Descent Into Madness (15 page)

              "Please," she begged. "It is poisoned; do not make me drink from it! Please, show me mercy."

              "Why should I have mercy on you, Mavra?"

              "Please," she begged.

              "You have disgraced yourself. You have disgraced Viktor. You have disgraced your position. Do you deny these accusations?"

              "No," she sobbed. I took the poisonous goblet from her grasp as her arm slumped to the floor. She remained on her knees, her eyes consumed with tears.

              "You have tried poisoning Viktor, having him murdered and even maimed. Do you deny this?"

              "No," she whispered.

              "I should kill you as you would have him be slain." I told her. She looked up at me, her dewy eyes red and glassy. "Will you cease this senselessness, Mavra? Do you see now that it is pointless?"

              "Yes," she answered. "He is safe from me. Just, please, spare my life."

              "I will spare your life if you promise to do one thing for me," I told her.

              "What?" interjected Viktor, emerging from the shadow.

              Mavra bounced to her feet, glancing between the two of us. I reached out with an open palm and she remained near the door, quickly wiping the tears from her eyes.

              "Mavra, Viktor needs an heir."

              "Give me the poison," she said as she stared at him. "I would rather end my life."

              "I would rather kill her than bed with her!" He yelled as he approached us.

              "Viktor, you will do as I say," I told him. "Mavra, you do this or I will kill you. We both know you lack the courage to take your own life. You did not possess the strength to do so when you were raped at twelve."               "How did you know?" She inched closer to the door; her eyes suspiciously fixed on me.

              "She can see everything, Mavra," he told her, his hand gracing her shoulder, steadying her. "She can see inside yourself, to your soul."

              "You want power, Mavra. Revenge. Your craving for them has consumed you; blinded you from the ability to love, to feel." I reached for her. "But wait, there is a glimmer of hope, in your mind, I can sense it. It is reaching for me from within the darkness that eats it. It is singing to me, asking me to feed it, to free it. Can you feel it there?"

              "There is no such thing, I can assure you," she whispered. A tear rolled from the corner of her eye, and I watched as it slowly descended from its watery birthplace to its death as it slivered its way onto her lip, where she licked it away. "Not anymore."

              "Just kill her, Bree. The sight of her is making me ill," he said as he walked to the bed and sat dejectedly on the edge. 

              "I provided my liege the required marital duties already this month, if you must know! And that is only because his mother demands it," she spat. "Until next month, he will not touch me. I would rather kill myself than have his hands near my body!"

              "Just kill her!" His fist struck a bedside table, knocking a vase over. “Be done with it, Bree. I cannot stand her harpy shrill.”

              "The glimmer," I whispered. Swiftly, I glided to her side and clutched her to me. She gasped, her eyes filling with dread as they stared back into mine.

              "You will not remember this," I told her, and then, gently flexing her head back so I could see the veins in her neck popping in the dim candlelight, I bent forward sinking my teeth into her moist flesh.

              Her blood was thick on my tongue; thick and hot and haunted by nightmarish images. Images of beatings as a child, royal prostitution to guarantee her mother's position; the foolish purchase of pardons, incest; everything foul that could haunt the mind and corrupt a person had happened to her. Then I found the glimmer I had seen, and realized why Mavra could not see it for herself.

              "She is pregnant," I told him as I withdrew carrying her body to the bed.

              "Is she dead?"

              "No, just asleep, but pregnant, Viktor."               "Pregnant?" he asked. "Is it mine?"

              "Yes, they are yours. Two glorious miracles struggling to shine through a soul drenched in torment and hatred."

              "Twins," he remarked as he sat and moved next to her on the bed, placing his hand over her thriving womb. "And I would have killed them."

              "Because that is what humans do; they fight hatred with hatred, murder with murder. For once, try forgiveness. She is the mother of your children. They are yet to be born, but they will be spectacular. I can feel it. That light… it is blinding. It called to me as your heartbeat called to me, Viktor. It is that strong."              

              "I could never forgive her. The hatred she has bred, the death, deceit. I just cannot."

              "Some have not lived splendid lives, Viktor. Some do not enjoy pleasant and joyous childhoods, as you have been fortunate to have. Not even in royal circles. She was raped, Viktor. Can you not see? Our pasts, they determine who we are more than we care to believe. Her own mother…"

              "Her past," he stated as he withdrew his hand, "is of no consequence to me."

              The next morning Viktor moved Mavra into the tower, despite his uncle’s orders. Her every move and morsel was carefully guarded. She was allowed no visitors except for Viktor and me, and soon her name became but a whisper at court.

              Rumors spread of insanity, of her "madness," and the need for her removal for her own safety. No one beside the tsar questioned this. Slowly, as the months crawled past and Mavra's stomach grew with life, the people of Tver forgot about the mysterious but strikingly beautiful princess and replaced her with tales of a frightening, shell of a woman haunting the tower. Rumors were she was with child, and people were already mourning for the babe. They knew all too well her checkered past.

              For nine months, the gentle sparks grew in the darkness of her womb. For nine months, she struggled against them. Starvation only met with forced feedings. Suicide attempts resulted in her spending days and nights locked in dank dungeon cells. In the beginning, she fought relentlessly until one night the fighting ceased, her spirit broken.

