Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy

by Amy Miles

Newly formed icicles dangle from my window. Small droplets of water bead at the ends before plummeting to the ground far below. I have been observing their steady decline for several hours, marveling over the colors the afternoon sun casts off their glistening surface.

  A line of unmanned carriages and wagons sits below my window. The horses have been stowed in the barns, their needs seen to shortly after arriving just before dawn. The festivities and merriment lasted nearly until midday before the castle fell into a hush once more. I stood at my door, listening to the new voices. There are twenty-four in total. Fifteen men and nineteen ladies, though judging by their manner of speech, only one or two of them would be considered a proper lady.

  I heard laughter and the slamming of doors for several hours as rooms were sorted and bedmates were selected. I was actually rather impressed that only two fights broke out, both settled swiftly and severely. Vladimir seems to be in no mood for discord today. Nothing will spoil his solstice celebrations.

  A dress has been laid upon my bed, though I have spent much of the day ignoring it. I do not want to participate in whatever events are planned. They are bound to be depraved and unsavory in nature.

  The dress itself is a thing of sheer beauty. Made of a deep sapphire and gold-scrawled velvet, it is weighted and bustled perfectly to fit to my narrow waist, flaring fetchingly at the hip, as seems to be the emerging style. A single strand of pearls has been draped across the bust of the dress and a pair of golden slippers lies beside it.

  My hair falls about my shoulders in long, untamed tresses. I press a hand against my corseted waist, longing for the freedom that my nightgown provides. The boning of my day dress suddenly feels constrictive, making it hard to take a breath. I have taken to wearing an older fashion of clothes that I scrounge from the rooms when my brethren have left to plunder. Emeline has a pile of discarded dresses in the bottom of her armoire. I have no desire to wear something fancy or to impress Vladimir so her dresses suit me just fine, albeit a bit loose in the top.

  I am relatively pain free this morning. Vladimir has not come to me since our guests began arriving. For this I am very grateful. My wounds have healed and my bruises have receded. I nearly feel whole. As much pleasure as this knowledge brings me, it is also paired with wariness. Vladimir must have something planned, and judging by the fine stitching of this dress, he fully intends to show me off this night.

  A knock sounds at my door, startling me. I instantly chide myself for allowing my thoughts to whittle away at my concentration. I glance to the window and see that the sun still perches too high in the sky to yet be dusk. Who could this be? Surely we are not to prepare for the evening’s revelry this soon.

  I approach the door with caution, sniffing at the air. I focus on each individual grain in the wood as I grasp the door handle. The scent waiting for me on the other side curls my lips into a tiny smile of victory, though I instantly wipe away any hint of this emotion or risk him sensing my rise in heartbeat.

  “I thought you were a ghost.” A slight fluttering rises in my chest as Fane’s scent rolls over me when I open the door wide. This time the smell of damp grass and rotting leaves is prevalent instead of smoke. He must have come from beyond the snows. “I suppose I am thankful you are not, merely for the fact that if you were, my sanity would be in question.”

  “I am truly sorry for my rude and sudden departure.” Fane dips low into a bow. “It was never my intention to leave you without sending word first. However, I was not given the chance.”

  He seems larger than I remember, standing nearly a foot taller than myself. His hair is fuller now that it is not dripping from the rain. A leather thong ties the two sides of his vest closed so I can only see a hint of his flesh and muscle beneath. Though he has been gone for nearly two months, I find him no less breathtaking than before.

  “Where have you been?” I ask before reason can restrain my query.

  I know I should not care, should not even have opened my door to him, yet the need to know he is real, a tangible thing that I could touch if I so dared, drives me to remain.

  A muscle beside his right eye tenses as he offers a wearied smile. I can tell by the way he leans heavily against the door that he rode hard to get here. Was it because he knew the others would be asleep? A part of me almost hopes he chose to forgo rest to see me, though not because Vladimir bid it.

  “I have been nowhere and everywhere. The trees and villages all begin to look the same after a while,” he replies. His voice is deep and weighted with exhaustion.

  I try not to be disappointed with his vague details, yet a part of me wishes to know the goings on outside the castle walls. Does anyone remember me? Does my town think I was lost to the fire as well? Did the fires spread through the city and decimate the grain stores?

  I have not been allowed to step outside the castle walls since that fateful night, so to the rest of the world, I might as well be dead. Oh, how I wish that were true. “You have returned?”

  “For the moment. Not many would dare to refuse an invitation from Vladimir Enescue. His solstice events are quite the spectacle.” I tilt my head to the side, attempting to dissect the hint of sarcasm in his tone.

