Aeonian Dreams (Zyanya Cycle Book 2)

by Morgan J. Muir

  “Why can’t you just stop doing business with Gonza?” Emelia’s mother asked. Emelia had wondered the same thing.

  “His old man had it out for Don Cyrus — everybody knows that — but I think the son has all the bitterness and none of the compassion. He’s a snake and it would mean more than it’s worth to turn my back on such a menace. I don’t know what he’s planning, but as long as he has his eye on the Álvarez company, it is best to keep a close eye on him. I wouldn’t be surprised to find it was old Gonza who was behind all that trouble with Doña Mariah all those years ago.”

  They continued talking, but Emelia had stopped paying attention, her imagination whirled with what she’d learned. The Álvarez house had ancient enemies, and her father was holding them at bay until Álvaro could take his place as rightful heir and vanquish the enemy!

  And then there was the tidbit at the end about this Gonza person being responsible for “trouble” with Álvaro’s mother. Whatever could that be? While Álvaro’s parents were no secret, Emelia’s parents rarely mentioned them. The household staff were always willing to tell stories, of course, so she and Álvaro knew some things, but nothing that Emelia knew matched this description. Perhaps Muusa would know. She would have to ask.

  Eventually her parents left the room, and Emelia waited extra-long before making her way out to find Álvaro.

  It wasn’t until the next day that she even had a chance to speak with him. They were riding into town with her parents. Emelia had begged to be allowed to ride Stardust, citing what a beautiful day it was, and Nora, sensing her chance, had jumped in with pleas to take Golden. While her mother could refuse one or the other of her children, they had learned that if they faced her together, she always gave in.

  Emelia’s horse pranced, sensing her excitement, as Emelia nudged her closer to Wind.

  “Álvaro, guess what I overheard my parents talking about yesterday?” She waited for his response with bated breath, but he only shrugged. Emelia watched him with concern. How could she not have noticed earlier? His slumped shoulders and downcast gaze. She chided herself for being so self-absorbed.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Muusa is going away and taking Lani with her,” he said, dejected.

  Emelia was shocked speechless. Muusa leaving? Did her parents know? It was so sudden. Was she angry that Emelia had asked about Doña Mariah last night?

  “How could she leave?” Emelia asked, finally finding her voice. “She’s practically family.”

  Álvaro shrugged and turned away, but not before Emelia caught the gleam of tears on his face. Emelia turned her head to allow him to compose himself.

  “She says it is time for her to go home.” Álvaro’s voice cracked on the last word. “That Lani … that it was time for her to be among her own people. That it is a woman’s thing and that I shouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Oh, Álvaro, I’m sorry,” Emelia said, reaching over to pat his knee.

  He shrugged and squared his shoulders, wiping his eyes again. “It’ll be fine. Muusa says that sometimes people leave, and that’s why we have memories. So, tell me what you heard, eavesdropping on your parents.”

  “I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was there first and they walked in on me.”

  “But you didn’t say you were there,” Nora cut in. They both looked over at her, surprised that she’d been listening. “You’d have gotten in trouble. I wouldn’t have said anything either.”

  “You wouldn’t have been able to keep from giggling about how clever you are,” Álvaro said. Nora stuck out her tongue in response, and Emelia was pleased to see him smile.

  “Well, either way, I heard them talking,” Emelia began. “They said there’s an evil man named Gonza whose father hated your grandfather, Don Cyrus.”

  “I know Gonza,” Álvaro said with a nod. “When he smiles at you it feels like there’s something wrong with his eyes. Tío Benito pointed him out to me and warned me to mind myself around him. Says he’s sneaky.”

  Emelia nodded. “Just so. Well, Papa said that Gonza, the old Gonza, said that he had been behind some trouble with your mother a long time ago. I asked Muusa if she knew what he meant, but she didn’t know. It sounds so exciting. I think we need to find out more about it.”

  Álvaro agreed, and they speculated on possibilities until they reached the town and some boys called to him. Álvaro broke off to go with his friends, saying he’d meet up with the family later. Emelia’s parents let him go, and Nora began asking questions about ribbons and treats.

