Not Everything Dies Read online

  Neculai’s corpse chased her through the forest, desperate with hunger.

  She snapped his neck and cried and held him close.

  His teeth ripped into her throat, and he sucked the silver blood from her.

  Her hands moved in a blur of speed as she stabbed his chest again and again. She drove the knife into his eye, sending blood spraying.

  “Die!” Ruxandra screamed at him. “Die! Die! Die! Why won’t you just die?”

  “Ruxandra!” Elizabeth was screaming at her. “Ruxandra! What’s wrong? What’s happening? Ruxandra!”

  The visions faded like the life that gushed freely from a savaged throat, then more faintly, then stopped. Ruxandra was curled up in the corner of Elizabeth’s room. Her hands pulled against her blood-soaked hair. Small keening cries escaped from between her clenched teeth. Elizabeth knelt five feet away, her face slick and shining and red with juices and blood from Ruxandra’s body. Her eyes were wide, and her hands bunched up in her cloak.

  “Ruxandra?” Elizabeth’s voice was a whisper. “Are you back now?”

  “Yes.” Ruxandra let go of her own hair and sat up. The wall was cool against the skin of her back.

  All of that happened. All of it.

  “Are you . . .” Elizabeth licked her lips. “Are you well?”

  “Yes.” Ruxandra let her head fall back. Tears she didn’t know she’d cried slid down her face and fell onto the bloody skin of her legs. “No. I don’t know. I am . . .”

  Elizabeth crawled forward, worry and confusion on her face. “You’re what?”

  Ruxandra closed her eyes. A deep, aching weariness filled her mind.

  “Ruxandra?”

  “Kade said it was the year of out Lord 1609.” She didn’t open her eyes. I was born in 1468. I became this in 1476. “I am a hundred and thirty-three years old.”

  She opened her eyes. Elizabeth was leaning forward, though she hadn’t come closer. Her eyes were wide with expectation and hope and worry. Beyond her, on the other side of the open window, the sky was changing color.

  “Ruxandra? Did you remember something?”

  “Everything.”

  Before she could say more, Dorotyas pounded hard on the door.

  “My lady!” Dorotyas called. “There are soldiers outside! They demand to see you!”

  “THEY ARE HERE now?” Elizabeth’s fist pounded against the floor. “God’s blood!”

  She rose from the floor, her hands going to her face.

  “My lady?” Dorotyas called. “What shall I tell them?”

  “Tell them to wait!” Elizabeth’s voice cracked like a whip. She undid the ties on her dress. “If they insist on seeing us in the middle of the night, they must wait until we are properly attired.”

  Ruxandra knew she should get up, knew she should help Elizabeth change clothes and get cleaned up. Only her legs didn’t want to work. Her mind filled with a thousand jumbled memories—of the convent, of Adela and Valeria, of her father and her mother.

  Memories of what her father had done to her.

  Memories of the waterfall beating down on her when she tried to kill herself the second time.

  Memories of what she had done to Neculai.

  Memories of a fallen angel, asking her to choose.

  “Ruxandra! Help me!”

  A sharp sting of pain blossomed in Ruxandra’s face. Her eyes snapped up from the floor. Her hand went to the cheek where Elizabeth had slapped her.

  “Get up!” Elizabeth’s face was red with fury. She raised her hand again. “There’s blood all over the floor. There’s blood all over me. I need to get this dress off and clean myself and go out there, and I need your help, so get up or I will beat you!”

  Elizabeth’s hand came down, hard and fast, toward her face again.

  Ruxandra shredded the front of Elizabeth’s dress and chemise with a single swipe of her talons. The cloth fell back, baring Elizabeth’s breasts, belly, and sex. She screamed, short and sharp, and stumbled back.

  “I must go,” Ruxandra said. “I have to . . .”

  “Ruxandra.” Panic filled the word. “You can’t leave me. Not now. I need you to stay!”

  Ruxandra was already out the window and had vanished from notice before she landed. By the time Elizabeth yelled for Dorotyas, Ruxandra was far away, running hard. Even as she ran, her memories threatened to overwhelm her. They sapped her strength and her will, making her legs weak. She stumbled and fell against a wall.

