Topic: The Gilded Cage

Mara Mallory

Date: 2013-04-15 09:23 EST
Dreven City; another time, another place ...

The manor house was beautiful. Stone-clad and well appointed, it offered views over the city that were almost unparalleled by any other. Guests were made to feel welcomed by the lavish decoration, the luxurious furnishings. Stefan Del Sol, while not a man to be gainsaid by any with some care for their skin, knew well enough how to exert his influence with both subtlety and finesse. His business associates, his friends, were treated to the best the city had to offer, the best that money could buy, and he ensured they all saw only what he wished them to see. A successful man, with fine business sense, a beautiful wife, a growing son, and the means to keep himself and them in only the very best of what the city could give them.

Yet a little deeper into the luxurious home he put on show so often, hidden behind closed doors, was a darker, uglier truth that only his very closest associates were familiar with. For this beautiful manor house was also a prison, a gilded cage, and he made certain that those kept behind locked doors knew their place well enough. The beautiful wife, the woman who had grown from the beautiful girl he had married almost ten years before, the mother to a boy she loved more deeply than her own life ....she was the prisoner. Her rooms were a testament to it; there was no luxury here. Merely bare floors, bare walls, the sparsest of furnishings. Small windows that let in only the dusky light of the earliest dawn, under the pretense of caring for her privacy. Even her clothes, so rich and expertly created, were kept locked away. He chose what she wore, when she wore it, who she saw and who saw her. And the fierce heart hidden deep beneath layers of obedience and polite courtesy put up little resistance. He held something over her more powerful than any overt threat.

The clatter of hooves on stone brought with it a smile to the face of the woman who sat now at her rough-hewn table, recognizing the sound of her son's exuberant laughter as he was swung down from his mount by the hands of the man who was his tutor. Only the best ....and yet this was the third tutor in as many months. And it seemed that he, too, would be dismissed from service for the kindness he had done today. Golden hair glinted in the candlelight as the occupant of the gilded cage looked up, deep green eyes longing, hopeful that just some of that delight she could hear fading away as the child ran into the house would be visited on her before it was taken away once more. She heard the sound of those small footsteps on the grand stairs, thumping with haste, and her smile deepened once again, urging her up from her seat to the door that held her in.

Beyond this door was yet more pretense. A single sitting room, as lavishly decorated as the rest of the house; a place for her to receive her approved of guests in the illusion of privacy, where they would not see the darkness of the bedchamber where she spent most of her days. Brocade and silk rustled as she stepped quickly through, knowing her son was coming to see her, knowing the penalty if he should ever discover the situation his mother was truly kept in. She had just taken a seat beside the largest of the windows, savoring the simple pleasure of the sun's warmth on her pale, pale skin, when the door from the hallway burst open.

A young lad, no more than nine years old, came scurrying inside, his dark curls wild and blue eyes ablaze with delight at his unexpected excursion. So like his father. The thought was a dagger in her heart, but she hid the pain for his sake, holding out her arms with a happy laugh of her own as her son, her joy, threw himself across the room and into her embrace.

"Mama, I saw a play!" Robert declared excitedly, too brimful with happiness at his good fortune to be mindful of his manners with the mother he adored. "Franz took me to see the traveling players, and it was so much fun - all the people who were there were laughing and happy, and oh, I wish you could have come, too! Are you feeling better now?"

Mara laughed at his exuberance, pleased to see him so happy, spilling her fingers through his wayward hair as she looked him over from head to toe. Are you feeling better now" "Yes, I am feeling much better now," she gave her son the kind lie, shifting just a little to let him heave himself up onto the window seat and from there onto the cushion of her skirts and into her lap. Their time together was as proscribed as the rest of her days, limited by the capricious moods of the man who ruled them with an iron fist. He was not to know of the reasons for his mother's only too frequent ill-health, only that she loved him. She hoped he knew that. "Tell me all about it."

As the boy launched into a description of his morning, detailed and cheerful, filled to the brim with the joy he felt for the stage and literature, Mara settled in to listen, to enjoy the tale, forcing her mind away from what would inevitably come when Stefan decided they had been together long enough. She knew her husband was in the house; knew, too, that he would have heard Rob's entrance, the gleeful happiness that would have set his teeth on edge. That he would have already taken his wrath out on the tutor they would likely never see again, and would be preparing to deliver punishment of a different sort upon the two who made up his kingdom of oppressed subjects. But that anticipation was not allowed to mar the sheer enjoyment of her son's presence, the warm affection shared between mother and child as they spoke of the play he had seen, the people he had met, the hopes he held for the lifetime she knew he would not be permitted to lead of his own free will. And she held back her impotent fury as Robert expressed his fragile hope that perhaps, someday, the man he called father might appreciate his talents, his wishes, and support them. As a father should.

Laughter spilled forth from the little facade of luxury, unwittingly drawing their time together to an end sooner than they wished. The door opened slowly to reveal the tall loom of the man who controlled them, the man who presented himself to the world as husband and father. Abruptly, the smile fell from Mara's face as she looked up, seeing the dark anger in Stefan's eyes as he looked at the pair he had taken on for his own reasons. Rob saw none of the anger, smiling with cheerful hope as he saw the man enter, hope that this time, perhaps, Stefan would join in the laughter and encourage him. He slid from Mara's grasping arms and ran over to the man he called father, bright and happy.

"Father, you should have come with us, it was wonderful," he exclaimed, only stilled from throwing his arms around Stefan by the cold fury now leveled directly at him. He quailed, coming to a halt, and looked uncertainly back at his mother. "I ....Did I do something wrong, father?"

"Did I do something wrong, father." Just the slow repetition of the words was enough to ring warning bells in Mara's mind, fear chilling through her veins in a flash of prescience, urging her up and onto her feet. As she came to stand behind her son, her hands reassuringly resting on the boy's shoulders, she lifted her chin and met the cold anger with her own fierce gaze. She might be weak, but for some things, she had a strength that no man could measure.

Stefan took in the scene, the golden-haired whore protecting her bastard son, and a cruel smile twitched at his lips for a moment. But his face, when he looked down at Robert, was blank and cool once again, the telltale curl of his fist at his side enough to warn both woman and boy that his temper was not to be tried. "You left the manor," he pointed out, the satisfaction in his eyes as the child winced at this reminder of his house rules seen only by the woman he had married. The woman who hated him more than she loved her own life. "Without permission, you took not one, but two horses from my private stables. You ran through the house, shouting at the top of your lungs. You burst in on your mother when she has other concerns and took up her time without leave. And against all previous orders, you attended a play and you dare to say that I should have come with you!"

Rob shrank back against Mara's skirts as Stefan's voice rose to a threatening roar, the hope dying in his young eyes as distress overtook it. All he wanted was for the man he called father to love him, to be proud of him, yet whatever he did seemed only to put more distance between them. But Stefan was not finished yet.

"You will go to your rooms and remain there until I send for you," the man of the house informed the boy, ignoring the mother in favor of laying out a punishment he knew would hurt the child more than anything else he could conjure in his mind. "You will gather together every scrap of fairytale nonsense and gibberish you have there - all these so-called plays and novels, everything that does not cater to the learning application of business and real life - and you will burn them. Your tutor has been dismissed. You will take up instruction with one of the guards until such time as we can buy you application into a good military school. No more of this nonsense, boy. You are wasting my time."