  The sisters were given an allowance and wandered about the shops looking at things to buy. Emelia purchased a book that she had been saving for, and they both bought some ribbons to share. Nora spent what she had left on treats.

  They returned to the wagon where old Dom was helping a couple other men load a few more packages, and Emelia looked around for Álvaro.

  “Álvaro’s not back yet,” Nora said, tugging at her hand.

  “I know. I asked Mama, but she didn’t seem worried,” Emelia said, looking again up the street.

  “There’s Wind!” Nora said, pointing down the street the other way.

  Emelia looked, and sure enough, it was Wind with Álvaro limping beside her. Without a second thought, Emelia handed her packages to the footman and hurried to him, mindful to not run, exactly.

  As she neared, he caught sight of her and grinned, a large welt showing on his face.

  “What happened?” Emelia asked when she reached him. “You look like you’ve been in a fight.”

  “Maybe I have,” he answered, squaring his shoulders as he looked at something behind her.

  Emelia turned and to see her father, who was clearly displeased with Álvaro, behind her. She motioned Nora off to the side as Álvaro approached her father, but remained close enough to listen without being obvious.

  “You have been fighting?” her father asked in a quiet, but stern voice.

  “Yes.”

  Pride filled Emelia’s chest as Álvaro held his head high rather than looking down and scuff the ground like he always used to do.

  Her father appraised Álvaro silently for a moment longer. “You know I don’t hold with violence.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Another silence. Emelia felt there was nothing else in the world right then but Álvaro, her father, and the space between them. She held her breath, waiting for someone to say something.

  “What was so egregious that you allowed yourself to lose your temper then?”

  “I didn’t lose my temper, sir.”

  Her father’s face darkened. “What, then, did you willingly throw away your regard for me and my rules and all the care I’ve shown for you, for?”

  “They were —” Álvaro paused, glancing at Emelia, and lowered his voice, stepping closer to his father. She strained to hear. “They called Emelia mousy, and said … they were being rude about her ….”

  “And so you hit him?” Her father’s face was unreadable.

  “I told him to stop first, but that just made him more foul. I couldn’t just let him keep saying that sort of thing about her, so” — Álvaro looked back up at her father— “so I stopped him.”

  Emelia’s heart was all aflutter. She could just see them, surrounding Álvaro with their cruel taunts, and he, unable to walk away, turned on them, beating the ringleader soundly. Then, turning from his vanquished foe, Álvaro had looked up at the others who then fled in fear from his righteous glare. She grinned as her father patted Álvaro on the shoulder.

  “Well done, son.”

  Emelia smiled at the admiration in Álvaro’s face as he looked up at her father. He was a good man, and she was lucky he was her father. She was a little disappointed, though, when he and Álvaro spent the rest of the outing together, preventing her from speaking with Álvaro again. Of course, with Nora’s constant chattering, she probably wouldn’t have been able to anyway.

  ***

  Elisa sat at her pianoforte, pr
acticing the latest bit of music she’d ordered, a sonata in F major by an Austrian named Haydn. She loved the speed and intricacy of the notes that it asked for; so many others had such long rhythms that she grew bored or played them much too quickly. She was fond of her pianoforte; it responded so quickly to her touch that she could play these quick notes nearly as fast as she pleased, and still the strings would sound. She’d even hollowed and smoothed out a side of Theron’s main chamber to help the sound resonate more fully. Perhaps some day she could have Miguel install an organ.

  I think not, my lovely, Theron interjected into her musings, causing her to miss several notes. Scowling, Elisa started the line over.

  And just why not? Don’t you think I could learn to play an organ just as well? Elisa sent back to him so as not to have to speak over the music.

  I think you could manage anything you set your mind to.

  Elisa beamed at his praise. Even after all this time, it always made her smile. Then why not? Do you think Miguel isn’t up to the challenge?

