Chapter 24
Stellan arrived home late after his meeting with Leopold, so late even the moon slept. Feeling confident and enthusiastic–for once–he wanted to share his good news. Gretchen and the others were already in bed, however, so it would have to wait until morning.
The decision to approach Leopold had been a sound one, fraught with intriguing possibilities. Pestilence’s infiltration of Aldebaran was regrettable. Stellan could only hope his resources would be sufficient to eradicate it. They had to be, for Clarysa’s sake. Nothing must happen to her. Nothing!
He brewed a pot of tea in the kitchen. After filling his mug, he reclined in a chair by the hearth. The fire was modest this time of night but it provided sufficient warmth.
Reality caught up to him in the form of a wedding. Being a married man was one thing; the whole idea of a wedding ceremony both amused and terrified him. He would have to learn some more dances, for he could scarcely expect Wind in the Willow to satisfy their guests.
He sipped the tea, catching his reflection in the liquid. Hmm. Him. Married. He had almost given up on the idea. Actually, it was more like he had never thought about it. Marriage was an exclusive fellowship from which he had been summarily blacklisted. A destitute prince with inadequate social skills and a despised pedigree. Who would want him? And now a parvenu by way of marriage. How a man’s fortune could change in a moment!
And what about children? Stellan chuckled. He knew nothing about parenting. Nothing good, anyway. But the thought of Clarysa’s belly filled with his child warmed his heart. She would know what to do.
Other thoughts swirled in his mind. Would their offspring bear magickal talent? Would he prefer a boy or girl? Which was easier? Or were both equally difficult? Stellan shook his head. I have stared into the mysteries of life and death and yet I cannot answer a simple question.
As he daydreamed, the tendrils of the fire reminded him of Clarysa’s hair. A vision of her face stared back at him, laughing and filling with love. Relief lingered inside him, a reminder his gamble to ask for her hand had been successful. Still, he wondered–what did she see in him? She could have anyone she wanted but had chosen him. Had forgiven him after his appalling behavior. Loved him, unconditionally. The resulting emotion caught him unaware. Stellan blinked hard a number of times as he finished his tea.
Carrying a torch, he ambled through the halls, intending at first to retire but excitement made him restless. Though his breath still fogged the air, the castle seemed warmer somehow, and less sterile. Speaking of which, Clarysa should have her dream castle. Stellan made plans to brew as many potions and powders as possible to sell in the village, maybe even as far as Falcon Heights. There were some exquisite spells he could bottle, for a good price too, if he worked hard enough. Maybe he should even begin tonight. Industrious thoughts flooded his head.
Which was why, perhaps, he had barely noticed someone was following him.
At first he thought a ghost teased him; the south wing was full of them. Stellan slowed his pace and strained his ears. There was definitely a presence. Far too light to be Froll or Patrulha, and much too stealthy for the likes of Gretchen or Ghyslain.
He scanned the darkened hallway before him. Then, in one deft move, he plunged his free hand into the shadows, bringing forth a human form. “Who are you?”
“Rather jumpy tonight, aren’t we?” came the velvety voice of his sister. “You’re getting sloppy in your old age. Or are you being domesticated like some beast brought in from the wilds and forced to sit at his new master’s side? I wonder.” Sada’s green orbs glittered by the torchlight. A dark, luxurious cloak swathed her statuesque form.
Stellan released her, but held the torch between them like a barrier. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, dear brother, I’ve come to congratulate you!” She held up a box wrapped in purple silk and tied with gold threads. “You’re to be married. How delicious!” The cordiality lay only in her words; her eyes stood empty, like a tomb.
He blanched. How did you know? “News travels fast.”
Sada extended the gift, but his fist precluded the acceptance of her offering.
“I don’t want your congratulations. Get out.” He turned on a heel and stormed away.
Sada shared the same long legs; she easily kept pace. “Stellan, please stop and talk with me. This is a momentous occasion.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
She grabbed his arm. “A few words is all I ask.”
Stellan veered off in the direction of the study. He probably shouldn’t have granted her an audience, but if he were able to glean any information about his father’s plans then it might be worth the trouble. When they reached the study, Stellan motioned for Sada to precede him. He shut the door and locked it.
