The Taveler: Bella's Tale

The Mange army fought on, driving the Seer’s people back, village by village, city by city, until the mountains closed in around them.  The people stood their ground, holding back the tide of Shadow and death.  The Mange took to the skies, leaving the people and its fallen minions far below.  From the skies the winged demons began their final assault upon the Seer’s subjects; death at the hands of their blood thirsty foe seemed to be their only option.  The people braced themselves for the end, their voices raised in the songs the old gypsy queen had taught them, the songs of Earth, Air, Water, and Fire.

The demons moved closer to the gathered masses as the ancient songs echoed off the massive peaks and across the rift valleys.  The elemental magics, the very sources of the songs picked up the refrain and carried through snow choked gorges, black forests and alpine meadows, until it reached the heart of the Carpathians and the palace of the Seer.  The waves of timeless magic and the lost symphony exploded in a soul, once thought to be shattered.  A single melody was missing from the swirling layers of elemental song; it was a refrain the Seer had kept hidden deep in her battered heart, the wings of the symphony; the voice of Spirit and its Echo.

Years had passed since the Seer had fallen, her mortal form had grown fragile with age, but her eyes burned brighter than ever before.  She raced to the highest reaches of the palace and out onto the roof.  The winter winds howled around her as she pulled her sheening eyes away from the slaughter across the lower slopes and lifted them to the stars for the first time since her fall.  Her true voice resounded across the lands, lifting the entire ethereal symphony to the stars, carrying it home to its source.

She delved into the deepest recesses of her soul and sought the last remaining strands of the Qvaishini bond that had brought her to this world in the first place, hoping against all hope that her soul was strong enough to reach him and elict a reply.  Her faith was rewarded; a familiar song skated across the tenuous strands that once held them bonded heart, soul, and song.  His roar of elation echoed in her mind as she leapt from the pinnacle of the tower, arms spread wide, her cloak billowing behind her.  The skies exploded in a storm of shooting stars as she fell; her kin answered the cry.

In a maelstrom of stardust and moonbeams the wintery heights around the Seer’s palace disappeared in a cloud of swirling, sleek bodies, shimmering hides, and smoldering eyes.  The true face of the Seer was reveal that night as she and her kind surged down the mountainside to save the people, who had once saved her.  Her mate returned, leading the attack, enveloping her in a caress of wing and song that brought her deathly leap to a halt as he pulled her skyward once more.  In a dance that would have made lesser mortals weep, the dragons began their ageless waltz with wind, cloud, and blinding song. 

With talon, teeth, and elemental weaving they attacked the demons, driving them deep into the gorges and ravines.  Some went high seeking to outmaneuver the dragons, but it wasn’t meant to be.  As the demons rose, the air around them grew progressively thinner; their massive, armored bodies were too much for the rarified atmosphere.  The dragons slender, smooth and light thrived in the heights, cutting through the freezing shields of the Mange army.  The dark ones cracked and fell to earth defeated and destroyed in a shower of blackened snow.  Blood soaked the crags and snowfields as the Seer’s kin fought and died for a people they didn’t know.

As the red dawn broke across the snow encrusted summits, the carnage of the night was drawn to a close as five of the Seer’s female kin turned on the last remaining threat, the Mask Mange itself.  Their mates stood guard over them as they summoned the raw songs of Earth, Air, Water, Fire, and Spirit and used them to pry the Mange’s mask away.  Little by little the dark artifact lifted from the monster weakening its power, bringing it to its knees.  Finally the beast’s treasure was torn free and the Seer went in for the kill.  A shimmering wonder of velvet dark and fire-kissed pearl, she wielded the thrumming of Spirit’s song like a blade and cleaved the Mange in two.

The Mask of Shadows fell to the blood blackened snow as the Mange twisted in the final throughs of its demise.  It was the parting gift of the Seer to her people as she soared into the brightening sky and fading stars.  Her mate circled her continuously, lest she fall once more. Together with the strength of the Qvaishini bond between them, they completed the journey begun nearly a century before.  The Seer of Stars disappeared with the fading lights of heaven, leaving a legacy behind her that would become a legend.  It was the whispered tale of winged serpents that sang to the stars and courted the moon.

They became known as the Darkkin, creatures of passion, smoke, and alluring song.  They became the Ladies and the Gregorian, the last known possessors of the Qvaishini bond.  They became the Assemblage, groups of Darkkin families possessed of the Gealinia bond.  They loved unconditional and fought talon and song to better their worlds.  Across the ensuing years the numbers of Darkkin grew, but the Graces of the original lines began to fade as the stories of their kin began twisted and entwined with the tales of the Mange army.  The hunters became the hunted and were driven into hiding after the passing of the Ladies.  The Darkkin became Taboo.

The Taboo disappeared into a world that became deaf to the songs the Seer had taught.  They disappeared into a world of rules and restrictions that scoffed at tales of otherworldly beasts and magic of any sort.  They played the game of civilization and hid their true faces from the lesser mortals once again, keeping the secrets of the songs, stones, and stars.  They buried the legend of the Mask and its shattered pieces deep.  The Gealinia bond was one of the few ways the Taboo could still be identified. 

