Gerall's Festivus Bride

by Rebekah R. Ganiere

  Flint turned to Eloa and inclined his head. “I apologize. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

  Eloa nodded as fatigue washed over her. She suddenly became acutely aware of her placement atop Gerall’s half-naked body. She slid off him, and he took her hand in his and squeezed it tight.

  “Thank you.”

  She gave him a weak smile.

  “He’s too weak,” she said. “We have to do something about the blood loss.”

  “What do we need to do?” asked Jamen.

  Eloa shook her head. “I do not know.”

  “He needs to replenish his blood,” said Scarlet. “Even with your family’s quick healing ability, he needs more.”

  “I can cook some beef stock and bone broth,” said Zelle.

  Flint nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

  “Are you sure you are all right?” asked Jamen.

  Eloa looked at Gerall’s face, which was as close to a deathly pall as she’d ever seen a man.

  “I just need sleep,” Gerall managed. “And some water.”

  “I’ll get some.” Scarlet walked out.

  The group stared at Gerall for a minute and then Zelle pulled on Flint’s hand.

  “I’m going to make the broth. Get them some fresh sheets, and you and Jamen put them on the bed.”

  “I can do it,” said Eloa quickly.

  “Nonsense,” replied Zelle. “You wash up, and we’ll get you another chemise. Then you and Gerall can rest. I’m sure with all that exertion you are almost dead on your feet.”

  Zelle wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so Eloa nodded and slid from the bed. Gerall held her hand for a moment longer.

  “I’m not leaving,” she said.

  “Neither am I,” he replied.

  She wished that they were alone to share the intimate moment, but that wasn’t going to happen right then. So Eloa followed Zelle toward a bedroom at the end of the hall and Zelle pushed open the door into the richly furnished room. She walked to a far corner and opened a large wardrobe. Pushing several dresses aside, she plucked out two beautiful gowns and two chemises and handed them to Eloa. Eloa’s gaze traveled over the dresses.

  “I... I can’t take your dresses. They’re too fine.”

  Zelle smiled. “They aren’t mine. They were Mother Gwyn’s. They’re yours now.”

  “No. I... I couldn’t possibly.”

  Zelle pushed the garments into Eloa’s arms. “Yes you can. You’re a Lady Gwyn now too. Everything we have is yours.”

  “But... we aren’t even married yet.”

  Zelle chuckled. “Trust me, as far as this family is concerned you are.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Gerall spent the next twelve hours sipping broth and cuddling next to Eloa, but by morning, his body had begun to chill and sweat at the same time, and he couldn’t stomach any more of the broth.

  “I think it’s an infection,” Eloa told Jamen and Flint. “It could be that the knife was dirty, or...”

  “Or?” asked Jamen.

  She looked over at him, and Gerall blinked his bleary eyes.

  “Poison,” she whispered.

  “I can hear just fine,” Gerall croaked. “You don’t need to whisper.”

  The three walked to his bed, and Eloa sat and took his clammy hand in hers.

  “What do you think?” Flint asked him.

  “Rapid heartbeat, shallow breathing, pain in my joints and extremities, chills, and sweats. If I saw someone in my condition, I too would say poison.”

  “Do you have any idea what kind?” asked Flint.

  Gerall shook his head and groaned at the pain that shot through him.

  “We need to question Charlie,” said Eloa.

  Flint and Jamen shared a look.

  “We’ve questioned him all night. He won’t give up a thing,” said Jamen.

  Eloa’s face hardened. “Let me ask him.”

  “No.” Gerall grabbed her arm. He didn’t want her anywhere near the bastard.

  She looked at him, her gentle eyes softening. “I’ll do it with your brothers there. He won’t hurt me.”

  “It’s worth a shot,” said Jamen. “We haven’t gotten anywhere.”

  He didn’t want Eloa anywhere near Charlie, more than that, he didn’t want her out of his sight.

  “All right,” he finally said. “But if he lays a hand on you—”

  “We won’t let him. Don’t worry,” replied Flint.

