Читать книгу The Witch’s Blood - Katharine Corr, Katharine Corr - Страница 9

EO SHIVERED AND reached for a blanket lying nearby, pulling it tightly round his shoulders.

Someone just walked over my grave.

That’s what Gran would have said.

But there was more to it than that, he was sure. The sensation of his sister being nearby had felt impossibly real: as if she’d physically been there in the room with him. Maybe … maybe it meant something. Maybe Merry had finally found a way to follow him to wherever this place was, and now she was here, planning her attack on Ronan. And because their bond was so strong, he could somehow guess, he could somehow know, when she was near …

He shook his head, still slightly disorientated.

Maybe.

At first Leo had dreamt about Merry rescuing him almost every night. She’d show up, sometimes alone, sometimes with Gran, or with Mum and the rest of the coven. There would be a vicious, bloody battle. The details would vary, but every time Merry would destroy Ronan, annihilate him, burn him into the earth until there was nothing left of him but ash, drifting across scorched ground. But over time – as weeks, then months passed – the dreams had become less frequent. Merry had not shown up, and Leo had not been rescued. He swallowed hard, trying to force back the now familiar tide of fear. Although he didn’t want to admit it, he was terrified at the thought that perhaps Ronan was right: Merry was never going to come for him.

It wouldn’t be because she hadn’t even tried. Despite Ronan’s taunts, Leo was certain that his sister would never willingly give up on him. He knew she would have tried – over and over – to find a way to free him. Hadn’t he seen her determination himself, on the day Ronan had kidnapped him? He could remember her fighting Ronan, just before Ronan dragged him back through the gateway, or portal, or whatever it was that had opened in the space by the Black Lake. Merry had been hurling spells at Ronan, and she’d almost defeated him. But then something had gone wrong. Leo blinked, trying to recall what he had seen. But the image was gone. He hadn’t been fully in control of either his body or his mind that day. And there had been so much pain …

Still, what did any of it really matter now? He knew that Merry loved him, and she was certainly a powerful witch. But perhaps she wasn’t powerful enough. Not this time … That sensation he’d felt earlier? It was most likely nothing more than the by-product of his increasingly fragile state of mind. Despair had driven him to hallucinate, to conjure up the ghostly presence of his sister when he needed her most.

It was late now, and the chill of evening was creeping in through the narrow, round-arched windows of his room. Leo lay on his bed and tried to sleep for a while, but he couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t stop unwelcome thoughts intruding. Turning his head, he glanced at the marks he’d been carving into the grey flint wall to keep track of the days. By his reckoning, at least four months had past. Four whole months! Anger swelled in his chest. Four months of living – no, this couldn’t be called living – of merely existing in this place. Four months of waking every morning to panic, to a suffocating realisation that he was not in his bed at home. That he was not dreaming. That the everyday nightmare was, in fact, reality. Four months of Ronan professing his love for him, offering Leo everything he could possibly want or need; except, of course, his freedom. Four months of, for the main part, having no one else to talk to other than Osric, the servant who had been assigned to him. And Ronan, of course.

No wonder I’m starting to lose it. One way or another, I need to get out of here. I can’t wait for Merry any longer.

Looking towards the window and the dark skies outside, he sighed. The day was at an end. He picked up a stone, carefully carved another mark into the wall, then shut his eyes. Eventually, he fell asleep.

Leo gasped and sat bolt upright, his heart hammering on the inside of his chest. Someone was pounding on his door, making it shake in the frame, screaming his name over and over. Just in time, he jumped out of bed. The door flew open and Ronan staggered into the room, clutching a leather bottle. Mead, almost certainly; the scent of honey had filled the air. Every muscle in Leo’s body was singing with tension. But at the same time, he tried hard to wipe any emotion from his face, to stay calm. He had learnt some time ago that it was best not to do or say anything to antagonise Ronan when he’d fallen into one of these … moods. Instead he stood by the table, his hands clenching the back of the chair as Ronan approached.

