CHAPTER 4
Grey light had just begun to line the edges of the bedroom curtains when Myra's door opened. Idira sat up, afraid it might be VanCleef coming to pester her sister again, but it was only Lanira. In the half-light, her minder looked tired. Lanira glanced at the bed and held out her hand.
"I thought you might be in here," she said, waving her fingers at Idira. "Come, let's get you dressed."
Idira left the warm cocoon of blankets and took her minder's hand but hung back, her gaze fixed on the bed.
"Come, child," Lanira said, although she lacked her usual ferocity, "I don't have the energy for your antics today."
Idira pointed at the huddled shape on the bed.
"Myra didn' move all night. I think somethin's wrong with her."
Alarmed, Lanira let go of Idira and hurried to the bed. She turned Myra from her side onto her back and looked her over.
"How long has she been like this?" she asked, sharp.
"Since I came here."
"How long?" Lanira snapped, impatient.
Idira shrugged. "Maybe two hours?"
Lanira pressed her fingers to Myra's neck. A long time passed. Her breathing turned shallow.
"They're too far apart," she murmured, frantic. She strode back across the room and grasped Idira's hand, yanking her, rough, out of the bedroom. Her hands shaking, Lanira pulled the door closed, her eyes darting up and down the hall, nervous. Idira looked around to see who Lanira was looking for, but the hall lay deserted. Her minder took a deep breath, calming herself.
"Idira, go to your room," she said, giving Idira a little push in the right direction.
"And stay there!" she bossed over her shoulder as she hurried away.
Idira dawdled after Lanira, waiting until her minder disappeared down the staircase. On the landing overlooking the entrance hall with its black and white chequered floor, Idira dallied as she walked to the stairs on the opposite side, occupying herself with trailing her fingers along the banister's carved wooden railings. Lanira reappeared from the back of the house, throwing a cloak over her shoulders, followed by two menservants. With a flourish of her gown, she swept out the front door.
Idira decided to wait. She could always run upstairs when Lanira came back. Her minder would never know. Idira sat down and pushed her legs through the railings, revelling in the feeling of her feet dangling in the air. She kicked her legs, as the household staff hurried from one part of the house to another; the women dressed in smart black dresses and crisp white aprons, the men in black breeches, white shirts and half aprons. They looked very elegant in their clothes, far too well dressed to be scrubbing the floor. Yet there they were, a man and woman working together in silence, their movements across the marbled surface precise and rhythmic. It was like watching a dance. Idira began to feel a little sleepy. She leaned her head against the railings and closed her eyes.
She woke with a start, the hall lay deserted. Voices drifted from the back of the house. Someone laughed. A maid came into view carrying a glass vase containing a large arrangement of flowers. She set it onto the round table in the middle of the entrance hall, turning the vase this way and that until she was satisfied. Idira stood up, thinking about going back to Myra's room, to see if she had missed anything.
"And so we meet again, little one."
Idira turned around. VanCleef stood in front of her, a small smile on his lips. He wore a pair of dark leather breeches, matching boots, a fitted white shirt, and a long black jacket, the edges of its lapels embroidered with golden thread. He pushed the sides of his jacket back and rested his hands on the grips of two daggers, one on each hip.
He glanced around the empty landing.
"Where is your minder?" he asked.
Idira pointed at the front door. VanCleef leaned over the banister to see. He raised a brow.
"She left?"
Idira nodded. "I think she thinks Myra's sick."
His hands left the dagger grips. He half-turned towards Myra's room. "What do you mean 'sick'?"
"I had a bad dream, so I went ta her bed, but she didn' move. She never moved all night."
His face drained of colour. "No," he whispered. He bolted down the hall and burst into Myra's room without even knocking.
"Myra!" he called as he covered the distance to her bed in two strides. She didn't move or make a sound. Frantic, he tore away the blankets and pulled her naked body upright. Her head lolled, and a little blood came out of her mouth.
"No, no, no," he murmured as he lay her back down onto the bed and felt her neck, just like Lanira had done. "This isn't happening. I won't lose you, I won't."
He crossed the room, his face hard and desperate all at the same time. He opened the door and almost collided with Lanira and an elegant woman Idira had never seen before, dressed head-to-toe in white. An elaborate head piece with long beaded tassels concealed her face.
