The lady in the tower

A/N 1: Argh, I've racked by brain, but I couldn't find anything even remotely fitting as a substitute for the phrase 'utterly alien to the mortal plane'. So please forgive me for using it in two consecutive chapters...

A/N 2: A happy third Advent to all of you!

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They arrived at the Hunter's keep the following afternoon. For the first time ever Damien saw what the place was like in broad daylight, and the sight surpassed even his wildest expectations by far. The rays of the setting sun reflected in the obsidian black volcanic glass of of the castle's façade so that the entire edifice seemed to be ablaze, transformed the soaring finials reaching up toward the sky into veritable pillars of fire and highlighted the delicate patterns of the tinted glass windows. Just like the landlord, it was stunning, heart-wrenchingly beautiful, but utterly alien to the mortal plane.

As if in a trance, the warrior knight dismounted, pressed the reigns of his stallion into a waiting hand without paying any attention whatsoever to what he was doing and followed Niles inside. Whatever changes might have been wrought in the Hunter, his taste in interior design hadn't kept up with them. Everything was just as he remembered it from his first visit, from the black numarble floor streaked with the occasional bit of crimson giving the eerie impression of wading through a shallow lake of half-dried blood to the novebony furniture and golden drawer handles and doorknobs which only served to intensify the overall impression of dramatic darkness.

On they went silently as two wraiths, passing the Revivalist chapel wherein he had finally found out to his horror what had become of the man who had written almost every single one of the holy scriptures of their faith after his abysmal fall from grace. It seemed to take a small eternity until they came to a pair of doors with heavily carved surfaces, the entrance to Tarrant's audience chamber. His breath coming in short, ragged gasps, Damien was just about pushing them open when a low voice stopped him dead in his tracks. "Mer Vryce! May I have a word with you first? In private?"

Whirling around, his gaze locked on a young woman he had never seen before. Even about six months pregnant, she was simply breathtaking in the flowing, richly embroidered emerald green robes of an age long gone by, her pale, finely-chiselled face a flawless oval and her thick black braids, interwoven with dozens of golden shimmering pearls that must have cost a fortune each, winding around her proud forehead like an intricately wrought circlet.

Apart from Gerald, she might have been the most beautiful human being he had ever set eyes upon, although the adept didn't quite qualify for the category any longer. But it weren't her striking looks which balled his hands into white-knuckled fists and caused his heart to pound like mad against his ribcage.

Merciful God in Heaven, here was the perfect embodiment of the adept's prey preference, simply born to be devoured by him, at least from Tarrant's twisted point of view. But she was with child, carried a new life. How could the cold-hearted son of a bitch dare to victimize her in her condition? God knew what kind of reward she had been offered for placing herself on the Hunter's menu if she had had a choice at all. The ghastly memories of poor Sisa who had thrown herself into the cold embrace of Novatlantis when she hadn't been able to bear the nightmares crafted for her benefit by an unrivalled master of fear anymore still haunted him in his dreams. Back then, he had felt obliged to tolerate her suffering for the sake of the greater good, albeit grudgingly. It was a sin of omission he didn't care to repeat.

Just over my dead body, you sick bastard, Damien thought grimly. Seething with rage, he came precariously close to giving in to the surge of black violence welling up inside him and to hell with the consequences, but managed to pull himself together in the end, if only just. Attacking the Lord of the Forest in the heart of his sinister realm would gain him nothing save a quick death. In the best case, as Andrys Tarrant's mutilated corpse had proved well enough. The fact that no one had even bothered to ask him to leave his weapons behind spoke volumes about the negligible threat he could pose against a being as powerful as the Prince of Jahanna. And about the man's utter disregard thereof.

With all his might and main Vryce pushed down his abhorrence, the soul-crushing disappointment that Gerald's supposed reform shaped up as just another castle in the air. The last word had not been spoken about this matter, but he would listen to what the woman had to say first.

Taking a deep breath, he released the hilt of his sword he had grasped without ever realizing and repeatedly clenched and unclenched his hands in order to bleed off some of the tension. "Is it permitted to talk to her?" he asked his escort.

Niles shrugged. "You're a guest here. An honoured guest, or so I've been told. Of course it is permitted, as long as you don't let His Excellency wait too long. He isn't a very patient man, as you presumably know all too well. I'll be right here waiting for you."

His mind reeling, the warrior knight followed his mysterious guide through an inconspicuous side door he hadn't noticed before and up a flight of winding stairs leading to one of the towers of the keep. About thirty yards above ground level, it opened up into a spacious oriel chamber that had evidently undergone some modifications for her convenience. The black-and-red interior turning the rest of the castle into a gloomy anteroom of hell was brightened by silk cushions in sunny colours and a gorgeous handwoven carpet in a delicate pattern of birds and vines. With the fire burning merrily in the fireplace, the chamber looked almost homey, something he certainly hadn't expected in this place.

But he didn't have much time for appreciating his surroundings. As soon as he had stepped over the threshold, the young woman offered him a slender hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mer Vryce. Or may I call you Damien? I'm Narilka Lessing."

