by Amy Miles
My first training session with Fane went far better than I could have hoped. We explored the castle grounds and discussed basic survival skills. He pointed out knots in the trees that can be used as handholds should I need to climb, burrows in the ground to duck into if someone follows too closely, and a trick to diving into a pond without creating a splash.
He spoke of how to mask my scent with mud, pine needles, and feces. I cannot say that I am altogether keen on the idea of wiping manure upon my body, though I suppose if it were that or facing death, I could set my pride aside for a time.
On the second day, the rains returned and we were forced to use the lakeside shack as our refuge. I tried not to look at the dried blood Verity left behind. Fane watched me closely for any sign of mounting distress, though I tried to push aside the memory of that night. He spent most of the day teaching me how to evade an attack should someone leap upon me from behind.
When I was weary, bruised, and in need of a break, Fane scraped his fingers along a pool of blood from where Lucien crushed in Verity’s head and held it up for me to see. He spoke of the attraction of blood, how the scent of newly spilled blood can drive an immortal to distraction, though also to a lethal frenzy. A fact he warned me to remember.
By day three, we began running—sprints at first, then long distances, allowing my legs to lengthen and my spirit to soar. This was by far my favorite part of training. It has been too long since I have felt the wind in my hair.
Duties left unnamed between us took Fane away for nearly four days. I paced within my room, my anxiety mounting the longer he was gone. He returned with a slight limp to his step and a wicked cut over his eye. When I inquired, he merely shook his head and told me it was nothing.
Blood could have healed his wounds, yet he did not partake. I inwardly smiled at his refusal, feeling the bond that has formed between us strengthen.
This morning he came to me at the crack of dawn. He took the lead as he ran, weaving under the drooping limbs of aged willows and over rolling hills lush with new grass.
“Keep up,” he calls from ahead. I grin and pump my arms, easily matching his stride as we sprint over one rise and down another. Our surroundings blur into one giant mess of color as I lean forward and attempt to take the lead. The high slits in my dress allow me freedom to run full out, though the volume of my dress still hinders me. I seize the heavy layers and tear them free, sending them fluttering out behind me.
Fane laughs as he ducks out of the way of my dress, and I cheer as I cross over the imaginary finish line with barely a second’s lead on him. With my arms tossed out to the sides, I collapse to the ground, gasping for breath. “That was amazing!”
He sinks down beside me, looking a little windblown, though hardly as tired as I feel. “Are you ready to go again?”
“Again?” I clutch my chest as it rises and falls rapidly. “I cannot.”
“You need to learn that you do not need to breathe, Roseline. Your mind tells you that you are wearied, though your true nature is to thrive off motion. Your muscles are stronger and more than capable of battling for days without rest if necessary. A short run is hardly enough to wind you.”
“We have been sprinting for over an hour,” I gasp between great gulps of air. “I hardly consider that to be a short run.”
Reaching for a stick that has fallen from a great spruce, Fane lifts a single finger. As I watch, he digs his nail deep into its flesh and carves the three-inch thick branch cleanly in half.
“How did you…?”
Fane holds out one half of the stick to me. The wood is smooth where it was cut. “You must stop limiting yourself to what your human nature tells you. You are so much more than that now, Roseline. You can sprint faster than a mountain lion, leap to the top of a tree in a single bound, and dive to the depths of a lake and spend the night there without taking a single breath.”
My mouth opens and closes as I try to think of what to say in response. Some part of my brain agrees with Fane’s words. Can I not feel my own strength? Feel how easily it was to fly across the castle grounds in the blink of an eye?
“It is hard to let go,” I finally whisper.
“I know.” And I know he does. “Though we do not have the luxury of giving you time to truly believe it. You must choose to accept that you are capable of accomplishing anything now.”
I look down at the branch, sliding the smooth fleshy surface across the palm of my hand. “When will you teach me how to wield a blade?”
Fane’s jaw goes rigid. “Soon. Once you have mastered the basics.”
