While Beauty Slept (50 page)

I stood and made my way to the lavender bush, where the first flowers had burst from their buds. Pulling off a handful, I slipped them into my sleeve and braced myself for the return journey to the North Tower. It took my eyes some minutes to adjust from the outdoor twilight to the indoor gloom, and the flickering shadows seemed to mock me as I waved my candle in a pitiful attempt to banish them. Intent on my destination, I did not notice the faint glow emanating from the Great Hall. Indeed I might have passed by it altogether had a sound not immobilized me with terror. It was a voice, calling my name.

Slowly, I crept toward the open archway and peered inside. My gaze passed over the marble floors, the lofty walls, the priceless tapestries. Across the room a beacon of light pulled me forward, toward the royal thrones, where a darkened figure sat in wait.

Millicent.

The woman I had last seen as a near-skeleton had not lost her air of decay. Her mottled, scarred skin was stretched tight across her face, and white hair hung in thin wisps across her forehead and cheeks. But she had draped her hunched frame in the lush green cloak I remembered so well, and a glittering crown was perched atop her head. What a fool I had been to think the pox could fell such a woman! Her sunken eyes gleamed with the reflected light of the lantern at her feet. She watched me approach, step by step, savoring the moment. For what satisfaction is there in victory without an audience to applaud it?

So this is how it ends,
I thought,
with
Millicent triumphant.

“Have you come to pay me homage at last?”

Her shrill voice catapulted through the room, coming back at me in a horrifying echo. I could only stare at her in mute dismay. I was tired, so very tired, and utterly drained of the will to fight.

“Elise.” The word was a hiss, a desecration of my name. “Bow down before me as the rightful ruler of this land.”

“Rose is the rightful ruler,” I said, not nearly as forcefully as I’d intended.

“Not for long.”

The terrible finality of her words chilled me. How could she know that Rose was close to death? Then I remembered the secret passageway that connected her bedchamber to Rose’s. Was it possible that she had been able to hear us from her sickbed? That while I thought her dead, Millicent had been listening to Rose’s moans and my desperate prayers?

“I am the last of my family’s line,” Millicent proclaimed, “and with Rose’s death the throne passes to me. As it should have, long ago.”

She had the look and bearing of a madwoman, yet I could not deny that her words held a certain truth. Had she not been born a woman, what a ruler she might have been! Freed of the bitterness that had so corrupted her soul, she would have been capable of greatness.

“Even Flora agreed, did she not?” Millicent looked at me with wide-eyed innocence, knowing that the name of her deceased sister would play upon my sympathies. “She knew that my brother was a fool. Yet he took the reins of leadership, and I was left with no greater task than to find a husband. Imagine, Elise! Would that have been enough for you?”

I had always spoken in favor of Rose’s inheriting the throne. How could I not feel a pang of sympathy for Millicent as she once was, a woman whose talents had been crushed by custom and expectations?

“The kingdom must have a strong leader in these troubled times,” Millicent continued. “I will be your savior!”

Did she know how closely her cry of victory mimicked a lunatic’s cackle? Or did she simply not care? There was something magnificent about her still, sitting in self-righteous glory upon the throne that had eluded her for so long. I stood at the edge of the dais, looking upward, an obsequious position that brought a twisted smile to her face.

“You have done your best for Rose, but it is too late. Come—we shall celebrate the dawning of a new era. I assure you, Elise, it will be unlike anything you have ever experienced.”

She pulled herself up to stand, clutching the throne with one hand and reaching forward with the other. I caught a flash of burnished gold and saw she was wearing King Ranolf’s signet ring. The ring that had been handed down from father to son for generations as a symbol of their rule. The thought of Millicent pulling it from the king’s lifeless finger filled me with an overpowering rage. Her lust for power had destroyed the royal family and transformed a glorious castle into a graveyard, yet she had emerged from the ashes, gloating at her victory.

