Death had surely met her the day she gave birth on a bed of pine branches in the forest. She’d been at the river washing clothing when the first knee-bending labor pain hit. When it subsided, she’d gathered her basket and started for home. Then the next contraction hit, followed by another. Frightened and knowing she’d never make it, she prepared to give birth in the forest.
As her birthing screams rose between agonizing contractions, she’d seen the face of the healer. She bent over Piera and brushed the sweat-drenched hair from her face while offering words of comfort. The healer stayed by her side for ten long hours until her son, Orell Fürst, came into the world—red, fists swinging, and mouth open in shrill screams that blinded her with pain. She’d fallen back against the forest floor and closed her eyes, only to open them days later in a strange little hut. The healer knelt by her bed and offered her spoonfuls of warm broth.
In a basket nearby, her son slept peacefully, and seeing the perfect pinkness of his flesh, she knew he thrived. The instinct that she’d often noticed in other mothers rose in her, but the look in the healer’s eyes gave her pause. When questioned, the healer told Piera of the mark that marred the child’s flesh. She brought the babe to Piera to see, pulling back the blanket and pointing at the mark on the curve of his hip. The child’s birthmark resembled two snakes conjoined. She asked the healer if she knew the meaning of the symbol, and the woman said it was the mark of the Zwilling.
The healer explained what she understood of the twin power—a dwarf power composed of both dark and pure energies, which manifested in two vessels—hosts possessing magical aptitudes. She said hundreds of years ago, a dwarf king, fearing the capabilities of the power, had it entombed in a lava catacomb guarded by fire spirits, and all talk of its existence was forbidden. The king tasked a dwarf with compiling all information relating to the Zwilling in a set of scrolls, including instructions for defeating the power if it was ever liberated from its confinement. Over the years, the healer told her, there had been whisperings that the Zwilling power had escaped the catacombs, but its manifestation had never been seen—and, to her knowledge, the power had never manifested itself in one host.
When Piera told her of the traveler’s visit, and the magic she herself possessed, the healer’s eyes had widened with surprise before her brow knitted. It was because Piera possessed magic of her own that she still drew breath, the healer warned her. The Zwilling had chosen Piera, assumed a human form, played on her loneliness, and when it found the chance, it had melded with her.
As she had done with her magical abilities, Piera kept her awareness of the power that she and her son carried a secret, fearing what would become of them if people found out. Soon her body returned to its former vigor, but she was plagued with excruciating headaches each time her son cried or threw a tantrum. She sought relief from the healer, but she didn’t have the answers Piera sought to the mysterious power.
When she became pregnant with her daughter the headaches seemed to calm, but she worried, as she did with her son, that the babe would bring damnation upon the earth. Although Orell had been a beautiful golden-haired boy, he pushed away all her attempts at affection, and when she looked into her son’s emotionless black eyes, it reminded her of the mark he bore.
However, her second pregnancy was not the same as the first. Instead, she developed the glow of most pregnant women, and hope sprang within her. She sang and spoke to the unborn babe, and the connection she felt with the fetus brought her peace.
The day the contractions came, she’d grabbed her son and hurried to the healer’s hut in the forest. Her daughter had come out silent and lifeless, and as the healer fought to save the child, Piera looked helplessly on. When the child let out one loud wail and then was silent, the healer said, “She lives.” While wrapping the babe in a blanket, the healer had paused, and turned troubled eyes on Piera.
“What is it?” Piera asked, but before the healer spoke, she knew what she would reveal.
“She too bears the mark.” The healer placed the child on Piera’s breasts. Peering down at her daughter, love had swelled in her chest.
The healer said the Zwilling had cursed Piera by making her the carrier of its offspring. She believed all children born of her womb would possess the power. After a day had passed, she told the healer to fix her so she could no longer conceive children.
Valentina was a few months old when Piera found Orell hovering over the bassinet, attempting to smother her. She’d yelled and pushed him aside and gathered Valentina in her arms, and tears flooded her eyes when the babe let out a wail. Then a shrill cry from Orell buckled her knees and hailed agonizing screams from the baby. She remembered her five-year-old son’s words: “I hate her.”
Piera loved her children, but as they flourished her worry intensified. Orell lacked empathy and was prone to violent outbursts, and his hatred for her and Valentina oozed from him, while his infatuation with his vater was magnified. Piera found serenity and contentment in Valentina, a delightful child who found joy in the smallest things. She yearned to nurture and help, often accompanying Piera to neighboring farms and to the village to care for the ill and the poor.
Piera realized the headaches she and her daughter suffered came on when Orell showed signs of ecstasy or displeasure. As the pain worsened she’d sought help from the healer, but Orell had informed his vater of their friendship and he forbade Piera seeing her. Left with no choice, Piera contemplated sending Valentina away for her protection, but Timo had come up with the fool idea to enter the mountains to find his fortune in the dwarf mines. Afraid of King Gian unleashing his wrath on the village, she’d gone after Timo to stop him.
