The Execution (40 page)

“
What do you know of how I
should strike you, one way or another? What do you know of me?” The
question carried with it a certain amount of hazard, as though one
might answer it at one’s own peril.

There was no inflection to the voice,
it was toneless, but Ravan sensed a dark authority in it, as though
it spoke for all time. Again, he had the sense that she was out of
place, but oddly detached about it. He was immediately intrigued by
her, urgently and deeply attracted to her. He leaned closer, so
that he could smell the scent of her. Breathing in deeply, he stood
much too close now—but it pleased him.

“
Have you ever loved
someone?” She quipped before he could answer her previous question.
One razor thin eyebrow climbed ever so slightly. She peered up at
him, commanding an answer, her lips slightly pursed as she
waited.

He was surprised again at the personal
question, and even more surprised that he answered after only a
moment's hesitation.

”
My mother and father, of
course.” He was utterly honest in his answer. “Although, I have
also hated them for leaving me.” He'd never spoken of this to
anyone, scarcely thought of it himself. He was shocked at how
quickly he divulged this to Nicolette.

She tilted her head to one side. “You
don’t have parents.” Again, it was a statement, not a
question.

“
My mother is dead,” he
said, “but I love her.” It occurred suddenly to him that it was
strange that he spoke of his mother as though she was still
present.

Nicolette nodded, offering no
condolence. “It is too bad fortune has tossed you about so,” she
paused. “Perhaps fortune wishes that we meet.” Nicolette’s gaze
never wavered, and it wasn’t coy or flirting, only nakedly
forthright.

She had captured Ravan, without even
trying. For the first time in a very long while, a feeling other
than hatred, anger, or revenge preoccupied him. It was
strong—primal but elegant. There was circulation to it, a scent and
sensation. It was alive, and it made his skin tingle. It pleased
him in a visceral way. He suddenly felt a need to be with her, as
though for the first time ever he’d met someone who knew him. It
was as though she knew his mind, his heart—as if she clearly saw
the dark as well as the light of it and judged him not. However,
his concrete thoughts did not so tidily formulate these ideas. It
was an instinct.

“
You should be with me—not
him.” Ravan surprised himself and wasn’t even certain that the
words had escaped his mouth. He looked more deeply into her eyes,
looking for her to acknowledge what he’d just
unburdened.

He stepped even closer to her, towered
over her, but she was fearless.

“
We are alike, Ravan—both
of us, sad and wicked, honest in our treachery. But, the fabric of
time does not necessarily care about these things. I belong with no
one.” Her gaze was unwavering.

“
What do we care of the
fabric of time?” he murmured, his voice deep and husky. He liked
very much the way he felt at this moment, with her so close to him
that he could drop his head and brush his lips against her hair,
should he wish. Fear was not even a whisper on him.

“
What, indeed?” She
floated backwards, stepping into an alcove and motioned to him with
her eyes to follow.

He stepped into the shadows of the
small, private sitting room with her. She pulled a heavy velvet
curtain, separating them from the whirling mass of dancing and
drinking guests. It was incredibly likely that they had been seen,
but neither considered this even for a moment. The candlelight
within cast an intimate glow on them, inviting transgression.
Without a word, she reached for him, pulling his mouth down to
hers.

Startled, Ravan hesitated.

She sensed this immediately and
paused, staring pitiless into his eyes, not inviting, just
waiting.

Quickly overcoming his trepidation, he
responded, moving into her, acting upon need, devouring her in his
kiss. He was surprised at how suddenly and completely he wanted
her, wanted to make her stay with him, but she controlled him even
as he advanced on her.

Pushing her almost too roughly against
the pillar, so that her breath caught, he pressed his body against
her. He stared down at her face, searching her eyes. This was all
very new to him, he'd never done such a thing before. He kissed her
again, roughly and deeply while inhaling the essence of her,
thrilled with the unfamiliarity of it. She smelled fragrant,
tribal. There was no perfume—it was all Nicolette.

The world turned slowly about as they
kissed. His mouth was hard, his beard rough as it scratched her
delicate lips and cheek.

She coaxed him, mouth open, asking him
to give in to her completely.

Ravan had never kissed someone before,
but proved a fast study, matching her arousal, drawing her into the
maleness of himself.

Reaching down, she found his trouser’s
waist and pulled hard on the laces, freeing the garment enough to
reach her hand in and down. She grasped him, squeezing gently while
she directed his hand towards her breast.

He gasped as she pulled gently but
firmly on him, too overwhelmed with the sensation to question the
lack of discretion. She pulled her gown free at the bodice exposing
her small breasts, gently directing his hand over one.

It was hot to his touch, velvety and
small, and he stroked it softly.

She reached up, hand behind his neck
to pull his lips to her breast. All the while, her other hand was
down his trousers, rhythmically pulling on him.

Ravan had never been handled in such a
way, and he groaned, closing his eyes, his tongue tasting her skin.
He stood, dropping his head, so that he could smell the spicy,
smoky scent of her hair. She turned her face up to him, locking his
mouth again in a warm, moist kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth
as she drank from him.

This kiss was more than he could
endure. It pushed him rapidly beyond the point of no return. He
threw his head forward, his back arching as he pressed against her,
his face against the cold of the stone pillar behind her. He
reached down to encircle her hand with his own and groaned, a deep,
carnal sound. Shuddering, his orgasm finally exploded into her
hand, dripping down her fingers and spattering onto the
floor.

As Ravan gasped and finished, he
moaned, leaning his head heavily against the pillar, his arms
either side of her.

She pushed hard against his chest,
pushing him to step away from her. Then, she looked down at her
hand as though she didn’t recognize it.