Fortune continued to smile upon them as they gained power, titles and lands throughout Europe and Russia.  In England they found refuge and acceptance.  The people fell in love with their otherworldly beauty and the steadfastness of the Gealinia bonds.  The Darkkin married for love and love alone.  They became the embodiment of lore and faerie tales that were not without tragedies.  Death was a natural part of life, but for the Darkkin it was especially painful when one of their mates died.  More often than not when one died, the other would follow within a few weeks.  Kill one, destroy two. It was this weakness the remnants of the Mask Mange, the Phantasm and the Stone Hag sought to exploit.

Slowly the Darkkin numbers began to dwindle.  The lesser known branches were the first to fall as one by one the families faded from existence.  The Taboo lines, once wide spread and in constant communication, receded.  Letters and visits among the Darkkin became fewer and further between until the Taboo in England lost all contact with those scattered across Eastern Europe and Russia.  By the time of the Napoleonic Wars one of the most legendary lines, that of the family Moncreiffe had been reduced to a single surviving child, Lady Isabella Miri Moncreiffe.

As the numbers of the Taboo continued to fall the number of hiding spots for the pieces of the Mask of Shadows was also reduced as were the number of individual who passed on the knowledge of the hidden weapon.  The Phantasm and the Stone Hag pressed their advantage and began ambushing the Darkkin families, so easily identifiable because of their savage beauty and Gealinia bonds.  Their strategy was nearly perfect, but it was not without flaws. 

The Laws of Balance still held sway over the Darkkin and their foes; the besieged families rallied as the Graces of old began to manifest themselves once more.  The Qvaishini bond lost since the fading of the Ladies, made a resurgence appearing twice in two generation, the marriages between Lord Cedric Taverton and Lady Abigail Holloway and that of Lord Hector Moncreiffe and Miss Arabella Amesworthy.  The two rare bonds laid the foundations for the children that had just taken their first steps into adulthood and a world that was calling upon them to save it. 

The Assemblage, which had been based in England since the fall of the Mange, was forced into crisis.  They looked to a prophecy that was as old as the Darkkin line itself.  They began seeking the return of the Ladies and the Gregorian.  The gold rings of the original Gregorian members were thought to be lost, but the Ladies would be recognizable to the members of the Assemblage immediately because of the distinctive marks across their backs.  Lady Isabella possessed just such a mark.  No one knew who her Gregorian counterpart was until now.

The look of peace and unadulterated joy on Tristan’s face as he whirled Bella across the floor was a sight that would be etched across the minds of the members of the Assemblage forever.  She had gone into his arms with a trust that was unparalleled.  Now her head was tucked against his shoulder and his face was pressed into her fragrant curls.  Both moved through the waltz with their eyes closed, letting heart and song guide them through the steps.  It was Tristan who was the first to break the perfect silence that encompassed them. 

His breath tickled her topknot as he began to speak.  “I know the secret that darkens your eyes and saddens your soul, Bella.”

She lifted her head from his shoulder and peered up at him.  “What secret might that be?”

Tristan’s smile was pure Darkkin.  “The secret that makes your eyes glow like the stars and sings to the moon.  It’s the creature deep in your soul that longs to soar, yet fears to take flight.  It’s the heart that trembles when alone, yet refuses to let others draw too close lest they be harmed.  It’s the song that stirs your blood and floods your dreams.  It is the legacy of your family and the joy of my heart.”

Bella’s eyes widen and darkened as he spoke.  Finally she replied, “You know the voice of my unseen spirit, but you haven’t told me how?”

Tristan’s smile deepened and grew more tender as he pulled her close once more, uttering a single word that was little more than a whisper.  “Qvaishini.”

Bella squeezed her eyes shut and fought back the tears that threatened to choke her as Tristan continued, “The bonding of heart and soul.  Bloodsong, the greatest treasure our kind.  You feel it just as I do, two songs in perfect balance, melody and countermelody, in essence becoming single soul and two mighty hearts.”

Once more Bella lifted her head from the sheltering curve of his shoulder and fought back her tears.  “The word you speak is not of this world nor is the bond it implies.  It is a treasure, but it is also not without risks.  In order to achieve it, you must be prepared to accept all the shadows and pain hidden within the echo of the other’s soul.  Scars, fears, and profound loss are prolific in some, consuming the light of their spirit pulse, leaving nothing but darkness.”

Her eyes burned black with foreboding.  “A failed Qvaishini bond can lead to madness and the destruction of your own soul.  Are you prepared to take such a chance?”  The haunting notes of the waltz faded as Bella’s simple question burned resounded through his mind.

That question still burned across his thoughts and pierced his dreams as it had for the past three years after she went to smoke beneath his fingers that fateful day at Cherry Bloom Court.  She had fled from him in a panic that hadn’t been seen in her since the murder of her parents.  From the highest reaches of joy to abject terror in the blink of any eye, Bella had been seized by a frenzy that had driven her into the skies of that rain soaked day.  Her soul had opened itself to him for the briefest of moments that day and the first threads of the Qvaishini had been spun just before her barriers returned with a vengeance.

