Bastien by Alianne Donnelly Read Free Book Online

see her.
    When I collapse, broken and bleeding, still craving the hell bitch who has me in her thrall though I can no longer move to claim her, she takes pity on me and gives me the white cup to drink from. She makes me drink it on my own, and I leave bloody fingerprints on the white petals, spilling more out than into my mouth.

    I close my eyes, eagerly awaiting my dreams.
    But she does not appear. The now familiar painted world welcomes me, the lone wolf howling at the moon, the swirling cloak circling me and the rose blooming before me. The woman isn’t there. I pluck the rose from the ground, the thorns gouging holes in my hand. In its place a thorn bush sprouts at my feet, growing and growing until it’s taller than I am, the spikes as long as daggers.
    I awake alone in the clearing. The sky is dark and the white trees glow like lanterns. There is the doorway and the curtain which shields this hellish place from the rest of the world, and I stumble out through it, seeking the hag.
    She is not there.
    On the barrel are my tarot cards and another blood red rose.

    Chapter Nine
    A grain merchant tells me I was in Faery for seventeen days.
    A torrential rain accompanies me on the way home, and by the time I get there I am chilled to the bone. I spend the next two weeks battling a fever that has me chasing ghosts all around the castle. Jacques has to restrain me in the night to keep me from wandering out on the balcony after a hallucination.
    When the fever breaks I curse the visions which will not return. She was here. I saw her running through the hallways of this castle and, though I never caught her, knowing I had her in my home brought me a sense of tranquility that stilled the fervor of Lilith’s influence.
    Now she is gone again.
    This little obsession is driving me to distraction, and I don’t even know why. There was nothing special about the woman I saw in my dreams. She could have been one among thousands, noble or peasant. Yet even among those thousands I know without a single doubt that I’d pick her out in an instant. I craved her when she haunted my fever delusions like a madman chasing after his sanity. Now that she’s gone, I half wish I was back in that state, just to see her again.
    What spell did the hag put me under? Why torture me this way?
    There is a new girl on my staff. Her name is Jocelyn. Pretty little thing. Shy, too. She never looks me in the eye and blushes every time she has to speak to me. I request her to bring me all my meals while I am forced to bed rest. Her flushing cheeks are the only amusement I have, and I take advantage of it at every opportunity with a sly remark here and a mild innuendo there. It doesn’t take much, really.
    When I am strong enough again, I make my way down to the library. I instructed Jacques to have new books brought in and he delivered two hundred new volumes, which undoubtedly cost a fortune. Happily, I have several to spend and the expense is trifling. I peruse the newly filled shelves for something to catch my interest. There is the usual intellectual bore, the dense classics.
    Then my gaze snatches on a volume of folk tales. It’s hand penned like a journal, by an author whose name I do not recognize. I take it with me to the settee and force my eyes to cooperate and read a few pages. Before long I have a splitting headache and my eyes are closing of their own accord. I curse and hurl the book.
    I almost hit Jocelyn and her food tray. “I-I’m sorry, my Lord,” she stutters.
    “What is the point of this fucking library if I can’t even read?” I snarl.
    Jocelyn blushes fiercely at the profanity. She sets the tray down on a table and retrieves the book, smoothing the covers. Her eyes flit briefly to me before she drops her gaze again. This is interesting.
    “Read it to me,” I command.
    “I... I...”
    “You can read, can’t you?”
    “Y-yes, my Lord. A little.”
    Frustrated beyond belief, I huff at her. “Raise your head, child. You’ll