Dreven City: Late Autumn 1259
The room was quiet. The windows were shut against the cool autumn wind and the sound of the city dwindling into nightfall. The only light came from the fire in the hearth, illuminating in soft relief the sleeping face of Mara's beloved as he lulled in the healing slumber the potion had brought upon him. Already the bruises and cuts on his face had faded, though there would still be a little pain when he woke. A healer could only do so much, and Mara did not have the money to pay for a Vivomancer. She had done only what she could, and now waited quietly for the potion to finish its work.
She felt soiled, filthy, marked beneath her skin by the bargain that had been made. Elise had drawn a bath for her, left food for Duncan when he woke, and had left her grieving young mistress in the gloom to wash away the feeling of Stefan's hands on her. Even through the cloth of her gown, his touch had burned, leaving her feeling grimy from his closeness. Could she endure a lifetime of that"
The flickering firelight illuminated her face, too, so solemn and heartsore in the darkness. Stefan had his wish; she had seen the power he held over her. It broke her heart to know that Duncan was in danger, that what had been done to him that afternoon was nothing compared with what else might be done, should she try to defy the Del Sol heir. He had waited barely an hour before sending her his terms. It was a cruel joke, it had to be. The letter had arrived wrapped about a bouquet of white roses, a lover's offering from a black heart.
You will break with Duncan Mallory. You will not speak of what passed between us. You will swear your servant to silence. Should you make any attempt to defy me, be it in word or deed, Duncan Mallory will die. If you run, I will hunt you down, and he will see you defiled as the last light of life leaves his eyes. You know I can do it. You are mine, Mara. You will quit your place in the Mallory-held rooms and move yourself to the Del Sol manor by the end of this cycle. You and I will be wed before Yearpass, and you will dance with me before the entire city. They will see that Duncan Mallory has lost you to his enemy, not through force or this unkind necessity, but because you love me better. You will make sure everyone believes it. One step out of line, one word in the wrong place, and Duncan Mallory dies.
The thought of doing any of it reviled her, repulsed her, broke her heart to consider the pain she would have to hand out to the one person she loved more dearly than any other. But what could she do' If she defied Stefan, Duncan's life was forfeit. She couldn't bear to live with that pain, that knowledge; the understanding that because of her weakness, her own dearest love was dead. If she broke his heart, at least he would continue living, and perhaps someday he would have his own revenge on Stefan Del Sol and his stinking kin. She wept with the knowledge. So close to achieving their dream, and it had been snatched from them.
And Duncan must never know how. He would only know that she had rejected him, turned her face away from him, turned cruel and cold and heartless barely a cycle before their freedom was assured. She would have to summon all her strength to keep him safe, to keep him alive. He could still escape, leave the city, be safely away from Leandra and her hateful brother. Away from the sight of the girl he loved, wedded to his bitterest enemy. It was horrifying to imagine; a lifetime of loneliness and pain stretching out ahead of her, with no comfort but the presence of Elise and the memories of happier times, cut short by pettiness and jealousy.
With a sudden, violent jerk of her hand, she cast both roses and letter into the fire, the bath water splashing with the motion, lapping in ever cooling waves against her skin. Duncan must never know, she told herself harshly. He must live. I can do this, for him. But oh, how it tore at her aching heart to think of it, to steel herself against the pain that was coming for her and play the besotted bride for a despicable man. A man who didn't want her so much as he wanted to see Duncan brought low by love. But a broken heart was nothing to death, and death was something she would not allow Duncan to seek, not so young as he was. He had to live, he had to find a purpose beyond the city. Perhaps he would even find love someday, far away from her and the poison her love had brought into his life. She had to cling to that hope, beyond all else. Duncan would live, even as she died inside. It was the only way.
The potion did its work, but it was hours before there was any movement from Duncan. He was deathly still and pale, though his heart was still beating and his chest rose and fell with every breath. Most of the damage that had been done by Stefan's goons had healed, but the healing process itself had taken a toll, leaving Duncan sore and weak. They had not meant to kill him, but to make an example of him - to show Mara how much power Stefan wielded and how far he was willing to go to have his revenge on Duncan and have Mara for his own. He could just have easily had Duncan killed, but it was far more satisfying to let him live, knowing he and Mara could never be together, letting him believe that Mara loved Stefan more. It was nearly morning by the time Duncan stirred, golden rays of sunshine - as gold as Mara's hair - casting a soft glow to the room and stirring him from rest.
By contrast, Mara had barely slept at all, tormented by her bargain with the devil and her guilt that Duncan had been harmed just to make Stefan's point. She had not dared to settle into the bed with Duncan, not wanting to disturb his sleep, curling up beneath a blanket on one of the chairs by the hearth to doze fitfully. The fire had damped itself, nothing but smouldering embers by the time Duncan began to stir, the dawning light illuminating the girl curled there. She was pale in that golden light, the darkness beneath her eyes a testament to her sleepless night, but for now, at least, she seemed to have found a little peace. Exhausted, she had succumbed to the need for sleep only an hour or more before the dawn rose, and even her dreams were dark with foreboding.