Tristan could still feel the cool slide of her amorphous incarnation across his rain washed skin as she dissolved beneath his fingers and funneled through the gap beneath the door.  Whatever frightened her was strong enough to force her to Mist, something she had always avoided up until that day.  She consistently refused to embrace the glorious creature hidden beneath her porcelain façade, fearing she would lose control.  The carnage the Phantasm wrought on her parents was an ever present memory etched in her mind.

The monster that had killed Lord and Lady Moncreiffe was a shapechanger like the Darkkin of yore and the Stone Hag.  It was a brutal example of the power controlled by these otherworldly creatures.  It was one of the demons that continuously haunted Lady Isabella.  It was one of the demons Tristan had to conquer in order to make peace with Bella and get her to accept the extraordinary bond they shared.  The bond she had been running from for that day was the pain, he, Tristan had been running from for the last three years.

His sigh was heavy as the last strains of another waltz drew to a close and brought Tristan’s wandering mind back to the present.  The lady beneath his graceful hands wasn’t the one he longed for and loved from afar.  There was no other who could assuage the pain of the unfulfilled Qvaishini bond.

Kitty remained silent throughout their dance, studying him with the discerning eye of one of the few members of the Assemblage, who knew him well.  Her eyes grew cloudy as she looked up at him and finally spoke.  “You have to stop running, Tristan, both for your sake and Bella’s.  I don’t know what happened at Cherry Bloom Court that day, but neither of you has been the same since.  You retreated to the Continent and your moldy old books, while Bella has retreated to the safety of her books, music, and writing.  She has almost completely withdrawn from society and the few events we manage to make her attend, she somehow manages to elude everyone until we’re ready to leave.”

Lord Ettlesworth smiled briefly at the irritation ringing in Kitty’s tone as she recounted Bella’s disappearing acts.  He was well aware of how she pulled it off; she had done the same thing to him three years ago.  Kitty saw the ghost of Tristan’s smile and slugged him.  “You know how she does it, don’t you.”

The Viscount gave her a pathetic attempt at a grin.  “A gentleman never tells, Kitty.  You know that.”

Lady Katherine heaved an indignant snort.  “I wish Andrew and Freddie would tell you a thing or two about your bullheaded stupidity.” 

The painful grin pinned to Ettlesworth’s features abruptly faded at Kitty’s sudden attack.  His brows furrowed as he demanded, “What do you mean by that?”

A flood of guilt hit him as Kitty’s eyes suddenly glistened with unshed tears.  She suppressed them and mustered the faltering shards of her dignity.  “You have no idea what has happened since you fled, Tristan; I can hardly expect you to understand.”

“Everything I told you about Bella is true; she has retreated from everyone, including me.  Freddie and Andrew are worried and Lady Emmaline is at her wits end.  No one knows how to breach the walls she has erected.  Ancient old Talon seems to be the only one capable of bringing her any amount of peace.  She’s drifting away from us with no place to go and no clear purpose to guide her.”

Ettlesworth’s eyes flashed dangerously, instinctively knowing there was trouble brewing.  “How long has this been going on?”

Kitty looked at him suspiciously.  “What do you know, Tristan?”  The Viscount paled at the question as he felt the noose of his engagement tightening around his neck.

Tristan fought down the urge to run his fingers under the intricate folds of his cravat as he looked down into Kitty’s questioning face.  “Please try to understand, Kitty, this isn’t something I can discuss with you right now.  Just answer the question, how long has this been going on?”

Lady Katherine’s golden brows scrunched in concentration.  “It’s hard to say for certain.  She’s been closing in on herself ever since she burst into the Court drenched and covered with mud with neither you nor Talon anywhere to be seen.  The change has been subtle and ongoing, a constant source of amusement for the more jaded gentlemen of the ton, who have made it a game to try and secure a dance with the Mirror Spirit.”

Ettlesworth’s eyes darkened with anger, “The Mirror Spirit?”

Kitty fought back a derisive laugh.  “It’s the nickname they’ve given Bella because of her eyes and the fact that she makes an art out of disappearing into thin air.  No one has been able to catch her, which makes the challenge all the more enticing.”

Ettlesworth’s next question was little more than a choked whisper.  “Has anyone hurt her?”

Kitty shook her head.  “Only you, Tristan, but we’re straying from the point.  You wanted to know when Bella began shutting down completely.  It was only a few weeks ago, right around the time of the Afton’s houseparty, just before Christmas.  Neither Bella nor I was able to go because of an influenza outbreak at Taver House.  Both of us caught it.”

Tristan nodded, knowingly.  “That would explain why none of you were there, including Andrew.  I know Freddie sorely missed your company.  It was the first chance I had since returning to my travels to see any of you; it wasn’t to be.  Things happened at that houseparty that have turned my life upside-down, thanks to the meddling of my mother.  It’s the main reason I’m here tonight, besides having the pleasure of your company and to wish you a happy birthday.”

