I put my hand on the door handle, halfway expecting it to be locked. But it gave way easily enough, opening with a slow creak into a space dimly lit by several narrow casements. Like the steps leading to it, the place seemed clean enough, although it smelled faintly of dust and mildew.
Something about the stillness of the place made me want to hold my breath, to tiptoe through it. The furnishings were all covered in some sort of heavy green cloth, but the layout seemed similar to my own chambers—a front room with a divan and several tables, a bedchamber with a large canopied monstrosity and a few more small tables and chairs.
The main difference that I could see was a pair of large bookcases in the front room, built into the wall itself on either side of the hearth. Unlike the bookshelves in Theran’s rooms, these were sparsely populated, with only a few lonely volumes left on the lengths of polished oak. I wondered at that, for I would have thought all the books would be collected and brought to the lord of the castle’s chambers. Certainly they seemed too valuable to be left here, moldering. No doubt they were the source of the mildew smell.
Despite that, I found myself drawn to them. I moved closer to the shelf on the right and found nothing more ominous than a history of Farendon, along with a tome on the lives of the kings of the realm, and a geography of the continent.
“No wonder they were left here,” I murmured, as I replaced the geography—complete with mouse-eaten bindings—back on its shelf.
The left-hand shelf had a collection of slender volumes, and I found myself hoping that perhaps they were diaries. Surely something so personal would have been removed long ago, though. It turned out I was right, as the thin little books proved to be collections of poetry, and a single bound volume of Mardrake & Evlyn, a drama Lindell had once said was quite popular in the capital, although Lirinsholme hosted the traveling players who performed such things only once in my memory, and my parents had forbidden me to go.
Well, they weren’t here to forbid me now. I grasped the volume and pulled it from the shelf, intending to take it back with me so I could see for myself what was so scandalous about it.
But when I touched the binding, a sensation of such anguish, of such bleak despair, rose from it that I cried aloud and dropped the book. And as I did so, a small piece of paper folded over many times fell out from within its leaves.
Without thinking, I reached for it. As my fingers closed around the paper, more waves of agony seemed to rise from it to ripple up my arm. I gasped, but somehow I could not let go, and instead found myself opening the paper and reading its contents.
Just five words, repeated over and over, in letters so scrawling I had a hard time at first even making them out.
It has all turned black.
It has all turned black.
It has all turned black.
The cold seemed to hit me in a great crashing wave, as if I had been flung into the deepest snowbank in the garden. Then the paper fell from fingers too stiff to hold it, and it dropped onto the stone floor with a rustle like that of a dead leaf. I backed away, gasping, seeing my breath rise as great clouds of grey, an echo of the stormy skies outside.
I didn’t know then if the voice I heard came from without, or simply within my head.
Get out. Get out now!
No stopping to think. I turned on my heel and fled as if the dread wolves of legend had chased me from the chamber, pounding my way down the stairs until I was safely in the castle’s main corridor. Even then I didn’t pause, but ran toward the safety, however spurious, of my own chambers. Again, no one was around to question my mad dash through the castle, though the tray was gone when I did finally reach my suite. I flung myself inside and shut the door, then went to the hearth and sank down on the rug in front of it, trembling. I was sure I would never be warm again.
Little by little, though, the fire worked its magic, bringing the feeling back to my numb fingers, to my trembling legs. Just the cheerful crackle of the flames and the soft hiss of a log as it split apart seemed to guide me back to myself. I was back in my rooms. I was safe.
Or was I?
I got to my feet and unwrapped the scarf from my throat. With it gone, I seemed to breathe a little easier.
Had that all been a vision, some kind of waking dream? Perhaps, but I had never experienced such a thing before, and it all seemed too clear to me, unlike my dreams. Even the true ones had a bit of fuzziness around the edges. But everything in that desolate room had been all too real, from the chill air leaking around the badly sealed windows to the mouse-chewed edges of the book bindings. The scent of mildew seemed to rise in the air and I choked, fleeing to my bedchamber so I could pour myself some water from the pitcher that always sat at my bedside.
What did it mean, “it has all turned black”? Had one of my predecessors written those words, seized by some dark madness I couldn’t begin to comprehend?
To tell the truth, I could not understand any of it…and I somehow doubted illumination would come any time soon.
Chapter Thirteen
As much as I had looked forward to seeing Theran again, climbing the stairs to his chambers after my exertions of that afternoon seemed to take every last ounce of strength I possessed. At least I had changed out of my dusty garments and brushed my hair. I knew I looked presentable enough, even though I felt as if I’d been dragged behind a pack of wild horses for several miles.
Theran seemed to notice at once; almost as soon as I had stepped into his suite he asked, “Are you sure you’re feeling quite well?”
“Yes,” I said automatically, although that was far from the truth.
“Then let me fetch you some hot wine.”
That sounded good, for several reasons. I was chilled again, and I knew the warmth of the wine would help to dispel some of the icy sensations from my fingers and toes. Also, if I drank enough wine, perhaps I could forget that forlorn room, and the wave of black despair that had threatened to engulf me, although I knew it was not of my own making.
