Heart of Darkness

by Jaide Fox

  She shouldn't have had to flee her parents' murderers. She shouldn't have had to run around the bedamned country simply to keep herself from harm! Inadvertently, Isabeau had been robbed of her life, her true life and she felt nothing but bitter for that.

  She should have been married now and to a man she loved. At twenty one, she should have been wed for three years, at least. Isabeau could have been a mother! Twice over!

  While the powers the ring gave her were immense, they weren't enough to feel pleased that her life had been destroyed! Nothing was worth that! Damn her gift or magic, or whatever the hell it was! Damn it to hell!

  Sucking in a breath, Isabeau felt it shudder through her as she realized that she was simply guessing at the truth and it was doing nothing to help her situation. She wasn't helping herself by blindly seeking answers. In fact, she was only succeeding in making herself feel even sadder and more resentful.

  The truth was, all of her thoughts could be mere suppositions. Of course, they could be the truth, but as in the dark as she truly was, she did not know.

  She needed answers and it seemed that only Wolfe had them. Or at least, it was a possibility that he had access to them.

  How she hated that!

  Damn him!

  Chapter Five

  The whip of black material against running bodies, sounded literally like a lash through the air. When the din was multiplied ten times, the men chasing the boy did so with a lack of stealth and when combined with their heavy breathing and the jolting footsteps, the boy could easily hear their location.

  He ran like a whippet down corridors he knew as well as he knew his own face. His lighter body and fleet agility had him careening along as the struggling men battled to keep up and gain control over their charge.

  The boy didn't know why he was being chased, why they wanted him, but he knew that he couldn't let it happen. That he had to escape. He ran down the staircase, moving swiftly down the three floors that would take him from the family's sleeping chambers to the great hall. Once in the Great Hall, he could rush to his father's study and escape through the one of the windows. Within five minutes, he could be willingly lost within the great expanse of the woods that surrounded the castle.

  The plan widened and became more complex as his mind ascertained where he would stop in the woods and where he would hide. The boy charged down the stairs and when one foot touched the stone flags on the Great Hall's floor, his speed increased.

  The Hall was pitch black. And had he not known that he was in great danger, that in itself would have told him so. In the depth of the night, this one chamber in particular was always heavily lit with hundreds of candles. He wished that he could remember the spell his father had taught him, the one that enabled him to throw bolts of light at enchanted candles and for the balls to hover above the magical wax. But his brain was otherwise engaged.

  The darkness, however, was his enemy. When it had always been his companion, now it worked against him. Unknowingly, a body rested before him and as he turned in the direction of his father's study, his foot caught on the dead weight and he fell flat on his face, as he tripped over and tumbled to the ground.

  With a slight groan, he tried to jump to his feet, but his ankle had twisted and he felt wetness on his shins and hands. At first, he thought it to be a sign of his own injuries. That he'd grazed himself rather badly, but when he took stock of his body, he knew that he hadn't damaged himself to the extent that blood would cover his shins and hands. He could feel the sting on his right knee, which had been the one to take his weight as he fell, and he could feel the pain in his left ankle, where it had twisted as it had caught on whatever he had tripped over.

  His guesses were jolted to hell, when a blast of power silently shot through the room and small balls of flame rushed through Hall and collected around the enchanted candles. Blinking away the dark spots in his vision as his eyes tried to acclimatize to the sudden light, he curiously looked down to see what had caused him to fall.

  Instantly, nausea bubbled in his stomach. It griped and festered until he could taste vomit and could do nothing but let it flow out of his mouth as his eyes continued to take in the horror before him.

  Spying that the wetness on his shins and hands was indeed blood, that of his mother, he felt the nausea churn through him once again and with a similar result.

  The body, his mama, lay sprawled on the ground. At first, it was hard to believe that his so elegant mother would even be there.

  At night, when the castle came alive, she remained in her sleeping chamber unless it was vital for her to leave it.

  The boy was entirely aware that his mother hated her husband, his father and because of that, she had no love for him, the spawn of his papa as he was. But regardless of that, he loved, had loved, his mama greatly. To see her lifeless on the ground made a well of pain gather in his heart as he studied her beautiful face and thought that never again, would he be able to see her vibrant delicacy.

