17. Chapter 16 Rhianelle
Chapter 16 Rhianelle
N ight falls swiftly with the hint of an incoming storm. I stand at the edge of the cliff barefooted. The violent wind whips through my hair, making it dance a dozen different directions. I ignore the heavy droplets of rain pelting on my skin. My nightgown is already wet from the dive.
Lightning rips through the sky, heating the air for a brief moment. The following roar of thunder rattles my teeth.
“Rhianelle.”
A dark voice calls from behind me.
My husband, the vampire, offers me his hand. “Come to me.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You’ll chain me.”
“I won’t. I swear it.”
Lies.
Svenn takes a step forward, I take one back. He begins to look increasingly alarmed as I get closer to the edge.
“There’s going to be a storm.” His voice is rising against the cold wind.
I retreat from him and take a quick glance at the sea. I swallow the fear lodged in my throat. If the crashing waves don’t kill me first, I might die from the cold later.
“Rhianelle, don’t do it,” he says, his eyes flashing with something that almost looks like fear. It’s the first time I’ve seen it in him. I quickly decide I hate that look on his beautiful features. I launch myself towards him and slam against his body.
He holds me tight in his arms, stroking my back, kissing my head. “Thank fuck. That’s my good girl.”
No, not his girl anymore.
I will escape the vampire and this horrid place, but I’m not suicidal.
Leathery black wings reappear behind his back, spreading wide and as glorious as night. He snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. Heat dances beneath my skin at the touch.
“Hold on tight,” he whispers in a calm, low command.
At least he warns me this time. I clutch my hands around his neck, my movement easy and familiar, as if I have done this with him through decades of practice instead of the second time today.
My pulse races when he sweeps me into his arms. A heartbeat later, we’re gliding through the raining sky. He adjusts the movement of his wings to the wind current and bile rises to my throat. I’m not quite ready to open my eyes yet like he told me earlier, so I keep them sewn shut. They remain shuttered long after we land too.
He gently settles me on my feet. I peel my eyes open to a dark room instead of the pale-gray upper courtyard of the old castle.Is this the dungeon where he plans to make me his? I’m too cold to even be afraid.
My teeth chatter so violently that my jaw is beginning to ache. I allow my captor to wind his arms around me to steal his warmth. He pulls me close against him, burying his face in my neck. His body heat feels so good.
“Wait for me,” he says. It’s too dark to read whatever is in his gaze. His lips meet my forehead before he releases me. A strange feeling jostles in my heart at the gesture. I listen to his footfalls growing fainter and fainter as he walks away. The air immediately feels colder in his absence.
How did I even think that I could survive the ocean when my fingers are so numb and stiff right now? I can’t see them in the dark but I bet they’re blue from the cold. This throws me back to that time in the winter months in Astefar. Blaire told me my fingers will fall down like icicles once I stop feeling anything in them. I shake my head from the memory.
I rub my hands together harder and blow my breath to warm them up.
Relief sweeps through me when Svenn returns.
He takes my hand and leads me out of the door to the open air. We move along the roofed terrace lined with tall black windows past a desiccated garden. My eyes roam over the foreign estate, memorizing my escape routes silently. Svenn pushes the double swing door that opens to a smaller courtyard. I recognize the familiar outdoor shower area designed to wash off seawater after a swim.
I can hardly focus on anything else when I see a large tub wafting steam.
“The freshwater pipe is still working. I’ve drawn the bath for you,” he says, testing the water on his skin before ushering me in. I slide into the tub without hesitation.
A sigh of relief escapes my lips at the contact with the lukewarm water. I wiggle my toes and immerse myself until my breast is partially covered.
Svenn kneels down next to the tub. “Give me your hands.”
I can’t help but do as I am told when he uses that voice. Vampire compulsions don’t work on elves. It has to be something else then.
I watch silently as he stretches my stiff fingers in the water, handling me like I’m the most delicate thing in the world.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod.
He sounds and feels like he’s my Svenn now. So concerned, so gentle. Maybe the cold seawater has awakened him from his trance.
Once color returns to my skin, he leaves me to my own devices. I reach for the washcloth and soap prepared at the side of the tub.
Svenn leans on the granite pillar with his arms crossed, the mighty wings tucked in tight to his powerful body.
