The Third Son (33 page)

“Serge has survived the night, but it doesn’t look good, Lionus. All of his limbs are broken and the doctor fears that there could be bleeding inside his abdomen. He has yet to awaken.

Lionus squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his hands to his middle. “That bastard!” he cried, thrashing wildly against the pain. Damien was unsure if it was his wound, or his heart that hurt him more. For all his emotional shortcomings, Lionus loved his family fiercely, even if he did not know how to express it. Nicolai’s betrayal was more painful to him than any wound sustained from a sword.

“You must hold him!” Isabelle cried, rushing around the other side of him to hold down is injured arm. “He’ll rip the stitches in his shoulder!”

Damien saw the blood seeping through the bandage in Lionus’ middle and pressed his full weight on Lionus, who was surprisingly strong for one who had lost so much blood. Damien stared down into Lionus’ tear-streaked face, pressing his body down to the mattress with all his strength.

“Lionus I know you are in pain by you cannot move about so much. Doctor Keane would be very angry to find you have ripped his fine stitches,” Damien said calmly
b
ut his words had fallen on deaf ears. Lionus was delirious with the pain by now and blood flowed even more freely from the gaping wound in his middle.

Damien turned to Isabelle. “Doctor Keane stayed the night in case he was needed. He is staying just up the hall, go and find him!” he bellowed, struggling to hold Lionus down. “Hurry!”

Torn between following Damien’s directions and staying to help her husband, Isabelle decided it would be better to find Doctor Keane
. H
e could do more for Lionus than she could. Damien found fresh linens and pressed them to Lionus’ wound, praying feverishly that the pressure would staunch the flow of blood. Lionus groaned and fought against Damien, his eyes frantic and glazed.

Doctor Keane came tearing in to the room with Isabelle on his heels. He quickly peeled back the linens that Damien held to find that they had soaked through.
The doctor
commanded Damien continue pressure, while he rifled around in his bag.

“Do something!” Isabelle shrieked from the foot of the bed.

“All we can do is apply pressure to the wound and pray that it will stop. I can give him something to ease his pain but we must get that bleeding under control!” Doctor Keane produced a bottle of laudanum from his bag forced Lionus’ mouth open. He poured a generous amount of the liquid down his throat and then proceeded to help Damien. Isabelle leaned against the wall, crying silently, shaking her head rapidly from side to side. “Please,” she prayed, her voice a whisper. “Please don’t let him die.”

Within minutes, the laudanum began to take its affect and Lionus’ stilled, his pain slightly dulled. He focused his glassy eyes on Damien. Doctor Keane lifted the blood soaked linens away and shook his head firmly. “There is nothing else we can do,” he looked toward Isabelle anxiously. “I’m sorry, but he won’t last another hour.”

“No!” Isabelle shrieked, throwing herself at the doctor, her voice shrill. “Do something! You have to try and save him!”

Doctor Keane looked to Damien, unsure of how to handle the sobbing woman. He was relieved when Damien plucked her from his arms. He bent back over Lionus, leaving the business of consolation to Damien.

“Isabelle,” he said firmly, taking hold of her shoulders and shaking her gently. “You must cease this. Lionus is going now and there is nothing we can do to help him, do you understand?” Isabelle hiccupped and nodded, but was silent. “You cannot let him go without saying good-bye. You have to tell him how much you love him and that he will always be in your heart. You cannot let him go without telling him.”

Damien and Doctor Keane stepped aside, allowing her to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. Blood soaked her gown, but she seemed oblivious to it as she ran her fingers gently through his unbound hair.

“Lionus,” she sobbed, pressing her lips to his, “I love you so much. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t die!”

Lionus lifted one hand to her pale cheek, his face softening as he studied her angelic face. “My love, I will never leave you,” he said, his voice a raspy whisper. “You will always carry me in your heart. For that is where you have always held me.”