  In her mind, she was back in the cave. The fallen angel, with her alabaster white skin and her black wings, cradled Ruxandra in arms so strong that she had felt safe, even in her desperate terror.

  “Decide now,” the fallen angel had said. “Do you want to die?”

  She had said no, then. She was so young, so frightened. Later, when she knew what she was, she had tried to die. Now, with the sky above growing brighter and the full horror of what she had become pounding in her head—feeling a passion she didn’t understand for a friend who was not, she knew, the kind of friend she’d had in Adela or Valeria—Ruxandra didn’t know how she felt.

  I do not know anything anymore. I must find a place to think.

  The sun was nearly up when she spotted a servant girl sweeping the stairs in front of a large house. She approached her from behind, still unnoticed.

  “Take me someplace safe,” she commanded. “Someplace safe and dark where no one will disturb me.”

  “This way, my lady.”

  The girl led her through the back door of the house, down the stairs to the basement, and then down another set into the wine cellar. Ruxandra collapsed in a corner, wedged behind the wine barrels.

  She closed her eyes, and the memories overwhelmed her. She couldn’t get hold of them, couldn’t slow them down long enough to understand all she had done, all she had become. The memories pulled her under like a whirlpool.

  Somewhere, in the midst of it, she passed out.

  When she opened her eyes, the day was gone, and despair gripped her tighter than that day, one hundred thirty years ago, when she drove her talons into a tree and waited for the sun to burn the life out of her.

  She slipped out into the streets and walked with slow footsteps back to the Stallburg. Around her, the city buzzed with people, even as the darkness filled the streets.

  I am an abomination.

  She could hear every conversation around her. She knew if she reached out she would be able to sense every emotion as well. She was walking, naked, through crowds of people, yet no one saw her, no one could touch her.

  I am a monster.

  She had been so happy leaving the convent. She thought she would be married. Instead, she had murdered her father, murdered his soldiers, murdered an old woman, and murdered a boy who she had really, really liked. Then she turned him into a monster and watched him kill a dozen others before she managed to kill him again.

  Oh, Neculai. You didn’t deserve that.

  None of them did.

  The prisoners in Elizabeth’s dungeon, the old woman and man on the road, the young nobles wanting truth about their missing sisters—all died because she existed.

  Now soldiers patrolled the streets looking for her.

  “I send you out instead, my child,” the fallen angel had said, “to sow chaos and fear, to make humans kneel in terror and to ravage the world where I cannot.”

  She made me to spit in the face of God.

  She remembered the look on Mother Superior’s face when she asked if God cared.

  I wonder what He thinks of me now?

  She found the street leading to the Stallburg. Soldiers with torches and drawn swords guarded it. She slipped past them and around to the side of the palace.

  I could run away again. I could go to a place where there are no people.

  And become the Beast again . . .

  Ruxandra remembered a thousand nights of crying herself to sleep. She remembered days that became weeks and months and seasons and years of seeing no one,
speaking to no one. Some days, when she was not hungry or cold, when she had time, nothing but time to think and feel, it hurt so much she had almost gone in search of people. Only the knowledge of what she would do to them kept her away. It was a relief when she began losing herself, when her conscious mind retreated, and the Beast took over.

  Then Elizabeth found her and brought her back to herself.

  She made me a monster again. A murderer.

  But I got to see the city and hear music and look at art, and I got to dance.

  Oh, I want to dance.

  The window to her room was open wide. A candle sat flickering on the windowsill. Jana stood behind it, the candle’s pale light showing the fear and worry on her face. The girl wore only her chemise, and her young, thin body shivered in the cold air.

  I have a friend again. A real friend.

  I don’t want to lose any of it.

  Ruxandra jumped and landed on the sill with a puff of air that blew out the candle. Jana stepped forward and froze. She frowned at the window. She clasped her hands in front of her and swallowed hard.

  “My lady?” Jana’s eyes went wide. “Is it you?”

  Ruxandra slipped down from the window ledge and let herself be noticed.

  Jana’s lower lip trembled, and tears started rolling down her face. She stumbled forward and buried her face against Ruxandra’s naked, cold, bloody breasts.