“Are you going to stand there and watch?” I ask as soon as the clanking of my teeth stops.
He arches a brow. “I said I’m keeping you.”
He’s still a jerk, I see.
“You also said I can have private time,” I reason with him.
“You lost that privilege when you jumped from the cliff.” His voice goes hard. “You’re a risk.”
He makes no effort to move from his spot.
Goosebumps erupt from my skin over his penetrating gaze. I should not be reacting this way to him, not when he just told he wants to imprison me in this place forever.
Fine. I’ll give him a show. The bold part of me decides for a striptease. But the clever part of me, the one who survived Astefar, chooses to turn my back from him and remove my gown carefully.
I run the washcloth over my neck, achingly aware that he is watching every movement. I wonder if the soap and hair wash belong to the previous inhabitants of the lighthouse. Hopefully they won’t mind the extensive amount I lather on my body. I use some to wash my nightgown too.
After a while, I hear a flutter of wings from behind me. Maybe Svenn has finally decided to leave me alone.
I squeeze every last drop of water from my dress and bundle it into a ball. Dread fills me at the thought of having to wear this damp nightgown again. I don’t even have anything to dry myself with.
I feel his presence before I see him. I glance back to find Svenn standing tall across the courtyard. His wings are gone now but it doesn’t make his presence any less intimidating. He is dressed just as I had seen him last, in his black tunic and leather, but unlike me, he is dry.
My lips purse in envy. “Can you lend me some clothes?”
“I have none to spare,” he says.
I sigh out my disappointment at that. Looks like the damp nightgown it is.
“But I do have this.” He suddenly unwraps something from in his hands. I never thought I’d be this happy at the sight of my favorite blanket.
I hold out my hand, expecting Svenn to come closer to pass it over or throw it to me, but he does neither.
I’m suddenly nervous again.
“May I have the blanket?” I try calmly.
“Of course.”
I am comforted by his quick answer.
“Now get in here,” he says, spreading the fabric wide in between his hands to welcome me. Any spark of relief I had earlier vanishes at the command.
“I’m not going to run into your arms naked!”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Heat blasts my cheek at the memory of me jumping at him on our wedding night like a happy rabbit.
Nope, nope, nope. That was his venom’s fault because he licked me in the labyrinth.
I press my lips together, determined not to beg for a piece of cloth. But the water is cooling fast. I can’t stay in this tub forever or I’ll freeze to death.
“Close your eyes,” I tell him.
“Say please.”
“Please,” I mutter into the wind.
“I didn’t catch that.”
This cruel man.
I say it again and he obliges to my demand, shuttering his eyelids slowly.
I prance towards him in long strides. Tension pulses in my veins once I reach him. It’s the same kind of terror I feel whenever I crossed paths with a monster in the forbidden forest. But unlike the beasts there, Svenn doesn’t need fangs and claws to intimidate.
He’s lethal and dangerous just by standing there with his eyes closed. The flash of lighting in the background only adds to the horror scene.
I push the fear away and try snatching the blanket from his firm grip. He keeps it out of my reach. His evasion technique is far better than our usual practice. He probably lied about closing his eyes.
“Give me that!” I make another pathetic attempt to get the soft sheet but it’s impossible. Frustration gnaws at me and I whirl around to leave.
Svenn suddenly catches me faster than the carnivorous trap plant in Astefar.
“Oh gods. What are you doing?” I gasp before I can stop myself.
The shock doesn’t have time to fully register in my system. He runs the blanket over my stomach, then down to my backside and in between my legs. His hand is not even directly touching me, and yet the pressure of it ignites a buzzing sensation on my skin.
“Helping you,” he finally answers.
I don’t know if it’s the cold making everything feel so sensitive, but I feel each one of his touches all the way to my core.
“Svenn…” His name falls from my lips.
He pays careful attention to specific areas, my breasts especially. My body writhes beneath his touch and my breathing turns into stunted gasps.
“I can do this myself,” I protest, but it sounds more like a breathy moan.
The blanket smooths over my breasts for far too long. I’m flooded with heat and pleasure. It feels so good that it takes a long time for me to finally tell him to set me free. “Let me go.”
Even then, the words come out weak.
