This Dark endeavor taovf-1

by Kenneth Oppel

  A sudden fury overpowered me, and I hurled the book against the wall.

  This I knew: There would be no victory in winning Elizabeth through alchemical tricks.

  I was not so lovable as Konrad, no. I would never have his charm, or grace or patience or effortless skill at things. But I had the same fine body, and what mine contained had more grit and determination and passion.

  Were these not things worth loving?

  I’d felt her wolf’s heat that night in the Sturmwald. She’d been mine then, and I would make her mine again.

  On my own, and for good.

  Afterward I fell into a fitful sleep. I dreamed I was trekking through the Alps and Krake was my only companion. I was searching for something but did not know what. I looked everywhere, with more and more desperation. Krake’s green eyes regarded me solemnly, but he could not help me.

  Night came on, and I found a cave and lay down to sleep. Krake stretched out beside me, and I was glad of his comforting warmth.

  The dream dissolved, but the warmth remained. Half-awake, I thought nothing of it at first. But then it seemed to intensify, and suddenly I was fully awake, like a desperate swimmer breaching the water’s surface, hungry for air.

  I was not alone in my bed.

  I lay very still on my right side. Something warm and soft pressed snugly against my back. An arm was draped over my chest. A hand rested against my pounding heart.

  I inhaled shakily-breathing in the heady scent of Elizabeth’s hair and skin.

  She must have been sleepwalking again, and had once more found her way into my bed, just as she had as a little girl. But she was no longer seven years old, and as I lay there, I was all too aware of the new curves of her woman’s body.

  Her heat seemed to travel through me, blooming in my cheeks, under my arms, between my legs. I scarcely dared breathe, for fear of waking her, for fear of ending this moment.

  But I had to do something. I could not let her sleep the night there. Panicked thoughts galloped through my head. Imagine if a servant came in to find us like this. How could I explain it? Sweat prickled my forehead.

  Gently I pulled away and slowly rolled over to face her.

  My breath caught in my throat. I’d expected to find her fast asleep, but her eyes were wide open. Her cheek rested on my pillow, and her lips were twitched into a mischievous smile-one that I had never before seen on her. I gazed, transfixed by her beauty, at once familiar and foreign. Was this really the Elizabeth I had grown up with?

  Almost at once I could tell she wasn’t truly looking at me. Like the last time, she gazed through me, at her heart’s true desire. No doubt she thought she was with Konrad. And why wasn’t she?

  I wanted to kiss and caress her. It would have been so easy: She was mere inches before me, her long hair spilling over the lace of her nightgown. I leaned hungrily closer, but stopped myself with a moan. I could not take such liberty with her sleeping body, as alluring as it was.

  She made a soft sound in her throat, like a cat’s purr, and for a moment I swore her eyes looked right into mine. She lifted her hand and stroked my hair, then let her fingers run down my cheek and neck.

  I felt myself weaken. I had to do something, or I would not be able to resist temptation. I slowly got up. Her eyes followed me.

  “Elizabeth,” I said calmly, walking around to her side of the bed. “It’s time to go.”

  Obediently she pushed herself into sitting, and I tried not to look at the flash of her exposed thighs before her sleeping fingers modestly adjusted her hem.

  “Come.” I stretched out my hand.

  She took it. I felt like a hypnotist. She would do whatever I asked her.

  Elizabeth, touch me. Kiss me. Tell me you love me.

  I ground my teeth in frustration. She came willingly as I led her to the door. I opened it and furtively peered into the hall, listening. The thought of being seen made me shiver. We walked down the corridor to her bedchamber. Inside, I led her to her own bed. I straightened her churned sheets.

  “It’s time to get some sleep,” I said.

  I pressed down lightly on her shoulders, and she sat.

  “Lie down,” I said.

  She lay down, but took hold of my hand, smiling up at me with that same tantalizing smile. But it was given to me only in the confusion of her sleeping mind, and was meant for Konrad.

  I gently pried her fingers off mine.

