The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1) (24 page)

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T
he chapel lay wrapped in darkness when Seth pushed open the heavy wooden door. He held his lantern high and peered into the gloomy interior. There came a faint rustle of sound and an inky shadow detached from the freezing blackness. It moved slowly toward him.

He stayed where he was and let the shadow approach. It had an awkward, gawky motion, as if not quite under its own control, and he recalled thinking the same thing when it had accosted him in the marketplace the day before.

The figure shambled to a stop before him and he smelled again the foul miasma rising from the man. It wasn’t just the stink of an unwashed body, although that was there in abundance. No, thought Seth with a tiny shiver, it was more like the charnel stink of meat gone bad. He wrinkled his nose.

“You find me repulsive, yet you still came.” The man’s hissing whisper floated out of the shadows.

Seth shrugged. “You don’t have the most savory aroma, but I’ve smelled worse.” He heard the man’s gargled laugh. “I only came because you said you had a message from my lord, the Baron. Can we get on with this? It’s bloody freezing. Why you couldn’t have chosen a warmer or lighter place, I don’t know.”

“Afraid of the dark, are you, boy? Well, since you’re so curious, I’ll show you why this time and place was chosen. Sit down and shutter that lantern.”

The scrawny fellow waved at the nearest pew and Seth frowned. This meeting had taken on a surreal and faintly disturbing quality and he was no longer sure he’d done the right thing in coming. But the figure had made no move on him, and Seth knew there was no one else around; he had checked carefully before entering the chapel. He sat.

“Keep silent and attend,” the man said, his voice hoarse and unnatural. Seth heard the rustle of cloth as the man opened his cloak. The charnel smell grew suddenly worse. It was gloomy in the chapel with the lantern turned down so low it illuminated nothing but the flagstone on which it sat. There were no other lamps inside, nor outside in the street, so where, thought Seth with sudden alarm, was that sullen, ruby-red glow coming from?

He leapt to his feet in terror when he realized he was looking at the man’s eyes. They weren’t reflecting any outside light, but glowing with a demonic inner fire. He shuddered violently and tried to turn, intending to run. The hand that clamped his shoulder felt like a claw of iron. It gripped his bones like a vice and he couldn’t move. Neither could he cry out. His throat had tightened in horror.

“Seth! Do not fear me. Do you not know your own master?”

Seth froze, his terror abating. “M-my Lord?” he squeaked, looking for the Baron. He had clearly heard Reen’s voice.

No one else was there but Seth and the filthy vagrant fellow, who chuckled in the Baron’s unmistakable voice. Seth stared in wonder, too amazed to be frightened.

“My Lord Baron! How is this possible?”

“No time for explanations now, Seth. Just accept, and do as I bid you. The man before you is another of my servants and I can speak to you through him. He tells me you are loyal to me and that you’re willing to work my will against those who caused my downfall. Is this true?”

The strangely ghostlike voice was undeniably the Baron’s, no matter how changed it sounded in the scrawny fellow’s mouth. The dreadful smell assailed Seth’s nostrils, and the ruby glint of the eyes was disconcerting, but Seth was a practical man not given to flights of fancy. If his lord had found a means of communicating through this fellow, Seth could accept that.

“Command me, my Lord! I will do all I can to aid you.”

“Good, very good. First I need some information, and then you will receive your instructions. Tell me, Seth, how is my dear niece, Jinella?”

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R
een broke contact with his servant and slumped to the bed, exhausted. He was pleased. He had been confident Seth would be willing to aid him, but hadn’t expected to find his erstwhile manservant still in Jinny’s employ. He sneered in the dark.
Stupid, sentimental girl!
Her sense of responsibility to those of lower status would be her undoing—he’d make sure of that.

The start of his scheme should go according to plan with no one the wiser. With any luck, he might even get three at once, although Seth’s news about Jinny’s problems with Taran had come as a bit of a blow. Still, even if Taran wasn’t there, Reen now had two agents in Port Loxton. It was only a matter of time and opportunity.