“Careful Tristan,” she said as her cheeks pinkened, “Freddie might have something to say about your flattery.  He and Andrew are both still smarting about your abrupt departure and apparent abandonment of Bella.”

She heaved another sigh, continuing with a subject Ettlesworth knew caused her great pain.  “Things didn’t really seem to change all that much until Freddie returned from Cherry Bloom Court, while Bella was still recovering from her bout with influenza.  She had a much harder time with it than both Lady Emmaline and I.”

Tears clogged her voice.  “For a little while, we thought we would lose her for sure.  By rights she shouldn’t even be here tonight, given the battle she fought at Christmas.  She doesn’t have the strength and she hasn’t been the same since.  Ever since you left, she has been very quiet and elusive, but after her illness she has barely spoken more than three words to anyone.  It has gone beyond worrisome; the silence is consuming her.  It’s almost as though her soul has been broken.”

Tristan’s heart lurched, twisting painfully in his chest.  “This is my fault; I should have come back sooner.  If I had this whole ordeal could have been avoided.”

He ducked his head, avoiding Kitty’s sharp gaze, knowing his heart was in his eyes.  “Damn Angelica.  This is as much her doing as it is my stupidity.”

Kitty took a cautious step back as Tristan swore softly to himself.  Gathering the tattered shreds of his control he faced Kitty once more.  “I’ll leave you with Lady Emmaline, there’s an urgent matter I need to discuss with Freddie and Andrew.”

Tristan was true to his word, delivering Kitty to the safety of the Dowager’s circle and watchful gaze as he went off in search of his two best friends.  As he started to pass through the crowd a sudden thought occurred to him.  Over his shoulder he call, “What is sort of costume is Bella wearing?”

Kitty’s smile was genuine this time.  “She’s a Darkkin Lady.”

For the first time three years Tristan really, truly laughed.

 







     





Chapter Two



Bella felt the change in the air the as soon as He entered the room.  Even though the length of the ballroom separated them, she knew his spirit pulse as well as she knew her own heartbeat.  He wasn’t alone, however; a malignant emptiness seemed to echo from the familiar and hated figure hanging on his arm.  Lord Ettlesworth had been gone three, achingly long years, returning in time to fall into the cunning trap laid be Lady Angelica.

Bella still felt the stabbing pain that pierced her secret heart, threatening to break her, spirit and soul.  She had known the instant Tristan had become entangled, his horror and agony rippled across the single shining thread of the Qvaishini bond they had forged in the few short weeks they had shared together.  Until Cherry Bloom Court and the resurgence of the demons that had plagued her dreams since the slaughter of her parents.  She had Misted that day, the first of the Darkkin since the reign of Queen Elizabeth to do so.

Lady Angelica Sinclair, at the age of twenty-eight had been on the shelf for more than five Seasons and found her pleasure in striking at the hearts of the younger, less favored ladies.  Her words whispered in the sweetest tones carried enough malice and venom to bring even the most confident woman to her knees.  Lady Isabella Miri Moncreiffe was a favorite target. 

Small, dark, and fragile, Bella was a favorite among the ladies of the ton, making her unwanted competition for Lady Angelica.  Isabella’s voice was always soft and her words, when spoken, kind.  She, like the others of her kind, was blessed with the gift of music.  She drew people to her, although more often than not, she sought to avoid them.  The ghosts of her past refused to relinquish their hold.  The barriers she had thrown up around her heart were high and jagged, but not without cracks, Angelica managed to find those cracks and exploit them.

After her Misting at Bloom Court and Tristan’s departure, she had withdrawn from society, finding what little solace she could within the protective circle of her friends and the little remaining family she had.  No one had said much at first because of Tristan, but as the weeks passed their concern grew.  Freddie, Andrew, Kitty, and her godmother, Lady Emmaline fought with her tooth and nail to get her out into the world again.  Bella begrudgingly complied, but she had a few tricks of her own up her sleeve.

Concealed by the larger members of the ton, Bella smiled derisively at herself.  She had told no one about her misting abilities, and apparently neither had Tristan.  That much was at least clear.  Nobody had been able to figure out how she managed to disappear among the other guests almost as soon as she arrived.  At least that had been the case over the course of the last three years, until Lord Ettlesworth had come crashing back into her world just before Christmas.

The strains of his song had grown increasingly faint as Ettlesworth traveled further afield, placing an ocean and more than half a war torn continent between them.  Always his spirit pulse flickered across her awareness like the melody of a long forgotten lullaby.  As long as he was safe, she managed to find a modicum of peace, but the nervous energy of her self-imposed exile still manifested itself.  The posh oriental rugs in her room told the story of her long sleepless nights as she sought to find an outlet for her overabundance of energy.  Long tracts had been worn into the fibers as she paced, relentlessly, Talon at her side.  The long, deep watches of the night once more became a prison that is until she heeded the call of star and cloud.

The first misting had taken her completely by surprise, threatening the iron control she sought to maintain.  Her true heart had other plans; once roused it refused to fall back into the deep hibernation that had held it captive for centuries.  The Darkkin spirit within in her renewed its song and fought for the freedom she had been denied for so long.  Bella held hard against the sway of her Darkkin voice, but it wasn’t to be.  The call of the night was too much to resist. 