Isabelle pressed her lips to his again and clung to him for dear life. Lionus wrapped his good arm weakly around her. He locked eyes with Damien over her shoulder. “Brother,” he said. “I cannot leave this earth without telling you what you meant to me.”

Damien was beside him in seconds, clasping his outstretched hand. “I have always known, Lionus.”

Lionus shook his head feebly from side to side. “Marry Esmeralda,” he said, smiling faintly at the astonishment on Damien’s face. “Marry her and keep her close. Don’t let her slip away. I was wrong to try and stop you, I know.”

Damien could no longer hold back the tears. They fell in warm drops on the back of his hand. “I will, Lionus. I will.”

“There is one other thing. It is important. You must not fail me,” Lionus said. “Take up my sword.” Damien searched the room, his eyes falling on Lionus’ sword, propped up in the corner beside the bed. He took the sword and held it where Lionus could see it in his hand. Lionus inhaled deeply, his chest swelling with pride. “That is the sword of the kings of Cardenas,” he said. “It has been wielded by Largess men for generations. I am giving it to you.”

“But surely you would want Serge to have it. He is next in line.”

“Serge may not live and that would make you king,” Lionus pointed out, much to Damien’s dismay.

“No,” he objected, having never fully thought about what Serge’s death could mean. “I can’t be. I won’t be!”

“You must!” Lionus insisted, holding Isabelle closer with one arm, clutching Damien’s hand more tightly with the other. “You are the son of Adare Largess
. H
is blood runs in your veins. You are more fit to be king than even I.” Damien shook his head fiercely, as if the movement could shut Lionus’ words from his ears. Lionus released his hand, too weak now to hold on any longer. “You will take my sword and avenge our father,” he said, closing his eyes. “And you will rule Cardenas in my stead should Serge cross over into the afterlife.”
             

Damien fell back against the wall, watching Lionus whisper his final good-byes to Isabelle. A few seconds later, he was dead. Isabelle collapsed over her husband’s lifeless form, her shoulders shaking with soft sobs. Damien could only watch, clutching Lionus’ sword against his chest. Doctor Keane ushered in a small group of maids who busied themselves with stripping Lionus of his bloodied clothes and linens. Isabelle helped them.

Damien turned suddenly from the room, unable to abide the stench of death any longer. He ran through the twisting, turning corridors, seeking to fill his nostrils with fresh air.
Damien
raced through the main hall and burst through the heavy front doors. He collapsed at the top of the stairs, welcoming the biting cold that reached out to grasp him with its icy fingers.

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, willing the cold winter air to cleanse him. When he opened his eyes, he noticed for the first time that his hands were smeared with Lionus’ blood, just as they had been in the vision Akira had shown him.

Anger, blazing and hot rose within him. He threw his head back and allowed a guttural, pain-filled cry to spill from his lips.
Damien
sobbed until he could no longer breathe, his lungs contracting powerfully with the force of his cries.

Chapter 19

The sound of the priest’s voice echoed from the high painted walls of the cathedral. He spoke of life and death and the open arms of God that King Lionus was sure to encounter once he reached the city with streets paved with gold. Damien stared straight ahead, barely discerning the monotonous lilt of the gray-haired priest’s voice.

He sat in the first pew,
Alexandra
seated on his left, Isabelle at his right. Esmeralda sat at Isabelle’s other side and Jarvis sat at the end. Damien’s severe black and gray dress matched his mood. His fury was black and building within him with each passing day. Nicolai had yet to be found, though the soldiers he had sent out had brought back some interesting news.

He had last been seen at Hensley Hall. By the time the soldiers reached the castle, Nicolai was gone. His father had been found lying face down in the garden fountain, a bottle of port clutched in his icy hand. The man had been in his cups ever since the death of his wife and an accident was possible, perhaps even inevitable. Damien suspected foul play. He had come to believe now, more than ever, that Nicolai was killing off members of their family one by one.

