hey ... this one is rather long, but hopefully will still be halfway decent. Hope you all enjoy. Mild gemma/kartik, nothing too risque.
Pippa tells Fee and Ann that evening. Ann immediately turns white and starts mumbling her congratulations, but one tearful look from Pippa and a poisonous one from me shush her. She seems to crumple back in on herself, and, for the first time, I see anger in her eyes. No misery, no rejection, no acceptance. White-hot ire.
But I cannot think of that, not now.
"Pippa, why did you not tell me that you were being courted?" Felicity's voice is shaky, and I can tell that she is distraught. I also notice that she said 'me', and I give a little sigh of disappointment.
"Because I told my mother that I did not care for him at all, and that I did not want to be courted by him. I thought she would listen! I thought she would understand."
My arm finds her waist and she sinks into me, weeping openly now that it is just us and the candlelight flitting across the cold marble floor. We are alone in the great hall, our words bouncing off the walls and windows, screaming back to us in hateful mocking tones.
You were tricked, all of you tricked. You were never going to be anything different. You thought that you were special. You thought that you could dream. Let me tell you, my pretties, we all dream. We all dream, and then we all die, and all our dreams are forgotten. It is the way of things here, my dears. The men do all the dreaming. There is no room for you, my pretties. We have been able to break you.
I do not know what to say. Ironically enough, my mind keeps flickering back to the realms, back to my mother and my sister. Alone and bitterly cold, trapped endlessly in a myriad of swirling illusions and delusions, fantasies and nightmares, life and death and life and death and life.
And death.
I hear my name spoken, turn to feel the eyes of all three gazing at me. Fee is stubborn and resolute, Ann is unsure and wavering, but Pip is the one who breaks my heart and mends it all at the same time. She is imploring.
"Gemma? We can, can't we? You will take us?"
And I know that the answer to this question will always be 'yes'.
"Gemma!" It is Evelyn, of course, and she rushes to me as I turn away. "Oh, Gemma, darling, oh, how I have missed you! Please, Gemma, please forgive me for what I said. It breaks my heart to see you saddened. I was venting my rage on you unfairly, and for that I am truly sorry. Please, my darling Gemma. Please forgive me."
I know that I have, already, but I turn away, revelling in this power that I have over her. I know her eyes will be filling with tears, her finger will be twisting a lock of her hair, a lock of hair so similar to mine.
"Evelyn, I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help you. Maybe there is no way, and mother is simply trapped there forever. I don't know how I can save you. I'm sorry."
"Gemma!" Her voice reminds me of the bleak and despondent Pippa, sitting gazing in the river just a few feet away from me. I know that whatever I can do, I must - for both of them - but I cannot say this knowledge does not ache somewhat. This is my power, and yet I cannot enjoy it like the others. I must sit and think about that white place, beyond the greenery, think about my mother, trapped and frozen, blackening and decaying until her soul will be dead. I know that I owe it to them, to both of them. To all of them. And so I sigh, and turn, and walk away from my friends, and towards my sister.
"Evelyn, help me. You said that there could be no chinks in my armour. How can I help that? Everyone has weaknesses."
She nods, fiddles with a leaf that fell from the tree and turned into a knotted ribbon. Her slender fingers work desperately to free the thread, but I can see that it is hopeless. I try to gently prise it out of her hands, but she looks up, with a sad smile, and says softly, "You have to try, Gemma. Otherwise what else can you do?"
And I know that she is not just talking about the ribbon.
So I let go and return to running my fingers across the gnarled bark of the tree. Secretly I wished her gone. Gone from this place, gone from my life, gone from my head and my heart. I want to be carefree, yet I cannot even remember what that felt like.
"I've seen you, Gemma. In your dreams. You are in love."
My blood does not so much run cold, as run very, very hot. I can feel it pulsing in my head, burning through me until my mind is blistering and everything is laid out, open, anyone care to see?
"Who is it? Has father found you a paramour?" She smiles slightly and it is all I can do not to run from her.
