The Farthest Gate (The White Rose Book 1)

by Blayde, Morgan

  He assented with a hiss and a nod, but I had won nothing. I let him go, holding my composure by the smallest of margins until he vanished from sight. My stomach clenched in fierce rebellion to the butchery I’d undertaken, heaving its contents onto the street. When I could stand again, I did so, wiping my mouth, grimacing at the vile taste that lingered.

  I couldn’t delay any longer; I had to make the Gamesman answer for his grim amusements. I knew where to find him; the center of the city, the eye of the storm. I ran through the streets as they filled again. I do not know what emotions possessed my face, but other gazes flinched from mine. Dangerous men—big, tough, with the look of brawlers—blanched and stumbled over their feet, retreating as I passed. They looked as if they would rather see some hell-spawn come scampering their way.

  My darkening soul screamed at what I was becoming—

  Death’s Bride, the White Rose, trailing blood from my thorns—but now was not the time to listen.

  3. SECOND SHADOW

  Unfailing twilight hovered over the damp buildings. The city around me had changed its face, but still I held a general sense of direction. Beyond that, I would have to trust Fate to guide my sword. I hurried. My boots made lonely echoes on the cobbles. A dim green haze softened the structures in the distance before swallowing them. Along the streets, pole-mounted lanterns burned continuously without adding warmth. Like Will-O-the-Wisps, they only thinned the shadows immediately around them.

  Black as despair, a hooded figure awaited my approach. A thrill of fear went through me. The Gamesman’s champion? It seemed too soon—I was nowhere near the center of the city. Surely, the Gamesman would keep his defender much closer, unless both were lurking about…

  Rapier in hand, but not raised to guard, I stopped beyond sword-reach of the apparition. His hood lifted but no face resided within, only luminous eyes floating in black mist. His robes whispered on the street as he took a step toward me, inviting attack with a courage I had to respect.

  “The White Rose!” He identified me with certainty, bowing low in greeting. “I saw what you did to the Red Dragon. That was grisly work.” There was both awe and disquiet in his soft voice.

  My checks warmed. How dare this hooded darkness pass judgment on me? Though I agreed with his evaluation, I defended my actions. “I only do what I must!”

  He nodded. “We all do.”

  “Perhaps you have a name…?”

  “Azrael, the Winding Blade…”

  The title caught my interest. I arched an eyebrow in inquiry.

  “…Because I never hit my target,” he explained.

  “Constrained by mercy?” …as I used to be?

  “No. I am a reaver. We are sorely lacking in the gentler traits.”

  Ah, an angel of Death! “Have men stopped dying then, that you have nothing to do?”

  “Avalon has. Once under my wings, she has slipped away, leaving me crushed with boredom.”

  That explained it. When the elves learned to keep Death’s bridge from landing on their world, they put this dark smudge of contention out of work. His plight failed to move me. “Have you ever thought of securing honest employment, soul-taker?”

  “Making candles perhaps, or sweeping chimneys? I know! I can become a butcher! You can teach me the craft.”

  Ah! Fire at last. I had stung him. “What use have I for a second shadow? Find your entertainment elsewhere.”

  “I play no game and have no wish to hinder you. Can you not use a friend with nothing to gain from betrayal?”

  “How do I know what you may or may not gain? Be off with you!”

  “Or what?” he asked. “Can your sword make a shadow bleed?”

  “If you want a friend, you should act like one, and not make a pest of yourself.”

  He sighed, “Very well. If you change your mind, knock upon any patch of shadow and call my name. I will hear.” He backed to a darkened wall, turned, and stepped into it, leaving nothing of himself behind.

  Wherever I went, people tried to attach themselves to me. Was there some sign on my back saying: take care of this hapless kitten? No matter, I had death to dispense. That need still rode me, putting spring in my step and fire in my heart. I passed the wall that had claimed the dark angel.

  Hopefully, I would find my way quickly through the torturous streets. Refusing one able to guide me might not have been the best course, but second thoughts on the matter might have broken my resolve.

  I came to a lively area. The crowd I approached saw the wet blood on my blade. They parted for me. A few of the more dangerous looking denizens tossed appraising glances that caught on my ring.