“Thank you,” I told Theran, since it seemed he expected some response.
He went from me and busied himself with pouring a good measure of wine into a goblet. I noticed he had already prepared a glass for himself; it sat on the low table in front of the divan. When he handed the wine to me, I took it gratefully and swallowed perhaps more at once than was wise. It was warmer than I had thought, too, and I gasped a little as it went down.
“Slower, perhaps,” he said. “There is plenty more.”
“I am sorry. It is just so very cold…”
Cold as night…cold as death...
I blinked, wondering where that had come from, and said hurriedly, “That is, I suppose I am still not quite used to how cold a stone castle can be. Our house in town is made of wood.”
“As is most of the town. Yes. I suppose it will take some getting used to. But you have a whole winter for that.”
“I suppose I do.”
He made no answer, but instead indicated the small chamber with its round dining table where we always took our meals together. I took my goblet and went to sit down.
In silence I watched as he ladled something that appeared to be venison stew onto my plate. What possessed me then, I could not say. Perhaps it was merely that I had collected yet another secret to keep from him, and the one evil seemed lesser than the other. I blurted out, “I found the graveyard.”
No reply, although I thought I saw a tremor go through the hand holding the ladle before he replaced it in the tureen that dominated the center of the table. Then, “I know.”
“You do? But Sar—”
“Yes, I suppose Sar told you that your secret was safe, and that I need never be told. I am the master here, Rhianne. Do you really believe I do not know when my wife goes afield and has to be fetched back by one of my servants?”
The words sounded calm enough, but I heard the flicker of anger along the edge of those smooth tones.
“I—I am sorry,” I faltered, and he lifted
a hand.
“Spare me your apologies. I have no need of them. It is unfortunate, I suppose, but you have a questing spirit, one that seeks answers. I would have been more surprised if you had not found it.”
Unsure of what to say, I spooned a portion of venison stew into my mouth, though I confess I barely tasted it. After I had swallowed, I said, “I did not seek it out, Theran. Truly.”
“I believe you. That doesn’t change the fact that it is dangerous for you to venture forth alone. There are boars and bears in the forest, as well as hidden gorges and ravines. You could have been hurt. You will not do such a thing again.”
“You—you care whether I am hurt?”
The hood shifted toward me. “Of course I care. I may be a monster, but I am not that much of one.”
“I don’t think you are a monster.”
He seemed unable to reply to that, instead using his own spoon to shift the food around on his plate. At length he said, “You might think differently, if you knew the truth.”
“What truth? The truth as you see it, or as I do? I came to you willingly enough this morning, did I not? Are those the actions of someone who believes her husband is a monster?”
“You were chilled—you did not know what you were doing.”
“I knew exactly what I was doing,” I said, and pushed back my chair. “And if you don’t believe me, come here, and I shall show you all over again.”
A chuckle, but even to me it sounded forced. “No need, Rhianne. Sit, and finish your dinner.”
Always blocked, always denied somehow. I was not sure exactly how he did it, except that of course he’d had many years of practice. Was I the first of his wives to speak in such a way, to invite the intimacies a husband and wife should share? Surely that couldn’t be true, and yet something in his manner seemed to speak of hesitancy, of not knowing the best way to respond to my sallies.
He was not the only one unsure of what to do next. I suppose it was foolish of me to believe he would drop everything and come and take me in his arms, and yet disappointment surged through me. Although my exertions of earlier in the day should have encouraged my appetite, I found myself pushing the food around on my plate in a listless manner that certainly would have earned me a rebuke if I had still been at home to receive it.
Not to say he didn’t notice; I felt rather than saw his eyes on me, but he made no comment. I did force a mouthful down from time to time, more because I knew he expected it than because I wished to.
After what felt like an interminable silence, I asked, “Who puts the flowers on their graves?”
“What?”
“When I was in the—the clearing. Some of the graves had flowers on them. Who puts them there? Sar?”
“I do.”
“You do?” Startled, I looked up from my plate at him, although of course I could see nothing but the low-dipping hood, the shadows where his face should be.
“You sound surprised.”
“I—well, that is—” I floundered, struggling for the correct thing to say, and had to settle for, “That is to say, I did not think you ventured out of the castle all that often.”
“I do…but not at a time of day when you would notice. I see very well in the dark.”
There being no good reply I could think of for that, I made some sort of noncommittal sound and drank a little more of my spiced wine. By then it was hardly more than lukewarm.
“They deserve some sort of remembrance,” he added, surprising me once more. I would have thought he’d let the subject go. “So few recall their names, or faces. It has been such a very long time.”
A long time, indeed. If what Theran had told me was true—and I had no reason to believe it was not—some of those young women had been sleeping in that quiet ground for almost five hundred years. No one spoke of the Brides once they were gone from Lirinsholme, and if their families grieved, they did so in secret.
