Envy (Protectors of the Elemental Magic Book 4)

by Marnie Cate

  “Go away,” I screamed. “I didn't want this to happen. You killed the father of my child for nothing. I will never follow you.”

  His features grew darker and the handsome tempter faded before me. Sneering at me, he said, “Snowystra had been right in doubting your ability to carry the Winter without her assistance. She said you would fall for him … you would betray your husband. If you had only chosen correctly, it would have been so easy. Helping you is no longer a benefit to me.”

  “What?” My mind felt stunned.

  Whirling on Jameson, he said, “I told you I would ignore your infatuation with the girl if you convinced her to follow me. You have failed.”

  “What is he saying?” I asked, trying to get Jameson to look at me.

  He didn't answer me. Instead, he bowed in front of Amaro. “The girl does not carry my child. She resisted my temptations. I have failed the Winter. My abilities to tempt the mortal girl were insufficient. I'll accept my penalty.”

  Amaro response was a crushing blow to the side of Jameson's head. In a fury, he struck him, again and again. Jameson did not cry out in protest. To the contrary, he silently withstood the beating the dark god distributed. When Jameson finally fell over, Amaro turned and hovered above me. I shuddered in fear, expecting I would be next.

  “I have been hasty in my statement,” he decided as he wiped Jameson's blood from his cheek. “You have magic I can harness. You may indeed be useful to me one day. I will forgive you, and when this is all over,” he gestured towards my extended stomach, “you will come to me.”

  He was not asking me a question. His piercing eyes told me it was a command. Without waiting for my response, he transformed into a dark creature with scaly black skin and long talons. Enormous wings opened, and he let out a terrifying growl before flying away.

  Jameson pushed himself up and stood over me. I waited for an explanation, but he gave none.

  “You lied to me? I was just your job and Snowystra knew about us the entire time. Every word you said had been in hopes of luring me to bed, and getting me pregnant?” His betrayal was almost more than I could take.

  “Yes, you meant nothing to me. I wish it was my child inside you, but we both know it couldn't be, Blanche,” he said in a cold voice.

  Suddenly, he disappeared. I was left alone with my husband's lifeless body in my arms.

  * * *

  Looking into the empty eyes of my dead husband, I rasped, “It wasn't meant to be this way. You have to forgive me.”

  Closing my eyes and resting my head on Roger's lifeless chest, I wept. I mourned the man I fought so hard not to love. The man I would have been happy with, if only the gods had not interfered. I had been selfish, and now, I was alone.

  “Mrs. Kingston, are you injured?” the voice of one of the workers asked. “What has happened?”

  You don't know what happened. He fell and hit his head. He clutched his chest as if he was having a heart attack, the voice of Jameson instructed.

  I pushed against the voice in my head as the man helped me to my feet. “He's dead,” I cried.

  The man put his arm around me, and led me away. “I'll take care of Mr. Kingston. Come along. Let's get you inside. It's too cold for you to be out. You will catch a chill.”

  Feeling so overwhelmed, my body grew numb, and my tears dried up. Seemingly emotionless, I climbed the stairs to the balcony. When the warm air of the room hit me, I trembled. I stared at the goosebumps rising on my arms.

  “Mrs. Kingston?” a voice asked. “Mrs. Kingston, can you hear me?”

  “I could bring some tea,” suggested another.

  I heard talking in the distance. When I looked up, I felt confused. I knew something happened, but I couldn't figure out how I had gotten here. Why are they looking at me? I felt weak, and as though I was weaving from side-to-side.

  “She's in shock,” I heard someone whisper.

  “Come along, Mrs. Kingston.” Whoever spoke the words guided me to the bathroom, but it was as if I lost my voice.

  When I saw my reflection in the mirror, I did not understand what had happened. I was covered in blood. My white nightgown was streaked a reddish pink, and my hair was a wild mess.

  “Am I bleeding? There's so much blood.”

  Sofia took my hands and pulled me into the shower. “Come along, Miss Blanche. We will clean you up.”

