Free Immanuel's Veins by Ted Dekker

would—
    I lifted the quill and stared at my words. I could not give in like a child, not even here in my secret hiding.
    I slapped the journal closed, tied it tight with the worn thong that secured its leather covers, and slipped it under my mattress. The rest of the afternoon crawled by like a snail navigating the edge of a large pond.
    The Russians came at nightfall. My mind wasn’t on them until they were framed by the door.
    The dining room was perhaps the most spectacular room in the mansion. It was filled with so much crystal that guests had the illusion they were surrounded by diamonds. The long, ornately carved wood table was always set for twenty with nine to a side and one on each end. White china, each embossed with a gold-leaf Cantemir crest, and crystal goblets sparkled under a hundred candles. The walls were lined with cases, some holding old books, some keeping silver plates and more goblets, and some the best silverware.
    Kesia Cantemir took her role as hostess very seriously, and there was no better place to entertain guests than around food and drink. This night she had outdone herself, I thought.
    A roasted pig from the Castle Castile had arrived three hours ahead of the guests. The head of that boar was now perched on a silver platter as a centerpiece, surrounded by decorative apples and pears. They’d replaced the boar’s eyes with pickled cherries.
    I didn’t see the appeal in the red eyes, but they delighted Kesia and Natasha. And when Lucine said that she found them utterly charming, I liked them immediately.
    Lucine was dressed in a long red gown with a slight petticoat that rounded her figure. With dark hair flowing from a blue-feathered hat over white shoulders, Lucine looked the perfect goddess, a standard by which all other creatures should be judged.
    I was dressed in a dark blue suit that Kesia insisted her tailor alter for me. At the Cantemir estate all men must have at least six suits for all occasions, she said. It fit well and put me at ease in the company of such stunningly clothed hosts, Kesia in particular. She wore a jeweled emerald gown that spread at her waist like a bell.
    There would be eight of us including the three Russians. Four to each side with the end seat left vacant. I was ushered to a chair next to Lucine, across from where our guests would sit, Kesia explained. She was quite particular and she wanted us seated when they arrived to show that we waited for no one.
    â€œA toast before our guests join us,” Kesia announced. She held up her crystal goblet, brimming with burgundy wine. “To the Cantemirs. May no one say we did not live.”
    â€œTo the Cantemirs.”
    Our glasses were still raised when the doors opened, and Godrik, the butler, stood before us, bowing. “Madam, your guests have arrived.”
    Two entered, dressed in black as they had been on their last visit. The first was Sofia, wearing a gown that showed her shape without a formed petticoat; it was hiked up to reveal black boots that rose higher than the hem. Another gentleman was with her, hair long and black over a high blue collar. Sofia’s eyes were on mine. The man’s were on Natasha.
    Before our glasses could be lowered or anything said, Vlad van Valerik walked in, dark eyes scanning us all. There was something at once alluring and commanding about his eyes, as if he saw what was desired and could offer it without reservation.
    He was dressed in pitch black slacks that ran over tall boots, and the same suit he’d worn to the ball, with its long tails, a red scarf, and red silk cuffs. A white collar cupped the back of his neck.
    We stood. “Good evening, kind sir,” Kesia said, dipping her head. “Your presence is our pleasure.”
    â€œA toast?” Valerik said, crossing to the table, and even as Kesia motioned to the seat opposite her, he lifted the decanter and filled the glass by the plate at the table’s head, ignoring her