The Impaled Bride Page 7

  “You have passed from the domain of The White Woman of the Wood into lands I protect.”

  “I ask for safe passage through your territory.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  Ágota fumbles with the bag. “I have a ring with a ruby.”

  “I have many rubies and many rings.” The woman laughs with delight. “But how charming of you to offer. Join me where I am currently residing and we shall discuss this further.”

  My sister’s body tenses.

  The woman’s eyes narrow. “If you come with me, you will be safe beneath the roof of my haven. No one shall touch you. You may eat and rest while we decide what your payment will be for your continued safety in this land. I swear it on my blood. And if you are truly a witch, you know that is a vow I cannot break.”

  Swallowing hard, my sister nods. “I accept.”

  “Good.” The woman makes a great show of wiping down her sword before sheathing it. “You may call me Lady Dominique. I am currently staying with Count Dolingen of Gratz at his nearby castle. Those men –” she points dismissively at the corpses “–were on their way to kill him. Obviously, I could not allow them to hurt my host. Besides, they were quite delicious.”

  “You did not kill the horses,” I say gratefully.

  Lady Dominique smirks. “Once they are rounded up, they will be a nice addition to my host’s stable. I am not one to squander assets.” With terrifying swiftness, she grabs Ágota by the arms. “As you will see.”

  The ground falls away as we are lifted high into the sky.

  Chapter 7

  As I languish on this bier, I cannot help but dwell upon my sister’s prophecy. The portent had been lost in memory until last night. Recalling Ágota’s proclamation coaxes a bitter laugh from my dry lips. The crimson and gold dress she saw in her prophetic vision is frayed beneath my fingers. The gold and ruby necklace is a heavy shackle about my throat. If only she’d seen beyond the regalia of my mortal life maybe I could have avoided this fate. Perhaps she would have been saved from her own. That was always the curse of her power. Ágota could only witness glimpses of the future and often struggled to discern the meaning of what she observed. What good is a power that cannot save the ones you love?

  The mausoleum smells of rotten meat while the air is stagnant and heavy with moisture. I am frail in my opulent gown and have not the strength to move. How long will it be before I feed again? How long before I am visited by my husband? Will he come to taunt me, or bring me a victim to feast upon? I am at the mercy of his whims.

  Should the visions come again, I will eagerly welcome them. Even though the pleasure of beholding the faces of my loved ones will be transmuted into pain once my mind returns to this damp mausoleum, I desire refuge from this hell. I am crushed beneath my loneliness. The absence of my loved ones becomes a sharp blade through my heart.

  My mother, Ágota, and now Dominique.

  Oh, how I miss Dominique...

  Gazing upon her face once again, even if only in a remembrance, has renewed my longing for her companionship. To be separated from my dearest friend matches the agony of the stake. Ironic, since at our first meeting I was terrified of her. With good reason, of course. Dominique was a fearsome vampire.

  I was convinced she intended to do us harm when she absconded with us that night, regardless of her promise to Ágota. Upon reflection, I wonder if my fears were an omen, for it was Dominique’s hand which set me upon a course in life that would eventually result in my present imprisonment. My anger does not stir against her despite this truth. How could she have known her actions would usher me to Death’s door and beyond?

  Oh, bliss! I feel the strings of whatever curse has been laid upon me drawing me deep into my memories. I will not struggle. Tonight I wish to abandon the mausoleum and find refuge in the past. I long to stare upon Dominique’s face and hear her voice. Even if it means I must also see him...

  The pull intensifies as I close my eyes against the gloom of the mausoleum. What follows is the sensation of being untethered from my flesh and slipping free from earthly bonds.

  The agony of my captivity vanishes.

  A moment later, my eyes open to a wide expanse of the heavens and a pale moon. I am a mortal girl, small and inconsequential. I stare with fright at the treetops below us. Buffeted by the cold night air, I am half frozen in my cloak and certain my demise is close at hand.

