The black box rattled, its seal tearing at the edges.
‘I have no choice,’ I whispered, feeling my legs begin to buckle beneath me.
‘I-if I could give you time, Violet, I would. But I can’t and I’m so sorry …’
As she spoke she looked past me, beyond the rock and the trees of Varnley. She looked into the distance, her eyes focused on a flickering orange dot on a far away hillside. Another appeared to the left, larger, closer.
‘They’re lighting the beacons,’ she murmured, hesitantly taking a few steps around the rock. Her eyes were fixed on the dots, as though she were completely mesmerized. ‘I have to go. They know I’m here.’
She backed away a few paces, before her expression softened and she hurried forward again and grabbed my hand, clutching it with an unnaturally tight grasp.
‘Do not tell them what you are until I send word. But I can only buy you a few hours of normality, no more than that.’
‘A few hours of normality to do what?’
She glanced over her shoulder frantically before turning back to me and grasping both my hands.
‘To follow your heart.’
‘What if it was someone you knew?’
‘Then may fate have mercy upon her heart.’
With that she swung around and marched towards the trees, her eyes fixed on Fallon. Kaspar followed close behind, his gaze sliding from the one Sage to the other before he swung around, staring across the treetops to where a third beacon had sprung into flames.
Is that all she was going to leave me with?
As she grew nearer the group she threw her cloak about her shoulders and I backpedalled, grabbing my coat. Something fell from the inner pocket and looking down, I realized it was the magazine she had given me the night before. Staring at it for a moment, I snatched it from the ground and stuffed it back into the pocket.
Meeting in the middle, Autumn and Fallon exchanged a few words before the Sagean Prince turned to Kaspar, waving off his wide-eyed protest. Before anyone could say another thing, Autumn curtsied – her final curtsy – and throwing up their hoods, they disappeared in a whirling mass of black cloth.
Nobody spoke. An identical picture was painted on every face as eyes slid from one to the other. It was one of complete disbelief – a feeling I shared, but for different reasons.
Dark Heroine? But I didn’t have time to wallow in doubt. Already, the adrenaline was kicking in and I felt a strange sort of determination. I am not going to let fate destroy anyone I care for.
Kaspar’s eyes moved quickly between the beacon and the spot where the Sage had just stood. Behind his eyes, fast falling through to white, I could see his mind turning things over. His lips mouthed the word ‘beacon’ over and over; his eyes searched the sparse heath for answers. After a minute, his expression became perfectly placid. Realization was dawning and it almost hurt to watch his hand running through his hair, clutching at strands as he spun around and mouthed the word ‘beacons’ one final time.
‘She was right here,’ Kaspar choked, utter disbelief in his voice. ‘They duped us.
And the council will know by now. But why would she come now?’
‘Second Heroine,’ Alex answered, his words clipped and impatient. He glared at the other man, his brow creasing when, to my surprise, his gaze moved to me. ‘She has a duty, just like you do, Kaspar.’
Kaspar didn’t seem to be listening because he motioned for Alex to follow him and instructed the others to return to the mansion. He glanced at me.
‘Cain, with Violet. You won’t be slowed down as much. And look after her.’
I was about to protest that I didn’t need ‘looking after’ but Cain beat me to it. ‘We’re going back? But the sun’s barely risen. What’s the rush? It’s not as though we can do anything. Father will deal with it.’
Kaspar sighed, his irises a cloudy white – a shade worse than red, or black. It was a shade that robbed his eyes of humanity. ‘You’re not old enough to remember the last time the beacons were lit, Cain. That’s because they’re only ever lit when things get bad. They’re a call to court. In just hours, the entire Kingdom will be flocking to Varnley and expecting answers about the Prophecy. Answers we don’t have.’
Cain’s eyes flickered to the orange flames on the horizon and he shut his mouth, subdued into nodding.
Kaspar, on the other hand, opened his mouth as though to say something and my heart seemed to constrict in the middle, partly in dread, partly in anticipation. But he closed it again and turned his attention away from me to Cain.
‘Look after her,’ he repeated. With that he and Alex shot off into the forest.
My heart deflated. I could have stood there, staring after them for hours, trying desperately to piece together everything that had happened in the past fifteen minutes, but that wasn’t an option. The others were dissipating and Cain glanced at me, adjusting the strap of the guitar case on his shoulder.
‘Do you mind if we run? It’s only a mile downhill and I’ve got a feeling we don’t want to be missing this.’
I shrugged my shoulders, buttoning up my coat, feeling the magazine press against my side in the inner pocket. Taking a few steps, Cain broke out into a jog, gradually speeding up as we slipped in-between the trees. It occurred to me suddenly that I would probably regret this half way down, but I did not have the capacity or the time to care.
My brain was working overtime. I was a Dark Heroine and however much I wanted to not believe it, I knew that there was too much at risk to just ignore it.
Hours. I had hours. I didn’t even know what I had to do in those hours. I was completely at the mercy of the Sage and Autumn Rose. I knew nothing of this world; of the dimensions; of Vamperic politics. All I know is that I can’t let my worlds destroy each other.
