Chapter LIII: A Token of Remorse
Eight hours later.
Though she guarded her tongue throughout the day, Rena had seen many things from her perch above the eastern stairwell. She saw the travelling box being carried back and forth down the hallway. She saw Raze and Singe arguing before they left for morning roll-call. She saw Lucian striding up the stairs, two at a time, before pausing on the last one. Turning to look behind him. His eyes spotting her in the dark before he reached a scent out to her.
Something he had not done in years. That quiet melancholy. That mournful stare asking her to come down. Like in the days after the revolution. The guillotine on fire and she still searching for her sons among the dead.
But she would not come down…and unless her clothes were on fire, he would not force her. So he walked on, wrapping the scent in a void again. Entering the room of the small bird and staying until his bark became loud, his conversation angry. The door slamming shut and the key turning in its lock. The grey wolf pressing his skull against the door, almost in pain, before he stormed from the east wing. Too enraged to look up or even remember that she was still there.
The wing staying silent and abandoned until Rena dropped from her perch, venturing to the kitchens and searching for the meal she ought to have collected hours before. The blood cold, the scullery maid missing and Mrs. Fulligan in a mood to scold someone. Two of her lycan boys larking about the front stoop, trying to muss each other's hair up…and then quieting their tongues as she passed. No one ever spoke to her. She was a guard…and she would not speak to them if they did.
So with the tray laden with blood and marrow, Rena entered her charge's room. Stepping silent around the small bird asleep on the floor with her silver head resting upon her arms. The veil abandoned and the woman dressed from her boots up to her neck. The blood left on the side-table and the door closed. Locked once more.
Her perch resumed and her head resting on her fist. Waiting through the afternoon until something new entered the eastern wing. First a pair of eyes reflecting at the bottom of the stairs. Then a shadow lowering itself to its hands and knees, creeping slowly like a cat across the hallway…step by step…turning its head this way and that until it stood before her charge's door. Small and barely in possession of a scent, it had the manner of a child…but it smelled like the lycan-master.
Rena pounced.
The ensuing scuffle so brief that her hands were over Sabine's mouth and holding her up by the scruff of her neck before the handle could turn. The child starting to struggle, her growls less ferocious than a small hedgehog, but her nails speaking volumes of the indignity. The scratches small compared to the field of war.
The two of them taking the long walk down to the dusk-lit balcony of the east wing. The stones green and the iron-wrought chairs covered in rain-washed dirt and mouse droppings. An adequate setting for an interrogation. Far enough away to avoid waking sleeping birds, but close enough to keep an eye on the door.
So with her back to the sun, Rena forced Sabine's hand open, confiscated the bag she was hiding, and then dropped her in a heap beside the rail. The bag light, but containing everything the girl had collected over the past seven months. Tobacco, cigarettes, matches, perfume. An inkwell, Reinette's journal…and her iron-ring puzzle.
Everything stolen.
She could hear the girl yowling. Screaming at her to give the items back. Furious and scratching until she saw that Rena did not care. That Rena was stronger than her. Sabine then reacting as most children did. Hissing with blunt teeth and then storming to the other side of the balcony. Crawling under one of the rusty tables and burying a tear-stricken face into her knees. The trimmings of her dress now stained with cobwebs and dirt.
And yet Rena had no opinion on such matters. No opinion on a child that had been left to fend for herself in a stately home filled with soldiers and servants. A grand-sire that had no time for her. A god-mother that lived across a channel. An army of riding instructors and governesses that were teaching her to act like a lady so that she could hide in plain sight. Hide her emotions. Hide her scent. Hide her fears. Hide an ear that was missing and a dead mother that no one ever talked about.
Like this puzzle. The trick hiding in plain sight. Her legs unexpectedly crossing the balcony until she stood before the rusty table. Her voice rusty as though coming from a hole in her chest. "Do you know how to use this?" she asked. Too softly for most ears to notice.
But through the patterned holes of the table, she saw Sabine raise her head again, angry and adamant, her grey eyes starting to glow. But children could not Change without the moon, so the glow faded and the tears started to brim again.
