by J. M. Taylor
The road narrows into a path before leading us over a short bridge. The horses’ hooves clop across, pushing through slush to the stone below.
On the other side of the bridge, at the foot of a white hill, a small house sits alone, stone and mud for walls, dark smoke billowing from its chimney.
Malin dismounts and enters as though he has been here a hundred times before.
The shrill cry of a woman from inside the house pierces the pounding rain and follows Malin out the front door. She is pleading with him, but she is unharmed. He is not the one who has caused her pain.
“She did not know why her husband and son had not yet returned,” Malin said, his face stricken with grief.
“Someone approaches,” I warn him and grip the handle of the small knife Malin had given me for protection.
“You won’t need that,” he assures me and rides out to meet two young riders in the field behind the woman’s house.
She stands outside, soaking wet and shivering, staring at me and awaiting whatever comes next.
Malin returns with only one of the riders, a boy of no more than thirteen. He says to him, “Take her inside and keep the fire burning. Look after her until the others arrive.”
“What others?” I ask as Malin returns to my side.
“I’ve sent the other boy to the village for help. They will come to comfort her and see that she wants for nothing during her time of mourning.”
“The hunters, the one we found dead and the other who is wounded somewhere – the one you called Garrick, do they mean something to her?”
“The one who died was her husband, and Garrick is their son. But he isn’t missing anymore. I’ve just learned from the young riders that he was seen with the Duke of Crossbury.”
“Who is that?”
“A powerful yet dangerous man. We must find Garrick before something happens to him.”
“Why would this Duke take Garrick? What is Garrick to him?”
“I don’t know, but we are going to find out.”
Riding through rain and fog can make an hour seem so much longer. And my body is still weak from the loss of my powers. I am cold, so cold that I am shivering. It is like nothing I have ever felt. The rain has drenched my cloak and all that is beneath it. The fabrics cling to my skin and the cloak weighs heavily on my shoulders. Even through leather gloves, my hands can barely hold the reigns because my fingers are stiff with cold. I want no more of this.
Malin doesn’t seem to be doing any better, though. My powers are not warming him. Instead, he is drained, and on occasion, he hunches over in agony.
It feels as if there is no end to our miserable journey until an imposing wall of gray stone cuts through fog, revealing a chiseled owl set inside a family crest looming over an iron gate at the front of two massive wooden doors. The owls stone eyes stare down at us. It is not welcoming.
“Is this our intended destination?” I ask. “If so, I want no part of it.”
“Yes, this is Fairen Castle, home of the Duke of Crossbury,” Malin tells me. “But say nothing. Just follow me and stay quiet.”
I am cold, wet, and hungry and without magic to defend myself, I have no desire to enter this place – with or without Malin. His inability to control my powers now in his possession is not exactly reassuring.
Before I have a chance to convince Malin that this is a bad idea, men appear atop the barbican pointing arrows at us and shouting for us to state our purpose.
“I am Malin, and I am here for my friend. He is injured. I have been told that he was taken by your master, the Duke of Crossbury.”
“And her? Who is the woman?” one of them demands, pointing their arrow in my direction.
“She is my wife.”
That doesn’t sit well with me. I can speak for myself.
“I am Violet of Ravenwood,” I declare with all the fiery determination I can muster through chattering teeth.
The men disappear and all falls quiet.
Malin shoots me a look of disapproval and says, “They already know me. They do not need to know who you are or where you are from. Ravenwood means nothing to them…” He thinks about that for a moment before adding, “Hopefully not, anyway.”
A few minutes pass and still nothing, but just as Malin lowers his head in defeat, the gate churns upward and the wooden doors swing open.
“Our master wishes for you to enter,” a man says to us. He is wearing a blue tunic with the crest of a silver owl and is flanked by heavily armored guards. A young boy follows closely behind him. “Leave your horses with the boy and follow me.”
Behind the gate, the grounds are mostly empty. Other guards are at their posts, and I can see that some of them are women. The rain is relentless, but their armor shimmers as though it catches hints of light undetected even by me.
The clanking of a blacksmith rings through the air as he works to bend the metal to his liking. Standing near the fire under a sturdy lean-to, he is covered with perspiration despite the frigid temperatures and his skin is covered in soot from the ashes. The woman near him bears no similar signs of exertion, even though she is working alongside him. She seems impervious to the cold and undaunted by the hard work. There is something almost flawless about her. The sleeves of her shirt are pulled up to her shoulders, revealing smooth, clean skin stretched across muscular arms. When she catches me staring, she flashes a seductive grin in my direction.
“What are you looking at?” Malin whispers in my ear. “Stop flirting and keep up.”
“I’m not flirting. There is something different about this place – about these people.”
The man in the blue tunic turns back to see if we are following. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, we are fine,” Malin answers, but I can’t tell if he really thinks that is true.
We continue along a well-worn path leading upward until a sprawling castle with peaks that vanish into the gray clouds appears before us. Heavy doors with intricate carvings open slowly as we approach.
“Remain here,” the man in blue says to the armed guards as we enter.
