FIFTY-EIGHT
"Damn it Jindra – it's true! I heard the words right out of his mouth." Anton Lefebvre's voice rose in anger.
Jindra shook her head, her silvery-gray eyes shining with tears. "How can you stand there and say something like that? Gods Anton, you're talking about Coren!" Her voice bristled with anger, "I can't believe you would use him to try and turn me against Folken. After all your stories about how close you were – how much you loved him like a brother . . . it's sick – sick!" She turned away from him.
"You stupid girl," Lefebvre reached out and grabbed her by the arm. "I swear I'm telling you the truth! I was there – he confessed everything . . . the accident, the problem with the guymelef – his part in the scheme! He killed your brother Jindra – he admitted it!"
"Where's your proof Anton?" Jindra wrenched her arm out of his painful grasp. "Do you think I'm just going to accept your word?"
He let out an exasperated sound as his dark blue eyes glared into hers. "What do you want Jindra – a written confession? Will that satisfy you?"
"Like I could trust that it was Folken's handwriting," she shot back venomously and almost regretted it when Anton growled deep in his throat.
"Goddamn it – why do you have to be so blind and stubborn? You refuse to see the truth when it's staring you right in the face!"
"And just who's truth are you talking about Anton . . . yours?" She snorted her disgust.
"What kind of hold does that freak have over you Jindra?"
"Don't – don't you dare call him that!" Jindra's eyes blazed and the color had risen in her face. "You've hated Folken from the very start – hated him because I fell in love with him instead of you. You've let yourself become consumed by this obsessive jealousy, and you've let it take over your life. It's eaten away at you Anton until I don't even recognize you anymore."
She took a breath to steady her voice, "You and I were friends once – good friends. You were there for me when Coren first went away, and I'll always be grateful to you for that. But somewhere along the line, the Anton Lefebvre that I knew started to disappear – and a man that I didn't like at all moved into his body."
The young woman sniffed and wiped at her cheeks with her fingers. "You need help Anton, you need to find someone who can bring that man back – the one that I knew before; the one who was kind and courteous; and maybe a just little too formal and proper." She swallowed again, "That Anton Lefebvre would never have found such demented pleasure in hurting those that he cared about."
Lefebvre titled his head back and let out an exasperated sigh. Biting back his anger a little, he looked back at the young woman before him. "Do you think telling you this was an easy thing for me to do, Jindra? When I heard Lacour say those words . . . it was like someone punched me in the stomach and left me lying in the dirt." He swallowed and took a breath, "I'm not telling you this because I hate Folken Lacour . . . my personal feelings about him are immaterial to what is really important – Coren. Your precious lover from the black tower is responsible for his death – and he should be held accountable for what he's done."
He looked at Jindra, her arms wrapped around herself as if she were cold; her tears falling from her eyes even as she tried to get herself under control. Taking a chance, Anton stepped closer and put his hands on her shoulders. "I-I wasn't the only one there, Jindra." She looked up at him, her eyes puzzled and afraid. "Lacour was confessing all of this to someone else when – when I overheard him. If you won't believe me, than ask his friend – the one with the long dark hair . . . Dimetra I think his name is."
Anton watched Jindra's bottom lip quiver. "M-M-Marco . . .?" The young woman managed to stutter out.
Releasing her shoulders, Lefebvre nodded his head. "Lacour told him everything."
"N-N-No . . ." the word was barely a whisper.
"He – somehow he learned of it and confronted Lacour about it. He didn't even try to deny it, Jindra; he openly confessed everything."
Jindra began to tremble and she shook her head almost violently, "N-No . . . no – I don't believe it . . ."
Anton grabbed her shoulders once again, afraid that she might do herself harm by thrashing about. "Jindra . . . please don't – try to calm down . . ."
He wrapped his arms around her and held her, all the while murmuring what he hoped were comforting words. I'm sorry my love – sorry that you have to go through this. But it will be alright soon, I promise.
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Folken Lacour hurried towards the small clearing, his heart racing from running and also in fear of what was to come. He stopped several yards away however, when he saw Anton Lefebvre and Jindra – his wife in the former cadet's embrace. He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding as he felt his heart clench. I'm too late! Damn it all – I'm too late!
As he watched the couple, he felt a slow burning anger begin to build; and with it, a surge of red-hot jealousy. The bastard – she's my wife! The outlander once again gripped the hilt of his sword, as if he could gather strength and courage from it. He hasn't won yet – and he won't get her without a fight. Steeling himself, Folken Lacour took a breath and started forward.
"Jin!" The outlander's voice was surprisingly strong and steady. "Jin!"
Folken watched as Jindra lifted her head and slowly turned towards the voice that called her name. He was still quite a few feet away when his wife pulled away from Lefebvre and the other man let her go. Jindra looked at him and Folken bit his lip at the hurt that was reflected in her wide, tear-filled eyes.