He stood and watched as this sank in, as the distress faded to misery in the child's expression, as the realization that all his diversions, all the little joys in their secluded life that his mother had taught him ....they were all being taken away. He was going to be sent to an institution that taught violence and death, things the boy's gentler nature was not happy to even think about. Rob was left knowing that he had failed his father, having to accept the loss of his happier pastimes as punishment for disobeying orders that had been laid down a long time before. The child sniffled softly, comforted by the gentle wrap of his mother's arms as she stepped close behind him, her hands folding with comforting protectiveness over his heart. She glared into the cold eyes that watched her with smug satisfaction. But she didn't speak. She had learned a long time ago that speaking up in defense of her beloved son only made the punishments worse.

Stefan waited until her anger was high, until the color had risen in her cheeks and her chest heaved with the effort of holding the hasty words back, enjoying how impotent, how helpless she truly was. His words, when they came, were for Robert, though his cold eyes never faltered from the flashing fury of Mara's green gaze. "Go, boy. Your mother and I need to discuss your forthcoming education."

The child did not need to be told twice. He paused just long enough to kiss his mother's hand before edging around Stefan and marching from the room, his head held high despite the tears that had begun to stream from his eyes. Not just denied his happiness, but denied the comfort Mara could have given him as it drove home, he left the room with as much dignity as he could muster, unaware of the scene that unfolded as the door closed behind him.

The lock slid over with a final click of sound, shutting out the house beyond. Mara took a step back as Stefan turned back to her, advancing over the luxurious rug with malevolent intent. "And now, my love," he hissed, hands falling to the heavy belt he wore about his waist, "let us see what we can do about that willful defiance. Shall we?"

Mara Mallory

Date: 2013-04-15 15:58 EST
Dreven City; another time, another place ...

Gaily played music spilled out from windows thrown open to relieve the stuffy heat of the rooms within. A party, dinner and dancing in one, thrown to celebrate a nameday, the anniversary of the birth of a woman who none knew often wished for death. Stefan Del Sol was the picture of husbandly pride as he invited friends, associates, colleagues into his home, playing his assumed role with the dark charm that many believed had won him his beautiful wife in the first place. After all, what else could have torn her away from that other young suitor all those years ago, but one of greater charm, deeper love, truer devotion' The other had fled, abandoned his home, his city, his responsibilities ....his young lover. Only she knew the true circumstances. They were not for the ears and lips of idle gossips.

The Triad were there, she could tell. Shadowy men with shadowy connections, brought out into the light to play at being respectable, honorable citizens of the city they purported to serve. Men she had known as a child, men who delighted in the pain and humiliation of others, just as her darling husband - one of them himself - hid so well from the truly respectable elite he longed to be a part of. She was a part of his means to that end; the child of a courtesan who had made connections of her own among that elite, and who knew each of those men. Though she had never truly understood her mother's attachment to those myriad lovers, they had always been kind to her. It was their company that made evenings such as these tolerable, for they talked with her, danced with her, as much for her own sake as for her mother's. Their wives were colder, yes, in memory of the woman who had been able to entertain their husbands with greater skill, command greater loyalty from them, but still they spoke with kindness, seeming to appreciate that Stefan had saved her from a life of servitude and misery.

Each step she takes is torment, shooting pain through the delicate soles of her feet. Even standing still is torture, for then the weight lies evenly on the instruments of this evening's unpleasantness. She remembers the cruelty of his smile as he stood over her in her dressing room, forcing Elise - her dear, faithful, weeping Elise - to wind ribbons barbed with short, sharp iron about her tender feet, to force her dancing slippers on over them. The silk of her stockings are already soaked with blood. This is her punishment for denying him the pleasure of beating her son, to smile and dance and make merry with his guests, all the while knowing that a wrong step might well end her dancing days for good.

The music played, the dancers danced, and the woman at the center of all the attention was an oft-requested partner. She accepted each invitation with smiling lips, grateful for each offer of friendship or companionship that came from those men and women who were not under her husband's thumb. She never stumbled, never winced, never gave away even for a moment that all was not as it seemed. The penalty for that would be far worse. And besides, she would never let herself give him the satisfaction of knowing he had caused her such agony.

Business was performed at such gatherings under the guise of meaningless chatter, telltale words hidden within the clamor of laughing voices and sweet music. Mara's thoughts turned often to Robert, sitting alone in his rooms above, able to hear the music, the laughter. A part of her wished he could have joined them for the meal itself, to be shown off to this elite, these influential people. Perhaps one of them would take her son under his wing, for her mother's sake. But no, Stefan would never allow it. He would never allow the boy to be taken from the sphere of his influence, to be protected by one stronger than he in the affairs of the city. He would kill Robert before ever allowing that to happen.

"I will kill him," he whispers to her, as rough hands push her down onto the window-ledge, forcing her to lean out, to wave and smile to the boy playing alone in the gardens below. "One misstep, my love, and I will slit his throat myself." She feels his hands grasping at her skirts, tearing open the delicate silk of her snugly fitted bloomers. From below comes a shout, and she waves back, forcing a delighted, loving smile for her son, laying her arms at the ledge as though nothing untoward is occurring. "He mustn't know, dear Mara," her tormentor snarls in quiet delight at her play-acting, as he finds his place, invading her with little care for the pain, reveling in her humiliation. "One hint he suspects ....and your milksop boy dies."

She laughed at something her current companion said to her, the sound sweet and as warm as she could make it, feeling exhaustion rippling through the pain that will give her no quarter, no reprieve through the long night. It would be many hours yet before she would be allowed to take her leave, knowing better than to plead a headache and escape early. She had done that just once, many years before, and would never risk it again.

On the arm of her delighted, if slightly puffed out companion, she made her way over to the cushioned seats left open for those who did not wish to dance, or who could not find a partner, fanning herself to relieve some of the heat in her skin, heat only partially fueled by the crush of bodies in confined space. With deep relief disguised as laughing surrender to the inevitability of her weakness as the fairer sex, she claimed one of those seats, forced to hide a wince in a glass of rich red wine as the pain only seemed to grow worse without her weight to temper it.

"Oh, my lady, what has he done to you?" Elise's words are soft, terrified, shocked by the sight of her young charge's red-dappled skin. She knows what her maid - her friend - is seeing. Great raised welts on the tender curve of her rear and lower back, some open and bleeding, others merely badly bruised, left there by the repeated lash of that heavy belt buckle as it is brought down upon her bared flesh. He never marks her where anyone but he and Elise will see it, yet the knowledge of those marks, of that pain, gives him great pleasure. She hates him, loathes him, detests him with every fiber of her being ....yet she cannot leave him. To leave him would be to leave Rob in great danger, for she knows she cannot protect both herself and her son from the ruthless revenge that would follow such an escape. They are trapped, and to keep such savagery from falling upon her beloved son - the son who will never be his, no matter his games - she will take his punishments in silence. She will not give him the satisfaction of her tears. Not again.

"What is this" The woman of the hour sitting on the sidelines? This will not do, sirs!" The jovial charm of her tormentor's approach flashed into her, spiking fear that was only too justified. He knew precisely the reason she had taken this opportunity. She should have known he would not allow her the dignity of a few moments' respite from the pain in her feet. The ache in her back and rear were a great price to pay to be off those abused soles, and yet he would not be content with knowing that he had marked her in such a way that only the solace of her bed would relieve the pain. He would have her cavort and make merry, all the while knowing that each step, each smile, each laugh and warm word cost her dearly.

"Give her a chance, De Sol," her former dancing partner chuckled as the doting husband came up beside their little group. "Your Mara has been on her feet for hours!"

"Indeed, it is a novelty for her," was the dark reply, and though most in the group took his words to mean that such gatherings were a delight to her, Mara saw that one or two of the women glanced sharply in her direction. There was no way they hadn't seen the flush of high color in her cheeks, the shamed embarrassment that he would refer to her, even so obliquely, as a whore in such company. But none gainsaid the man whose reputation preceded him, as he bent to lift her up onto her feet, wrapping that strong, cruel arm about the abused curve of her waist, holding her tight against his side without taking any of her weight. She turned her gasp of pain into a laugh, playing the role of the doting wife for the sake of their company, for the sake of the boy in the rooms above. For the sake of the other, so long gone now, who might still be in danger from the rival who had taken everything from him.

