CHAPTER TWELVE

Farewells

---

Rebecca waved her fists in the air and let out a shriek of relief. Exultantly she cried, "We found it -- I can see the staircase now!" Catherine did not heed her cry. Snow piled around her feet as she stood alone between two frost-caked pillars. Her head was tilted back and her eyes were closed, for she listened to a vibration that only she could hear.

"We’re almost safe," pleaded Rebecca, blowing on her cold hands.

"Shhh." Catherine raised one hand for silence.

Rebecca had been patient long enough -- far too long, in her opinion. "I’ve taken a good deal of nonsense from you, and I’m going up those stairs."

"Go on, then," said Catherine, dismissing her with a wave. "Leave me here."

"Are you mad? We’ve already been down here for hours. I’d rather risk another earth-tremor."

Catherine looked at her sister then, and her eyes were wide and dark. "Something has happened to Vincent ... I can feel it."

"Good!" Rubbing her arms, Rebecca took another step toward the cliff-stair.

The bond tightened in Catherine’s soul like a wire pulled to breaking point. The straining connection hurt her physically. "He’s in dreadful peril. He may be dying."

"That solves several dilemmas. Now you and I are going back up."

"I have to find him." Catherine whirled and ran back to the hole in the wall. Kneeling, she could spy a narrow rope and plank bridge over a yawning gulf.

Rebecca stamped her foot and let out a string of words her father didn’t know she knew.

Fuming, she dropped to her knees and followed Catherine through the gap. "Fine. Wonderful. I’ll go with you and we can both be devoured by snakes."

The planks of the bridge creaked with each step. A board splintered under Rebecca’s foot; she clutched madly at the rope railing. It swayed sickeningly with every gust of wind from the bottomless depths. Weird moans drifted with the winds.

"Do you have any notion where you’re going?" Rebecca queried, holding tight to the rope. She didn’t dare look down. Vapor boiled up from the depths and made faces at her.

"I’m following my intuition."

"Isn’t that interesting. Who is going to explain to Pascal that I vanished forever in a dungeon beneath a magical castle while trying to help my sister rescue a beast?"

Catherine paid no attention. She raced on, guided only by the bond that linked her to Vincent. The taut wire was about to snap and in her heart was a growing terror that Vincent had reached the breaking point, too.

The last boards were spiked to a rock ledge; the rope ends twined around a tooth of stone. As soon as their feet touched solid ground, the earth dropped away and another gulf appeared. Out of the foggy air, a bridge materialized to cross it.

Rebecca paused and swallowed hard, for this was hardly a bridge at all, merely a horizontal ladder of rough twigs stretched across a gulf that curdled with smoke. Catherine didn’t hesitate, and Rebecca had no choice but to follow, grimacing with each careful step and hoping it would not vanish as suddenly as it had appeared. She tried not to look down, for the spaces between the twigs revealed a fathomless pit.

The ladder ended at a ridge of granite; Catherine expected a third bridge, but instead found a hunched tunnel chopped from raw earth that stretched into darkness.

Dirt rained down on Catherine’s hair and shoulders as she ran on. The damp earth smelled like a grave. Twisted roots coiled down from the roof like crooked fingers. Clumps of dirt heaped the uneven floor.

Rebecca glanced back toward the ladder, trying to memorize its location. It was mad to continue on, but there was no point in arguing with her sister. She gritted her teeth and vowed once again to stand by Catherine until she could get her back to sanity and safety.

Without warning a rose-carved door appeared in the rough earthen wall.

"What is it?" asked Rebecca.

With her fingertips Catherine touched the letters of her name. "A place I know very well." Inch by cautious inch she pushed open the door. To her astonishment, she saw a blue-draped bed, an alabaster fireplace, and bookshelves with rolling ladders. There were moon inlays in the marble floor and silver stars painted on the ceiling. Diamond-paned doors stood a little ajar.

"Now this is more civilized," said Rebecca. "This one I’ll explore with you."

"Stay here," Catherine said, and waved her back. Step by step she crossed the polished floor. A silver cup on the mantlepiece held a white rose tipped with red. Her embroidery hoop waited on its stand by her chair. The wardrobe doors were open, revealing a spectrum of glorious gowns. Everything was as it should be, except that her chamber used to be on the second floor above ground and now it was buried deep in the dungeons.

