Black Rose (23 page)

“Oh,
Mara.” Edward shook his head slowly. “You didn’t do that, Mara. It was our
fault; Liza’s and mine. Not yours.”

She
moved her hand to his chest and slowly traced her fingers down his skin. “But I
watched, Edward. I watched her split your skin. I watched her paint the ground
with your blood. I listened to your screams. I watched her destroy everything I
had ever believed in and did nothing. Nothing!”

“Stop
it, Mara.” His voice was raw, but firm. “It was not your fault, do you hear
me?” His tone became more intense. “It was not your fault.” He leaned down and
again kissed her, driving her body back towards the bed. He pushed her down,
pressing her deep into the blankets. Every protest, every thought, vanished
under the weight of Edward’s body pressing against her own.

           
Mara awoke still wrapped securely in the circle of Edward’s arms. Her head
against his chest, Mara pressed her check closer to his skin.  His heart
beat strong and steady. She closed her eyes, listening to the gentle rhythm of
his breathing, allowing it to soothe the turmoil in her mind.

           
She was unsure how long she laid there in the warmth of his embrace. How many
nights had she dreamed of this, only to find herself alone with the first
glimmer of the sun’s rays? Edward seemed peaceful in his dreams. It was with
the greatest of difficulty that she finally managed to pull away, moving slowly
so not to wake him. As she moved to the side of the bed, Mara turned back to
stare down at the man lying beside her. His pale chest seemed almost ghostly
against the black sheets. His long dark hair covered the right side of the
pillow which cradled his head.

           
She continued to stare down at his peaceful form for several minutes. Then, she
rose from the bed and stepped quietly to the closet where she slipped into a
clean gown of black satin with a matching robe. Draped in these fresh clothes,
Mara walked past the still sleeping Edward and stepped quickly into the stone
corridor beyond. Insulated by a thick, black rug, her steps were nearly silent
as she turned right and walked down the full length of the large hallway. She
eventually reached a side stairwell which she slowly began to ascend.

           
There were twelve flights of stairs between the Captain and the uppermost tower
of the ancient castle. When she finally reached the top, it was to find herself
in a small room with a single window. It was to this small opening she walked,
where the first glimmer of sunlight had begun to seep into the room. Under the
window was a golden chest upon which lay one of the last existing enchantments
the world would ever know. Covered in a layer of dust so thick that it was
almost white, the chest stood in the same location where it had been sealed
nearly six hundred years before. She knelt down before the large chest and blew
softly across the front. Dust scattered through the air, revealing the ancient
warning: “hic iacet sanguis rosarum.”
Here lie the blood of roses
.

           
Beneath the inscription was an impression in the shape of a rose. Mara ran a
finger slowly over the indented words, inscribed all those years ago for the
specific purpose of preventing anyone from ever again withdrawing its sacred
contents. Carefully, Mara raised her hands to her throat and unclasped the
silver chain from around her neck. In the center of the chain lay a single
white diamond which had been carved into the same rose-like shape which stood
embedded into the side of the golden chest. She removed the rose from the chain
and held it gently in her hand. She closed her eyes as she traced the familiar
lines of the hollowed diamond.

           
She could still picture the joyous expression which had graced Liza’s face the
night her mother had given her the pendant, hanging on the end of a thin,
golden chain. Liza had been five, or perhaps six at the time of receipt; it had
been her first truly royal gift. A necklace which had once been worn by the
Queen’s mother—a grandmother shared by both Liza and Mara. Twenty years later,
the same pendant would be seen as the only identifiable element upon Liza’s
otherwise mutilated body. Found three days after the Queen had tortured Edward,
a night which would become known from that moment on as the night of ‘forbidden
love.’ 

           
“Here lie the blood of roses.” She again traced her finger over the memorized
inscription. She had fallen asleep in Edward’s arms that night. Broken and
emotionally exhausted from being forced to endure in silence as Edward’s
torture had been draw out to the Queen’s pleasure. Mara should have been
watching over the Princess that night, but instead found herself unable to
force herself from Edward’s side.