He was more boy than man in those waking moments, groggy, disoriented, and confused at first as to where he was until recognition dawned and he realized he was at the apartments that had been provided for his beloved. He realized, too, with alarm that she was not in the bed with him, and his heart leaped with fear as he was slow to recall the events of the previous evening. "Mara?" he called, his voice weak, throat parched as he turned his head to sweep his gaze over the room in search of her. He stifled a groan as he tried to prop himself up onto an elbow to find her, sore and weak, but not in nearly as much pain as he had been the night before.
She started awake, as wide-eyed and fearful as he in those first moments of awakening, terrified that her dark dream would prove to be a reality she was already trapped in. Relief shone bright in her green eyes as her gaze fell on Duncan, a quiet sob marring her smile as she twisted up from her perch in the chair, throwing off her blanket to stumble to the bed. "You're awake." Her hands curled to his jaw, lips pressing a fervent kiss to his lips. I'm so sorry.
He dropped back onto the pillows as she came to him, too weak and weary to get out of bed just yet, feeling drained and dizzy, but well on his way to healing the hurts caused by Stefan's goons. His arms reached for her, drawing her closer, returning the sweetness of her kiss with one of his own. He could taste her tears and knew she'd been crying. "What happened?" he asked, slow to remember.
Her breath shuddered in her throat, wishing she could tell him the truth, everything that had passed the day before. But he was so weak ....No. She couldn't do that, she couldn't put him in any more danger than she had already. "You were attacked," she told him unhappily, perching herself on the edge of the bed, her slender fingers stroking lovingly along the line of his temple and jaw. "Out on the street. They took your dagger, and your money pouch, and they dumped you. Elise and Cook brought you here."
He narrowed his eyes as he tried to remember, all of it slowly coming back to him in the light of morning. It seemed like just a dream - a dark dream where there was nothing but pain and suffering. "Thieves," he said, remembering, no knowledge of Stefan's treachery or of Mara's witness to the attack. "They-they must have followed me here," he told her, believing that was what must have happened. "I tried to stop them..." he muttered, wondering if he hadn't put up a fight if they'd just have robbed him and left him in one piece. He touched his fingers to his chest, searching for the ribs he knew had been broken in the beating and finding them whole. He looked to her with confusion coloring his expression, knowing she must have had something to do with his healing, and then he remembered the potion. "How long?" he asked, unsure how long he'd been there. Was it only last night?
The room was quiet. The windows were shut against the cool autumn wind and the sound of the city dwindling into nightfall. The only light came from the fire in the hearth, illuminating in soft relief the sleeping face of Mara's beloved as he lulled in the healing slumber the potion had brought upon him. Already the bruises and cuts on his face had faded, though there would still be a little pain when he woke. A healer could only do so much, and Mara did not have the money to pay for a Vivomancer. She had done only what she could, and now waited quietly for the potion to finish its work.
She felt soiled, filthy, marked beneath her skin by the bargain that had been made. Elise had drawn a bath for her, left food for Duncan when he woke, and had left her grieving young mistress in the gloom to wash away the feeling of Stefan's hands on her. Even through the cloth of her gown, his touch had burned, leaving her feeling grimy from his closeness. Could she endure a lifetime of that"
The flickering firelight illuminated her face, too, so solemn and heartsore in the darkness. Stefan had his wish; she had seen the power he held over her. It broke her heart to know that Duncan was in danger, that what had been done to him that afternoon was nothing compared with what else might be done, should she try to defy the Del Sol heir. He had waited barely an hour before sending her his terms. It was a cruel joke, it had to be. The letter had arrived wrapped about a bouquet of white roses, a lover's offering from a black heart.
You will break with Duncan Mallory. You will not speak of what passed between us. You will swear your servant to silence. Should you make any attempt to defy me, be it in word or deed, Duncan Mallory will die. If you run, I will hunt you down, and he will see you defiled as the last light of life leaves his eyes. You know I can do it. You are mine, Mara. You will quit your place in the Mallory-held rooms and move yourself to the Del Sol manor by the end of this cycle. You and I will be wed before Yearpass, and you will dance with me before the entire city. They will see that Duncan Mallory has lost you to his enemy, not through force or this unkind necessity, but because you love me better. You will make sure everyone believes it. One step out of line, one word in the wrong place, and Duncan Mallory dies.
The thought of doing any of it reviled her, repulsed her, broke her heart to consider the pain she would have to hand out to the one person she loved more dearly than any other. But what could she do' If she defied Stefan, Duncan's life was forfeit. She couldn't bear to live with that pain, that knowledge; the understanding that because of her weakness, her own dearest love was dead. If she broke his heart, at least he would continue living, and perhaps someday he would have his own revenge on Stefan Del Sol and his stinking kin. She wept with the knowledge. So close to achieving their dream, and it had been snatched from them.
