Lilah (27 page)

‘I know you don’t love Lewis, that you still
yearn for another.’

I was
loathe
to argue,
mostly in the hope that if I did not engage in conversation she would leave
sooner. It was well known that I was not the most accommodating wife, and
subject to argument; though I did have some feelings towards him. After
Oleander was born he seemed to soften. He had conceived another child in
centuries gone but I did not ask what became of him. Although I perhaps spent
more time with him than anyone, Lewis was still a mystery, so guarded of his
past and his thoughts. I often wondered why he passed so much time alone when
there were so many who vied for his attentions.

I’d had enough of the scrutiny and asked her to
leave so I could continue my work.

‘You are not liked here by the other strigoi.
If I were you I would have left a long time ago.’ Then she looked suddenly
pleased. ‘But then you can never leave can you.’ There was too much
satisfaction in her smile to be anything other than malice.

She departed but her words had affected me so
much that I could no longer concentrate on my tasks. The other strigoi in the
castle kept their distance and their greetings were superficial. I thought it
was only arrogance that made them appear suspicious, but I now had to consider
the depth of their resentment.

I confided in Georgio of my situation with
Lewis and he had jokingly called me a ‘prison bride’ something I had thought
amusing. But it was clear that others knew the terms of our personal
arrangement also.

Neve might be bitter but she knew in her heart,
if she had one, that not even she had a choice in any matter concerning her
destiny. We were all prisoners.

Lewis had arranged for a strigoi wedding as he
also felt that such an act would keep me safe and respected. Though one could
hardly call it a wedding since there was no higher order to marry us and I did
not consider it legal since it was not in the house of God. It was merely our
pledge.

Irene helped me dress, her warm touch giving me
some strength on that day. I was bathed in water scented with lavender. Lewis
had purchased my wedding attire and it took two servants to lay it carefully on
the bed. The gown was cream, beaded heavily with crystals, and with pleating
from just under the bust. The sleeves were wide and tied with pale pink ribbons
at the elbows. A cap made from pearls covered my plaited hair.

Despite my annoyance, Irene was instructed to
paint my face with crushed white lead. She then rouged my cheeks and with a
tiny brush painted my lips the colour of wine with paste made from beeswax and
crushed flowers. To me the effect was anything but beautiful and more like a
harlot or street performer, and all the while I sat in front of the mirror
pondering my future and thinking of another’s betrayal.

In the weeks preceding this day I had cried
constantly and ate little, my melancholy leading to a fever, so weak had I
become. The night I had left the house of Gabriel to fall asleep in the snow,
Lewis had lifted me in his arms, returning me to the castle to heal my frosted
bones. Irene reported that at one point I was so delirious calling names and
places that she had never heard of. Irene could not remember the names –
they were jumbled sounds but I thought that perhaps they were my visions.

I recovered slowly and said little. Lewis had
visited me once in the room to advise that our wedding would take place in
coming days. He stood arrogantly and there was no negotiation but neither was
there any fight from me. I had accepted my destiny.

‘If it is any consolation,’ he said quietly
without emotion, ‘Gabriel and Arianne will not be present.’

Just the sound of their names stabbed at my
heart.

‘In time you will get over the feelings you had
for Gabriel,’ he continued. ‘And it is best to forget the miscreant who was
once human. She is no longer your friend. She would sooner see you die than
befriend you once more.’

‘You misunderstand my melancholy,’ I said,
falsely. ‘I have no feelings towards them.’ He seemed pleased with this and
left but his words caused me to weep once more as there was
no-one
to turn to. No family or friends to fully confide in, just a life destined to
remain with a creature of nightmares.

It was Irene who supported me throughout this
time.

‘I know it doesn’t mean much,’ she said, ‘but I
have grown up with Lewis and know he will be kind to you.’

I responded with sobbing that was so loud,
Irene hushed me and held me firmly to her breast to calm. She was only a few
years older than me but seemed so wise in her quiet human way and I felt sorry
for her too. I told her this through tears and gasps for breath.

‘Don’t feel sorry for me,’ she said. ‘I know no
other home. My mother was born
here
as was I. I did
not even know my father, and it is not all boring in the quarters beneath the
galley. We have a kinship and we are fed well and the world outside seems too
fearsome to be part of. I am looked after here.’

Just like me she owned nothing, could not leave
and was born to serve, just in a different way.

‘I can tell you though,’ she said. ‘That while
you were lying there shivering for days from your icy illness, Lewis was in
here regularly checking on you. I am not old enough to have witnessed him in
love before, and I have never seen him frown so much as he did. Although he
cured you with magic your whole body seemed to fight it. He was afraid you
would die willingly.’

Lewis.
In love?
How
ridiculous. I wished I had died.

I had repaired on the outside, though
internally my heart was sad. On the day of our union, the sun shone into the
grand hall; the light streaming in pathways of gold across the stone tiled
floors, highlighting the circular patterns of coloured stones.

The other strigoi stood in two lines for me to
walk through. Lewis did not look so old this day. His beard had been trimmed
and he wore a resplendent tunic of cream silk threaded with gold, and a long
ruby cloak. Despite his reassurances that all would be well, I could feel
nothing but dread.

As I walked the others chanted in
witch
speak
, some of which I understood to be wishes of fertility to expand the
coven. While approaching my warden who waited with a half smile, something rare
to see, I prayed to God that I would be barren. I did not want a child to be
born here.

