Bride by Midnight (14 page)

Alone, alone, alone...

Lyssa became aware that both her husband and her father were calling her name. She did not know how many times they’d called to her, but they both looked concerned. Blade’s concern had to be an act. He did not care for her or about her. He would not care if she dropped dead here in the street, mysteriously killed by some dark magic, so long as he got into the palace first.

Darkness and light, the witch Vellance had said. Was this what she’d been talking about so long ago?

“I can’t go in there,” Lyssa said, handing the sack of spices to her father.

“Why not?” Blade asked.

“Are you ill?” Her Papa leaned in close, looking into her eyes. He was truly concerned.

“I... I...” Would they believe her if she told them she was certain that if she stepped into that palace she would never leave? Would they believe her if she said there was a demon on Level Two, a Ksana demon determined to see her dead? She could already see the answer in Blade’s expression. He thought she was stalling to keep him from his goal.

Maybe she was. Not consciously, of course, but... she wasn’t ready to lose him. She would never be ready to lose him! If he managed to kill the man he sought and was lucky enough to escape, he would no longer need her. If he died, as he was certainly prepared to do, then she would be a widow. And alone, so horribly, completely alone.

“Dear, you’re much too pale,” her father said. He took the fabric from Blade and dismissed them both, as he headed for the palace entrance. “Blade, take her back to the shop and relieve Sinmora. She hasn’t been feeling well, either, and I’m sure she’ll be glad to return home earlier than expected.” He glanced back over his shoulder and smiled. “Perhaps the two women in my life are suffering from a similar malady.”

Blade glared at her. “I’m sure Lyssa can return to the shop on her own. She does not need my help, and I would like to meet the palace purchasing agent if I’m to be fully involved in the business.”

“Another time,” Cyrus called without even glancing back. “Lyssa appears to be much too wobbly to proceed on her own.” A moment later he was gone, walking past the sentinels who knew him well, and soon disappearing from view.

They did not immediately retreat. Lyssa’s fear faded, but it did not disappear. Life continued all around them, residents of the city walking past and around.

“Why?” Blade finally whispered.

“I did not stop you on purpose,” Lyssa said. “I really do feel... ill.”

He glared at her. The tension in his body was so high she did not dare to move any closer. At this moment he was more of a danger to her than any demon child. She stood firmly between him and his goal. Even though she had assisted him to this point, she was an obstacle.

Blade not only expected to die, he wanted death. He craved it.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. Since her birthday—since her marriage—everything had changed. She knew things she should not. She felt danger where before there had been none. In truth, her world was spinning out of control.

“You will have another chance.” She reached out and grabbed his arm because she needed the support. He did not shake away her touch, as she’d thought he might. He was so angry. Angry with her, frustrated because he was so near to his goal but not near enough.

Her father was inside the palace. The feeling of evil watching from above had faded, and still Lyssa reeled. It was like she was caught in a waking dream. While life went on around her, solid and real, she saw a sword, the blade flashing as it had once done in a nightmare. She saw her husband holding that sword, and she saw the man he had come here to kill. It was real and not real, truth and fantasy. Her knees threatened to buckle, but she remained strong. What choice did she have?

She took a step closer, tilted her head back and looked into Blade’s angry eyes. “You will kill him, this man who murdered your sister. But not today, Blade. The time is not right.”

One of the words the demon had whispered was
witch
. Was that what she had become? Whatever she was, whatever she’d become, she knew Blade would get his revenge. Soon. For a vengeance born out of love for his sister, he would risk his life. She didn’t see what would happen after that—if he would die, or if he would survive and leave her. Either way, he had no intention of being the husband she needed and wanted.

She loved him. Unexpectedly, strongly, undeniably. And she was suddenly heartbroken that he would never return that love.

Chapter Eleven

Lyssa was not herself, and hadn’t been from the moment she’d stumbled outside the palace—so close to Volker, so damn close and still... not nearly close enough. After an afternoon spent minding the shop, he escorted her into the home they shared. She was subdued; she did not smile; she did not once look at him as if she thought she could fix his life. Fix
him
, more rightly.

