Spring Thaw

A trail of goosebumps prickling down his arms was the first indication of her presence in the crowded ballroom. His torso had already pivoted in her direction, his scanning eye had already caught her location, before his mind had caught up to Vicky's presence. She was under some sort of glamor spell. But such paltry tricks meant nothing when it came to her. Malbonte smiled to himself with triumphant satisfaction.

She still smelled like him. He could feel the aura that marked her, eternally, as part of his very being. No matter how far apart they were physically, emotionally, at times – ideologically, this aura linked their souls at their core, and made a mockery of any barriers he erected against her.

Three months apart had not weakened their connection, and he could not stop the twinge in his heart at her sight. Yes, he, Malbonte, had taken to counting their time apart. In a twist of irony, he, who had often teased Vicky's mortal perception of time, had become its fool.

She must be here for the horn. He knew that Vicky had been present when Plague and Hunger had retrieved the horn from the mortals. He had subsequently learned of Vicky's surprising resistance to Hunger's power. He himself was susceptible to the malaise that overcame everyone—even Plague—in Hunger's presence. So, her resistance had nothing to do with his own dark energy. Intrigued as he was by this knowledge, now was not the time to dwell on it. He needed to get to Vicky before Plague or one of her acolytes spotted her. And then, what? Capture her and imprison her? Malbonte shuddered as every feeling revolted. Essential as Vicky was to his goal of releasing the Mother, he had earnestly hoped that she would be safe until the very end, when the final seal would have to be unlocked. Malbonte could not tolerate the idea of Vicky falling back into Plague's hands, only to be degraded as her "pet" again. A wave of anger surged through him whenever he remembered how that deranged maniac had tortured Vicky to get at the Stone of Secrets embedded in her arm. He promised himself that he would enjoy wringing Plague's neck solely for the misery she had inflicted on Vicky. But Vicky had endured Plague's brutal interrogation much better than even a birthright immortal with all their powers intact. Vicky's strength of character was not the least of the many things he admired in her.

Malbonte reached Vicky in time to hear her offer to take Kira with her. He briefly closed his eyes. Why did she always have to be so impulsive in her kindness?

"She doesn't want to." Malbonte made his presence known and asked Kira to return to Plague. Vicky slowly straightened up and met his eyes. A jolt of lightning seemed to pass between them. He slowly and methodically started scanning her figure from head to foot, seeing through the glamor to her true appearance. He couldn't help himself.

He caught the magnetic gaze of her blue green eyes looking at him from behind an ornate gold mask, her eyelashes fluttering like delicate butterfly wings, the alluring pull of her slightly parted soft red lips, and the necklace adorning her slender neck. She had grown new wings since the last time he'd seen her. Their soft white feathers had beautiful iridescent lines that glimmered as her wings fluttered. His gaze dropped to her heaving bosom presented as if solely for his perusal against the pearlescent outline of her shimmering ball gown. His eyes slid down to her waist, which he had held in his grasp uncountable times, and then traced her flaring hips and everything below concealed by the skirt of her dress, though not to his imagination.

He knew the tapering outlines of her most intimate parts, the graceful lines of her limbs and her delicate feet. She was breathtaking.

He lifted his gaze back to her eyes, noting with pleasure the blush on her soft cheeks.

"Do you want to be captured early?" he asked bluntly.

"How did you recognize me?" she countered.

"I would recognize you in any form you take. These tricks won't work on me." He added in a lower timbre, "Not when it comes to you."

"So becoming a captive is inevitable?" She arched her brow and gave a self-deprecating smile despite the sticky situation she had found herself in.

"I was hoping it would be later. At the very end, " he confessed. Only when the final seal needed to be broken.

"Hoping?" She tilted her head, a question in her eyes.

Malbonte caught the hint of desperation and eagerness in her tone, and cursed himself for being its cause. He remained silent while he internally debated whether to admit to it or not. But there was no point in denying something he had already acknowledged, and so he assented.

"Is Rebecca here too?" Malbonte did not really think either Eragon or Rebecca were foolish enough to risk the capture of their final trump cards by sending both mother and daughter into the lion's den (or the horses' stable, so to speak). But he wanted the confirmation nonetheless, at the very least to determine whether the Order were getting desperate enough to take foolish risks. The Secret Stone prevented him from accessing any information related to the order from Vicky's mind.

