The Countesses of Tannensdal

She dropped my hand again and took my face in both of hers. Looking at me intently with those gleaming black eyes, she leaned close and whispered, "Are you afraid?"

Should I be? I wondered, as I had before. Of death, of damnation, of this beautiful, loving woman with such strange powers? "No," I whispered. Once again, it was the truth.

She smiled and pressed her lips against mine. I gasped, trying to breathe, then my lungs flooded with her breath, and suddenly a white-hot fire rushed into me.

It was more pain than I had ever experienced in my life. I felt as if I was burning up from within, as if every particle of my body had exploded into a continuous flame.

I moaned. I might have screamed. I know that my body spasmed and jerked, but Ilira held my face firmly against hers and did not stop kissing me, did not let the fire go out. On and on she kissed me, and on and on I gasped, writhed, burned.

For how long this continued I do not know. Suddenly the fire was out, the pain was gone. All the pain, I realised, and I raised a feeble hand to feel at my stomach while I gasped for breath that now came easily.

Ilira was gazing at me with eyes that had returned almost to their normal tawny. Her face was happy, sad and, for the first time, fearful. "You will live," she whispered. "The priest's blood has healed you."

Then she rose and walked towards the gatehouse. I lost sight of her in the shadows, and wondered why she had left me. Although my wound seemed to have healed -- my searching fingers even found the bullet, expelled from my body and tangled in my ruined shirt -- I was too weak to rise and follow her.

A sudden rumbling startled me, and the wooden planks trembled as the portcullis dropped down from inside the tower to slam into place with a clang. Moments later Ilira reappeared. Her white form almost glowed in the moonlight, even under the gate. It took me a moment to realise that she was inside -- on the far side of the portcullis.

I forced my trembling limbs to obey my will, and dragged myself on hands and knees over towards where the iron grate separated me from my love. She watched my approach, and sank down onto the wooden planks as I reached her.

"Why?" I managed to gasp.

A slim hand stroked my face through the grate. "It is not safe. I have tasted blood, power... My body will not easily let me forget." Her eyes, clear of any trace of blackness, were full of sorrow. "It is not safe," she repeated.

I tried to protest, to say that I did not care. That all that mattered was being with her. She shook her head sadly.

"Perhaps one day... But not now." She leaned forward and awkwardly pressed her lips against mine. The iron was hard and cold on my face. Then she rose. "I must go inside. Leave, my love. Leave, and live."

Without another word she turned and glided towards the castle.

VI.

I managed to make my way back to Trieste. The journey through that gloomy, dank valley was unpleasant, for although my body was healed, I was left weak as a kitten, and my mind and soul were in turmoil.

I felt no regrets about Von Raszen's death -- in fact, I regretted not having killed him sooner. If I had remembered the revolver in my pocket, I could have scared him off at the very least. Merri would have lived, and the Relic, and the Hoary Cripple. Ilira would not have been forced to kill Father Doonan. We would be together.

But hindsight, as they say, does not lead the way forward. I used the train journey to regather my strength and master my feelings. By the time I arrived in Trieste I was something resembling my old self.

I pulled some strings and obtained a transfer to the Diplomatic there in Trieste. There would be no excitement, and no opportunity for further promotion, but that mattered nothing to me.

My location allowed me to keep a close eye on events in Ilira's country, and I followed the reports diligently.

It started out quietly. News of unrest, of violence. Then more bloodshed, insurrection. I knew that Ilira was losing the struggle for self-control. Terror, slaughter, horror -- those were the words she had used to describe what others caused with their power.

Yet I knew also that she would be fighting the monster inside her every step of the way. It was inside her, but it was not her. And she had the strongest will of anyone I had ever known.

So all I had to do was wait. One day, sooner or later, she would master the monster. And she would write to me, or appear in my mirror, and I would ride to meet her. At last I would be together with my love, Ilira, Countess of Tannensdal.