“Make it quick,” he said, standing before the fire. He did not invite her to sit.
“I must admit to tremendous envy,” Sada began. “I thought I could persuade you to return to the Wastes with me, to rule jointly. We’d be so strong together.” The sorceress sighed. “But you have a compassionate heart. You always have, though I fear it could mean your downfall.” She cocked her head. “Clarysa… What a darling little buttercup.”
Stellan clenched his jaw. There was something…unsavory about the sound of her name on Sada’s lips. “Sada, I’m only going to say this once. Take over the Wastes if that’s your desire, but I want no part of it. You’re not welcome here. Not in Vandeborg, not in my kingdom, not in my life.”
“Surely you don’t mean that.”
“Surely I do.” Crossing his arms, he glowered at her.
Sada placed her gift on a nearby table. “My, you’re the epitome of gratitude. I came to wish you great happiness and fortune.”
“Consider it done. Now get out.”
Her eyes flashed with preternatural power. “Not ’til I’ve said my piece.”
Stellan made a fist. “I knew you had other motives.”
“How astute of you.” Sada braced her hands upon the back of a chair. “I’ve come to warn you. Father wants you dead. In fact, he sent me here to carry out his order.”
Stellan tensed. It was no idle threat. He and Sada may have been twins, but in terms of sheer magickal ability she outmatched him tenfold. “That could be true, or it could just be another one of your head games.”
Sada arched a shapely brow. “Believe what you want, but it’s the truth. You’ve been interfering with his plan for too long and he’s had enough. Taking up with Aldebaran was the final straw.”
“So why haven’t you killed me already?”
Her eyes glittered in the firelight. “Because I’m your flesh-and-blood sister. We have a bond–”
“Had.”
Sada frowned. “We have a unique bond, the power of which Father has yet to grasp. I’m not as cold as you think. Ambitious, yes, but where you’re concerned I still have a heart. Therefore, I’ll make you an offer. Reform now and return to the Wastes with me. I’ll persuade Father to grant you a reprieve. Of course, you’d have to renounce this kingdom. And Clarysa.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I haven’t decided yet. There are many factors to consider. Father has his ideas about how to expand our reign. I have mine.”
“In other words, you want me around for as long as I’m useful.”
Sada smiled coldly. “Something like that.”
Stellan walked past her and opened the door. “I officially refuse your offer. Now leave.”
Sada headed toward the opening. “Very well,” she said, the chill in her voice echoing the icy glint in her eyes. “You had your chance.” Then she glided through the door like a wisp of smoke and was gone.
Stellan grabbed her “gift” and bolted to the pipe-organ tower. He stepped out onto the balcony. On the horizon, dawn crept across a milky, overcast sky. He watched Sada depart on her steed, the snow descending like a curtain as the wind advanced from the north. Only after the murky whiteness had s
wallowed her entirely did he relax his guard. Yet he remained against the parapet a few moments more, lost in anxious thought.
Mixed feelings about his sister abounded within him, fear and loathing and admiration all wrapped up together like one of Gretchen’s balls of yarn. Father had always favored Sada; his preference had been clear to Stellan from childhood. For one, she possessed the lion’s share of magickal talent and ambition. But it wasn’t enough to make her happy.
Stellan knew the patriarchal chains of control frustrated Sada to no end. Years before, she had solicited Stellan’s promise to rule with her jointly when the throne became his. Not as husband and wife, but as equal partners. At the time, the plan had seemed workable. Shrewd and indomitable, witty and ravishing, she would make a far better king than he. As far as Stellan had been concerned, she was welcome to the monarchy. He would have been content to engage in more creative pursuits.
But that was before Pestilence entered the picture.
Though she would undoubtedly deny it, he was sure Sada had disclosed his plan to betray their father all those long years ago. The moment she learned his intentions threatened her quest for power, she’d retaliated in anger.
