“This is the last night I come to you,” she whispered, her voice husky.
The Sorcerer had the urge to reach for her, but he restrained himself, knowing the girl would only recoil. He summoned the shadow servants, but it was the girl who emptied the last drops from the vial into the cauldron. The mist rose from the brew and the Sorcerer muttered the spell that would transform him into a man of feeling, his senses coming alive with each step he took. He thought he would burst when the fog dissipated and he saw his lover waiting for him.
Once they joined together, they never came apart. He clutched her with a desperation that frightened him, burying his face into the crevices of her flesh. He breathed in her scent so that he could take a piece of her with him once he ceased to be, evaporated into nothing like the Phantom that he was. Each time he felt the quiver of release, he held on. If he never let go, perhaps the night would go on for eternity.
But she was relentless. Her lips curled into a snarl, cold blue eyes glittering, she urged his body to betray him and give her what she wanted. His ecstasy would bring her freedom, and all he could think was that this was the last time…the last time she would be his.
He gazed up the tunnel and saw the gateway to the Caverns stood open. He had forgotten to close the boulder. If he’d remembered, she would never be able to leave him. But she wouldn’t look at him with hunger as she did right now, the sadness of farewell in her eyes. The Phantom could hold back no longer, so near as he was to the edge of the cataclysm. He’d held back long enough that pleasure had become pain, delicious when he finally gave in, the howl quaking his being from inside out when his lover forced him to surrender. Her moans echoed through the chamber and consumed him. His last peak was the most violent he’d ever known, wrenching his grief and shattering something inside.
Suddenly the girl gasped and fell on him in a faint.
The Sorcerer knew something was wrong when he felt the decrepitude in his bones. Somehow, he was no longer virile and young. But when he saw the girl’s essence lift from her, he realized what she had done. Her body collapsed, but her essence reached inside him to claim the Trainer’s. There was nothing he could do to stop her. The Sorcerer was too weak. He was falling and the precious essence was floating away. The Trainer rose with his lover who was setting him free.
The stars were disappearing from the sky. The rising dawn meant night was coming to an end. The Sorcerer fought to stay conscious. Even if he couldn’t experience the bliss, he could at least witness their final embrace. Unshackled by physical bodies, the essence of the girl and the Trainer became one. The last sound the Sorcerer heard before he succumbed to darkness was the echoing sigh of two lovers floating up the tunnel of crystals, sharing the most exquisite rapture possible until the girl let her Phantom Lover go.
*****
His sleep was dreamless. The Sorcerer woke up into her cold blue gaze. The girl was dressed and she watched the Sorcerer lying naked. Her expression was bland as she looked over his bony form and handed him his robes, staying quiet until he’d put them on.
“I believe you have something for me,” she said.
He looked at her and nodded.
The Sorcerer got up, shocked at the pain searing through him as he searched amongst the shelves. He kept his back to the girl until he found the promised dust that would protect her in times of danger. Before this moment, he had never noticed the emptiness after a seduction came to an end. Exhaustion spread through his limbs when he found the leather pouch. But he caught a glimpse of the black velvet bag nestled in the corner of the highest shelf, and his spirit lifted. He’d actually forgotten about her heart. No wonder he was so tired.
He turned around and handed her the pouch of dust. She took it, but eyed him closely, scowling. The Sorcerer was pleased she’d detected his shift in mood. The girl’s powers of observation were impeccable. That was the quality that made her such a satisfying conquest.
“Use this with caution,” he said. “You only need a pinch, it’s that powerful.”
She nodded, ruffling her skirts to pocket the leather pouch.
“I don’t know if the world is ready for you,” he continued. “But you’re more than ready for the world. Good luck in your new life.”
The girl said nothing, staring up the tunnel for a moment before taking her first step. But once she started, her progress was steady as she made her up the stairs. The Sorcerer watched her go, the sharp stab in his breast catching him off guard so much that he almost doubled over. The pain was confusing. There was no reason to suffer. He glanced at the black velvet bag, knowing he would soon get what he really needed.
The girl stopped halfway up the spiral. Her halt was so sudden he wondered if she could hear what he was thinking. She looked down at him, her brows drawn close. He knew what her question would be before she spoke, her contralto voice echoing down the tunnel.
“What are you going to do with my heart?”
“I’m going to eat it.”
The Sorcerer didn’t hesitate in his answer, and thus dispelled the last vestiges of the illusion of love. The girl’s face paled and the Sorcerer felt like himself again, reveling in the surge of vitality in his blood.
“I always knew there would be a hidden cost,” she murmured.
The girl turned her face to the sky, which was deep lavender in the hour before sunrise, and finished her climb out of the Caverns and disappeared. The girl would be all right, the Sorcerer thought, confident he’d done better by her than to any of his other conquests. With everything she’d gained from him, her power was formidable. The Sorcerer shook the torpor from his limbs and turned back to the shelf, his eyes reaching for the velvet bag before he got it in hand. Pulling the gathers open, his innards clenched when he saw the heart. He had never waited this long to feed. But first, he had to bring it back to life.
