else knows and her skill with cloaking her power is far beyond the means of even the most talented member of the High Counsel.  It would also explain her ability to disappear into thin air at these functions.”

Andrew’s voice became disgruntled as Breckenridge raised a brow in silent query.  “This is the first ball in three years that she hasn’t disappeared from.  Surely, you’ve heard the whispers running rampant among our peers.”

Breckenridge shook his head.  “Those fools wouldn’t dare to say a word against Isabella within range of my hearing.”

Bellewolf’s features grew pained.  “Then you have indeed been fortunate.  It has gotten to the point that few of them even remember her name or connections.  She’s gotten to be so elusive, she’s become known to most only as the Mirror Spirit.”

Breckenridge started to laugh at the appalled look on the younger man’s face.  “You’re mad because she’s become a legend among the ton without even trying.  You knew she would be a handful the first time you saw her.  With her face and eyes it’s incredible she hasn’t caused you more trouble.  Had it been anyone but my Bella, you would have half the ton in your drawing room every day.  Her massive shields have given you a respite you never knew you had.  Mark my words.  Come tomorrow you’ll wish things would return to the way they had been.  She’s revealed herself and the gentlemen of the realm have taken note.”

Andrew glared at the elder Marquis.  “You’re not helping matters.”

Breckenridge’s Darkkin grin slid across his still handsome features.  “I wasn’t intending to.  I was just preparing you for what’s to come.  It’s her time to shine, Andrew, and shine she will like no other.  It’s what she was meant to do.  You’re only hope for any amount of peace when she attains her true potential is to get her leg shackled as so as possible.  Any ideas?”

Lord Bellewolf’s amber eyes chased across his bustling ballroom, lighting briefly on the small corte of gentlemen grouped around Lady Angelica Sinclair.  He did a double take at the sight of a red headed gentleman exactly Tristan’s height, whispering in Angelica’s ear.  For a moment he was sure it was the viscount, but then he noticed the man’s oily movements as he turned his face toward Andrew, feeling the burning eyes of his host’s gaze.  It wasn’t Ettlesworth, only the man’s hair color and height bore any resemblance to his friend.  Tristan’s face was that of a seraph, savagely beautiful like all Darkkin.  This man had the face of a weasel with narrow, empty eyes.  There was a coldness about him that seemed at odds with his bright hair.  The fellow’s name suddenly popped into Andrew’s head as recognition flared.  Mr. Faulkner Quinton.

An idea began to form as he watched the interactions between the pair of them.  As thick as thieves is what Lady Emmaline would have said.  The man’s slithery posture was enough to set Andrew’s teeth on edge.  There was just something decidedly unwholesome about him Bellewolf couldn’t quiet pin down.  Quinton was one of the people present at the Court over Christmas.  There might be a hope of rescuing Tristan from his intended’s clutches.  If they played their cards right, they might be able to trap Angelica in her own web of lies.  If she tried to make the announcement of the engagement public, everyone here would rally to Tristan’s aid.  The spider was about to learn not to play with the tails of Darkkin.

The ten minutes had nearly elapsed as Andrew broke free of the crowd and finally gained the corridor leading to his study, secluded from the rest of the house in the furthest corner of the west wing.  The faint light escaping beneath the door told him Freddie and Tristan were already there.  Pushing the portal open he caught sight of the dejected look on Afton’s face and Ettlesworth’s restless pacing.  Even from across the room it was possible to see the feral glow of the viscount’s wild golden eyes.  He was unraveling; if they didn’t find a way to free him from Angelica’s noose there was no telling what he would be capable of.  He had managed to fly across the breadth of the Great North Sea in the middle of winter; if he lost control in London the secrecy of the Tribe would be destroyed.

Bella, bless her stubborn spirit, had tweaked Tristan’s nose so much there was no possible way he could ignore it.  She had the scent of another member of the Gregorian on her now, which she knew would drive Tristan to the brink, testing his mantle.  He either had to prove himself to her tonight or let her go forever.  Andrew knew he wouldn’t do the latter.  The Marquis silently hoped Marc wouldn’t end up paying in blood for taunting his volatile cousin.  The leashed power rolling of the slighter lord was nearly as tangible as that exuded by Isabella.  Between the two of them they managed to conceal the presence of the entire tribe.  If the Hag and the Phantasm were among the guests, they would be driven to distraction by the bloodsong echoing between Bella and Tristan.

Right now Tristan was driving both Afton and himself demented with his incessant pacing.  Unable to bear it any longer, Bellewolf pushed the heavy mahogany door aside and entered his domain.  He covered the impressive breadth of the room in the blink of an eye, making Tristan and Freddie both blink as he lowered himself into his battered leather chair and plopped his sandaled feet on his pristine desk.  He smiled at the pair as they gawked at him.

His tone was even as he broke the silence.  “You two aren’t the only members of the Assemblage with stealth talents.”  Grinning like a child at Christmas, he added, “I have a few tricks of my own up my sleeve, but that’s beside the point.”

Bellewolf’s grin disappeared as he looked back at Tristan, who had resumed his pacing.  “We have a much bigger problem to contend with.”