‘It’s been months, Leo. Months since the King of Hearts brought us here. But still, you refuse to join your life to mine as I’ve asked. You refuse to swear your allegiance to me. You won’t even come to the hall to celebrate my victories. I offer you the chance to rule this land by my side, but you’d rather waste away, locked up in this tower instead.’ He rubbed a hand roughly over his face. Had he been crying? ‘Why can’t you understand how much I love you? Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for us. For you. So why do you deny your feelings for me? I know that you love me, Leo. That much you’ve shown me, in the past.’ Ronan reached one hand out to touch Leo’s face, grazing his cheek softly.

Once, Leo would have done anything to have Ronan look at him, to touch him in that way. But not any more. He couldn’t help it: he flinched.

Anger blazed in Ronan’s eyes, and Leo swore silently in his head.

Ronan stared at Leo for one long minute, then shook his head. ‘Fine. Have it your own way.’

Ronan turned and clapped his hands together. Moments later, two guards – human ones, at least – dragged someone through the doorway. It was a boy, about the same age as Leo, perhaps a couple of years younger. His face was mottled with bruises, and there were bloody gashes running across his forehead. Ronan gestured towards him. ‘I have someone I’d like you to meet. This is Edwin. He and his family were captured this afternoon.’

Ronan began writing in the air with his forefinger. Glowing blue lines appeared, forming shapes: fire runes. Ronan’s favourite form of magic since he’d acquired the power from the King of Hearts. The runes floated across the room towards the boy. He shrieked in fear, trying to twist out of the grasp of his guards. But it was no good. The runes settled on him, searing his skin, and the boy began to scream and writhe.

It was unbearable. Leo wanted to hit Ronan, to force him to stop. But he knew that it would just goad Ronan to more violence. There was nothing he could do to help the boy. Not yet. He lowered his gaze to the floor, wishing he could shut out the shrieks, and the stench of burning.

Finally, the screams faded into sobs.

Ronan took hold of Leo’s chin and raised his head. ‘It didn’t have to be this way, Leo. I offered the boy a choice. Told him he could serve me willingly, or pay the price. Is it my fault if he doesn’t know what’s for his own good?’ He grabbed Leo by the shoulder, shaking him. ‘Is it?’

‘No, Ronan.’

Ronan took another swig from the bottle. ‘You know what’s going to happen now, don’t you, Leo?’

Leo nodded, his chest tightening painfully. He’d seen it before. Too many times to count.

‘Don’t be shy, Leo.’ He flung an arm out, pointing at the boy. ‘Tell Edwin here what will happen to him. What will happen to his family. Because he chose to defy me.’

‘But he won’t understand what I’m saying. We speak a different language—’

‘Oh, but he will understand you.’ Ronan went and stood behind the boy and, placing his hands on the boy’s head, muttered a spell. ‘Now, tell him, Leo.’

Leo gazed steadfastly at Ronan; he couldn’t bear to look at the boy. ‘He will enslave you, Edwin. He will enslave your mind, and put one of his demon creatures into your body to control it. He will make you another of his servant army.’

The boy let out a strangled cry. ‘Niese! Ne acwellað min cynn!’

Ronan laughed. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Edwin, I won’t kill your family. Why would I, when living slaves are so much more useful?’ He lifted his hand, ready to write more fire runes in the air.

Leo couldn’t bear it any more. He stepped forward, putting one arm on to Ronan’s outstretched hand, pushing it down. ‘Please, you don’t have to do this, Ronan. Please stop. For me.’

Ronan seized Leo’s hand and sighed. When he looked up, Leo could see the desire in his eyes. All these months, and he still wanted Leo. He still wanted him to stand willingly by his side. ‘I would. I would stop all of this, Leo. I’d stop enslaving people in this way, using the power of the shadow realm to control them. If only you would accept me as I am, I’d …’ he faltered, ‘I’d find another way to convince these people to obey me. A less destructive way of ensuring their loyalty. But I can’t do it on my own. I can’t …’ He moved closer, slipping both arms round Leo’s waist. Leo let him, knowing that his own safety and that of the boy rested on his cooperation. ‘I know I could do better, be a more merciful ruler, more … compassionate, if only you were by my side. If you were to pledge yourself to me, once and for all, I promise you, Leo: I would stop all this unnecessary suffering.’

