Black Rose (19 page)

           
It was Garreth who, finally stepping away from his place by the far door,
touched her shoulder. She whirled around, causing him to side-step her wild
turn of the sword. He grabbed her arm, forcing it down to her side. “It’s over,
Mara. It’s over.” Her body trembled. Blood splattered her face and both of her
hands were crimson, covered in blood most royal. “It’s over.”

           
She stared at him for several long moments before her eyes trailed past him,
and she realized that Edward had, at long last, arrived. She stared into his
jet black eyes and said, “Kill them.”

           
She did not turn to look at the rest of the slaughter, only listened silently
to the screams as the last Prince, Princess and finally, the Queen of the Muir
Court were slaughtered by her men. When the last scream had died, Mara Sethian,
Captain of the Black Rose Guard walked across the room and took a formal bow
before the Captain, bending at the waist, without ever removing her violet eyes
from his dark ones. “Behold the murderer of Princess Liza,” she stated in a
voice with all emotion long spent. “May the Black Rose protect you in life, or
avenge you in death.”

           
She then straightened and issued an order to the men standing behind her. “Burn
it. Burn it all.”

           
Then she left the room without another word, walking past Edward into the halls
beyond.

           
“Edward never forgave her.” Garreth’s voice was a mere whisper across the dark
cell in which he sat beside Nolan, his eyes trailing to Mara’s still form,
cradled in the circle of Edward’s arms.

           
“For avenging the Princess?”

           
“Yes…and no.”

           
They sat still for a long time. “Wait,” Nolan suddenly said. “Something’s not
right.”

           
Garreth forced his attention back to the younger man.

           
“You named three Princesses, the Crown Prince, and one younger brother.”

           
“That’s right.”

           
“But in the book, Mara said there were three Princes. Three of each, I’m almost
sure of it.”

           
Nolan suddenly seemed even younger, a child raised in a time of peace. “Yes,”
he answered. “There was another: Prince Dorian. He was four years old. The
nursery was in a different part of the castle. His maid managed to hide him
along the edge of the beach before members of the Ciar Guard found her.”
Garreth’s words trailed off again. 

“What
happened to him?”

“You
don’t understand it, do you, Nolan? The oath of the Black Rose which you have
attempted to take in such ignorance? It is an ancient oath, one to supersede
all bonds of friendship, fidelity and love. An oath taken before the oldest and
most powerful of the Gods of old. Mara swore to destroy the line which killed
our Princess.” Garreth gazed up at Nolan with an expression he did not
understand. “You asked what happened to the child, the last Prince of the Muir
Court?” His gaze trailed again to where Edward sat, his back against the thick
metal bars of his entrapment. “Mara killed him. A sin for which she has never
been forgiven.”

Mara
awoke to find both arms encircled with thin, silver chains which held her arms
securely to the legs of a silver chair. She was disoriented, the world out of
focus as though the injected drug had not completely worked its way through her
bloodstream. The light was harsh upon her eyes and it took several moments
before she was fully able to examine the scene around her.

Edward
stood near the center of the room. His arms were forced above his head in
thick, silver chains, pulling his form taut. She continued to trail her gaze
across the room to find it nearly barren, save for a small black table to her
right upon which laid an array of cruel looking instruments meant for a single
purpose. Beside the table, holding a thin silver blade, stood Viktor.

“Well,”
Viktor said, “it would seem our Briar Rose has awakened. Welcome, Mara.” Viktor
stepped closer to his seated captive, holding out the blade as though for her
inspection. She looked at him fearlessly through the slowly lifting fog,
leaning forward in her chair. “I’m ready.”

“Fearless,”
Viktor responded. “I was told it was one of your many faults.”

“Deadly,”
she replied, “would be another.”

