[SIZE=14][COLOR=red]WARNING!!! READ PART ONE FIRST!!!
Constant Craving (contd.)
“After they were kidnapped, I started to lose my mind,” Fiona remarked. They had made their way over the hills and were resting at the base of the mountain. Bertrand looked up from the roaring fire and frowned.
“How do you mean?” he asked.
“Well, I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t even cry. I barely had the energy to change my clothes. Everyday, I’d roam the house like a ghost. I scared a couple of travellers one time. I’d ventured out into the forest and stumbled upon a group of merchants. They looked at me and shrieked, thought I was a spirit. Not that I could blame them. I was sickeningly pale, walking around with unkempt hair and a lost looking face. They just took up their things and ran.” She smiled as she spoke, holding the sausage links and potatoes over the fire.
Bertrand stared at her. The way she spoke with such ease about her troubled past, as though she were so sure it was to end soon. “Fiona, there’s something I have to tell you,” he said, his stomach turning.
She looked up at him, smiling broadly. “Yes?”
He couldn’t do it. It would destroy him to bring tears to her face. Not now. Not now, when she had so much hope.
“Nothing,” he lied, biting the inside of his cheek. “It’s nothing.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure?”
He nodded, keeping his eyes low to the ground. She smiled and took out the remaining rabbit fur to start on Ferdie’s gloves. When they had eaten, she resumed her sewing and continued on until she fell asleep. Bertrand stared into the fire, sleep refusing to claim him. Suddenly, the fire turned white, and he saw a face in it.
“Bertrand,” the face said. “How goes the journey?”
“Very well, Lord Icthyus,” he stammered, bowing his head.
“I had not expected to see you here for two weeks.”
“She provided a drought that increased the horse’s speed. It has cut our journey in half.”
He smiled. “She dances to her doom.” He looked at Fiona, who slept peacefully. “Poor girl. She’ll regret what she’s done. I’ll bring her to her knees.” He laughed coldly, and looked at Bertrand, who wore sadness on his brow. “Bertrand? What’s wrong?”
He looked up, staring vacantly. “Nothing, sir,” he lied, biting his tongue.
Icthyus smirked. “I see, you love the girl, do you? You don’t want terrible, cruel Lord Icthyus to harm her?”
Bertrand frowned. “No. I told you it was nothing.”
Icthyus’ smile broadened. “Don’t worry, dear Bertrand. You shall enjoy the fruits of your labour soon enough.” He vanished and the flame returned to its bright orange colour. Grimacing, he looked to Fiona, so calm, and so naïve.
It was stupid of her, he thought, trying to reason with his deed. What was she thinking, accepting help from a complete stranger? He was just doing his job.
But, then, wasn’t it he who was taking advantage of her trust?
He stood and walked to where she lay. Her eyes were closed, her brow completely relaxed. Her dreams were sweet, he knew they were. She was in her husband’s arms, watching as her child played in the fields.
He sighed, sick with himself. Leaning closer, he gently kissed her cheek. “Forgive me, Fiona,” he whispered, and he stood, looking into the fire.
“You shall enjoy the fruits of your labour soon enough,” Icthyus’ voice echoed in his mind. “Fruits of labour,” Bertrand growled. His heart racing with fury, he stomped out the fire and lay on the rocky ground, stumbling into a fitful and restless sleep.
***
“Did you sleep well?” Fiona asked as she slipped the reins over Frey’s head.
Bertrand looked up at her with dark circles under his eyes. “Not exactly.”
She stared at him, concerned. “Should we stay until you’ve rested?”
He shook his head. “No. I’ll be fine.”
She took the orange potion from her pack and sprinkled a few drops on a piece of fruit. “Take this at least, you’ll feel better.” He ate it and she smiled as the colour rushed back to his face.
He winced, seeing her warm smile. “Don’t smile at me like that,” he thought. “I don’t deserve it. I’m not worth the muck on your boots.”
She frowned. “Is something wrong?”
He forced a smile. “No. Thank you, I feel fine now.”
She smiled again, making him sick to his stomach. “All right, let’s go.”
