"Alarick," she moaned, grabbing his shoulders, his butt, anything she could hold onto. "Please."
"Not yet," he said. "Not yet."
He continued teasing her, bringing her to the brink and pulling her back, selfishly savoring every moan and cry. When he finally pushed her knees apart and prepared to take her, she whispered, "Only you. Forever."
He took her with a control that surprised himself. Alarick wanted this to be perfect, if such a thing could exist. He set an easy pace and let her push for more. She bit her lip in an effort not to cry out.
"Go ahead and scream," he whispered. "There's no one to hear except me."
"Oh, Alarick," she moaned. "Please," she whimpered.
Unable to resist her pleas any longer, he drove her harder, racing them both toward the edge of the cliff. On a scream she went over, and he plunged after her, loosing his own cry of sorrow and triumph.
After, in the cool evening darkness, he held her as close as possible while she slept. Alarick was amazed that she could sleep, as he could not. It was just as well, he thought. Sleep might give her a little respite from the grief which would return all too soon upon waking.
Despite everything, sleep, so long denied, chased him, too. He fought to stay awake, knowing these few hours were all they had. He didn't want to sleep them away. He wanted to prolong them as long as possible, not sleep through this moment of goodbye. Elissa's pulse beat against his hand where it rested on her breast. Eventually his own slowed to match it, his breathing deepened, and he slipped into the abyss.
When he woke, the sunlight was streaming through the windows, bathing them in golden light. He stirred and Elissa woke, as well.
"Sorry," he said, as she rolled over to face him.
"It's fine. I guess we need to get up and get ready," she said, her voice heavy with dread.
"I guess so," he said.
She stood and automatically moved to the crib under the windowsill, stopping when the realization that their daughter was gone hit her. A primal cry erupted from her core and she sagged toward the floor. Alarick was up in an instant and caught her before she fell, holding her tightly to him as she cried through the fresh pain.
"It's okay," he whispered as he smoothed her hair. "You only have to live with it a bit longer and then we'll be in a place where there is no pain, no fear."
"Do you believe in an afterlife, Alarick?" she asked. "You surprise me."
He shrugged. "Not an afterlife, per se. I doubt we go on in this form after death. But anything has to be better than this horrible world. Even the absolute silence and darkness of the grave is preferable to the pain of this world. My days with you have been the only ones I've not wished away."
"I'm sorry," she said.
"For what?" he asked.
"Everything. Had we never met, you wouldn't have had to give your child away. You wouldn't be facing death. You could have run with the others instead of staying here with me."
"Never apologize, Elissa. Everything is better because you came to me. I'm dying a happy man; something I never thought possible. I've done more to help magical people than I ever believed I could. And that's all because of you. A thousand years with you wouldn't have been enough. There was never going to be enough time for us. I can't lament what will never be at the expense of what was. What still is."
They stood there, silent, simply breathing together for minutes more. And then reality intruded. Alarick's lifted his head and turned toward the window.
"Voices," he said. "Coming up from below."
They quickly threw on the ruins of their clothes and dashed downstairs where Alarick could peer out of the larger windows in the main hall.
The Ministry emerged onto the flat mountaintop, Alarick's father leading the army. Several soldiers on horseback surrounded him, but it was clear he was directing the troops. He stopped his horse in the Keep's courtyard and the entire company came to a halt behind him.
"There's nothing here but some rocks," complained one of the men riding next to him.
"Oh, there is. Set your cannons there, there, and there," he instructed, pointing toward the front doors and the two front corners of the castle. "And deploy your men off to the sides of that pile of rubble."
"Should we send a group behind the rock pile?" one of the men asked.
"No. There's nothing but a cliff and waterfall back there. No one's getting out that way."
He removed his wand from his coat and pointed it at the castle's front doors. Alarick knew his father could see the castle, and he would not miss.
He hugged Elissa hard. "Get to the library," he whispered. "I'll come if I can."
"Alarick—" she began.
"Go. I'll keep them occupied as long as I can."
He kissed her fiercely and then pushed her toward the door. "I love you," he called to her back.
"I love you, too," she said.
She turned back as if to say more, but time was up. Nothing more could be said.
"Go!" he shouted.
Elissa fled the hall and Alarick got ready to work, but not before casting one last longing look at Elissa's back and thinking, once again, of all that would never be.
21
Alarick's only hope was to destroy his father before he could reveal the castle to the Ministry's forces. It was a faint hope, however, because he knew his father to be his equal in spell casting. Patrick Brandon would have the solution to any puzzle Alarick presented. Even without magic, as long as his father was alive and could see the castle, he would be able to tell the troops where to aim in order to damage the structure.
Alarick debated walking out into the courtyard and dueling his father, but that would be impossible. The moment he revealed himself, he would be overpowered and killed or captured by the Ministry. No, he needed to remain invisible.
He dashed up the stairs to the tower. Once there, he ducked and crawled across the stone floor to the parapet, careful to keep his head out of view.
