Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy (20 page)

The solstice rapidly
approaches, and with it comes a rise in hysteria. Some call it the
Devil’s night, and I feel that to be an appropriate
description. It is as if my brethren are driven to greater heights of
cruelty, debauchery, and blood lust the nearer we draw to the
solstice. I stay behind my door, terrified to exit. If Vladimir wants
me to be at the feast, let him come drag me from my room.

My mother warned me
never to go out on the Devil’s night. She claimed it was a time
for the undead to roam the lands. When demons escape the shadows to
snatch young girls from their beds. When dark magic is most powerful.
I suppose now I understand why she took such pains to look our doors
and douse the lanterns. If only she had been wise enough to fear evil
on other nights as well.

In three days’
time, the moon will bring the longest night of the year. I fear what
Vladimir will do to celebrate this event.

Staring out over the
castle grounds, shrouded within a heavy fog of ice that seems to
permeate even the thickest of stone walls, I tremble. I have been
force-fed blood several more times in recent days. My throat burns
with a thirst that I cannot bring myself to quench and a need that
plagues my soul.

I do not want to
kill. I do not want to be driven by blood lust. I am not sure I will
have a choice.

With a weighted
sigh, I rise from my seat and hesitantly approach the mirror that
rests atop my dresser. Its frame is old and faded, the glass showing
hints of age marks and slight warping. It is new to my room, the
fourth of its kind. All of the others have been smashed to bits.

Even after all this
time, my breath still catches when I glimpse my new image.

My skin is smoother
than before, my bronze hair falling in glossy waves nearly to my
waist. My eyes have shifted from deep blue to the aqua color of the
sea. My body has lengthened, sharpened, perfecting itself into
something entirely different from the girl I once was.

Raising a hand to
the bruise along my cheek, I note how even the swollen, purple flesh
cannot hide the flawless skin beneath. My sister Adela was the beauty
in our family. To be fair, I did have nice hair and high cheekbones
before, though that was the full extent of my appeal, in my opinion.
I was plain, yet I was content with that.

I no longer
recognize the girl staring back at me. Roseline Dragomir is truly
dead.

The sad fact is that
no one is still alive to mourn me. Everything I have ever held dear
is gone. I sink down onto the edge of my bed and weep for all that I
have lost and all that I will never have because of Vladimir Enescue.
How many more lives will be destroyed by his hand?

I would not wish my
fate, my immortality, on any living soul… for I am in doubt as
to whether I have a soul left intact at all.

Newly formed icicles
dangle from my window. Small droplets of water bead at the ends
before plummeting to the ground far below. I have been observing
their steady decline for several hours, marveling over the colors the
afternoon sun casts off their glistening surface.

A line of unmanned
carriages and wagons sits below my window. The horses have been
stowed in the barns, their needs seen to shortly after arriving just
before dawn. The festivities and merriment lasted nearly until midday
before the castle fell into a hush once more. I stood at my door,
listening to the new voices. There are twenty-four in total. Fifteen
men and nineteen ladies, though judging by their manner of speech,
only one or two of them would be considered a proper lady.

I heard laughter and
the slamming of doors for several hours as rooms were sorted and
bedmates were selected. I was actually rather impressed that only two
fights broke out, both settled swiftly and severely. Vladimir seems
to be in no mood for discord today. Nothing will spoil his solstice
celebrations.

A dress has been
laid upon my bed, though I have spent much of the day ignoring it. I
do not want to participate in whatever events are planned. They are
bound to be depraved and unsavory in nature.

The dress itself is
a thing of sheer beauty. Made of a deep sapphire and gold-scrawled
velvet, it is weighted and bustled perfectly to fit to my narrow
waist, flaring fetchingly at the hip, as seems to be the emerging
style. A single strand of pearls has been draped across the bust of
the dress and a pair of golden slippers lies beside it.

