Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy

by Amy Miles

I blink against the sunlight, confused and weary. It feels unnaturally warm against my cheek. I turn away from the light to find that I am not alone.

  “Fane?”

  He sits beside my bed, slumped in his chair. A soft snore rises from him as he breathes in and slowly expands his lungs. I rise in bed and stare at him, marveling at how peaceful he looks. The lines that crease his forehead with worry are gone. His posture is relaxed. He looks as if he does not have a care in the world.

  I draw back the covers and scoot to the end of my bed. The floor is cold upon my feet as I attempt to rise without a sound, yet the floorboard creaks beneath me.

  “It is rude to sneak out of bed before saying farewell,” he mutters and raises a hand to wipe his face. I sink back onto the bed and tuck my hands between my knees. My nightgown drapes over me and hangs to the middle of my calves.

  “I was not attempting to sneak away. I did not desire to disturb you.”

  With a groan, he stretches his arms over the back of the chair. I avert my gaze as his vest pulls taut against his chest. I would wager this man has caught the eye of many a girl in his time.

  “It is my job to be disturbed by you,” he says as he slumps once more. His long legs are crossed at the knee, his boots still upon his feet.

  I feel a slight flush rise along the neckline of my nightgown and pull my knees into my chest to conceal it. Wrapping my arms about my ankles, I dip my cheek to my knee and watch him. “You did not have to sleep in the chair.”

  “The floor is hardly a more comfortable option.”

  I laugh and shake my head. My hair falls about me in wave of silken bronze, shining brightly in the early morning light. “I meant that no harm would come to me here.” His lips purse together and I realize my misstep. “No more than usual,” I amend with a whisper.

  Fane lowers his leg to the floor and sits forward. The gap between us is minimal and his gaze is searching. “You made me ill at ease last night. I feared for your safety so I remained at your side.”

  I raise my head and stare at him, searching beyond his spoken words. “You protected me.”

  “The man sought to do you harm. I did what needed to be done.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Not from the human. From Vladimir.”

  Fane averts his gaze, focusing on the window rather than on me. I watch as he swallows roughly. His shoulders rise and fall with a silent shrug.

  Warmth begins to spread in my chest as I hide my smile in my knees. Perhaps I do have a savior after all.

  “My presence has been allowed temporarily. I am to leave soon.”

  “Leave?” I release the hold on my legs and they drop to the floor, falling mere inches from the tips of his boots. I stare at him, realizing how desperately I hope it is not for good.

  Fane returns his gaze to me and smiles with a softness that rejuvenates the warmth in my chest. “I am to bury the boy.”

  I did not expect this reply. It takes me off guard, and I am once again swallowed up by the fear I experienced on the previous night. “I do not understand. If the man was so averse to harming the boy, why would he slaughter him in the end?”

  Fane’s gaze narrows and his head tilts to the side. He watches me with a piercing look that makes me squirm. “Did you not know?”

  I shake my head and tuck my lower lip between my teeth, sure I will not find peace in his response. “The boy was his son. That is why he would not attack him. That is why the boy had no need to fight. His father let the blood spill upon his hands so the boy would remain blameless.”

  “A lamb for the slaughter,” I whisper.

  Fane nods. “Vladimir was furious at the man’s deception. He loves nothing more than to pit family members against one another.”

  A bitter taste floods my mouth as I think of his account of how I tore at Adela’s throat when I awoke. She was chosen to give me life, a sacrifice he knew all too well would haunt me for all of eternity.

  When I refocus on Fane, I realize with a start that there are tears welling in the corners of his eyes. Without thinking, I reach out and clasp his hand. He slowly lifts his gaze to meet mine. “I am sorry for your loss,” I say softly.

  His Adam’s apple bobs several times before he nods and wipes away the tear. I do not pry further. I do not need to. The agony of his loss is just as fresh as my own, though I suspect his occurred long before mine.

  “Will you tell me of her?”

  Fane rises to his feet and clears his throat. “Someday, perhaps. Though today is not that day.”

  He moves away from my bed, appearing torn between the seat beside the window and moving toward the door. “I will return by midday for you. I think perhaps a walk in the gardens might do both of us some good.”

  I smile as he walks determinedly toward the door and opens the latch. “I would like that.” As the door closes behind him, I realize my words are sincere.

  As the sun climbs the morning sky, I take extra time to prepare myself. The water in my basin is cold, though I hardly notice as I ponder Fane’s return. There is a great pain buried within him. He seems lost and terribly alone. Would it be wrong for me to long for a friendship with him? By doing so, would I be endangering his life?

  When the noonday sun begins to trail back toward the horizon, I begin to grow concerned by his absence. He promised to return for me, though I have not caught a whiff of his scent within the castle grounds. Perhaps his task took longer than expected.

  I wait with as much patience as I can muster, yet as the sun dips below the far horizon, I know within my soul something is amiss. I pace within the confines of my room long into the night. When Vladimir comes to me, he does not speak of Fane’s absence. He does not speak at all.

  Though his attention throughout the night could hardly be considered kind, he is far gentler than he has ever been. I begin to wonder if seeing my life threatened on the previous night has shaken him. After he has finished with me, he does not rise as he is accustomed to doing. Rather he remains beside me, his breathing steady.

  He speaks for the first time as the moon grows level with the distant tree line. “When you wake this evening, I have somewhere I want to show you.”

  I swallow before answering, giving myself a moment of pause to ensure that my voice does not betray me. “Will we have need to travel far?”

