Then she saw her, sneaking, creeping.
The figure entered from the far left on the courtyard. She inched along the courtyard’s walls toward the exit. A figure, it was difficult to tell, but Darya was sure it was Sena. Then the wind acted up again and cut through the thin fabric of the white robe of the moonlit figure. It lifted the robe on invisible drafts and when the moon shown, it made her look almost ghostlike as the long robe fluttered behind her. And then a highlight on the figure’s olive colored skin across her forehead and cheeks caught the highlights of her long ebony hair and Darya knew it was Sena.
Darya lit a candle and snuck from her room, down toward the captive chambers. She slowly opened the door and saw that her man, Sergen, was in place and in deep sleep. He looked so sexy just lying there on his side, his firm buttocks exposed in the light of her candle. She felt bad for him when the candlelight flickered over the strap marks. They stood proud on his skin and she wanted to comfort him. She wanted to snuggle up next to him and kiss him. She watched him for several minutes. He didn’t move, just the rising and falling of his chest as he breathed steadily. She knew that just on the other side, concealed, was inches and inches of a man. She secretly hoped he was dreaming of her as she quietly closed the door.
Further investigation of the other chambers revealed that Crimson and Uric were in place, but Sena, as she expected, was missing. Crimson was sound asleep, her light colored hair draped over her shoulders and covering her round breasts. Uric, even sleeping, seemed to be uneasy and stirred when the candle’s light landed on his face. The palace was silent, so quiet that she could hear the caretakers snoring in the bathing room as she snuck past them and made her way toward the courtyard.
She traced Sena’s path through the courtyard and made her way to the stables that bordered the palace walls. She knelt and crawled through the partially open doors of the stable and saw Sena and a man, whom she immediately recognized as a horror. The palace stable was large, having once been used for stabling cavalry horses and now it sat, mostly empty. The two of them were on the bundle of hay and straw near her mother’s favorite Arabian stud. The horror was on top of her and Sena’s legs were wrapped around the back of his thighs. Her clothes were tossed haphazardly over a stable door.
Darya inched along the stable stalls until she was close enough to hear their moans. As the horror pushed deep into Sena, her hips rose to meet his and she exposed her neck for his mouth. The horror sank his fangs into her soft flesh. After only moments, he withdrew his fangs and the blood seeped from the bite marks, then stalled and unexpectedly congealed on her warm flesh.
Darya inched closer and heard Sena whisper, “Again, my love. Again, take it. Take all of me. Turn me. You must, I implore.”
The horror bored in deeper, his fangs excited to the point of sharpened knives and he took all that she could give.
Darya watched but feared she would be caught and eased out of the stable. She waited in the courtyard. She somehow understood why Sena wanted to be turned, but must know and wanted to hear it from Sena.
As Sena snuck back into the courtyard, she saw Darya waiting near the entrance to the main hallway.
“Why would you want to be turned, Sena? You will forever be one of them, you know,” Darya asked with a strange level of contempt.
“Better to belong to something than nothing. I’ve been in the trade for far too long. It’s not something you would understand.”
Darya cupped the candle’s flame from the wind. “I think that I do understand. When will you turn? Am I, are we in danger?”
“No danger. I will leave before I turn.”
“Can I ask you a question, Sena?”
“Yes, you may, but I may not answer.”
“How did you know you must do it? What made you decide it was worth it?”
Sena pushed past her, intent on not answering the question, but Darya stopped her. “What made you decide it was worth it? I must know.”
Sena answered without looking at her, “You shouldn’t look for someone to tell you what you should do. You will know and one never knows for certainty. Will you tell the countess of this?”
“No.”
“Then I shall retire. I will be gone before nightfall tomorrow.”
“Sena, wait,” Darya said, “I wish you luck.”
Sena leaned in and kissed Darya on the cheek. Darya found it tender and endearing.
* * * *
“Sena, is that you?” Crimson asked when the door to her sleeping quarters creaked open.
