Страница 7 из 118
Envy’s spies were currently unearthing all they could find on the artist, and whatever secrets she had wouldn’t stay hidden from him for long.
By week’s end, Envy would know every sin, vice, or virtue she held dear, and then he’d exploit that knowledge for all it was worth. Everyone wanted something, and he’d happily pay Miss Antonius whatever price she required.
Camilla nodded to the paper.
“You’ll need to find someone else to paint that for you, my lord.”
“That won’t do. You’re the best, hence my coming to this… establishment.”
He glanced around the gallery. The wooden sign outside swinging pleasantly in the breeze proclaimed WISTERIA WAY. It was hand-painted, yet elegant, and utterly charming.
The exterior was a simple stone cottage with lush vines of wisteria hanging over the entry. Something quaint one would imagine in any provincial countryside, if one had brought the countryside into the heart of the vibrant art district and wedged it between two larger, less welcoming buildings.
Inside, it felt more like a darkened chamber where secrets were whispered and clandestine meetings were held.
Dark carpets were layered over broad floorboards, and the walls were papered with a deep hunter-green brocade. Paintings and sketches in every medium hung in gilded frames, while sculptures and statuary stood guard over dark corners.
On a tiny round table in the alcove where she’d been painting by candlelight, multiple cups of used paintbrushes were collected in every size and shape imaginable, the water a swampy array of discarded colors.
Her canvas faced away from the door, leaving him to wonder what she’d been working on. Everything else in the gallery had been meticulously set up, showing the art to its best potential. It was all most intriguing. And not entirely what he’d expected.
Much like the woman standing before him, who, he realized, was studying him as closely as he’d just examined her gallery.
“I’ve not seen you at any society function nor heard any mention of you before, Lord Synton. Are you visiting?”
A tinge of a
“For the time being, I’m staying indefinitely, Miss Antonius.”
It was close to the truth. Envy was prepared for anything—perhaps Miss Antonius would take longer than expected to paint the Hexed Throne, or the following clue might keep him here.
Of course, he’d also wanted a base from which he could keep watch—if the game had led him here, other players might soon follow. Or worse, had already arrived.
“Well, then, welcome. I can happily direct you to someone else who can help you.”
Envy noticed that her emotions had changed slightly. While he still sensed her a
He could not fathom anyone feeling put off by his company.
Perhaps he should have listened to his brother’s ridiculous scheme to woo Camilla. If he flirted with her, she couldn’t possibly dismiss him so thoroughly.
Envy quietly seethed. Most humans had quite a different reaction to his kind. Demon princes had a certain dark charisma that attracted lovers; some believed it was due to their power to wield sins. He’d been certain she’d be taken in with little to no effort on his part.
He tried to keep the contempt from his voice.
“Is it a matter of payment?” he asked. “Name your price.”
“I assure you it has nothing to do with money, my lord.”
Her chin notched up defiantly. Envy knew damn well that she wasn’t in any position to turn down work that would pay so handsomely.
“Is there anything else I may help you with, or will you be on your way?” she asked. “I’m afraid you’ve come at an unfortunate time, as the gallery is closing.”
“Perhaps.”
Envy debated whether to use a bit of his sin to influence her agitated mood but decided against it. Fae games were tricky. Players couldn’t use magic to win. It kept the playing field level, reducing immortals to mere humans. Envy would burn before he’d admit how exciting he usually found that challenge. But these weren’t usual circumstances.
For him to move forward in this game, Camilla needed to freely choose to paint the piece.
And she’d need to do so soon.
“Might I inquire as to why you’d turn down my work?” he asked, mindful to keep his tone pleasant.
“Of course.” Her smile was as sharp as the dagger hidden on his hip. “I refuse to paint any hexed object. And correct me if I’m wrong, my lord, but the Hexed Throne is one of the most powerful.”
Envy appraised her in a new light. “What does a woman of your standing know of hexed objects?”
“Enough to decline getting involved with one.”
At last, Miss Antonius came out from behind her desk, sweeping past him toward the door, where she placed her ungloved hand on the crystal knob. Paint speckled her skin like a colorful constellation of freckles.
“Perhaps you should visit the dark market on Silverthorne Lane. They’ll know much more about that particular realm of art than I do.”
With that she tugged the door open, the bell ringing in finality. The Prince of Envy was being summarily dismissed.
He blinked down at the little hell beast before him, and she smiled even more sweetly back up.
“You may wish to hurry, my lord.” She glanced out at the darkening sky, her silver irises like strikes of lightning against the storm clouds. A beautiful portent of doom. “It looks about ready to rain.”
A clap of thunder punctuated her warning, and before he knew it, Envy was standing outside and the quaint door was being slammed and locked in his face.
Two beats later, the candles went out, plunging the gallery into complete darkness.
Envy cursed every saint he could think of under his breath as the first plump drops of rain freckled his shoulders. Then he heard the scrape of a boot, only seconds before his companion stepped from the shadows, chuckling darkly.
“You’ll just walk right in, was it?” the Prince of Pride asked, his eyes an a
Envy gave his brother a murderous look. “I thought you were waiting at the pub.”
“Changed my mind.” Pride shrugged. “I wanted entertainment. How does it feel to have your balls handed to you?”
“Not now.”
Envy headed across the street toward the nearest awning, wanting to escape the impending storm and his damned brother. His cavalier mask was slipping.
“Now is the perfect time to point out it was a dismal plan,” Pride said, strolling beside him, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Even Lust’s idea was better.”
“It’s Lust’s only idea.”
“Point? It always works.”
Envy gritted his teeth.
“So, Lord Syn.” Pride still drawled, but there was a sharper edge to his voice now. “Care to explain how the fuck it’s possible for you to lie?”
“Not particularly.” Envy wasn’t in a giving mood. “Aren’t you supposed to be searching for clues to Lucia’s whereabouts?” he asked instead. “Perhaps you aren’t as heartbroken as you’d like everyone to believe.”
It was a low blow, but Envy needed to be left alone before Pride noticed the cracks in his armor. If he could have risked the power needed to summon his wings, he’d have catapulted into the heavens, leaving his brother behind. As it stood, Envy had to remain grounded until he won the gods-damned game and fully restored his magic.
All levity vanished from his brother’s face at the mention of his missing consort. Pride’s lips pressed together tightly, revealing the ancient scar that still carved a path across his lower lip. For most, Pride pretended to be a drunken rake, obsessed with all that glittered. Frivolous, egotistical. Unconcerned with anything aside from pretty lovers, parties, and baubles.