The girl shook her head.
So with the light of the sun starting to dim behind her, Rena sat down, cross-legged and stooping so they both would fit under the table. And then she held up the puzzle in front of the girl. "How many rings are there?"
"Twelve."
Rena nodded. Good. Moving her fingers slowly so Sabine could see, she pushed one of the rings through the other…and then again, through another ring. "Now how many?"
Sabine did not look pleased. As though she had been tricked. Her voice miserable and demanding. "How did you do that?"
Simple, thought Rena, undoing the puzzle again. Repeating her own memory. Lucian crouching down beside his ward, showing her the trick before he forged the rest of them. "I'll do it again." She took the twelve rings and pushed one of them through the other…and then again, through another ring. "Now how many?"
"Fourteen." She was sitting on her knees now, trying to reach forward for the rings. "How does it work?"
Rena held the puzzle out of reach. "I'll show you…" She turned it. "…but only if you give back what you've taken and tell Lyosha what you've done."
As though she'd been stung, Sabine's hands fell to her lap. Her eyes too wide for her face. Her expression too stern for a child that had just been crying. Wanting the puzzle, but weighing the consequences of truth, and then choosing to lie. "Lyosha gave them to me," she said.
Unconcerned by the bold-faced lie, Rena pulled the bag closer to them and shook it until she found the metal cigarette box. Bound with leather and lined with wood. It had a beetle engraved upon it. A symbol of Raze. She held it up. "Did Lyosha give you this?"
It was a blunt question. Her back to the sun and the light shining down on her subject. Sabine trying to hold the stare until she winced. "No," the girl finally said. Looking down and then heaving a sigh before crawling forward into the sun. "…but I only took it because Allegra said Raze should stop smoking so much."
An unlikely story. She opened the case. Five cigarettes. She took one and closed it again. "When?"
"During the New Years' party." Sabine was mulling over the bag. "…and he was going to say 'yes,' but then Lyosha said 'if they were taking votes, maybe they could start by burning Allegra's perfume first.'"
She might be telling the truth. If so, the girl had a good memory for conversations. Using one of the matches, Rena lit the cigarette. "They argued?"
Sabine nodded. Looking as though she wanted to cry again. "And when Allegra told him he could stick the perfume up his backside, he lit another cigarette and said that just made it more flammable. And then Raze started laughing with Lyosha, but I don't think Allegra thought it was so funny."
That sounded accurate. Rena started laying the items out. The story presenting itself with the evidence. Raze's cigarette-box. Now containing four cigarettes. Allegra's perfume. A small Guerlain bottle with the hand-written words 'Seulement l'amour' scrawled across the label. Lucian's matches. The small box advertising a pair of gentlemen lighting their pipes in a storm. The words "Bryant & May's 'Flaming Fusees'" printed across the front. Will flame in wind or rain, she read.
Her gaze returned to her subject.
Sabine took a deep breath. "So then I hid the perfume," she said. "…and when Lyosha fell asleep in the conservatory, I took the matches out of his pocket."
Rena blew smoke into the wind. "He did not wake?"
Sabine shook her head. "He never wakes…and then a few weeks later, I was going to ask him if I could have a new horse, but he was asleep again. Except he'd left one of the drawers in his desk open and there was all this tobacco in it. And Allegra always says 'chewing tobacco is a disgusting habit,' so I took that as well."
Hmph, Rena thought, considering the rest of her cigarette and then snuffing it out on the stone. The girl was lucky in both age and lineage. Anyone else and he would have woken at the scent. Flicking away the stub, she added the tobacco—rolled into a small cotton bag—to the line of objects and then picked up the inkwell. The cork mangled along the edges like it had been chewed. Too light to be ink. She placed the inkwell in front of Sabine.
"Where does the ink fit in?" she asked.
It was torture.
Sabine staring miserably at the object. "I didn't mean to take that one," she said. "They were both in the same drawer, and when I reached for the tobacco, my…" She looked ashamed. "…my nails grew and I s-scratched the cork." It was common among children. This inability to control their own form. "A whole piece of it came off…and he would have seen, so I had to take the whole bottle with me."
