Lennox, Mary - Heart of Fire.txt

by Heart of Fire. txt (lit)

  attempt.

  “Shut the door behind you.” Nicholas’s soft voice cut

  through her thoughts like a whip. She tried to quell the rising

  dread as the footman did so. He had never sounded so dangerous,

  so cold.

  In one of those impossibly quick movements that still

  surprised her, he turned. His eyes blazed in a face absolutely

  drained of color. He looked like a man who had just escaped

  the rack and, now armed, faced his torturer.

  “You met a man at dawn. You embraced him. You knelt to

  him. You kissed his hands. You gave him my betrothal gift,

  damn you! And now you’re going to tell me why.”

  She looked into his beloved, tormented face and raised her

  hand in a plea—for this not to be happening, for some softening

  in the icy fire of his gaze—but he just stood there, his hands

  curling and uncurling into fists. She wondered wildly whether

  he would hurt her. He certainly looked as though he would like

  to. “I cannot tell you.”

  He was on her before she could even cry out, his hands

  gripping her shoulders, shaking her hard once, twice, and then

  he shoved her away from him and covered his face with his

  hands. “God! You make me into a beast.”

  He lowered his hands, and she backed away until she stood

  against the wall. His burning eyes pinned her there. She could

  feel the silk of the wall covering against her back, the only thing

  in the room that had any softness to it at all.

  “You don’t trust me enough to tell me who that damnable

  god was and why you loved him so much that you’d give him

  my necklace. You put me through hell, and all because you

  don’t trust me. What is it? Do you think I can’t keep your secrets

  safe?” He took a jagged breath. “Or is it that I can’t keep you

  safe, Sera?” His voice was desolate and dry as a desert.

  She stood there, her back clinging to the wall like a brand,

  while her thoughts whirled madly. She shook her head back

  and forth and shut her eyes. “You cannot keep me safe, Nicholas.

  Not in this world. There is disease and violence, and no one can

  protect me from those.”

  His laugh was a harsh groan. “Considering the number of

  times you saved my hide, I should think you’d occasionally

  want me to return the compliment.”

  “You rescued me from Hadar. From Dawson twice. Why

  do you torment yourself?” She hated his bleak humor, knowing

  that it hid a self-condemnation that went soul deep. “I cannot

  tell you who the man was. I cannot tell you why I gave him the

  necklace. I cannot tell you anything that you want to know, and

  still, I ask you to trust me. You say that I do not trust you, but on

  this you must trust me. Trust me when I tell you that I love you,

  Nicholas, for it is holy truth. Trust me that I stay here because

  my happiness is here, with you.”

  Expressions chased over his face—misery, fury, cynicism

  warring with hope. She hung on his gaze, willing him to believe

  her. He turned away from her, shaking his head.

  “How can I trust you if you won’t give me answers?” he

  asked softly.

  A sharp rap on the door jolted her from the wall. “Nikki!”

  Andre swept into the room with Carlsohnn and young Oblomov

  before the footman could announce them. “There’s trouble. The

  Brotherhood camp—something’s brewing there.”

  “Men have been arriving for the last three days, Sire,”

  Carlsohnn said. “Their numbers reach the thousands now. We

  believe…” Carlsohnn cast a cautious look at Sera.

  Nicholas nodded curtly to her. “ Kindly leave us,” he said,

  without a hint of inflection in his voice.

  Sera bent her head and walked to the door. He was beyond

  her for now, impervious to the truth of her argument. She could

  only pray that with time, he would choose to believe not what

  he had seen, but what his heart knew to be true. She was so

  afraid her prayers would not be answered.

  That night, she crept up the secret stairway to Nicholas’s

  chamber. He had not come to her, but she had no pride where

  he was concerned. His door was closed. She tried the handle,

  only to find it locked.

  “Nicholas,” she said softly and knew somehow, from the

  dead stillness in the air, that he wasn’t there. “Nicholas,” she

  whispered, while a numbing dread began to envelop her. “Don’t

  do this to us.”

  Empty silence greeted her plea. Sera wrapped her arms

  around her stomach and curled over, bracing against the pain.

  Slowly, she sank to her knees and leaned her head against the

  door. After a long, long time, she rose and walked blindly down

  the stairway.

  ***

  “I told you to remain at home, Andre. Damn it, man, who

  will lead the country should something happen to me?” Nicholas

  sat his mount, in a black mood from two sleepless nights—the

  first spent in his study with a bottle of brandy for company, the

  second on the road.

  The army had marched for two days and crossed the border

  before Andre presented himself. In the gray hour before dawn,

  he now rode the forest path beside Nicholas with one of those

  maddeningly cheerful smiles just visible on his face. Nicholas

  knew just one perfect right to the jaw would erase that grin and

  leave Andre safely asleep in the forest until the battle was over.

  He wished he could use it.

  “You were under orders, you idiot! You and Katherine were

  to remain at home. When the time came, you were to rule and

  keep her safe.”

