Black Rose (32 page)

The
words crashed down upon the younger woman, pulling memories from the darkest
recesses of her mind. Her mother crumpling in Regis’ arms as she learned of her
husband’s death. The complete abandonment as her mother was incoherently
carried to the bedroom, leaving Regis’ second in command, Edward, to inform the
ten year old child that her father was never coming home. Mara’s breath caught
in her throat, memories devouring her making it difficult to think, to speak,
to breathe. The Queen leaned closer and gently caressed the side of Mara’s face
with a tenderness she had never known from her Aunt. “Tell me, Mellissa,” she
called Mara by her mother’s name, “what is it like to love that much? To give
your entire being into the hands of another and to have them offer the same?
What is it like, Mellissa?”

Mara
trembled as the word, “Unbearable,” tumbled from her lips. “Like having your
heart ripped from your chest, every single time he looks into your eyes.”

“You
could have come to me, Mellissa.” Her aunt continued to gently run her hand
through the long strands of Mara’s dark hair. “Why did you not come to me? I
would have helped you.” Tears burned the surface of Mara’s eyes at the
tenderness in her Aunt’s voice and the knowledge that the words were not meant
for her. “I would have helped you.”

“No.
You could not help her.” Mara drew a stuttered breath. “She stopped living the
day he died.” 

Her
mother had lain in bed for weeks, refusing to move, to eat, to live. People
watched her, doctors were called and they forced food down her throat against
her will. They bathed and dressed her each morning, but she gave no response of
her own. Mara sat at the foot of her bed each night, begging her mother to
please wake up, but for months it was to no avail. It was Edward and Garreth
who watched over her. They who had held her as her father’s body had burned
upon the funeral pyre. They, who helped her to understand the truth of what had
happened. Who had helped her through her father’s death. Months later, her
mother began to function again, but she was never the same. Sadness surrounded
her and the depth of her pain was enough to steal the courage of even the
bravest of souls. Then one day she laid down and, as Mara held her hand, had
chosen to let go of the breath that sustained her, joining her lost love in
eternal sleep.

“She
died with him. And if you kill Edward…so will I.” A tear spilled from the
corner of her eye. Her Aunt moved a hand to stop its trail down her pale cheek.
“Please,” she begged on a trembling breath. “Do not kill the man I love. Take
my life if you must, but I cannot, I could not…watch you hurt him again.” Her
words fell to complete sobs. “Please, Aunt Clarissa. I beg you. Don’t hurt him.
Please don’t hurt him.”

The
Queen shushed her as she pulled Mara close, taking the younger woman into her
arms and resumed running her fingers through her long dark hair. 

“I’m
sorry. I’m sorry. ignosce mihi. Please, forgive me.”

“You
poor, motherless child. Do not fear. I will not harm him, this man you love.”
Mara’s entire body began to shake. She rested her head against her Aunt’s breast
and began to sob in her arms. Clarissa soothed her for what seemed a long time
until her sobs subsided and her trembling began to cease.

When
the Queen finally drew back, she caressed Mara’s face, wiping the last of the
tears from her cheeks. “There,” she said. “No more tears.”

Mara
drew a deep breath and nodded. Then, the Queen added. “After all, you will need
all your strength for what is to come.”

Mara’s
heart sank. “Do not fear, niece. Your royal blood will save your life. But it
will not save you from the punishment you have earned by daring to raise your
blade to your Queen.” Clarissa stood from the floor and took several steps
towards Garreth. “One hundred lashes,” she informed him. “Twenty-five for each
of the men she saved, and fifty for daring to raise her sword to me. And a half
hour under the knife; let’s see what designs we can make on that flawless
skin.”

“One
hundred.” Garreth could not hide his shock. “Surely, my Lady.”

“One
hundred. Care to make it more?” Garreth lowered his gaze to the ground as the
Queen continued. “She should consider herself fortunate that I do not give her
to the men when you are finished.” She gazed back to where Mara still knelt
upon the floor. “If her children would not have a claim to my throne, I would.”
With that, the Queen turned and left the room.

