by Peace, Cas
Parting the heavy folds of cloth concealing the door, Sofira pulled it open. She descended the dark stair, lit only by a single torch fluttering in its sconce halfway down. It was barely adequate, but she’d grown used to the dim hallways and stairwells. Besides, it was winter. All large, stone buildings were dark in winter. It was too expensive to heat and light unfrequented areas at this time of year.
Reaching the ground floor, she started toward the doorway to her betrothed’s private rooms. She was surprised to see one of his personal servants sitting just outside. They were usually off doing Reen’s unfathomable bidding. She wrinkled her nose as she came closer. Why he couldn’t get them to wash, she had no idea.
The man looked up as she approached, his expression bordering on insolent. She had learned that such emotions or reactions were beyond these men now; they only portrayed what the Baron felt and possessed no independent thought. The power he held over them was part of what he had become, although she didn’t really understand it. It had to do with why he was now ready to take his revenge on those who had wronged him.
Gazing into the servant’s blank eyes, Sofira shivered. As much as she shared and supported Reen’s thirst for vengeance, this strange power of his left her nervous and cold. She had long ago accepted that Sullyan’s shocking revelation during his trial was indeed true. Reen possessed similar, if embryonic, powers to that of the Artesan woman. And although they repulsed Sofira, she acknowledged the aptness of Reen learning to use them against his archenemy. Yet the thought of his body and mind being infused with these arcane and unnatural powers unsettled her. She had to fight to ignore their obvious effects on him whenever she spoke with him.
He had told her it was the unnaturally forced acknowledgment of his birthright that had so warped and changed his body. His suffering and torment were entirely due to the occult energies the vengeful witch had wakened in his soul. Sofira wept when he described his titanic, desperate struggle to retain any of his natural being. He had brought her to her knees with the tale of how he awakened in the night, screaming, terrifying visions of the burning Wheel of Perdition hanging before his ruined eyes. How he pleaded piteously for deliverance from his torment. And how he had been vouchsafed the only route to salvation: the casting down and utter destruction of his archenemy.
Sofira believed and trusted him utterly. Hadn’t she heard some of those terrifying screams? And if they hadn’t, at first, sounded like the Baron’s voice, she only had to think on the dreadful torture he had suffered and the hideous deformation of his body to understand why his voice should be so changed. His moving confession of his darkest fears and terrible weaknesses only served to strengthen her desire to succor him, to aid him, to throw all her weight and support behind him in a fervent effort to restore him to his rightful state.
Now she stood before his door, the parchment from Blaine in her hand, contemplating his reaction to her news. Would he be nervous and afraid, as she was? Would he be furious? Would he rant and rage at her, as he sometimes did when the pressures of his condition were too much for him to bear? Or would he be calculating and calm, as she so loved to see him? There was only one way to find out.
She regarded the seated servant. “I would speak with your master.”
He turned blank eyes on her then spoke. “The master bids you enter.”
Sofira went cold. This was the first time she had seen firm evidence of the unnatural connection Reen had with his servants. Until now, he had guarded the reality of his abilities, but maybe her sympathetic reaction to his piteous story and her avowal of love and loyalty had eased those restrictions. Much as she needed him to trust her, she could almost wish they hadn’t.
Eyes wide, Sofira pushed the door open. A dim glow of firelight met her gaze, but the room was draped in shadow. This was normal. She knew she would never see her beloved in full light. She’d come to think of the shadows as dark friends, wrapping and protecting the man she loved. The amber glow of embers was mysterious and romantic, speaking to the little girl buried far within her bitter soul.
“Come in, my love. I hadn’t expected to see you again this day.”
The low voice came out of the far corner where a high-backed chair was pulled close to the fire. She moved into his lair, her satin gown whispering across the carpet, and came to stand before his chair.
Reen smiled up at her. The dim firelight softened the planes of his face, almost as if the skin were sloughing off, and it must be an effect of the embers to make it look mottled and ruined. He held out his hand to her and she felt his wasted fingers.