"No. He has not."
"So, Tom has? He must be, what, 19, 20 by now? Goodness. I cannot imagine him as a grown man. Is he handsome? I thought he was going to be. I tried so hard, whenever I saw him, to bring him up well, but I was afraid that he was turn out spoilt. Am I right?"
I think about my answer. I am glad that Tom has come up, for it takes the question of 'my gypsy boy', as Fee puts it, out of her mind. "He is handsome, yes, and very well respected. He works at Bethlem, and is very successful, I know. He is looking for a wife now. He is ... rather spoilt, but is kind enough, and I do love him."
She seems satisfied with my response, but I confess that I do not know whether this is an accurate representation of Tom. He is hard working and well received at balls and dinners, I am told, but he is arrogant and snobbish and quite unpleasant to be around sometimes. I wish I could tell the truth for once. The truth about everything. About Tom, and father, and Pip and Fee and Ann. And Kartik.
He has not gone out of her mind, however. Her eyes glitter with wickedness, and, just for a second, I wonder what it must be like to have Felicity as your older sister.
Hell, I should imagine.
"So, who is it that has cast you spellbound?" Her fingers stroke my cheek until I feel drowsy and relaxed.
"He is a gypsy boy. A fine one, at that. He knew mother. He knew something about her. He knows about you, and about how I come here, and about how I have to forgive mother for you. He knows..." Everything? Perhaps, but I am not sure. I trail off, biting my lip and playing with the hem of my dress. Her warm finger pokes playfully at my nose, and I give in, smiling broadly and feeling suddenly exuberant.
"Perhaps the chink in your armour is him? Perhaps he is your weakness?" This was not what I was expecting. I was expecting a gasp, a face drained pale, a sharp word and perhaps even a medicinal slap. Not a smile, a prod, and a sensible question. I am taken aback, and I begin to love my sister just that little bit more.
"What are you suggesting? That I kill him?" I am being ridiculous, but I think I know what she is going to suggest, and I know I know that it will not be something pleasant.
"No, not that you kill him. That you ... notice his flaws. Find them irritating. Treat him professionally, instead of seeing everything you like about him."
"Does it bother you that he's a gypsy?"
She doesn't say anything for a while, and after a few seconds of uneasy silence, I glance at her. The sight before my eyes is unexpected, and not at all welcome. My sister is crying, her green eyes glistening with those beastly drops of utter sadness that I have come to regard as some of my dearest friends. I reach to wipe them away but she flinches, before shooting me an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry, Gemma, truly I am. It's just ... I know what you are feeling. When I was at Spence, all those years ago, I ... there was a gentleman amongst the band of gypsies that you speak of who I was... rather fond of. He was one of the reasons I was not able to cross over. I miss him terribly so. I often wonder how he is."
"What was his name?"
"Benedek."
Already a plan is forming in my mind. I wish desperately for my sister to be happy, as happy as possible until I figure out how to help both her and mother cross over. Mother.
Locked in the Winterlands, I have not ventured behind those swaying vines since the fateful day that I was almost taken under. I think of how cool and calm and peaceful it looked, and then I remind myself that things are never what they seem. Ann seemed antisocial, Pippa vain and Felicity spiteful.
Yet, when I think back over this, they are those things. But the difference is that that is not all they are. They are so much more. Ann is clever, caring and sensible. Pippa is romantic, innocent and sweet. Felicity is wild and strong and brave.
And me? What am I? What were their first impressions of me? Sullen? Aloof? Shy? What am I to them now? Magic? Is that it?
I turn back to Evelyn, see the tears tracking slowly down her cheeks. I smile slightly, and embrace her warmly. Her hands hold me tightly, and once more I realise how much it must wrench her soul when she watches us all stroll idly by, able to come and go as we like.
"Evelyn ... I think we should go now. I have something very important to do."