Registering the look of baffled incomprehension on his face, her rosy lips curved into a smile. "Andrys Tarrant's lover. The mother of his child. I've been treated to so many stories about you and your adventures that I forgot you very likely have never heard my name."

"The pleasure is all mine," Damien returned automatically. "Of course you can call me by my given name if you want to, Mes Lessing. Narilka," he corrected himself. "But you have me at a slight disadvantage. I hope that you don't mind me asking who told you about me. And what the hell you're doing here. If the Hunter is holding you prisoner..."

"There's no need for bristling. I'm nothing of the sort. Tracking the crusaders who hadn't fallen prey to his creatures yet, Gerald found me in the Forest, cornered by a pack of white wolves. They would have devoured me had he not intervened just in time. Since then, I've been enjoying his hospitality. He's a wonderful host, as you'll doubtlessly soon find out yourself," she added with a twinkle of mischief in her sapphire eyes.

The former priest had many virtues, but diplomacy wasn't among them. "I'm glad to hear that the bastard possesses some redeeming traits," he blurted out, "but with regard to the fate of the last survivor of his bloodline, thanks to him, I might add, I'm somewhat amazed that you've nothing but praise for him. You know what happened to your lover, don't you?

Slender shoulders rose in a shrug. "I still grieve for Andri, but let's not forget that he led an army against his ancestor, intent on taking revenge for the slaughtering of his family. It's only natural that Gerald fought back, As a gold smith, the intricacies of jurisprudence are beyond me, but even I know that killing in self-defence isn't the same as murder."

"Granted. But it isn't self-defence we're talking about. With Calesta to back him up dead and gone, Andrys didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell against a creature no less ruthless and cruel than his demonic seducer. Vulking hell, Tarrant has got a thousand years of experience in sorcery under his belt. Even if he weren't undead, with the dark fae being at his beck and call, he could easily have disarmed the poor lad without an ounce of bloodshed. But instead of tempering justice with mercy, he... did what he did," Damien finished somewhat lamely, remembering just in time that it might not be altogether advisable to read a pregnant woman into the grisly details of the child's father's demise.

"Tortured him to death, you mean," Narilka Lessing said calmly. "That's what Gerald wanted everybody to believe. But trust me that Andri's wounds save the one which killed him were inflicted on him after he had drawn his last breath. As a... deterrent. And before you judge me too harshly, you should take into consideration that Gerald was by no means a stranger to me when he saved me from being torn to pieces by Amoril's pets. He'd already spared my life twice. On each occasion, he promised not to hurt me, and as a man of honour, he has been true to his word ever since. If he hadn't crossed my path one night on my way home from work and opened my eyes to the beauty of the night, I might have never fallen in love with his last living descendant in the first place."

The colour rising in her comely face, she cut herself off and bit down on her lower lip, looking like a little girl caught with her finger in the jam jar. Registering the almost palpable aura of embarrassment radiating from her like a heat wave, the truth finally began to dawn on Damien, and his heart skipped a beat. Holy crap, what a complete and utter fool he had been! In his naivety, he had assumed that the only tie binding Tarrant and his ward together was the relationship between predator and prey, had fretted about her coming to harm at his merciless hands, but if he wasn't thoroughly mistaken, she had fallen for the Hunter's considerable charms, attracted by his angel face and aristocratic demeanour like the barmaid in Briand, just to mention one occasion on which a woman had batted her eyelashes at him in open invitation. The warmth in her voice when she uttered his name and the light shining in her eyes left no doubt about it.

It just remained to be seen whether the sentiment was mutual. A few months ago he would have dismissed the notion as utterly absurd, but after Niles had taken him into his confidence concerning his affection towards Alannah, nothing could surprise him anymore. At any rate, his former ally had always been a connoisseur of female beauty in his own wicked way, and Narilka Lessing without fail met each and every one of his criteria. That she was expecting another man's child - if he or she truly was Andrys' offspring; the alternative was too terrible to contemplate - might be no more than a minor shortcoming. After all, the baby would be a Tarrant in any case, destined to carry on the bloodline.

Blind, raging jealousy burned his throat like the acid fumes of Mount Shaitan, destroying any illusions about the nature of his own feelings for the Hunter he might have harboured still. "You're in love with him, aren't you?" he rasped, barely recognizing his own voice. "Don't you bother denying it. It's written all over your face. Does he... are you...?

"Lovers?" The young woman smiled ruefully. "It isn't what you think. Gerald's been good to me, even offered to see me through when my time comes. Not many men volunteer for acting the midwife, and I'm deeply grateful for it. We're friends, Damien. On clear nights, he takes me up to his observatory, teaches me the name of the stellar constellations and shares the Old Knowledge with me. I feel at ease with him, wouldn't want to miss those hours for anything in the world. Yes, I deeply care about him. But his heart belongs to someone else."

"You aren't talking about his wife Almea, are you?" the warrior knight spluttered, not quite trusting his hearing sense.

Narilka's smile widened, and the mischievous sparkle in her eyes that had died down during their conversation flared up again. "As a matter of fact, I've something more recent in mind. But it's no use pestering me with questions, my dear Reverend. That's not for me to tell. And now you'd better take your leave and keep your rendezvous with Gerald. I'll see you at dinner."