Dancing into the Night- Part Six

Dancing into the Night: Part Six  

It was well past nightfall when Lynara once more opened her eyes to the world and was made aware of her surroundings. Though when she awoke she lay alone, and all traces of the Count had vanished as if they had never been there. For several long minutes, the young woman sat at the edge of the great bed (she had never slept on something as fine the cot and was rather uncomfortable by it) and stared at the floor. Unconsciously Lynara swung her feet back and forth, as she internally cursed for not forcing herself to speak with him when she had had the chance to do so. True, he hadn't been willing to negotiate at the time, but it was a matter of life and death. There could be no excuses, and the results of failure to comply with the red-haired demon's commands would be too horrible to comprehend. Even with her own safety on hold, there were her fellow maids to consider and even the Count himself. Though the nobleman was incredibly strong of both mind and body, Lynara doubted that he would be able to fight against such an alarming woman as the one she had crossed. . . Unless, the woman somehow knew the Count and owed him fealty. . . Then perhaps this was all out of devotion or jealousy towards his person, which would change things considerably.

Lynara sighed forcefully, as she pushed back her short curly hair from her face, and wondered what she had gotten herself into. It had all started with a simple meeting and the want of a story. . . But now it seemed that the tale was to be much, much darker than she had ever dreamed. Perhaps the darkness she had felt while under the influence of her brain fever was some sort of internal warning. . . But if so, then whose hand had held hers so tightly? Who had guided her through so much pain back to the bright rays of life?

You know who took your hand, her mind chastised. It's the same one who you have to let go of.

Lynara felt her heart clench painfully as his name trickled through her conscious and muscled between all of her thoughts.

. . . Count Vladislaus Dracula . . .

It seemed an eternity since he had first introduced himself, but she recalled it clear as day.

And now as the young woman stood up and splashed cold water on her face from the wash basin at the dressing table, she felt her resolve click firmly into place. No matter what part the Count had to play in the scheme of things from here on out, she couldn't hold on to it any longer. After everything that had happened, all she had experienced with the man, she found herself melancholy at the thought of him departing from her company. True, she had had reservations the entire time she had known him . . . but she had also come to care for him deeply. The young maid had never felt the likes of this new emotion in her chest, but she found that it made her breathless and heartbroken at the thought of what she would have to do. . . She would tell him to go, and that would be that. She would be strong as she always had been and move on. . . But deep down, Lynara knew that something inside of her had changed, and there was no going back. For better or worse, Dracula had left an impact on her, and she found she couldn't hate him for it.

"Ahh, good. My lovely storyteller is awake."

Lynara's brown eyes that had been otherwise preoccupied, shifted quickly to the doorway of the guest room, and felt her pulse begin to palpitate faster than it had just mere seconds before. For the Count stood at the doorway, once more dressed to the nines in his black coat and trousers, with his hair pulled back into its normal ponytail and his boots shined to an almost iridescent glow in the dim light of the room. He was just entering as the barmaid turned to look at him; he had done so soundlessly other than his greeting. In one hand he carried a tray of sorts, and the other remained bare as he reclosed the door and moved over to place the platter safely on the small bedside table. Lynara watched him silently, fighting to compose herself before she answered him.

"I thought you had left, sir."

The Count lifted an eyebrow as he sat down on the far side of the bed, and regarded her deliberately. "Even after I gave you my word that I would not leave until I had heard your complaints?" Lynara blushed slightly as he pointed this out (a sight that the man was glad to see after seeing her complexion at a sickly pale hue for several days) and he stated plainly, "You are unwilling to submit to me. To place your trust in me."

Lynara was silent for a moment before she looked at him sadly. "Yes . . . I cannot- will not. I am sorry if that upsets you."

He waved his hand at her in dismissal, surprising her. "Quite the contrary, my dear. I find it most intriguing that you are so guarded. It shows a depth and insight that most lack in my presence. Most grow at ease around me, after a time. But with you I am still held at a distance. You are not one to give into base desires or fall for the highest bidder of your attentions. For one such as yourself it is an impressive achievement."