Ravan just stared at her, unsteady,
staggered by the immediate events.

Leaning her head casually to one side,
her eyes never left his as she reached her hand up to wipe it clean
upon his tunic, cleaning each finger of him, one by one. Then, she
kissed him again, gently, just brushing her lips against
his.

For the first time in his life, Ravan
trembled. It was not from cold, pain or fear. He trembled because
he felt alive.

Nicolette tugged at her gown to cover
her nakedness, laced the bodice and carefully smoothed the brocade.
She turned abruptly to leave and paused, almost as an
afterthought.

“
The fabric of time does
not care about us, Ravan—not at all. Careful that you should ever
think that it would...”

She turned away and did not look back
as she stepped from behind the heavy silk-velvet curtain. Standing
on the edge of the swirling mass of dancers, she pulled her gloves
on, one by one. Then, accepting a glass of champagne and a
‘congratulations’, she was swept into the crowd.

All he could do was watch, helpless to
stop her.

Ravan was stunned, utterly possessed
by the strange beauty which had just handled him so completely,
physically and emotionally. He glanced at the whirling bodies on
the dance floor, then across the floor to the seated
Adorno.

Vacantly and with hatred in his eyes,
Adorno stared back...

* * *

Late that night, LanCoste took the
watch and Ravan sat alone on the bench in his room, again
overlooking the castle grounds. They were so lovely and dark on
this early autumn’s night, the perfect backdrop for him to
preoccupy himself with what had transpired earlier.

He repeatedly poured over in his mind
what had happened at the ball, how Nicolette had spoken to him,
what she had done to him, and how she had controlled him so
completely, body and soul! He could scarcely believe it happened
and worried that he might have dreamed it. Ravan was consumed with
his thoughts of her and he felt more alive than ever
before.

That night, there occurred a shift in
the path of Ravan’s life. A dark haired beauty had given him a
nudge and sent him careening wildly into very unfamiliar terrain.
For the first time since arriving at Adorno’s castle, Ravan feared
he might have to leave.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE

†

D’ata sat in the gravel muck of the
riverbank as God washed the world with gray. Everything was ashen
now, and so quiet—he couldn’t hear anything. Clouds coursed across
the leaden sky. It was a pallid backdrop to the tangle of leafless
tree branches that swayed overhead, but the wind that moved them
spoke nothing. Strange, even the river was silent as it lapped
against Julianne’s legs.

Ah well—at least she was finally safe
in his arms. He closed his eyes.

A group of nearly thirty men slowly
encircled him, not saying anything, not interfering with the events
that unfolded tragically before them. No one meant for it to come
to this—no one had thought this could happen.

The wind hushed them all to silence
and no one spoke. No one dared interrupt what happened on the banks
of the river.

D’ata sat, gently rocking her in his
arms, whispering into the hair of his lovely Julianne. He clutched
her limp and frail body close to his and stared blankly out across
the river. Everything was black and white.

Slowly, a dark red stain appeared from
between her legs, spoiling the muddy pale of her dress. The stain
looked oddly out of place and soaked slowly into the dampness of
her gown so that eventually it seemed to claim most of the skirt
for itself.

All the colors of the world were gone,
save one. Only one terrible color remained—red.

He murmured his love for her, brushing
her hair back with his hand and whispered to her that it was all
right to sleep now, that he would watch over her, always. She was
sleeping so soundly—he didn’t notice anyone else, only
her.

The thin, lanky young man with the
dark wet hair, hanging matted around his neck and face, kissed the
golden-haired angel ever so softly on her closed
eyelids.

Her skin was starkly pale against the
golden brown of the man who held her. All watched as he lifted her
delicate hand and pressed it against his bare chest, against his
own beating heart.

That must be why everything was so
still now, so that he could hear his own heartbeat. How unfair
though, that his heart should beat so, and hers should not—and she
was so cold, so very cold! The river had made her cold, she could
catch a chill, and...

It was Raphael who eventually spoke.
He inched over to where the young man sat and leaned close to touch
his young friend’s shoulder. “D’ata—” There was a long pause.
“D’ata, my friend, she’s...”

The voice sounded very far away, but
persisted in meddling with his affairs, and it annoyed
him.

“
Don’t!” he hissed, “don’t
touch her!” His head jerked up and his muddied and tear streaked
face was contorted with grief and rage. “Don’t touch her!” he
repeated, holding a clenched fist up at him, as though he would hit
his dearest friend. His fingertips were blue from the
cold.

Raphael hardly recognized the young
man, reposed upon the riverbank with the maiden in his
arms.

Turning back to his beloved, D’ata
gathered her up against him again, rocking her gently. “Don’t touch
her, you might disturb her—you might awaken her.”

D’ata wondered—why had Julianne turned
so gray? Her gray hair, her gray eyes and skin? Everything was void
of color except for the horrible red. He rubbed at the bloody
stain, trying to rid the dress of it, but finally abandoned the
task. No matter, he loved her just the same, even if she was gray.
It was her heart that he loved, the beauty of her soul—and their
baby.

No matter, though. They would be
together forever, even in a black and white world.

* * *

“
D’ata, son...” His father
knelt beside him and laid his hand gently on his arm. “Son, come
home with me. Julianne is gone.” His head dropped. “God has taken
her, my son.”

“
No! Get away!” He jerked
his arm away. “You lie! You’ve always lied!” He screamed like a
wild animal, hissing, his eyes wide and tormented.

“
No, D’ata!” his father
pleaded, “I love you child. I have always loved you!” He wrung his
hands, “Forgive me, son. I would never have...come home with your
mother and me, please!”