Warily Catherine pushed open the balcony doors, not knowing what she might find. There was her little round table and its two chairs. White roses waved over the balustrade. She glanced back to speak to Rebecca and got the shock of her life. Something was moving under the blue quilt. The coverlet slithered to the floor. A figure sat up on the other side of the bed. It was a woman in a white shift. Soft brown hair fell over her shoulders like brook water. The woman turned her head and Catherine saw her own face -- with a cat’s eye above a single human eye.

Catherine let out one scream and ran for the rose-carved door. It was closing. The thing on the bed reached out arms that became longer and longer.

"Hold it open!" she shrieked.

Rebecca braced herself on the threshold. The door crushed her shoulder; she gritted her teeth and held her ground. Catherine careened into her and they both went flying back into the earthen tunnel. The carved door slammed shut and then it was gone. There was only a dirt wall with a few clods rattling down.

Moaning, Catherine got to her hands and knees. "Did I hurt you?"

Rebecca sprawled on her back. Awkwardly she sat up and then stood to examine new rips and smears in her pink silk gown. "I was planning to be married in this."

"Vincent is near, I can feel it," said Catherine. On the edge of tears, she stared around the tunnel.

"Oh joy. Oh rapture," said Rebecca, smoothing her ruined skirt.

"I can’t help believing he’s right here." Catherine moved along a few feet, then reached up to the crumbling dirt roof and began to pat it with the palms of her hands. Rebecca simply crossed her arms and watched her.

Dirt trickled between her fingers as she stroked the tunnel roof, examining every lump of earth and every crevice. Small stones rained down; she wiped her eyes, which burned with grit, and kept on searching. She tugged hairy, crooked roots -- they wouldn’t budge. Abandoning the roof, she knelt and explored the earthen floor, looking for anything, finding only handfuls of gravel.

"You believe he’s in there. In the dirt." Rebecca’s eyebrows lifted.

"He has to be. I feel it."

"If he’s buried, he’s dead."

"Don’t say that!" She stood again and in desperation began to claw the wall. She had nothing to go by but her own soul’s conviction that told her he was nearby, and only barely alive. Her scraping fingers dislodged a rock that tumbled to the floor. Shining in the crevice was a tiny gold keyhole.

Catherine fumbled in her pocket and brought out her golden key.

"It’s a trap," Rebecca warned her. "It will seize you."

"Let it try -- let it just try." With trembling hands she inserted and turned the key. Deep within the tunnel wall, something clicked. On silent hinges a door of stone blocks swung open. She could see a square vault and a huddled form in one corner.

Catherine uttered one cry and threw herself down beside him, lifting his head a little. His eyes were closed; he didn’t seem to be breathing.

"Vincent!"

He heard, as he would always hear if she called; and a weak gasp shook his chest. Supported and held closely against her heart, a faint warmth went through him.

Instantly he felt himself clasped more closely. "Thank God -- I’m only just in time!" she whispered with an almost fierce tenderness.

He turned, weakly coughing, and hid his face upon the breast that supported him. The air drifting in from the shaft smelled of dampness and raw earth, but it was life to him.

His failing heart began to beat in great bounds and leaps that shook his body. He tried to speak to her, to whisper her name, but he could only choke and struggle for breath, while she held him tightly, giving him her strength as he had often done for her. Lying in her arms he felt the tide of life turn in him and steadily flow again. After a while he found voice to ask, "How did you ... find me?" He could hardly believe he was still alive. "I thought I’d gotten to my ... last hour."

Her face was as pale as his. "I knew you were in peril, I felt it within myself. I followed you." She did not tell him of her own irrational terror, her mad chase up one bridge after another, searching for the source of his danger.

He tried to breathe more deeply and his body convulsed with coughing. She gripped him closely. A shadow of fear still darkened her eyes. "I was never going to stop searching."

Rebecca saw the look he gave her in return -- a look of pure and aching gratitude. Its poignancy struck her and she glanced away, embarrassed.

A thought struck Catherine. "My key opened this vault, but only from the outside! How were you caught?"

His voice was a thread. "This is a magical place. There are turrets and dungeons I dare not enter myself."

With a groan, he drew another deep breath. She brushed sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead; he leaned his cheek against her hand.

"Lie still a little longer," she begged him, but he knew they were not alone, and the blessed moment had passed. With difficulty he got to his hands and knees, and then to his feet, supporting himself against the wall. There were streaks of blood where he’d slammed his fists against the stones in uncontrollable panic.

