Hunter's Moon (27 page)

‘Enough!' The Duke shouted, banging his fist on the table. ‘Whatever motive you and your accomplices have for inventing these monstrous and absurd accusations, you cannot hide from the real truth. Lucian Montresor, stand up,' he bellowed, ‘and recount again what you told us. Stand up, I say!' he repeated, when Lucian was slow to obey him.

Lucian scrambled to his feet. He stammered, ‘Your grace?'

‘You heard me, Montresor,' said the Duke. ‘Tell them what you told us.'

With bent head, Lucian muttered, ‘I … I was in need of money, your grace … My … My family's fortune has diminished considerably, and I … I have had bad luck at cards … and owed some dangerous people money. I was desperate, your grace, and so when the …' He flicked a wild sideways glance at Rafiel, who did not react. ‘When the renegade policeman came to me and told me he could arrange to have my debts wiped … I found I could not refuse. It was then he introduced me to the impostor. She … She looked a good deal like the vanished daughter of the late Sir Anton Dalmatin. The resemblance was, in fact, quite … astonishing …'

My skin crawled. How could I have been so wrong about this pathetic excuse of a man? Glancing at
Belladonna, I saw the same contempt in her face. She might use this man, she might have created for herself the most loyal servant she had ever had, but she utterly despised him. At that moment, our eyes met. She gave a little smile. You have lost, it said. You have lost because you don't know how to use people. You don't understand how to use their secret hopes, their darkest fears. And so you will lose. People like you always lose. And people like me always win.

‘Go on,' said the Duke, impatiently. ‘You haven't told it all, yet. What did the impostor and the renegade want you to do?'

Before Lucian could answer, Rafiel said, in a hard voice, ‘Take care, Montresor.'

‘Threatening the witness,' growled the Duke, ‘condemns you out of your own mouth. Be quiet. Now, continue.'

Lucian mumbled: ‘They … They wanted me to come in with them on a plot to … to fool the world into thinking that Lady Bianca had been abducted by bandits in the pay of … of Lady Dalmatin. I was to … to say that I had discovered the place where the bandits had been keeping her, in the mountains near my home. And I was to confirm that this was the real Bianca Dalmatin – I had met her at the Presentation Ball and would know her again when I saw her.'

‘And what was this all for?'

Lucian licked his lips and looked away. ‘They did not say, but I suppose it was … well, your grace, the Dalmatin fortune is large …'

Belladonna spoke up, in a sombre voice. ‘And if I were tried and found guilty of such a terrible crime, then at the
very least I would be exiled and stripped of all my poor husband had left me, not executed.'

‘My dear, that would never have happened,' said the Duke fervently. ‘I would never have allowed it! How could anyone believe such a dreadful thing of such a good and beautiful woman?'

‘Thank you, your grace,' murmured Belladonna, ‘you are very kind. But “mud sticks”, as they say, even if it is false information. My reputation would have been ruined. And in any case, villains like these would know that even the threat of such an accusation might be enough to be able to bleed their victim dry. Blackmail can be the most effective weapon for villains,' she said, and sighed, shaking her head.

But she should not have said that. For her words awoke in me a memory of that image Lady Grandmother had left me with. And this time I did not see a station full of police. I did not see me, running from Rafiel and towards Lucian. I saw Lucian's face. I saw the haunted fear, written in his eyes. And I knew, finally, what weapon I had to use.

‘You will never be free of the curse, Lucian,' I said, looking right at him. ‘Never. And you know it, in your deepest heart.'

He was very pale, and his eyes had a feverish gleam. I could tell that he was trying to ignore my words but that something inside him would not let him.

‘No. That is not so!' he cried.

‘What?' said the duke, frowning. ‘What is this talk of curses?'

‘Nothing, your grace,' said Belladonna. ‘Just the ravings of –'

‘Quiet, my lady,' he said, crossly, earning himself a black look from Belladonna. ‘Montresor! What is this about?'

‘Just … Just a silly story, your grace,' he whispered, wiping sweat off his forehead, with a fearful glance at Belladonna. ‘A … A myth they tell about my family.'

‘Oh, but it's no myth, Lucian,' I said. ‘It is reality, and you have lived with it all your life. You thought you were free. There was a price to pay, but you had accepted that. It was a price you were willing to pay for the magic that would bring you your freedom. But now … now you have realised that you are not free. That you never were. That any time she wants, she can bring the curse back. Any time she has a use for you, or any time she thinks you are weakening, that you are trying to get back on the right path, she can threaten you with it. As she has done today. And so many other days.'

There was a silence. Lucian's lip trembled. He looked at me, his gaze anguished and wild. ‘You must understand! It takes everything from me! It turns me into a monster, thirsting for blood. It watches and waits for me in the shadows, slavering, ready to devour my humanity forever …'

‘I know,' I said, gently. ‘I understand. But she has not driven the wolf away. Far from it. She feeds it – as do you – with evil acts. And in your deepest heart, you know that.'

