Tainted
A/N: Thank you for the reviews. I'm happy to hear that it's enjoyable so far. Please stick in; it's going to be a long one.
"It is bitter to lose a friend to evil, before one loses him to death." -Mary Renault
Eight: Terreille
Larqua Sabel crossed her arms as she stood before the grand windows that graced her spacious room. They were closed now, so that no breeze could come in and ruffle her long dark hair, or her thin silk robe. Just as well; with the evening came a relief of the heat, allowing the windows to finally be closed. In the morning, the hot sun would surely set in again. But now, as the sun was setting in its brilliant color, her calculating eyes narrowed down on the three figures in the field below: Dorothea, Santigo, and William. They were playing some new ball game that became stylish in the Blood village in the valley below. No doubt getting themselves worked up for just an hour of petty fun. Adair would no doubt be pleased to find that Santigo was outside running about like a frenzied child.
Her brother always was a disappointment. Just like Dorothea, her together with that country driftwood she insisted on spending time with. And yet, Larqua felt herself drawn to Dorothea in a way neither of them could control. They were different as night and day; and yet, the world could not go on without either. Just as they needed each other. The Blood sang to the Blood, and it sang so very loudly. But their tunes were out of sync, and they were safer apart than together. And now was the time to draw the lines. Adair was sick, she knew, from an illness provoked by the mind over the body. Should he die, his fortunes would surely fall to Santigo, with a small pension left to their mother.
Needless to say, Regan would gain control over the fortune until Santigo came of age, at the age of 18. But that was only two years away. It wasn't enough time to manipulate and effectively use the resources at hand. And Santigo wasn't a complete fool; he had a rough kind of practicality, urged on by Dorothea, who was always there behind him like a helpful shadow. Dorothea was an obstacle that could easily get in their way, for she could easily speak out. But none of that would ever happen. When Adair dies, common law dictates that his fortunes fall to the oldest child. And when that happens, Larqua would be he oldest child (having been born a few minutes before Dorothea), for Santigo will be dead.
Nine: Terreille
The moon was pale, yet brilliant, in the ebony sky above. Dorothea took in the pleasure of its sight, together with the cool breeze of the night, as she traveled back to the Sabel Manor. Santigo ran up ahead, through the golden fields, chasing a rabbit as he brandished a wooden sword in the air. William walked quietly at her side, hands in pockets as he, too, took in the cool beauty of the night. It was running toward midnight and the last thing he wanted was lecture from Regan Sabel. Not that the bitch really cared. The only child she cared for was that spoiled brat, Larqua. Shaking the thought from his mind, he turned his light golden brown face to look at her.
"Talk to your father yet about Craft Lessons?"
Twitching from her own thoughts, she, too, turned her gaze to meet his. "Yes."
Nodding, he fell silent. They walked along for a few more moments before he decided to go on. "Pretty impressive-an Opal Jewel. With time, you could even achieve a Red Jewel.
"If I'm not broken," she added quietly, looking away.
"Yes," he replied, one confused eyebrow arched. "But that won't happen. You're safe out here in the country."
"There's danger everywhere. Are we hunting tomorrow?" She added quickly, louder now than previously. Suspicious at the abrupt change of subject, he pursed his lips.
"We can if you want to. What do you mean?" He wasn't getting too dissuaded from the previous subject that easily.
"What do I mean about what?"
Annoyed now, he stopped walking. Dorothea wasn't that forgetful or dumb, nor was she without a talent to read between the lines. "You know what I'm talking about."
But Dorothea did stop walking. Instead, she continued on with the last few remaining yards to the house. Santigo stood there waiting beneath the archway of the servant's entrance.
"We'll talk tomorrow," she threw over her shoulder. And with that, they both entered into the house.
Not sure what to think, William stood there silently for a few minutes. Did she not wish to speak before her brother? Was something actually wrong? Did she really intend to speak tomorrow, or was she just stalling for the time being?
Ten: Terreille
Dorothea draped herself over one of the many chairs of her brother's room. A candelabra to her right provided the only light of the room, save the moonlight streaming in. Picking up a leather bound book on the table beside her, her fingers flipped through it restlessly before she put it down again. Santigo, on the other hand, was quickly moving about the room, jumping off of chairs and trunks, even his bed. Clutching the wooden sword in his hand, he made thrusting movements with it through the air, as if striking down invisible foes.
"Santigo, take it easy," Dorothea said gently as she watched him.
Stopping suddenly, he turned to face her. "Why?"
"We've been messing around all day. I'm tired, and I know you have to be." She tried to put it delicately, considering that Santigo had recently become rather sensitive about his frail condition. He still wasn't happy.
"So you don't think I can handle it?" He asked harshly.
"No. I suggested that you shouldn't try."
"Hell's fire, Dorothea, I'm not as weak as you all think I am." With each word, his voice rose.
"I don't think you're weak, Santigo." She tried to appear calm, but some emotion did leak through. "But-"
"But nothing. I'm so tired of everyone in this family telling me that I'm such a disappointment-"
"We don't think that-"
"QUIET!" Retreating, Dorothea fell silent as she sunk into the chair. Finally tearing his gaze from hers, Santigo began to pace.
"I may not be as good as Larqua at Craft, or as good at you at archery, but that doesn't mean I'm not worthy, Dorothea." Dorothea had to bite her tongue to keep quiet. He apparently had been wanting to say this for a long time. She'd let him rant.
Surprisingly, though, he said nothing more. Throwing the sword to the floor, he went to his large windows that faced the east. Arms crossed, he did not look back.
"Goodnight, Dorothea."
"San-"
"I said goodnight!"