  “I keep her safe by protecting you, old man. And lower

  your voice, Nikki. We’re coming in on them soon.”

  Indeed, the first scouts slipped back like silent ghosts in

  the chill December mist to report a few moments later.

  Carlsohnn, among them, wore a look of deep concern.

  “From the number of campfires, it looks to be as many as

  eight thousand troops, twice our number.”

  Nicholas tapped his fingers against his saddle, his mind

  sorting out the information against what he knew of Galerien

  and the Brotherhood.

  “It will be difficult to win against so many of them,” said

  General Oblomov, who rode up beside them. The other generals

  clustered about Nicholas, all of them wearing expressions of

  doubt.

  “We must,” said Nicholas. “They’re gathering in force to

  march on Laurentia. There’s no other explanation for such

  numbers when their normal method of operation is infiltration

  in small, deadly gangs. If we refuse to engage, we’ll face them

  and Galerien’s forces together soon, and Laurentia will fall.

  We must move now, gentlemen, while the element of surprise

  is with us.”

  “In the darkness?” asked Andre.

  “No,” said Nicholas. “The darkness will confuse us as well

  as them. We’ll follow the original plan. Gather above them to

  the east and wait until sunrise. The cavalry will charge the camp,

  followed closely by the infan
try. Pray the sun blinds them. Once

  down, we fight like hell. If we succeed, we fan out in legions

  and surround their army.”

  General Oblomov nodded once, smartly. “It just might work,

  Nicholas Andreyevitch.” The others, though still grave, nodded

  as well.

  “Gentlemen. Kindly send the order along the ranks and

  move the men into position.”

  An hour later, Nicholas shut his spyglass and replaced it in

  his pocket. “I want you at the back, Andre,” he murmured. “You

  must return alive to Montanyard. Marry Katherine and name

  your first son after me, eh?”

  Andre’s hand pressed his shoulder. “You will not die in this

  battle, Nikki. Do you understand me? You will not die.”

  Nicholas tried to smile, but the effort was too difficult. “I

  don’t want to make an end of it, you dunce,” he said. “I simply

  want to justify my taking up space on this earth. If I make it

  back, I’ll go on to solve the next problem, and the next.”

  “Damnit, Nikki,” Andre began as the first rays of the sun

  struck the hills behind them.

  “Save your breath, my friend. You’ll need it.”

  ***

  “What is it, Grandfather?” Jacob Augustus entered

  Emmanuel Aestron’s study and sat down across the table from

  the Mage.

  Jacob peered into the scrying glass. Across the smooth

  surface, the sun rose above hilltops surrounded by forest. A band

  of horsemen gathered at the top. A tall, dark-haired rider who

  sat straight as a Hillman in his saddle raised his sword. It flashed

  in the sunlight and the band charged downward to a plain

  teeming with black-clad soldiers.

  “Nicholas Rostov goes to battle,” said Emmanuel. “Sera

  will never forgive us if we do not watch carefully.”

  ***

  Nicholas whipped his sword arm upward once more,

  meeting the jarring stroke of steel yet again. His horse had been

  shot out from under him eons ago. He had managed to jump

  free, only to come up against one of the black clad soldiers. A

  ball from a pistol to his right had downed the soldier and saved

  him. The sun, now past the zenith by a good, long time, revealed

  a field strewn with bodies, both in the blue and red of Laurentia

  and the black of the Brotherhood. Still the fighting went on, to

  the cries of the wounded and the metallic stench of blood. He

  pressed on, backing a man toward a steep drop in the land,

  somehow aware of where he stepped, when to turn, although

  conscious thought had disappeared hours ago.

  He had lost sight of Andre when he lost his horse. He could

  only pray that his friend made it through this hell. The enemy

  sliced at him from the left. Nicholas parried, stepped aside to

  the right, and readied. The soldier, wild for the kill, lunged, and

  Nicholas speared him cleanly. The soldier fell, never knowing

  what had hit him.

  He sensed a lull in the battle and stopped for an instant,

  breathing heavily and wiping the grimy sweat from his forehead

  with his sword arm. And heard, very distinctly, a deep, powerful

  voice shout inside his head.

  “Rostov! Behind you!”

  Nicholas whirled to find a tall, spectral man caped in black,

  whose sword rose to slice through his neck. He blinked and

  leaped aside in time to feel the cold steel cut through the flesh

  on his side. The wound was bad, but he still had strength to lift

  the sword and back away.

  “Count Vladimir Laslow, at your service.” The black-caped

  creature bowed, a mocking, graceful movement. “Why don’t

  you give it up, Rostov?” The spectre’s voice was cold as the

  gates of Hell. “You are dying, just as Catherine Elizabeth will

  die, just as your sister, your friend, and the rest of these men

  will die.”

  Laslow grinned, a tight, feral baring of teeth. “In a day,

  maybe two, I shall get the ruby from the witch’s daughter. Oh,

  yes, we know she wears it now. As we speak, there are men

  inside Montanyard to bring her and the jewel to me. And with

  it, the Hills will belong to Galerien, and Laurentia will belong

  to us. Your time is up, Rostov.”

