Page 62 of Burying Venus

Aubrey said nothing. He raised his hand, but it faltered in midair.

Fog permeated the space between them. Dermot saw aunt and nephew dead, charred and burnt beyond recognition as Weston hauled them away.

The scene changed. No longer did Dermot stand dead-eyed, stooped over in the town square. Fire followed him, swallowing every joy with malefic vengeance. He watched as his village burnt, unable to move. Hearing the cries of women and children, he tried to turn, but instead sat paralysed as men in armour rushed through him. They were Robert’s men.

‘Kill them all!’ a familiar voice crowed. More ghoul than man, frantic and wild. ‘Anyone who doesn’t tell you where my brother and that bastard are! Skewer them, throw them onto the fire!’

Tristan sat on his horse, clad in armour while the men dying around him wore their work clothes. He was as beautiful as Dermot remembered, skin pale and foreboding, though he wore his hair loose.

Dermot cried out. Striving to move an inch, he remained listless as he watched a woman being cast into the fire.

As Aubrey’s eyes met his, Dermot fell back with a scream.

They were surrounded. Faeries stared at them idly, each creature more abhorrent than the last. All were skeletal, lethargic and weak as if laced with poison.

‘Dermot,’ came one brilliant chime, ‘I see you’ve arrived without need for me to force you.’

Maldred stood near the rabble. A sheer robe hung loosely from his body as his eyes lighted on them. Dermot caught a glimpse of one thin, exposed ankle as it kicked Aubrey’s back.

Aubrey, to Dermot’s surprise, did not cry out. He merely inched towards Dermot, nestling into his shoulder.

‘And this is he!’ Maldred said, shrill. ‘Is he prettier than I?’ Satin flew through the air as Maldred came to meet them both. He crouched like an animal, wild as he was deranged, fluttering between them as if to break his own neck. ‘Not so, he’s dark and cruel like a banshee! And his face…’ His pretty fingers danced to Aubrey’s forehead, sweeping away at his curls.

With a cry, Maldred stood, stomping his bare foot onto the mud. ‘Haven’t I pleased you enough? We made a pact, you and I, with our tongues and far more besides.’

Dermot said, ‘We did no such thing. I was tricked into hurting my people, who you claimed to care for.’

‘So you let this invader cling to you, whose ancestors tormented your own? He’s from the family you hated! Did you not despise them once, are you infatuated with them now?’ Maldred spat, each accusation more caustic than the last. He lingered in front of Dermot, bright eyes staring down. ‘I would never hurt my people. Don’t you know that when tragedies strike, people are forced to revolt?’

Dermot sat in the mud, Aubrey clasped to him. The visions came unbidden; his mother’s house being torched. He realised then that it was he who trembled, not Aubrey. Eyes flitting to the demonic assembly, he said, ‘Just as they did when your father was killed?’ He never imagined he’d taunt Maldred, having been so meek in the past.

‘You…!’ Maldred screeched. ‘How can you speak of my father like that? He loved his people.’ In sharp contrast to any sort of mythological hero, he pointed at Aubrey. ‘And he forbade entry to outsiders. It is his family who tortures these people, not I.Dermot, why can’t you understand? I have only ever done right by you!’

‘You murdered two people!’ Dermot returned. Aunt and nephew burnt anew in his mind. ‘You know nothing, hidden away as you are. Many of these people don’t know your father’s name, never mind yours.’

Maldred screamed. ‘Why won’t they fight? Their own people are dying. Not even by burning, but starvation, poverty! All the wealth goes to one particular family, sparing not a jot for you and your kin. I have done all I can! No one will raise a finger…!’

Dermot got to his feet, prying Aubrey away. Standing opposite Maldred, he realised he’d started to cry, much to his shame. ‘You will discover they are placid. No matter what wrongs are done to them, they will not fight for you. They’re perfectly content in bondage.’ He recalled his miserable days in the kitchen, orchestrated by Béchard, but one word from Robert would’ve had them all without food and shelter. Even Lionel Corrin, that lawyer at trial, wheedled like his life depended on it. All of them were enslaved.

The diatribe proved too complex for Maldred. ‘No! What of my father? Didn’t he die protecting them? And what of I, Dermot, having done all this? There must be some way to rid ourselves of these foul people, and you, Dermot, must lead!’

‘I will do no such thing,’ Dermot spat. Already his hand rested on the sword’s hilt. ‘We are all paupers. Exhausted men, terrified women, and children without food. How do you think our pitchforks will be met by Robert’s men, especially now he is so unhinged? Soldiers will lay us out in a mere hour. Then Robert will have a letter to parliament, decrying us as madmen who attacked him rather than the other way round. We will be the villains! That is how it always ends.’ He’d grappled with it all his life, defiant and proud, but no longer could he deny reality; raising a hand in defence warranted a massacre in reply. ‘Please,Maldred, say it is not true. That what I saw was a fantasy meant to frighten.’

Maldred said nothing. His eyes were glazed as he watched them, lip quirking.

‘What was it?!’ Dermot demanded. He rushed to Maldred, heart hanging in his chest like a man condemned. Hot tears sank to his lips so he tasted naught but bitterness. ‘My mother is there!’ He twisted his fingers around Maldred’s wrist and had the pleasure of hearing a crack.

‘I don’t understand why you will not help me,’ Maldred said. ‘Didn’t you say humans mate for life, that you and I had such a connection? And you claimed to hate those men! It is he, then, that has done this to you?’ His eyes lighted on Aubrey. ‘Seize that boy!’

‘You said you loved me,’ Maldred cried. Dermot heard the rustling of leaves as Aubrey was hauled up, but he could not afford to turn away. ‘I remember it, I do!’

As Dermot felt the boy tremble, he clasped his arms around him in an embrace. He ran his hands down the body he knew as the shivering subsided, then lower.

‘I do love you,’ Dermot murmured. He strove for calm as he continued caressing, Maldred having stilled against him, until at last his hand settled against the sword.

‘Then why do this?’ Maldred said. His eyes hadn’t strayed from Dermot’s, who had never before felt such intimacy. ‘You are one of my people. I love you too!’

At that declaration, Dermot tossed Maldred aside and stabbed him through the chest. All he knew was how tightly his fingers gripped the weapon, how his sword sliced through air until blood blackened his sight. He had caught this wraith, a mythical beauty whose father he had prayed to as a child, and dirtied him until no divinity remained. At last, he pierced him with cold iron.