Ambrose laid his head back in the armchair, the hint of a smile on his lips. “She won’t go down without a fight.”
“I am certain of that,” said Mal. “But you warned me, neither will they.”
Ambrose inhaled slowly. “They won’t.” Ambrose reached for a dark mahogany box and pulled out another cigar. “Any closer with another artifact of the Dread Armor?”
“The records for the auction of the Goblet are closed, but I am pursuing a hopeful path towards it.”
“Good,” said Ambrose. “I was certain one of those rich disasters that comes to my home would have it.”
Mal nodded. “I believe you were correct. Though getting to it has presented an entirely different set of obstacles.”
“Oh?” Said Ambrose.
Mal looked across the basement at the dragon’s skull. He grinned. “I’ve never had a problem with persuasion.”
Ambrose laughed heartily. Mal smiled at the sound and met his eyes. The Premier looked at him pridefully.
“Are you ready for The Autumn Gala?” He asked.
Mal crossed his legs. “I think you have prepared me as well as I can be. Do you think Lithandrian will come?”
“There are always surprises at these things.” He puffed on his cigar. “Now,” said Ambrose. “About those Inferi.”
Chapter 48
Hundreds of guests arrived at Sinclair Estates for the Autum Gala. Clarissa spent weeks planning this party. Ambrose ensured the Highest Orator’s Office Officials were there and The High Lord himself was on the guest list.
Mal had extended invitation to King Kier from The Ice Planet Hiems, and received a gracious acceptance. They had not set foot on Earth in quite some time.
Kier was in attendance with his wife and two young children.
Mal also extended the invitation to The Elven Queen, though they knew it was unlikely she would leave her realm for a party. Her visit to the meeting Ambrose called was the first time she had left her realm in three hundred years.
“Maeve,” Abraxas came bursting into her bedroom, his voice casual. “Could you- oh dear what’s happened?”
Abraxas stopped abruptly and looked about the room after seeing the distressed look on Maeve’s face.
She was standing in one of the large windows, looking grim. With one finger, she motioned for Abraxas and pointed down at the gardens.
There was Ophelia and Mal, walking back towards the house.
“That won’t do,” said Maeve.
Abraxas clicked his tongue. “Poor girl,” he said darkly. “Fix my bowtie, will you?”
Maeve sighed and assisted him. “Why is she even back here? They never come to these parties.”
“Thank you,” chimed Abraxas as he admired himself in the mirror before following Maeve out. “Mal invited her.”
Maeve stopped. She took a long inhale. Then an even longer exhale. “I’m going to wring her neck-with my bare hands- not even my Magic!” Maeve hissed to Abraxas, who laughed. “It’s not funny.”
“Oh it most certainly is, cousin.”
Maeve’s face dropped.
They made their way downstairs together, watching as guests were now arriving in droves through the ivory doors. Ambrose placed a charm in the foyer, and tonight the theme seemed to be butterflies. Glowing orbs shaped like the tiny winged creatures fluttered through the halls. They looked like floating ice sculptures.
She and Abraxas made their way onto the balcony, and Maeve grabbed a glass of sparkling water off a floating tray. Abraxas grabbed something stronger. The sun was setting over the horizon. The late fall blooms in the garden complemented the color of the sky beautifully.