The ruse working for no one had noticed. Not a single person had noticed this child scurrying beneath their feet. The moment when Rena ought to speak coming and then passing as it often did.
Instead she emptied the bag and pushed forward the last of the evidence. Her ring-puzzle and Reinette's charcoal-stained journal.
Time to confess.
At first the girl shook her head. "Lyosha gave them to me," she pleaded.
Rena said nothing. The success of interrogation having less to do with speaking than waiting for a crack. In passing, she considered the journal and then flipped it open. Finding the last page…now covered in a child's drawing of a veiled woman.
A recent addition.
Sabine looked desperate. "But she left it behind," she said. There was no question of how she had snuck in the catacombs to find the journal. Apparently Sabine had been sneaking a great many places over the past year. "…and when I asked Singe if she was coming back, he told me not to get attached to things."
Good advice, thought Rena as she waited for the crack. For she had been attached to things once. Attached to dresses and books and her sons. Showing them the trick of the puzzle as Lucian had shown it to her. Her fingers rotating the rings and then holding the puzzle up. The key to this child's confession. For they both knew who it belonged to.
Sabine used the back of her hand to wipe her face. Her tears were starting to brim over.
Confess, thought Rena.
"But I was only trying to keep it safe for you," Sabine cried suddenly. She had started wringing her hands and by her scent, she could not understand what she had done wrong. "…Muh-m-ma always said that if I kept her things safe, she would come back for them…" Her voice becoming unnaturally strained. And then she snivelled. "…but she didn't." Her face began to crumple. "The c-carehouse sold all her t-things and she never c-came back for me."
The words seeming to strike the girl in a manner that she herself had not expected. Rena continuing to observe as the girl's lower lip began to tremble, trying to hold the inevitable back. She had been an interrogator for forty years. The signs easy to detect whether in the face of a child or a death-dealer. The initial tears only a precursor to this true, unabashed form of desolation.
The scent of breaking down.
Sabine started to bawl. The ravens at the top of the house scattering at the sound. Loud and obtrusive, the kind of thing that made fur crawl off its skin. At least two guards on the ground floor taking a step back, trying to see the ruckus going on above their heads…and then realising the source with a grimace.
Lycan…child.
The pitch and tone of a mewling pup enough to send anyone with a respectable ear-drum on their way. A sound that Rena had known once. Smelled once. Although even she was uncertain of when the girl had collapsed into her arms.
"I d-don't want to go back to the lycan carehouse," Sabine wailed, shaking her head. Sobbing into her arms. Pleading with Rena as though she held the key to that future. "…he'll s-send me b-back if I tell." Her voice was getting higher and higher in its pitch. The words trembling and desperate. "I don't want to go b-back," she said again. "I don't w-want to go back."
The lycan carehouse.
Even in a society where children were spoiled, it was a barracks for the unwanted. A place for runts to get picked on…a place for ears to get torn off. Sabine had been there for three years before Lyosha had brought her across the channel. And though she felt nothing in her heart, like the night when she had consoled her charge, Rena felt her hand moving across the girl's hair. Soothing her. "Why do you think Lyosha would send you back there?"
"B-because he…" Sabine was breathing too fast. Trying to get the words out. "…he and Allegra w-were talking and she said he should have brought me here s-sooner. And h-he said 'w-what the hell w-was I…" There was too much air coming out of her lungs. "…s-supposed to duh-do with a…" She tried to breathe. "…w-with a child?"
A child.
Such a desperate, shivering child. So stormy and full of emotion. Something she had not trusted herself to fathom in almost a hundred years...and yet there she was. The two of them sitting there, watching the waning sun as Rena began to rock the girl back and forth. The world peaceful on the horizon. Like a stone holding a mouse, soothing the little one in her arms, feeling no emotion and yet finding herself able to speak. As though holding the small one made it easier to draw breath.
