by Jenny Brown
“Then there will be no Teaching.”
“What, can you say that with such calm? You have changed much since I knew you, Adam Selkirk. You used to want the Teaching more than you wanted life itself.”
“As you say, much has changed.”
“Well, one thing hasn’t changed,” the Dark Lord said harshly. “I need the virgin.”
Adam felt a fist tightening around his heart but said nothing.
“Look at me!” the old man demanded. “Can’t you see the ravages of the disease that has assailed me since last we met?” He pointed to his face where Adam saw now what he hadn’t noticed before, the gumma that swelled from the Dark Lord’s forehead and the telltale flattening of his nose.
“You’re a trained physician, you know what this means.”
Adam drew back in shock. It didn’t take a trained physician to recognize the malady that was consuming his master. It was the pox.
“Don’t give me that pitying look,” the Dark Lord protested. “This is but a part of the great Mystery, the Old Ones’ Ancient Plan—that I, who have mastered all the earthly arts of healing, must cure myself of this, the disease men fear the most. Only then will I become the greatest of the healer lords that ever lived.”
The old man stopped, overcome by a fit of hollow coughing. “And I shall heal it. I’ve studied the ancient writings and my way is clear. This loathsome rotting that you see is temporary. I shall be cured completely, restored to youth and health, but for that I need the virgin. Damn you, Adam, I trusted you to bring her to me. Where is she?”
“I don’t know.” The Dark Lord’s tone had made his blood run cold.
“How can you not know? I received intelligence that you took her from the harlot’s care.”
“I did.”
“Then where is she? I must have her. Perhaps you don’t understand the urgency of my need.” The Dark Lord pulled up one sleeve and pointed to the suppurating coin-sized sores that covered his flesh.
“You told me the Dark Lord must be chaste.” The words burst out of Adam before he could suppress them. “That it was essential to assuming the Dark Lord’s powers.”
“Only the student must be chaste. I already am the Dark Lord.”
The old man picked up a glass wand from a table hidden in the shadows and drew it quickly through a fold of his woolen robe. When he flicked his wrist, a shower of bright sparks flew out of it with a hissing sound. “I survived the Final Teaching, my son. I met death and conquered it. All is permitted to the man who has stood at the point where life and death meet. Indeed”—he gestured with the wand—“to such a man, all that is forbidden to ordinary men is not only permitted, it is required. It is the energy found in the forbidden that fuels the Dark Lord’s power. That is the gist of Final Teaching, my heir. But before I can transmit it to you, in deeds, not words, I must restore my powers. And for that I need the virgin. Only her life force can heal the putrefaction you see within me. Tell me where she is so I can have her brought to me!”
The Dark Lord fixed him with a compelling gaze, forcing Adam’s eyes to turn upward. With a start, Adam recognized what he was doing—invoking the healing spell. Except this time there was nothing healing about it. His onetime teacher was trying to get him into his power using the enchantment.
Drawing on all his strength, Adam broke eye contact. He wouldn’t let himself be ensorcelled into following the Dark Lord’s order, for in these past moments he’d seen something monstrous: The final stage of the disease consuming his master’s body was madness. The Dark Lord was insane—and Zoe was in mortal danger.
For he knew the cure of which the old man spoke. It wasn’t ancient wisdom, but a perverse folk belief, one that held that sexual congress with a virgin could heal the diseases contracted by promiscuous men. That was what the Dark Lord had intended for Zoe. And if not for MacMinn’s meddling, that would have been the fate to which Adam, his faithful disciple, would have delivered her.
Thank God she was safe at Strathrimmon, where the Dark Lord couldn’t get at her, and that he hadn’t told the old man of his marriage.
But he must tread carefully. If the Dark Lord believed his survival depended on ravishing Zoe, what might be his response if he learned how he’d been cheated? Adam must give no sign that the Dark Lord’s attempt to impose his will on him had failed. He must behave exactly the way the old man expected him to until he made his escape, and he must give him no hint as to where he might find Zoe.
He chose his words carefully. “It shall be as you command. She is nearby. I shall fetch her.”
“Good!” The Dark Lord’s response was almost a groan. “Only after you bring her to me, will you be fit to receive the Final Teaching and become as I am, like a god.”
Adam forced himself to nod, wondering how he could have ever thought that the Dark Lord could see into another’s heart. Was it only his malady that had dimmed the old man’s powers and turned him into a madman, or had he always been that way?
Whatever the answer, as a heavy silence filled the narrow stone room, the last fragments of Adam’s youthful dream shattered into a million pieces and melted away like the sparks given off by the wizard’s shining wand.
But there was no time now for regret. He must act in a way that would convince the old man he was doing his will. Only that way could he escape and return home to protect Zoe from the Dark Lord and his minions.
And he would protect her, to his last breath. Back when he’d thought himself incapable of loving her, he’d vowed to keep her safe. Now when he loved her more than life itself, he would do so as long as life lingered in his body. It mattered not whether she loved him back. Indeed, perhaps it was better that she didn’t, now that he knew the full nature of the catastrophe he’d almost brought down on her.
He no longer deserved her love. All he asked for now was her survival.
