She blinked, and shook her head. “I . . . in time you’ll remember . . . .”
His hands clutched her shoulders hard, more strength in his grip than she had realized he possessed, and his eyes stabbed into hers like daggers. Tell me!”
Closing her eyes, Arianna took a deep breath. “There was a plague . . . it claimed the youngest. And your firstborn died at your side in battle.”
He released her all at once, tipped his head back, his hands like claws clutching at his face. His cry was one of such intense despair she felt tears streaming down her own cheeks. And she could only sit there, crying, watching him fight the pain, for a long time.
When at last his body stopped trembling, and his breaths came more evenly, he faced her again, eyes red-rimmed and dull with grief. “Why did you do this to me?” he asked her. “Why did you bring me back to this grief? This heartache?”
“I . . . I thought–”
“My family is gone. I belong with them, but instead I live on, alone and too weak to do more than lie in this cursed bed! Damn you for this!”
“You were not with them, Nicodimus!” Arianna got to her feet, determined to make him understand. “You had lived for a long time without them when my foolishness got you killed. But even then, you were not with them. You were lying in a shallow grave in some state of limbo. Not dead, but not alive. Trapped there, in some in-between place . . . forever. I . . . I only wanted to free you from that.”
“There was another way!” he shouted, glaring at her in undisguised fury. “You could have freed me by burning my heart and my body. You could have returned me to my family!”
She lowered her head. “Yes, I could have. But I didn’t. I foolishly believed you would prefer life to death, Nicodimus.”
He shook his head slowly, his back bent, shoulders slumped. “At least . . . there was no pain there,” he whispered.
“No, there wasn’t. No pain. No joy. No pleasure. No life at all.”
He sighed, a deep, wounded sound. “Why did you bring me back?”
She closed her eyes. “Because I owed you. I wronged you, and it was the only way I could see to make it right.”
Grating his teeth, stiffening his spine as if making ready to receive a blow, he asked, “What is the year in which I now live, Arianna? Just how much time did I lie mostly dead in the grave?”
She felt her eyes widen. “I. . .”
“Tell me. And speak the truth. I must know sooner or later, you realize that. Simply tell me, for the love of the Gods.”
Nodding, she bit her lower lip.
“Tell me,” he went on when she didn’t speak right away. “I am not a fool, Arianna. I see that the window is blocked from without. I see what care you and the others take when speaking to me. It is obvious that time has passed. The way you speak, the clothes you wear–it is all very different. Has it been a decade?” He stared hard at her. “A century?”
He waited for her to give him the answer. Waited, and silently demanded she tell him what he needed to know. “It has been,” she whispered at last, “five centuries.”
“Five?”
Lifting her gaze to meet his, she nodded slowly. “We are at the dawn of the third millennium.”
He sat there, still and silent, searching inside himself for understanding.
“You’ll be all right, I promise you, Nicodimus. I’ll help you to adjust, and to learn, and you’ll be fine. You’re a strong man, an intelligent man, and–”
“A man who cannot walk across a room without help from a woman. A man held captive by his own betrayer.”
“I am not your captor, Nicodimus,” she whispered. “And I didn’t betray you. Not the way you think–”
He shook his head slowly. “Take a dagger to my chest, woman. End it here. Undo what you’ve done. I’ve no wish to linger in this time.”
She swallowed hard. “Now you’re feeling sorry for yourself. I won’t let you do that. It’s not like you.”
“And what do you know of me?”
She leaned close to him, touched his cheek with her palm and turned his face so she could stare into his eyes. “I know you well enough to know that this pain will ease. Never end altogether, but ease. I know your strength, Nicodimus. It’s unlike that of any other man I have ever known. And I know, too, that even now, somewhere beneath this crippling grief, you’re curious to see what the world is like, how it has changed after all this time.”
He pulled from her touch, averting his eyes. “You know nothing.”
She shrugged. “Maybe not. But I do know you won’t get strong again unless you eat. And the food is here, waiting, untouched. I don’t imagine your appetite is very good just now, after all these shocks. But force yourself, Nicodimus. If for no other reason than to hasten the time when you’ll be able to walk out of my house, and never have to see me again.”