           
It had been late in the night when the large stone doors to Edward’s chambers
had flown open, jarring her from a deep and dreamless sleep. “Mara!” Phillip’s
voice caused her to rise from the circle of Edward’s arms. “Mara,” he repeated.
“I need you to come with me—right now.”

           
“Why?” she inquired.

“What
is going on?” Edward asked from beside her, though he was still too injured to
do little more than raise himself into a higher position upon the pillows
behind him. Mara stood from the bed, hastened by something in Phillip’s voice
which she could not quite place. Without answering Edward’s question, Phillip
left the room, motioning for Mara to follow him. 

“I’ll
find out what is going on,” she informed her Captain.

“Mara,”
Edward called, causing her to pause and meet his eyes.

She
forced a smile. “I just need to see what is happening.”

He
looked at her with an expression between confusion and apprehension. “Just be
careful.”

Mara
gave a slight bow before turning to chase after Phillip, who had paused outside
the doors, but again began to walk forward at a brisk pace as Mara emerged from
the Captain’s room. “Follow me,” were the only words he offered as he led Mara
down a series of long hallways before they finally found themselves standing inside
the specific corridor leading to the private chambers of Princes Liza. Standing
in the hallways all but blocking their path, was Garreth.

“Mara,
I am so sorry,” Garreth stammered upon seeing their approach. The words tumbled
from his lips in a manner that drew Mara’s full attention. Garreth’s eyes were
wide with panic, his words spoken too quickly. His blond hair was disheveled
upon his glistening brow. 

“Garreth,
what is it?” 

Philip
moved to stand beside Garreth before turning back to face her. Mara looked from
one man to the other, then finally asked, “What the hell is going on?”

“Mara,
I…I don’t know what…I don’t know how…” Here Garreth paused and it was Phillip
who continued. “Mara,” he said, “my Lady, it’s—it’s not good.”

“What
happened?” she asked again, suddenly afraid of the answers that might await
her.

Phillip
knelt before her. “My Princess.” He addressed her by the rarely used title. “I
regret to inform you that her Royal Highness, your cousin, Princess Liza of the
Ciar Court, was murdered tonight. Along with eight members of the royal guard
who were charged with her protection over the past three days.”

Mara’s
eyes flew to those of her cousin’s in a mixture of shock and horror. One glance
was all she needed to know that the nightmare that had begun all those years
ago when Edward had been sent away was not over, but instead—only beginning.

Mara
walked down the hall toward Liza’s suite. The bodies of the men who had spent
their lives protecting the royal family laid sprawled upon the ground in large
pools of noble blood. As she passed her fallen friends and comrades, the
numbness began to spread. Fredrick and Lars lay strewn together as they had
once stood in life. Cousins, they had joined the guard nearly four-hundred
years prior with a sense of loyalty that was beyond compare. A few feet from
them laid Karrie, one of Mara’s closest friends and a long-time sparring
partner. Her heart lurched in her throat as her body moved forward as though of
its own accord.

When
she reached the silver door which guarded the entrance to the private chambers
of the Princess, she found the large door splattered with blood. Mara forced
herself to draw a deep breath and then regretted it, fighting not to gag as she
was assaulted by the smell of death. It was overwhelming and she found herself
frozen before the chamber’s entrance as she struggled to gain control of her
composure. She drew several shorter breaths and again attempted to cross the
threshold when Garreth grabbed her arm.

He
jerked her back, roughly pressing her back against the cold stone wall of the
corridor’s outer chambers. “No,” he stated flatly. “No.”

Mara
looked at him unsure how to respond. She felt cold, as though a thick layer of
ice had formed around her, both protecting her from the emotions which
threatened to tear her apart, and preventing her thoughts from penetrating its
icy grip. She attempted to speak, but no sound escaped her lips. She had to
force herself to draw another deep breath before saying, “Garreth.”