  My returning stare dismissed them with cold, aristocratic contempt. I only hoped I could set aside this persona once Vengeance slaked its thirst. I did not want to become consumed by the role I was reduced to playing.

  My wandering attention rushed back, riveting upon a crescendo of clopping hooves. A mounted rider burst from an alleyway.

  I stood transfixed with astonishment. The stallion blazed like white fire. A golden spiral horn thrust from his forehead. Atop the unicorn, clutching a green shield with silver oak crest, rode an elf lord. He was beautiful enough to wring the heart and leave an undying ache. His face, expressionless and closed, seemed barely out of childhood’s shadow, but his eyes were darkened by an ancient soul. Wonder made me gape as I drank him in.

  His hand glinted with what might have been a pilgrim ring. He never slowed the unicorn, or gave heed to the weapon in my fist. Focused as he was on some unseen goal, I was not sure he even saw me in his way. I threw myself aside, my arm and side smacking the cobbles. I rolled clear of sharp hooves, my thoughts whirling. I had heard of elves in my Grandmama’s tales, but had never encountered one in the flesh. I could have done without the proud reality.

  I picked myself up, rubbing my forearm. I would soon have a new bruise from the tumble. I considered my options: if the elf was on the same errand, pursuing vengeance, I might want to journey the same path was taking, for he seemed to know where he was going. But I was afoot. And it might be better to find my own way, and not chance a misstep or a trap.

  I reached the next side road and found myself passing a walled estate, the entrance sealed by a locked gate made of sturdy iron. Spear points at each junction discouraged climbing. Through the bars, I sighted a three-floored mansion. Candlelight glowed in all the windows. The sound of strings, harpsichord, and flute drifted to me, soothing sounds…a balm upon my heart.

  I would have continued if not for the sob of a young woman hurtling out of the shrubbery, tearing at the iron gates to escape. White-gloved hands reached past the bars for me. This maiden—wrapped in white silk, wearing flowers in her hair and pearls upon her breast—seemed far more suited to being the White Rose than I. All she lacked was my ring.

  “Oh, please,” she cried. “You must help me! They are searching for me! Please, I beg of you, help me.”

  I looked past her bared shoulder at the house she was fleeing. Servants in crimson livery burst from the mansion door, and ran towards us in grim, determined haste.

  “Why do they want you?” I asked. For all I knew, she was simply a pretty thief about to be brought to justice. And there was my son to consider…

  “They have no right to keep me prisoner!” she cried out.

  Some amorous lord who takes his conquests however he can get them? It seemed most likely. Why was I even listening? True, this young woman had eyes like my son’s, bright, innocent, naïve, and there appeared to be little difference in their ages. But she was dead. I had to save the living.

  I turned from her, hardening my heart, determined to walk away. I managed several steps, but found myself stopping as she began to weep piteously. I growled at myself, yielding to irrationality. I could no more abandon her than I could forsake Phillippe. Some things, the heart cannot do. I hurried back to her, noticing that the servants were already halfway to the gate. What could I do?

  “Need some help?
” The voice came from behind. I spun. My second shadow had returned. “I can get her out, or you in, whichever you prefer,” he said.

  “And your price?”

  Can you not accept a gesture of good will?”

  “Open the gate. I’m going in.” I would not run off with this girl, trailed by a hue and cry, only to have her tracked down and abducted later. Whatever the problem, I was determined to settle it with the lord of the estate.

  The dark angel pushed lightly. The gates swung open, unlocking themselves silently. I had a way in, though it made me indebted to this troublesome shadow. Entering the grounds, I spoke to the young woman, “Go. I will deal with this matter.”

  She lingered though terrified. “We must both flee,” she insisted. “He will kill you ... repeatedly ... for what you have already done.”

  I attempted to reassure her with a calm and relaxed attitude. “I doubt it.”

  The servants reached us, slowing at the end of their run, eyeing the sword in my hand. The two leading the pack were likely father and son, sharing versions of the same face. One was an old, lean scarecrow. The younger was thick-necked, reddened from exertion. “You’ve no business here,” the son cried. “She attacked our Master, and he wants to return the favor. Get out!”

