Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  “I’ll make inquiries first thing tomorrow,” Menders put his arm around her waist. “You’re right, my dear.”

  “I believe you are,” Franz agreed. “Even if her hair comes in again right away, it will be a distraction. It would be far more cosmetic until she has a full head of hair again.”

  “How soon will we know about her hair?” Menders asked.

  “When her condition improves,” Franz answered.

  Menders felt his heart sink. It would be a long time before Katrin’s condition improved appreciably. There would be no miraculous rapid regrowth of Katrin’s beautiful hair.

  ***

  Darling Luntigré,

  There is no easy way to put this so I’ll just bungle along in my usual way.

  I’ve been thinking a great deal since Katrin’s hair came out. I thought my mind had recovered after what happened to her at the Palace, but my reaction when her hair came out showed me that it has not. I’m sure you knew it, with me prowling and pacing around whenever I visited you.

  You asked me once how things stood with Katrin and me and I told you the truth. I don’t know if she’s the great love but I’ve always loved her.

  I’m torn. I’m desperate to protect Katrin, to help her and take care of her. She’s so sick. She needs my help. I want to take her far away where the Queen can never get to her again. I love her.

  I love you. You make life beautiful and calm. I love Flori as my own daughter. When we’re together, I’m so very happy.

  I’m not asking you to decide for me, but I want to know your thoughts.

  And yes, you bring me joy and I believe you always will. And Katrin does as well, but it’s an entirely different and far more difficult joy.

  Hem

  Dearest Hemmett,

  I have known for some time that you are torn between your life with your family and your life here with me. I also know that since Katrin was tortured, she needs you. She draws strength from you.

  I do not know if Katrin is your great love, but I know that I am not. We have a wonderful love together but I have had a great love and I know what it is.

  If you find you have that great love with Katrin, I believe I would not disappear from your life. I know how you love Flori and I wouldn’t want her to lose you. I would not want to lose you. But things would change. This might not be a bad thing, because I believe guilt – about Katrin and about me and about Flori – is adding to your illness of the mind.

  Do not feel guilty over me. I have my life and my family here and I believe I will remain friends with your family whether we are lovers or friends. Is this not so?

  You will not lose us if you decide things will change. You are always welcome here, darling Hemmett, as a lover or a friend. Never fear.

  Your loving Luntigré

  ***

  Katrin walked slowly across the Rose Garden and eased herself down on a bench, sighing a little as she took the weight off her shaky and unsteady legs.

  A little farther each day, she thought. Two weeks ago you couldn’t have crawled out here, so don’t get despondent and decide to give up.

  Even though the sun was shining directly on her and it was a lovely warm summer day, she shivered a bit. She was thankful that her dress, made by Borsen to fit her much thinner figure, had long sleeves. Not only did they keep her warm now that her body seemed to be unable to, but they also covered the still-suppurating wounds on her arms – and kept her from smelling them as well.

  She was drawn to anything fragrant – roses, lemon soap, scents that drowned the odor of her own infected body. Katrin had always kept very clean. Knowing her infected wounds smelled caused her more distress than almost anything – except for the nightmares of the sharp rods being driven deep into her body, of her hair coming out by the handful.

  Her wounds were drained and washed innumerable times a day, but she still stank. There was no other word for it. It sickened her and she knew others could smell it too. It was embarrassing and humiliating. Often when someone stopped by her room to visit, she pretended to be asleep, because she couldn’t bear to see their determined cheerfulness in the face of the reek of pus and blood.

  Franz kept assuring her that she was improving. Some of her wounds had finally healed completely, filling with healthy tissue. She didn’t vomit very often now and the fevers had dropped. There was no sign of her hair regrowing yet, but Franz said it could take quite a lot of time, not to be discouraged.

  She had her wigs now. They looked natural because they were beautifully made, but she was always aware of them against her bare scalp. That was better than unexpectedly catching sight of her bald head in a mirror, or trying to hide the fact that she had no hair by having a scarf wrapped ineffectually around her head. She also didn’t want to see how she had lost her looks, the gauntness, the shadowed eyes and pallid skin.

  She was thankful she and Willem had finally called a halt to their on-again, off-again affair some time before she’d been ordered to the Palace. He was presently in Surytam, sniffing out some information for Kaymar. He wrote faithfully, but as a friend. She was glad he couldn’t see her now and that she didn’t have to try to be cheerful for him.

  Enough, Katrin thought. This is being morbid and gloomy! That makes you worse and you know it. You’re lucky to be alive and not crippled. Chances are once you get over this infection you’ll look much better and your hair will grow back. All the doctors Franz has called in for consultation have said so. Don’t concentrate on all that, concentrate on getting well.

  She looked determinedly at the blooming roses. After a while, she felt the hunch go from her shoulders as her tense muscles relaxed. The sun was warm and Katrin breathed more easily. She closed her eyes and listened as Menders had taught her when she was small.

