Chapter 55
724 Years Ago
“Give me thy torch, boy, then stand away so I may have privacy,” I order my servant in a dull voice, then pause. “Actually, put out the torch. I would have no one see me.”
After directing him to wait for me near a grove of trees several paces from the entrance of the cemetery, and to alert me if anyone approaches, I venture further in. Stumbling on tree roots and gravestones in the black of night, I make my way to the family’s tomb I seek.
With trepidation, I enter the crypt, allowing the ornate door to close with a jangle behind me. The wind is knocked from my lungs at the sight of Juliet on her deathbed. The soft light of the torches inside glow just bright enough to illuminate her paled complexion, allowing me to see the lack of that pretty blush I have loved so much on her.
My throat swells with emotion as I stumble toward the end of my future. I scatter flowers I took from my servant across her sleeping form. Collapsing against the side of the stone sarcophagus when I am finished, I press my forehead to her shoulder with a sob. My hands clutch at her lifeless arms, which only serves to deepen my crying.
“Juliet, my Juliet. I cover your bridal bed with flowers,” I lament, grief doubling me over when I think of what should have been. “Yet this is not your bridal bed as it should be, but a bed with a canopy made of dust and stones. I will visit you each night to bring more flowers and water them all with my tears. Every night, I swear it.”
Since the moment that news of her death reached me, I have been in such a state that I have pulled out my own hair in grief. These tears and honeyed words, as she once called them, are but a mere glimpse of the pain I hold. I can appreciate much more the grief my poor Juliet was suffering under, with the death of Tybalt, however extreme it seemed.
I pull back, gazing down at my love, letting myself imagine what it would have been like to see her swollen with our child or with her hair whitened with age as we enjoyed our grandchildren. All it serves to do is break my heart further, turning cracks to chasms.
A sharp whistle pierces the air, and I jerk upright, glancing toward the door.
“Someone is approaching,” I murmur to my bride, straightening her arms, resting them over the empty belly that should have carried my babe. “Who is out here so late, interfering with watching over you, my love?” A flash of light through the scroll of the door catches my attention. “A torch? They certainly are not being sly about this visit.”
I settle back into the shadows of the crypt, watching, waiting. There is nothing for a long while other than whispered words. Then, just as I wonder if it is merely a happenstance that the whispers are just outside the Capulet tomb, the door rattles.
“You hateful crypt, you symbol of death. You have taken the most precious gift that this earth had to give. Now, I have no reason to live and will give you more to feast on.”
My lip curls at the voice of a young man, recognizing it in an instant. “That is Romeo Montague, who murdered Tybalt and brought such grief to Juliet that she has died,” I growl, my voice dropping low when my foe forces open the door and enters, holding a torch. “He must have come to desecrate this place, maybe do something shameful to the dead here.”
My hands shake with fury as I step forward to seize the Montague boy, though I know my anger is such that he will die at my hands rather than be sentenced by my cousin, Price Escalus. This is no longer a matter for the city of Verona. It has become far, far more personal.
“That is enough, Montague,” I spit, stepping forward. He jolts in surprise at my appearance. “You would continue this path of vengeance even after the death of someone so innocent in it all? You deserve death and suffering for what you have caused.”
Romeo crashes to his knees, his voice heavy with emotion. “I must, yes, which is why I have come here,” he agrees, and I step back with shock. “Please do not tempt me. I have no quarrel with you. Leave me here alone. Think about the dead here, who may haunt you and terrify you. I am begging you, noble sir, to not anger me so that I have yet another sin to add to those committed.”
When I don’t respond, he tears at his hair, much the way I have since Juliet died.
“O, leave!” he shouts. “I swear, sir, I love you more than I love myself, for I bear no ill will for you. I wish you to walk out of here alive. Do not stay. Leave and live as I do not wish to do any longer.”
He sounds desperate. It is clear he has not seen who I am in the dim lighting, the harbinger of his impending death. I cannot find it within myself to pity him because of the destruction he was wreaked upon my Juliet.
“I will not leave,” I snarl, unsheathing my rapier. “I will bring justice with your death!”
Despite his declarations submitting to death, he leaps to his feet within a storm of fury. “You provoke a madman to anger? Then we fight!”
Producing a rapier of his own, Romeo does not have the chance to use it, taking my fist to his face and tumbling to the paved floor of the crypt. He spits blood as he scrambles to his feet, finding a stance to defend himself against me, blade at the ready.
I give him little time to prepare, my rapier slicing through the air. He blocks my attack, then parries, attempting to slash through my side. I dodge the attack, feinting to the left and chopping toward his neck. He deflects the move and kicks, connecting with my shin and making me stumble. On and on we go, our matching skill sets making it difficult for either of us to get the upper hand.
Sweat soaks into my clothes, the stale, still air of the crypt more and more difficult to breathe in as we continue our fight. Romeo seems to struggle, too, the clash of our swords less violent with every meeting.
I spin as he cuts upward, preventing him from biting into my arm. I bring my sword up, stopping his subsequent attack, just in time to have my attention stolen away by Juliet.
I freeze, blinking at the hands I placed so carefully across her belly. They moved—just a twitch, nothing drastic—but they moved.
I parry another attack from Romeo, trying to keep my eyes on Juliet. “Wait,” I grind out, my attention torn between the fight and my love.
There. Her fingers flutter before settling again.
My arms drop as I stand reeling, my eyes fixed upon her. “Montague, hold—”
A choked gasp belays my words and I peer down at Romeo’s rapier, driven through my body, the hilt flush against my ribs. He rips it free and I make a keening noise as it slices my insides. My crimson blood seeps into the material of my coat. I crash to my knees, my hands quivering as they hover helplessly over the wound.
I look up, seeking Juliet, hoping to see the green of her eyes before I leave this life behind. But she is still, her hands still resting where I placed them.
I wonder if I ever saw her move at all.
“O, Death is coming for me,” I rasp, peering up at Romeo as he comes close. “If thou be merciful, Montague, lay me with Juliet. Allow me to be at peace with her.”
He rears back, his eyes widening. “You are Count Paris! You were meant to marry Juliet.”
I fall to my side before I can answer him. “I will love her across lifetimes we do not know yet,” I vow without acknowledging his accusation, coughing up blood.
Kneeling next to me, Romeo studies me with something that like understanding. “I will lay you with her, for I know how it is to be separated by death from the one you love.”
My eyes start to shutter. “Romeo Montague,” I mumble. I sense him lean close, more than see it. “Fuck you.”
His strangled laugh is the last thing I hear before I succumb to death, hoping my Juliet waits for me in whatever comes next.