He
moved the tip of the sword closer, stopping mere inches from her skin. She
looked up at him with cold eyes. “If you touch me with that blade, my young,
young lord,” she paused to let silence emphasize her words, “I will kill you.” She
forced her body forward, pushing her chest lightly against the blade. Viktor
pulled his arm back, drawing it away from her before blood could be drawn. Mara
continued to glare coldly into Viktor’s golden eyes as realization slowly
dawned. The curve of his lips began to harden to a straight line, the spark of
laughter faded from his eyes, and yet still, Mara continued to stare silently
upon her would-be torturer.

Viktor
straightened his posture and turned slightly toward where Edward stood chained
in the center of the room. He put the tip of the blade to the top of Edward’s
shirt and slid it down, splitting the material in two. When it finally lay in
rags at his feet, Viktor dragged the blade lightly over Edward’s skin. “Well,”
he said slowly, “since it seems that you are prepared to welcome your fate,
let’s say we start with him.”

The
sight of the blood running down Edward’s chest drew Mara’s gaze as a moth to a
flame. She watched it well to the surface and slide slowly down his pale skin
in thin, slender streaks. Her eyes followed the crimson trail, so striking
against his white skin. Edward did not offer a repeat of Mara’s threats, but
instead remained silent as Viktor pressed the blade into his left shoulder,
against his collar-bone. Viktor moved down Edward’s shoulder before returning
to his chest. He pressed lightly, just enough to draw blood. He slowly moved
the thin blade in long, vertical strokes. Mara watched Viktor’s movements,
unable to remove her eyes from the lines of blood which were slowly beginning
to change the color of Edward’s skin from white to red.

Memories
poured through her, increasing in their intensity. As she watched, the skin
began to split, the cuts growing wider until Edward’s chest was a mass of
blood, the cuts becoming inseparable as his chest transformed into a single,
gaping wound.

Mara
blinked. When her eyes opened, the cuts were again thin, shallow marks.
However, moments later, they began to widen as though living things slithering
across his chest. Her heart rate began to increase, thrumming through her body
as bile rose in her throat. She tried again to clear her vision, but this time
it was to no avail. She stared at the injuries that continued to widen,
exposing bone and muscle. As the blade again struck his collar-bone, this time
above his right arm, a slight hiss escaped Edward’s lips.

A
high-pitched, feminine laugher entered the room at the sound of Edward’s gasp.
Mara’s body jerked involuntarily and she pulled against the thin, silver cuffs
which encircled her slender wrists, tethering her to the legs of the cold,
metal chair. She thrashed her body, throwing her weight against the chains,
which cut into her wrists, causing them to become slick with blood. She ignored
the pain, pulling even harder, but the chains did not budge.

The
blade slid down Edward’s right side, slipping into his ribcage, drawing another
hiss from his lips. “No!” Mara’s voice came out against her will. “No, no, no!”
She jerked her left arm so hard that she cursed from the pain. “No!” she
repeated as panic began to grip her. “Don’t please, don’t!” She again threw her
body to the left, letting out a sharp cry of pain as she pulled her left arm
from its socket.

Viktor
paused his ministrations and turned to stare at Mara with a sense of
bewilderment.  “No, no, no,” she said again, only this time her voice rose
in a shrill scream as the laughter that had faded long ago danced throughout
the dimly lit room. The blood that seeped from Edward’s shallow wounds began to
cascade down his body, forming a pool of blood which raced across the floor as
though it possessed a living, breathing purpose. It spread through the room,
climbing up the walls as Mara let out an ear-shattering scream.

“What
the hell?” Viktor asked. He stepped briskly across the room towards the
writhing girl. When he touched her arm, she began to shriek.

It
was Edward’s voice which cut through her panic. “Mara,” he called. “Look at
me!”  The vision receded slightly at the sound of his voice. “Please,
Mara.”

She
forced herself to find his gaze, as she had all those years ago. She remembered
his screams, kneeling in a pool of wet blood, the metallic taste…

“Mara!”
Edward called again.