  Theron laughed, his deep silken voice carrying over the sound of her music. Occasionally, she’d convinced him to sing while she played, and the music they made enthralled her. I’m certain that, had we proper instructions, we could build you an organ, and we could even use Miguel to power it. No, the problem is a simple case of location.

  Elisa stopped playing and turned to her master. “What do you mean? There’s no one here for miles, I could play the organ as loudly as I chose, and no one would ever be the wiser.”

  “No, my lovely,”—his voice was like that of angels—“people already know this is a haunted place, and have become wary of our expanded hunting grounds as well. I perhaps ought not to have given you the pianoforte —”

  “But you love it when I play,” Elisa pouted. “Besides, if the issue is location, why don’t we leave this place? Come with us the next time we go to the city. There’s no need to stay here. Let’s go back to civilization.”

  Theron laughed heartily at her. “And how well, do you suppose, would I be received in polite society?”

  Elisa paused a moment, thinking. “We would have a large, grand manor with a view of the lake on one side and the mountains on the other. It would be so elegant that no one would question the whereabouts of the master of the house.”

  “So you would keep me hidden away, out of sight, like some inconvenient, ailing relative?” A wry smile played on his lips as he spoke.

  “Well? And what if we did? You’d be able to go wherever you wanted, see whatever you wanted through our eyes. We could go to concerts and operas, balls and parties!”

  “And what if, while you and Mikhael were out enjoying yourselves, some servant happened upon me?”

  “You would take control of him, of course,” Elisa said as she crossed the room to sit beside him. “You’re so silly sometimes.”

  He looked at her with his piercing silvered eyes. “And would you have me control the entire household, one at a time? Or the entire city? Would you relegate me to being your house steward so that you might go and do as you like?”

  Elisa pulled back, appalled. “Of course not! There would be no need for such a thing anyhow. Just kill the poor fool.”

  “And then how many could I kill before no one would be willing to replace them?”

  Elisa was troubled. She hadn’t thought of that.

  “The household staff aside,” Theron continued, “what if, while you were gone, the unthinkable should happen and there should be a fire?”

  Elisa shuddered at the thought. Fire still frightened her. The thought of burning again ….

  “No, my sweet Elisa,” Theron continued. “It is simply not practical to live among the humans as I am. You must be content to stay with me here, bringing beauty into this forlorn place.”

  A thought skittered across her brain, and she snatched for it, thinking out loud. “But if you were whole again … would that make a difference?”

  Theron laughed again, but this time it frightened Elisa with its darkness. “If I were whole again, Sophus would rue the day he thought to betray me.”

  His anger leaked into Elisa’s mind, and she found herself enraged. “Then let us get them back! Can’t you simply take over his mind, as you did ours? Force him to return them. Then, tear him apart and leave him to wallow in eternity.”

  “I cannot; his mind is closed to me,” he said bitterly. “It wasn’t always that way —”

  Theron cut off as Miguel entered the chamber with their dinner in tow, an elderly European man this time.

  “Where’d you get him?” Elisa asked.

  “Found him with a caravan; he had wandered off during the night. I’m not sure his mind is still intact.”

  The old man tugged on Miguel’s sleeve and pointed to Elisa. “Est-ce qu’elle est ma Sophia?”

  “Non, monsieur,” Miguel said with a shake of his head as he led the man closer to Theron, maintaining eye contact with their dinner. Elisa could only suppose he was trying to keep the man from fleeing, and she made a sound of disgust in her throat. Miguel shot her a glare as the man continued.

  “Quand vais-je la voir?” When will I see her? Elisa rolled her eyes and stepped closer, taking the man’s hand in hers. He looked at her and the fear began to gather in his eyes.

  “Bientôt,” she said as she laid her other hand on his neck and shoved his neck to Theron. He struggled and let out a wet, weak scream. “Très bientôt,” she said softly before biting into his wrist.