The heart was so quiet and still. He waved his hand over the bag and whispered the spell of awakening. The Sorcerer waited, but nothing happened. Jostling the bag between his fingers, his voice rumbled with another command to make it pulse again. But the heart rocked in silence.
The Sorcerer frowned. This had never happened before. Those were powerful spells, but he must need his strongest remedy. He searched until he found the potion he had once used to bring a dead man back to life, holding his breath as he sprinkled a few drops and waited. Nothing changed. He doused the heart with the tonic, massaged the supple tissue, and muttered the most powerful incantation in his memory, a spell that had never failed him until now. A crest of panic rose in his breast, but the Sorcerer pushed it down. This couldn’t be happening. He had no appetite for a stillborn heart. It had to be alive.
For hours, he scoured through volumes he hadn’t read in centuries, trying anything that promised a solution. But no spell could make that heart beat again. The sight of it was enough to drive him out of his senses. The heart was plump and fresh and had the light aroma that only came with untouched innocence. It was the most appealing he’d ever seen. This was the heart of a young girl, and robust with the first stirrings of desire. He could only imagine how sweet it would taste. He knew this heart couldn’t be truly dead, or else it wouldn’t be so enticing.
His starving had gone beyond pain. The Sorcerer had to feed. He dug inside the bag, but his fingers couldn’t clutch what was inside, no matter how persistent his reach. He felt a push against his hand and realized the heart must have a guardian. But how could that be? The girl had given it up to him. He remembered that day clearly, the defiance glinting in her eyes when she accepted his offer, but only if he granted her one request.
“Before I lay with you,” she had said, “I want you to take my heart.”
And that was how she did it. Because her heart remained pure of the choice that she’d made, the Sorcerer had no claim on it. Yowling, he hurled the velvet bag against the wall with all his might. He never knew hunger could be such a misery, and the humiliation that a conquest had outwitted him sent him into a fury. The Sorcere
r stormed around the chamber, throwing treasures to the ground and ripping texts apart. What little calm he had left whispered that he was only rendering himself weaker by destroying an irreplaceable knowledge, but the Sorcerer didn’t care. All he could think was that she must have known. Every night when she came to the Caverns and absorbed his lessons, every time she surrendered, even while staring at him from the spiral with her white cheeks, the girl knew she had the better of him and he couldn’t bear it.
The words were crumpled in his hand, one of the few pages left of the texts he’d burned to ashes. The Sorcerer muttered them insensibly until their meaning sunk in and he finally stopped his rampage. He reread the page and grew weak in the knees. This spell was written so long ago, the language had been forgotten, but he was grateful for this gift from whatever god of retribution that took mercy on him. The spell was perfect.
He wouldn’t get the vitality he desperately needed. After his pride was restored, then he would feed. There was always a jealous peasant girl with dreams of nobility and riches, and he’d find one who could be easily duped. But first, he would have his revenge.
As the Sorcerer gathered all he needed, he imagined how the events might play out. He wished his influence went so far that he could choreograph his vengeance to his liking. But once the spell was cast, he knew the girl would suffer. That would have to be enough. The Sorcerer of the Caverns glanced in the mirror he would use. At least he’d be able to watch.
Chapter Five
She saw the dust on her night table the moment she came back to her room. Her maid must have found the pouch in her skirts and taken it out for her. The pouch was worn, the leather dull under the flame of her night lamp. The dust made an unwelcome reminder. The girl had forgotten about the Sorcerer, as if the interlude of the past months had never been. She buried the pouch again in the pocket of her gown and dropped to her bed. Then she pulled her necklace off, her palm guarding the crystal stargaze from the light. This keepsake didn’t disturb her so much, the stargaze a talisman of the moment her destiny changed. The silver links of the chain were cool, trailing down her arm while she traced the crystal tiers with her fingertip.
Tonight, supper had been long. She and her father talked well past dessert, just as they had the night before. She was still uncomfortable around him, and the Patron was hardly more at ease than she. But he was persistent, skillful in preventing the awkward pauses that might have dammed the flow of conversation. The topic tonight had been safe, her father discussing the season and confiding he was thinking about adding to his estate with one in the southeast.
“Properties like this rarely come to purchase,” he said. “However, his son is frivolous and prefers city life.”
“But it’s far from here. How can you watch over both?”
“It would be foolish of me to attempt it,” the Patron replied. “Frankly, I think this would be ideal for you.”
The girl said nothing, just set down her fork and stared at him.
“The estate’s small,” he continued, “but the soil is so rich you could grow just about anything. There’s also a nice copse of woods, perfect for riding and hunting.”
“It’s a long distance.”
“Yes, but not so much I couldn’t guide you through any concerns until you were ready to run it on your own. That shouldn’t take long. You’re very capable.”
“You would need at least one full day’s travel if you run the horses hard. But more likely it’s a two day journey.”
“And that would serve you well, don’t you think?” The Patron spoke softly, eyeing her with raised brows.
“Are you really so attached here?”
The girl chortled before she could stop herself, glancing to the attendants just as their eyes flicked to each other.
“No, Papa. Of course I’m not.”
They sipped their wine without speaking for a few minutes.
“Good society there from what I’ve heard,” the Patron mused. “The people are said to be quite eccentric. But charming.”
