Other Lives Read online

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Don’t be shy. Every time I see you, you are hiding behind Nikolaos or your hair, or Nikolaos and your hair. Like now, you do it already. It’s not becoming.”

  “Habits die hard,” she muttered.

  “You’ll need some new habits.”

  She liked that idea.

  ***

  Roses. So many roses around her. Spinning, Miranda laughed as she looked at the crimson petals between her hands. It was a blur of red all around.

  She held up a flower. Strangely, the flower shifted and it was no longer a rose. She was holding a ball of fire in her hands.

  Miranda let out a loud shriek, dropping it quickly and spun around as the rose bushes burned. Her dress had caught on fire too.

  She was burning when she woke up and rushing from her bed, down the stairs and into the chilly night air, she felt her skin smolder like in the dream.

  Miranda closed her eyes. Her heart pounded loudly. For a moment it hurt to breath as she pressed her palms against her temples.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Nikolaos.

  She opened her eyes and he was standing in front of her.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked again and Miranda realized she’d been crying.

  “A nightmare,” she said.

  A snowflake lodged in Miranda’s hair and she shivered. More flakes started falling around them as Nikolaos put an arm around her shoulders.

  4

  Suspended above them a sun of solid gold and a moon made of silver drifted slowly across a jewel encrusted sky. Miranda spun and her reflection whirled in the tall mirrors that filled the walls of the chamber.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she said.

  “I suppose, for someone’s who’s not used to it. To me it’s boring and predictable,” Darius muttered.

  “You are arrogant,” she chided.

  “I’m honest,” he corrected her. “Do you like it?”

  Miranda looked at the mechanical peacocks and nodded her appreciation. At the same time she felt a little cheated. Everything was a bit artificial in Darius’ life so she should have imagined this would be too. Yet she had believed they would see real, live peacocks. Darius said these were better.

  “It’s all very nice.”

  “It’s called the Summer Room. It’s always summer here, even when the weather outside might say the contrary.”

  No windows, only mirrors and painted nature scenes served to maintain the illusion of an eternal season. A large fountain in the center of the chamber was surrounded by tiny mechanical birds that cooed and flapped their wings.

  “The King has a similar chamber, only much larger. In it there is an artificial lake with tiny boats. Golden statues of nymphs are placed all around and beautiful women dressed as mermaids play musical instruments.”

  “You know him? The King?”

  “His eldest son was a friend of mine. When we were children I was his constant playmate at court and in later years we sparred more than once during sword practice.”

  Her uncle would have been impressed. He always said Miranda should go to court, that she belonged somewhere else. Fervent letters were sent to her grandfather, begging him to install Miranda in “her proper place”, her uncle’s exact words. Lord Stesh never responded. A position at court might have assured her a good marriage. In Nortre she was doomed to an unworthy alliance.

  “Why aren’t you at court then?”

  He did not seem pleased by the question, his eyebrows furrowed, but this was only for a second, and then he relaxed.

  “Because I have been there already and have no need of it. And because you are here instead of there,” Darius said. It was almost chivalrous, except that teasing little smirk of his contradicted his polite words.

  His compliments still tended to catch her by surprise even though she was no stranger to them by now. Darius always speaking of her beauty and her grace and such. In contrast Nikolaos spoke little and never praised her, always courteous without being gallant.

  At the thought of this, Nikolaos and his charming politeness, she smiled.

  ***

  Her life had fallen into a pleasant pattern. She would have breakfast early and then, usually by noon, she would be greeted by Darius or asked to meet with him for a salon, or a walk, or to eat, or anything he could come up with.

  She had discovered Darius was quick tempered, vain, witty, and oddly sweet at times. She liked him because it was hard not to like Darius even if he had a cruel side.

  Nikolaos, the other stable force in her life, could never be cruel. He behaved properly at all times, like a true nobleman.

  She was meeting Nikolaos for dinner that night and as she smoothed her new crimson dress and glanced at her reflection she thought it might be him at the door.

  But then her maid walked in and explained it was a lady Retha and Miranda frowned.

  “Let her in,” she said.

  She didn’t know Retha well enough except to understand she was refined and beautiful and showed little interested in Miranda.

  Retha smiled and kissed Miranda on the cheek as was customary and then the two women sat across from each other, a tiny black table between them.

  ***

  Miranda clasped her hands tightly as hushed words strained to escape her throat.

  “It is…she said she will tell him about my grandfather. About my parents’ marriage and how lord Stesh disowned my father and does not recognize me as his grandchild. She said I must leave quickly or she will tell him everything.”

  Nikolaos merely glanced at the fire burning next to them. “Retha wants Darius for herself. She fears you.”

  “I think I ought to fear her, seeing what she plans to say about me. I cannot stay anymore Nikolaos. I must go home before she speaks to him.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “I must go,” the girl insisted.

  Nikolaos had observed enough blackmailing and backstabbing to render him immune to petty little threats but she was not used to this.

