Chapter Ten –
Saying Good-bye, Part 2
-Christina-
My head was aching abominably and my eyes were screaming with irritation: red and swollen from the tears that I had endeavored to hide from everyone that morning. The forest around me was luscious green, showing off its springtime finery, and it seemed almost cheerful…
A strange irony in comparison to the cast of my own spirits.
In order to avoid the curious eyes and questions of our fellow villagers, we had departed early that morning, shortly after sunrise, in fact. The horses had been made ready the night before, along with what little we saw fit to bring along with us for our journey; however, it didn't seem likely that we would need any of it, for le Fantôme…my soon-to-be betrothed…had promised that the forest would guide us to his castle. Doubtless, then, our journey would be swift.
I didn't know what to hope for.
We rode in silence, with only Father and Richard breaking the utter stillness about us every so often to confer with one another on the state of our steeds, and once or twice to signal a rest. I kept away from them, secluding myself, as I couldn't bear to have them see me cry. That would only make things worse, and although I knew this quite well, I also couldn't help myself.
Never again would I wake in the morning to the noise of my beloved family moving about in the house around me; never again would I tend the little herb and flower garden I had so come to love during my time in Sumer's Flax. Antoinette and Meg would be responsible for tending to my blooming daffodils and sprawling, unruly mint. My brothers would have to find someone else to trade good-natured sarcasms with, and Carlotta and Portia would no longer have me to crawl underneath the bed to search out a missing shoe, or stand on a chair to dispense with the spiders that somehow managed to creep inside the cottage.
I would miss the sound of my father's cultured city-dweller's voice: reading the classics to us on snowy evenings during the winter. Never again would I help Antoinette and Meg perfect the art of cream puffs, or drive everyone in the house to the brink of insanity with my continual singing.
That life was gone.
I would share my days with another now.
Oddly enough, this: the thought of my fiancé to be, was the only thing that could really distract me from my sense of looming heartsickness. Or perhaps it wasn't so odd? There was certainly enough to think about, when it came to…him. Whoever and whatever he was. My father had mostly evaded speaking of le Fantôme, and though I was fully aware of his reasons why, I still had my curiosities. After all, I was going to be spending the rest of my life with this man. I ought to know a little about him before I threw myself headlong into holy wedlock, seeing as how he apparently knew at least something about me!
Just when I least wished for it, the faces of the ones I had left behind—Antoinette, Meg, Raoul—materialized in my mind's eye. I swallowed desperately, pushing the last memory I had of them, our farewell in front of the cottage, into the ether at the back of my mind. I will not think of it.
What would le Fantôme be like?
From what I had gathered from my father, his castle was the most peerlessly, stunningly beautiful place in the world, and its beauty was rivaled only by the great wealth and magic that he had glimpsed within it.
Magic.
Father had told us that there was a vast tangle of roses growing over the castle itself and within its gardens: roses that seemed to have souls and voices of their own—along with startlingly sharp and long thorns. He had told us about how everything there appeared to be operated solely by invisible powers, almost as if there were hundreds and hundreds of dedicated servants walking about whom no one could possibly see. He had told us about the lanterns that lit themselves, the great moat that separated the forest from the fortress, and…
But le Fantôme…!
Father wouldn't say much about him at all.
What little I knew of my intended was that he was a towering black-garbed specter with a hypnotic voice of gold, from whom—it seemed—everything shrank back in fear. And, from what I knew according to the vision I had been shown in the old gypsy's enchanted mirror…he would have astonishing blue eyes. He was an enchanter: gifted in all kinds of magic that I had no grasp of, and had been a world-traveler and scholar. He was fabulously wealthy and powerful.
Then, after all of this, he'd somehow found something of interest in me.
I honestly couldn't decide whether I ought to freeze with fear, and then wheel my steed around and send him plunging back through the forest to home and safety, or swallow my trembling premonitions and forge ahead to meet my fate with what little bravery I could summon when suddenly Shadowrose Castle was looming before us.
"Christina?"
It wasn't just enormous…it was unimaginably monolithic! And so beautiful that it was almost painful to look upon…so very, very beautiful.
If roses truly were the most exquisite of all the blooms in the world, then this place was named very aptly.
Finally, I managed to wrench myself back to reality: closing my gaping mouth and allowing my eyes to return to their normal size, and looked to my father, who had spoken. He was turned halfway in the saddle, looking back at me with both question and concern written plainly on his face. Richard and Giles, I noted, were also staring at me with similar expressions.
I shook my daze off and shifted my grip on the reins restively.
"Well," I said shortly: trying to seem nonchalant and fearless even though I felt that my fingernails were digging into my palms, and my skin was now clammy. "It certainly is something to look at. But there seems to be a storm blowing up…"
For indeed, out of the southern sky, a vast mass of dark, ominous-looking clouds had begun to move rapidly towards us, converging on Shadowrose Castle itself. Around us, a swift and cold wind swept out from nowhere: stirring my hair and causing our clothing and cloaks to whip about, and I could already feel a few large, surprisingly wet raindrops spattering against my face.
A low rumble of thunder caused the air to reverberate with the sound, and our horses began to move about restlessly, sensing the change in the weather. Father nodded, and gestured for me to move from my place at the back of our party to ride at the fore, so that I could approach the castle first: as a lady, and le Fantôme's required guest. I clenched my jaw so fiercely that it began to ache: resolved not to show any sort of fear or nervousness, and then I did as I was bade.
Then, with this new order, we began our descent down the hill: moving steadfastly towards the castle as the storm drifted ever nearer.
As le Fantôme had said, the forest and the castle itself had arranged itself to suit us for our journey, and thus it was that we approached it by an entirely different route than that by which Father and Monsieur Khan had led to it. Instead of crossing a bridge lit with silvery lanterns, we found ourselves winding around the hillside until the amazing vista of castle and countryside unfolded before us, in all its heedless, authoritative glory.
Now the trees continued to thin out until we had turned a final corner.
Here, a wide-open stretch of perfectly manicured, grassy lawn stretched out on either side of us, with a shimmering white dust avenue leading directly down its center. Stately cedar and pear trees lined this pathway, each set about twenty feet away from its fellow. The pear trees were blooming, and filled the air with their delightful essence as the rushing wind blew their delicate white petals through the air, scattering them on the ground, on my father and brothers' shoulders, and in my hair, like snowflakes that weren't cold.
We followed the path, slowly approaching the castle, which seemed to grow ever more enormous and imposing as we drew nearer and nearer. If I hadn't known that such a thing was impossible, I would have almost been tempted to think that the highest towers had pierced into the sky itself. The clouds, at any rate, looked close enough. I felt like an ant next to such extreme architectural proportions.
Finally, the avenue widened into an elaborately set out courtyard, laced with intricately designed rows of boxwood greenery and several different kinds of fountains: all burbling merrily in spite of the wicked-looking storm clouds that lurked above. My father and brothers began to wonder aloud where they ought to stable the horses, and I let my attention wander: staring at my surroundings in spite of the repeated grumbles of thunder.
And then I saw the door.
I remembered it immediately from the picture that the enchanted mirror had shown me: two torches, placed in sharp-looking iron sconces on either side of the frame, had been lit as if to beckon us onwards. I dismounted slowly, and approached the door as if in a dream.
How strange that it should all be real… I thought, hazily. Oh, Fantôme: whoever you are, wherever and however you are, I can't help myself…we must meet, and soon…