  Zelle appeared in the door. “I’ll sit with him.”

  She swept over to the bed and sat. Dipping a rag into a bowl of water and herbs, she pressed it to his forehead.

  Gerall appreciated Zelle’s care and concern, but he really wanted Eloa back in his arms. Especially if he didn’t have much time left to hold her.

  Eloa followed Flint and Jamen down the stairs and out the solar door toward the stable. Her bare feet crunched over the gravel, and she looked over her shoulder back at the house. Of one thing she was entirely sure, if she couldn’t find out the poison used on Gerall, he would die. From her limited study of poisons and such she knew, the longer it took to work, the worse it would be in the end. Toxins like that were only used if they were intended to be fatal and the user didn’t want to be identified.

  She entered the stable, her feet crackling over the hay strewn across the ground. Steeds taller and broader than she’d ever seen took up most of the stalls. She crossed the room to the end, and the brothers stopped by a door. They opened it and walked into the tack room. She followed them in, and they closed the door behind her before pulling up a trapdoor in the floor. Lanterns lit the way down a passage underneath the stable. Flint walked down the steps first, followed by Eloa. Jamen followed her, closing the trapdoor and securing it with a bolt.

  “I take it no one knows about this place,” she said.

  “Only our family,” Flint replied.

  Zelle’s words rang in her mind. “Trust me, as far as this family is concerned, you are now.”

  She followed the narrow stone passage until it opened into a large room. Mattresses covered the wooden floor and more weapons than she’d ever seen lined the walls. In the middle of the room, tied to a chair sat Charlie, battered and bloodied. His head lolled to one side, his tunic and breeches covered in cuts, holes, and blood. Adrian, the giant werewolf, patiently sat in the corner, wiping his bloodied hands on a towel.

  “What’s she doing down here?” he asked. “This is no place for a lady.”

  “Gerall’s been poisoned.” Jamen lifted Charlie’s head by the hair. “And she’s going to find out what kind of poison.”

  Charlie grunted and opened his one still-working eye to peer at her. His lips raised into a sneer and then he spit on the floor.

  Jamen backhanded him, making Charlie groan.

  “All right,” said Flint. “Your turn.”

  Eloa swallowed hard. What she had planned she’d only seen her father do once in an effort to keep a wayward young man from going down the wrong path. His had been a simple suggestion. What she had planned was a lot more than that.

  Eloa wiped her hands on her dress and walked to Charlie. She looked down at him and placed her hands on either side of his head. She yanked on the magick inside her and formed it into a thought, a suggestion, something enticing.

  “Charlie, did you use poison on the blade you cut Gerall with?”

  Charlie’s eyes connected with hers, and he smiled. “Yes.”

  She pulled her magick harder and formed her next question, forcing a smile onto her lips.

  “Tell me the poison you used.”

  His eyes grew glassy, and he opened his mouth, but then his gaze hardened.

  “No.”

  She forced herself to remain calm. “You want to tell me, don’t you?”

  Again, his words came out hard. “No.”

  Frustration bubbled inside her. She licked her lips and pulled harder on her magick.

  “You want to go home, don’t you? Tell me the poi
son you used, and we’ll let you go.” Again, she made her voice as calm and soothing as possible, the way she’d seen her father do.

  “No.”

  She stepped back from him and blew out a breath. Her heart raced, and her limbs shook with fatigue.

  “This isn’t going to work,” said Flint. “We need to do something else. Something more drastic.”

  “Like what?” asked Adrian. “We’ve tried everything.”

  “Not everything,” replied Eloa.

  She’d done it only once. She’d been ten, and a girl in the village refused to stop picking on her. She hadn’t even realized what she’d done until it had been too late. Her father had told her never to do it again. He’d told her it was the worst form of magick. Dark. Evil. He’d made her promise never to do it again. Using that kind of dark magick could twist her. Change her. Into what, she did not know. But to save Gerall, it was worth the cost.

  Eloa stepped up to Charlie again.

