'Til the End of Time Read Free Page A

guests in the ballroom. She was never comfortable in this kind of atmosphere, though she had trained herself to appear at ease. She always felt as if she were drowning in perfume and smoke and the crosscurrents existing beneath the small talk floating on the surface of the party. Lord, when were they going in to dinner? At least at the table she’d only have to be polite to her immediate neighbors.
    “Miss Ballard, may I speak to you for a moment?”
    She broke off in mid-sentence to glance at the young man at her elbow. She had to concentrate for a moment before she could place the rather nondescript face. Michael Fontaine, one of Naldona’s minor aides. “Yes, of course.” She excused herself from the portly businessman to whom she had been speaking and followed Fontaine a few paces away, to the bar against the wall.
    He handed her a fluted glass from a tray on the bar and smiled at her with a charm that made his plain face appear handsome. “I thought you might be thirsty. Our guests have been keeping you so busy, you haven’t had a chance to touch the drink you were served earlier.”
    She studied him thoughtfully as she accepted the glass. “You must have been watching me closely to notice that. Why would you—” She broke off as she felt a piece of folded paper pressed against her palm as he transferred the glass into her hand.
    He met her startled gaze. “Read it,” he said softly. There were lines of tension about his lips as he shifted his position to form a barrier between her and the rest of the guests in the room. “Quickly.”
    She hesitated as she searched his face. It was more than tension. Fear. He was frightened. She put the cocktail glass down on the bar and swiftly unfolded the small note. It was very brief and scrawled in bold black script.
    Come to me on the terrace. If you don’t come, you will quite probably die. Mention this note to Naldona, and the man who gave it to you will most certainly die. K.
    Alessandra slowly crushed the note in her palm. “K.?”
    Fontaine moistened his lips with his tongue. “There are some names that aren’t safe to mention here.”
    Karpathan?
She felt a tingle of shock run through her, and her gaze went involuntarily to the French doors. The most wanted man in the country was only a few yards away. Practically in Naldona’s grasp.
    Her gaze shifted across the room to the small, elegantly clad man speaking with burning intensity to James. It wasn’t only Fontaine who would die if she mentioned the note. The man who had written it would have no chance either. She reached for her cocktail and sipped it slowly. “The phrasing in the note could be interpreted as a threat, you know.”
    “No threat. A warning.”
    “Interesting.” Her gaze moved to the French doors again. “He must be quite a man to inspire you to take a risk like this. You must trust his judgment a great deal.”
    “He’s been watching you this evening and thinks you will not betray us,” Fontaine added simply. “And he is the Tanzar.”
    Tanzar. “Does that mean he walks on water?”
    He shook his head. “Loosely translated, it means the man who gives all. But when the people refer to Karpathan, it means something more. The man who
is
all.”
    “I see.” She didn’t really, yet she was undoubtedly intrigued. She had no use for politics or folk heros, but she had a sudden desire to meet this Tanzar and hear what he had to say. She put theglass back on the bar. “Can you cover for me if I slip out?”
    An expression of profound relief appeared on his face. “With no difficulty. I’ve gained considerable practice in the art in the last two years. Drift over to the terrace doors. I’ve arranged for Naldona to be summoned to the study for a phone call. He’ll be kept busy for fifteen minutes. I’ll watch the doors and make sure no one goes out on the terrace while you’re there.”
    “You have it all planned.” She turned toward the door. “Just make sure James isn’t