  “Why? Why is there so much?” I gasped. “Are you bleeding?”

  The maid averted her eyes from me. “It won't take long. Here, step into the water. You'll feel better in no time.”

  The mental fog I had been in cleared as though the water washed it away. Unfortunately, an overwhelming sadness crept into its place. “Where is Roger? I need to see him. He needs me.”

  “Oh, Miss,” Sofia cried.

  “He's dead, Blanche,” my mother said, her voice filled with sorrow and defeat. She took my hand, and our eyes locked. “I'll take care of my daughter now. You may leave.”

  “You are wrong. Roger's not dead. He just hit his head. He will be fine.” My words were manic and demanding, as if saying it would make it true. “He will have a small rest, and then … and then.”

  Sofia took my hand in a gesture to comfort me as she choked back her own tears.

  “I said go, Sofia. I will take care of my daughter,” my mother snapped.

  Sofia nodded, and quickly scurried out of the room. My mother turned off the shower, took my hand and led me to the bathtub. She undressed me as if I was a small child, and then guided me to sit in the tub. The cold porcelain cocooned me as warm water began to surround my frozen body.

  As my mother poured cups of water over me, she gently encouraged me. “You will survive this, Blanche. I am here for you and my grandchild, darling.” Her voice was soft and motherly. A tone I hadn't heard her use in so long.

  I could hear water running. It should have thundered, but it was oddly muffled. Everything around me felt fuzzy. It was as if I was in an impressionist painting. I was surrounded by smears of color, but nothing real. When warm water was poured over me again, my mother's voice tenderly coaxed me back to her.

  “Roger surprised you with a gift. He purchased a shawl and slippers from the gypsies. He told you he wanted to dance with you in the moonlight. You were having the most romantic night of your life.”

  I envisioned it as though it had happened. The false memory seemed more real than the truth.

  “You were dancing in your husband's arms. He whirled you around, and suddenly, he clutched his chest.” My mother leaned in closer to my ear, resting her forehead against the side of my head. “He fell, Blanche. He hit his head, and you tried to help him, but it was too late.”

  “No, it is my fault. Amaro killed him because of me,” I argued.

  “Never say that again,” she ordered, cupping my face in her hands. “It was a horrible accident. Do you hear me?” She repeated the mantra as she finished bathing me, and then again when she dried me. “Tell me what happened, Blanche.”

  “Amar…”

  “No,” she said, stopping me. My mother grabbed my shoulders and shook me slightly. Her voice turned deadly as she slowly said, “Roger surprised you with a gift.” Her glare didn't just warn me but it triggered the obedience I had been raised into, allowing her story to take root. “And what did he surprise you with?”

  “He brought me a shawl and slippers from the gypsies,” I said softly.

  “Good girl. Now, tell me what happened.”

  As she dressed me, I repeated the story she had created. She had me repeat it again, proving I had committed it to memory as she brushed my hair in front of the bathroom vanity. When I was ready, she led me to my bedroom.

  The room was not empty when we entered it. Dr. Collins stood by the window. After my mother tucked me in the bed, I heard her whispering to the doctor. The sound was too muffled for me to understand their words.

  “You'll feel a small prick,” Dr. Collins said, and a searing pain rushed through my upper ar
m.

  Though I was exhausted, I did not want to sleep. However, my eyelids felt heavy, and it became increasingly more difficult to open them. I sighed as my body sunk deeper into the mattress.

  An image of Roger smiling at me appeared before me. I reached my hand out to him. Roger wasn't dead. It had been a horrible dream. He had given me a gift. We had danced in the moonlight. I had loved him more in that moment than ever before. And then, everything went dark.

  * * *

  “Blanche, you need to get up, darling. It's time for you to accept guests,” my mother said, opening the blinds and forcing the sunshine onto me.

  Images of Roger dying flooded through me. The terror I saw in his eyes as he was thrown and his last words pained me. It had taken several days for me to come to grips with what had happened, but my guilt was undying.