Lynara's brow quirked. "Not all barmaids are willing to fall into bed for a pretty penny or a well spun word, Count."

Dracula unhurriedly shook his raven head with an unreadable smile. "Lynara you are the first who has proven that statement to be accurate. I have never met one who has withstood the avid attention of another. And yet you house more passion than most of those who easily give in to such things."

"I take that as a compliment, sir. So I suppose I should thank you for saying so," Lynara said as she once more cupped water into her hands and brought it to her face. The action was both to clean away the last traces of sleep and to clear her head for what she had to do. She didn't wish to push the Count away after everything he had done for her, but she had no more time or options. She had to act now or she would never be able to bring herself to. So she girded herself and thought of ways to explain. Finally after but a moment, the proper way came to her.

"I am glad you stayed to hear me out, Count."

He smiled before gesturing for her to come sit by him on the bed. When she moved to accommodate him, he pointedly looked at the tray that he had brought with him. "I will always listen to you, Lynara. But first, you must eat the meal that was prepared for you. I doubt it will be appetizing once cold."

Lynara wished to ignore the food and quickly speak her mind, but found herself sitting by the man and beginning to dutifully shovel the homemade stew into her mouth instead. She would have time to do this properly, and who was she to deny good food? It had been days since she had knowingly eaten anything, and as she felt the broth touch her tongue the maid realized how hungry she had actually been.

As Lynara ate, Dracula watched her with interest, and that was when the woman realized that he himself had no food.

"You should eat too," she said with a meaningful glance. "I can't be the only one who was hungry."

For a brief moment the Count seemed on the verge of laughing, as if she had said something funny, before he shook his head. "You are very considerate, my dear. But I have alreadyeaten."

"When did you have time to," the young woman wondered as she swallowed yet another bite. "You slept all day and it takes time for the Mistress of the Tavern to make the evening meal."

Lynara knew that the stew had just finished cooking, due to the warmth and flavor that was flooding her gums. So she knew that the Count couldn't have had the stew.

"I did not partake of the evening meal provided here," was the simple answer. "I found sustenance elsewhere."

Lynara studied him for a long moment, for she didn't believe him, before he lifted an eyebrow and surprised her once again. Dracula took the spoon from her hand and dipped it back into the steaming bowl. Then as she watched, still in shock from the thievery of her eating utensil, the man put the spoon into his own mouth and swallowed the bite-full of stew. He gazed at her pointedly before repeating the action, and then getting yet another spoonful- which he proffered to her.

"I can feed myself, Count," she said, failing to hide her anxiety. The brown eyed maid had never been one to share things such as food or drink with another, even with Lexya who she loved like a sister. . . So the action was rather unnerving to the girl.

"I am well aware of that fact, my dear," he returned, unwaveringly, as he continued to hold the broth out to her. Finally, when Lynara knew that he wouldn't relinquish the silverware or change his mind, she leaned forward hesitantly and accepted the mouthful. Pleased, Dracula continued to offer her spoonful's of food, and on occasion would take one for himself- though he didn't seem to take any actual enjoyment from the meal. And it was this way that the stew was finished and the two came to sit in silence side by side. It was the nobleman who was the first to break the tranquility.

"So, little Lynara," he said easily as he reclined back on the bed and looked at her curiously. "What was the matter that you wished to discuss with me?"

Lynara continued to sit quietly, before she looked down at her hands that were clasped anxiously in her lap. This was the moment she had dreaded, but now she had no choice but to plow forward and accept what would happen.

"I have many things I wish to say, Count. . . But I fear that I must go about it in a peculiar way."

"You have my attention, my darling. Speak at your leisure; I shall listen without judgement or interruption."

At the familiar term of endearment, Lynara felt even more regret, before she began.

"Count. . . Vladislaus." As she used his name for the first time, the man looked at her with both surprise and ardent rapture, but as promised didn't say a word. "Since we first met, you have asked me for a story almost every night. You showed a desire to hear me . . . and I now find myself wishing to tell you a tale that has never been shared. . . I still do not know the ending, but the beginning is something that I want you to know."