Little by little, she began to succumb to the lure of the lost symphony, until one night, unable to stand the confines of her rooms any longer she gave into the call.  The transformation came as easily to her the breath she drew, from lady to mist and shadow in the blink of an eye.  Funneling upward, she circled around the ceiling briefly before drifting toward the French doors that gave out onto her balcony.  Finding the minute crack at the base of the frame she filtered through and out into the wintery night.

She remained amorphous as she sailed away from Taver House and moved higher into the foggy, smoke clogged darkness beyond, seeking respite from the restless energy that continued to taunt her.  The air was still and frigid, daring lesser mortals to brave the night and find the treasure hovering just above their heads.  Quiet and slightly terrified by her unfamiliar form, Bella drifted along with the fog, concealing herself from unfriendly eyes, seeking for something to guide her.  Her racing mind finally began to slow as instinct took over.  The stars beckoned and enticed.

Like liquid smoke, she separated herself from the dense fog and moved higher into the heavy clouds that hovered over the rooftops and maze of chimney floos.  Choked by the thick air, she kept climbing, pushing through the barrier until she penetrated the uppermost layer and found moonlit haven of the clear sky.  Shielded by the sullen clouds below, she did what she was born to do.  She Misted once more, finally embracing her mighty heart and burning spirit.  She was no longer a soft veil of vapor and smoke; she was a creature born of ice, fire, star and song.  She was Darkkin, dragon free and untamed.

Moonlight reflected off an ebony and sapphire kissed amethyst hide, while wings of ice irradiated fire opal opened for the first time, stretching thin to bear her higher into the air.  Her wedge shaped head lifted toward the source of her song, revealing the soft, flame tinged glow of her opalescent underside.  Her head frill and dorsal fringe unfurled, snapping merrily in the glacial air, reflecting the starlight.  Molten amethyst covered her from the tip of her nose across the slender breadth of her shoulders down her back and up the length of her long, slender tail.  Liquid flame tipped her talons and shone like lanterns in the night.  Only her eyes remained unchanged, heated quicksilver that was constantly changing hue, always reflecting, never revealing.

Long, sleek and light, she was smaller and more fragile than many of the Darkkin of the bygone eras, but she was among the most powerful ever born.  Her hide and eyes told the story of the ancient Graces, her kin had endowed her with.  She was only the second, since the original Darkkin queen to possess the abilities of more than a single line.  She was a Zabooku, endowed with the abilities of the Keshilii, the Spirit weavers, the Aquasai, the Water weavers, and the Flamandari, the Fire weavers.  Opposite abilities working together in perfect harmony, she had the sight of the ancient Seers, whose eyes could pierce a person’s soul and look deep into their inner most heart, their greatest fears revealed and secrets exposed.  With a single glance she could reduce a mortal man to tears.

She was born with an intuition that seemed uncanny to most people and knew from a single touch what really lay beneath someone’s exterior.  But on this night, for once there was nothing around her except the stars, ancient melodies, and frozen air.  She hovered at the brink of the clouds for a moment before extending her fledgling wings to their fullest extent and propelling herself closer to the jewel bedecked darkness above. 

The world around her was completely silent except for the faint whisper of her wings pulsing through the night air.  Slowly and softly murmurs of olden songs and broken refrains began to build as she soared across the darkness, leaving the crowded, sooty streets of London behind.  The lost melody took root in her mind and spirit, exploding in a myriad of power the coalesced in a burst of speed and a jet of flame as the young dragon silently voiced her name to the winds.  Naiki.  Flame of the Night.  Memories of kin long dead, buffeted her mind as the instincts of her true form took hold as she embraced her wings and destiny.

From that moment on, she haunted the skies above London feeling out the rest of her kind, all the while cloaking her own presence from them.  She learned the songs of the elements and listened to the smoky whispers of exhumed and splintered gemstones that graced the members of the ton and ladies of the night.  She acquainted herself with the spirit pulses of the other Darkkin, knowing the Graces and Song of each.  There were several that shone more brightly than the rest, but Bella kept her own counsel on these select few.  It was in this world of smoke, song, star and wind she survived constantly aware of the ever changing flow of life below.

The grip of the old darkness began to grow as one season faded into another, but always Tristan’s song was humming in her heart.  She knew he was safe, even in the war ravaged lands Napoleon and the French had left behind.  He had gone, leaving under a cloud of pain and conflicting emotions, looking for answers in the only place he could; the Carpathians, the first home of the Darkkin after the fall of the Mange and the long disbanded kingdoms of the original Ladies and the Gregorian.  It was there he went for the answers that couldn’t be found because none now live who understood what he was going through.  That single touch at Almack’s had cast him into a realm he didn’t comprehend.   