Damien knew that Nicolai thought Serge to be dead and wanted to keep it that way. If his half-brother thought that the only person who stood between him and the throne was Damien, he would come directly to him. Damien would not be caught unaware. Even now
,
he felt the cold steel of a pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers and knew that Jarvis carried one as well.

Damien’s eyes fell to the gilded casket, still open to display the lifeless body of his brother. He could not even summon the tears to cry for his brother or his father any longer. He had spilled the last of them on the front steps of the palace. Since then, all he had been able to feel was a black malice, one that had planted itself within him like a seed and now grew to the farthest reaches of his body.

She slipped her hand through his. Her other hand was held by Isabelle, who seemed to be holding on for dear life.

Isabelle’s
head was bowed, a black lace mantilla covering the pale blonde hair pulled back into a severe knot. She wore black bombazine, black boots, and black lace gloves. Her face was drained of all color, and was a startling contrast against the severity of her mourning attire. Her eyes were red-rimmed and so filled with sorrow that
Damien’s
heart broke just gazing upon her.

Damien watched as Lionus’ coffin was closed and lifted. Soon they would follow the box out into the swirling snow to the royal cemetery at Largess Hall. He would stand in the bitter cold and watch them lower his brother into a dark hole in the ground. Beside Lionus’ freshly dug grave would lay his father’s. Damien determined with every ounce of his will, that this grave would be the last to be dug for years to come.

He would will Serge to live and take his rightful place on the throne. Nicolai would pay for what he had done and Damien would marry Esmeralda. He refused to allow it to happen any other way.

He looked over at his mother, who sobbed softly into the handkerchief he had offered her.
Damien
had tried to muster even one ounce of sympathy for the woman, but found that he could not. He knew that Alexandra had never held any love in her heart for Adare, yet had loved their first-born son. He wondered sadly if she would be so affected if it were Serge lying in that coffin instead of Lionus. 

Later that evening, when the palace had grown quiet, Damien encountered Alexandra coming from the kitchen. Damien was surprised to find her there, holding a pot of tea and a china cup, a long, dark braid hanging over one shoulder. In her prim white nightgown and matching wrapper
,
she appeared much younger and softer than Damien had ever seen her.

She stopped abruptly when she saw him, pausing in the doorway of the kitchen to study him intently.
Alexandra
seemed to struggle internally for a moment before
speaking.

“I have been meaning to speak with you,” she began, clutching the porcelain teapot tightly in her hands. “I had hoped to find you alone and I suppose now is as good a time as any.”

Damien folded his arms across his chest and gave her a slight nod. He would hear what she had to say, in hopes that she would leave him to return to Esmeralda, who he’d left waiting in his chambers.

“Lionus is dead,” she rushed on. Damien discerned a slight faltering in her voice, but Alexandra pressed on. “Serge is not at all improved. Doctor Keane has said that he is in a coma. He does not believe that he will ever wake up.” She paused for a moment and watched Damien intently. Her scrutiny made him uncomfortable, and he shifted slightly under her gaze.

Alexandra continued. “Because your brother’s condition is so uncertain, I believe that it is time for us to consider your succession.”
             

Damien shook his head vehemently, his eyes glittering dangerously. “No,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “We will not have this conversation right now.”

“When
would be a good time then? When
Serge is already lying cold and dead in the ground?” Alexandra’s sliced through him ruthlessly and Damien closed the distance between them, his fingers itching to reach out and throttle her. He clenched them behind his back instead.

“Serge is not dead!” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I wonder, mother, if you would cry any tears for him as you did your beloved Lionus.”

Alexandra lifted her chin regally and stabbed Damien with her cold blue eyes. “You always were a romantic, a dreamer like your father,” she said. “But you cannot go on dreaming forever. Do you honestly think I want to be having this talk with you? That I would not rather be content in the knowledge that Lionus and Isabelle will rule Cardenas and Barony well, as they were born to do? Well I tell you now that I wish none of this had ever happened, but we have to face the facts. Serge may die at any moment and you must be prepared to take the throne.”