Count On Me

by Abigail Graham

  You wouldn’t think a stone bench in a stone tub would be very comfortable, but it is, and I start to drift off. My head droops and my chin falls in the water and I jerk back awake, then it happens again, and again, until this time I lean my head back against the stone and start to doze.

  First I’m halfway between awake and asleep, then two thirds, three quarters, and I’m out.

  “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

  I snap awake, splashing wildly in the moments between waking and remembering that I fell asleep in the water. For a terrified few seconds I think I’m drowning, until I realize I’m sitting up and not sinking.

  Then I see Conrad’s brother Manfred standing in the bath chamber, staring right at my naked body.

  I scream at the top of my lungs and grab the towel, soaking it in my rush to throw it around myself. I scramble out of the tub as he laughs.

  I go for the door but he slams it shut, pinning it with the heel of his hand. I jerk back, clutching the towel to my chest, shivering even though the room is warm.

  He’s started to sweat.

  Manfred is a weaselly guy. He reminds me of some frat boy. He’s stripped to the waist, slim but in that unathletic, chubby-skinny way, his pinched features sneering.

  “Were you waiting for me?”

  “No. Get out of my way.”

  He laughs. “You think you can take that tone with me, girl?”

  “I want to leave. Open the door.”

  He shoves it, creaking the wood in its frame. “I don’t think so. I think I want a better peek at what’s under that—”

  His words shatter into a scream like glass breaking. Two and a half feet of crimson steel punch through the door. The blade goes right between his fingers, just barely missing his hand, and slides past his nose, just short of piercing it.

  He jerks back just as the sword withdraws. The door hammers inward and Conrad storms in, half dressed, furious, wild hair flowing behind him as the dread blade weighs heavy in his fist. He grabs Manfred by the neck and lifts him bodily from the ground, slamming his brother into the wall so hard it’s a wonder it doesn’t crack his skull.

  Manfred’s feet dangle a good foot above the ground.

  With his other hand he raises his weapon and sets the red tip against Manfred’s throat, just under his chin.

  The way Conrad’s body tenses I can’t tell if he’s fighting to push and ram the blade through his brother’s skull, or the sword is trying to do it on its own and Conrad is fighting back with all his might.

  Finally he drops him.

  “Get. Out,” he snarls.

  When he lets go, his brother slinks out of the room. He doesn’t say a word but he gives me a glance that speaks of murder.

  Conrad turns my way.

  “I’ll wait while you dress,” he says.

  He steps out, leaving me alone, heart pounding.

  I put on my now damp clothes and pad out into the corridor barefoot. He’s waiting there. He’s put that awful thing back its scabbard, holding it in his off hand.

  “Thank you,” I breathe. “How did you know?”

  “I know everything that goes on here,” he says, his voice heavy. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, he didn’t touch me. I fell asleep in the bath. I just wanted to get warm. I was…”

  My teeth click shut. Stop barfing words, Roxanne. It makes you look silly.

  I try to talk. I can only shake.

  Conrad rests his hand gently on my back.

  “Come with me.”

  I hesitate, for a moment. Then I let him guide me upstairs, through the keep, and briefly out through the chilly night air to his tower.

  After he rejected me like that, I shouldn’t be going to his rooms. I do anyway, each step as inevitable as falling until I’m inside. He takes a cloth and wraps my hair in it.

  “Dry yourself here,” he says, throwing more logs on his own fire.

  The flames rise high, filling the hearth until the room is almost uncomfortably hot. I scoot closer to the edge of the deep couch. The air is very dry, and takes up all the moisture from my skin almost immediately.

  I sink back. Conrad leans the sword in its scabbard against the wall near the hearth.

  He brings a cast-iron pot and hangs it over the fire, lifting the lot with a heavy mitten to stir the contents with a wooden spoon until it steams.

  “What is that?”

  “Mulled wine. Hot with spices. Here.”

  He pours a cup and gives it to me. It’s warming and soothing, and makes me sleepy even before it hits my stomach.

  “I have to ask you something. I forgot in all the, ah, excitement.”