“Yes, Crimson, it’s me.”
Crimson covered her brow with cupped hands to block out the dim light from the hallway. “Where were you?”
“I had to sneak out, it’s not important. Go back to sleep.”
“Sena?”
“Yes?” Sena said as she lay on her back next to Crimson.
“I don’t belong here. When you were gone, I roused from sleep with a sudden calling, a flush of memories. I remember everything from the auction house. I remember Kieran and the trip on the river. I remember Sergen and me earlier in the countess’s bedroom, but I also remember Viktor.”
“Viktor?”
“I was once a princesses and in love. Viktor was the clumsiest of lovers, but he was honest and pure. I don’t belong here, Sena. I belong back in Sweden under the willow trees. I belong to Viktor, not Tor. In as much as a woman can belong to a man.”
Sena rolled to her side and rested her head on her elbow. “You remember everything? Even your time as a child?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve heard of it, but have never seen it. You’re having a summoning.”
“Summoning?” Crimson questioned as she brought her hands under her head and stared at the dark ceiling.
“Yes. They say some captives’ breakout of the spell from the auction house and Kieran, that they are summoned back to their old lives. You are lucky and it is a curse at the same time. What will you do?”
Crimson sighed. “I want to leave.”
“So do I, Crimson. So do I.”
“What shall we do?”
“We can try and get a message to your prince, but it will prove difficult. Sweden is many, many miles away.”
“Yes, because we can’t leave, right Sena? We’re stuck here, forever and ever and ever.”
“It’s more difficult than that.”
“How?”
“I’m going to turn Crimson.”
“You mean … become a horror?”
“Yes, the transformation will begin tonight and by tomorrow I will be free. My thoughts have always been those of a free woman anyways. But I will make it my mission to get your message to Viktor.”
“But how will you remember? They say horror’s can’t remember much of their past and who’s to say you won’t forget me?”
Sena sighed. “Tell me all about this Viktor. Make me remember.”
Crimson rolled to her side and rested her head on her outstretched arms. She could barely make out the shape of Sena. “The thing is … he’s beautiful. Not the strong-featured beauty you’d suspect, but an easy, delicate beauty. And he’s determined, Sena. I’ve never seen someone so determined. It’s actually intimidating at times. I know he’s trying to find me. I can feel it like a breath if I concentrate. I can feel its warmth, its vapor flow over my lips.”
“Yes, he sounds lovely and in love. How would I know it’s Viktor if I were to find him?”
“He has a birthmark, the shape of Cygnus on the left of his neck. It’s the shape of a large cross. And on his right collarbone, another birthmark, the shape of a crescent moon.”
Sena sighed. “Sounds enchanting. How many times have you kissed each?”
Crimson giggled. “I have, many times. My tongue knows the shapes of each birthmark as if they were each words.”
Sena shifted. “Then, kiss me, Crimson. Kiss me as though I were Viktor. Make me retain him.”
“Kiss you?”
“Yes, kiss me and tong
ue the shapes of his birthmarks.”
Crimson closed her eyes, rotated toward Sena and found her lips with her own. She kissed Sena softly and placed her hand on Sena’s waist. Soon the tenderness parted, Crimson’s tongue found Sena’s and she traced Viktor’s birthmarks.
Sena’s breathing labored, her legs entangled in Crimson’s and her hand found the soft skin of Crimson’s throat. She could feel the base muscles of Crimson’s tongue as she traced the shapes over and over on her own tongue.
Sena’s eyes closed, and she lost herself in the shape of a cross then a moon, a cross then a moon.
* * * *
Tor woke to find his wife sleeping beside him. Earlier that evening, as they prepared to retire, she told him of the lashing she ordered for Sergen and Darya, how she felt that the punishment for Sergen was appropriate, but wondered if she had done the right thing with Darya.