Rebecca blocked the doorway and propped her fists on her hips. "I didn’t believe her, but Catherine knew where she was going. So you’re the ... the one. The whatever of the castle."

"I am." He managed a bow that was rather impressive under the circumstances. It made him dizzy and he caught himself against the wall. "And you are Rebecca, I presume. I’ve heard many astounding tales about you."

Rebecca had been expecting a monster with spider heads or flaming antlers. What she saw was a very tall and very powerful being, with an unusual, noble face. His blue eyes were steady and true; and there was a warm note in his rasping voice.

"About me? What did she say?" Rebecca glared at her sister.

A smile quirked one corner of his mouth. "That you beat all the young men of your village in a swimming race."

"That’s true enough," Rebecca said, trying not to smile.

He searched his reeling mind for further stories. "That ever since the blacksmith’s apprentice ran away to sea, you help him shoe horses."

"I work the bellows sometimes -- I like helping with the big plow horses."

"And Catherine tells me Pascal is a very fortunate man."

"I tell him that all the time," she said, and a grin lit her dirt-streaked face.

Catherine hugged her hard. "You see why I couldn’t give up."

Rebecca’s smile faded a little. Vincent was a pleasant surprise, but that changed nothing.

They all three came out into the tunnel and the ashlar door swung closed. As they watched, it became once again a part of the dirt wall.

Catherine shuddered, saying, "We came down to find shelter from an earth tremor but we found only horrors."

"I never come down here, every turn is a trap," he said.

"You did, though," Rebecca pointed out.

His expression registered surprise. Did Rebecca think he’d sit in the arbor and eat grapes and wait to see if they came up safely by themselves?

"You and Catherine were here. I’d go a great deal farther than the dungeons and dare a great deal more than a stone vault, to get you out."

Rebecca snapped, "Instead, we got you out."

"That’s true enough," he admitted. "And I thank you both with all my heart."

She looked him up and down. "Why are you only wearing one boot?"

"The other was left behind with the snakes," he answered.

A shudder ran through her. "I’d let the snakes have the whole castle, and get a thousand leagues away from here."

He didn’t like the tone of her criticism, and retorted, "You shouldn’t have come below."

"I agree with you wholeheartedly." Rebecca could no longer see the ladder-bridge at the far end of the shaft. "Are we lost again?"

"No. I believe I know where we are."

The earthen shaft began to spiral upwards. Their progress was slow, for his brush with death had weakened him. Walking alongside Catherine, he looked down into her face. Rebecca was right behind them; he spoke very softly.

"I know they came to take you back."

She met his gaze, and in that instant they understood each other perfectly.

Instead of answering in words, she let the back of her hand brush his. That simple touch eased a clenched knot inside him.

The tunnel came to an end at a cliff-stair that led up to a crack of light.

Rebecca was suspicious. "Is this the right one? There’s no icy dome."

"It moved," he explained. "Up you go, and you’ll find yourself in the entry hall."

They helped each other up the steep risers, pulling and hoisting. It wasn’t long before they pushed through the wall-panel and stood together in the torch-lit hall. Through the open doors, cool night air wafted in. Though they were above ground again, and safe, Vincent didn’t have time for a sigh of relief. A tall man in crimson was coming in from outside.

Gunther stopped short with a startled cry, then ran up the marble steps to confront his enemy. One smooth motion, and a rapier gleamed in his practiced hand.

Catherine leaped to shield Vincent from the swordpoint, but he held her aside. A flare of emotion leaped between the two men; pure hatred. The point touched Vincent’s chest; when he didn’t move, Gunther laughed shortly and twirled his sword.

In a tone of lisping mockery he spoke to Rebecca. "Its ugliness was not exaggerated, but I thought it was thupposed to be formidable. I shall thimply run it through and then we shall do as we please with Catherine."

Vincent had hated that smooth, sneering countenance since he’d first seen it on the ivory miniature. A flash of his curving teeth shocked Gunther back into his fighting stance.

"Catherine will do as she pleases," Vincent growled. "I’ll see to that."

"Oh! It thpeaks! What other tricks can it do?"

Rebecca tried to hold the two apart. "Gunther has a sword, Vincent has magic, let’s just call it even, shall we?"

