Castle of the Wolf (27 page)

On some days Cissy could almost pretend to be the only living thing in the castle. An enchanted princess kept prisoner by the gargoyles looming above, springing up from the stone, their twisted faces forever frozen in ugly snarls. Then she wrapped her old, black pelisse tighter around herself, for the wind seemed to blow colder, mocking her hopes and dreams.

Lavender’s green, diddle diddle,

Lavender’s blue,

You must love me, diddle, diddle,

Because I love you.

Cissy closed her eyes against the sudden hot sting of tears.
Life is not a fairy tale,
her brother had told her, and in these bleak, dark moments she despaired that there would ever be a happy ending for her. She thought she would gladly sell her shadow for even a little bit of joy. But, no. She would forever roam the castle, sad and lonely, while the forest grew dense and thick around her so escape would become impossible. The wind sang in the trees, the same song forevermore, unchanging as the roar of the sea. And she was just a small pebble, thrown this way and that by forces far greater than herself.

It seemed to Cissy as if a whisper ran through the stones beneath her feet. When she was walking through these ancient rooms and hallways, the tapestries on the walls seemed to spring to life, green vines reached out from the fabric, unicorns bowed their horns toward her. An unseen breeze seemed to lift the clothes of the human figures as they turned their heads to stare after her.

And today, when she came to the great grandfather clock with its fantastic figures, the Sheep Princess regarded her stoically.

The clock struck five.

Cissy watched the lower screen slide aside to reveal the busy dwarves in their mine.
Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.
Always busy, always working, unchanging like the song of the wind in the trees. The eight on the face of the clock turned inward; the King of Dwarves appeared at the window and shot his beloved yearning looks. The enchanted princess might have smiled a little, but she remained a sheep, gray and wooly.

Cissy blinked
. I don’t want to remain a sheep forever
, she thought.
No, I don’t.
She reached inside her pocket and drew out the queen of spades, which she had been carrying around ever since the confrontation with her husband. The little queen leaned on her table and smiled at Cissy. When Cissy held up the card, she could just discern the outline of the man sitting between the queen’s legs, and the triangle of the hair covering the queen’s sex.

Cissy looked from the card to the closed door of Fenris’s study. The lion’s den, Leopold had once called it. But Leopold was an odious nidget. His brother was not a dangerous monster. Fenris had touched and kissed her just like the man in the picture. He had made her a queen. And queens had power.

Unlike fairy princesses.

Unlike fairy princess sheep.

Taking a deep breath, Cissy straightened her shoulders and curled her fingers around the queen of spades as if some of the queen’s power would thus spring over to her.
Well, I’m certainly not going to mope around like a ninny-brained daftie any longer, so he can just deal with it!
Her head held high, she marched to the door of the study, knocked once, and entered. The door clicked shut behind her.

Fenris raised his head.

When he saw who had intruded, something flickered over his face, a yearning, a softness that made him look vulnerable. But the next moment, the expression was gone and his features were cast in stone once more.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I want to talk to you,” Cissy said calmly, even though her heart hammered in her ears and drummed in her throat, threatening to drone out everything else.

Fenris held up the letter he had been reading and studied it intently. “Talk? I don’t see what we have to talk about.” He somehow seemed leaner than a few days ago, as if all the tension emanating from him had stretched tight the flesh over his bones.

Cissy’s skin prickled, and she had to take another deep breath to be able to continue. “Well, for one thing I was wondering why you no longer visit me.” She had tried to make herself sound nonchalant and flip, yet her words had come out yearning.
Pitiful,
she thought in disgust.

“Visit?” He frowned.

One corner of the queen of spades dug into the soft flesh of her thumb. “At
night
,” Cissy hastened to clarify. She gulped. “To share my bed.”

He froze. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head toward her. His gaze raked her up and down. “Do I understand you correctly?” His voice sounded strange, as if he were choking. “You’re asking me why I don’t come to your bed?”

Despite the heat flaming in Cissy’s cheeks, she nodded. “Yes.”

Incredulity was written all over his face. “To fuck you?” His eyes burned into hers.

