Lady of the Star Wind by Veronica Scott

Author:Veronica Scott [Scott, Veronica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jean D Walker
Published: 2016-05-09T18:30:00+00:00

Some indeterminate time later, Mark awoke with a start. He sat up, easing Sandy onto the pillows beside him, relieved to find her still breathing. The chamber was filled with a dim, steel-blue light from an unknown source. Dust motes floated in the air, sparkling like small sapphires. The heavy lid of the sepulcher sat ajar, half off. Chills running down his spine, Mark glanced across the room at the door.

A man stood there in the now open portal, facing away, looking into the next chamber. As if sensing Mark’s scrutiny, the man slowly turned his head. They stared at each other for a moment. He didn’t speak, gazing at Mark with an expression on his handsome face conveying mild regret. The same general age as Rothan, the newcomer had long black hair curled at the back of his neck. Strong, slashing eyebrows provided the setting for a pair of coal black eyes. His thin lips parted to say something, then closed again, the words unsaid.

Holding Mark’s gaze with the intensity of his own stare, the apparition beckoned. Rising, compelled to obey the silent summons by some power he didn’t understand, Mark walked across the cold floor, skirting the half-open sepulcher in the center. He glanced at the details of the mosaic representation of the prince’s face and then evaluated the man in the door.

Hutenen. Or his ghost.

The prince had moved on by the time Mark reached the open door. He crossed the threshold to find the portal opened into a long corridor filled with the same uncanny metallic-blue light. Tendrils of fog or smoke curled along the floor. Walking a few yards ahead, Hutenen nearly brushed the narrow walls of the corridor with his broad shoulders as he paced toward whatever awaited them.

Mark opened his mouth to say something, ask the prince to wait, ask what the seven hells was going on, but closed his lips without making a sound. It didn’t seem appropriate to break this silence. Maybe even dangerous to do so. Not even glancing back to check on his unconscious companions, Mark proceeded down the corridor in Hutenen’s wake. At the next corner, the prince disappeared.

Hurrying now, Mark came to the end of the straight hallway and jogged to the left where the prince had gone, stopping five paces later on the threshold of yet another chamber and taking in the scene.

Prince Hutenen bowed in front of a being half again as tall as he was. This man was pale, his hair a mix of white, black, and midnight blue. His high-cheekboned face was calm, the thin lips set in a neutral line, neither approving nor disapproving. Under thick white eyebrows, his blue eyes practically glowed, the same color as the light illuminating the corridor. Attired in sweeping robes of midnight blue with touches of silver, the sleeves lined with wine-red satin that looked like blood, the man reminded Mark of a judge. He carried a scepter of highly polished silver set with large cabochon gems of varying shades of blue.

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