The Dashkova Memoirs 05 Nightfell Games by Thomas K. Carpenter

Author:Thomas K. Carpenter
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: historical fantasy, Historical
Publisher: Black Moon Books
Published: 2015-08-28T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

The way something breathed said a lot about its intentions. When my father had taken me to visit the wolfhounds in the kennel at the Winter Palace for the first time, he'd made me enter with my eyes closed.

The first thing I'd heard was growling, low and mean, rolling on for days, making a knot form in the pit of my stomach. When I squeezed my father's hand for comfort, he peeled away my fingers and made me stand alone.

As the clack of claws on stone approached, he told me to stand my ground and hold out my hand, palm up. I did as instructed, trusting my father, but also expecting the inevitable bite of teeth tearing through the tender flesh of my wrist.

The wolfhound got near enough that the air flowing out its nose tickled my hand as it sniffed me. Every hair on my body was at attention. Then the throaty growl shifted to a normal pattern of breathing. I relaxed.

My father brought me back to the kennel many times, until I could distinguish not only the moods of the wolfhounds, but the individuals, based on their breathing.

Later, during a gathering of the nobles for the Blessing of the Waters, he made me close my eyes and perform the same trick with the nobles as they neared. I learned that Count Victor had emphysema by his raspy breath and that my cousin Maksim would get so excited around the young women of court, he could barely get a breath out when he spoke to them. Before long, I knew he was in love with Natalia Antipov.

These skills came in handy much later when I had to determine who was a supporter of Catherine and who was against her. I could tell by the hitch in their breath when they said her name, the fire of their hate tightening their chest.

So when I heard the creature's shallow in-breath on the other side of the little pond, I knew we were in trouble. It wasn't trying to scare us away with a growl, but trying to keep as quiet as possible so it might come upon us unaware.

"What is that?" whispered Voltaire.

"I don't know, but we need to leave," I said.

He squeezed my arm in reply. As carefully as I could, I climbed to my feet, cringing when my boot scraped on the stone floor. Then I helped Voltaire up, watching the shadows around the stalagmites.

Together we crept towards the exit. I walked backwards, leading Voltaire by the hand, trying not to trip over anything, while keeping an eye out for sudden movements. We made it out of the cavern without incident and journeyed back to the main passages.

I led Voltaire to the main cavern with the stage. A few groups picnicked here or there in the wide space, but otherwise it was surprisingly empty. The golden doors were closed. No guards stood outside. Nor, I realized, had I seen any guards of any kind during our days in the Palace.

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