Baroness of Blood r-10

by Elaine Bergstrom

  "They all but killed someone. That could hardly be overlooked," the innkeeper said. He'd been serving ale to soldiers and rebels alike for years. Everyone knew he longed for peace.

  "They were Emory's friends," Mirci went on. "They fought for the boy."

  "They had no reason to."

  "They thought you were being tortured."

  "Tortured! The baroness is kind. She treated me…"

  "A lot better than her father would have."

  Someone laughed. Another joined in, until everyone was laughing.

  "I'll tell you what I'd do to Janosk's spawn," Mirci said, then held up his knife.

  "How dare you threaten her!" Emory bellowed.

  He attacked the man with the same force he'd used against the cat, and so swiftly that he knocked the knife from Mirci's hand. It took four men to pull him off.

  When they did, Mirci sat up rubbing his bruised throat. "What sort of magic did they use on you, boy?"

  "He's shaken up. Who can blame him?" someone said.

  Emory decided this wasn't the time or place to relay the baroness's message. He left as quickly as he'd come, shrugging off Mirci's cloak and his offers of a bath, a place to sleep. So tenacious were the villagers that Emory even had to bolt for the door, feigning hysterical grief, and dodge through a few pastures before he could lose them.

  When at last he did so, he smiled. That seemed an odd expression, given his brother's death. But he felt no remorse. What troubled him was how he would react to the rest of his family. He decided to take no chances. When he reached home, he crawled into the barn, took off his bloody clothes and washed in the livestock water trough, then piled clean hay in the corner of an empty paddock and went to sleep. He dreamt that he died and Baroness Ilsabet stood above him laughing as she brought him back to life.

  Thunder woke him just after dawn. He sat up and saw his stepfather putting out fresh feed for the plow horse. "What are you doing here?" Erich asked.

  Once again summoning the tears, Emory explained with fearful confused words about the cat.

  "Arman…" Erich said, suddenly distraught. He turned and fled.

  The villagers found Arman's body soon after. They were drawn to the place by the buzzards and crows fighting over who would feast first. Amazingly, nothing had disturbed it during the night. Perhaps the scent of the huge cat had kept other predators away. Emory helped the men carry Arman's body down the muddy slope and lay it on a blanket in the back of his stepfather's cart.

  "I was so happy when the baroness released me. But if I hadn't come home, none of this would have happened."

  "It's all right," Erich said, resting a bulky arm over Emory's shoulders. "Come back to the tavern before going home. We'll have a drink before we start out."

  Emory shook his head. "I want to be the one to tell Mother. Can I ride back alone?"

  Erich considered this and nodded. I" ll go to the tavern with the others."

  As Emory rode away, he thought of his years with Arman, and something akin to remorse did begin to form in his soul. Emory stopped the cart at the main road on the edge of town. A right turn led northwest toward gold-rich Tygelt and the cave of Sagese, a left to Nimbus Castle. He paused there, thinking he should go to the old seer to ask the best way to end his life before he killed again-but he could not leave until his duty to the baroness was ended.

  But the baroness owed him something for taking his life, didn't she? He knew exactly what payment he would ask for, and if he were the only one who knew Arman still lived, it would be enough. With his head bowed and shoulders slumped, he turned the cart toward Nimbus Castle and flicked the reins to make the horses hurry on.

  As he approached the castle, a guard rode out to him and glanced at the cart. Emory was thankful he'd covered up the body, and that he recognized the man.

  "I need to speak privately to Baroness Ilsabet," he said. "Tell her it concerns the village."

  The guard nodded. Apparently they'd been given orders concerning him, for they immediately led him inside. He pulled the cart in a quiet place close to the wall, refusing the stableboy's offer to help him unload. "What I have is for the baroness only. I'll wait here for her," he said, prepared to wait the rest of the day, if necessary.

  She came at once. They sat together in a narrow space between the cart and the wall and he told her how he had killed the cat, then his brother out of some instinct he could barely comprehend. "I finally remembered what you did," he whispered. "I brought Arman's body. Do the same to him."