As I told Evelyn, I did have an important mission. I told the others I was feeling drowsy, and so they reluctantly said goodbye to the realms they so adored and came back with me to dusty old Spence, where you can become a proper lady if you have money and beauty and a silent tongue. We stumbled off to our bedrooms, and I watched as Ann undressed and slid between the sheets of her bed. She was asleep within minutes, and all I had to do was slip out of bed and down the vine. I had had to change into my nightgown to avoid arousing her suspicion, but I was wearing a dark cloak of hers to disguise myself against the night. I hurry to the forest, glancing back over my shoulder one last time to check that I am not being watched from a window. I slip soundlessly into the forest, trying to calm my fluttering heart and convincing myself along the way that there are no such things as monsters. Not in this world, anyway.
I follow the flicker of the fire and the laughter of men, and I come to a clearing. Here, several people, dark skinned and rugged, are gathered around a fire, drinking and talking and singing and dancing. A musical instrument is being played. I watch from behind a tree, secretly curious as to the real life Kartik leads. Not the life when he is hiding in my room, or reporting to his stupid organisation. The life where he is with his family and friends.
Perhaps he is married. He seems about 17, 18 perhaps, and could easily be a husband.
Perhaps even a father.
Oh God.
I want to turn and run very fast, all the way back to the school and the vines and the window and the room and the bed. But I take a deep breath, and try to scan the group, looking for his familiar face. I cannot see him. But I did not come all this way for nothing. I step into the clearing, and the talking and singing dies down.
"Hello," I say in a voice shaky with nerves, but trying desperately to sound imperious, "I am looking for Benedek."
A man, 35 or so, approaches me, a bemused grin on his face. He is rather handsome, with laughing eyes and a friendly smile. He speaks English with an accent, unlike Kartik, and I have to listen carefully to understand what he is saying.
"Yes, I am Benedek. You are you? What do you want?"
I lower my hood and gaze into his face. He pales a little, and his mouth opens slightly.
"Evelyn? Is it really you?"
I do not want to break his heart but I have to do it anyway. I can feel the eyes of his family resting on me inquisitively, so I breathe deeply and begin.
"No. I am sorry, it is not. It is her sister. My name is ... Amelia." I do not yet know whether I can trust him not to go running to the school to alert Mrs Nightwing as to the disobedience of her pupils. Instead, I look him in the eye, and continue. "Evelyn, my dear sister, died 16 years ago. I believe she knew you."
He nods wordlessly.
"She left a note in my possession, which I have only recently discovered. It told me to find you and tell you that she loves you still, and always had. And always will. She says that she misses you, and thinks of you often, where she is. She says to be happy, and that she will meet you when your time comes. That is all."
His eyes are filled with something that I recognise, and, when I look closely, I know it from my own reflection. Sadness, mixed with grief, mixed with hope and relief.
"I thought she had left me."
"She says that she would never have done such a thing. She died in the fire in the school. You must have heard of it."
"I am afraid that I am not close friends with your dear headmistress." He grins wickedly, and, for a second, I wonder whether he is related to Kartik. There is something similar about them, certainly, but I do not know. I cannot be sure.
"Who are you?" A man, 20, perhaps, stands up and leaves the group, advancing towards me. "Who gave you the right to come and invade our privacy? Proper little English girls like you need to stay away from us – we might give you disease." There is a smattering of hostile and resentful laughter, and I blush instantly.
"Well, then, I think it is safe for you to assume that I am not a proper little English girl."
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. He laughs harshly, and takes my arm. "Well, that it a piece of luck, because I know that proper little English girls do not like mixing with gypsy boys." He pulls me close, whispers something outrageous in my ear. I am horrified, but, oddly enough, I am desperate to see what happens when I play with fire. So I do not wrench my arm from his grasp and flee. Instead, I gaze around, trying to clear the panic from my face and from my throat, trying to spy Kartik, the boy that I wish to see and dread to see in equal measures.
