Before the Dawn (11 page)

Raven continued to speak, and his voice wove
its own spell around Aline. It was the oddest sensation, but she
could hear and see what he was narrating in her mind while feeling
like it was all happening to her as he described it. And, slowly,
she began to understand the mystery of it all.

***

Chapter 11

She was dancing with the Prince. No. No, it
wasn't her. It felt like it was her, but there was a difference.
Rosamund. She was Rosamund in this story, or memory. And she was
dancing with the man she loved.

"How is your father?" the Prince asked her
politely as he twirled her round the ballroom. His pale eyes never
left her face. No one had ever looked at her with such intensity
and longing before. She felt completely vulnerable and desired at
the same time under his gaze.

"He is well," she replied. "But he becomes
more upset by the day that my sisters and I will not tell him what
magic works on us. He has taken to placing soldiers outside our
chambers to guard us, and he even ordered one to sleep within our
rooms!" Rosamund became quite incensed when she remembered the
soldier who had been chosen to stay in the chambers she shared with
her sisters. The soldier was recently returned from one of the wars
her father always seemed to be waging against some other kingdom in
the south, and she found him to be quite—disturbing. There was
something about the manner with which he looked at her that never
failed to unsettle her. It was as if he could see something within
her that even she herself was not aware of. And then there was also
the way the man smiled at her, so openly and insolently. It was
really quite aggravating.

"That soldier could have followed you here,"
the Prince now said with concern in his tone.

"No," she shook her head. "I gave him a
sleeping draught. He will not know we have been gone till we return
before the dawn."

And his face became sad all of a sudden.
"Must you return?" he asked. "You can stay here, and dance with me
until the sun rises. Then we can be truly together."

She let out a little sigh and refused to meet
his gaze. "I do not know if I can. My father is old, and we are his
heirs. He wishes to see us wed to princes from the neighboring
kingdoms so he can make sure our people will be looked after once
he is gone. As the eldest, he is especially depending on me to do
what is best for our subjects. So I do not think I can stay here,
with you." Even as she said the words, she knew that she was
hurting him.

"But I happen to be a Prince from a
neighboring kingdom," he protested. "I can marry you and guarantee
the safety and well-being of your people for centuries."

At his words, she felt tears prickle her
eyes. Rosamund knew he meant well, but he did not understand. He
was immortal, and magic, while she was merely human for all that
she was a Princess. Unions between their different peoples never
lasted long and often ended in tragedy. It was in all the stories
and songs the bards shared during cold winter nights when she and
her sisters begged them to tell the tales of love they knew. Though
the Prince often said he loved her and displayed his emotions quite
openly, she never lost the nagging doubt at the back of her mind
that this was all an enchantment that would break one day, and she
would lose her youth and die while the Prince would be young and
handsome forever. And, perhaps it was selfish of her, but she did
not want an end like that for her love. She wanted someone who
would stay with her throughout her journey in life, someone who
would look upon her face in her old age with the same affection as
in her maidenhood. She wanted someone who would understand what
being mortal meant.

When he saw that she wouldn't reply to his
last declaration, he led her away from the ballroom and into one of
the deserted balconies. There he kissed her with a fever that she
found increasingly difficult to resist by the night. "Promise me,"
he gasped when their lips finally parted, "promise me you will
always come back to dance with me. No matter what happens, you will
always come back to me. Promise."

It was a lie, but she said it anyway. "I
promise." And her heart felt like it would break then because she
truly wanted to keep her word.

He held her close for a long moment. "I will
find a way, my Princess," she heard him vow. "I cannot give you
true immortality, for that is a gift only my people may have, but I
will find another way for us to be together throughout time. Just
swear to me that when I find you again, you will choose to stay
with me."

A sob suddenly escaped from Rosamund’s
throat. "Please let us not talk of this anymore," she begged him.
"The future can fend for itself but, for now, we are together. I do
not wish to be reminded that all of this will end one day."

