Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy (24 page)

I did not expect
this reply. It takes me off guard, and I am once again swallowed up
by the fear I experienced on the previous night. “I do not
understand. If the man was so averse to harming the boy, why would he
slaughter him in the end?”

Fane’s gaze
narrows and his head tilts to the side. He watches me with a piercing
look that makes me squirm. “Did you not know?”

I shake my head and
tuck my lower lip between my teeth, sure I will not find peace in his
response. “The boy was his son. That is why he would not attack
him. That is why the boy had no need to fight. His father let the
blood spill upon his hands so the boy would remain blameless.”

“A lamb for
the slaughter,” I whisper.

Fane nods. “Vladimir
was furious at the man’s deception. He loves nothing more than
to pit family members against one another.”

A bitter taste
floods my mouth as I think of his account of how I tore at Adela’s
throat when I awoke. She was chosen to give me life, a sacrifice he
knew all too well would haunt me for all of eternity.

When I refocus on
Fane, I realize with a start that there are tears welling in the
corners of his eyes. Without thinking, I reach out and clasp his
hand. He slowly lifts his gaze to meet mine. “I am sorry for
your loss,” I say softly.

His Adam’s
apple bobs several times before he nods and wipes away the tear. I do
not pry further. I do not need to. The agony of his loss is just as
fresh as my own, though I suspect his occurred long before mine.

“Will you tell
me of her?”

Fane rises to his
feet and clears his throat. “Someday, perhaps. Though today is
not that day.”

He moves away from
my bed, appearing torn between the seat beside the window and moving
toward the door. “I will return by midday for you. I think
perhaps a walk in the gardens might do both of us some good.”

I smile as he walks
determinedly toward the door and opens the latch. “I would like
that.” As the door closes behind him, I realize my words are
sincere.

As
the sun climbs the morning sky, I take extra time to prepare myself.
The water in my basin is cold, though I hardly notice as I ponder
Fane’s return.
There
is a great pain buried within him. He seems lost and terribly alone.
Would it be wrong for me to long for a friendship with him? By doing
so, would I be endangering his life?

When the noonday sun
begins to trail back toward the horizon, I begin to grow concerned by
his absence. He promised to return for me, though I have not caught a
whiff of his scent within the castle grounds. Perhaps his task took
longer than expected.

I wait with as much
patience as I can muster, yet as the sun dips below the far horizon,
I know within my soul something is amiss. I pace within the confines
of my room long into the night. When Vladimir comes to me, he does
not speak of Fane’s absence. He does not speak at all.

Though his attention
throughout the night could hardly be considered kind, he is far
gentler than he has ever been. I begin to wonder if seeing my life
threatened on the previous night has shaken him. After he has
finished with me, he does not rise as he is accustomed to doing.
Rather he remains beside me, his breathing steady.

He speaks for the
first time as the moon grows level with the distant tree line. “When
you wake this evening, I have somewhere I want to show you.”

I swallow before
answering, giving myself a moment of pause to ensure that my voice
does not betray me. “Will we have need to travel far?”

“No.” He
props himself on his elbow and stares down at me. I feel exposed to
his gaze as he lingers, my stomach pressed tightly to the bedding. He
places a hand upon my hip and instead of digging into my flesh, he
grazes his hand across my skin with a gentleness I did not think him
capable of. “It is quite near.”

“Then I shall
be prepared, my lord.”

His lips pull back
into a smile and his gaze flickers away from my hip to my eyes. “I
have sent Fane away on a task. He will return on the morrow. When he
does, you will begin your training.”

Grasping at the rare
moment of kindness I have glimpsed in my husband, I rise to a seated
position, my hair draped as concealment over my chest. “Must I
fight?”

Vladimir’s
smile freezes into place. For a moment, I fear his lips will peel
back into a familiar scowl, yet instead, his expression falls away.
His gaze grows vacant as he rolls onto his back, staring up at the
ceiling. “It is the way of things.”

“And are you
incapable of altering the traditions?”