Gunther reviled him. "It has no magic. If the monster had any powers it would provide itself with a human face. Unless such hideous deformity is the price exacted by the demons for the thpells it possesses. Perhaps only death will break the hold it has over my beloved. If that is so, stand aside, Rebecca." Once again he flourished his blade.

Catherine interrupted angrily. "Am I here in this room? Do I have any say in this matter?"

Instantly changing his tactics, Gunther lifted her hand to his lips. "My darling, yes, of course. But you aren’t yourself. The creature has bespelled you. Allow us just this once to think for you."

Vincent grated, "Is that what you all believe? That I bespelled her?" A red fire leaped behind his eyes; his hands curled into weapons; he could barely hold himself back. At that moment the beast in him was predominant, overwhelming. He was furious with the madness of a cornered animal.

"Otherwise how could she hesitate?" Gunther retorted, pressing another gallant kiss on her hand. He knew the caress drove the monster to the brink of fury, and he smiled to himself.

Fearing a bloody battle, Catherine withdrew her fingers from Gunther’s clasp. The enmity between the two men was not flattering -- it was terrifying. Never had she seen either of them so enraged. In Vincent, especially, it was shocking; for she had thought of him as a gentle soul.

He knew that Catherine was taken aback by his rage, but it was beyond his power to control. Never had he felt such red, boiling fury. There was a deep growl in his tone. "I do not fear your sword, and moreover, if you attempt to force Catherine into the boat, I’ll feed you to the snakes."

Gunther’s handsome face twisted with distate. "Such threats do not frighten me."

A red gleam of savagery leaped up in Vincent like a smouldering flame, ready to meet the fierce white heat that confronted him. "I expect you can tell the difference between a threat and a vow."

Rebecca still stood between, holding them apart at arms length. "Gunther, your sword isn’t needed. Vincent can be reasoned with, and we can count on Catherine’s good judgment."

It had been Vincent’s hope that he might gain Rebecca’s friendship, and her defection hurt him deeply. "Reasoned with?" he repeated.

Stricken, Catherine turned to her sister, her natural ally. "I thought you understood."

Rebecca hugged her and held on; "I do understand. Listen to me without saying anything. It’s very nice that you’ve befriended Vincent, it’s just like you and you should be proud of yourself. You named him and civilized him and taught him manners. He’s almost like a person now."

Catherine felt Vincent flinch, and interrupted angrily, "He is a person!"

"Now, now, it’s still my turn. Listen to me. The banns have been read and I’m to be married in five days time." She spread her fingers to indicate the number. "I want you there! My gown and Laura’s are half finished. The food has to be prepared. Do I have to cook the entire feast? Am I going to have to decorate the church myself? You can’t desert me now."

"It’s a simple ceremony -- you don’t need me there." She hadn’t expected such an assault from Rebecca; guilt stabbed her through and through.

"Oh yes I do!" Rebecca exploded. "Ever since Pascal began courting me, you and I have been planning this wedding. You can’t leave me to do everything on my own."

She knew that Rebecca was playing unfairly on her feelings; still the guilt was a twist in her soul. "Laura will help you ... "

Rebecca pressed her advantage mercilessly, signing as she spoke. "Have you given a thought to Papa? He can’t manage without you. His accounts are in a dreadful muddle. He doesn’t know what’s owed and what’s paid. You know they nearly took the house away from us last year, until you went through the papers and proved he paid that big debt."

It was a terrible memory. Men had been carrying the furniture out when she found the papers. She made a weak pushing-away gesture. "But Laura could keep the accounts ... "

"You can’t throw everything on Laura. She needs you, too -- when I’m married and gone she’ll have no one who truly understands her language. She’ll be alone in the world. Vincent got along perfectly well before you arrived. He’s a magical being, he can’t need you the way we do. We can’t manage without you, Cat-Cat." She swallowed a sob and wiped her eyes angrily; she hated to cry.

Crushed by the sudden weight of her home duties, Catherine covered her eyes. She hadn’t been thinking about Laura or her father. Her own family had slipped from her mind. "Don’t do this to me."

Rebecca spun and spoke earnestly to Vincent. "There’s nothing for her here. If you care about her, let her come with us."