  He looks into the fire, away from me.

  “Ask.”

  “When I was talking to Adrian earlier, he let slip that you told everyone in the castle not to answer my questions. I asked him very pointedly and he said you gave that order before you had any idea I was coming. I wasn’t even on the plane yet.”

  Conrad draws a deep breath and I see him gathering his thoughts, deciding what to tell me and what not to tell me. He steps away from the hearth and picks up the sword.

  I flinch back into the corner of the couch as he draws the blade with a flourish. It almost leaps into his hand, moving so quick and gracefully it’s like a living thing.

  “Should you do that?”

  “I can control it,” he says. “I’ll show you. Here.”

  The sound of his voice is odd. It’s a mix of dread and resignation…and the nervous excitement of a boy showing a girl something cool to impress her.

  He sits beside me and sets the flat of the blade across his lap. I can feel how sharp it is, even at a distance, and it unnerves me. I want him to keep it away from me.

  I lean forward anyway.

  He tilts it just slightly, resting it on his lap. The surface of the blade shimmers, ripples running along its length like something swimming under the surface of a lake of blood. I hug myself without realizing it.

  The temperature drops in the room. It’s not my imagination. Conrad’s breath comes out in steamy puffs and the fire in the hearth seems to wilt, the flames receding, trying to hide under the logs.

  I look again and see a reflection in the blade, but it’s not me, or him. It’s like peering through red-tinted glass at the courtyard. The empty courtyard.

  He stands and sheathes it. The fire bursts back to life as if it were held back and something let go and I feel warm again, warmer the farther that thing is from my hands.

  Conrad sets it aside and turns to me.

  “It shows me things,” he says. “That was one of the first gifts.”

  “Gifts?”

  “Its power is all through this place, everywhere. It can show me whatever I need to see. It spoke to me earlier. Called me to retrieve it and showed me where I needed to go.”

  I blink.

  “It told you I needed help?”

  He nods grimly.

  I sit back, confused. I feel a little dirty, knowing that thing was trying to help me. That it’s interested in me. Cracks start to form around the edge of my mind. I’m beginning to accept this. I’ve been walking around in a bubble, holding the reality of my situation at its edges.

  This is real. I’m in a castle with a count and a magic sword. Oh, and we went to third base tonight.

  “Are you alright?”

  I clutch my wine cup and shake my head.

  “I’d like you stay with me.”

  A shiver passes through my body.

  “Don’t toy with me,” I say sharply.

  The look on his face is unmistakable. He wants to tell me something. He aches to speak the words, tell me some bitter truth, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t trust me. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll run, maybe he’s afraid of something else, I don’t know.

  “I’ll sleep out here. You can have my bedroom.”

  “I don’t want to put you out of your bed.”

  “I’ll sleep easier if I know that y
ou are safe.”

  Turning the cup in my hands, I sigh. Then I nod. I should be indignant still, but I can’t bring myself to be angry with him.

  “Alright. I’ll sleep with you.”

  He stares at me.

  “I mean in your room,” I add quickly. “I need something to wear.”

  “Choose something from my things. I’ll see to it you have something appropriate for the morning.”

  I nod, and stand, shakily. I’m exhausted.

  He opens the door for me and I step into his bedroom. He lights one candle and brushes past me, lingering for a moment. He looks down at me and I feel him almost leaning in, almost planting a kiss on my cheek, but with obvious effort he doesn’t, and closes the door to leave me alone.

  8

  The Tunnels

  Roxanne

  I am alone in Conrad’s bedroom.

  It’s cramped, or maybe the giant bed just makes it look little. It’s old, carved with four posts and a canopy, curtains to draw around. There’s a pot full of hot coals nearby, warming the room. A brazier, I think they call that.

  Beside the bed there’s a small chair that seems out of proportion to Conrad, a heavy dresser, and an armoire. I can’t sleep in half-damp riding clothes, so I open the wardrobe, looking for something to change into.

  A strange feeling washes over me as I run my hands over his clothes. Familiarity. I don’t have to look very hard. I just know where find it.

