The Blood Confession, page 34
Day twenty-eight, night
"Have any of you heard about the trial?" I ask when all of the servants are assembled. Most of them nod reluctantly.
"We've heard a bit, my lady," the round-cheeked girl tells me. "Have they made any other arrests?" I am anxious at not having seen Sinestra—I have to know if he has been captured. Though even if Sinestra was caught, he would be able to escape the ultimate punishment they could offer.
"I've heard of no other arrests, my lady."
"No other accomplices were mentioned?" They flinch awkwardly at this admittance. "Surely the servants mentioned someone—a young man? They've seen him, I'm sure."
"No, my lady. I heard their testimony, and they said you did the killings alone, with their assistance."
"His name is Sinestra—I can tell you because I'm sure he'll be safe. A tall young man, with very striking dark eyes. Have you heard of him?"
"No, my lady," the meek girl answers, confused and almost concerned. "There has been no one mentioned by that name, or that description."
I'm about to insist that they are wrong when I see it—Sinestra's face appears, only for a moment, in my mirror. It has been so long since I noticed how much he looks like Athenus, the sculpture in my garden. I smile at him and I'm about to say something when his image seems to shimmer.
His features slowly dissolve into my own face.
"Where are you going?" I demand. "Why are you leaving me?" "We're not leaving you, Countess," the meek servant says.
"Don't leave me—after all that has happened, you can't leave me!"
I have no reason to stay with you. His voice rumbles loudly in my ears. I have already given you everything. Now you must live with what you've done.
"Live with what I've done?" I ask, and he answers with a laugh.
His image moves like smoke across the surface of the glass, but as I watch it take shape it changes before my eyes: slowly turning to stone, just like Athenus, his hair encrusted with snow.
It was so easy to know what form I should take to approach you. You told me the first time we met.
"But you were real," I insist. "You were real then, and now you are only a shadow."
I was only ever a shadow, but I was real for you. I'm real for many people. I become exactly what they want me to be; then I make them exactly what I want them to be.
"What about eternity?" I ask, but his laughter nearly deafens me. I cover my ears from the sound but it doesn't help; his laughter is stuck inside my head.
"You... you lied to me," I utter, shocked, before he has the chance to vanish completely. "Everything you told me was a lie."
What is true doesn't really matter.
"Don't tell me that! I believed you. I believed everything that you said."
It was what you wanted to hear. Think of all that I did for you. I fell from the sky to be with you.
I see it streak through my vision: the falling star on the day of my birth, burning a white line of fire through the black night sky, rendering my life in its fiery wake.
"Did you give me the prophecy? Did you make that up, too?" I cry.
I wasn't the scryer, he murmurs. I was the star.
Jesus saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.... Suddenly I feel as though I'm being flung from a black sky, stars cascading through the air around me. I'm falling so far and so fast that I don't know where I'll end up, I don't know when the falling will end. The tower chamber melts away and the cold winter wind rushes by me as I fall.
"This is what is to become of me?" I ask him. "You'll just leave me here?"
I'll never truly leave you, he says consolingly. I created you in my own image. I know where we will meet again. Remember what I told you.
"What should I remember? Of all the things you told me?"
No one knows power until they've witnessed the glory of hell.
With a loud crash I find myself on the floor of the tower chamber, gasping, the circular room spinning around me, the pale faces of servants merely blurs across my vision. I stumble forward to the mirror.
"Then I'm still human, after everything I've done?" I ask him. "I'm human, and mortal?" But his face does not appear in the glass, and there is only silence in answer. The rich, deep voice does not echo in my ear. The silence overwhelms me as I slump to the floor, stuck in the vortex of the spinning. Once the spinning ceases and only the silence is left, I realize that Sinestra has left me forever. What has taken his place is far more terrifying: God is staring down upon me as I sit here on the floor. I can feel His judgment setting fire to my mortal flesh.