  Ilsabet licked her lips and considered the matter. She raised the blanket. "The village knows he died. He can't ever go home," she said.

  Emory nodded, downcast. "I suppose not. The road home goes along a cliffside above the river. I could say the cart rolled and the body fell into the water and was carried downstream."

  "So what am I to do with him?"

  "I thought he could stay here and serve you. He'd do anything for you, as I would if you asked."

  So the boy was her slave, and wise enough to know it. She smiled at the thought and looked down at the body again, noting its youth, its strength. "There's a door nearby that leads to a hidden room. I'll need time and privacy. Can you carry him?" she asked.

  "I can," he said, and followed her.

  Though the hallway was dark, the room itself was airy, beautiful. "The room belonged to a special prisoner years ago. No one will find him there," Ilsabet told him as they returned to the cart. "Now go."

  He wanted to ask if she'd send word about Armans but it seemed too much to demand. "Should I return as you asked?"

  "Yes, but not before. If you value your brother, what you did must be kept secret."

  "Please, I want to tell my mother. She's lost a husband, now a son. She'll keep the secret."

  "Make certain of it. Tell her that if I hear any rumors about his fate, I'll kill him," Ilsabet said.

  "As would be your right," he said.

  A smile played across her lips. Her eyes filled with confidence. She nodded. That was enough for him. Emory left, convinced all would be well.

  As he rode toward home, the sun sank; his need grew. He would hunt tonight as he had last night. And if he were lucky he could hide what he had become until the month had passed and he went to the baroness and asked her to release her hold on him.

  TWENTY-TWO

  From the Diary of Baroness Ilsabet

  Messengers returned from Shadow Castle soon after Emory left. I took the packet of letters and went into the library with Jorani to read them. As I'd expected, my husband granted all my requests.

  Jorani's letter from Peto asked for him to come as soon as possible to Shadow Castle, purportedly to assist Peto's advisors in understanding the special governing needs of Kislova. Jorani actually seemed relieved to be going. I suspect that our night together has unsettled him, and he wants the time to analyze what we've done. I made it clear that I would miss him and be lost without him. As he comforted me, I kissed him. Though he'd been avoiding me since our night together, I felt the passion in his response.

  "Don't forget my pets," he said.

  It seemed the ideal moment to whisper my news to him. "I think I'm going to have your child."

  His shock quickly turned to amusement. "How could you possibly know?"

  I explained about the tea Rilca had taught me to make and how I'd taken it faithfully since my marriage. His amusement faded. I think I've given him much to think about during his sojourn in Sundell.

  Sagra had also arrived with the returning guards, looking pale and weary. I gave her Greta's room and asked that she go unpack.

  Peto's correspondence to me included a detailed diagram and instructions on how to install pipes and pumps to add some luxury to Nimbus Castle. Soon I'll be able to take a hot bath in the privacy of my room instead of in the little bathing room behind the kitchen where the servants wash. I used to envy them their proximity to the hot water on the stove; now I can share their simple pleasure.

  im
mediately sent letters to the most skilled masons in Pirie. Fortunately, Peto had also foreseen my difficulty with them, and though I hadn't requested any money, he sent more than enough to cover the work.

  A breeding wife should have her luxuries, I thought. I went upstairs and found Sagra working alongside Kashi, learning how Nimbus Castle was organized. I was happy to have her replace Marishka's servant. Kashi always seemed to watch me as if comparing me to my sister and finding me lacking.

  "Now that you see how we live, you probably think us barbarians," I said to Sagra."

  "No one who reads as much as you do can be called a barbarian," she replied.

  I wondered what she'd think if she knew of the creature pacing the tiny room where my ancestor had kept his mistress prisoner. In truth, I'm not certain what I think of him myself, but I'm thankful Jorani is gone; he'd know in an instant what I'd done if he saw Arman.

