Futile Flame (20 page)

When I opened my eyes again I found myself looking at an ornate fireplace that was carved from rock rather than marble. Caesare stood, one elbow resting on the mantelpiece as he gazed into the flames. He was dressed in black, just as he had been when he tore me from my bed. He wore a black ruffled shirt, loosely over tight leather breeches. Only now he no longer wore the velvet frock coat and brimmed hat that had been pulled down over his brow to shelter him from the sun. Beautiful, elegant, slender, feline, even down to the long tapered fingers that rested on his face, my brother was indeed a handsome man. His beardless face looked younger and fresher than I recalled. In the firelight his skin glowed with that same translucent whiteness as my own. His hair, the same white gold as mine, was pulled back into a tail that was tied neatly by a leather thong. I admired his profile. Sharper, crueller than mine, but the family resemblance was so acute that I almost felt I was seeing myself dressed as a man.

He was lost in thought, or maybe he merely enjoyed my scrutiny. I wasn’t sure, but I pulled my eyes away from his hypnotic frame and looked around the room.

I found I could sit as I pushed up against the downy mattress. I shuffled upwards, resting my back against an ornate headboard that was covered with carved cherubs. Its design matched the furniture in the room. There was a writing bureau, open with a piece of parchment lying flat next to an inkpot and quill.

At the bottom of the bed there was a wardrobe; beautiful carvings swirled around the fine mirrors that covered the doors. A shivering, bedraggled wreck sat wide eyed in the bed. With shock I realised it was my own reflection. I looked like a mad woman deserted at the gates of an asylum. My nightgown was filthy and torn and hung from my shoulders like paupers’ rags. I closed my eyes to the horror of myself and flopped back against the comfort of the pillows.

A dressing table sat under what I assumed was a curtained window. A large heart-shaped mirror pivoted on a frame made from the same wood above pots of creams and cosmetics that I recognised as the type I used. I felt disorientated. My head was thick with confusion.

‘For you.’

From the corner of my eye I saw Caesare sweep his arm out around the room.

‘What do you mean “for me”?’

‘I hope you aren’t going to be ungrateful, Lucrezia.’

His face was turned to me as he now sat casually on the edge of the bed. I started at his nearness. I had been unaware of his movement and a new fear surged through me as I wondered if I had lost my supernatural instincts. My brother had always had power over me, long before he learnt what real power was. But I was no longer a frightened teenage girl under his abusive sway. Although I had sorcery of my own to call on, I would wait until the time was right to use it.

‘I made it for you. For your comfort,’ he answered.

I was stunned into silence. He’d always planned to reclaim me; my freedom and the past two hundred years meant nothing at all. So typical of Caesare. I suspected he’d been playing his games all this time, allowing me freedom only to snatch it away when I was fully lulled into a false sense of security.

‘Where am I?’ I asked again.

‘Somewhere safe.’

He smiled. I curled up in terror at the predatory gleam in his green eyes. His fangs glowed in the dim light, matching the shine of his eyes.

‘The bathroom is through that door, my dear,’ he said, pointing to my right at an alcove I hadn’t noticed. ‘I’m sure you’ll want to clean up before dinner.’

‘Dinner?’

‘Of course. You must be hungry.’

‘Are we... to be so civilised then?’

‘Luci, what do you take me for? A barbarian?’ With that he stood and left the room. I barely registered the whoosh of another curtain as it rose, briefly uncovering a doorway before it fell flat back in place as though it had never been disturbed.

The room was bewitched. I knew that it was entirely useless to even consider escape until I understood what kind of sorcery was in play. Miranda had taught me to recognise and break wards, and the key to this was in understanding the elements that held the spell together. So for now, Caesare had me again, and this time he would not let me go without a fight. I gathered my senses and my talents and began to weave a seeking spell, which would reveal all points of magic in my surroundings. I may have been trapped, but I was not helpless.

