----------------------------------------
Edward Bensouda set down the pen and pushed aside the parchment, lifting heavy eyes with a sigh of weariness. The midday heat bore down heavily, causing the witch’s red roses to shed their petals, revealing their yellow hearts. The leaves of the great trees that shaded the house curled and yellowed in the fierce sun.
From his spot at the table, Edward noticed these signs of autumn outside, yet his gaze seemed fixed on something within, perhaps evoked by his thoughts. He picked up the quill, bit the end of it, frowned, and then set it down.
Suddenly, a light sound broke the sleepy stillness as the door opened, revealing Thomas. Edward’s face flushed with a smile.
“Well met,” he greeted. “I have much to discuss with you.” He rose, extending his hand, but Thomas only touched it lightly with his fingers.
“And I’ve come because I also have much to say,” Thomas replied, his expression grave and cold. His attire was plain and careless, his demeanor serious as he frowned and played with the buttons on his doublet.
“Take a seat,” Edward offered.
Thomas sat down, his manner tense. “There’s no need for ceremony,” he began, visibly struggling. “I cannot continue with you...”
“You’re not continuing?” Edward repeated, his tone turning sharp. “What are your reasons?”
“May God forgive me for what I’ve done,” Thomas exclaimed in agitation. “But I will sin no more—I’ve made up my mind—and you cannot tempt me.”
“And all your oaths to me?” Edward demanded, his eyes narrowing but his composure intact. Thomas clasped his restless fingers.
“No one is bound to deals with the Devil... I’ve been weak and wicked—but I won’t be part of your evil plans anymore—”
“This is for Jacobea of Martzburg’s sake,” Thomas interrupted.
“It’s for her sake—that’s why I’m here now to tell you I’m done with it—done with you!” Thomas declared firmly.
Edward dropped his hands onto the table. “Thomas! Thomas!” he exclaimed, a mix of wildness and sorrow in his voice.
“I’ve weighed the temptation,” said Thomas, “I’ve considered the gains and losses—I’ve turned away from it, with God’s help and hers—I won’t assist you in the way you asked me—nor will I see it done.”
“And you call that virtue!” Edward cried out. “You’re a poor fool—all it means is that you, alas!—love the lady of the castle.”
“No,” Thomas retorted hotly. “It’s because, having seen her, I refuse to be vile. You’re planning something cowardly—the Emperor is an honorable man.”
“Ambrose of Menthon was a holy monk,” Edward countered sharply. “Who silenced his piety? Joris of Thuringia was an innocent lad—who condemned him to a gruesome death?”
“I did!” Thomas exclaimed fiercely. “But always with your prodding! Before the Devil sent you my way, I had never touched sin except in fleeting thoughts. But you, with your talk of friendship, led me away from honest company to poison me with forbidden knowledge, to lure me into hideous blasphemies—and I won’t have any more of it!”
“Yet you swore loyalty to me,” Edward said. “Is your loyalty so easily swayed?” Thomas sprang up from his chair violently, pacing heavily across the room.
“You blinded me...I didn’t know what I was doing...but now I do; when I—I—heard her speak, and learned that you had tried to ensnare her—”
Edward cut in with a low laugh. “So she told you that! But I bet she didn’t mention the true nature of her temptation!”
“That doesn’t matter,” Thomas replied firmly. “She’s free from you now, just as I will be—”
“As you promised her you would be,” added Edward. “Fine, go your way—I thought you had some love for me, but the first woman’s face!”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Thomas stopped in his tracks to face him. “I cannot love that which—I fear.”
Edward went pale. “Do you—fear me, Thomas?” he asked softly.
“Aye, you know too much of Satan’s ways—more than you ever taught me,” Thomas shuddered uncontrollably. “There are things in this very house—”
“What do you mean—what do you mean?” Edward stood up, his eyes wide.
“Who is the woman?” whispered Thomas fearfully. “There’s a woman here—”
“In this house, there’s no one but Nathalie and me,” Edward retorted defensively, his eyes darkening.
“You lie to me; the last time I was here, I turned back swiftly upon leaving, but found the door bolted, the lights out, all except one—in the little chamber next to this—I watched at the window and saw a lavish room and a woman, a winged woman.”
“You’re dreaming,” Edward replied in a hushed voice. “Do you think I have the power to conjure such apparitions?”
“I think it was some demon lover of yours from Hell—where you came from—”
“My love is not in Hell, but here on Earth,” answered Edward calmly. “But we may end up in Hell together—as for the woman, it was a dream—there’s no lavish chamber there.” He crossed the room and opened a small door in the wall.
