Heart of Darkness (12 page)

With a wrinkle of her nose, as she waited for
her damp skin to dry, Isabeau stood shivering until finally, she
grabbed the dress and tugged it over her head. Swamped in the
weight of the velvet and without a lady's maid for assistance was
not pleasant, but neither was remaining partially naked in only a
flimsy shift for protection!

It had been a long time since she had needed
a lady's maid, but as she finally managed to properly arrange the
bodice, Isabeau realized she needed to wash her face once more!
Beads of sweat had already started to dot her forehead!

In truth, the dress required a cage crinoline
to properly support the skirts, but if this room was to be her
prison, then no one would be seeing it apart from herself and
whoever came with her refreshment.

After the harsh linen dresses she had been
forced to wear both out of practicality and affordability, it felt
rather strange to once more be in luxurious materials. In her old
life, she would matched this with a lace shawl. She swaggered out
from behind the screen and flaunted over to the dressing table.
Realizing that after her exertions she was hungry, she lifted the
cloche and picked at the crumbled short pastry and cooked meat and
potato.

As she did, she studied her appearance in the
looking glass and sighed as she took in the ill-fitting dress. It
clashed horribly with her red hair, Isabeau thought with a sigh. A
shame, for it was a beautiful item of clothing.

Retrieving one of the horse-hair brushes from
the dressing table, she slowly combed her hair into a semblance of
order. Once it was arranged, she moved towards the bed and perched
on the edge. She reached over for the rose and slowly raised it to
her nose once again. Her eyes took in the dim drop of blood on one
of the thorns and slowly, methodically, she ran her thumb over the
sharp thorn and let the blood mingle.

If Wolfe likened to her witch, then perhaps
she should try and perform as such. She wanted answers, did she
not? Well, let him give them to her.

When she used the ring, her body relaxed and
filled with heat. Isabeau didn't have to say anything, somehow the
stone just translated what she needed and it happened.

Perhaps she had to find something else to
channel her power into...maybe, some kind of incantation?

How trite, she thought with a snort, but
there was little else she could do.

After all, somebody had already been to her
chamber. Provided her with water with which to bathe, food to
sustain her, clean clothes...More than likely, she would not see
someone until the next day, when they returned with more food or
drink.

Somehow, the curiosity and anger and
confusion of the night before combined with the nightmare, which
had awoken her and she needed to see him. Needed to speak with
him.

Her eyebrows crunched together as she tried
to think of something that was suitably magical and eventually, she
murmured,

“Bring forth those whose blood has been shed,
to this room and this bed, may they tell me what I need, so that I
may rest easy and cease to bleed.”

Cringing at the ridiculous incantation, she
could only hope that it worked.

When at least five minutes had passed, she
was still alone. Isabeau sighed and realized that the power she did
have, could only be channeled through the stone. Whenever she did
anything with the stone, it worked instantly. She never had to
wait.

A part of her pouted.

What was the point in having gifts if you
could only use it with a ring of onyx upon your finger!

Scornful, she snorted and moved towards the
dressing table again. She supped at the ale they had left her and
wandered up and down the length of the chamber. Although this
chamber was beautiful, it did not hold sufficient interest for a
prolonged stay!

There weren't even any books or anything to
entertain her, she thought with an indignant sigh.

Suddenly, the lock clicked open and the door
slammed open.

“I am not a servant to summon, Isabeau,” were
the first words that escaped Wolfe's mouth and she could tell her
small spell had angered him.

It had worked!

She had used a nonsensical incantation and it
had actually brought him to her! Incredible!

Isabeau had to quickly work through the
triumph she felt and instead, focused on the man who had all the
answers she needed.

His face was akin to a thundercloud and she
sighed inwardly. Why did he have to be so aggressive? It wasn't as
though she had attacked him! Merely summoned!

Her lips twitched, as she realized that if he
was the owner of this huge property, then it had never happened to
him before. Outside of being called to his parents', that is. The
thought turned her faint smile into a frown.

It seemed that they had something in
common.

They were both orphans.

“How old were you when they died?” she asked
quietly.

His eyes flared and he took a step backwards,
as though to step away from her question.

“Nine? Ten? Where did they take you?”

Hoarsely, he asked, “Of what are you
talking?”

“You. As a boy. Fleeing a group of men and
falling over your mother,” she stated bluntly, although it was
tinged with sympathy, it was direct all the same. Perhaps too
direct, as the skin of his face turned a nasty shade of gray.

Almost as though her words were the turning
point, he stalked forwards and grabbed her by the shoulders. He
continued to stride forwards, but with her slight form in his hold
and he slammed her against the nearest wall. “How do you know this?
What sorcery have you used to tap into my memories?”

“I don't know!” she cried. “I-I dreamt
it!”

“You dreamt it?” he mocked. “I'm sure! What
servant has been gossiping?”

“I have spoken with no one. And if I'm
correct, you are the only person to have entered this room since I
arrived. The blood on the rose was yours, otherwise I could not
have summoned you. It would have been a servant!”

“What do you want from me, Isabeau? Why
attempt to summon me in the first place? In an attempt to control
me? Manipulate me into releasing you?”

“I want answers!” she cried and frustratedly
tried to hit him with her arms.

“Answers to what?” he mocked.

