Midnight Eyes by Brophy, Sarah (well read books .TXT) 📕

“Fine. I’ll wait outside the door,” he finally said. He glared with frustration at the now terrified messenger before slamming out of the room.

She flinched at the loud bang of the door and contrarily longed to call him back to her side. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, trying desperately to provide herself with the comfort her heart doggedly kept insisting Robert would provide if she were to call him back.

“The message, if you please,” she asked tensely instead, desperate now to get this over with.

She heard the boy fidget, heard the crackle of new parchment as he unrolled the scroll.

“Your Brother writes:

Baby Sister,

Greetings to my divine little sibling. I know my messenger will find you well. The news of your joy has reached me, giving me all the pleasure you can well imagine. I have also heard that your husband suits you well. Excellent. I’d hate you to be frightened by the king’s butcher. Not after I sent him to you specially. I will eagerly await more news of you, but you should always remember that I am with you, even though you cannot see me. I am always a little closer than you think, sister, and would hate you to forget that.

“And he has signed himself ‘Your devoted brother, Roger.’”

The messenger began searching through his pockets once more.

“He also told me to give you this small token and to tell you to, ‘Wear it all the days of your life in memory of those who have gone before you.’”

She slowly held out her hand but couldn’t stop herself from recoiling a little at the feel of the cold ring he dropped into it.

“Do you have any message in return for your brother, my lady?” the boy asked politely as he handed over the parchment also. Imogen could only dumbly shake her head. The messenger sketched her a quick bow. “Well then, I must return to my master. Farewell.”

She stood numbly in the center of the room, her mind twisting through all that Roger had said and, more importantly, all of the things he had left unsaid.

That he had spies in the Keep was obvious, but then she had always known that, known she was surrounded by people more than willing to do his dirty work, no matter what that might be.

No, that wasn’t the real corrupting poison in the message.

The real reason that the message made her feel sick to her soul was Roger’s sly insinuation that Robert wasn’t all he seemed to be. Roger had hit with an unerring accuracy, ruthlessly drawing to the surface the cold fear that she still somehow carried despite all of Robert’s apparent kindness. It was his knowledge on just how to destroy her fledgling trust that made Roger’s poison all that more deadly, and even now she could feel it spreading through her.

He was an expert at destroying a person from within, Imogen thought bitterly, admiring his skill even as it slowly chilled her. Her mind could logically see the game he played but there seemed to be nothing she could do to stop it. Doubt was eating her up, destroying the whole structure of her fragile new life and Roger had only to lift a pen to do it. A part of her despised herself for making it so easy for him, but then, Roger, the man who had destroyed all of her trust along with her sight, had known that it would take no more than a pinprick to destroy her burgeoning faith in Robert.

It was as simple as it was deadly. She saw what he did but couldn’t stop it. She had been waiting for it, knowing even while she was enjoying it that hope was only an illusion.

And that was why Roger would always win, Imogen thought bitterly. He always seemed to know his enemies better than they knew themselves. He exploited their every weakness and no matter how clever they were, there was nothing they could do to save themselves.

Her hands clenched impotently by her sides and the metal of the ring seemed to burn its way into the flesh of her palm, branding her with memories.

She carefully loosened her grip and let the finger of her other hand run over the cut stones. She could almost see it in her mind’s eye, see the deep red of rubies and the green fire of the emeralds. She could feel the engraved words on the inside, and knew with her heart the words that were burned there: Love without measure.

Despite the bitter-cold pain that had lodged itself inside her, she smiled sadly. Love without measure, her family motto. A bittersweet feeling of painful joy filled her. It was strange to finally be reunited with this small part of her past. There was an undeniable joy in a memory being returned to her from so long ago, but at the same time she knew that it wasn’t for old time’s sake that Roger had given her the ring.

It was a message.

Roger knew that she would identify it instantly even though she couldn’t see it. He knew exactly what memories it brought with it. Memories of youth, happiness and love. She gave a brittle laugh that ended in a sob. That was what the ring had always meant to her. Love without measure.

As a child she had often begged her mother to be allowed to hold it and then, when that small liberty had been allowed, she would beg to be allowed to actually wear it.

Her mother would sit with her as she played with the sunlight in the stones, holding it first this way, then that, entranced by the colors and determined to wear the small fires on her own finger but, despite Imogen’s pleadings, her mother had remained firm.

“It’s too large for you to wear yet, Genny dear”—her mother would smile as she gave her a hug as a consolation—“but when your hands are