At the time, his actions must have seemed like treason. How dare he oppose the Black Mage! How dare he destroy a room’s worth of plague serum, not to mention “valuable” records kept on its development! Renaudas’s wrath that day had been terrible, catastrophic. He was apoplectic with rage and an unstoppable force.
Stellan pushed up a sleeve and fingered the long scars on his right arm, evidence of his father’s eldritch power and fury. Yet if Sada had stayed quiet, he might have escaped punishment. Regardless, he wouldn’t have done anything differently. Pestilence had been a misguided plot. There had certainly been no reason for his father to test it on his own people.
A twinge of deep-seated sadness passed through him. Or their beloved pets–or Mother.
Since then, emptiness had filled his heart. Whatever brotherly love he’d felt had vanished. Stellan found it difficult to forgive Sada’s betrayal, especially since she’d once meant the world to him. As a result, “trust” became a foreign concept.
As if her betrayal hadn’t been bad enough, his father had recreated the serum, as evidenced by all of the victims Stellan had encountered during his exile. In the beginning, he had accomplished all he could with the means available. Now he only wanted to be rid of Pestilence completely.
Stellan stared down at Sada’s gift. Snow speckled its graceful folds. Mistrust filled his mind. It could be a trap with some sort of magickal danger enclosed. He would have to remain ever vigilant.
Memories flooded back of his early adolescent years, when he had thought Sada and he would be together forever. They had shared everything, told each other everything. Given their past emotional bond, no wonder Sada thought she could convince him to join her planned coup. She hadn’t the slightest inkling how much he had changed. Either she believes I’m a fool, or a poor desperate fool, but I am neither!
With a heave, Stellan threw the tiny box into the great, swirling snowstorm that had sprung up around him.
Chapter 25
Drifting along on the edge of sleep, Clarysa tossed and turned in the satin sheets of her bed. The official wedding date was only days away. Each night she reviewed mental lists of all the various tasks she needed to accomplish. Each night she wondered if the wedding would even happen since Stellan was constantly battling Pestilence outbreaks. No matter. She would wait as long as required. The safety of the Five Lands came first.
This particular night, her anxiety about it all must have tormented her more than she’d realized, for visions of a peculiar dream roiled about in her subconscious mind, coming and going like waves on a shore.
Sleep came at last with visions of Stellan beckoning her into slumber–and other nighttime delights. But this was not to last, for her sensuous fiance was soon replaced by lissome specters that slid silently along her bedroom walls. Try as she might, she couldn’t see them clearly. Their presence unsettled her. Who were they? What was their intent?
A sensation followed. Her body became airy, light as a feather. Clarysa was floating and twirling among the demonic shapes, a bizarre dance macabre against the prismatic vistas of the horizon. Was she flying? Impossible. But it felt so real!
The vision blurred and disappeared. Clarysa exhaled–and she was awake. Or was it more dream-state trickery?
Her head ached so much it was like a blacksmith was splitting it open upon his anvil. She tried to rise from the nest of coarse blankets. Yet no matter how much effort she put forth, her body refused to cooperate. Opening her eyes, she saw the woven pattern of a thatched roof above her. This wasn’t her room!
Clarysa screamed, but panic reduced the sound to a mere whimper. Grogginess muddled her mind. Time seemed to both contract and expand simultaneously. Where am I?
She became aware of a pinching sensation in her right arm.
Her stomach twisted at the pain. It hurt. A great deal.
Such a vivid dream! But the pain helped Clarysa gather her wits. She turned her head. A thin translucent tube protruded from her wrist. It pulsed with a soft, incandescent glow. Clear fluid flecked with bubbles traveled through it. The other end looped around the arm of a beautiful woman with raven-black hair and frosty skin who sat next to the bed. The other end of the glowing tube was embedded in her forearm. Was this truly happening, or was it a dream? Again, it seemed impossible to tell.
Clarysa tried to form words, but no sound emerged. Who are you? What’s happening to me? The woman across from her smiled icily, but did not speak. How bizarre. How very… The vision faded. Clarysa fell into a black sea of unconsciousness.