The stone atrium is twice the size of any room at Ravenwood. Wood and iron chandeliers hang in a line down the ceiling, and black wrought iron sconces hold hundreds of flickering candles along the walls. A fire roars inside a stone hearth, but it fails to heat such a large entryway, so I am relieved when we are escorted to a smaller room paneled in mahogany and draped with heavy window dressings to keep the warmth of the blazing fire from escaping.
My apprehension about being here melts away as I warm myself by the fire.
“My master will be with you shortly,” the man in blue says.
“I need to find my friend. That is all. If he is here, where might I find him?”
But the man doesn’t answer him. He just smiles and closes the door behind him as he leaves.
Malin paces.
“Are you finally starting to feel anxious now? It’s about time,” I say to him. “The people here, they don’t feel… I don’t know how to explain it. They aren’t like the humans in the village. As a matter of fact, most of them don’t seem human at all.”
“You are correct. There are a few humans here, but most of them are Children of Lilith, and they know exactly who I am.”
This stuns me into silence. Is it possible that my father is here? That Ronan is here?
Before I have a chance to ask, the door opens. Malin steps in front of me, hoping to protect me in case or presence is unwanted.
“I should kill you, Malin of the Borthen Clan, but I won’t. Not yet. Not until I know why you’ve come.”
Malin bows his head in respect and says, “I know you do not consider me a friend, Duke, but I did not come here to finish what my father started. I was told you have a man here by the name of Garrick Slate. He is a friend of mine, and I wish to see him.”
“What is a warlock doing with a human friend?” the Duke asks.
“My business is my own,” Malin replies. “It
is none of yours.”
“And yet your friend is in my care, and you are a visitor in my home.”
“Please,” Malin’s voice begins to shake as he pleads with the Duke. “Let me see him.”
“Fine,” the Duke relinquishes. “My man will take you to see him now. But the woman stays here.”
“Do I have your word that she will not be harmed?” Malin asks.
There is a discomforting silence before the Duke finally answers. “You have my word. I will stay with her myself.”
I do not move from behind Malin, but I recognize that voice from somewhere. It is familiar even in its formal and biting tone. I search my memory for a face to match it, but it remains elusive until Malin steps away, and I see that it is none other than Ronan standing before us. His dark hair falls over the stiff white collar rising from his black double-breasted coat that is embellished with silver thread and buttons. Despite his formal attire, he appears disheveled, unshaven, and weary-eyed.
He commands his man, the one with the blue tunic he calls Esmund to escort Malin to where his friend lies wounded.
“Prepare yourself. Your friend is gravely injured,” he warns Malin. “We have done all that he will allow. He has made his wishes clear to us, and we have honored them.”
Malin nods, too upset to speak, and follows Esmund out of the room. He does not look back at me, and I still can’t imagine why he is so upset over a human. It makes no sense to me. Nothing makes sense to me anymore. Malin suffers over a human. Ronan is a Duke. What madness is this?
The bulky iron key clicks loudly when Ronan locks the door so that we are left alone in the room. Before turning to look at me, he asks, “Has he hurt you?”
“No,” I answer.
“But you are his wife, and you are traveling together. Does this mean you are happy to be at his side?”
“He is not what you think. He is not like his father. I do not love him, and he does not love me, but he is no tyrant.”
“Nevertheless, you are together now.”
“Not as you might think. I haven’t been with him as I have been with you. He is kind to me, but that is all.”
Ronan turns to look at me and asks, “So, you travel as friends and not as lovers?”
I nod, but he gives me no chance to further confirm my answer. He is across the room in one flash, removing my hat and tossing it to the floor and wrapping his arm around me. I am lost in his green eyes and his next question is as painful as a shard of glass through my chest.
“Is it true what you said – that you don’t feel for me what I feel for you and never will?”
I can’t find the words to say all that I want him to know, how I have thought of him every day since we met, how I desire him. But the thought of telling him how I feel makes me feel foolish and weak.
He takes my silence as confirmation of his fears. “It’s true then,” he says, taking a step back and lowering his eyes. “You don’t feel the same.”
I pull him back to me again, “It is not true. I said those things to save you and Silas. I feel… I feel much more than I probably should.”
He grins that mischievous grin that leaves me powerless, and he knows it.
“I’m going to kiss you now, so if you object, it’s a good time to let me know,” he says taking me in his arms.
My heart races when his lips brush softly against mine, and I lean in for a gentle kiss, trying to control the burning urgency I feel for him. He kisses and releases me over and over, and I know he is taunting me, making me suffer for having said I could never care for him when we were in Ravenwood.
“How is married life, by the way?” he asks, pulling away from me again.
“You are being cruel, and I do not deserve it.”
“I apologize. You are right. I won’t do it again.” He reaches for me, but I push him away.
“I was forced to marry Malin, and if you must know, he was forced to marry me. Neither of us wanted this. My mother is being held against her will, and because of me, she might be dying. I had no choice but to reject you, so you would leave and be safe and take Silas with you.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Truly, I am.”
