Dark Splendor

by Parnell, Andrea

  Roman sat in a sort of thoughtful paralysis, the darkness hiding the hard, emotionless look on his face. Finally a resigned sigh broke the spell.

  ***

  Silvia spent the good part of an hour pacing her room, a chair jammed beneath the doorknob for protection. But Roman had not come in search of her as she both feared and hoped he might. So her agonizing and precautions had been a foolhardy and unnecessary trial, for Roman had undoubtedly forgotten her the moment she left him.

  The pelting rain became a downpour, its chilling wetness creeping through the castle walls. Far off she could hear the crash of thunder as the storm grew stronger, mocking the turbulence in her heart. She started as a jagged shaft of lightning split the sky with its deadly brilliance.

  What was the use of her pacing about in wet clothes? If Roman had cared what happened to her, he would have found her and apologized for his spiteful words. Dejectedly she admitted to herself she had hoped he would come. A few moments later she had stripped off the sodden dress and left it where it fell upon the bedroom rug.

  She went directly into the dressing room, and after drying herself, slipped on a thick warm robe. She took care to brush the tangles from her dark tresses, and by the time the task was done, the shivering had left her. Her hands were engaged in braiding her hair when suddenly her arms froze in place. She didn’t actually think she had heard anything, but she had a strange feeling that she was not alone.

  “Is someone there?” she called out fearfully. Dropping her hands and letting the braid twist free, Silvia moved quietly to the door and peered into her bedroom. She hadn’t taken time to light more candles, and the one that had been left burning dipped and swayed, throwing monstrous moving shadows across the walls. Yet other than the shadows the room was quiet and empty.

  Reaching back to the dressing room for a candle, Silvia went slowly into the bedroom. Odd, she thought, feeling a prickling sensation at the back of her neck, how some primitive instinct warned a person when something was wrong. At first glance she saw nothing that had been disturbed. The furniture had not been rearranged. The crystal bottles on the dressing table were all as she remembered. But a strange feeling persisted.

  Cautiously Silvia moved around the room, looking about, wondering if it were not her distressed state, after all, that had misled her. But she knew it was not. She knew, unerringly, that someone had been in her room. It took a few minutes of brisk searching to discover what was amiss, but shortly she noticed, nearly hidden among the plush folds of the silk coverlet on the bed, an item that should not have been there.

  A horrible little sound came from her throat and the hand that held the candlestick shook so that its flame, too, cast an unsteady, quavering light over the room. She stared in bewilderment at the open jewel case tossed unobtrusively beside the plump pillows. That case she herself had locked away in a drawer of her dressing table.

  A feeling of gloom settled over her. To her knowledge, Vivien had given her the only key that would unlock that drawer.

  Making her feet obey, Silvia went to the bed and set her candle on the bedside table. She took up the case, running her trembling fingers over the impression crushed into the white velvet lining of the elegant box. Frantically she ran a hand beneath the pillows and over the coverlet, knowing she would find nothing. The Cerastes Stone had been taken. But by whom? Was it a warning that the necklace should never have belonged to her? Or that she was no more safe in Serpent Tree Hall than Willy had been?

  Spasmodically Silvia jumped and drew her breath in sharply as a loud knock rattled the door. Acting without thinking, she shoved the jewel case under the pillows and hurried to see who was there.

  “Silvia, are you awake?”

  She felt a wash of relief at hearing a calm voice, and rushed to turn the key in the lock.

  “Martha?”

  “I thought you’d be needing some tea tonight, and perhaps someone to talk to.” Martha stood in the hallway carrying the little silver tea tray and the china tea service from her parlor. Her head dropped briefly and then she looked up quickly, a flush staining her cheeks. “We’ve been unfeeling and distant when you needed us, Silvia. I’m sure you’ve felt deserted and alone since Uncle and Willy died.” Her eyes were imploringly on Silvia. “And we’ve been so caught up in our own grief, we’ve offered you no consolation at all. I hope you can understand and forgive us.”