“She doesn’t respect my orders, Tor. She’s completely insolent and feels she can do as she pleases,” she said as she stretched out on their bed and stared at the ceiling. “How am I to run this palace if she doesn’t respect me? My orders were clear. She was not to have Sergen. Yet she undermined my authority.” She pulled the covers to her chin. “Now I’m certain she hates me, but what could I have done differently?”
Tor knew her questions were rhetorical. He knew she was only venting and didn’t really want an answer. He knew she certainly didn’t want to debate the unpleasantness of punishment, whether it was an incentive to reform or not.
“I agree,” he kept repeating when the answer was expected. “I see,” he’d respond when he wasn’t sure of the correct response, but all the while his thoughts were of Crimson. Since the auction house, all he wanted to do was take her, have his way with her, but asking the countess for permission required proper timing and she definitely wasn’t in the mood this evening. The countess had a jealous streak. If she for a moment felt as if someone had bested her, was one notch above her, her temper would burn for all to see and no one would have any fun. But the thoughts of Crimson plagued his mind and he had waited patiently for days. He wanted her. It was an urge as strong and compelling as hunger and seemed to rumble in his psyche.
He sat up in bed, whispered that he was going to the bathroom, and waited. The countess didn’t respond. He slipped out of bed, stopped at the threshold of the door, and waited again to see if the countess would stir. When she didn’t, he softly closed the door behind him and snuck down the hallway. He stopped at Darya’s room and creaked open the door. She wasn’t in her room and this concerned him, but it was a selfish concern. If the countess woke to find him and her daughter missing, she would not hesitate to wake and search the entire palace. She would demand answers and none given would be satisfactory until everyone was miserable. Then in the direction of the courtyard, he heard Darya and someone else, a female it sounded like, whispering. He stepped into Darya’s room, silently closed the door.
Moments later, Darya slowly opened her door and crept in. She was shocked to find her father in her room. “Father, what are you doing here?”
“Where have you been, Darya? Your mother would have a fit if she found you had left your room. She’s already on edge with you.”
Darya closed the door and sat on the edge of her bed. She flopped on her back and stared at the ceiling, “Mother would throw a fit, regardless. Honestly, father, I don’t see how you’ve managed to stay with her all these years.”
Tor sat on the bed and placed his hand on his daughter’s knee. “Listen, a house, a palace even as big as this one is, isn’t meant to house two women. Your mother hasn’t changed. She’s still the same woman you loved as a child, but you’ve changed. You’ve gotten older and have come into your own. I think it’s time we try to find you a suitor. What do you think?”
Darya sighed and sat up, she noticed that her feet barely touched the floor and it made her feel small. “I’ve already found one, Sergen. He’s magnificent.” She rubbed her left foot over her right and thought of Sergen’s touch on her skin.
Tor wrapped his fingers around hers. “Of course, he is, he’s suppose to be. That’s why I bought him, Darya. But he’s not a suitor. He can’t provide beyond the physical and that just isn’t enough. What of Prince Grigory from Harkov? I’ve seen the way you blush when he is near and his father is of great nobility. Grigory is a proper suitor.”
Darya thought of her last brush with Grigory. “He is cute, but he never pursued me. Sergen just took me. Grigory is a boy like Uric, but Sergen is a man.”
“I see.”
“You do?” Darya responded in disbelief.
“Sure, who wouldn’t want to be pursued? To be taken? Pulled along by invisible reins of destiny. But you can have both, you know. You’re in a position that the commoners of our country are not. You too can one day administer a palace. You can have the security a noble name provides and stock all the Sergen’s that you want. Do you not see that?”
“But what about love?”
“Yes, what about love. You know what I’ve learned?”
“What?”
“Love fades. By nature, love changes. It has to because it grows just as you have and I’ve watched you change over these last few years. And sometimes, even though we are in deep, deep love at the beginning, the change is not satisfactory. You love Sergen now and those emotions are powerful, even blinding, but it may not be because he’s your soul mate. You’ve only just met him. He may have just awakened something inside you, something you love to feel. Something you love about a moment that you were able to share with each other. Wisdom, one day, will teach you that isn’t a love that lasts.”