An eerie quiet hung over the two of them as they made their way up the mountain. Fiona stared thoughtfully at Bertrand. What was wrong with him earlier, that he couldn’t look her straight in the eye? Perhaps it was something she had done? That couldn’t be it. She had only treated him as she would a brother.
Oh, she thought. There was the time she had told him to fetch water for the potatoes. Maybe he wasn’t used to having a woman tell him what to do. Still, that was no reason to get all touchy.
“I might have hurt his pride, though,” she thought, gnawing at her lower lip.
They came to a narrow pass, where the mountains were so close the saddlebags rubbed against the walls. She craned her neck around to see Bertrand, whose head hung low, as though his mind was heavy with thought.
“I’ve noticed you seemed a bit distant this morning,” she called to him. He lifted his head and turned his ear to listen. “I just want to apologize for anything I’ve done to offend you.”
He said nothing, and looked back at the path ahead.
“Oh, drat,” she thought. “He’s still angry with me.”
“Oh, drat,” he thought. “She thinks I’m angry with her.” In fact, he was anything but angry at Fiona. He couldn’t possibly tell her what was truly the matter. She would force him to leave her, then try and make it on her own. But she would die out here. The blizzards were soon to come, and it was at least another two weeks until they would reach Evongloria. And avalanches frequented where they would travel. There was no way she would survive without him.
He looked back at her, and saw in her eyes bewilderment. She gently flicked the reins as Frey struggled over a thorny branch.
That night was bitterly cold. Fiona could smell an approaching blizzard. When she was a child, she loved the snowfall. She would laugh as the cold flakes fell, powdering the earth and dusting her hair. Now, in a small cavern on the mountain, she dreaded the threatening chill in the air, as though the earth willed to postpone her journey.
She looked to Bertrand, who slept by the fire, his brow contorted with worry. She wrapped herself in a cloak and lay by the fire, letting her eyelids become weighted with slumber.
***
In the morning, Fiona sat up in her bed to discover a wall of snow blocking the mouth of the cave. “Bertrand,” she tried to say, but her voice was no more than a quiet hiss. Throwing off the cloak, she was overcome by a sudden fatigue. Her body ached, and her limbs were lead. Panicking, she put a shaking hand to her forehead. It was burning.
“Bertrand!” she whispered, dragging herself over to where he slept. She put a hand on his shoulder and used all her strength to shake him. His eyes opened, seeing the fright written on her face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up. “What is it?”
“We’re trapped,” she hissed, frantically pointing to the mouth of the cave. From deep inside her chest, a sharp, painful cough shook her body. She hacked, her throat bursting with every breath she dared to take. The coughs subsided, and she felt hot tears running down her face. “Help me.”
Yanking off his blankets, he lifted her off the floor and put her back on her cloak. He wrapped her in his blankets and covered her with his cloak. Feeling himself growing cold, he started the fire, nudging and poking it until it roared. He set her cooking rack over the fire and put several large rocks on it. She gasped and began to cough louder, harder than before. Despite the cold, he felt a sweat beading up on his forehead as he ran to get his bag of medicine from his pack.
He fished out a small bottle of a dark green liquid. Slipping it into his pocket, he went back to the fire. He touched one of the rocks, jerking back his hand as the stone singed his palm. Putting on the gloves she made for him, he took the rocks and placed them around her, and then went to search for more rocks.
As the stones cooked, he kneeled by her and unscrewed the cap to the medicine. “Fiona?” he said. She turned her head to him. She was sweating copiously, her mouth open and gasping for air. “I need you to drink some of this.” She nodded and tried to lift her hand to take it, but it fell as another coughing fit took over her. He leaned closer and poured the fluid into her gaping lips. She swallowed it and breathed a sigh of relief. Looking up at him, an expression of thanks came from her eyes. He nodded, and quickly replaced the cooling stones with the ones on the fire.
“Bertrand?” she whispered, licking her chapped lips. “It’s so cold.”
“Shh.” He wiped the sweat from her brow with a cloth. “Just rest. Sleep.”
She nodded and closed her eyes, falling back asleep. Bertrand continued interchanging the hot rocks while she soaked the blankets with perspiration.
