Clarysa tried to form words, but no sound emerged. Who are you? What’s happening to me? The woman across from her smiled icily, but did not speak. How bizarre. How very… The vision faded. Clarysa fell into a black sea of unconsciousness.
Chapter 26
Stellan gazed over the parapets of Vandeborg onto the wintry landscape of the grounds below. The wind caused his red-lined cape to swoop up and fold about him as if it had a mind of its own. He held open the palm of his hand, watching the falling snowflakes melt one by one as they struck his warm flesh. The wedding was only days away. Would his happiness with Clarysa be just as fleeting? He clenched his hand into a tight fist.
Three months had passed since the establishment of the alliance, and he was taking a rare break to recoup and prepare more potions. Like a man possessed, he’d been working day and night to eradicate Pestilence from Aldebaran. Tirelessly, he followed every lead–tracking, studying and destroying any infected. In time, he might be able to develop a cure, but for now, well, he did what he thought best in the interest of safety.
Unrestricted access, as well as Leopold’s endorsement, had made an astonishing difference. Education appeared to be the key, for most people, understandably, knew little of the dark magick that threatened to transform them. Village by village, Stellan had been teaching the citizens about the early symptoms. He told them what to watch for, and most importantly, what to do. No contact must be risked, no further communication with the infected attempted.
Stellan leaned onto the frozen stone wall before him. His efforts were paying off, for there hadn’t been a confirmed sighting of a victim in over a fortnight. Was it too much to ask for this nightmare to end? Could he and Clarysa finally proceed with the wedding? It appeared so, but his life had a way of unexpectedly taking a sharp turn whenever things seemed to be leveling off for the better. Dare he hope this pattern had finally been broken by meeting Clarysa? A sudden updraft of snow blasted his questioning face as if to answer him with mockery.
Several times while out in the wilderness patrolling, he’d thought he had caught a glimpse of a spy from the Western Wastes. Were his father and Alucard aware of his latest betrayal? It seemed certain. Little could escape the eyes of the Black Mage, for he could command many mysteries, dark and terrible. No wonder Pestilence was so virulent, for its very essence had been culled from his father’s blood.
He brushed away the snow sticking to his face. Unbidden, his thoughts drifted to his sister. Sada, if only you could see beyond the blind hatred that clouds Father’s thinking. But then, you always were his favorite and like him in so many ways.
Hail began to pelt him. Stellan turned. It was time to head back inside and momentarily forget the past that forever haunted him.
* * * *
Back inside the castle, Froll, Hunter and Ghyslain were busy scrubbing away at the walls. Stellan had communicated his need for the castle to look its best. After all, it would soon be Clarysa’s home as well. Not being one to think himself above such manual labor, Stellan grabbed the nearest pail and brush and set to work.
Gretchen sauntered about, clucking and nodding her approval of the men’s work.
“Froll, you’ll be wanting to clean that spot over there again.” She pointed to a stained corner. “This time put more muscle behind it!”
Froll looked up, his haggard face betraying exhaustion. “I’ve been at this bloody work for more than five hours now, woman! Who do you think I am?”
Gretchen pursed her lips. “A lazy dog who’ll be glad to put in another five hours if he wants to see any supper tonight. Now get to it!”
Froll smirked. “If I’m a lazy dog, that must make you the queen bitch!”
The men’s laughter splashed out against the dank walls. Even Stellan chuckled with amusement. Gretchen came over and whispered an aside to him. “Stellan, a quick word, please, if you don’t mind.”
He nodded and put down his cleaning tools. Gretchen led him to his bedroom. She was silent the entire way, save for the clinking of her jewelry.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No, not at all.”
At the doorway, she cocked her head. “Go in and tell me what you think.”
Stellan pushed aside the door, and then abruptly stopped short. Bright colors of every hue sprang forth, bewitching his eyes with their heavenly splendor. Slowly, he stepped forward.
There, in the middle of the room stood Gretchen’s rudimentary sewing dummy, which she often used to create new clothes or patch and repair old ones. This was not the case today, however, for upon it hung the most elegant outfit Stellan had ever seen inside his castle. The material was woven of a cobalt blue, one so dark it appeared black. The tailoring reflected influences both gypsy and the classic style he usually preferred, dating back to clothing he had raided from Vandeborg’s previous occupants. Colorful threads lined the edge of the matching cape. Shiny new boots stood beneath it.
Stellan fingered the expensive cloth and then glanced shyly back toward Gretchen. “Is this…?”
“For the wedding, yes.” Gretchen chuckled softly as she leaned against the door frame. “Thought you were going to wear that ratty, old thing?” she asked, gesturing to his usual outfit. “Even the rats wouldn’t be caught dead in it.”
Stellan glanced down at his frayed clothing and grinned. “I was so busy with everything else I hadn’t given it much thought.” His
