Author's Note: Yes! This story will be continued. I have taken all of my wonderful readers' feedback into account and drafted three additional chapters to accompany the first.
As always, I must thank everyone who took the time to read/review/favorite. This chapter is especially dedicated to you. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.
Part Two The Garden of Earthly Delights
Little sisters, you seem so estranged,
Some may dress and act the glamour'd part, but they'll never have…
A woman's heart
Excerpt from "Boudiccea" by Faith and the Muse
The Volturi kept him imprisoned.
Over the course of his stay beneath the bowels of the castle, Edward concocted a series of equally plausible histories for his narrow cell. At first, he likened the cramped alcove to a torture chamber. A grim holding place for those condemned to the torment of the rack or the Iron Maiden.
Or perhaps the cell was in fact part of a larger wine cellar, he reasoned. Something left over from the human architecture of the castle and abandoned until the inhuman tenants had need of a pantry, a cool place to store blood as opposed to a lighter libation.
But then again, his cell could have just as easily been a catacomb and as Edward shuffled his feet on the bedrock floor, he thought he felt his toes brush against some saintly martyr's bones.
And thus he passed the days, days which were devoid of light and sound and space to stand without ducking his head.
Vampires, he mused, were supposed to be adapted to such unwelcoming crypts. Hadn't Bella herself been surprised when he confessed to never sleeping in a coffin?
But ah…there was pain in every thought now. In every faint mention of her name.
Bella.
Before Edward had been locked away by an all too eager Felix, he had the distinct pleasure of watching the love of his life leave Volterra. Sulpicia had been true to her word. Bella was released…in exchange for his continued to captivity.
And so he was forced to endure a rather poor pantomime of Poe's Cask of Amontillado, although by the seventh day, he began to fancy that his imprisonment was not a punishment, but instead the result of the Volturi's inability to decide exactly what they wished to do with him.
Or so he thought.
Edward had never been claustrophobic and he kept himself distracted by reconstructing the fantastic histories of his cell, wondering just who might have been kept there before him.
It wasn't until the end of the second week that his resistance shattered. Later, upon thinking back to the exact moment his restraint left him, Edward couldn't rightly say his descent into panic was gradual.
It came on suddenly. A blink of the eye. Inhale. Exhale.
And then he was screaming into the dark. Screaming and scraping his fists against the wall until the falling dust matted his hair.
There was no door, he realized. No door that he could feel with his hands. Only four solid walls.
God, they had sealed him in. Sealed him in for eternity.
And he could not die…
Bella. Bella.
He shouted her name until his lips cracked, his voice dying with a final guttural protest. But the dark did not cede, no, it never ceded.
No one came for him.
After that, it wasn't long before the hunger set in.
Before coming to Volterra, Edward had not fed as regularly as he should have, more distracted by his longing for Bella than any physical starvation. Now he realized that he must drink. Venom wetted his tongue in anticipation, but nothing came. His throat rasped dryly.
Edward stopped trying to keep track of the time. Day and night eluded him, while he kicked his aching legs against the unforgiving stone, wishing, begging to be let out.
If only he could stand up straight…
Starvation took its toll. His skin began to feel thin and fragile, draped around his bones like a pall on a corpse.
He bit his own wrist, prayed for blood, but was rewarded with only the taste of his broken flesh. In a frenzy, he shredded his clothes, drove his head against the wall, and, at length, resigned to die.
But even suicide was denied him.
Matters of life and death, of justice and salvation, rested in the hands of them. And they would not release him.
Or so he thought, until there was a sound outside his cell and he gathered the strength to raise his head, and see light…
Through a distortion of shapes and impressions, he made out the square lines of two prim, black shoes. Someone had opened a door…the door to his cell and the sensory onslaught of such a simple act nearly drove him mad.
Edward curled himself up in a ball, guarding his sanity against the things he had so fervently wished for.
A hand slid down his chin, raising him up…to the light.
The scent of blood made his nostrils dilate painfully. Edward extended his tongue and felt it glide across succulent sweetness. The crimson liquid burned his mouth at first and he drank slowly, then greedily, from the palm of an unknown angel.
There was murmuring in the distance. Another hand lit upon the top of his head, stroking back his dirty hair.
Someone sighed.
"Ah, I believe he is ready."
A length of rain fell upon Volterra. Stirred by the east wind, it whispered of summer and other, thoughtless wishes. Sulpicia had the pleasure of catching several cool drops on her curling eyelashes. She blinked and the water blinded her, etching serpentine patterns down her hollow cheeks.