"No," she replied and Malbonte sighed in relief.

A silence fell between them as neither wanted to break the detente. Vicky lowered her eyes and fidgeted with her ballgown.

"Are you here for the horn?" he finally asked, wanting her to look at him again.

She looked up, but did not answer his question. She threw him off balance with, "I missed you."

Malbonte's eyelashes fluttered as he struggled to repress a smile.

"Why are you saying this?"

"Because it is true," she stated.

There she went again, disarming him by her candid admission. He stayed silent, not knowing how to respond. Seldom had he felt so wrong footed in the entirety of their relationship, even when they had been on opposing sides at the very beginning of their acquaintance.

An oily voice behind Malbonte interrupted their tête-à-tête, giving them both an unpleasant jolt.

"I thought you didn't enjoy such events," drawled Torendo.

Making a rapidfire decision, Malbonte pulled Vicky close, shielding her from Torendo's gaze. He bent down and commanded, "Leave!"

Turning to Torendo with a sharp reply, he engaged his attention enough to give Vicky a chance to slip away. Malbonte despised Torendo, despite him having aided Malbonte in his release from Shephamalum's dungeon. In recent times, Torendo had played a pivotal role in finding the Book of Life and unsealing Plague. Malbonte knew the sycophant would jump at the chance to recapture Vicky and drag her like a trophy to Plague.

And yet, Malbonte could not let Vicky go without…what? Confessing how much he too had missed her? Kissing her senseless to erase the taste of his brutish response to her last kiss? Fall at her feet and apologize for causing her pain? Confess all his secret plans and ask her to defect to his side once again?

Of course not. And yet…and yet, he could not resist the impulse to follow her out the ballroom and to call out her name. He could no longer sustain the cold and indifferent façade he had adopted in order to push her away and keep her safe. Even that façade had been but a flimsy barrier that had been broken time and again by the both of them.

Malbonte had wanted to keep Vicky safe while he played a dangerous double game with Plague, but he had not accounted for the complications that enmeshed all mortal and immortal relationships. He had not factored in the magnetic hold she had over him, his hyper-awareness of her presence and every move, and the way her thoughts spilled out of her mind for him to so easily read. They had lived together for such a short time period in comparison to the millennia he had spent in captivity as Mal and as Bont that he had failed to consider the depth of their emotional connection, only knowing that he wanted her to survive the coming apocalypse.

But, what happened once…

During his war against Shepha, he had unexpectedly fallen for her. Initially only wanting her on his side for the power she had "stolen" from him, but inexorably drawn to her because of her lively nature, and because of the spark she had lit in him as Bont. That spark had not been extinguished when his Dark Half had melded with Bont's physical body and consciousness. It had lain smoldering, feeding on his visions of her past, and on his uncontrollable and spontaneous visits to connect with her, only waiting for some kindling to set it ablaze and warm their two hearts with its fervor.

***—***

Malbonte had known for a while that the coming of the Horsemen was inevitable. Though he had done nothing himself to set the course of events in motion, he had recognized the signs even before Shephamalum's whispers had turned importunate. He had sought isolation more and more, in order to properly formulate his thoughts and come up with a plan that would enable him to take advantage of the coming apocalypse to destroy Shephamalum and finally rid himself of his tormentor's snares.

He had been aware of Vicky's growing concern for his mental state. He had spent less and less time with her at the citadel to avoid her sharp insight into his tormented thoughts and to weaken Shephamalum's access to her consciousness from their connection. Not caring about other casualties but determined on keeping her safe. Was it enough justification that his ultimate goal was not to destroy the world but remake it?

On Plague's arrival, Malbonte had pushed Vicky away, deeming her not strong enough to survive Plague's mind-games and physical tortures, especially once stripped of his Dark Power. Vicky was a vessel solely designed to carry his energy. A key that fit one lock. Deprived of his power, Vicky had her basic immortal abilities, but nothing more. He had warned her not to use his power. However, as he had not given her any explanation, he supposed he couldn't really blame her for not remembering his warning. Malbonte had determined that he would be satisfied if, at the end of it all, Vicky survived the coming apocalypse, even if she was no longer with him as his partner and companion.