Chapter 35 – Lucrezia’s Story

The bathroom was large and surprisingly warm even though the floor was made from beige marble. Hot water sluiced like a natural waterfall from a hole in the wall into a sunken pool that was big enough to swim in. A thick robe, in luxurious taffeta and lace, lay over an upright wooden chair that matched the furnishing in the bedroom.

Above the entrance to the room, two carved stone cherubs leered at me as I undressed. I dropped my filthy, shredded clothing to the floor and stepped into the water. The pool was deep, carved with grooves around the sides which served as seating and steps. I sat in a corner beside a gold dish that held sweetly perfumed soap. The water was the perfect temperature. Its warmth flooded my skin, reminding me of just how cold my body had been from both the flight and the hours of immobility. I wondered, not for the first time, what power my brother must now wield that he could incapacitate me by the sheer force of his mind.

I wiped away my fears and phobias as I washed myself, feeling vampiric strength and power return to my muscles as I lathered my skin and hair. The soap dripped from my skin into the pool where it disappeared leaving the liquid clean and clear. It was obvious that the whole place was redolent with sorcery.

Once clean, I swam, feeling the silken fluid relax my muscles as I floated and rolled, enjoying the fresh sensation of the pure, hot water. I lost sense of time and place again. I felt like a nymph frolicking in the pool of some unknown god in a magical forest. It felt like something out of the pagan world of innocence when the Goddess and her God roamed the world. My mind flashed back to Miranda’s stories.

Foliage sprouted up through the marble. I smelt the fresh scent of pine, exotic flowers, and the tang of dew dripping from dark green leaves. The torrent of hot water from the wall became a real waterfall, churning the liquid in the pool. It tugged at my limbs as a fierce current built up underneath the surface.

Invisible fingers swirled around my breasts, invaded the space between my legs, touching and caressing. I pushed away and swam towards the side. The waterfall became fiercer, more demanding, swirls and eddies of water rushed around me, forcing my legs apart. I was dragged under, held there by an unspecific force. I battled against the water, gagging and choking as I fought my way back to the surface. There I found the forest receding and the stark marble tiles of the bathroom becoming visible once more.

I stumbled from the pool, reaching for the robe as the echo of cruel laughter drowned out the steady drum of the water. I crumpled to the floor on my hands and knees, hacking water from my lungs. I couldn’t drown, but the water hurt nonetheless. It was a relief to drain my chest of its last invasive presence.

‘Stop it, damn you!’ I called to the unresponsive walls.

I swallowed, calming myself. Caesare’s games had always petrified me but now I was much harder to hurt. I too was immortal, and I was determined that if he could not destroy my body then he would never crush my spirit.

I pulled the clean taffeta over my still wet body and tied the robe tightly around my waist. I walked back into the bedchamber and the fabric stained in patches as the damp seeped from my skin. The marble floor was warm under my bare feet. Heat poured from the walls; the temperature was like a tropical greenhouse. It was hard to imagine the snow I’d seen, outside, as we arrived.

I noted that while I had been bathing, the bed had been remade and a gown of bright red silk lay across it. Next to the gown laid a chemise, a corset, stockings and some pantaloons in crisp white cotton. I smiled coldly at the irony of this formal clothing with all the appropriate trappings that a lady of quality needed to be respectable. Then I reached for a pale pink towel that was folded on the chair beside the bed. Removing the robe I dried myself thoroughly.

‘Well, you haven’t lost your sense of humour,’ I said calmly as I dressed. ‘You want games? All right! I can play them too.’

I expected laughter, the essence of his mockery seeping through the stone, but a disconcerting silence greeted me. As I pulled on the silk stockings, fastened them with soft red garters, my emotions wavered between insecurity and empowerment. I was heartened by the knowledge that I’d survived his cruelty once before. I could do it again. What on earth could Caesare do to me now that he had not already done? Of course I knew more now, had in fact my own witchcraft to call on. But for now, that would remain untested. I did not wish to reveal my hand too soon.