Towards the end of the day, the blankets became so wet they served as little more than a sponge. Bertrand decided to remove them and allow them to dry. He took off the blankets, and laid them by the fire.
“But how do I keep her warm enough while they dry?” he asked himself. Then a thought struck him. Not far from the caverns was a hot spring. With his axe, he pushed away the wall of snow that closed them in the cave. Bracing himself against the cold wind, he lifted Fiona onto her horse. He mounted the saddle as well, in spite of Frey’s protests, and held on to her as they rode out. “Aldir,” he called back to his horse. The dapple-grey stallion looked up. “Keep watch.”
The horse nodded.
They made their way down to the spring in short time. He sat by the water’s edge, contemplating whether to let her bathe with the clothes on or not. “I should really let them dry in the cavern, he said to himself, looking at Frey. “Okay, Frey, we have two choices. Either I get your master into the spring, or her fever gets worse.”
The horse rolled his eyes and turned around.
“I’ll guess that means it’s all right,” he thought, and he knelt beside her to begin removing her sweat-soaked clothing.
Even when she was ill, Fiona was stunning. The cold gave her body a sort of wintry beauty. His eyes traced her body, her long, elfin arms, round, full breasts, and long, shapely legs.
Frey snorted and reminded him why he was there. “Oh, sorry,” Bertrand apologized. He lifted her up and slid her feet-first into the water. She woke up.
“Where am I?” she asked, dreamily. “Where are my clothes?”
“Don’t worry.” He dipped the clothes in the spring water and wrung them out, washing out the sweat. “I’m going back to the cave to dry them. Frey will keep you company until I come back.”
She nodded and held on to a rock as she dozed off once more. Bertrand trudged back up to the cavern to retrieve the blankets. He took two of the thickest quilts plus another and put them in a bag. Putting this on his back, he made his way back to the spring to fetch Fiona.
“Fiona,” he said, holding out a blanket to her. “It’s time to go back.”
She looked up at him and swam to the water’s edge, holding her hand out to him. He took her hand and pulled her out of the water, quickly drying her in the sheet. When she was dried, he wrapped her in a cocoon of blankets and lifted her back onto the horse. They rode back up to the caverns, where Bertrand repeated the rock-baking procedure and rebuilt the wall of snow to trap the heat.
“Can you eat?” he asked, holding out some fruit and sausage to her.
She looked at him, her face saying, “Yes.”
He nodded. “Open your mouth for me, will you?”
She obeyed and he fed her a piece of fruit. Her jaw twitched, but she could make no effort to chew. He held her chin and pushed up and down; making sure the fruit was completely chewed. They repeated the process until she said, “No more.”
He gathered some snow in a pot and set it on the fire, patiently waiting for the water to boil. When the water was hot enough, he took a pouch of herbs from his bag and sprinkled some into the pot. He ladled some of the tea into a mug and brought it to her.
“Have some tea,” he said, opening her mouth. “You’ll feel better.” He poured some tea into her mouth and she drank, growing calmer with each sip. She fell asleep and he dumped the rest of the tea out before welcoming slumber himself.
***
The next morning, Fiona did not feel half as terrible as she had the day before. She could move without pain, although coughing and dizzy spells were recurrent. Bertrand insisted they stay another day, to avoid a relapse.
Fiona sat up on her blankets, sipping the tea he made for her. “Thank you,” she said, as he poured her another mug. “You’ve been so kind.”
He forced another smile and took a sip of the energy juice. “I did what anyone else would have done. It was expected.”
“In any case, I’m glad I asked you to come with me. I might’ve died otherwise.” She lay back down on the blankets and slept once more.
Bertrand, absolutely disgusted with himself, stood up and pounded his fists on the cave wall. “I cannot do it!” he hissed, frustrated. “Not after I’ve saved her!”
The flame rose again and Lord Icthyus’ face came through it.
“You cannot do what, Bertrand?” he asked, mocking him.
Bertrand turned to face him. “I cannot bring her to you, my Lord.”
Icthyus frowned. “And why not?”