  I lifted my sword point, stepping toward them. “You are speaking to a lady. Mind your manners or mend your flesh.”

  The young lady stamped her foot in indignation, gaining strength from anger’s heat. “That pig put his tongue in my mouth! He had it coming!”

  I smiled wryly. Sound logic!

  The reaver hung well back from the dispute. I thought no one else had noticed him since his presence caused no alarm.

  I took the young woman’s arm and escorted her toward the estate. “Let us go speak with the master of this place and see if he is amendable to reason.”

  The lady protested until I sent her a quelling glance. The servants parted and made a path for us as we approached the mansion. They were getting what they wanted; the girl and a bit of drama to ease their boredom. Quite a number gathered around me, though they stayed well outside my sword’s reach.

  The older man, who had led the pack, stopped me at the door. Remembering his protocol, he turned to me. “Who shall I say wishes to see my lord?”

  Apparently, he had not noticed the ring I wore. I took a moment and used the hem of my cloak to clean my sword. I would rather foul my clothing than my sheath. I put away my weapon and mutely held out my fist. His gaze clung to the band and blood drained from his face. His gaze went to my features, seeking something familiar and finding it. Shocked recognition glowed in his eyes and his voice dropped to a faint whisper. “Lady Amelia! I did not know you in such strange dress after such a long time…” He bowed deeply, gathering his composure. “I will tell my lord that you’ve returned.”

  Returned? But I had never been here before. And he called me by my grandmother’s name. That must be who he thought I was. This encounter would be awkward indeed.

  The older servant shooed away the rest of the onlookers with a fussy wave of his hand. They went with lingering glances, having heard the name given me. The old man led me through the entrance hall to the foot of a massive staircase. The stairs were wide enough for a half a dozen men to mount them shoulder to shoulder. As I looked to the right, I saw a ballroom full of guests in formal attire, twirling to the sounds of a string ensemble.

  My eye caught movement as I glanced away, a figure descending the stairs with a hurried gait. The man’s face displayed outrage and a hint of sexual anticipation that I found disgusting. His gaze locked on the woman by my side, he did not register me at first.

  It was then I noticed an oil painting on the wall that might have been of me, though I had never worn so beautiful a gown. It was made of white silk, embellished with seed pearls, and a laced bodice graced with a white rose. What I had been told by my father was true; I looked very much like my grandmother. I would look even more her double if not for wearing a man’s sturdier clothing.

  The painting had been placed where the master of the house might see it most often, coming and going about his business. Curiously, the woman’s dress was identical to the gown worn by the lady I’d come to save.

  The old servant hastened up the staircase to intercept his master with whispered words. The man gripped the railing and his head jerked my way.

  I shuddered as his gaze absorbed my face and a stark transformation altered the set of his features. Petulant wrath evaporated, dispelled by disbelief, which in turn yielded to the trembling, fragile hope. This nameless lord had let himself sink far into debasement, but I saw a hint of the man he had once been—and might be again. I fervently hoped he’d complete that journey, but not at my expense.

  He started moving again, slowly and carefully, as if afraid I would vanish were he to startle me. He shaped words, but they did not emerge from his lips. He cleared his throat several times, an attempt at strengthening his voice. “I had surrendered expectation of your return. I should never have doubted.” His husky voice hinted at ponderous emotions barely held in check.

  I pointed at the woman next to me, summoning a furious tone. “Send her home, and do not bother her again, or as God is my witness…” I threw back my cloak to exhibit the sword at my side.

  He held up placating hands, “Of course, at once! It will be as you say.”

  A nod of command passed to the servant who then led the woman away. I had no doubt she would be delivered quickly home by carriage, since the man’s attention was now fixed entirely upon me. I need only play this role a little longer before extricating myself.

  The lord eased closer, unwilling to look away from my face.

  “Amelia…”

  He said the name with naked need and bottomless anguish, moving me deeply. I could not maintain this deceit any longer. “You are mistaken,” I told him gently. “She was my grandmother. I have not been to this city before.”