As mine must be grieving now, I thought, and swallowed. It had been so easy to get caught up in my life here, in that oddly compelling portrait which was even now hidden in my chambers, in my interactions with Theran and my conflicted feelings for him. Here all was new and different, but in Lirinsholme, my family would be going about their normal round of life, and so noting my absence far more keenly. I could only hope that time would begin to smooth over the wound, even though it could never heal completely.
“It is very kind of you—” I began, but Theran waved a hand.
“It is the least I can do, considering.”
Considering what? I wanted to ask. Such avenues of questioning had been shut down before, and so I did not think I would have any more success this evening. Instead, I gave up picking at the food on my plate and stood, then moved toward the windows. Of course I could see nothing at this time of day, save the glint of a snowflake here and there as it touched the uneven panes of glass before melting quite away.
From the sound of wood scraping against stone, I could tell Theran had stood as well and come toward me, although he stopped a few paces away.
“What do you see?” he asked.
I didn’t reply at first, but only stared out into the blackness. Was this what that unknown Bride had seen so many years ago—unending dark, with no hope of light or relief? What else could have driven her to write those same words over and over again?
It has all gone black.
“I see nothing,” I said at length. “But I do feel a dreadful draft coming through your windows.” And I turned away and went to him, again pressing myself into his warmth, wrapping my arms around his waist.
This time he did not seem quite as startled. He allowed me to stay there for a moment, and I felt his arms settle about me, the drift of heavy wool as it covered me from shoulder to toe. So much more comfortable that way, and in here, in the warmer air, I could smell something sweet and aromatic in the fabric.
“You are a forward little thing, aren’t you?” he murmured, almost absently, as if he hadn’t intended to speak the words aloud.
“I’m not, really,” I remarked. “My sister Therella was the one who paid more attention than was seemly to young men. My mother quite scolded her for it. I suppose she might scold me for my behavior now, only since I am your wife, there is really nothing untoward about me coming to you like this.”
“Save that I am the Dragon of Black’s Keep.”
“Well, save that, of course.”
He actually laughed aloud, and I felt his breast move beneath my cheek as he did so. The arms encircling me tightened for a moment, but then he gently extricated himself from my embrace, holding me a handspan away from him, as if he wanted to see me more clearly.
“What is it that you want, Rhianne?”
That was a good question. I wanted to know what had happened to all his former wives…I wanted to know the source of the bottomless despair I’d felt when I read that pitiful scrap of paper…I wanted to sit down and talk all this over with Lilianth in real life, and not just in a dream. So many things I wanted, but I realized there was one thing I wanted more than all else. Something I could have that was real, and not just a memory from a dream.
“I want to kiss you,” I told him.
“You cannot.” The words were cold, implacable.
“Do you mean I cannot possibly want such a thing, or simply that you will not allow me to kiss you? You kissed me on our wedding day, if you will recall.”
“That was different.”
“True, in that I did not know you then, and did not welcome the kiss. But now it is some months later, and I know very well what I want.”
“You cannot possibly know what you are asking. You have no idea what would be kissing you back.”
A rough brush of skin, a mouth whose shape did not feel like any other mouth. These things I remembered clearly enough, and yet now they did not trouble me the way they had on that bright day back in Augeste, when I had feared I would die that same night. Now I knew that mouth belonged to someone who cared about
my safety, who had given me the gift of time enough to paint, who had tried, in his own rather prickly and difficult way, to make me feel as if I had a home here. And all that put together, and all the time I had spent in his company and listened to his voice and come to understand what a quick mind hid under that hood…all that and so much more had brought me to where I stood now.
“I have some idea,” I said stoutly. “The Dragon of Black’s Keep. I know you are as no other man. And I am glad of that, because I would want you no other way.”
He stood still, and I saw his gloved fingers knot themselves into the heavy wool of his robes, as if he were wrestling with himself, struggling for his next words. When he did speak, his tone was harsh.
“And is this some fancy you have conceived, that if you kiss the dread Dragon Lord, then the spell will be broken and the curse will fall away?”
I might not have put it in so many words, but perhaps somewhere in the back of my mind I had fostered a hope that such a thing would be true. After all, when one is already living a life that might have come out of a storybook, it is no great stretch to think such actions might be the only thing required to reverse some long-ago mage’s fearsome spell.
But to say such things aloud seemed a sure way to invite Theran’s ridicule, and so I said nothing, but only glanced away from him, as if doing so might shield me from any further comments on the subject. I should have known better.
“Let me disabuse you of that notion,” he went on. “Even in your tale of Alende and Allaire, Alende was doomed to his deformity for the rest of his life. In his case at least that life was mercifully short, no greater than the span of a normal man. I have not that grace. Neither will a single kiss—even when bestowed by such a lovely young woman—relieve me of this torment. Were it that simple, the curse would have been broken years ago.”
Each word seemed to be a death knell for the simple hope I had let bloom in my breast. And yet something in his words told me there was a solution…if only I could think of what it might be.
I lifted my chin so that I stared directly into his face—or at least where his face should be, could I but see it. “And what if I wanted to kiss you only because you are my husband, and I as your wife should have that right?”
Dragon Rose (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms) Page 18