Bloodspell (The Cruentus Curse, #1)(15)
Leto, is this why I can't ... die?
The magic protected you when you needed protecting.
Memories assaulted her: surviving the mangled wreckage of her parents' car crash, falling thirty feet from a tree when she was ten without any broken bones, narrowly escaping a skiing accident without so much as a scratch ... there were suddenly too many "narrow escapes" to count. Other than her recent time in the hospital, she couldn't remember being sick a day in her life. The luck of the devil ...
Victoria shivered, and changed the subject.
So my grandmother wasn't crazy after all.
No, but her fear for you was misunderstood. She wanted to protect you.
Protect me? From what?
Leto looked uncomfortable. From yourself. Perhaps it would be better if you read the journal.
And just like that, the conversation was over as he jumped off the sofa and padded to the bedroom. He glanced back at her once thoughtfully and then disappeared into the room.
Victoria stood, stretching her cramped body, and checked the clock. It was two in the morning but she was wide awake. She had completely forgotten about the journal in her grandmother's music box but she knew she couldn't ignore it anymore. She followed Leto into the bedroom, caressing the top of the warm box with her fingertips. She opened it and the soft melody whirred to life.
Leto lay on the bed, his eyes inscrutable, watching her. She lifted the thin leather-bound journal from the base of the box. The same crest was emblazoned on the front of it with the name "Warrick" inscribed beneath it. She traced it with her fingers, not sure what she was waiting for. She knew that the instant she opened the journal, her life would be forever changed. There would be no going back.
"Who are you, really?" she whispered.
The answers were in the journal. She glanced at Leto. His eyes were closed. The decision was hers alone.
Victoria's trembling fingers turned to the first page, the faint smell of gardenias drifting into the air. The first entry was dated May 21, 1602. The writing was painstakingly precise. She took the journal to her bed and began to read, her blood trilling softly.
Lancaster, England: My name is Brigid Anne Warrick Kensington. I am but fourteen and married to a man I have never met. My father thinks the marriage will unite our families and win the King's favor now that His Majesty, King James, is the King of England. I am told that His Grace, Lord Lancaster, is a young man and some would consider him handsome. Mother, I swear to you thatI will be true to our blood! I will honor my new husband though I am a Warrick and will always be a Warrick.
The first few entries described the young girl's life in the home of her new husband, and at first were consistent but then started becoming less and less frequent, until there were gaps as long as a year between entries. The next entry date that interested Victoria came two years later, July 14, 1604. Brigid would have been just sixteen years old.
Lancaster, England. Mother, my son was born last week. He looks like his father, a Lancaster through and through. Even the tiny scowl on his brow is identical to his sire’s. He is a handsome devil. The birth was horrific and painful. I cannot bear to remember it. I shall call him Marcus James Warrick, after his father and our Liege Lord, the King.
There were two other entries, one written on Marcus' birthday, outlining his various accomplishments, learning to walk, talk, first horse, first everything. Her pride and delight in her son were unmistakable. The next entry that concerned Brigid herself wasn't until a year later, dated August 7, 1605.
I have lived seventeen summers today. Something is happening within my body. I can feel the restlessness of my blood. It burns. At night I awake drenched and screaming. Some of the servants think that I am possessed. Mother, I fear I must be. I cut my hand yesterday and the blood was black, shimmering with an unholy luster. It could have been a trick of the candlelight, but it frightened me. There was so much of it, and it bled for hours! I hid my wound for fear of the servants’ talk. My Lord Lancaster is worried for my wellbeing. I try to comfort him but it feels like I am dying. I fear he can see through my lies.
Victoria's heart pounded. What she had been through was the same. The next entry followed quickly on the same page, just a day later.
I am so weak. I cannot eat. My body is feverish. Even as I write these words, my hands shake with cold. The servants come in and out of my room, whispering. I keep my wound wrapped because I know they are all watching with their fearful condemning eyes! Mother, I cannot bear it. This blood is a curse! My Lord Lancaster has sent Marcus to the King’s court for the celebration of his son Henry’s birthday. He refuses to leave my side. O Mother! Help me. My blood is burning.
Victoria noticed that the last words were faint almost as if Brigid had had little remaining strength to pen her thoughts to paper. She could hardly forget the fiery feeling of her blood in her own veins, the same that Brigid had brutally endured, also alone. The next entry was just a year later, written on the anniversary of Brigid's birthday.
Lancaster, England. How things have changed since my last birthday. As you may well discern, I am in perfect health. We are expecting our second beloved child and I am seven months into the pregnancy. I already know that it is a daughter. My Lord Lancaster showers me with his affection. How is it possible to love someone so entirely? He is kind and wonderful. He is my life. Forgive me Mother, but I have told him about my strange new gifts. My Lord Lancaster’s love for me remains undiminished and true.