He sent her a narrow-eyed glare. “That is all the reason I need,” he muttered, and reached out to snatch a pastry from the tray. “Leave me in peace,” he said. “Give me that much, at least.”
She nodded, heaved a sigh, and headed out of the bedroom, turning to pull the door closed behind her, her eyes on him until the wooden door blocked him out.
And as she stood there with her back to the living room, she knew she was no longer alone in the house. Someone else was here . . . and not Raven or Duncan. There hadn’t been time for them to return from their errands in town.
She turned, a shiver of foreboding working up her spine. A woman stood facing her. A woman she hadn’t seen in a very long time. Dark and exotic as ever, but no longer beautiful. Nidaba’s hair hung in tangles, dirty, its sheen faded. Her eyes were sunken and hollow. Dark circles surrounded them, and she wore a dress that seemed to be rotting with age before Arianna’s eyes. Even her jewelry–and she wore as much as she always had, right to the ruby stud in her nose–was dulled by the touch of time.
“You,” Nidaba whispered. “I told you once I would kill you if I saw you again.”
“Nidaba. Gods, where have you been? What’s happened to–”
“Where is he? What have you done with Nicodimus’s body?” She shot forward on unsteady legs, her hands clutching Arianna’s shoulders. “I went to visit his grave and he’s gone! I should have known it was you! I should have known! Tell me, wench, where is he?”
Arianna pulled free, only to stagger to one side, banging into a small stand. A vase tumbled to the floor and shattered with a loud crash. And still Nidaba came at her.
“My Gods, Nidaba, what’s happened to you?” The darkness of insanity seemed to glow from within Nidaba’s once flawless eyes. “Calm down. Nicodimus is fine. He’s fine, Nidaba.”
“Fine? He’s dead, and it’s all because of you! You!” She made a growling sound in her throat, teeth drawing back from her lips in an ugly snarl, and she came at Arianna with her hands bent claw-like.
Arianna reacted instinctively. Years of fighting for survival had given her reflexes too strong to override. She reached to her side for the dagger that hung there, concealed by her blouse, but then her hand froze. She couldn’t harm Nidaba. Not the woman who had been some kind of heroic figure to her once. Something horrible had happened to put Nidaba in this maddened state.
Suddenly the haunting words written in Dearborne’s journal came floating back to her mind. “No,” she whispered. “Gods, it was you, wasn’t it?”
Nidaba brought a clawed hand flashing down as if to strip the skin from Arianna’s face. Arianna lifted her hands to cover her eyes in self-defense.
But Nidaba stopped suddenly, one hand still gripping Arianna’s shoulder, and she stared wide-eyed at something beyond Arianna. Slowly, Arianna realized Nicodimus stood behind her. She felt his presence, as she always had.
“Nicodimus?” Nidaba whispered. “How . . . ?”
“Release her, Nidaba.”
Arianna turned, sighing in relief when Nidaba’s hand fell away. Nicodimus stood near the open bedroom door. He wore a blanket tied around
his middle, and one hand was braced on the door frame to hold him upright.
Arianna took a step toward him, but Nidaba shot past her, and Nicodimus enfolded the trembling woman in his arms and held her close. “There,” he whispered. “It will be all right, Nidaba. It will be all right now.”
Arianna stood watching them, and remembered all the poisonous things Marten had told her . . . that the two were lovers, that they had been for centuries, and that there was no room for anyone else in Nicodimus’s heart. She hadn’t believed it then . . . not completely. But now . . . now she wondered.
Nidaba sobbed in Nicodimus’s arms, sobbed as if she would never stop. And gently, Nicodimus stroked her tangled hair and murmured words of comfort to her. His eyes met Arianna’s over the madwoman’s head, filled with unspoken questions. What has happened to her? Are you responsible for this, as well?
Arianna only shook her head. She didn’t know. She didn’t know what hell had befallen Nidaba. Not for certain. But she had suspicions. Dark, nightmarish suspicions that made her sick to her stomach.