When I look up, the servants are all staring at me. I feel naked, suddenly, exposed. I look down to make sure I'm still dressed. I notice that my hands are shaking.
I suppose any life is an eternity if you live it completely alone.
***
Just before midnight, I startled Helena in her bedchamber, twisting nervously before the mirror. She jumped at the sight of me.
"Oh, Erzebet," she said, smoothing her palms efficiently against the satin folds of her gown. "I'm sorry."
"You look lovely, Helena," I told her, and grasped her hand.
"You will make a very elegant bride."
She blushed bashfully, her smile awkward.
"I'm not surprised to find you awake," I remarked. "You're a young girl with many things on your mind."
"I suppose so. I doubt that I will sleep at all."
"I would like to invite you to my tower chamber, to help calm your nerves. I know a variety of treatments that will leave you feeling refreshed, ready for your adventure."
"Treatments?" she asked, one eyebrow lifting sharply.
"Beauty treatments," I told her, "to enhance your complexion and smooth your skin."
From the look in her eyes I knew that I had hit a nerve: her bridegroom had yet to meet his bride, after all. If she were to be found wanting in any way, her entire family would bear the humiliation. If Rudolf's brother was fickle, she could easily be cast aside for a more attractive match. Her eyes seemed to glisten in the firelight.
I held out my hand. Her palm was warm and moist in my own.
"I must thank you again for your kindness," she murmured, and lifted her skirt as we ascended the stairs to the tower.
When we opened the door, the room was warm from the raging fire, and the kettle was already bubbling over the flames. The room was lit with dozens of candles. Seeing Snow standing in the corner reminded me for a moment of her candlelit hut, the pentagrams, the circle of protection drawn around her in the dirt.
"Oh, it's so lovely," Helena breathed, twirling around to inspect the circular chamber. She flinched, surprised, when she saw Snow, and seemed suddenly embarrassed. Snow stood beside a tub with a black grate over the top of it.
"We've prepared a steam treatment for you," I explained, pointing out the grate that she would lie upon. "It will restore your skin."
"Will it make my skin look as perfect as hers?" she asked, her face and neck red with envy. I lifted a finger and touched her cheek tenderly.
"Don't worry, darling. You will be lovely."
Snow remained in the corner as I helped Helena undress. When she stood naked in the firelight a harsh wind began to blow, making the tower seem to sway. She grasped my arm with sudden wariness, then laughed self-consciously. Her arms turned prickly when exposed to the cold air.
"You'll feel better once you lie down," I assured her, and helped her into the tub. "Close your eyes," I said, striving to keep my voice even, measured. The moment Helena lay down, bright flashes of Ursula sliced through my vision, even with my eyes open. This time I could not push the visions away.
"I can see her, too," Snow murmured, moving closer to me.
"Who?"
"I can see all of your other girls." She stared at me with wide eyes. I looked into the mirror and I could see them, too: Anastasia with her golden hair and Ursula soaked in blood. Others emerged behind them, crowding into the mirror's surface. The three most recent kills fought their way to the front, their dark eyes burning in their milk-white faces.
"I see them all the time," I told her.
"You've done this before?" she asked, but did not seem surprised.
"I thought you would have known that by now."
I heard Helena sigh deeply, adjusting her body on the wire grate.
Her eyes were already closed. I handed Snow the blade; her small fingers curled tightly around the silver handle.
"I think I did know," she said, looking up at me. "I didn't want to believe it."
"We all do things we may regret, in order to save ourselves. Don't you agree?"
Snow held the blade in her hand, gazing down at Helena in the tub. For a moment I feared that she wouldn't go through with it. Sinestra appeared from the shadows behind her suddenly, and smiled at me. I basked in the pride of his smile.
"Please help me," I murmured.
"You don't need my help," he said. "You're not alone."
"What did you say?" Snow looked up at me, her eyes questioning.