But I am only getting started. I can feel the rage rising from within. “And where is Silas? What have you done with him? Was he of no more use to you without his sight? Did you discard him the moment you were free?”
A wave of color blurs my vision and a sour taste fills my mouth. I feel dizzy and sick all at once.
Ronan holds me to keep me from falling and eases me down onto the soft pelt rug.
“Your clothes are soaked, and your skin is cold. Have you not had a chance to warm yourself? Do it now, if you like. I will give you some room.”
“No, it isn’t any use. I’m afraid that I must rely on the fire for my warmth. I relinquished my powers to Malin when we took our vows.”
“You did what?” Ronan looks simultaneously surprised and angry.
“I never knew it was possible, but his father tricked me. Bound by the Yuram ribbon, he had me say a vow that took my powers away and gifted them to Malin.”
“Are you saying that Malin now possesses your magic in addition to that of a warlock? He is too dangerous. I can’t allow him to stay.”
Ronan starts to stand up, but I insist he sit back down beside me.
“There is nothing to worry about,” I say to him. “Not yet, at least. He hasn’t been able to wield my power. Actually, it has done more harm to him than anyone else.”
“What do you mean?”
“It seems to be causing him a great deal of pain.”
“Good,” Ronan huffed. “Serves him right. We should kill him before he grows too powerful.”
“Malin had no idea of his father’s plans. It isn’t his fault. Besides, if you kill him, I will never regain my powers.”
“What happened just now? Is this something to do with losing your powers?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t felt this weak since the moment my powers first left me, immediately after saying the vows.”
“So, I can’t kill Malin?” Ronan asks, his mischievous grin returning.
“No, you can’t kill him.”
“Too bad.”
“You can tell me where Silas is, though. Did he stay with you after you both left Ravenwood?”
“He is nearby,” Ronan says.
“I want to see him. Take me to him.”
“That isn’t possible. Not yet. But you will see him again. It’s just that he isn’t ready yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“You must trust me,” he says and helps me out of my cloak and jacket. “I’ll go find you something dry to wear.”
“Don’t leave me, Not yet.”
“Alright, but you need to warm yourself. You can’t stay in those wet clothes.” He grabs another pelt from a nearby bench. “Here, take this and wrap it around you.”
When he turns to pour me a cup of wine, I undress completely and curl up near the fire beneath the pelt. The fur feels soft on my skin.
“Drink this, and I’ll have Esmund bring you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry, truly I’m not. I’m just cold and tired.” The dark wine is deliciously sweet, and I gulp it down quickly.
Ronan decides to bring the entire decanter over, along with another glass for himself.
“You never told me you were a Duke,” I say.
“It’s from my human life,” he answers before taking a sip of wine.
“Don’t the humans from the village suspect something? You, living up here with your army, all Children of Lilith?”
“They may be suspicious, but they are not stupid. It is our duty to protect them, something we are quite good at, as I am sure you can imagine. We keep to ourselves and hunt far from the village – unless there is someone convicted of a terrible crime, in which case, we permanently remove them. The villagers are never harmed, nor their children or livestock. A façade is maintained to generate rumors
of marriage and births, so as far as they are concerned, I am not the same man who served as their Duke twenty years ago but his son.”
As he speaks, I notice one of the large paintings on the wall behind him. It appears to be Ronan, but it is an ancient portrait, cracked and darkened with age. His hand is on a book, a sword is hanging from his waist, and a cross is on the table at his side.
“How old are you?” I ask him.
“Let’s just say that I am not much older than you, but I’ve definitely lived more lives. I’ve been here long enough to have seen many generations of men come and go.”
“You’ve had many loves in those lifetimes, I imagine.”
“Make no mistake,” he says, “in all my years, I’ve never known anyone like you.”
The firelight flickers gold in his green eyes. They are fixated on mine. This time, there is no wicked grin or sarcastic humor. He is all seriousness when he moves so that his face is only inches from mine.
“There has never been anyone like you,” he says before pressing his lips to mine and kissing me slowly and tenderly.
It is everything I have in my power to patiently allow this romantic moment to exist alone and in the moment, as innocent as a heroine’s first kiss in a hero’s novel, but the feel of his tongue pushing past my lips and into my mouth awakens the longing I have felt, and I can no longer resist him.
I pull the pelt back, away from my now warm nakedness, and invite him to join me under it.
He changes instantly. Gone are the gentle kisses and soft caresses. And unlike our first time together in the cave’s bathing waters, there is an animalistic urgency to his response now, and I know he has missed me as much as I have missed him.
He moves on top of me, and even the weight of him is exhilarating. When he slips one hand under my thigh and the other twists and grabs at my hair, we thrust before we are ready. My body shudders against his, the fabric and silver buttons cold and rough against my skin. There are too many buttons, too many layers, but we struggle to remove them together between surges of uncontrollable passion. And when he finds me, when he finally takes me, I am lost in him.
VI
His soft lips kiss my hand, awakening me, and I can see that he is already dressed.