Had Nidaba been one of Dearborne’s captives? The dark woman he spoke of, who had escaped him after months, perhaps years, of torment?
The front door opened, and Duncan and Raven stepped inside with packages and bags in their arms. Arianna met their puzzled glances, and held a finger to her lips for silence, as Nicodimus slowly drew Nidaba back through the door and into his bedroom.
Chapter 19
NIDABA.
The memory of her came rushing back to me all at once. I knew her. She had been closer to me than anyone in my life. My friend. My one and only friend at many times during my long, lonely life. My best friend, always.
She clung to me, crying softly for a time as I eased her into the bed I’d been occupying myself. And then she clung to me still as I sat down beside her. She didn’t speak a coherent sentence in all the time I held her. Only sobbed, and kept repeating my name. Other words, phrases, made no sense to me. And I knew her mind was more than simply troubled. I feared for Nidaba, my heart ached with it.
She calmed, gradually, begged me not to leave her alone, and finally, she cried herself to sleep in my arms.
She had been the strongest woman I had ever known. To see her reduced to this quivering, childlike state of hysteria frightened me right to the core.
Arianna entered the room. I could have snapped at her for intruding, but I knew it had been some time since I’d drawn Nidaba in here. She had been patient, I supposed. Considering this was her home, and this strange woman had attacked her on sight. No doubt she’d have Nidaba thrown into the streets now. Or try to. I would not let that happen without a fight.
Arianna didn’t speak, just stood quietly near the door, apparently ready to leave the room, should I order it. I looked up at her. Her gaze seemed very vulnerable, and slightly wounded as it lingered on Nidaba’s sleeping form, her head all but in my lap, her arms locked ‘round my waist.
“She was the one who found me with the Druids, where I’d gone to nurse my grief,” I said softly. “It was she who convinced me to live again, when I only wished to die. I had lost my wife, my sons, my unborn daughter, and then my entire clan had been destroyed. I had revived to a life I did not understand.” I kept my voice low, for I did not wish to wake Nidaba. Still, she shuddered now and again with residual sobs.
“She was the one to take me from the Druids, when my studies with those holy and learned men had ended. She was the one who taught me the many things they could not.”
Arianna walked farther into the room, and her eyes seemed to well with sadness, not the anger I had expected, as she gazed at Nidaba. “What things didn’t they teach you?” she asked softly.
“To fight, to kill. To stay alive,” I told her. “I laughed at first. I, a warrior, being taught to fight by a mere woman. I remember the narrow-eyed look she gave me when I said those words. The haughty indignation. But indulgent.” Reaching down, I stroked Nidaba’s hair, and gently moved her arms from around me, easing her into a more comfortable position upon the pillows. “She has always been indulgent with me. And so we fought our mock battles and I realized that fighting the most skilled mortal warrior was not even close to battling an immortal. But I learned fast.”
“I imagine you did,” Arianna said.
“We have parted many times, gone our separate ways, but always, we find each other again. I love her,” I stated emphatically, as I slid from the bed, keeping my blanket anchored like a kilt around my hips. “I love her the way I imagine you must love your sister.”
Arianna stared at me, then eyed the sleeping woman again. “She does not cling to you in a way that seems exactly sisterly to me, Nicodimus.”
I blinked as her meaning came clear to me. “What you are thinking is incorrect, Arianna. Though why this concerns you I cannot know. My memories are broken, but of this, I am certain. Nidaba and I have never been lovers.” I tilted my head, studying the color in Arianna’s cheeks, and the glint of jealousy in her eyes. Unmistakable. “But I wonder now, what of you and I?”
Her gaze flew from Nidaba’s sleeping form to my face, her brown eyes going wider. “What do you mean?”
“What were you to me, Arianna?”
She shook her head vehemently. “Far less than Nidaba was,” she whispered. “Or Anya or your sons. That much should be obvious.”
“Why?” I asked, moving still closer to her. “Because I remembered them before you? Tell me, Arianna, did I know you before them, or after?”
She looked up slowly. “After. A long while after.”
