Tomorrow's Shadow - 18. Rebuffed

Stefano stood beside Zarchos on the island ferry landing, stroking the horse's neck as he gazed at the homes and shops of Atterstock. His peace in his features belied his mental conflict over his decision. Calling on the Falows without Gerik’s knowledge was a thin tightrope, easily snapped and dangerously simple to be misunderstood. He was brought from his reverie by the bargemaster’s voice.

“My lord, will you be going across? My lord? Sir, can I help you something?”

Stefano shook his head and turned to face the ferryman. “I’m sorry, Marwick, I’m afraid I was lost in thought.” He reached into a pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew gold coin. “For your troubles.”

“My lord, as always you are generous beyond belief – but you have not ridden this night. Still, my family and I thank you. We shall have hot meals for some time now. I wish there was more I could do than simply saying ‘thank you’.”

“You need not worry over thanks, Marwick. You are always prepared, always available. It is us, those who depend on your service, that owe you the debt of thanks.” Stefano walked his horse off the landing to solid ground. “I shall return later. I have no time frame.”

“Understood, my lord. I and my ship shall be ready.”

Stefano smiled at the reference to a ‘ship’. Marwick has pride in his possessions and position within the community. It is admirable. He took a moment to rethink his actions before lifting himself into the saddle and heading for House Falow. If this does not end well, Gerik may never know. He parents certainly wouldn’t be the one to tell him. The timing is ideal; I am back a full night early so no one is waiting on me this night at the Keep. He gave Zarchos a light nudge and road the gentle climb into the hills where most of the great houses had been built. The steady, rhythmic ‘clop’ of Zarchos’ hooves against the cobblestones served to calm him. His gaze again danced among the homes as he rode past. The artistry displayed is magnificent, they are indeed ‘grand’ houses. Flowers and ivies along window sills, ornate inlays and carvings on shudders, the rich of Atterstock engage the world in their feud of vision and showmanship. He paused at the turnoff for the path to House Falow. Well, Stefano – what will it be? Do you take the chance at infuriating Gerik for a gamble at reasoning with his parents? He sighed and rode to the gate. One of the guards he remembered from his last visit.“ I wish to see Lord and Lady Falow, should they be in.”

The guard looked him over before recognition registered in his expression. “Right. You’re the lord from the island. Fine mount, sir. Looks fast and strong. I am sorry, but we were not notified of any guests tonight. I will have to send a runner before we can permit your entrance.” He pointed at one of the other men stationed at the gate. “It is your responsibility this moon, Trell. Make it swift.”

“Yes sir.” The guard Trell began sprinting across the grounds toward the house. The two remaining guards were quiet.

Stefano didn’t break their silence. He backed Zarchos from the gate and dismounted. He scratched the stallion’s forehead lightly as he spoke to him assuredly. After an reasonable, though uncomfortable time period, the runner returned.

Trell stood hunched over, gasping for breath, which seemed to infuriate the others. “Speak man. Shake your head. Do something, the lord waits. Don’t just stand there gulping
down our air. Are we permitted to allow the lord through the gate?”

Trell shook his head negatively as he began to regain composure. “No. Lord Falow says … the lord from the island … is not to be permitted.” He stood full and looked at Stefano. “I am sorry, my lord.”

“Indeed. A fine turn of events. Fair eve, men.” Stefano lifted himself back into the saddle, then turned Zarchos and casually rode back down to the main street. He disregarded the prattle of the guards as he moved away. He stopped after rounding a bend. “Well, boy… Let’s have some fun.” He quickly scanned his surroundings, then moved into the shadows. He spurred Zarchos into a full gallop back toward the house. When they reached the gate, Zarchos cleared it with ease. One of the guards turned his head as if he might have heard something, but decided not.

Stefano stopped once he had neared the main doors. Think first, act second. Yes, Sire, I hear you. He slowly turned Zarchos to walk back down the hill. Half way to the gate he again nudged the stallion; the horse responded immediately and galloped back to the gate, jumping it just as easily as when they entered the grounds. Stefano remained at full pace through Atterstock until in sight of the landing. He then checked for mortals, and finding none he walked Zarchos out of the shadows and across the remaining distance to the landing.

Marwick looked up at the sound of the approaching rider and bowed. My lord, welcome. Are you ready to return to the island?”

Stefano dismounted and walked Zarchos across the landing and onto the small barge. “Yes, Marwick, thank you. I am ready to return home.”

