The Impaled Bride

by Rhiannon Frater

  “How?” Soffia exclaims, her eyes darting about our surroundings. Turning about, she looks back toward the castle and the town. “I have never seen such magic!”

  “She is the Archwitch,” Henrietta says with a grin.

  “Well done, Ágota. Now we must deal with our enemies,” Balázs says to his daughter.

  With a nod, Ágota swivels about to face the camp. Fingers flexing at her side, she draws in a deep breath. “Summon the elements!”

  “I call forth the earth,” Balázs intones, and the ground rumbles beneath his feet. Sharp spikes of stone rise up to encircle him.

  “I call forth fire!” The snow sizzles as a ring of fire forms around Soffia and the flames reflect in her eyes giving the impression that another inferno burns within her.

  “I call forth water!” Henrietta sweeps her arms upward and a flurry of ice and snow spins around her.

  I swallow the hard knot forming in my throat. I am no witch. I am weakening the Archwitch in this vital moment. I am failing my sister and myself and guilt gnaws at my bones. Ágota gives me a sharp look over her shoulder so I will continue with our farce. “I call forth wind!”

  A gust of wind snatches me up and lifts me off the ground. Suspended in the air, I am startled by the sensation of being held aloft by great invisible wings.

  “Well done, Erjy!” my sister exclaims.

  I am surprised to see the pride in her gaze. Certainly, she is the one who is hanging me on the winds by an invisible thread? I could not possibly be doing this on my own.

  There is no time to ponder my question for we have drawn the attention of our enemy. What a sight we must be up on the hillside! Rough-looking men in long tunics over battered armor emerge from the tents. The few horses with them snort and paw at the ground, unsettled by the magic swelling in the air. “Ágota, do not draw this out,” Balázs says, his voice sounding like an earthquake. “Do not give them a chance to attack. No survivors.”

  “What about the horses?” I ask worriedly.

  “Do it, Ágota,” Soffia hisses, smoke unfurling from her lips. “Slay our enemies! It is your duty!”

  “You can do this!” Henrietta’s small snow storm obscures her face, but she sounds encouraging and not afraid.

  I cannot see my sister’s expression, but there is tension in the set of her shoulders. Long dark hair whipping about her, she lowers her head. “I have never killed mortals before.”

  “There is always a first time,” Soffia retorts.

  “You wield death in defense of your people. There is no shame in that.” Balázs’s words of comfort are punctuated by more spikes of stone rising at his feet. “Without a Battlewitch, the duty is yours.”

  One man steps forward, the captain I assume, and draws his sword. He stares at us without an expression on his long, narrow face. The soldiers behind him also draw their weapons despite their fear. A few do not move from where they stand, transfixed by the sight of the witches.

  “Do not be afraid. It is a trick! Balázs is known for his illusions on the battlefield!” the captain of the king’s army shouts. “Kill them!”

  The mortals lift their shields and raise their swords, preparing to attack. The captain gestures with his arm and archers unleash a barrage of arrows. My sister holds out her arms and magic rushes out of me in a great wave. I gasp as the four elements pour into Ágota. Fire and snow swirl around her form while the earth rises up before her as a shield. The arrows slam into the stone barrier, bursting into splinters of wood.

  Flicking one hand, Ágota sends shards of ice flying through the air at our enemies. The soldiers lift their shields, and the ice daggers burrow deep into the metal. A few men are too slow and fall dead to the ground. Blooms of red blood spread across the snow. Another wave of Ágota’s hand and orbs of fire rain down on the tents, setting them aflame. Men scream in terror as they burn, thrashing around on the frozen ground, attempting to quench the flames.

  Ágota lets out a small gasp. Throwing a stricken look over her shoulder at me and her father, she whispers, “Can I stop now?”

  Balázs shakes his head. “Finish it, Ágota.”

  A quick thrust of both her hands results in all the living soldiers rising into the air. Ágota holds them aloft, her body trembling. The magic continues to pour through me and into her. I am awed that she can absorb so much and use it to her will. Though I have always known she was powerful, her magic is breathtaking.