Her sisters waited under a graceful gazebo.
"Come out of the rain," Athenodora called, her voice the essence of silver, pleasantly fluting. "I have not the temperament for games."
"Harshness pervades," Didyme noted sagely. She sat on a stone bench with her hands in a knot upon her lap. "You know how Sulpicia enjoys the tempest winds."
Hearing her name, Sulpicia turned her head towards the gazebo, more than a little irritated by the disturbance of her serene reverie. "When, I wonder, was the last time you enjoyed this garden?" she asked them.
Didyme smiled. Athenodora, her face proportioned with all the delicacy of a greyhound's, looked wistful.
"Small charms in quiet hours," she said, patting the place between her and Didyme. "Sit with us, sister. We have much to discuss."
Sulpicia offered them both a token of her reluctance, shaking her hair out as she left the rain for the relative shelter of the gazebo. Somewhere overhead, high in the darkening clouds, a jet roared by, its engines distorted to sound like thunder.
Sulpicia sighed. Even in this tiny Eden the outside world managed to encroach. There had been a time when no signs of mortal life dared to intrude upon their private garden, an expanse of lush greenery abutting the castle. Up until the middle of the 15th century, the land had been leftover from the feudal days, when serfs had farmed tiny patches of it and were often felled by a mysterious, blood-draining fever.
Sulpicia, being ever so practical, had the old land walled in and hired the best gardeners and botanists in all of Italy to tend the virgin garden. And after the trees had been planted, the flowers sown and the walkways arranged, she had each of the workers slaughtered so that no one would come to know the secrets of the labyrinth.
It was a gift to herself and her sisters. A place where they might be undisturbed even by their husbands, free to reign and rule. Or simply to dream.
And often, Sulpicia did dream.
Today, however, she could afford no peace. Only business. Didyme and Athenodora were eager to smooth over the sticky remnants of the St. Marcus day incident. Sulpicia, for her part, couldn't rightly blame them.
"This is most assuredly about our dear little Edward," she said, accepting Athenodora's invitation and settling herself between the pair.
They were impressive as a trio. The triple goddess. Maiden, mother and crone, sealed by immortality and the feigned blush of youth.
"I'll have you know, he has finally abandoned his abhorrent diet. Jane told me he licked blood from her hands this morning. Like a kitten."
"Our influence is indeed a poison," Didyme remarked wryly. She had always enjoyed sampling some of the coven's faults, although in truth, she was the binding force that kept the Volturi intact. Without her influence, their empire would have dissolved from within. "He will never submit, though. Marcus tells me Edward is enthralled by his human lover. Ah, la belle dame sans merci."*
"And what of this Bella?" Athenodora asked, her legs crossed neatly beneath the skirt of her simple sun dress. "Jane was unable to reach her with her powers, as was Aro. I should say this is troubling indeed, especially with the Cullens sheltering her."
Sulpicia listened to her sisters, but couldn't sit still. Her fingers lit upon the carved pillar supporting the gazebo roof and she dug her nails into the crevices. "Ah, the Cullens," she sighed.
There was silence and Didyme looked to the east with alert eyes.
"Carlisle, you mean," she said at length. "Forgive me for encouraging skepticism, but I am worried that you kept young Edward only because he is Carlisle's son."
The insinuation in Didyme's voice irked Sulpicia. She dropped her hand back to her side. "I would never act against Aro's wishes, sister. Certainly you know that. Carlisle was my paramour before ever I married your brother."
The air became tremulous with tension. Indecent puddles formed in the new grass and brought earthworms crawling to the surface.
Sulpicia noted all these things, if only to subdue the sting of Didyme's allusion. There could be no doubt that she loved her husband Aro. Their union, however, had a frightfully political odor to it and she was continually disturbed by the thought of winning her mate through negotiation rather than passion.
Didyme knew all this. After all, she had cajoled her reluctant brother into the marriage after centuries of avoidance on his part.
Athenodora, the supreme diplomat with a voice more resonant than Cicero's, sensed discomfiture.
"Carlisle and his family may pose a problem," she said, pulling both her sisters back into direct conversation. "That bridge, however, need not be crossed prematurely. We must decide what to do with Edward. Is he of any use to the coven?"
