Silence.
Matthew staggered forwards, his eyes wide as he stared at Iris’s round stomach. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It couldn’t be… Not Iris… Was it some trick? Some magic?
‘What is this?’ he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
Iris burst into tears and crossed her arms over her middle to conceal the bump.
‘You filthy girl,’ Josephine said, backing away from her, ashen-faced. ‘You’re no daughter of mine. Disgusting creature. Down to the dungeon with you!’
‘Who?’ Matthew said, looking Iris dead in the eye.
‘Father—’ she pleaded, as Josephine continued to curse her.
‘Filthy, filthy, wretched—!’
‘WHO?’ he bellowed. Josephine fell silent. Iris snivelled and sank back into the chair. Her golden hair fell over her face.
‘Alexander Mordark.’
She murmured the name so softly that, at first, he thought he had imagined it. He stared at her, trying to understand what he had heard. Slowly, Iris brought her head up to look at him. Her eyes were brimming with tears of shame. And, suddenly, it all made sense. Her relentless desire to return to the forest; the Mordark brothers lurking at the border; the weeks spent bedbound with exhaustion from transporting herself with magic. As he fit all the pieces together, they formed a monstrous picture, a picture he could not refute. The ground moved from under him. He fell to his knees. Iris and Alexander Mordark. His head began to spin. He felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach with a steel-capped boot.
‘Leave,’ he said breathlessly, too appalled to look at her.
The chair screeched as she backed out and ran for the doors at the end of the hall.
Matthew stayed on the floor, still reeling, long after she had gone. Josephine sat at the round table. She pulled at the silver chain around her neck, withdrawing a low-hanging pendant from the bodice of her dress, and began to tap her long nails against it. The tapping and the spitting of the fire were the only sounds that filled the room.
‘Saskian,’ he said quietly, when the tapping became insufferable. In an instant, the old elf materialised before him, his head bent to one side, his large eyes scanning the room before settling on Matthew.
‘My Lord,’ said Saskian, looking alarmed to see him sitting on the floor.
‘Send for the physician. Escort him to Iris’s bedchamber. Then bring him to see me.’
‘At once, my Lord,’ said Saskian, inclining his head and vanishing.
Matthew scratched his beard absentmindedly, staring across at the fire. Then he sighed and let his hand slip from his face to his lap.
‘I’ve fought in battle, quashed civil wars, watched men die,’ he said, turning to Josephine. ‘But I have never felt as frightened as I do tonight. Our daughter, Josephine…and a Mordark!’
‘Send her away,’ Josephine said. ‘She can be treated, discreetly, and return for her wedding with Gregory Vandemere. Send her now, before word gets out. The physician will need to be silenced.’
Matthew rubbed his temples and turned back to the fire. ‘Let’s hear what he has to say first,’ he said.
They received the physician in the Great Hall that evening.
‘Can something be done?’ Matthew asked, rising from the floor as the man approached. ‘Can you put an end to it?’
The physician looked grave and paused to carefully select his words. ‘The girl is too far along for me to forcibly remove the child without there being…complications.’
‘What complications?’ said Matthew.
‘To terminate the pregnancy at this stage would cause the girl a great deal of pain and, quite possibly, bleeding I might not be able to stop.’ The physician hesitated, pulled out his handkerchief and squeezed it. ‘My advice would be to see the pregnancy through and send the child away when it is born.’
‘That’s not possible,’ said Matthew. The physician looked perplexed. Matthew glanced at Josephine and sighed heavily. ‘The child is a Reverof,’ he said. ‘Fathered by Alexander Mordark. Cursed.’
The physician’s mouth fell open. ‘My Lord…I…I…this cannot be!’
‘So, you see,’ Matthew said. ‘The child cannot live.’
‘The child must not live,’ the physician concurred. ‘It is a destiny that spawns evil. It will endanger us all. My Lord, forgive me, but I think the child should be expelled immediately, no matter the consequences for the mother.’
