Saving Marilee

by Annette K. Larsen

  Enduring the ceremony was not so hard when I was surrounded by my family, but as the hour for the celebratory ball approached, a knot of angst settled beneath my ribs.

  My step was tentative as I entered the sparkling glamour of the ballroom. The lights were bright, the voices cheerful, the music grand and sweeping. Each set of lips was graced with a smile as skirts twirled, boots stepped and hands entwined.

  My mind skipped to the last time I had been in this room, at my own wedding celebration, but I quickly pushed that aside. Thinking of Damian would only increase my dread. Instead I drew on earlier memories, memories of attending balls when I was only fifteen and Lylin thirteen. How she and I would link arms and traipse about the room, enjoying the attention showered on us as daughters of the king and queen, looking for my next dance partner. How I would catch a gentleman's eye and give him the full force of my smile. There had been very little coyness in me, just a love of happiness and entertainment. Lylin and I would try to pull Ella into our revelry, but she would always refuse, maintaining her polite but reserved demeanor. She was always reserved during those years, when Gavin was gone.

  I caught sight of Ella across the room, talking with Kalina as she kept her hand fitted in Gavin's. It gave me hope to see her so content and still so connected to her husband.

  I took a deep breath, trying to make the festive atmosphere a part of me, let it soak into my skin and make my heart jump with excitement.

  Instead my breathing turned into a sort of chant. I forced the breath to march in and march out. I needed to keep calm, keep myself from flying apart as my anxiety begged me to run upstairs and seek the solitude of a quiet chamber.

  But if I did that, it would be as though Damian stood guard outside my door, using fear to keep me contained and controlled.

  I entered the room, sidestepping a couple as they exited, bowing their heads in deference to me, a princess.

  Giving a tight smile, I took another step, determined not the let the crowd overpower me. I would plot my course through the least crowded portions of the room. It was a good idea, but after only a few more steps, heads began to turn, raising curious brows. I sucked in a breath and froze in place when one gentleman smiled, trying to catch my eye as he made his way toward me.

  I turned in the opposite direction, but bumped into someone. "Oh, I'm sorry."

  He reached out to steady me. "Princess Marilee, how enchanting to see you again."

  His face was one I recognized. That was somewhat of a comfort. "Thank you, Sir Lawrence. And you."

  "I daresay half the gentlemen here are rejoicing at the sight of your lovely smile."

  "I—"

  His face turned somber. "We were all devastated to hear of the unfortunate loss of your husband. Please accept my deepest sympathies."

  Heaven help me. He wanted to speak of Damian.

  "Would you still give me the honor of escorting you onto the dance floor?"

  Before I could respond, a second gentleman spoke up from behind me. "Don't think that you have to accept the first offer that comes along, Princess. I assure you, we all are grateful to have your radiant smile among us again." His smile was kind and I recognized him instantly as Lord Helmon.

  "You two haven't changed," I said with a tremor in my voice. "Always the flatterers." It was true. I had often enjoyed the company of these two gentlemen at balls. They were flirtatious and fun. We had been friends. It wasn't the same now.

  Sir Lawrence laughed. "You've found us out."

  "Don't say that. She'll think you are sincere," Lord Helmon objected before turning his attention to me. "In all truth, Princess, we only want to welcome you back. We'd never dream of imposing ourselves."

  I smiled my thanks, looking around warily for any other men who might be waiting to ambush me. I didn't think I could handle more than two.

  "Yes, I suppose in my pitiable state of widowhood, I should refuse any dancing." I resorted to teasing because that's what I used to do, and because I was relieved to have an excuse not to dance.

  "Firstly, you are not pitiable at all. Second, if we followed the customs of Farria or Saldine, you'd be correct. But thanks be to our predecessors, who thought living life was the best way to honor the dead." Sir Lawrence gave a flourish of his hand as he sank into a bow of thanks.

  "Ah, but you forget that I married a man of Winberg, and they also honor such traditions."

  "You would abandon your heritage so readily?" Lord Helmon asked in mock horror.

  Though the banter was familiar, something about it left me uncomfortable. I looked at each in turn, realizing how shallow the entire interaction had been. It was Damian's letter all over again. Flattery and arrogance and manipulation. Behaviors that I worried I would fall back into all too readily. "Didn't you say just a moment ago that you wouldn't dream of imposing yourself?" I reminded him.

  "He did," Sir Lawrence declared, jerking is head in Lord Helmon's direction. "I said nothing of the sort." He took my hand and linked it around his arm. "Would you do me the honor?"

  I tensed at the forced contact.

  "Back down, Lawrence." Lord Helmon pulled on my other arm and reached toward Sir Lawrence, in an attempt to get him to back away. My muscles seized up as I found myself trapped between them. They each had a hold of one arm, tugging me in their direction, forcing me one way or the other, trying to bend me to their will.

  My heart sped up and I could feel a cold sweat starting on my back. Several voices shouted in my head. My own voice warning me to run while Damian's voice shouted insults. I closed my eyes against the onslaught, blocking out the playful banter of the two men who had not a clue that inside my head, a battle was being fought—until I hissed in a low whisper, "Both of you, unhand me. Now."