"I don't want to lose you, Snow. I don't want to lose you, the way I lost your mother." As I said it, I realized it was more than that.
Snow reached out and held Helena's hand, lifting her arm gently from the side of the tub. Her arm was pale as the belly of a fish. The sharp edge of the blade glinted for a moment, then in one swift motion she sliced Helena's arm with a graceful sweep across her flesh. Like an expert. Like a woman.
Helena's eyes flew open and she cried out in pain and fear. When she saw the blood upon her arm, her eyes glazed over in shock. She did not scream again.
"One of us has to die," Snow explained, startling Helena from the sight of her own bleeding arm.
"No, Snow, don't—"
"You will be safe in the eyes of God, I promise you—but I won't. It can't be me." With these words the blade came down again, cutting faster and deeper with each pass across Helena's skin. Despite Snow's small hands, she wielded the blade with surprising force. I watched Helena writhe and thrash angrily in the tub, blood splattering onto the floor. For a moment I thought to stop Snow, but slowly Helena's struggling ceased and she turned heavy and limp. I did not stop Snow. I only watched.
It was breathtaking.
When Snow turned to me, her white gown was wet with blood.
Her chest was heaving.
"And now I am free," she breathed, standing before the tub, but there was still a question in her voice.
"God could not have predicted this," I assured her. "You are freed from the whims of fate. What happens is your decision alone."
I bent to her level and looked directly into her eyes, resting my hand upon her face.
"I am God, here, in this castle. I have created heaven and hell. And I have created you in my image."
The steadiness of Snow's cold gaze faltered when there was a sudden commotion on the stairs. The blade dropped to the ground with a splintering crack. The door flew open and the girls rushed in: Mary, Elizabeth, Althea, and Sarah. They took in the scene before them quickly, not pausing to decipher what had taken place.
"They're coming," Althea blurted out, slamming the door behind her. "They know something's wrong and they're coming."
They held the door fast, all four of them pressing against it with all of their strength. Mary cast a pleading glance in my direction, needing both strength and approval. I smiled at them, but felt somehow removed from the scene. After all, this kill was not mine. Snow stood before the tub, motionless, her bloody hands trembling at her sides. I watched the scene progress as if it were all a dream.
The door gave way, and the girls were thrown to the floor. Konrad was the first to enter, followed by Pugrue and Rowena. They stopped short at the sight of the blood upon Snow's white gown.
"Snow?" Konrad asked; I knew he was uncertain, and that uncertainty stung Snow like a needle in her heart. He moved forward, panting, to look at her bloodstained face. Pugrue's rheumy eyes seemed to melt at the sight before him. I expected someone to scream, but they only stared, their faces white as parchment. I think I've never stood in so silent a room. I looked at Snow and saw the fear return to her face. She clenched her bloodstained hands into fists.
"What has she done to you, Snow?" Rowena cried, then turned to me. "What have you done!"
"We can't let you harm this child, Erzebet," Pugrue told me, his voice old and weak. "I can't let you kill such an innocent young girl. Not when it can still be stopped—and it looks as if we are just in time. Are you all right, Snow?"
"Snow? Speak to me, please," Konrad pleaded, his dark eyes glistening, feverish in the firelight.
"I'm afraid you misunderstand this innocent girl," I informed them. "Just as you've always misunderstood me."
Rowena walked over and pulled Snow into her arms, but the embrace did not seem to register on Snow's blank face. She could not touch Rowena with her quaking hands.
"Snow, did she hurt you? You're bleeding! How has she hurt you?"
But as she pulled Snow forward, the tub was revealed. Helena's head was limp against the side of the tub, her honey-colored hair falling over the edge. Rowena's eyes turned again to me.
"What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything," I assured her. "The girl is dead, isn't she, Snow?"