“No!”
she sobbed, pleaded, begged. “No, no…please don’t, Edward! Please don’t make
me. minime, precor.” Tears streamed down her face. “Please, Edward,” She again
thrashed against her chains, this time letting out a sharp scream at the
jarring movement of her dislocated shoulder and the chains which had begun to
cut through to the tendons of her wrists. “Please, Edward; minime precor. I
cannot watch her do this anymore!”

“Her?
What is going on?”

“Don’t
make me. I cannot! Edward, please no. Do not make me watch her hurt you again.”
She shook her head, the blood from her vision refusing to recede from the floor
surrounding her.

“Mara…”

“No,
no, no!” Her body gave way to great, heaving sobs. Mara was unaware when Viktor
unhooked Edward from his chains, nor was she aware when he raced forward,
unshackling the bonds which held her prisoner. She scrambled away from him,
avoiding his touch, unable to recognize that it was Edward whose hands were
attempting to calm her. She tried to slide across the stone floor when he
finally grabbed her, drawing her body slowly towards him.

“Mara,
it’s me,” he said to the hysterical girl in his arms. “It’s Edward. Please,
Mara.” He kept his voice in as soothing a tone as possible. She struck out
against him with her good arm, but he forced her closer, clutching tightly
while attempting to avoid further damage to her injured shoulder. “Mara,” he
said again. “Oh, my sweet Mara.” Her body was wracked by great, heaving sobs as
he tightened his arms around her slender frame. “Mara, it’s me. It’s Edward. Do
you hear me? I’m right here. Right here.”

“Please,”
she whispered through her tears. “Don’t let her do it. I can’t survive it.
Don’t make me. Please, Edward. Don’t make me.”

“She’s
not here, Mara. Open your eyes. Please, Mara. The Queen is not here.”

Mara
clung to the sound of Edward’s voice as fiercely as his arms held her physical
form. “minime, precor,” she begged through inconsolable tears. “Don’t leave me
alone. I can’t…can’t.” She began to choke upon her sobs, pulling at the deepest
recess of Edward’s soul. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,
I’m sorry. Don’t leave me. Please don’t go.”

“Shh.”
He again tried to calm her. “I am not going anywhere, do you hear me? Not
anywhere.” Edward held her as he had done the first time she had seen the Queen
commit one of her more horrendous tortures. Held her as he had when she was
twelve years old and he had been forced to inform her that her father had been
killed; and again a year later when her mother had chosen to follow him into an
immortal grave.

“Mara.”
He again spoke her name gently, conveying a mix of sorrow and love which,
despite everything, had always been reserved for Mara alone. “I am here,” he
assured her again and again. “My Mara, my rose…I am here.”

Her
sobs began to quiet as he held her in his arms. Her trembling lessened. He
continued to soothe her. “te amo, rosa, mea rosa immortalis.” He spoke in the
language of their childhood, holding her tightly in his arms. “tuta es: te
tuebor, adsum, mea rosa, mea dulcis, mi amor.”

You
are safe with me. I will protect you. I am here, my rose, my sweet, my
love. 

Edward
cradled Mara in the circle of his arms until long after she had spent her
tears. With her head against the right side of his chest, Edward ran his hand
lightly along the edge of her dark hair, listening to the steady rhythm of her
breathing. She seemed almost peaceful lying against him, her soft hair flowing
in layers down her back, framing her flushed cheeks. His mind trailed back to
the last time she had lain in his arms, equally exhausted from the trauma she
had been forced to endure at the hands of the Queen. His heart ached at the
realization that she was once again being forced to endure the effects of that
night long ago. 

He
continued to stroke her hair as his memory traveled back even further, to the
twenty-five years he had been forced away from all he knew. All those cold,
winter nights where his only warmth was the memory of Mara’s arms, the fire
that burned in her eyes saving him night after night, yet always fading with
the first rays of the morning light. Those endless nights rose from the past,
crashing against Edward in a suffocating wave. He stared down at the sleeping
girl, who suddenly seemed so fragile in him arms.