“You don’t think they’d wonder about an unmarried woman as one of their Patrons?”
“You would be properly introduced. So what is there to suspect?”
The girl scarcely tasted the last bite of dessert, her mind digesting what her father had to say. As one of the most respected Patrons on the continent, an introduction from him would be invaluable. And although he hadn’t said so, she suspected the people there had heard nothing about her. At least, not yet they hadn’t.
“I must admit this sounds intriguing, Papa, but scandal can travel to great lengths.”
“How unfortunate it is that you’re right,” the Patron said, glaring at the servants until they began to fidget. “Really, the consequences for gossip can never be severe enough.”
His tone was mild, but the faces of their attendants paled. The girl suppressed the urge to chuckle, the thought crossing her mind that such restraint might be death to the Cook.
“Thank you, Papa. I’ll think about it.”
The girl still couldn’t believe how quickly everything had changed. When she opened her eyes just before the lunch hour, her maid's smiling warmth was the first thing she saw before the servant wished her a good day. The stable hands had been deferential when she came to the barn, and had her favorite steed ready for her. She hadn’t gone to the village yet to see how she fared with the merchants, but she was certain they would be courteous when she did. Just like that, her ostracism lifted once word spread the Patron was speaking to her again. Yet the girl knew she would always be marked. Her father’s suggestion was really too wonderful. And she needn’t worry about the taint spreading any farther.
The girl sighed, turning her head, and saw the candle melt dripping from the night lamps to the floor. Startled, she looked out the window and saw the moon at its peak in the sky. She must have fallen into a daze. The hour was much later than she thought. But on this night, she was in her room, instead of the Caverns. The blessed relief made her fall back on her bed.
She could feel the soft wool of her nightclothes laid out over the quilts. Still dressed in her dinner gown with tiny beads embroidered in the pale blue silk, the girl tried to muster the strength to get up and change. Instead she picked up her baby blanket, now a throw in the middle of her bed. The deep green with yellow stitching was the only splash of color in a sea of creamy quilts. Her mother had knit the blanket in the early days of pregnancy, leaving behind the only gift the girl had from her.
“For my little one with love,” her mother had stitched more than twenty years ago.
The girl caressed the words, the sun-yellow thread bright against the forest green. Then she smiled and closed her eyes.
“Thank you, Mama,” she murmured.
She sank deeper into the bedding, lids fluttering over her eyes. She couldn’t believe how tired she was, the weariness bearing down on her bones. The girl felt herself drifting into the images of what her life might be if she moved to the southeast. The promise of a fresh start amongst a new society lured her into dreams.
But the sharp creak sounding through the floorboards startled the girl awake. Dizziness overwhelmed her as she sat up to see her father in the doorway. Her vision blurred from fatigue. She shook her head and looked again to make certain it was the Patron she saw.
“Papa! You scared me.”
He said nothing and stepped over the threshold without an invitation to enter. The fine hairs rose on the back of the girl’s neck and her exhaustion was gone, her limbs painfully tight. Her father rarely came to her room and he never came in without a knock and permission. Even the way he was looking at her was peculiar. She had never seen the whites of his eyes filled with blood, not even when he was in a rage.
The girl pushed off the bed. The stargaze was clenched in her fist, the edges cutting into her palm but she didn’t relax her grip. The girl finally recognized the expression in her father’s face, the longing she saw made it difficult for her to breathe.
<
br /> “Papa, what are you doing?”
“Ella…” the Patron whispered.
At the sound of her mother’s name, the girl almost collapsed. She wondered if the ground had disappeared beneath her feet, and struggled to remain upright.
“What are you saying?” she cried. “You know Mama’s dead. I’m your daughter.”
But the Patron didn’t seem to hear. He kept coming for the girl who backed away from him, reaching out to touch her as he repeated the name of his beloved wife.
“Shut your mouth!” she shouted. “Stop it, Papa, and get out of my room!”
The girl almost vomited when her back hit the wall. She slid into the corner, sobs trapped in her throat, and slapped her father’s hand away from her cheek. She knew resistance was futile. The crazed yearning in her father’s face was unbearable when she looked at him.
She was trapped in the corner, the night table and bed to her left and her father to her right, blocking the doorway. Her entire body was rigid, and her hand was slick from the blood of the stargaze in her fist, the chain entwined between her fingers. The girl pushed her father away with all her strength and the crystal stargaze slipped from her grasp. Even with streaks of blood along the facets, the flame from the night lamps freed the essence within and a whirl of colors leaped in the space between the Patron and his daughter.
He stopped in his tracks when the lights moved, blinking and spinning around him. The girl gasped and heard her father’s breath catch in his throat. She couldn’t stop herself from inhaling, desperate for the air flowing into her until she couldn’t take in any more. Their duet was a song of mourning, the breath ringing from the depths of the Patron and echoing in his daughter. She couldn’t tell the precise moment it happened, but she knew something had changed from the humming in her empty space, the sensation at the crux of pleasure and pain. Then she felt it. From one hand, the crystal stargaze swung wild, but its essence was contained. In her other hand beat the heart of her father.
Birthing Ella Bandita Page 7