  “She was your grandmother? Then … she has passed the farthest gate, to the Courts of Death.” He bowed his head, and closed his eyes to shutter a monstrous pain lest it consume him utterly in that instant. If not for the gaiety of the ballroom music and sound of dancing spilling over us, the protracted silence of our thoughts would have overwhelmed us both.

  He sighed with a dreadful finality, “Amelia…” Drawing a ragged breath, he opened his eyes to stare with a new clarity and interest at me. “I am Count Claude Dupree, your humble servant. Who have I the pleasure of addressing?” It was plain to me that he’d armored himself in the formality of manners.

  “Celeste Comeyne.” I extended my hand in greeting, bearing my grandmother’s ring. “I am now the White Rose.”

  Bowing, he kissed my hand. “It is true,” he straightened. “I see it now. You wear her face and form, but the voice is different—a stranger looks out of the eyes I once loved.”

  “I’m sorry for your pain, Count Dupree.” I meant my words. “It is time I take my leave. I have intruded enough. If you will excuse me,” I laid a hand upon my sword hilt, an all too common gesture lately, “I have matters of grave importance to attend to.”

  “I will not stop you if you want to go, but you are poorly provisioned. There are things left by your grandmother that are yours by right. Why not put them into service again. It is what she would want.”

  I hesitated. The need to find my target battled a newly awakened curiosity concerning my grandmother. What had she left here? Could it serve me? What had compelled her to wear the ring that had passed to me? And what was this stranger to her—or to me, for that matter? Was it possible that this was my grandfather, whom I’d never heard mention of? Apparently, I had stumbled upon a lost chapter in Amelia’s life, and if I passed up the opportunity to read it, important answers might be lost forever.

  “I cannot long delay, but…”

  He smiled. “Excellent! Come with me. Let me show you her room. It has remained untouched since the day she left.” He turned
and led the way up the stairs.

  Her room? They did not then share personal quarters when together. Perhaps his passion for her had not been returned. For some reason, the thought did not surprise me at all.

  Upstairs, we crossed a hardwood floor covered with expensive runners of carpet, passing exquisite paintings and assorted objects d’art. The Count produced a key and opened a door like those we passed in route, except that it stuck, requiring a bit of force having forgotten its function through seasons of long neglect.

  The inner chamber lay in dusty darkness, relieved only by the dim candlelight from the hallway sconces. Dupree took a candle in hand and entered with me. Heavy drapes concealed tall windows beyond a bed. To my left, a door stood open, revealing a private bath. The Count used the candle to light a table lamp, and then gestured toward an armoire. “You will want to look in there.”

  I opened the closet doors as he approached with the lamp. The additional light brought out the fine quality of rich gowns, each more splendid than the last. I doubted royalty on my world possessed much finer. Apparently, this man had done all that was humanly possible to purchase my grandmother’s heart. The ornate boxes on the vanity would doubtless contain a king’s ransom in jewels.

  Astounded, my attention slipped from Dupree, until I realized he was on the threshold, closing the door. I heard the key turn and the lock’s mechanism snap closed. I cursed my stupidity in giving him this chance, even as I threw myself at the door, tearing at the knob. I set the lamp aside and battered my fists against the barrier. “Release me!”

  His voice came through the sturdy oak door, “I am sorry, Amelia, but I cannot lose you again.”

  “You know I am not her!”

  “I know that you have spun a clever tale, but I am not some mooncalf, beguiled by fairy voices. Soon, you will weary of this game and I will have my beloved Amelia back. Until then, make yourself comfortable. I will return after the night’s festivities. Now, you really must excuse me. I must see to my guests.”

  I delayed until I heard his footfalls receding, then spun and lunged across the room toward the draperies. Thrusting them aside, I froze in shock. Masonry replaced windows that had once graced the wall. I sank to my knees. The burden of my mission was enough to break me without this additional frustration. I wanted nothing so much as a good cry, but knew I could not afford to waste regret on my stupidity. I forced my heart to slow its hammering pace, reaching for calm and reason within myself. Drawing a deep, slow breath into my lungs, I sought something Dupree might have overlooked.