Lord of Fire by Gaelen Foley Read Free Book Online Page B

particularly for portraiture, but she was surprised at how quickly her shock and moral indignation evaporated in sheer artistic interest. Though many people sported in the waters nude, most were still clothed, their identities shadowed by their hooded brown robes. Some wore masks for extra anonymity, but all appeared engrossed in the drama unfolding on the stagelike platform that was hewn into the serpent’s back, cleverly carved to resemble a saddle. The chief feature on the stage was a stone altar, behind which a pale young man stood, his priestly robes draping his tall, lanky frame. Holding up his hands at his sides, he chanted in some unknown language—probably nonsense—with a clear, reedy voice. The people answered at regular intervals in a mockery of a church service.
Alice shuddered uneasily.
    When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Orpheus immediately began pushing his way into the thick of the swaying crowd. She tapped him on the shoulder.
    “I have to find Lady Glenwood,” she yelled over the thunderous beat of the drums. “Do you know her?”
    “No names, chit!” Scowling at her, he glanced about as though to make sure no one had heard, then lowered his head close to hers. She noticed abruptly that he did not seem at all drunk anymore. “Never speak anyone’s real name here,” he said sharply. “God, you are new, aren’t you? No, I don’t know the woman. Now, just follow me and don’t talk to anyone, or you’re going to get yourself into a lot of trouble.”
    Chastened,
Alice obeyed and filed after Orpheus as he moved through the crowd, which she estimated to be over a hundred people. She searched the sea of faces around her for Caro while Orpheus chose a position in the middle of the crowd. They stopped and turned toward the stage. The reedy voice of the pale young man carried louder. The people answered in unison; she did not understand their words but could feel their anticipation building. Pronouncing a few more bizarre incantations, the pale man turned once more to the people, holding out his arms. The speed of his incomprehensible words and the pitch of his nasally tenor rose steadily with excitement. “Vee-nee-ay mil-sit dren-sa-il Draco !”
    Cymbals clashed at the sound of the name. Fires flared in the braziers on the ends of the stage as the priest’s assistants doused the coals with lamp oil. The choir and drones fell silent, but the drums continued more softly and all around her the people began a low chanting: “Draco, Draco.”
    A pair of doors flew open at the end of the stage.
Alice stared, riveted, as a tall, powerful figure swept out of the open doors and stalked across the stage, his face concealed by the deep hood of his robe, which was of black silk. It billowed out behind him with each determined stride as he prowled to the center of the stage with the grace of a massive black leopard. The sheen of the material reflected the flickering fires that seemed to caress him as he passed. The robe hung open down the front, revealing his black trousers and boots and his loose, white shirt with a deep, fringed V that partly bared his bronzed, sculpted chest.
Alice gazed at him in wonder. Draco stopped and turned toward the crowd. White lace cuffs dripped below the sleeves of his robe as he stretched forth his large, murderously elegant hands. She could not tear her gaze away.
    Though his eyes and the upper half of his face were shrouded by his hood, she stared in fascination at his square, chiseled jaw and strong chin. Then he spoke, and his deep, mesmerizing voice rolled over the crowd in natural command, filling the cavern. “Brothers and sisters!”
    The people roared in adoration.
    “Tonight we come together to welcome two new initiates into our most vile and ignominious company.” The throng cheered wildly at his insults; a small, mocking smile flitted briefly over his beguiling lips. “They have been tested—and tasted—by the Elders, as you all have,” he purred,