  He grinned up at her. “Give me your best shot, sweetheart.”

  Eloa reached deep inside her. Inside the place, her father would not let her go. The place where she kept all of her pain. Her loneliness. Her anger. What Charlie and Trent had done to her father. The death of her mother. The agony and fatigue of healing her father repeatedly and still it not being enough rose inside her like a tidal wave. Darkness tinged the edges of her vision and Charlie’s smirk fell from his face.

  She reached out with her hands and cupped his head again in her palms.

  “Tell me the poison.”

  “No.” Charlie’s words came out almost a whisper.

  Fear. Good.

  Eloa unleashed her magick. Charlie’s eyes popped wide as the magick pulsed through her veins and pumped into his mind. Wave after wave pulsed through her and she let it seep into his brain, clouding his thoughts, darkening his soul. His mouth opened and closed, and every muscle in his body strained against the ropes that bound him. Hotter and hotter she let her magick burn into him.

  “Tell me the poison.”

  He bucked in his seat and pulled against the ropes. “N......ooooooo,” he stammered.

  “This is just a taste of what I will do,” she said. “I will scramble your brain like eggs if you don’t answer me.”

  His mouth opened in a silent scream, but he didn’t speak.

  Eloa pulled harder on her magick and pressed it into his mind, invading every crevasse. He screamed so loud that Eloa waited for her ears to bleed.

  “Tell me,” she yelled. “Tell me what the poison is!”

  “I don’t know!” he replied.

  Flint ran to them. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  “It... wasn’t mine! It was... g... g... g... given to me!”

  “Who?” asked Jamen. “Who gave it to you?”

  “Th... th... the magistrate!”

  “Is that who has Fendrick?” asked Adrian.

  “Yes!”

  “Where is he?” Adrian demanded.

  Charlie’s eyes bugged so hard out of his head that they looked like they might pop. “Storm… cellar…”

  “Where?” asked Eloa.

  “Flower… garden…” Charlie screamed, and blood trickled from his ears.

  “That’s enough.” Jamen touched her arm, and Eloa let go of Charlie’s head.

  She took a deep breath and looked around at the men; the anger and pain still racing through her. They stared at her, no one moving, as Charlie sobbed in his chair. Finally, Flint walked to her slowly, removed his glasses, and took her hand in his.

  “Thank you, Eloa.”

  His dead eyes searched her face. She focused her thoughts away from the anger and the pain and forced herself to lock it back where it belonged. She touched the scars around his eyes.

  “You’re blind,” she said.

  Flint didn’t reply. Instead, he stood very still, letting her touch his face. Little by little, the darkness receded from her vision, and she took a deep breath and stepped away from him.

  He replaced his glasses, and she watched as he blinked and looked at her again.

  “We need to go,” said Jamen. “We have to find the magistrate and figure out the poison.”

  Flint nodded. “First, we must tell Erik what’s going on. He needs to come back with Hass and Ian.”

  Adrian grabbed Charlie’s shoulders. “What flower garden?”

  Charlie babbled incoherently.

  “What garden?” he yelled.

  Adrian raced from the room.

  “Adrian, wait!” called Jamen. “You don’t even know where you’re going.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ll tear apart ever storm cellar in a garden I can find.” The trap door banged open and then heavy footsteps ran overhead.

  “We should go with him,” said Jamen. “It could be an ambush.”

  “No,” replied Flint. “We need to help Gerall. After Erik arrives, we’ll send Hass and Ian after him.” Flint held his arm out to Eloa. “Come, let’s get you back to Gerall.” She took it, and together they headed out of the room.

  “What should we do with him?” Eloa looked back at Charlie.

  They all stared at him for a moment. His head lolled to the side, his eyes glazed as if not seeing, and he continued to babble to himself.

  Flint stopped. “We’ll take him into the woods and let the animals have his remains. He won’t last much longer.”

  He looked down at Eloa as if for approval. She nodded, and they continued out of the training room.

  Flint walked Eloa back to the manor house.

