FOREVER KNIGHTS: #4 Battling Black Roses

It was so dark Alazareth fumbled to light a tallow candle from a holder near the door. As he lit it, he saw she’d found her way to the door of another room. Cast in pitch darkness.

“Ah, the Red Parlor.” He commented, shining the pale-yellow glow over sheeted furniture. “This was the favored room of the former owner. She’d spend hours in this room writing next to the fire.”

Nora blinked because for just a moment she pictured the room with a burning fire flickering over walls and old portraits. As the border of the luminescing glow passed what appeared to be a settee, Nora felt a strange dizzying sensation and saw a flash of a hazy image. The outline of someone throwing a sheet over it.

She blinked, and the vision came to life. Vivid with color. Revealing windows so clean light poured in. A black-haired man, face tight with grief, threw white linen over the purple settee. A dark profile of a tall bleak man. So desolate, it was clear he’d lost more than property. He stared down at covered furniture as though a piece of his soul shattered.

A spur of agony cut through her at the sight and tears jumped into her eyes. She blinked hard and looked away.

“Are you sound?” Alazar asked. A worried expression changing a face she’d previously thought void of emotion. He was high tempted to squeeze her shoulders in a hug but reminded himself she wouldn’t know him as a brother now.

She could be offended.

“I’m fine.”

Turning, he sighed. With a businesslike tone he walked her through the manor. She barely saw the rooms. Images from that vision plagued her every step.

“Now if you’re quite satisfied,” He said in his clipped voice. Injecting pure ice to hide his familiarity. “we’ll get the parchment work signed. Legal like.”

“Yes.”

Returning outdoors he placed the pages on the seat of the chaise. “Sign here.” He tugged a blotter from under the seat, unstopped it, and handed her a quill.

She leaned over to do so. “Was it beautiful once?”

Unspeakably.

Every inch of it designed with you in mind.

“Very.” He sounded startled. “Roses everywhere in the spring and an orange grove out back…It was sensational.”

She sighed wistfully. “I bet.” Finishing her signature with a flourish she handed the papers back to him.

As it hit his palm, she saw a flash of vivid yellow shine in his eyes. A strange glow as he smiled slowly. “Thank you…”

Don’t call her by name. She hardly knows you.

Brows drawn together she looked behind her to see if there was any kind of reflection glinting in his gaze. There was nothing.

When she looked back at him, he was already off, climbing in the opposite side and collecting the reins. He offered her a hand up. Once settled on the seat she peered at him until he glanced at her. She found the strange light had gone.

“Well, thank you Alazareth.”

He smiled. “You’re very welcome Anastacia.” His voice seemed softer, almost friendly.

It took her a second to process his strange reply. Stiffening, she thought to correct him, but he reined the horses and they were off.

“I guess I must think on what to do with an old, haunted house.”

“Decided it was haunted so soon, have we?” A slight smile moved his lips before he caught it, and it vanished.

Sensing her long study, he changed the subject. “Nothing need be decided right away.”

“I guess waiting won’t hurt at this point.” She sighed. Glancing back at the decrepit vines dangling over the front like clawing skeletal fingers. “Rushing will not find it less abandoned.”

“Or haunted.”

She didn’t find him funny.

Warlock Grove, Nightway

It was a long time before Alazareth saw Riaura again. Even after returning to the grove he’d avoided her. Yet still, he found himself at the pond daily.

Why am I here? He knew why.

Because I miss her.

I shouldn’t. Today, he prowled the perimeter of the Wake. Furred paws slinking in the mud. Gray and white tail swishing along the grass. Disgusted with himself that he couldn’t stop worrying for her. When did she come to mean so much?

The vision of her in that green tunic, matching eyes softly asking if he thought her beautiful, tortured him. When did the smiling girl I knew grow into a fickle woman?

He smoothly transformed into a man with a white tunic draping brown breeches. He lifted a rock and juggled it thoughtfully.

This isn’t my fault. I didn’t lead her to believe I thought more of her.

“I meant what I said!” He chucked a rock so angrily it refused to bounce. Hitting the water at an angle to create a wave which drug it from sight.

I’m not for you. A good lad somewhere will be far more suitable.

“What are you talking about?” A voice from behind him.

Surprising him enough he whirled onto his feet. Nearly changing shape before catching himself. The animal growl slipping from his throat.

“Calm Boy.” She said as though speaking to a dog.

“Don’t mock me for what I am Riaura. I’m no hound.” He tilted his head warningly.

“A wolf and a hound have very little difference.” She said acidly. A harsh tone in her voice he’d not heard before.

“If mocking me is what you wish then so be it, but I’d like to know for what end?”

She shrugged.

He noticed something of the childishness about her was gone today. Did I do that? Take away the last of her childhood hopes?

“Surely our last conversation was not so damaging?”