Solstice at Stonewylde

by Kit Berry

Sylvie wolfed down the thick bacon sandwiches and gulped at the glass of milk whilst he watched, horrified at the sight of her. She wore another pair of the black silk pyjamas which Magus liked to dress her in, not allowing her to fall sleep in the expensive designer clothes. At his insistence, she now wore the pyjamas at all times other than when he made her change for dinner.

  Although the loose bottoms covered her legs, the skimpy top showed just how thin she’d become; jutting collar bones, pointed shoulders and stick arms. Her jaw and cheekbones were unnaturally prominent making her eyes seem even larger in her hollow face. The huge diamond collar, so thick around her neck, sparkled in the sunlight that poured in through the windows, and her silver hair cascaded around her shoulders and down to her waist in a wild tangle. Yul felt a jolt of desire at the sight of her, and couldn’t bear the thought of Magus seeing her like this every morning and night, so exposed and defenceless, yet more desirable than ever in her vulnerability.

  She looked up at him, chewing frantically on the sandwich.

  ‘Stop staring at me,’ she said with her mouth full.

  ‘I can’t help it – you’re too beautiful.’

  She smiled, swigging down the milk.

  ‘You can bring me breakfast in bed any time you like,’ she said, finishing the last crumb of the sandwich and licking her fingers. ‘Oh that was lovely!’

  ‘I’ll have to go, Sylvie. It’s all so close now and I can’t risk anything going wrong. But you wait – you shall be fed bacon sandwiches to your heart’s content once the Solstice is over, I promise.’

  Yul took her in his arms again and held her gently, not squeezing her too hard as she felt so frail and delicate. He tried not to look at the livid bruising all around her upper arms knowing he’d go mad with anger and spoil their brief time together. Nor could he bear to look at the other, faded marks on her lower arms.

  ‘I’ve got something for you, Sylvie.’ He fished inside a pocket and brought out a small woven pouch, old and grimy with a dark leather drawstring. ‘It’s from Mother Heggy and it’s for protection. She said to tell you it belonged to Raven, and you’re to wear it round your neck when you moondance at the Solstice.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Sylvie, taking the tiny bag a little doubtfully. ‘I’ll need to hide this away from him. And where will I be moondancing? I won’t have to go with Magus to Mooncliffe, will I?’

  ‘Oh no! Don’t worry, we’ve got everything organised – just be prepared to leave on the afternoon of the Moon Fullness.’

  ‘Who’s “we”?’

  ‘It’s best you don’t know, then you can’t give anything away. I’m sorry … there are so many people who … well, never mind that now. You have to remember that whatever happens you won’t be going to Mooncliffe. I’d die before I let you down again.’

  Sylvie nodded, clinging to him, burying her face in his curls. She loved him – how could she have almost given him up for that man? She felt so ashamed of her betrayal and started to cry.

  ‘Don’t! Please don’t, Sylvie,’ he begged. ‘It breaks my heart to see you trapped here in his lair. It’s been decided that this is the best way, but I hate it. You’re being sacrificed to keep him content, so he stays in here with you thinking he’s got what he wants and has already won. He mustn’t find out what’s going on behind his back down in the Village. Dry your eyes, Sylvie, please. I feel so guilty about this.’

  ‘I just wish it were all over,’ she whispered. ‘I’m terrified about what’s going to happen and I don’t want there to be any violence.’

  ‘Neither do I, believe me. I’ve had more than my share of violence.’

  ‘So what will happen to Magus? How are you going to get him out and become the new magus yourself? ’

  ‘Sylvie, I have absolutely no idea how this will work. Mother Heggy’s prophecy only said I’d rise up and overthrow him. Unfortunately it didn’t explain how. I’m trusting to destiny and instinct.’

  ‘Please, Yul … promise me you won’t kill him. I couldn’t bear that.’

  He hesitated at this and gazed deep into her eyes. She felt his spirit blazing out, strong and true.

  ‘I don’t want to kill anyone, Sylvie, but I can’t promise you that. I’ll do what I have to when the time comes. Just believe that I’ll try my very best to do what’s right, and soon this nightmare will be over and everything will change.’

  ‘I want to be with you, Yul, and feel safe.’