The other piece of news Seth had passed on was of more serious import. It was a large part of Reen’s plan that he should have control over Sofira’s children, Eadan in particular. While it was true Seline could inherit the throne if Eadan should die, her rule would last only until she wed a suitable Prince. Having Albia in the hands of a stranger would not suit Reen’s scheme at all. If he couldn’t get his hands on Eadan, he would have to have the boy killed. Seline could be betrothed to some youngster who could be groomed in Reen’s ideals before he grew too independent. This moving of Eadan to the Manor was an inconvenience, but it wasn’t insurmountable. He decided against telling Sofira where her son was. Her anger might distract her from the more important issues at hand.

A scratch at the door alerted Reen to the return of his other two minions. He smiled as he rose to admit them, trying to rein in his baser emotions. Now, finally, he could conduct this most essential of experiments, test his control and his strength and his will. He relaxed his hold over his desires, letting the dark anticipation flood through his body. Restraint was no longer needed. Indeed, it was counterproductive. Desire—lust—was necessary if he was to overcome his normal disinterest at the thought of bedding a woman. The success of his wedding night hinged upon the control of his own body’s reactions, and the success of all his plans rested on the outcome of his wedding night. Stoking the fires within with thoughts of what was to come, he opened the door.

The two of them stood there, shaking. He could see the ruby light of his eyes reflected in their dilated pupils and their tremble only increased as he smiled cruelly at them. And at what they held.

“Bring her in,” he commanded, stepping aside.

They bundled their struggling, whimpering captive into the room, avoiding the Baron’s gaze as well as his touch. The young woman they held was dark-skinned, dressed in a bodice and skirts as Roamerling girls usually were, and her long, dark hair fell over her face as she struggled against her captors. They manhandled her over to the bed and secured her hands and feet to the bedposts. Her eyes were black and wide, wild with fear; sweat stood out on her skin. She knew what would happen to her.

Reen regarded her as his servants hastened silently from the room. He was surprised they had managed to find a Roamerling—most of them had left Bordenn by now—and also that she should be so afraid. Roamerling girls prostituted their bodies all the time, which was the main reason he had chosen the race for his experiments. Not only were they an affront to his God by their unnaturalness, but they also profaned the Matria Church’s laws on decency and propriety. They deserved punishment and, by God, Reen was going to mete it out.

The pious thoughts running through his mind as he approached the writhing girl inflamed his soul. He was doing his God’s will in this, using the holy Fire that had transformed his body and his life, and which burned still within his heart, to snuff out and redeem these pagan outlander souls. He came close to his captive and stared down into her wide, frightened eyes.

The Roamerling girl saw him clearly for the first time and shrieked through the gag. The purple, slumped flesh, the stiffened, clawed hands, the shriveled muscles and wasted sinews, all combined to assault her with nightmares she couldn’t bear. And the eyes! They appeared at first as if embers from the fire reflected in them, but the fire was behind Reen now and the sullen, ruby light remained. It glared out at her with the strength of his lust, growing and flaring with unholy desire. He must appear to her as some demon, some monster, and not a natural being at all.

The manner of his being was not important to Reen right now. What he needed was. He reached down and drew the girl’s skirts up over her waist. She continued to struggle, futile though it was. The Baron climbed on the bed and knelt between her legs, smiling cruelly all the while. She tried not to look, but was unable to help herself. He knew she could feel the heat of his flesh against her body, and it burned her. It was as if he raged with a fever that should have consumed his flesh, eating it away until only bone was left. But that had already happened. Only his will and the Fire within sustained the outward illusion.

He leaned over her, reaching down to raise his robes. Whimpering in terror, she screwed her eyes shut. The scarecrow shifted his weight, centered his will, and took her.

At his first touch she screamed as if the gag wasn’t there. Joined, he felt what she felt. White-hot fire lanced through her belly and her back arched in agony. It flooded every fiber of her being until she was no longer herself. She could feel it eating through her, consuming her from within, pulsing with the rhythm of the scarecrow’s thrusting hips, his gasping breath. And with every pulse, she lost more of her self.