“No,”
he said again. “You do not need to see this, Mara.  She was my sis…” His
voice cracked on the word, but he forced himself to continue. “My sister and
she is dead. That makes you the closet thing I have left and I am telling you,
Mara—you are not going in that room.”

“Garreth,”
Phillip’s voice cut into the conversation. “Let go of the Sub-Captain.”

“She
does not need to see this.”

“That
decision is up to her.”

“No,
it is not.”

“You
were Liza’s brother,” Phillip interjected. “But Mara was the Captain of her
Guard.”

Garreth
turned to face Phillip, anger blazing in his eyes. “After what she went through
with Edward, she is in no condition to…”

As
they argued, the chill surrounding Mara began to seep into her veins. Her voice
sounded hollow as she spoke, her words silencing the men standing before her.
“If I cannot walk through those doors then I never deserved to be…” A shiver
danced upon her spine. “I will regret it forever.”

“Please,
Mara,” Garreth pleaded.

“I
have to,” she answered. “Please, Garreth. Let me go.” The moment stretched into
a battle of silent wills before Garreth finally released his grip on Mara’s arm
and took several steps to her right. He met her violet eyes as he stated, “Be
strong, Mara. You have to be strong.”

She
did not respond, instead focusing all her strength on forcing herself to step
past the two men and into the room beyond. The chamber was made of the same
dark stone that formed the rest of the castle, the chamber lit by a large fire
on either side along with several torches that lined the walls. Three bodies
lay upon the stone floor. The one closest was the three-hundred year old Erik,
whose sword still lay clutched in his hand where he had fallen. Mara became
grateful for the seeping cold protecting her as she forced herself to move forward,
searching for the courage to face the last two bodies.

They
lay beside each other on the right side of the bed. Davith was in front of the
Princess, as though protecting her even in death. With over seven-hundred years
of experience, Davith could have easily been the Captain of Liza’s guard, but
had assented to Edward’s request that Mara receive the coveted position. It was
argued that given the extreme youth of the Princess that Mara, as both young
and a woman of royal blood, made a more suitable match. Davith’s presence had
always been a welcome addition to Mara’s inner circle and had proven to be a
guiding light upon which she had come to rely upon heavily, especially during
the years that Edward had been away.

Now
he laid upon the floor, his short blond hair stained red. His neck had been
slashed open, spilling his arterial blood across his pale skin and covering the
floor surrounding him. His golden blade lay beside him, never to rise again.
Mara stood there for a long time, and the others allowed it, averting their
eyes. It was only as her body began to shake that Garreth stepped forward. He
did not attempt to pull her back, but instead clasped his hand around her arm
and gently led her forward. They paused a mere step outside of the crimson pool
at their feet and Mara finally forced herself to face the fallen Princess. A
gasp escaped Mara’s lips as she realized that Liza had not simply been killed –
she had been mutilated.

Liza’s
light blue gown appeared a dark brown, saturated with blood. Her arms had been
skewered, a blade run along the inside of both arms, creating deep, horizontal
incisions in both wrists. Her face appeared as though clawed, covered with
deep, long gashes that opened her face to a point that she was barely
recognizable. The bones of her right cheek protruded through what was left of
her skin. Her lower jaw was broken, hanging from its hinges at a most unnatural
angle. The sockets of both eyes had been punctured, leaving gaping masses of
blood where her violet eyes should have been.

It
was at this moment, staring into the remains of Liza’s ruined eyes, when Mara
finally reached her limit. She turned her head quickly to her left and bent at
the waist, lowering her head just in time to avoid vomiting all over herself.
Garreth leaned forward and held back her long hair. When she finished spilling
the contents of her stomach, Garreth wrapped his arms around her, pulling her
unsteadily to her feet. She felt lightheaded, suddenly unable to stand on her
own. She again stared at the ruins of the Princess’ eyes. It was an image which
even now existed as clearly in her mind as it had the first moment she had
looked upon it that night long ago.