              I went to her then. She remembered nothing of when I tasted her blood, but I remembered every vivid image. They softened me toward her. Viktor saw her only to reassure himself that she was alive and that her stomach grew with the passing weeks. But, I went to visit, to comfort, to know the mother of Viktor’s children.

              "What will happen to me once they are born," she asked me one night.

              "If you cooperate with us," I told her, "I will let you live."

              "By 'live' do you mean in this tower, locked away from the world?" She tossed a leg of mutton onto the plate in front of her and pushed the dish away. "Because that is not living."

              "You will be allowed to return to the main palace if he feels you are no threat to the children."

              "He will always consider me a threat, you know that to be true," she said, as she stood, moving to the slit window.

              The rain pelted the stone walls, muffling her voice. It had been pouring for days with only sporadic breaks and the fields were flooding. Farmers cried that the crops were ruined, famine would ensue, but Viktor cared for nothing but the children growing in Mavra's womb.

              "I have tried, Mavra, but he doesn’t care what you’ve gone through. He does not care to understand."

              "And because of this, I will never be safe. He will always be suspicious of me. In my sleep, he will come – or in the day – you know he will. Even you cannot watch him all of the time."

              "Would you rather remain here in the tower? I can keep you guarded, safe from him."

              "No," she said turning toward me.

              "Mavra, your options are limited."

              "I have no future, Bree. None. These children are the only things sustaining me. After they are born, I will do it."

              "Mavra." I rose to her side taking her hand in mine. "Taking your own life is not the answer."

              "There is no other way. This existence – any existence under his control and his suspicion, is not worth living. My own guilt constantly gnaws at me. It has created a pit," she said placing my hand above her heart, "an ebon void in my heart, in my soul. I can never make amends for my travesties. It would take another lifetime to even begin to."

              She never had the chance to take her own life, though. Her destiny lay dormant in her womb, waiting patiently. On Christmas morning, 1543, two daughters were born to the house of Vladislov. Two flawless daughters, born from the darkness lay snuggled, wrapped tightly in furs, their father holding them as the fire warmed their newborn skin.              

              They were angelic as the moonlight trickled in from the balcony and the firelight danced off the ruby and gold highlights in the fur wrappings. They both had heads full of striking red hair, and Mavra's delicate features. That is how I first beheld them. That was so long ago.

              "She is dying," I said as I walked in from the balcony.

              "Yes."

              "I can hear her heart slowing. She is in pain," I told him. He was focused on the sleeping twins. "She is alone; I should go to her."

              "Leave her. It is what she deserves," he remarked, his eyes were ice as he stared at me.

              "That is heartless, Viktor," I told him as I walked through the room. "Heartless and cruel." I opened the door to leave and glanced back at him. He had returned his focus to the twins as I went through the door.

              Her heartbeat was faint as it sung to me through the stone corridors. I ran to it. It struggled and skipped, her thoughts becoming cloudy, but I willed her to remain. She was lying there on the bed, her saffron gown soiled with sweat as I burst through the door. The priest knelt beside her, praying. She whimpered as he finished, anointing her forehead with oil. "She is in God's hands now," he whispered as he left. The nurse hung near the corner wringing out bloodstained sheets and I dismissed her from the room.

              "Mavra," I whispered as I sat on the edge of the bed. "Can you hear me?"

              "Please, help me," she cried softly. What little color remaining in her cheeks faded as she coughed. "Please," she begged.

              "Mavra," I wiped the sweat from her brow and cupped her face; "I am going to take the pain away, take it away forever." Her heart beat, what little was left, surged beneath my touch. She could sense the end coming and the pain was unbearable.

              "Do not be afraid. Close your eyes and sleep."

              I could feel the tears falling down my cheeks and could see their vivid crimsonness as they fell on her ivory shirt. Startled, she reached her feeble hand to my face and wiped away a tear. "An angel?" she hissed, the words barely escaping through labored breath.

              I embraced her frail body, a mere shell of the powerful woman she had once been, and brought her to me. Her breath was warm against my skin, her own skin clammy. Gingerly, I moved away the hair that clung to her neck. My teeth remembered her skin, remembered its softness. My mind remembered her fevered blood, metallic but sweet. And, I remembered her memories. With each drop, her heartbeat slowed and I resisted the urge to stop. My desire to end her agony went against my promise not end another life – ever. Had my connection to humanity become too intimate?

              With each drop of her precious blood, each slowing rhythmic pulse of her heartbeat, I wondered if I was becoming too close to
them
. Then she made the decision for me. "Farewell," she whispered before her heart failed.               Farewell.

              Her body slumped from my arms and I sat, gawking. Lifeless, it laid there. Her eyes pressed back at me from the void; her skin was as ashen as my own. What had I done?              

              Suddenly, the smell of death revolted me and I fled the room. Viktor was reading and the twins slept peacefully near the fire as I entered his chambers.

              "It is done," I told him.             

              "Bree?" he asked, dropping the book and walking toward me. I brushed him away.

              "Are the girls well?"

              "Yes, I’ve named them Aleksandra and Anastasia. They are wonderful."

              "Tell them, Viktor, tell them of their mother. Tell them of how she gave her life to bring them into the world."

              "We will tell them together, Bree." He reached for me and I moved away from him.

              "No. I must leave you now," I told him as I moved toward the balcony. "I have... stayed too long."

              "Bree?" He moved toward me. "Do not do this."               "Viktor, I just murdered her!"