The maid hesitated, her eyes flicking to the bed where the other servants were gathering around the dead body of their queen.
“Her mother should see her first,” the maid said timidly.
“Her mother is dead,” Ismena replied, surprised at the hitch in her tone at the word mother. She cleared her throat and glanced down to compose herself before raising her gaze and holding out her arms.
Wordlessly the maid handed the baby to her before rushing to the bed.
Ismena stared down at the baby in her arms, surprised to even be holding it. Her hands did not seem like her own so shortly after they committed such an atrocious deed. The baby was tiny, with a shock of black hair. She did not have splotchy skin like Roskva’s children had when they had been newly born. Instead, her skin was a lovely milky wight. Her lips which were slightly parted were red as a rose’s petal.
The baby sighed through her nose and Ismena felt her heart begin to soften. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to harden. She could not weaken to this hybrid creature, this unholy creation. This child was only partially human.
And in order to finally be rid of Dahlia’s curse, she needed to be rid of her. But with the servants already suspecting her of Dahlia’s death, she could not very well afford to poison the babe as well.
No, she needed to be rid of her another way.
As soon as the thought sprang to her mind, the distant clash of metal on metal reached her ears. Ismena lifted her head a smile forming across her lips. Ah, the perfect explanation. If a wight were to kill the young princess, then Stephan could never blame Ismena. He did not know that the wights were under her control.
Ismena threw her gaze to the door, willing the creatures to her. She did not fully understand just how far her reach over them went. If she could only control them when she spoke a direct order to them, but after her time in Mooraven, she had begun to suspect when the wights followed her every fancy without even having to speak out loud that they seemed to be controlled by her will.
A small hand knocked against her collar bone and she glanced down as the baby stretched. Her face scrunched in a yawn. Ismena stared down helplessly at the baby.
She could not believe herself. The creature that she held in her arms was just a baby. She had just killed the girl’s mother and now she contemplated the princess’s own demise. And yet as this thought surfaced, she didn’t move away. She needed to be strong, to complete what she had started
She wished that the princess had never existed. Oh, how much more simpler her life would be. Then she would not be faced with the task of killing her.
“I’m sorry,” Ismena whispered. She was so sorry, but she had to do what was best for her.
The young princess blinked her eyes open at the sound of her voice and the world around Ismena stilled. Those eyes, those beautiful blue, pure and perfect eyes. The young princess had her father’s eyes. She stared up at Ismena, her lips parting slightly.
In that gaze she saw hope, and love, and life. There was such potential.
Ismena clutched the babe to her chest and sank to her knees just as the door burst open and a wight raced in. Screams filled the air, but they did not reach Ismena. She stared down at the baby with the beautiful blue eyes and knew that she could not kill her. This baby was Dahlia’s, but she was equally Stephan’s.
The room around her grew harshly cold and she looked up to see the horrific form of one of the soldiers of Mooraven that she had turned into a wight. It raised its sword to strike the baby from her arms, but Ismena suddenly jolted to her feet, stumbling back. She clutched the baby so tightly that she began to cry.
“Stop,” she commanded, her tone hard. The wight froze and then lowered its weapon. It stood there, waiting its next command. Ismena returned its empty stare. She had nothing to give it. Dahlia was dead. But she feared that she would not be able to accomplish her mission because while her heart still beat she knew that she could not harm this child any more than she could harm Stephan.
That thought caused a thread of panic to shoot through her. But what if she had already harmed him beyond repair? She had attacked his castle and while she had instructed her wights to not harm him, there were many ways that a king could die in battle.
Spurred by the panic gripping her heart, Ismena hurried out of the room. The servants had left when the wight entered, leaving Dahlia lying there defenseless. Ismena yanked her eyes from the unnatural image of the queen, beautiful even in death. But this beauty was an ethereal type. It was not natural, just as her life had never been.
She kept a hold of the baby, not knowing what to do with her. The wight followed her, still waiting for a command.
She picked her way over the bodies littering the halls, her wights had slaughtered the guards of Havenkeep. They had not stood a chance against the immortal soldiers she had created.
Shouts and the clatter of weapons filled the air, growing louder the further she walked, but she did not come across a single living guard. Finally she found the scene of battle in the entrance way of the grand hall.
Her eyes immediately landed on Stephan. He stood so tall and strong as he fought a Mooraven soldier who was nothing more than a boy, barely past his second decade. Stephan’s dark lock’s shone with a glimmer of sweat and as Ismena watched, she realized that he was only using one arm. The other was hanging limply at his side, drenched in blood.
Even as she noticed this, the young guard knocked, Stephan’s blade from his arm. He swung back for the finishing blow as Stephan tottered on his feet, not even seeming to care about living.
Her heart clattered to a stop in her chest as the guard cried out, “Long live king Morren!”
“No,” Ismena whispered and with that word, the wight raced forward, its sword slicing through the young soldier’s throat and ending his life before she even had a chance to blink. As his body fell to the ground, Ismena knew with a certainty that she could not keep her bargain. Even if the guard had been acting against Morren’s orders, she could not keep this going. She had already robbed Stephan of his queen; did she truly need to take his kingdom as well? There was only so much pain she could cause on the man she loved, no matter how much pain he had brought on her.
