014 - To Sleep With Evil by To Sleep & Evil

Author:To Sleep & Evil [Sleep, To & Evil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

In the crimson cocoon that was Donskoy’s salon, the lord peeted away his outer wear and tugged the bell-pull to summon Yelena. The fire burned brightly beneath its golden cowl, the velvet pillows upon the floor were plumped and neatly arrayed, and the red hookah with its silver-headed snake sat poised before the hearth, ready to serve its master. A sweet, musky scent filled the air. The room had been well tended in their absence.

Yelena appeared at the door to receive Donskoy’s command for food and libation, then scuttled away in compltance, scarcely acknowledging Marguerite’s welcoming smile. Marguerite felt somewhat abandoned.

Donskoy removed her cloak and gently tugged off her matching blue gloves, then bade her sit on the red velvet divan. His own gloves, of course, remained in place. She noted they were faintly soiled from the day’s activity; a streak of something clear and shining had crusted upon the black suede. As her husband leaned close, she smelled the strange perfume of sweat, smoke, and horses that now permeated his hair and clothing.

“Do you think we’ll have guests tonight?” she asked, self-consciously smoothing her skirts. “Perhaps we should tell Yelena and Zosia.”

“Guests?” Donskoy strode to the fire and looked down at the water pipe.

“Yes,” Marguerite replied. “If Ekhart and Ljubo are successful, perhaps they will bring the travelers here.”

Donskoy chuckled. He left the hookah unattended and retrieved his long, slender white pipe from a wooden stand on a side table. “Perhaps,” he said.

“Have you entertained such travelers before?”

“After a fashion. But one does not often encounter strangers who make good—” Donskoy had reached into the fire with a taper to light the pipe, and he paused now, bringing the bowl to red, glowing life with a few gentle puffs, then finished, H—who make good guests.”

“I see,” replied Marguerite, though she did not. She stared at the carved stem of Donskoy’s ivory pipe, which displayed a strand of interwoven humanoid bodies, writhing and entwined, mouths agape, like a crowded scene from purgatory.

Yelena appeared bearing a tray with two chalices and a jug of wine, along with a finger-bowl of scented water and a cloth, which she carefully laid on the small round table before Marguerite. After a second brief foray, the mute returned with a silver tray laden with meats, cheeses, and pastries. A pair of roasted starlings lay dead at the side, their feathers twice speckled, first by nature, then by the oven’s ash. After the mouse-haired mute had decanted the wine, Lord Donskoy dismissed her.

Marguerite dipped her fingers in the bay-scented water to wash. Her husband left his pipe to burn itself out on the stand and busied himself in his cupboard behind her. She peeked over her shoulder and glimpsed his turned back, the cabinet door open just a sliver as before. She looked away, fearful of what would happen if Donskoy caught her spying.

When he returned, he wore a fresh pair of gloves. As he lifted his chalice to his lips, Marguerite stared at the plush, velvety suede covering his hands.

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