  Cheeks wet with tears, Ágota turns to face us again. Behind her, the men flail, their bodies twisting about as they attempt to return to the ground. Screams of terror fill the air as the men continue to ascend past the treetops. Below them the camp burns, spewing forth black smoke to smear the winter sky.

  “I do this for you,” Ágota whispers.

  I realize she is speaking to me.

  With a sharp movement, she clasps her hands together, and lightning crackles around her. The men slam into one another, forming a ball of human bodies which is then smashed into the ground. The earth roils and churns, dragging down everything, the dead, dying, and still living, consuming the entire camp in seconds.

  Only the horses remain.

  I blink and we are in the center of the circle in the castle great hall again. My feet are on the stone floor and the reek of burning flesh is gone. Ágota stands in the center of the coven for a few seconds before her eyes roll back revealing the whites of her eyes and she collapses to the floor. Balázs surges forward, raising his hands to ward off the people attempting to come to her aide.

  “Let us properly close the circle,” he commands.

  The coven obeys.

  “Release the power,” he intones.

  The witches bow their heads.

  “Open the circle,” he continues.

  The witches take a step back, breaking physical contact with the person next to them.

  “Go forth in peace,” he finishes.

  The witches move apart, but only long enough for the power of the circle to dissipate. They flow as one toward us.

  Fülöp grips Soffia’s arm. “What happened?”

  “She is the Archwitch! I have never seen such power! She smote them all! She wielded all four elements and did not falter. Only after the enemy was destroyed did she release the magic and fall into a stupor.” Soffia’s words surprise me, for she is obviously elated, her true young face glowing with joy.

  As she explains what happened to the curious coven, Balázs collects Ágota from the floor. Holding her like he would a child, he hurries from the great hall. I follow close behind.

  “Is she hurt?” I ask agitatedly. Anger still burns in my chest against him for forcing my sister into battle.

  “Spent,” Balázs answers. “We did not grant her enough time to prepare for battle and she overexerted herself. She will be fine after she rests.”

  “She spared the horses,” I blurt out. “You cannot leave them out there.”

  “I will have someone claim them,” Balázs assures me before hesitating at the bottom step of a stairwell. “Did it upset you, Erjy? To see all those men die?”

  I lower my eyes and lie. “Yes.”

  “It had to be done, you understand.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  When we arrive in the bedroom I share with Ágota, Balázs lays her on the bed. “Stay with her. I need to return to the coven. Once they hear the full story of Ágota’s victory from Soffia, there will be much discussion.”

  “She proved herself,” I say defensively.

  “Yes, she did. It will change for the better now. I am certain.” Balázs kisses my forehead. “Stay here with her. I will come when I can.”

  I obey the big man and nestle down in the covers next to Ágota. I stare at her face and notice she looks thinner and older than before the battle. I rest my hand against her cheek, stroking it with my fingers.

  “Do not have nightmares,” I whisper. “You did what is right. I know it was not easy for you.”

  Ágota mutters in her s
leep.

  I lean forward to hear what she is saying.

  “...so much blood...”

  Rolling over, she burrows under the bedcovers.

  I fall asleep at her side and awaken to see Soffia standing over the bed. I am shocked to see the affectionate manner in which she regards my slumbering sister. A thick quilt embroidered with the flaming tree emblem is tucked around Ágota and it was not there before we fell asleep.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand.

  “I came to give her a gift, but I see she is still sleeping.”

  “Leave!”

  “Come now, Erzsébet. The past must be forgiven for I have repented in the presence of the coven. I will swear my allegiance to the Archwitch when she awakens.”

  “You never believed she was an Archwitch before. You said she was a fraud.”

  “I believe now. After all that I saw and experienced, I believe.” Soffia sits on the edge of our bed and gives me a sweet smile. “I see the truth now. Ágota will elevate us above the mortals of this world. She will slay our enemies and force them to bow at our feet. She will give birth to more Archwitches and we will claim this world as ours.”