Millicent flourished the ring before my face, demanding the ultimate gesture of supplication. As her twisted knuckles came to within an inch of my face, I felt the belt cut into my waist. The press of the dagger against my side. With a swift, sudden movement, I took hold of her hand and tugged with all my strength. The jerk knocked her off balance, and she toppled from the dais, landing on the floor with a dull thump. For all her menacing air, Millicent was still an old woman, and her frail body was no match for my ferocity. Her cloak and skirts had fallen back to reveal her skeletal legs and arms, a pathetic sight that might have evoked sympathy in any other circumstances. But I had no shred of compassion left for Millicent. I would never allow the kingdom, no matter how weakened, to be ruled by such a creature.

I drew the dagger out from my belt and brandished it before me. My body retained the memory of Dorian’s lessons; I could still feel his arms pressed against mine, guiding my strokes. My hand seemed to move of its own accord, following the steps laid out by my husband years before: Twist the blade sideways so it slides between the ribs, then thrust upward with a sudden, brute force. Show no hesitation. No mercy. Millicent’s screams and mine blended together as I took aim at her heart, plunging the dagger into her flesh until the handle—and my hand upon it—jammed against her chest. Blood gushed from the wound, spattering my fingers and sleeves. I pulled the blade free and stared, appalled, as the crimson liquid poured from her bodice.

Millicent’s mouth gaped in silent agony as she struggled to breathe. I took a step back, then another, distancing myself from the pool of blood that was gathering at my feet. Her knobby hands grasped at the air, and her body writhed as her life force gradually seeped away. She looked, for once, like a harmless, helpless old woman, and I was momentarily aghast at what I had done. Then I saw her eyes, blazing with a hatred that banished any doubts. I would never be safe until she was dead.

Millicent had fooled me once before, when I thought the pox had taken her. I would not make the same mistake again. I watched as her twitching movements slowed, as her eyes closed and her gasps faded into silence. Gingerly, I stepped forward to check for signs of life. Millicent’s arms and legs lay motionless, and her chest was still. Her mouth hung open, frozen in an eternal, futile cry.

How, then, could her tormented screams still assault my ears?

I turned to look behind me. There, in the doorway, stood my cousin Prielle, eyes wide with shock, shrieking loud enough to wake the dead.

As if such a thing were possible.

The sight of me rushing toward her, bloodied and still clutching my murderous weapon, did nothing to ease her distress, for she shrank away from my embrace, trembling. I wiped the dagger flat across my skirt to clean it as best I could; I knew I would never wear the dress again.

“Prielle, thank God you are safe,” I said. “Please, do not be afraid. I can explain.”

“I thought . . .” Prielle struggled to keep her voice steady. “I thought I would be safe here. When you came to my house that day . . .”

“You were inside? Was it your face I saw at the window?”

Prielle nodded. “When I received your letter, I did exactly as you said. I stayed indoors and waited for my parents. They left as soon as the fighting ended, to reestablish trade with their partners in the north.”

Prielle’s parents had followed the same roads used by the returning soldiers, walking through a cloud of contagion. I could already guess how her story would end.

“They said they would be gone only a few days, and I waited and waited, but they did not return. As soon as word got out about the pox, the servants fled—said they’d take their chances in the country. But I remembered your warnings, and I stayed. Alone!”

I put a hand on her shoulder to calm her, for tears were now coursing down her cheeks.

“I guessed my parents were dead. They would never leave me so long otherwise, without sending word. But I did not know what to do! And then one day I heard a knocking on the door, but I was too frightened to answer. I peered out the window, and when I saw your face, I was so happy, for I thought myself rescued at last, and I rushed down the stairs, but by the time I came out, you had already gone.”

“I am so sorry,” I said. “So very sorry.”

“I didn’t know what to do. But today I decided I would rather take my chances with the pox than stay another hour in that house by myself.”

The shadows had deepened; the candle I had brought and Millicent’s lantern had both been extinguished during our scuffle. Soon Prielle and I would be left in complete darkness, and who knew what further perils might lurk there?

“I am so glad you have come. But we cannot stay here.”

I glanced back at Millicent’s body, a jumble of twisted limbs that bore little relation to the imposing figure that had once held such power over me. She was dead. Why, then, did I feel so empty?

Suddenly I remembered Rose, lying alone all this time. Without my cajoling had she given up the fight for her life?