The first blast hit the opposite corner of the castle and Alarick felt the structure shudder beneath him. He didn't know whether the blast came from a spell or a cannon, but it didn't matter. Damage was done and the spells protecting that section likely broken.
From below, Alarick heard excited voices confirming his fear.
"I can see it," someone shouted.
"There's a corner here," another one yelled.
Alarick pushed himself up and peered over the top of the railing. His father appeared to be conducting an orchestra. Wave his wand, point, and shoot. Alarick could almost set the movements to a waltz, every ninth beat punctuated by a crash as more of the castle's structure fell.
"Fuck," Alarick whispered as he drew his wand and took aim on his father. He was going to have one shot. After that his position would be known.
In one smooth movement, he stood and aimed down at Patrick Brandon.
"Exstinguo," he cried, flicking his wand at Patrick.
His aim was off, the distance too great. The spell merely clipped his father, knocking him from his horse. Instantly, a barrage of gunfire sailed up at Alarick sending him ducking and running for cover.
He ran back down the tower stairs, knowing his father would seek to destroy it next. Sure enough, a blast hit the structure above him. The resulting collapse compressed the air, and the force of it all but shot Alarick and piles of debris out of the tower and into the hallway below.
Alarick lay there stunned for a moment, but quickly recovered and stood, debating where to go next. Blast after blast rocked the castle now. The destruction was happening much faster than Alarick had foreseen. He'd believed the castle's protections might buy some time, but against his father there was nothing to be done. He could already hear voices coming from the exposed side of the castle as Ministry troops forced their way inside.
He followed the voices down to the kitchens and found a small group of ten soldiers there. Alarick had the element of surprise on his side, and he managed to take eight of them down bef
ore one got a shot off, grazing Alarick's shoulder.
He ducked under some tables and dispatched the remaining two with killing spells. He grabbed a towel from the counter and pressed it to his wound. It wasn't too bad. The bullet wasn't lodged inside so a little pressure stemmed the bleeding.
More voices were approaching.
"I heard a shot. There must be people here," said one.
"Then, where are they? Brandon told us the place would be full of magicals. We've seen no one."
"Looks like they were tipped off and scattered," said the first voice.
"Still, we search until we're certain."
Unless the madman in the courtyard gets you killed first, Alarick thought as another blast shook the opposite side of the castle, causing the roof in the kitchen to collapse in places. Alarick rolled clear of falling debris and hurried back upstairs to the main hall.
Here the front doors had been blasted open but in a profound act of stupidity, had also been blocked because the attacker had hit the stone doorframe, sending chunks of masonry into the opening.
Even so, soldiers were moving hunks of rock and scaling the debris pile to enter the castle. Alarick picked off the first three who managed to summit the pile and then dashed upstairs toward the library. Crouching below the balustrade on the upper level, he was able to take down several more Ministry soldiers too stupid to realize they should not follow their fallen comrades.
Someone finally realized the danger the doorway presented, and the group moved on to attack from somewhere else. Alarick debated following them, but fresh voices were coming up from the kitchen and moving swiftly. Another blast rocked the opposite end of the hallway and falling debris blocked any hope of reaching the staircase leading to the upper levels.
He was trapped, the library his only option. He’d hoped to last longer than this, to buy his people more time. As it stood, he’d barely lasted half an hour. Cursing his failure, he ran to the library. He slammed the door behind him and locked it with a complicated series of spells that would take even his father some time to undo. Of course, the door would not stand up long to artillery or a battering ram, but he hoped those might not be coming soon.
Inside the library, some of the upper shelves had collapsed, sending books, ladders and pieces of the railings all over the floor. It made easy movement difficult for him and impossible for Elissa. He glanced around the space, hoping nothing had fallen on her and she hadn’t tripped and fallen over any of the debris.
He finally found Elissa huddled in the corner of her scriptorium. At the sound of his boots on the floor, she stood and raised her wand.
“It’s me,” he said, before she could launch a spell in his direction.
She lowered her wand and started toward him, stumbling on books and art supplies which had fallen off her desk. He closed the gap in a few quick strides and wrapped her in his arms.
"We are lost," he said. "Between my father and the cannons, the Ministry is too powerful. The Keep is lost."
"What do we do now?" she asked.
"We wait for them to kill us," he said.
"No," she said. "I will not do that. I will not wait helplessly to die."
"What choice do we have? You refuse to leave the library, so we wait. We wait for someone to attack you, to spill your blood in this space. And then, hopefully, I get to kill that person slowly."
"You can still go," she said. "You can peregrinate to any place in the world and live on."
"It would not be a life without you. But if you want to give up on the library," he began, hoping against hope she would say yes. Not that he was afraid of death; he wasn't so cowardly. However, he was selfish enough to want even one more day with her.
"No, I cannot do that," she said. "But I would ask something of you."
"Anything," he whispered into her hair.
"I want you to kill me," she said as another mighty crash sent more books flying off the shelves and pieces of the ceiling rained down on their heads.
"I will not!" Alarick said.
She pushed away from his embrace and raised her face to his. Her hands sought and found his face, framing his cheeks in her palms.