Leo began to tremble. His mind was screaming at him to push Ronan away, to run. But he needed to buy time. So he leant in, bringing his arms round Ronan’s back, burying his head in Ronan’s shoulder. ‘I’m tired, Ronan. I’m tired of all this fighting. I’m tired of being left up in this room by myself, day after day. I want to start living again.’

Ronan breathed in sharply and turned to the guards. ‘Take the boy back to his family. Let them go.’ Leo heard the guards hustle the boy out of the room.

‘So … you’re finally agreeing, Leo? To commit to me?’ Ronan asked quietly. ‘To commit to what I’m trying to achieve here? To making a better world for us, and for people like me?’

Leo took a deep breath in. ‘Yes. I am. I’m ready.’ He let go of Ronan and stepped back. ‘What would you have me do?’

Ronan’s face was glowing with excitement. ‘The binding ceremony. Remember, Leo? I told you about it before. One of the spells I learnt since coming here.’ He began pacing up and down, rubbing his hands. ‘Once it’s done, you’ll belong to me completely. Forever.’

Belong? That was the only way Ronan seemed to be able to think about love. As if it was just a more intense form of ownership.

Leo smiled wanly. ‘Till death do us part?’

‘Not even death.’ Ronan laughed again. ‘I’m not planning on dying, and I’m going to find a way to keep you alive too. To keep you safe. Nothing will ever separate us, Leo. Nothing, and nobody.’

After he and Ronan had spent some more time talking, discussing their ‘future’, Leo persuaded Ronan that he needed rest. Ronan seemed eager not to do anything to jeopardise their reconciliation, or to undermine Leo’s resolve. Eventually – after professing his love over and over – he left Leo to sleep.

But one thing Ronan insisted on doing before he went was choosing a time for the binding ceremony. A few days were needed to prepare all that was required for the spell. Ronan was also keen to enhance its power by holding it on a magically significant date. He’d settled on the winter solstice.

It was little more than a week away: Leo’s stomach churned at the thought of it. He hated the idea of binding himself to someone so evil, so insane. But what choice did he have? He’d hoped that by continually refusing to be in any kind of relationship with Ronan, the other man would be persuaded to let him go, to send him home. But Ronan hadn’t given up. Instead, he’d isolated Leo and locked him away in this tower in an attempt to forcibly change his mind. And Ronan’s patience – Leo could tell – had worn thin.

This was his only hope now: that after the ceremony, Ronan would let his guard down. That there would be an opportunity, at some moment when Ronan was relaxed and undefended – was asleep, perhaps – for Leo to kill him.

Leo knew that he probably wouldn’t survive, either. Most likely, even if he managed to kill Ronan, he’d die with him. He suspected the binding ceremony would somehow tie his life to Ronan’s. He’d seen that kind of magic before: Gwydion had tied Jack’s life to his, as a form of protection. But even if by some miracle Leo did survive, he’d still have no way to get home.

Maybe Ronan’s grip on this world would weaken with his death, and maybe the worst of the nightmarish creatures that served him would disappear. But Ronan had ordinary human supporters too. If Leo ran, they would almost certainly hunt him down, wouldn’t they?

May as well let them find me.

If he was lucky, they would kill him quickly. Better that than spend the rest of his life trapped in this place.

Sighing, he swung his legs out of bed and crossed over to the small wooden table that stood in the centre of his room. He picked up the crude charcoal drawing he’d sketched earlier that day. It was a picture of his home, and of the old willow tree, with its slender, drooping branches, that stood next to the garage. He’d even included his battered Peugeot parked in the driveway. It was one of many pictures he’d tried to make over the past few months. He wanted to set things down on paper as much as he could, to have some tangible record of what his life had been. He didn’t have his phone any more, or any photos. All he had left was what was inside his head. And he’d been determined to hold on to that for as long as possible. But now … what was the point? What did it matter whether he forgot his home, his friends and his family? If he had no future, it seemed futile, to try to hold on to the past.

Taking the drawing, Leo held it over a candle and watched as the flame began to eat into it, making the paper blacken and curl.