I shrugged. “Then it could very well be that my mind is pulling the past to me in order of chronology, rather than of import. Could it not?”
She bit her lip, looked away. “I think not. And besides, it’s unimportant. What is important is Nidaba.” She looked again at the sleeping woman. “Poor thing. She was so strong when last I saw her. So fierce. To see her like this . . .” She lowered her head, shaking it slowly.
I nodded, seeing the sincere worry in her eyes. Could this woman truly be evil if she cared deeply for Nidaba? Even after Nidaba had attacked her, in her own home? And even though she was clearly jealous of my affection for my darkly beautiful friend?
“When was it . . . that you saw her last,” I asked, as eager for answers as Arianna seemed to be.
She hesitated and looked up at me. “It was right after . . . after you had been killed by a Dark One named Nathanial Dearborne. I tried to kill him, but he fled, taking your . . . “ Her eyes focused on my chest. “. . . your heart with him.”
I felt my own eyes widen with surprise. “You fought him?”
“I was out of my mind with rage.”
I wondered that a girl as small and delicate as she would try to avenge my death on an immortal strong enough to have defeated me in battle, but I said no more.
“I took your body back to the ancient Stone Circle to bury you. It was a place you loved very much,” she said. “On the way, I stopped near a stream to bathe you and wrap you in a satin coverlet. That was when Nidaba came along. And I . . . I had to tell her you’d been taken from us.”
I nodded slowly. “She would have been devastated by the news.”
“She was. She screamed to the heavens, blamed me, told me she’d kill me if we crossed paths again, very nearly decided to do it right then and there.”
“You didn’t fight her?” I asked suddenly, certain I had known no immortal who could outfight Nidaba.
“No.”
She did not elaborate, leaving me to wonder what, exactly, had transpired between the two.
“When she left,” Arianna went on, “she demanded the name of the man who had killed you. I was certain she would go after him herself. And if she found him, Nicodimus, she didn’t kill him. I know that, because I saw him again only recently. Duncan was the one who finally ended his cursed existence.”
I nodded thoughtfully.
“You must find out if Nidaba spent any time
with this Dearborne,” Arianna said softly. “When she wakes, if you feel she is ready, ask her, Nicodimus. But ask her very gently. And if she reacts strongly, then let the matter rest. Don’t press her.”
I narrowed my gaze on her. “Why? What do you know of this man?”
She focused on Nidaba again. “He kept journals. He was obsessed with becoming the strongest immortal alive, and to do that, he felt he must learn of our every weakness. It was through his studies and notes that I learned how to replace a heart, to bring a victim back, as I did with you.”
I nodded. “But there is more.”
“Yes, there is more. He . . . kept captives at times. Immortals he would weaken through many methods. Pain, torture, starvation. He would kill them by mortal means, and make detailed notes on how long it took them to revive, and whether multiple deaths and resurrections seemed to weaken their hearts. Sometimes, he took hearts, only to wait a time and replace them.” She closed her eyes and shuddered. “He used them to experiment on, Nicodimus. The notes of these experiments, in the journals I took from his home before I burned it, and him and his heart with it, to the ground–they read like the transcriptions of nightmares. And I fear . . . I fear Nidaba might have been in his hands, for a time.”
I felt my blood boil in my veins. “Where are these notes?”
“They’re at my sister’s home. I can have them sent here, if you wish. You’re free to read them, Nicodimus, but I can tell you already you will not find what you’re looking for. Dearborne didn’t name the captives he kept. Nidaba’s name was never mentioned. There is no way we can know for certain . . . unless she tells us.”
I closed my eyes in pain. Gods, the thought of Nidaba going through such torment! “If the man lived still, I would kill him myself.”
“He deserves a thousand deaths for what he did, Nicodimus, but he had only one. Had I known then, what crimes he’d committed, I might not have had the generosity to burn his heart, and release his spirit.”
I paced toward the bed, vaguely surprised that my legs seemed to be functioning more readily than they had until now. “What will become of Nidaba now?” I asked softly.
Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series Page 60