  “Good night, Elizabeth.”

  Her head sank down into her pillow. Her eyes closed.

  I gave a great sigh and turned. At the doorway she said something that made my step falter, my heart skip a beat. Sleepily she murmured, “Good night, Victor.”

  At breakfast Elizabeth gave no sign of remembering her nocturnal wanderings. She talked cheerfully with all of us, and with every second it seemed more and more impossible that she’d ever come to my bed, stroked my face.

  It had taken me a long time to get back to sleep. I’d been unable to find a comfortable position. As I’d finally started to drift off, I’d felt her weight and heat against me once more-and I’d turned eagerly to find it was truly my imagination this time.

  She’d said my name. Did that mean she’d known-or some part of her had known-where she was and what she was doing? Could it mean she had meant to come to my room, and not Konrad’s?

  I could ask her-but how? At the very least she’d be embarrassed; at the worst, furious with me, for no doubt she would think I’d made up the whole scandalous thing.

  I looked at her across the dining table, and she smiled at me-a friendly, sisterly smile, without even a glimmering of remembrance. She was so radiant and full of beauty that I could barely swallow my food.

  That night, after dinner, I emerged on the balcony to find her leaning against the balustrade, watching the sun sink toward the mountains.

  “The last night of our imprisonment,” I said.

  She looked over, somewhat surprised, for no doubt she’d been expecting Konrad. I had intercepted him on his way, and had told him that Father wanted him to check on the horses and inquire after the pregnant mare from the head groom.

  “The two weeks have gone quickly enough,” she said, and turned her eyes back to the mountains.

  I had no gift for pretty talk, but I’d prepared some lines, thanks to Henry’s poetry-and I was emboldened too by the fact that Elizabeth, unbeknownst to her, had shared my bed the night before.

  “Your beauty makes the sunset itself pause,” I said, “so it can behold you but a second longer.”

  She turned to me, her eyes wide.

  “But you are the brighter of the two,” I said. “Around you I feel like a moth, and it’s all I can do to avoid your fire.”

  She laughed, her hand rising to cover her mouth.

  “Have I said something funny?” I asked, annoyed.

  Elizabeth bit her lips, then composed herself. “No, no, it’s very sweet, thank you. It’s just that, well, it’s not the kind of language I’m used to hearing you speak, Victor.”

  “Perhaps there are certain talents I keep hidden,” I said, raising my eyebrows mysteriously.

  “Difficult to believe. Have you been reading poetry?”

  “The words are my own,” I said, only half lying. Damn these poetical scribblings-even if they’d been scripted for me, I had no tongue to say them.

  “They’re very fine,” she said. “But better saved for someone else.”

  “They’d be wasted, then,” I said. “Like, like-” I tried to think of something poetic. “Like pearls tossed at pigs.”

  “‘Swine,’ I think, is the expression you’re looking for. Pearls before swine.”

  “Oh, to hell with pretty words-since you only mean to mock me.”

  “No, indeed, ‘pig’ is very expressive,” she said, “and an excellent description of a fellow who flirts with his brother’s beloved.”

  “Ah. I did not realize you were already his property.” I knew this would anger her, for my mothe
r had always taught us that women were the equal of men and shouldn’t be treated like possessions.

  I got the exact reaction I wanted. Her eyes flared. “No one owns me, Victor, except me. Well,” she added, a little contritely, “God owns me, as he does all His creations, but no human shall ever own me.”

  “Oh, I know, I know,” I said, as dismissively as I could, “you always like to make your own choices. So why not give yourself a little choice in this matter?”

  “I already have, and you should respect my decision. Now you should go.”

  She looked over my shoulder worriedly, no doubt afraid Konrad would appear.

  “Oh, he won’t be coming for some time,” I said. “I sent him on an errand.”

  “That was mean of you.”

  “Yes.” The light burnished her amber hair, and I went to her, grabbed her shoulders, and kissed her on the mouth. She pushed me away and slapped me, hard.