"Listen to me," she said. "Listen." So soft that even she had to strain to hear her own voice. Looking down at the torn ear. "…when I was a child and Lyosha was my guardian…I did something worse than you."
Sabine looked up. Impossible, her eyes said. Red eyes to match her red hair. Inconsolable until she wiped her nose against her sleeve and sniffed, "W-what did you do?" No longer the demanding young miss but a child without a mother. Leaving the smallest trace of spit on her shoulder.
What indeed, Rena thought. Something she had never admitted. Not in two hundred years. So with the small breath she had, Rena spoke the truth of what she had done.
"I killed something," she said. "Something that belonged to Mme. Durand." And then she waited. For it was the first time she had ever spoken it out loud. The truth of this confession harder for her to admit than any act of war.
There was a moment of silence. And then Sabine sat up. Wiping her eyes, the tears stopping for the brief moment that it took her to comprehend that she knew nothing of this subject. "Madame who?"
"Durand," Rena said again, starting to wish she had not stubbed out her cigarette. "…she was my tutor when Lyosha's den was still in Périgord." A beautiful woman. Smart and kind in public…but cruel when no one was watching.
The girl repeated the strange word under her breath before saying it out loud. "Where is Péri…gord?" she asked. Still wretched in her scent, but able to focus now on a tale. Something other than her troubles.
"France," Rena replied. "A beautiful estate in France filled with gardens and rivers…and every day, Mme. Durand would walk her dog in the apple orchard." Her voice starting to flow as the rust came off her vocal cords. "The most expensive dog that you can imagine. One that she loved more than anything else in the world."
And for a moment, Rena was no longer a soldier.
She was a child…and she could see the scene before her. For its memory was so distinct. Her days spent walking around a stately chateau in silks and satins. Her nights filled with embroidery and music. Riding parties and harpsichords. Little dogs and laughter as the den began to blend with the eighteenth century.
Her voice speaking again as though she were no longer in control of it.
"And then one day," she heard herself say. "…Mme. Durand was not in the orchard…and when I knocked on her bed-chamber, I heard her laugh and tell me to go away. But I would not," she said. "So then Lyosha came to the door and he assured me that Mme. Durand was only tired. And that I could help if I walked her dog for a few hours—so that she could rest…"
Rest.
She had found out a few years later what that meant.
But Sabine had no understanding of such a thing. Clutching her waist, her eyes red, but now wide as saucers. As though she were seeing this terrible scene occurring before her eyes. "What did you do?" the girl asked.
What…
…did she do, thought Rena.
"I followed his instructions," she replied, absently watching the past as she spoke of it. "…I walked the dog through the orchard. But as it barked…and yapped…and pulled on its leash, it occurred to me that I hated this dog as much as I hated Mme. Durand." Her voice was barely a murmur. "…so on the way back to the chateau, I snapped its neck…and I ate it."
"You ate it?" Sabine looked horrified, as though she were about to cry again. Perhaps it had never occurred to her that her food could be taught to roll over. "Did Lyosha find out?"
"Oh yes," said Rena, still tasting the bones from that succulent carcass. "They were eating dinner when I came back…and though I was covered in dog's blood, I knew my manners because Mme. Durand had been teaching me how to be a lady all this time." She breathed into her smile. "So I left the leash at the side of the door, wiped my mouth on a serviette and took my place at the dining table. Folding my hands in my lap and informing them that I was too full to eat the first course."
Sabine gasped. "That is horrible," she said, raising her eyes to look up at Rena's head. Such obvious defiance something that she had never even considered possible. "What did he say?"
With her thumb, Rena smoothed away one of the girl's tears. "He asked me twice if I had eaten the dog and I told him twice that I had not."
"Was he angry?"
"Furious." The word seeming ill-equipped to describe the scent of silver-eyed death sitting at the far end of a dining table. "…and you can imagine—me covered in blood and Mme. Durand about to faint—I thought he was going to skin me alive. But then as we sat in this game of staring, his anger, it became…"
"Worse?"