Lucian held my gaze for a heartbeat. Then he turned to the Duke with an unexpected air of determination and spoke. ‘Your grace, I have something important to say.'

The Duke, who had been listening in stupefied silence until this moment, burst out now with, ‘I'll say you have! If I am right in understanding this, you, only child of the
Montresors, are a werewolf! And a dangerous one at that, going by what you say. I do not want such a … such an unpredictable person in my court! I hereby declare that you are exiled until further notice.'

‘I will gladly obey, your grace,' said Lucian, and his eyes had a hectic shine. ‘Gladly. But that is not what I wanted to say.' He straightened. And he said, with a voice that tried hard to be steady, ‘I want to retract everything I said. It was lies. All lies. This girl is no impostor, but the real Bianca Dal–'

Belladonna reared up, like a snake striking. She threw herself at Lucian, and screamed words in a language I had never heard before. Lucian shook, writhed, twisted in on himself, his skin stretching, his form changing. His jaw lengthened and narrowed, his ears grew, his teeth sharpened, his hands shrank, his legs shortened and thickened, his clothes were replaced by a hairy pelt. All this in the blink of an eye, in one heartbeat, one frozen moment.

Where Lucian had stood was a huge golden wolf with unblinking amber eyes.

We fell back in shock, but the wolf took no notice of us. Instead, he advanced on the Duke, who retreated in terror, yelling for his guardsmen. They did not move a muscle, but stayed eyes ahead, gaze fixed. As though they were spellbound. As though they were not human.

As though they were automata.

The door handle rattled as someone tried to enter the room. But it had been locked. There was a tumult of voices beyond the door, with one rising above them all, commanding, ‘Open the door at once, or we'll have it broken down!' I recognised those imperious female tones.
Olga and Andel must have fulfilled their mission, and Lady Helena had come at last!

But Belladonna laughed, a great peal of laughter that resounded in the room. Her eyes were as bright as the most brilliant sapphires. She gestured rapidly and barked an order, and the six mechanical guardsmen instantly turned and marched to the door, barring the way.

‘Go, Montresor!' she hissed to the wolf. ‘Give in to the wolf! Devour Ottakar the Usurper! Claim your family's rightful place back at last!'

The wolf snarled, deep in its throat. His eyes were like twin suns, full of rage and hate. He advanced another step towards the Duke, who tried to scramble away but tripped and fell.

‘Devour!' shouted Belladonna, again.

Rafiel and Verakina and I raced to the Duke's side, trying to shield him. The wolf's burning glance raked over us, and then in one rapid, fluid movement, he turned and leaped.

Not on the duke.

On Belladonna.

She screamed and fell, and instantly the wolf was on her, ripping at her throat, his ferocious claws deep in the flesh of her arms. Drago moved like lightning, throwing himself on the wolf, a long knife in his hand. The wolf snarled and growled but did not lose his grip, even when Drago stabbed him again and again.

It was over in moments. Moments I will never forget, for as long as I live.

And when it was over, the wolf who had once been Lucian Montresor, and the witch who had once been my
beloved stepmother, both lay dead on the floor in a pool of blood, while a wounded Drago wept silently over the body of the woman he had served so loyally all his life.

The Duke got up, shakily. His face was grey, his eyes full of shadows. He looked at us. ‘You … You tried to save me,' he croaked. ‘After all I –' He broke off, then said, more strongly, ‘I will never forget what you did, Sergeant Goran. Or your friend,' he added, looking at Verakina. But …' He swallowed. Looked me right in the eyes. ‘… But especially you, Lady Bianca, whom I have so bitterly wronged. I am so very, very sorry. I hope you will forgive me. Things will be different now, I promise you that.'

I could find no words to answer, for my throat was choked by my heart. So I nodded, while Rafiel put a tender arm around me, and Verakina gave me a watery smile. And then we turned away from that place of death and followed the Duke to the door, where the automata, deprived of the guiding hand of their creator, presented no resistance to us at all.

It has been a year, now, since the events of that day. Just as the Duke promised, things have been different. My home has been restored to me, along with my inheritance. The automata were destroyed and the human life-essence that had powered them was allowed to escape into the gentle ether, as it should after death, while the magical tool she had created was burned to ashes. Belladonna's lies have been swept away, and the truth about my father's murder and the beggar killings exposed. However, to spare the Montresor family, and to acknowledge Lucian's last-minute attempt to make amends, there was no public mention of the part Lucian had played in Belladonna's conspiracy, or in the manner of Belladonna's death. It was reported instead that she had been shot dead while making an attempt on the life of the Duke, and Drago's trial was a closed one, with the verdict only – life imprisonment – publicly revealed.