  Pain returns with startling power, causing me to cry out. But it is not the familiar sting of the stake skewering my chest, but waves of agony radiating from my shoulder to my wrist. Dangling from the vampire’s grip, I do not dare struggle despite the crushing power of her hand nearly wrenching my arm from its socket.

  My sister does not resist our captor but floats alongside the vampire. I have faith in Ágota, but I worry about how compliant she appears. Does she have a plan? Or is she intimidated by the vampire’s power? I wish I could speak to her about our predicament and know her thoughts. Instead, I endure our passage through the night skies in silence.

  I am afraid, hungry, and freezing. I wish to be done with this flight and have my feet once more on the ground. I tilt my head to gaze at the blonde vampire effortlessly gliding upon the wind.

  “I am cold!”

  She takes no notice of my words for her focus is on a castle atop a hill, its many windows glowing a bright orange in the night.

  My teeth chattering, I pull my cloak tighter around me with other hand.

  A road meanders through the trees and ends at a secured gate set in heavily fortified walls. The guards on the walls do not even glance upward as we sail over their heads to alight on the battlements. I gape at the heavily armored men with fear, but they continue to stare outward at the darkened terrain.

  The vampire guides us to an open doorway guarded by intimidating sentries, but they do not appear to observe us. I study the rugged face peering out from a heavy helmet and notice his eyes do not follow when we pass. I dare to touch his arm, but he does not detect me.

  “They have no sense of your presence,” Dominique says with a smirk. “I am hiding us with my power. Impressed?”

  “No,” I answer. “My mother was a witch and so is my sister.”

  Ágota lifts her eyes toward the ceiling with annoyance. At me? Or the vampire? I am unsure.

  Dominique laughs with delight at my answer.

  “Do not mock me,” I say irritably.

  The vampire ruffles my hair. “You are an amusing little thing, are you not? Come along.”

  As I trail behind the vampire, I stare pointedly at my sister, my gaze demanding she defend me. Ágota observes my expression of frustration and lifts a finger to her lips. Frowning, I nod in acquiescence. If my sister insists I remain silent, I will obey. But it will be no easy task, for I am afraid and angry.

  We are guided through narrow corridors and steep stone stairways until we pass through a door into a much more hospitable portion of the castle. Torches burn along the walls, chasing away the darkness, the flickering flames casting off elusive heat. The cold permeates the stone walls and floor, chilling me further.

  For a brief moment, I witness the torches in the mausoleum bursting to life. The pain of the stake returns and my vision distorts.

  “Who’s there?” I attempted to say, but I am swallowed by the past before there is an answer.

  I press a small hand to my breast, but the pain is gone, and my awareness of my captivity within the mausoleum fades. I rejoin the continuing drama of my recollections, losing myself in the mind of the younger version of myself.

  “Do not dawdle. Come along,” Dominique orders, gesturing for us to follow her.

  Beneath her tunic, she wears a skirt that brushes over the top of her boots and her scabbard swings at her side. She is an unusual woman, appearing as formidable as the sentries on the wall. I reluctantly admire how she carries herself and speculate how she came about to gird herself like a warrior.

  After descending a winding stairway, we
enter the great hall of the castle. One end of the room is dominated by an enormous fireplace and heavy ornate furniture is arranged before it. The ceiling is high and curved with banners hanging from the rafters. I have never seen such a place before, so I openly gape at my impressive surroundings.

  “Wirich, I return,” Dominique announces, her voice echoing.

  From a particularly large chair rises a very tall man. His black hair rests against his shoulders and his beard is streaked with gray. I find myself lifting my head to look at a face which appears to be carved from white granite that has been chipped away over time. Maybe he was handsome at one point, but now he reminds me of the trolls from stories.

  “Dominique, did you feast well?” He smiles, surprisingly transforming his face from cruel to kind.

  “They were delicious.” Dominique greets the man with a kiss on his scarred lips. “Such a small contingent was no threat to your power. Your enemies lack resources to adequately attack you.”

  “They were flies in need of a spider,” he answers with a chuckle, his fingers flicking her chin. “Now, who are these young ladies?”

  “Introduce yourselves,” Dominique instructs us.