  He brushes his gloved hands against his pants. Horsehair flutters to the ground about his boots. I can smell the hint of hay from the stables on him now, as well as other less appealing scents.

  My stomach clenches as I grip the door to remain upright. There is a tension in his voice that worries me, though no more so than the fact that his gaze is suddenly riveted to his mud-slick boots instead of my face. “Do you know what Vladimir plans for me?”

  His head comes up so fast I wonder how he manages to avoid slamming the back of his skull against the stone wall behind him. “You know he has plans?”

  “I am not blind, nor am I deaf.”

  A smile tugs his lips into a dazzling smile. “You are observant. That is good. You will need those skills soon.”

  “For what?”

  His face twists and for a moment he looks almost pained. Then the expression smoothes out. “That is not something you need to worry about tonight.”

  The wood of the door begins to crack as I dig my nails into it. “There are plans beyond tonight?” I step forward, surprising both of us with my boldness. “I want to know.”

  Fane casts his gaze aside. “I am not sure now is the proper time…”

  I release my grasp on the door and clutch his hand instead. He winces at the strength of my grip, though he does not pull away. “Please. I am going mad wondering what evil plot Vladimir is concocting against me. You must tell me.”

  With a curt nod, Fane motions for me to step back into my room. I hesitate a moment, suddenly gripped with a terror that if I release him, he will vanish once more. I uncurl my fingers from around his arm. My mouth gapes open in horror at the growing red lines that give evidence to my grip. “My sincerest apologies,” I whisper, stepping back into my room.

  I cannot look anywhere except for the markings upon his arm. Fane steps into my room and closes the door behind him, engaging the latch. When he turns to look at me, I see compassion in his eyes. “You are far stronger than you realize, though I will admit this does not hurt. You have no reason to be dismayed. I have suffered far worse.”

  His smile makes my abdomen clench with guilt. My hands quiver at my sides as I back away, stunned to find myself against my bedside. I sink onto the soft surface and clasp my hands in my lap.

  Fane heads for a chair and lifts it effortlessly, setting it down before me. He leaves several feet of space between us, though as he sinks into the plush cushion, he leans forward. I look back at him, noting the markings on his arms have already begun to fade. I breathe a sigh of relief.

  He waits until he has my full attention. His gaze is guarded yet thoughtful. “Are you entirely sure that you want the truth?”

  I nod, biting my lower lip as I curl my arms about my waist. I realize only now that my low-cut dress is hardly the pro
per attire to speak with a strange man in my bedchambers, yet considering this is the first time I have been clothed in his presence, I take comfort in its layers.

  “Very well.” He sinks back into the chair. The wood creaks around his broad frame. He places his hands upon his knees, tapping his fingers lightly. “There is a tradition that takes place every solstice night. A hunt… of sorts.”

  “A hunt?” I mirror his question.

  “Yes.” He nods slowly. I sense his reservation in moving forward so I remain perfectly silent for fear of giving him cause to change his mind. “This hunt is different than some, though hardly the worst I have seen. Six humans are selected to participate in the hunt. The last to survive will join our ranks this night.”

  I swallow roughly. “And the others?”

  Fane looks aside. He digs his nails into the flesh of the chair arm and purses his lips. “They are not given a choice.”

  His words feel deeply ominous. “A fight to the death.”

  “Essentially.” He brushes aside shavings of wood that he has unburied from the chair arm. They flutter to the floor. I watch each particle as it lands. “It is not in an arena. It is in a town. The villagers will be rounded up. Volunteers will be given a choice to come forward. If none do, Vladimir will select those who participate.”

  “Surely men of the village will volunteer to protect their families.”

  Fane’s face contorts as he snorts with bitterness. “No. No one volunteers.”

  “Then how are the men selected?” I ask.

  He blows out a deep breath. When he finally lifts his gaze to meet mine, I recoil from the hollowness that I see there. “I never said it was only men that are selected.”

  My throat clenches as bile churns within my abdomen. “Monsters!”

  He nods slowly. I watch as he swallows, realizing he too is repulsed by the idea of it. A shadow seems to cross his face, and I find myself curious as to what hidden depths lie within his blue eyes. “You have seen this hunt before?”

  His gaze is piercing as he sizes me up. His hesitation inflames my curiosity. “I have,” he finally answers, though he offers nothing more.

  I rub my palms against my dress. They have grown clammy and the trembling in them makes me nauseous. “You said this is not the worst hunt you have seen…” I press.

  His face pales as he hangs his head. “There is one that is worse.”

