Winter's Light (23 page)

Elumen Var

Lamara strained against the chain, whipping her head around and glaring angrily at the creature who held the other end.

I want to see!
Lamara demanded and the servant’s smirk deepened. The Malfaerie girl was unused to wielding power over anyone so had taken to her duty as Lamara’s temporary keeper with disturbing enthusiasm.

Elumen Var will not be pleased by your actions
, Lamara communicated, trying a different tact. The truth was her relationship with Elumen Var was clearly master/slave, yet she shared his quarters and held onto the vague hope that this intimacy might create the illusion of having some influence.

Her ploy seemed to work as a flicker of unease passed over the servant’s pale features.

I just want to be able to see. Please.

It still sometimes amazed her just how quickly she’d adapted to not using her mouth to speak. At first it had been difficult to separate the thoughts she wished to keep to herself from the thoughts she wished to communicate, but after very little practice she’d mastered the technique. It came down to a simple trick – imagining her mind split into two halves. In the front half were the thoughts she used to talk with the Malfaerie, in the rear half she kept her secret thoughts and ambitions. So far, Elumen Var and the other Malfaerie had been unable to penetrate this hidden chamber, however, she caught them frowning at her from time to time as though perplexed as to why they couldn’t.

The servant girl –
Lix
, she now glent was her name
–
reluctantly allowed the length of chain to roll out.

Thank you
, Lamara nodded politely at the girl and moved to the edge of the balcony, just as another wave of excitement rolled up from the crowd. She looked out over the vast arena, gaze travelling past the thousands of Malfaerie to the two figures spinning in the air.

Elumen Var had been challenged. The challenger’s name was Kremar of the Suthulu House, an arrogant and aggressive Malfaerie who believed Lamara should belong to the Suthulu not the Var. She was not told this directly by her master, but learnt it one evening when his concentration was lost. Lamara had learnt much since discovering she could read her captor’s mind. Most of it troubling.

The Malfaerie were not gods. They were lords of Krypthia, overseers of the Dead Lands. A world that existed just below Lamara’s. There were other creatures here, things that dwelt beyond the borders of Kyrpthia. Horrible monsters with grinning skull-like faces and black eyes – the Skivers. The Skivers could travel between Lamara’s world and the Dead Lands, bringing back with them Kei. Souls. They bartered the Kei to the Malfaerie, who craved this mortal energy with a hunger that chilled Lamara. In return, the Malfaerie allowed the Skivers to soak in the radiance of the Light Wells, great reservoirs of power that were dotted around the city. The Skivers craved this light, just as the Malfaerie craved souls. It was a sickening cycle of greed and addiction.

It was not easy for the Skivers to obtain Kei. They were forced to follow a complex set of rules Lamara still didn’t understand before harvesting the energy from the mortal realm. This was why Lamara was being fought over. She was an endless source of Kei for these creatures, a wellspring of energy. A treasure. A trophy.

A great cheer rose up as the crowd below reacted to a display of skill by one of the combatants. Apprehensive, Lamara squinted, unable to make out which one of the figures shimmering in the middle distance was Elumen Var. Both the Malfaerie were stripped to the waist, their smooth, muscular bodies thrown into stark relief by the sporadic geysers of light spewed up by the neighbouring wells.

Moving with astonishing speed, too fast for her eyes to follow, they traded blows, occasionally blurring together in frenzied activity, becoming one. Slowly they spiralled up from the ground, like leaves caught in the wind, rising higher until they were level with the Var platform – the highest in the arena – where Lamara watched. An excited hush fell over the thousands of spectators as they anticipated the approaching climax to the drama.

She still couldn’t see Elumen Var’s face; both combatants’ long black hair whipped around obscuring their features. In the tangle of limbs, she finally caught sight of his piercing green eyes. They were shot through with pain and rage, and then his gaze shifted past his opponent, finding Lamara.

You are mine
, she heard his voice in her head.
Now and forever.

He was going to win.

Snaking his arms around Kremar’s neck, Elumen Var wrenched the other Malfaerie into a submissive position. There was an audible snap, which provoked another voiceless cheer from the crowd, and Kremar’s limp body dropped from his grasp, tumbling to the ground. The battle was over.

Elumen Var floated across the arena towards her, while below the Malfaerie spectators stood and raised their hands, palms facing outwards in a congratulatory gesture. His chest was covered in bruises and deep scratches, black blood trickling from these wounds. If his injuries troubled him, Elumen Var did not let it register on his face. His features remained frozen, only his eyes shone with hunger.