He roared a curse. Idira covered her mouth. That was a very, very bad word, even Papa hardly ever used it. Lanira and the new woman backed away, their heads bowed.
He grabbed hold of the woman in white's forearm and dragged her, stumbling behind him over to Myra. He let her go with so much force she slammed against the side of the bed.
"Save her," he panted, "or by the Light you will never see the ones you love again." He pulled one side of his jacket back and let her see the dagger concealed there. Her eyes slid to the weapon. She swallowed and nodded.
He moved to the other side of the bed and took Myra's hand, his eyes on the woman in white, fierce, as if he dared her to fail. Idira crept to the end of the bed and wrapped her fingers around the top of the footboard.
"Is she going ta die?" she asked, feeling very frightened and alone all of a sudden.
"No," VanCleef answered, sharp. "Not today."
Murmurs from the hall drifted in. Several maids clustered outside, nosy, trying to see in. At a dark look from VanCleef, Lanira hurried to close the door. She came back to help Arinna as she worked to remove her enormous headpiece.
"Trained in Stormwind's Cathedral, the Priestess Arinna is the most powerful healer in all of Westfall," Lanira said, as she set the cumbersome thing aside. "She will save your sister, you must believe it."
Arinna took a deep breath and held her hands palm down over Myra's abdomen. Silence fell.
Idira closed her eyes and believed as hard as she could. She imagined Myra wearing one of her pretty dresses, her hair curled by the hot tongs and eating fine food at the grand table downstairs. Idira didn't know how to pray or the right words to say, so she mouthed the same words over and over, willing her sister to live.
Please, Myra, please don't go.
A glow of white light breached Idira's closed eyes. Something was happening. Idira cracked her eyes open a little to peek. The priestess's hands glowed pure white. Light, like liquid fire, poured out of them into Myra's torso. Arinna murmured strange words, her voice growing stronger, gaining power. The light intensified. Her gown began to shift, moving in invisible currents, like a living thing.
Still unconscious, Myra's back arched, her torso lifting toward the priestess's hands. Tendrils of darkness slithered from Myra's extremities to her torso, they gathered there, churning, malevolent. Idira gaped, there was so much, maybe one healer wouldn't be enough.
Arinna weaved her hands in the air, drawing the darkness to her. One, then another of the dozens of tendrils clinging to Myra slid up into the priestess's hands, her light cleansing the foul, viscous things, tendril by tendril, as soon as one disappeared, ten more slithered up from deep within Myra to join the mass coiling in her torso. A long time passed.
Idira's legs began to cramp from standing for so long. She forced herself to hold still, biting her lip as she rode out deep spasms of pain, unwilling to do anything that might break Arinna's concentration.
The priestess's voice wavered. She staggered, catching herself against the side of the bed. Lanira took hold of the priestess's shoulders, supporting her, her head bowed, willing Arinna to go on.
Held firm in Lanira's grip, Arinna pressed on, her voice becoming hoarse as she worked to extract and cleanse each and every blackened tendril. Several more long minutes passed. Idira couldn't feel her legs anymore. She clung to the bed's footboard, holding herself steady, scarcely daring to breathe.
Arinna rotated her hands over Myra's torso, searching. Only clear light reflected back. She murmured several brief words and the light faded. The room's shadows sped in to fill the void. Her fingers cramping, Idira let go of the footboard. Pain rushed into her legs. She rubbed them, trying to ease the ache of pins and needles. Arinna slumped to the floor, exhausted. Lanira yanked one of the curtains back. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the bed.
VanCleef watched Myra, his expression taut. He stroked her face, tender, whispering words Idira couldn't make out. Her eyelids fluttered open.
He exhaled, shuddering with relief. "You live," he murmured. He pulled her into his arms and cradled her against him, protective. "You live."
She hung limp in his arms, so weak she could barely blink. His eyes darkened as he looked at her wan complexion, the shadows bruising her eyes. "What happened to you?"
Arinna stirred, reviving a little at his question. "She was poisoned."
"Cowards!" He cursed, furious. "So they think to attack me through her." His hold tightened on Myra, and he continued in a low voice, "Blood will be shed for this. Much blood."
