Chapter Twenty-Seven - Return to Tidehall #2
“What are you doing out of bed?” he asked softly, it made her skin crawl.
“I, I was just seeing Rosamund out,” Elswyth stuttered, struggling to get to her feet.
Rosamund held her arm, taking her weight as she helped the other woman stand. Bastian’s expression did not change as he turned to look at Rosamund, “let me,” he turned to the sole servant and said, “help her highness back to her room.”
“Yes sire,” said the servant as he hurried towards Elswyth.
Rosamund did not let go of her.
“She’s coming with me,” she said, her arm around Elswyth’s waist as the servant looked back at Bastian hesitantly.
Bastian did not even flinch, there was no change at all. A growing dread built within her as he turned to Elswyth, “is this true? Are you leaving with Lady Rosamund?”
Elswyth looked up at her husband. With disgust Rosamund saw the man in front of her crumple in on himself.
The swagger, the arrogance, evaporated and left in its place was someone terrified of being alone.
Of all the things this man had done, she hated this the most. He was the brute that tortured her friend, the murderer that killed her cousin.
He was a monster. But here, is this moment he looked weak, scared and human.
Rosamund despised him for it.
“No, of course not.”
She looked to Elswyth and saw whatever resolve Elswyth had, crumble.
Slowly, gently, Elswyth pulled away from Rosamund.
She wanted to reach out and grab a hold of the older woman.
She wanted to grab her arms and drag her from the manor.
Anything to stop her climbing the stairs towards that man.
And she might have, if it were not for the conviction of her next words.
“Go home Rosamund, and do not come back.”
“Elswyth-” Rosamund pleaded, taking a step towards her.
The shock of the older woman’s glare halted her more than the servant that moved to stand in her way. Without another word the princess leaned against the servant and began to make her ascent.
“Haven’t you distressed my wife enough Lady Rosamund,” said Bastian as he approached her, stopping only to gently kiss his wife on the cheek as she passed him.
Rosamund saw her flinch. So did he.
There it was again. That wince of his own, that pained expression that made him look weak, pathetic.
He knew what he had done. He knew that it was wrong.
Her blood boiled even as her heart ached.
She silently begged for Elswyth to turn around, to change her mind, to be anything other than this broken ghost walking away from her.
She could not walk away.
Rosamund launched herself forward, ready to grab her friend, when a wall of water slammed into her.
It was like she had crashed into a stone.
Her face stinging, her chest crushed, her breath gone as the wave curved around her.
It swept her up and she found herself tumbling backwards down the stairs.
The water filled her lungs as the wave wrapped around her, refusing to let her go.
The salt stung her eyes as she tried to keep them open against the deluge.
She heard a scream. Was it her? The waters receded as she crashed on the now soaked marble floor of the foyer.
Her ears were ringing, the splashes around her muffled as the water drained away, back into the many little canals that travelled around the house.
Sprawled on the floor, she quickly tried to get to her feet, her black boots slipping against the wet stone, her cloak dragging her down.
Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain as someone laced their fingers through her hair and pulled her to her feet.
From there he grabbed her arm in his other hand and dragged her towards the door.
Instinct told her to reach for her own power; to summon the roots she could feel below the house to grasp him the same way he held her.
She nearly did, except for the sudden image in her mind of the burning corpse in Lavinia’s salon.
She turned her head towards him and saw the fury in his expression.
She had expected a smirk, a sneer, a gloat, but there was nothing except the storm.
Was that rage at her, or himself? She did not care; she wanted to get back to her friend.
She struggled against his grip, and he pulled harder on her hair.
“I would be more careful Lady Valehart,” he hissed at her, “your time in this court is waning and soon they’ll all remember you for the traitor you and your family are.”
“I won’t let you do this,” she spat back, “I am going to ruin you,” he laughed bitterly, but she continued, “This move against Dorian, it’s not going to work, and I am going to destroy you. And then I’m going to come here and take Elswyth away from you and this miserable place!”
He let her go. But before she could step away saltwater wrapped itself around her mouth and neck.
Two more streams of water reached up to grab at her wrists.
She gasped for air but choked on water. Wherever she turned her head the water would move with her.
It tightened around her neck the more she struggled.
“And what about what your family took from her?!” he snarled at her, the water around them began to roil, “Your father’s curse.
All she ever wanted was a child. All we ever wanted was a child and he took that from us with his curse.
If she is broken, it’s not because of me, it’s because of him.
Your traitorous father cursing our line.
I have tried, over and over again to give her what she wants.
I have visited every healer, every priest, to find an answer.
I would rip the babes from all the whores I have visited to give to her but there have been none.
None. It is the one thing she wants, and I cannot give her it. ”