  The peasant boy, Emory, has changed subtly. He apparently has a need for blood-for the life it gives, perhaps? — and a certain sensitivity to light, but he is hardly vampiric. I think he may have still been dying when I gave him the potion, or perhaps the way he died made the effects of death more subtle.

  In any event, it took his brother far longer to revive, and no one who sees Arman will ever mistake him for a breathing, living man.

  waited until long after Emory left before returning to Arman's body. I did so because I wanted to see if Jorani had heard news of my visitor but if he had he didn't think to mention it. When all my servants were asleep, I bolted my door, took the potion from its hiding place, and stole through the secret halls to the little room. My fear of the crying ghost made me light every torch, though I've never heard that spectres are frightened of light.

  Arman's body was white from loss of blood. I pulled up his shirt and saw that the wound in his stomach was deep. Had he not been dead, he would have been a strong youth, and quite handsome with his thick dark hair, long oval face, and wide-spaced eyes. I thought of someone like him serving me, rushing to fill my every need.

  I confess I have never dealt well with male servants. There's an insolence running under their obedience, often thinly hidden. As I'd questioned Emory at length, he'd shown none of it. I doubted his brother would either.

  I'd had Emory place the body on the bed. I sat beside it and opened the jaws-not a difficult thing since the body had lost its stiffness-and I poured a few drops of the potion down the dead man's throat.

  And waited. And waited. Emory's resurrection had been swift; this would apparently take time. I poured just a bit more liquid into him and waited again.

  I'd just decided to go find a book to read when the index finger of his right hand twitched once. Another hour passed. I went for the book. While I was in my room, I opened my door and told the guard in the hall that I would be sleeping late the next morning and did not want to be disturbed. I had decided that it was of the utmost importance that I be present when Arman woke, as if seeing me would bond us as a newly hatched duckling bonds to the first animal it sees.

  When I returned, his mouth had closed, and his lips were wet as if he'd licked them. I called his name and got no response. I sat by him through the night.

  Certain my absence would be noted if I didn't make an appearance, I went to my room, crawled into bed and rang for Sagra. "I'm so tired," I said. "I'm going to sleep in. Don't bother with breakfast."

  As soon as she'd gone, I returned to my experiment. Arman's hands were in tight fists now. The wound in his stomach seemed less raw.

  He woke just after noon. He kissed my hand the way his brother had done, then clutched at my sleeve pathetically as a small, frightened child might do. When I ordered him to let go, he obeyed immediately. No problem with his senses, I thought.

  "I'm going to leave you now," I said. "Rest. Recover your strength. I'll return tonight."

  He looked as if he were ready to cry, but no tears came. The undead, I'd heard, cannot cry, and I wondered if that was the reason. As I moved toward the door, he watched me intently, and I saw a hunger in his eyes, the need that his brother spoke of.

  But there are prisoners below, commoners, friends of his. How perfect. How very perfect.

  I returned to my room contemplating how best to move a prisoner from his cell to the room where I was holding Arman. As I opened the secret door in the paneling, I heard a light knock on my door.

  I checked my skirts for dirt, smoothed back my hair, and opened the door. Kashi stood outside. I tried to gauge from her expression how long she'd been knocking, but could read nothing in it but curiosity over my stare.

  "I was just going downstairs. What is it?" I asked.

  She looked uneasy, and I wondered how much she suspected. I motioned her inside, closed the door, and stood in front of it, blocking her exit. With nothing to do but continue, she said, "Mow that Sagra is serving you, I wondered if I could be discharged from my duties. You hardly need two personal maids."

  "Quite so. What would you prefer to do?" I asked.

  "My village's midwife is getting old. She would like to train me." She saw my expression, and went on. "I don't have to leave immediately. I can stay on long enough to show Sagra everything she needs to know."

  "You don't have to wait so long to go," I replied.

  "No?"

  She looked frightened as I took her arm and moved her toward the panel. She had been knocking on my door a while. Perhaps she'd even called my name, or tried the door and wondered why it was bolted.