Tristan whirled, his gleaming teeth bared in a menacing snarl.  “Angelica Sinclair.”

Afton sank dejectedly into one of two remaining leather chairs across from Bellewolf’s desk.  “This entire mess is my fault.  If I hadn’t invited her to the Court none of this would have happened.”

Ettlesworth calmed slightly at his friend’s anguished tone.  “Stop beating yourself up over this, Freddie, none of this was your doing and you know it.  There is no possibly way you could have avoided inviting the harpy; she is your great aunt’s granddaughter, after all.”  In spite of himself, Tristan was forced to chortle.  “No one daring to thwart Lady Cavendish has lived to tell the tale.”

Andrew and Freddie both chuckled at the hatchet-faced matron’s expense, knowing what Tristan said was true.  No one in the ton dared to go against the Countess of Thornhurst.  All who crossed her had died brutal deaths, at least socially.  With a little bit of luck Angelica would fall prey to the same fate.  Her own grandmother would be turned into their greatest ally.

All three gentlemen sobered as the weight of their predicament settled upon them once more.  Each seemed lost in his own thoughts until Bellewolf suddenly queried.  “Mr. Faulkner Quinton?”

The Duke of Afton looked at his friend, contempt clearly written on his face.  “What made you bring that foul little toad up, Wolf?”

Bellewolf’s smile winked back into being.  “The reason I mention the name is because he has been practically glued to the hand and throat of Lady Angelica all evening.  Was he at the Court over Christmas?”

Afton frowned thoughtfully.  “Now that you mention it, he was in the entourage with Lady Cavendish and Angelica.  Seemed to me that the wretch was a cousin several times removed or some such nonsense.”

Bellewolf nodded, pressing.  “Has it escaped your notice that physically he bears an uncanny resemblance to Tristan, at least from a distance?  They’re roughly the same height and build with the same horrifically bright red hair.  They were also at the Court over Christmas.”

Afton surged to his feet.  “Wolf, you’re a genius.  Why didn’t I think of it sooner?  It explains everything, including Tristan’s denials.”  The proud Duke of Afton’s shoulders drooped, chagrin written on his face.  “I thought he was lying when he said he had had nothing to do with Angelica that afternoon; that he hadn’t been near her.  The Countesses of Nettlesworth and Thornhurst were adamant that it had been Tristan they had seen with Lady Angelica that afternoon.  I assumed they were telling the truth because of what he had done to Bella the last time they met.”

Tristan’s eyed flashed in the firelight.  “You had reason to doubt me, Freddie.  Andrew, as well.  I realize my behavior was that of a consummate bore.  That I never explained what had happened that day.  I’ll tell you now; it was a simple kiss nothing more.  Bella panicked and fled.”

Bellewolf’s perfect features clouded.  “She did more than just run from you, didn’t she Tristan?”

Ettlesworth nodded.  “She misted beneath my fingers and disappeared like a will-o-the-wisp.  She frightened the living daylights out of me when she vanished.  The fear made me angry with both Bella and myself.  My pride reeled from the blow.  There was a moment when I wanted to hurt her as much as she hurt me.  Little did I know how my wish would be granted.”

Tristan’s voice cracked as he fought for control.  “For three years I ran, seeking a truth I refused to acknowledge.  With soul raw and heart bleeding I fled for the darkness of the mountains.  The ancient stone called my name, while the winds whispered my song.  I thought it was there my answers lay, away from her.  I was never more wrong. 

I wandered far and wide for three endless years, never staying any where longer than a week.  She stayed with me, song and soul.  I fought against the change with ever last ounce of my being, knowing that if I gave in there was only one place I would go.”

Ettlesworth left the heavy silence unbroken, save for a single word.  “Home.”

The syllable echoed like a gunshot across the vast expanse of the room.  “The ancient books and olden lore turned to dust beneath my fingertips as a song took flight in my dreams, pleading and beckoning like an unattainable star.  She was the answer I had been seeking the entire time.  I was a living piece of a legend.  The Qvaishini.  There is no running from it, no escape, only acceptance or death.”

Choked with tears and pain, Tristan pressed on.  “For Bella, my stupidity almost brought about her death.  It was her song that finally forced me to the skies where the truth of the bond was revealed to me, but I would prove to be her fall from grace as Angelica’s trap closed about me like a noose.  Even at the Court I could feel the shift in her song as the single shining thread connecting us appeared to be severed.  She fell into darkness and shadow; the sea of her nightmares swallowing her whole.  The demons claimed their prize, and my soul nearly died.”

Guilt and despair burned in Ettlesworth’s feral golden eyes.  “In that moment I knew I had committed the ultimate sin of our kind; I silenced her song and shattered her wings.  The mere moments of soul wrenching pain she had inadvertently caused me at the Court had been reflected upon her with all the power the ancient Dark could conjure.  It didn’t last for but a moment before disappearing into a haze of rage.  The pain stayed pure, driving her to the brink of death, which at the time I would have welcomed rather than face a lifetime with Angelica.  But I knew if I gave into my despair, Bella would surely die so I swore an oath to the stars that gave us life and song.  I would fight, I would fly, I would sing, or I would die.”