Her last memory of the real world was her blood staining the snow-covered mountain paths after Timo had beaten her in a blinding fit of rage and left her for dead. King Jörg said a peasant had found her in an alleyway and brought word of the human who’d broken through their barriers. The dwarf healer formulated potions to save her, and when she returned to the land of the living, King Jörg had come to visit her. Piera saw virtue in him, and desperate to understand the Zwilling power and free her children and herself of it, she shared her story. However, upon her revelation, the king’s eyes had hooded with concern. He said an exorcism could mean death for her and her children, and because of the lack of knowledge surrounding the power, he wasn’t sure if it was even possible.
Questions arose: How had the power been released from its confinement, and by whom? The king told her he suspected something more significant was at work, and the tales filtering through the valley of her disappearance may work to their benefit. If Piera was believed dead and her children remained ignorant of the abilities that lay dormant within them, they might remain safe until King Jörg and his men could uncover who had freed the power.
Uncomfortable with the plan for her to stay hidden while something or someone lay waiting to use her children for their own means, she begged the king to send someone to watch over them.
The door to the tower creaked open, and King Jörg entered. Piera moved away from the window and sat down in the chair at the small desk in the corner. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she said to the man who’d been her confidant.
He strode to her side, and with thick fingers, he lifted her chin and peered into her tear-filled eyes. “The love of a parent is a punishment of its own. The sacrifice that must be made is great, but if we do not do what is required, King Gian will raise an army of beasts that will wreak havoc. You’re the Träger, and together with the pull of the Reinheit, we may be able to stop the Seelenfresser and the rise of the Vormacht. I wish there was another way…” His voice broke, and he turned away.
“I will hold my children one last time,” she said, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap. “My life in return for theirs is a sacrifice I’d make ten times over, but I never thought I would have to kill my own child.”
“He is evil.”
“But he is my son.” Her voice sounded brittle a
nd broken, like tiny shards of shattered glass.
King Jörg returned to her side and clasped her hands in his. “I know, my friend. I wish I could wield my magic to save you from this pain, but I can’t. You and Valentina are our only hope.”
Kingdom of Himmelart
Back at the palace, Sixtus paced the floor of his chamber. A mighty battle twisted in his heart, and he knew but one thing that would take his mind off the torment. What was becoming of him? Damn his vater for sending him to the village to mingle with humans. As his annoyance stewed within him, he thought about life before he’d met Valentina, and what it would have been like if he had not. Was he a better man for it?
There was a rap on the door. “Your Highness, it is I, Noelia, responding to your summons.”
Lady Noelia’s seductive voice drew him to the door, and he threw it open and pulled her into his chamber.
“Oh, Your Highness, such fire!”
Usually her excitement overwhelmed all miseries and thoughts, but when it didn’t, he cursed. Determined to drive Valentina from his mind, he pulled at the laces of Lady Noelia’s bodice as he led her toward the bed. She giggled with anticipation, her eyes wild with lust. Her gown dropped to the floor, and he grabbed a handful of her breasts, pressing his mouth on hers. He tried to ignite feelings of old, but when they wouldn’t come he stepped back and lifted her dress from the floor and threw it at her. “Leave me,” he said.
She gaped at him. “But, Your Highness, do I not please you?” Tears welled in her blue eyes.
“It’s me, not you,” he said, running a hand through his dark locks. “Please, cover yourself and leave me to my misery.”
She held her gown against her breasts. “Has your time in the village stolen your passion, or is it another woman?”
He dropped his hand and gawked at her.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Her face grew taut, and her tears faded. “You have ruined me. No decent man will want me. I thought you would marry—”
“Marry? I will never marry,” he said, hopelessness expanding within him.
“You will. Your vater will see to it. And you will continue to have your whores and ladies to fill your desire.” She fumbled to dress, then marched to the door, where she paused and looked back at him, her eyes seething. “I see the elixir she has hypnotized you with, and I hope she crushes your heart as you have done so many.”
“I said, leave me. Now go.” He marched toward her and she fell back in fear, grabbed the doorknob, and dashed from the room. He slammed the door after her and leaned back against it and ran his hands over his face. May the gods help me, what have I done?
Valentina
Dressed in a white night-robe, I sat on the window seat in my chamber, tracing the rain droplets pelting the windowpane. Visions of the Seelenfresser governed my mind before my thoughts turned to Mutter. What would she think of what had become of my brother? How was such a thing possible? A human turned beast. Unrest had plagued me since my discovery in the meadow, and the force of something more captivated my days. The ache to see Flicker and Nisse was like a blade to my chest. They would know what to do. I rested my head back against the wall framing the window, overcome with the loneliness that had chased me all my life.
Don’t lose hope, my child, a soothing voice said. My eyes flew open, and I released my knees to glance about the room for the speaker. The voice had come to me the day the woman had shoved me out of the sewers. In the light of the lantern, I saw a mouse scurry across the floor and disappear into a small hole in the wall. I strained to hear the lull of the voice again, but it never came. I was alone.
A flash of light drew my eye to the pavilion that sat in the middle of the gardens. An aura of white and purple shone brightly before dimming to a glint. Pulling myself up on my knees, I stretched to see what caused the light, but the cascading sheets of rain made it impossible. I rose and threw a shawl around my shoulders before hurrying down the corridor and the back stairs. I wove through the corridors on the main floor until I reached the front door.