  “Dear Martha,” Silvia said courteously. “Come in, please.”

  Martha’s eyes were luminous and pleading and Silvia was moved by the note of apology in her voice.

  “Silvia, please let me say that we do not blame you for Willy’s death. It was plainly an accident and there will be no charges made against you. Vivien spoke from grief when she accused you. It was the shock, you understand. She tended Willy since he was an infant and it must have been like seeing her own child dead when Odin brought him in. We all know his death was accidental.” She paused to breathe deeply. “None of us knew what Willy was really like or dreamed how difficult it must have been for you to be his wife. We have wronged you, but please,” she whispered, “we mustn’t let this tragedy divide us now that we all need each other even more.”

  Silvia’s eyes bordered with a threat of tears. Only a tender heart like Martha’s could understand how profoundly the tragedies of Willy’s and Wilhelm’s deaths had shaken them all. What would Martha do if she knew Willy had indeed been murdered? If she had to believe the deed had been done by someone dear to her?

  The blow would devastate such a gentle soul, and Silvia could not place that burden on Martha. Not kind, gracious Martha, who thought of everyone before herself. One day Martha would have to know Willy’s death had not been accidental, but the subject must be broached gently at some later time.

  “I thought you might be asleep,” Martha said smoothly. “Shall we go into your sitting room? I knocked there, but you must not have heard.”

  Silvia nodded and led the way from the bedroom. Had that knock been the sound that disturbed her? Possibly, but there was still the matter of the missing necklace.

  “I am sorry,” Silvia said in a low voice. “I was getting dressed for bed. Were you waiting long?”

  Martha beamed a soft, radiant smile and pulled the cover from the tray.

  “Only a moment. I just came up,” she answered, taking a seat and daintily pouring a cup of tea for Silvia.

  As she took the cup, Silvia heard it clatter against the saucer in her unsteady hands. Apologetically she glanced up and saw that Martha had not poured any for herself.

  “Won’t you take a cup too?”

  “No. I had tea with Eric just a while ago.” She sat back in the cushioned armchair. “He’s feeling as badly as I do about neglecting you at this time.”

  “Please, Martha...Silvia took a soothing sip of the fragrant herbal tea. “You and Eric have made me feel especially welcome since I’ve been here.” She set her cup aside, her brows flicking up quickly. “These deaths have made us all nervous. I hope I haven’t seemed ungrateful.”

  “No. Quite the contrary. You’ve been a great success as mistress of Serpent Tree Hall.” Martha watched silently as Silvia drank more tea. “I was wondering, Silvia, what are your plans now that Willy is gone?”

  Her plans? Had she any plans? But of course, she must make plans. She couldn’t simply wait and wonder what would happen next. She couldn’t sit idly by and wonder when it would be her turn to die. She must do something to stop this insanity, to prevent another murder. Suddenly she felt very much alone, even though Martha was with her. And her thoughts sped to Roman. If he held even a budding concern for her, he would not treat her so cruelly.

  “I expect I’ll leave,” Silvia said bluntly. “There is nothing to keep me here, now that Willy is gone.”

  “But you can’t leave,” Martha said in a distressed voice. “What about the estate?”

  “The estate should rightfully belong to Wilhelm’s niece and nephews. I make no claim on it. I intend to take
only what I need to live on until I can return to England and open a seamstress shop. I can’t stay here. Not now.”

  A look of relief spread momentarily across Martha’s face, but she quickly composed herself. “Oh, Silvia. You aren’t thinking clearly. I’m afraid it isn’t left to you to decide who inherits. The will must be read before it’s possible to alter its terms, if even then. One can only wonder what disbursements Uncle made, considering the state of his health. He was not a predictable man. No.” She sighed lightly. “I’m afraid it’s out of the question, Silvia. You can’t possibly leave until the will is read.”

  “Then I hope the solicitor arrives soon. This house is filled with sad memories for me. I am heartsick to be constantly reminded that my coming here has been followed by grief and pain for everyone. I want to leave as soon as possible.”