"F-Folken . . .?" her voice sounded confused. "W-What . . .?" She looked back at Anton Lefebvre before returning her gaze back to the pale-haired man who stopped in front of her. "Folken . . . I-I don't – I don't understand . . ." Jindra looked so confused that Folken was afraid that she was disoriented from shock. "W-Why are you here? H-How did – how did you know to come here?
"Jin," he reached out and took her hand, "We need – you and I need to talk . . . there are some things that I need to talk to you about – that I need to tell you."
Jindra looked down at their joined hands and then back up at her husband's face. "Folken . . . I-I don't . . ." she said softly.
"We'll find somewhere quiet, where we can talk privately."
The young woman tore her hand away and stepped back, "No!"
Lacour felt tears in his eyes as he saw the look on his wife's face. "Jin, please . . . just come with me – we can work this out . . . just let me explain everything . . ."
"No! I'm not going anywhere with you . . . you – you liar!"
The young apprentice felt something within him break and he momentarily closed his eyes as if in pain. "Jin . . . I know that you're upset and shocked, but – but just give me a chance . . . whatever he said – whatever he told you isn't the whole story, it's only what he wanted you to know. Just let me explain . . ."
"Explain what? That you were responsible for my brother's death? That you never had any intention of telling me about it!" Jindra sobbed as she brought one of her hands up across her mouth.
Folken swallowed, "No Jin – it was an accident . . . yes, it was my fault, but it was an accident." He sniffed back tears, "I was going to tell you . . . "
"When – Folken, when?" She had dropped her hand and now stood face to face with him, her eyes blazing. "After we had gone away . . . five or six years from now – or maybe it was going to be on your deathbed -- just when the hell were you going to tell me?"
"It's not . . ."
"How long have you known Folken? When did you find out?" Jindra balled up her fists and hit him in the chest. "Damn you Folken! How long have you known?" She hit him again, "Did you know when we got married? Damn you – tell me!" Folken closed his eyes and remained silent while his wife continued to pound on his chest.
Anton Lefebvre gasped aloud at Jindra's words. Married . . . dear gods, no! No – she didn't . . . she couldn't have! His chest felt tight and he found it hard to breath.
"Answer me you bastard!" Jindra screamed at him. "Did you know when you married me?" Folken caught her wrists as she raised her fists once more and looked down at her. His eyes glistened with unshed tears and there was such a sad and haunted look on his face that Jindra let out a mournful wail as she wrenched her arms free.
Folken stared at his wife's bent head as she sobbed, one hand clutched to her breast and the other pressed up to her mouth. He was vaguely aware of Anton Lefebvre still standing nearby, but dismissed the man – his attention squarely on the crying woman in front of him. "J-Jindra . . ." His throat had gone dry and he swallowed. "I-I swear to you, I didn't know – I didn't know until after, when I returned to the tower."
"I'm sorry, so sorry . . . please try to understand . . . I was going to tell you, I really was. B-But I was afraid – afraid to see the look on your face . . . I-I had just pledged my life to you – how the hell was I supposed to tell you that I was responsible for Coren's death?"
Jindra sobbed even harder as she heard Folken's last words and then she suddenly darted past him, running towards the main path. She had not gone very far, when her husband's voice and his grip on her arm brought her to a halt. Lacour pulled his wife around to face him, before letting go of her arm; "Jin . . ."
But Jindra turned her face away and refused to look at him. The two stood like that for several long minutes, oblivious to anything or anyone else around them.
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Anton Lefebvre had almost called out to Jindra as she ran away; but when Lacour's much longer stride quickly overtook her, he thought that perhaps it might be better to remain silent. He was still reeling from Jindra's earlier declaration that she had married the outlander. The words had hit him like a lead weight and he still found it hard to believe. Everything that he had dreamed, everything that he had planned and schemed for – now ground into the dirt when he learned that Jindra had given herself to the one man that he hated more than anything in the world. For the first time in a long time, Anton Lefebvre once again felt like his entire world had come crashing down around him. Not since the local magistrate had come to his family's home to turn them out and take possession of it as payment for his father's gambling debts, had he felt so angry and powerless.
Clenching his fists tightly, the young man tried to block out the visions that came to him of Jindra in the arms of Folken Lacour, the two of them celebrating their marriage in the most intimate way possible. With a hoarse cry, he pressed his fists to his eyes. It should have been me! She ruined everything – herself, our future together . . . damn her. Rubbing at his eyes with his long fingers, Anton felt the tears slip between his fingers. Damn her, the whoring little bitch!