If it had been anyone else, she gladly would have jumped up and shouted, "Wait just a damn minute." But that wouldn't tonight, not with him. Ducking out of the room, she slowly made her way to her own suite of rooms.
Eleven: Terreille
When Dorothea woke up the next morning, it was still dark out. Most would have just fallen back to sleep, but such an early time was ideal for hunting. She was both tired, yet anxious. Plagued by her brother's woes, she fell asleep last night only after several hours of turning and tossing between the soft sheets. After throwing on her leather pants, an old tunic, and her faded boots, she picked up her bag and headed out of the room. But before she could head down the grand staircase, she stopped herself. Something tugged at her mind to make amends with her brother. She couldn't go hunting today knowing that he was mad at her. Swiftly turning, she headed to her brother's room.
Not bothering to knock, she quickly walked in, only to discover he was still asleep. Not surprised, she moved further into the room. He might wake up upon feeling her presence. Pulling up a chair beside his bed, she flopped into it. Resting her elbows on the edge of the high bed, she watched him sleep. He was such a sound sleeper-she never noticed. His eyes didn't flutter, nor did his chest visibly fall and rise. Narrowing her gaze at the thin chain about her neck with Summer-Sky Jewel, she reached her hand out to touch it. It was such a pretty Jewel, brighter than her own Opal one. But she noticed something strange. Not with the Jewel, but with his skin. It was so very cold. Confused, she shook him.
"Santigo, wake up."
Nothing happened. A frantic talon of fear curled around her heart as she shook him again, more violently now. She called his name, but he did not awaken. Falling out of her chair, she sprawled across the floor. He couldn't be dead, could he? No. William's words: You're safe out here in the country. Things like this didn't happen out here.
"What's wrong, sister?" A cold voice.
Quickly moving to her feet, Dorothea drew herself in like a fortress. Larqua only stared back.
"Go and get Father-quickly!"
"No."
"What? What in the name of Hell is wrong with you? I think Santigo's sick." Hell's fire, please just let him be sick.
"Not sick. Dead."
Dorothea's breathing hitched up a notch, as she shook her head gently. "What do you know?"
"Nothing." Frosted words.
"You're responsible for this!" Dorothea practically spit the words at her.
"No, I'm not. My grief is cold, yours hot. But we both mourn."
"LIAR!" Thoughts racing, Dorothea lunged at her sister. Larqua could whisper any sweet words she wanted, but Dorothea could sense her nature. They were twins; the connection ran deep and hot.
Larqua instinctively called in her Opal Jewels before Dorothea could touch her. Their strength was equal; sisters of the soul and blood; bother just as strong and weak. In response, Dorothea called in her own. Not nearly as ornate as her sister's, they hung from a plain cold chain about her neck. Larqua had morning training in Craft, but Dorothea had training in survival. She became the predator, and was intent on hunting her sister as prey. Deep down, some desperate call tried to break through. It tried to remind her that Laruqa was her sister, that violence was not the key. But hot contempt swept over the walls of her mind and body, taking over everything.
Laughing as her sister strengthened her shield, Dorothea knocked a chair out of her path. It hit the wall and shattered.
"Scared, Larqua? Well you should be. I'm going to tear you apart, for only I, your sister of blood, of something deeper-oh yes, you know of what I speak-can be your undoing. I understand your twisted motives, I know everything about you! If you want to tangle with the blood of this family, then tangle with me."
Rushing at her sister, there was a considerable amount of fear in Larqua's eyes. In contrast, a certain killing edge had overtaken Dorothea's golden eyes. As a means of self-preservation, Larqua quickly moved out of the bedroom and fled into the bath room. She seemed to forget that she had a shield; either that or she wasn't sure if it would work against her sister's fury. Tripping over the rug, she fell against the porcelain bath tub. Her mind swirled round for a few moments, as she tried to regain control. But the damage was already done. Her shield dropped, and Dorothea, quick to react, called in her hunting knife and plunged it into her sister's chest.
Larqua's screams filled the air, but Dorothea could not hear them. Yanking the knife out, she did it again and again. She did it until she became exhausted. Until Larqua's blood ran thick on the white tiled floor. Dropping the knife, Dorothea leaned back against the bath tub, emotionally and physically drained. The eyes of her sister still lingered with a certain flame of life. But Dorothea couldn't finish the kill. Her sister's strength was equal to her own. But, more importantly, Dorothea couldn't bring herself to destroy the connection she had known for so long. Even if Larqua's body was dying, her psychic connection would live on.
It finally struck, Dorothea, then, as she sat there, at what she had done. A distant sound of scampering footsteps drew near the doors of the outer bedroom. Slamming the bathroom door shut, Dorothea placed an Opal lock on it. She didn't want to be found out. Not yet. Rather, she wanted to bring her knees to her chest and cry. What have I done?
Twelve: Terreille
William hummed quietly as she brushed off the black stallion in his family's stable for the second time. Where was Dorothea? They were supposed to meet half an hour ago. And she usual was rather prompt, as hunting was something she enjoyed. He stayed up last night preparing himself for the questions he wanted to ask today. He wouldn't let her evade him. Not this time. Blowing his long bangs off of his eyes, he continued to work. Working made it easier to forget his worry and his anger, and he didn't dare stop.
But then, someone shouted his name. Turning around, he saw a slender teenage girl running to him, her shirt covered in blood, and her face and hair dotted with it.
"Dorothea" was all he could manage as he took slow, unsteady steps out to her.
"I have to leave her now, William. Will you take me?" A silent plead, full of fear and anger. Confused and scared, he wasn't sure what to say at first. What in Hell's name had happened?
"Yes."
