Victor

I urge Fion to her back and climb atop her on my elbows and knees. Her eyes are comically wide. I’ve never seen her make such an expression, and it pulls a little chuckle from me.

“You look so nervous, Darlin’. If you don’t like it, you can always leave.”

“Can I?”

I become aware of it then, the black chain binding her to me. Suddenly it seems so out of place, garish and gross around her slim neck, the jagged links standing out starkly against her pure white gown. It taints her beauty, I think with a sudden sick feeling. Taints this whole act with recollections of Mirantha’s filthy fetishes, all the ways she used to chain me, hurt me and use me for her own selfish satisfaction.

The mood leaves me as quickly as it came. I roll off of her with a grunt, and turn my back to her as I claim the far side of the bed.

“Victor?”

“Forget it,” I snap. “Be happy I let you keep that purity of yours another day.”

“You’re hurting,” she observes, almost as though she sees right through me.

I do not answer. My feelings of disgust with myself, feelings of shame and unworthiness are so great, I don’t deserve to answer.

“The witch,” she guesses all too easily. “She hurt you with this act, didn’t she?”

Is she a mind reader after all? Just how deep do Fion’s powers go? Do I have any secrets from this girl?

“I cannot read minds,” she says.

“No?” my voice is coarse. “You seem to be doing a pretty good job of it to me.”

I feel her lay beside me; feel her eyes on my back.

“I cannot read minds, but I can sense the feelings at the heart of every living thing. From their basest needs to their most complex emotions.”

“Yeah?” I scoff. “And what am I feeling right now?”

She hesitates. I tense as I feel her palm against my back. She holds it a minute, then slowly makes a fist and lets it fall away. Already I miss that touch.

“Regret,” she says the word softly, and I tense once again. “Horror and sorrow, guilt and fear and… pain… So much pain,” I hear the tears in her voice.

I’m rigid, my jaw is clamped tight. It’s hard to swallow.

“Victor,” she calls my name softly, but I do not answer. “I will tell you of another ability I possess. All living things have memory; humans, animals, even plants. And I, at will, can see those memories if I so choose.”

“Oh?” Somehow I manage to make my voice sarcastic. “And have you looked in on my memories?”

“I have not. But if you would give me permission—”

“No,” I cut her off sharply. “Stay out of my mind, Sorceress.”

“…As you wish.”

My memories. If she saw those, would she continue to lie so quietly beside me? I don’t have to wonder at the answer to that question. Forget making me her lover.

She’d kill me herself.

The minutes pass quietly. I am ill-tempered and uncomfortable, not used to sleeping in clothes. I want to undress but the chain prevents me. Irritably I roll to my other side, only to come face to face with Fion, who watches me solemnly.

I watch her back, belligerently at first, then with a growing sensation of calmness and ease. Strangely, I feel my bad humor and fatigue washing away the longer I stare into her eyes. More of her magic? I wonder. Am I being bewitched?

A question comes slowly to my mind, utter foolishness, though I can’t make myself dismiss it. The longer it lingers, the heavier it grows on my tongue, until I can but ask her plainly.

“Do you really believe I’m your true love?” I’m embarrassed to hear myself ask such a thing, but suddenly, I need very much to know.

“Sometimes,” is her answer.

“And now?” I press her.

“I… don’t know. I’m confused.”

What is she confused about? Then, she speaks again.

“What about you? Do you believe I’m your true love?”

“True love,” I smirk. “I don’t hold to such pretty ideas.”

“I see.”

“But,” I say, catching us both off guard. “If I did have a true love…”

“Yes?”

I wish she’d be just like you…

Fion blinks with uncertainty, waiting for me to finish my thought. I laugh a little, surprised when I find myself reaching out to her, petting her head with my free hand. I mean to pull away, but it lingers on her, conforming a little to the shape of her skull. I feel my thumb move back and forth, burying itself slightly in her hair.

Why did you have to be so… perfect?

I take my hand back and turn away from her again, and the chain chinks coldly.