  “Will you tell me of it?”

  Fane clenches his fists upon his knees, his bones creaking in protest of his grip. The muscles along his forearms tense as he shakes his head. I can feel him withdrawing, pushing me away silently. Terrified of losing my opportunity at knowledge, I lean forward and place a hand upon his.

  His fingers flinch and his head jerks up. I can see his surprise and offer a slight smile. “My apologies.”

  I withdraw my hand and watch as he clenches his own, slowly drawing it back into his chest. His hand quakes, though he does not attempt to still it. “The hunt of which I speak coincides with Lamphae, the spring day of the moon. The festival spans over three days, though the hunt is a single night. Dusk to sunrise.”

  I find myself leaning toward him, drawn by the hypnotic rhythm of his voice. “I know of this festival.”

  He nods. “It is meant to be one of rejoicing, to celebrate the arrival of spring. For our kind, it has taken on a darker tone.”

  Without warning, Fane pushes up to his feet and walks past me. He moves to the window, his shoulder pressed against the wall as he stares out across the castle grounds. “This hunt does not involve humans.”

  “I’m not entirely sure I like the sound of that.”

  He nods yet does not turn to look back at me. “This hunt involves only one person against a group of immortals.”

  “That hardly seems fair.”

  “Precisely. That is its purpose. This person must prove they are worthy of their position.”

  “Their position?” My eyebrows dip with confusion. “You speak in riddles.”

  Fane sighs and draws away from the window. I notice his shoulders have slumped and his face looks drawn with weariness. “It is a tradition that when a mate is selected by Vladimir, she must undergo this trial. If she survives the night, she is allowed to remain at his side. Her position as lady of the castle shall never again be brought into question.”

  “Mate?” I spit out the word as if it is poison upon my tongue. “I am not an animal to simply be mounted and then tossed aside.”

  Fane smiles. “No, you most certainly are not, and that is why you will survive.”

  A numbness begins to spread up from the bottoms of my feet as his words sink in. I struggle to swallow and find my mouth too dry to succeed in my attempt. “How many other women have succeeded?”

  His smile vanishes as he casts a pained look in my direction. “You would not be here now if any of them had lived the night.”

  “Oh!” I sway in place, sure that at any moment I will lose control of my limbs and tumble to the floor in a state of shock. He expects me to fight. I am not capable of such a feat!

  I am only vaguely aware of his steps as he crosses the floor and kneels before me. I blink as he places a hand upon mine, clutching it tightly. “I am here to help you prepare.”

  “Prepare?” I expel a laugh dripping with bitterness. “I have only ever held one weapon in my entire life and you saw the punishment I received because of it.”

  My voice trembles, though I am unsure if that is natural or if it stems from the terrible quake that is rising through my arms and legs. My skin prickles with sensitivity and I become increasingly aware of the fact that Fane’s thumb is brushing gently along the back of my hand. I stare down at it, focusing on this one sensation, and I fight to push aside my terror.

  My heart thrums loudly in my ears as I look to the window and out over the grounds. It is deserted, left unattended during the long daylight hours. How easy it would be for me to set the hay barn alight and run, yet how far would I reach before Vladimir and his dogs track me down? Would they leave my limbs intact or maim them beyond repair? I am sure Vladimir does not have need for both of my feet, though it would only make the game that much more pleasing to him.

  “I do not think I can do this.” I pull out of his grasp and surge up to my feet. I feel restless and confined. I begin to pace, shaking out my hands at my sides to release some of my fear. Finally, I cannot stand the motion any longer and I close my eyes, leaning my forehead against the cold glass of a window.

  The idea of this hunt seems altogether barbaric, though not the least bit surprising. I should have known something like this would come about. I have heard rumors, gossip among the ladies of the castle, that I am not a fit mate for Vladimir. Although I sorely agree with them, I did not think the whispers would lead me to this.

  I am a fool.

  Will they hunt me with swords on horseback? Release the hounds to sniff out my trail? Will they even give me a weapon to fight back with?

  This will be a fight for my life, a life that only this morning I would have happily given away, yet when faced with the knowledge that I will be hunted like an animal, I find myself angry instead of accepting my fate.

  “I have longed for death these past few months,” I whisper, watching as my breath fogs against the window. “Longed for it with the very fiber of my being, though I refuse to go out like this. No, my death will be on terms. Vladimir does not control my destiny.”

  A small smile begins to form along Fane’s lips, though I raise a hand to stop him.