  I take one of his shirts and lay it on the mattress, then slip out of my things. When I dump it over my head, it hangs almost to my knees and the neckline is scandalous until I lace it up to my neck. Turning the covers back, I crawl in.

  An involuntary ahhhh bubbles out of my throat as I sink in. It’s warm, and soft, not lumpy straw but a giant featherbed. It closes around me like a glove as I lie still, and sleep becomes a heavy inevitability dragging me down into slumber.

  With the covers drawn up to my neck and pillows piled under my head, I feel warm and safe, and curl up in a ball to sleep.

  I jolt awake sometime later. It’s still dark. A deep chill has sunk its way into my body, until my bones feel raw. Shivering, I clench my jaw to hold shut my chattering teeth.

  Slipping out of the bed, I stand—and almost fall. My feet skid on ice, so cold it stings. Spinning, I almost fall again as I look up and there is nothing above me but sky. I just woke from is a few scraps of wood and rotten cloth. Everything is frozen solid. Even the brazier is a solid block of ice.

  “Conrad?” I cry out, my voice echoing in the dark.

  I take a step and the world groans. The sitting room outside is gone, and I am standing in a cupped stone palm of broken blocks, tilted to the side.

  The entire tower leans drunkenly, and when I look almost straight down at the broken wall well below, a rush of vertigo has me clinging to a fallen stone.

  The stair is open to the sky. I call Conrad’s name again and again as I step down, stopping when I reach a pile of rubble blocking the stairs. The walls are cracked, broken as if struck by some vast hammer.

  I pull myself over and lower myself down carefully, so as not to slip. Hopelessly I call the count’s name, my voice wavering with every repetition as it dawns on me he’s not here, he won’t hear me.

  I make it to the base of the tower, somehow. The snow drifts at the base are as high as I am tall in places, almost gone in others, bits of stone and frozen grass peeking through.

  Shivering so hard I can barely stand up, I clutch myself and rub at my arms. I’m not going to last long in nothing more than a shirt.

  “Conrad!” I scream as loud as I can. “Somebody?”

  A flash of light, and shadows across the snow. I rush toward it, heedlessly plunging into the drifts, toward the inner courtyard. The arch is still up, sheltering the ground from the snow.

  I step on something hard and slip, and go down face-first in the frozen powder. I struggle to my feet and find…

  A skull, cleaned by age and covered in a skin of frost. I scream and stumble again.

  The light. I have to find the light. The light has to find me. I grow closer to it, the source of the glow circling the base of the dead tree, its pale stone bark now covered in ice. It would be almost beautiful, the tree covered in frozen rain, if not for the howling wind and the sky.

  The sky. It’s dead. No moon, no stars, nothing, black as pitch.

  The only light moves toward me.

  “What is this?” I plead, “Answer me, where am I?”

  The light doesn’t explain. It just moves closer.

  “Conrad!” I bellow again, so hard it hurts. The cold air that rushes back in to my lungs is like daggers, cutting me apart from the inside with frigid blades.

  “Roxanne?”

  He shakes me. I bolt awake and, heedless of the fact that I am so mad at him right now, throw my arms around him. My legs, too. I all but pull him into the bed with me.

  He’s warm and I need warm.

  Shaking and fighting back sobs, I crush myself against him. He says nothing, but sits up with me in the bed.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m so cold,” I say with a shiver. “It was so real. I had a dream that everything was broken and frozen. Everyone was dead, everything was gone and I…”

  It hurts so much to be so afraid. I can’t speak. Conrad swaddles me in blankets and quilts and holds me.

  “It was just a dream,” he says, but he doesn’t sound very confident.

  “It wasn’t, it was real. I could feel it. I was going to die until you brought me back.”

  Conrad shifts the blankets, lifting them. His bare legs slide under them and he pulls himself into bed with me, arms around me, my head tucked against his chest. I don’t protest.

  God, this is embarrassing. I’m sobbing like a little girl, but it was so real.