  “Let her talk then. Your lineage is a little murky, so what?” he said. “Bastard children have wed full-blooded nobles, and you are not a bastard girl. A humble family and lack of dowry never killed anyone.”

  “It is not only that. She said she’d also tell him some other things.”

  Nikolaos paused, concerned. “What other things?”

  Miranda stared at him. Her eyes were pretty and full of guilt.

  “Stories about my family and…about me.”

  “Tell me then.”

  “I don’t want to. I just want to go.”

  “Tell me,” he pressed on, his voice growing gruff.

  For an instant he thought she would refuse but she started speaking, first just a whisper so that he had to struggle to catch every word.

  “One of my ancestors was Karion, a warrior-lord back in the days when the emperor still ruled. Karion was one of many commanders waging wars in the emperor’s name and in those days their strongest enemies were the Azeians, who controlled the Archipelagos.

  “There was a fortress in the Archiepelagos and it was the home of a wizard-king. The king had acquired the services of a demon which resided in an enchanted mirror. My ancestor laid siege to the magician’s fortress until his men swept in.

  “The wizard-king had an only daughter. During the struggle she had locked herself inside her chambers. But it did her no good. Karion and his men broke the door down.

  “He violated the wizard’s daughter and gave her to his men afterwards. He killed the wizard yet spared her life because she would make a pretty slave. But the girl, being the wizard’s daughter, had some knowledge of her father’s magic. When Karion arrived with a golden collar to place around her neck as befit a slave she spoke a curse.

  “She invoked the demon in the mirror and swore it would plague his family. Bad luck would befall his children. But the women, she reserved a special punishment for them. Any daughter of his blood would be damned. E
very man that attempted to get close to a female of his lineage would be in peril and any man who loved one would die, killed by the demon.

  “Karion executed the woman. He did not believe in curses but in a fit of superstition, he destroyed the wizard’s mirror. No ill luck befell Karion and he amassed riches and lands and in time had two daughters and a son.

  “All was well. When his oldest child, his daughter, turned thirteen his luck changed. He fell from the emperor’s favour and felt ill, a lingering malady that wouldn’t leave him. His son was killed by brigands. Debts started to mount.

  “He managed to wed his daughter to a young nobleman of a good house. Two months later the groom was dead. Because his daughter was still young and pretty another match was arranged. This second groom died, having lasted less than a season.

  “Rumours of Karion’s curse spread quickly. It is a story that is still told in my town, and it is the reason why no man dared come near me.”

  Her story finished, Miranda glanced down. “My father died,” she said. “And then my mother went mad. She would…she would say terrible things about me and she’d hurt me … she tried to burn down our home. I am cursed. It is the truth.”

  “You shouldn’t think about morbid wives’ tales,” Nikolaos said.

  “It’s the truth. My fiancé died days before our wedding.”

  “The drunkard who fell off a horse?”

  “Don’t make fun of me. It is real. The demon knew ... It does wicked things.”

  “Aside from murder, can it do some mending? I’ve some shirts that…”

  “Don’t joke about it. It could be here. I’m sure it’s here,” she said, pressing a hand against his mouth.

  With Miranda so close to him it made thinking of demons rather difficult. As if reaching the same conclusion she drew away.

  “There’s no one here except you and me,” he assured her with a smile. “There’s nothing supernatural in this room. Retha won’t say a word because I know some stories about her that she wouldn’t like told either. So everything will continue as normal.”

  “I’m not sure I know the meaning of normal,” she whispered.

  There was something heartbreakingly lovely in Miranda. It tugged at his heartstrings and without really wanting to he circled her shoulders with his arm and she rested her head against him.

  He felt rather guilty. After all, she was nothing but a piece of bait. At the same time she was a very sad and lonely girl.

  ***

  He was sick and he had asked her to visit him for a game of cards. He played all kinds of board and card games and fancied intricate puzzles. Miranda, having spent a lifetime trapped inside her uncle’s household had also become adept at puzzles and card games.

  This pleased him.

  “There, on the table,” he said as a greeting. “I’ve placed all the pieces already.”

  Miranda nodded, glancing at the beautiful gold and silver board. Darius lay in the center of a massive bed, propped up by crimson cushions.

  “This is lovely,” she said.

  “It’s not so much when you have a cold.”

  She walked around his spacious chamber in awe. There was too much of everything, excess as natural to Darius as breathing. Miranda paused before a small portrait of a young woman, half hidden behind an ornamental silver box.

  “She’s pretty” she said turning towards him. “Who is she?”

  When she showed him the little painting, Darius shifted irritably.

  “That is an unpleasant memory that I keep tucked away,” Darius grimaced. “Only the idiotic maids must have been dusting and fidgeting with my things again.”

  “Who is she?”

  “She was my wife. She died three years ago. I would rather not discuss her,” he replied.

  “Oh,” Miranda mumbled. “I didn’t know you’d been married. How did she die?”

  “I said I did not want to discuss it.”

  “I am curious, that is all. No one ever told—”

  “She died, does it matter?,” he said, his voice growing harsh and loud. “Dead and buried.”