“I will not destroy her life for your revenge.”
The flame rose higher. “She will come to me, whether you bring her or not. Her heart longs for Gareth, Bertrand. Every waking minute she thinks of him and her son. She longs to be with them, a constant craving that can never be satisfied until she reaches them. What makes you think she won’t come to me to find them?”
“I’ll convince her to be with me instead.”
“You?” Icthyus broke into such deafening laughter Bertrand thought for sure that Fiona had awoken. She hadn’t. “Were you not thinking of what I just said? She wants her husband. She wants her child. If I didn’t want her to suffer, I would have taken her outright without leaving her ten years to build such a strong bond between them. She has suffered to get closer to him. She will not leave them for you.”
Bertrand stared downcast at his feet, then at Fiona. “When I bring her to you, will you promise not to hurt her?”
Icthyus laughed once more and disappeared, leaving the cave silent and Bertrand speechless. He took a long look at Fiona, watching her sleep so peacefully in his presence.
“She trusts me so,” he thought, and he collapsed to his knees as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks.
***
After two weeks had passed, they finally made it into Evongloria. They stared upon the sea of rocks and grasses, and one lone castle stood in the centre. In spite of the ugliness and evil surrounding them, Fiona beamed. “We’re here,” she breathed. She looked at Bertrand, who avoided her smile again. “We’re here!”
“Fiona, I have to tell you something,” he said, vehemently. “I love you, more than anything.”
She stared at him, her expression vacant. Bertrand continued on.
“I know you could never love me as you did your husband, but I must tell you that what lies beyond here is great danger. It could kill you.”
She raised her hand to silence him. “Bertrand, my family has been trapped there for two years. Whatever lies beyond here cannot ever amount to the pain I’ll feel if I don’t see them again.”
He sighed and choked back a sob. If he broke down now, he could be killed. Nodding, he spurred his horse onward and they galloped towards the castle.
They rode to the dungeon entrance, where Bertrand opened a trap door for the two of them to descend. In the dark hallway, Fiona dismounted from her horse and looked about her, confused.
“Where are they?” she asked.
He lied and shrugged. “Perhaps that way,” he said, and his heart screamed, “DON’T GO!”
Fiona ran down the hallway, plucking a set of keys from the wall as she searched for her family. She came to the end of the hallway and saw two locked doors. Fumbling with the keys, she shoved a large, iron key through the lock and twisted it. The lock snapped open. Heart racing, she pulled off the lock and pushed the heavy door open.
A huddled figure sat in the corner. His long bedraggled hair hung sloppily over his shoulders, and his bare back was riddled with scars and open wounds. “I’m not hungry, Icthyus,” he said, not bothering to turn around. His voice was soft yet compelling, deep, and reeking with pain and sorrow. It was so familiar.
“G-Gareth?” she called, feeling the tears fall down her face. “Is that you?”
He turned around.
His eyes. His beautiful eyes. Bluer than the sky and the sea and the brightest sapphire.
Her heart wept.
“Fiona.” He stood up, staggering. Blinded by tears, he stumbled into her open arms.
They looked at each other, drinking in one another with their eyes. After a long stare, they kissed. It was a warm and passionate embrace, both seemingly trying to extract dearly missed nectar from each other’s lips. Finally, they let go, sharing a deep lover’s gaze.
“Where’s Ferdie?” she asked, smiling.
“In the next one over, I think.”
She rushed out and opened the door again. A little boy with dark matted hair looked up, a flicker of recognition on his face. “Mama?” he asked.
Fiona’s heart swelled as more tears of mirth streamed down her face. “Ferdie,” she sobbed. She kneeled to him and took him up in her arms, sobbing and laughing. She let go and looked at his smiling face. His cheeks were hollowed with hunger, and his deep green eyes were sunken in. “Who did this to you?” she whispered, horrified.
“Icthyus,” he replied, weeping. He hugged her again. “I missed you, Mama.”
“And I, you, child.” She kissed his forehead. “Let’s find a way out of here.”
He nodded and they got out of the cell to meet Gareth, who was keeping watch for anyone who might come.
“Can you run?” she asked him, putting Ferdie on her back.