  "First I need your help," I said. I kept a hard grip on her wrist, and the natural respect of servant for master kept her from making any effort to break loose. I controlled her easily as I pulled her through the secret door and down the long tunnel to the hidden room.

  I walked by memory through the darkness, conscious of Kashi's strained breaths. In a moment, she'd find the strength to scream. "Don't make a sound," I whispered. "Do exactly what I say, and I'll give you three months wages as severance. I want you to sit with a very special prisoner of mine. Talk to him. Keep him calm. See what you can learn from him."

  "A prisoner?"

  "One of the rebels."

  "Here?"

  "I need to win him over." I unlocked the door to the hidden room. Light streamed into the dark hall. I saw Kashi's eyes begin to water from the glare. Arman's back was to the sunlit window, so all Kashi could see of the boy was his height, his slender body.

  I've brought someone for you," I said to him, then pushed the girl inside, locking the door behind her.

  I knelt in front of the door and looked through a narrow opening in the center of it. Plates of food had once been passed through it to my ancestor's mistress. I put it to a different use as I watched the drama unfold inside.

  Kashi stood close to the door, her hands fluttering nervously as she decided what to say or do. Finally, she took a tentative step toward the boy. "Why are you here?" she asked.

  He shook his head.

  Another step toward him. "Are you hurt?"

  Ah, yes, he was that.

  "I can help you." She took his hand, and moved him around so he faced the light.

  saw her expression change from doubtful confidence to utter terror. She let out the scream she'd managed to stifle in the passage. The fear she'd displayed in the passage was nothing compared to this, the high-pitched sound rising, extending so beautifully. The walls were thick, lined with earth. No one would hear her, no one but me.

  She rushed to the door and pounded on it, then saw the little hole. Kneeling, she spied me looking in and reached her hand through the opening, clutching for my hand.

  "Please," she begged. "Please. I won't tell anyone. I promise. Please!"

  "Of course not," I replied and brushed my fingertips over hers, giving her just a moment of hope before Arman pulled her away.

  It's hard to explain how I felt as I watched him wrap his pale hands through her hair, pull her head back and begin to feed. Exquisite terror. Glorious fear. Both faded as her
life drained, gone all too

  quickly, leaving me a faint glow of pleasure.

  opened the door and went inside. Arman looked more alive than before though he still had a strange light in his eyes and lack of color to his skin. He stared at the body at his feet, and I saw his remorse, his guilt. Some of his humanity was coming back. I found that good, for if he can pass for human, I will place him in my personal guard. Slaves are always valuable.

  I lifted up the corner of his shirt. The knife wound was less raw than before, but the scar would probably be with him forever. Kashi had been right about one thing. I had no use for her-willing slave or no. The terrible wound in her neck would be impossible to hide for very long.

  I looked out the window at the river. Night was falling. I had to go. "When it's dark, throw the body down," I said and left him. This time he looked less sad to see me leave. I turned at the door and saw him crouching beside the girl's body, running his fingers across her still, pale face.

  Back in my room, I paused to study my reflection in the mirror and saw that it was as beautifully altered as in the times I'd witnessed killing before. This would make no sense even to the most superstitious peasant. I did not make the wound in Kashi's neck or drink her blood. I only watched and listened. I have no special powers, yet I felt her fear, even her death. The work I do is changing me. A weaker woman might vow to turn away from vengeance and justice and death. I can't. My course is set. I welcome it.

  Peto woke from the same dream he'd had for weeks, blinked his eyes, and scanned his room, the inlaid tiles with their tiny pattern of teal, gold, and rose, the play of light and shadows on the walls. As always, the dream had been so vivid he'd thought it real, then woke and mourned when he found Mar-ishka gone.

  He didn't understand why she felt compelled to return to him night after night, her burial gown white in the dusty moonlight, tears glistening like crystal on her cheeks. "Be wary," she whispered, "Be constantly on guard."

  As always, he could not help but question her, but as soon as he spoke, she faded with a look of terror on her face, her image replaced with that of a white wolf that bounded away into the swirling mists of sleep.