Chapter 20
Zoe could barely repress her excitement. She was finally going to meet her father. Her real father, not the phantom duke she’d longed for all these years, that stranger who had abandoned her without a backward glance, but a real man, the Dark Lord, who had paid for the education that had made her a lady and had called her to him even as he lay on his deathbed. True, it had been his intervention in her life that had left her with the painful burden of loving a man who couldn’t love her back, but it was he who also had the power to free her of that burden.
She’d dressed herself in her best gown, the sea green silk that Adam once had loved, and spent every penny she owned journeying on her own to the barren Isle of Iskeny. Now, after a terrifying crossing over choppy waters in a tiny fishing boat, she stood before her father’s door, working up the courage to knock. In only a little while, she might speak at last the words she’d dreamed of saying all her life. “Father, it’s me, your daughter, Zoe.”
The heavy door to the castle looked exactly as she would have imagined the door to a wizard’s castle would look. Its wide timbers were bound by heavy metal straps. In the center was a heavy brass knocker in the shape of twined serpents. She lifted it, wondering if a single rap would be enough to summon someone, but before she could drop it, the door was pulled open. As she sprang back, a man came hurtling out and almost collided with her.
It took a moment for it to register who he was; when it did, her heart stopped.
Adam.
In spite of everything, her first impulse was to throw her arms around him. She’d barely quelled it when his eyes widened with shock as he recognized her. His mouth dropped open. Pain swept across his features. “Not you,” he cried. “Not here.”
She struggled to withstand the pain that overwhelmed her at this further evidence of how much he hated her.
“Don’t let him know you’re here.” He sounded horrified.
She cut him off. “I’ll do what I must!” She didn’t bother to hide her anger. Though she’d felt love on seeing her husband again, all he’d felt was fear that she might spoil his reunion with his master. She tri
ed to push past him, but he blocked her path. She twisted away, trying to break free, but he only tightened his grasp on her.
In desperation, she raised her knee and jabbed it where her mother had always told her it would do the most good. He yelped in pain and clutched at his groin. His agony cut her to the quick, but it was too late for regret. He’d recover in a few minutes and be even angrier with her. Seizing her chance, she raced through the open castle door and slammed it behind her to cut off his pursuit.
She’d keep silent about their marriage when she found the Dark Lord. Though Adam was lost to her, she couldn’t bring herself to betray his secret and keep him from getting his heart’s desire. But the agony she’d felt just now in his presence doubled her resolve. She must convince her father to undo the spell.
Despair washed through Adam as the castle door slammed shut. Not since Charlotte’s death had he felt so helpless. The pain Zoe had inflicted with her well-placed blow still radiated in waves through his body, but it was nothing compared to the pain that filled his heart.
He’d delivered her into the power of a madman. He, who had vowed to protect her. But how could he protect her now? He’d come in haste, without a retinue, armed only with his wits. How could he match the power of the burly guards who surrounded his onetime teacher?
When the Dark Lord had jeered at him, so long ago in France, that the stars that ruled his birth would make Adam a victim or a savior, had his teacher known it would be he who would make Adam his victim? He couldn’t help but wonder. But he couldn’t change the stars that ruled his birth; he could only make the most of whatever gifts they’d given him. Well, Pisces’s gift was delusion. He must harness it to save her now. His only hope was to keep playing the role the Dark Lord had assigned him—to behave like the eager faithful disciple he had once been and keep alert for whatever opportunity arose that would let him protect Zoe from the old man’s foul plan and spirit her off to safety.
As he strode back and forth before the heavy castle door, walking off the last of the pain, he no longer knew what gods he should be praying to, but even so, he prayed for strength. When he could breathe normally again, he pushed open the door. One last time he must be the Dark Lord’s heir.
As Zoe hurtled through the castle’s entryway, a huge guard glided out of the darkness and barred her way with a wooden staff.
“I must see the Dark Lord,” she gasped.
“No one sees him unless he bids them enter. Who are you?”
“Zoe Gervais. He will know my name.”
The burly guard inspected her with heightened interest, but made no comment, merely gesturing for her to follow him down a long stone passageway. At length, he bade her halt and knocked at a closed door. A faint, querulous voice asked, “Who’s there?”
“A Miss Gervais to see you, master.”
“Gervais?” The voice rose at least an octave. “Zoe Gervais? Well show her in, at once!”
She took a deep breath. Here at last was the moment that she’d waited for.
The guard opened the door and through it she saw the bent form of an old man. At her entrance, he straightened, but not entirely, and hobbled toward her. “At last, you’re here.” He wheezed.
He was much older than she had expected, and so wizened and wrinkled, she could almost have believed he had, indeed, died—and only recently been exhumed.
He beckoned. “Come, let me look at you.”
At his invitation, she took another step. He reached for a pair of spectacles and put them on before inspecting her more closely.
“You don’t look a bit like your mother.” His tone didn’t attempt to hide his disappointment. “She was so beautiful. You’re not like her at all.”
She almost snapped that it wasn’t her fault that she’d inherited her father’s ugliness instead of her mother’s beauty. But as her eyes grew more adapted to the darkness, she was glad she’d kept it to herself. What a mistake it would have been to have reproached him with his hideousness.