  The spectre came closer, sword glittering against the sun,

  eyes gleaming. “I didn’t make it easy for the chit’s mother, I

  can tell you. I enjoyed her screams. Do you believe I’ll give

  your mistress an easy death, Rostov? Oh, yes, I can see I’ve got

  your full attention at last. I shall allow Galerien to watch while

  I cut her, bit by bit. I shall cut out her heart last of all, and give

  it to Galerien still beating. Won’t that be a pretty sight?”

  Nicholas spun away from the bright flash of the sword. His

  head felt light and dizzy. He blinked his eyes to clear them and

  swayed on his feet. He must have lost a lot of blood. He probably

  wouldn’t survive much longer.

  “That is what you must remember, Rostov, as you hurtle

  toward death. The picture of the witch’s daughter butchered,

  her body desecrated. Our victory over the Devil and his whore.”

  Again, his body was jolted by a shock of electric

  recognition, as though a soul had just touched his own. “To the

  left,” said a voice, deep and compelling, and Nicholas jumped.

  The spectre took a step, stumbled over a hidden root, and

  Nicholas lunged as Laslow tried to right himself. His sword

  slid deeply into flesh, between ribs, and struck the very heart of

  the beast.

  “No,” whispered the spectre. “I planned it all perfectly. I

  shall not die.” Even as he spoke, the cruel light drained from

  his eyes, and the beast fell forward on the sword, his venom

  drained forever.

  Nicholas swayed above the prone figure from Sera’s deepest

  nightmares. He had done this much, anyway. “Thank you,” he

  whispered to whatever saint or touch of magic had given him

  warning.

  “Nikki!”

  Nicholas blinked to clear his vision. Andre hurtled toward

  him with a division of soldiers at his back. Within seconds, they

  surrounded him in a protective phalanx, and two men half-

  carried, half-supported him off the field of battle.

  Andre bent over him, his mouth a grim line in a face lined

  with soot and sweat.

  “I need you to. . .” Nicholas could barely hear his own voice.

  “What the hell do you want me to do, Nikki?” Andre leaned

  his ear close to Nicholas’s mouth.

  Nicholas grabbed his arm. “Go home,” he told Andre. “Save

  Sera. You have to save her.”

  “All right, old fellow. Tell me how to do it.”

  Nicholas fought the rising darkness while he gave Andre

  the details of the plan that would destroy the one chance of

  happiness he was ever to have. At least, he thought, he got it all

  said.

  “Good,” he muttered. “Leave now. Not a mom’nt t’ lose.”

  Darkness rolled in and took him under.

  Fourteen

  At the rap on the door of Nicholas’s study, Andre stopped

  pacing and took his place behind the desk. I
t would be an

  understatement to say he was not at all happy to inform Sera of

  her fate, particularly after speaking to Katherine earlier that day.

  But there had been no time to argue with Nikki. The fierce

  intensity in his drawn face, as well as the gravity of his wound,

  compelled Andre. He had to do it, and do it right.

  Andre took a deep breath. “Enter.”

  Sera preceded the footman, who quietly closed the door

  behind her. She crossed the room in quick steps. “How is he?”

  she asked him breathlessly. “Terrible rumors are flying through

  the palace this morning. I don’t know what to believe. How

  badly is he wounded? You must take me with you, quickly, for

  he needs me.”

  Sera looked like hell, Andre thought. Her shadowed eyes

  were too big in a face gone pale and thin. The realization of just

  how much Nikki meant to her hit him hard, and he inwardly

  cursed fate and duty. But still, he forced his voice to come out

  in a clipped, impersonal tone.

  “The wound is grave, but the doctor believes he has a good

  chance of pulling through, as long as he is not disturbed. The

  king expressly does not wish you with him, not now, and not in

  future.” He unrolled a thick parchment and forced his hands

  not to tremble.

  “In this year of our Lord 1812, His Majesty Nicholas

  Alexander Andreyivitch Rostov, tenth of that line by the Grace

  of God, Ruler of Laurentia, and of the counties of the eastern

  Arkadian range, hereby deems it fit and worthy to banish Lady

  Sera, of those mountains, from Lauentia now and forever.”

  Sera made a sound, a choked whisper, really. Her face,

  already pale, now looked as white as the parchment he had been

  reading. Andre rounded the desk in a hurry. He was afraid she’d

  faint and he wouldn’t be there in time to catch her. But she

  waved him off and clutched at the high back of a wing chair.

  He watched her struggle for control and silently cursed.

  “The king has ordered that soldiers take you to the

  mountains. He reminds you that this is what you wanted for a

  long time. He tells you to keep the ruby as a…” Damn Nikki,

  he thought, choking on the word. “douceur. You may give it to

  anyone you please.”

  She raised eyes that were tragic blue pools. “A douceur,”

  she said in a voice devoid of all emotion.