Even so, the revelations caused a sensation, and not one that I relished, even though I knew it was necessary
that not everything be kept secret. But I did not have to face the half-horrified, half-fascinated curiosity of the press and the public, for on Lady Helena's advice, I was far away in Ruvenya at the time, taking refuge with Rafiel in Olga and Andel's summer home, and from thence we visited the Northern lands and the strange world of the shamans, as we'd promised the feya ‘Lady Grandmother'.

When we returned, most of the hue and cry had died down, and though occasionally there is a mention in the press of it, I am glad that most of the attention centres not on the terrifying ordeal I went through but on my plans to build on my father's legacy in Ladies' Fair. For something dear to my heart and Rafiel's is a charitable foundation, partly funded by profits from Ladies' Fair, which will help to sponsor the building of more outcast havens, not only in Noricia but well beyond. We hope to help change people's attitudes towards outcasts.

The idea had come about after I had offered a home in my own house to Verakina and her friends. They had refused, gently but firmly.

‘You understand,' had explained Verakina. ‘We have a home already in the haven, and one in which we feel most ourselves. And all we could wish for is that those like ourselves might too know the same comfort.'

It is Rafiel, discharged with honours from the Special Police, who directs the Haven Foundation, with help from Verakina and his sister Margy, who has now fully recovered from her terrible ordeal. And it is Rafiel whose reputation has also made donations flood in from all over the country and beyond, so that already work is well underway for the construction of several new havens. For the legend
of the Prince of Outlaws lives ever more brightly in the minds of the people, and the memory of those shining deeds will endure much longer than the horror and darkness that was Belladonna's only legacy. For that I am glad. For that, and for the slow and beautiful way in which Rafiel's and my love is growing hour by hour, day by day, as the years that separated us give way to the discovery of each other as we are now, and as we will be.

My renewed friendships with Margy and Emilia also give me great joy. As to Olga and Andel and little Frans-Ivan, they will always be in my heart, and that ferocious feya Lady Grandmother – she who, in her own way, helped me discover a strength in myself I didn't know I had – will always have my thanks, as will that famous Viklandish writer who goes under the name of Dr Nord.

But there are times when I am haunted by the images of the past. Times when I miss my father so much that it is like a physical pain tearing at me. Times when remembering the evil of what Belladonna did in her search for power and control almost overwhelms me. What makes people become like that?

We have learnt more about her background: that she was abandoned as a baby, sent to an orphanage, then adopted by Signora Gandelfiri, who treated her more like a servant than a child. Maybe there is something in that to explain her. And maybe not. I do not know. But somewhere, sometime, there must have been some good in her, however hidden, however neglected. For I could see that when Belladonna died, Drago truly grieved. He had been with her from childhood, and I can think of no other reason that he would have been so loyal, other than that
he saw some good in her, too. And if there had not been good somewhere inside her, she would not have spared him, after he twice crossed her. Yes, there must have been some good in her, or otherwise, how could I ever have loved her at all? It is a painful thing to think about, and I try not to. But occasionally it comes, as do images of Lucian Montresor and his terrible fate, and then I am torn between horror and sorrow. It saddens me that his life was lived in fear. That he never realised – until the last moments of his life – that the curse from which he suffered was not that he was a werewolf, but that he allowed fear of the wolf to distort and twist him.

The other day, Rafiel and I went to visit Drago in prison. It was the first time since the trial that we had seen him, and the first time that we actually spoke to him since that terrible morning in the police headquarters. It was he who had asked for the meeting.

He sat across the table from us in the prison visiting room, his powerful frame a little hunched, looking older, thinner, more gaunt. But his tread was firm and his expression gave as little away as ever. He did not speak for quite some minutes, just sat there with his hands folded together and his eyes lowered. But suddenly he lifted his gaze and looked right at me.

‘I have never asked for your forgiveness, Lady Bianca,' he said.

I felt a clenching in my chest. ‘No,' I said. I wanted to say more, but couldn't.

Rafiel took my hand and held it, tight, under the table.

‘And I will not,' Drago went on, as though I hadn't spoken, ‘because I have no right. Because enough has been
taken from you.' In his eyes now was an expression of such bleak sorrow that it caught at my throat. ‘And I would not take that from you as well,' he added. ‘I wanted you to know that. That is all I want to say.'

I could not speak.

‘Look after her, Sergeant Goran,' he said, to Rafiel.

‘I will,' said Rafiel, quietly.

‘If things had been different …' Drago began, then broke off. Standing up, he motioned to be taken out of the room again. Soon we heard his heavy footsteps moving away.

But Rafiel and I sat in silence together for a few moments more, hand in hand, our hearts filled with the same strange mixture of sadness and gladness. And when we left that bleak place, when the prison doors closed behind us and we stepped out into the bright light of a summer morning, I felt light, as though a weight had been lifted from me. The past would still have its hold on us, for otherwise we would not be human. But it would never drag our future down. Not ever. Human life is made of light and of shadows. And the best thing any of us can ever do is to face that without fear, so that the darkness does not blot out the light.