He releases me and lays the blanket over my shoulders. I manage to walk several steps barefooted before he hauls me into his arms again. This time, I don’t struggle because he is so warm. I love the comfort and the familiarity of his scent too.
But still I have to ask, “When are you taking me home?”
The man doesn’t answer.
I decide I will pester him with that question a hundred more times. Sister Greeta eventually gave in to Blaire’s demand for a second breakfast when my friend asked the priestess too many times.
That’s right.
I will annoy the hell out of this man until he brings me back to Windhaven.
Comforting warmth greets me as soon as we enter the keep. Almost all the candlesticks and lanterns in the hallways are lit and I am silently grateful for it. Svenn climbs the spiral staircase silently, still refusing to answer my question. I’m about to ask him again but it appears that we have reached our destination.
Despite the frustration welling in my chest, I welcome the heat in the chamber. Basic furniture fills the sitting room, lit by more candles and a bright fireplace. Svenn carefully lowers me to the hearth. Carefully. So carefully.
“Stay right here.” His voice sounds rougher than usual.
He turns to leave again but I tug at his arm. I pull his face gently close to mine and search his eyes. “You’re my Svenn now. Why are you still being mean?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Your Svenn?”
There is a long pause as he stares down at me.
“Be good.” He kisses my head again and then he’s gone.
The storm rages outside, howling with fury. I get up to spread my wet nightgown on the rod mounted on the wall. With luck it will dry soon from the warmth of the room.
I settle once again on the rug over at the same spot he placed me earlier. Flame crackles in the fireplace and I pull the blanket to my chin to keep myself warm.
Our strange connection is content and quiet now. His experiment proves to be true. The bond is calmer after our physical interaction. I feel terrible for staying away and avoiding him this past week.
Lightning flashes across the large panel window. I sit closer to the fireplace at the chasing thunder, covering my ears.
This is going to be a long, cold night. I press my hand to my stomach. I haven’t eaten anything since morning. My mind drifts to the plate of roasted duck somewhere in a room in this castle. It’s probably spoilt by now, but I’ve gobbled worse things than a day’s old meal.
Svenn told me to stay. It’s not like I want to listen to him. I just can’t summon the energy to climb the stairs and find that room again. I decide to conserve my energy and forage for food later.
Surviving is what I do best.
In the midst of my despairing hunger and the cold, I find myself missing my captor. I hope he comes back soon.
That’s not very survivalist… I can almost hear Blaire’s voice and frown in my head. Maybe I’ve gone mad in this castle in my loneliness.
My hair is partially dry by the time the huge door creaks again. I scold my face from looking too excited at his return.
The Strigon prowls to me slowly from the dark. I spring up from the hearth and move away from him. I feel vulnerable without a weapon in hand. I should have grabbed the iron poker leaning on the wall. Each time he strides forward, I back several steps. We stare at each other like two fighters in a ring.
I wait for him to move or say something. He finally raises a hand and gestures to my blanket. “Let me dry that up.”
The cloth is damp from my wet hair but there’s no way I’m giving up the only protection I have.
“Sounds like a trick to get me naked,” I mutter underneath my breath.
“I don’t need a trick to do that.” Something dangerous flickers through his eyes, and I shiver. This time not from the cold.
He’s broken my confidence too many times today for me to trust him. But the promise of warm clothing is too tempting to refuse. I slip the blanket from my shoulder slowly, surrendering it to him with trembling fingers.
Heat scorches my cheeks as he takes in the entirety of me. His gaze feels like an invisible caress on my skin. I wrap an arm across my breasts to hide as much as I can.
I hear him scoff underneath his breath before he turns away, shaking his head. “Stay clear, Nel. You can’t touch me in this form.”
I glare at him harder.
As if I would even think to do that.
His eyes gleam in the light of the crackling hearth. “I never had… access to this power before. This ability is new to me.”
The uncertainty and the vulnerable change in his tone urges me to keep a safe distance from him.
“I understand,” I tell him.
Blue-white glimmer ignites from his chest, the kind you see in the innermost part of a candle flame. The light permeates through his entire body, enveloping him in a bright glare.
I remember this rebellious fire creature, one of the many victims of Lilith’s ritual. He tried so hard to get away from the witch’s evil clutches, but she still managed to get him.