He nodded.
“That way,” she pointed ahead and they ran to the trap-door. She pressed her hands against it, but found that it wouldn’t budge. “Damn.” She looked around. “Where’s Frey?”
A sound made them all freeze. Fiona quivered at the sound. “No,” she whispered, pleading with her fate. “Please no!”
Footsteps coming down the stairs.
She turned to Gareth. “Back to the cell!”
They dashed back to his cell, locking the door behind them. Quickly, she buried the keys beneath the hay. “They won’t find us,” she thought. “They won’t take me away. They won’t take me from them, not now!”
The door boomed three times. “Open up!” a harsh voice yelled.
“I can’t!” Gareth called back. “I haven’t got the keys!”
“Move it, you idiots,” another voice snapped. This one was angrier, more poisonous, a voice with a distant familiarity.
“It’s him,” Fiona breathed.
Gareth looked up at her. “What?” he mouthed.
The lock sizzled and broke off, and the door swung open, betraying them.
She looked up and saw him. A cruel smile on his thick lips, in his cold, grey eyes.
“Icthyus,” she whispered.
His smile broadened, and he snapped his fingers. “Seize her,” he said to he guards. Before Gareth could stop them, Fiona was yanked out of the cell by her arms, and the door was slammed shut. “Remind me to have those two put in another cell. One with bars.”
The guards dragged Fiona by her arms as she kicked and screamed, struggling uselessly to get free. “Ferdie!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face.
“Fiona!” She could hear Gareth’s voice mingle with his sobs as he slammed his body against the door.
All at once she stopped struggling, letting her body grow limp. Icthyus looked down upon her and smiled. “It’s good to see you, Fiona,” he said, smiling.
She didn’t answer.
“Well, I think I should let you rest a while. You must have had a long journey. Bertrand told me you had a terrible fever.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide.
He laughed at her surprise. “Oh, yes, Bertrand. That sure was good of him, to bring you to me. It wasn’t hard, since you were so willing to fall into my trap.”
The guards lifted her up by the shoulders and dragged her up the steps. At the landing stood Bertrand, head hung low. Icthyus pat him on the shoulder. “Thank you. You will be richly rewarded for this.”
Fiona looked up at Bertrand, who stared back. He would have loved it if she screamed at him, tried to hit him, cursed his name. Something that said she loathed him. But she didn’t. She merely stared at him, a hurt, lost look in her eyes. Feeling his lip quiver, he looked away, silently begging for them to leave him. Begging for some redeeming deed that wouldn’t make him feel as though he were wallowing in someone else’s blood.
***
The whip tore across her back, slitting the skin. Fiona shrieked, feeling the blood run down in warm streams. It cut her again, jerking the tears out.
“Stop,” Icthyus said to his guard. “Wait a while before you strike again. Otherwise the pain will continue, never freshening but growing stale.”
“So you’ve become an expert in torture?” Fiona asked, the sob forcing its way into her voice.
“You should talk about torture.” He came around to face her, looking straight into her eyes. “What you’ve put me through these twelve years past. After all the love I bore away for you-”
“You lie, Icthyus.” He frowned at her. “You never loved me. You never loved anyone. You have no heart. No woman could love you.”
He struck her across the face, seething with rage.
Turning to his guard, he scowled. “Release her and let us alone. But take care to lock the door behind you.”
The large, hirsute man undid her bonds and left. Icthyus walked to her, watching as she nursed her chafed and burning hands. Without warning, he threw her onto the bed and knelt over her, wrapping his long fingers around her neck.
“Incapable of love, am I?” he hissed. She stared at him with terror, pawing at his strangling grasp. “Well, Fiona, I’ll show you just how incapable of love I am.”
He let go of her neck and tore at her clothes, ripping them to shreds despite her protests. With the few scraps of cloth he held in his hand, he bound her to the bed.
Fiona whimpered, her heart thumping hard in her chest. “Please, Icthyus,” she begged.
He laughed at her, throwing off his tunic. “The time is past to make negotiations, girl.”