For hideous he was. As she gazed on him, it struck her for the first time that she’d been fortunate to have inherited only a small portion of her father’s ugliness. Her pockmarks were mere blemishes compared to the buboes that ravaged his face. Still, she of all people should know better than to judge someone merely on his outward appearance. Adam venerated this man, so he must have qualities beyond those of the sort her shallow mother would have valued.
“My observation wounds you,” her father observed. “How unfortunate that you got your looks from me, not her.”
Had he read her thoughts, as Adam could? She hoped not, given what she’d just been thinking. But the calmness with which he continued to regard her suggested that he hadn’t, but had only guessed at her emotions. Still, it would be best to think of nothing in his presence except for the reason for her visit.
“I’m surprised by your sudden appearance,” the Dark Lord continued. “Ramsay told me he hadn’t brought you. The boy has a curious sense of humor.”
Forcing herself to smile, she said, “He told you the truth. I came on my own. He attempted to bring me, but events intervened.”
“That was what he said. What caused the delay?”
His eyes bored into her. This was the power that her husband had coveted—the power her mother had robbed him of. The all-too-familiar pain flared again. If only her father’s power was strong enough to free her from loving the husband who no longer loved her.
But because she still loved him, she must explain her predicament carefully, so as not to harm Adam’s relationship with his master.
“I had an accident when we were on our journey, and took a bad wound,” she answered. “It festered, and it was only through the use of his surgical skills that Lord Ramsay was able to save me.”
“The boy was always good at that kind of thing. Not too proud to do surgery when a case demanded it.” His tone betrayed pride in his student’s abilities.
“But after he saved you, why did he dally so long? He was supposed to have brought you months ago.”
Again she chose her words carefully. “There were no opiates available to him in the remote spot where he had to operate on me. So he was forced to use the healing spell you taught him.”
“Spell? What spell?”
“The spell that put me to sleep and made me impervious to pain.”
“Oh. That spell. Yes. It can be quite helpful. But what has that to do with why Lord Ramsay refused to bring you?”
“Something went wrong with the way he cast the spell. When I awoke, I found myself in love with him. He tried to enchant me again and reverse the magic, but it didn’t work. So he couldn’t bear to be around me—because of the love I felt for him, you see.” She let her voice trail off vaguely, relieved that she’d found a way to tell her story without revealing all.
Understanding dawned in the Dark Lord’s eyes. “So he fled from your charms, did he?”
“He was under a vow.” She bit her lip. If the Dark Lord really could see into her mind, he’d quickly learn what had happened to that vow and how totally it had been broken.
“Well, I’m sure the boy knew better than to take your virginity—whatever temptation you might have presented to him.” The old man leered. So much for his ability to read minds.
He went on, “I was most displeased with him for having failed to bring you. But after hearing your explanation, I can better understand his motive. At least you’ve finally arrived, whether or not he brought you. So no damage has been done.”
Except to her heart.
A look of pleasure filled his ravaged features and he smiled a twisted smile. “Except, of course, to your heart.”
Sheer terror. He had read her mind. She must be so very careful what she let herself think next. “It’s painful to love where love isn’t wanted,” she said softly. “Can you remove his spell? Your powers are so much greater than his. If you could, I would no longer trouble Lord Ramsay with a love which he finds so distasteful.”
&nb
sp; “Nothing could be easier. Come with me to my laboratorium and it will be the work of only a few moments to undo the damage. Though it is odd that a healing spell should have so affected you. What can the boy have done to have made it go wrong that way?”
She turned away, though it was foolish to imagine that by hiding her face from the old wizard she could keep him from getting his answer. But he said nothing more as he led her down the passageway to another chamber, even gloomier than the first.
Having no windows, it received no natural light. Its only illumination was the thick candle that burned on a tall stand. Its flickering flames revealed little, just stone walls draped in heavy hangings picked out with ancient embroideries, though it was too dark to see what patterns they made.
There was an unfamiliar smell in the room, too, a sweet smell, unlike her mother’s sensual perfumes. As she breathed it in, she coughed once or twice, and then felt strangely lightheaded.
A couch was placed by the far wall of the room. It was covered with a thick velvet spread. The Dark Lord motioned her to lie down upon it. Then, from the folds of his long purple gown he pulled a shining wand that gleamed in the dull candlelight. He raised his arm in an ancient gesture of invocation. As he did so, his sleeve dropped back. Serpents twined up his wizened arm. Adam’s serpents.
Unbidden, the image flooded into her mind of how the serpents had twined up her husband’s muscular forearms the last time they’d made love. She’d been so lost in the bliss of it, and so sure that he, too, felt the same joy that had filled her. She could have lived on so happily with him for the rest of her life had he only continued to love her.
The memory choked the breath out of her and she coughed. The sound echoed through the smoky chamber and jolted her back to the present and why she was here.
Their marriage had been a mistake. Adam didn’t want her now. Only the spell kept her loving him, and in a few more moments, that spell would be removed and she’d finally be free of the longings that overwhelmed her now. She lay back on the couch.
