by Amy Miles
I hear his approach long before Fane knocks upon my door. I wrap my shawl about my shoulders and press my cheek against my knees. “Come in.”
Fane enters my room and closes the door behind him. When he turns to face me, I can see the slump of his shoulders, weighted down with his unspoken thoughts from the previous night. “I waited as long as I could.”
“I know.” The castle grounds are dreary today. A near constant rain overnight has left craters in the deep muck. I can hear the pattering of the rain dripping into the hog’s feed trough from the roof above. Fane’s hair is slicked with moisture, his leather pants splattered with drying mud. His boots look more brown than black now.
He shifts uncomfortably near the door, inside the room, though only just. “You blame yourself for his death.”
“No. I lift my head to meet his steady gaze. “I do not mourn for his passing. I fear it.”
“Why?” This time he approaches swiftly and drops down beside me.
I suck in a deep breath and hold it for a moment, willing the tremor in my fingers to abate. “I enjoyed it,” I say, releasing my breath.
“His death?”
“Killing him.” I expect him to look upon me with disgust, yet instead, he nods with apparent understanding, so I continue. “I felt powerful when I held his life in my hands. I knew I had a choice: show him mercy or end him. I could have chosen mercy…”
Fane sighs and sinks down onto the floor before me, careful to allow plenty of space between us, though I realize I no longer need it. I have grown to trust Fane. Despite not having a great deal of time with him, he has shown me through word and action that he cares. That he is genuine. “Atticus was an evil man. The world is a better place without.”
“Perhaps so, yet his death should not have come by my hand. Not when I enjoyed it so.” My voice wavers and I bite down on my lip.
“He was your first?”
I shake my head, closing my eyes to the memory of my sister’s lifeless, accusing eyes. “Vladimir set me upon my own sister right after I awoke on our wedding night. She was my first.” My voice cracks and I tighten my grip on my legs. “She trusted me to protect her and I am the reason she died.”
“No,” Fane says adamantly. He rises up and places his hands on the seat beside me. “That was Vladimir’s doing.”
Warm tears curl along my cheeks. “I bit her. That was my doing.”
Fane’s touch atop my hand is hesitant, though he does not draw back when I stare down at him, loathe to accept any form of comfort. “You have no fault in what happened to your sister. You had just transitioned and needed nourishment. It is a natural progression.”
“There is nothing natural about feeding on your sister,” I spit out and turn away from him.
“No, of course not.” His grip on my hand tightens as he frowns. “I realize I am not relaying my sentiments correctly.”
I turn back to look at him and am touched by the lines drawn across his brow. His head is lowered, his posture slumped. I sigh and place my hand atop his. He looks up, surprised by my touch. “I know you mean well.”
He smiles and nods as he draws back his hand. He watches me for a moment, most likely weighing my mental state. I dry the remainder of my tears and brush back the fuzzy curls about my forehead. The near constant heat from the fire is doing awful things to my thick hair.
He sinks back onto his heels and scrunches up his nose. I laugh at his silly expression. “Something wrong?”
“Not really…” He sighs and then crosses his legs before him. “I wonder if I might express an observation without upsetting you.”
“That depends.”
“On what?” He tilts his head to the side and I notice the beautiful golden highlights in his hair. The nearness of the fire has begun to dry the strands, making them look soft to the touch.
“On whether you think I need to hear it.”
Fane inhales and exhales slowly, obviously taking the time to consider this carefully. “I believe it is something that should be said, yes.”
“Then by all means, proceed.” I crisscross my arms around my legs and draw them in closer to my chest, as if this position can save me from whatever he might say.
He clears his throat and fiddles with the golden buttons that line his fine coat. I have never seen Fane in such fancy dress. The coat fits his broad frame with fine elegance. His trousers are tight enough for me to see the muscle that lines his thighs and calves. I wonder why he is all gussied up.
“I saw something in you last night and I was not the only one to notice.”
“What was it?” I hold my breath, sure that whatever revelation he has will no doubt be dreadful.
“Rage.”
I stare at him for a moment. “Rage?”
He nods. “You were the topic of many whispers last night. I believe you have made quite an impression on our visitors.”
I scoff and wave my hand in the air. “I do not care what they think.”
Fane leans in. “You should. They are the ones who will choose whom you fight in the forest in a few weeks.”
I feel the blood drain from my face as the tremors return. He watches me as I clasp my hands tightly against my knees and fight to still the rapid beating of my heart.
