Tainted
"One never learns how the witch became wicked, or whether that was the right choice for her-is it ever the right choice? Does the devil ever struggle to be good again, or so is he not a devil?" –Gregory Maguire
Prologue: Kaeleer
Dorothea SaDiablo stood before her crudely made sink, her pale hands braced on the sides, clutching them tightly. She didn't dare look into polished mirror before her. She would only be reminded of the horrid truth of her face. The face and body that Saetan's bastard son, Daemon Sadi, destroyed through his silent woven spell. A sort of petty revenge to eat away at her until he had his real revenge. Her face was old and withered. The light golden brown skin had faded to gray. Her once rich dark hair was now dry and gray. The golden brown eyes were growing dull, filled only with power, or a dying hope for it. Closing her eyes, she tightened her grip on the sink to mask the tremor of her hands. To suppress the fear that this was truly the end.
How had things gone so wrong? She never saw it, not until it was so very late. Soon now, all of the realms would know about her schemes. But not the truth. She hurt all those people for an ideal that could have been had she had enough time. But then Kaeleer got in the way. Why couldn't that bitch Jaenelle stay in her own realm? Jaenelle, the Queen of Ebon Askavi. The self righteous girl who showed too much sentiment for one who knew nothing of pain. Nothing yet. She was just beginning to feel what centuries of torment felt like. Hell's fire, she knew rape, and murder. What Blood aristo didn't? The High Lord of Hell took her in, together with the rest of that perverted family. Laughing bitterly at the idea, Dorothea shook her head gently. That family shattered so many courts, so many people.
And yet they claimed to know something of goodness.
She spent years pulling Hayll together, giving her help to all of Terreille. They all felt her presence, all benefited from her reign. It was never the Dark Court of Ebon Askavi's business to get involved. True, Dorothea did spread into Kaeleer, but how cruel was that? Hobart ruled Glacia for years before being exiled by his ungrateful niece. It seemed just to put him back where he belonged. And the unclaimed land. It was just that. Unclaimed. Jaenelle would ramble on and on in Council meetings, delaying important affairs to claim that kindred ruled those territories. Did she ever once bring forth proof? Did she ever once lead a unicorn in? Or perhaps a Blood wolf, if that was easier? No. She could have been lying so very easily. She was so young; and youth makes people very foolish. Even black jeweled witches lived life just like the rest of us. They, too, must learn the same lessons.
Opening her eyes finally, Dorothea looked into the mirror. What was she? What horror did she now inhibit to the people? She was once so beautiful. No one would know her story. She would die, and the realms would fall to civil war. Let Saetan deal with that. Let them all have their way, and may they choke on their good intentions. Running her fingertips over the mirror, over her own reflection, before bracing her hands upon the cool surface. Letting out a silent scream, she shattered the mirror with her mind.
They would spread lies about her. They never saw her vision. They saw dishonesty, but there was plenty of that to rest on their souls, as well. She could never be queen of Hayll, but she was the only one suitable to take over. Hayll needed a leader, lest Kaeleer attack it for their own selfish interests. So she rose to the occasion. She was the High Priestess of Hayll, and even had red jewels to back up such a claim. She guided that realm, and now here, at this camp ready to face war with the Dark Court, with Saetan and his son, Lucivar, chained up outside, she represented all the hopes of Terrielle. Hopes no young bitch could take away with her mislead conceptions.
One: Terreille
Regan Sabel sat in wine colored chair by the open window, feeling the cool breeze come in as she gazed down on the cobblestone street below, crowded with vendors and people. She came to the Sabel apartments in Draega, Hayll's capital, to prepare for the birth of her first child. As a member of one of Hayll's Hundred Families, she appreciated the finer things that Draega had to offer. Midwives and servants fluttered about in the floors below and outside the oak door, preparing for Regan's delivery. The child was expected any day, any hour, now. The child that would, first and foremost, continue the family line and inherit everything. Placing a bejeweled hand on her stomach, Regan smiled gently. Not out of pleasure but out anticipation of what this child would become. The child was a tool to be used for advancement. Perhaps she would be a Queen, or even a black widow. Perhaps he would be the Master of the Guard in some grand court. Courts were simmering all over Hayll, some more important and powerful than others. It almost seemed to pull Hayll apart, but the hundred Families would always be connected through ruthless ambition.
Hearing the door open and close gently, Regan recognized the psychic scent immediately. Looking over, she smiled coyly.
"Hello, Adair."
"You won't even rise to greet me properly?" His expression was unreadable. Perhaps it was annoyance, or amusement. It seemed that her response would determine his emotion.
"Well, the child. I can't very well keep standing every few moments and expect to get any rest," Regan said modestly, but only for effect. She appealed to her husband through her soon-to-be role as a mother to his heir. Their heir, she corrected. The child would inherit everything they built and manipulated to their advantage. She noted his minor smile, and looked away satisfied, but not showing it. She heard him walk to the door and open it slowly. Surprised, she quickly flicked her hazel gaze at him, her dark hair falling over her shoulders.
"Where are you going?"
"Why do you ask?"
Regan pursed her faintly pink lips, annoyed. Wasn't she supposed to be the center of attention? Wasn't she carrying their future hopes? Yet her bastard of a husband had the gull to annoy her, even at such a time when she had to be calm. Before she had enough time to come up with a suitable answer, he was gone. Probably to go and fool around with one of the serving maids. Letting out a deep breath of annoyance, she slowly stood up, and closed the window.
Adair closed the door gently before maneuvering his way through the bustle of maids and down the steps. Stepping into the courtyard, he was pleased to find the noises of the house muffled. Everything was so hectic lately. He expected to stay in the country for Regan's delivery, but then, suddenly, she demanded they move to the Sabel apartments of Draega. What followed was a chaotic entourage of servants, midwives, him, and one very moody mother to be. On top of it all, she lately began accusing him of adultery. Hell's fire, Mother Night, and May the Darkness be merciful. Not that the thought hadn't crossed his mind. But, deep down, he was hoping Regan would once again become the sweet, young girl he had fallen in love with one year ago. Her family wasn't the wealthiest, or the most influential, but she loved him. Being young and foolish, he believed her. But she was just like every other aristo bitch. She wanted to get pregnant right away to start playing the vicious games of court. He wanted to stay out of courts, and especially corrupt Draega.
Pulling out a silver box from his back pocket, he took out a black cigarette from it before replacing it. Lighting the cigarette, he took in the sweet smell of it. He could already see his life, out before him. Drawn into court and triangles of power, he would constantly fight to things he didn't want for himself or his children. Regan was the only flaw. He couldn't get rid of her, he could only keep an eye on her. She would whisper sweet lies in the children's ears, convincing them to do the same things she had. Sighing, he looked down, listening to the sounds of the street.
"My Lord?"
Adair snapped around, masking the anxiousness in his face. He waited for the servant to go on.
"Your wife, she's in labor, My Lord. Just thought you'd like to know," he added before bowing and exiting through the only door into the rather secluded courtyard.
Did he really appear so disinterested? The rumors probably were easy to believe. He really was the monster his wife imagined him to be. Dropping the cigarette, he crushed it with his black leather shoes before shoving his hands in his pockets and leaving the courtyard to offer whatever comfort he could to his wife.
