Chapter Thirty-Two - The Dead Return #2
He still did not understand, even as he turned to look at the people approaching the carriage.
Filled with elation they called out to Dorian.
Mrs Hawthorn had tears in her eyes as she clung to the arms of a beaming Rowan and a cheerful Elira.
Margot, Hugo and Anders, with little Meredith atop his shoulders, cheered as Tomas jumped down and opened the door.
Wulf grinned from ear to ear as he stood at the top of the steps, arms folded in front of him, turning to speak to the young man beside him.
Rosamund let out a strangled cry and launched herself out of the carriage, up the stairs towards her younger brother.
“Roland!”
She clung to him as the rest of their surroundings melted away.
She could hear the others swarming around Dorian, enveloping him in their cheer, leaving her alone with her brother.
She could feel his bones through his threadbare clothes that hung from his emaciated body.
Roland had always been slightly more on the rotund side than his athletic older brother.
It was strange to see him so sunken in, though he held her with an unexpected strength.
“You’re here, you’re alive,” she wept as she pulled back only enough to look into his face, placing her hands on his cheeks.
He smiled weakly, “I’m here.”
She let out another sob and returned to embracing him tightly.
It had worked. Her brother was safe. He was here and she would not let him go again.
He tensed as Dorian ascended the stairs.
Roland quickly let go of her, but only to place himself between his sister and the prince, a determined look on his face as his fingers flexed.
“No, it’s okay Roland,” she said gripping her brother’s arm, “he won’t hurt you.”
Dorian stared at the young man and then to Rosamund. His surprise quickly melted into another pained expression as he pieced together what had happened. It was a fleeting expression which was quickly covered with his usual stoic mask.
“You are safe here,” said Dorian, and Rosamund did not bother to hide the relief on her face.
“He’s a Mordane,” hissed Roland as his fists clenched.
“He’s not like the rest of them, we can trust him.”
Roland remained unconvinced but turned back to his sister with a softening expression. Tears filled his eyes, “I…I don’t know where he is?”
It was then that she realised something was wrong. She looked around the crowd, expecting to see her sandy haired brother, “Tristan? Tristan!”
There was nothing. Rosamund would not let go of Roland but could feel her knees buckling underneath her.
With no hesitation Dorian stepped to her side and held her other arm firmly, though he turned his attention to his knight.
She looked to him and could see nothing in his expression except the coldness of the mask firmly back in place.
Still, he had touched her, he had moved to help her, and again she began to hope, even as her heart broke for her brother.
“What happened?” he asked Wulf, who looked equal parts guilty and apologetic.
It reminded her of a dog that had known he had done wrong and was waiting to be told off.
“As Lady Rosamund correctly surmised, many of the guards assigned to the Onyx tower were removed for additional security of the trial.”
“They seemed very concerned that there would be some attempt to free you should the trial not be going in your favour,” chimed in Anders who carefully handed Meredith off to his husband.
“A suspicion that Sir Emrys perpetuated through his various contacts,” said Sir Wulf with begrudging respect.
“Whilst some of my men caused a false cave in at one of the tunnels near the palace, the rest of us, and Sir Wulf, travelled to the Onyx Tower to free the lads,” said Anders, unable to hide his pride in his men.
“With the trial, we knew they would be distracted,” explained Margot, “meaning our lads could use the secret tunnels into the fortress.”
“When we got there though, we could only find the young man here,” said Wulf, disappointment etched across his face, “we only had so much time to look but,” he looked to Rosamund, “his scent wasn’t there. At all.”
“I’m sorry,” said Roland as he clung to his sister, “I tried to look out for him, but they separated us. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said as she rubbed his back, even as tears filled her own eyes,
“We were together at first, trapped in the same room. But they would take us away,” said Roland, haunted, “one at a time they would take us from the tower to another place. They would,” he cut himself off as his breathing became ragged.
“You don’t need to tell us,” said Rosamund, but her brother pressed on.
“A room. It was a room with a cross. They would…they would put me on the cross and they would,” she could feel the panic swell in him and again she tried to cut in but he would not stop, “they would drain me.”
