I nodded my head, but though I was a sensible girl who knew a good thing when she saw it, I still couldn’t help the little pang of sadness in my heart that sprang from a wish to be whisked away by a handsome lover and who would speak golden words into my ear and sigh my name with longing.
I think that perhaps, it was that very wish that doomed me. Along with all the other things, obviously.
Chapter Four
By evening, even I was excited for the princess’s presentation ball. I had cleaned my traveling clothing and had them packed away again, ready for the inevitable wedding and travel to my new home. I put on my finest wool gown – a deep green, beautifully woven creation of my mother’s that hugged my figure nicely all the way to the floor. Over that, my embroidered, sleeveless overdress was laced into place and I carefully braided my own hair in the most elaborate style I knew. It wasn’t much. I still looked like the daughter of one of the poorer landholders, but it was my best, and hopefully both my father and my newly betrothed husband would be pleased with my appearance.
I tried very hard not to think of that round face smiling at me. A girl should probably want her future husband to smile for her, but the thought made me just a little ill. It occurred to me that tonight he would be sizing me up like he sized up his brood mares. Would he wonder if I would carry well? If my feed needed to be adjusted?
I took a deep breath. It wasn’t sensible to be ungrateful for this opportunity. I would watch for his smile with the same curiosity that I’d employed when I watched the servants set up the ball – and hopefully the same sense of distance.
It didn’t do to get too invested in your own life. That only led to disappointment.
I realized as I was leaving my room, that I didn’t even know his name. I was going to marry a man whose name I did not know. My heart leapt into my throat again, but I carefully breathed it back down. Vapors and excitements were for girls with money and position, not for those who had to think judiciously of their futures. And not for those who were going to be measured in hands.
My father opened his door, and my brothers exited their room with him. They wore clean, brushed clothing and my father had taken the time to comb his beard. A little shiver of sadness rolled through me. This may be the last time we were all together. After this, I would be married and living in a hold far away and my brother Svetgin would be serving in the King’s army.
I hugged him on an impulse.
“What has flown into your head, Izolda?” he said, batting me off. “I’m dancing with beautiful ladies of the court tonight, not sisters!”
Rolgrin was slightly more tolerant. Perhaps he understood what was happening. He let me hug him briefly before hurrying down the hall after Svetgin.
My father was misty-eyed as he embraced me, and he even placed a small kiss on my brow. “Were this your ball and were you princess here you could look no finer, daughter.”
I was surprised by his compliment but secretly pleased. It took the edge off the worry I felt as we sallied through the long winding corridors and staircases toward the Great Hall, where the ball would take place. Our rooms in the old servants’ quarters were the farthest possible from the hall and I was almost ready to sit down for a while by the time we finally made it into the massive room.
“Lord Savataz of Northpeak and his daughter Izolda,” the herald said as we entered.
No one turned to look except for the Lord of Fallowplains who bowed to his companion and strode toward us. I kept my face calm and quiet as his eyes studied me and I saw them linger on my hips.
Yes, get a good eyeful. They’re very narrow indeed if you’re comparing them to a horse.
It was hard not to feel resentment as he clearly was checking for the pink of health in my cheeks and any sign I could breed well, but I was being unfair to him. He must be clever in his choices just as my father must. Perhaps he had married for love the first time and had come to regret it when his wife died without providing an heir. It was a sad thought and I tried to tell myself it was true if only because it made me feel compassion toward him rather than anxiety.
“Lord Savataz,” he said, bowing slightly to my father.
“Lord Danske, may I present my daughter Izolda.”
Lord Danske bowed nicely to me and I forced my lips into a smile.
“Greetings to you, my Lord. It is a fair night.” My voice sounded too fragile. It should be strong and powerful. It should tell the world I held the reins of my future strongly in my hands. Instead, it told them I was terrified.