  “Can I see it?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “The mirror that you use to communicate with your brother?”

  Flint nodded and led her through the solar into the front hall. From there, he turned into the grand hall, and they walked to the head table. Behind it, they opened the door to a small anteroom. In it sat a chair and writing table and, in the corner, stood an ornate but ordinary looking mirror.

  “Where did you get it?” she asked.

  “From Cinder. She found several in Ville DeFee and gave this one to us so we could keep in contact. The smaller one Erik carries belonged to Sage, my sister’s husband.”

  Eloa watched Flint press a large red stone at the top of the mirror. The mirror’s surface rippled like a pond.

  “Erik Gwyn,” Flint called.

  The scene shifted and zoomed forward, making Eloa’s stomach turn at the sight of it. Finally, the mirror stopped moving, and the surface showed nothing but darkness. Sounds of horses trotting filled the room.

  “Erik!” Flint yelled.

  A flash of light pierced the mirror, and then it went dark again.

  “Erik!” he yelled louder.

  “Whoa. Did you hear that?” asked a muffled voice.

  “Hass, it’s Flint. Take the mirror out of the saddlebag, you dolt!”

  The horses stopped, and then the mirror flooded with light as the image lifted out of a dark bag. One of the twins’ scruffy faces loomed into view.

  “Heya, Flint. Get into any good fights since we’ve been gone?”

  “Hand the mirror to Erik,” Flint growled.

  “No manners at all. Can’t even say please?”

  “Hass!”

  “Give it to me,” said Erik.

  “Man, you two are as bossy as mom and dad were.”

  The mirror switched hands, and Erik’s handsome face appeared.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Flint licked his lips. “You need to come back immediately.”

  His expression darkened. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Gerall. He’s been stabbed with a poisoned blade.”

  “What? How?”

  “There isn’t time. The magistrate supplied the blade. I think he’s the one behind everything. He has Fendrick. We need to go in there. Now. Gerall doesn’t have much time.”

  Erik nodded. “We’re half a day’s ride away.”

  Flint paused
for a moment and looked to Eloa and then back at the mirror. “I don’t know if we have that long.”

  Erik’s expression saddened, and he looked around. “We’ll head to Cinder’s and come through the mirror. Keep it open.”

  Flint nodded, and then the mirror went dark.

  “So... you go to Ville DeFee often, then?” she asked.

  Flint looked at her. “Not often but—”

  He looked back at the mirror. “Queen Cinder of Ville DeFee.”

  The mirror zoomed in and out of scenes again, landing on a large bedroom full of beautiful colors. Eloa’s heart squeezed. Ville DeFee castle.

  “Cinder?” Flint called.

  There was a giggle and then the sound of rustling fabric.

  “Cinder?” he called louder.

  The noise stopped.

  “My heavens, we have to move that thing out of our bedroom,” said a man.

  “Erik?” a female called.

  “Flint.”

  “Can this wait?” called the man.

  “Sorry Rome,” Flint replied, his cheeks reddening.

  Light footsteps padded toward the mirror, and a beautiful blonde woman appeared in a cream silk bathrobe. Embarrassed, Eloa turned away.

  Cinder pushed at her messy hair. “Flint, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Gerall has been poisoned, but we don’t know what with. Can you come and heal him?”

  “How long ago?”

  “Close to eighteen hours.”

  Cinder’s face paled, and her eyes saddened. “I’m sorry, Flint, I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “The poison has been in his system too long. It would take everything I have to try and find it and cure it in every part of his body. It would kill me. I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “But I can come and see what I can do.”

  “Thank you,” said Flint. “Erik and the twins are near Ville DeFee. They will need to borrow the mirror to travel back.”

  “Not a problem,” said a man walking into the mirror frame. “I’ll make sure the guards let them right through and then we’ll send them along.”

  “Thank you, Rome.”

  Eloa’s hands shook. The king and queen of Ville DeFee, her father’s people, stood in front of her and the queen herself was coming to tend to Gerall. Her Gerall. Eloa could hardly believe it.