By
the time Garreth reached her, she was physically shaking. “Breathe, Mara.
Please, you have to breathe.” Most days the centuries between their births
seemed non-existent, but as Garreth gathered her into his arms, those years had
never seemed more present. “My girl,” he said softly. “My brave, brave girl.”
He held her tightly against his chest, clutching her close. “Oh Gods, Mara.
Thank you.” His own voice rose unsteadily. “Thank you for doing what I could
not.” He laid a gentle kiss upon her brow.

“She’s
mad,” Mara whispered against his chest. “Completely mad.”

“I
know,” he said, trying to sooth her.

“You
can’t tell Edward. Please, you can’t tell him. He can’t know how bad this is
going to be. Please.” She shook her head. “He can’t know.”

“Okay,”
Garreth replied. “We will tell him it was very little. That she forgave you
because of your royal blood.”

Mara
gave a shaking nod. “My mother…” she said suddenly. “I begged my mother not to.
I tried to…”

“I
know,” he assured her. “I know you did. There was nothing anyone could have
done to save your mother. You know this. Not you—not even the Queen.”

Mara
nodded as Garreth placed her upon the ground. “You have to walk out on your
own, Mara. If Edward is waiting, you are going to have to be convincing;
otherwise he will see right through you.” She nodded again and Garreth opened
the tall doors of the Queen’s chambers.  Much to Mara’s relief, it was
Phillip, not Edward, who awaited them.

“I
sent Edward to his chambers,” were the first words to escape his lips. “He was
a mess. I told him you needed him to be strong and to wait for you there. And I
did not want the Queen to see him standing here and decide to change her mind
about letting him leave.”

As
the relief washed over her, Mara collapsed and would have tumbled to the ground
if Garreth had not been there to catch her.

“My
Lady,” Phillip stepped forward. “Is she injured?”

Garreth
again gathered Mara into his arms and glanced at Phillip. “Not yet.”

“I
see,” came the response, the tips of his fingers tightening against his palms.
“I am going with you.” Garreth did not argue but instead began to move down the
hall to stairwell, all the while cradling Mara in his strong arms. Phillip
moved ahead of them and proceeded to open doors and clear each hallway before
they entered it, minimizing the risk of anyone seeing Mara in such a condition.
When they finally reached the cursed chambers, Garreth walked Mara slowly to
the stone table in the center of the room. 

“How
bad?” Phillip inquired. “You would not look this worried if it wasn’t bad.” He
motioned to where Mara lay silently in Garreth’s arms. “I’ve never seen her
afraid. Angry, hurt, exhausted, yes—but never afraid.”

  
“It’s not physical,” Garreth replied. “The Queen called her by her mother’s
name and it…emotionally it…”

Phillip
gave a nod. “I remember when her mother died.”

“Yes,”
Garreth answered, his mind traveling back to that day all too easily. The tiny
girl delivered to his door, clinging to Edward’s hand. When Edward tried to
leave her that night, the orphaned Princess had begun to cry, begging and
pleading for him not to go. He had finally moved with her to the large bed,
placing her head upon his chest and held her through the night as Garreth
looked on helplessly. Mellissa had died three days before anyone had found
them; Mara kneeling at the edge of the bed holding her dead mother’s hand.
Three
Days,
Edward had said over and over.

Even
at that tender age, Mara held a special bond with Edward that seemed
unbreakable. By the time she was seventeen, Edward could deny her nothing,
including his heart and entrance to the Queen’s Royal Guard. The Queen had
asked Mara how she could place herself between a blade and the man she loved,
after all the pain they had endured. Garreth wondered,
how could she not?

“Shall
I get the Captain?” Phillip asked.

Garreth
felt himself fighting back his own tears as he said, “No.” He raised his eyes
to the other man’s. “She asked us not to. I don’t think she could live with
herself if she forced him to watch this; not after what happened to him when
Liza died.” Yet even as he spoke, he found himself silently praying:
By the
Gods, let me be right
.