Lynara took a small inhale of air, forcing her mind to be at peace, as she closed her eyes and began to tell him her story.

"You have made comments about my reservations and unwillingness to trust, and I must state that it is my nature. . . You have never given me a reason to doubt you, nor mistrust, unlike so many others. But an openness of heart does not come easy for me. . . I have been in Budapest for a long time, but I was not born here. I came to this city at the age of 13 as a beggar on the streets, until the Tavern Master's Wife found and took pity on me. . . But that isn't important, so I won't linger on it.

"The story in question begins within a small hamlet several hours journey from Bucharest, some 20 years ago. In this town, the church was the greatest treasure to be found, and all of the villagers were avid in their faith. There were other businesses and buildings of beauty and worth, but none could shine a candle on the love for the old church and the beloved teachings held there. It was a pious community- completely reliant on the religious leaders.

"And with such a background one can surely imagine that certain sins would not be looked kindly upon. . . Such as willingly carrying a bastard child when the Holy Brothers had already condemned the pregnancy as an inexcusable transgression."

Unknowingly Lynara's eyes had once more opened, but despite this the girl saw nothing but the tale she wove. For if she had seen the Count's expression, she might have lost her nerve.

"I never knew my mother," the young woman continued softly, her voice calm but also wistful as she started deeper into the story. "But from what little I do know, she was a spirited and willful woman with a fire that was considered unstable by those in the village. She was fair skinned and a subtle beauty; or so I have been led to believe by those few who knew and cared about her. She was my complete opposite physically, meaning my father must have been the one who had the darker skin- though I have never heard a word of who he was or where he was from.

I was told that she loved me and was willing to give all for me . . . despite everything. . ."

Lynara stopped painfully for a moment, her dark brown eyes becoming misty as her past played through her mind. When she didn't continue, Dracula softly prompted her.

"What happened to her?"

Lynara finally looked at him, giving him a sad smile.

"She refused to obey the commands of the church and community and kept her pregnancy . . . she hid away in seclusion until the time she was in need of a midwife, and after she had me and named me, my mother was taken away and stoned in the village square for being a harlot and free woman."

Dracula's face remained expressionless in the moment of stillness that passed between them, but as he reached for the woman's hand with his own, it was obvious that he cared. Though he said not a word as the storyteller continued.

"Despite my sinner's beginnings, the monks took me in as one of their orphans (after some debate about sending me back to whence I came), where I was taught the ways of the church that had barred me from ever knowing the one who had first loved me. But I felt no anger towards them, and I do not now. It is in the past and I never knew any different.

"My childhood wasn't a particularly happy one, but it wasn't sad either. There was both good and bad and the fair share of moments that were somewhere in-between. But the Brothers are the ones who gave me my greatest gift."

"It was the monks who taught you the art of words?"

Lynara nodded. "They taught me how to read and write, in hopes that if I took my vows and became a Nun, that I would be able to be useful to my superiors. But I had no wish to be bound to the cloth, and at the age of twelve I was sent from the Abbey where I had grown up, because of my inability to conform. I ended up going to live with my only living relative: my Aunt Renira."

Dracula's black brow lifted in question. "Why did your mother's sister not take you under her wing earlier?"

"She had wanted to, but her husband hadn't allowed it before then. It was only when I truly had nowhere else to go that he conceded," Lynara clarified, and slowly her face changed into one of resentment. "My Aunt had come to visit me many times throughout my younger years at the Abbey, and I had grown to love her dearly. She wasn't overly beautiful, but to me she seemed to glow with her soft voice and motherly affection. When I first came to live in her home I couldn't have been happier. . . But with time, I grew to hate it.

My uncle was angry and a man prone to violence, though he never laid a hand on me. At first I believed it to be luck or divine intervention. . . But it was neither. My Aunt Renira was the one who paid the price for my safety, which she gave silently and without complaint. She never was able to have children of her own, and I now wonder if that wasn't in-part to the unforgivable beatings she endured. It would make sense, seeing as he could never go a day without forcing himself on her." At the intimate subject, the young woman's voice grew hard and bitter, her normally tranquil eyes blazing with an old fury at the memories she was reliving.