The door swung open. Bertrand stood in the open doorway. “Lord Icthyus,” he panted, bowing. “I told you not to harm her.”
He smiled at him. “You’re right, Bertrand.” He cast a withering look at Fiona. “I’ll let you have her first, since you worked so hard to get her here.” Getting off the bed, he put his tunic back on and walked to Bertrand. “I want you to get a ship ready to leave tomorrow,” he whispered.
“To where? This is no sailing season.”
“I know. Set the course for Tarklund.”
Bertrand stared at his Lord in shock. “Tarkland? But that land is little more than ice and blizzards! The men will die-”
“Which is exactly why I want her son and husband on that ship.” He walked away, and Bertrand stared after him.
He walked into the bedroom and saw Fiona on the bed, weeping and practically naked. “Fiona, I-”
“How could you Bertrand?” she sobbed. “You led me straight to him!”
“I’m sorry, but-”
“I don’t want to hear of it! Nothing you have to say could comfort me.”
“Fiona, Icthyus wants your son and husband killed. He’s sending them to Tarklund the day after tomorrow.”
She stuck out her chin. “I will find them again, without your help.”
“You don’t understand. If and when you get there, they’ll both be frozen corpses.”
Eyes rolling with despair, she turned her head away.
“There is a way to stop it from happening, though.” He paused, waiting for her to respond. “I’m going to break holes into the hulls tonight. The journey will be delayed, so Icthyus will likely find a way to have them killed. I’ll find a way to interfere.”
She looked up and sighed. “How will I know you won’t lead me into another trap?” she asked.
“Because I love you, enough now that I will do anything to ensure your happiness. I care not that you belong to someone else.”
She turned away, and he saw the faintest smile on her face. “Could you unbind me first?”
He nodded and slid his knife between the cloths that held her tied. When she was freed, she sat up and wrapped the sheets around her. “About Icthyus, you saw what he was going to do to me, right?”
Bertrand nodded. “Yes. He will spare you tonight, though.”
“Why?”
“He knows you will be too tired to feel anything. I was supposed to have you tonight.”
She nodded and squeezed his hand. “Thank-you.”
In the black of night, Bertrand took his axe and lantern and crept down to the shipyard. He got into a small rowboat and paddled towards the smallest ship, a clipper that would cut across the icy waters to Tarklund. Reaching his axe beneath the waters, he swung and felt the wood splinter against the blade. He swung once more to create a larger hole and then rowed on to the next boat, repeating the process until each vessel in the shipyard was doomed to sink.
He rowed toward the dock and found a drunken idler, sleeping on the rotting wood. Shrugging his shoulders, he slid the bottle out of the vagabond’s hand and replaced it with the axe’s handle. Glad that his axe bore no emblem, Bertrand ran back to the castle, lantern clanking in his hand.
***
“What?” Icthyus cried.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Bertrand lied, hanging his head. “A hermit was found at the shipyard with an axe in his hand. It must have been the bottle that took him.”
Icthyus snarled and knocked over a marble bust of himself, breaking off the beaky nose. Furious, he sat down in his throne and seethed, pouting, until an idea came to him.
A smile spread across his face. “Very good. Very good. Bring her in.” He clapped loudly. His door swung open and two hulking, burly guards dragged in Fiona, wearing filthy rags and an array of scars. They threw her at the foot of his throne and she lay there in a crumpled heap of bruised flesh and wrinkled cloth. “Get up, girl.”
Slowly she stood, wobbling on her unstable legs. “Last I checked, Icthyus,” she said, her voice no more than a harsh whisper, “I was twenty-eight. So I would assume the term ‘girl’ is no longer fitting.”
He smiled, slowly rising out of his chair. In a split second she was on the ground again, salt and iron mixing with spit in her mouth. He had struck her.
“My Lord!” Bertrand gasped, grabbing Icthyus’ arm two seconds too late.
“Silence, Bertrand,” he growled. “I promise nothing to anyone who stands in my way.” He yanked his arm away. “Get up, Fiona.”
She stood up again, slower this time. “What?”
“I propose to strike a bargain.”
She stuck out her chin, defiantly. “I don’t bargain with snakes.”