“My love, I had to come. There’s been a development.”
He frowned. “Oh? And what is that?”
She showed him the parchment. “The messenger arrived but half an hour ago. I came to you as soon as I could. They will arrive before noon tomorrow.”
He indicated she should read it out, his ruined eyes no good for such work, and she swiftly told him what the parchment contained. He gasped, his bony fingers gripping the arms of the chair so hard they appeared like fleshless claws. His nails tore the fabric. She could see the tremble of his body and registered the intense fear in his ruined eyes. Her voice faltered to silence, the only sound his hoarse breath.
“My love?” she ventured.
Reen stirred, coughed harshly. He spat a filthy imprecation, causing Sofira to flinch. She’d expected some such reaction, yet the venom in his tone was vicious. He looked utterly, completely, terrified.
He ignored her hovering, muttering furiously under his breath. “I am not ready! It is too soon! They’ll sniff out my secrets, question my servants. What of events in Port Loxton, what of my plans there? How will I find the strength—”
Sofira, unnerved by his prattling, laid a tentative hand on his arm. “What can I do to help you, my love? I will do whatever you tell me. I can be clever, you know I can! Just tell me how you wish this handled, and I will do it.”
He rounded on her, eyes blazing, spittle flying from his lips. “And Lerric? What of your craven father? Will he do as he’s bid? Does he realize his future, as well as yours, lies in obeying my commands? Does he, Sofira?”
She gazed at him earnestly. “He does, my love. But I will remind him again. He’ll not let us down, Hezra, I pledge you that.”
“He’d better not! One false move while Elias is here and all of our plans are ruined. Not only that, but both your lives will be forfeit for harboring a convicted traitor. As for me— Well, you know what fate will befall me, do you not? For it was you who begged it for me. Do you remember? Do you recall how you pleaded for my torture, my death, for the dreadful torment of the Wheel? Do you?”
She stared in dismay, his fury and scorn whipping her heart, scoring it with pain. She covered her face, tears leaking between her fingers.
Through her misery she heard his harsh breathing, heard it slow to gasps. Finally, Reen touched her on the arm, his voice calmer.
“Sofira, my only love, please forgive me. I was overwrought. I forgot myself. I don’t blame you for your actions that day. I know you acted under duress. You were protecting your children and your position, as a Queen and mother should. It’s just that I’m so weak, so vulnerable, and the thought of having to skulk away in hiding while they parade their haughty pride above me fills my soul with fear. Come, my lady. Look at me.”
His carefully worded apology worked its usual charm. She couldn’t resist his tugging at her conscience and playing on her love. She dropped her hands and gazed on the gentle smile he displayed for her benefit.
“There, my lady! With your help and strength I will endure. Their presence here—and especially that of my archenemy—will pain me beyond measure, but with your help—” She stirred and he frowned. “What is it, Sofira?”
“Oh, my love, I should have told you at once. She won’t be here. Elias is bringing Blaine with him and his major; you know, the one who killed your spy at the Manor and spoke for the injured cadet at the trial. But your real enemy—the w
itch—she isn’t coming.”
Reen swooned, and she barely caught his shoulders. It was fleeting and he soon recovered, but in that brief moment Sofira saw something grotesque, something horrific. Instead of the man she loved, she held a monster in her arms, a scabrous, leprous parody of a man with decaying skin and scarecrow limbs. Her hands flew once more to her mouth and she stepped away with a tiny scream.
Reen stood shakily, passing a hand across his brow. He looked frightened and hastened to reassure her.
“I am so sorry, Sofira, my love. I never wanted you to see that. It is her influence, her curse upon me. This is what I’ve had to live with these past years. I’ve been protecting you, hiding it from you. It is illusion only—yes, she’s that powerful—but this is what she would have me become. This is why I need your support and your love. If I thought her malice could destroy your love for me, turn you against me, then I couldn’t go on. I’d cease striving against her might and cast myself onto the Wheel of Perdition. It would be preferable to losing your love.”
