Mistress of the Solstice (19 page)

Praskovia had come to dress me that day, her expression unusually
solemn. She pulled out a black silk dress I had never worn before.

“Your father wants to see you,
Marya.”

I saw my father regularly in the great hall. During these audiences I
walked to him across the flagstones, up to the chair carved from
raven-black wood, and then he patted me on the head with a cool hand.
There was nothing unusual in this request. Yet, I had felt a sting in
Praskovia’s words. Something had changed. But what?

I followed Praskovia down the winding staircase and through the narrow
stone passages of the old castle. Her steady steps never slowed as we
passed the turn that led down another flight of stairs to the great
hall.

I wanted to ask a question but I kept my mouth shut. The Mistress of the
Solstice never speaks in vain. I was taught well.

Was it today that I assumed my duties?

But then, what had happened to the previous Mistress? Had she given in
to the power of Love?

The corridor widened as we walked down its last stretch to the heavy,
metal-clad doors at the end. Praskovia raised her hand to knock, but
the doors opened of their own accord. My father stood there.

He looked even more magnificent than I’d remembered.

He nodded to Praskovia, who bowed and glided away along the corridor.
She never gave me as much as a glance.

“Come in, Marya,” my father
beckoned.

He waited for me to walk through the door and closed it behind me with a
thud. I stood straight, trying to keep my eyes from darting about. It
was the first time I’d been in my
father’s quarters, and despite a closely held fear, I
was curious.

The furnishing of his chamber was as simple as mine. A stiff wooden
bench, a desk with a large bottle of ink and a pile of parchment on one
side. A shelf with thick, leather-clad volumes that bore the markings
of centuries of heavy use. There was no bed. Then, I saw a door that
led to the side, into what must have been an inner chamber. It took all
I had to keep from stretching my neck to peek inside.

I started as I realized that my father was standing very close. I could
sense his cool breath on my neck.

“I am told,” my father said,
“that you have grown to become the most beautiful
woman in the world.”

His hand swept aside a strand of my hair that had fallen against my
cheek. The brush of his fingers, touching my skin, felt like a surge of
power. I shivered.

“I believe,” my father went on,
“that it is time to teach you one of the most
important lessons you must learn as the future Mistress of the
Solstice.”

His hand gently brushed my neck. I stood very straight, looking ahead,
trying to fight off the shivers that engulfed my body.

“Today you will learn the difference between love and
lust.”

He stepped in front of me and cupped my face in his hands. They were
cool and smooth, so soothing to the fire that slowly rose inside me.

“Remember, as the Mistress of the Solstice you must
never love. It will try to find its way into your soul through the
desires, the urges of your body to be with a man. You must learn to
separate these feelings. Your body will try to trick you into believing
there is only one man you want. That’s how Love
starts.”

As he spoke, his hands were touching first my face, then my hair, my
neck, my shoulders…He stepped closer and ran his deft fingers down my
body, so that every cool touch through the thin silk of my new dress
burned like fire. I shivered. I was powerless before this. I could no
longer stand still. I moaned and sank into his arms.

“Can you feel it, Marya?” he
whispered into my ear. “You want me, and no one else.
You think all your happiness lies in my touch. You want for this never
to stop.”

“Yes, yes!” I whispered into his
hair, pressing my cheek against his, clinging to him as if my life
depended on it.

And then it was over. The enchantment was broken. He stepped away from
me, leaving me helpless, shivering, aching for his touch. Lost.

I blinked.

“This is how it starts, Marya,” he
said. “You must learn to recognize it, and when you
feel anything similar to what you feel now, here is what I want you to
do.”

He snapped his fingers and three men came through the door that led to
the inner chamber. They were all dark, lean, and handsome, all wore
open shirts that let me see their bare, hairless chests, the muscle
playing under their skin. They looked young, only a few years older
than me.

“These men,” my father said,
“will teach you to enjoy your body separately from
your heart. They are skilled, and they will please you in many ways.
They will stay with you until morning. Then, I will see you
again.”

“But, Father,” I whispered,
terrified.

“Are you defying me, Marya?”

I lowered my eyes. “No, Father.”

“Good.” He turned and walked out of
the room.

The men were skilled indeed. And tireless, as they did everything in
their power to make me enjoy my body. I wanted no part of it. Yet, as I
had overcome my shame of the strange hands exploring places I thought
only belonged to me, as my tears dried, I found a strange pleasure in
what they did.

I never learned their names.

In the morning, my father blasted my three lovers to ashes in front of
me. The youngest and gentlest of the three tried to escape, but there
was no place to hide in the circular room with no furnishing but the
low wooden bed, wide enough for five to sleep in.

I was afraid to raise my face. I didn’t want Father to
see my tears.

Mistress of the Solstice doesn’t cry.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

I nodded. I didn’t want him to know the truth.

“Do you still long for me to touch
you?” he asked.

I shuddered at the thought.

And then I understood. It had worked. I could never again think about
love without remembering the horror, the humiliation of being handled
by three men and then seeing them killed in front of my eyes.

The memory of their shameless hands as they tried to overcome my
reluctance was etched right there, along with the memory of their
screams as they squirmed on the floor, caught in the slow hellfire of
my father’s magic. It mixed with the memory of my
father’s cold hands on my neck, and his eyes, full of a
dark glow that pierced me to my very soul.

If this was love, then I could never love again.

 

Ivan

“
I
still don’t know why I bother with
you, boy,” Wolf said.

Ivan could see the grass of the fields through the hedge ahead, awash
with the reddish light of the waning sun. He had to walk very fast to
keep up. He took a breath to keep the panting out of his voice.

“What do you mean, a cat?”

“
The
cat,” Wolf corrected him. “The cat
all other cats come from. The Telltale Cat.”

Ivan considered this.

“Cats don’t tell
tales,” he ventured.

Wolf reached the opening between two birch trees and stopped on the edge
of the field, just inside the forest hedge.

“Maybe stupid humans just don’t
listen.”

Ivan took another deep breath. His legs hurt from the day-long march.
His heart pounded.

“So, what am I facing?”

“Yourself,” Wolf replied
“And based on recent events, I must say you have no
worse enemy.”

Ivan shrugged. “It’s no help being
cryptic.”

Wolf turned his muzzle toward Ivan. His yellow eyes beckoned. Ivan
found himself sinking into the lupine gaze, drawn by the ancient,
ruthless force it emanated.

There was no escape. He could no longer remember who he was. He knew
nothing about his aim, his desire, his purpose. Nothing except the two
yellow orbs that encompassed his whole being. His whole world.

And then it was gone. He was back at the hedge, the last sunbeams of the
day caressing his skin. Birds chirped, and a mosquito next to his ear
buzzed its bloodthirsty song.

Ivan. I am Ivan.

He shuddered.

Ivan the Fool.

“What you just felt was but a touch of the power that
the Primals possess. Bayun the Cat’s power is similar
to mine. Similar, but different.”

“How?” Ivan managed.

“Wolves live in packs. Their power
is open to share with other beings. Cats are solitary. So, their power
is not for sharing. Their power is aimed to take, not to give.
Never
to
give.”

“Why are we seeking his help, then? If he
won’t give us anything, what’s the
use?”

“
You
are seeking his help, because you got yourself into trouble even I
can’t save you from. And that, boy, is no small task.
If Bayun refuses to help you, you’re truly on your
own.”

“All right.” Ivan sighed.
“What should I do?”

“First, don’t ask anything of him. If
the beast senses you want something, you are lost.”

“How am I going to learn things if I
don’t ask?”

“By listening.
That’s what I’ve been telling you all
along. If you had just been
listening
…”
Wolf growled and turned away.