Arinna held up her hand, weary, stopping him. "She poisoned herself, I assume unwittingly. Look there at the empty wine pitcher by the bed, and the other on the table. She's nothing but skin and bones. The wine overcame her, poisoning her until she fell into the deepest state of unconsciousness, from which there is usually no return. If Lanira had fetched me even five minutes later, Myra would not have survived. She was at the point of death when I began." She struggled to her feet, holding onto the back of a chair for support. "She needs to rest, and she needs food. No more wine, at least for the next week or so."
VanCleef glanced at the two jugs, then at Lanira, his black-dark eyes filled with accusation.
Lanira paled and shook her head, gabbling, "She must have sent for the wine after I left. Please, I beg you, I would never have allowed her so much. Master, it is the truth, upon my soul!"
VanCleef looked back down at Myra.
"Did Lanira give you the wine?" he asked, soft.
The slightest shake of her head. VanCleef nodded and kissed her brow, satisfied. He lay her back down, and covered her with the blankets.
"Rest my love, I will come to see you again this evening. Think of what you would like, anything you want of me, you may ask it. I will not deny you. It will be my gift to you for returning to me."
Her eyelids drifted closed. He watched her for several minutes until she fell into the quiet of sleep. He kissed her brow one last time and left the bed. He looked at Lanira, his eyes hard. "You will find out who brought her the wine and send them to me."
Lanira paled and nodded.
He went through the door, his footsteps retreating down the hall, angry. Lanira stumbled to a chair, her hands trembling as she took hold of it and sank down.
"He's going to kill an innocent person," she whispered, "for obeying Myra's request. These people are servants. What else could they have done?"
Arinna reached over and covered Lanira's hand. She glanced over her shoulder to see if Myra was awake. She wasn't.
"If you want to live, you will do as he commands," Arinna murmured, shaking her head. "We just have to hang on a little longer. Once King Wrynn overcomes his grief for Tiffin, he will send his men to Westfall. He must. He cannot leave us here, to be tyrannised by a monster who intends harm against the city. The merchants have—"
Out in the hallway someone whistled a slow, menacing tune. Arinna's eyes snapped to the door, startled.
The hairs on the back of her neck rising, Idira pulled the door open wider and peeked out. At the top of the stairs VanCleef looked back. He winked at her before continuing on his way, his dark, horrible tune drifting back, making her flesh crawl. She closed the door and covered her ears, but it wasn't enough.
For her act of disobedience Idira had to stay in her room for the whole day. The maid who brought in breakfast tried to cheer Idira up; she told her a delivery of toys had been scheduled to arrive that morning. In the meantime she fetched a piece of yarn so Idira could play with Blackie.
Breakfasted, bathed and dressed once more in her pink dress, Idira occupied herself dangling the yarn in front of Blackie. The cat soon began to tire and curled up to sleep. Idira petted Blackie for a while, kicking her heels against the side of the bed, feeling restless. She wasn't used to being cooped up all the time. She missed her freedom; the sun on her face, the taste of salt in the air, the crash of the waves against the shore. She wished she could go to the sea. She thought about her murloc friend, wondering if it had found her seashell necklace.
She wandered around her room, poking at the furniture, opening drawers and cupboards. All of them were empty. She knelt on the window seat and watched the people in the big square going about their business. She tried to open the window to catch the air, but couldn't open the latch. She fell back onto her haunches and turned to watch the door.
On the count of three it would open and the toys would arrive. She counted to three. The door stayed shut.
She slid off the window seat and listened at the keyhole. Nothing. She turned the doorknob and pulled the door open a crack. The corridor of the third floor lay shrouded in silence. She tapped her finger on the door handle, debating. She decided she would just look in the room across the hall, maybe there would be treasure in there.
The room lay completely empty. Sunlight streamed through the dusty, bare windows. A spider crawled along the frame.
She closed the door, deciding it wasn't fair to find an empty room. She was allowed another chance. She moved down the hall and tried the next room and then the next. All of them the same. Empty. Boring. The fourth room was more interesting, it didn't have any windows in the walls, just a square cut out in the roof, with glass over it. Still no furniture or carpets or curtains, but it did contain stacks of sealed wooden crates and boxes painted with letters and symbols she couldn't read. It was fun for awhile since the stacks were much taller than she so when she went between them, it was like a maze.
She followed the little corridors for awhile, entertained, trying to find a hiding spot. She found one tucked between the crates and the fireplace. She retraced her steps, pleased, and closed the door. Her secret hideaway. No one would find her in there.
