Desolate, Book I of the Immortal Rose Trilogy (23 page)

Fane nods and places
a finger over his lips to silence me. I try to focus on Vladimir’s
eloquent speech, though I do not have the heart to stomach it. The
scent of fear pulls at my senses, making me feel sluggish and
weakened. One glance around me reveals I am the only one who suffers
from this ailment. If anything, the frenzy has grown as Vladimir ends
his speech and walks toward the villagers.

My fingers curl into
the wood of my chair as he makes a show of pausing before a mother no
more than twenty summers past. A babe cradles in her arms and tears
well in her swollen eyes. The crowd behind me pounds their feet and
pumps their firsts, yet Vladimir moves on.

Fane was correct. No
one volunteers for the fight. Men with haunted eyes cling to their
wives, offering them the only protection they are capable of now.

Three men are
selected. Two women as well, though I suspect they were chosen for
their appeal rather than their skill with a blade. The final
selection is a small boy, no older than perhaps twelve or thirteen
summers. His tawny hair is unkempt, falling into his eyes.

“He cannot do
this,” I mutter, pressing my hands against my chest.

“The boy has
as much chance of surviving as the others,” Fane says. I turn
to look at him as two men part from the crowd and usher away the
distraught mother. Her screams tear at my heart. When her shriek cuts
off abruptly, I know that her end was mercifully swift compared to
what her child will endure.

“He is no more
than a boy,” I hiss, twisting in my chair. I do not wish to
look, though I know Vladimir’s eyes remain fixed upon me. I
hear the creaking of a wagon approaching and turn to see men leaping
from the back. A large sack hangs over their arms as they walk toward
Vladimir. They kneel before him and unveil a pile of weapons.

Double-headed axes,
sharp-ended pikes, a mace with spikes the length of my forefinger,
and swords. All of them gleam brilliantly. No doubt they are forged
specifically for this night.

“Choose your
weapons carefully. Only one shall live to join us into an eternal
night.”

The men move first,
clutching the heavier weapons with uncertainty. The women choose the
pikes, unable to swing a blade. I watch as the small boy paces before
the selection.

“Hurry along,
boy. We do not have all night,” Lucien growls from my left,
farther down along the center of the front row. The boy seems to
ignore the laughter that follows. He dips low and runs his hand
across the blade of a finely engraved sword. He shakes his head and
moves on to the next.

Fane shifts, and I
turn to look at him. “These are no warriors. They are farmers
who wield pitchforks instead of axes.”

He nods. “Yes,
though if I were a betting man, I would place my money on the boy.”

This surprises me. I
start to ask him to explain his reasoning, though I am cut off by a
sudden hush that falls over the crowd. I turn to see the boy has
risen without a weapon in his hand.

Vladimir smirks as
he approaches. “You will not survive long without a weapon,
son.”

The boy nods and
reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a small wooden branch that has
been hand carved. A bit of leather dangles from the end. “This
is my choice.”

My husband throws
back his head in open mockery. “That will hardly keep your head
attached to those small shoulders of yours, boy.”

He purses his lips
and clutches the small slingshot to his chest. There is defiance in
his eyes despite his silence. I notice Fane smile and begin to
realize what it is he sees in the boy.

“Very well.”
Vladimir turns to face the crowd. “Shall we begin?”

I watch as the men
and women glance at each other with uncertainty and no small amount
of fear. Some of them are most likely kin. Neighbors for generations
to be sure. I cannot begin to imagine the thoughts and emotions they
must be experiencing.

The villagers press
in together as a circle is formed around them. I realize now why so
many of my brethren chose not to find a seat, for they have become a
wall of flesh, sealing in the warriors. The circle is small, barely
more than the height of twenty men across. Hardly enough space for
six mortals to fight for their lives.

“Will they
fight?” I ask.

Fane nods. “They
know the consequences if they do not.”

I follow his gaze
and am startled to see that barrels of pitch have been rolled off the
wagon and placed beside the villagers. Immortals stand on either side
with torches lit. “They would not burn the village to the
ground,” I say in horror.