“This snake is poised to strangle you, Fiona. Being that you’re in no position to insult me, it would be best that you listen.”
Turning away, she looked down and nursed her bleeding mouth.
“You have two choices, Fiona. The first is to marry me.”
She glared at him, appalled.
“The second, you go free, never to see me again. Choose this path, and both Gareth and Ferdie die.”
It was as though a rock had plummeted into her stomach. Her breath cut short. “And if I married you?” she whispered.
“They’re free to go. Free to live happy, peaceful lives, without having ever to think of you again.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean to give them a drought of amnesia. To them, Fiona of Lothlorien never existed. It’s as though they never met you.”
Looking away, she fought back an onslaught of tears.
“Marry me, Fiona,” he hissed, walking closer to her. “It would be so much better, knowing that the ones you love are safe. Unless you would rather they die for something as frivolous as who you go to bed with.”
Like an injured animal, she stared at him, afraid.
“Don’t fall for it,” Bertrand thought, angrily. “He’s playing with you. He wants you to believe there’s no hope left when there is.”
Icthyus stared at her a moment longer and then returned to his throne. “Take her to them. Let them talk it over.” The guards grabbed her by the arms and led her away. Just as they were about to leave, Icthyus raised his arm. “Fiona.”
She turned her head, wearily. “Yes?”
“You have one night to make the decision. Be wise about it.”
Nodding, she turned her head from him as she was led from his room. Bertrand watched as the door shut behind them, pensive. “Ah, Bertrand,” Icthyus said, cracking his knuckles. “Nothing in the world is more wonderful than the cold comfort of revenge.”
Bertrand laughed, shaking his head. “There are two things you have overlooked on your quest for scholarship, my Lord,” he replied. “The first is that there are worse things than death. I don’t doubt that Gareth would rather die than live a life without Fiona.”
Icthyus scratched his chin, thoughtfully. After a while, he looked up to Bertrand. “And the second, Bertrand?”
Bertrand smiled. “If a person is scarred by another, there will likely be a person to heal those scars and help them fade.”
***
Fiona entered Gareth’s cell and he immediately embraced her. “Gareth, he has given me a choice,” she said, nestling her face in the crook of his neck.
“And what is it?” he asked.
“If I marry him, you and Ferdie go free. If I decide to leave-” she paused, feeling the tears rise up again. “You both die.”
She wept into his grimy shirt. “Marry him,” he said. “I’ll come for you, and then you shall be freed.”
“No,” she sobbed. “When I marry him, he’ll make it so you’ll never have known me. You would never see me again.”
He held her closer, feeling his heart weep with hers. “He’ll stop at nothing to hurt you, will he?”
She shook her head no, continuing to cry. “I don’t know what to do, Gareth.”
The door opened once more and Bertrand stepped in. “I understand what bitter feeling you may hold against me, Gareth,” he said, bowing his head. “In truth, I’m not worth your presence, but I’d gladly assist you.”
Gareth nodded, still holding his sobbing wife. “Speak.”
“Fiona will agree to marry Lord Icthyus, which means the wedding should take place the day after next. You and Ferdie will be fed the drought of amnesia to erase your memories of Fiona, however, it will be me who is feeding you the potion.”
Gareth nodded. “And what will you give us instead?”
“The potion is a vibrant orange, a similar colour to a tonic Fiona kept to fortify the one who drank it. Instead of the intended potion, I shall give you her brew, as long as Frey allows me to procure it from his saddlebags. You and Frey will be led to the stables and abandoned there, giving you enough time to gather three horses for your escape.”
“Three?”
“I will come with you to lead you back over the mountain. In the guests drinks I will add a very subtle, slow working potion. Icthyus will be killed and everything goes happily ever after, as long as I can gain your trust.”
Gareth let go of Fiona. “Bertrand, you have betrayed my wife terribly to bring her here, yet for my own selfish love I am grateful for your leading her to me. If you can save us, then I trust you.” He extended a gnarled and filthy hand and Bertrand took it. They smiled. “I’ll trust you to deliver us from this place.”
