THE MASKED HEIR
PROLOGUE
February 2, 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 was 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 in through the stained-glass windows, casting soft patterns across the stone. The air was pleasantly tempered, 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 so unwavering, it was as though Heaven itself had ordained what stood before us.
Every gaze settled upon me as I glided down the aisle. Soft murmurs of admiration 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 floor, 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 dull, rhythmic pounding echoed through the abbey.
Tomás met my eyes again, alarm plain upon his face. “Catherine!” he called, his voice distant and stretched thin across an impossible span. He reached for me.
The pounding returned, louder this time.
“Catherine!” Tomás called a second time, his voice fighting its way through the mounting dread.
The stone buckled underfoot, stealing my balance, and I fell to the cold floor. 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 stateroom 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 wrenched a hacking cough from me.
Tomás forced his way into my stateroom and swept 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 reveal 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 tucked it around me, a meager defense against a cold 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 everything 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, until nothing remained but darkness.
© 2015 Lowvee Cole. All rights reserved.
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