  I do not like this proclamation. I saw the pain in Ágota’s eyes when she slew our enemies. Killing is my gift, not hers.

  “You cannot use her to take over this world,” I protest. “That is not her role. She is a protector.”

  Soffia shakes her head, her laughter mocking. “Once she understands exactly how to use her power in battle, she will be a conqueror.”

  “Is this what Balázs wants?”

  With a snort, Soffia regards me coldly. “He is weak and does not understand what must happen next. I know you are fond of him, but if you rise to the position of Archwitch like your sister, you will understand what a fool he is.”

  I draw my dagger and swipe the blade across Soffia’s throat in one swift motion. Blood soaks the quilt and sprays across my face. Shocked, she grips her neck, her eyes wide with shock. Pushing her off the bed, I climb over my sister to stand over the blonde witch. Her fingers start to move, forming a healing spell. I step onto her palm to stop her. I will not let her hurt my sister. I watch her die with satisfaction and wait until I sense her soul leave her body before I begin to scream.

  My cries bring the guards into the room followed by Balázs. I watch him scrutinize every detail of the scene before him before he falls to his knees before me.

  “Why, Erjy?” he whispers.

  “She wanted to hurt Ágota.” Tears sparkle in my eyes, not out of remorse, but out of love for my sister. No one shall ever hurt her without feeling my vengeance.

  Balázs’s large hand closes over mine and I allow him to take the dagger from me. While his guards watch with uncertainty, he cleans the blade on his tunic before tucking it into the sheath on my belt. “Erjy, what you have done—”

  “I defended my sister against the one who tried to kill her before and came into this room to try once more. I have no regrets,” I tell him in a tight, fierce voice.

  “I have failed you both in this matter,” he whispers.

  “Sir?” A guard steps forward. “Should we take the girl to a cell?”

  “No, no. Soffia’s animosity against the Archwitch was well-known. Jealousy is a vile instigator of terrible deeds. Erzsébet defended her sister, our Archwitch. Let that be known.”

  I sit in the corner of the room for the next hour watching members of the coven take Soffia’s body, clean the floor, remove the soiled bedding, and tend to Ágota as she sleeps. Henrietta helps me clean my face and hands, but does not ask what happened. When I am finally dressed in my nightgown, I am left alone with Ágota and Balázs. Her father sits at her side, clutching her hand. I hang my dagger in its sheath on the hook near my wardrobe, my fingers tracing the rose on the hilt.

  “Erzsébet,” Balázs whispers, gesturing me to his side.

  I obey.

  “No more killing, please. It comes easily to you. I see that. And it does not frighten you. I saw that when Ágota killed the army. You have killed before, have you not?”

  “Yes. When a man wanted to hurt Ágota when she was under a dark spell, I stopped him.”

  Balázs nods. “I suspected as much.”

  “I will not let anyone hurt her. Not even you.”

  “You are angry with me for forcing Ágota to protect us.”

  “No, not anymore,” I answer.

  “Oh?” He regards me with curiosity.

  “You could try to use her to elevate yourself above humanity and rule the world, but you will not.”

  Balázs nods. “Soffia told you what she wanted.”

  “I may be young, but I am not foolish. If Ágota did not bow to her wishes, Soffia would have not relented. Eventually, Ágota would have had to kill most of the coven to silence their conspiracies.”

  “I will not make Ágota kill again, Erjy,” Balázs says soberly. “That is your gift.”

  “I am not a witch,” I say to him, confessing the truth. “Just a killer.”

  Balázs draws a dagger so rapidly I barely see the action before the blade is moving toward me.

  I gasp, my hand darting to my waist to find my dagger waiting for me. I pull it free from the sheath and deflect the descending blade. Balázs’s dagger vanishes in a sparkle of magic. An illusion.

  With a dark chuckle, he says, “Yes, you are a witch.”

  Breathing heavily, I stare at him in confusion. “I do not understand.”