  Martha took her hand.

  “You mustn’t feel this way. We don’t want you to leave at all. This is your home now as much as ours. Please do stay.”

  “Martha, I thank you, but it’s impossible for me to ever be happy in this house. I’ll stay until the will is read and the legalities are settled.” She sighed forlornly. No one knew she would bear Wilhelm Schlange’s grandchild. No one but Roman, and she doubted he would make mention of it. She doubted he would mention her suspicions about Willy’s death. For now both secrets were best kept. “But I warn you, I intend to leave immediately after.”

  “I hope you’ll change your mind and decide to stay. In a few days things will be different. Your grieving will ease, and perhaps you will find you can be happy on Schlange Island forever.” Her eyes held all the softness of a balmy summer day. “Now, drink all your tea. This has been a dreadful day. It will help you rest.”

  Martha left with a promise that tomorrow they would talk again. Silvia set her teacup down. It was making her drowsy and she didn’t want to fall asleep yet. There was something she must attend to before morning, and she would need to be alert to do it.

  It had occurred to her only moments ago that the hiding place for the documents must be in the tower. That was the one part of the castle she had not searched, for the doors were always locked. Vivien had said the stairs had been made too steep and they were dangerous, so Wilhelm had had it closed off. But that must have been another one of his clever ruses. She should have thought of it before. The journal would be in the tower. She remembered having seen a light in one of the tower rooms the night she arrived, so someone must have been in there that night, probably watching for her.

  ***

  It was well past midnight when Silvia crept out of her room. She had nearly dozed off while waiting until everyone was asleep. Even now she was groggy and found it difficult to keep her balance. But determination drove her forward even though she could scarcely stand. The candles in the hall had been snuffed out and she had to feel her way in the dark. Her small, shadowy figure slipped silently through the halls until she reached the doors to Schlange’s sitting room. She had searched there once before and satisfied herself that the journal had not been returned to his room. But she did remember having seen a ring of keys among his things.

  If only her head wouldn’t throb so, she could remember where. She fumbled about, careful not to make a sound. By chance she came across the keys in a compartment of Wilhelm’s desk. Quietly, holding them so they would not jangle, she slipped them into a pocket of her robe and smiled slyly at her accomplishment. She was certain one key would fit the tower door.

  A quarter of an hour later, Silvia had clumsily tried five keys before finding the one that turned the latch on the tower door.

  The stairs were indeed steep and treacherous and slick with rain that had blown in during the storm. Vivien had been right about the danger. The narrow steps curved sharply and had too much incline on the risers to climb quickly. Along the way, a series of landings led to open, arched windows where the stones, wetter than the others, were especially slippery.

  Her head spun crazily but still she kept climbing. She had almost reached the top, but her eyes kept blinking shut—too heavy to keep open. Her breath came in slow, wheezy gasps. She pushed away the damp curls that had fallen in her face. With each movement her legs wobbled and she had to concentrate on lifting her feet from step to step until at last her movements became as slow and lethargic as those of a snail. And yet she climbed on, clinging to the damp walls of the tower. Slipping and catching herself, she plodded ever upward, telling herself over and over she had to keep going. From below she heard a dull sound.

  The noise was an unexpected thump, as if someone on the stairs had lost his footing and slipped on the wet steps. She spun slowly to look down, and in turning, lost her balance, her body swaying wildly. Gasping aloud, Silvia grabbed futilely for the wall as her legs weakened and gave way. An instant later she lay crumpled in a heap, dangerously close to a window opening. She moaned and started to get up, but her legs would not respond. Her breathing slowed, and as she struggled to rise, her eyes closed to thin cracks.

  A dusky veil of sleep slipped over her. The heaviness of it was unbearable. Above her she saw a face globed in purple and heard a low whispering voice that faded into a long, empty darkness.

  “You are mine now, sleeping lady,” came the ghostly sound that oddly brought no echo from the hollow depth of the tower.