Moreover, in mere hours the Vamperic Kingdom would descend upon Varnley as the beacons flamed, news of the first Heroine spread and thoughts turned to the second Heroine.
Me.
* * *
Sweat dripped down my face as we emerged from the trees, bare of the vibrant covering they had possessed in earlier months. Those leaves that had once been plush and alive were now as devoid of life as the inhabitants they surrounded; they were swept into rough piles at the very extremities of the grounds, out of site and view of the entrance as though they had never provided colour and pleasure.
But beyond that was a more curious sight. Lined up on the drive were dozens of the servants, their trim uniforms looking out of place against the disarray of the grounds. Even the disciplined butlers were amongst them, their crisp white gloves a complete contrast to their skin, burnt a deep red by the morning sun.
Cain meandered through them, attempting to chivvy them back inside, but at most he earned himself a few desultory bows. Instead, they all stared across the treetops, a few talking animatedly in little enclosed groups of two or three. As I moved closer, I caught a few words of the nearest group.
‘Found the first Heroine … Varnley … back to Athenea …’
Suddenly, one of them caught me looking and nudged her two friends who immediately hushed. I recognized one as Annie. She straightened up, squaring her shoulders and glaring defiantly at me. Unable to hold her gaze I shifted and moved to join Cain.
‘They’re watching the beacons,’ he explained. ‘They won’t hear sense, c’mon.’ He left the servants behind and progressed through the open double doors. Leaving Kaspar’s guitar beside the staircase, he turned to me.
‘I’m going to try and find someone who knows what the hell is going on. You better stay in your room.’
I nodded, not intending to follow his advice: as soon as he had disappeared into the corridor I bolted for the stairs and took them two at a time, dashing into Kaspar’s room. It was empty. My heart sank.
I took a few hesitant steps in. The door slammed behind me and I jumped, always on edge in this room below the gaze of the realistic, piercing eyes of the King and Queen, immortalized in oil a
nd canvas above the mantle. I shivered. This was not a welcoming room: if wood could be cursed then the panels lining the walls were damned.
Most of the furniture, bar the bed, was still covered in dust sheets, adding to the eerie, unlived-in feel of the room. There was another draft, too: the French doors to the balcony were wide open, the dark voiles fluttering in the breeze and filtering the mid-morning sun. The few untampered rays fell across the floor as slits of light that I moved into as I reached out and grasped the material. Drawing them across I balanced on the lip of the doorframe, where my heart sank for the second time in a minute. He wasn’t there either.
I retreated back inside, question after question tumbling from my mind into my chest, where the dread mounted. I’m only human, what on Earth can I do? From that dread spilled resentment. Why did Autumn leave me? Doesn’t she get it? I have no one. No one but Kaspar, and where the hell is he when I need him?
Right here, a voice said.
I spun around so quickly that I stumbled and had to grab the voiles to keep myself from falling. That sounds exactly like—
So poised, Girly, the same voice said … wait, my voice said.
‘Oh God,’ I muttered.
You did ask where I was, it or he responded.
So you’re referring to yourself as Kaspar now? I asked cautiously in my mind.
It chuckled. Girly, I am Kaspar. Always have been, always will. It stopped and corrected itself. Actually, I’m a diluted version of his personality embodied in your sub-conscious since birth, but let’s keep it simple.
‘You’ve known all along?’ I spat as it occurred to me that I was having a conversation with my own mind – a mind that contained all the sass of Kaspar. Great.
Not really, it replied. I’m still your mind and I can only learn things as you do.
‘Well, diluted Kaspar, would you mind shutting up?’ I asked the empty room as I flopped onto the bed and fell back onto the sheets. My feet dangled off the edge and I swung them, my heels hitting the mattress over and over, remembering the last time I had lain here, stark naked, in the arms of Kaspar. A small smile crossed my lips.
I sobered quickly. I couldn’t forget what had been revealed to me that easily, and I was fully expecting to start panicking if I didn’t tell someone soon.
But what use is there in panicking?
I kicked my shoes and socks off, glad of the cool breeze steadily blowing through the open doors to the balcony. I let my head fall to the side and I was just contemplating going to look for him when a triangle of white tucked beneath the pillow, stark against the black covers, caught my eye.
Rolling over, I pinched it between forefinger and thumb and pulled, moving the pillow aside.
A ball of heavy, almost-yellow paper rolled into my hand. It was so creased that tears had begun to appear at the folds and where the paper had worn thin I could read inked words in reverse, written in an elegant, sprawling hand. Astonished, I folded it out flat on the bed.
As I did, it became apparent that it was in fact two sheets of paper and that they were both written in an identical hand, with an identical signature and coat of arms at the bottom. I picked up the nearest; the writing was difficult to discern because the paper was so battered, but as I made out the first few words I almost dropped it in surprise.
Dear sweet Beryl,
Sure enough, besides the royal coat of arms it was signed ‘Queen Carmen’ and swallowing an uncomfortable lump in my throat, I lowered the Queen’s last letter to the bed. Here it was, for a third time.
I took up the other sheet of paper in my hands. It too had been folded and refolded, but had not worn as much: the paper was thicker and had a faint musky smell, like it had been stowed away for a long time. The torn edge of a wax seal clung to one end of the paper and the sheet showed two defined creases where it had been folded, quite precisely, into three.