"The decision is not mine. Catherine is free," Vincent said. With a world of trust in his expression, he looked down at her and smiled. His heart lurched painfully and his smile died, for she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Despair closed around Catherine like the blackness of the night beyond the open doors. She was drowned and paralyzed by it. "Is there no one on my side?" she whispered.

"We’re on your side," said Rebecca, coaxing her. "Haven’t we always been?"

"Then why won’t you let me choose my own happiness?"

Rebecca rubbed her cheek against Catherine’s shoulder. "Your happiness is at home, with us. Not in a castle full of snakes and trapdoors. Don’t you know that?"

Racked with despair, she pulled away from all of them. "I thought I knew, but now I’m not sure."

Vincent stared at her in disbelief. A fist slammed into his chest; suddenly he hadn’t the breath to speak. Was he ‘almost a person’ to Catherine, too? Was it possible they could persuade her? Why had she given him back his life if she wasn’t going to stay?

He had to get a message to her -- one the others could not contradict or mock. "I don’t want it back. Keep it forever. You don’t have to decide so soon."

Catherine remembered and reached out her arms; Rebecca blocked the gesture, saying, "Our family has always been one for all and all for one. We stand together. We help each other. Our unity has never been broken. I refuse to believe you’re going to break it now."

There was a long pause before her lifeless answer came. "I suppose I ... must not."

‘Must not.’ The words rang a slow death-knell in Vincent’s mind. ‘Must not.’ His lips moved silently, repeating them.

Rebecca put a hand on his sleeve, coaxing him. His arm was rigid. "She’s holding back only because she doesn’t want to leave you behind. Come with us." Gunther made a move; she motioned him back violently.

The silence that followed lay on Vincent with the weight of something final and irrevocable. It seemed to be crushing him down like his own gravestone. In all the wide future he saw nothing that would ever lift that load from his heart.

His voice clogged. "There is no place in your village for a being such as myself."

"I should think not!" Gunther scoffed.

Vincent ignored him. "I’m not certain I could even survive outside this enchanted realm. Your offer is meant kindly but it cannot be."

There was another long and appalling pause. Then from Catherine came a faint whisper. "Couldn’t you try?"

He froze. The room vanished except for a little whirling light in front of him, and her face. Her entreaty was a slow pain, growing inside him with each second. He willed his face to turn to stone. In front of these strangers he couldn’t let it show. The wrenching disbelief. The devastation. "You ... want to leave?"

Gunther threw his head back and laughed harshly. "Listen to that tone of wonder. The creature is actually surprised."

Catherine’s back was against the wall. Her voice was as gray and exhausted as her face. "I don’t want to leave. I’ve been happy here -- so happy I forgot my obligations at home. Completely forgot them all. Do you know how that makes me feel? I must do what’s right -- I must -- and I don’t know what that is any longer."

Gunther sheathed his sword, reached his arms around her, and drew her close, making soothing sounds. Half of what he said was intended for Catherine, and half was aimed at Vincent. "There there, darling. Don’t be afraid, its power over you will fade as soon as you’re in the boat. I have a surprise for you. When the banns were read for Pascal and Rebecca, I had them read for us, too. We can be married as soon as we step off the boat. When you’re the lady of the manor this will all theem like a bad dream."

Jealous rage ran through Vincent’s heart and mind and back again, filling him with fire.

She made a feeble attempt to push him away. "You’re tearing me apart, I don’t know what to do."

That was all Vincent needed to hear. He lifted Gunther by the collar, shook him like a rat, and hurled him against the paneling with such force that a couple of mounted skulls crashed down. "Until Catherine makes up her own mind, take your hands off her."

"Brute!" cried Rebecca.

Gunther spread his empty hands and showed his teeth in a smile of satisfaction. His eyes were cold and hard as a winter sky. "Still not quite tame, darling."

Wrath overmastered Vincent. He gripped the front of Gunther’s beribboned doublet and swung his arm back for a deathblow.

"Stop, stop, you’re torturing me, all of you," said Catherine, in agony, and seized his upraised arm.

Releasing Gunther was the hardest thing Vincent had ever done. He stepped back, panting with rage. "No one will stand in your way, Catherine. Trust me for that."

Charles had been eavesdropping; now he slid through the doorway. His teeth chattered with fear as he knelt before Vincent. "Let her go. If you demand revenge, I’ll surrender myself." He inched his wounded arm from the sling and clasped his hands in prayer.