  The fury in my words shocked even me, and I could feel their astonishment in the tense moment before both dropped their hands.

  The way they had taken hold of me, pulling me back and forth like it was a game, trying to control where I went and with whom...I had had enough of that to last me a lifetime. "I am not the same girl you knew before." I tried to infuse the words with confidence, but I was so disappointed in myself that my eyes stung. "I'll thank you to never handle me in such a way again."

  "Of course. We beg your pardon, Highness." The both bowed in humility.

  "Good evening, gentlemen." I walked away. Once again I forced my breath to march in and march back out. My vision clouded as my mind entangled itself in memories best forgotten. I pushed and wove my way through the crowd, not knowing where I was going, only feeling the need to get somewhere.

  A hand closed around my arm and I yanked away, spinning to glare at whoever it was. Lorraina stepped back, her eyes wide with shock and concern.

  My breathing was labored. "I'm sorry," was all I could say as my mind raced and emotions clouded my vision, making everything appear too bright and too sharp.

  Lorraina slipped her arm around my waist, leading me out of the crowded ballroom and down a dim corridor before taking hold of my upper arms and looking me in the eye. "What happened?"

  "I don't know, just...men...clamoring for my attention—"

  "Just like they've always done." She rubbed my arms, lending what comfort she could before letting her hands fall away.

  She was right. "But this time it scared me, it...it's as if I can't find myself anymore."

  She leaned her back against the wall. "You're not who you used to be. That's what tragedy does to us." Her brow furrowed in concern. "Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night?"

  I squeezed my eyes shut and nodded.

  "I'm sorry you have to go through this, Marilee. If only we'd known."

  "I tried to write to you," I defended.

  She wrapped her arms around me. "I'm not blaming you. I promise, I'm not. I'm just...sad for you."

  I returned the embrace for a few moments before pulling myself together and pulling back. I studied Lorraina for a moment before stating the obvious. "You've changed."

/>   She let out a sigh, as if she were tired, and had been that way for a long time. "I barely know who I am anymore. But I didn't know if it was something that others could see."

  "I've noticed. We've all noticed."

  She nodded. "You don't need to try to be the same as you were before. We don't expect that of you."

  "James thought that my experiences had made me better."

  "And do you agree?"

  "I don't know. Well—" I shook my head, exasperated at myself. "That's not true. I do know that he's right. I've been able to see that." My eyes burned and I pursed my lips. "But I resent it." I cut my eyes over to her, to see if she understood. "It makes me so angry to think that in order to become better, I had to endure everything that Damian put me through. And I hate thinking that any of my goodness or betterment is thanks to him."

  "But it's not. You didn't grow stronger because of him; you grew stronger because of you. You chose to become better, and that has nothing to do with him." The fire in her eyes told me this wasn't platitudes. She wasn't just trying to make me feel better. She truly believed it. "You are better despite him, not because of him."

  I took a moment to breathe in her words, to let them shift and adjust what I had thought for so many months.

  "You survived." She looked at the ground, probably uncomfortable with so much emotion, but she continued. "And I'm very glad to have you here where we can all know that you are well."

  A smile crossed my mouth that likely looked more like a grimace. "I just wish that I could enjoy being here without my mind returning to Bridgefield, to my old room, to Damian." I shook my head, trying to dislodge the memories.

  Raina fell back against the wall, blinking to fight back tears. "I know what you mean." Her eyes were haunted as she admitted, "I get dragged back there every day, you know."

  "Dragged where?" I asked, my heart hurting at seeing Lorraina so vulnerable.

  "To where he died. To where I saw him die. My mind can't help it; it's as if it's stuck there. Suddenly I'll remember being there, and even if I try to imagine myself alone and calm, the terror is still there."

  I sucked in a breath, struck by her description that sounded so familiar. "Where did he die?" I asked, desperate for a distraction.

  "The fortress, near Sorel." Her eyes glazed over.

  "Why was he there?"

  She focused on me and shrugged. "That's just the place he chose. An abandoned fortress that I had never set foot in before. And now my mind is stuck there."

  "Perhaps that will fade with time. It hasn't been very long, has it?" I had to believe that they would fade, otherwise I had no reason to hope that my own memories would ever let me go.

  "Sometimes I think the only way I'll be able to move forward is if I go back."

  "Back where?"

  Her face was heavy with sadness as she settled her gaze on me. "To the keep where he died."

  My chest seized in panic at the very idea. "Why ever would you want to return?" It didn't make sense with what she had just told me.

  "I have no wish to. And that's the problem. I'm letting my memories of a place hurt me."

  "It's not just memories of a place," I insisted, thinking of all the hurt and anger that were tied up with my memories of Bridgefield, of the new wing. "It's memories of what happened there. And those are real."

  "It was real. And it hurt me, more than anything has ever hurt me." A silent tear coursed down her cheek. "But turning that place into a shrine of bad memories that I need to fear only makes the fear more tangible." She curled her fingers, as if trying to grab a hold of something. "It gives the memories...substance and...physical presence."

  "You think going back there will rid you of those memories?" The idea was ludicrous.