He was a scholar, first, last, and always; it was the only way he knew how to assuage the ache of what could and should have been.  He sought out the old storytellers and the crumbling manuscripts hidden in the long abandoned keeps by former members of the Assemblage.  Everything he read told him the same thing over and over; there was no denying the Qvaishini.  No running from it, no place to hide.  It simply was.  These words written in the flowing script of the old tongue, trickled across the single pulsing thread that connected them.  Even though they were far apart, Bella knew what he read and the peace he sought; she knew he would always return.  It was only a question of when.

The time was to come much sooner than she thought as the swell of the dark gained in power and the glow and songs of her kin slowly began to diminish.  Her nightmares, which had waned for a time as Tristan found a level of peace with himself as he fell deeper into his research, became more prevalent and once more ripped up at her from the void.  Sleep became a place to fear and her call went out.  The songs were fading and the Darkkin had become the hunted. 

The shards of the Mask were close at hand and Bella knew where one of the largest pieces lay, making her a prime target for the remnants of the Mange.  Its minions sought her in the depths of slumber and drove her to skies, where her song exploded into life echoing through the stars and urging Tristan to return.  Night after night, she leapt into the ebony blanket above, spreading her wings wide, shielded from the eyes of the mortals below by the fog that once choked her.  She sang her pain and yearning to the stars.  The weeks continued to pass until finally she garnered a glimmer of Tristan’s song.

The strains of his melody rolled across the single strand connecting them.  He put his books aside, knowing there were some things that couldn’t be found in the pages of a crumbling tomb.  He accepted the fact he couldn’t run any more, but above all he knew he was needed back in England.  The darkness was closing around Bella’s soul as the Mange grew in power. 

The shining connection he treasured more than life itself was beginning to falter as she faded; her spirit incomplete and crying.  He surrendered to fate that night and gave into the urge he had been denying since Bloom Court when she transformed beneath his fingers.  Tristan misted, embracing the beast that seethed beneath his polished exterior.  Green and burnished gold, tipped with hints of ebony, he lifted to the skies and let his song ring through the clear, cold air.  It was the winter solstice.  He unleashed his mighty roar, letting his kin know he was free amid the mountain peaks; he was coming home.  He sang to the moon that night, whispering the hidden notes of the symphony into her dreams.

For the first time in weeks, Bella was able to sleep through the night, the demons held at bay.  Her real smile flicked to life as her soul took flight in slumber.  Her song played from the heart, rich, vibrant and pulsing with life.  She replied to his whispers, urging him to fly and embrace the winds that would carry him back where he belonged.  That night she flew as she had never flown before, her soul swept across the heavens, soaring in unison with Tristan as he began his journey home.  She was a wraith waltzing to the ethereal wonder of dragon song again.  It was a dream Bella hadn’t wanted to end; it was quiet simply perfect, the embodiment of pure joy.

Her world came crashing down around her ears two days later.  Influenza attacked Taver House with a vengeance.  Within hours both she and Kitty were stricken with the illness.  Her godmother, Lady Emmaline was also affected, but wasn’t nearly as ill as her goddaughter was to become.  The invitation to Cherry Bloom Court had to be declined as the ladies began their battle with the virulent bug.  Its hold on Kitty and the Dowager was fleeting, but they remained at Taver House with Bella, who was soon fighting for her life against the fever that threatened to consume her.

         Bella shivered in the sheltered alcove just off the ballroom where she had taken refuge from the crush of people thronging Lord Bellewolf’s masquerade as she recalled just how close she had come to death the day Angelica trapped Tristan at Bloom Court.  According to Kitty and the Dowager, her screams had torn the entire household from sleep and brought them running.  Delirious from her fever and unable to escape the demons that set their claws deep, she finally gave voice to the terror she had forced back for more than fifteen years.  The faces of her parents’ killers loomed large in her mind that night as she fought through the morass of her secrets and bruised spirit.  It seemed as though her wings and heart were destine to be sundered once and for all when something flickered in the darkness.

A single anemic trickle of light flared from the depths of the shadows as her physical vision blurred merging nightmares.  Tristan’s song played distantly in her mind, leading her through the darkness.  His spirit pulse kept her afloat in the vast sea of monsters she sought to cross.  The music was deep and vibrant, a tangible force in the stygian reaches as her fever deepened and reality faded to nothingness.  The silent songs grew, soothing her as nothing else could.  The screams succumbed to the welling melodies and the sleep thieves baulked.  The physical pain dulled as dragon voices worked their ancient magic.  Wings of spirit and soul plucked her from the tide of evil threatening to drown her and carried her back to peace.

Lady Emmaline and Kitty were terrified as they watched Bella struggle against herself, knowing that a battle far beyond their keen was taking place before their eyes.  There was no rousing the broken girl child from the realm that had claimed her.  As worried as the Dowager was about Bella, she also wasn’t a fool; she knew what the young Darkkin was capable of.  Her goddaughter had almost misted on her once before on the night of her parent’s murder.  She was blessed with the most precious gifts of their kind, but with those gifts also came responsibility. 