  ‘We’ll be together very soon. Just imagine – seeing each other whenever we like, no more secret meetings – we’ll be just like any other sweethearts. I can’t wait!’

  He kissed her tears, tasting their saltiness.

  ‘Lie down as if you’re asleep and try to look hungry.’

  ‘I am hungry! It’ll take more than a bacon sandwich to fill me up.’

  Yul gazed down as she lay back on the sofa with her hair spread out in a fan of silver. Sylvie smiled up at him, her pale grey eyes so pretty, and he tingled with weakness and longing, wanting only to throw himself on top of her. There was something magical about her that drove him wild; how could Magus resist her? That was what really worried him – surely he wasn’t alone in feeling this craving for her?

  That night Sylvie had a terrible nightmare. Maybe because she’d eaten proper food that day, the mead hadn’t sent her to sleep quite as soundly as usual. Magus was chasing her through the maze in the formal garden wielding a double-headed axe made of white stone. He was mad, his eyes manic, his mouth snarling open in a rictus of rage – he’d become the Minotaur. Snakes writhed around the maze, silver and black, hissing at her with forked tongues and needle-like fangs, trying to stab and envenom her as she ran around desperately seeking the exit. Sylvie sat up screaming, kicking the pashmina to the floor and flailing wildly.

  Magus came rushing in through the dressing room and bathroom from his bedroom, for her screams had reached him even there. Pulling on a heavy black silk robe, he raced over to the sofa and scooped her into his arms, holding her tight.

  ‘It’s alright, Sylvie,’ he said soothingly. ‘It’s alright, my darling, I’m here.’

  ‘Who are you?’ she whimpered, still thrashing about trying to escape the monster. In the near darkness lit only by the glowing embers of the dying fire, she saw the gleam of his blond hair. ‘No! Not you! Where’s Yul?’

  ‘Stop it, Sylvie, and wake up! You’re safe now.’

  But she fought, trying to escape, punching at him. He tried to calm her but she wriggled wildly, shouting that she hated him and wanted only Yul. Then Magus grasped her by the arms exactly where he knew it would hurt most and shook her till her head snapped back and forth.

  ‘Be quiet, you stupid bloody girl! Be quiet!’

  She screamed with the pain as he squeezed her damaged arms, then he let go to slap her hard round the face. That quietened her and she fell back gasping for air, finally fully awake, trying to catch her breath after the hysteria.

  Magus got up and turned on the lamps, flooding the room with soft light. He found her goblet and filled it with mead.

  ‘Drink this,’ he commanded. ‘All of it. Then we’re going to have a talk, you and I, and put things straight once and for all.’

  Sylvie forced the drink down her throat, feeling the familiar warm sensation as it hit her stomach. She shivered with fear and cold, unable to remember what she’d said while she was dreaming. She closed her eyes. Awake or asleep, this was all one long and terrible nightmare. Magus poured himself a brandy and sat next to Sylvie on the sofa staring into the amber pool in his glass.

  ‘I’m sick of this attachment you have to Yul,’ he said finally, in a cold, clipped voice. ‘It’s been going on for a long time and you’ve persistently disobeyed and defied me over him. I thought, the other night when you made me so angry, that we’d cleared it up once and for all. I explained that to deserve this level of privilege, to earn the right to have your every desire and whim taken care of, the one thing I require from you is obedience. And I m
ade it abundantly clear that any feelings you once had for that boy were to be erased for ever. Did I make that clear or not?’

  ‘Yes, Magus, you did,’ she whispered, her voice quavering.

  He turned his gaze on her and stared, his eyes narrowed and merciless. Sylvie trembled. She had no idea what he might do to her next – it could be anything. She recalled the flare of pleasure in his eyes as he’d witnessed her pain and knew he was capable of any kind of cruelty. She thought of Yul, at Magus’ mercy twice in the stone byre for days on end. She understood how Yul must’ve felt, and why he’d never be dissuaded from getting rid of this man. To have someone taking pleasure in your pain and enjoying your suffering was the worst experience, and Sylvie was petrified as to how he might hurt her next.

  Magus poured her another crystal goblet of mead. She didn’t want it but maybe she’d need to be dead to the world. She began to force it down, feeling slightly sick. Her face both stung and felt numb where he’d slapped her so hard, and her arms were agonising where he’d dug into the livid bruises.