“Very well, sir.” Marwick motioned to a group seated near the bow. Twelve strong men stood, moved to their stations along the sides of the ferry and began poling it across the sound. Upon reaching the island, they masterfully turned the craft, coming against the landing with the slightest of bump.

“Thank you again. Here, divide this between your men. They move your ferry with ease; one can barely see them strain at the effort.” Stefano handed the barge-master several gold coins as he started for the landing. Before anyone could respond to his generosity, he mounted his steed and lunged into a full run towards the Keep.

Stefano closed his eyes as he rode, smiling at the cool wind that whipped at his coat and hair as Zarchos raced ahead. He imagined the breeze pulling away his stress and anxiety. By the time he stopped in front of the Keep he felt renewed and relaxed. He dismounted and gave the reins to a stable hand who led Zarchos away. He brushed at his hair, shook his head, then tugged his waistcoat straight before walking to the front doors of the Keep.

Gerik sat at the bar, filling Viktor in on his childhood and being raised with often absent parents. If Viktor was bored by the conversation topic, he gave no sign, instead appearing to listen in rapt attention. They both looked across the room as the doors opened; Gerik stood and moved quickly across the room, encasing his sire in his arms. “My love, how I have longed for you to return home.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “If I had to tell Viktor my upbringing once more I am sure one of us would have killed the other.”

Stefano kissed his chylde’s neck. “As quick and strong as you have become, I would wager that Viktor would win a match.”

“I as well. Just don’t let him know.”

As the men walked back towards the bar, Stefano smiled at his manservant. “Viktor, a glass of house brandy, if you would. Have you heard from my Sire?”

Viktor set the drink in front of Stefano. “No, Master Stefano. I have tried a couple times during your absence, but have received no response. It is like it has been, my lord; I can touch his presence and feel the push of his existence, nothing more.”

Stefano took a long, slow drink before speaking. “Thank you, my friend. Vargon is … Vargon. He shall contact us when it is right to him to do so.”

“Yes my lord. It is good to have you home, sir. I will leave you and lord Gerik to reconnect. If you will excuse me.” He set the brandy bottle on the bar then turned and walked through the kitchen door.

Stefano pulled Gerik close and locked their lips in a kiss of undying passion. Their tongues waged a friendly war, jousting as soft moans were heard from the younger kindred. When they finally parted, both lords had shadows swirling deep and rapid within their pupils. Stefano brushed his chylde’s cheek gently before sharing his decision. “I wish to invite your parents to a meal and discourse regarding our relationship.”

-----

Three short nights later found Gerik pacing between fireplace and bar, grumbling. “I cannot believe you invited them. It astounds me Mother would accept, but I really have a hard time understanding why you even invited them.”

Stefano stood in front of the fire, sipping a blood-cognac. He sighed as he watched his chylde’s frustration grow. “I am sorry, my love, but I did say I was inviting them for dinner and a discussion.”

“No. You said you wanted to invite them.”

“Well, yes. At the time I had not invited them yet, so I only wanted to at that point.”

“And I said I did not think that was a good idea.”

“You did not tell me to not invite them to the Keep.”

“You never said you were going to invite them!”

Stefano set his glass on the mantle and moved to stand in front of the young kindred to stop the pacing. He put his hands on Gerik’s shoulders and looked deeply into his eyes. I am sorry. I erred in judgement. I truly wanted to end your strife over the issue with your father, not double it. Forgive me, beloved. Please accept that I never intended to upset you.”

Sad eyes returned the look. “And yet I am upset over your actions, so your intentions did not play out as planned. I do not desire to sit and listen to his blatant refusal to accept our love. The man does not change his mind. Ever.”

Stefano drew his love into an embrace and held him close. “I am filled with remorse over how my actions have affected you. Please accept my apology.”

Viktor stepped into the hall from the kitchens and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but a runner just delivered this missive from House Falow.” He held out a folded paper, the wax seal bearing the Falow emblem. Stefano kissed Gerik’s cheek then walked toward his manservant with an arm extended to take the note. “Thank you, Viktor.”

Viktor pulled back slightly. “It is addressed for Lord Gerik.”

“I see.” Stefano moved to the side and watched as Gerik stepped over to take the paper. His chylde’s hands shook as he broke the seal and unfolded the page, then began to read aloud.

"Gerik,

Your mother and I will not be accepting your unexpected and undesired offer. We believe accepting would be paramount to approving of your corruption at the hands of the lord of the island. Certainly by now you and he are quite aware this will never take place. This abomination you try to entitle ‘love’ is most foul in our eyes.