  “No. He's gone because of me,” I whispered. “I loved him, and he's gone.”

  My mother grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to sit up. “I know you loved him, but you need to pull yourself together.”

  Sitting on the bed, she drew me into her arms. She held me tightly as she whispered, “Don't ever tell anyone it was him. Roger took you, and bought you a gift from the gypsies. You danced in the moonlight. You were having a wonderful night with him – the best night of your life. He had a heart attack and died. Nothing could be done to save him.”

  “No, he was —”

  Squeezing me tighter, the pain began to penetrate my brain as my mother repeated the story again. “If you want to live…if you want your child to live, you must not say anything. You must go on for your baby — for Roger's child.” When she released me, it was as if her compassion had been exhausted. The distant mother I knew so well demanded forcefully, “Tell me what happened.”

  I closed my eyes and retold the story. I forced myself to believe it had happened as she described. Afterwards, she smiled, and her softness returned.

  “He wanted a son,” I said quietly. “He said he wanted to name him Cedric.”

  “That is a strong name. Your father would have approved,” my mother said, taking my hand.

  I removed her hand from mine, and lied back down. I drank the potion to save my child, and killed my husband. I sacrificed the time I had with Roger for a physical desire of someone who never loved me. I sat up quickly as I realized the truth. Jameson said the child could not be his. He lied to protect me.

  “He did love me. It was not a game to him,” I said. Jameson loves me.

  “Roger loved you very much,” my mother agreed. “It will become easier as time passes.”

  In one evening, I had lost both men I loved, but I would have Cedric Kingston Drygen. My son. He would become my everything, my world. I would not fail him as I had every other man I had ever loved.

  Chapter 17

  The final months of my pregnancy passed quickly. Even though I tried, I could not prolong the inevitable. As the life inside me grew stronger, our time together grew shorter.

  I loved Cedric without even meeting him. I shared my hopes and dreams with the child growing in me, hoping he would know me no matter what happened. My heart hardened as the reality of my coming loss loomed.

  One morning, I awoke with the feeling of strong cramping in my abdomen and back. Out of desperation, I snuck from the house and drove myself into the forest. I returned to the gypsies, hoping to find a way to stop Snowystra from taking my child.

  Unfortunately, Miselda sent me away, insisting I could not bring the Winter into their home. The only hope she gave me was in the form of an emerald ring that had a hidden container. Inside, she told me was powder that, if consumed, could contain the magic. I didn't understand how it would help me, but I trusted Miselda.

  Defeated, I drove back to our mansion. I wanted to drive out of Starten, and far away, but the contractions had grown stronger. I would not be able to control the car much longer, so there was no point. Besides, even if I had been able to continue, I knew Snowystra would find me. I, reluctantly, turned onto the driveway and parked the car. The house was quiet as I snuck back inside.

  Hiding in my bathroom, I begged my child to stay where he was safe. Despite my pleas, I felt a warm trickle on my thigh. He would be coming soon, and there was nothing I could do.

  The cramping became so intense I couldn't breathe. I needed my mother, so I called for help, but no one came. Lying on the cold tile, I wished for a quick death. I wasn't afraid of giving birth. I was afraid of what would happen next.

  “I need to take you to Snowstrum,” Jameson said from the doorway.

  The overwhelming relief to see the man I loved was squashed by the truth. He had come to take me to her. He wasn't here for me. He wanted my son. In one movement, he lifted me into his arms.

  “Jameson, no,” I cried.

  Kissing my cheek, he said, “It has to be.”

  “No,” I repeated, pounding on his chest. “She can't have my son.”

  A whirlwind of snow walled up around us. My heart began to race and I held my breath became heavy. This couldn't be happening. I wasn't ready. My body tensed and trembled violently. Jameson held me tighter. As the white barrier dissipated, I realized he had brought me to the edge of Snowstrum just as another contraction overtook me.

  “Set me down,” I demanded. One the wave of pain had passed, and I was finally able to speak again.

  This time Jameson complied. When he set me down, I stared into his charcoal eyes, searching for answers.