  “I was born into privilege. I do not know these woods nor how to survive in them. I know nothing of how to conceal myself or my scent. I only went into the woods to play in the stream with my brother and sister or chase after butterflies. I am no hunter.”

  “That is why you have me.” Fane’s approach is swift as he pauses only a few scant inches behind me. “Vladimir does not want to see you lose.”

  “If that is true, then why force me to
endure this trial?” I am unwilling to expend the effort to mask my misery as tears gather along the corners of my eyes. Is there no end to the depths of my torment? Have I not suffered enough? Does Vladimir seek to truly destroy every portion of my soul?

  My shoulders slump as I play out the wretched events of this coming hunt. When I reach my own death, an odd sense of peace falls over me. “Perhaps this is the solution I have been looking for,” I whisper. “I have been attempting to take my own life and Vladimir has thwarted all of my attempts. If I were to allow myself to be slain, I could finally be at peace.”

  “No!” His strong grip on my arms startles me and I shrink back. Horrified, Fane instantly releases me and moves away, his face a mask of regret. “My apologies. I never intended…”

  I stand up straight once more and offer him a hesitant smile. His reaction, although surprising, seems almost natural for him. He is the only one who has shown me even an ounce of kindness since I arrived. I am certainly not about to extend him any form of trust, of which he has yet to earn, though I am most willing to accept a heartfelt apology. “I know you did not mean to hurt me.”

  “You do?”

  I nod. “No one who truly means to hurt someone would ever look that stricken.”

  He chuckles and nods. “I am not accustomed to harming a lady.”

  “And a man?” I press.

  The planes of his face harden as he looks away. “That is another matter.”

  My curiosity piques as I stare at this battle-hardened man before me. Although he attempts to conceal his revulsion, it is clear as day to me. A hint of a smile tugs at my lips as I realize I am not the only one who has a soul in this room.

  “I only meant to stop you from considering that course of action. I know the agony with which you have lived, and although I may not know the depths to which this violation has hurt you, I do know something of pain. I beg of you to not give in.”

  “Why should I not?” I ask, touched by the rawness of his voice. Yes, he knows of pain. A great deal of it by the sounds of it.

  His face softens as he looks at me. “You are worth saving.”

  The tenderness of his words startles me. A hint of a smile tugs at my lips as I see a blush begin to rise along his neck. He averts his gaze, though not soon enough to conceal the emotion within. This man may be cunning, yet I believe him to be sincere. The eyes never lie.

  “How old are you?” I ask.

  He blinks, obviously startled from his thoughts. “I have been immortal for far longer than you.”

  I purse my lips and try to read between his vague answer. “Are you as old as Vladimir?”

  “No.” He shakes his head and waves of fine golden strands fall about his face. “I am not nearly so old.”

  I am not entirely sure why he allows it, though I can hear a distinctive bitterness edging his words. Surely he has never spoken so freely before. Otherwise, he would be without a head by now. Everyone in this castle worships Vladimir Enescue, either for his power, his money, or for his love of debauchery. Fear and loyalty many times run side by side.

  “You trust me…” I whisper, knowing that it is not a question. He lifts his head slowly to look at me. “You should not do so.”

  “For what purpose?” He steps forward, his intense gaze piercing. “You loathe him the same as I. Does that not make us kindred spirits?”

  Although my heart is screaming to agree, I shake my head. “He would kill you where you stand for speaking those words.”

  “Perhaps it would be worth it.”

  A warm blush rises in my cheeks as I look away. There is something about the way he looks at me now that makes me wonder if Fane has been just as lonely as I am. A friend would be nice, yet it is a luxury I cannot afford.

  I clear my throat and step away from him. “Can you help me learn to wield a sword?”

  “Yes.” He dips his head in acknowledgement and the intensity between us abates. “Among other things.”

  There is no hint of doubt in his response. My gaze roams his stance—casual yet that of a skilled warrior. I can spy callouses along the insides of his palms, evidence of his many years of training. I had not thought an immortal could develop callouses, yet apparently I still have much to learn about my kind.

  “Will you teach me to fight back?” I ask, fearful he might scold me for even thinking something so ridiculous. No one has ever challenged Vladimir and lived, yet none of his enemies have ever been as intimate with him as I am.

  “A word of caution might be in order, though yes, essentially I will give you all the necessary skills you would need.” His smile is slow and broad. “I have faith that someday you will be quite the force to be reckoned with.”

  Fear grips me at the thought of what Vladimir would do to me if I were ever to raise a sword against him. Would it truly be any worse than what he has already done to me? a voice whispers in the recesses of my mind.

  I could be free…

  TWENTY-ONE