"Nominally, yes," Sulpicia remarked. She suddenly felt ill at ease and rose to her feet only to pace about the gazebo. Her sedentary lifestyle of late did not match her warrior appetites. Wars were all too often fought away from Europe now and the power of the Volturi guard excused her presence from the battlefield. Still, she missed a good melee.
Didyme lowered her head slightly, as if ashamed by her previous indiscretion. Her tastefully curled hair formed an crowing mane, masking the proper sensitivity within. "He is desperate to return to Bella--suicidal, maybe."
"Not while there is a threat to her life," Sulpicia put in.
Athenodora nodded in agreement.
"Do we threaten her life?" Didyme asked in response.
The sisters fell silent to consider. From somewhere within the Volturi stronghold, subtle laughter fluttered and danced. A guard making merry, indulging in sport, perhaps, with his afternoon meal.
Sulpicia felt the venom pool in her mouth and was reminded that she needed to feed. Soon.
"I do not like this Bella," she admitted. "And I like her less alive."
"Why, then, did you not change her?" Athenodora puckered her lips in thought.
"Because she is immune to our powers. Do you not see the danger in that?"
"You wish her killed then?" Didyme looked skeptical and at length, she stood, taking to the opposite side of the gazebo where a slight breeze blew the rain in a playful spray. "It would have to be a discreet venture."
"No need to upset the Cullens," Athenodora added.
"And then Edward is ours for the taking." Sulpicia glanced at Didyme, leaving her plan open to criticism.
Her sister took the bait readily. "I doubt it would be so easy," she said in a neutral tone. "Marcus observed Edward's strong connection to the human. It is nearly unbreakable. Or, on the other hand, too fragile. Sever it and he will be destroyed. We might as well kill him outright than have a limp puppet."
"I trust Marcus's judgment," Sulpicia said. And it was true. Marcus was a worthy consort for Didyme and his wisdom had never led the coven astray. Often, Sulpicia found herself relying on his advice, which was generally impartial and ultimately sound.
"Chelsea may add us in persuading Edward to be supine," Athenodora noted, her grey eyes suddenly narrowed. "Or Jane, if it should come to it. And his gifts would certainly not go to waste. If only he would join us freely…"
Sulpicia wrapped one of her arms around a pillar, a feral smile twisting her lips. "Where is the challenge in that, my dear?"
"Caius would agree with you," Athenodora replied.
"Then what is our decision?" Sulpicia leaned forward, listening to the soft aria of her sisters' breathing.
Didyme looked askance. Athenodora adjusted her hands and sighed.
And thus it is played, Sulpicia thought wryly to herself. I shall speak for all of us.
"Edward lives," she said to them with practiced authority. "But if he does not submit readily…he dies."
"And Bella?" Didyme said.
Sulpicia studied the faint patterns in the stones beneath her feet. "It is too much too soon. The Cullens would surely rebel if we pressed them to be rid of her."
"A waiting game, then," Athenodora concluded.
"So long as time permits." Sulpicia let her arm slide off the pillar and raised her chin.
Athenodora picked up on the meager signal and stood. "When shall we three meet again?"
"In thunder, lightning or in rain?" Didyme echoed, holding one hand out to catch several drops in her pale palm.
"When the hurlyburly 's done," Sulpicia told them both, striding out readily into the storm. "When the battle 's lost and won "
Sometime after feeding, Edward became aware of movement. His body was shifted off the stone floor of his prison by ungentle hands and borne through a shrouded labyrinth. Try as he might, he could not restore his senses past a pleasant fogginess, which kept his mind impotent to changes of scenery and a myriad of delectable, new scents.
Vague, fairy lights passed before his eyes and he envisioned phantom creatures, blessed by a moonlit night to dance and laugh and mock him in his humiliating state of powerlessness.
Every now and then, at the turn of a passage, the hands beneath him would change position, pressing against some sore spot near his spine. He cried out in protest, but earned only echoing mimicry in return.
Ahead, a portal was opened and tendrils of cool, rain-kissed air danced over his bruised cheeks. The hands disappeared and he felt his weight transferred to a surface of supreme softness.
Edward closed his eyes and sighed.
Stillness pervaded. Long and peaceful. After several minutes, he realized the fog about him was ebbing. With exploratory tenderness, he ran his fingers over the surface beneath him. There was a blanket, a down mattress and small head cushion. Reaching out, he touched a gauzy curtain and deduced himself to be resting upon an old canopy bed.
A wry smile lifted Edward's lips. His new quarters, as Bella would say, were an upgrade from the damp prison that had recently housed him. Drinking human blood had far reaching benefits and for a while, he allowed himself to be free of guilt.