Pugrue crossed himself and moved closer to Helena, her white skin mottled and grotesque with blood. At Pugrue's tentative touch, a spasm shook through Helena's body. Helena lifted her hand from the edge of the tub. I heard Rowena shriek in fear; Pugrue stood as if carved from stone. Helena lifted her hand, and pointed to Snow. Her head rolled against the edge of the tub, her eyes, barely open, gleamed in the firelight.
"You did this," she said, her voice high and thin. "You will burn for this."
When her hand dropped heavily against the tub, Pugrue rushed to her side.
"No!" Rowena cried, her hand grappling onto Pugrue's arm like a claw. Rowena's liquid eyes pleaded with him, her other arm still tight around Snow. The blood on Snow's hands finally registered on Pugrue's face.
"It's too late for her," Rowena hissed over the sound of Helena's labored breathing. "We can only save one of them—we can only save Snow."
Helena's breath rattled thickly, her eyes nearly shut. My girls lay huddled together on the floor, uncertain whether to focus on Helena, or on my face. Pugrue, Konrad, and Rowena stood in dumb silence, watching Helena die. When she gasped her last breath, I could not help but laugh. Rowena turned her coal-bright eyes to me.
"How could you?" she asked, horror and shame vivid upon her face.
"No, Rowena, how could you? What kind of beast are you? You could have saved her"—I pointed at Helena's corpse—"but you made your choice to save her killer instead."
I looked at Snow, her eyes wide and glassy, her bloody hands still trembling. When she looked at me, I smiled. I knelt beside her and lifted the bloody blade from the floor. I cast it upon the table before me, where it clattered loudly. They all flinched at the sight of it. Only the corpse of Helena remained still. Rowena began to gasp through her tears, but no one else in the room dared make a sound.
"We are as God made us," I told them.
Part Four—The Blood Confession
And always, night and day, he was in the mountains, and in the tombs, crying, and cutting himself with stones.
But when he saw Jesus afar off, he ran and worshipped him.... [Jesus] said unto him, Come out of the man, thou unclean spirit.
And he asked him, What is thy name? And he answered, saying, My name is Legion: for we are many.
Mark 5:5-9
LI
Day twenty-nine, night
They're all angry at me for what I did to the girl. Tried to do, more like it, and failed. Just one meek young girl. Just one drop of blood, pulled out of her soft flesh with a needle—not my weapon of choice. But they all pounced upon me the moment they saw the needle in my hand. Then they even scolded her for trusting me too much, for not getting up from the couch when I sat down beside her.
"One of you left that needle behind. Does that make this your fault?" I asked the round-cheeked girl.
I don't see how it matters now.
Day thirty, day
After countless days of waiting here, Stephan has finally arrived. Even though I've waited so long, I can't help but feel startled. His satin robes glitter like sapphires in the bleak candlelight. The servants hastily fall to their knees upon his entry. I, too, kneel, warily. He steps forward and helps me to my feet.
"Erzebet," he says, "I'm sorry for my delay. Please understand. I'm here to protect the family name."
"Of course," I begin, but he cuts me off before I can continue.
"The noble blood of Hungary can't bear this... impurity. You do understand, don't you?" His eyes flicker for a moment upon mine.
"You need my confession," I state carefully. I glance at the Bible, pages filled with the words needed to explain.
"No," he says suddenly, "you are a Bizecka, daughter of the count. You will not stand trial, and you will not confess anything. I have devised a better solution."
He grasps my hands in his and presses them to his dry lips.
"May God have mercy on your soul," he whispers, and turns to the door. The priest who arrived with him hastily presses a Bible into my hands, all the while nodding and praying a stream of benedictions beneath his breath.
As Stephan and the priest sweep from the room, I notice that my servants follow meekly. When I move to follow them, the door to the chamber is closed in front of my face. I hear the sound of the latch being nailed to the door, the iron bolt dropped into place. Still listening, I hear muffled voices, the grunting of men. The sound of stone scraping against stone, just beyond the door.
"What's happening?" I ask the door, banging my fists against the wood. "What are you doing?"
