Byzantine Purple

The Past Written VII: Through The Eyes Of The Basilisk

Leudora Galbur woke up when a flash of pain burnt through her shoulder like a claw burrowing deep into her flesh. She lay sprawled on a couch, the sleeve of her shirt torn off, sweet-smelling goo trickling down her neck. A white hand with long fingers kept her frame still - narrow palm, transparent skin and white knuckles. She squirmed to get out of his grip as soon as she became conscious enough to sense the surrounding smells, but the Serpent pressed her down, his glassy gaze cold and distant. Leudora shuddered.

"Don't move," Drašković warned her, reaching out to grab a small vial from an old wooden table, "The wound must be stitched."

Barely conscious, Leudora looked around, trying to lift her head and feeling a tight knot in her neck. It was a small room of an old cottage filled with wooden furniture and landscape paintings on each wall. Leudora's charcoal eyes shifted to the vial in the Serpent's hand. "My enhancement is different. Your potions may not work."

Still hovering over her shoulder, Dragomir raised an eyebrow.

"If you are referring to your 'curse', I am aware of its effects. Does that alleviate your concerns?"

"No."

"I cannot help that. But if you are wondering about our location, it is my father's house."

Ignoring the soreness in her muscles, Leudora twisted her neck to get a better view of her surroundings. Spider webs decorated every corner of the room, wooden buffets contained unwashed glass and crystal, three old stools served as a playground for rodents, an old Yugoslav clock from the seventies hung on the wall. A woven tablecloth with once colorful embroidery had long faded.

"Lord Domagoj hasn't been frequenting the place," Leudora said, her voice barely audible.

"No, he has not."

"A shame. Few people around, few distractions. And," she spotted wooden shelves loaded with bottles, "plenty of alcohol... It could be worse."

"Alcohol does not affect my kin." The Serpent shot her a dispassionate glance. Leudora smirked bitterly.

"You haven't tried enough."

Dragomir did not respond, focusing his eyes on Leudora's injured shoulder, his left hand holding a blue vial.

"Anesthetic," he answered her silent question. Leudora shook her head.

"That won't be necessary."

His lips quirked disapprovingly.

"You wish to test the limits of your pain tolerance? I would not recommend that."

She glared at him intently, her lips breaking into a bitter, poisonous grin.

"I have seen the effects of your drugs. You could have already used them on me, of course. But I would prefer to limit the exposure."

"That is not alanit," Dragomir replied drily, "I have disinfected the wound while you were unconscious. Had I truly wished to drug you to the point of you losing your mind, I could have done it with ease. Unlike my numerous relatives, I am a chemist, and I know exactly what each ingredient does and how to combine them. If I don't find the effect satisfying, I make new recipes."

"What terrifying knowledge."

"I thought you appreciated all knowledge."

Leudora avoided his inhuman eyes, feeling cold liquid spill over her shoulder. Strange bluish foam rose over her flesh making it unusually hot. Dragomir held something resembling a needle and a thread in his hand, working his way through her flesh. She watched his long agile fingers dart from one piece of torn skin to another, never stopping, never hesitating. When he turned his left hand, Leudora noticed a deep white line crossing his wrist: only a knife could have left such a deep trace.

"You are efficient," cautiously, Leudora attempted to sit up, "I suppose your detour will be explained by... an unexpected attack. It is not surprising you are late to see your Magisters. You were ambushed... The patrollers have seen the result – all that blood on your dolman."

"Only a splash," he corrected her. Leudora almost cracked a smile.

"A finely crafted lie."

"You are alive thanks to my interference, Lady Galbur," he put his medical kit aside, stood up and approached a small window with lace curtains, leaving Leudora on the couch, "I want this war over. I presume our opinions coincide on this point. I grant you an opportunity to make it so. Tomorrow you will be in Kotor."

"I'm afraid we don't agree on the terms."

Dragomir clasped his hands behind his back, straining his fingers. Leudora did not see his face, but his voice sent waves of icy breeze toward her.

"Your kin will not control the Council any longer. The politics of the realm will be decided by other Offcasts. You'll have to accept that." He turned to her, his glowing green eyes determined and focused. "If you do not, you will lose and perish. I doubt that is your wish."

"It is not," Leudora said drily, "I will convince my cousins to sign your treaty. A loss of life is permanent, a loss of power is..." her voice trailed off, "reversible."

He ignored the subtle determination in her voice. "Make them listen to you."

"Normally they would not. But I am reasonably horrifying to convince them otherwise. The situation has changed."

Dragomir glanced at her oval face, his lips pressed tightly together, forming a thin line. His look made Leudora's heart sink: it was merciless and beautiful as a glittering emerald.

"You have a week, Lady Galbur."

"What if I don't succeed in a week?" she asked cautiously. She knew the answer but wanted him to spell it out.

"Then I will convince the Alka to take over the Council, exterminating most of your kin. I do not lose the battles I start, Lady Galbur."

Leudora knew he was not joking. With difficulty, she rose from the couch.

"Everyone loses sooner or later." She wanted to walk away, but Drašković's voice reached her at the door. She stopped, wincing as if he had slapped her.

"We leave in the morning. I cannot risk letting you go now. Your enhancement is not yet restored. You will most likely be spotted by my people."

Leudora's lips twisted in a disdainful sneer. She turned slowly, only to realize he had materialized behind her back - the Serpent's stealthy moves were difficult to predict. She rose on her toes trying to match his height. To Leudora's irritation, he noticed it, and a shadow of a smirk appeared on his lips. He stepped aside as if he had already won the argument.

"You can sleep upstairs. You will find clothes there. Your current appearance... is not particularly impressive. I suggest you wash yourself before facing your relatives. And keep water away from the wound."

He approached a half-open window and stopped abruptly as if succumbing to a petrifying spell. Leudora watched him with faint anger and grudging admiration, her breath silenced by the whir of propelled wind. The bleak darkness beyond fascinated him, marking his face with an ethereal kind of grace born from a dance of shadows.

"You thought of killing me before, I am sure. You may take your chance now if you wish to." He uttered pensively.

"That would make no sense at the moment," Leudora replied, watching cold amusement appear and fade in his unnatural eyes.

"Indeed." He nodded, the knot of his fingers tightening behind his back. "The payment will come. If not now, then – later. From your hand or from another."

"You will pay not for your cruelty but for your mercy," she said with grim certainty, "The latter will be your downfall."

"Maybe so," he agreed calmly, "That does not change the outcome."

"You are playing with fate, Lord Serpent."

"Not with. Against." He shot her a long piercing glance. Leudora tilted her head and turned on her heel, heading to the stairs.