  “Oh, my lady.” She clung tight to Ruxandra. Tears of relief slid down the girl’s face, the warm wetness falling against Ruxandra’s skin like blood. “Oh, thank God.”

  She knows, and still she cares about me. Ruxandra wrapped her arms around Jana, holding the small, warm body tight against her. She began crying, too.

  I want to live.

  It was afternoon when Ruxandra left her room. She wanted to face Elizabeth during the day, rather than make her wait until nightfall. The sun was still strong outside, though Jana had closed the curtains to keep it out of the bedroom. Jana bathed her and dressed her in a simple gray gown. She’d brushed Ruxandra’s hair free of tangles and put it back in a long, simple braid. Ruxandra thanked her and asked her to go out and buy some flowers for the room. Jana opened the door, and Ruxandra, now unnoticed, slipped into the hallway. Two soldiers stood outside Elizabeth’s apartment, wearing the livery of King Rudolph. Ruxandra stood outside the door.

  “I am sure there must be another solution for this,” Elizabeth said as she walked toward them down the hall.

  “I have tried,” a thickset man with a graying beard said, “but King Rudolph is insistent.”

  Gyorgy. He met us when we arrived.

  “Surely there is something you can do.” Elizabeth put a hand on his arm and smiled. “You have always been a good friend, Gyorgy. To me and to my family.”

  He sighed. “It is unfortunate, Elizabeth, but between that girl’s disappearance and the rumors about your school . . . well, people do not think it wise to stand by your side.”

  “They are nothing but rumors,” Elizabeth said in a tone of soft regret. “As for the girl, she was attacked, was she not? Then she escaped.”

  “Killing five of our young nobility in the process.”

  “I do not believe it—she was so young and no fighter. How could such a girl commit such savage attacks against five strong young people?”

  “I do not understand it myself, but we won’t know what happened until she is caught or surrenders. Perhaps she had aid. That matters not. She must come forward.” Gyorgy took her hand off his arm and kissed it. “I must leave now, my lady. I will do my best to help you, I swear.”

  “Thank you, Gyorgy.”

  Gyorgy bowed and walked past Ruxandra on his way out. Ruxandra followed Elizabeth into the room. Elizabeth stomped over to the bed and threw herself face down on it. She screamed, long and loud, into the mattress. Then she rose, straightened her dress, and began pacing.

  Ruxandra appeared and waited. Elizabeth turned and saw her.

  “You!” Elizabeth stormed across the room. “Where in the name of God have been? I needed you!”

  “I’m sorry,” Ruxandra began, but Elizabeth did not wait to listen.

  “I spent all day being interrogated by King Rudolph and his men. I have been subjected to every possible slander you can imagine. They practically accused me of arranging to have those fools killed in that alley. Me! Even though I was nowhere near them at the time.”

  “I’m sor—”

  “Guess what they spent the most time discussing? What they continually demanded to know from me?” Elizabeth’s face was turning deeper red with every passing moment. “They wanted to know who you were, where I found you, and where I was hiding you. They searched the apartments twice. They put guards by my door, and took away my freedom!”

  “I’m sorry!” Ruxandra fell to her knees. “I’m sorry I ran away. I had to think. I needed to clear my mind, and I couldn’t do it here!”

  “I needed you!” Elizabeth turned her back. Her breath heaved in and out, her shoulders rising and falling in angry rhythm. “You said you could command people. You could have commanded them to leave me be. Instead, you ran off—where were you anyway?”

  “In a wine cellar.”

  “In a wine cellar.” Elizabeth hunched, as if ready to vomit.

  “I needed time, Elizabeth. I needed to—”

  “I am going to lose everything!” Elizabeth’s scream echoed off the walls, driving into Ruxandra’s head like a spike. Elizabeth rounded on her. “They are plotting to take my land and my children, and you run off and hide in a wine cellar!”

  “I did not know what else to do!”

  “You stay here, and you trust me!” Elizabeth’s hands curved into claws. “I needed you, Ruxandra! I needed you!”

  She dropped to the ground like a broken doll.