Carlisle would certainly understand.
Reveling in his comfortable surroundings, Edward opened his eyes and tried to make out more of the room. His sight was still wretchedly obscured and in the distance, beyond the bed curtains, he could only make out a shadow of a figure.
And then the music began.
An unwelcome chill crept up his spine, urged by the faint tinkling of piano keys and a light, high voice. Someone was singing an old, old song that once had a name, a name he could no longer remember.
Edward tensed under the throb of the music, his muscles coiling, venom pooling into his mouth.
But his apprehension was unwarranted. The melody soon slipped into a stirring legato, lulling him into a stupor that was so akin to blissful tranquility.
Edward found himself relaxing, his head crushed against the cushion, his arms and legs like water. He could not help but think of Bella now, his Bella. Visions of her simple beauty trailed across his mind's eye, tempting him to arousal. The music aided his desire, as he pictured her in his arms, in the meadow, with only the sky and sun to blanket their skin.
And he would press her to him, without fear that she would break and Bella…she welcomed him.
He imagined his fingers twisting in her hair, curling down to the swell of her breasts and smooth stomach.
They kissed, freely, innocently, captives of some wicked dance that had tormented the balance of life and sanity.
Goaded by the music, urged by crescendos and the trill of an unbridled voice, he dropped his hand to Bella's womanhood and stroked her lovingly. A gasp. A virgin's cry. And then he roamed inside her, caressing her soft petals, drenched as they were with inviting nectar.
The music dropped, disappeared and then regained its footing on a new note of trembling voracity. Edward could not help but be disturbed by the uncanny change, but allowed his mind to charge ahead in his sweet reverie.
Gazing up, he eagerly wished to take in Bella's familiar visage, but was startled beyond measure when he saw Sulpicia instead.
She was naked and astride him, one hand twirling her sumptuous plait of red hair.
A cry rose from the base of Edward's throat, but died as he opened his mouth to accept her lips. Her kiss was full and warm, promising a passion he had never conjured within himself before…or perhaps, with Bella.
He wanted to recoil, to withdraw from her and return to the safe fantasy he entertained of himself with his human lover. But Sulpicia was insistent and she called to him with a voice that was singing, and sighs that spoke of airy melodies and arias.
Edward joined her, uncertainly, and was soon seized by a spreading warmth that started in his loins and climbed to his chest to his head, infecting his mind with delirious frenzy.
Sulpicia was not a gentle lover and she drove him hard, unforgiving in her demands and her lust. And he thought of her as Queen Maeve, watchful, unforgiving and mad.
She brought him to the brink and his climax was shattered with a cry of awakening.
The music stopped.
Sitting bolt upright in bed, Edward realized he was alone, save for the vague figure who kept a silent watch over his fitful hallucinations.
"That will do, Alec," a steely, feminine voice uttered. "You may release him now."
All at once, the wave of fog fell away from Edward and his sight cleared, showing him the androgynous form of Alec standing by his bedside, smirking.
Edward groaned softly, realizing that he must have been kept effectively sedated by Alec's witchcraft while the guard transferred him from his prison to the bed chamber. Rubbing his temples fiercely, he struggled to regain his former sense of equilibrium and control.
The recently ingested blood colored his cheeks with shame.
Heels sounded over the wooden floor and a second figure loomed by his bedside. The lacey curtains were ripped open and Sulpicia stuck her head in, observing him with slight annoyance.
"You have been granted a rare privilege," she said. "Continue to feed on humans and you shall be allowed to live in comfort. Do we have an understanding?"
Edward did not answer her at once. Instead he found himself studying her form. She was fully clothed, her hair pulled back in a neat bun and she showed absolutely no signs of her former passion.
Behind her, he glimpsed an antique, upright piano and guessed that she had distracted herself with playing while awaiting his arrival.
And thus had he listened to the mysterious music.
Reality begin to piece itself together, although he felt some measure of nagging concern over his reverie, which had clearly been invited by his own feverish mind.
"Yes," he managed to choke out at length, "I understand."
"Wonderful," Sulpicia replied, her voice hard and callous. "Come, Alec."
The guard followed his mistress out of the room and when the door had closed, Edward curled himself up on the sinfully soft bed and shut his eyes once more.
It was just a dream.