  Bristling slightly at being ordered about, Ágota steps forward and says, “I am Ágota, Archwitch of the Lost Witch World. This is my sister, Erzsébet. We ask for safe passage through your land. Who are you?”

  The big man laughs. “I like you, Ágota, Archwitch of the Lost Witch World. I am Wirich, Count Dolingen of Gratz in Styria.” Turning to Dominique, he says, “An Archwitch? How did you ever discover such a treasure?”

  “The White Woman of the Wood informed me that an Archwitch was traveling through your territory. I found the girls hiding in the meadow near the encampment of Rolf’s men. I killed your enemies before they discovered the girls.”

  “Hiding? Why were you hiding? Could you not fight them with your magicks, Archwitch?” Wirich asks Ágota, raising bushy eyebrows.

  “I promised The White Woman in the Wood I would not use my magic in her territory. Otherwise, I could have easily evaded them,” Ágota answers. “I did not know I had passed out of her territory.”

  “So you respect the fey?” Wirich appears amused by this confession.

  “Yes. My mother told me that their curses are potent and not easily dispelled.”

  “That is true. Where is your mother now, Ágota the Archwitch?”

  Ágota straightens her spine and lifts her chin. “My mother died. We are journeying to our father’s home.”

  The temptation to correct her is great, but I remain silent. Ágota must have her reasons for insinuating we are full-blooded sisters.

  “You have Hungarian names and speak German with an accent, so I assume this father lives in the Kingdom of Hungary?”

  “Transylvania. He is a castle warrior.”

  “And his name?”

  “Balázs, beholden to Ladislaus Kán, Voivode of Transylvania,” Ágota answers, raising her chin higher with pride.

  Dominique flicks her gaze toward Wirich, a sly look upon her face.

  The large man returns her look, and nods. “Well done, Dominique.”

  “I thought you would be pleased.”

  “Sit down, young ladies. You look cold and tired. Are you hungry?”

  My stomach is rumbling and empty, but remain quiet. I do not trust the big man or the vampire, so I obediently stay in Ágota’s shadow.

  My sister stands before them, her manner fearless and a bit arrogant. “You do not seem impressed by the presence of vampires and witches, so before we partake of your food and drink, I must ask: what are you?”

  Tucking his hands behind his back, the big man walks toward my sister. His tunic is crimson with a raven embroidered on his chest. Looming over us, he regards my sister with eyes as black as pitch. My sister meets his stare, unflinching and defiant.

  “You are a very clever girl to ask such a question.”

  “I am a very clever witch.”

  “I am part fey, the great-grandson of The White Woman in the Wood, but I do not wield the power of the fey. It is safe to eat my food and drink. I do not have the power to bind you to me through such trickery.”

  “So what power do you have to bind us with?”

  “Alas, only mortal power,” he says with an exaggerated sigh and a significant look at Dominique. “I would rather be hospitable, so please, sit.”

  Grudgingly, Ágota takes a seat, and I perch on the chair next to her. I clasp my trembling hands in my lap in an attempt to still them but fail. Lifting my eyes, I gawk at the enormous boar head over the fireplace. Its tusks and glassy eyes scare me even though it is dead. Though I cannot quite determine why it thoroughly unsettles me.

  Observing my sister out of the corner of my eye, I am bothered by her countenance. Her usual scowl is absent. I have never seen her so quiet or calm. I am unnerved by her behavior, but do not dare speak.

  Meanwhile, Wirich summons servants out of the dark corners of the room, and soon, food and drink are set upon the table. I regard the pie placed before me with some trepidation, but Ágota breaks the crust on hers and digs into the chicken and peas hidden inside. Starving, I shovel the food into my mouth. It is too hot to actually taste, but I eat with relish. I gulp the cold, fresh water in the cup set beside my plate to soothe my burned tongue before eagerly continuing to eat.

  Wirich and Dominique sit at the end of the table talking in lowered voices and occasionally casting thoughtful looks in our direction. A few times they burst into laughter, their voices boisterous and triumphant. Again, I worry that they are plotting against us. I steal another look at Ágota. She appears unfazed as she ignores them.