As he drew closer, Lamara felt a stab of pain in her abdomen. Not fear. Not hers anyway. Her hands went protectively to the small bump that was forming, and she made a silent promise to herself. A promise to escape – not through death, but through cunning. But how?

The answer came to her later, as Elumen Var bore her aloft through the dark skies over Krypthia, flying towards the tower of the Var. As they soared between the spires, riding on the gulf streams, he asked, in that sarcastic, dangerous manner of his,
Are you not pleased, my sweet Lamara of the Grey Wolves? The battle has been fought. Your god has won.

Very pleased
, she answered, nervously looking at his glittering eyes and forcing a smile.
I was imagining ways I could show my gratitude.

He looked down at her, the expression of wicked lust in his face causing her spirit to wilt.

Is that so?

Yes.
It was a monumental effort to keep her revulsion hidden.
A god as great as you deserves more love than I can provide.
They were rising up through the low hanging clouds, drawing near the window that led to the bedchamber. Her prison. The time for conversation was growing short.

A slight frown creased his cold features.
What do you mean? Explain yourself.
There was a hint of warning in his words and Lamara knew she must tread carefully.

A doorway, my lord. I know of a doorway that could lead you to my world. There we could find others to worship you. An endless number.

A doorway, you say? Is this true?
The Malfaerie’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, and she felt his mind probe hers, trying to read her thoughts. If he managed to penetrate her hidden sanctuary and read the plans she’d formed, all was lost.

She began to tell him about the portal and soon the suspicion faded from his eyes, replaced with greed.

Chapter 36

Winter ran down the hallway of doors.

Blake was behind one of them, she could hear his anguished cries, but every door she opened revealed nothing but darkness.

‘Winter, please! Help me! It hurts!’

‘I’m coming!’ she called back. Sometimes he sounded nearby, other times terrifyingly far away.

There was a door at the end of the hallway, different from the others. A heavy oak door criss-crossed with iron banding. This was where Blake was being held prisoner. She was sure of it. Finally, they’d be reunited, and she could have him in her arms again.

Her heart swelling with anticipation, Winter reached for the handle only to find it missing. Her eyes widened in confusion. There was no handle anywhere, no way of opening the door.

Blake’s voice, barely a whisper, drifted through the thick wood, ‘Winter . . . please . . .’

Frantically, she searched for a way to get a grip and somehow pry the door open. She scrabbled at the wood, breaking her fingernails on the coarse grain.

‘I can’t open it!’ she cried, pounding on the door in frustration. ‘I can’t —!’

‘Yes, you can,’ someone said quietly behind her.

Winter turned and saw a girl watching her. A strange girl, wrapped in animal skins with thick, wavy hair the colour of blood.

‘Who are —’

‘Open the door, sister. Set him free,’ the girl said, staring at her knowingly.

‘It’s locked. I can’t!’

‘Then unlock it. You have the power.’

Winter nodded and placed her hands against the wood. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the door opening and heard the hinges groan as it gave way. She opened her eyes again, expecting to see her love waiting for her, but Blake wasn’t on the other side of the door. Someone else was.

Claudette, her face split in a mad grin, lunged at Winter . . .

Winter jolted awake, barely suppressing the rising scream. Elena glanced curiously at her from across the aisle. The Danielle Steel novel lay open on her lap.

‘Everything okay?’ she asked, arching one eyebrow.

‘What?’

Deeply disorientated, it took Winter a moment to place herself. The beehive sound of the engines beneath the wing outside helped. As did the stale, recycled quality of the air blowing on her face from the overhead vent. She was on a plane travelling to Paris.

Seated to her right, Jasmine was scrunched up against the window, fast asleep. A navy blue eye mask hung askew across her face; her lips were slightly parted. Sam was in another section of the plane having traded seats with Jasmine.

Turning back to Elena, Winter said, ‘How long was I . . . ?’ The word
asleep
, was drowned out by the pilot’s voice crackling over the intercom announcing they were about to begin their descent.

Winter couldn’t believe it. She thought she’d been asleep for only a few minutes, when really it must have been closer to five hours. Despite this, she still felt exhausted, her muscles sore. Touching her forehead, her fingers came away moist with sweat. Residue of the nightmare. Was it too late to duck into the bathroom to wash her face?

