THE MASKED HEIR

PROLOGUE
February 2nd, 1849

I never imagined that fire and sea would claim my life and all I loved in a single night. That evening aboard Tomás’ royal vessel had been extraordinary, filled with music and merriment, rich with promise. Long after the celebrations ended, that assurance carried me to my cabin and into the sweetest of dreams.

I stood in Westminster Abbey, where everything was as it ought. Light filtered through the stained glass windows, casting soft patterns across the stone. The air was warm, and the vaulted ceiling rose in quiet grandeur.

Tomás waited for me at the altar, steady and certain, his eyes fixed upon me, warm as polished amber. The love in them was unwavering, so consuming that it left no doubt we belonged to one another.

Every gaze settled upon me as I glided down the aisle. Soft murmurs rippled through the pews. The fabric of my gown trailed behind me in silken whispers. The organ swelled, filling the sacred space. This was the life I had trusted in, the future for which I had prayed, whole and unbroken.

Yet something beneath that certainty gave way.

At first, it was so slight I scarcely marked it—a faint tremor threading through the stone beneath my feet, no more than a disturbance in an otherwise perfect moment. Then the murmurs changed in tone, no longer admiring, but troubled. Tomás’ expression faltered, his focus slipping past me to something unseen.

A low, rising sound broke through—a splintering groan that did not belong within these hallowed walls.

Tomás met my eyes again, no longer certain, but alarmed. “Catherine!” he called, his voice distant and stretched thin across an impossible span. He reached for me.

A loud snap tore through the air.

“Catherine!” he called again, his voice fighting its way through the mounting dread.

The ground lurched beneath me with brutal force, stealing my balance. The air thickened, too heavy to draw in. Smoke crept into the abbey, coiling through the arches and dimming the light. The scent reached me next, acrid and unmistakable. Heat pressed in from every side.

“Catherine!”

My eyes shot open.

My cabin lurched into view, thick with smoke. Fire crackled somewhere in the corridor beyond. I lay crumpled on the floor, my senses wavering, my lungs burning with every shallow breath. The choking air forced a hacking cough from me.

Tomás forced his way into my cabin and lifted me into his arms. A broad-shouldered crewman hurried past us with an axe and drove it into the outer wall, splitting it open to the deck beyond.

The storm rushed in with a savage howl—snow, wind, and freezing spray met the inferno within. Below, the sea churned in black swells. The deck erupted in smoke and fire. Passengers scrambled as the flames devoured the ship and the storm battered it without mercy.

The last lifeboat strained against its ropes, held fast on Tomás’ command. He placed me into it, his hands steady despite the chaos. He shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around me, a meager defense against a cold that was sharp enough to cut through flesh. The world narrowed to him as he pressed his lips to mine, as though that single touch might hold our world together.

A thunderous crack split the night.

I saw the mast collapse, its great length crashing down between us. It struck the deck, throwing Tomás from his footing and snapping the ropes to my lifeboat, sending it plunging downward. A violent surge of freezing air engulfed me before my boat hit the water and the black sea rose to meet me.

The cold closed over me—absolute—dragging me down into darkness.

© 2015 Lowvee Cole. All rights reserved. 

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