"I'll kill him, too, you know." The words are spoken in a low whisper, the tone almost loving, the hand that sweeps her hair from her face and neck obscenely gentle in the aftermath of his taking, his tormenting. She kneels on the window-seat, fighting the urge to weep, grateful beyond words that Robert went inside long ago. But these words ....she knows they pertain not to the boy she loves more than her own life, but to his true father, the rival she was forced to send away, to save his life. And break her own heart with the knowing that every letter she wrote him in the weeks and months that followed were discarded or unread. Stefan draws her up onto her feet, cradling her in his arms as though he cares a little for the trembling beauty he has harmed so much. It is these moments, these terrifying moments of gentleness, that she dreads most, afraid that one day she will weaken, and he will know he has won.

But that day is not today, and she pushes back from him, forcing herself to stand tall in torn skirts, the defiance in her eyes once more. Stefan smirks, seemingly impressed by her continued denial of his little facade. He reaches out to touch her face, scowling as she jerks from his touch. "I will kill him," he promises harshly. "I took everything from him once, and it is still not enough. He will see you humiliated, used, tortured and killed before he dies. And as he dies, I will tell him your dirty little secret, Mara. He will know that even with his death, the pain will go on. With his bastard son at my hands."

As he swept her into the dancing once again, hands firm against her where he knew the pain was greatest, Mara felt the bile rise in her throat, disgusted with herself for keeping up this pretense. Yet what else could she do' To defy him was to wish pain upon her son. To escape him was to declare a war she would inevitably lose. This way, she could at least keep the worst from falling on Robert's head. She wished so often that things had been different. She wished that the other had stayed. She wished that the threat had not been made. She wished her son could have a father who loved him. She wished for rescue from this nightmarish existence. But deep in her heart she wished most of all for the one thing that Stefan would never grant her ....release.

Mara Mallory

Date: 2013-04-16 16:49 EST
Dreven City; another time, another place ...

The familiar sound of boyish laughter filtered through the closed door of Mara's bedroom from the reception room beyond, a beautifully pleasant surprise to wake up to. She rolled over onto her side, stifling a gasping groan at the pain that flashed through her back and feet. Green eyes turned to the tiny window, noting the lack of direct sunlight; ears picked up the minute sound of the bustling house going about its daily business. I must have slept late, she realized, startled. Strange that he would let me, after last night.

Last night ....what a painful disaster. Her feet, on fire with every step she'd taken, only relieved when she sat for one precious minute at a time and even then at the expense of the pain that turned her rear and back to flame. Stefan had stayed at her side throughout the evening, on the surface ever the attentive husband, keeping her entertained, not allowing her spirits to flag at a gathering that was, ostensibly, for her benefit. Their guests had been slow to leave, only too eager to enjoy the hospitality of their usually taciturn host and his engaging wife, and it had been many hours before she could make her escape. Even then, sleep had been difficult to find, as her wounded feet throbbed in the cool twist of sheets, and her back and rear burned from the hours of restriction and pressure on fresh bruises and welts. Ordinarily, Stefan would have made certain she was woken with the dawn, that she would have to face the day as bright as she had been the night before, on less hours of sleep than a soldier endures on a hard march. But for some reason, he had allowed her to sleep. Her eyes narrowed. He must be up to something.

With more difficulty than she liked to admit, she forced her stiff body to sit upright, swinging her legs around to let her feet tentatively touch the bare floor. Gods! The instinct was to immediately jerk her feet up once again from the cool surface, but she knew from experience that would only harm her further. Her back would not forgive her for many days yet, and would certainly not allow easy recovery if she should pull those fragile welts open with some rough motion. Looking down, she gasped in shock. Her feet were riddled with dark, bloody marks, pinpricks where the barbs had cut deep over the evening, and she knew without even wanting to see that the soles would be worse. Only Elise's gentle handling had kept her from passing out as those barbarous instruments were removed from her flesh in the small hours of the morning; her friend's application of soothing balm enough to hold the worst of the pain at bay until she lay in agony on her sparse bed.

Gingerly, Mara dared to slide forward, grinding her teeth at the fractious rub of cloth against her abused rear end, laying her tormented soles flat upon the ground. As the sensitive flesh found purchase, she cried out, hurriedly snatching a fistful of her blankets to stuff her mouth, to muffle the sound and hope that the boy in the luxurious room beyond had not heard anything untoward. She could not take another beating, not so soon. And Stefan would no doubt delight in making his wife a cripple, increasing her impotence to protect her son against his capricious moods.

Elise was nowhere to be seen, no doubt of the opinion that leaving her to sleep was the best remedy for what ailed her this time. Left to her own devices, and anxious to see her Robert before Stefan had him sent away from her again, Mara bit down on the pain, forcing her sluggish limbs to bring her up onto her feet. With slow, ungraceful movements that came to an agonizing halt on more than one occasion, she located her stockings - thick red silk, a blessed disguise for her abused feet - sliding her feet into the delicate heeled slippers that had been left for her. Breathless even from this exertion, she had to pause, her head swimming with dazzling pain, waiting for that agony to fade before she moved on, listening to the laughter in the room beyond. There was someone else there, obviously - Rob didn't often laugh when there was no one to cheer him on - and for a moment, she felt gratitude to whoever it was for entertaining him so, assuming it was Elise, or else one of the servants who knew the difficulties in the house. Her clothes had been laid out for her - rich brocade, shimmering silk, gorgeous velvet, all of Stefan's choosing - but she ignored the garments, choosing instead to clothe herself in the soft warmth of her dressing wrap over her night-gown, presentable enough to be seen by Robert and his companion.

Taking just a moment to twist her hair back from her face, to repair the damage of a sleepless night with a little powder and paint, she composed herself, partitioning the pain behind a wall in her mind and soul with the gut-wrenching ease of too much practice. She opened the door, stepping out on her inflamed feet into the blissful luxury of the receiving room, and braced herself only just in time as Rob came hurtling from where he had been busily doing whatever it was on the floor to throw his arms around her in a delighted hug. She laughed, always deeply touched to see and feel how this special little boy loved her, wrapping her own arms about him in return, braving the pull and sting of her back to bend and kiss his hair as he held on tightly.

"And good morning to you, too," she chuckled fondly, stroking her boy's cheek with loving tenderness as he lifted his smiling eyes to hers. "I hope I didn't sleep so long I've missed all the day!"

He giggled happily, shaking his head. "Elise said you were up almost all night, and it's not even midday yet," he assured her cheerfully. "But I wanted to see you, it's your nameday, and I have a present for you!"

"A present?" For some reason, this struck deeply into Mara's heart, momentarily tearing down the barriers she had there to keep the pain at bay. Oh, my dearest love ....if you could only see him, know him. He's so like you. "Well, I mustn't keep you waiting much longer, must I" You look as though you're bursting to show me."

"He's talked of nothing else all morning," a cultured voice spoke from the couch where Rob had been sitting.

In that moment, Mara's blood suddenly ran cold. So this was why Stefan had allowed her to sleep so late, why she had not been woken to greet the dawn. Rob had been spending the morning with her. Her eyes rose to meet those of the woman sitting on her couch, in her rooms, smiling at her son. She took in the lily-white skin, so artfully brightened with subtle rouge; the voluptuous figure laced so snugly into dusky pink silks and satins; the long dark hair tumbling down her back to accentuate the tiny waist; the cold eyes, so like her brother's. Leandra.