“May I be bold, beautiful Izolda,” the Lord of Fallowplains said awkwardly, clearing his throat partway through his speech. “May I, ahem, be bold and request a dance from you this evening? The akul, if you would favor me, as it is the only one I know.”
No one may now say that I do not have the restraint of a saint. No one. Because the akul involves a great deal of prancing and those who dance it look like they think they are horses. And still, I did not snort a laugh or so much as twitch a lip.
“It will be as you please, my Lord.”
“You may call me Leonid,” he said, and for a moment he looked like only a nervous man and not a Lord arranging a marriage for himself. I softened.
“If you prefer not to dance, Leonid,” I said gently, “I do not require it of you.”
He sagged with relief.
“We should suit admirably, if you don’t think me too bold in saying so, Izolda.” He looked around nervously. “If you don’t mind, I’ll beg my leave for the moment. I was called away to the stable – my horse had a hot leg and none of the fool stable boys noticed – and so I missed eating at midday. It has left me ravenous.”
He was gone as soon as I was done making my bow. I was trying very hard not to imagine life with the ravenous Lord Fallowplains – or Leonid, as I supposed I would have to get used to calling him.
“Daughter?” my father asked, watching me carefully. “You are pleased with the match?”
“Of course,” I said with a smile. I was about to take his hand when the herald spoke again and this time, the whole room went still.
“The King, the Queen, and Princess Chasida!”
We fell into bows and curtsies but not before I caught a glimpse of Princess Chasida. She was indeed the sparkling gem of the nation. And she had not brought bad luck on herself by wearing gold like her great aunt Margaretta. Instead, she was dressed in a gown like a sparkling cloud that flowed around her such that it made her look half magic. It was made entirely of blue cloth. Blue.
I was not superstitious, I reminded myself as I sank into my curtsy. But I was also very glad not to be wearing blue. It was so much worse than gold.
I had barely managed to rise when a finger and thumb grabbed my ear, pulling me to my feet, and I looked right into the eyes of the old woman from the work room.
“The bell, girl,” she hissed. “Where is the bell?”
Chapter Five
I rushed from the ballroom, not even stopping to give my father an explanation for my strange behaviour. I’d forgotten the bell! And while I didn’t believe in any of these superstitions, there was just something about tonight with the Princess so bright and beautiful, and the whispers and the wind howling around the castle and that blue, blue dress that was making shivers run up and down my spine like a squirrel on a tree branch.
I lifted up the skirts of my woolen dress and sprinted down the empty corridors and up the lonely staircases. Every noble and servant in the castle was in the ballroom or the kitchens or the coach house right now. There wasn’t a soul to slow me.
My breath heaved in my lungs when I finally reached the work room. I snatched the bell from under my chair where I’d left it and paused for one gasping breath to look out the wide window.
I could hardly make out the rooflines of the surrounding buildings. The wind roared cold and harsh, sending gusts of glittering snow puffing with its every movement. It was cold enough that the snow sparkled like shredded diamonds and frost f
illed the air. I couldn’t even see the moon above.
I thought I heard hooves on cobbles and a shout from below, but I didn’t recognize the harsh consonants of the words. Perhaps the princess was going to receive a foreign prince after all.
I drew in a second rasping breath and then spun on my heel and paused.
Somehow, impossibly, I could hear the swell of the orchestra, through the open workroom window, and for a bare moment I thought I had turned to confront a dark-haired girl with high color in her cheeks and a sharp, intelligent look in her grey eyes. But it was only my own reflection in the large mirror.
I shook my head and sprinted back down the halls and through the stairways and corridors, my feet echoing loudly through the empty castle wings.
I slowed as I drew nearer the Great Hall. I needed to catch my breath. I must be a sight after that run. The bell jangled merrily as I carefully patted down my braided hair and tucked a loose strand behind one ear, the sound of the bell the only thing I heard.
Jingle. Jingle. Jingle.
My heart was slowing down. My breathing returning to normal.