My heart aches for Svenn and the Strigons, for the beasts sacrificed to make the Rhunhraefn. Lilith has thrown them all into this never-ending cycle of pain.
The fire recedes and uncovers him slowly. He strides to me and wraps the blanket over my shoulders. “There you go.”
The warmth is similar to the heating effect of the iron plate Lady Deirdre used to straighten clothes with. It makes me so comfortable and happy that I feel the strangest urge to cry.
“Thank you, Svenn,” I blurt out.
The delight in my voice seems to surprise him as much as it surprises me.
Nope.
I am not developing that weird thing where people fall for their captor. This is just gratitude for something decent he did.
I point to my nightgown next.
He moves towards to the metal pole near the hearth wall to pick up the dress.
I wait with anticipation for my nightgown, looking forward to have something decent to wear again.
This time a different sort of flame envelops his body, it’s fiery red, like the wrath of a thousand suns. I have to block my eyes from the blazing glare.
Slowly, he reverts to his mortal form. The flames fizzle out from the dress until only faint wisps of smoke remain. Ashes crumble in his hands, falling to the floor.
I look at the charred remains of my nightgown.
“Svenn…”
He burned—obliterated my dress.
“What have you done?”
“I told you, I’m unfamiliar with this beast,” he says, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s out of my control.”
“You did that on purpose,” I accuse him.
He gives it a thought. “Maybe I did.”
This man is pure evil.
“Come now.” He walks out of the room.
I linger at the hearth, mourning my nightgown. Whatever gratitude I felt earlier shrivels up and dies. My fingers clench into a fist. I vow my vengeance to the dress and march down the passage.
I pass by the giant mirror in the hallway and glance at myself. My pitiful state with no shoes and no clothes on my back fuels my fury. I wrap the blanket tightly around myself and tie it under my arm, turning it into a makeshift dress.
Anger is my only weapon now.
I traipse the dark, silent hallway behind Svenn. I’m content to maintain my distance until a strong aroma of spice wafts from the next chamber. It coaxes me to drag my feet faster.
The dining hall is easily the most brightly lit part of the castle with hundreds of candles bedecking the walls and mantel. Another fireplace, larger than the one in the sitting room burns bright at the far edge of the chamber.
The delicious fragrance from the table entices my stomach to make its existence known.
“I made you something,” Svenn says, sounding almost thoughtful. He moves with the smooth elegance of an immortal and pulls out the oversize chair at the head of the table. So, this is my fate now as a captive to this vampire.
“Eat.”
“No.”
“Do you have better things to do with that mouth?” he asks.
I recall the things he said his bond wants to do to me and the question sounds dangerous now. My heart does a strange flip at the memory of everything he said, and I back a step.
“I’m not hungry,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster. I turn around and walk away, completely aware that Svenn’s gaze is burning a hole into my back. Maybe if I go on a hunger strike, he’ll be forced to release me.
I wander down the long passage on my own, gathering my thoughts and my wits.
What’s my next move, Un?
I wait for advice and warning from them. Their nagging is usually incessant whenever I am in a dangerous situation. There is nothing more threatening than being alone with a vampire in an abandoned castle.
Yet, my patrons in the dark remain silent.
I trail along a dim path illuminated by a few lanterns and glass candles. A door at the far end hangs ajar. Rusty hinges creak when I push it open.
“Heavens above…” I gasp into the silence.
Paintings fill every surface of the room, from the walls to the ceiling. There are even sketches and drawings on the floor.
But that is not what catches my breath.
What shocks me senseless is that they are all illustrations of me. The portraits are so realistic it’s almost like staring in the mirror.
No, that’s not it…
All this while, I’ve been putting on masks, a different one each day to keep pretending that I’m a High Elf. Some days when I look in the mirror, I’ve almost forgotten what I look underneath that mask.
These paintings are better than my own reflection because they reveal the real me, stripped to my core, bare from any layers of covering.
There is me when I’m overjoyed, laughing and smiling, then there is me when I’m sad and melancholic, then there is a painting of me with an emotion so raw I can hardly describe it.
Svenn has captured a side of me I’ve never seen before. The fact that he somehow sees me better than I could ever see myself makes me want to hide.
I’m equally touched and scared.