  What they had done with his father, the boy didn't know. While his mother had hated her spouse, his papa had loved her. If his mama was dead, then it computed that he was also...The boy closed his eyes and shied away from the realization he'd been orphaned. Licking his dry lips, he tasted the pungent bitterness of his sour retches and turned his head away from the...the corpse before him. He refused to think of her in that way. In his heart and mind, she would never be dead. She would be adorned in her jewels and sat in state in her bedroom, as she always did, when she called for him.

  The heavy thudding of footsteps against the stairs jolted him from his memories and rather than fight, rather than battle against what could mean a similar fate for him as had befell his mother, he sat there and waited...

  * * * *

  Her shriek awoke her and she bolted upwards into a sitting position. Her mind asked, what happened to him? Did he die? Was he murdered like his parents had been?

  With a balled fist, she rammed it against her eyes and shucked sleep away. Her skin was beaded with sweaty moistness and her hair was drenched. Isabeau trembled as her awakened mind analyzed the dream and she realized that it had taken place here in this very property. Had Wolfe been a part of the group of men who had killed the boy's parents?

  He had chased her in similar attire...

  She shook the thought away. Robes were robes. There was very little to separate or differentiate between one or another.

  Was he the boy?

  Or was it simply a dream? Had none of that even happened?

  Swallowing convulsively, Isabeau shook her head. Instinctively, she knew that somehow she had tapped into a memory. How or why, she did not know. But as horrible as it had been, it had actually happened. A small child had fallen over his mother's dead body and had either suffered a similar fate or he had grown up into the man who had captured her.

  There had to be some twisted psychological reason behind the captive becoming the captor...

  She didn't like to think about what that could be. Not after last night's revelations, be they right or wrong.

  Slowly, she lowered herself back down to the mattress and as she did, she realized two things. It was still night and there was a rose resting on a pillow beside her head.

  Someone had been in her room and either she had been asleep for a very little time or she had slept through a whole day!

  Reaching out for the rose, she noticed there was a bead of dried blood on one of the thorns. Ignoring it for the moment, she lifted the fully bloomed flower to her nose and inhaled the scent. Her eyes fluttered for a moment as she recalled the fact that her mama's favorite flower had been a rose and her perfume had been heavily scented with rose water. How Isabeau missed her. There were days, when she managed to forget, then others where she felt the loss keenly.

  After last night's confusion and anger, Isabeau truly felt a wave of grief. And when it was combined with the small boy's loss, the sensation trebled until she felt almost as though she could weep.

  Curli
ng on to her side, she froze as something Wolfe had said suddenly occurred to her. He'd said that this room had once been his mother's.

  This had been the room to which he'd been summoned as his mama sat in state, as he'd classed it.

  Blinking, Isabeau crawled out of the bed and looked around the room with blind eyes. Perched upon the dressing table was a tray of food and a cloche. Isabeau walked over to it, tugged the cloche away and spied a hearty slice of meat pie. With a grimace, she picked at the pastry and a little of the meat, but otherwise returned the cloche to its original setting.

  She turned around and noticed that draped over the chaise longue, was a dress. Isabeau found she was relieved as the one that she was currently wearing was indecent after Wolfe had ripped open the bodice.

  With a slight blush, she stripped out of the tattered dress and something she hadn't noticed on the previous night, had somehow just thought it was a part of a carved design on the wall popped into her line of sight. It was in fact a Chinese Coromandel screen, which depicted four large birds in varying tone of rose and yellow gold. Gathering the heavy, crushed red velvet dress to her bust, she swept behind the screen and was pleased to discover there was a discreet wash stand with fresh water and a tablet of soap for her pleasure.

  Pouring the cold water into the bowl, she dropped the soap into it and then laid the dress over the top of the screen. Quickly, freeing herself from her ripped dress, Isabeau cleansed her body and washed her face. All the while, she remained in her chemise, just in case anyone walked in. She would have liked to remove it and either have it washed or replaced with another, fresher undergarment, but while whoever had seen that she required a new dress, they had not realized she also needed a change of undergarment.

  With a wrinkle of her nose, as she waited for her damp skin to dry, Isabeau stood shivering until finally, she grabbed the dress and tugged it over her head. Swamped in the weight of the velvet and without a lady's maid for assistance was not pleasant, but neither was remaining partially naked in only a flimsy shift for protection!

  It had been a long time since she had needed a lady's maid, but as she finally managed to properly arrange the bodice, Isabeau realized she needed to wash her face once more! Beads of sweat had already started to dot her forehead!

  In truth, the dress required a cage crinoline to properly support the skirts, but if this room was to be her prison, then no one would be seeing it apart from herself and whoever came with her refreshment.

