Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 72
Milli hurried past the frozen grins until she found herself suddenly surrounded by towering mirrors. She twirled and giggled to see her many reflections so frightfully disfigured. In one mirror her body was stretched like some queer bird with a long neck and in another curved mirror she appeared a sinister homunculus.
The sound of Victoria’s laughter, carried along by the curved glass, instantly spurred Milli into action. She lifted her skirts and, with an answering laugh, gave chase, her retinue of hideous reflections doing likewise. When she giggled they did the same, though the answering echos sounded far stranger, more brittle, than when they had left her own lips. When she whirled about they did so too, mimicking her like a sea of macabre marionettes of all shapes and sizes.
At last, she emerged into the conservatory, her cheeks flushed and the niggling pain of her wrist forgotten. Here too some otherworldly magic had transformed the glass rotunda. White and black marble statuary—forest gods and weeping angels—filled the room, all surrounded by tall, potted rose bushes rank with leaves and dark red petals. Hundreds of tiny lanterns glowed overhead and beyond them, far beyond the panes of glass, the stars and the moon festooned an indigo sky.
The furniture that had occupied the room before was nowhere in sight. Milli had never ventured into the solarium during the day, for Victoria was adamant the bright light would give her unsightly freckles. The woman was almost single-minded in her efforts to preserve her complexion, and whatever vigorous habits and beautifying balms she employed, they were clearly doing their office, for Victoria was a woman of unrivaled beauty.
Unrivaled in beauty and fleet of foot besides. Where on earth had the woman disappeared to? It appeared that Milli was quite alone in the conservatory, save for the marble statues. One statue in particular attracted her notice, a black satyr with long horns and large hooves. He was tall and broad of chest, his torso naked and his lips curved with handsome villainy. He seemed to be beckoning to her with an outstretched arm frozen beside a cluster of roses. He was naked but for the fur that covered his loins and legs. More’s the pity, thought Milli with a giggle.
She wagged her finger at him. “You may grin all you like, Bacchus, I have no intention of dancing with you.” But he merely continued to hold out his hand to her, so she finally relented with another giggle. “Oh, all right then, but just one dance.” With that she approached him and stretched her hand up to place it over his palm. Then, holding onto it, she began twirling beneath him as though he was spinning her around. Had her brains not been so thoroughly rattled about by the dancing, she might sooner have noticed she was being observed.
She halted instantly and snatched her hand away from the silent satyr who was still wearing his lustful grin. Oh, to be caught dancing with a statue like some Bedlamite! Milli straightened her skirts and glared at what she had first mistaken for another statue. But this was no statue.
Notwithstanding his unnatural stillness, there was no mistaking the force of life he exuded.
“You must think me as daft as a brush,” said Milli by way of a greeting.
“Not at all,” he replied, emerging from the branches and roses. “A delightful little sprite, perhaps.”
Milli swallowed, unable to suppress the unease that he stirred to life as he emerged into the lamplight. He was exceedingly tall and handsomely dressed, his black mantle nowise disguising his athletic frame. But his mask was something altogether sinister. His entire face was covered so that she had no idea who he was. Long, branch-like antlers (the very same she’d mistook for shadowed rose branches) jutted up from the black head mask. If not for the antlers, she might have presumed him to be some sort of predatory minotaur—half beast, half man. As it was, he gave the impression of some wild forest deity.
“Ah,” said Victoria, suddenly appearing by her side, “I see you’ve discovered my cousin.”
This was Nicholas? How extraordinary, for she had not recognized his voice at all. Not surprising as it was muffled by the mask. Or perhaps he was desirous of disguising even his voice tonight; he had spoken low and in something of a graveled, unfamiliar tone.
“Mr. Valko?” Milli felt herself relax. “How frightening you look.”
But it was Victoria that replied. “No more than any other night.”
He merely shrugged, though Milli suspected the ire she sensed in him was sparked by Victoria’s comment.
“Oh, don’t be tedious, Cousin,” said Victoria, giving him a light tap on the arm with her fan as she sauntered past him. “This night of all nights we may truly be ourselves.” She shot him a pointed look before she withdrew.
It was a strange thing to say, but then Milli had always considered her friend to be rather eccentric. Rich people generally were. Milli knew she ought to follow Victoria from the conservatory, but she was torn between observing convention and desiring a moment alone, unchaperoned, with the man she intended to marry.
Milli decided on the latter recourse and seated herself on what appeared to be the only bench in the conservatory. It was bathed in moonlight and partially bowered by roses. Milli glanced up through the glass overhead at the full moon cresting the battlements—the largest moon she’d ever beheld. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said. For a moment it held her in some mesmeric sway.
The sudden appearance of the forest god, seating himself beside her, drew her back to herself. “Yes,” he replied, turning to face her.
She felt her cheeks burn with pleasure under his gaze. Only a little of the lantern light seemed able to penetrate the bower, and for