He patted her on the knee, stood, and made his way to her door. Before exiting, he turned and said, “I’ll arrange a party so that you and Grigory can meet. In the meantime, stay clear of your mother for a while. Let her dwell on what happened today. She feels bad about it, but she’ll never let you know.”
“Thanks, Father.”
“Darya?”
“Yes.”
“Who were you whispering with earlier? Before you returned to your room?”
“No one, really. It was nothing.”
Tor closed the door behind him and made his way back to his bedroom. He climbed into bed, still thinking of Crimson as he kissed his wife on the forehead. He thought of arousing her, but knew it was pointless. Love had long ago abandoned them.
Chapter V
~ Safe in the Morning Sun ~
King Charles awoke and brushed the freshly fallen snow off his blanket. The sun sat on the horizon of Russia and the sky overhead was clear, not a single cloud, just the blueness of the heavens above. It was a perfect morning to make their way southwest and he hoped the trip would be uneventful. He pulled off his wool socks and checked his toes, relieved that they were pink and not the black of death he had feared. At most, he might lose a toenail or two, a small cost to pay for the rescue of his sister. He replaced his socks, pulled on his boots, and stretched his limbs, surprised that alarms didn’t blare throughout the night.
After rousing himself, he searched and found the rather rotund soldier who prepared the meal the night before. He shook him awake. “Find some root and make warm fluid,” he ordered.
The soldier stirred and responded without looking at the king, “We have tea leaves as part of our provisions.”
“Find a local root and do as I say. Do you want to know why?”
“Yes, sir,” he responded when he realized he was speaking with the king, “but I’m not a cook.”
“First, because it’s an order. Second, because consuming local herbs boosts immunity. You’re our cook now. I suspect by your girth that you know a lot about food. Do as I say and be quick about it.”
“Yes, sir.” The young soldier found his civilian clothes were dry and after he dressed he trudged off into the woods looking for something, anything to please the king. He found a Tilia tree but no flowers with which to make tea. After removing snow to expose the gr
ound around the base of the tree, he hacked off several sections of Tilia root. Its scent reminded him of lime blossom and it would have to do. Back at the camp, he placed the root and several feet of snow into a pot and set it on the fire. The other men started to wake and move about.
The king found his commander near the banks of the river. “No alarms last night? Sentry reports are good?”
“Yes, sir, nothing but silence in the woods this last evening.”
“Very well. A group of men are out looking for game?”
“They have already returned. They felled a moose, field dressed it, and it is being prepared as we speak.”
“Splendid! Ensure the men get their fill. We ride south in a bit. Did the men check their feet?”
“Yes, sir, six men are not well. Their feet have been in bad repair for some time, even before we left Narva. I’m afraid the trek through the frigid river only made matters worse.”
The king slammed his fist on his thigh in anger. “Damn! Send the six injured and one healthy one back to Riga. Instruct the healthy one to care for and preserve their state. He shouldn’t let their injuries get worse.”
“Yes, my king. Do you want replacements in return?”
“No. No replacements. I plan to move quickly through this forest. The quicker it lies behind us, the better. Have the healthy one report to Rehnschiöld our position, progress, and expected return date. Tell him there are strange wolves on this part of the map.”
King Charles made his way to the grave of the horror that was buried the night before. He was delighted to see the wild rose branches still in place. The horror hadn’t escaped death, as he had feared. He had dreamed he would find the burial plot burst open like a backside of a gunshot wound. But something did concern him. All around the grave plot were footprints--paw prints, really. It was as if an entire clan of wolves came to the site to pay their respects. And what he noticed next dumbfounded him and brought about feelings of fear. The revelation ran through his body and activated every small muscle attached to every single hair on the back of his neck. He double checked to make sure but was certain they arrived on paws but departed on feet.
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