Free The Lord of Illusion - 3 by Kathryne Kennedy Page A

spoke, he felt those elongated teeth rub his bottom lip. His words took on a volume that shook the stone walls of the room. “She stays with me.”
    The raucous soldiers froze in sudden silence, turned to stare at Edward and him. Captain Talbot gifted them with a smile and a swish of his sharply pointed tail, causing several of the men to tremble in their boots.
    The steward fell to his knees. “Of course, my lord. I meant no disrespect.”
    Edward could not stop grinning. He spread his fingers, and claws the length of his dagger sprang from the tips. He raked them against a stout wooden chopping block and sliced it into four neat chunks.
    The steward hastily pulled a leather journal from his pocket and offered it to Drystan in supplication. “I-I will add the slave to your list of inventory, Viscount Hawkes. Will that be satisfactory?”
    The man spoke as if Camille had no identity as a person and could be appropriated along with the furniture and candlesticks. Drystan tamped down his anger, for Talbot kept glancing around the room, looking for something else to try out his claws on. Several soldiers crawled under the table.
    “Quite.” His voice did not boom as loudly this time. “Get up and lead on, man.”
    The steward rose on unsteady legs and led the two demons up the stairs. Drystan’s men would be directed to the barracks, but as captain of his personal bodyguard, Edward stayed with him. By the time they reached the ground room of the palace, the captain’s fangs and horns disappeared, and Drystan felt his own body return to normal. He still could not believe he had managed such a compelling illusion, and wondered if he might be able to do it again.
    Exhaustion made him almost stumble, and those of elven blood did not stumble.
    “How did you do that?” murmured Edward.
    “I have no idea. You saw me try to use my magic before… it was so weak I could not call up a decent wraith. Perhaps it is the magic that permeates the air of England, and it will make my own grow stronger.”
    Edward shrugged. “Pray that it happens slowly, so the elven lord does not catch wind of it.”
    Drystan felt so drained of energy from that brief show of illusion that he did not fear growing in power as quickly as all that.
    “The tail was a bit much,” mused Edward. “But couldn’t you have left me the claws?”
    Drystan ignored him, intent only on Camille. Her lashes fluttered. She sighed once, and it lifted his heart. She would recover. She must. Drystan still could not believe he had found her. That she was real. And despite the glory of the palace they strode through, it paled next to the dirty, smelly bundle of womanhood in his arms.
    Above the basements, Dreamhame Palace had as much gold within as it did without. The walls had been gilded with it, the floors paved with smooth blocks, the doors patterned with golden swirls. The rooms beyond those doors held illusions that surpassed Drystan’s imagination. He caught only glimpses of what lay inside: a yellow plain of grass with a glaring sun upon it, a snowcapped mountain peak with humped animals nosing through the drifts, a jungle of twisted trees and diaphanous vines strung from limb to limb. Some of the rooms appeared quite normal, with chairs and fireplaces and tea tables… but he noticed the walls occasionally moved; the chairs morphed into flower petals; the fireplaces belched curious golden sparks.
    They ascended two more flights of stairs carpeted with designs of dragons in the weave, to the second floor, which consisted of a maze of hallways and numerous doors presumably opening onto guest chambers. The ceiling soared above them into infinity, sprinkles of illusory stars glittering like diamonds, shooting across the darkness in glowing arcs. Along the walls, amber statues of nymphs danced upon short fluted columns; a Pegasus reared and fanned the air with yellow-feathered wings; a centaur played a mournful tune on a pipe.
    Large tapestries had been woven with