She’s too perfect, I tell myself.

Too perfect, for someone like me.

I sleep deeply and dream of the forest, green and cool. It’s so real, I feel as though I’m truly there, lying on the earthen floor beneath a canopy of oak and ash, nestled amidst the moss and ferns. Little white blossoms with yellow centers spring up all around me as sunlight dances through the leaves overhead. Birds sing on nearby branches and a tiny fawn comes to rest in the crook of my arm. I count her spots dreamily before I become aware of a woman’s approach.

I see only her bare feet, and the hem of her starlight white gown as she draws near to seat herself at my head. I feel her hands lift my head into her lap, and she cradles me gently. Her hair trails on my face as I feel her begin to lean down and press the softest, sweetest kiss to my lips…

I wake in the gray light of dawn with a chill in the room. It’s only early autumn, but I feel the promise of winter’s imminence on the breeze that wafts through my window. 

 Sitting up, the faint rattle of a chain recalls me to Fion’s presence in my bed. I turn to find her still sleeping, looking very much as she did the night I found her, wrapped in the tree’s great coiling roots.

My hand comes to pet her head automatically, and she does not shy from my touch, but leans into it though she continues to sleep. The sensation is so poignant I feel a lump begin in my throat.

When was the last time? I wonder. When was the last time I touched someone so gently, and felt their gentle touch in return?

The iron collar clinks as she moves nearer to me in her sleep, and my gut clenches at the sound. Reaching in my pocket, I pull out the key and loose her carefully, so as not to disturb her.

That’s better, I think, faintly rubbing the red mark on her neck with my thumb. I no longer care if she runs from me, no longer care if Mirantha skins me alive for losing her. I’ll never allow such a thing on her again.   

Not on my Fion.

A war horn goes up suddenly, it’s bellow shattering this still moment. I rise fully alert and run to the window. It faces west, but when I look north, I see a line of troops assembling far across the plain, and panic grips me.

“Victor?” Fion sits up blearily.

“Stay here!” I shout at her, and leave the tower from the window, climbing down the twisted stone with impossible speed, shouting to the dozing sentries.

“Up, you fools! Rally the troops, we’re under attack!”

The sentries I sent north, they never did return. I should have realized something was up, should have gone to check on them myself! I was too careless, and this is the result.

“They fly the banner of the white eagle!” Dors Grobeez cries as he and his gargoyles begin to circle over the castle.

House Boyd of the north, strongest and wealthiest of the four houses. Their mines supply them with gold and jewels, and a multitude of rich iron deposits fortify their powerful army.

“How many?” I shout up at him.

 “Six thousand or more!”

I curse. How could Boyd move that number of troops so far without being seen? Damn Ekrek! If that fool had only done his job properly—

But this is no time to lament our folly. Mirantha is away, and half of our forces with her. We are less than a thousand troops strong, and without the witch’s magic to wake the sleeping skeletal sentries, there will be no reinforcements to bolster our number. We have the advantage of the castle walls and the moat, but our stores are severely depleted after Ekrek’s brief but reckless rule. We will not last long in a siege.   

“Up, up!” I shout at the jackals, kicking them awake. Some, scenting the enemy, rush straight ahead foolishly. They lust for blood and cannot be stopped; they are a lost cause. I watch with horror as they are wasted upon the field, cut down by arrows before they can even get close to Boyd’s army.

But all is not lost. Other jackals, the more sensible of their lot or perhaps just the ones that got dinner last night, are already scurrying to get behind the castle walls. I watch them go with a grim sense of relief, and make for the bridge myself before they can close the portcullis.

I sense it then; something moves behind me. Something big.

Dors and the other gargoyles scream in terror as I look over my shoulder, and my heart fairly stops within me.

A dragon?!

Following its trajectory, my eyes go to the parapet where a lone figure in white stands, facing the creature with fearless eyes.

“Fion!”

I scream in helpless fury, unable to do anything but watch as the creature swoops in to grasp her in its claws and lifts away into the sky on its terrible wings…