  “You tricked me into betraying my husband,” I said numbly. The cold air froze my words.

  “No, Amaro lied. Snowystra instructed me to guard you, not to seduce you. I never planned on loving you. I never thought I could love again, but I did. You have to forgive me,” he pleaded.

  “And you have to save us. You promised you would protect me and the baby. Hide us from her,” I ordered.

  Shaking his head, he said, “There is no where she won't find us. The best I can do is to find a way for us all to be together, and I will. Please, trust me.”

  I moaned as another wave of pain overwhelmed me. In response, Jameson scooped me into his arms and began to run. He moved so fast, I had to close my eyes.

  “I have to get you to the midwife. You can't deliver here,” he said.

  There was nothing I could do about my situation. He wouldn't help me get away, and I was too weak to fight. I would have to submit. I would deliver my son to Snowystra, and then find a way to save him.

  Focusing on the growing pain in my stomach, I longed for my mother. She would know the right words to calm me, but she wasn't here. I had to be my own strength.

  “Set her down here,” the meek voice of a woman instructed.

  I was laid on something soft. Opening my eyes, I saw a mortal woman. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, making her look like a librarian. Without as much as a hello, she began examining me. I was mortified by this personal invasion, but was silenced by another intense contraction.

  “You are almost ready to push,” the woman declared, handing me a stick. “Chew it.”

  “Chew it?” I gasped between contractions. “What is this?”

  “Kipia. It will take the edge off,” she said. “Trust me.”

  Chewing on the brown twig, I gagged on the sour liquid forming in my mouth. She nodded at me as I tried again. In moments, the pain changed. She was right. I, now, only felt a strong pressure, and the sharp contractions had dulled.

  “It's time to push,” she said. “Let's bring this little one into the world.

  Tears streamed down my faced as I followed her instructions. Jameson stood in the corner behind her. He mouthed the words, “I love you”, and then walked out the door. In the middle of the most important moment in my life, he left me. Was his love enough for me to endure what would come next?

  * * *

  With one final push, my body calmed. The pressure and pain suddenly ended. I sighed, and the midwife, Laura, held up my baby.

  “It's a boy,” she
said somberly. She turned and handed the baby to one of the helpers.

  “I want to hold him,” I said, struggling to sit up. “Bring him to me.”

  “That would not be wise,” Laura replied. Her eyes flashed sympathy for the briefest moment.

  “No! Bring him to me,” I growled.

  The girl looked confused on what she should do. Finally, Laura nodded, and the assistant approached me gingerly. She placed my son in my arms, as the midwife continued her examination.

  I was in awe of the wrinkled and red being. It didn't matter that he was coated in slime. Even through the blood and amniotic fluid, I could only see how precious he was. He's perfect, I thought as I inspected him carefully. Ten fingers. Ten toes. A head full of black hair, and magnetic silver eyes. There was no doubt he was Jameson's child.

  Carefully, I twisted my ring, letting some of the powder fall into my hand. Checking I was not being watched, I dared to drop some of the powder into his mouth. He began to smack his lips. He liked it. I gave him a bit more, and then licked the remaining powder from my hand, hiding the evidence of my deceit.

  Kissing him on the cheek, I whispered, “I am your mother. I will always be your mother. No matter what they tell you, you are mine.”

  “How wonderful,” Snowystra said, sailing into the room. Her arrival was just in time to watch Laura deliver the placenta. She wrinkled her nose at me, and then her eyes went to Cedric. “Why does she have him? Quick, take him. Clean him up before you bring him to me.”

  As he was ripped away from me, I wanted to follow after him. My eyes narrowed on the woman as she rushed out of the room and away from me before I could object. As a burning desire to fight them for taking my son filled me, my mother's reminder played in my mind. Never let her know you love anything or anyone, or she will take them. Though I heeded my mother's warning, I couldn't stop the single tear from escaping.

  Snowystra smiled down at me. “No need for tears. Sebastian will be in good hands.”