She moved on, her confidence increasing as she opened the doors to all the rooms. Three more had the strange windows in the ceiling, with one of them containing another, smaller stack of the crates with the letters and symbols.
Of the rooms with proper windows, only three more had furniture in them, covered over with white sheets. She peeked under them, and decided she had the prettiest room of them all. No treasure, though. Having moved along the hall in one direction, she was surprised when she opened the door of her own room. She looked behind and in front of her, astonished, trying to work out how that could have happened.
She followed the hallway again, turning to the right three times. She reached her door again, realising the hallway must be a giant rectangle. She followed the corridor one more time, working out the layout. In the corridors at the front and back of the house, two doors lay on each side, with two rooms facing either the main square as hers did or over another yard, where the horses and stables were. She guessed that must be the back of the house, where the bad men had taken Benny.
In the rooms opposite hers and along the inside of the other two corridors, the windows overlooked the inner courtyard where VanCleef had ripped Myra's dress. The room with the spider was one of them. She worked out the rooms with the windows in the ceiling must be against the houses on either side, up against their walls. Besides herself, no one else occupied the floor. She shivered with delight, all that space, just to herself. And with all those windows she could almost see everywhere. The main square, the stable yard and the inner courtyard. She wasn't going to be bored ever again.
Footsteps on the staircase caught her attention. She hurried into her room and clambered up onto her bed just as her door opened and three delivery men came in. Two of them lugged a large wooden chest carved with fanciful, fantastic creatures curled around each other, their talons and wings outstretched. The third man carried a wooden horse, its hooves attached to long, curved pieces of wood. They set the things down without looking at her. One of them hefted open the lid of the chest.
Idira slid off the bed, gaping. It had been filled to the brim with every kind of toy imaginable. Games and building blocks, little wooden animals, and things she couldn't even describe. All of it crammed into a chest that looked like it had come from a fairy tale. If they had just given her the chest she would have been happy. It had to be a mistake.
"Is it all just for me?" she asked, breathless, part of her hoping against hope she was wrong, and it really, truly was for her.
The man smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. If Idira could have called it anything, she would have said it was a bitter smile. Uncertain, she retreated a step.
"The Master has taken a shine to ye," he answered, rough. "Therefore the merchants of Moonbrook are happy ta donate ta the Brotherhood's cause."
"Oh," Idira said, disappointment flooding her. "So these belong ta the Brotherhood?" She eyed a soft stuffed toy. A floppy-eared grey rabbit with blue eyes made of glass, a silky white ribbon tied in a bow around its neck. She longed to touch it, but if it belonged to the Brotherhood . . . the men must have made a mistake and put the chest in the wrong room, maybe it was supposed to go in the room with the other crates and her toys would come later.
The man looked back at the other two, who shook their heads, a warning look in their eyes. He scoffed and looked at the toys, his lips twisting with distaste.
"Ye're a quick one, ain't ye? I can see why the Master likes ye. Aye, all this 'belongs' ta the Brotherhood, jus' like everything else in this house. Fer those who find favour with the Master, there ain't no shortage o' luxury. Fer the rest o' us . . . well, that's another story." He leaned over, and put his face close to hers. She could smell the stink of spirits on his breath. He jerked his head towards the chest. "These things were fetched from Stormwind for ye, at a King's ransom, so mind ye enjoy 'em, and take good care o' em for plenty o' others won't be eating mor'n gruel for the next year ta pay fer it all."
He lifted a dirty finger and pointed at her as he backed away, menacing her. The door slammed shut behind him. Idira didn't understand half of what he said, but she knew better than to ask VanCleef, for some reason she knew something bad would happen to that man if she did. She would ask Lanira, maybe, if she was being nice. Whatever the smelly man said, it seemed the toys were there to stay.
Unable to resist any longer, she knelt down and pulled out the bunny. It was so soft, she wondered if its fur was real. She kissed its pink nose and hugged it tight. Setting it to one side, she proceeded to go through the chest's contents. It took a long time. There were many things she didn't recognise or know how to use. She separated the toys into two piles, the pile with things she didn't know what to do with grew much faster than the pile with the things she did.