For Robert's sake, and only his, Mara kept the venom from her face and voice as she replied. "Good morning, sister," she said politely, cool but courteous enough that Rob did not seem to notice the tension in the room, the coldness that spiked from woman to woman. "I see you have been entertaining Rob while I was sleeping." What do you want with my son, you cold-hearted cow"

Leandra Del Sol, Stefan's sister. Mara's rival once, though not for long. She had lost badly in that game and had resented the fact, her obsession turned almost to insanity in the years that had followed. There was nothing but loathing between the two women; ill feeling that ran so deep it would never be reconciled. All her life, Leandra had wanted something that Mara had ....and when Mara had lost him, she had deluded herself into thinking he was hers for the taking. When he had left, both women had been broken, but Mara had something to hold onto. His son, growing in her womb. Leandra would never forgive her for being loved.

"I stopped by to visit with you on your naming day, sister," was Leandra's artfully playful answer, presenting herself to the boy wrapped in Mara's arms as the loving aunt and sister-in-law he was accustomed to seeing. "I was utterly bereft when I found I would not be in town for your celebration last night, so I made certain to be here for the day. It would not do to celebrate it alone."

"Aunt Lean says she's going to stay all day and keep you company, Mama," Rob piped up, oblivious to the flash of warning hatred in his beloved mother's green eyes as she took the words at their face value. All day in her company. And what has she been telling Rob while I was sleeping" "Isn't that wonderful?"

"Yes," she heard herself reply, slow to take her eyes from Leandra's face and smile reassuringly down at the child still wrapped about her. "Yes, it is always an education to spend time with Leandra." Never a pleasure, though.

Leandra laughed gaily, though the lightness never touched her eyes, and patted the couch at her side invitingly. "I thought we could go out, Mara dearest," she declared. "There must be something Stefan has failed to buy you with - for you, I mean."

"Stefan fails to buy many things," Mara replied, glad that Rob had not noticed the slip, letting him lead her to sit beside a woman she could not stand to be within twenty feet of. "He no longer feels the need to impress me with largesse." And hasn't done since he married me. Don't think I don't know whose dress I wore to my own wedding.

So many infractions over the years, so many slights to choose from, and yet she wasn't truly the one wronged in this uncomfortable pairing. If Leandra could have given in gracefully - if she were sane - they could have been friends, bonded together in their loss of the one man who truly meant anything to either. But there was a vengeful streak in Stefan's sister, and all the blame for her hopeless disappointments had been laid squarely at Mara's feet. Leandra Del Sol delighted in causing pain to the woman she believed to have usurped her place in one man's affections and birthed the child she fervently believed should have been hers. But she was on Mara's turf today, and a night of pain and torment had unsheathed the sharp edge of her brother's wife's tongue.

Leandra's eyes narrowed, the spite clear in the moment of her failure to taunt, but Robert was there, squeezing in between them, a precious piece of paper held carefully in his hands. He barely even glanced at Leandra now his mother was there - another blow to the unstable fireball that was Stefan's sister - cozying up to Mara's side, impatient to show her his present. And she, for all her disquiet at the unwelcome presence in the room, could not deny him the pleasure of reading to her the poem he had written for his mother's twenty-seventh nameday. For a long time, they were both absorbed in each other, barely hearing Leandra's interjections into their loving conversation, leaving her very much out of the unique relationship they shared that she would never have a part in. If Mara glanced to her, it was only to find a world of bitter if onlys passing through the other woman's eyes, plagued with the hatred that grew in intensity each time mother and son shared a smile or a laugh, an embrace or a kiss. She knew what was going through Leandra's mind - it was always the same thing. He should have been mine. They both should have been mine. But the reality was different; one had been Mara's, and had left the city when she had been forced to turn him down; the other would always be Mara's, whether the golden-haired woman lived or died. Her blood would always run in his veins. This was one war Leandra would never win.

There was a victory, albeit small and petty, when Robert took his leave of them to return to his studies. Leandra held her arms out to embrace him ....and he sidestepped her, throwing his arms about Mara's waist, burying his face in the sweet scent of her robe as she stroked his hair. "I love you, Mama," he murmured, and in that moment, Mara knew she had won. Leandra started as though she had been slapped, color rising in her face, loathing and despair mingled on her angelic face. Robert would never say those words to her, no matter how much she longed for it, and they both knew it.

And though, over the course of the day, Mara paid for that victory in myriad ways under the guise of gifts bought for her nameday - a gown like those Leandra wore, laced so tightly she could barely breathe, pressing cruelly into the welts and bruises that littered her pale body beneath; hard shoes with a heel higher than she could walk in, offered with a vicious smile that told her that Stefan's sister knew what he had done to her; barbed, spiteful words designed to cut deep, hidden within compliments a stranger would blush to receive - through all this, she held her head high. Stefan might own her, hold the life of her son over her head, terrify her with threats against the man who had fathered Robert, but Leandra - cruel, spiteful, unstable Leandra, who wanted and would always want what she could and would never have - Mara had her in the palm of her hand. She was not so powerless, after all.

Mara Mallory

Date: 2013-04-17 18:00 EST
Dreven City: another time, another place ...

"You're a sorry excuse for a man."

Stefan Del Sol looked genuinely surprised at these words, lifting his eyes from the papers on his desk to meet the blazing green glare of his beautiful and furious wife. Mara didn't quite know what had possessed her to march in here and tell him exactly what she thought of him, but it definitely had something to do with the fact that he had burned the poem Rob had written for her at the breakfast table, in front of the distraught poet himself. She had spent two hours trying to comfort her son, trying to impart to him without so many words that Stefan's approval meant nothing to him. She couldn't tell him outright, knowing that his life would be in danger the moment he knew he was not Robert Del Sol, but it cut deep to see him so upset over the heedless, heartless attacks of a man who cared nothing for him.

"I'm sorry, I don't believe I heard you correctly."

She almost flinched at the cold tone, at the sudden focusing of all Stefan's attention upon her where she stood in his study, invading his privacy to express her long-suppressed opinion. Her hands balled into fists, hidden in the flounce of her skirts, fingernails biting deep enough into her palms to urge her on. She already knew she was earning herself another arbitrary beating with these words; she might as well earn it as best she could.

"Oh, I believe you heard me perfectly," she snapped, her beautiful face still beautiful even in the grip of the ugly anger that rippled through every last nerve in her body. "You, Stefan Del Sol, are a sorry excuse for a man. In fact, you should not even be entitled to call yourself a man. I have known children with more to offer the world than you. You are a coward, a bully, the worst kind of person. You delight in hurting those who are weaker than yourself, purely because you never had the balls to stand against one man who will always be your better, even when he isn't here!"

Gods ... She actually did flinch as Stefan's expression shut down. He knew exactly who she was talking about, who she was comparing him to, and he knew he never came out of that comparison better than the rival he so wanted to suffer and die at his hands. It took so much effort to stand her ground as he rose slowly to his feet, looming over her even on the other side of his wide desk.

"I would not say such things, if I were you."

It was a warning, one she had not heard before, one that heralded an anger deeper and colder than any he had directed upon her before. But she was gone too far to back down now, to give into the urge that was crying out for her to turn and run, to escape before he decided what he was going to do to her for this open, stark honesty. These words had been held in for far too long, and with the cruelties of the past days rubbing her raw, his unforgivable attack on her son - her son! - had pushed Mara past caring that she was placing her head in the lion's mouth.

"Does it make you feel big, to hurt a child?" she demanded, flushed and shaking with anger of her own. "To attack him where he is most vulnerable, when he least expects it' All he knows is you! All he wants is for you to show some pride in him, to approve of something he does! You show yourself off to the city as a loving father, and yet you cannot even bring yourself to be civil to a child not even ten years old who only wants you to be his father!"