A major drawback among Darkkin capable of misting was the fact that they had no control over their metamorphosis if they became ill.  They presented a danger not only to themselves but those around them as well.  A dragon in the throes of a fever had proven deadly on more than one occasion.  But the Darkkin hadn’t survived for more than fifteen centuries without adapting.  They knew their weaknesses and knew them well; if they couldn’t see, they couldn’t shift.  Once more, Lady Emmaline blindfolded Bella so she wouldn’t morph and injure herself or anyone else.

Bella felt the soft cloth pull tight across her eyes about the same time she felt the shift in the darkness that shrouded her.  Tristan’s song fluctuated slightly as a deeper foreboding distorted the threads of the melody.  Her own refrain began to slow as the weight of the distortion grew.  The seas of biting dark drew closer again as the atmosphere around her became dense and painful to move through.  Her fragile wings of song and soul couldn’t hold her; they fractured as the full force of the entity broadsided the two harmonies and tore them asunder. 

With wings damaged and song broken, she felt herself fall back into the heavy shadows of her past as Tristan’s support was ripped away.  Pierced to the heart, she recoiled at the icy dagger of evil and wrath that sought to divide them.  The single bright thread that had carried her away from her pain began to fade as his song died beneath the warped entity that trapped him.  It was a presence she hadn’t felt since the night of she was attacked.  Malice, unadulterated and ancient; an evil so great it made grown men scream and monsters quiver.  It was the Stone Hag, free of all masks and guises.  The glittering strand snapped as the Hag took Tristan song and soul.  Bella surrendered to the darkness.

Days passed, Christmas came and went at Taver House, but it wasn’t a merry one.  Worry and despair hung like a sodden cloak over the small household.  Isabella lay upon the brink of death.  The fever devoured what little physical strength she had while the Stone Hag’s claiming of Tristan decimated both her heart and mind.  With her single shard of hope taken from her, Bella had little incentive to fight, until a letter arrived from Bloom Court.  It was written in a neat, steady hand, both Kitty and Bella, had she been able to see it, knew well from the years of correspondence that passed between Tristan and the young ladies while he was sequestered during his studies.

Kitty, who was sitting with her friend when the missive was delivered, had no qualms about opening the letter and reading its contents aloud to fragile figure on the bed.  She didn’t know if Bella would be able to understand her, but it had been six days since she had uttered a sound, six days of silence and a calm as still as death.  The fever mounted as the hours ticked by, the doctor came and went; his face always pained and grim.  His only words to the ladies of the household were to keep faith.  If they faltered they would lose her.  With these words ringing in her head, Kitty opened Tristan’s letter and began to read it aloud.



Bella,



I know it has been more than three years since I last saw your gaze burning a hole through my heart that fateful day at Bloom Court.  The letters I have received from those who know and love us both have told the same story over and over again.  I now know you misted beneath my fingers that day in panic and fear, not rejection.  I, on the other hand, fled to the Continent in a rage, foolishly believing you had simply toyed with my heart, only to toss me aside when it suited you.  For that I can only beg your forgiveness.  I acted like a lout and have justly deserved the pain I have carried with me ever since.  I sincerely hope it hasn’t been the same with you, but knowing the strength of the bond we share I can gather no other conclusion than that you, too, have suffered as I have.  Heartache, deep and pure.

Your song is the only solace I have found among theses crumbling books and war torn lands.  It’s the last thing I hear as I surrender to my dreams and the first thing to call me to wakefulness.  It is the one thing that has kept me going in my pigheaded pursuit of answers.  It is also the answer to the question I refused to acknowledge.  Is there any way to escape a Qvaishini bond?  The answer is no, but a more important question remains.  Why would anyone want to run from something so rare?  This is the question I needed to ask myself.

When I finally faced the truth something amazing happened; the hidden darkness of my soul soared free and the world was suddenly at my feet.  I misted that night beneath the wintery silver of the moon and did what I was born to do.  I found my wings and loosed my song to the stars.  You were right there with me in spirit and song, completing the symphony we began all those years ago.  You led me home.  I found peace with myself that night for the first time since our last dance and counted the days until I would be able to see you again.  Alas, fate has a fondness for twisting fools like me into knots. 

Christmas at Bloom Court was supposed to be a time of joy and renewal for us both, but this wasn’t to be.  A shadow descended upon the Court not long after I arrived, the letter bearing the news that you and the other ladies of Taver House wouldn’t be joining us for the holidays.  The subsequent letters from Lady Emmaline and Kitty have grown increasingly dark.  The influenza which merely made them ill has taken an unexpected toll on you, carrying you close to the brink of death.  There is more behind your collapse than just your illness.  You have felt her touch as I have and now I am imprisoned by her.  I dare not mention her name for fear of another’s eyes straying across these words, but you know of whom I speak.

Your song fades and flickers within my mind even as I write.  I have been trapped into an engagement with Lady Emmaline’s youngest granddaughter Lady Angelica Sinclair.  I am sending you this missive so you will not be blindsided by the announcement, should it be made public.  For the time being, I have sworn both my mother and the harpy herself to silence, allowing them to both assume what they will, while I search for a solution to this problem.  Please believe me when I say that none of this was my doing; I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.  I never meant to betray you.