Gunther saw the effect the gesture had on Catherine. With a gallant flourish, he, too, went down on one knee. "Everything I have is yours, darling. All of us are pleading with you. Begging you."

Tatters of pink silk spread across the floor as Rebecca knelt, too. "You’re the center of our lives, Catherine. We miss you so much. Free yourself and come home, where you belong."

Catherine couldn’t bear to see her father begging. "Don’t kneel to me."

"I’m not getting up until you promise to come home, no matter how it hurts my old bones. Papa loves his baby girl."

Sobbing, Rebecca clutched her coral skirt. "Don’t you love us any longer? Don’t we matter to you?"

Catherine pulled her skirt free and clutched her head with both hands. It had all seemed so simple when she rescued him from the vault of stone. Now everything she valued had been woven into a snare, a tangled net she could not escape. "You’re killing me, all of you. Vincent, help me. Walk with me."

She stumbled out the main doors, and he followed her. Gunther would have joined them, but Rebecca held him back. She had faith in Catherine’s good judgment.

The night air was cold and foggy. Wreaths of mist shrouded the trees.

Catherine said nothing at all as they walked side by side down the cedar-shaded avenue. Her hands were clenched together; she kept her eyes on the ground. Vincent stared straight ahead, but he was aware of every slightest move she made; the curve of her cheek, her downcast eyes, the droop of her shoulders. He had a sudden passionate wish that the avenue would never end, that somehow they could simply keep walking like this forever. Forever. But that was not to be.

They both were silent, lost in their own painful thoughts. This once, he didn’t want to know what she was feeling, but pulses from her anguished spirit battered his soul.

After a time they found themselves turning left down a flight of terraced flagstone steps, alongside which a little waterfall tumbled. Vincent sat down and she found a place beside him.

A strange thought came to him then. ‘She hasn’t said it yet. Until she speaks, there is still a chance. The end may be coming but it hasn’t come yet. She might say anything. Remember this moment ... it may be the last.’

She looked away into the night. There was a long, long pause before she spoke. "I was hoping they’d stay a few weeks. So that we could show them the castle and we would all become friends." Tears were running down her face.

He’d hoped that, too; but Rebecca had shown that wish to be an illusion. "It seems that is not their plan."

Her voice was very low and hopeless. She plucked at the braid on her skirt. "Staying for a while is not what they have in mind. I think they mean to go tomorrow morning." A sharp sob rose in her throat and choked off her words.

Vincent said nothing; there was nothing to say. It was taking all his self-command not to kneel to her himself and add to her torture with more pleas. He thought, ‘You should have left me in the vault. It would have been an easier finish than screaming myself to death after you’re gone.’

"Oh, Vincent." Her face was bloodless.

Through the bond he felt everything she was feeling, and it turned him sick. His throat was suddenly parched, and he had to swallow before he could speak. "I lost my self-control there in the hall. I shouldn’t have gotten angry."

"Yes you should have. He was baiting you."

He rested one hand on a fold of her outspread skirt, and wondered at his own daring. He excused himself with the thought, ‘Only just this once.’

Gently he asked her, "What is your heart telling you to do?"

She caught back another sob and rubbed her face wearily. "I don’t know! It was so simple before they came. You and I were becoming heart-friends ... it was easy to be happy. And now I’m completely confused. They’ve thrown so many things at me at once. It’s all rushing back to me now -- everything I left behind when I rode into the forest."

He listed them for her. "Your home, your friends, your happy life."

"It isn’t even that. It’s the duties I have that no one else can fulfill." She made a despairing gesture, and the hopeless tears welled up again. "To think that my old father braved such ghastly dangers because he thought I needed rescuing. I have no defenses against that sort of love. I know he needs me at home. He buys and forgets to pay; sells and forgets to collect. Laura needs me, too. Rebecca and I are the only ones who can converse with her. And Gunther -- I don’t know. I never accepted his proposal, but I never turned him down, either. But then I think about you ... and how solitary you were before I came."

His sense of inevitability turned his body to stone. They had become so close since she discovered him in the keep that the arrival of Charles and the others had failed to devastate him. He had been anxious, of course, but there was a burning core deep within that told him there was a chance. He had been deluding himself. There never had been any chance.

"At stake is your life’s happiness, Catherine. And I think your real life is not here."

She curled her fingers around his clenched fist and whispered, "What about you?"