Despite her shock and horror, Sofira was moved. The witch must be vengeful indeed if she could turn a man like the Baron into such a deformed monster.
“Oh, Hezra.”
Sofira came close, took him in her arms. She could sense the truth of his words, for the scarecrow semblance was gone, replaced by his normal, if undernourished, body. How could she fail to help him, if this was the future he faced? He needed her strength and commitment as much as she needed his help to regain what she’d lost. They were bound by common goals, common suffering. Her heart had been deformed as surely as his body would be by the machinations of the Artesan witch. They both needed the healing the other could offer.
As she felt Reen’s arms around her, his breath upon her cheek, the room seemed to take on a subtle ruby glow, as if the very fire approved their plans.
+ + + + +
Seth was panting hard by the time they reached the mansion. It had taken them a good hour to traverse the estate, but thankfully they didn’t have to divert their route to avoid meeting anyone. It was full dark and freezing cold and no one was abroad but them.
Seth’s long-suffering gaze was fixed on the uncaring back of his companion. The man hadn’t once offered to share Seth’s burden and the short respite after they emerged from the tunnel was long since forgotten. His muscles burned with pain and he was sure he now had one shoulder lower than the other.
He stopped as the vagrant held up a hand, realizing that they were in the private grounds of the mansion itself. His grinning companion turned, ignoring the hostility in Seth’s eyes.
“Come on, man, this is where your knowledge comes in. Where can we hide that till we need it? It has to be somewhere close to the house.”
He jerked his thumb at the dead whore. Seth dumped the body on the snowy ground, ignoring the vagrant’s hiss of displeasure. He took his time in stretching the kinks out of his back and shoulders before answering the vagrant’s question. He’d had enough of playing the donkey. It was time the wastrel realized Seth had worth and use beyond the obeying of instructions or the carrying of burdens.
“I’m not telling you anything else until you tell me exactly what you’ve got planned for tonight. You need me. You need me to get you into the house unobserved. You need me to tell you where the mistress is and where the housekeeper will be. You need help with what you have planned and you need to know I won’t betray you after. I think that deserves a measure of trust on your part, don’t you?”
There was silence in the freezing darkness. The wastrel never took his eyes from Seth’s defiant figure, standing as he was with his hands on his hips and a dead whore at his feet. Slowly, very slowly, a ruby-red glow appeared in the vagrant’s eyes and a sardonic grin grew about his mouth. The air around him seemed to shimmer and Seth’s eyes watered as the charnel reek of maggot-infested flesh entered his nose. An unwelcome memory of the wastrel’s ravaged chest rose in his mind and his own flesh crawled. He backed up a pace as the vagrant stepped closer, but an invisible hand closed upon his muscles, holding him firmly in place.
“Let me tell you a few truths, my friend.” The vagrant’s voice was low and calm, but menace lurked below it. Seth shivered, staring helplessly into the ruby depths of his eyes.
“It may surprise you to know that I don’t actually require your help for any of this. I have an intimate knowledge of the mansion, even to the bedchamber of the mistress where she entertains her unnatural lover. I can fulfill my instructions without your help. As to betraying me afterward, well, that would be a foolish move on your part. For the master knows where to find you, never doubt that! And he can work his will upon you even as he has upon me. Perhaps you need a reminder of what your fate would be should you choose to defy him.”
The vagrant’s hands moved to the cloth over his breast and tore it open. The stench that assailed Seth’s nostrils made him retch uncontrollably, and the sight of that crawling, rotting flesh churned his stomach. The strange hold on his muscles disappeared and he fell vomiting to the ground, hands clutching futilely at snow.
There was a low chuckle from the vagrant and the stench faded. Seth raised his sweating face, his mouth damp and vile. He picked up a handful of clean snow and bit into it, rolling it on his tongue until the worst of the bile was gone. He spat it out. A hand clamped on his arm and he allowed the vagrant to heave him to his feet. The man regarded him with what appeared to be sympathy, and Seth thought, just for a fleeting moment, he also caught the echo of a deep and desperate longing. Yet when he looked again the sardonic twist was back on the cracked lips, and he knew he was mistaken.