  A door opens with a loud clank.

  Startled, I whip about and peer into the gloom dwelling outside the light cast by the fireplace. Footsteps announce the arrival of another person. I gulp down the food I was chewing and stare at the dark figure approaching. My almost full stomach flutters with trepidation.

  A boy, a few years older than I, steps into the firelight. He's tall, lean, and clad in a tunic similar to Wirich's. Hair the color of raven's feathers and eyes black as night stand out against his pale skin. His delicate lips are very red and set into a hard line when he notices me staring at me. Narrowing his eyes, long lashes cast shadows over his cheeks resembling wings. He's the most beautiful boy I have ever seen.

  “Albrecht, take a seat!” Wirich calls out to the newcomer.

  “I already ate, Father,” the newcomer answers testily.

  “Did I ask you to eat, boy?” Wirich's heavy eyebrows lower over his dark eyes. “I told you to sit down.” The big man points at the chair next to mine.

  Albrecht reluctantly sits next to me, his nose crinkling with distaste.

  I stare at him openly, fascinated with his appearance. I have never seen a boy who was so clean and finely dressed. Furthermore, he is so pretty I find myself blushing. I look toward my sister to see if she's taken notice of Albrecht. Instead, she's staring at the boar's head. I return my gaze to the older boy and smile.

  “Do not look at me,” Albrecht sniffs.

  “I want to,” I answer.

  “Why?”

  “You are pretty for a boy.”

  A small smile creeps onto his lips. “You'd be pretty if you weren't so dirty.”

  “I am dirty because I had to hide from your father's enemies.”

  “Oh?” This clearly ensnares Albrecht's interest. “What happened?”

  “We were walking through a meadow when they approached. We hid in the high grass all day and most of the night. Then Dominique came and slew them.” Realizing I may have said too much, I scoop more food into my mouth.

  Albrecht observes the two conspiring adults at the end of the table. “She will not show me her fangs.”

  “Why not?”

  “She says it is vulgar.”

  Albrecht scowls and I instantly find him even more attractive.

  “Well, she is a vampire
, so that is very vulgar. Drinking people's blood is very crude even if it is rather exciting.”

  Albrecht leans toward me. “I saw her bite someone once, but from a distance.”

  “I saw all the dead bodies in the camp. All your father's enemies torn apart. There was blood everywhere.”

  Regarding me with newfound respect, Albrecht asks, “Were you afraid?”

  “Very! It was very gruesome! I did not know what had killed the men and if it would kill me, too. When Dominique revealed herself, her sword was covered in blood.”

  “I can fight with a sword.” Albrecht puffs up his thin chest. “One day, I will fight battles and kill my enemies.”

  Attempting to impress him, I say, “My father was a great warrior.”

  “He still is,” Ágota says, interrupting us.

  I remember her lie and blush. I forgot I was supposed to pretend to be her full sister.

  “Who is he?” Albrecht asks with interest.

  “A castle warrior from Transylvania,” she answers.

  “So he’s not titled,” Albrecht says dismissively.

  “No, but he is a witch. Like me.” Ágota’s smirk returns as she twists her fingers and embers dance around them.

  “Well, that is not very impressive,” Albrecht says with a shrug. “I once saw a magician make a hare appear out of his cap.

  The entire table surges across the floor with a loud scraping sound and stops a few scant feet from the fireplace. It is so large and heavy it would take many men to maneuver it about. The bowls and cups remain perfectly in place, not spilling a drop.

  With a feral grin, Ágota says, “What were you saying?”

  Staring in shock, Albrecht does not answer.

  Chortling, Wirich says, “Please return the table to its proper place, Ágota.”

  Flicking her fingers, Ágota summons the table back.

  Wirich rises from his chair and walks along the length of the table. His fingers drag over the smooth surface, and when he stands opposite of us, he leans forward on his knuckles.

  “I have decided on your payment for passage through my lands,” Wirich informs Ágota.