In the room upstairs, she found a wardrobe full of decent garments, a bathroom with running water, and even clean towels. Dragomir Drašković must have kept the house to the best of his abilities, and she wondered why: a man like the Dalmatian Serpent always had ulterior motives. Drawing in a sharp breath, Leudora dropped her torn and blooded clothes on the floor, washed most of her body with the remains of a lavender-scented soap and found some oversized rags to wrap around her shoulders.
A wide wooden bed smelled of damp earth and pines, but beneath it, sandal and mint smothered every other scent. Unable to close her eyes, conscious of the terrified shouts of the gravity-switchers in the forest, Leudora wondered if the Dalmatian Serpent was working on some devious formulas for his new potions in some dark cellar. She found it hard to imagine him sleeping. The ever-present dark circles around his eyes confirmed her hypothesis. If he did manage to rest occasionally, it could not erase the traces of exhaustion from his haggard face. Was he also haunted by the lives he had taken and the decisions he had made?
In her slumber she heard a strange melody: the rhythm was building slowly until it was trotting along, accelerating and slowing down. The music sprinted, each note becoming clear and sharp. Through the music Leudora heard a voice – a familiar Serbian accent and a soft soprano. A woman hovered over the bed, squeezing a fragrant wisteria branch with her porcelain fingers and smiling at Leudora. The image flickered, and Svetozar Galbur's face replaced it. In his hands he was holding a pulsating star heart, laughing like a madman.
In the morning, she woke up feeling smooth fingers pressing the pulse of her wrist. Instinctively she sent a weak bolt of energy through her hands. The porcelain fingers slipped away.
"I see your gift is slowly returning," the Serpent pointed out matter-of-factly, tossing folded black fabrics on the bed. "This will probably fit you, Lady Galbur. I will deliver you to the border in two hours."
"I suppose I will be skipping breakfast today," she winced. Dragomir cast her a dry dispassionate gaze.
"I thought you wouldn't want to consume anything either in my house or in my presence. Given my occupation, that would be a wise decision."
"I doubt you cook better than I do."
"Perhaps, I do. You can't know that."
He walked away, clad in his stained Alka uniform, leaving her alone once again. The long black dress fit Leudora perfectly and left her wondering to whom it had once belonged. Was it Tihana Lovren's favorite outfit or was it something left by a guest or a lover? Preferring not to dwell on the thought, Leudora unpleated the skirt and pulled at the sleeves. It could be worse.
When she entered the living room, a faint flash of surprise appeared and quickly faded in the Serpent's artificial eyes replaced by his usual gaze of superior nonchalance. He accompanied her to the car, this time allowing her to proceed as she saw fit. They drove in silence, each of them watching the other and trying to appear impenetrable and composed. Dragomir stopped the car next to an old olive tree on an abandoned country road.
"You have enough energy to sneak past any border before you reach your relatives."
Leudora left the car silently. The Serpent followed.
"Where did you learn to treat wounds, Lord Drašković?" she asked.
"From Guardian Kara," he replied, approaching her so quickly she nearly backpedaled. Leudora rose on her toes and grabbed the collar of his heavy uniform, nails digging into the thin flesh of his neck. When she almost drew blood, the Serpent neither pulled away, nor resisted. It was Leudora, who withdrew first, swallowing her breath and staring into his perplexed eyes. His sudden confusion amused her.
YOU ARE READING
Byzantine Purple
Fantasía"History is a survivor's tale. It knows no villains. Only failures." A decade ago, Leudora had her major enemies eliminated - the scientist known as the Dalmatian Serpent, and his followers, who sought her people's blood. A ruthless guardian of her...
