Archangel's Enigma (Guild Hunter)(25)

Even Jessamy considered herself only ninety-eight percent proficient at any given time.

“I won’t be long,” she said to the vampire and closed the door behind herself.

The room she’d been given was elegantly appointed in dark gray with touches of jewel blue, and to her surprise, it had a window large enough to allow an angel to fly out. When she opened the latch, the window swung outward, letting in cool outside air that settled like a balm on her strained skin.

In front of her were rolling fields full of wildflowers that appeared undaunted by summer’s absence, beyond them trees resplendent with fall foliage that glowed in the soft morning light. While Andromeda had no idea of her exact location, the fact that the landscape appeared mountainous, when added to the noticeable chill in the dawn air, suggested that this part of Lijuan’s territory would turn snow white come winter.

It would be much more difficult to escape in snow, or icy, torrential rain.

The flowers beckoned at her to take a step, fly free.

The window was beautifully convenient.

It was as if Xi wanted her to fly out.

Leaning out with her hands tightly gripping the windowsill, she drew in a long breath, doing her best to make it seem that she was simply enjoying the view. As she did, she took in everything around her. Still, she’d have missed it if she hadn’t trained under Dahariel, and later, under Jessamy.

Dahariel had taught her how to assess a threat situation.

The Historian had taught her not only to look, but to see.

What Andromeda saw was that the fields might be empty but the same couldn’t be said for the sky. It wasn’t that she spotted any wings or caught a glint off a sword strapped onto a body high above. No, what she saw was a single feather float down to land on the grass not far from her window. That feather was small, could’ve been of a bird except that it was a pale yellow streaked with blue.

A very distinctive coloration identical to that of Philomena, one of Lijuan’s generals.

Only a fool would expect to beat Philomena and her squadron on their own terrain.

Pushing away from the window, Andromeda walked to the bed to see a change of clothes laid out for her. Had she given it any advance thought, she might’ve expected the garments to be delicate—and wholly impractical for escape purposes—courtier clothing, but the outfit was formed of tunic and pants, of a style she might have chosen herself. The hip-length tunic’s design echoed that of a cheongsam, the fabric lush midnight blue silk hand-printed with tiny white flowers. The pants were loose and white and cuffed at the ankles.

Stark and lovely both—and clearly tailored for her body.

The underwear placed beside it in a discreet cloth bag was still in its packaging . . . and also of the correct size. It made her wonder exactly how long Xi’s people had been watching her from the shadows, just waiting for the opportunity to grab her.

Feeling painfully vulnerable, she bathed quickly before getting into the new garments. A little fiddling and some creative use of strips of fabric torn from her dirty and already damaged gown and she managed to hide her blades along either side of her hips, under the waistband of the pants. She’d taken care to rip the gown along tears created by the net when she was first kidnapped, so there was no reason it should arouse suspicion.

As for this outfit, the pants were light enough that they wouldn’t hamper her should she need to run, though she would’ve preferred a color other than white; her best chance of escape would be at night, when no one would expect a scholar to venture out into the unknown.

That, however, was a problem for later.

For now, she had to survive Lijuan.

Having washed her hair, she tamed it into a neat knot at her nape while it was still wet and manageable, then slipped her feet into the provided slippers of white silk before opening the door. “Thank you for waiting.”

The vampire bowed again and turned to lead her onward. The corridors through which they walked were wide and, thanks to myriad windows, full of morning sunlight. Art lined the walls: fine pencil drawings and detailed paintings of parts of Lijuan’s territory intermingled with small but intricate tapestries. Flowers sat fragrant and lovely in large porcelain vases almost as tall as Andromeda.

“Oh.” She couldn’t help herself when she saw one particular vase. Touching her fingers to the masterwork by an angel long lost, she felt her heart weep. Lijuan had lived so long, seen so much beauty, been a patron of it . . . how had she become this twisted nightmare?

“Honored guest.”

Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, Andromeda rejoined her escort.

The light-filled and gracious atmosphere of the citadel began to change in slow degrees the closer they got to the center. Darkness licked at the edges like a crawling beast, creating pools of shadow the leadlight lamps set into the walls seemed unable to penetrate. There was no longer any natural light. And the flowers . . . they were wrong.

Instinct told her they’d come from stock identical to the flowers she’d seen earlier, but a dark power had warped these blooms after they’d been picked, the same maleficent energy that made the hairs rise on Andromeda’s arms and on the back of her neck and that caused nausea to churn in her gut.

Girding her stomach, she took care that no part of her touched the shadows . . . at least until they grew so thick not even a child could’ve avoided them. Cold whispered over her feathers and her skin where the shadows found purchase, and it was a cold that made her think not of winter, but of the grave and of dead, decaying things.