"And you, Mara?" She swallowed, biting the inside of her cheek as the silken, dangerous tone wound about her. He still had not moved from where he stood, but it could only be a matter of time. "Do you want me to be his father?"

The venom rose as she looked at him, seeing everything she loathed, everything she detested, everything she hated, wrapped up in one man who held her here in this gilded cage for all the world to see. "You?" She laughed. She actually heard herself laugh, a derisive sound from lovely lips that encapsulated everything she thought of him. "You will never be his father. You may play at it for your associates, you may pretend and make believe and think you have him to declare as your own, but you and I and your guttersnipe of a sister know the truth. You are not Rob's father. His father is the best man I know, the best man I have ever known, and I will never forgive myself for what you made me do to him. You wanted him miserable, you wanted him to suffer, and guess what? He isn't even here for you to know if you've won. Because you haven't won, Stefan. He's far away, where you will never reach him, never hurt him again, and that makes you impotent. You're so low, so helpless in the face of your own nasty, pitiful fury, you can't even touch him any more. You are not even a fraction of the man he is. You will never be more than a gutter slug wrapped in diamonds you had to steal."

In an instant, she knew she had gone too far. She was still weak from his punishments over the past few days, and she had just crossed a line they had never ventured over before. Stefan moved too quickly for her, snaking around his desk, his face as black as thunder. The blow caught her on the cheek, an explosion of pain that she knew would bruise under a fist made strong with fury. It knocked her back, but somehow, even on her cut and bruised feet, she stayed standing, blinking hurriedly to push away the dazed feeling that filled her skull. He had never struck her face before, never allowed his anger to overrule his common sense. But then, she had never pushed him so far from his precariously self-appointed perch.

His hand caught her arm, shaking her so violently that she cried out, hating the weakness that showed him whenever he had hurt her. "You dare say that to me?" he hissed, ice and fire combining in a fearful snarl of rage. "You ....the whore-child who spread her legs for the first pretty face that came her way' Who didn't even have the courage to stand up for what she wanted" You folded at the first hand, my love, and he abandoned you. You think he is better than me" Me" The man who took you in, who gave you a name, who gave your bastard son respectability?"

"Respectability?" She was too far gone with pain and anger to curb her tongue now, hearing herself laugh again, this time incredulous that even he would try to describe himself like that. "You wear respectability like a bad cologne, Del Sol. From a distance, that's all people smell, but up close, your natural stench sours even the sweetest of tempers."

His hand found her face again, this time an open-handed slap that split her lip as she reeled back, kept from falling only by the ruthless bite of his hand on her arm. "You will regret those words, bitch," he promised her, shaking her upright once more as she whimpered, tasting her own blood on her tongue. His free hand moved too quickly for her to follow with her eyes, but she felt its passage with cold fear. Silk ripped under his fingers, laces broke, the rich brocade he dressed her up in burned against her skin as he tore it from her body, leaving her trembling in nothing but the corset and shift she wore beneath. "Such a pretty whore you make, Mara. Too defiant by half."

His hand landed hard against her abused rear, and she cried out once again, forgetting the embargo against such sounds in this house. She could not even recall if Robert was still inside, hoping he was not, hoping he would not hear what was happening in the study. Stefan dragged her about, pressing her down until she was bent over his desk, his palm heavy between her shoulder-blades, keeping her down, listening to the wheeze of her breath as the tough boning of her corset dug into the welts at her hips and hugged tighter to her torso, close to suffocating under the pressure. She heard the soft clink of metal on metal, the silken slide of leather through cloth, and a moment later, she felt the harsh bite of his belt as it came down hard upon her back. Again and again, he beat her with the heavy, vicious buckle, long past the moment when blood began to seep through the thick cloth of corset and shift. He said nothing, no taunts, no words to bite deeper than the physical pain he handed to her, nothing to distract her from the agony as her body erupted in flaming despair.

When he was done, it was silent. Nothing but the harsh sound of her breath against the desk as she fought the agony, trying to will herself to stand when all she wanted to do was curl up and sob. Nothing but the counter-cadence of his breath, dark and hissing beneath the gasp of her own as he watched her, admiring his handiwork. He would not touch her again for many weeks, they both knew, but this had been a hard lesson. A lesson Mara knew she would have to remember. The next time, he might not stop until she lay dead, and then who would protect Rob from a man who hated him purely for being his father's son"

A rough hand buried itself in her hair, dragging her up from her slump against the warm wood of his desk, and again she cried out, unable to stop herself from weeping as the movement tore open fresh cuts and old welts, fresher blood seeping into what little she wore. She felt herself turned about, pulled back against Stefan as they faced the doorway. And there, horror written on his young face, stood her son, her Robert, one hand still on the latch in the act of pushing open the door to surprise his parents. Mara felt her despair deepen, knowing what he had seen, knowing what he was seeing now, and still she could not will herself to stand alone, to cease her tears.

"Rob," she sobbed, held painfully upright by that cruel grip in her hair. "Don't look. Please, don't look ..."

"Look at your mother, boy," Stefan snarled, shaking her to make her silent, speaking over the renewed sound of her pain as she stumbled in his grasp. "See what happens when you defy me. Another toe out of line, and I will beat her again. Cross me after that, and she will beg for death. Tell anyone, let anyone suspect that all is not well, and you will watch your whore of a mother scream for mercy in her dying moments, am I quite clear?"

Wide-eyed, horrified, terrified by what he had seen, Robert could only nod mutely, tearing his eyes from Mara's beseeching, tear-stained face to look up at the man he had always called father. The man who had now proved beyond a shadow of any doubt that there was no love in him for his golden-haired wife, and if he could not love her, then there would never be any love for the child of her flesh. "I ....I ....Yes, sir," he stammered, small fingers clenching on the door latch.

"And you, my love ..." She flinched painfully as thin lips touched her ear, hissing the oft-repeated warning to her, knowing the cold eyes remained on her son, so still and shaken in the doorway. "Any more defiance, and I will do to him what I have done to you. Keep your secret, whore. One word, and your son is as good as dead."

He did not wait for her agreement, feeling it in the cowed shudder of her abused form. With a wrenching motion, he dragged her across the room and threw her into the hallway by her hair, leaving her to sprawl in fear and pain against the thick luxury of the expensive rug there. The door slammed, the sound echoing through the house, and for another long moment, all Mara could hear was her own breath, staccato and shallow, her tears dripping onto the wool that pressed into her flesh.

"Mama?"

A small hand touched her shoulder, the only place it dared to make contact, and she jumped, forcing herself to push upright, to open an arm and offer comfort to her beautiful, terrified son who knelt beside her, in tears himself for the horror of what he had seen done. There was no doubt in the child's mind that the threat had been real, and though he had no wish to hurt his mother, he could not deny himself the loving comfort she offered, even in the midst of her pain.

So like his father ....his real father. Her heart constricted further as she looked down at her son, wishing she could have been strong enough all those years ago to dare the threat and run away with the man who had given her this one wonderful gift of their child. The memory of her cowardice struck deeper now, as the days went by with hardships piling on her head. If only they could have made a life together; if only she hadn't believed so easily that Stefan could kill him as he had promised he would. You folded at the first hand. Had she really given in so easily' Had she given Stefan his petty victory with her fear for the one man she loved" They had been barely more than children, and now ....it was so much worse now. With her angry outburst, she had put Rob in danger, real and immediate danger. She could never again talk back, perhaps never again even show Stefan her angry eyes, without knowing that it would be visited upon her son tenfold. Upon the last link she had to the man who still held her heart, after all this time.