  ‘Right then, Sylvie, shall I enlighten you and explain fully why I’m so adamant that this relationship with Yul finishes? I’d hoped that everything I’d told you already about Yul – his killer instinct and his use of Earth Magic to trick you – would be enough to put you off, but clearly it wasn’t. I know he’s kissed you, and presumably it’s happened on several occasions?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered, remembering Yul’s presence only that morning.

  ‘Has it gone any further than that?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘But judging from the way you’re so obsessed with the damned boy, doubtless it would sooner or later. He’ll be sixteen soon, and so will you next summer. And you and he must never, ever have a sexual relationship.’

  He turned on the sofa so he faced her, staring straight at her. She tried to look away but he reached across and grasped her chin in his hand. He examined the bright red slap mark on her cheek and shook his head sadly.

  ‘Why do you make me do it?’ he asked. ‘I really don’t want to hurt you. When will you learn not to anger me?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her eyes lowered. Her breathing was quick and shallow and her lips trembled; she was terrified of him.

  ‘Listen to me, Sylvie. And look at me – I want to see your eyes. It’s a sad and sorry tale and one that I’d hoped to spare you, but it seems I shall have to tell you the truth after all.’

  His hand gripped her chin tightly as he spoke, telling her of a romantic encounter he’d enjoyed in some woods one autumn, many years ago. He was at a big charity ball but soon became bored networking and talking business, and wished he were back at Stonewylde watching the Harvest Moon rise at Mooncliffe. He danced with a young, pretty red-haired girl in a fairy costume who’d caught his eye, and before he knew it they were heading for the woods together. She was a little tipsy and all over him, eager and giggly. One thing led to another and they made love in the woods on a carpet of fallen leaves under the red September moon. It was a bit of naughty fun for both of them but especially for her, whose old-fashioned parents were at the party and had no idea what their wayward daughter was getting up to outside. Afterwards they went back into the party and joined in the dancing again, little guessing the consequences of their union.

  Magus watched Sylvie’s soft grey eyes closely. He knew that the alcohol he’d given her had made her slow. He also knew she was cold and frightened and not really thinking straight. But he was delighted to witness the exact moment when Sylvie fully understood the implications of what he was saying.

  He was her father; that was shock enough. He saw that fact registering and being accepted with horror and surprise. But the next realisation – that was the one he enjoyed the most. It hit her, more powerful and devastating than any physical punishment he could inflict on her. He watched the intense pain and sorrow blossom into a bloom of utter despair, and savoured every moment of her grief.

  If Magus was her father, then Yul must be her half-brother.

  Sylvie woke very late the next day, having been awake for much of the night. The afternoon passed in a haze of misery. She was numb inside, unable to cry any more although she’d shed enough tears during the night. At dinner that evening she found it hard to swallow even the meagre portion of food Magus served her. He was so solicitous, constantly enquiring if she were alright, patting her gently and smiling sadly. He revelled in every second of her suffering and she felt a sharp desire to stab him with her dinner knife. The mead and her unhappiness made her much bolder than she’d been of late. She really didn’t care if he chose to hurt her – nothing could hurt more than this, and nothing mattered any more.

  ‘If you knew you were my father, why didn’t you say so from the beginning?’

  ‘I only knew when Miranda finally told me the circumstances of your conception. You know how she always refused to talk about it at all. But recently I persuaded her to tell me and that’s when I realised. It was a huge shock to me of course – I had no idea.’

  ‘But you must’ve recognised her!’

  ‘No, not at all. It took place many years ago, remember, and she was only a girl herself, just sixteen. And it was a brief encounter, very dark in the woods, and of course she was in fancy dress wearing a mask. Why on earth would I recognise her now?’

  ‘Does Mum know it was you?’

  ‘No, not yet, but she’ll have to be told.’

  ‘What about Yul?’ Her voice caught in her throat. ‘He must be told too.’

  Sylvie knew what this news would do to him. Yul loved her as fiercely and deeply as she loved him, maybe even more so. He couldn’t be her brother; it was too cruel. And yet it made sense – why she had the silver Stonewylde hair, why she looked so much like Raven and why she was moongazy. Everyone had said her father must be Hallfolk. Who’d have thought it was the magus himself?