"Miss Doyle?" His head emerges from a small tent in the corner. He is groggy and half asleep, his hair tousled and his eyes soft. I smile against my will and then glance quickly at the man slowly backing me up against a tree. With a jolt, I realise he is kissing my neck, one hand tightly on my waist and the other lifting the hem of my nightgown.
"I order you to let me go."
"English girls do not order gypsies. We are not their servants." He replies, with such disgust in his voice and lust in his eyes that I do not know what to say. His hand is drifting to my neck, caressing my body until I feel sick.
"Kartik!" I beg, the word coming out in little more than a whisper. Benedek is standing still, not seeing anything, thinking of the girl whom he loved and who broke his heart all those years ago. He does not see me. He does not see me at all.
Kartik is out of his tent, gazing at me as I am trapped by this vile man who knows nothing of human decency. My eyes give away my terror, and all of a sudden he is there, amusement clearly twinkling in his eyes.
"Having fun, are we, Miss Doyle?"
I gaze at him once more, and he relents, dragging the man off of me and speaking angrily in a tongue that I do not understand.
"She is yours? She does not look very happy to see you." The man retorts in English, and lurches drunkenly towards me once more. In desperation, I lean into Kartik, kissing him passionately and pressing my body against his. I put one hand on the back of his head and the other around his neck, and pull him in, not allowing him to stop. I must admit I enjoy it immensely. His hands find my waist, then my back, then my hair. I moan suddenly, a little breathy murmur that has just the right effect.
I know I can hear jeers and shouts coming from the campfire but I do not care. He is walking me backwards to his tent, pushing me to the ground and sliding me inside. With a flick of his leg, the material swings down, and we are hidden from prying eyes.
"Miss Doyle, what the bloody hell do you think you are playing at?" He whispers furiously once we are inside. I am still lying down, breathing rather deeply, and look up at him through half closed eyes.
"I was delivering a message to a man named Benedek, from my sister. She loved him once."
"And then why did you not leave?"
"I couldn't! That despicable man accosted me! You saw!"
"I saw you kissing him, and it looked like you were rather enjoying it."
"How dare you?" My voice is indigent, but I must remember that I am lying half dressed in his tent, and that the impression I give cannot be altogether virtuous.
"Miss Doyle-"
"Kartik." There is no more to come. I was simply quietening him. "I also came to see you."
"Why?"
"Because. I missed you. And I need to ask you some things."
He sighs, runs his hand through his curls, and looks longing at the blankets strewn about the little shelter.
"What are you still doing here, watching me, hiding in my room?"
"I have to monitor you, make sure that you do not do anything stupid. Like tell anyone else about your ... gift."
"But I can only do real damage in the realms, and you cannot come with me."
"I have others ways of keeping an eye on you, Miss Doyle."
"But you don't need to. You gave me the message, you can leave now."
"Is that what you want, Miss Doyle? For me to leave?"
I watch him breath deeply, clearly annoyed at my behaviour. I feel chastised and foolish, but do not sit up. He looks down at me, and repeats his questions.
"Not exactly. Secondly, why did you stab me?"
He looks amused at the fact that I am so boldly changing the subject, and then replies, "I didn't. You did that to yourself."
I am confused by his answer, and frown at him wordlessly until he continues.
"I was not going to. I was merely ... threatening to. But then you pulled me towards you and accidentally stabbed yourself."
I feel completely ridiculous. Imagine if I had died? I would have inadvertently ended my own life. I find myself giggling at the mere thought.
"But why did you leave?"
"Because that was my task. Once you had stabbed yourself, I thought it were best that I left. My job was done, and I was not going to sit and watch you suffer."
I wonder at this. Was he brave, or cowardly? Was he noble, or weak? I cannot be sure.
"Miss Doyle, perhaps it is time that you return to the school."
"I would like to stay here for a little while, if you please. I should like to talk with you."
"About what?"
"Anything. I am not tired."
"I am, Miss Doyle. I am going to have to bid you goodnight."