She played with the blocks for awhile, building little corrals for the small wooden animals. As she repacked some of the toys back into the chest, she discovered a pair of wooden handles recessed into its lower portion. She pulled on it and a drawer slid open. With a cry of delight she found books, filled with pictures of fairy tales. She couldn't read anything, but the drawings were so vivid and filled with life she could almost figure out the stories from them. Princesses and princes, fire-breathing creatures with wings, and castles that perched atop high mountains. She spent most of the rest of the morning looking at her books. A lunch tray arrived. She ate, barely even noticing the beautifully arranged meal.
At the very bottom of the pile of books, she found books without words, just pictures outlined in black and white along with a flat box filled with colouring pencils. She pulled them out, staring at her sudden bounty. Unable to stop herself, she did a little dance of joy.
Picking up her bunny, she climbed up onto the bed and leafed through the book, looking for the first picture she would colour. A blood curdling scream made her jump, sending her pencils flying everywhere. Blackie bolted under the bed, her tail almost as fat as her body.
Idira looked at her door, the creep of dread stealing her happiness. Something bad was about to happen. She could feel it in her bones, like when Papa would come home drunk and hit Myra for nothing. Idira went to the door and opened it. Another scream filled her ears. A woman sobbed, pleading, crying, begging for mercy. Her cries came from the room across the hall, the one with the spider in it.
Idira ran to the room and opened the door, maybe she could help. The room lay just as deserted as it had before. Confused, Idira looked around, the cries had sounded so close. Another scream rent the air, long and thin, agonised. She turned to the window, slow. It overlooked the courtyard. The place where VanCleef did bad things.
Something inside her warned her to turn around and go back to her room, to her bunny and her colouring book. But Idira didn't listen, the screams carried on, turning to shrieks, filled with pain.
She went to the window and looked down. A nightmare met her eyes. The maid who had brought Blackie the yarn lay naked on a table, her wrists and ankles tied to the table's legs. The flesh over her torso lay open, like a door, the muscle folded back, a big, red flap, exposing her innards. Her eyes wild, she panted in terror, blood pouring out of her. Wearing nothing more than trousers and a hood, VanCleef pulled her insides out, staining his arms up to his elbows with her blood. Her guts trailed out over the table and onto the stone flags, an endless chain. The woman juddered and shat herself.
VanCleef's henchmen lounged, bored, around the edges of the courtyard. One of them smoked a roll up, he flicked its ash onto the ground, unconcerned. Why didn't they help her? Apart from the woman's shuddering sobs, the courtyard lay shrouded in complete silence. Idira sensed death stalking the maid. VanCleef ran out of guts to pull out. He reached in and pulled something else out, yanking it free. The maid's eyes rolled back into her head. Blood saturated the table and ran down onto the stones underneath. VanCleef prowled around the table, careful not slip on the woman's entrails. Idira pressed her hands against the window, whispering, desperate, begging him to finish the poor woman.
He picked up a sword from one of the weapons racks and lifted it high. He brought it down fast, against her neck. Her head rolled to one side, freed of her body. Using the point of his sword, he flicked it off the table. It hit the ground and rolled across the courtyard, blood spraying behind it.
Bile burst into Idira's throat. Before she could stop herself, she threw up, her lunch splattering against the window sill.
She crumpled onto the floor, reeling from what she had just witnessed. Her maid had no head. She threw up again, emptying her stomach until she had nothing left. The dry heaves lasted a long time.
Shaking, she left the room and closed the door. She ran to get her bunny and fled to the room with the crates, hurrying through the little corridors to her hiding place. She stayed there until the daylight in the ceiling window faded. Out in the hall, doors opened and closed, loud. She heard her name called over and over, sharp and filled with worry. VanCleef. She cried. She didn't want to see him. She huddled deeper into her hiding spot.
The door opened, letting in a shaft of light. She sniffed, the sound carried, loud. He came into the room and moved through the crates. She clutched her bunny, tighter. He was coming, she would be next. She started crying again.
Strong hands reached in and took hold of her, pulling her, gentle, out from between the stack of crates and the wall. She shrank away from him. He let out an anguished sound as she clung to one of the crates, her heart pounding.
He held out his hand to her, like she had done with Blackie under the porch the day they left home, his voice pleading.
"Little one, no. Please don't be afraid of me, you will break my heart. I will never hurt you. I swear it. She was a bad woman. She almost killed your sister. Myra is safe now."
Idira couldn't understand, with VanCleef everything was so complicated. She wept, confusion and terror making her bawl so hard snot hung out of her nose. He waited a little while before attempting to pry her fingers from the crate. She tried and failed to resist his strength.