It is hard not to become frustrated with the delay. Surely I will need to know how to use a sword to survive my hunt, though Fane still seems more intent on teaching me how to use my surroundings to my benefit. It all seems to be a waste of the frightening short amount of time I have left.
“Vladimir will return by nightfall tomorrow.”
My head jerks up. “How do you know?”
“Lucien returned ahead of them. I met with him this morning. It would seem they had a rather… pleasant time on their journey.”
The trembling in my hands arrives before I can still it. Fane notices and shifts his gaze away. “I may be called away again for a short time.”
“No!” I reach out and grab his hand, surprising both of us. I clear my throat and draw back. “My apologies. It is just that I worry about the effect this delay may have on my training.”
Fane offers me a weak smile. “As do I, though it is unavoidable. I go where I am commanded.”
I wrap my skirts about my legs as I draw my knees into my chest. It feels good to curl in upon myself, to feel grounded. I have so many unanswered questions that I long to ask, though I have held back.
Will Fane mock my fears? Snigger at my lack of knowledge? Will he treat me as the others did, with snide remarks and cruel jokes at my expense?
The physical changes within my body were obvious from the moment I first awoke, yet it is not those I fear most. It is the inner turmoil I can feel building within me. At times I find it hard to control my thoughts or urges. The scent of blood slips beneath the crack in my door and I find myself drawn to it. This realization leaves me plagued by guilt and I find at times I do not care.
I feel weaker when Fane is not near. His confidence in me makes me feel capable of taking on the world. When he is gone, I retreat within myself again. I have grown to need him.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, focusing on the way the trees sway in the winds as I gather my courage. “You say you have accepted what you have become, though I hardly know what I am. Will you tell me?”
I know he can hear my heart thumping against my ribs, smell my rising fear, though he does not acknowledge either of them. He watches me and I realize he is attempting to gauge the level of trust I have granted him by asking.
Vladimir and Lucien would eagerly lie to me, boasting of the amazing feats I am now capable of. Fane will be honest. He will tell me what I have truly become. “You are not an animal, though Lucien would claim you are.” He is silent for a moment before he speaks. “You have heard the rumors of the Strigoi I presume?”
“They are well known in my part of the country.”
Rumors began to spread of a plague spreading across Transylvania some years before. Not like the plague that brought England to its knees a few years previously, yet this one was no less dark. Vlad the Impaler became a legend. Never before had such brutality come to our lands. Children were sacrificed to their mother’s. Wives to their husbands.
Those were the original tales, though whispers spread of something far more sinister… a blood drinker.
“I do not believe anyone knows the exact age of Vladimir and Lucien. Some say Vladimir is the oldest. Others contest this. They came from across Europe many years ago, killing and stealing as they went. They gained land, titles, and wealth.”
“Why have they settled here?” A shiver begins at the base of my spine and slowly trickles upward. Goose bumps
rise upon my arms and I brush my hands over them.
“No one knows for sure. Some claim he found love here once. Others believe there is a hidden treasure buried beneath this castle.”
“And you? What is it that you believe?”
Fane scratches the edge of his jaw. A light stubble has begun to grow. For the first time, I notice the shadows beneath his eyes. His cheeks seem slightly sunken. How long has it been since he last slept or ate?
When he turns to look at me, I am stilled by the hollowness within his eyes. “I believe there is something that draws him to this place. He could have chosen anywhere to live, chosen any wife, yet he chose you and this place. One might wonder why.”
“Me?” I clasp my hands in my lap, clenching them tightly together. “What have I to do with all of this?”
The knowledge that Lucien chose me as Vladimir’s bride has haunted me for months now. Though I have wondered, no real answers have been given for my selection. Now Fane expresses his own suspicions. Why me? Why now?
Fane shakes his head. “I do not know, though I fear someday we will discover the truth of it.” I blow out a deep breath, wishing I had not asked. Fear worms through my stomach, turning the contents rancid. I feel ill at the thought. “I see things others do not. I hear whispers when I should not.”