  She began to hear the birds singing and in the distance, at Kindness Farm, cows lowing gently. Then she heard movement, someone walking across grass.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw Hemmett coming toward her across the lawn, his face purposeful, his stride determined. She tried to get up, but knew she could never get back to the house in time.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want to see him looking – and smelling – like this. Not after the weeks where he’d been desperate and half-mad about what had been done to her or how he’d howled in despair when her hair came out. He didn’t need to see her sick and shaking. It was better if he visited her while she was in bed, with her skeletal body covered and her stinking wounds hidden.

  It was too late, he was already there. He smiled, giving no indication that he could smell her. Maybe between the roses and the breeze he couldn’t.

  “Hello Willow,” he said, bending and kissing her cheek. Then, to her amazement, he went down on one knee before her. She saw at that moment that he wasn’t wearing Luntigré’s ring.

  No, she thought. No, please, don’t do this. Don’t do this to either of us. Don’t do this to Luntigré.

  “Katrin, there’s no point in my pretending things are different any longer,” he said, his words obviously chosen carefully. “I love you. I’ve tried for years to convince myself that it’s all brotherly or between friends, but it is more. Marry me, Katrin. I’ll take care of you. No-one will ever hurt you again.” He reached out and took her hand, cradling it between his own. “Please Katrin.”

  For one mad moment, Katrin felt part of her mind urging her to accept him, to sink back in the softness of capitulation, to give her life over to him, to let him protect her forever and keep her safe. She closed her eyes.

  They came. The Queens. An insistent whisper, not harsh, but intending to be heard.

  “No. Not this man. This man is more than a lover, more than a brother. He is your other self. No. No. No!”

  The voices came in overlapping surges, like waves on sand. Then harsh reality shrieked in Katrin’s face.

  She couldn’t marry him, even if she wanted to. It would be certain death for him, gods knew what horror for her.
Even if they ran away to another country, there would be the endless fear of pursuit, a price on their heads, no moment of peace for the rest of their lives.

  And she didn’t want to marry him. She didn’t want to marry anyone. She loved Hemmett. He’d always been there, her friend and brother, someone she could confide in, someone she could laugh with. Even more – it was as if he was part of herself. He had been wonderful since he’d come to his senses after what had been done to her. He’d visited her every single day and kept her occupied and laughing in spite of the pain and illness.

  But marriage and all it entailed? No. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t let him have her body, because she did not and could not ever love him that way. Making love to Hemmett was as impossible in her mind as making love to Menders would be – impossible, abominable. Even though Hemmett was beautiful and would be a considerate and sensitive lover, she could not even picture it in her mind.

  And she was so sick now, constantly in pain from the internal infections caused by her wounds. The idea of letting a man, any man, make love to her was terrifying. She only wanted to be warm, to rest, to let her body heal. It had taken her a year to get this far. How long would it be before she would be able to be with a man again – if ever?

  Above all, she knew her bald head repelled Hemmett. Every time he happened to see it, he blanched involuntarily. He tried to cover his dismay with big smiles and cheerfulness but she could feel his revulsion. What if her hair never really grew back? How could she go through life married to someone who shuddered when he saw her bald head? It would be a continual reminder to Hemmett of what he believed was his failure to protect and care for her.

  “We could go to Surelia,” Hemmett continued, hope in his voice, as if he thought her silence meant she was tempted to accept him. “Or Samorsa, hells, even further if you want. We could inform the Palace that you died of your wounds and say you’ve already been buried. They won’t look for you. You know Menders can arrange anything.

  “Please, Willow, please marry me.”

  The tears Katrin was fighting began flowing. She was too weak to stop them. Hemmett’s hands tensed around hers. He was not mistaking her weeping for tears of joy.

  “I can’t! I can’t marry you because I can’t love you that way!” she gasped. “We would never be safe or free. I could never be a wife to you, much as I love you, because you’re my brother. I couldn’t marry you any more than I could marry Menders because he’s my father!”

  All the tears Katrin had held back through the Ritual of Suspension, through the weeks of agony that followed, the months of illness and weakness, when her hair had come out that terrible afternoon – they were flowing now, running unchecked down her cheeks. She could no more have stopped them than she could have stopped the wind from blowing.

  But Hemmett, his poor face white and bleak, his heart obviously breaking! And his mind, which had been made unstable by the shock of her ordeal and his guilt about it – what would this do to him?

  Katrin almost took back the words, almost said she would marry him, almost asked him to forgive what she’d said and take her for his wife. Anything to make him happy and well in his mind again.

  “No. No. No. You must not weaken. You must hold fast. He is your other self, No. No!”

  The Queens’ voices swelled again.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry my dear. I’m sorry Bumpy!” she gasped.

  “No more,” he whispered, patting her hands and putting them back in her lap. “I’m sorry too, Willow. I had thought… I was wrong.” He rose quickly, walking away without another word, disappearing into the woods.

  Katrin tried to stand, wanting to get back into the house, to her room, to her bed where she could sleep and rest and be warm. Her legs failed her. She sank back onto the bench again. She leaned forward with her head on her knees and wept.

  ***

  Menders jumped in his chair as Villison burst into his office.