  “You summoned your blade to your side. It was across the room.” He gestures toward the hook that is now empty. “You are a Battlewitch, Erzsébet. A rare and deadly being.”

  Tears stream down my cheeks as I sheath my dagger and fall into his arms. He holds me close as I cling to him, my fingers digging into the fur of his cloak. I understand myself and my purpose.

  “I will train you, Erzsébet. You will lead the witches in battle and Ágota will never have to kill again. I promise.”

  Pressing a kiss to his cheek, I say, “Thank you, Father.”

  When I open my eyes once more to the dank, gloom of the mausoleum, I cry out in pain. I miss Balázs and Ágota so desperately that I would sacrifice my soul to once more be at their sides.

  That terrible but glorious night was the first time in my short life that I understood my purpose in the world and welcomed it fully. Furthermore, I was not rejected by Balázs for my true nature but embraced with love. I was a foolish, naïve young girl and believed that, at last, I would find true contentment. Little did I know that killing Soffia was the beginning of my undoing and I would never properly fulfill my destiny.

  It was the death of Soffia that set in motion the events that would eventually force my sister to do what her father had promised me she would never have to do again. Ágota would kill again to save me.

  Chapter 15

  “Erzsébet,” a familiar and despised voice says, summoning me to wakefulness.

  I stir from the depths of my slumber. Pain greets me first, an old familiar companion in my hell. I pant in agony, gripping the stake piercing my body. Trembling, I struggle to subsume the extreme discomfort through strength of will.

  A touch on my forehead brings sweet relief as the pain drains away. A small sob of relief escapes my lips before I can quell it. I wish not to show emotion to the beast who has decided to visit me.

  “There. Much better now. No need to thank me, Erzsébet.”

  I tilt my head to see Lucifer standing over me.

  “None of that thrashing about during my visit. It is distracting and I want us to have a nice chat.” The devil’s finely-shaped mouth spreads into a charming smile.

  “If you are seeking new students for your school of the black arts, I am presently engaged.” I tap the iron stake with one long sharp fingernail before resting my hands beneath my bosom.

  Laughing, the blonde-haired creature with the face of a Roman god lightly brushes his fingers over my cheek. “Always defiant. Even he
re in this gruesome place. One of the many reasons I have always held you in the highest regard.”

  “You have a peculiar way of showing your respect. Murdering my mother. Conspiring against my sister. Attempting to accost me. Should I continue?”

  “You really do dwell too much on the past,” he sniffs, but he is delighted by my refusal to cower in fear. Like Vlad, he loves a conquest. “I am not here to discuss our sordid history together.”

  As always, the devil is outfitted as a fashionable gentleman of the times. Tonight he is clad in long white breeches, a bright blue waistcoat, and brocade vest. His top hat is black with a blue ribbon and it sits atop his golden curls at a jaunty angle. I am always struck by his beauty and charismatic presence whenever he ventures into my life. He is so far removed from the stories I was told during my childhood in the Black Forest that I have often wondered if he deliberately spread those tales to disguise his presence in the world. How foolish it seems now in the glow of his mesmerizing aura that I once thought of the devil as a squat goat-man with horns. The true face of the devil is beautiful beyond compare to lure his victims into compliance so he can steal their soul.

  “What terrible purpose drew you to my side?” I ask suspiciously.

  He smirks while leaning back against the edge of the bier. “I missed my old friend.”

  “We are not friends.”

  “You wound me! After all we have endured together!” He presses an elegant hand to his chest, pretending to be aggrieved by my words. It is difficult not to be beguiled by his charming persona, but cruelty lingers below the surface of his striking features.

  “Does Vlad know you are here?”

  Lucifer shrugs contemptuously. “Does it matter?”

  “He is a very jealous man, as you well know.”

  “Which makes this visit all the more wicked and dangerous, does it not?” Leaning forward, Lucifer adjusts my necklace about my throat, making sure the ruby and diamond pendants sit just right upon my collarbones.