Roses & Thorns (2 page)

He
did not dress like a servant either. His waistcoat was embroidered in woolen
crewel stitch and his shirt was as fine a silk weave as the one Aloysius wore.
He wore his collar buttons undone, which was unheard of in any servant Aloysius
knew. And if the fact that his burnished brown boots never made a sound when he
walked was not enough, the merchant found the blue, green and red tattoos which
covered Culdun’s forearms indeed confirmed that he was a creature from the
netherworld. As the man extended the brandy tray, Aloysius realized that the
entwining patterns of vines and snakes were the very same as the ones that were
embroidered onto Culdun's waistcoat. Culdun was a most unpleasant reminder that
this place was not built entirely for mortals.

"Ah,
you do not like brandy then?"

Aloysius
jumped, startled again, this time at the sudden appearance of his host.
"No," he said quickly, taking one of two glasses on the silver tray.
"Brandy after dinner is quite a pleasure."

"Thank
you, Culdun."

Aloysius
watched as his host, hand still sheathed in fine black leather, took the other
brandy.

"You're
welcome, my Liege."

Aloysius
stirred uncomfortably as the cloaked figure bent in a slight bow. He had never
heard of bowing to one's servants.

"Forgive
me for my absence." The other straightened, half-turning towards him.
"You were telling me of your family at dinner. You sound very proud of
your two sons."

"Aye,
I am." Aloysius felt his tension ease as the conversation turned to a
familiar topic. His shoulders pushed back as he boasted, "The youngest's
something of a rake yet. Still into the wine a bit too often. Hasn't grasped a
proper sense of responsibility. But that will come. Now my older one —"

"Yes,"
the faintest touch of mockery resurfaced, "the one that reminds you of
yourself in younger years."

"Similar,
yes, similar. But more daring, and maybe even more clever. Needs to rein in his
temper a tad more, though. Still, that wisdom comes with age, doesn't it?"

"Sometimes."

Aloysius
wasn't certain he liked the way that sounded.

"And
you mentioned a wife, did you not? Angelique?"

At
that the merchant chuckled, again shrugging off his discomfort. "I have a
wife, aye, but Angelique is my daughter."

"Ah,
forgive me. When you'd mentioned her tending the cooking, I thought —"

"Natural
mistake, natural mistake. No, my wife is an invalid, an illness of the bones,
you see. She's been bedridden since the birth of our last child. He was...
stillborn."

"My
condolences."

Aloysius
waved his hand. "No need. That's many years past. And I have my
boys."

"And
your daughter."

"And
my daughter. Good lass," he paused and then added with a small smile,
"Well, mostly. Only need to take the strap to her now and again. Don't
know what I would have done about the household without her. Raised her younger
brother more than my wife did. Still, she's got a wee streak of independence
that runs away with her once in a while."

"A
mind of her own?" the other offered, voice suddenly tight.

"Aye,
you could say that at the very least!" He chuckled, not noticing the
change. "Mind you, it's nothing a firm handling can't dissuade. Most of
the time, you'd never notice it!"

Aloysius
blinked in shock and surprise as the brandy glass shattered in his host's
black-gloved fist. He stood warily, wondering what had caused such a reaction,
wondering if this place was indeed safer than the woods and the wolves. He was
even more shocked when his host said, "Tell me, sir. Is she of a marrying
age?"

Aloysius
dropped his own glass.

His
host looked down at the two broken glasses as if seeing the shards and
splinters of crystal for the first time. Before Aloysius could voice an
apology, his host waved a gloved-hand toward the floor and the glistening
shards and brandy stains disappeared from the rug and flagstones.

Aloysius
groped behind him, knees buckling. The gloved-hand moved again. A heavy chair
slid forward silently and Aloysius sat with a bump. His eyes were wide with
terror.

Quite
unperturbed, his host leaned casually against the mantel stone, arms crossed.
The cloak's crimson threads shimmered in the dancing firelight, like glinting
eyes of watching serpents.

Aloysius
shut his mouth with a snap, then cleared his throat and attempted, awkwardly,
to settle more securely into his chair.

"If
I have insulted you, sir, I can only plead ignorance," his host began.
"We are so isolated here. I thought that a merchant of your ambitions
would surely have hoped to arrange a... profitable marriage for your
daughter?"

Aloysius
gaped. A hundred thoughts swirled in his head. After a moment, he swallowed
hard before asking, "Am I to understand you are in need of a wife?"

Sarcasm
tainted the reply. "So surprising, but true."

"And...
and you wish to marry Angelique?"

"Perhaps."
The poisonous taint vanished from the voice. "I wish to explore the
possibility."

The
merchant said nothing. The other continued quite matter-of-factly. "I am
in a position to offer you quite a good contract, Aloysius."

"Contract?"

"Is
that not the proper term for it? What do you call it then, a bride price?"

Opportunity
awakened greed in the pit of Aloysius' stomach. He thought again of the fine
garments that now clothed his body and had a momentary vision of retiring into
a life of luxury. Licking his lips nervously, he shifted his gaze quickly to
the fire. Opposing thoughts warred within him as part of him shouted that this
was too preposterous even to contemplate.

"Come
now," the host's voice cajoled gently. "It would be a good life for
any woman. My father was a Count as was his father and his father before him.
My lineage is impeccable. And, as I'm sure you've noticed, I am not poverty
stricken."

The
merchant nodded slowly. He was intrigued, true, but unconvinced.

"The
palace, the village, indeed, the entire valley has prospered by my hand."

The
man shuddered. While his host's words were true, he'd heard stories of the
surrounding woods his whole life. Many of them were frightening and — given
what he'd already seen here tonight — more true than he had imagined.