She’d even declined Hagan’s invitation to supper before Blade could do it himself. She liked Hagan; she enjoyed dining with him, chatting over a meal someone else had prepared. But tonight... Tonight she was shaken and clearly not in the mood for company.

Once inside the cottage, she’d sliced bread and cheese and fruit, and eaten without talking. It wasn’t like her not to carry on a one-sided conversation while they walked or ate or worked. He should be glad. He’d never been fond of chattering women. But sitting at the small table, fire blazing, candles lit, he missed the sound of Lyssa’s voice. In a perverse way he craved it.

Finally he was compelled to ask, “What’s wrong. Are you truly ill?”

“Not ill,” she said, tearing off a piece of bread and playing with it. “But...”

“But what?” He didn’t mean to snap, but he did.

She lifted her head and looked at him squarely for the first time in hours. Those green eyes were so bright and clear and innocent. If he were another man, he could fall into her and get lost. Losing himself in a woman wasn’t an option in this life he’d chosen.

“Something is wrong with me,” she said. “Ever since... ever since we were married, I’ve been different. I know things I should not, I have dreams that are more than dreams, and... and...” She stopped, staring down into her lap as if she could not bear to look at him any longer.

“Dammit, Lyssa, spit it out!”

She hesitated, but not for long. “Last week I delivered some goods to an old woman who does not get around very well.” Still she did not look at him. “I touched her bad knee, and she said it felt instantly better. And this evening as we were walking home I saw her walking down the street. Quite spryly, I might add.”

“That doesn’t mean...”

She lifted her head and stared at him, and he wished she’d continued to look away. Lyssa, his happy wife, this naive and innocent person who lived in a world so unlike his own, was tortured. “There’s more. This afternoon, while I was standing mere feet from the palace entrance, I told you that you would kill the man who murdered your sister. But I didn’t tell you everything.” She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. “I actually saw you killing a man. I saw it in my head as clear as day, as clearly as if it were happening right before my eyes. He had a beard and brown eyes, and wore a very nice cloak. I recognized him, I’ve seen him in the palace, but I do not know his name. He was surprised when you killed him with your sword. It was so real. I smelled the blood, I watched his eyes go vacant....”

“I don’t have a sword,” Blade said. A beard, brown eyes, a nice cloak... maybe she’d seen Volker before and pulled that description out of her head. Or else she was guessing. Many men had beards and brown eyes.

“You will obtain one before you do what you came here to do.”

She sounded so confident, so sure of herself. “Is that why you’re upset, because you imagined me killing... this man?” He almost slipped and used Volker’s name, but caught himself in time.

Her eyes shone more brightly. “No. I imagined nothing. I
saw
. I
heard
. And I’ve seen more than what you’ve come here to do, much more.” Her fingers flexed, her throat worked as she swallowed nervously. “There is a demon daughter in that palace, Blade. A Ksana. And she wants... she intends to kill you. You, me... one or both of us. I just can’t see that part clearly. But she said I would be alone, she whispered it in my ear, in my head. Such a horrible word, alone. I am tired of hearing it, again and again.”

“Why didn’t you mention this earlier?” After all, they had spent hours together, in the shop. Customers had come and gone, true, but there had been more than one opportunity for her to tell this tale. She had not.

“I did. I told you that you would kill this man just... not today.” She looked down. “I wanted to think on the details before I said any more. It’s all just so wrong, in so many ways.”

The stress of this “marriage” was obviously too much for Lyssa. She was losing her mind, or else she was lying to him, trying to scare him away, trying to make him change his mind. Nothing and no one would keep him from killing Miron Volker, and if that was her game she was wasting her breath.

“The only way this could be happening, the only way you could know things like this is if you’re a witch. You’re not a witch, are you?” He tried to make his voice light, as if he were teasing her. He expected a quick “No!” but Lyssa said nothing.