How long they sat there, huddled with one another on the floor of the hallway, Mara didn't know, but eventually she surfaced, wiping her little boy's cheeks with tender care. The hesitant way he reached up to wipe her own tears away almost brought them to full flow once again, but she knew they couldn't stay here. "Sweetheart, we have to get up," she told him, hating the hoarseness of her voice, the way just the sound of it made him flinch and look toward the study door in fear. "It will be worse if he finds us here."

He nodded, shy and frightened, and rose to his feet, almost crying once more as he watched her pull herself to her own feet, inch by painful inch. Without her asking, or even wanting him to, he pressed to her side as she swayed, biting down on the pain for his sake more than her own, resenting the need that wrapped her arm about his young shoulders. "Lean on me, Mama," Rob said very quietly, afraid of being heard by the monster in the room so close by. "I'll help you."

A soft sob broke from her lips, her heart breaking for the fact that he now knew the truth, that he was taking her care into his small hands. They were as responsible as each other for their safety now, the beatings and cruelty no longer hidden from a child who should never have had to see what he had seen today. As they moved awkwardly toward the stairs, to the relative safety of her inner room - the only door for which she had a key of her own - Mara felt all the pain and torment and humiliation harden in her heart. We have to get away from here. But how?

Mara Mallory

Date: 2013-04-19 19:58 EST
Dreven City; another time, another place ...

The glint of copper under candlelight. The hiss of whispering voices. The rustle of soft cloth. Gentle hands, cool against her fevered skin, changing rough linen to soft silk, smoothing balm over her abused flesh, encouraging her to drink when she could. Was this what dying felt like" It seemed an age since she had fallen into her bed beneath the helpless gaze of her sweet and impotent lady's maid, Elise, unable to even raise her head, much less share the news of what had been done to her. Yet it might only have been hours, certainly not more than a week, she was almost sure. But could she really be sure" Her back, her rear, her cheek and lip, her bruised and cut feet ....they all came together in an agony of pain to cloud her mind and keep her from telling whether the dawn had come once or many times since she had found the relative safety of this sparse room.

The room was dark, she thought, but she could not be certain. The pain and torment of the past days had undone her, leaving her almost too weak to move, too weak even to open her eyes and see the fear and concern on the faces of those two beloved people who stayed by her side. Robert, her Rob, who now knew the secret of his mother's gilded cage, had fallen into line beneath Stefan's rules, studying hard with the guard who had been availed upon to undertake the education of Del Sol's errant boy. Yet when she surfaced from the pain and the blackness, he was there, wasting his days, the precious time that was all his own, to sit by her bedside and worry that she might not surface again. He was not alone; Elise was always there. It was her hands that changed the bedding, that wiped cool water over burning skin, that gently and painfully changed the dressings protecting the worst of her young lady's injuries. It was her voice that sang in the darkness, shaken and soft, willing the golden-haired woman back to them.

New hands touched her, and she flinched, parched lips parting to release a cry more pitiful than any she had heard from herself in the years that had gone before. Never had Stefan gone this far; never had he risked the death of his beautiful, engaging wife in circumstances too suspicious not to cause rumor. Had he come back" Was he going to end this now and deny her even the faintest sliver of hope that someday she and Robert might be free of him"

The owner of those hands stilled, murmuring something soft and soothing. A feminine voice, unknown but comforting. It was not Stefan, nor one of his men come to finish the agony in their own fashion. It was a woman, a stranger, someone who had been allowed to enter this sparse, bare bed chamber and see the misery in which Madame Del Sol was kept, even in good health. She might have spared a wondering thought for how this could be, were it not for the pain that flared once again as one of those gentle hands carefully touched the skin beneath her eye, spreading agony through her head. She whimpered weakly, unable even to pull away, but that hand retreated once again, and once more she saw the glint of copper under candlelight. A copper band, set beside interlocking bands of wood, stone, coral and topaz ....a Vivomancer, she realized in the depths of her torment, an Adept. Who could have called a Vivomancer here" Surely Stefan would not risk such a sight as her being in this moment becoming the knowledge of the magical healers"

"Take the boy into the next room," that unfamiliar voice was saying gently, and for a moment, she heard Rob's protest as though through glass or water, distant, muffled, but nearer than she truly wished. She had never wanted him to know, to see what she endured. She did not want him to see her like this. It was cruelty on a par with the viciousness of the man he called father. "Easy, young one," the unknown Adept said, and even the patient could hear the reassuring smile in that voice. "Your mother will be well. I need peace to do this, that is all."

"Come away, Master Robert." That was Elise; dear, faithful Elise, no doubt wrapping her charge's child in her capable arms to draw him away. If she could have, the ailing mother would have smiled, wishing she had appreciated the woman in her younger years. Wishing she had done as Elise had advised, all those years ago. A small hand grasped her own, and she knew it for his, willing her stiff fingers to curl about her son's as he bent to kiss her hand, promising to return soon. If only she could have smiled for him, offered some reassurance that all would be well ....but even he would know now that such a reassurance would be a kind lie to keep him from fear.

That little hand left hers, and she heard the door open and close, left alone with the unknown Adept who sat upon the bed beside her. Those unfamiliar, comforting hands touched her unbroken cheek, her neck, her chest, passing down over her abused body as though marking the passage of the pain through the days that had gone by so recently. Her hand was taken up once again, this time pressed between the gentle wrap of unknown fingers, feeling the coolness of the rings that had told her just who this stranger in her bedchamber was. She had never been healed by a Vivomancer before, unknowing of what to expect, fighting not to drift into the darkness that waited with grasping claws to drag her down once again. But the darkness won, enveloping her, wrapping her about in the softness of sweet oblivion as above her she felt the shudder and twist of a healer attuning both body and mind to the patient at her hands.

When next she woke, dawn light was struggling in through the window, illuminating the heavy slump of dear, faithful Elise in the chair beside the bed. Green eyes lingered on the older woman with warmth, seeing clearly for the first time since she had fallen under Stefan's hand in his study. She felt clean, warm, the heat of bandages at her back and feet no longer restricting her, no longer there to be noticed. The dull throb in her cheek was gone, the ache of her lip had passed her by. Slowly, carefully, she let her feet flex and contract, and felt a joyful, grateful smile cross her face as the expected pain refused to come. She felt stiff, yes, the product of more than a single day spent in the throes of physical agony and fever, but it seemed the Adept had done what she had come to do. Mara was whole again.

She shifted, rolling onto her side, and the movement rustled her sheets, drawing Elise from her fitful sleep with a start. Wild eyes turned hastily to the young woman in the bed, and for the first time in years, Mara saw her beloved old nurse burst into tears, falling from her chair to land on her knees, arms stretched across the smoother linens to gather her golden-haired charge into her arms and embrace her tenderly.

"Oh, my darling girl, I thought I might have lost you," she wept, and Mara held onto her, feeling tears of her own spill into sleeve that pressed against her face as they embraced. She had never truly realized how much Elise cared for her, even through all their troubles together. "I'm so glad you're back with us."

"What ..." The sound came out rougher than she had intended, and Mara coughed, clearing her throat as those familiar arms unwound from her. Elise's gentle hands eased her to sit up, and cool water was offered to her dry lips, spilling sweetly down her throat as she swallowed. She was still weak, it seemed, but the wounds and injuries were gone. She would be herself again within a day or so. But some things, she had to know. "What happened?" she asked Elise, leaning back against the pillows that were piled behind her with a grateful smile. "Who brought the Vivomancer?"

