Elyne held the bottle of elixir, her body tense, and the conjurer put their hands over hers.
“Hurry up, now. George will die soon. Do you want that to happen?”
Hearing those words, Elyne felt a flurry deep within her chest.
She knelt down by her husband’s side.
The conjurer supported George’s torso, holding his head so he could easily drink the elixir.
Elyne removed the lid from the bottle and, little by little, she poured the crimson liquid down her husband’s throat until not a drop remained.
The conjurer set George back down again. “Now we wait,” they said. “However, we should hurry away from here as soon as possible. Even with Vlad dead, the officers won’t surrender. They will happily fight and die for their honor. We cannot get wrapped up in such foolishness. Requisition a few soldiers as guards and return to the Csaba villa in Transylvania.”
The magic soon proved to be real. En route to Transylvania, George opened his eyes, then gradually recovered his strength. His pale face regained its color, and his scars disappeared. Seeing what looked for all the world to be an act of God—but knowing it was nothing of the sort—Elyne trembled as a dark feeling overcame her.
When she told George of Vlad’s demise, he muttered, “I will not give up. I promised my father. I shall live to see Walachia reborn. Our lord and the soldiers who died would surely wish for that. Will you help me?”
“Yes. Gladly.”
Andrássy Csaba of Transylvania welcomed George’s procession for a second time. Although they had already received word of the outcome of the war, the Csabas’ attitude toward George and his retinue didn’t change in the slightest. Now that Walachia was part of the Ottoman Empire, it was entirely possible that Transylvania would also become a vassal state, so the surrounding nations had to maintain a united front and devise ways to resist the Ottomans.
Andrássy asked George to work for him. The villa had enough room to house George and his wife, and Andrássy implored him to stay there, train the Transylvanian troops, and exchange information with Hungary. The scions of the Csaba family had all been killed in past wars, so to Andrássy, George wasn’t just family left behind by a close friend, but like a newfound son. To George, the offer was more than he ever could have asked for. He immediately agreed and, beginning the next day, met with Andrássy’s retainers and attended meetings where they planned how to resist the Ottoman Empire.
George was still young and had an air of vitality that immediately drew the people of Transylvania to him. He would tie his long hair back and stride through the region in the clothes of a foreign nation, treating each and every person with kindness and impressing them all by being able to retain his pride after the loss of his homeland. Even the veteran Hungarian generals felt inspired the moment they saw George, firmly shaking his hand and passionately declaring that, together, they would fight against Ottoman rule and drive them off.
“As you wish,” George would reply, leaning in close to these weathered generals. He would let out a whisper like an exhaled breath, captivating the men. “I look forward to your support, both in public and private matters.”
While Elyne felt great relief at the esteem everyone bestowed upon her husband, one aspect of it troubled her. When they looked into George’s eyes—the color of a forest enveloped in thick fog—they would open their hearts and swear fealty to him. It was as if George had cast a spell on them. Vlad had possessed the same quality: that innate elegance and grace, so intimidating it frightened enemies and emboldened allies. It seemed this quality had intensified in her husband as he aged. Or perhaps the harshness of war had changed him.
There was a vitality to George that would fool anyone into thinking he’d not just been on the verge of death. He spoke with soldiers and statesmen, visited people to learn new information, and smiled cheerfully at nighttime banquets.
At such events, he sat not only with lords and warriors, but also with their wives and other young women who had just emerged onto the social scene. Everyone approached George, seeking to speak with him. As his wife, Elyne treated them all with courtesy.
However, on multiple occasions during these gatherings, she also saw her husband conversing intimately with female guests in the shadows of the gardens. And sometimes, she spied him using the darkness as his ally to conduct secret trysts.
Elyne was less shocked by the sight than drawn in by the mysterious atmosphere that surrounded it. The actions of her husband and those women appeared as beautiful as the work of a famous painter and, for some unknown reason, felt completely natural. And when George returned to their room following such meetings, he would ravish Elyne with the same—no, more passion, so she couldn’t complain.
Only one person, their daughter, Matea, began to avoid George. She turned those cold eyes on Elyne, as well. George continued to treat his daughter with the same unwavering kindness he always had, but Matea wouldn’t respond to him and started spending more and more time away from the villa. Rumor had it that she spent her days playing with a local shepherd. People knew him as a hardworking, sensible boy, so Elyne gave him some coins to keep Matea safe. The shepherd immediately understood the meaning behind the money and, from that day forth, ceased being Matea’s friend and took up the role of her protector.
A few years later, Matea developed a close friendship with a troop of traveling minstrels passing through the area. Disguising herself as a peasant, she hid herself among them and disappeared from Transylvania. The distraught Elyne wanted to send people to bring her back, but George rebuked her, telling her to abandon the idea.
“Matea saw me for what I am,” he said listlessly. “We shouldn’t drag her back against her will. I’m sure she’ll find happiness for herself, so it’s best we let her go.”
“You’re the one who told me to raise her well for the sake of Walachia. Will she really be happy marrying some nobody and raising his children?”
“We have no way of knowing that she’ll marry one of the minstrels or if she’ll ever have children. She’s smart. She probably has all sorts of surprising talents. We should let her do as she pleases. We have no roots until Walachia is freed from Ottoman rule, anyway, so there’s very little we can do.”
That evening, George made love to Elyne for longer and more passionately than normal, as if to appease her anger. Pleasantly exhausted, Elyne was lulled into a deep sleep, and in her dreams, she met the conjurer for the first time in a long while.
They wore a black coat elegantly embroidered in red and green over tight black pants.
“Are you satisfied with your current life?” the conjurer asked.
“More than satisfied,” answered Elyne.
“How is your husband?”
“He has serious discussions with generals and lords daily.”
“And with women?”
“He doesn’t seem satisfied with just me. I always see him surrounded by beautiful women.”
A faint smile rose on the conjurer’s face. “You, my lady, are the only person George truly cares for. He engages with others merely for sustenance.”
“What do you mean, ‘sustenance’?”
“The elixir that courses through his body cannot be satiated with normal food. You would be best to ignore it. He cannot function otherwise.”
The conjurer bowed respectfully. “And so, I shall take my leave. You have granted me my freedom as promised, and I shall not appear before you again. Honestly, I can’t believe how long I was locked into that contract. It wasn’t even you I first signed it with, but your father.”
“My father?”
“Yes. He summoned me from the aether to protect you, binding me when you were but an infant. He tricked me into the agreement so I couldn’t escape. I cursed my foolishness at the time. But I’ve had enough of babysitting. I shall return to my original form.”
“And what is that?”
“Something that human language cannot describe. Think of me as a spirit—a pneuma.”
With that, the conjurer vanished like smoke. Only their black coat and pants remained, yet even those eventually faded and crumbled into dust carried away by the wind.
Ten years went by. Twenty. Thirty.
Elyne passed through middle age and became an elderly woman. Finally, she understood why her daughter Matea had run away.
While Elyne had grown old, George hadn’t aged a day.