My heart and song have been yours since the night we first met and you fell asleep in my arms, a scarred angel, small and perfect.  I know things seem like they will never be set right, but I beg you to keep faith in the single thread of trust we spun with our first dance.  Know that my song seeks yours as surely as I breathe.  Ever beat of my heart stiffens my resolve to break free of the morass my stupidity landed me in.  Know and believe that I have always loved you and always will.  The shadows have closed around us, but if we stand together and listen hard, I know we can make it through. 

Night will fade with the advent of the dawn, Bella.  Remember those words.  You whispered them to me that night.  Remember them and know you still have a reason to fight.  The road will be dark and long, but I will always come for you.  So fight, my Bella.  Fight for wing, song, soul, and love.  Don’t leave me to face the world alone.



                                             May the winds lift you high and the moonlight bless you.

                                                                                                     Tristan.



Almost reverently Kitty folded the letter and carefully laid it on Bella’s bedside table.  Tears choked her as she finally began to understand what had passed between her two best friends.  The Qvaishini bond had intended them for each other since their first breath and there was no denying.  Tristan had tried for three years to escape its hold only to find that the bond was what he was missing.  What had seemed like a fairytale at the time truly was.  They had both known the pure joy of love, but with it came the pain of misunderstanding.  Now when things looked like they would turn around, Tristan was a prisoner and Bella lay close to death.

Wiping away the telltale signs of her own pain, Kitty placed a gentle hand on Bella’s pale forehead.  It was damp and cool to the touch.  Fearing the worst Kitty froze and listened for the faint whisper of her friend’s breathing.  She heard it, soft and even.  Bella’s blue black curls clustered around her thin cheeks and soaking brow, against all the odds it seemed as though the fever had finally broken.  Still hoping it wasn’t just a dream; Kitty moved away from the bed and rang for Maria, once Lady Emmaline’s dresser until she seized the role of Bella’s maid and keeper.  The maid answered the summons with frightening alacrity, also fearing the worst.  The look on Miss Kitty’s face gave her pause as she merely motioned toward the bed.

With her heart in her eyes she moved toward her frail charge, pleading.  “Please tell me we haven’t lost her.”

Kitty’s own bright curls quivered in the firelight as she shook her head.  “I think the fever has broken; I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

Maria placed her own trembling fingers on the delicate brow.  A smile split her homely face.  “You’re right, miss.  The fever has indeed broken, but what changed?”

“I know when old Doctor Grimshaw left this mornin’, he was looking as grim as his name.  He didn’t hold out much hope of my Bella making it through the night.”

Kitty’s relieved smile grew misty.  “It was a letter.  Lord Ettlesworth sent it.”

Maria’s dark eyes flashed with ill suppressed fury.  “You mean that rogue who broke her heart and then fled to the Continent?  If I ever get my hands on him, he’ll rue the day he was born, trifling with a gem like my Bella and then throwing her aside.  Man deserves to be drawn and quartered, especially after what happened to her folks.”

Talon growled softly from his place before the fire, a subtle warning the loyal, protective Maria had learned to heed over the years.  It was as if the great beast knew who she was talking about.  Kitty knew how the old retainer felt about the seemingly callus way, Lord Ettlesworth had abandoned her beloved charge.  No one had been more upset than Maria by Bella’s slow withdrawal for society.  She had seen the broken shadow of innocence Lady Isabella had once been.

Kitty broke the tense silence suddenly encompassing them.  “You have a right to your anger, Maria, but in this case I think it’s misguided.  I read his letter; he poured his heart and soul into it.  He loved her then and he loves her now.  It’s the reason he came back.  I read his words aloud and suddenly her fever breaks.  She knew, Maria.  He gave her a reason to live.”

Before Kitty could get any further, the door from the sitting room swung open.  Lady Emmaline walked into the room, her face set and spine stiff, braced for the worst.  “I saw Maria rushing up.  What’s happened?  Have we lost her?”

Both Kitty and Maria smiled as Kitty spoke.  “You my rest easy, Aunt Em; Bella’s fever broke a few minutes ago.  She’s going to be alright.”

The Dowager’s eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the letter lying on the bedside table.  “Tristan finally wrote to her, didn’t he?”

Kitty nodded.  “I read it to her and I think that’s what turned the tides in her battle for life.  He gave her a reason to fight.”

Lady Emmaline moved toward one of the chairs grouped before the fire, having reassured herself, her goddaughter, who after weeks of nightmares, was at last sleeping peacefully.  “I received a letter from Tristan myself today explaining much of what has transpired.”

Kitty’s bright smile faded at her great aunt’s words.  “So it’s true.  He really is engaged to Angelica?”

The Dowager scowled.  “Yes, unfortunately.  The timing fits perfectly.  The day she lost consciousness was the day Angelica caught Tristan alone at Bloom Court; it’s the day Bella’s condition went from bad to worse.  She thought the Qvaishini bond connecting her to Tristan had been destroyed, that he had finally abandoned her completely.  We were here as she surrendered to the darkness; she lost all will to fight.  The scream we heard that night was her final plea to the stars to spare Tristan from his awful fate, for them to take her instead.”