His paintings of me are so beautiful, they almost fool me into believing that I am. The bond made him do this?
I feel his presence lurking behind me and I turn. Svenn enters the room, the air around us seems to be sucked into his void of shadow and smoke.
“They’re very pretty,” I compliment.
“Of course they are. They’re you,” he says, as if it’s obvious.
A flush of warmth travels from my neck down to my spine. I move to the workstation near the window. Selection of crayons, cans of paint, and charcoals rest at the heart of the table.
“Would you like to try?” he asks, his dark eyes unblinking.
This man is my captor. I should be terrified, running, and screaming. But I never got the chance to explore what I wanted after Aerin crowned me as queen. I nod at the offer before I can stop myself.
The paintbrush feels awkward in my hand the moment I take it. I feel stupid for even wanting to do this, but Svenn has already filled the palette with all sorts of colors for me. It would be a waste if I didn’t use them.
I frown at the wall. “There’s no space left…”
“Just paint over mine,” he replies, noticing my uncertainty.
The thought of ruining his wondrous paintings makes me cringe. I circulate the room from end to end, reluctant to spoil any of them. I finally pick a spot where it’s mostly filled with an illustration of my silver hair.
“I don’t even know how to start,” I murmur to myself.
“Whatever comes to mind.” His voice gentles.
I picture Kiiska and Ksatka swimming free in the ocean, dancing with fishes, octopi, and whales. I decide to draw a leatherback sea turtle.
The bird of the ocean.
A symbol of freedom.
I don’t want to give Svenn any impression that I like staying here as his prisoner. But it’s hard fighting a smile that’s already finding its way to my lips when I dab that first color on the wall. I become more confident with each passing stroke.
This is fun.
For a moment, I’m not someone stuck with a heavy burden on my shoulder, for a moment I do not have to lie and pretend.
I’m simply Nel who likes to paint.
It’s easy to forget where I am and who I am when I’m with Svenn. I allow myself to enjoy this moment for what it is.
Before my legs begin to cramp, I realized my evil captor has planted a stool behind me. My heart squeezes at the gesture but I hope my face doesn’t show how touched I am. I happily settle on it to continue my painting.
I pour my heart and soul into the design, but something goes terribly wrong…
The more I try to correct the shape of the turtle’s head, the more hideous it gets. Maybe I shouldn’t have mixed the dark paint with the other colors because it’s taking over my entire palette now.
I stare back at my creation in horror. It was going so well in the beginning. But now it simply looks like a stickman with a bobbly head.
Svenn approaches me and freezes in front of the wall. His once beautiful masterpiece is completely ruined now. My fingers quiver when I remember that one time Blaire got whipped because she failed to draw a proper lotus flower in the Arawynn temple.
I consider apologizing, but Svenn was the one who told me to paint on the wall. I lower the brush and wait for the lashing.
“Is that me?” he suddenly asks.
My heart stiffens at the question.
How in the world did he arrive at that conclusion? I cast another glance at my sea turtle. It does look like a demented homunculus after my multiple alterations.
A mischievous grin finds its way to my lips. I give my atrocious artwork two dots of red for his scarlet eyes. “Yes, it is.”
It’s a little mean, but this evil tyrant has kidnapped me to this abandoned castle, told me he would do wicked things to me, and burned my dress. This is the least I can do to get back at him. A mischievous grin tugs my lips.
“Thank you.”
What?
I’m not sure I heard that right.
Surely he is being sarcastic? I crane my neck for a better view of his face.
Svenn is staring at the painting in awe, completely bedazzled.
“You drew me…” he mutters breathlessly. His eyes are still captivated by my ugly drawing as if it is a divine work of art from the Age of the First King.
I meant it as an insult. I wanted to hurt him.
He is still looking at it, full of sincere appreciation.
Guilt prompts me to add three strokes on top of the turtle’s head for hair.
“I’ll treasure this forever. Thank you, Nel,” he says.
I feel my cheeks heat, either from the gratitude or the way he calls my name.
His amused eyes move to me, shining with intensity. It’s difficult to gather air into my lungs whenever he does that. My stomach decides to add to the awkwardness by growling in the silence.
Just like that, his gaze and his voice turn dark again. “Come now. Let us feast.”