  “Twenty years ago, even ten, I could have controlled them.” The fury in her voice vanished beneath a wave of fear and sorrow. “I could have convinced them to do what I wanted. Even after I lost my husband, I held them in my hand. They saw my beauty, they saw my power, and they saw me as a force to be reckoned with. Now?” A noise like the dying cries of a wounded cat tore out of her throat. “I am old, Ruxandra. I am old and ugly, and I am going to lose everything!”

  “No!” Ruxandra crawled forward and caught Elizabeth’s arm. “You are not ugly. You are beautiful.” She was, even in her fury. Her bright eyes, her rosy mouth, and whatever it was—that ineffable quality . . .

  “I am useless! I cannot save anyone.” Elizabeth fell silent, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She straightened slowly. Her eyes, bright with tears and hope, came up to meet Ruxandra’s. “You could.”

  “How?”

  “Turn me.”

  Ruxandra fell back, eyes wide, panic welling up in her. “No. I can’t. I can’t.”

  “Please!” Elizabeth grabbed at her, trying to pull her close. “Please, Ruxandra! Please help me! For my family, please!”

  “I cannot turn anyone. I cannot!”

  “Why not?” Elizabeth started crying. “Why not, Ruxandra?”

  “Because . . .”

  “Don’t you love me?” She said the words in a small, plaintive voice. Her hands tightened on Ruxandra’s dress. She pulled closer, kissed Ruxandra’s cheek, her mouth. “Please, Ruxandra?”

  “I don’t . . .” Ruxandra began shaking. “I can’t.”

  “Oh, Ruxandra”—Elizabeth’s breath blew hot in her ear—“please tell me you love me. Please.”

  “I . . .” Is this feeling like it was with Adela and Valeria? Like with Neculai?

  “Please.” Elizabeth kissed Ruxandra’s neck, sending heat through her body. She pulled at the ties on Ruxandra’s shirt so it came loose and kissed her shoulder. “Please.”

  “I . . .”

  Elizabeth pulled at the dress until it slipped down, freeing Ruxandra’s beasts. She kissed one of the nipples, making Ruxandra moan.

  “Please,” Elizabeth said. She squeezed the other br
east with her fingers, sucked on the nipple again until Ruxandra panted and cried out. “Please say it.”

  “I . . . I . . .” Ruxandra tried to say the words, but the pleasure of Elizabeth’s touch engulfed her and robbed her of the power of speech.

  “Please,” Elizabeth whispered. Her hand left the breast, went down Ruxandra’s leg, and came back underneath her skirt. “Please, say you love me.”

  “Oh God!” Ruxandra arched back as Elizabeth’s hand found exactly the right place. “Oh God, I love you. I love you, Elizabeth.”

  “Good,” Elizabeth said in her ear. “Because I love you, too.”

  As the last light of day faded, Elizabeth’s ladies-in-waiting entered the room. If they thought or saw anything untoward at the sight of Ruxandra’s naked body lying beneath Elizabeth’s, they said nothing. They only woke their mistress and helped her to dress. Elizabeth leaned over Ruxandra and kissed her on the mouth.

  “I shall be tired this evening.” Elizabeth put her mouth to Ruxandra’s ear and whispered, “And very, very tender.”

  Ruxandra smiled. Elizabeth rested her hands on Ruxandra’s cheek and then rose again.

  “I must go to court,” Elizabeth said. “Gyorgy will be waiting for me. We are to meet with several of the king’s advisors. Hopefully, I can convince them to support me.”

  “Of course you will.” Ruxandra sat up. “I’m sure of it.”

  “If my body was still like yours, yes, I would. As it is . . .” Elizabeth shook her head. “Rest here as long as you like. I will see you tonight when I return.”

  Ruxandra watched Elizabeth leave, felt her heart follow the woman out the door, then fell back onto the covers. She had not felt this way since Adela decided to spend a day giving her pleasure whenever the nuns weren’t looking. She had gone to bed tender that time as well.

  The memory of it, and the memory of the night she had spent with Elizabeth, made her smile. This night, she decided, had been better. The occasional conflict between them was troubling, but undeniably arousing. She closed her eyes and nestled beneath the blanket. Sleep crept over her and wrapped her in its embrace.