  ***

  Mikhael felt the moment the man died, the way the body went slack. Theron pulled away first, and then Elisa dropped the man’s wrist as Mikhael maneuvered the body to more easily carry it out of the chamber. Neither spared him a glance as Elisa pulled out a handkerchief to dab at her perfectly clean mouth, and then she moved closer to dote on Theron.

  Adjusting his awkward load, Mikhael navigated the passageway to the open-air ossuary. The space was difficult to get to from outside the lair, but it afforded a quiet place to burn the corpses. Every few years he would get a wild spurt of ambition and build improvements in the area. The first few years had been dedicated to cleaning out the centuries of filth that had accumulated in Theron’s den. Disgusting, twisted corpse that Theron himself was, he wasn’t half so disgusting when he was no longer surrounded by the decaying remains of his food.

  Mikhael laid the body on the pyre, between a pair of short stone walls he’d set up nearly a decade before. Piling the last bits of brush and kindling atop the body, he sent a prayer to whomever might be listening for both the man’s soul and any loved ones he’d left behind, and lit the fire. He could feel Theron’s smugness at his sentimentality, but it was distant. He was obviously still occupied with Elisa.

  Sighing, Mikhael settled down with a chunk of wood and a knife from his belt, content to whittle away the time until the pyre had burned itself out. He didn’t really mind tending to the burning. While both Theron and Elisa were skittish around fire, he enjoyed the heat on his skin. It stirred a deep and primal fear in his stomach, making him feel alive in a way that Theron was unable to repress. That underlying emotion, held as though behind a glass, kept him believing there was more to his continued existence beyond Theron’s imprisonment. It fed the courage that kept him rebelling in whatever small ways he could, and whispered for him to fight.

  But each turning of the world wore on him, stripping away his ability to feel, one thin layer at a time. Theron let him be, so long as he behaved in mind and body, so long as he controlled his spirit. After each brutal beating, Mikhael found it harder and harder to gather himself again. But as long as he could stand, just one more time, in his own mind, his spirit was not yet broken. He built each fire a little bit bigger than the one before, as though in defiance of this diminishing.

  Would there ever be an end? Was this his eternity, to lie beneath Theron’s smothering power, worn away by time like a rock in the surf, until one day he could find the courage to end it?

>   He looked down for the first time at the figure he’d carved into the palm-sized bit of wood. It was the woman again. Could she release him? “Where have you gone?” he whispered, caressing her cheek.

  “You know, I can’t stand this place,” Elisa said from the doorway, and Mikhael quickly cut a few random strokes into the wood, obscuring the face. “Theron sent me, said you were brooding again.”

  “And if I am?” Mikhael didn’t take his eyes from his work. “What is he going to do, force me to be happy? Dance a jig?”

  “I don’t know why I can’t be enough for you,” she pouted, draping herself onto his lap. “I work tirelessly to keep Theron from pushing you around, to create a better life for all three of us. Can’t you just be happy for once?”

  “You are, Elisa. You’re wonderful. It’s just that —”

  “And what’s this?” she asked, snatching the carving from him, now different, but still distinctly a woman. “Do you really wish you had some other woman? What could any other woman be to you, Miguel, that I am not? Do you have some lover that you visit when you go out ‘hunting?’ Is that really what you’re doing?”

  “Elisa,” Mikhael started, gently moving her from his lap so he could stand.

  “Well?” She glowered at him.

  “No,” he snapped at her, his temper finally breaking. “And you can verify it with Theron. He would know, though I’ll thank you not to go about putting ideas into his head. If you want any sort of peace between us, you’d better do whatever you need to in order to keep him from forcing me into something like that. Know that I’ll fight him with every last ounce of my being until either he or I go free of the other, before that happens.”

  “Let go of me, Miguel!” she snapped back at him, and he suddenly realized he’d taken her by the shoulders. “You don’t need to threaten me! Do you think I want to see you with someone else? Didn’t I give up my mortality to be with you? I’ve lived for years in this filthy hole in the middle of nowhere, just to be with you. Can’t you have some sort of appreciation for any of the things I do around here? If it weren’t for me, Theron would have overshadowed you long since.”