Feeling composed, I made my way to the curtained doorway through which Caesare had made his exit. As I drew nearer, the curtain flew open and the doorway was revealed. It was an oval arch carved out of rock. Was his lair really cut deep into the mountain? If so, what would I find beyond the archway?

For a moment I paused. The chamber became a haven to me. It was familiar and warm. What lay in wait beyond the arch could mean danger, pain and cruelty. I shivered. Fear seemed so ridiculous. I had survived being burnt at the stake... nothing could kill me! A subtle breeze and the smell of fresh air wafted into the room. I drank it. Breathed it. It tasted of freedom and propelled me forward out into the darkness beyond.

I found myself in a long corridor carved out of the rock. As I walked forward, torches set in freestanding holders along the walls to either side burst alight to guide my progress. The gentle breeze pushed at the flames and the fire shadows glimmered up against the walls. The torches looked like soldiers standing impatiently to attention. As I passed them they flickered out as though someone had used a giant snuff. They were merely candles extinguished when their light was no longer needed.

I reached the doorway at the end in a few seconds and it swung open in greeting before me. Again I paused on the threshold. My breath, held subconsciously, huffed out as light burst into being beyond the door. I stepped forward ready to face anything and everything.

Beyond I found a huge dining room. An excessively large table reached from one end of the room to the other. In the centre of the room was a huge open fireplace, with marble pews curved around the fire. The room was dimly lit, with only a few candelabras standing on the table, which was set with only two places, exactly in the centre of the table facing each other. The place settings were made of pure gold and reflected the light from the fire.

‘I thought you might feel less intimidated with the table between us as we eat. Though I’m sure you know I would rather be much closer to you, Luci.’

I swallowed and looked to where Caesare was slouched in an armchair at the far end of the room, one booted foot resting on a leather footstool. He held a crystal glass in his hand, which looked as though it contained claret. Beside him was a small round table that held a crystal decanter and another glass on a silver tray.

‘You’re right. I would prefer some distance between us...Preferably thousands of miles,’ I snapped.

He sat forward in his chair. His foot slammed to the floor and he raised his glass as though he would hurl it at me for my insolence. I raised my chin and glared at him. Damn him! I wouldn’t back down, even if he crushed every bone in my body! He stared at me for a moment, before lifting the glass in the air as though in salute. Then he swigged ungracefully, downing the contents in a single gulp.

‘You always bait me,’ he laughed. ‘Would you like some of this rather fine claret, Lucrezia?’

I blinked. Had I won some minor victory?

‘You are the very picture of propriety, brother dearest.’ I sneered.

‘You’ll find me much changed.’

I didn’t answer, but I doubted his new found self-control would last beyond the first hour.

‘Please, sit. You must be famished; you’ve slept for three days.’

‘What?’

I walked to the table and allowed Caesare to push the seat gently under me like the gentleman I knew he wasn’t. My brother was seated opposite me before I had even spread my napkin over my knee.

A feeling of unreality overtook me once more as a tiny unspeaking servant in a black monk-like robe served us with a steaming bowl of thick soup. I was offered a platter of fresh, warm bread. I ate, at first by instinct, but soon the broth revived me. I found myself swirling my gold spoon over the empty bottom of the bowl. The servant reappeared to remove the dishes, followed by a second waiter, a clone of the first, who placed a plate of carved chicken breast in a fruity sauce where the bowl had been. I ate the succulent meat and realised I was actually starving. It was only when I had finished that I noticed my brother watching me intently. He had barely touched his own food. Instead he had continued to fill his wine glass from the decanter he’d brought to the table.

I picked up my own glass and sipped at the full-bodied fruity red wine. It slithered deliciously around my tongue and warmed my throat as I swallowed. I knew that I could not become intoxicated yet there was always a slight thrill when I drank a good, strong wine, a minor rush of blood to my brain. Then my body fought off the effects.