The
other had continued to speak as if unaware of his hesitation.
"...And," the voice dropped low, tempting him, "I could offer
you much the same. How does this sound: A dozen bolts of undyed silks, another
dozen of the finest colors? Tapestries of hand-woven wool dyed with Persian
stains? Or perhaps you prefer exquisite jewelry? Crafted silver and gold, gems
cut flawless to any eye? Enough to provide for your family's care as well as
for your trading house? Or maybe you would like both."

The
host paused here and waited for Aloysius to raise his eyes. When their gazes
met, the other said, "It would be a contract solely between us. In
exchange for your daughter's hand, I will provide shipments every third month.
For life. Transport at my expense. She will have an easy life. Rest assured.
She will dine every night as you have, wear silks and woolens as fine as yours
— be mistress of this palace and all the lands about it."

The
faceless figure towered suddenly over him. "Tell me, merchant, does your
daughter have a price?"

"Yes."

Mocking
laughter rang in the air as his host turned. A glass of brandy appeared on the
mantel just as a black-gloved hand reached out. The garbed figure tilted the
liquid into the shadow where a face must have been and then replaced the empty
glass on the mantle, where it vanished as if it had never been.

"But
— but she must agree to it!" Aloysius stuttered, trying to regain some
control over a situation spinning quickly from his grasp.

"Oh,
yes!" The slow hiss of sarcasm taunted him. "Yes, she must. You
understand nothing unless you understand that, my dear fellow."

"Why
—? I don't follow?"

"Angelique
must be told everything, Aloysius. She must be told how this marriage will save
your poor, dying house and, more than that, restore it to rich splendor! She
must be told about the pampering and benefits this marriage would bring your
beloved, crippled wife. Of how it will launch her brothers into the best of
circles!

"But!"
and here that frightening figure once again rounded on him. "She must also
be told of the enchantment."

"She'd
never —"

"Oh,
yes! She must know this is a magicked place with secrets too ancient to be
revealed! She must know she comes to
me...
the most perverted, grotesque
of creatures known to this earth!"

Silence
descended like a fist. The host's gloved hands gripped the mantelpiece, head
bowed and slightly turned away. The stillness lingered, and then was broken by
the merchant's hoarse voice, "Shipments every two months."

The
other drew in a sharp breath. A terrible tension engulfed the room. And then
laughter sprang suddenly from the stranger, wild and almost hysterical, and
echoed in the high vaulted ceilings and the corridors beyond.

Abruptly,
and before Aloysius could get his answer, Culdun appeared at the man's elbow.

"I
will show you to your quarters, sir."

Aloysius
rose, shaking, and followed.

"Merchant!"

The
man paused in the doorway; he did not dare look back.

"Every
two months — until your death. Culdun will see the first lot is ready to go
with you in the morning. In two week's time, I will send an escort for your
daughter — or for return of the goods."

Aloysius
stiffened. Had he really sold his daughter to this... creature?

"And
merchant —"

His
heart choked his throat in fear. What else would be asked of him?

"Tell
her, I will not beat her."

Of
everything he expected to hear, this was not among the possibilities. Disbelief
muted him.

"You
will tell her —
swear it!"

"By
my oath!" he nearly screamed in his anxiety and fear.

"Good."
The other turned away and the merchant was led to his rooms.

When
Culdun returned, the other was standing in the same place as still as stone.

"My
Liege?" Culdun ventured.

"Yes,
Culdun?"

"Will
you send the token rose as usual?"

For
a long moment, there was no reply. Then the cloaked figure nodded.
"Everything as usual, Culdun. I'll leave it up to you."

"Yes,
my Liege."

After
he departed, the only company in the room was loneliness. The fire crackled as
a log settled. A ticking echoed from the tall clock standing in the comer. The
midnight hour chimed.

A
hand lifted to push the red cloak back and uncover hair of the darkest ebony.
Unruly and curly, it fell to shoulder length, poking out of the silver clasp
which fastened at the nape. The face was shadowed with grief. The long lines of
nose and delicate cheekbones were sharpened, almost gaunt, with a haunting
despair. The dark eyes and the slender arch of brow reflected only emptiness.

Head
bent, burying a smooth forehead against the still-cloaked crook of an arm,
shoulders shuddering, the Liege cried.

Angelique
leaned against the wall, gazing down into the worn, empty courtyard from her
window seat. She turned her neck a little, easing the stiffness in her
shoulder. Behind her, in the small room, her mother's raspy breathing rose and
fell in a familiar rhythm.

He
had beaten her again, but had taken to using his bare hands — she would be sore
for a while, but the bruises, if any, would be less than those from a strap.
After all, his heart hadn't really been in it. Angelique couldn't remember what
she had or hadn't done. She knew it really had nothing to do with her chores.
Aloysius was upset because she had not agreed to this marriage, although she
had not objected either. He had said she had two weeks to decide. It had barely
been one.

In
her hands, she held the silver rose. It was beautifully crafted, the shimmering
light bright white against its polished finish. There were veins etched in its
single leaf, and the petals were half-opened. The thorns pricked as sharply as
those of any real bud. The thorns. They were unsettling reminders of life's
realities. Despite Aloysius' assurances, Angelique hardly knew anything about
this noble.

But
Angelique knew Aloysius. He was a man who might mean well at one time or
another, but his own selfishness often won out over the needs of others. A new
pair of boots for his favored eldest, Ivan, would take precedence over coal for
Mama's room, since outward appearances reflected well on him. And profit always
won out over honesty. There wasn't much that didn't take precedence over his
bastard daughter-by-marriage.