Vincent had been courageous often, but never more than at that moment, when he drew his hand away from her touch. "The hours we’ve spent together I can never forget. The friendship we’ve shared would be enough to get me through." What he could never forget was loving Catherine more than he had thought it was possible to love anything on the earth.

There was something of tragedy in her silence, something of despair. At last she whispered, "Would it be enough?"

He stared blindly out at the night and cast his thoughts back. A moment earlier, they had been sitting quietly side by side, and he still had hope. That moment was over now, and it would never come again. "I think your decision has been made."

She looked down at the ground. "I don’t ever want to hurt you. But I can’t stand to see them begging."

He had retreated so deep inside himself that his voice and gaze were calm, even tranquil. "I understand why you can’t bear that. You have a generous nature, Catherine."

Her tone was broken. "I didn’t know they loved me that much."

He could have said it then, everything he was feeling, but she was suffering enough. Conflicting loyalties were already tearing her apart. "They apparently do."

She looked at him and tried to speak, but she was voiceless. Her pale lips moved without sound. At last she said, "It seems to me I have to go."

She saw his emotion for an instant; his face contorted, then controlled again. He stood. Somehow.

"It will be a dangerous journey down the river." He drew an uncertain breath and continued, a word at a time. Each one felt like a drop of blood. "But dangers and difficulties have never held you back. That’s because you’re the bravest woman the ... gods ever put on the earth."

The top of her head only reached his shoulder. "Oh, Daredevil. I’ll miss you terribly. If it’s right for me to go, why does it hurt me so much?"

He wasn’t going to survive this. He could feel his heart dying. "You must go. It’s your dream. No -- your reality."

She reached her arms around him, held him tight. "Don’t let the garden go to ruin."

"I’ll -- look after it."

"I will remember you. Always, always."

"And I will ... " He couldn’t go on.

Catherine covered her face with her hands and ran through the long grass toward the entry way. She was sobbing uncontrollably.

Without knowing what he was doing, he took a few steps in her direction, as if to call her back. Everything receded in the distance. He made a noise, but couldn’t hear himself. His legs gave way and he dropped like a stone.

Face down on the grass he sprawled motionless, one arm flung out, the other under his head, in the position of a man who had fallen from a great height.

It was a deep, deep unconsciousness. So deep it was like dying. He was submerged in heavy darkness, without movement, without thought.

***

Time passed. Very slowly, like fish from the deep sea, his thoughts rose to the surface. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but blackness. He blinked and looked again. The blackness was night. He was lying face down on damp, rough grass.

"Why ... I fainted. How odd." Battling dizziness, he got to his hands and knees. His pulse was a hammer behind his eyes. What had happened to him?

He crawled across the grass and the flagstones to the edge of the waterfall and splashed water on his face. "There, that’s better," he said, but it wasn’t.

He sat on the step, his hands dangling over his knees. Racking his mind, he found nothing that could have caused such a collapse. There was a pain, but it was not in his body. It was a sort of unfocused panic, a snowstorm in the back of his mind.

He rubbed his pounding temples. "Let me sort this out. I was suffocating in the vault, yes, that was today, and a rectangle of white light appeared in the wall, and Catherine knelt beside me. Yes."

That he could remember clearly. She called his name and drew him back from the verge of death. There had been a blessed moment when his head rested against her heart. That was true, but ... Something was dreadfully wrong, but he couldn’t think of it.

"And we found the stairs and came up, and the other woman came as well. Charles came out, and the one with the sword. No, it was the other way around. Charles afterwards. And they all knelt down, and I came outside with Catherine. And we sat on these steps."

He stroked the flagstones. "She was here with me and there was a moment I was supposed to remember." Like the turning of a page, it was revealed to him. The words on the page were written in fire.

"Oh. Oh." He couldn’t faint again, he had to face it. "She’s going."

He dropped his head into his hands and rocked back and forth. His mind was clear; he couldn’t pretend any longer.

She was leaving.

There never had been any hope. He had been fooling himself to think that her time in the castle was anything but an interlude. Her real life took place beyond the barrier. If either of them had thought of the river, she would have journeyed home weeks ago. Dully he wondered if that would have hurt him less. The answer came to him; no. Perhaps if they’d never met. But Charles’ description had captured his imagination long before he ever lifted Catherine from the ground and carried her into his bedchamber. He was fated to love her as surely as he was fated to lose her.