Ismena shook her head at herself. She already knew the answer as she adjusted her hold on the baby. Stephan was not just the prize when she could have Havenkeep as well.
Morren did not need to win this night for her to get what she needed.
Her eyes flicked to Stephan as he stumbled away from the dead guard and the wight, his eyes wide a trickle of blood running down his pale, gaunt cheek.
She would be queen of Havenkeep. But she would not be queen by conquering it. With that one thought, the wights turned from the massacred armies of Havenkeep and plunged their swords through the sons of Mooraven.
Chapter
Eight
The battle ended soon after that. No living soul from Mooraven remained within the walls, not after she had turned the wights against them. She rubbed at her temple, the light of the sconces glistening off of the blood all around her. A headache pounded against her temples in the pulsating rhythm of one terrifying question. What had she done?
She pressed her eyes shut, trying to blot out the image of the bloodshed, the lifeless bodies. Soldiers searched their comrade's fallen forms, looking for anyone left alive. How had she caused this much loss of life and all for what? So that she could kill Dahlia, steal her beauty, and never have Stephan be the wiser?
Even though the bittersweet taste of the switching potion still lingered on her tongue, she didn’t feel any more beautiful.
A strangled cry drew her attention and Ismena looked down to see that she held the baby in her arms. Incredulously she shook her weary head. Had she truly been carrying this baby around the whole time?
The little princess stretched her arms high above her head and began to wail.
“Oh, shush, shush,” Ismena said, turning away from the bloodied hall, her attenti
on on the baby which she bounced in her arms.
The baby quieted at her words and blinked up at her, those brilliant blue eyes glassy with tears.
“It’s all over,” Ismena said with a smile as she traced her finger across the baby’s cheek. She would have to have a heart of ice and stone in order to not admit that the baby was enchantingly beautiful. “It’s all over, you’re safe now.”
Tucking the baby back to her chest, Ismena strode down the halls in search of Stephan. The man who had started all this. The man she had done this for.
She had allowed the shock of the carnage to draw her away from the true purpose of her plans.
After searching almost the entire castle, she finally found him in the last place she wanted him to be. But it was where she’d known he would be all along.
He was kneeling next to Dahlia’s bed, clutching her hand. He did not stir as she stepped in. It did not look like he ever intended to move.
“Stephan?” Ismena asked softly, almost afraid that she had somehow killed the one person who meant the most to her, in her attempt to have him for herself.
Finally he stirred, turning to see her.
“Oh, Ismena,” he said, his shoulders slumping. “I am so glad to see that you are alive.”
She strode forward and he turned his attention back to the dead queen lying on the bed.
“I can’t believe that she’s gone,” he whispered hoarsely. His face was gaunt, his complexion almost grey causing the red lining his eyes to stand out even more starkly. Blood dripped from his wounded arm, splattering on the stone floor. “Just earlier today we were so excited for the future, for me to learn that the future holds only death.”
“I did everything that I could,” she lied, surprised that she did not drop dead from her heart rotting from her chest.
Stephan nodded once, as he closed his eyes, two tears slipped out on either cheek. Ismena’s soul shattered and she dropped to her knees beside him. She reached up and wiped away his tear. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Stephan tried to smile as he reached up, clasping her fingers. “It’s not your fault,” he said, not even realizing that he was lying. A terrible fire took over those beautiful blue eyes, causing them to burn bright with a frightening fervor. “Morren will pay for this.”
Ismena’s breath stalled in her throat as she thought of the ally which she betrayed. The bond of pain she had broken. It seemed that she was incapable of doing anything but causing pain. She spread destruction in her wake.
She must have squeezed the baby too tightly because she began crying again.
Stephan looked down in surprise, his eyes widening when the landed on the princess. “Is- is that…?” he stuttered.
Ismena smiled. Seeing the joy wash across his grief made it completely worth it for her to not have killed the baby. After all, what could a little baby do?
She held the princess out to Stephan, who accepted her with trembling hands. “Meet your daughter, Stephan.”
He sank against the bed with a laugh and buried his face in her small shoulder. Ismena smiled as she watched them, but that smile slid from her face when his shoulders began to shake. A ragged sob rent the air and she jolted to her feet.
“I’ll… be in my room,” she said shakily. Then she turned and fled from all the pain she had caused.
Chapter
Nine
She considered never leaving her rooms. To rot there like her already twisted heart had already decomposed in her chest. But that was the coward’s way. She had done everything to make this right, now she could not very well give up before she accomplished her goal.
So as the soft glow of dawn filtered through her window, Ismena got out of bed and pulled on a dress. Even though she studied herself in the mirror for long moments, she could not spot any difference. She looked like herself. Perhaps, she looked more like the self she had been before her heart was destroyed, but she was no more beautiful.
