Not Everything Dies (Princess Dracula)

by John Patrick Kennedy

  Unlike her last cell at the far end of the old cave, this one sat in the dungeon proper. She could see the entire room through the bars.

  The dungeon’s ceiling hung 20 feet above her head, though the roof in her cell was much lower. The big room was twice as wide as it was high, and was permeated with the smell of old blood, and the stink of the prisoners in the other cells. She could see the doors of the other cells from her room, though not inside. Unlike her cell, those ones had wooden doors, keeping the prisoners inside in darkness.

  There were three cells on the opposite wall from her cell, two on the wall to her right. There was also the tunnel, leading to the cell they had kept her in before.

  On the left was the door that led outside. She could smell the fresh air that wafted down it, sometimes. She desperately wanted to go up the stairs.

  In one corner sat a large chair with short round spikes covering every surface and straps to hold whoever sat on it in place. On the second corner sat a large stool topped with a pointed, four-sided pyramid. A pair of ropes hung above it, and a large iron ball with a short shackle attached to it sat on either side. The third corner held a large wood frame with ropes in each corner and a handle to pull them tight. In the fourth corner was a post with shackles attached to it. Beside it sat a brazier filled with coals and metal instruments. Behind it, on the wall, hung twenty different straps and whips.

  In the middle of the floor sat the bathtub.

  It was bronze, with strange symbols that circled the outside of it. Chains and pulleys hung over it. Behind it, against the far wall, sat a cistern of water. The tub had a small bronze box beneath it and in it Ruxandra could see the remains of a fire.

  It was all very strange.

  Elizabeth had also given Ruxandra a long linen shift to wear. Ruxandra found the feeling of the cloth at once distracting and luxurious. The softness of it sent shivers through her. Ruxandra wasn’t sure she liked it, but she knew she disliked being looked at by the guards.

  She didn’t know why, though.

  Ruxandra spent the first day going from the chair to the floor and back again. It felt odd sitting in a chair. But people sat in chairs, so she practiced.

  That evening, the man who smelled like chemicals came to her cell.

  He wasn’t dressed in armor like the others. He wore a long gray robe, cinched at the waist with a jeweled belt, under a blue cloak. A large silver locket hung around his neck. His beard was small and neatly trimmed. His fingers were long, delicate, and stained with chemicals. He placed a stool in front of Ruxandra’s cell and bowed low to her.

  “Good evening, Ruxandra,” he said. “My name is Kade. May I sit with you?”

  Ruxandra wasn’t sure how to respond, so she said, “I suppose.”

  “Thank you.” He sat on the stool. Ruxandra picked up the chair and moved it to the bars. She sat and waited. Kade’s eyes roamed over every inch of her, studying her like a hawk studying the plains below it.

  Finally, Kade straightened up and smiled. “You’re very beautiful.”

  Ruxandra blinked. “I am?”

  Kade nodded. “Or I should say, there is beauty underneath the dirt.”

  Ruxandra looked down at her hands and rubbed at the dirt for a moment and then saw Kade watching. She let her hands drop to her lap.

  “It is nothing a bath won’t cure, my dear,” Kade said. “Now, how are you feeling? I imagine you must be bored, having nothing to do and no one to talk to.”

  “There was never anyone to talk to in the forest.”

  “I see. Do you remember any other places?”

  Ruxandra frowned. She could see the forest in her mind, several of her favorite spots, could practically smell it and taste the clean air, but that was all. “I . . . don’t know any place other than the forest. There are the mountains, of course, but they’re part of the forest, like the rivers or clearings.”

  “Did you never see people?” Kade asked gently.

  Ruxandra frowned. She shook her head. “I don’t remember.”

  “How did you live?”

  “I followed the game,” Ruxandra said. “Every spring I found the new growth, and every winter I left the cold. I had lairs. I had . . .” Ruxandra shook her head again. “A pattern? That’s not the word. A . . . territory? I always went to certain places, every summer and winter for . . .”

  How long? Ruxandra remembered the heat of summers past and the cold of the winters, she remembered rain and times when no rain fell, when the animals could be found beside the sluggish streams, but she couldn’t remember how many of these cycles she’d seen.

  “It will come back to you,” Kade said.