  “You’d best get out into the Rose Garden to the Princess,” he said abruptly, his breath coming short. He’d been on sentry duty on the roof and had obviously run all the way down.

  “What is it? Why didn’t you go to her yourself?” Menders barked, rising so quickly that his chair overturned.

  “She’s not hurt, not physical. Hemmett just went and asked her to marry him and she’s refused him,” Villison panted. “She’s out there alone, he’s gone off and she’s beside herself crying. She don’t need me, she needs you!”

  Menders ran. As he burst out of the house, he saw Kaymar also racing into the Rose Garden and waved him back.

  Katrin was on the bench furthest from the house. Seeing her huddled over her own knees, her dress growing wet from falling tears made Menders so angry that, at that moment, he could have killed Hemmett. Why now, when she was just starting to recover and was so weak and vulnerable? Why ask such a thing of her?

  Katrin looked up as she heard him coming and had her arms out, as she would do when she was tiny and had some small hurt or fear. Menders was on the bench beside her, folding her in his arms, hoping that somehow he could make this newest pain go away. She clung to him, her face buried against his shoulder.

  “There now, little princess,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice steady.

  “I can’t marry him!” she wailed.

  “I know. If I had any idea he was going to do this, I would have kept him from it,” Menders answered, rocking her slightly.

  “I hurt him so!”

  There it is, Menders sighed to himself. No wonder you’re crying as if your heart was broken – because you’ve had to leave him with no hope. Oh, my little princess, sometimes I wish you were as hard as those women who can turn down sincere proposals and never lose a second’s sleep over breaking a heart.

  “Then that is the way it is,” he said, knowing which horn of this dilemma to impale himself on, though his heart ached for Hemmett as well. “He will have to learn to live with that.”

  “So will I,” Katrin whispered. “I almost said yes, just to make him happy, but I could have never slept with him, even if I wasn’t ugly and bald and I didn’t stink…”

  And he thought you would take him because you need protection, Menders thought. Because at the end of it, Hemmett has never felt he was quite as good as everyone else, ever since that terrible struggle he had to learn to read and write. It doesn’t matter that he’s now stunningly handsome and desirable – he still sees himself as that awkward boy far too large for his age who made himself into a clown so that people would like him. The one who loved the fairytale princess with the long, golden hair. Oh my poor children – both of you. You break each other’s hearts and mine as well.

  “All right then,” he said, giving Katrin no indication of his inner musings. “It’s over with for now.”

  “May I please go to bed?” she asked weakly. “I just want to rest.”

  “Of course,” Menders answered, preparing to lift her. He had no problem doing so now because she had lost so much flesh.

  “No, I’ll walk. I need to walk out and back every day,” Katrin quavered, starting to rise. He helped her up and kept an arm around her as she forced herself to take one step after another.

  In the house Ifor was waiting at the foot of the stairs, and lifted Katrin to carry her up. She didn’t protest, having expended every bit of energy she had.

  ***

  “Nice job you just did, mate,” Villison raged, bursting like a small swarthy whirlwind into the glade where Hemmett was sitting on the old swing he and Katrin used to play on, a cigar in his mouth.

  Hemmett didn’t react but Villison was spurred forward by his own fury.

  “You’ve gone off and left her sitting there, sicker than a damn dog? What the hells is the matter with you, pestering her with something like this when she’s so sick?”

  Hemmett jumped up, his expression wildly startled. “Gods!” he cried, dropping his cigar into the leaves.

  “A forest fire next? What othe
r idiocy do you want to carry out today?” Villison roared, jumping on the smouldering cigar and stamping it out.

  “Shut up, Vil!” Hemmett bellowed. The agony in his voice cut short Villison’s tirade. He studied his friend closely and saw infinite pain.

  “I’m sorry, Hem,” he said. “Gods man, I’m sorry she wouldn’t have you. Maybe when she’s better…”

  “No. It won’t ever happen. It was better when I didn’t allow myself to believe that it ever could,” Hemmett answered. “I’d better get back there. Gods, I never thought I was leaving her there alone. I just had to get away.”

  “Menders went out to her, she’s with him,” Villison said.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ve done the damage. I have to do what I can to mend it,” Hemmett replied, hurrying away, leaving Villison to pick up the flattened cigar and shake his head.

  ***

  Katrin reached up with the last of her strength and pulled off her wig. She couldn’t bear it in bed yet, though the wigmaker had promised her scalp would toughen to it and she would be able to sleep in it. She handed it to Menders and drew the covers up high around her, hiding some of her baldness.

  “Just rest now, little princess,” Menders said gently, bending and kissing her cheek despite the covers. He set the wig on the stand. “Do you want me to stay?”

  “No, I’m going to sleep,” she answered, not wanting him to stay and see her cry more. Menders had been through so much since she was injured. He wasn’t entirely well himself in either body or mind after all the months of being at her side every moment, consumed with guilt and rage.

  “Best thing for you,” he agreed with a fair attempt at heartiness. “I’ll look in on you later.” He went silently from the room.

  Katrin turned her face into the pillows and let the tears flow.