Making soft sounds of reassurance, he picked her up in the crook of his arm and carried her back to her room. Setting her on her bed, he knelt in front of her and untied his red silk scarf from around his neck. He wiped her cheeks and nose, smearing it with her snot and tears, his attention gentle and fatherly. When he finished, he tucked the ruined thing into one of his pockets.
He looked down at the bunny in her arms. "You like this one, then?"
Idira nodded, wary.
"And the other things?" He opened the chest and looked in. A smile of approval spread across his face. "Oh they have done well. Just as I ordered. They must have emptied Stormwind's toy store for you."
Idira couldn't wrap her head around what was happening. He wanted to talk about her new toys, as though he hadn't just butchered a woman today. VanCleef turned back to her, his eyes kind and attentive, just like the night in the kitchen. Idira tried to think about what she had seen him do that afternoon, but her mind wouldn't let her. All she could think about was her puke.
She pointed at the door. "I threw up. In there."
VanCleef nodded, a spasm of guilt crossing his face. "I know. It's alright. I didn't think. I am not used to having a little one in the house. From now on I will take care of disciplinary issues elsewhere." He took hold of her chin, his eyes intent on hers. "I promise you will never see or hear anything like that again. You have my word."
He didn't wait for her to answer. He stood up and held out his hand. "Now, let's go see your sister, shall we? You can tell her about your new things and show her your bunny."
Idira slid off the bed. She looked at his hand, uncertain. He smiled and withdrew it.
"Perhaps you should keep both hands on your bunny while you go down the stairs. You wouldn't want to drop him."
Idira nodded, grateful not to have to touch him.
He opened the door. "Have you given your bunny a name?" he asked, conversational, as he went into the hallway.
"Yes," Idira answered, quiet.
"And what should I call him?"
Idira stopped and looked at the floor. She hugged the bunny closer to her, defensive. "Benny," she whispered.
VanCleef went very still. She glanced up at him and caught the flicker of his disapproval, quickly concealed. He smiled again, showing more teeth than usual.
"Benny the Bunny," he said in a sing-song voice, though it sounded a little mean. He chuckled, amused by something only he seemed to understand. He walked on. "A good name. I like it. I like it very much."
At the bottom of the flight of stairs, Idira ran around the landing and raced down the hall to Myra's room, eager to see her sister. She skidded to halt. Two burly henchmen with shaved heads stood in front of her closed door, clad in worn, dark leather. Both wore red bandanas tied around their necks. They eyed her, their eyes cold, reminding Idira of Papa. She turned and looked back at VanCleef, coming up the hall after her. He gestured to the men, impatient. One of them hastened to unlock the door, opening it just as VanCleef arrived.
He strode past Idira and went into the room, his eyes gravitating to the bed. Myra sat propped up against a mountain of white cushions, thick blankets covering her legs up to her hips. A tray of food sat perched in front of her, filled with small platters, a few of them half empty. Myra's nightgown lay open, its blue silk ribbons hanging loose. Idira caught the curve of her sister's breasts showing through the opening. Myra glanced up as they entered. Her complexion, already pale, drained further of colour. She lifted trembling fingers to her nightgown, fumbling with the ribbons, trying to close it.
VanCleef went to her. "Allow me," he said, soft.
Idira half expected him to rip the material again, but he surprised her. Instead he gingerly lifted the ribbons and tied them together, deft. In a heartbeat, Myra was decent.
Idira slipped up onto the bed. She held out her bunny to Myra.
"I have a new bunny," she said, not knowing what else to talk about. She wasn't going to tell her sister about what VanCleef did, it would only upset her. She put the bunny on Myra's lap, in front of the tray. "It's very soft. Ye can touch it if ye like."
Myra stroked its fur, a faint smile ghosting her lips. She looked exhausted, weakness emanated from her. She tried to hand the toy rabbit back to Idira. She couldn't.
Idira looked at VanCleef as she collected the toy. "Is Myra goin' ta be okay?"
He kept his eyes on Myra as he answered. "She will, she just needs time. From now on, no more mistakes will be made. I was careless. Never again."
He lifted the tray and set it on a side table alongside a vase filled with purple flowers. He returned and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to take Myra's hand. She slid her hand away, struggling to put distance between them.
He lowered his hand onto his leather-clad thigh and sighed. "Myra, what must I do to prove my love for you?"