She reached for her Nytheran mirror to ask her question before she remembered that she no longer possessed it. She squeezed her fingers into a fist, feeling as if her flesh had been torn away to reveal the rotting layers underneath. She was naked and defenseless without her mirror.
She shook her head. She had decided when she gave it up that her mirror did not matter so long as she had Stephan.
Ismena nervously ran her hands across the front of her dress. It was time to go confront the demons that she had created, and find some way to master them.
She strode out of the door and down the hall. She checked first the queen’s old rooms in her search for Stephan, but found it empty save for somber maids, changing the linens on the bed.
With a frown, Ismena continued down the hall, stopping a nearby servant to ask where the princess’s chambers were. The servant quickly replied, too busy mopping a crimson stain from the floor to pay her much heed.
Ismena nodded and hurried down the hall. As she came to the princess’s chambers, she saw that she was in the right place. The door was slightly ajar and through the crack she could see Stephan standing there over the crib, looking in.
She pushed the door open and stepped up to his side, cocking her head, trying to ascertain if he was all right. She knew that he wouldn’t be, but she desperately wished he would be. To prove that his bond with Dahlia had not been as true as he’d thought. To prove that she was not as wicked as she thought.
“I named her Elisabeth, after my mother,” he said, staring into the cradle.
Ismena nodded, just thankful that the little princess was not named after her own mother.
Stephan tore his gaze from the sleeping infant and turned to Ismena. He smiled. It was a soft smile, broken but mending. And it was all hers. “I would have thought that you’d have left by now.”
“Clearly I did not,” she said, trying to temper her own smile and nerves. Now was hardly the moment to rejoice at all even though that was precisely what she wanted to do now that she was once again in the presence of her Stephan.
He offered her his arm and when she accepted, he led her from the chamber, shutting the door softly behind him. “I assume that you will be leaving soon though.”
Ismena startled and turned to him, her mouth slightly hanging open. Surely he did not expect her to leave now, after everything that had happened. He must misjudge the strength of her affection for him.
“I apologize,” Stephan said with a shake of his head. “How horrible this must have all been for you. You came to celebrate a birth but what you got instead was to witness a death of a queen and the beginning of a war.”
What Stephan did not know— what Stephan could never know was that she had not come to celebrate a birth. She had come to kill a queen and start a war.
Stephan shook his head. Lines framed his eyes and his broad shoulders stooped as if they were forced to bear a heavy weight. He had aged in one night. “I don’t know what this war will entail, but Mooraven and Havenkeep have not openly fought against each other in hundreds of years. Blood will fall like rain, and when this is all over I’m not even sure who will be the victor, but what else can I do? Morren attacked my castle, leading to the death of my queen, he must pay for his crimes.”
Ismena swallowed hard. He did not know who created those creatures, or who truly killed the queen. And he never would. “Perhaps the war would move more swiftly if Havenkeep had an ally.”
Stephan startled and pulled away. “I could not ask that of you. Or of your people. This is not your war.”
Ismena lifted her chin, forcing a smile, despite the guilt swirling in her chest. “Morren attacked Havenkeep while the queen of Alain was in residence. It could be my war if I chose to make it so.”
“You don’t know what you are saying. This war will cost us all dearly.”
She stepped toward him, wanting to reach for him. To wrap him in her arms, to touch his face. She kept her fists locked at her side. “Not if we fight it together.”
He smiled faintly. “You a
re too good to me, Ismena. Even after what I did...” he trailed off, choked on his own words and glanced away. When he looked back up, the sadness was a swirling choking presence all its own. Her heart lurched. In that moment, she would have done anything to banish that sadness, even if it meant bringing the blasted queen of Havenkeep back from the grave. Fortunately for her, such a feat was impossible or else she would have ruined everything right then and there.
She rested her hand on his arm. “Think nothing of it.”
He rested his hand over hers, trapping it against his arm. “You have somehow always been there for me, exactly when I need it.”
Ismena smiled. Any words she wished to say clogging in her throat. She stood there, choking on her lies because she was not there for him, she was there for herself.
Before she could think of the wisdom of her actions, she stood on the tips of her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth. Stephan froze under her lips, neither leaning into her or pulling away.
“I still love you, Stephan,” she breathed against his skin. A whisper, a confession, a promise. To both him and her. She couldn’t meet his eyes as she pulled away. “I fear that I always will.”
With that last confession said, she stepped away. Her hand slipped easily from his grasp. She quickly turned, to hide the tears that she blinked away as she lifted her skirts and ran down the hall.
Oh what a fool she had been, to love a phantom of what might have been. And now she had probably ruined forever what will be.
“Ismena, wait!”
She slowed to a stop and turned around as Stephan rushed down the hall after her.
He drew to a halt, looking her over before running his hand over his face. “Havenkeep is without a queen and on the verge of a war. Alain could be a powerful ally, especially if we could form a stronger bond between our two kingdoms.”
“Yes?” Ismena asked, unable to contain her brilliant smile. Her heart leaped and danced, beating as if nothing had ever changed. As if it had not been destroyed and its ashes to rot.
A Winter Grim and Lonely Page 5