  “Sleep,” he says. “It’s alright, you’re safe now. There’s no cold, it’s nice and warm here. Sleep.”

  Somehow, I do. I fall into a slumber in his arms, though when I wake he’s let go of me and I’m splayed on my back.

  Oh God, I drooled in my sleep and my breath smells like pickled goats. Conrad doesn’t seem to mind. He lies next to me, sleeping soundly, turned just slightly in my direction with one hand on my bare hip.

  I shuffle and twist in the bed to lie on my back and look up at the canopy. I am still tired. I close my eyes, swearing I will only snooze a little and then put my clothes on and sneak out.

  Instead, Conrad shakes me awake. It must be noon.

  A fleeting half-dream slips out of my fingers as I come around.

  I saw a jug fall and shatter, then leap back up off the floor and stitch itself back together.

  “Can’t sleep forever,” Conrad says.

  He’s already dressed, as usual all in black.

  “That trunk there,” he says, indicating one tucked up against the armoire. “There will be clothes for you. I’ll wait outside.”

  He strides out and leaves me alone. When the door closes I slip out of the bed. He heated up the brazier before he woke me and the room is sweltering, but I like it. I throw open the trunk.

  Dresses. Great.

  I pull one out and lay it on the bed. There’s other stuff to put on, all the underthings. I slip into them and then into the dress, lacing the sides.

  It fits me perfectly. It’s a dark green, slashed with vibrant red silk. The fabric is light but strangely warm, and laces to my neck with sleeves that cover me to the wrist. I put on my slippers and step out of the bedroom.

  Conrad lights up when he sees me, though he’s struggling to hide it. I glance at the hearth, the spot next to it. The sword is gone; he got rid of it.

  “What time is it?” I say with a yawn.

  “Nearly noon, but I forgive you. Eat.”

  He’s brought me a tray of food. Good food. There are fresh, warm cakes stuffed with jellied fruit, hot, spicy wine, and a bowl of grapes. I eat them hungrily, until my fingers are sticky.

/>   “Do you feel better this morning?”

  I nod. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose it like that, but my dream was so real.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  In the light of day, it’s easier to relate it to him in full detail. It sounds silly now, just some weird dream brought on by stress and fear. I dismiss it as soon as I’m done telling it.

  “My grandfather told me that if I talk about my dreams, they can’t come true,” I say. “I guess that’s that.”

  “That is wise,” Conrad agrees, though he doesn’t sound so confident in saying it.

  I nod, relieved. “So what now?”

  “Now? We find my children. You tutor them.”

  “I wasn’t doing much with them,” I admit. “I don’t think they need my help.”

  “I think they do. Go. I’ll call on you later.”

  That almost kiss comes again. I want it, I realize. I’d like a nice peck planted on my cheek once in a while. Yeah, I’m horny and I’d like to just lie back and let him go to town and enjoy myself, but it’s been so long since I’ve had even a simple gesture of human affection that I’m hungry for it, almost achy.

  Fuck it.

  I kiss his cheek. I have to almost hop up to do it but he doesn’t pull away or stop me.

  “Roxanne,” he says, “We can’t.”

  I scowl at him. “Why not?”

  “It’s better for you,” he says.

  “What about what I want?” I say, turning up my nose as I strut out of his rooms.

  I can feel him looking after me. I definitely hear his exasperated sigh.

  By the time I reach the bottom of the stair, I’m yawning again. I head for Nina’s room first, assuming I’ll collect her there.

  When I knock on the door, I find her wearing her swordplay outfit, and sigh.

  “Ah, yes,” I say.

  She’s not giving up. She walks doggedly to the yard and studies intently as Conrad and Adrian spar. The two of them blur, they move so fast. Still, something about it is wrong. It makes me dizzy. I think of not the blunted sword in Conrad’s grip, but the red sword, so thirsty. Last night when he unsheathed it in front of me, I could feel its hunger. Malice.

  Watching Conrad distracts me from all other thought. He’s in rare form today, and Adrian is hard-pressed. Finally they come to a stop, with Conrad stepping away to accept a drink of water from a jug.