Chapter 26
Stellan gazed over the parapets of Vandeborg onto the wintry landscape of the grounds below. The wind caused his red-lined cape to swoop up and fold about him as if it had a mind of its own. He held open the palm of his hand, watching the falling snowflakes melt one by one as they struck his warm flesh. The wedding was only days away. Would his happiness with Clarysa be just as fleeting? He clenched his hand into a tight fist.
Three months had passed since the establishment of the alliance, and he was taking a rare break to recoup and prepare more potions. Like a man possessed, he’d been working day and night to eradicate Pestilence from Aldebaran. Tirelessly, he followed every lead–tracking, studying and destroying any infected. In time, he might be able to develop a cure, but for now, well, he did what he thought best in the interest of safety.
Unrestricted access, as well as Leopold’s endorsement, had made an astonishing difference. Education appeared to be the key, for most people, understandably, knew little of the dark magick that threatened to transform them. Village by village, Stellan had been teaching the citizens about the early symptoms. He told them what to watch for, and most importantly, what to do. No contact must be risked, no further communication with the infected attempted.
Stellan leaned onto the frozen stone wall before him. His efforts were paying off, for there hadn’t been a confirmed sighting of a victim in over a fortnight. Was it too much to ask for this nightmare to end? Could he and Clarysa finally proceed with the wedding? It appeared so, but his life had a way of unexpectedly taking a sharp turn whenever things seemed to be leveling off for the better. Dare he hope this pattern had finally been broken by meeting Clarysa? A sudden updraft of snow blasted his questioning face as if to answer him with mockery.
Several times while out in the wilderness patrolling, he’d thought he had caught a glimpse of a spy from the Western Wastes. Were his father and Alucard aware of his latest betrayal? It seemed certain. Little could escape the eyes of the Black Mage, for he could command many mysteries, dark and terrible. No wonder Pestilence was so virulent, for its very essence had been culled from his father’s blood.
He brushed away the snow sticking to his face. Unbidden, his thoughts drifted to his sister. Sada, if only you could see beyond the
blind hatred that clouds Father’s thinking. But then, you always were his favorite and like him in so many ways.
Hail began to pelt him. Stellan turned. It was time to head back inside and momentarily forget the past that forever haunted him.
* * * *
Back inside the castle, Froll, Hunter and Ghyslain were busy scrubbing away at the walls. Stellan had communicated his need for the castle to look its best. After all, it would soon be Clarysa’s home as well. Not being one to think himself above such manual labor, Stellan grabbed the nearest pail and brush and set to work.
Gretchen sauntered about, clucking and nodding her approval of the men’s work.
“Froll, you’ll be wanting to clean that spot over there again.” She pointed to a stained corner. “This time put more muscle behind it!”
Froll looked up, his haggard face betraying exhaustion. “I’ve been at this bloody work for more than five hours now, woman! Who do you think I am?”
Gretchen pursed her lips. “A lazy dog who’ll be glad to put in another five hours if he wants to see any supper tonight. Now get to it!”
Froll smirked. “If I’m a lazy dog, that must make you the queen bitch!”
The men’s laughter splashed out against the dank walls. Even Stellan chuckled with amusement. Gretchen came over and whispered an aside to him. “Stellan, a quick word, please, if you don’t mind.”
He nodded and put down his cleaning tools. Gretchen led him to his bedroom. She was silent the entire way, save for the clinking of her jewelry.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No, not at all.”
At the doorway, she cocked her head. “Go in and tell me what you think.”
Stellan pushed aside the door, and then abruptly stopped short. Bright colors of every hue sprang forth, bewitching his eyes with their heavenly splendor. Slowly, he stepped forward.
There, in the middle of the room stood Gretchen’s rudimentary sewing dummy, which she often used to create new clothes or patch and repair old ones. This was not the case today, however, for upon it hung the most elegant outfit Stellan had ever seen inside his castle. The material was woven of a cobalt blue, one so dark it appeared black. The tailoring reflected influences both gypsy and the classic style he usually preferred, dating back to clothing he had raided from Vandeborg’s previous occupants. Colorful threads lined the edge of the matching cape. Shiny new boots stood beneath it.
Lord of Snow and Ice Page 19