  “I’m sorry,” was her response.

  It was not enough. She had stirred the darkness in him. Now the darkness blazed back at her. Uncertain, she felt herself flush, mortified.

  “Out,” he ordered.

  She took a first weak step.

  “Out!” he yelled.

  For a brief moment she recalled the chorus of boys gathered outside their home at night. ‘Witch spawn’ they’d taunt and say other things she couldn’t make out. Sometimes, even in broad daylight on their way to the butcher’s or the shrine of Our Lady of Lilies she would catch hushed words.

  Their smug faces, the same face Darius now sported, made her quiver with fury. She wanted them all to choke on their fat tongues.

  For a second she wished Darius would choke and it was that thought that sent her spinning away. It was that thought which frightened her.

  He spoke again, as she reached the door.

  “Wait,” he said, and his voice was different.

  She stopped and turned around. His bitterness was still there, although it seemed to have diluted a little.

  “Sit down,” he muttered.

  She edged closer to him but decided not to sit, instead stopping at the foot of his bed.

  “She was unhappy. She killed herself. It’s a simple story,” he said.

  Miranda looked down, her hands neatly hidden against the folds of her dress.

  “When I was a child,” she said, hesitating for the briefest instant, “my mother jumped from a high window and killed herself. She was very unhappy, too.”

  He did not say anything and she glanced up. He was staring at her in an odd way.

  “When I met you, I knew there was something different about you. I guess I recognize in you the same tragedy in me.”

  It was her turn to struggle for words, but thankfully he filled the void.

  “Let’s play,” he suggested.

  ***

  Outside it was a bitter winter that slashed at the windows and nipped the flesh. But inside there was fantasy and make-believe and it was any season they desired and any land that pleased them.

  Darius showed her a pet leopard with a jeweled collar that he kept in an ornate cage. He organized a dinner where all the dishes were red and all guests wore crimson. He gave her a grand tour of the library and they peered over ancient tomes and he allowed her to look at some old books of magic incantations. Then he showed her an old book, a hidden treasure.

  “It was my grandfather’s grimoire“, he told her. “He was a warlock. But you must keep that little tidbit to yourself.”

  “Do you know any magic?” she asked as a jest.

  “A little. Not enough to stop me from being charmed by the likes of you, fair nymph” he responded.

  “You never take anything seriously.”

  “I am serious. Would you like to know a dark secret of mine?”

  “What?’ she asked.

  He rolled his sleeve up, showing her a series of tiny dark symbol upon his skin in a row, the dark shapes alien to her.

  “It’s a talisman. These words are magic,” he said. “They ward off evil.”

  The writing was like nothing she had seen before and, unthinking, Miranda reached towards his arm, meaning to touch the odd letters before she realized exactly what she was attempting and stepping back.

  “Forgive me,” she said, blushing.

  “I think I’d be a fool if I were offended by that gesture.”

  He chuckled and then she chuckled, and he showed her another book. A beautiful illustrated tome with beasts from exotic lands. He pointed out a unicorn and told her he could find one for her.

  5

  In the dream it was him, not her mother, falling from the tower while everything burned. The tapestries and the armoire went up in flames and Miranda woke up, a whimper escaping her lips.

  The mirror across the room reflected her pale f
igure. Only it did not look like her, the shape alien and deformed and then…

  She blinked. There was nothing in its clear reflection except a scared young woman.

  ***

  “What was she like, his wife?”

  “She was sweet,” muttered Nikolaos. “She was beautiful.”

  “He loved her very much, didn’t he? I could see the deep loss in his eyes … I like him and I cannot remain here. I was dishonest Nikolaos. I did not tell you everything.”

  She was standing by the window while the snow fell outside, a hand lightly splayed against the glass. Under the dim light of his chamber, with the snow framing her, she seemed ghostly.

  “There was a boy I knew, Giustan. He was one of the few people who were not afraid of me. All the other boys would hurl rocks at my window shutters during the night. But he wouldn’t. He was sweet. My uncle said he was also unworthy of attention because he didn’t have much money.

  “Still, he’d come around with excuses to see me or we’d meet by chance on my way to the market. I liked him very much. One night…he was attacked by someone, some thief my uncle said. It was a vicious thing. They burnt the body, it was so badly mangled.

  “He was fifteen when he died.”

  Nikolaos moved closer to her. From that angle, her eyes seemed almost burning yellow, like a candle flame.

  “You think it was your fault. It is a coincidence.”

  “Is it?” she asked, tossing the question back at him.

  He picked his words carefully. “You should be thinking of other things. Happy things. You should be smiling and forgetting about old stories.”

  “Every time I look in the mirror I feel like it’s there. Like I’m being watched,” she whispered and glanced at her reflection. He glanced too and there was nothing strange in the glass…and yet.

  An unintentional shiver ran down his spine and for a moment Nikolaos was revolted by the sight of her. Then she turned towards him, wiping stray tears from her eyes and there was only a sad woman there, no storybook monster.