  “Don’t ever,” she said, wildcat fury in her eyes.

  “You like it when I kiss you,” I said, knowing no such thing.

  She turned her back on me. “You bite,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Admit it,” I said recklessly. “You don’t even have to say yes, just nod your head. Go on, be honest!”

  I watched the back of her head, waiting and hoping. She might have been a statue.

  “What you are doing is very wrong, Victor,” she said.

  “What about that old saying, ‘All’s fair in love and war’?”

  “You do not love me!”

  “Don’t tell me what I feel,” I said angrily. “When you don’t even know what you feel yourself.”

  She turned on me, angry but also curious. “What are you talking about?”

  There was a moment when I might have kept her secret, but I was too inflamed. “You come to my bedchamber at night,” I whispered.

  Her face flushed. “That is a vile thing to say.”

  “You sleepwalk, Elizabeth. You know you do. You did it as a child. And twice this summer you’ve done it again. And each time you’ve come to my room.”

  She looked at me warily, not sure if I was telling the truth.

  “The first time you held your old doll, the one with the red braids. You thought she was a baby, and she wasn’t dead, just cold, and you wanted to warm her.”

  Her gaze left mine, and a memory seemed to scud across her mind.

  “You remember such dreams, don’t you?” I said.

  “I often have them,” she admitted. “But I have no memory of coming to your bedchamber.”

  “Last night you climbed into my bed.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I do not believe it.” And she made to walk past me.

  I grabbed her arm and held her. “You lay against me and smiled at me and purred like a wildcat.”

  “Let me go,” she said softly, dangerously.

  I released my hold on her, but she didn’t move.

  “You stroked my face. And when I took you back to your own room, you said good night to me. ‘Good night, Victor,’ you said.”

  She looked troubled now, her eyes darting about after flares of remembrance.

  “What I want to know,” I said, “is why it’s my room you come to. Why not visit Konrad’s?”

  “How do you know I don’t?” she retorted.

  I swallowed, speechless for a moment. “You’re bluffing.”

  “Am I?”

  But as I watched her, I saw the uncertainty in her haughty eyes, and knew she was lying.

  “I have a hypothesis, if you’d care to hear it,” I said.

  She said nothing, but nor did she walk away.

  “Konrad’s a fine fellow, but there’s one thing I have that he doesn’t. A passion to match your own.”

  “What nonsense you talk!”

  “Is it? Konrad sees your angel, but I see your animal. Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong.”

  “Wrong about what?” said Konrad behind me.

  Elizabeth glared at me. I glared back.

  “Just a lively discussion,” I said dismissively, “and one I now tire of.” I walked past Konrad and back into the chateau.

  I wasn’t surprised when, not an hour later, there was a knock on my bedchamber door and Konrad entered without waiting for an invitation. I was at my desk, pretending to read.

  “You have upset Elizabeth very much, you know,” he said, sitting down in an armchair.

  “Have I?”

  He seemed surprised by my play of innocence. “Yes. She’s upset by the way you spoke to her.”

  I frowned. “What way was that?”

  I wasn’t about to make this any easier for him. I would give nothing away. I wanted to know how much Elizabeth had told him.

  Konrad raised his eyebrows. “Your behavior on the balcony was hardly gentlemanly.”

  The balcony. So he still didn’t know about our midnight kiss. Or her midnight visits to my bedroom. The fact gave me a little thrill. Our secret from Konrad.

  “My behavior,” I said with a frown. “Can you be more specific, please?”

  “You forced a kiss upon her, Victor.”

  I shrugged like a world-weary lover. “Oh, that. How could a young woman be upset by such flattery?”

  I watched Konrad carefully, waiting for his composure to crack.

  “That kiss was not wanted,” he said evenly.

  I chuckled. “It was by me.”

  My brother’s expression remained infuriatingly calm. “You don’t really love Elizabeth. It’s nothing more than a youthful infatuation.”

  “Ah, is that what it is?” I said, feeling my temper kindle.