***
Musicians lazily plucked their harps as Fiona walked down the aisle. She remembered what many had once said about Evongloria; it was uninhabited save for a tyrant lord, a handful of peasants, craftsmen, and nobodies. It showed. Only the first three benches were filled in the grand hall. Fiona sat in the newly crafted throne beside Icthyus, recoiling slightly at his cold touch.
They passed quickly to the banquet, where Icthyus stood and lifted his glass. He cleared his throat, smiling at the guests. They arose and-the ones who had goblets-lifted theirs; only the guards and Icthyus himself had wine. “To our marriage,” he said, his voice carrying throughout the hallways. “May all our years together be free of suffering, misfortune, and-” he looked to Fiona and smiled-“painful memories.” She did her best to look mournful, wiping a crocodile tear from her eye. He smiled wider and raised the goblet to his lips, downing the cup. Putting the glass down, he licked his lips, approvingly. “A good wine,” he said, and he sat down.
Gareth and Ferdie had long since gone down to the stables. Bertrand was back in the banquet hall, telling those without wine to leave. No good to have commoners among generals and royalty.
One of the guards to Fiona’s right gasped. He panted heavily as the colour receded from his face, leaving a grey complexion. “What’s the matter?” Fiona asked, as though she had no idea what was in the poisoned goblet.
“C-cant…breathe,” he replied as his eyes rolled into his head. He collapsed on the table with a loud bang and slowly slid to the floor. Soon, the other soldiers were meeting the same fate, wheezing and desperately gulping the air. Nervously, Fiona looked up at Icthyus, who shot arrows at her with his stare.
He grabbed her by the neck, strangling her. “What did you do?” he snarled, tightening his grasp. She pawed at his hands, feeling her temples pulse.
He suddenly let go, screaming in rage. She leaped over the chair just as she saw what had made him free her; a dagger was embedded in his side. “Fiona!” she heard Bertrand yell, catching up with her. “Come on, we must flee!”
They dashed down the steps and were just making their way to the hallway when they heard rasping laughter from behind. They turned and saw Icthyus, laughing and coughing as he pulled himself across the floor, trailing blood behind him. He rested his hand on a wooden support, a dark smile on his bloodied lips. “Now,” he panted, crimson spraying the air before him. “You die.” He leaned forward on the support and it fell beneath his weight.
A trickle of dust from the ceiling forced their gaze upward. The stones above were shifting, and one began to fall. It crashed to the floor inches behind them, and they looked to each other, terrified. “RUN!” Fiona shrieked, and they sprinted to the door, barely missing the falling pieces of ceiling. In the doorway, they lifted their feet up and flew towards the grass, where it met them with an equal force. She looked up and saw Gareth on a chestnut mare, Ferdie held tight in one arm, reins in the other. Smiling, she got up and limped to them, Bertrand close behind her.
Frey trotted to Fiona, affectionately nuzzling her face. Smiling, she kissed his nose and slung her leg over him. Bertrand mounted Aldir and gently flicked his reins.
“I don’t think we’ll need to worry about him anymore,” she mused, riding closer to Gareth.
“I’m glad, my dear,” Gareth replied, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “Let’s go home. We need to make accommodations for Ferdie’s new uncle.”
Bertrand looked up, surprised. “Who?” Gareth smiled at him, the sun dying his brown hair golden. “Me?”
“Of course? Who else could teach my son such loyalty?” He paused a while and stared at the path ahead for a while. “I would be honoured to have you as a brother.”
Bertrand smiled, proudly. “And I you, Brother.”
***
Fiona lay in her bed, nestled in the warmth of Gareth’s arms. The wind howled and shook the shudders and rain thundered on the roof. She got up from the bed and lit a lantern, wrapping her nightgown around her. Going to Ferdie’s bedroom, she locked the shutters. She watched her son, smiling at his peaceful slumber. Kneeling beside him, she kissed his cheek and walked back to her room, letting Gareth wrap his arms around her once more.
As though a burning fire in her heart were extinguished, Fiona sighed with relief. Her eyes closed, she let herself be carried into the arms of sleep, far away from her constant craving, far away from her sorrow.
The End