A look of horror escaped the stoic mask that Dorian wore, he stepped towards Roland who despite clinging to Rosamund took a step back. The prince realised his mistake and held his hands up apologetically, and took a step back, “this place…do you know where it was?”
Roland looked to Rosamund who nodded encouragingly.
“I don’t,” said Roland as he turned back to look at Dorian, “but…there were more people there. I could hear them. Screaming.”
“And they would take your blood?” asked Rosamund, trying to keep the horror from her own voice.
He shook his head, “my, my magic. They would do other things. They called them tests but, they were agony. All I remember is the…the pain. And then, they would drain me. When…when they came to take Tristan away, I, I had nothing left. I couldn’t, I couldn’t do anything. I just, I just let them take him.”
Her brother collapsed, and she sunk to the ground beside him to wrap him in an embrace. She was aware of Mrs Hawthorn hurrying the rest of them away as her brother fell apart in her arms.
They had tortured him. They had tortured both of them and he had been powerless against them.
She had expected the guilt to rise within her again, but all she felt was rage as she held him close and repeated that none of this was his fault.
She was not certain how long they remained that way, but eventually she felt a hand on her shoulder.
She turned, expecting to see dark eyes and looked instead into the familiar watery brown eyes of the goblin.
“Lady go inside now,” said Gnash softly, “Gnash look after Roland.”
Roland, pulled from his grief by the sudden arrival of the goblin, looked curiously at him, “is…is that a goblin?”
“Master Roland is very perceptive,” said Gnash in that same dry tone he had used with Rosamund on their first meeting.
“Gnash is a very fine goblin,” said Rosamund as she beamed at the creature, who stood up proudly with his chin out, “you’ll be in good hands with him.”
“How does he know my name?” asked Roland as he looked at the goblin curiously.
“Gnash knows many things,” said the goblin mysteriously, but Rosamund saw the slight nervousness in his eyes.
“You…look familiar,” said Roland as he leaned in closer to look in the goblins eyes.
Gnash huffed, but again looked nervously about, “It’s rude to stare! Come, come! Master Roland very stinky, and too skinny,” the goblin grabbed her brother’s hand and jumped up and down, “come with Gnash.”
Roland looked back at his sister who nodded, “go with him, I’ll come find you in a bit, I promise.”
Her brother nodded but leaned in to give her one last embrace before he trailed after the goblin.
Something niggled in the back of her mind as she watched them go.
Those big brown eyes, the way that Gnash looked at her sometimes, the way other goblins avoided him.
There was more to the creature than she had ever bothered to look at.
Time enough to think on that later, Roland is home. He’s free.
She wanted to spend every moment with the brother she had not seen in years. She still could not quite bring herself to believe that he was here. That they had succeeded in freeing him.
But not Tristan, she thought with a stab in her chest.
Her youngest brother remained captive. A prisoner to House Mordane. She had bought herself a little freedom with Roland’s release, but they still had something to hold over her.
And Dorian.
Most of the others had left by the time she had composed herself enough to walk into the foyer. Only Wulf, Anders and Margot remained, waiting.
Wulf approached her, she did not hesitate to embrace him, “thank you, thank you for saving him.”
“Of course, my lady,” said Wulf as he patted her back.
She pulled away and looked to the rest of them, “all of you. I could not have done this without you. I will see to it you are heavily rewarded for doing so.”
“None of that,” said Margot firmly, “we were glad to help my lady.”
“And besides, Dorian’s already taken care of that,” said Anders with a fond smile.
“He…he has?” she said, as she looked towards the North Tower.
“He’s not always the best at showing it, he never has been. But he is grateful,” said Wulf quietly, “to you too.”
Rosamund shook her head, “I’m not so sure about that.”
Wulf scoffed and laughed all the louder when she turned to scowl at him, “my lady, you are perhaps one of the cleverest people I know. There are few that would be able to pull off what you did today. However, in this one thing you are entirely wrong. There is no world, no reality, in which Dorian would ever despise you. Of that, I am certain.”
Does he care for me?
There was only one way to be certain.
Without another word to the others, she ascended the stairs to the North Tower.