“Come,” I urged Prielle. “We must go to the princess’s room.”

My heart dropped when we first entered the bedchamber, for Rose lay so still she might have been an effigy carved atop a tomb. Then, hesitantly, she turned at the sound of my footsteps. Her cheeks were pink, but not the blazing scarlet that had so frightened me in the days before. Her eyes were bloodshot and her skin slick with sweat, but my dear Beauty was awake and alert. The fever had broken. Rose had survived.

I had imagined myself falling to my knees in grateful prayer should Rose be spared. And I did sink to the floor, but it was not to give thanks to God. I collapsed because I no longer had the strength to stand. Relief mingled with a suffocating grief, and with wretched moans I wept for the king and the queen, for all those souls who lay forgotten and unmourned in the chapel below. I wept for Prielle’s family and my own, for my poor dead brothers who had known only drudgery and hunger in their short lives. And I cried for my younger, innocent self, who had died along with all the rest.

The sheets rustled. I raised the hem of my gown to wipe aside my tears and runny nose, and brushed back the hair that had come loose from its holders and hung ragged about my face. Leaning against the side of the bed, I rested my head on the pillow next to Rose’s. She stared at me in confusion, her mind still muddled.

“Elise.” Her voice was as faint as an echo heard from a far-off corridor.

“I am here, my darling.”

Rose looked over my shoulder, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar face that had entered her room.

“We have a new companion,” I told her. “My cousin, Prielle. I know you will become great friends.”

Prielle hovered behind me, unsure of her place. I waved her forward, and she joined me at the bedside, her pinched expression loosening as she looked down at the princess she had so long envied. Then, in a gesture that touched my heart, she dipped in a curtsy. Rose watched, motionless as a figure on St. Elsip’s Bridge of Statues, then looked back at me.

“Is it true?” she whispered. “My mother?”

Before I could formulate the right words, she understood what my hesitation portended. I watched as the full force of it hit her anew: the fate of her parents, the castle, her life. She closed her eyes in a vain attempt to blot out the vision, and I was overcome by hopelessness. The anguish I had seen wash across her face was beyond my power to heal.

Prielle stared at me with questioning eyes, and I saw her for the first time as she must have appeared to Rose: a thin, terrified girl, clad in a filthy dress more suited to a beggar woman than to a successful merchant’s daughter. Great blotches of red marred her bodice and skirt, and I realized to my horror that the stains were Millicent’s blood, pressed onto Prielle’s gown from my own. I glanced down at my reddened, sticky hands and felt my stomach twist with revulsion. Frantically, I pulled off the dress. I tossed aside the lavender twigs I had picked in the garden and scrubbed my hands and arms until the skin stung. Once I had changed, I told Prielle to do the same, insisting she take one of Rose’s gowns. Our old clothes I burned in the fireplace, destroying all evidence of my murderous deed.

I watched the flames catch at the fabric and tried to formulate a plan for the coming days. I now had two young women in my care, looking to me for guidance. When Rose was well enough to travel, we would go to Marcus—a thought I clung to as a beacon, lighting my way forward. But that would be merely a temporary respite. Rose was now the ruler of this land; she could not hide from her duties forever. Who would serve as her advisers, her courtiers, her ladies-in-waiting? Who would clear the bodies from the castle? Restock the stables with horses and the storerooms with food?

And how could Rose ever sit upon her father’s throne, now that it was sprayed with Millicent’s blood?

When nothing remained in the fireplace but ashes, I urged Prielle to lie on my pallet. I could hear Rose’s down-filled mattress rustle as she shifted position, and I wondered if her thoughts were mirroring my own. The pox may have passed, but I feared for her nonetheless. Would her agitated mind deny her the rest she so desperately needed? Could her fragile body withstand such strain? Consulting Flora’s ledger once again, I mixed up the sleeping potion, forcing my attention to remain on the task at hand rather than on the risk I was about to take. Gently, I urged a spoonful into Rose’s mouth, then watched as her eyes fluttered shut and her hands fell slack against her bedcovering. I continued to watch as her chest lifted and sank in a peaceful, unchanging rhythm.