"Why would you say such a thing?" he demanded
as he pulled away from her in sudden anger. "It is as if you have
accepted we will be parted eventually. I will not accept such a
fate. I do not care what forces I defy, but I will find the means
for us to stay together. That is the measure of my love for
you."

Her only response was to break down in tears.
Giving her an anguished look, the Prince suddenly ran and leaped
off the balcony, transforming into a snowy owl as he did so, and
then he flew away. She called out his name and asked him to come
back, but it was too late. He was gone. Crying in earnest, she sat
down in one dark corner, feeling her heart break for the first time
because of a love she knew was hopeless.

A hand appeared out of the corner of her eye.
It was holding out a rough-looking yet clean handkerchief and,
startled, she looked up to see the face of the soldier they had
left sleeping in her father's castle.

"You!" She sprang to her feet in shock. "What
are you doing here? How did you get here?"

"I followed you and your sisters, Your
Highness," he replied.

"But—but how? I gave you a sleeping
draught!"

He suddenly grinned and looked quite roguish.
"Oh, I merely pretended to drink it." He held out the handkerchief
to her again. "Here. For you to dry your tears." His voice was soft
with sympathy.

She looked at it disdainfully, trying to hide
the alarm she felt at the fact that he had discovered the secret
she and her sisters shared. "I have my own, thank you," she snapped
and took out a piece of fine linen to wipe the tears from her
eyes.

He stiffened and the warmth she had seen
earlier on his face disappeared. "Well then. If you and your
sisters have had enough of dancing for one night, Your Highness, I
will now escort you back to the castle." He started to turn
away.

"Wait!" she entreated. "What will you tell my
father?"

He shrugged. "The truth, of course."

"You cannot!" she gasped. "He will be
furious, and he will accuse us of consorting with the people of the
Strangelands!"

"But isn't that what you have been doing?" He
looked at her coldly.

"Oh, you don't understand anything," she
said, exasperated. "I will speak to my father and I will tell him
what has been truly going on, and you will not contradict me or
offer your opinions of what you think is true."

He bowed, and she was quite certain that he
was mocking her when he said, "As you wish, Your Highness. I follow
your commands."

He gestured for Rosamund to lead the way and
she went to collect her sisters for their return home. The soldier
trailed behind them and, to her annoyance, her youngest sister
struck up a conversation with him and the two of them seemed to
have quite an enjoyable little chat as their group passed through
the different groves. Rosamund frowned at her youngest sister
disapprovingly, and when the girl saw the look on her eldest
sibling’s face, she blushed and stopped talking to the soldier.

When they finally arrived at the castle, the
sun was just rising. And the King was waiting for them in their
chambers. He listened impassively as the soldier gave his short
report and then he turned to Rosamund and asked her for an
explanation. It took a while for the eldest Princess to tell him
everything, and her sisters kept interrupting with bits and pieces
of information that made the entire conversation quite difficult to
follow, but the old monarch was able to hear the whole tale of
their enchantment at last.

His face was dark when he spoke his judgment.
"You and your sisters will never go back to those accursed
Strangelands again," he proclaimed. "Send for the witch!" he
thundered, and the soldier who had brought the Princesses home
looked at Rosamund worriedly for a moment before he bowed and left
to carry out the King’s order.

"What are you going to do?" she asked her
father, alarmed by the fury in his eyes. She knew the reputation of
the witch her father often employed. The woman could be very nasty
in working her spells. The Princess did not want the cruel hag to
hurt the Prince in any way.

"She will break the enchantment upon you so
no daughter of mine will ever be lured by the devils of the
Strangelands again!" the King declared. "And she will destroy that
Prince who dared to claim you for his own!"

Her sisters were crying by this time, but
Rosamund was too stunned to shed any tears. She had never seen her
father so furious before and she was sick with worry about what the
witch could do to her Prince. "Father, please!" she begged him.
"There is no need for the witch and her spells. Just let me talk to
the Prince tonight and I will ask him to break the enchantment upon
us."