Elise's lips pursed into a thin line, and Mara had her answer. Stefan. The older woman frowned, shaking her head for a moment as she retook her seat by the bed. "Master Del Sol would not believe us how badly he had hurt you, my lady," she explained. "His sister came instead, no doubt to gloat over you while you were too weak to fight back, but I believe it was she who told him how close you were to death."

Mara's own lips twisted bitterly. "Neither of them can risk the rumor that he killed me, or even that he is responsible for my illness," she nodded, understanding the motivation now behind her healing. "What did he threaten the Adept with?"

Elise's face fell. "The Adept is a child of the Triad, my lady," she said, her voice just a little hopeless. "She needed no threats to keep his secret; her family loyalty is as tight as it was before she was taken for training."

So there would be no hope from that quarter. Some part of Mara's soul had lifted at the thought that, perhaps, the Vivomancers might learn of what had happened through one of their own threatened and forced into service, but if that woman was one of the Triad's children, then she would never share the knowledge. Healed and growing in strength once more, but Mara was still caged, as helpless as ever. A face swam before her mind's eye - stormy grey/blue eyes, tousled dark hair, a firm jaw - a face she had loved since first she'd known what love could truly be. Where was he"

"Elise ..." The older woman looked up, a small frown on her face for the thoughtful, wary way her name had been spoken. Mara took in a deep breath. "Are your letters still being read?"

The woman who had raised her, taught her, loved her and protected her since childhood blinked, surprised and seemingly pleased by the question. "No, my lady, not to my knowledge," she told the golden-haired invalid quietly. "Nothing I have written has been acted on in the last year or more." Mara breathed out slowly. Was she really about to ask this of her oldest friend"

"Write to him," she said, as quietly as Elise had spoken only a moment before. "Tell him to come, if ....if you can find him ..." Her voice caught in her throat at the very real fear that he might not care about her any longer, but she knew he would care that his son was endangered, no matter his feelings for her. "Ask him to come for Rob. If anyone can save my son, he can."

"Just Robert, my lady?" The look on Elise's face said it all. The older woman was in agreement, but aghast that Mara would not ask for sanctuary for herself as well. "If he knew about you -"

"Just Robert," Mara stopped her before she could go on. "I don't have any right to ask anything for myself. Not after the way I treated him. Rob is the important one."

There was a moment of quiet, and to her joy, she heard the door open in the room beyond, and familiar young footsteps making their way over plush rugs and polished floors toward the door that would open and show her as she now was. Green eyes pleaded with her oldest friend, her truest confidante, and just as that door opened, Elise offered up a tiny nod, understanding even if she did not agree. Thus, the smile that Rob saw as he peered inside was bright and hopeful, filled with the desperate desire to see him safe. He lit up as he laid eyes on his mother, sat upright, awake, weak but whole again, and the misery of the week that had passed them by was forgotten in that instant. The boy closed the door carefully, and launched himself across the room, scrambling up onto the bed to wrap himself in his mother's embrace, hugging her tight and close, overjoyed that she had recovered as he had been promised.

"I love you, Mama," he whispered into her shoulder as she stroked his hair, rocking him gently to try and soothe the terror she had put him through so unintentionally. "I won't let him hurt you again."

Mara's arms tightened around him, her lips pressing into his dark hair, breathing in the scent of her little boy with a new sense of peace and purpose. His father would have been proud of him for those words, however empty they were in the face of the threat that hovered over them, and she felt renewed hope that he might someday soon know that father and feel the love that a child should have from the man who had sired him. Oh no, my darling boy, she thought, pressing kisses over his smiling face, reveling in the giggles that rose up as her fingers tickled him out of his momentary melancholy, filling the room with that delightful sound. No one will ever hurt you again.

Mara Mallory

Date: 2013-04-24 14:37 EST
Lake Silvermere: another time, another place ...

The sun danced in dappled rays over the vast expanse of the lake, reflecting back against a fine little cottage and its beautiful gardens, just one of many along the lake shore. At this time of the year, there were few people about; only the few servants who remained at their employers' fine estates to maintain them during the winter months, and the occasional fisherman visible on the lake itself. Standing at a window, it was possible for Mara to believe that she was the only person for miles, and for a long moment, she reveled in that feeling, remembering happier days spent by this very shore, in love and unafraid. They seemed so far away now, and yet, they were always there, held close and safe in her heart.

The sound of hooves drew her from her reflections on the past, her eyes turning away from the lake to the wide fields that bordered its shimmering waters, to where a small boy was out riding with his tutor. The latest in a long line, but this tutor was here to stay. Her jaw set a little, inner rebellion trying to stir despite the warnings against such a thing. The tutor was Triad. The cottage was paid for by the Triad. And the agreement that would keep both her and her son there, safe from Stefan's tempers and petty vengeance ....that had been made by the Triad, too.

"You and your son will be provided with a small home on the shores of Lake Silvermere, your circle of acquaintances will understand that your delicate health requires you to live away from the city. Your living will be seen to by your husband - for he will remain your husband, if only in name. Neglect and further cruelty will be dealt with harshly."

She looks at her husband, standing silently in the shadow cast by the curtain over the window. She cannot quite believe what she is hearing - that Stefan, cruel, possessive Stefan, has agreed to such terms. He has agreed to let her out of his influence, to release Rob into her care. But he is not happy to do it, that much is clear. His fists are clenched, his jawline almost white with the effort of keeping his tongue in check. There is only one kind of person who could possibly force him into such a deal.

Her eyes turn to the elegant old man who stands so close to her, seeing past the frills and frippery, the affected manners and carefully constructed smile ....and there it is. The coldness in his eyes, the understanding that he holds the power in this room. This old man has intimidated her terrifying husband into agreeing to something that puts his own revenge out of his reach, with no more than a few words. She knows what this means. The Triad have taken an interest in Stefan Del Sol's private dealings.

Her thoughts were distracted once again by the whoop of laughter audible on the wind as Rob and his new tutor rode over the gravel driveway toward the stables. Despite herself, she smiled, pleased to see her son smiling and happy, unafraid of the consequences should his father see him in such a joyous mood. It had taken a few days for them both to settle into the knowledge of just what this agreement gave them - freedom from Stefan's tyrannical regime. There would be no more beatings, no more off-hand cruelty with a word or look. He was not even allowed to enter the gardens without an invitation from Mara herself, and even then, he would be under the Triad's eye. The Vivomancer had done her work in reporting back to her family what she had seen, and it seemed that Mara's health, Robert's well-being, were more important to the shadowy men who called themselves the Triad than even Stefan could have imagined.

They had swung into action faster than she might ever have thought possible. It had taken her three days to recover from the healing, to be back on her feet and able to go about her day as she had done before, no scars, no bruises, no lingering aches and pains. And it had been on that fourth day that she had been summoned to Stefan's study, to meet his colleague - his superior, no doubt - and be informed of the action that was to be taken. Her spirit bristled at the depth to which she was now sunk in Triad affairs, beholden to them personally now not only for the safe-guarding of her son, but his education, and her own health. His father would have been appalled with her for complying so readily. But Rob's father was gone, long gone, far beyond the reach of the men who had tried to own him and now owned her. If taking their help could keep his son alive and well, give him the start in life that Stefan was so vehemently against, that was a thin line she was prepared to walk, whatever the payment they would demand in return.

Cool fingers stroke down her neck, their owner seemingly amused by the way she stiffens and forces herself not to jerk away. Stefan has been sent from his own study, to arrange transportation for the move which will occur within hours. She is alone with this unnamed benefactor, this face of the Triad here in the city, and it seems he has more to say to her.

"Such a shame he didn't stay and fight for you, all those years ago," the cultured voice murmurs, and she feels a shock of cold slam through her. He can't be talking about this. This isn't gossip for anyone's ears. "You might have been mistress of his manor, and mother of his son, instead of tied to that violent fool. We would have supported him over Stefan - a far preferable choice, even with his opinions on the matter."