Her cheeks heated even more. So, the snarling demon wolf was well and truly back. “Yes,” she said, and refused to look away.

Growling an oath, he whirled and strode to the window. His head bent, he braced his hands against the window frame. “You’re asking me why I don’t come to you at night to fuck you?” His voice was muffled. He shook his head. “
Himmel!
”

Cissy watched how his shoulders heaved with his rasping breaths. Then he straightened and slapped his hands against the stone. He turned, and his eyes burnt with some unspoken emotion. “Well…I…” When words seemed to fail him, he exploded. “Because I don’t want to molest you again!” He stared at her, his chest heaving like that of a horse ridden much too far.

Cissy’s eyes widened. “Molest?” she whispered.
He thinks…?
A powerful rush of emotion overwhelmed her, and she hurried toward his desk. “But Fenris, Fenris, you didn’t…” She felt tears dripping over her cheeks, and impatiently, she wiped them away with the back of her hand. “You thought…” Joy exploded in her veins, made her dizzy. She laughed. “Oh, sweeting, how could you have thought…” She looked at him tenderly. “You didn’t ‘molest’ me, Fenris. There was joy for me—so much joy and pleasure.” She opened her hand and put the queen of spades on his table. “Don’t you remember? So much joy!” She sniffed, wiped her nose.

Yet the expressions of relief she had expected did not come. Instead he stared at the card on his table as if it were a poisonous viper. With horror she watched how his face lost all expression. When he looked from the card to her, his eyes were bleak and dead. Then he turned toward the window once more.

“There was so much joy, Fenris,” she whispered, pleaded with him.

“Why can’t you let it be?” he asked harshly. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“What? I don’t understand.” Her throat hurt. Awkwardly, she wiped her hand over her wet cheeks. “Fenris—”

“Damn you!” His hands slapped against the stone wall. She started. An icy shiver raced down her spine.

“Fenris—”

“I wished to spare you, but you—” Again, he slapped his hands against the stone before he turned around. His expression strangely calm, he lifted his chin to a haughty angle and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “If you must know, that encounter did nothing for me.”

Everything in Cissy went still. “What are you saying?”

He raised an arrogant brow. “There might have been joy for you, but I found the whole experience utterly boring.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to be so crass as to say this to your face, but since you insist…” His voice trailed away. Another shrug.

Somewhere inside her, trembling started. The demon wolf she would have been able to handle. But this? She took a step back. “It was all a lie?”

He heaved an exaggerated sigh. “It is understandable that an innocent virgin would blow such a thing totally out of proportion.”

She took another step back. “You did not enjoy…”

“Well, I guess, it was not
too
bad, not for having been with an innocent like you.”

Her trembling reached outward. A violent shudder wracked her body.

“You shouldn’t take this so hard, you know,” he continued in the same hateful, bored voice. “It was all right, I guess. Just…” His mouth twisted. “Just not for me.”

A sob caught in Cissy’s throat. Pressing her hand against her mouth to hold it back, she whirled and ran blindly out of the room.

When the door banged closed behind her, Fenris flinched. He remained standing in the same posture a few moments more before his shoulders finally sagged. Wearily, he passed his hand over his eyes.

Then he looked at the card, which still lay on the table. Unperturbed by the drama that had been going on, the little printed queen smiled up at him.

Very slowly, he reached down and ran a gentle finger over her daytime face.

Interlude

The man prowled the ramparts while unseeing eyes followed his progress. His bitterness churned in their hearts, as it had for so many years. Bitterness and pain had become his companions on his lonely wanderings through the castle. No other companions than these. Always alone.

They understood his bitterness and pain.

They understood the fear that prevented him from reaching out when happiness became possible.

For a little moment it had seemed possible.

For a little moment…

But that fear had been greater, older, more powerful. And now, together with him, they mourned the loss of that one chance at happiness, and the pain which nearly buckled his knees twisted their hearts of stone.

Alone.