I lean forward. “Will you speak of these things with me?”
“No.” His response is immediate and firm. I sit back as rapidly as if I have been slapped. “There are some things better left a mystery.”
“And yet you still seek to protect me?”
A small, weary smile forms upon the corner of his lip. “Someone has to.”
I fall silent for several minutes, concentrating on each breath instead of the thoughts that dash through my mind. I want to press him, to plead with him for this knowledge, though I fear it would be unwise.
“Will I become like him? A monster? Will I desire to kill?”
Fane draws one leg up toward his chest and rests his elbow upon it. The floor of the shack creaks under his shifting weight. His breathing is slow and steady, irritatingly controlled. “Only you can answer that question, Roseline. You have the desire, yes?”
I give a brief nod. It is true that the urges grow stronger. “I am afraid of it.”
“There is nothing to fear.” Fane reaches out and takes one of my hands in his. His touch is warm and gentle as he places his thumb over my wrist. “Your heart still beats. Your blood still feeds your veins. You are a living being with a soul. That is all you need to remember.”
“Am I still the same girl?” I ask, gently brushing my finger over the inside of his wrist, feeling it beat in time with my own pulse. Yes, our hearts beat. We feel alive, yet we are changed.
I have often wondered if I would forget my life before. Will my memories become tarnished by this life? Will I forget the times I spent weaving spring flowers into crowns with my sister or helping knead bread alongside my mother?
“What do you know of magic?”
His question startles me and I draw my hand away from his. “Magic? My mother told me tales of black magic, of witches and demons.”
Fane nods. He reaches out his arm and gathers three stones that are scattered along the edge of the room, covered in thick layers of dust and cast aside as they fell from someone’s boot. He opens his palms for me to see. “There are varying forms of magic in our world.”
He rubs his finger across the surface of a light-colored stone and places it in my waiting hand. “Some magic can be used for good.”
Next he places a darker stone beside it. “Sometimes magic can begin with good intentions, though it becomes tainted.”
“By what?” I whisper.
“By selfish desires.” He plucks the final stone from his palm. After he dusts off his hand on his pants, he raises the stone for me to see. This one is much darker and crusted with mud. It is veined with black and roughly shaped. “Sometimes the darkness takes over and it can no longer be used for good.”
I swallow roughly as he places the final stone in my hand. “Magic is all around us. It is a part of us, of nature, of this world. It can be harnessed and used through a series of spells.”
“Spells?” I look up from the stones to see him watching me. I blush and set the stones aside.
“Enchantments of old. I only know a few.”
My eyes widen with surprise. “You know magic?”
Fane nods solemnly. “All immortals are taught.”
“I have not been.”
“You will.” He scoots a bit closer, so close our knees nearly touch. “An enchantment was used on your wedding night. It would have sounded like a foreign language, gibberish really. Perhaps it sounded like a song.”
I inhale sharply. “I remember strange words…”
“Those words, spoken at the time of your death, are what gave you a new birth.” Fane closes his eyes for a moment. I can hear that his heart has begun to pace faster. When he opens his eyes, I sense regret within them, dulling their beauty. “You will never die, Roseline. It is a gift and a curse. The world will pass by you and still you will remain, frozen forever in time.”
“It is possible to die. You said this hunt will—”
He holds up his hand. “Death is not an option for you. I will see to it.”
Fane rises swiftly to his feet and holds out his hand to me. I gather my skirts beneath me. “Are you ready to resume your training?”
“I believe so,” I answer with hesitation. My thoughts linger on the new truths he has shared with me. Much of it I already knew from Vladimir; others I had guessed, though hearing them spoken by Fane seems all the more menacing.
“No.” His grip on my hand tightens. “You must know, Roseline.” His fingers slide between mine and tightly clasp my hand. “It is the only way to survive, and survive you must.”
“Why?” I whisper, caught up in the intensity of his gaze.
He reaches out his free hand and cups my cheek. “Because I have grown rather fond of you.”
TWENTY-NINE