  She found that she hated him. Discovering her father’s identity after all these years brought no rush of love or happiness, and the revelation strengthened her determination that the plan to overthrow Magus would go ahead regardless. If she and Yul had no future together, they must still rid Stonewylde of this evil man and send him off to the Outside World. Yul would still be the new magus and the only difference was now he’d have to stand alone, without her as his partner.

  ‘I want to be the one to tell Yul, not you,’ she said, imagining how Magus would relish Yul’s distress at the devastating news.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ he said gently and she frowned at his easy capitulation. ‘I’ll arrange it for tomorrow and he can come here to see you. And now, my lovely daughter, I have another beautiful present for you, arrived today.’

  Sylvie shut her eyes and groaned; she’d come to loathe his presents. A whole mountain of boxes had been delivered earlier containing the latest clothes he’d ordered. Magus had insisted she try some of them on and was pleased that they fitted her. She was now stick thin and he’d forced her to parade around the room for him, saying she was his gorgeous catwalk girl. He’d obviously settle for her as a trophy daughter if he could have nothing else.

  He brought out another Bond Street jeweller’s box and opened it to reveal two heavy bracelets to match the choker, very wide and studded with diamonds. He clipped them round her slender wrists and they snapped shut exactly as the collar had. Once again he locked them using his gold key. They felt like handcuffs, which she supposed was the idea. A collar and cuffs; his property and his prisoner.

  ‘Do you like them, Sylvie?’ he said, stroking her arm.

  ‘No I hate them!’ she cried, jerking her arm away from him. ‘And don’t touch me! You make my skin crawl – if you’re my father you shouldn’t be touching me like that!’

  He laughed and the sound made her shudder.

  ‘Touching you like what, exactly? I’ve never behaved inappropriately towards you, Sylvie, not once. Think about it. If you’ve misinterpreted my actions, maybe the fault lies with you; maybe it
’s you who thought of me in that way? If you did, you must quell those feelings, however difficult that may be, and never think of me like that again.’

  He laughed at her look of disgust and slid his arm around her, pulling her close to him and ignoring her tight-lipped resistance.

  ‘I’m so proud to have such a beautiful daughter,’ he murmured. ‘My sparkling princess.’

  Sylvie drank mead until she could no longer sit upright, but sleep still eluded her. The room was spinning and she felt nauseous. Magus was a blur, a noise in the corner of her consciousness, and nothing was real any more. She realised suddenly she was going to be sick and lurched to his bathroom, stumbling into furniture on the way. She just made it and retched violently into the toilet bowl. Magus was there, holding her hair back, his arm around her waist as she heaved and heaved. Because the contents of her stomach were almost totally liquid the experience was fairly brief, but all the more painful for it. Eventually she swayed upright, clammy and deathly white.

  ‘Please let me go back to my mother,’ she begged.

  ‘Absolutely not – you stay with me.’

  ‘Then can I sleep in my room down the corridor?’ she groaned. ‘I just want to lie down on a proper bed.’

  ‘No, my darling,’ he said. ‘I like you on the sofa where I can sit with you. Come on, back we go.’

  He picked her up and carried her to the sofa where the fire still blazed. He laid her down and sat next to her, his hand on her hair. Sylvie looked up at him, her face ashen and her eyes dull with grief.

  ‘Why do you treat me like this?’ she said softly. ‘Why are you so cruel to me?’

  He chuckled, his fingers still playing with her hair. His eyes were hard as he gazed at her, burning with that darkness she’d grown to dread.

  ‘Cruel? You’re the one who’s cruel. Look how you’ve treated me since I rescued you from your hardships. Twice now I’ve changed your life at a stroke, taken away all the bad things that caused you suffering, wanting only to make things perfect for you. I’ve bought you gifts, given you every single thing I could think of that might please you. At the Dark Moon I asked you specifically not to let my son – your brother – touch you, yet you ignored me and upset me terribly. When you had that nightmare last night and I came running in to comfort you, you rejected me so cruelly. You said you hated me, and you punched me and pushed me away. Can you imagine how that felt?’