“Incapable?”
His gaze refocuses and I tense, realizing my poor choice of words.

“My apologies,
my lord,” I rush to say, turning my face away as I wait for the
back of his hand to strike. When it does not, I risk a glance toward
him. “I mean no disrespect.”

“No.” He
sighs and shakes his head. “I do not think that you did, though
it changes nothing. Lucien is correct. This is the way of things.”

“And me? Will
I be cast aside as well? Shared among the men?” Despite my firm
resolve not to show any fear, a tremor attacks my voice.

Vladimir rolls his
head to the side to look upon me. His gaze is sharp, his features
dark. “You are mine and no one else’s. I will kill any
man who dares lay a finger upon you.”

Though I know his
words to be filled with menace, I feel oddly comforted by them. Being
ravaged by a single man is far better than thirty.

“Thank you,”
I whisper and rise from the bed. He watches me like a hawk as I clean
myself. It is disconcerting for him to still be here. He has never
done this before.

I pull a nightgown
over my head and turn to face him, unsure of myself. “Should I
fetch you food or drink?”

Vladimir’s
smile broadens as he rises from the bed. I do not let my gaze shift
lower than his neck as he approaches me. I can see a hunger growing
is his gaze, though it has little do with physical nourishment.

He grasps my arm and
twists me about, pressing my cheek against the wall as he raises the
hem of my gown. “I like this gown very much,” he grunts
in my ear. I feel his hand splay across my hip as he presses into me.
I close my eyes and think upon happier times as the sun breaks the
distant horizon.

Vladimir leaves me
shortly after. I wait to hear the latch on his door before I rise
from the floor. I wash slowly, staring at the cloudy water, wondering
if I will ever truly feel clean again.

Though the sun has
come again, I feel none of its warmth or cheer. I suppose I should be
thankful it has reappeared after such long bouts of dreary gray
skies, though I cannot bring myself to care. I pull a clean dress
over my shoulders and wring droplets of water from my hair. Sinking
down onto the window seat, I stare out over the castle grounds. The
view is as familiar as the back of my arm, though the scenery has
shifted. Gone are the glistening icicles and mounds of snow. What
remains is trampled grass and muddy paths.

The
air is warmer now and I can feel my skin longing for the cold once
more. I tug at the collar of my dress. A spreading dampness clings to
my lower back. I wipe my palm across my brow and discover small beads
of sweat have formed.
What
on earth will the heat of summer be like?

The latch on my
window screeches as I spread it open. I close my eyes and turn my
face into the winds, sighing with relief. I hear the steady rushing
of the waters that feed down into the pond beside the boat shack, no
doubt overflowing its banks as it fights to contain the newly melted
snows.

Birds take flight
from the trees, cawing as they circle the sky above. Horses paw at
the sodden yard, delighted to be free of the barn. I too share their
need to be unrestrained. Chickens and turkeys peck at the ground. I
can hear their beaks scratching against the soiled stone as they
scavenge for food.

Opening my eyes, I
search the meadows beyond the wall, wondering where Fane might be. He
is a ranger and as such spends the majority of his time far beyond
our borders. He lives upon the back of a horse, doing Vladimir’s
bidding.

As I sink down onto
my seat and place my chin upon the back of my hands, staring with
deep longing at the distant horizon, I realize I envy Fane his
freedom. Though he may be bound to Vladimir through service, at least
he can escape from time to time. I am not so lucky.

The longer I sit and
stare at the distance, I begin to wonder exactly what task Vladimir
has sent Fane to attend to. Surely the burial of six bodies would not
take a full day to accomplish. No, this is something more. Curiosity
gets the better of me and I find myself daydreaming of what it would
be like to escape, to flee over the mountains to lands unknown to me.

Before my wedding
day, I shared a similar dream with my sister. It was fun to imagine
what life could be like in distant places. Would their clothing be
foreign to us? Would we speak the same language? What of our skills
with bartering for goods to survive?