My wish was not granted. Oleander was conceived
on our wedding night. Lewis was a gentle lover. His body was lean and cool to
touch and despite his years his skin was smooth. I had only known such an
experience through an act of violence.

Lewis’s room had been decorated in pale blue,
colours that he thought I would like, and silver hair brushes and mirrors were
laid out on a small table of marble designed and made as a wedding gift. I did
not begin our marriage as a blushing bride. Instead I was flushed with pride
and disdain. The experience was unpleasurable and I made it so, refusing to
yield. Though despite my chagrin I did marvel at the effort he made to ensure
my comfort. And I recalled how Irene had used the word
love
and wondered
whether it was at all possible for a strigoi to understand its meaning.

Afterwards, he left the bed and I heard the
sounds of horses at the front entrance and other loud voices I did not recognise:
a carriage full of people lured under false pretences and soon to be the
celebratory feast of those beasts which had touched my shoulders to wish me
well.
Is this what you had planned for me, mother, father? Is this what you
were protecting me from?

Lewis had been right about one thing. I grew to
not hate him but neither was I able to feel affection. He doted on his young
daughter and this perhaps removed the hate, but the love I felt in my heart was
all for Oleander.

I watched my daughter then, long hair and
golden eyes. So like me said Irene. Oleander knew she was loved. She did not
look down at her feet but raised her chin and addressed everyone inquisitively
with her eyes. She was much like her father, strong and unemotional. I admired
that she was not like me: she would always look out for herself first.

Lewis

I did not mean to care so much this
time. My last wife encouraged no feeling of fondness. She was merely a means to
an end, to continue my line. She bore me a weak-minded witch and I eventually
left them to their mortal lives. To begin with my wife was given every luxury
in the castle, every material desire, just not the one thing she wanted most
– my approval.

My son attempted to run away so often that I
could see no good in his company. We carted him blindfolded for days,
delivering him to a foreign country so that he would never know how or where to
find us. I had him
watched
as I did not believe in
completely abandoning my own kin. He became a drunkard and in his stupours he
would tell stories that he once lived in a castle with the strigoi, a word
associated to many as just a gypsy story. He was laughed out of one town before
begging in another.

One night his minders slipped five gold coins
in his pocket. He had woken perhaps knowing they came from me before spending
them on drinking and sleeping at inns with harlots. He did not have the
strength to be a
strigoi,
instead he drank himself to
death. My regret for his destiny inspired the decree to offer
the change
to those witches worthy of such a gift, and the weak to make a quick end to
their pitiful lives.

I did not convert my son’s mother to strigoi
for the signs of mania were delivered early. She was committed to a nunnery
where she shouted out blasphemies one minute and then at other times begged for
forgiveness for marrying the devil. It was not so unusual for witches to
succumb to such a disease, especially born as bastards with little knowledge to
cope with their magic.

My methods may seem heartless but a master must
be decisive and always the strength of the coven must take precedence over any
personal desires. Unions must produce heirs and those who did not show strength
did not earn a place beside me. Many have been killed for weakness, or
questioning my motives, as well as those who betrayed me.

That marriage was near to a full century
earlier and it was this experience that delayed me expanding my line until
Lilah arrived. I had heard many years earlier from a soothsayer that
one day
I would care for someone who would produce a
powerful heir. And in the months after Lilah’s arrival, I knew she was the one.
Though, I lament often on the other words spoken: the girl would not
reciprocate my feelings.

While humans might refer to me as elderly, my
body aged well past middle
years,
internally I was
still as strong as a human male in his prime. Lilah and I were meant to be
together for our union had created a protégé in my daughter. I sensed the
powers within my daughter shortly after her birth. I would finally be able to
return to the earth knowing that the coven was in safe hands with an heir but
that was still years away while Oleander grew to maturity.

My wife entered from the courtyard. She was
twenty years and growing more appealing by the day. Since the wedding night she
had been, for the most part, a dutiful wife, accepting her circumstance.
Though, sometimes the disapproval in her expression often preceded our verbal
disagreements, which were often over the treatment of the witches. At other
times, she would touch my arm in genuine affection to marvel at our daughter’s
progress.

But there were other events that would yet test
the strength of our marriage. The day was coming when the date for Oleander’s
conversion must be set in ink, and I could tell this weighed heavily on Lilah’s
mind. I had thought that it might be good to marry our daughter first and
produce another child with blood from one of the oldest strigoi lines but the
thought of keeping her chaste would be a good omen for the future of the coven,
and without the distraction of maternal instincts that might affect her
decisions.

In many ways I wished to please Lilah and
ensure her happiness yet it was my duty not to put anyone ahead of the coven.
If that meant introducing my daughter to the strigoi gift sooner, then so be
it.

As if sensing my thoughts my wife asked me of
the plans I had for Oleander.

‘We will wait and see.’

‘What does that mean?’

She had come looking for an argument.

‘Surely you can see it!’

Lilah knew what I was talking about. There was
a discernible aura of witchcraft around Oleander that only a strigoi or witch
could see. To see this so early meant that Oleander’s skills would be powerful
by the time she reached adulthood.

‘So can she not stay a powerful witch and
travel the land for her freedom.’

‘As a witch she would still be in danger…’

‘But as a blood sucker she is not?’

This phrase that she used to mock me did not
offend. But it continued to remind me that she lived in sufferance of me for
the sake of our daughter.

‘You may use the speech of a peasant to get
your point across but the answer is still yes! It is her rite of passage to the
highest of orders.’