  She shook her head. "Nothing will rid me of those memories. But maybe going back would at least lessen their power over me."

  Her words curled quietly into my head, repeating over and over. Something about them rang true and clear, and because of that my body recoiled from them. Because the very last thing that I wanted to do was return to the new wing of Bridgefield. I had lived there long enough. I had sheltered under that roof for enough days and slept within those walls for enough nights. I wanted nothing at all to do with that house any longer, most especially the rooms where Damian had tormented me. And I was afraid that that only proved her right.

  ***

  The next day I bid farewell to Lylin and Rhys as they set out for Fallon manor, then spent the day with my other sisters, especially Raina. In our shared pain, we had found a closeness that made us gravitate toward one another. We didn't speak of either of our experiences again; I just knew that she understood me, maybe not perfectly, but better than I could have hoped for. I watched her throughout the day, able to recognize those moments when memories of Tobias took hold of her. I wondered if that same look of panic and pain crossed my own face when I was reminded of Damian.

  I went to bed that night, my mind heavy with Raina's words and my own jumbled thoughts.

  I woke gasping and clawing at my neck. But there was nothing there. No strangling high-collared gown, no hands tightening around my throat. I sucked in air and pushed it out, clutching my bedclothes over my heart. I had to remind myself that I was in my bedchamber in Dalthia.

  It had been part memory, part nightmare. The dress had been real, the alcove had been real. But Damian had never been in that alcove, and despite all the things he had done, he had never tried to choke me. My mind had conjured that scene, polluting the spot where I had found refuge with fabricated images of my husband.

  Is that how it would be? Would all the fear and pain work their way into even the best memories that I had? If I could not hold on to the good, what would I be left with?

  I was at home, surrounded by my family, safe from all harm, but Damian was still hurting me. Perhaps Raina was right. Perhaps the only way to move forward was to go back, to confront my prison and liberate myself.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  THE CARRIAGE SHUDDERED to a stop, but I couldn't move. Bridgefield looked hollow and abandoned—dead. From the front, I could see no damage from the fire, but when we had crested the hill, I had noticed the blackened roof near the back of the house. How much damage had I caused?

  I stared out the little window—up at the dark stones piled one on top of the other—for an interminable amount of time. The footman never opened the door; Falstone, Leo and Marcus never approached to ask why I remained in the confines of the carriage. They knew why. They didn't like that I had returned, but they had brought me anyway.

  Even Beatrice, who had been determined to distract me with talk of anything and everything while we drove, sat silent and patient on the bench across from me.

  They had all been patient with me, indulgent even. I had spent three weeks with my family after Lylin's wedding, working up the courage, convincing my parents that returning to Bridgefield was something I needed to do. We had stayed at an inn the night before, and I had awoken with the first rays of sunlight and gone about readying for the day. Beatrice had cajoled me into eating breakfast, though I'd had no appetite. Still I had sat and nibbled at the simple breakfast fare, if only to give Beatrice and my guards time to eat their own food. We had left the inn directly after to travel the short distance to Bridgefield. My old home, my old prison.

  I didn't want to be here, which was why it was necessary. What I wanted was to tell the coachman to continue down the road to Sutton manor. I wanted to confess my feelings for James and find out the truth of his intentions toward me. And I would, but this had to be done first. And I had to do it alone.

  I reached trembling fingers toward the handle and pushed the carriage door open. The air was warm, but I felt inexplicably chilled as I stepped to the ground. I suddenly wished that I had brought Rogue with me—wished for his comforting weight against my leg—but I was on my own and I tried to tell myself that that was a good thing. Or at least the right thing.

  The first st
ep forward was the hardest. The moment I let go of the carriage and stood staring up at Bridgefield with nothing and no one to hold me up left me terrified. Why was it so much harder to return than it had been to stay after Damian died? It didn't make sense, and the only answer I could come up with was that I had been so used to Damian's oppression, that the oppression of the house once he was gone was negligible. But now that I'd been away from it, away from the memories, it seemed to hold every horrid moment, every painful neglect.

  How could a building—a simple building with walls and roof and floor—throw me into such a state of panic? Raina had been right. This place made my fears tangible; it gave my memories physical presence. And if I wished to be free of Damian, I had to face this house and leave it behind, along with all that it represented. It wouldn't make the memories go away, but I hoped it would at least loosen the grip of the fear that my heart still strained against.

  The second step was only slightly easier than the first, but I continued until I stood before the imposing wooden front doors. I hesitated to touch them, but when I pressed my hands to the wood, it was just wood. They opened with a creak and I pushed them wide, allowing the sunlight to spill through the doors and into the confines of a house that had witnessed every day of my short marriage.

  My eyes were drawn to the right, to the stairs that led to the old wing that I longed to climb. Instead I forced my feet left, my skirts shushing across the floor as I crossed the entry and stepped into the parlor of the new wing, forcing myself to take it all in. That chair was where I had sat after the party while Damian berated me. That couch was where I would sit to stitch, proudly showing Damian my work until I realized how condescending his smiles were. I studied them, stared at them until it became all too obvious that they were just a normal chair and a regular couch.