I lift my head and
frown, knowing I would never have gone to any of those places or
experienced a different life. I felt smothered under my father’s
thumb, though I was content to spend my years in Brasov. I would have
found a home, small yet clean, to care for. I would have found a man
who was loving, though not deep of purse. I had little care for
material possession. All I longed for was a family to raise.

My thoughts flow
back toward Fane once more. I have seen the depths of his pain and
know that with every fiber of his being, he understands my own. I
have seen him hollow and broken, a kindred spirit. As I breathe in
the cool, fresh air that blows through the window, I find myself
almost missing him.

I
hardly know the man
,
I silently chide and push aside thoughts of him, resolved to focus on
the things I can control. Such as the imminent walk with Vladimir.

I stand before my
door, waiting for Vladimir to come for me. Tension ripples through my
stomach, turning it sour with anxiety. He has never made such a
request of me before, certainly never in such an oddly polite manner.
I ponder what his intentions are even as I hear his door open and
close. His boots clomp heavily on the floor, then pause before my
door.

I reach out and
unlatch the handle, opening the door to find his hand raised. I
blink, surprised to find him slightly taken aback. He lowers his hand
and clears his throat. For some reason, his awkward glance increases
my despair.

He holds out his arm
and I step forward to take it, though I loathe to be near him. He
does not clasp his hand over mine the way Fane did as he led me into
the village on the night of the battle. Instead, Vladimir stands
rigid beside me, appearing just as deeply uncomfortable as I am.

Why
does he behave in such an odd manner?
I
wonder as I allow him to lead me down the steps. When the stairwell
grows too narrow for us to walk side by side, he pauses to let me
pass, quickening his step once we reach the second floor to take my
hand once more. I glance at him from the corner of my eye as we wind
through the halls. He nods in acknowledgement as we pass immortals
emerging from their chambers, giving the appearance of a proper lord
of the castle rather than the fiend I know him to be.

There is a tremor in
his arm as he draws me toward the lower level. It would hardly be
noticeable if I were not acutely aware of every move he makes,
terrified that at any moment he will strike out at me or thrust me
into a darkened room.

“Vladimir?”

He halts and turns
to the side to face Lucien, who emerges from the stairs that lead
down into the kitchens. I can feel the heat following at his heels
and instinctively take a step back. Vladimir moves with me, though I
have little doubt that this was not done for my comfort, yet rather
his own.

Lucien eyes me with
great suspicion. “Might I inquire as to where are you off to?”

“I intend to
show Roseline the sepulcher.”

His brother’s
eyes narrow, growing cold. “You think that is wise?”

Vladimir nods. “It
is time.”

Their cryptic
conversation continues as Lucien falls into step with us. I tune them
out, feeling lightheaded at the thought. Lucien is worried. Vladimir
is nervous. What could possibly be occurring?

Lucien parts ways
with us at the front door. I can feel his eyes upon my back as
Vladimir leads us past the stone well at the center of the courtyard
and through the castle gates. The night is dark and the moon veiled
by thick layers of cloud. I struggle to see my footing, though I have
nothing to fear of falling. Vladimir clings to my arm with a painful
grip.

We walk for several
moments, skirting along the castle wall instead of heading out into
the meadow. Up ahead, I sense a shift in the wind and realize we are
drawing near to the cliff.

Castle Bran is built
upon a tall outcropping of rock and earth. From this vantage point, I
imagine much of the mountains would be laid out before us, though I
have never been to this spot before.

Perhaps he
intends to shove me off the cliff. To make my death look like an
accident instead of suffering the humiliation of watching my death
during the hunt.

The winds beat
against my long skirts. My hair lashes against my face, tangling with
my eyelashes. “Do we travel much farther, my lord?” I
call against the wind.

“Our path lies
just ahead.”

His words are nearly
lost to the gale that rises from within the canyon below. I place a
hand upon the wall to steady myself, feeling dizzy to look upon such
great heights. As I walk, the clouds shift above, allowing me just
enough light to spy the deadly drop-off.