"Much worse," said Rena, pondering the girl's shadow intertwined with her own. Barely hearing the sound of her own voice as she continued to speak. He had laughed. The kind of laughter that failed to mask itself. The kind that failed to care if people thought it was mad. Laughter while Mme. Durand screamed as though the house had set itself on fire.
Sabine looked troubled. "But why did he laugh?"
She raised her eyes from the shadow. "I think it was the absurdity." His reasons for laughing something he had never explained to her. The absurdity of life. The farce of a den of werewolves prancing around in silk. "But after Mme. Durand began to scream…it was no longer absurd. My father overseas, my mother dead, and here this woman…she is about to kill me," she added, looking down at the girl's head. Remembering how defiant she was…and how scared. "…and like you, I thought he was going to send me away."
"Did he?"
"Of course not," Rena said. "…he told her I was staying so she left in a huff…" Her finger hovering over Sabine's cheek and then touching her chin. "…but I was never allowed near the kennels again."
Even through her tears, Sabine could see the light. The possibility of being forgiven for her crime starting to show itself on the horizon. Yet night was starting to fall. Her misery soon brimming over with the darkness. She buried her face into Rena's neck again. "He still doesn't want me here."
"You have no proof of that," Rena said. Remembering herself. Remembering her place in this house. Pulling away from the girl. Only to reach out again, taking a firm grip on the girl's hand and drawing her out from beneath the table. The two of them staring at one another…until she crouched down, letting Sabine crawl onto her back. Gathering all the stolen items to the bag as the girl found a more comfortable grip. "You would not be here if he did not want you here."
Sabine locked her arms around Rena's neck. "But why does he never spend time with me anymore?"
"He is very busy."
Despite the dull words coming from her mouth, Rena had no opinion on what she was saying. It was a lie to make the girl happy. To have her believe that he was not spending more time with his drug than the small ward he had brought home and subsequently forgotten. Like asking her to walk a dog so the lycan-master could have more time to fuck his mistress. But she could not blame him for his choices. Not without being a hypocrite.
The sun almost set and the hour lending itself to the dark. The time of bloods. A time when small children should not be out. Shaking the bag again as she stood, Rena found the iron-ring puzzle and held it behind her. "Take it," she said. "…and I will return the journal for you."
From behind, Sabine smelled unsure of herself. Ashamed. And then she felt the girl's hand reach out, taking the puzzle. Hiding it away in some pocket or another. "Thank you, Rena," she said, clinging tighter to her neck. Perhaps hugging.
Rena could no longer remember the difference as she turned back to the glass doors of the balcony. The world set right until they could find some means of returning all these items without informing Lucian. Something that would only prompt him to see the child in a different way. This uncanny ability to steal—something that he would see as 'fitting' for some war role or another. A front-runner. A line-pincher.
Maybe even a lock-breaker.
The thought prompting Rena to turn, looking at the girl on her back with the first shred of skepticism she had shown in years. Children always had a plan until it failed. "How did you plan to get inside?"
Sabine looked ashamed by the question, but determined to make everything right now that she had confessed. Her hand reached out, pointing to the crest of the roof. "I was climbing through the attic," she said. "…there's an entrance there through the servant's quarters. Grace unlocked it for me."
Grace.
The scullery maid. Missing from the kitchens all morning. Rena stopped in her tracks. "What was she doing in the attic?"
"I don't know," she heard Sabine say. And then from behind, she heard the clink of iron. The sound of Sabine pulling a set of iron keys from her pocket. Keys that were identical to her own. "…but she gave me these keys and she said if I waited until sunset, I could slip through the door without you noticing. She said you'd be distracted."
Distracted.
There was an awareness growing in her conscience. As though everything was moving in a slower time. Her hackles rising as the light of the sun dipped beneath the western horizon. Her senses moving too late. For she could see them on the other side of the glass, waiting in the dark of the east wing. Three shadows and a slumped figure waiting for the sun to go down.
They had been tricked.