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Jindra sniffed several times as she tried to get herself back under control. Stepping back a little, she looked up at Folken. Her husband had his head bowed, but she could see the wetness of tears on his face. She quickly glanced back down at the ground in front of her, her heart and head in turmoil. Swallowing, she looked back up Folken. Almost as if sensing his wife's eyes on him, the young man raised his head up and met her gaze. As Jindra looked into her husband's tear filled eyes, she felt her heart well up and break.
"I don't understand you Folken . . . I guess I never really did. I never understood how you could say that you love me, and yet not trust me at the same time. I wish I knew who hurt you – or what really happened to make you like this; but it seems like I'm always the last to know anything about you." Her voice was soft, and surprisingly somewhat steady. "But that always seems to be at the heart of everything with us – that you can't trust me."
She sniffed and swallowed again. "But I trusted you – I trusted you enough to marry you. I trusted you enough that I was willing to give up my home and family to be with you." Overwhelmed with tears again, she fell silent once more and turned away a little.
Folken glanced at Jindra, her words still burning in his mind. He saw that she was once again clutching at something on her chest and he belatedly realized that it was the pendant he had given her as a betrothal present. He clenched his fists as he blinked his eyes and took several deep breaths. "J-Jin . . . it's never been you . . . everything that's happened has been because of me." He swallowed and licked his lips "It wasn't you that I didn't trust . . . I didn't trust myself." He paused when Jindra looked up at him.
"I-I was always so afraid that I couldn't ever be what you needed me to be – that I was going to let you down and disappoint you, like I've always done." He blinked several times. "But what I was really afraid of was that I wouldn't be able to love you enough . . ." Folken broke off as his emotions once again became too much.
Jindra clutched at her pendent with both hands as she started crying once again. "So you think that lying to me and keeping something so important from me is your way of showing that you love me?" She shook her head, "You knew how important finding out what happened was to me. How many times did I talk to you about the accident? How many times did I tell you that I didn't believe that what happened was Coren's fault? Gods above and below Folken, you knew all that and you kept silent about everything!"
She took several deep breaths and looked down at the pendant cupped in her hands. Swallowing, she looked up at the man in front of her. "Because of you, my father hates me and won't even speak to me . . . because of you my brother is dead . . . damn you Folken -- my whole life is ruined because of you!" She let out a sob. "What am I supposed to do now?"
Folken reached out towards his wife, but she moved away from him. "D-Don't Jin . . . I know I've hurt you, but please . . . do you want me to beg you? Do you want me on my knees? I'll do it – I'll do anything you want; just please don't do this – don't leave me!"
Jindra's sobs increased as Folken pleaded with her and she found it very hard to breathe. Turning away from her husband's tortured eyes, she looked back down at the pendent in her hand, her marriage ring hanging on the chain next to it. She gripped the gold chain in her hand and pulled it until it snapped and broke. The young woman looked at the broken chain and pendant in her hand as her tears ran unchecked down her face.
Turning back towards Folken, Jindra looked at him for a few moments as she tried to find the strength to speak. "What I want is for you to leave me alone – I don't want to know you, I don't want to see you;" she threw the necklace down at his feet in the grass. "And I most certainly don't want to be your wife!"
Folken's chest constricted and he found it hard to breath. "I hope you shrivel up and die in that tower Folken – and then I hope you rot in whatever hell people like you go until the end of all time. I hate you – I hate you!" Turning away from him, Jindra took off running towards the main path – her sobs following in her wake.
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Anton Lefebvre watched the couple from across the small clearing. Jindra's voice rose several times and he could only catch a few words of what she was saying to the outlander. He watched as she pulled something from her neck and threw it down at Lacour's feet. Her voice rose once again as she yelled, "I hate you" at the man before turning a running once again.
He watched as Lacour looked down at whatever was in the grass at his feet. The outlander seemed almost frozen, as if he were in shock. With some satisfaction, Anton started forward – intent on following the fleeing young woman.
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Folken's eyes were so clouded with tears that he couldn't even see the necklace that lay broken at his feet. Closing his eyes against the despair that slowly washed over him, he went down on his knees and his hand scrambled in the grass until his fingers brushed across the smooth crystal of the pendent. Grabbing up the necklace, he clutched it to his breast as he cried. "Jin . . . Jin . . ."
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Jindra had been forced to slow her flight to a stumbling walk as she gasped for breath. She was crying so hard that she feared that she might start to hyperventilate. Forcing herself to stop, she wearily leaned on the trunk of a nearby tree and rested her forehead on her arm as she tried to catch her breath. It was quite sometime before her breathing had slowed enough that she no longer felt light-headed. Raising her head, she took several deep breaths and wiped at her eyes with shaking fingers. Turning away from the tree, she almost jumped when she saw Anton standing a few feet away.
"What the hell do you want?"
"I wanted to make sure that you were alright," Lefebvre slowly came towards her. "You were so distraught . . . I was worried about you."