They went to Iris’s bedchamber in the dead of night. Matthew could hear her crying from the other side of the door. He stayed behind with the physician as the four cloaked figures, who had arrived at the castle moments before, entered the room. All was quiet.
‘Iris Mortenstone, we have come to take you away,’ came the gentle voice of one of the cloaked figures.
Iris gasped.
‘Who are you? Don’t touch me. No! No!’ she shouted.
Matthew heard the terror in her voice and it made his gut wrench. He held his nerve. It was the only way. It had to be done. She could not stay in the castle in her condition. She had to go, now, before the Vandemeres or the maids or anyone else saw her. He turned to the physician.
‘I will not have this child torn from her. I won’t risk her life. And neither will you. If anything happens to her...’ he said, his voice shaking.
‘She will be looked after in the valley, until it is time, my Lord. I will deliver the child safely and dispose of it myself. And I shall return your daughter to you good and well,’ he said. ‘None need know.’
Iris screamed then, a loud, piercing sound that chilled Matthew to the core.
‘Father! Father, help me!’ she cried.
Matthew smashed his fist into the wall in frustration. She was afraid. This was wrong. The whole thing was wrong.
The physician eyed him cautiously. ‘It is for her own good, my Lord.’
Iris screamed again, but the scream was cut short by the sound of a struggle. Thrashing, banging, screeching. Matthew could take it no more.
‘Stop. Stop them!’ he shouted.
The physician looked at him incredulously. ‘But, my Lord—’
‘Now!’
The physician hurried into the bedchamber and returned soon after with the cloaked figures, tall and thin and white-skinned. Elves of Mortenstone Valley. Their hands, which they held clasped in front of them, were deathly pale against their black cloaks and, etched onto the top of each, just below the knuckles, was a faint red circle. The mark of healers. The elves would care for Iris well in Mortenstone Valley, and with kindness - Matthew knew this. But even so, he could not do it. Not this way.
‘Go. Away with you. Say nothing of this,’ he said. The elves gave a small bow and vanished instantly. Matthew approached the physician then, and spoke in a low voice. ‘You will stay. I will have rooms prepared for you. Do not speak a word of this to anyone in the castle. Is that clear? You’ll dangle from your toes in the dungeon if you do.’
The physician swallowed hard and nodded. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead as he looked from Matthew to the doorway of Iris’s bedchamber.
‘But the child… it must not live!’
‘I know,’ said Matthew. ‘But I cannot force my daughter out of bed and send her off into the night alone and afraid. I will explain to her what needs to be done. She deserves that much.’
‘If she stays here, my Lord, they will all find out,’ said the physician, looking anxious. ‘I cannot be held responsible if they do. I won’t say a word, but if anyone sees her, there is no hiding it.’
Matthew turned and walked away, leaving the physician staring after him. The man was right; one look at Iris and everyone would know. And then what? What of the alliance with the Vandemeres? What of the great army he needed to build? What of the future? One of Merlin’s spells had already run its course. How long would it be before the rest did, too? How long before the old magic was no more and their enemies returned with a vengeance? He had to make Iris see why she must go to
the valley and why, once born, her child could not live. All their lives depended on it.
‘Send for schoolmaster Hagworth at first light,’ he said to a passing servant as he went wearily to his bedchamber.
*
Master Hagworth received the news of Iris’s condition in grave silence in the schoolroom. He did the best he could to mask his horror from Matthew, who sat across from him at Thomas’s desk, dark shadows beneath his eyes.
‘She has to go willingly,’ Matthew said in a hushed voice. He scratched his beard anxiously. ‘I’m afraid of what she’ll do if I force her. I don’t want her to… I don’t want to push her too far,’ he said, his gaze suddenly far-off and troubled. Master Hagworth nodded with understanding. And, when Matthew looked at him again, it took him by surprise to see the sheer desperation in his eyes. No longer a lord or a ruler, but a man, a father, lost. ‘Will you help me?’ he asked.
‘It is my duty to serve you, my Lord Mortenstone,’ said Master Hagworth. ‘And my honour.’