Realising what was happening, Rena sprinted for the balustrade, but the door swung on its hinges before she could throw the child over the railing. Sabine plucked from her back like an ant and sucked back into the house without a sound. Petrified with fear. It was faster than she was. Stronger than she was.
Help.
She needed help.
The blow coming from her right. Knocking her senseless to the ground. Almost hearing them. Buried in a daze, unable to move or speak, trying to clutch at their shadows as they passed. Precious minutes drifting by as the fog held her in its grip. A tall dark shadow now gripping Rena's neck in his claws, forcing her to stand on her toes as he spoke into her ear. His face masked, but his scent filled with an orgy of red. Like a carrion-eater from the gates of hell.
"Scream…and I kill the little one."
And then he dropped a little one in her arms. Not Sabine. But the other little one of the household. Grace's daughter. Her hair paler than snow and her face red and dripping with blood. Her eyes plucked out and the skin stripped from her cheeks. Her neck snapped like the neck of that small dog she had killed so many years ago.
Rena let out a small whimper as she fell to her knees, cradling the child's body. The guards walking below and she unable to make a sound. Not even a whisper as he raised one of the iron chairs and slashed it across her head. Her last thought filled with a reign of terror.
o…o…o
Fifteen minutes earlier.
Reinette felt sick waiting by the fire. Waiting for this nightmare to end. But it had all happened so fast. Her prison unlocked and the four of them stepping into the room, closing the door behind them. Her rescuers: a fat lycan-woman with sweating eyes; a grasping vampire with only stubs for fingers; an empty-eyed, old woman who looked as though she had swallowed her tongue; and striding between them, one of the most beautiful creatures she had ever seen in her life…
…Nikolai. Proshkov. Andreev.
Kolya.
She stumbled to her feet and then backed away, scrabbling for the poker iron. A sick thought starting to grow in her conscience before she buried it again.
It was impossible.
His memories were too young. The memories of his blood showing her little more than glimpses of a life. Moments on that ship, rocking around in the dark waiting for something. A madness settling into his bones, something that made her suspect him of those murders…a secret that she had kept from Lucian. Reminding herself how much he idolised Aleksey Itzhak. How much he obsessed about that man…
"Where is Hrafn," she demanded in Russian. Raising the poker iron above her head. For they were not taking her without answering that question.
Kolya did not wait to be hit by the poker iron. His smile so sweet and his eyes on fire as he unabashedly knelt before her. "He waits for you," he said. And somewhere in his madness, she saw truth. "He sends us to collect his dark lady of the blood," he said. "…and to remind her of his promise."
A promise.
She was still holding the iron. The three rescuers by his side keeping their eyes down as though they feared to look up. She could strike him across the head and he would not flinch from the wound. Something so tempting about this dark-haired angel she had first met on that ship. His coat dark but ill-fitting as though it did not belong to him.
"What promise?"
"To serve you as he served your Mentor." He bowed his head, letting his hair flow before him like silk. From the inside of his coat, pulling out a silver flask and holding it up to the firelight. Glimmering in the dying light. "To give you the blood and the youth of your people, so you will remember his face."
Youth.
The poker-iron dropped. The words off her tongue before she could think of caution. Before she could remember that Hrafn had never served anyone in his life. Almost lurching forward in her haste. "Give it to me."
"Not yet," he said quickly, stepping back and grasping her hand gently before she could reach the blood. The temptation out of sight, making her wonder if she had dreamt it. "Please," he said now. Squinting down at her, his accent so sweet to her ears. "…lady, if the blood weakens you, we will lose our escape." His hand reaching forward to touch her face, but then holding back. Tenderly as though he could not trust himself. "You have the key that he sent you?"
The key.
Hidden inside the sole of her boot. Like the fear she had hidden. Fear softening her words before she spoke. "Kolya," she said, for there must be some part of him that was still sane. Some part that still resembled the unlikely murderer from so many months ago. "Do you remember Rena?"
Kolya looked down at her. A trace of mistrust in his eye. "Who is Rena?"
"Only a guard," she said. Tasting the lie. Realising that Rena might already be dead and that she despaired for it. "But please, Kolya…" She squeezed his hand. "…she has served me well these past few months. You will not hurt her?"