Outside, my bare feet slapped against the slippery marble stairs as I rushed down them. Shrubs tugged at my night-robe like fingers trying to pull me back, but I pushed forward with the need to know what magic was at work. Inside the pavilion, the light had faded to a flicker but provided enough light for me to discern the slender figure of a woman. She sat on the bench with her back to me. The thumping in my chest intensified.
“Who are you?” I shouted above the cracking thunder of the storm.
She sat unmoving.
“State your business here.” I blinked away the raindrops teetering on my lashes.
“I come in peace,” the woman said. Her voice didn’t have the calming effect of the one I’d heard earlier. She turned to face me as lightning lit the horizon and thunder cracked again. In the brief flash, I saw the woman clearly. Waist-length blonde hair cascaded over her slender shoulders, and her piercing, glowing gaze held me. “Step inside before the storm soaks you.”
Drawn by curiosity, I stepped out of the rain, and as I did, an uncanny feeling gripped me. “Are you a witch?” I dared to breathe.
“I mean you no harm, dear one.” She patted the seat beside her. “Come, sit.”
I shook my head and remained where I stood. “Why are you here?”
“I’ve come to warn you.”
“Warn me of what?” I asked.
“Your brother.”
My brother? “What is it you speak of?” Did she know what had become of him? How did she find me?
“King Jörg has nurtured the Seelenfresser within your brother because he desires to resurrect the Vormact power,” she said.
King Jörg? People had hailed the goodness of the dwarf king. Then I recalled the creature’s words the day at the river: the dwarves are the enemy. You can’t trust them.
“But why tell me?” I asked. Did this woman, or witch, have the answers I sought?
“Because you are the Reinheit.”
“The what?” My heart drummed in my chest.
“You do not know?” She sounded incredulous. “Of course, they didn’t tell you. They set out to protect you by keeping you in the dark.”
“I beg you, speak clearly.” I stepped closer.
“Of course. You should know everything.” The woman then spoke of a Zwilling power and her belief that Mutter was its carrier and her children its offspring. By the time she’d finished, I had sat down beside her, paralyzed by astonishment and building fear.
Could it all be true? Did magic lay dormant within me? I’d never felt it. But the transformation of Orell was undeniable. Had I not seen it for myself, I may have remained in denial. Even the woman who sat before me demonstrated that magic breathed. Tales of magic outside our borders were frequent, but like the villagers, it was hard for me to acknowledge something I had never seen.
“They’ve used all of this to keep you hidden.” She swept out a hand, and before me the mansion and grounds faded and a dilapidated estate stood in their place. The white paint of the pavilion flaked and peeled, weathering with age. Beneath me, the bench rocked and creaked unsteadily under my weight.
“What have you done? The children and Lord Winslow—”
“It was all an illusion orchestrated by the mountain dwarves,” she said. “There are no children or Lord Winslow.”
I rose cautiously and stared at the woman. “What trickery is this? I’ve spent months serving his lordship’s household.” The cold encompassing the pavilion transformed my breath into a trail of rising white billows. I glanced around at the forest to find the trees naked and the grass brown with signs of winter. But that day it had been summer; I’d picked flowers in the gardens to place in vases in each room of the mansion. “I-I don’t understand.” I turned back to the woman, but she wasn’t looking at me.
Alarm swept over her face as she leaped to her feet. The mirage faded, and before me stood a dwarf with a mangled face and glassy eyes. “It can’t be! The Träger. S
he’s alive,” he said.
I stumbled back at the sight of him and lifted a hand to my mouth to stifle a cry. Fear like I’d never felt before surged through me as his gaze settled on me.
“We must leave. Take the girl,” he said.
Before I could react, hands grabbed me from behind. “Let go of me.” I clawed and fought to free myself, but when I caught sight of my captors, I cringed in horror and fear, all fight forgotten.
You are not alone. Fight, my daughter. The voice I’d heard in my chamber was with me again. I’m coming for you.
Mutter? It was the last thought that entered my mind before my world went dark.
As I regained consciousness, my throat and lungs burned with the scent of sulfur so strong it twisted my stomach. The intense heat stung my flesh. I became aware of the squelching and bubbling of liquid and the flapping of wings. I opened my eyes and beheld fire-breathing creatures soaring in the black vault above me. Where am I? My heart beat faster and faster. I struggled to pull myself up, but the burn of restraints shaving into my wrists and ankles stilled me. Beneath me, the chill of marble bit through my thin night-robe. I turned my head, and the heat intensified as I looked upon the lava river churning around me.
There was a hiss, and something cast a shadow over me, and I stared into the citrine eyes of my captor. I recoiled and yanked at the bindings holding me, my eyes peeling away from those above me to another sentinel posted at my feet—a creature with brass armor strapped over the raven-like feathers of its chest, and a massive skull encased in a brass helmet. I froze, too afraid to breathe, as one captor leaned close. His forked tongue slithered out to scratch my cheek, and saliva dripped from his gray-tinged fangs onto my face. The beast nudged me with its nose before it straightened at the clap of multiple footsteps on the wet flagstone.
The Maid of Chateau Winslow Page 20