But he had only fooled himself. As it always happened with Vicky, his well-made plans collapsed like bricks at her feet. Malbonte had inevitably been drawn to Vicky despite all his resolutions, coming to her aid as much as possible without waking Plague's suspicions, but also doing his best to not give her hope of their reconciliation. On her part, Vicky had continued to be unguarded around him and had instinctively trusted him. Was it her mortal values at play that caused her to have faith in him even when he did not show any indication of deserving it?

She had even tried to help free him from the agonies of Shephamalum's tortures with her tenderness. He still remembered that kiss. He knew that she had kissed him in order to distract him from Shephamalum's insidious whispers. It had felt like the slightest caress of a wispy cloud, and yet she had pulled him in an instant from the scorching frost of Shephamalum's Darkness and plunged him into the simmering heat of her affections. Vicky had instinctively known how to disconnect him from the drip…drip…drip…of the dark poison bleeding into his soul. She truly was the only being in all the realms who could balance the destructive power of his darkness.

Instead of gratitude, however, he had only felt enraged at Vicky for not understanding that any hint of intimacy between the two of them could endanger her. Plague was too much of a loose cannon; expecting her to act rationally was a fool's errand. Though Vicky was needed to open the seventh seal, Malbonte knew that Plague was capable of going off the rails and torturing Vicky to the point of insanity just to spite Malbonte. Plague hated him simply because he was not with her out of duress like Lucifer and Satan, or (as she thought) out of some quest for power like Fencio. Nor was he a sycophant like Torendo. Plague would relish an opportunity to put him in his place.

Malbonte had then punishingly bitten Vicky's lips to the point of drawing blood, not just as a warning to her, but also to keep himself from dragging her into the nearest cell and making passionate love to her. He knew she would have been as ready to receive him as he was for her. It had always been that way with them. All it took was a single spark to set them afire for each other.

Oh, he had missed their intimacies alright! He missed her fiery touches and the sweet taste of her lips swollen from his ministrations. He missed the way she responded so ardently to his caresses.

He missed holding her in his arms all night.

Malbonte had experienced nothing of carnal pleasures while imprisoned as Bont and Mal. Vicky had been the first to awaken his desires, and she was the only being with whom he had experienced true tenderness. There had been many a woman in his underground base during the last war ready to throw themselves at him. To them, he was a figure of legend—they were drawn to the dangerous and mysterious persona propagated by the whispers surrounding his existence. And yet, they had all trembled in fear even as they sought to embrace the monster. Malbonte had quickly grown disgusted at their attentions.

Vicky on the other hand had intrigued him from the moment his two sides had merged together. He had wondered if her attraction to his Bont-half would fizzle out on meeting his fully-realized self. Falling for her had not been part of his plans, but he remembered his thrill when she had responded so eagerly to his amorous advances. And from then on, they had been together until Plague's arrival.

It had not been easy pushing her away. He had counted on his self-discipline to keep himself from responding to her yearning, and to the loneliness he sensed in her. He had wanted to protect her from danger, gotten angry at her transparent attempts at ferreting for information for the Order of Resistance, and at her general unguardedness around him. But he no longer possessed the coldblooded single-mindedness he had once held as Mal in Shephamalum's dungeon, even though the stakes were astronomically higher this time around. And as for Vicky, being safe had never been her modus operandi.

He himself was a meticulous planner. Even when he gambled with high stakes, he always had an ace or two up his sleeve. Vicky, on the other hand, took such extraordinary risks that sometimes he did not know whether to classify her actions as foolhardiness or bravery. Her killing of War had utterly stunned him. And she had done it without a lick of his power in the middle of a chaotic battlefield. She had proven the truth of her words to him on earth. Her willpower, her resilience, and strength of character had made a mockery of all the immortals' ostentatious displays of power.

***—***

That moment when Vicky had killed War was burned into his memory. Plague's screech of triumphant surprise had first alerted him to the knowledge that something extraordinary was afoot. The next thing he knew, War, who had been battling three members of the Order in his Immortal form, had shifted back into his human skin and landed right in front of Vicky. Malbonte had almost flown to her, fearing her to be in danger from the Horseman.