I plastered a cheerful smile on my face.
And then hesitated.
Why could I hear the bell so clearly when I was just outside the hall? Shouldn’t I hear the orchestra? The party?
I stepped past two men standing on either side of the doorframe, their eyes fixed on something within.
And then I froze.
Everyone in the room was standing perfectly still and silent, though they swayed slightly, their chests rising and falling just enough to tell me this was not a trick of my imagination or a spell.
I had a perfect view of the ballroom from the door, almost as if someone had parted the crowd just for me.
I saw my father first, a look of panic on his face as his eyes met mine. I had to tear my gaze away so I could see the rest. I could not find my brothers in the crowds, but I was surprised to notice that my betrothed was watching me with an identical look on his face to that my father wore, as if he, too, was worried for me. It was surprisingly endearing, and it warmed me in a pleasant way. Perhaps being married to Leonid would not be so bad after all.
But I snatched my gaze from his, too, looking to see what was going on.
My bell still jingled slightly as I took a step forward and finally saw King Feolin Pensmoore and Queen Illandre Pensmoore standing just in front of their thrones on the other end of the room. It was as if they had risen in surprise only to find themselves stuck on their feet. They were mirror images of shock – each with a hand reaching toward their blue-shrouded daughter who stood before them facing the ballroom. Her face was so pale that I was afraid she might be dead, and her lips were as blue as her dress.
Her mouth quivered slightly as if she longed to speak but was fighting against an equal longing to keep silent. A single tear streaked down her cheek.
But it was not the princess who had my full attention.
It was the five men standing in the middle of the room. Foreigners, for certain. The crowd had parted so that there was a ring of empty space all around them, and at their very center there stood a man, no taller than all the rest, and yet somehow he seemed to take up more space.
If I were being quite honest – which I probably wouldn’t be no matter what the circumstances entailed – he was almost exactly like the fantasy man I’d envisioned falling passionately in love with. The one I was currently trying to mentally murder in my psyche. That one.
He had the same strong shoulders and neatly narrowed hips. He had the same corded arms and sharp jawline. The same black hair and dashing good looks. The same sharp expression that seemed to stab to the heart of your secrets. The exact same smirking irreverence that so often painted my imaginary lover’s face.
He was tailor made for my dream-world, except for one small detail that I would certainly never have added.
He had a blue beard.
Not blue like a jay, but blue like a hound or a horse. It was trimmed so close to his face that it was more stubble than beard, and yet I felt frozen by it.
Only the Whittenbrand wore blue.
And it was with that thought that I realized they were all wearing blue in varying shades. Some of their clothing was dusky dove grey-blue and some a powerful peacock. Some a thick blue-black that was so dark it was nearly midnight, and some a light, airy blue that sang of faraway oceans.
The man with the blue beard wore a coat of that deep midnight with a high collar and a small white neckerchief at the throat. He wore a waistcoat under it that clung to his frame in a way that made me swallow. It was a brilliant cerulean. His breeches were just as revealing as the vest and were a smoky Prussian. I did not let my gaze linger on those.
If there had been any doubt about who these men were, all doubt was removed.
Legends had come alive. The Wittenbrand were here.
The bearded one – who I was beginning to think of as “Bluebeard” – made a sudden move toward the princess and wrapped his hand around her throat.
He was inhumanly quick and inhumanly graceful. It was as if a pillar of smoke had come alive and leapt at her. Or perhaps, as if a falcon had morphed into a man. Or whatever a Wittenbrand was.
“So beautiful,” he said silkily. “Will you not greet me, Princess? Have you not prayed for a powerful husband, and one rich as sin besides? I have gold of such quantity that your father could fit his soldiers in golden breastplates and greaves. Your mother could sew it into the gown of every maid in the castle. You could gild your very walls with the stuff. Will you not speak and greet me as one of your own?”
His eyes seemed to dance and laugh at her.