"She has served you," he repeated. The word sounding harsh upon his tongue. A dangerous moment. His nails curving along her cheek until they rested at the bottom of her chin. And then he touched his lips to her forehead. "I will spare her," he said with decisiveness. Holding her shoulder and then drawing her into his embrace.
She felt sick. But there was no choice in the matter, so she swallowed her doubt. "I have the key," she said, indicating her boot, using the movement to draw away from him. Showing it from beneath the black trimmings. What was she doing with these people, she wondered. Why did this feel so wrong?
"Good," he said, speaking less to her than the ones behind him. Making them leap into action. "It is good, my friends. We go now."
Now, she thought, wanting to move. Wanting to speak…but unable to do it. The hand of this vampire, this beautiful vampire, touching her cheek and asking her to flee with him like Persephone from the hand of Hades. But did Persephone really want to leave, she wondered. The thought lasting only for a second. A second before she realised what was happening. His hand moving from her cheek to her mouth as the dream of escape became a hellish one.
Chloroform.
He was drugging her. So light that she could almost see what was going on around her…the world hazy as he laid her down on the floor. Kolya starting to undress her down to her chemise, piece by piece, flinging the veil and dress to the fat lycan as she did the same for their other victim.
The old woman who matched her in height and stature. Starting to cry, opening her mouth, showing the empty space where they had cut out her tongue and her vocal cords. Now naked and trying to hold onto her last shred of clothing, trying to hide the puckered H they had seared into her abdomen. It was a nightmare. An awful dream. For it could not happen like this…
…not like this.
They were replacing her, she realised. Trying to struggle. Her hands starting to grasp at the figures above her, trying to stop them…but too weak to do more than watch. For in her heart, she knew what was happening. The fat lycan pulling her arms this way and that, trying to dress her in the tongue-less woman's clothes. The strong fingers only hesitating when the pendant fell out from her chemise.
Her pendant.
Such a small thing to cause so much surprise on this traitor's face. Doubt as their eyes met and she pleaded. Please, she thought, unable to do more than stare. Hoping this traitor within the den could smell her fear. Her desperation.
Please, she thought. Help her.
The traitor did worse. Jerking the pendant from around her neck. Glancing behind her and then pocketing the golden chain. Pulling her arms through the different holes and fastening the different buttons until she was dressed again. Too feeble to stand as the lycan and the stub-fingered vampire began to walk the corners of the room with a pot of incense.
A haze of yellow smoke that began to itch upon her skin. Her kidnappers hiding their trail with a burning scent. Her eyes fighting to stay open as Kolya pulled her up into his arms, carrying her away from the air.
Out through the door, allowing her only a glimpse of the poor lost soul they were leaving behind in her place. The old vampire woman dressed in her clothes, hiding beneath her veil, jerky in her movements, wandering about the room like a lunatic trying to understand her asylum. Trying to understand why the fat lycan was ripping the drapes from the window. Whimpering as the sunlight began to edge between the slats.
They were burning her…
…and in her head, Reinette tried to scream. She tried to warn the woman. Call for the guards. Call Rena.
Lucian.
Oh blood, she thought. Lucian.
She should have warned him. Again, she tried to scream. Kicking and biting in Kolya's arms until he covered her mouth. The finger-less vampire looking scared out of his wits as he readied more of the drug, helping Kolya to press the cloth over her face. Plunging her into darkness.
Her last thought filled with terror. Anger…and a dull sense of regret. For it had only just occurred to her that after seven months of railing at the fates, she had finally lost the damned wager…
…and the only one who cared would never know.
A/N: Yaay, Kolya finally kidnapped Reinette. We'll see if Lucian notices! Off to go write the next chapter, tentatively called "The Smell of Death" (which is already half-written, so it looks like we're keeping to the new schedule [Sept. 23 Edit: And curse this week, it turns out starting a new sport, while making major life-changes takes time away from writing. Aiming to have the next chapter up by October! Sorry everyone!]. A huge thank you to Agagite Whispers, Naturally Nocturnal, mas, pamelawright, Mackep, Mistress Arsonist, and NeverEndingNights for the reviews!