  A moment later a rippling purple shadow enveloped Silvia and transported her to a place she had never known existed.

  The cold lapping of the sea on her face brought her to consciousness. No, not the sea, only water splashed against her whitened cheeks. She moaned, finding herself in a world that was a hazy blur. Even as she fought to remain awake, her eyes resisted staying open. Someone bent over her and she felt the cool touch of a hand on her forehead.

  “What’s happened to me?” she asked in a weak whisper. “Who has brought me here?”

  The reply was soft as a caress. “One answer at a time, my lovely sleeping lady. The first I cannot tell. I found you unconscious on the tower stairs.” His fingers stroked her temple. “Have you a fear of heights?”

  “No,” she whispered. “I was so terribly tired, I had to stop and rest just for a moment.” Her eyes rolled back and she moaned softly. “Couldn’t stay awake,” she mumbled, growing drowsy again. “Can’t see clearly. Tell me who...” Her voice trailed off.

  She forced her heavy-lidded eyes open. The voice was one she knew. If only he wouldn’t whisper and sound so far away.

  “You know me, surely.” His answer floated around her head; his fingers trailed like feathers over her cheek. “We have met before in the darkness. Do you remember?”

  With a toss of his head, the purple hood fell open and revealed a portion of his features. She saw the ghostly glow of his spirit’s face, there and not there.

  “Siegfried?” The name flew from her lips in a breathless whisper.

  He smiled softly and with a chuckle got to his feet and stood over her.

  “I am whoever you wish me to be, whatever you wish me to be.”

  Silvia blinked her eyes, squeezing the lids down and holding them shut a moment before opening them again. Her head was clearing a little. She felt more drunk than faint, not an unpleasant feeling, but rather a wonderfully euphoric state of semisleep.

  Hesitantly she caught his cloak and gave it a gentle tug. He turned and knelt beside her. Slowly her hand went out to push the purple hood from his head. It fell away, and she was blinded by the strong sapphire glow of his eyes. A flowing crest of pale hair hung to his shoulders like strands of spun gold. Her fingers caught the tie that fastened the cloak at his throat, and she pulled it loose so that the cloak too fell away.

  He was an eidolic man with skin of warm gold that heated her fingertips as she trailed them from his throat to his chest.

  “Hold me,” she whispered.

  “Do you know me?” he asked, softly touching her face.

  “I know you in my thoughts and in my heart. It is enough,” she answered in a gentle whisper.
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  His lips were at her temple, soft and vaporous as a cloud moving over her face, until his mouth covered hers. It was as if that joining transformed her phantom man to flesh and blood. She felt his warm, moist breath mingle with her own. Her arms wrapped about his neck, touched his back, and felt the power and strength in shoulders that were suddenly real.

  “Love me,” she whispered.

  “I have loved you,” he answered, “since the moment I saw you.” He nestled her head snugly against his chest, his hands and face buried in her fragrant black curls. When he spoke again his voice was a tender whisper. “Since the moment you brought me to life, I have loved and wanted you as mine alone.”

  Suddenly his arms were around her, gathering her to him, his broad bare chest pressing unbearably at her breasts. He lifted the ebony curls from her neck, kissing her throat and reveling in the soft, sweet womanly smell that clung intoxicatingly to her skin.

  “And I have loved you as well,” she murmured, and smiled as he lowered her to the cushions of the settee, his strong purposeful fingers plucking at the ties that held her robe and freeing the bows that held it together.

  The hot flood of blood rushing through her body had cleared the cobwebs from her mind. For the first time she was aware of the room, its walls a circle of rosy red velvet, the furnishings all gilt and ivory lit with the shimmering light of a dozen candles.

  “What is this place?” she asked dreamily.

  He had bared her breasts and was easing the fleecy robe from her slender arms. His eyes and his senses were fully upon her, feasting on the beauty of those glorious orbs.

  “Paradise,” he whispered, his breath ragged in his throat, a sudden shudder shaking his wide shoulder.