A fire was lit in a small anteroom next to Iris’s bedchamber. Master Hagworth used his magic to summon a desk and two chairs from the schoolroom. Then he sat and waited for his pupil.
When Iris appeared in the doorway and he saw her stomach protruding from her nightgown, he felt in his heart a terrible sadness. She was still a child, her cheeks full and plump with youth.
‘Sit, Iris, sit,’ he said.
Iris walked to the desk and sat down. She didn’t meet his eye.
‘I have spoken before on this matter, but never in depth. I think it is best I start at the beginning,’ he said, leaning forward in his chair. ‘Centuries ago, after the Failed Rebellion, Merlin the Good cast two powerful spells to keep the Dark Families out of our realm. Up grew the Dark Forest, separating the Dark Lands from The Light and blocking all magic from within,’ he said, resting a hand on the desk. Iris’s eyes darted to it. ‘That was the first spell. The second was far darker. The second made certain that the outcasts could never return to The Light. If they tried, they would turn into monstrous serpents. It was powerful magic. Many believe these were the spells that killed Merlin,’ he said solemnly. Then he paused and folded his hands in his lap. ‘But there was another spell, one that remained undiscovered until after his death. A spell that ensured Merlin’s blood and the blood of his enemy would never mix to secure a lasting familial line. A Reverof is the name we give to children born of Mortenstone and Mordark blood. They are the Cursed Ones, Iris. History has record of few. And, of the few, even fewer survived birth. They are not meant for this world. They are not meant to live. Those who did bore the mark of their curse. They were cruel, malicious and cold of heart. They could not love. Death followed them wherever they turned. And so, they were isolated and, eventually, in all cases, cast out, passing into legend. It is a tragic fate, but one they are destined to meet. Mortenstone and Mordark blood must not mix. You are a kind girl, Iris. You’ve always been kind. Wouldn’t it be kinder to spare your child from a life of sorrow, and others from its malice?’
Iris instinctively brought a hand to her stomach, shielding it from him. Master Hagworth sat back in his chair and sighed.
He had failed.
*
Matthew made his way down to the dining hall to see Eric Vandemere. There, he would broach the subject of postponing the wedding between Gregory and Iris. He had a nervous feeling in his gut. He had thought all night about what he would say, how he would say it, and decided to keep the reason vague. Iris was unwell and needed time to recover. Yes. Providing he delivered the words convincingly, Eric wouldn’t ask to know the details - he hoped.
The castle had awoken. Maids and servants scuttled about to begin the day’s duties. Matthew stopped every person he saw and told them no one was to tend to Iris. Master Hagworth would be with her now. For good measure, he sent a guard to stand outside the door and make sure no one entered.
Wedding decorations had already been put up in the corridors. Matthew ducked his head as he passed beneath the low-hanging rows of white banners above the stairs to the entrance hall. Suddenly, he heard the sound of wheels scraping against stone. A carriage was moving out of the courtyard, drawn by two black horses. Outriders were flanking it on both sides. It was one of Eric Vandemere’s carriages. Matthew moved faster down the steps, his stomach beginning to tighten with unease. And then he heard the scraping wheels of the second carriage. When he came to the bottom of the stairs, he started to run. Across the entrance hall, out into the courtyard, up to the gates, where the guards stood looking at each other in confusion as the second carriage rattled away through the square, headed for Merlin’s Way. Matthew blinked. Why were they leaving? He turned to the sound of clattering hooves behind him. Riding out from the stables, side by side, were Eric and Gregory Vandemere, followed by a dozen of their men.
Eric stared at him in disgust as he approached. ‘My Lord,’ he said, stopping his horse before the gates. ‘I have heard the news. We are leaving at once. I will not have my son wed to your daughter. Did you really think you could hide this from us?’
Matthew’s heart was pounding. He could only shake his head in bewilderment. How did they know? Gregory’s nostrils flared as he bowed his head to Matthew. Then his eyes moved to the square beyond the gates and, setting his jaw, he dug his heels into the side of his horse. The creature bolted, stirring up a wind that blew Matthew’s hair across his face. He took a step back. Eric inclined his head reluctantly, kicked his own horse and, before Matthew could utter a word, rode out of the castle gates behind his son.