As always, feel free to read and review.
Agagite Whispers: Next chapter coming soon! (That is to say in the next week or two. ^_^) Always appreciate the reviews!
Naturally Nocturnal: Star gazing and midnight sojourns sounds like a recipe for Lucian. (Also writhing in ecstasy, but I think Reinette's going to try and avoid that for as long as she can. I say 'try.' Because really, we all know what happens when you stick Lucian in a room with someone he's decided to pleasure. That's just basic science. ^_^)
mas: We are indeed moving forward quickly (and a good thing too because I've been planning this chapter for ages now.) Onwards we go...
pamelawright: He did deserve it, didn't he? Silly Lucian, tapping into women's emotions and then ruffling his paper as though it's not his fault he can tell when she's thinking about naughty things. Hope you enjoy the next chapters as much as the previous ones (especially now that we're getting to closer to a certain confrontation between Lucian and Reinette's kidnappers that will either end very well or very badly).
Mackep: I know! ^_^ Poor dear (he's very self-obsessed. It's always 'me, me, me.' Never even occurred to him that she might have another mentally-insane monster vying for her attention. ;)) As for Hrafn...run for the hills! He's mad. And he's got matches...but then as we know, Lucian's a bit off as well, so we'll see what happens when you put those two together and stick Reinette in the centre.
Mistress Arsonist: Excellent to hear! I'll keep working on it (still very much a work-in-progress at this point, but it's always wonderful to hear when someone likes the writing). Hrafn is definitely a handful (more so in the moments when he reveals himself e.g. when he's holding Rena's neck between his claws) but we'll see if Lucian can handle that in a way that doesn't get too many people maimed or killed.
(On a sidenote, I'll say it straight. Reinette is going to be pissed when she finds out about the renting-out bit. But if Lucian's smart and plays his cards right, he might be able to pass it off as an "extraordinary holiday in the ice and snow, featuring the Northern lights, a den full of degenerates, and oh by the way, you have to stay here for two years.")
Laudanum's definitely going to be a problem in the next few chapters. (Especially since they just forced him to go cold turkey on the drug...so one would hope he's not in close quarters with anyone in case he's not in the most 'controlling' of moods when the withdrawal starts.)
Yaay! Someone noticed Singe. ^_^ (Tempted to write a mini-story on their first encounter, but that's something that might come through during the rest of Prelude.)
Speaking of wonderful dresses, I cannot wait for the day when Reinette finds out some dresses are meant to be see-through. (We'll cross that bridge when it comes. ;))
NeverEndingNights: Youth is definitely on its way, but I'm afraid the path is again not as straight as it might look (particularly since Kolya is really creepy and the only thing he's suggesting right now is a pretty nasty dose of dead vampire juice that I think will probably make Reinette gag if he tells her what's in it. :D)
On a sidenote, I keep meaning to watch the newest film with Selene. Haven't quite mustered up the courage. (So afraid they'll say something horrible like "You thought lycans were this...but now because of this plot twist, they're that...and now the whole cannon for your story is ruined, Rushwriter. Take that!")
Suppose I should go watch the film now. ^_^
Reference note: You are probably all aware of this, but just in case you're not, in the last two chapters, the name Persephone is referencing the Greek myth where Hades (God of the Underworld) kidnaps Persephone (daughter of Demeter, goddess of the harvest) and carries her off to the Underworld.
Then an age later, Zeus sends a rescue party, but at that point, it turns out Hades tricked Persephone into eating a few pomegranate seeds (and according to the Fates, whoever eats in the Underworld stays in the Underworld; at least for a few months of the year).
The real question is, was Persephone tricked into eating that food or did she know exactly what she was doing? (Because Reinette is seriously starting to question that myth after finding out that the monster she thought was a monster is actually kind of nice when he's not being an absolute ass.)
For more detail, look up the Rape of Persephone.