…forever…

…and ever…

…and ever…

Chapter 20

To stay away from him was easy. It was a big castle, after all. Sometimes days would pass before she even caught a glimpse of him. Yet at night, when she looked out the window, she would often see the flickering light of his lantern on the ramparts below her. Then she couldn’t help herself, couldn’t help following its progress until it disappeared around the next bend. And her heart would weep the tears she did not allow her eyes to shed.

Though she tried, she couldn’t forget that night he had been hers, the night he hadn’t walked the ramparts, but had lain in her arms, had cradled her safely. But—oh, it had all been an illusion! The protectiveness, the tenderness, the passion: he had repudiated it all.

Mrs. Chisholm wrote soothing letters, said to give him time.

Time?
Cissy laughed bitterly. She had given him all the time in the world, and in the span of one night she had given him all of herself, her body and soul, and he had found the experience “utterly boring.”

Yet whenever she tried to hate him for what he had done to her, she would see the flickering light of his lantern, a testimony of his lonely wanderings through the castle. He was a beast prowling his cage, never, ever able to escape.

Just as I am doomed to be the enchanted princess,
Cissy thought, and leaned her forehead against the cool stone. And now she couldn’t even go back. There was no return to her old life, no chance of ever being plain Cissy Fussell again. For better or worse, she was Celia von Wolfenbach. This was her castle. This was her fairy tale.

~*~

Easter approached. Together with all the women in the household of the old Graf, Cissy was busy dyeing paper and cutting it in thin strips. These were given to the young townspeople, and on the morning of Palm Sunday the young men carried high stakes adorned with crowns of colorful paper strips in the procession.

The family of Wolfenbach walked behind the priest and the wooden palm mule with the server swinging the incense. The sweet, bewitching smell mingled with the crisp aroma of spring as the procession moved from the marketplace to St. Margaretha’s. Yet neither incense nor the heralding spring could erase the scent of sandalwood emanating from the man walking beside Cissy, his head bent and his mouth cast in a tight line as he maneuvered the uneven cobblestones. He was so near she only needed to reach out to touch him, to slip her fingers into his hand, to intertwine them with his and offer him comfort and reassurance. But…

I found the whole experience utterly boring.

Cissy blinked away the sudden sting of tears. No, he would not want her comfort, even though he clearly looked miserable. It was obvious he didn’t want to be here, where the people stared at him and whispered behind their hands, where small children gaped at him as if they expected he would pounce and devour them at any moment. Yet tradition and the duties of family demanded of him to be here, to stumble over cobblestones with the whole town watching.

Not for the first time, Cissy wondered why he insisted on flaunting his disability like this, wondered whether he saw it as a punishment for a young boy joining the war against Napoleon and thus throwing his family into disgrace. As a punishment for the wish to fight for the freedom of his country.

As she followed the cross to St. Margaretha’s, Cissy’s heart clenched with the desperate urge to again take her husband into her arms and make his pain go away. To banish the beast forever. Instead she bowed her head so nobody would see the tears in her eyes.

The Holy Week saw her go to the Villa Wolfenbach. There she helped boiling and coloring eggs, while Cook and her kitchen maid were busy baking Easter pretzels. The Gräfin showed Cissy how to apply delicate patterns of wax on the fragile eggshell before letting the egg slide into some liquid color. Best of all, Cissy liked the shades of dark pink that birch bark produced. She loved rubbing a sheen of grease over the eggs and making the colors more brilliant.

And she loved the beautiful mass at St. Margaretha’s on Easter night, when the whole church was immersed in darkness before the procession of the priest and the servers carried light into the darkness and heralded new hope for the world.

But, of course, there was no hope for the Castle of Wolfenbach.

Cissy sighed while the church rang with the Hallelujah. But then the flame that was given from candle to candle ignited the candle she was holding, and she felt as if the light also blossomed inside her heart. By the time she stepped outside and found the blazing bonfire in the churchyard, a smile lit her face.

The crisp, fresh night air stung her cheeks, and she watched the sparks from the bonfire shooting up toward the stars in the sky. All around her the churchyard hummed with the happy chatter of the people of Kirchwalden talking to their friends and neighbors. For a moment the German voices all blended together, an unintelligible buzzing, swelling up and down in volume. It was like the song of the sea. The song of the forest.