Seatbelts were being buckled throughout the cabin. Winter saw that the seatbelt light had flicked on. Dammit! She’d missed her chance.

Exhaling forcefully, Winter tried to banish the image of Claudette’s face lunging towards her out of the dark. It was just a stupid dream. Nothing more. Claudette was dead. But what about that girl with the red hair? Where had she come from?

It dawned on her that Elena was still watching her curiously. Winter shot her a quick smile.
I’m fine.
The Russian shrugged and picked up her novel again, turning a page with a grey-gloved finger. The gloves had remained on during the entire flight.

Winter glanced down at her lap and saw that Sam’s notebook had slipped into the gap between the armrest and the seat. She plucked it out and held it in her hands, thinking of the passage she’d read before falling asleep. Blake’s return to Hagan’s Bluff. The memory of his mother’s death. So much sadness and guilt, the words inscribed on the pages felt as though they had been etched painfully into her own heart. He’d come back to the Bluff to say goodbye to his mother.

The plane began to tilt towards the ground, and her sombre reflection was forgotten, shunted aside by the view outside the window. She would never forget this first glimpse of Paris; a convoluted patchwork of buildings and roads seen through the hazy veil of salmon-coloured clouds. There was the Seine snaking its way around Notre Dame, golden light rippling across its surface. And here was the Eiffel Tower, so much smaller than she’d imagined, a lone sentry watching over a lush, green park.

Taking in the sights, a grin spread across her face. She remembered many excited conversations with Jasmine about one day travelling through Europe. Just the two of them. Doing the whole backpacker thing, staying in hostels, partying with locals, avoiding the usual tourist spots, getting lost and loving every minute of it.

She was able to hold onto this innocent wonder until they landed. As soon as the great turbines stopped spinning and the cabin filled with the restless noise of passengers unbuckling, yawning, chatting, and getting their bags, Elena lent across the aisle and tapped her gently on the arm. Her eyes fixed on Winter’s and she smiled that knowing smile of hers.

‘Now, we’ll see how far you’re willing to go.’

The man who greeted them as they exited the arrival section was a little taller than Winter, with a wide belly and a strong Gallic nose sitting above a bushy, salt-and-pepper moustache.

‘Good afternoon, my friends, and welcome to Paris,’ he said, voice booming through the airport. ‘My name is Marcel, and I will be your driver and your servant while you are in my country. Anything you want, Marcel will get.’ He smiled widely, the moustache twitching as though it had a life of its own.

Elena said something to him in French, but he seemed more eager to meet the three young foreigners than talk with her. First he spoke to Sam, speaking English then shifting to French when he realised Sam was fluent. Winter guessed their brief conversation touched on Caleb and Sam’s brothers as at one point Marcel reached out and rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder in a gesture of consolation.

The Frenchman then turned to the two girls exclaiming with a lascivious grin, ‘Winter and Jasmine. Such beautiful names for such beautiful girls. And here I was thinking French women were the finest in the world.’

Winter merely raised her eyebrows, while Jasmine couldn’t resist coming back with, ‘Here I was thinking French men were supposed to be handsome and charming. Guess we were both wrong, huh?’

Marcel seemed momentarily lost for words before an infectious baritone laugh rumbled up from the depths of his belly, building in strength before exploding out of his mouth; a great geyser of mirth. Winter couldn’t help but smile along with him.

‘Excellent!’ Marcel grabbed hold of Jasmine’s hand and shook it enthusiastically. ‘I think you and I will have some fun together, yes?’

‘I doubt it,’ Jasmine said through a smile while her whole body was jostled by Marcel’s pumping hand. Her response prompted even more laughter from Marcel. Elena watched the exchange with bemusement, while Sam hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d walked through border control. It was the expression of a man who couldn’t believe his own luck. A free man.

Wiping his eyes, Marcel took hold of their luggage trolley and began pushing it towards the exit. ‘This way, my friends, we have a long drive ahead of us and I look forward to sharing many more jokes.’

‘Can’t wait,’ Jasmine said, rolling her eyes at Winter and following him.

Before joining her, Winter asked Elena, ‘We’re not waiting for Yuri?’

Elena shook her head. ‘He will meet us in the castle later.’

Winter nodded thoughtfully, her mind turning to Lucy and wondering how she was bearing up. Glancing down at her watch, she realised that if everything had gone according to plan Yuri had already broken up with her and was already on his way to Paris. Starting off after Jasmine and Sam, Winter paused – what had Elena just said?

A castle?