Aro favored Mozart, but he was playing Beethoven this evening. The Pastoral Symphony. Sweeping strings competed ably with French horns, setting a tempo that was both beguiling and whimsical. Too whimsical. But then again, Aro had always been whimsical.
And Sulpicia loved him for it.
In the sanctuary of their private apartments, she let her hair down from its tight knot and threw off her regal blazer, which outside the walls of Volterra, would have marked her as a stylish businesswoman. A woman of the modern world. A CEO trotting about the globe with the stereotypically briefcase and cell phone in hand.
The truth of her essence, of course, was much deeper.
Aro was sitting casually on the sumptuous dark wood settee (appropriately upholstered in mauve velvet) that Sulpicia had imported from England sometime during the reign of Queen Victoria and had never sought to replace. Likewise, the furnishinsg of other rooms, including the bed chamber, were out of date, all purchased no later than the 1891, the year they had wed.
It was a short time ago, considering Sulpicia had known Aro in the days when Rome was but a thought and Alexander, some hotheaded Macedonian, was spearheading his armies through Greece.
And centuries later, she wasn't certain she entirely understood her mate, at least, not in the way Athenodora and Didyme understood their husbands.
Perhaps that was because her marriage had been arranged.
Aro, of course, never forgot that.
"I have lately come from our most maudlin guest," Sulpicia said, hoping to snag her husband's attention and notorious curiosity. "Young Edward would make a fair poet…some legendary consumptive sufferer, I'd wager."
Aro was resting his arm casually on the back of the settee, ever so dapper in his pressed suit and button-down shirt. "You are wasting your time with him. Kill the boy and be done with it." His sharp sentiments were coated with the perfect veneer of propriety, his feathery voice so very apt at disguising true ruthlessness.
Sulpicia smiled at him, her expression melting from tireless tyrant to loving wife. "He is talented, does that not interest you, my darling?" She held out her hand to him and after a moment, he took it, placing his lips on her fingers. "I'm sure we could find a use from him yet."
"You could," Aro remarked. Gently, he tugged at her arm and she lowered herself onto his lap, grateful to be in his company.
"Are you reading my thoughts?" Sulpicia asked him. The symphony was winding down, the last breathe of the horns exhaling in a delicious gust of legato. "I can hear your mind working."
She placed the tip of her forefinger in the space between his eyes.
Aro blinked uncomfortably and pulled her finger away. "This Edward intrigues you." His expression was shrewd.
"In a common way, yes."
"As I recall, his maker intrigued you as well."
"This is an unfortunate parallel you draw," Sulpicia said and could not withhold the hurt from her voice. Surely Aro knew better than anyone else just how greatly she loved him …and had always loved him.
He must have sensed her disturbance and to soothe the wound, he offered her a guileless smile. "Is this Edward so very much like Carlisle?"
"Not at all." She pressed her hand to his, her fingers flush against his lined palm. Would you have followed me into death? she could not help but wonder. Would you have had the courage of this Bella Swan?
Aro's expression was open and soft, even though Sulpicia knew he must have heard her thoughts.
Instead, he ignored her.
Her jaw clenched in anger, rage directed only at herself for being so useless…so unable to please him.
What more could she give?
But in truth, it was not so much what Aro wanted, rather, what he could never have.
Power. Complete sovereignty.
Marcus and Caius were content to remain consorts. Yet Aro, yes, Aro, wanted to be an emperor in his own right.
And oh, that never could be.
Sulpicia felt her body tense as the symphony ended, bringing with it an aching silence that could not mask the profound awkwardness between them. She placed her hands on either side of his jaw and gazed at her beloved husband with eyes that burned for want of tears.
Aro, as usual, was much more concise.
"I do not trust the slow simmer of your heart," he said, remembering his duty and tastefully unfastening the topmost buttons of her blouse. "There is something deadly beneath."
"You say I am misguided?" Sulpicia asked. And because she was indeed enthrall to him, she slide her hips forward against his waist, ready to accept the true union she so longed for.
"No." A sigh edged Aro's voice was subtle reluctance. "I say you are dangerous. And woe betide the Cullens. The son must now pay for the father's mistake."
*La belle dame sans merci--The beautiful lady without pity. Didyme is referencing a poem of the same name by John Keats, in which a beautiful elfin lady enchants a chaste knight, making him fall in love with her only to abandon him. The knight is then doomed to mourn her loss for eternity. Although Didyme clearly speaks of Edward and Bella, she could also be alluding to Sulpicia's relationship with her uninterested husband.