23
TEMPLE IN RUINS
Diana’s ghost seemed to waver in the empty doorway.The sight of her dragged off by guards would likely haunt his mind for the rest of his cursed life.
She’d not even fought in the end.She’d stood there as herself, bold and brave, and God, that wouldnotbe the last time he saw her.A vow he’d keep or die trying.
He was free now, he realized.The door that had closed on Diana was now closed and guarded by the men who had held him back.
And the man who had made it all happen stood behind him.Slowly, Temple faced the king.He had no words.What could he say, after all, to the man who had dragged Temple’s heart away, who held it still, not yet crushed, in his hand, who determined its fate.
“Don’t look at me like that, Knightly,” the king said.“She’s a threat to the order of things.
“You mean the woman who’s had her life threatenedtwicein the last few months?The woman who has been in hiding and who only stepped into a ballroom tonight becauseyoudemanded it?That woman?”
“You’re being unreasonable.”
He was being suicidal, raising his voice at a man who thought himself divinely appointed.The only thing that had appointed him, though, was a string of early deaths in the direct line of ascension.He wasn’t divine.He was a damned lucky bastard.
“We’ll find you a different wife,” the king said.
That meant either divorce or… death.There was a bit of rust on the fireplace poker.Temple felt it like a hole in a wall that let a hint of fresh air into a stuffy room.But if he used it in any measurable way, it would be the final nail in Diana’s coffin.No one would live to fight for her.
The king sighed.“You should be in the Tower with your wife.You’ve clearly known about her, and you’ve not said a word to me.Some would consider you a traitor to the crown.You were seen clearly attempting to attack a peer of the realm, too.”
“Who was trying to attack my wife.”Temple didn’t yell, but he heard the outrage in his voice, the quivering, fraying control.
“Who is herself a danger.There are those who will say Fordham—ahem—Mr.Chester was protecting himself.”
Those could meet the end of his hammer.Every cell in his body ached do something hard and brash, to break through walls and knock through skulls, to get to the woman he loved, but he couldn’t.So he curled his fingernails into a fist so tightly his fingernails bit through the thick calluses on his palm.
“I’ve not decided what to do with you yet,” the king grumbled.“But for now you can go.Do not leave London.Do not even go to Hampstead.Do you understand?There’ll be guards stationed at your house.”
A prisoner in his own home, then.Temple nodded.What else could he do.Any action taken now could very well lead to her death.When the guards opened the door, the first face he saw in the hallway was Nico.
Temple brushed past him, and Nico followed at a trot all the way out of the house.
“What happened?”he asked.“I saw Diana… where are they taking her?”
“The Tower.”
“No.Fuck.What do we do?”
“You do nothing.Go home to your wife.”Temple stopped, turned to his friend.“Thank you, but there’s nothing you can do.”
Nico seemed to harden for a moment.Then he hunched forward and ran his hands through his hair with another curse.“Very well.But let me know if you need me.”
They clasped hands, and Temple walked the rest of the way to Bloomsbury Square trailed by two of the king’s guards.He didn’t see, feel, hear, or smell a single step of the journey.There was a fight in his body he couldn’t let out.Not yet.He could walk the whole of England and back and likely never rid himself of the anger coursing through him.Better anger than despair.The despair would choke him, snuff out his forge, ruin him entirely.
When he pushed through the door of his terrace, the guards took up position on either side of it with stony faces and arms that seemed ready to use the pistols at their hips.Those guns were likely alchemist guaranteed to have a smooth, steady, far-reaching shot.The transcendents liked what alchemists could do, even if they wouldn’t admit it.
With the first click of his boot against the parquet flooring, his family appeared from a nearby parlor.A wave of concerned faces swamped him.Sybil threw her arms around him.His mother did too, making a sandwich of him.His father stood in front of him and placed a gentle, gigantic hand on his shoulder.
“Tell us what’s happened, son,” he said.
“Where is Diana?”his mother asked, voice touched with shaky fear.
In the Tower.God, he could not bring himself to say the words again.The only words he could push through a dry mouth were, “I’m going to get her back.”