But Vicky had been holding a sword—was it War's sword?—pointed straight at War's heart. Malbonte's own heart skipped a beat. Had Vicky actually induced War…War…to fall in love with her?!

Malbonte had known that Plague was brewing some mischief between Vicky and War. That she was using Vicky as a pawn in some game of dominance she was playing with her brother. Malbonte had tried to watch out for Vicky, keeping close to her when she was forced to go to earth on War's mission to exterminate mortals by sowing hatred among them.

Of all the horsemen, War had seemed to possess the most simplistic nature. He lived and breathed his purpose, which was to induce hatred in mortal and immortal alike, and feed on the fruits of that labor. War had been disdainful of Plague's mind games, considering them as little more than foolish time-wasters that distracted them from their purpose. Malbonte acknowledged that some saw similarities between himself and War. But War was more dangerous because he had no ultimate purpose, there was no driving ambition behind his deeds, and his motivations and goals were fueled by the same emotions that strengthened him. Anger, hate, and the lust to dominate and crush one's real or perceived enemies.

When had Vicky found the opportunity to induce the horseman into falling in love with her? For Malbonte knew that the only being who could lift a Horseman's sword was the one who could kill him. And that was only possible by filling a Horseman's soul with the emotion that was the antithesis of the ones that typically fueled him or her. In War's case it was hatred and anger. And the antithesis of hate was love…or something akin into it.

The whole battle arena had ceased their activities as they watched and waited in anticipation of Vicky's next move. The sword trembled in her hand as War placed himself directly at sword point. All Vicky had to do was plunge it straight into his heart and mean it.

As always, Malbonte was attuned to Vicky's aura, and he could practically see the tears pooling in her fluttering eyelashes. She was hesitating to take the final irrevocable step. Was it out of fear—her shaking hand might suggest it. But Malbonte well knew that Vicky was no shrinking violet. She might feel fear, but that would never stop her from acting. Was it pity, then, that briefly stayed her hand? Or was it something more? An unexpected pain had lanced through Malbonte's heart at the very suspicion.

Vicky had, however, gathered her moral courage and plunged the sword into War's heart, dealing the death blow and weakening the Horsemen.

When he could think more soberly over Vicky's actions, Malbonte had been grateful to her. With War's departure, there was less to fuel the anger and hate which strengthened his bond with Shephamalum and made the weeks since War's arrival near-unbearable. But now, the dark whispers had returned to an almost manageable, simmering boil.

Malbonte wondered if this was another manifestation of the way Vicky balanced the darkness in him. He had long believed that she was the perfect counterbalance to his energy because she was a vessel specifically and solely designed to carry a part of his power, thus rendering him less destructive. Malbonte was now beginning to understand that their connection went beyond that. Vicky was naturally empathetic. She was fiercely protective and loyal to her loved ones. She had an unshakable moral compass that was founded on those principles, and she embodied those qualities in all her actions. Her killing of War was a manifestation of those qualities. It had been the same kind of motivation that had led her into defecting to his side during the last war. Vicky was no blind follower of rules merely because they had been in place for millenia. Her being an Unclaimed had given her a distinct advantage over birthright immortals who were too stuck in their old ways. Vicky had shrewdly noted the hypocrisy routinely displayed by the Angels in all their dealings with Demons, and the disdain the whole immortal world exhibited towards the Unclaimed. Malbonte knew that her mother's death at Eragon's hand had been a pivotal moment in convincing her to join him.

Ultimately, it had been her intervention that had stopped his destructive streak in Shepha's Realm and convinced the so-called Creator to make concessions. Her unshakable faith in him had touched the hidden part of Malbonte's soul that was made of Light. She had reminded him of his mother's love and her belief in his goodness even when the whole immortal world had refuted it. Nobody but Vicky could have cooled Malbonte's millennia-long ardor for vengeance and turned him from his determination to kill Shepha. Nobody but her could have wrenched the amulet of darkness from the grip of the god of Darkness himself so Malbonte could take over Shephamalum's role in maintaining Harmony. Without her courage and ingenuity Malbonte knew that the outcome of that night's events would have been disastrous. He would likely have been killed by Shepha and banished to nonexistence. If he had somehow succeeded in killing Shepha, he would have hastened the apocalypse. But Vicky had accomplished the impossible and brought about an outcome that was as unexpected as it had been successful. And she had done it all without the use of any special powers. So, why in all the Realms had he imagined that stripped of his energy, she would be defenseless and vulnerable?