My hair falls about
my shoulders in long, untamed tresses. I press a hand against my
corseted waist, longing for the freedom that my nightgown provides.
The boning of my day dress suddenly feels constrictive, making it
hard to take a breath. I have taken to wearing an older fashion of
clothes that I scrounge from the rooms when my brethren have left to
plunder. Emeline has a pile of discarded dresses in the bottom of her
armoire. I have no desire to wear something fancy or to impress
Vladimir so her dresses suit me just fine, albeit a bit loose in the
top.

I am relatively pain
free this morning. Vladimir has not come to me since our guests began
arriving. For this I am very grateful. My wounds have healed and my
bruises have receded. I nearly feel whole. As much pleasure as this
knowledge brings me, it is also paired with wariness. Vladimir must
have something planned, and judging by the fine stitching of this
dress, he fully intends to show me off this night.

A knock sounds at my
door, startling me. I instantly chide myself for allowing my thoughts
to whittle away at my concentration. I glance to the window and see
that the sun still perches too high in the sky to yet be dusk. Who
could this be? Surely we are not to prepare for the evening’s
revelry this soon.

I approach the door
with caution, sniffing at the air. I focus on each individual grain
in the wood as I grasp the door handle. The scent waiting for me on
the other side curls my lips into a tiny smile of victory, though I
instantly wipe away any hint of this emotion or risk him sensing my
rise in heartbeat.

“I thought you
were a ghost.” A slight fluttering rises in my chest as Fane’s
scent rolls over me when I open the door wide. This time the smell of
damp grass and rotting leaves is prevalent instead of smoke. He must
have come from beyond the snows. “I suppose I am thankful you
are not, merely for the fact that if you were, my sanity would be in
question.”

“I am truly
sorry for my rude and sudden departure.” Fane dips low into a
bow. “It was never my intention to leave you without sending
word first. However, I was not given the chance.”

He seems larger than
I remember, standing nearly a foot taller than myself. His hair is
fuller now that it is not dripping from the rain. A leather thong
ties the two sides of his vest closed so I can only see a hint of his
flesh and muscle beneath. Though he has been gone for nearly two
months, I find him no less breathtaking than before.

“Where have
you been?” I ask before reason can restrain my query.

I know I should not
care, should not even have opened my door to him, yet the need to
know he is real, a tangible thing that I could touch if I so dared,
drives me to remain.

A muscle beside his
right eye tenses as he offers a wearied smile. I can tell by the way
he leans heavily against the door that he rode hard to get here. Was
it because he knew the others would be asleep? A part of me almost
hopes he chose to forgo rest to see me, though not because Vladimir
bid it.

“I have been
nowhere and everywhere. The trees and villages all begin to look the
same after a while,” he replies. His voice is deep and weighted
with exhaustion.

I try not to be
disappointed with his vague details, yet a part of me wishes to know
the goings on outside the castle walls. Does anyone remember me? Does
my town think I was lost to the fire as well? Did the fires spread
through the city and decimate the grain stores?

I have not been
allowed to step outside the castle walls since that fateful night, so
to the rest of the world, I might as well be dead. Oh, how I wish
that were true. “You have returned?”

“For the
moment. Not many would dare to refuse an invitation from Vladimir
Enescue. His solstice events are quite the spectacle.” I tilt
my head to the side, attempting to dissect the hint of sarcasm in his
tone.

He brushes his
gloved hands against his pants. Horsehair flutters to the ground
about his boots. I can smell the hint of hay from the stables on him
now, as well as other less appealing scents.

My stomach clenches
as I grip the door to remain upright. There is a tension in his voice
that worries me, though no more so than the fact that his gaze is
suddenly riveted to his mud-slick boots instead of my face. “Do
you know what Vladimir plans for me?”

His head comes up so
fast I wonder how he manages to avoid slamming the back of his skull
against the stone wall behind him. “You know he has plans?”

“I am not
blind, nor am I deaf.”

A smile tugs his
lips into a dazzling smile. “You are observant. That is good.
You will need those skills soon.”

“For what?”

His
face twists and for a moment he looks almost pained. Then the
expression smoothes out. “That is not something you need to
worry about tonight.”

The wood of the door
begins to crack as I dig my nails into it. “There are plans
beyond tonight?” I step forward, surprising both of us with my
boldness. “I want to know.”