***

A witch
. A witch like the old hag who had warned her that she had to be a bedded wife before she turned twenty-three. She’d suspected as much this afternoon, standing before the palace with a demon whispering in her ear, and again moments later, with visions of a bearded man’s death playing in her head as clearly as if it were happening before her at that moment. But when the words had come out of Blade’s mouth it had become all too real.

Lyssa did not remember her mother. Her father had told her stories; sweet, normal stories of a wonderful woman who had died too soon. But she now knew that her father could lie when it suited him. He had withheld the news about the baby Sinmora carried, and keeping that secret was almost as egregious as a lie. He could, and did, withhold information.

Had her mother been a witch? Thanks to that shared blood, did she herself possess dark powers that slept within her?

No, they did not sleep. Not anymore. Blade had awakened the witch in her the night they’d been married, the night he’d taken her against a stone wall. Without love or tenderness, without any reason on her part other than her fear of living her life alone.

If she had not gone to the tavern, if she’d accepted her fate and become a nun or an old maid, would the witch in her have been awakened? She suspected—no, she
knew
—not.

There was no going back, no undoing what had been done. She’d made her choice and these were the consequences.

She so wished that there was someone she trusted to teach her, to answer her questions. What she saw, were they true visions of what was to be or only what might be? Blade wanted his sister’s murderer dead; the Ksana demon wanted Lyssa and her new husband dead. One or both. And honestly, she could not be
alone
if she was dead. She did wish the demon would pick a threat and stick with it.

Surely a true witch would not be so confused.

Again Blade left Lyssa on her own in the bedroom. He would sleep on the floor by the fire, keeping his distance, leaving her alone when the very reason for their marriage was so she would
not
be alone.

Had she made a mistake by marrying him? Even knowing what she now knew, she didn’t think so. No. He’d been the only suitable answer to an immediate dilemma, a solution to a problem which would have soon sent her to a nunnery. He was supposed to be temporary, a man to meet certain requirements only until the right man came along. She’d been so clever, so sure of herself. She had never expected to discover that she had romantic notions about her husband.

Notions he obviously did not share.

She donned her nightdress and crawled beneath the covers. A nice, big, soft bed should be a luxury, but she was accustomed to a narrower, harder one. This bed seemed much too large for one person alone. There was room for Blade here. More than enough room.

She rolled over and blew out the single candle that burned on her bedside table, then flopped onto her back, sighed in dismay at finding herself alone once more and shut her eyes, as if that simple act alone would force her to sleep.

She lay there for a few long moments, eyes closed, heart beating too hard, attempting to will herself to sleep. Maybe she and Blade were both wrong. Maybe by morning she would have a reasonable explanation for what she’d experienced today. Illness, perhaps, or a temporary breakdown of some kind. Maybe the dried meat she’d eaten at midday had been bad. She took deep, even breaths and thought of pleasant things. Flowers and butterflies and sweet cake. It wasn’t easy to leave the events of the day behind and claim blessed sleep, but she was almost there when she heard it.

Breathing. Not hers, and not Blade’s. Not only would she have heard him open the bedroom door if he’d entered, that was not his breath. It was lighter, faster.... She opened her eyes, wondering if she’d fallen asleep and was only dreaming that she had insomnia.

Above her, looking down, floating no more than a foot above her face, flaming red eyes shone bright in the darkness.

Lyssa rolled off the bed, making her escape. Her feet hit the floor, and she sprinted toward the door. Well, she sprinted to the place where she thought the door should be and met a solid wall. The room was entirely dark, and she was more than a little disoriented.

A young woman’s sweet and confident voice whispered, “Don’t go, Lyssa. We have so much to talk about before you die. You, or him, or both. If he is dead you are no threat to us, no threat at all. If you are dead, he is just another man.” It was the same voice that had whispered to her outside the palace.

Lyssa felt for the wall and made her way along it to where the door handle should be. Nothing. Frantically, her hands skimming the wall, she searched for it until she finally noted—a good two feet to her right—a sliver of light peeking through a crevice. With that as a guide she reached again for the handle and found it. She threw the door open on a soft titter of laughter.