“You are afraid, and so you should be, yet that fear is what will keep you alive.” Fane pushes up from the floor, rising to his full height as he offers me his hand.
“Why do you feel burdened with my care?”
He withdraws his unaccepted hand to his side. His gaze grows guarded and he turns away. “I have my reasons.”
I rise slowly to my feet. To this point, I have yet to press him about his past, knowing there was little trust earned on either of our parts, yet I suddenly feel emboldened to ask. Perhaps it is the way he looked at me last night, with eyes filled with sorrow, or the way his thumb gently traced circles across the back of my hand only a moment ago. Something has changed between us, though I am unsure if there are words to describe how. “Please tell me.”
Fane’s shoulders rise and fall with the steady rhythm of each breath. His voice is deeper than normal when he finally speaks. “I had a family… before. I came from more humble beginnings than you did. My father was a stonemason by trade. He spent his life building fine homes for people who cheated the poor so they could build their castles. My father was an honorable man, the hardest working person I knew. My mother was a kind, plump woman whose laughter could brighten any dreary day.”
I can see a hint of smile stretch across his face as he turns to begin pacing. His hands clench and unclench at his sides. “Everyone loved her cooking. She made the best pies in all the village. Her bread was sinful, most would claim.”
He turns and glances toward me, though instantly lowers his gaze again. “I had three sisters and a young brother. To be honest, I cannot really remember the boy’s name. He was hardly more than a babe when I was turned. I hardly knew him as I spent my days working in the mill. I was a young man with dreams larger than this castle and no money to my name. I turned my back on my father’s trade and went to live with Lungun, the carpenter. He was a harsh man with fists of iron and a quick temper, though I did well in his home.”
Fane turns back once more and I watch the emotions playing across his face. “I had a young wife named Cosmina. She had hair like the night and eyes as beautiful as the pond that lay just beyond the edge of town. I loved her laugh and the way she always had a kind word to say, even for the foulest of men, yet she was too trusting.”
The planes of his face harden as he finally turns to face me. “She was with child when a man came to our doorstep. There were no strangers to Cosmina, so it was only natural to invite him in to warm beside the fire. I was kept late that night. A sizeable shipment of wood was due to depart for Oradea on the morn. I knew it would never make it there. The roads along the border were too dangerous, yet Lungun was determined so I obeyed.”
Fane sinks heavily onto the edge of my bed and buries his head
in his hands. “I heard her screams all the way from the mill. By the time I arrived—” His voice cuts off. His shoulders shake as he fights against the tears that gather in his eyes.
I rush forward and sink down at his feet. “There was nothing you could do.”
“This I know.” He growls as he wipes at his eyes. “There was little left of my beloved when I arrived. She had been torn apart, as if by rabid wolves. I still remember seeing my unborn child’s body tossed beside the fire, the cord wrapped several times around its neck. He was nearly full size. I held him in my arms all that long night, vowing that I would avenge their deaths.”
When he looks up at me, I can see rage burning deep within his darkened eyes. “I was to have a son, an heir to carry on the Dalca name.”
I close my eyes and press my cheek into his palm. His fingers quiver at my touch, though he does not draw away. I can feel the strength of this broken man in the palm of his hand. He had said we were kindred spirits. Now I know he is right.
“I hardly moved all that night and through the next day. The sun came and went. When the knock sounded at my door, I assumed it was Lungun arriving to scold me for missing work. I was wrong.”
I release my hold on his hand and he splays them out before him, wide enough to hold the boy that he lost so long ago. “They came for me that night. I remember stumbling out into the cold, my feet bare and no cloak to warm me. The torchlight was brilliant, blinding me as they ushered me toward town. When I arrived, I saw them for the first time, clustered together in their finery. The women teetered as I passed, reaching out to stroke my hair and arms. I was shoved into line with my townspeople, shivering from the cold and the unknown.”
He closes his hands into fists. His arms shake and blood seeps from between his fingers, yet still he does not release his grip. “I was chosen to fight. I had nothing to live for, no reason to pick up a sword. Two children were chosen alongside me. A boy of six summers and a girl of ten. They lived down the lane from me. I knew them by name, shared a sweet with them from time to time on my way home. Two women were chosen and two men. I knew all of them well. They were kin to me.”