He tried to tell himself that he regretted nothing, but couldn’t bring himself to say it.

"If the boats hadn’t arrived just then. If I had told her how completely I love her. If I had kissed her in the rose garden or in the ballroom, I might not be sitting here bleeding to death. Perhaps it’s better this way. She went through so much suffering trying to decide what was right. She’d be tortured with sorrow if she knew what losing her is going to do to me. If one of us has to go through this agony, let me spare her, let me bear it all."

He wondered briefly how much pain a person could bear before it stopped his heart. Physically he was being torn apart, and she hadn’t even gone. If he could only see her sometimes, and speak to her, he might be able to endure it. But even that consolation was being ripped away.

He couldn’t sit on the steps all night, but he didn’t want to go in the entry way and risk running into her family. They would be rejoicing, and he had no part in their triumph. He glanced toward the castle, to a smudge of darkness that was a grove of hawthorn. Hidden behind the greenery was a little door that led into the library. No one would find him in there.

He got up and crossed the long sloping meadow, walking slowly so that he wouldn’t faint again. The trees seemed to waver before his eyes. The grayness in his mind came and went.

The nail-studded door was there, though he had to push aside branches to find it.

The library was dark, the fireplace cold. He shoved the door closed and leaned against it, wondering how it could be that he was still alive. His self-control was cracking.

Breezes spun around him; an aerial hand dipped a quill in an inkbottle and scratched across a sheet of vellum.

"Calm yourself, my boy, recall the teachings of the rationalists on this very subject."

A backhanded blow sent the inkbottle flying. "Jacob, if you don’t want me to die on the spot, refrain from quoting the rationalists to me."

The two spirits seemed determined to communicate their points of view. A second pen moved across the vellum.

"Ask her to stay!"

"Is that you, Mary?" Half suffocated, he tore open the collar of his shirt. "She was never here of her own free will. All she wants is a straight path home. All I can give her is an open door."

"Tell us what we can do."

"Test the boats, make certain they’re sound. We’ll all travel with her as far as we can. I’ll row her to the edge of the forest. Both of you -- leave me now -- help her in whatever way she requests. You know what must be done."

They obeyed, and he was alone. In a way, he was relieved. His loss carried him far beyond the realm where anyone could reach him. Almost blind with pain, he circled the room, under the baleful gaze of the marble statues. The truth was unbearable, but he had to bear it. She was going -- going -- and he had to stand aside, and help her go.

"She mustn’t know -- she mustn’t know it’s breaking me. Pity is not love. There is no happiness for her in being a prisoner. I will part from her at the edge of the forest, but that is several days into the future. I must not break down -- I must not."

He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. "In the morning, I must face them all calmly. There will be time for grieving when I make my way back to the castle alone."

The long hours of the night passed slowly, like drops of blood from an old wound. Vincent sat huddled on the library floor with his head in his hands, trying to keep himself sane. Sometimes there were noises in the corridor. Jacob and Mary, no doubt. Perhaps he should help. He tried to get to his feet and slipped back down again to the floor. Half sitting, half leaning against the wall, pressing one hand to his chest, he cursed his own weakness. He had to achieve some sort of serenity by dawn, or he would not be able to conceal from her the death-agony in his heart. At the moment, such serenity seemed unlikely.

The gray light of morning seeped through the window behind him. In order to guard Catherine through the uncanny wood, he had to stand up and open the library door. So he did. One foot in front of the other, he climbed two flights of stairs to his own chamber. A piece of parchment was pushed halfway under the closed door.

The handwriting was graceful and distinctive.

"Dearest Vincent: Our farewells were spoken to each other last evening on the flagstone steps, and it seems too cruel to grieve ourselves again. So, since the boats have been readied, and Mary and Jacob are going with us, we are going now -- tonight. Thank you for all your thoughtfulness. I will never forget you. Be well -- be happy. Catherine." An intricate golden key fell out of the fold.

He got hold of a marble pegasus and held himself upright. After a long moment of blackness and burning, he felt his way back to the stairs. Somehow he found his way outdoors and walked around the castle to the arched bridge that spanned the river. The rowboats were no longer moored to the piling. In the night, with only two spirits to guide her, Catherine had gone home. He stood quite still on the bank, looking at a stand of willows that concealed a bend in the river. It was over. It was finished. And he was finished, too.