She relaxes just a little, relieved that they still believe Robert to be Stefan's son. They cannot use him against her, not like this. "I was his mistress, once," she points out quietly, interrupted by the low chuckle that falls from her companion. His fingers skim down the back of her neck, playing with the single thick curl that hangs artfully from the coil of her hair.

"You will be so much more than that," he promises, and she holds herself tighter still as he pulls her closer, lecherous lips and tongue tasting the fine line of her throat. "You belong to us now, little Mara. One slip, and your world will fall. But, my dear, there are compensations." He grins lasciviously, and she finds herself forced into a kiss she does not want. But she knows this game; Stefan has played it many times. Elise taught her well in those early years - she can still make any man believe her a willing accomplice to his amorous intent. He laughs as he releases her. "Such a fine whore, little Mara."

She winced at the memory. It was a word only one man had ever refused to use in reference to her, a word he had actively tried to teach others to avoid when speaking of her. But it was the truth, now. It had not taken long for that cell leader to explain to her what her role was in the safe-keeping of her son. She would receive visitors - not often, and not regularly. Men who had been seduced by the power and wealth of the Triad and needed only a little push to accept their terms, their rule. She was intended to be that little push. She was a courtesan once more, forced to practice her arts on strangers for something worth far more than mere money. She could do this, however abhorrent, for one reason alone. To keep Robert safe, until Elise found his father. Until his father took him away to safety.

Her oldest friend's letters had not had time to reach any but the nearest of companions. His friend within the Rangers was not available, no doubt on some mission far away from the city; the housekeeper at his former manor had only the sketchiest idea of which direction he had gone in almost a decade before. But she knew the truth now, at least. If he ever returned to Dreven, Mara knew that Beryl would tell him the whole truth, and if she did not, then he would finally read Elise's letter, left there for his eyes only should he ever come home. The Triad might not allow him to visit this house, but that was something easily dealt with. For not far away along this beautiful shoreline there lay another such cottage, long abandoned, almost forgotten. A cottage where they had spent many days with one another, in the first flush of young love. A cottage that held each of those memories that kept her living on, perfect in recollection.

She snapped from her thoughts as Elise bustled into the room behind her, the accepted way of mistress and servant never truly conformed to by either of them. Elise had raised her, taught her, guarded her, and then had refused to leave her side, slipping from mistress to servant rather than see her young charge taken in hand by anyone else. The older woman offered her a smile, guessing only too accurately where Mara's thoughts had wandered to, and touched a soft hand to the young woman's cheek as she passed. Oh, yes, Elise knew all the secrets in this house.

Mara's eyes returned to the garden, to where her beloved boy now sat with his Triad tutor, reading aloud from one of his favorite books, his youthful voice alive with animated interest as character after character took on a life of their own under his oration. She smiled at the sight, knowing that there was one thing she would forever be grateful to the Triad for. They had given her Rob his books back, encouraged him to read and enjoy, and she knew she could never truly repay them for that kindness, however shadily motivated it might be. But still her thoughts turned to that other cottage, to another face, to a heart she had intentionally broken in terror of seeing it stop forever. Soon, she wished softly, casting her mind far out to the sky and beyond. Come home soon. Your son needs you.

Mara Mallory

Date: 2013-05-17 17:16 EST
Lake Silvermere; another time, another place

The cottage was a disaster zone. Lamps smashed, furniture in pieces, even the bed where she had spent so many happy hours had been torn apart, the material slashed, the down long since blown away. Yet dust was thick over everything, every last sign of rampant destruction. Standing here, in this forgotten memory, Mara felt once again the true horror of what she had done, all those years ago.

She could almost see the boy he had been when he had loved her, riding here in the grip of his worst heartache, his terrible despair; reaching out to shatter their secret place as totally as she had shattered his heart. The memory of his tears hung in the air, even a decade later, pricking her bleeding heart, drawing a fresh wave of old tears to her eyes as she looked around at the last physical vestige of the damage she had done. If only she had been stronger, braver. If only she could have brought herself to believe that Stefan did not have the power he had so ruthlessly shown in those last weeks. If only ....always if only.

Duncan, my dearest love ... A quiet sob broke from the young woman's lips as she surveyed the mess that had been left untended. She had thought returning here would bring back the happier times, the memories she had clung to in her darkest hours. Yet all she saw was the pain of the past, stark and raw, bleeding still from the walls around her in an echo of the howling misery that had caused so much destruction. It was too late now for regrets; that time had passed years before. She knew now it would have been foolish of her to run away with him, with Stefan's hatred hanging over them. Such a life, such a journey, would have killed the child in her womb. It might even have killed her, and then what would Duncan have done" She knew him like no other; he would have thrown his life away seeking vengeance against the man who had hounded them to their deaths.

At least, this way, she knew he was alive. Somewhere out there, far out of Stefan Del Sol's grasp, far away from the Triad and their scheming, Duncan Mallory lived. Perhaps he had forgotten her, left her behind to rot in hateful memory, found a new love to soothe the wounds she had inflicted on his young heart. She could still see his despairing face, the shocking destruction of everything he held dear as she told him she did not love him. I lied. Yet without that lie, this place would haunt her still. It would be a memorial of a life cut short, a love utterly destroyed. Her actions had saved his life, she believed it whole-heartedly. And in saving his life, she had condemned herself to a living death.

Her pregnancy had made itself known in the weeks that led to her wedding. Without Rob, without his life stirring in her womb, she knew she would have killed herself rather than marry Stefan Del Sol. Indeed, she had been preparing to do just that, though Elise had begged her not to. She still had the little bottle of poison, hidden away in her rooms. She had spent every last penny on securing it, knowing that Stefan would provide everything for her to save face in front of his peers. He wanted her painted and dressed up, displayed like a trophy. And if she had not been carrying Duncan's child - for he was Duncan's son, there could be no mistaking it - Mara would have ended her life rather than be held in thrall as a pawn in Stefan's power plays. But she was a mother. It was her duty, her life's work, to protect and care for the child she had borne in love.

Yet there were still times when she doubted that first decision, that first deal with the devil. You folded at the first hand. If she had been braver, would it have turned out differently' If she had been stronger, could she have fled the city with Duncan and lived out her life with him somewhere unknown" Had she dealt out pain and heartache for no more reason than that she was a coward at heart' She had done it to save his life, she knew that. She had believed, deep inside, that if Stefan did not have his way, her beloved would be tortured and killed. And even now, her dark husband held that threat over her head - that Duncan's life was still in his hands, along with the life of their son.

Without realizing it, she found she was moving, working to repair the damage to the cottage even as she dwelt in painful memories. Under her loving hands, dust and glass and shredded fabric was swept away, the windows cleaned, the hearth cleared. In the back of her mind, she kept a note of what was needed here, what she and Elise could do to restore this place to come semblance of its former beauty. She had loved here. She had been loved here. She wanted Robert to see the place where his parents had spent happy times, though the danger was still too great to share with him the truth of his father's blood.

And there was always that impossible hope, deep in the back of her mind. That one day Duncan would return. That he would know his son, and claim him. That he and Rob could make a fresh start. That Stefan would finally die for his sins. She held no allusions of being a part of that grand, hopeful future. The Triad would seek to use her against Duncan, she had already learned that. But she would not be used again, not to cause harm to the only man she had ever, would ever love. That little bottle would be found once again, and put to the use for which it had been bought. The moment Robert was safely with his father - my dear heart, my Duncan - Mara would take the step she had been too afraid to take all those years before. And in doing so ....they would all, finally, be free.