I turned it over and saw that there was writing on both sides of the sheet, although far more on the inner side. The handwriting was undeniably the same as that of the other letter. Beginning on the side with less writing, I noted the date: it had been written on exactly the same day as the other letter.
A shiver ran through my spine as I realized who it was addressed to: Kaspar. Sitting up straight, I fingered the paper in my hands.
My dear beloved son, Kaspar,
A warning, sweet child: I leave for Romania in a week and I will not leave without entrusting what I know to you. But I would advise that you don’t read on until you must – if you are at peace, my son, do not turn the page. I know you are wise and true enough to heed my words.
A second chill ran down my spine and again I wondered whether I should turn the page. But Kaspar had turned the page – the letter had been opened – and I couldn’t let go of the desire to know what had compelled him to disregard his mother’s wish.
Just do it, my voice snapped impatiently and spurred on, I turned the page and began to read once more.
I will assume, Kaspar, that if you are in possession of this letter that I have passed from this world and am no longer able to convey my knowledge to you with a mother’s embrace – an event for which I am deeply sorry. It is my own mistake that has led me to writing this letter, for I should have been sincere and honest with you from the onset. But I could not ruin your happiness, my son, and I ask firstly for your forgiveness for my weakness.
Secondly, I ask that you do not be angry with your father, as you undoubtedly will be. I know that what he will say to you will make no sense and may seem to be another superficial whim of his, but you must understand that what he does is for your own well-being. Understand that I instructed him to act in such a way, as well as to prompt you to read this letter when it becomes apparent you must. How he does that is of his choosing, but do not be angry. He is your father and he does it out of love.
Before I explain to you what could warrant such words, I will tell you that you may trust Eaglen and Arabella as confidants about what I will shortly tell you. Of course, your father also knows. On my request they keep a silent vigil but all three will gladly hear your questions.
To truly appreciate what I have to tell you, I must take you back to many millennia before you or any of your siblings were born. During a particularly warm Romanian summer, your father and I paid a state visit to Athenea, where we were received by the then young King Ll’iriad Alya Athenea and his wife, pregnant with their first child.
The court at Athenea was a vibrant place, full of the most praised philosophers, academics and astrologers; it was the centre for all deemed revolutionary within the nine dimensions. One of these famed thinkers was a certain Nab’ial Contanal, rising in standing after receiving a royal patron for the Prophecy of the Heroines that you are quite familiar with. Upon our introduction, I was immediately struck by his devotion to the belief that man and woman should be bestowed with equal status – something very few of us had entertained at the time – and found myself listening intently to his talks during the many dinners and dances that occurred.
As previously mentioned, the season was unnaturally hot and one afternoon, when walking alone, I profess that I found myself overcome from the humidity. Contanal, passing, saw my plight and offered to let me rest in his nearby quarters, which were shaded and faced away from the noon sun. Although inappropriate, I accepted his offer – to this day I do not know why.
It was here, half in a daze, that I was witness to a most extraordinary speech. Contanal, pacing between his cluttered shelves, began telling me in a most agitated way that his visions about the Heroines had not ended with his twelve previous verses. A new work he had begun, starting with the second Heroine, the heart of which he was the most fascinated by.
For the first time since Autumn and I had talked at Varns’ Point, a truly uneasy feeling passed through me. This was real. I was one of the Heroines this prophet, Contanal, had written about, thousands of years before.
He then began to detail, with what I would discover years later
, uncanny accuracy, events which I could not have foreseen or dreamt of at the time. He told me that I would have six children – four sons, two daughters – before proceeding to tell me the names your grandfather would give to you and your exact birth dates. But it became apparent quickly that it was only the fourth child, a son – you – he was concerned with.
I am not naïve to the power of fate, but what he told me next was near unimaginable. Neither do I pretend to understand the ways of the Sage, nor how they wield the magic in their veins, but his perception was unnatural. In truth, I thought his ideas to be warped, but in my heart I knew them to be true.
He described that during the lifetime of my fourth child, a girl would enter his life – a girl bestowed or perhaps cursed with the title of second Heroine. This girl’s life would become irreversibly tied to the Kingdom and to the fourth child, heir to the throne. To you, Kaspar. He explained that resistance would have no worth, for the girl’s status would bring the two of you into constant contact. In short, you and the second Heroine are tied together by fate.
The paper fluttered to the ground. My hands dropped to the sheets and gripped them, tightly. That’s why. It explained everything: why the King would not let me and Kaspar touch; why he talked of responsibility – Kaspar was duty bound to his Kingdom’s Heroine; why Kaspar had become so withdrawn since he returned from Romania: the King must have told him to read this letter. My voice and the dreams too – Kaspar, again.
He is tied by fate to me. He just didn’t know it was me yet.
A strange mixture of emotion rose in me and I didn’t know whether to be elated or sickened. I had no choice, yet again, and the idea of being tied to someone I barely knew and had hated until a few weeks ago was unnerving.
The Dark Heroine: Dinner with a Vampire Page 38