“Look—old Nathalie’s closet—full of herbs and charms—”
Thomas peered into the dimly lit room, filled with shelves of jars and bottles. “The magic that could summon the woman could alter the room,” he muttered skeptically.
Edward gave him a slow, intense look. “Was she beautiful?”
“Aye—but—”
“More beautiful than Jacobea of Martzburg?”
Thomas laughed. “I can’t compare Satan’s servant with an angel from Paradise.”
Edward shut the closet door. “Thomas,” he said hesitantly, “don’t leave me—you’re the only one who can move me to joy or pain—I love you, completely.”
“Enough with that love that would damn my soul—”
As Thomas turned away, Edward placed a hesitant hand on his sleeve. “I’ll make you powerful, very powerful...don’t hate me—”
But Thomas looked fearfully at Edward’s pale face. “I want nothing to do with you.”
“You don’t know how much I value you,” Edward insisted in a trembling voice. “Come back to me, and I’ll leave your lady be—”
As Thomas walked away down the long room, Edward crouched against the wall, a mix of defiance and desperation in his voice. “She can scorn ye...defy ye...as I do now!”
Thomas turned back, his tone hoarse with resolve. “For ever,” he declared firmly.
Edward’s demeanor shifted, a cruel gleam in his eyes. “Or until Jacobea of Martzburg falls.”
Thomas’s response was fierce. “That leaves it still for ever.”
“Maybe, however, only for a few poor weeks—your lily is very fragile, Thomas, so look to see it broken in the mud—”
Thomas clenched his fists. “If you harm her, if you blast her with your hellish spells—”
“Nay—I will not; of herself she shall come to ruin.”
Thomas turned toward the door with finality. “When that is, I will return to you, so—farewell for ever—”
Edward couldn’t let him go without a parting jab. “Wait! What of this that you know of me?”
Thomas paused, conflicted. “So much I owe you—that I should be silent.”
“Since, if you speak, you bring to light your own history,” Edward taunted. “But—about the Emperor?”
“God helping me I will prevent that,” Thomas vowed.
Edward probed further. “How will you prevent it? Would you betray me as a first offering to your outraged God?”
Thomas rubbed his brow anxiously. “No, no, not that; but I will take occasion to warn him—to warn some one of the Empress.”
Edward scoffed. “Ah, begone, ye are a foolish creature—go and put them on their guard.”
Thomas bristled. “Ay, I will. I know one honest man about the Court—Hugh of Rosewood.”
The mention of Rosewood caught Edward’s attention. “The Lord of Rosewood? I should remember him; his daughter was Balthasar’s wife—Ursula.”
“She was, and he is the Emperor’s friend, and opposed to the schemes of Ysabeau.”
Edward returned to the table, a sense of resignation settling over him. “Warn whom you will, say what you will; save, if ye can, Melchoir of Brabant; begone, see, I seek not to detain you. One day you shall come back to me, when yon soft saint fails, and I shall be waiting for you; till then, farewell.”
“For ever farewell,” Thomas replied resolutely. “I take up your challenge; I go to save the Emperor.”
Their eyes met briefly, the unspoken tension thick between them. Thomas broke the gaze first, muttered a self-directed curse, and left.
Alone again, Edward sank into his chair, looking dejected and vulnerable. Nathalie entered quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “He has gone? And in enmity?”
“Ay,” Edward murmured. “Renouncing me.”
The witch approached the table, her eyes fixated on the youth’s passive hand as she caressed it with a twisted tenderness. “Let him go,” she murmured in an insidious tone. “He is a fool.”
Edward’s faint smile held a hint of confidence. “Why, I have put no strain on him to stay. But he will return.”
“Nay,” pleaded Nathalie, her voice tinged with desperation. “Forget him.”
“Forget him!” Edward echoed mournfully. “But I love him.”
Nathalie’s touch on his fingers grew more anxious. “This affection will be your ruin,” she warned.
Edward’s gaze drifted beyond her to the autumn sky and the withered red roses. “Well, if it be so,” he breathed heavily, “it will be his ruin also; he must go with me when I leave the world—the world! after all, Nathalie,” he turned to the witch with an unsettling intensity, “it does not matter if she hold him here, so long as he is mine through eternity.”
A flush of passion crossed his cheeks, his lashes casting shadows over his eyes. Then, a sudden smile twisted his features. “Nathalie, he has good intentions; he hopes to save the Emperor.”
The witch blinked, her mind racing. “But it is too late?”
“Certes; I conveyed the potion to Ysabeau this morning.” Edward’s smile deepened, a sinister glint in his eyes.