"Silence!" he roared. "Lock them in their
chambers!" he ordered the soldiers around him and, weeping,
Rosamund and her sisters were taken to their rooms where they were
placed under guard once more.

The Princess prayed the whole day, asking any
god who cared to listen to change her father's mind and to spare
the Prince from the witch's magic. But as she watched the sunset,
she began to feel complete despair wash over her. The whole
enchantment may have started as an amusement for the people of the
Strangelands, but the love that she felt for the Prince and his
love for her was true. Though she knew that they could never truly
be together, she did not want him to suffer because of her, and she
especially did not want to see him punished. But how could she stop
the witch from simply following the King’s commands? How could she
save her love?

There was a sudden knock on her door and she
quickly turned to face it, her heart pounding. "Enter," she called
out.

To her surprise, the young soldier who had
followed them to the Prince’s castle came in. "Your Highness," he
bowed to her deeply.

"What is it?" she asked. "Why are you here?"
She knew that he had only been following her father’s orders, but
she could not help blaming him for the dire situation she was
facing now.

He hesitated for a second, then he spoke.
"I—I overheard the witch speaking with the King, Your Highness. She
was telling him that the only way she could cast the spell to
destroy your Prince was to use," he hesitated for a moment then
went on, "the love that you bear for him. Your Highness, she will
use the love you feel to find him in the Strangelands and send her
killing curse after him. I thought—I thought that you should know."
He wouldn't meet her eyes.

Rosamund sank down on a nearby chair, her
legs suddenly weak. She felt sick with horror. "No," she whispered,
refusing to believe her ears. "No. He will die, and it will be my
fault. Oh, Gods, please don't let this terrible thing happen!" She
began to cry again.

"Your Highness," the soldier came to kneel
before her. There was an oddly determined expression on his face,
as well as something else. Something that she eventually recognized
as true concern. And, perhaps, affection? But, no, that was a
foolish fancy. The soldier went on speaking and she forced herself
to gather her thoughts and listen to him. "I offer whatever service
I can to help you," he said. "You need only speak the words."

"Why?" she demanded. "Why would you do this?
Why would you want to help me?"

He met her gaze then. "I saw you dancing with
him, my Princess," he said softly. "I saw how you looked at him.
You truly love him."

"Yes. Yes, I do," she admitted as fresh tears
came to her eyes. "But we can never be together. There are too many
things that wish to tear us apart."

"Then try to save him at least," he
responded, his tone passionate. "Make sure that he will live, so
even if you cannot be together, you will know that he is well."

"But I don't know how to save him," she
exclaimed. "I don't possess any magic that could protect him from
the witch."

"He has his own magic, does he not?" he said
reasonably. "Warn him at least so he will be prepared. If you write
to him, I will find my way back to the Strangelands so I can give
him your letter."

She thought about the soldier's words. He was
right, of course. She could not just sit and do nothing when she
knew that her Prince was in grave danger. She had to do something,
anything, that could help him. She stood up, suddenly full of
resolve. "I will not write a letter," she said. "We will go to the
Strangelands together so I can speak with the Prince myself. And if
he does have enough magic to keep him safe from the witch, then I
will stay with him and never return."

The soldier and Rosamund then made their
plans. Once night had fallen, he slipped the sleeping draught she
once gave him into the wine skins of the men guarding the
princesses. When they were sure that the guards were fully asleep,
Rosamund gathered her sisters together and told them what she
intended to do, and they agreed to assist her. So when the
enchanted music began playing and the passage to the Strangelands
opened, they hurried through it with the soldier leading the way.
As they came upon the first grove, the one with the silver trees,
Rosamund gave a little scream of pain when suddenly, for the first
time she could remember, one of the leaves cut her on her arm. She
stared at the wound dully for a moment before she realized what it
meant.