***—***

The months of separation that followed had brought in some home truths. He had desperately, passionately, missed Vicky. He felt a deep yearning for her presence, had hated not truly knowing that she was safe, even though she was with the Order, and regretted every harsh word and cold look he had directed at her.

Even now, however, Malbonte's rational mind knew that he could not have behaved differently. Had he been more demonstrative of his true feelings, Plague would have inevitably plucked it out of Vicky's mind. Malbonte could hide his thoughts and memories skillfully enough from Plague. But no other immortal could withstand her mental battering, let alone Vicky, who had perhaps relied too heavily on her Manjomi tattoo to protect her from mental intrusions.

And yet, he could not erase the heavy sense of guilt he felt for all the pain he had inflicted on her. In the period of their separation, Malbonte had realized that in his heart, he wanted to be with Vicky at the end of it all. He would not be satisfied in merely watching her survive the apocalypse—he wanted her to survive it with him by her side.

He missed their time together. He missed her sharp intellect and the tact with which she so skillfully put unruly councilors in their place and came up with effective solutions to the immortals' problems. He longed for the quiet moments they spent in each other's company. He remembered how, on rare occasions, Vicky would bring out her watercolors and paint beautiful landscapes. He missed her soft touches and the way she blushed when he teased her.

Vicky had been the only real relationship he had with any being after the death of his parents. He knew she loved him, though she had never confessed to it. He also knew that it was on account of him that she had never openly admitted to it. She was afraid of fully opening her heart to him, only to be met with coldness. Malbonte had not intended it to be so, but it had not been easy for him to be open and vulnerable about his innermost thoughts and emotions. He could be demonstrative of his passion for her, but it was difficult for him to be equally honest about the depth of his affections, even to himself. It was not because he feared any betrayal from her, or suspected that she would exploit the knowledge as a weakness. Malbonte had simply never learned how.

Shephamalum had only taught him to hate. Any outside interactions Mal had had were with the sole purpose of manipulating and influencing immortals to his will. Shepha had provided Bont with an angelic education. His instructors had been scholars, their dry intellect seldom softened by true affection. Neither Creator had taught him a lick about the give and take involved in healthy fulfilling relationships. He had needed time to observe, understand, and develop all those qualities on his own. But once again, Fate had found a way to mock him and forced him to withdraw even deeper into his shell.

Perhaps Vicky ought to be with someone who could give her the warmth and openness she desired and deservedly so. It wouldn't be difficult for her to find such a companion even in this chaotic time. In the years they had been together, he had seen both angels and demons curry her favor, unable to understand how she could bear to be with someone like him. If they had not been intimidated by him, Malbonte knew that some of them would have tried their luck in pursuit of her. And recent events had only proved that immortals continued to feel her pull. War had not been the only immortal to be drawn to Vicky. Malbonte had noticed that one of the halfbreed twins seemed quite taken with her. But when it came to Vicky, no so-called competitor had shaken Malbonte's confidence or gotten a rise out of him. He had been sure of her, just as he had given her no doubt of his constancy. Malbonte selfishly hoped that it was still the case. He hoped that they would find a way back to each other in the end. He did not have the strength to continue the charade of indifference. He no longer wanted to cause her pain by his coldness. He wanted to reassure her of his commitment to her welfare, and perhaps lessen her heartache just a little bit. At least Vicky was safely away from Plague now.

***—***

And so, Malbonte took one step toward Vicky, for once his longing and desire plain on his face.

And she ran to him, throwing herself into his arms with aching abandon. As forgiving towards him as the prodigal son's father.

Malbonte crushed her to his chest and launched into the skies, whisking her off for a forbidden tryst on the rooftops, just as he done all those years ago when she was still a student at the Angels and Demons Academy.

And there, he would steal a bit of the warmth she so generously gave him, and share it in return, in the hope that it would soothe their hearts and give them both the strength to carry on until the end and beyond.

***—***

Finis