The princess’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. Her eyes met mine across the room, filled with terror and, when she noticed the tiny golden bell in my hand, filled with hate.
And she was right. I hadn’t been here with the bell and now the Wittenbrand were here to snatch her away. But why was no one speaking? Were they under some kind of a spell?
I took a step forward, not sure what I could do and yet feeling responsible to do something. After all, it was my error that had allowed all of this. My oversight. My tardiness.
I couldn’t let her suffer for me.
I took a second step, and the bell sang out. Bluebeard spun, releasing the princess, and stalked toward me.
In Northpeak, we lost a man almost every year to cougar attacks. I couldn’t help but think – as he took that predatory step toward me – that perhaps the men who died were so fascinated by the cougar that they couldn’t run or even scream. I knew I was.
He tilted his head, his eyes lighting with delight.
“What a singular golden bell you bear, maiden. But your manners are very poor. Will you not greet a visitor to your King’s court?”
My eyes met his. His were blue – of course – and so light they were almost white. My stomach flipped as I realized they were the eyes of a cat, not a human, with black slashes for pupils. They pierced into my own and I could hardly look away.
“Will you not speak and bid us welcome?” He bit his full lower lip after he said that, his cat’s eyes dancing as if he were laughing at a joke I hadn’t heard.
It seemed suddenly as if he were balancing along a high branch. A bare movement on either side and he would fall to his death, and only my greeting might prevent that. People in such a dire state had a tendency to do wild things. He took a step backward and grabbed the princess by the hair, jerking her head back and exposing her throat.
“Or perhaps we’ll wait and see what you say when we’re done with this pretty trinket.”
My heart leapt into my chest, racing so hard that my breath was coming in ragged gasps. All my fault. If he killed her, it would be on my head, and all because I disregarded a silly princess and her silly friends.
The only sensible thing to do was to try to calm him down.
“I greet you, foreign Lord, and wish you well on this winter night.” My voice as cl
ear as a crystal bell. Where had that voice been when I met my betrothed?
As if my words had broken a spell, Bluebeard dropped Princess Chasida. She fell to the ground in a heap, sobbing loudly. Around me, there was a sigh that sounded almost like regret or guilt. My eyes narrowed. Something was going on that I knew nothing about.
Bluebeard smiled – a wolfish, wicked smile.
I felt something tighten in my chest that I couldn’t identify. My hand reached up to clutch it, but I’d barely managed a gasp of my own before I caught the eye of my father. His mouth was hanging open in an agonized expression. He took one stumbling step forward and suddenly Rolgrin was there beside him, supporting his arm and whispering urgently in his ear.
“The Law of Greeting,” Bluebeard said, his grin widening so now he reminded me of a fox. His eyes seemed to be fixed on me still, which made no sense. What was the Law of Greeting?
Though they had started breathing and murmuring again, the court was still. But this time it was not the frozen stillness of fear, it was the waiting stillness of anticipation. Fear crept up my spine like a slow spider.
To my shock, the Lord of the Fallowplains moved forward, a determined, purposeful look on his face.
“You may not take her, Wittenbrand,” he declared. His awkwardness had been shed, and in this one moment he looked like a hero of legend rather than a backwoods breeder of horses who needed an heir.
I bit my lip and tasted blood.
Bluebeard’s grin turned to fury. “By the Law of Greeting you know I may take whatever greets me upon my arrival. It is the long-standing agreement between the Court of Pensmoore and the Wittenbrand.”
My heart stuttered painfully.
“But you haven’t been here in generations,” the King said, finally speaking. He had positioned himself before Princess Chasida, shielding her with his own rather substantial body. As if she were still in some kind of danger. Maybe she was. No one had bothered to teach me about the Law of Greeting. Maybe there were more laws I did not know. I was finding it just a little hard to breathe.
Fly with the Arrow: A Bluebeard Inspired Fantasy (Bluebeard's Secret Book 1) Page 3