  After the harsh linen dresses she had been forced to wear both out of practicality and affordability, it felt rather strange to once more be in luxurious materials. In her old life, she would matched this with a lace shawl. She swaggered out from behind the screen and flaunted over to the dressing table. Realizing that after her exertions she was hungry, she lifted the cloche and picked at the crumbled short pastry and cooked meat and potato.

  As she did, she studied her appearance in the looking glass and sighed as she took in the ill-fitting dress. It clashed horribly with her red hair, Isabeau thought with a sigh. A shame, for it was a beautiful item of clothing.

  Retrieving one of the horse-hair brushes from the dressing table, she slowly combed her hair into a semblance of order. Once it was arranged, she moved towards the bed and perched on the edge. She reached over for the rose and slowly raised it to her nose once again. Her eyes took in the dim drop of blood on one of the thorns and slowly, methodically, she ran her thumb over the sharp thorn and let the blood mingle.

  If Wolfe likened to her witch, then perhaps she should try and perform as such. She wanted answers, did she not? Well, let him give them to her.

  When she used the ring, her body relaxed and filled with heat. Isabeau didn't have to say anything, somehow the stone just translated what she needed and it happened.

  Perhaps she had to find something else to channel her power into...maybe, some kind of incantation?

  How trite, she thought with a snort, but there was little else she could do.

  After all, somebody had already been to her chamber. Provided her with water with which to bathe, food to sustain her, clean clothes...More than likely, she would not see someone until the next day, when they returned with more food or drink.

  Somehow, the curiosity and anger and confusion of the night before combined with the nightmare, which had awoken her and she needed to see him. Needed to speak with him.

  Her eyebrows crunched together as she tried to think of something that was suitably magical and eventually, she murmured,

  “Bring forth those whose blood has been shed, to this room and this bed, may they tell me what I need, so that I may rest easy and cease to bleed.”

  Cringing at the ridiculous incantation, she could only hope that it worked.

  When at least five minutes had passed, she was still alone. Isabeau sighed and realized that the power she did have, could only be channeled through the stone. Whenever she did anything with the stone, it worked instantly. She never had to wait.

  A part of her pouted.

  What was the point in having gifts if you could only use it with a ring of onyx upon your finger!

  Scornful, she snorted and moved towards the dressing table again. She supped at the ale they had left her and wandered up and down the length of the chamber. Although this chamber was beautiful, it did not hold sufficient interest for a prolonged stay!

  There weren't even any books or anything to entertain her, she thought with an indignant sigh.

  Suddenly, the lock clicked open and the door slammed open.

  “I am not a servant to summon, Isabeau,” were the first words that escaped Wolfe's mouth and she could tell her small spell had angered him.

  It had worked!

  She had used a nonsensical incantation and it had actually brought him to her! Incredible!

  Isabeau had to quickly work through the triumph she felt and instead, focused on the man who had all the answers she needed.

  His face was akin to a thundercloud and she sighed inwardly. Why did he have to be so aggressive? It wasn't as though she had attacked him! Merely summoned!

  Her lips twitched, as she realized that if he was the owner of this huge property, then it had never happened to him before. Outside of being called to his parents', that is. The thought turned her faint smile into a frown.

  It seemed that they had something in common.

  They were both orphans.

  “How old were you when they died?” she asked quietly.

  His eyes flared and he took a step backwards, as though to step away from her question.

  “Nine? Ten? Where did they take you?”

  Hoarsely, he asked, “Of what are you talking?”

  “You. As a boy. Fleeing a group of men and falling over your mother,” she stated bluntly, although it was tinged with sympathy, it was direct all the same. Perhaps too direct, as the skin of his face turned a nasty shade of gray.

  Almost as though her words were the turning point, he stalked forwards and grabbed her by the shoulders. He continued to stride forwards, but with her slight form in his hold and he slammed her against the nearest wall. “How do you know this? What sorcery have you used to tap into my memories?”

  “I don't know!” she cried. “I-I dreamt it!”

  “You dreamt it?” he mocked. “I'm sure! What servant has been gossiping?”

  “I have spoken with no one. And if I'm correct, you are the only person to have entered this room since I arrived. The blood on the rose was yours, otherwise I could not have summoned you. It would have been a servant!”

  “What do you want from me, Isabeau? Why attempt to summon me in the first place? In an attempt to control me? Manipulate me into releasing you?”