Page 78 of Infernium

Struck by his words, the baron frowned. He could not imagine such a thing, for his entire life, he had only known his father to be cruel and unreasonable. “You’re saying he was a good man?”

“There was a time he might have been worthy of your mother’s love.”

No. Impossible. The man’s heart had always been impenetrable. Stony and cold. “When was this?” the baron asked on a mirthless laugh. “In another life, perhaps?”

“Well before you were born. He was a warrior. One who commanded great respect. Even I held him in high regard.”

Shaking his head, the baron held back the hysterical laughter begging for escape. “What happened to this renowned and respected creature?”

Solomon’s brows pinched to a frown, his pale eyes seeming to stare right through him. “That, I do not know.”

No matter what the older man said, the baron could not bring himself to believe it. Surely, even a small glimmer of goodness would have remained in him, and given Lord Praecepsia’s comfort when watching his own son’s torment, he found the blind man’s words difficult to swallow. “When I changed in the undercroft, it was into my father’s true form.”

“Yes. And the longer you stay inside of that realm, the easier it is to wear that skin.”

“How do I avoid it? How do I stay out of Eradye?”

“You remember what you are at your core. Do not give in to selfish temptations and pursuits. Like the apple.” Solomon’s lips curved to a grin, as he tapped his stick along the path and jerked his head for the boy to follow.

The baron fell into step after him. “How was I to know the apple held such a rotted core?”

“Did it not seem unusual how perfect it was, when every other fruit bore bruises and cuts?”

How foolish of him not to have seen for himself. “It did, yes.”

“The evil in this world does not always present itself as a monster, but as a thing you find most beautiful. Take your father, for example. Why would a man who is capable of such destruction in his true form bother with social graces and royal etiquette? Why would an otherworldly creature attend Sunday Mass and feign the role of a doting husband and father?”

Why, indeed. Had the others in Praecepsia known what lurked beneath his flesh, he wondered if they’d shun him, given the way so many were fond of him. “I ask myself frequently. I don’t know why.”

“The answer is trust. The surface of the apple into which you almost bit down led you to believe it was just as pristine on the inside. Had you known the truth, you would have avoided, or destroyed, it. Humans are not weak, and they are surely not incapable of defeating evil. It is often that they simply do not know how to recognize its true form.” He came to a stop on the edge of the forest, where his property met the trees. “We all play our part. To many, I am merely the simple and harmless blind organist. Even if my charge in this lifetime is to protect humankind, to them I would be deemed evil.”

“And what of me? Am I not half evil? The monster?”

“That is your trial in life, Jericho. To determine what draws you most. It is not the darkness itself which makes men evil, but what compels them. Learn to control your impulses, to recognize malevolence cloaked in virtue.”

“Like Bishop Venable.”

The old man smirked. “You see? It is not as difficult as you think.”

* * *

On his way back to the manor, the baron took the footpath through the woods, one worn down by travelers. The same woods where he had last seen the unusual girl with stardust eyes and raven hair.

Years of hiding away in forests had taught him to move carefully and with caution. The dagger at his hip served as his only weapon against anyone he should meet on the path, but the baron was not concerned about marauders, so much as the possibility of Alaric trailing his steps. Should his father’s guard take notice of anything that drew the baron’s attention, he would surely report back to Lord Praecepsia.

Only the sound of birds chirping and the light wind through the treetops filled the otherwise quiet and peaceful forest. One of the many reasons he enjoyed his time in the woods. The trail kept on, curving through trees and brush, until he left the main path and headed through a patch of knobby holm oaks, their twisted trunks so thick, one could carve out a small cave inside. Their sprawling branches made an enormous canopy overhead, and the baron had always thought that if faeries ever existed, they would surely make that patch of trees their home.

Past the grove, he reached the familiar woods from before, and when the sound of singing carried through the trees, a smile teased his lips as he recognized the flawless pitch and tone. He followed the music through the forest to a clearing, where the girl sat twisting flower stems into a sort of crown.

So beautiful, the way the dusky sunlight struck her hair, adding a shine to her long locks. And her eyes. Gods, he’d never seen eyes like hers before. Even as far away as he stood, he had the keen eyesight to pick up the many flecks of color. The way her long dark lashes batted when she smiled.

Enamored with her, the baron watched silently, feeling as predatory as a wolf.

Something about her sent warmth through his veins. For a brief moment, he’d considered Solomon’s words, about evil being cloaked in beauty, but surely a creature whose innocence perfumed the air the way hers did could not harbor an ounce of darkness.

“She is a curious one, is she not?”

The unfamiliar, feminine voice hardened the baron’s muscles, and he spun around, dagger drawn to face a redhead standing behind him. The woman must have been twice his age, judging by the lines in her face and the scattered strands of gray amid the red, and wearing a smile, she did not break her attention for the knife pointed at her.

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