Matthew stood in stunned confusion. But when he noticed the guards’ gazes shifting to something behind him, he turned around – and gasped. Iris was standing in her nightgown on the castle steps, her round stomach sticking out for all to see.
‘What are you doing?’ he said, rushing towards her. ‘What have you done?’
Iris stared at him defiantly. ‘I won’t let you take it. I won’t let you kill it. Now they all know. I don’t care. You can’t smuggle me away and take my child!’
Matthew could feel the sweat streaming down the back of his neck. Everyone was staring at Iris now, mouths falling open in astonishment.
And then Lucian came out of the castle, his dark hair limp with grease. He looked mildly surprised to see Iris standing there in her nightgown, in full view of the courtyard. As he circled around her, his eyes dropped to her stomach and his face fell. A heavy silence settled over the courtyard. Lucian shook his head in disbelief, his eyes wandering up to meet Iris’s. Then, he spat at her feet.
Matthew lifted his chin and strode up the steps towards them both, his boots clicking against the flagstones, the sound rising around him, filling the silent courtyard. Click, click, click. When he reached them, he paused and then walked on, back into the castle, without a word.
As the months wore on, Eric Vandemere finally came around and offered his second son, Edward, to Iris. Matthew had no choice but to accept. It was an insult, but his daughter had been spoiled - no man could be expected to offer his first son. Even though he told them it wasn’t her fault, announced publicly that his poor innocent girl had been attacked in the Dark Forest, it made no difference. She had been spoiled.
Iris was larger than ever now. She was on his mind every moment of every day. He asked after her constantly. But he couldn’t stand to be in her presence, looking upon her stomach. It made him think of the cunning Mordark boy and wish he’d killed him when he’d had the chance.
*
Iris heard them, muttering outside her bedchamber, thinking she couldn’t hear. She sat on the bed, staring at the door, as the voices grew louder.
The physician had finished his morning examination and remarked, begrudgingly, that the child was strong, after it kicked against his hand so violently its foot protruded from Iris’s stomach. But Master Hagworth was bickering with him now on the other side of the door, telling him to check again.
‘If I say the child is strong, the child
is strong,’ said the physician.
‘The likelihood of a stillbirth is so high it verges on total certainty,’ Master Hagworth retorted. ‘I have pored over the records for months. There is a pattern. And, according to the pattern, that child should be weakening in its mother’s belly as we speak.’
‘Would you like to go in there and check yourself, Hagworth?’ snapped the physician.
‘Perhaps I should, if all we have is your word for it.’
‘Stop!’ said another voice, firmly. Iris sat up a little straighter. Her father was out there with them. The physician and the schoolmaster fell quiet. But, after a short time, they began to speak again, in hushed voices. Iris heard only small fragments of what they were saying, but what she did hear made her tremble with fear.
‘…Who will be the one to do it?’
‘…never forgive me…’
‘…has to be done.’
‘…cursed...’
‘…dispose of it… Wild Garden…’
Iris hugged her arms around her stomach. She didn’t want to give birth. She wanted her child to stay safe inside her, where no one could take it or hurt it. She screwed her eyes shut, tried to block out the voices beyond the door, and prayed silently to the White Witch. Let the child live. Protect it from them all. Show them they needn’t be afraid. Because they were afraid - her father, Master Hagworth, the physician, the maids, everyone. But she wasn’t. And, if they let her love it, one day soon they would all see that it wasn’t a monster after all.
The next morning, a flash of lightning woke Iris with a start. She sat up in bed, looking straight at the window. The clouds outside were black. As the thunder followed, she realised the baby had not kicked. She put a hand on her belly to check for movement and felt none. She opened her mouth to call for the maid, when a searing pain sliced through her body. She fell back against the pillows and gasped as the pain intensified. She felt as if she was slowly tearing in half from the inside. When it became too much, she screamed.
The White Witch (The Serpent and The Sorcerer Trilogy Book 1) Page 10