  Ruxandra felt a chill pass through her that had nothing to do with the cool air of the dungeon. “What if it doesn’t?”

  “Then you start life over,” Kade said. “Here, with us.”

  “Here.” Ruxandra shook her head. “I don’t even know where ‘here’ is.”

  “Hungary.” At Ruxandra’s confused expression, he continued. “It’s the name of the country—one king’s territory. You are in it.” He clasped his hands together and leaned forward. “You will need to learn a great deal before you’re ready to face society.”

  “Society?”

  “People,” Kade said. “The court and the castle, the villagers around it, maybe even the royal courts of Rudolph II.”

  “Who?”

  Kade chuckled and covered his mouth with his hand. “I apologize. I find you fascinating.”

  “Which part of me?” Ruxandra asked, the sharpness in her words surprising even her. “My filthy body or my complete ignorance?”

  Kade sat back on his stool, his eyes narrowing. Fear gave off a certain smell in humans, a sharper note to their sweat. Kade stank of it.

  “I apologize, my lady,” Kade said. “I meant no offense. I wish to help you.”

  “Why?”

  The dungeon door opened.

  “Ruxandra, how are—” Elizabeth’s words ended abruptly at the sight of Kade. Anger, fast and fleeting, swept across her face and then vanished. Kade’s fear heightened. “Kade, what are you doing here?”

  Her words were polite yet had an undertone of danger, like the hidden claws of a mountain cat. Kade rose and bowed to Ruxandra before turning.

  “I wished to see our guest,” Kade said. “I was afraid she would be lonely, and thought that human company would help her with her recovery.”

  The words came out smooth and bland, and no offense could be taken at his tone. Even so, Ruxandra saw the skin around Elizabeth’s eyes and at the corners of her mouth tighten. She found herself fixated on the color of her eyes—a glossy chestnut brown—and the shape of her mouth.

  “I thank you for thinking of it,” Elizabeth said. “Now that I have arrived, you may leave.”

  “Of course, my lady.” Kade bowed, then once more to Ruxandra. “I do hope we will have the chance to speak again, Ruxandra.”

  “Me too,” Ruxandra said. “Thank you.”

  Kade left the dungeon with an easy, confident stride. Elizabeth watched him go, and then turned back to Ruxandra, a charming, confiding smile upon her face. She took the stool and sat down.

  “I take it he amused you?”

  Ruxandra shook her head. “He confused me. Talking about society and people and King Rudolph. I didn’t understand him.”

  “He is somewhat difficult to make sense of,” Elizabeth said. “A side effect of too much reading, I suspect.”

  I know nothing. I can’t remember anything. I can’t . . . Ruxandra turned her back. Her hands clenched into fists, ready to smash something to relieve her frustration. Only she didn’t want to break any of her new things. She wanted the chair. She wanted the bed. She wanted . . .

  What is it I want?

  “I can’t imagine how frustrating this is,” Elizabeth said. “To be newly awakened to your true self, trapped in here, and not able to leave—”

  “I want a bath.” Ruxandra held out her dirt-stained
hands. “I’m dirty, and I want to be clean. People don’t stay dirty, do they?”

  “Peasants stay dirty,” Elizabeth said. “Unless we force them to clean themselves. They’re worse than animals. We of royal blood clean ourselves whenever possible.”

  Elizabeth put a finger to her chin. “It will take some time to make the preparations, however. Can you be patient until then?”

  Ruxandra nodded. “I can.”

  “Good. I will return tomorrow morning.”

  An hour later the dark one came into the dungeon.

  Dorotyas, Ruxandra remembered. Her name is Dorotyas. The Beast wanted to kill her.

  Dorotyas looked older than Elizabeth. Pimples covered the wattles of fat on her face. Her eyes were small dark holes, buried deep beneath her oversize brow. Her dark brown hair hung limp and greasy, and her clothes strained to fit the girth of her too-large frame. There were muscles beneath her fat, and scars on her arms and face that spoke of fights.

  She walked like a bear, certain of her power.

  She took the keys from her belt and opened a nearby cell door. She pulled out a short, three-ended strap and entered.