I am surprised your companion would even offer such after my refusal to see him at our home three evenings past. I did not appreciate his appearing the gates of our home without even a missive stating his intentions. The lateness of the hour only accentuated the vulgarity of his actions.

Your mother and I find it most grievous that you could consider asking us to enter your den of depravity. It becomes increasingly apparent that you have forgotten all your training in the proper manners of a gentleman.

Do not make this error again.

I remain,

Lord T. Falow
Falow House
Atterstock"

Stefano smiled. “Well, it appears the problem has resolved itself.”

“Resolved?” Fury blazed in Gerik’s eyes. “Tell me, my love, what is this he says about you going to House Falow three nights ago? You were just returning from Arvis then. Or did you get back early and make a detour?”

“Gerik, my heart, I think mayhaps you are becoming overwrought and need…”

“No. You don’t tell me what I need. Not at present. The only thing I need right now is to know, did you or did you not go to my father’s house before you came home from Arvis?”

Stefano’s tone began to register his own rising anger. “Yes. You have been so distraught and I was seeking a peaceful end to the troubles over our relationship. And in truth, it was barely past moon rise when I got there, not some unreasonable late hour as he would have you believe.”

Viktor slipped out through the kitchen door, deciding this was not the time for a third opinion.

Gerik stepped in front of Stefano, mere inches from his face. “Speaking of truth, when did you plan on telling me of this little escapade?”

“From your actions right now, I would say it was smarter to keep it from you.” Stefano lowered his voice, though the thunder of authority rumbled in his tone. “Now, I am going for a swim, chylde. When I return I expect you to have gathered control over yourself and calmed down. If you cannot speak to me with the respect due your sire, you will give me the honor due your Prince.”

“And if I do not?”

Lightning flashed in Stefano’s dark eyes. Though his voice was barely above a whisper, it rattled the glass in the balcony doors. “You do not want to know.” He turned on his heel and strode across the room, out the open balcony doors, and down the stone steps.

Gerik watched his sire walk out in a state of shock. It was the first time Stefano had ever used the authority of being a prince against him. He just stood in the center of the great hall, staring at toward the balcony for what felt like an eternity until his trance-like state was broken by Viktor walking back into the hall.

“Lord Gerik, where is Master Stefano?”

“What? Oh. I do not know.” Gerik shook his head. “And honestly, I do not care.” With that, he turned and walked out the front door of the Keep then moved to shadow, disappearing into the night.

---

Stefano lay on his back, the mossy surface beneath him offering little comfort. He ignored the crash of the surf around him; his mind was filled with chaos and his heart was breaking. It is not enough to fight with him. No, I have to pull authority and act the Prince. How do I ever make this right? Should I even try? And where is Vargon? Why do I alienate all who love me?

-----

In the confines of his room, Viktor sat on the floor in deep concentration. Sweat beaded at his brow as his mind reached to its limits. Enough, Vargon. It is time for ye to climb down from your pride and return to the home ye built for your first chylde. Angst tears at his being and burns his soul. Ye tore him apart by denying him solace and rest within is own room, then ye built him up, praised him, and made him Prince. Now ye hide from him. The once mighty Vargon Petrescu cowers? It is time for ye to grow up, my friend. Accept what is, acknowledge truth, and come aid the one who once brought you more joy than I had seen in you for centuries. Ye know he will never ask it of you. His pride is too much like that of his sire. Ye shall not hear from me on this again. I am required to be present here to salvage what I can.

-----

The wind ripped at Gerik’s cloak as he rode Shadow at a full run. The horse leapt over boulders and fallen trees as he move across the island. When they neared the far side, Gerik finally began to slow his mount until he gradually came to a full stop. He gazed at the waters of the sea, an inky black under ominous skies. The storm will be here soon. As much as I am not ready to return, I cannot keep Shadow in such weather. He sighed and turned his horse back, nudging him into a gentle walk. He stopped again at a copse of oak and fir and listened. Something is amiss. I can sense …

His thoughts were cut short as a shadowy figure jumped into him, knocking him from the saddle. As he fell to the ground he heard the feral growl of the wolven that landed over him. Claws dug into his flesh as the creature spoke.

“You belong to me, given to me by Master. I shall enjoy the taste of your flesh.”

“Your master is dead, hound. And you shall join him soon.”

"I think not, kindred.” Pozzt leaned in, saliva dripping from heavy fangs onto Gerik’s exposed throat. “Tonight I eat good.”