Mark of Betrayal (28 page)

I drew a sharp intake of breath when I touched my fingers to the flower, feeling the solid, silky petals of a rose—so real, even its scent, as if we were actually standing right here, face to face, hip to hip, breath to breath. But we weren’t, and I knew that—as sure as I could see myself sleeping right behind me, I knew this was just a dream, and it made my stomach sink as much as it made me excited. Alone here, in this dream, nothing mattered; not the way I felt for David; not the way I felt for Jason.

I took his hand when he offered it, and noticed only then, as he led me into the now empty room across from my bed, that he was dressed formal, too, in a tuxedo. He looked so human and so sweetly handsome I nearly laughed. I caught sight of our reflection in the mirror above the mantle of the fireplace—the only objects left in the room—and smiled, thinking we’d fit perfectly in a turn-of-the-century romance novel.

We took step to a rhythm I couldn’t hear; Jason glided across the floor with the grace of a vampire, leading me with a kind of gentility that felt like floating. I was never much of a ballroom dancer, but in his arms, I was flying. The feel of his hand, flat against the small of my back, consumed everything in my mind, and the song I couldn't hear, the song he sung to me with his steps, rose up from the back of my mind, giving life to the room. Colours swirled around us—masked strangers appearing, smiling, laughing, dancing just like Jason and I, but turning in the opposite direction, making the movement of our steps feel like a cog in a clock—ticking, spinning, purposeful, but different.

My bare feet felt each rise of the wooden floorboards, each grain of sand or brush of his shoes past my foot, and he kept me close, the grace and charm of his tall, straight shoulders, and the perfection of his eyes, locking to mine, made me want to stay here forever. And it wasn’t a trick. Not this time. This time, I felt this way because I cared for him—because I wanted him to be here, to dance with me.

In his eyes, I could see so many thoughts, so many things he wanted to say. But he lost the chance. He took his own life, and my mind, as much as I knew his face, could never put words in his mouth that had never been said. And that was the saddest thing about this dream; that in the morning, the daylight would steal all that was perfect in the night.

The music became louder, and I looked over at my sleeping body; she did not wake. She did not know what her heart was doing while she dreamed peacefully of her husband, whom she made love with only moments ago.

“
I wish you weren’t just a dream,” I whispered, closing my eyes.

Jason held me closer, his fingers curling slightly against my hand. “What would you say to me—if I was not a dream?”

My eyelids fluttered as I rolled my face up to look at him. “Kiss me.”

His brow pulled tight and the song slowed again—a violin the only instrument. We stopped dancing and the others in the room faded away like quivering shadows, leaving Jason and I alone. He slowly rolled me back in his arm, tipping me toward the ground; my hair swept the rug where it hung down, the blossom falling from its place, landing alone on the floor by our feet. I looked back up into the green magnificence of his eyes—all the love, the soul, the pain, the truth—everything he was and suffered and cared for shining out through that gaze, pulling me into his world, begging me to save him from it. And I wanted to. If I could go back. If I could go back and be his—I would.

My jaw shook, my mouth open, crying out inside for his to touch mine. But he closed his eyes and scrolled his lips along my jaw, letting his warm breath fall heavily against my neck.

“
Bite me,” I said, tilting my chin, opening the longing of my skin to his teeth. “Bite me, and then make love to me.”

His hand rose to my collarbones, and he clenched his fist above my flesh, hesitation stalling his desires.

“
Please, Jase?”

Without looking away, he opened his hand and smoothed it down my throat, between my breasts and over my stomach. I felt him—felt the touch against my bare skin, as if there was no dress there. “I have no right to you,” he whispered, his nose to mine.

“
And I have no right to
want
you,” I breathed, closing my eyes.

When I opened them again, light filled the room and a shock of ice washed through me, leaving me half naked, covered only by silk and the scent of my husband. I sat bolt upright, clutching the sheet to my breasts, covered in blood, confused—so confused, and so, so alone. A cool breeze brought a faint hint of a rainy day, making me feel stony and out of place. I looked over at the rose on my nightstand, my heart pounding in my throat, easing when I touched the thornless stem.

I laid down again, sinking into the feathers of my pillows as they rose up around my cheeks, and my dark hair tickled my nose. Images of my dream flashed in my mind, forcing my eyes shut for each brush of his lips across my skin, hold my breath for each time I felt the desire to be in his arms. And then David's face came to mind; the way he looked down at me as he slipped inside me; the way he smiled when he gave my body another chance to create life from his; the way he kissed my lips so softly, lingering for just a little longer than usual, before he left me.

And the scent of the rose became the memory jerker to my confusion. I rolled over and tucked my knees to my chest, folding the petals of the rose down, one by one.

By the time the smell of pancakes came wafting in with the morning heat, there were no petals left on the flower. I wiped a stream of tears from my cheek and climbed out of bed. I needed to talk to someone. I needed to sort this out in my head, but I couldn’t do that alone. I just needed someone who understood that I loved David, but dreamed of his brother.

Chapter Six

I had to stop and ask several people directions to the entrance to Lilith’s garden. Everyone seemed to know exactly where it was, but not really how to get in. I’d seen the wall that bordered it from my balcony, but could never see inside—the gardens hidden under the pinks of cherry blooms and the greens of leafy trees. I knew there was definitely a garden behind this wall, but just couldn't find the damn door.

“
You need the key.” Arthur materialised beside me.

I pulled my hand down from the small stones of the wall and looked up at him; we were shaded from the sun here, the shadows making the day cool, but Arthur looked a little hot; his collar moist, his hair sticky around his brow.