Reen was falling, lost in the sensations, totally out of control. This would not do. This was worse than when he used his cane. Surely the lust and the Fire weren’t so intense when he had taken Serrin? Surely he’d had more control? If he wasn’t careful, he would lose himself too far and the experiment would fail. And that couldn’t be allowed to happen. Gasping, desperate, he tried to pull away. But the drive of his Fire was too compelling, the dark sweetness of his pleasure too great. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t give up such intense ecstasy.

He threw his head back and cried out in rage and fear, forcing himself to slow, forcing his rampant body to obey him. He hadn’t bargained on this, hadn’t realized how his enforced abstinence would affect him. There had been no one since Serrin, and he now understood how he had hampered his self-control by forbearing. This realization calmed his fervor, soothed the fear. It was easily rectified, this issue of abstinence. It was a remedy he would enjoy.

Calm now and fully in control, he resumed. He could feel the fires raging within him, flowing into his victim, and he could now feel her life force flowing back. This was better. This was what he needed to control. Pure physical desire he could satisfy anytime, and would now that he knew how important it was. But for now, controlling what he received was all that mattered. He exerted his will and altered the flow. It changed, sluggishly, and halted. He smiled a wide grin of triumph and resumed his absorption. The girl’s life force flowed to his command and he laughed with the knowledge of his mastery.

He gasped and gave a mighty surge, hearing his victim’s shattered scream. He allowed his own cry of release and knew the instant she died. All her young strength, all her vibrant life force, was sucked out, flooding into him, and he was sated. He collapsed onto her lifeless body and lay there panting, his need fulfilled.

After a time, he pushed himself up and stood looking down on her. She lay as if sleeping, although the gray pallor of her skin and the wide, dull stare of her eyes told the true story of her state. He was pleased. Not a mark remained on her body, apart from the obvious, but what among normal men and women was a loving and giving thing had been transformed by the scarecrow’s dreadful touch into reaving.

Full of savage joy and feeling strong and fit for the first time since absorbing Serrin’s life force, the Baron called once more for his servants.

J
inella spent the morning in her solar composing a letter to Taran. She took her time, examining every line, every sentiment expressed, until she was certain she had a true account of her feelings. She spared herself no pain and clearly told of her disappointment and anger, but she also told him of her deep love and commitment, her willingness to forgive and forget. She set out her reasons for this change of heart and the brutal honesty of the letter, when she read it back, gave her pause.

She wasn’t sure she actually meant to send the letter, or whether writing it was merely an exercise in understanding her own emotions and motivations. Certainly, it helped clarify what she had felt during the night. She was pleased to realize she still believed in the sentiments expressed, painfully honest though they were. Taran should be able to appreciate and comprehend her meaning. She certainly hoped so, for now she had admitted the depth of her commitment, she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Folding the parchment, she slipped it into the little silver box Taran bought her at the last fair they attended. Looking at its delicately chased lid, she smiled at her memories. She had seen the box on the silversmith’s stall and tried to wheedle it as a gift from Taran, but he passed it by. He then purchased it without her knowledge and presented it to her later, once she had forgotten the incident. The look of pleasure on his handsome features at her delight still warmed her heart. As did the memory of how she thanked him.

How could she have doubted the strength of his feelings for her? The more she remembered their passionate couplings, even in the cold light of examination, the more she realized how deeply he loved her. It must have been the shock of his revelations and the hurt that he hadn’t come to her first with his misgivings that had made her react so badly. It was only his lack of confidence in her long-term plans that had stopped him asking formally for her hand. She knew that now. They were both as bad as each other, and there always had to be one who made the first move. As the one with the most to lose—or share—it was up to her to make that gesture. She was openhearted enough not to resent it.

Feeling a happy anticipation for the reconciliation to come, Jinny trailed her fingers over the silver box as she left her solar to begin the day’s business.

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