“Shall
we secure her?”

“No.”
He drew a deep breath and turned his attention back to the girl in his arms.
“Mara,” he said as gently as he could. “I need you to look at me.” When she did
not respond, Garreth ran a finger down her cheek. “I am going to put you on the
table, Mara. I need you to tell me that you understand.” She did not respond.
“If you cannot look at me now, I will have no choice but to get Edward.”

“Edward,”
she repeated his name. “Edward.”

Phillip
shook his head and began to walk towards the doors. “I will get the Captain.”

“No,
wait. Mara,” he said, adding a touch of force to his words. “Sub-Captain
Mara.”  Her eyes moved to his at the use of her title. “Captain,” he said
again. “I am going to move you to the table.”

She
did not speak, but instead offered a shaky nod, terror running through her
violet eyes. He moved her from his arms onto the table as gently as possible,
then proceeded to grab a small knife from his side. He cut carefully through
the silk which covered her back. “It won’t offer protection and we do not want
to cause her more pain later by trying to pry the torn pieces of fabric from
her skin.” Phillip nodded and then Garreth moved to the floor and positioned
himself near the front of the table she lay upon. “Give me your hands, Mara.”
Her arms shook as she reached forward. Garreth grasped her trembling fingers
and slid his hand inside her own. “Mara, if you want Edward, tell me now. If
you, at any point, decide you want him here, say the world and I will bring him
to your side. Do you understand?”

Yes
,
she screamed silently.
Yes, I want him
. But she forced herself to
swallow her pleas.  Watching this would only harm him further, and that
she could not do. “No,” she informed her cousin. “No matter what happens; don’t
let him see this.”

Garreth
gave a painful nod and positioned his hands further into Mara’s grasp. “Hold on
to me. Break my hand if you have to.” She gave a trembling nod and Garreth
said, “We love you,” as the first lash crashed down upon the center of her
exposed flesh.

“How
many?” Phillip asked. 

Garreth
looked up with haunted eyes. “Until she stops screaming.”

The
whip crashed down in a steady rhythm, never quite hitting the same place twice.
On the fifteenth, Mara let out an ear-shattering scream and by the thirtieth,
she was begging for them to stop. “Garreth,” Phillip was exhausted, “how many?”

“One
hundred.”

“What?”

“One
hundred.”

“By
the Gods.” He shook his head. “I…I can’t. It’s too many. I’m going to get the
Captain.”

“Damnit,
Phillip! How can we ask her to be strong if we are not ourselves?” He looked
down at the girl writhing on the table. Her skin was split open alone the sides
of her spine. Exposed muscles showed through layers of stripped flesh. Blood
gushed, cascading over the sides of the stone slab to splash into a pool which
seemed to stream wildly in no particular direction. Garreth closed his eyes
tightly to draw an unsteady breath, but gagged at the overwhelming smell of
blood.

Phillip
again brought the whip down upon her. A few strokes more and she became
delirious. She screamed Edward’s name, begging for him to stop the pain. She
called for mercy, to the Gods above, and finally, for her mother. She thrashed
upon the table, breaking several of Garreth’s fingers as she struggled to
escape her torment and eventually, fell to an almost death-like stillness, too
injured to move.

As
she lay, her eyes fell to the far side of the room where a stream of her blood
was quickly working its way across the stone floor. There was a crack in the
large wall where a stray vine had erupted from the garden above. Upon its
branch lay a series of large, white roses. Lacking the strength to move her
head, Mara watched as the crimson stream moved forward to paint the white
petals of the rose. Yet as Mara’s blood touched the first, delicate petal, the
roses on the vine turned not the crimson of Mara’s blood, but the black of a
starless night. “Black Rose,” she whispered in a voice all but destroyed from
her screams.

“Stop!”
Garreth instructed the other man, who instantly complied. Garreth leaned
forward and placed his ear closer to Mara’s cracked lips. “What did you say?”