"Alarick, I have to die here. If the Ministry comes, we both know it won’t happen. Unless they kill me accidentally, they will take us alive so that our torture and deaths will serve as a reminder to others not to test them.
"I would ask you to spare me that fate. Spare me a slow, painful death that accomplishes nothing. Kill me here, now, where my death may make a difference. I would die by a better hand, by a hand that loves me enough to make this final sacrifice."
Alarick shook his head. "No, no. What you ask is impossible," he said. The thought of even hurting her, let alone killing her, was abhorrent to him.
"Please," she begged. "If I could kill myself and spare you the act, I would. But the information I found is very clear that my blood must be spilled by another. Suicide is not an option."
Alarick forced his brain to slow down, to stop the roaring in his ears that drowned out sense. What she was asking was horrifying, but also necessary. If they were taken from here, the library would be left exposed and the books could be taken anywhere and hidden away forever. While it was possible the Ministry would kill them both accidentally, it was not guaranteed. She already knew what torture at the hands of the Ministry entailed and she was asking him to spare her such a fate.
The question was, did he have the courage to do it? Could he kill his own wife, destroy his own heart and soul? He was a strong man, but he did not know if he could be this strong. He'd already sent his daughter away. Now he was being asked to kill his wife? How much misery must one man's soul bear?
As if she read his thoughts, Elissa said, "I know this monstrous act will blight your soul. But as you told me this morning, we only have to live with our pain and sins a while longer. Soon it will all be past us. And any god beyond this world surely will not condemn you for an act of mercy."
The library shook as something heavy battered the door. Alarick pointed his wand at the bookshelves closest to the door and moved them in front of it. Their weight might give them a little more time.
"They're coming," she said. "Please, Alarick. Do it before they take me away."
Alarick looked down at her, his heart warring with his head. They were dead regardless of any action or inaction he might take. It was a question of death now or later, cruelty or kindness. He could give her a better death, sped on to the next plane by the hand of a loved one.
"How would you have me do it?" he whispered, hoping she had a plan because his mind was full of nothing but blind terror.
"You cannot use a killing spell," she said. "As it is bloodless. My blood must spill."
Alarick thought through all the options. He did not have a gun, so he could not shoot her. There was an iron poker by the fireplace, but he couldn't beat her to death. There was a small sword mounted on the wall above the fireplace, some ancient relic obtained by Master Hale long ago. Stabbing her to death seemed too horrible. He was not an expert swordsman and was bound to get it wrong, resulting in butchery rather than the peaceful death she asked for. He had no herbs or medicines to anesthetize her, either.
"Bloody hell," he whispered, desperate for an idea. Then it came to him.
"You said your blood has to spill, but must it spill from a mortal wound? Can I wound you, bleed you, and then kill you with a killing spell?"
She thought about it. "I believe so," she said, a small smile dawning as the brilliance of his plan registered. "It would be no different, I don't think, than an attacker stabbing me and then beating me to death."
The calmness with which she talked of her own death chilled him. But it also reminded him that she had thought this through. She was prepared for it, even if he was not.
Without a word, he went to the fireplace and retrieved the sword. He flicked a finger over the blade and was satisfied when it cut him. Still sharp, still deadly.
"You will for
give me if I'm wrong and this does not seal the library?" he asked her, thinking how absurd it was that a death could be counted as "not done correctly."
"Of course. Of all the options, this is the least awful for you. I understand that. I'm sure your plan will work, though. It has to. And if not, well, you've still spared me a painful death at the Ministry's hands."
Alarick laid the sword aside and reached for Elissa again, holding her close to his breast. They breathed together even as the castle groaned and crashed around them. The soldiers still had not breached the door, but the banging had stopped. Alarick listened and heard, instead of battering rams, his father's voice chanting spells and incantations outside the door. They didn't have long.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you, too."
That was all there was to say. Everything else already lay between them, having been said last night, in both words and actions.
He let her go and she stood, shivering, in front of him. She folded her arms across her chest, but it did not stop the shaking. Still, she held her head high, refusing to cower. Alarick picked up the sword as quietly as he could. Knowing she could not see him was at least a small mercy. She would not see her death coming and she would not die with the image of his horrified face as her last memory of him.
"Forgive me," he whispered to whatever benevolent force might be listening. "And help me."
He took a deep breath and looked deep into his soul for the resolve to do this vile deed. No sudden fortitude appeared, unfortunately, but Alarick knew he could delay no longer. Waiting was only cruel for both of them.
With a last glance at her face, he grabbed her wrist, exposing her inner arm. Swiftly, he sliced her arm from elbow to wrist. His aim was true and the sharp sword cut deep. Blood spurted from her ruined veins and splashed onto the marble floor.
Her face went white and she dropped to her knees, but she did not cry out. Alarick, who refused to let go of her, fell with her and gathered her into his arms, heedless of the blood soaking through his pants and shirt where her ruined arm rested against him. He rocked her as he howled his pain and rage to the empty room.
Library of Absolution Page 30