I hold my breath as Fane runs his hands through his hair, unconcerned with the blood that trails through his fine strands. He rubs his hands down over his face, his gaze unfocused as he looks beyond me. “The two men took down the women first. I did not act until they went after the children. The girl escaped my grasp, fearful that I was going to harm her. I could not save her, yet the boy… he was mine to protect.”
He clears his throat and blows out a shaky breath. He turns his hollow gaze upon me and I am rocked by the depths of his pain. “I killed those men with my bare hands. No sword. No axe. I choked the life from them, imagining they were the men who took away my Cosmina. They were gone and only the boy was left. I picked up the sword and handed it to him. I placed the tip against my chest and commanded him to strike me down. I do not think he had the strength within him to kill me. His arms were frail, his clothes swallowing up his tiny frame.”
A discomfort in my lungs alerts me to the fact that I have unknowingly been holding my breath. I release it slowly. “What did you do?”
“I said a silent prayer and looked toward the heavens to await my death, yet my gaze never reached the sky. A man stood before me, dressed in fine clothes and draped in jewels far larger than I ever dreamed existed. None of this seemed remarkable to me, save for one detail. A small wooden ring sat upon his finger. To most it would seem insignificant, yet I recognized it immediately. I hand carved that ring when I asked for Cosmina’s hand. I remember filling with rage as I stared into the knowing eyes of my wife’s murderer.”
I reach out and place a hand upon his arm. “What did you do?”
Fane pulls away and stands with his back to me. “What I must to avenge my family.”
I suck in a breath and feel the ache of the lost child profoundly in my chest. “That is why you saved the little girl. You were making amends?”
“No.” He shakes his head. I watch as his hair shifts along his back. “There are no amends for the evil I performed that day.”
I rise to my feet and step up behind him. I hesitate before setting my hand upon his arm and realize that he is shaking. My heart breaks for this man who feels that to show any weakness would be to place a target upon his back. He survives as he must, doing what he must, yet I sense great turmoil within him that has yet to be dealt with.
“I cannot begin to understand the pain of your loss. My sister was taken from me and though this pain is severe, I cannot imagine that it compares to the loss of a wife and child. No man should be forced to endure that.”
The muscles in his arms clench as he nods. “I made a vow to myself that one day I would take away the one thing Vladimir holds most dear.” He turns to face me, his chest looming before me as I raise my gaze to look up at him. Tears dampen his lashes, though none fall. “I do not pretend to understand the inner workings of Vladimir’s mind, yet one thing is very clear… He has feelings for you.”
My breath hitches ever so slightly at the intensity of his gaze. “Do you plan to steal me away from him?”
Fane lifts a hand and gently brushes stray bits of hair from my eyes. His touch is gentle, hesitant. “Perhaps someday.”
I lower my gaze as heat floods into my cheeks. I can feel it spreading from within the collar of my dress, warming my neck. “Have I spoken out of turn?” he questions.
“Yes,” I whisper, staring at my feet. I lock my forefingers together before my dress and rock back onto my heels. “And yet no.”
He places a finger beneath my chin, lifting it so I can meet his gaze. The hollowness has been replaced by an emotion I had not thought to see again: hope. “Someday I believe you will be Vladimir’s undoing. If you are willing, I would like to assist you in this endeavor.”
His words stir something deep within me, a longing for this to come true. I wish it for his sake and my own. “Are you ready to begin your training, Roseline Dragomir?”
I blink at the use of my mortal name. My name. Not Vladimir’s. A subtle reminder that the girl I thought I left behind is still a part of me. A girl whose need for vengeance must not be ignored.
Vladimir stripped everything from us. I know Fane is correct. I am the only one who can ever truly harm my husband.
“You must be sure of your path.” He urges. His hands fall upon my forearms, his grip demanding though far from painful. Fane is giving me a choice: fight back or give up.
“I do not wish to die,” I reply with certainty, and for the first time I realize the truth behind my words. Despite the horrors that life has dealt me, I have found a flicker of life within me. A desire to hope again. To live, not hide in fear.
“You will need to fight for the right to live. I can only show you the path. You must choose to walk it.” His grip tightens as I feel the emotion riding behind his words. “Are you willing?”
Pressing back my shoulders, I take a step forward and nod. “I am willing on one condition.”
He blinks in confusion. “What is your request?”
A slow smile spreads along my lips. “Ensure that Lucien is one of the hunters. I have a score to settle with him.”
TWENTY-SEVEN