"Every day for the year that I lived in their home, he beat and raped her. . .Every day I was forced to hear her cry and see the new marks he'd left on her, unable to do anything but mourn. . . Until one day I returned home from the market to find him towering over my Aunt Renira. To this day, I do not know what she did to make him so angry, but this time he hadn't stopped . . . She was broken and unrecognizable and had stopped breathing when I found them. And in that moment as I looked at the only mother figure I'd ever known, dying on the floor like a dog or some other helpless animal, I snapped. I had never been violent or strong- I had never wished another to come to harm. But I wanted him to endure the same hell he had put her through. I still don't know how I managed to do it. But I had to make sure that he would never hurt anyone else like he'd hurt her. . . I had to stop him before he could do the same to me. So while his back was still turned, looking down at Renira, I picked up the knife that rested on the table next to his dinner and stabbed him . . . and ran away as he fell to lay beside my beautiful Aunt in death."

Lynara's voice had progressively gotten more emotional as she told her horrible story, her eyes sad and regretful as she stared off at the wall and silently cried. From her side, the nobleman watched her intently, his ageless blue eyes seeing her past with her as she shared it with him, his hand still firmly holding hers.

"I killed him and not a day goes by when I don't see his face or feel despair at what I did. . . But I cannot take it back, and I cannot make the past disappear."

"A man such as him deserved no less, Lynara."

"There is no way to rightfully justify his passing," she said as she wiped away her tears with her free hand. "I took a life and I have been damned ever since."

From beside her, Dracula's face transformed into an unreadable mask before he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss to the maid's forehead, his nose brushing against her temple as he held her close. "If God would damn one such as you, then he is unworthy of his heavenly throne and those who he calls his children. You have done nothing wrong."

"But who are we to question such things, sir? We cannot. For we don't have the knowledge or foresight. He would not be God if he let the death of one of his children go unnoticed, good or bad; villain or hero," she interjected, as she pulled away from him, though her voice was once more calm. "I am resigned to my past. I did not tell you this to feel justified in my actions, or to gain pity or favor with you."

"Then why have you shared this tale with me, Lynara," he asked curiously.

At his question, Lynara once more focused on his handsome face, her eyes showing more emotion than anyone could have ever hoped to label, as she told him the truth.

"I have told you this so that you understand."

"Understand what, my love?"

Lynara internally cried as he called her love, before she nudged forward, the image of the red-haired woman firmly planted in her mind's eye.

"I can never be responsible for losing a loved one again. It would kill me to have someone else hurt on my account or because of something I did."

"And I would save you from such pain, my dear," the Count vowed, and Lynara nodded to him for she believed him.

"I know you would. . . So I know . . . I know you will respect my wishes of never wanting to see you again."

As Lynara finished saying this, the guest room fell into an uncomfortable silence, and the world seemed to hold its breath as it awaited what would happen next. Finally after sometime, Dracula gazed at the young woman with calculating eyes, though he didn't seem offended by her words . . . Rather that he was wary.

"Why would you wish for such a thing, Lynara? Have I unknowingly caused a threat to you or your fellow maids that you so selflessly care for?"

"No."

"Then who has?"

Lynara's brown eyes instantly grew wide at his statement, and easily he caught the change, making his face become stony as understanding clouded his deep blue eyes.

"You have been forced to take action." It wasn't a question. "Who has cornered you, little Lynara, when I myself have been unable to?"

"I can't-"

"You must," he said plainly. "Who has scared my brave, impenetrable little storyteller?"

Lynara didn't wish to tell him, seeing as it would most likely come back to haunt her and make things worse in the end. . . But she found that as he stared at her so unabashedly, that she couldn't help but answer him.

"A woman. I do not know her name."

The Count's eyes flashed unsettlingly before they once more became neutral, and he settled back onto the bed and surprised Lynara by saying, "Describe her to me, so that we may deal with this obstacle."

"There is no 'we', Count."

"No," he agreed as he once more bid her to tell him about the woman. "But I believe that one day there shall be."