“
What have you been up to?” I asked.

He wiped a hand across his face. “Nothing.”

Okay, I’ll let that one slip.
“So, I need a key?”

“
Yes.” He took my hand and led me along the wall to a section hidden just inside the Forest of Enchantment.

“
Should we be in here?”

“
Yes, my dear, it is the only entrance to Lilith’s Garden.”

“
Oh. So, how do you know? Have you been there before?”

“
Not since it was finished.”

“
Finished?”

“
Mm.” He nodded, using his hand to brush aside a thick mass of vines, growing over the wall from the garden. “I helped Drake plant many of the trees.”

“
Wow.”

He smiled, then let go of my hand to bend down, standing again with an iron key in hand. “Your key.”

“
Why was it in there?” I looked down as he covered the wall with the vine again.

“
There’s a nook beneath these vines. The key has been there, in plain sight, for some hundreds of years.”

I held the key up to the small column of light shining in through the tops of the trees. “Where’s the door?”

He laughed, stepped back a little, then cast a straight arm further down the wall—deeper into the forest.

I gulped. “Will you walk me to it?”

“
I will,” Morgaine said, popping up out of nowhere, linking arms with me. “After all, I have a private invitation.”

Arthur bowed his head, then turned and started in the direction we came.

“
You ready to see your garden, Majesty?” Morgaine practically hugged my arm.

“
Yes. Very ready.” I didn't even need to tell my feet to move. “So, what’s up with Arthur today?”

“
What do you mean?” She looked over her shoulder to where he’d walked away.

“
He was…less than presentable. That’s not like him.”

She shrugged. “Maybe he’s just not coping with being here.”

“
Here? At the manor?”

“
Mm-hm.”

“
Why?”

“
Because of Arietta.”

“
Oh. Right. He did mention that.”

She nodded. “He’ll be okay. He’s just grieving.”

“
Still?”

She scoffed. “Vampires feel things eternally, Ara. He’ll never move on from her. Well, maybe if he finds another to love.”

“
That's really sad.” I glanced over my shoulder, wishing I could go give him a hug, but we came upon a big set of arched doors then, with iron hinges and a slot just the right size for my new key.

“
Care to do the honours?” Morgaine said, letting go of my arm to present the door.

I slipped the key in the lock and, using two hands, turned it stiffly to the right, then the left and to the right again. But nothing happened.

“
You need to push,” Morg said.

“
Oh.” I gave the door a giant shove with my hand, then the entire right side of my body. It gave way, creaking with protest as it slowly opened. “How long has it been since anyone’s been in here?”

“
The gardener comes in a few times a day, but no one except you is allowed in here, and those you personally invite.” She bristled with pride. “I’ve never even seen the inside.”

“
Weren’t you here when they built it?”

She shook her head. “It was built when Lilith was a child. I wasn't ‘created’ until about thirty years later.”

“
Oh. So, how does the gardener get in here if that door never gets used?”

“
Secret passage.”

“
Hm.” I breathed out through my nose, smirking. “Should’ve guessed.”

As we stepped through the thin branches of wilting willows and into the garden, the sweet essence of summer filled the air. I closed my eyes around the beauty of stone steps, shining gates atop, opening out to a cobblestone path.

“
Come on.” Morgaine transformed into the epitome of a little girl, taking my hand and leading me to the garden steps. We pushed through the gates, and I stopped, letting my arms fall to my sides. The cobblestone path led away between plants and trees, and at the centre sat a large square pond with marble edging—a place you could sit to read a book. White swans and plain ducks bathed and dived in the water, and blossoming lilies floated on the top, home to frogs I could hear singing but couldn’t see.

“
That path leads right around the gardens,” Morgaine said. “I was told Lilith had it laid when she was a woman, so she could pass each of her favourite scents as she walked—a way of clearing her head.”

“
Well, then, we should walk it.” I took Morgaine’s hand again and started the path, smiling as daisies, roses and tulips greeted each step—a kaleidoscope canvas of colours. I tried to make out the edge of the walls around the garden, but vines and trees and all manor of plant life completely hid it—as if we were in some alternate universe—no walls. I could imagine the garden went on forever, and this magical feeling, this sense of something present here that couldn't be touched, made me think I wouldn’t be surprised if it did, in fact, go on forever.

“
Morgaine?”

“
Yes.” She looked back from the tops of the trees.

“
Everything we say in here is in confidence, right?”

“
Yes.”

I placed one hand then the other behind my back and watched my blue ballet flats blend in with the tiny multi-coloured stones of the path. Everything felt so bright and richly-hued, like this whole garden was a painting.

“
What’s on your mind, Princess?”

“
I…” I blinked back tears.

“
That bad, huh?”

After a long sigh, I smiled and told Morgaine all about the dreams I’d been having. We walked the entire path, coming to rest by the rectangle pond again, in a circled section that housed a small white seat and a sundial, surrounded by wispy little stems with snowflake flowers.

“
So, you think you’re in love with Jason?” she said as we sat on the edge of the pond.

“
No.”

“
It sounds like it. And I get the
sense
that you are.”

I sighed, watching a dragonfly whiz past, then drop down and kiss the white and pink blossoms that fell into the water, coming in diagonally on the whisper of the breeze. “I don't know what to think. That’s why I'm talking to you. I'm confused.”

“
Okay, so, what are you confused about—your feelings or what your feelings mean?”

I had an answer on my tongue, but hesitated. “Does dreaming about Jason mean I don't love David?”

“
Do
you love David?” she asked simply.

I laughed, looking inside my heart to the place I always felt him. “Yes.”