"Of course I'm distraught you stupid bastard," she said, her voice harsh and sarcastic sounding. "I just found out that my husband is responsible for my brother's death . . . I think I'm entitled to be a little distraught."
Anton winced when she said the word husband. "Don't take your anger at Folken Lacour out on me, Jindra."
She looked at him, her eyes hard and cold. "What am I supposed to do Anton? Am I supposed to fall on my knees and thank you for rescuing me from the clutches of that evil sorcerer?" She moved closer to him, "You're even more despicable then he is. You and Folken Lacour deserve each other."
"Jindra . . ."
"So what was the rest of your plan, Anton? Was I supposed to run into your arms heartbroken and ripe for the picking? Was I supposed to allow my dear friend to comfort me? Is that how it was supposed to be – that after a few weeks of your attentions that I'd consent to be your wife; and you'd finally get what you've wanted for so long?" She felt her tears returning and she hastily blinked them away. "I can't believe that you would try to use Coren's death as a means to satisfy your obsession with having me! It's sick Anton – sick and perverted!"
Lefebvre growled deep in his throat and he grabbed her arm and yanked her closer to him. "Damn you . . . you should be grateful that I'm even still willing to have you Jindra; especially since your reputation has been ground into the mud. Not only did you give yourself to that outlander freak, but you're going to be divorced as well. With all of that hanging over you, no decent man would ever take you."
"Then I guess it's a good thing you're here then, huh Anton." She shot back venomously as she pulled her arm free from his grasp.
"Ungrateful little bitch!" Anton's hand shot out and he backhanded her across the face.
Jindra stumbled back as her hand went immediately to her stinging cheek. Lefebvre clenched his fists at his side, "See what you've done Jindra – do you see what you've turned me into?" He stepped towards her. The young woman scrambled backwards as Anton advanced on her. "How much of your disdain and flippant behavior did you think I could take? This is all your doing."
"Don't Anton – I swear if you touch me again you'll be sorry. I'll go to my father – I'll tell him what you've done." Jindra had backed up as far as she could go, the rough bark of a tree pricking her skin through the fabric of her overdress. "One more step and you'll be the sorriest man on the face of Gaea, I swear it."
Anton stopped, his eyes blazing as he clenched and unclenched his fists nervously. Almost near hysteria, Jindra slowly inched away from the tree – her eyes never leaving the man across from her. When she thought there was enough distance between them, she quickly darted away down the main path again – her heart pounding with fear.
Lefebvre let her go – his own anger still red hot in his veins. Run you little bitch – run all you like . . . but you'll pay for betraying me Jindra – oh yes, you ungrateful little whore, you'll pay.
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Erich Roh was seated at the large wooden desk in his private study, reading over a stack of trade agreements that had been sent over from his office. As he read, he occasionally jotted notes and questions down on a separate sheet of paper. He was interrupted by an urgent knock on the door. Without waiting for Erich's reply, the door opened.
"Excuse me sir," the footman gave him a hurried bow. "I know you didn't wish to be disturbed but . . ."
"What is it Collins – I'm rather busy."
"Its – well sir, the constable has come . . . and – and he's brought Miss Jindra home."
Erich jumped up from his seat, "What?" He all but ran through the door and into the hall. He saw Jindra standing between two men who were wearing the uniform of the local constabulary, "Jindra?"
The young woman looked up at her father's voice and Erich's breath caught in his throat. Jindra's hair was disheveled, her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and there was what looked like the beginnings of a bruise on her cheek. Rushing to her approaching father, she practically threw herself into his arms.
Instinctively, Erich's arms encircled his daughter. He could feel her trembling as she sobbed into his chest. An overwhelming fear began to creep over him and he quickly looked up at the two men waiting in the hall.
"What's going on? What is the meaning of this?"
The older looking of the men stepped forward, "I'm not entirely sure, sir. Your daughter was in the park – apparently huddled under a tree crying. Some passersby thought that she might have met with some . . . well with some trouble." The man looked a little uncomfortable. "We tried to talk to her but she wouldn't say anything . . . we did eventually get her to tell us her name and where she lived – but she refuses to say anything else."
Erich's heart clenched in fear and the breath hissed between his teeth, "Oh gods . . . " His arms tightened around his crying daughter. Please, no . . . not that . . . please, not that . . .
"We were hoping that maybe the young lady would be willing to tell us what happened now that she's home safe." The constable said.
Erich kissed the top of Jindra's head, "Jindra – love . . . please you have to tell me what happened." He pulled away from her and she looked up at him. "Jindra . . . if someone has hurt you, you have to tell me."
Jindra looked up at her father as she broke out sobbing once again, "Oh Father . . . I-I should have listened to you . . . I've made a mistake – a terrible mistake." She buried her face in her father's jacket once more.