  “No.” He props himself on his elbow and stares down at me. I feel exposed to his gaze as he lingers, my stomach pressed tightly to the bedding. He places a hand upon my hip and instead of digging into my flesh, he grazes his hand across my skin with a gentleness I did not think him capable of. “It is quite near.”

  “Then I shall be prepared, my lord.”

  His lips pull back into a smile and his gaze flickers away from my hip to my eyes. “I have sent Fane away on a task. He will return on the morrow. When he does, you will begin your training.”

  Grasping at the rare moment of kindness I have glimpsed in my husband, I rise to a seated position, my hair draped as concealment over my chest. “Must I fight?”

  Vladimir’s smile freezes into place. For a moment, I fear his lips will peel back into a familiar scowl, yet instead, his expression falls away. His gaze grows vacant as he rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “It is the way of things.”

  “And are you incapable of altering the traditions?”

  “Incapable?” His gaze refocuses and I tense, realizing my poor choice of words.

  “My apologies, my lord,” I rush to say, turning my face away as I wait for the back of his hand to strike. When it does not, I risk a glance toward him. “I mean no disrespect.”

  “No.” He sighs and shakes his head. “I do not think that you did, though it changes nothing. Lucien is correct. This is the way of things.”

  “And me? Will I be cast aside as well? Shared among the men?” Despite my firm resolve not to show any fear, a tremor attacks my voice.

  Vladimir rolls his head to the side to look upon me. His gaze is sharp, his feat
ures dark. “You are mine and no one else’s. I will kill any man who dares lay a finger upon you.”

  Though I know his words to be filled with menace, I feel oddly comforted by them. Being ravaged by a single man is far better than thirty.

  “Thank you,” I whisper and rise from the bed. He watches me like a hawk as I clean myself. It is disconcerting for him to still be here. He has never done this before.

  I pull a nightgown over my head and turn to face him, unsure of myself. “Should I fetch you food or drink?”

  Vladimir’s smile broadens as he rises from the bed. I do not let my gaze shift lower than his neck as he approaches me. I can see a hunger growing is his gaze, though it has little do with physical nourishment.

  He grasps my arm and twists me about, pressing my cheek against the wall as he raises the hem of my gown. “I like this gown very much,” he grunts in my ear. I feel his hand splay across my hip as he presses into me. I close my eyes and think upon happier times as the sun breaks the distant horizon.

  Vladimir leaves me shortly after. I wait to hear the latch on his door before I rise from the floor. I wash slowly, staring at the cloudy water, wondering if I will ever truly feel clean again.

  Though the sun has come again, I feel none of its warmth or cheer. I suppose I should be thankful it has reappeared after such long bouts of dreary gray skies, though I cannot bring myself to care. I pull a clean dress over my shoulders and wring droplets of water from my hair. Sinking down onto the window seat, I stare out over the castle grounds. The view is as familiar as the back of my arm, though the scenery has shifted. Gone are the glistening icicles and mounds of snow. What remains is trampled grass and muddy paths.

  The air is warmer now and I can feel my skin longing for the cold once more. I tug at the collar of my dress. A spreading dampness clings to my lower back. I wipe my palm across my brow and discover small beads of sweat have formed. What on earth will the heat of summer be like?

  The latch on my window screeches as I spread it open. I close my eyes and turn my face into the winds, sighing with relief. I hear the steady rushing of the waters that feed down into the pond beside the boat shack, no doubt overflowing its banks as it fights to contain the newly melted snows.

  Birds take flight from the trees, cawing as they circle the sky above. Horses paw at the sodden yard, delighted to be free of the barn. I too share their need to be unrestrained. Chickens and turkeys peck at the ground. I can hear their beaks scratching against the soiled stone as they scavenge for food.

  Opening my eyes, I search the meadows beyond the wall, wondering where Fane might be. He is a ranger and as such spends the majority of his time far beyond our borders. He lives upon the back of a horse, doing Vladimir’s bidding.

  As I sink down onto my seat and place my chin upon the back of my hands, staring with deep longing at the distant horizon, I realize I envy Fane his freedom. Though he may be bound to Vladimir through service, at least he can escape from time to time. I am not so lucky.

  The longer I sit and stare at the distance, I begin to wonder exactly what task Vladimir has sent Fane to attend to. Surely the burial of six bodies would not take a full day to accomplish. No, this is something more. Curiosity gets the better of me and I find myself daydreaming of what it would be like to escape, to flee over the mountains to lands unknown to me.

  Before my wedding day, I shared a similar dream with my sister. It was fun to imagine what life could be like in distant places. Would their clothing be foreign to us? Would we speak the same language? What of our skills with bartering for goods to survive?

  I lift my head and frown, knowing I would never have gone to any of those places or experienced a different life. I felt smothered under my father’s thumb, though I was content to spend my years in Brasov. I would have found a home, small yet clean, to care for. I would have found a man who was loving, though not deep of purse. I had little care for material possession. All I longed for was a family to raise.

  My thoughts flow back toward Fane once more. I have seen the depths of his pain and know that with every fiber of his being, he understands my own. I have seen him hollow and broken, a kindred spirit. As I breathe in the cool, fresh air that blows through the window, I find myself almost missing him.

  I hardly know the man, I silently chide and push aside thoughts of him, resolved to focus on the things I can control. Such as the imminent walk with Vladimir.

  TWENTY-FOUR