Fane casts his gaze
aside. “I am not sure now is the proper time…”

I release my grasp
on the door and clutch his hand instead. He winces at the strength of
my grip, though he does not pull away. “Please. I am going mad
wondering what evil plot Vladimir is concocting against me. You must
tell me.”

With a curt nod,
Fane motions for me to step back into my room. I hesitate a moment,
suddenly gripped with a terror that if I release him, he will vanish
once more. I uncurl my fingers from around his arm. My mouth gapes
open in horror at the growing red lines that give evidence to my
grip. “My sincerest apologies,” I whisper, stepping back
into my room.

I cannot look
anywhere except for the markings upon his arm. Fane steps into my
room and closes the door behind him, engaging the latch. When he
turns to look at me, I see compassion in his eyes. “You are far
stronger than you realize, though I will admit this does not hurt.
You have no reason to be dismayed. I have suffered far worse.”

His smile makes my
abdomen clench with guilt. My hands quiver at my sides as I back
away, stunned to find myself against my bedside. I sink onto the soft
surface and clasp my hands in my lap.

Fane heads for a
chair and lifts it effortlessly, setting it down before me. He leaves
several feet of space between us, though as he sinks into the plush
cushion, he leans forward. I look back at him, noting the markings on
his arms have already begun to fade. I breathe a sigh of relief.

He waits until he
has my full attention. His gaze is guarded yet thoughtful. “Are
you entirely sure that you want the truth?”

I nod, biting my
lower lip as I curl my arms about my waist. I realize only now that
my low-cut dress is hardly the proper attire to speak with a strange
man in my bedchambers, yet considering this is the first time I have
been clothed in his presence, I take comfort in its layers.

“Very well.”
He sinks back into the chair. The wood creaks around his broad frame.
He places his hands upon his knees, tapping his fingers lightly.
“There is a tradition that takes place every solstice night. A
hunt… of sorts.”

“A hunt?”
I mirror his question.

“Yes.”
He nods slowly. I sense his reservation in moving forward so I remain
perfectly silent for fear of giving him cause to change his mind.
“This hunt is different than some, though hardly the worst I
have seen. Six humans are selected to participate in the hunt. The
last to survive will join our ranks this night.”

I swallow roughly.
“And the others?”

Fane looks aside. He
digs his nails into the flesh of the chair arm and purses his lips.
“They are not given a choice.”

His words feel
deeply ominous. “A fight to the death.”

“Essentially.”
He brushes aside shavings of wood that he has unburied from the chair
arm. They flutter to the floor. I watch each particle as it lands.
“It is not in an arena. It is in a town. The villagers will be
rounded up. Volunteers will be given a choice to come forward. If
none do, Vladimir will select those who participate.”

“Surely men of
the village will volunteer to protect their families.”

Fane’s face
contorts as he snorts with bitterness. “No. No one volunteers.”

“Then how are
the men selected?” I ask.

He blows out a deep
breath. When he finally lifts his gaze to meet mine, I recoil from
the hollowness that I see there. “I never said it was only men
that are selected.”

My throat clenches
as bile churns within my abdomen. “Monsters!”

He nods slowly. I
watch as he swallows, realizing he too is repulsed by the idea of it.
A shadow seems to cross his face, and I find myself curious as to
what hidden depths lie within his blue eyes. “You have seen
this hunt before?”

His gaze is piercing
as he sizes me up. His hesitation inflames my curiosity. “I
have,” he finally answers, though he offers nothing more.

I rub my palms
against my dress. They have grown clammy and the trembling in them
makes me nauseous. “You said this is not the worst hunt you
have seen…” I press.

His face pales as he
hangs his head. “There is one that is worse.”

“Will you tell
me of it?”

Fane clenches his
fists upon his knees, his bones creaking in protest of his grip. The
muscles along his forearms tense as he shakes his head. I can feel
him withdrawing, pushing me away silently. Terrified of losing my
opportunity at knowledge, I lean forward and place a hand upon his.