"Well, then, I am going to have to stay." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I try my best to stop the blush flooding my cheeks. His eyebrows raise, and I wonder what he is thinking? Does he love me? Does he think I am wild and courageous and passionate? Or does he think I am foolish and stupid and immoral? Do I care what he thinks?
Yes.
He leans down next to me, his face towards me. I turn over onto my side to face him, and the rip in my nightgown, from his very own hands, falls apart. I blush, expecting him to turn away, but instead he pulls it up, ever so gently. His hand brushes against my breast, and he freezes, a look of inexorable guilt spreading across his features.
"Terribly sorry, Miss Doyle."
"Quite alright, Mr Kartik."
He turns onto his back, and for the first time, I realise that he is not wearing a shirt. His chest is smooth and tanned and finely muscled, and I brazenly reach out a hand and trail my fingertips from the hollow of his neck to the waistband of his trousers. I feel a shudder go through him, and he opens his eyes once more and grins wickedly sat me.
"Is that how you want to play it, Miss Doyle?"
Before I can think, he is kissing me roughly, pushing me onto my back and rolling on top of me. He weight presses me to the ground, and I find the air pressed lightly out of my lungs. His hands, skimming my thighs, are pushing my nightgown to my waist, his fingers everywhere all at once. I kiss him back, but, with a start, realise that his hands are creeping determinedly towards my chest. I try to wriggle free, but he presses into me harder and traps me with his legs. My thighs are forced apart by a knee, and he is between them all of a sudden. I do not like this new turn of events. I want to be back teasing him, mocking him, loving him, hating him. His teeth nip lightly at my neck and I moan uncontrollably. I see his eyes glint with newfound knowledge. He knows he is in control.
"Gemma, Gemma, relax and close your eyes."
"Kartik, no, let me go, please."
He does not answer, merely smiles dangerously, and leans down to kiss me once again.
"Kartik, please don't. Oh God, please don't."
This is not how I imagined it. This is not how I wanted it. I know that the tears are sliding down my face and I beg him to leave me be, and, all of a sudden, he is gone, standing next to me, smirking triumphantly.
"Not quite as much fun as you thought it would be, is it now, Miss Doyle?"
I say nothing; just twist my body around, so that I am face down in his blankets, sobbing in fear and relief and desperation. I can feel my body shaking with sobs, and hear him cursing quietly under his breath.
"Gemma..."
I say nothing, just reply with a fresh bout of tears. He is right; I am nothing more than a stupid little schoolgirl, arrogant and big headed enough to believe that I know everything, that I am in control of everything. He sits next to me, stroking my back gently, but I flinch at his touch. He stops, before slipping his hands around my waist and twisting me inelegantly so I am facing him.
"Gemma, I didn't mean to scare you..."
I cover my face with my hands and weep openly. I feel him reaching down, prying my fingers away and kissing my face tenderly.
"There. All better. Shall we stop crying now?"
I gaze up at him, bleak, broken. I do not know what to do, how to stand, how to speak. I am empty, hollow, vain and promiscuous. I loathe myself, and he knows it.
"Gemma, darling. Shh, shh, now, yes?" hH strokes my face, his warm fingertips grazing my lips. I close my eyes, breathe out shakily, and feel suddenly exhausted.
"I only mean to warn you that you are being incredibly foolish. I am only thinking of you."
"Not yourself?"
"Not at all."
"How selfless you are." I spit the words out, coating them with poison as I send them on their journey.
"Gemma, stop being arrogant."
"I am not being."
He sighs, takes hold of my shoulders and looks me directly in the eye. "You are being childish, and I cannot bear it. Either act like a grown up, and I will kiss you, or act like a child, and I will not."
I think about his order. I thought I had grown up the day my mother died. I was clearly wrong. I can be as petulant as Pippa, as whiny as Ann, as irresponsible as Fee.
I think of her. She would have no qualms about coming down in the dead of night and kissing strange gypsy boys, I am sure.
I will act like a grown up," I decide. "And you may kiss me."
And he does.