  A girl screamed in pain. A moment later Dorotyas stepped out, pulling out a thin blonde girl by her hair. She forced the girl down to her hands and knees and dragged her across the floor to a horizontal beam held up by two posts. Dorotyas pulled the girl over the beam so only her toes and the tips of her fingers touched the ground. The girl’s backside quivered and rose high in the air.

  The two guards by the door watched and grinned at one another.

  Dorotyas swung the strap, cracking it across the girl’s backside. The girl’s flesh rippled upon impact and turned bright red. The girl screamed in pain. A moment later a welt rose, and a thin line of blood appeared on her backside. Dorotyas laid the strap to her a dozen more times, leaving her flesh crisscrossed with bright, bleeding welts. The girl wailed in pain, tears and snot running down her face. Dorotyas grabbed her hair, dragged her the rest of the way over the beam and put her back onto her hands and knees.

  Ruxandra inhaled deep, pulling in the smell of the blood. It sent a shiver through her. Dorotyas dragged the girl across the floor to the far side of the dungeon, where rags hung on the wall, and a bucket lay beside a cistern full of water.

  “Take the rags, peasant bitch,” Dorotyas said. “Fill the bucket, clean the tub, and drain it. I want it so clean it sparkles, understand?”

  She looked over to Ruxandra, lips raised in a sneer. “Our guest wants to wash the filth off.”

  Ruxandra could hear the distain in the woman’s voice. It made the Beast inside her growl, and made Ruxandra want to drink the woman dry. I mustn’t.

  Dorotyas raised the strap and brought it down hard on the girl’s back. “Fast!”

  The girl scuttled to the cistern, filled the bucket, and took the rags back to the tub. She froze before it, her hand covering her mouth in horror. Dorotyas’s strap struck out again. The girl yelped and fell to her knees. She put the water in the tub. It turned red at once.

  Blood? Ruxandra leaned forward. Is that what she was frightened of?

  The smell of blood grew stronger, and the water a darker red as the girl scrubbed.

  Why was the tub filled with blood?

  The girl pulled a plug out of the tub, and the bloody water swirled down and out of sight. The girl went back twice more for water. Each time, Dorotyas lashed her on the way by. The smell of her blood, fresh and warm and alive, tantalized Ruxandra.

  Finally, the girl stopped and knelt before Dorotyas. “Please, mistress, it’s clean.”

  Dorotyas peered inside the tub and ran her fingers inside it. When she straightened up, she smiled. “Fine work, peasant bitch.”

  Dorotyas grabbed the girl’s hair and bent her over the side of the brass tub. She beat the girl across the back of her thighs, then turned her over and whipped her belly and breasts. Unlike last time, none of the hits opened her flesh. Ruxandra felt angry, but she wasn’t sure why. Elizabeth said they are merely peasants. Dorotyas kept at her until the girl ran out of screams. Then she pulled her upright.

  “Now get back to your cell,” Dorotyas said. “Or I’ll have the guards take a turn on you front and back.”

  She dropped her and watched, lip curled, as the peasant girl crawled back into her cell, pulling the door shut behind her. Dorotyas walked over to Ruxandra.

  “Did you like watching that?” Dorotyas asked. “Did it excite you? Make you all wet?”

  “Wet?” Ruxandra eyes focused on the woman. “What do you mean?”

  Dorotyas shook her head. “Never mind. The countess will bathe you in the morning. If you hurt her, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

  I’d like to see you try was on the tip of Ruxandra’s tongue, but she didn’t say it.

  The next morning, Ruxandra smelled the hot water before she saw it. She rolled off the bed where she’d been practicing sleeping like a person and stood at the bars of her cell. The dungeon door swung open, and Elizabeth led four servants, each carrying a large bucket of steaming hot water. A fifth followed, carrying a handful of towels. Elizabeth plugged the drain, and the women poured their buckets in. The tub clanged and groaned as the hot water hit the cold metal. The servants took their buckets over to the cistern and filled them with colder water. They added bucket after bucket until the tub was filled.

  Below the sound of the water pouring, Ruxandra heard every heartbeat in the room and felt the blood flowing through each person.

  It made her hungry. She knew which she’d take first.

  No. I don’t care about that right now. I want a bath.

  Elizabeth put her fingers in the tub and smiled. “Perfect. You may go.”

  The ones with the buckets left. The one carrying the towels stayed. She glanced at the cage, fear on her face.