She didn't answer. She sagged against the cushions. Fatigue rolled off her, tangible.
Idira adjusted one of the cushions to better support Myra's head. Idira had never seen her sister brought so low.
"Maybe she wants ta sleep for awhile," she said.
Myra closed her eyes and nodded.
VanCleef stood up. "Of course. Perhaps tomorrow you will feel strong enough to tell me your wish."
Myra's eyes flickered open. "No. Now."
VanCleef sat back down, a look of satisfaction crossing his face. "Anything, as I promised."
"I want ta see Benny," she whispered, "ta say goodbye. Alone."
VanCleef inhaled deep through his nose. Anger flickered in his eyes. He stood up, rigid.
"Very well," he said, his voice no longer smooth but clipped and sharp. "If that is your wish, as a man of honour, I have no choice but to oblige." He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes boring into Myra's, dangerous. "But on one point I will not concede. You will not see him alone. Idira will stay with you. I don't imagine things could go very far with a child present."
Myra looked away, out the window into the square. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in dark pinks and oranges. She looked back at him, her face filled with loathing.
"I jus' want ta say goodbye. Is it so much ta ask, even of ye?"
He watched her, his dark eyes softening as she crumpled, defeated, against the cushions.
"I'll have him here by tomorrow evening. The sooner this is ended, the better."
She met his eyes once more, but this time she looked at him like an animal, cornered. "Aye, just so Mr VanCleef, just so."
Idira didn't understand her sister's meaning, but VanCleef must have. His cheeks burning, he backed away, a look of deep injury upon him.
At the door he stopped but didn't look back. "I'm a great believer in cause and effect, Myra," he said, his voice cold. "It is the cornerstone of what the Brotherhood stands for. Today a woman died because of your thoughtless, selfish actions. I suggest you keep that in mind if you ever intend to behave in such a way again."
He went out. The door slammed behind him. A key turned in the lock.
Myra closed her eyes and turned her head away. Idira went to her and stroked her hair. In the light of the setting sun, the tears on Myra's eyelashes glittered like jewels, reminding Idira of her fairy tales. The room fell dark. Myra slept. It was a long time before Lanira came to put Idira to bed.
That night Idira dreamed dreams of swords and blood, and of toys marching down the road from Stormwind to Moonbrook. Along the sides of the road starving people reached out, begging for food, their once beautiful clothing hanging from their skinny frames, patched and worn.
Her dream changed. She was back in the big house. She flew from room to room, but found all of them in ruins. Scraps of material fluttered in the gaping window frames, the glass long gone. What little furniture remained lay broken and gathering dust.
All the maids were gone, and the menservants too. She drifted into the front dining room and found VanCleef and Myra dining alone together at the big table, surrounded by his henchmen. One of them flicked the ashes of his roll up into Myra's food and laughed.
VanCleef poured Myra wine and waited until she drank it. He poured her more and held the glass up to her mouth. She resisted, but he forced her to drink. He kept giving her more wine until Myra filled up like a waterskin, reminding Idira of a dead man she had once seen wash up on the seashore. VanCleef fell to his knees and wept, clutching the lifeless, bloated shape of Myra against him, begging her to forgive him.
Idira woke. The room glowed violet once more. She hugged her bunny and shut her eyes. If she didn't see the light, maybe her awful dreams wouldn't come true. She got up and lit a taper from the banked embers of the fireplace. Putting its flame against several candles, she lit them and banished the violet light. She picked up her colouring book and pencils, determined to distract herself. Back in the warmth of her bed she lost herself in her work. The act of colouring soothed her, blunting the sharp edges of her dreams.
She finished her picture and held it up to show to Blackie. The cat cracked open one eye and settled back to sleep, uninterested. Idira huffed and showed it to her bunny, remembering all at once Benny would be there that night. She bit her lip. Maybe she should tell him about the violet light. He might know of a way to make it go away. Before coming to Moonbrook she had never seen the violet light before. Maybe it was magic. She shivered as a prickle of fear spiked through her. Maybe it was bad magic. Maybe she was bad, like VanCleef.
Troubled, Idira settled back against her cushions and looked up at the canopy over her bed, her gaze following the intricate details of the pattern's design. Benny would know what to do. Idira could trust him. If anyone could help her, it would be him.
Until then, all she could do was wait.