“No.”
Fane shakes his head. His eyes look bleak as he stares up at me.
“They would burn the children alive.”

“Oh.” I
gasp. Will the depths of my husband’s debauchery find no end?

A clash of steel
draws me back to the beginning of the battle. The first woman falls
within the first breath, an axe buried into her side. She drops to
the ground, the dirt dampening with her blood. A girl with
straw-colored hair and a splash of freckles across her cheeks makes a
wild swing with her pike and loses her balance. I close my eyes as
she stumbles and lands upon her own weapon.

A cry rises through
the crowd as the spike-tipped weapon protrudes from the back of her
neck. I turn away, sickened. “How can you watch this?” I
ask Fane, disturbed by his rapt attention.

He darts a glance
toward me and I see the glint in his eyes dim. “There is much
that can be learned from death. For some it is swift. For others, it
is born from mere foolishness. The girl tripped over her own skirts.
Her death was of her own violation.”

“It is still a
senseless loss.”

Fane nods in
agreement. “Have you noticed the boy?”

I glance back at the
center of the circle and realize he has vanished. “Has he
fallen too?”

“No.”
Fane smiles and points. I crane my neck to see over the fallen women
and spy a swatch of his dark-brown shirt peeking out from behind the
fountain.

“He hides out
of fear,” I muse, finding myself drawn to the edge of my seat.

“On the
contrary. He watches.”

I lean forward to
observe only the boy. The men grunting as they battle each other does
not capture my attention the way he does. He crouches instead of
sits, as I first assumed. His hands brush along the dirt, sweeping
about his feet, as his gaze focuses on the men.

I blink as a spray
of blood douses the villagers. Shrieks rise as they turn away, wiping
the foul liquid from their eyes. The boy does not move, does not show
any emotion, as a man drops before him. Lifeless eyes stare at him,
yet he does not flinch.

“He is brave,”
I whisper.

A loud bellow of
pain captures my attention as one of the men stumbles back. Blood
pours from a head wound, trailing down his cheek to pool in the
hollow of his neck. He limps backward, his hands raised to shield
himself.

“Finish him,”
Lucien roars over the cheering of the crowd.

The injured man is
defenseless and terrified. I can smell his despair leaking from his
pores. His chin trembles as he silently mouths a prayer. His opponent
advances, bloodied sword drawn. With a mighty swing, the blade buries
deep into the injured man’s neck, the blow not strong enough to
severe the head from the body.

I cry out as
memories of my sister’s slit throat flash before my eyes.
Fane’s face swims before me. I can see him trying to speak to
me, yet all I can hear is Adela’s screams.

A hand strikes my
cheek and I blink. The memory fades and I am once more present in the
circle. “Thank you.”

Fane’s brow
furrows as he sinks back onto his heels. “It is not in my
nature to strike a lady, though I am pleased it helped.”

A shudder works its
way rapidly through me as I wrap my arms tightly about myself. “I
saw my sister.”

He shifts besides
me, his arm resting against my leg as he nods. “I assumed as
much. Are you all right?”

I offer him a small
smile. “I am.”

“Good, I was—”
He cuts off at Vladimir’s cry of outrage.

“Pick up your
weapon or I will end your life myself,” he screams, leaping
into the center of the circle.

The
boy remains crouched low, his hands no longer searching the dirt. He
stares up at the one remaining man, his gaze unwavering.
Why
does he not act?

Vladimir grabs the
boy by the scruff of his neck, hoisting him to his feet. The man’s
jaw clenches, though he makes no attempt to move toward Vladimir.
“You have had your fun. Let the boy go.”

My husband’s
lips curl back into a sneer that would make my blood run cold, yet
this man does not flinch. I realize I am looking at a man with
nothing left to lose. Death stands at the doorstep, though only one
is capable of returning.

“That is not
how this game works,” Vladimir says, dragging the boy after
him. The man shifts to keep an even distance between Vladimir and the
crowd. His back turns to face me so I lose my ability to see his
expression. “You kill when I command you to. If you survive,
you are rewarded with immortality.”