  He nodded, as though he were a kindly uncle giving advice to a pimply, gawking child.

  “Perhaps yours is the youthful infatuation,” I said.

  “All right, then,” said Konrad, and I suddenly felt like we were fencing again-lunging and parrying. “How long have you had romantic feelings for her? Be truthful. Weeks?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “ Days, perhaps?”

  “What does it matter?” I countered. “If I love her, I love her.”

  “I am willing to bet,” Konrad said, “that you only discovered your love for her after you knew of mine.”

  “Not so!” I said, wondering if there was truth in this.

  “I shouldn’t have mentioned it to you,” Konrad said. “That was obviously a mistake.”

  “I knew your feelings well before then,” I scoffed. “And my own, too.”

  “Victor, she wants you to stop.”

  “Hmm. I wonder,” I said. And on a devilish impulse I added, “Did she not tell you about our long midnight kiss?”

  Konrad’s face tightened. A hit. But almost at once my victory tasted sour.

  My brother stood, enraged. “She’s never said a word of this to me.”

  Elizabeth had kept my shameful secret to protect me and Konrad-and I had just betrayed her.

  “I tricked her,” I said quickly. “I stole the note meant for you. She thought I was you, but not for long, and when she found out, she was furious with me.”

  “And yet you persist,” said Konrad, kicking the chair so hard it toppled and skidded across the room. “You want everything, Victor, that is your problem.”

  “How easy for you to say, when you already have everything.”

  “What do you mean?” he demanded, his fist closing.

  Scalding anger evaporated any lingering shame or regret. “You are best at everything, and you know it. It comes so easily to you that I wonder if you even try. I must work at what I want.”

  “And you’ve suddenly decided you want Elizabeth? Can’t you see how selfish you’ve been? She loves you as a brother, and it pains her to have to reject you-more than once now, it seems! She has no romantic feelings for you, Victor.”

  “I’m not convinced,” I said stubbornly.

  Konrad took a threatening step toward me. “This is one thing you cannot control. You mu
st accept this.”

  “I accept nothing,” I said.

  “You deserve a proper beating, then!”

  “Excellent!” I said, exhilarating anger coursing through my veins. “Let’s have at it. Or maybe we should fight a proper duel over her, hey? Come, let us get our foils.”

  “Only if we uncork the tips!” said Konrad in fury.

  “Agreed!” I barked.

  He lunged for me, fists raised, but at that moment all the blood seemed to rush from his face, and he fainted on my floor.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE GATES OF HELL

  I hardly slept, worrying about Konrad the whole night. When he’d collapsed to the floor, so pale, for a terrible moment I’d thought he was dead. But he’d only been unconscious for a few minutes, and when he’d roused, he’d insisted that he was absolutely fine. But I’d already called a servant to fetch Father, and the servant and I had helped Konrad to his bedchamber and settled him in bed.

  “Please don’t make a fuss,” he’d said, still very pale. “You’ll only worry Mother.”

  When I’d bid him good night, he would not meet my eye.

  Dawn came, and I threw on a robe and went directly to his bedchamber. Mother was just leaving, closing the door softly behind her.

  “Wait a bit,” she told me. “He’s still sleeping.”

  Elizabeth came round the corner, hastily robed, her hair loose about her shoulders. She scarcely glanced at me.

  “How’s he doing?” she asked.

  Mother gave us a smile, though there was something brittle in it. “Not so bad. A small fever only. Two of the girls downstairs have the exact same thing,” she added reassuringly. “It has laid them low for a day or two, but no doubt they will be right as rain. In an hour or two I’m sure he’ll be awake and wanting company. Maria is watching over him for now.”

  Mother walked off, leaving Elizabeth and me alone in the corridor. She started walking away, and I followed her awkwardly.

  “Shall we get some breakfast?” I suggested.

  She turned on me, livid. “When he fainted in your room, what were you two talking about?”

  I cleared my throat. “If you must know, he came to reprimand me for the way I treated you on the balcony.”