  “Guards, Dorotyas,” Elizabeth said. The soldiers rushed forward and removed the two heavy beams propped against the door. Dorotyas unlocked the door.

  “You keep control of yourself,” the heavy woman whispered. “You understand?”

  Dorotyas’s heart beat strong and steady, not racing at all. The woman’s sweat didn’t smell of fear, and her expression revealed nothing. Dorotyas swung open the cell door and stepped back. Ruxandra stepped out of her cell and walked slowly to the tub.

  “Guards, turn your backs,” Elizabeth said. “A woman does not wish to be stared at while she bathes.”

  “Yes, my lady.” The men turned to face the wall.

  Elizabeth held out a hand. “Your shift?”

  Ruxandra removed it and handed it to Elizabeth. She put one hand into the tub. It was warm—warmer than any water Ruxandra remembered. She put one leg in, then the other. The water closed around her and held her, even warmer than the blankets of her bed. She put her head under it and lay there, looking up through the water at the rippling yellow of the torchlight and the way the water distorted the world above it. She closed her eyes, reveling in the warmth.

  A hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled. Ruxandra’s eyes flew open, and she sat up. The cold air of the dungeon shocked her skin causing goose bumps to rise on her chest. Elizabeth was gripping her. Ruxandra felt the woman’s pulse. Her mouth watered. She would taste better than anyone.

  She swallowed, hard, before Elizabeth noticed anything.

  “Are you all right?” Elizabeth asked. “You were under for so long.”

  “I’m fine.” Something shifted inside Ruxandra. Her hunger became urgent. She pulled her arm away. “I’m fine.”

  Elizabeth put on a smile. “Then let’s get you clean. This is soap.”

  Ruxandra stared at the little cake in her hand.

  “It removes dirt from your skin and from your hair. May I show you?”

  Elizabeth dunked the soap in the water. She rubbed it against a cloth, coating it with white, frothy bubbles. Ruxandra watched, fascinated. Elizabeth held out the cloth.

  “Now, rub it against the skin on
your hands first, then on your arms.”

  The cloth felt rough, and the soap slippery. Together they covered her hands in suds that grew darker with each rubbing.

  “Dip your hands in the water,” Elizabeth said. The water turned cloudy. Ruxandra’s hands came out clean and white. She stared at them in amazement.

  “If you stand up . . .” Elizabeth stopped and looked away. She swallowed, blinked, and when she spoke again, she didn’t meet Ruxandra’s eyes. “If you stand, I will help you wash.”

  Ruxandra wondered at the other woman’s behavior but put her hands on the side of the tub and stood. Elizabeth watched her rise. Then she wet the cloth and began washing her.

  Ruxandra gasped at the first touch. Elizabeth’s hand and the cloth gently rubbed over the muscles of her shoulder. Elizabeth changed hands with the cloth, rubbing it up and down her back in firm strokes that caressed Ruxandra’s skin and the muscles beneath. Ruxandra found herself closing her eyes again, unable to indulge in anything but the feeling of Elizabeth’s hand on her body.

  Elizabeth finished her back and gently turned Ruxandra around. There was a feeling about this—a memory—long, long ago—she couldn’t find it. She had the idea if she did, there would be grief. So she focused on the physical, the soft strength of the hands. Ruxandra moved with them, and she felt Elizabeth’s hands starting once more at her collarbones and gliding down. Ruxandra gasped again as the cloth moved over her breasts. Her nipples grew hard under the gentle rubbing.

  “Your scars.” Elizabeth traced four thick, pebbled lines of flesh across Ruxandra’s left breast and down across her stomach with the cloth. “Where did you get them?”

  “A bear,” Ruxandra said. “We crossed paths one winter.”

  “It must have hurt terribly.”

  “Yes.” Memories of the bear’s claws ripping into her flesh made Ruxandra shudder. She turned her mind away from it and focused on Elizabeth’s cloth moving across her body. It crossed Ruxandra’s stomach, bringing such profound comfort that she wanted to cry, and then swept around her hips to her backside. The touch made Ruxandra shudder again but in a different way, reminding her of a time when she once loved the sun. Elizabeth’s hands went down, covering Ruxandra’s legs with the suds and leaving them tingling with the memory of her touch.