“I do not wish
for your immortality,” the man spits, backing up four paces. I
watch as he draws near, my mind scrambling to decipher his escape
plan. There is nowhere he can run that will bring him peace.

“Whether you
wish it or not, one of you will be granted it. The only question you
must answer is are you willing to give your life for this boy?”

I watch as the man
rises slightly onto his toes. His balance is impressive despite his
labored breathing and the obvious weight on his axe pulling at him.
For a moment, I think he will not answer, though when he does, I am
too startled to react.

“You will have
neither of us.” With far more strength than I would have
guessed the man to possess, he flings his axe straight at the boy and
turns on his heel. He dashes straight toward me, his eyes wide with
anger. His cheeks are reddened, his arms splattered with blood. The
instant before he leaps for me, I catch the scent of sweat mingled
with urine.

A blur of motion
startles me. I rear back in my seat as my attacker’s mouth
falls slack. The life within his eyes vanishes as he plummets to the
ground. Upon impact, his torso splits in half and the man’s
body rolls in opposite directions.

The feel of his
blood upon my skin sends me into a panic. I begin to shriek, beating
at my arms and chest. My vision blurs and I fall backward in my
chair, frantically scrambling away from the human.

“Peace,
Roseline,” Fane’s soothing voice calls to me, though my
vision blurs. “You are safe now.”

My head feels far
too light as I turn to find the voice. My eyes roll back into my head
as I plummet to the ground. Pain flares along my ear before darkness
sweeps in to steal me away.

I blink against the
sunlight, confused and weary. It feels unnaturally warm against my
cheek. I turn away from the light to find that I am not alone.

“Fane?”

He sits beside my
bed, slumped in his chair. A soft snore rises from him as he breathes
in and slowly expands his lungs. I rise in bed and stare at him,
marveling at how peaceful he looks. The lines that crease his
forehead with worry are gone. His posture is relaxed. He looks as if
he does not have a care in the world.

I draw back the
covers and scoot to the end of my bed. The floor is cold upon my feet
as I attempt to rise without a sound, yet the floorboard creaks
beneath me.

“It is rude to
sneak out of bed before saying farewell,” he mutters and raises
a hand to wipe his face. I sink back onto the bed and tuck my hands
between my knees. My nightgown drapes over me and hangs to the middle
of my calves.

“I was not
attempting to sneak away. I did not desire to disturb you.”

With
a groan, he stretches his arms over the back of the chair. I avert my
gaze as his vest pulls taut against his chest.
I
would wager this man has caught the eye of many a girl in his time.

“It is my job
to be disturbed by you,” he says as he slumps once more. His
long legs are crossed at the knee, his boots still upon his feet.

I feel a slight
flush rise along the neckline of my nightgown and pull my knees into
my chest to conceal it. Wrapping my arms about my ankles, I dip my
cheek to my knee and watch him. “You did not have to sleep in
the chair.”

“The floor is
hardly a more comfortable option.”

I laugh and shake my
head. My hair falls about me in wave of silken bronze, shining
brightly in the early morning light. “I meant that no harm
would come to me here.” His lips purse together and I realize
my misstep. “No more than usual,” I amend with a whisper.

Fane lowers his leg
to the floor and sits forward. The gap between us is minimal and his
gaze is searching. “You made me ill at ease last night. I
feared for your safety so I remained at your side.”

I raise my head and
stare at him, searching beyond his spoken words. “You protected
me.”

“The man
sought to do you harm. I did what needed to be done.”

“No.” I
shake my head. “Not from the human. From Vladimir.”

Fane averts his
gaze, focusing on the window rather than on me. I watch as he
swallows roughly. His shoulders rise and fall with a silent shrug.

Warmth
begins to spread in my chest as I hide my smile in my knees.
Perhaps
I do have a savior after all.

“My presence
has been allowed temporarily. I am to leave soon.”

“Leave?”
I release the hold on my legs and they drop to the floor, falling
mere inches from the tips of his boots. I stare at him, realizing how
desperately I hope it is not for good.

Fane returns his
gaze to me and smiles with a softness that rejuvenates the warmth in
my chest. “I am to bury the boy.”