“Why, then?” he croaked, his throat raw from the bile. “Why bring me at all if you don’t need me?”
The vagrant shrugged. “The master thought you’d like a chance at revenge. He needs to know who’s loyal to him. When he returns, he’ll need trusted retainers to help him hold his power. Why he chose you, I’ll never know. But he did, and now it’s up to you. You can either make up your mind once and for all to follow my directions, or you can leave. Make your choice, but make it quick. I have other concerns this night.”
Seth stared at the vagrant. He knew exactly what he was going to do. He’d just wanted a measure of respect from this wretched creature before they continued. Now Seth realized his mistake. The man wasn’t his own master. Far from acting under his own direction, he was a puppet, a tool, no longer a man at all. Seth had no desire to end up the same way. He would treat the wastrel as if he were the Baron himself, and was only glad he had been shown the truth before he’d gone too far.
“I’m with you,” he said. “There’s a storage barn next to the stables where we can hide the body. The stable boy’ll be at his home eating supper and won’t return until later to check his charges. And the barn is hidden from the servants’ wing. Shall we go?” He heaved the whore’s body over his shoulder without being told.
The wastrel grinned and waved him forward to lead the way. Seth trod carefully over the deep-packed snow, making for the back of the mansion. He could see firelight reflected in some of the building’s windows, and lamplight glowing in Jinella’s bedchamber. There were no fresh hoof-prints in the snow of the yard, so he knew Taran wasn’t with her. Whether the Court Artesan featured in the wastrel’s plans, Seth didn’t know, and he wasn’t going to ask any more questions. He would concentrate on what he was told and leave it at that. He led the way into the storage barn and deposited the cold, limp body onto a pile of clean straw.
+ + + + +
Sir Regus and Lady Corina were on their last legs, too weak even to shiver by the time they saw Loxton’s Forest Gate looming out of the darkness. Corina, who had been sobbing with cold and exhaustion for the past half-hour, gave a faint cry of relief and swooned in her husband’s arms. Sir Regus grunted under her weight and staggered onward. He cried out, “Ho there, the gate!” but couldn’t make his voice carry. The gate was thick oak timbers; the guards in the gatehouse couldn’t hear
his cry.
Fury and frustration fueled Sir Regus’s last steps as he staggered up to the gate. He propped his lady against the wood and searched until he found a stout, frozen branch, then pounded with all his might against the frost-slick oak.
“Guards, guards!” he yelled as loudly as he could. When he heard the welcome sound of the postern being opened, he followed his lady’s example and slid bonelessly to the ground.
“It was brigands, I tell you, and they robbed us of everything we had! It’s disgraceful! You’re supposed the keep the forest safe for innocent travelers. Call yourself a soldier? Well, man, what are you going to do about it? My coach and team are gone, as are my rings, my lady’s diamonds, and my gold. I demand recompense! I demand retaliation! I demand you give me their heads on a plate! I demand—”
Two of Denny’s men called for a coach and escorted Sir Regus and his lady up to the castle from the Forest Gate. The exhausted pair found themselves fussed over and tended most gratifyingly on the ride up to the castle. Denny received them in the courtyard and called instantly for Elias’s physician to see to Lady Corina, who was taken to a warm bed in the section of the infirmary reserved for the King’s household. Her husband demanded the right to present his complaints to Vassa and Levant before he would even consider being checked over, so Denny brought him to Levant’s apartment, where Vassa and Taran joined them.
Colonel Vassa held up a hand to forestall the noble’s rant.
“Sir Regus, calm yourself, I beg you. You will cause yourself harm if you don’t desist. Sit here by the fire and drink your brandy; it will do you good. You’ve had a bad experience, there’s no doubt, and you’ve been valiant and strong in the defense of your lady. But you’re safe now and there’s nothing we can do before first light. So please, calm yourself and let us help you. Taran, hand him that brandy, will you?”