“Answers to everything! Why my life has
been turned upside down! Why you
and
this bedamned Jaegar are willing to go against the odds and
do anything to put your paws on my ring!” she screamed in
frustration as his hands lowered and slipped from her shoulders and
down to her wrists.

He grabbed them roughly, then lifted them
upwards so that they were above her head and touching the wall. The
action had her back arching and she felt her chest slam against
his. Breathless, she fought him, her legs kicked out and she tried
to use them as weapons.

How it happened, she did not know. But
somehow, when he moved to pin her further to the walls, he
inadvertently left himself open to attack. Her knee, almost as
though it had been aimed to kill, soared through the air and struck
him at the very apex of his thighs.

With a hoarse cry, he released her and
staggered backwards. He cupped himself and swore as his knees gave
out and his head bowed down as he tried to ride the pain. She
licked her lips and despite herself, she felt guilty. She hadn't
meant to hurt him, she had just wanted answers. But...what kind of
captive would she be if she did not at least attempt to escape when
she had been handed a golden opportunity? The door was wide
open...his anger at her had been such that he'd completely
forgotten to shut it behind him.

Licking her lips, she tried to edge past him,
but even in his pain-hazed state, he grabbed at her legs to stop
her. She tumbled to the floor and grazed her hands against the
rough stone. A loud rip echoed through the room and she realized
that while the velvet had cushioned her knees from damage, it would
no longer!

Quickly, clambering to her feet, she managed
to rush away from him and out of the room. It would not take long
for him to be on his feet and after her, but she could at least try
and attempt to free herself from his hold. Even if she only managed
to reach the forest before he caught her once more, for she did not
doubt that he would catch her, but it would at least teach him not
to underestimate her!

With that thought in her head, she ran away
from her room and down the hall.

* * * *

If considering the length of time between an
eventful evening and two subsequently tedious nights, then a
failure in the memory department sounded altogether like a
ridiculous experience to have. But experience it she did.

If her memory served her correctly, and
bearing in mind the tedium of the two previous nights, she and
Wolfe had ascended a rather splendid flight of stairs. They had
traveled to the third floor and there, they had stopped and she had
been imprisoned in a bedchamber, a beautiful one, but against her
will nonetheless.

But...as far as she could recall, there had
been another set of stairs that led to higher floors and she could
remember, looking upwards and spying all of the myriad hand rails
and the unusual carvings upon the masonry there.

In theory, to continue ascending or
descending the castle's floors, Isabeau merely had to run straight
down the corridor and abracadabra, there would be the necessary
central staircase to aid her with her escape.

She could picture the steps in her mind's
eye. A rich and thick slab of lustrous stone for a banister with
fancifully carved balustrade supports underneath. When using this
particular set of stairs, one could descend to the Great Hall.

The memory was so clear in her head,
that for a moment or two, she stared blankly at what lay before
her. At this current moment in time, there was no descending
staircase. Merely an
as
cending
one.

Staring at it perplexedly, she jolted out of
her state of fit, when she heard a slight grunting sound. By now,
Wolfe had probably recuperated and would more than likely be on his
feet and ready to chase after her. Quickly, she lifted her skirts
and Isabeau switched her mind from the impossible, ignored it and
then mounted the steps and rushed on to another floor.

Blinking, as almost before her very
eyes the number of stairs appeared to double, she ran for what felt
like hours but was in fact only about five minutes. It
was
long though, but steep and she
sighed with relief as she reached the next floor.

She looked left to right and noticed that
both hallways were straight and then disappeared into a further,
unseen corridor. It would have helped her greatly had she known the
actually layout of the castle. Having arrived at night, Isabeau had
not even seen its basic shape. The darkness had revealed a
silhouette, yes, but it had not really told her if the building was
in the shape of an E with a turret. Or if it was and upright L
shape, for example.

She had the feeling that it was actually an
entirely unique shape. With the basic floor plan being shaped
perhaps like the letter C and then two grand turrets constructed
somewhere...In truth, she did not have any idea of where to run and
knowing the castle's layout would have helped to some degree. Even
though she knew that Wolfe would eventually catch her, Isabeau had
no intention of making it easy for him! She had her pride after all
and if he thought he could underestimate her, then he was a
fool.

Heading to the left, she decided to seek out
one of the two turrets, she didn't care which! Isabeau thought that
that wasn't too obvious a ploy, as he would think she would aim for
an area, where she could escape the castle walls. If she went into
a tower, she was confined. But it seemed like a choice place to
hide.

She rushed down the corridor and damned the
new dress in which she was attired. The heavy velvet was like a
limp weight about her shoulders and each movement was hindered by
the large swathes of material at her feet and clinging to her legs.
Twice, she almost fell as the fabric whipped about her legs,
ensuring she had only the minimum of space to move her feet.

Grunting, she lifted her skirts and then felt
top heavy as her torso took the laden weight!

The hallways were as grand as she'd
instinctively known they would be. As ornate and as richly
decorated as her rooms of the night before had been. Even in the
dim light, she could see that there was not a speck of dust here,
yet Isabeau could easily discern from the atmosphere that this
floor was rarely used.

She remembered her inelegant entrance into
the house and recalled the glamorous staircase once more. When she
had looked upwards, there had seemed to be around ten floors to the
castle! But on this floor and at this moment in time, there had
been no other staircases. Was she going mad? Or was the damned
place enchanted?