And Duncan must never know how. He would only know that she had rejected him, turned her face away from him, turned cruel and cold and heartless barely a cycle before their freedom was assured. She would have to summon all her strength to keep him safe, to keep him alive. He could still escape, leave the city, be safely away from Leandra and her hateful brother. Away from the sight of the girl he loved, wedded to his bitterest enemy. It was horrifying to imagine; a lifetime of loneliness and pain stretching out ahead of her, with no comfort but the presence of Elise and the memories of happier times, cut short by pettiness and jealousy.
With a sudden, violent jerk of her hand, she cast both roses and letter into the fire, the bath water splashing with the motion, lapping in ever cooling waves against her skin. Duncan must never know, she told herself harshly. He must live. I can do this, for him. But oh, how it tore at her aching heart to think of it, to steel herself against the pain that was coming for her and play the besotted bride for a despicable man. A man who didn't want her so much as he wanted to see Duncan brought low by love. But a broken heart was nothing to death, and death was something she would not allow Duncan to seek, not so young as he was. He had to live, he had to find a purpose beyond the city. Perhaps he would even find love someday, far away from her and the poison her love had brought into his life. She had to cling to that hope, beyond all else. Duncan would live, even as she died inside. It was the only way.
The potion did its work, but it was hours before there was any movement from Duncan. He was deathly still and pale, though his heart was still beating and his chest rose and fell with every breath. Most of the damage that had been done by Stefan's goons had healed, but the healing process itself had taken a toll, leaving Duncan sore and weak. They had not meant to kill him, but to make an example of him - to show Mara how much power Stefan wielded and how far he was willing to go to have his revenge on Duncan and have Mara for his own. He could just have easily had Duncan killed, but it was far more satisfying to let him live, knowing he and Mara could never be together, letting him believe that Mara loved Stefan more. It was nearly morning by the time Duncan stirred, golden rays of sunshine - as gold as Mara's hair - casting a soft glow to the room and stirring him from rest.
By contrast, Mara had barely slept at all, tormented by her bargain with the devil and her guilt that Duncan had been harmed just to make Stefan's point. She had not dared to settle into the bed with Duncan, not wanting to disturb his sleep, curling up beneath a blanket on one of the chairs by the hearth to doze fitfully. The fire had damped itself, nothing but smouldering embers by the time Duncan began to stir, the dawning light illuminating the girl curled there. She was pale in that golden light, the darkness beneath her eyes a testament to her sleepless night, but for now, at least, she seemed to have found a little peace. Exhausted, she had succumbed to the need for sleep only an hour or more before the dawn rose, and even her dreams were dark with foreboding.
He was more boy than man in those waking moments, groggy, disoriented, and confused at first as to where he was until recognition dawned and he realized he was at the apartments that had been provided for his beloved. He realized, too, with alarm that she was not in the bed with him, and his heart leaped with fear as he was slow to recall the events of the previous evening. "Mara?" he called, his voice weak, throat parched as he turned his head to sweep his gaze over the room in search of her. He stifled a groan as he tried to prop himself up onto an elbow to find her, sore and weak, but not in nearly as much pain as he had been the night before.
She started awake, as wide-eyed and fearful as he in those first moments of awakening, terrified that her dark dream would prove to be a reality she was already trapped in. Relief shone bright in her green eyes as her gaze fell on Duncan, a quiet sob marring her smile as she twisted up from her perch in the chair, throwing off her blanket to stumble to the bed. "You're awake." Her hands curled to his jaw, lips pressing a fervent kiss to his lips. I'm so sorry.
He dropped back onto the pillows as she came to him, too weak and weary to get out of bed just yet, feeling drained and dizzy, but well on his way to healing the hurts caused by Stefan's goons. His arms reached for her, drawing her closer, returning the sweetness of her kiss with one of his own. He could taste her tears and knew she'd been crying. "What happened?" he asked, slow to remember.
Her breath shuddered in her throat, wishing she could tell him the truth, everything that had passed the day before. But he was so weak ....No. She couldn't do that, she couldn't put him in any more danger than she had already. "You were attacked," she told him unhappily, perching herself on the edge of the bed, her slender fingers stroking lovingly along the line of his temple and jaw. "Out on the street. They took your dagger, and your money pouch, and they dumped you. Elise and Cook brought you here."
He narrowed his eyes as he tried to remember, all of it slowly coming back to him in the light of morning. It seemed like just a dream - a dark dream where there was nothing but pain and suffering. "Thieves," he said, remembering, no knowledge of Stefan's treachery or of Mara's witness to the attack. "They-they must have followed me here," he told her, believing that was what must have happened. "I tried to stop them..." he muttered, wondering if he hadn't put up a fight if they'd just have robbed him and left him in one piece. He touched his fingers to his chest, searching for the ribs he knew had been broken in the beating and finding them whole. He looked to her with confusion coloring his expression, knowing she must have had something to do with his healing, and then he remembered the potion. "How long?" he asked, unsure how long he'd been there. Was it only last night?