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The Assembly
The Assembly
The metal boning digs into my stomach, and I’m sure my ribs will likely crush before Eloise finishes cinching me up. After everything I’ve been through, you’d think a corset would be a stroll through the park.
It’s not.
Holding firm to the edge of the hickory dressing table in front of me, I ask my sister, “What’s the point of this again?”
Before she answers, Eloise gives the laces another yank. At this point, there is no room in my body for extra air, so my gasp comes out a strangled mew. I glance over my shoulder at the woman whose hands shouldn’t be powerful enough to put me in this much pain. She steps back, her eyebrows knitting, and passes a critical eye over her work. It’s not going a smidgen tighter.
Apparently satisfied for the moment, Eloise places her hands on her hips. Her eyes flick to mine. “You know why.”
“It’s ridiculous,” I argue. “As if the world fell apart because women stopped wearing corsets and crinolines.”
“You can’t fight this, Brielle.” She says my name like she’s scolding a child. “The Assembly is not budging on this now that the war is over. If the price of peace is wearing restricting undergarments, then I will gladly pay the fee.”
I glare at my sister and bite back a venomous retort. Eloise doesn’t understand—she’ll never understand.
She holds out a scarlet gown that, if white, would be opulent for a wedding gown. “Arms up.”
With no choice, I do as I’m told. My throat constricts as the layers of heavy skirt slide over my shoulders. I shove my hands through the openings of the sleeveless gown, and terror bubbles in my chest.
“I can’t wear this.” I hold my hands up and away from my body, avoiding contact with the garment as much as possible.
Eloise raises one perfectly-shaped eyebrow and purses her lips.
“Truly, I’m not wearing this.” I smack the huge expanse of skirt with my palm. “What if there’s an attack? I won’t be able to fight.”
“There will be dinner, dancing, and most likely a speech—but no battle. The peace treaty was signed.” Eloise turns me roughly, and her fingers dig into my nearly bare shoulders. “You are the only one left who’s still fighting. Let it go.”
Let it go? Just like that, she thinks I can simply move on? War is the only constant in my life. It’s all I know. Six deceitful leaders lie, cheat, and murder their way to power, and we’re supposed to have faith in their little piece of paper promising peace?
I don’t trust it, and I certainly don’t trust them.
“What’s wrong with you?” Eloise asks as she fastens my gown. “Most girls are ecstatic to be donning gorgeous dresses and flirting with men at extravagant dinner parties—the way our parents did. They remember wearing rags and cowering in corners every time the war drifted too close to home.”
She finishes and steps away, her face scrunched in disgust.
“Eloise…” I start.
“No.” She holds out her hand, cutting me off. “I’m sorry you’re not something special anymore, Brielle. I’m sorry you miss the crossbow in your hand and the knife in your boot. I’m even sorry the end of the war has left you floundering, grasping for a new purpose—but I don’t want to hear about it anymore.”
My cheeks are hot, and if I could breathe with this corset on, I might find it in me to cry.
But I don’t cry, so I stare at the wall as Eloise’s words run through my head.
***
Three months later
My knife hits the target with a satisfying thud. I take a deep breath, roll my head to alleviate the knots in my neck, and turn for another dagger.
A man stands in the doorway. Our gazes meet, and his eyes bore into mine. He lounges at the entrance of the room, his left shoulder pressed against the door frame, and his arms and ankles are crossed. The waistcoat he wears suits his dark hair and light eyes.
It makes him look dangerous. He is dangerous.
“Damien, what are you doing here?” I choose a dagger and turn from him to my target. The steel flies, and the sharpened blade slices deep into the tattered red center.
“I’m surprised to find you practicing your ‘art’ when you should be in your room, getting ready.” Stepping forward, he wraps a strand of my hair around his hand and brings it to his nose. “You’re wearing trousers.”
I whip around, jerking my hair from his fist as I turn. “Surely a girl is free to do as she wishes in her own home—and in whatever attire she chooses.”
His eyes flash with impatience. “This is not your home. This is the Kingsbridge Estate.”
“Seeing as how you’ve decided to keep me here indefinitely, I would say it’s also my home.”
Damien smiles now, but the expression doesn’t reach his cold blue eyes. “If you would behave, I might consider granting you a little more freedom…but you continue to stir up trouble.”
“If you and the other members of your governing party weren’t loathsome snakes, I might consider behav—”
The backhanded slap doesn’t take me by surprise, but the intensity of the sting does. Tears prick my eyes, and I blink away the black dots that cloud my vision.
Somehow, I manage to keep my expression impassive.
“Get to your quarters. I will be there to escort you to dinner in one hour—and you will be ready.” Damien grabs my arm and shakes me with such force, my feet stumble forward. “Do you understand?”
I could snap his neck. It wouldn’t be difficult. All I’d have to do is slide my hands up his chest and loop them around his neck—pretend I’ve realized the error of my ways and look contrite. I could do it right now.
If I were the only one to suffer the consequences, I might. But I’m not.
My family would be immediately abducted if I assassinated a member of the ruling six. I think of my nephew, Brielle’s sweet five-year-old son, and the terror I feel for him snuffs out my anger.
“Of course,” I answer. “Anything for you, Damien.”
With a defiant tilt of my chin, I yank my arm free and sweep past him.
***
I hate the mandatory dinners. On the surface, they are grand, glittering affairs reminiscent of a genteel era that died the moment the war broke out. Women wear elaborate gowns and men are in tails. Crystal chandeliers glow, champagne flows freely, and the dancing is elegant.
But if you pay close attention, you will notice the laughter is forced, and the smiles are tight. Women stay close to their daughters, and husbands keep a protective hand on their wives.
Holding my head high, I walk into the room. If I behave, Damien will eventually allow me to seek out Eloise.
“My beautiful Brielle,” Lord Lukas, one of the six, exclaims as we approach. Feigning ignorance, he continues, “Whatever happened to your face?”
The night is young, but the man’s cheeks are already flushed. His brow, which is large due to his receding hairline, shines with perspiration.
I smile. “I tripped.”
He pats his fat paunch. “What a nasty fall it must have been. However did you do it?”
Anger threatens to consume me, but I fight it back.
“I stumbled in the gardens,” I lie. “I can be so clumsy at times.”
“You’ll grow out of it, child.” He tilts his head. “I can’t call you that anymore, can I? How old are you now, Brielle?”
“I turn eighteen next week.”
“Well, now, that’s a landmark in a girl’s life.”
“For the fortunate few who reach it.” I give him another sweet smile.
Damien’s fingers tighten around my arm. “Please excuse us, Lukas. I wish to greet my brother.”
He pulls me rou
ghly toward a dark-haired man standing next to the podium. The man turns to face us. When he sees my face, he scowls. “You simply can’t behave yourself, can you, Brielle?”
Damien laughs. The sound of it grates on my nerves, makes me want to lash out at him.
“She’s learning, Jackson.” Damien jerks me close to him. “Brielle’s like any other woman—vain. She’ll only go in public a few times with a black and blue face.”
I bite the inside of my cheek and glare at Damien’s brother. He stares back at me with dark, unyielding eyes.
Damien accepts a glass of champagne from a waiter and turns back to his brother. “I see you are alone again this evening.”
“I would rather come alone than escort a viper to dinner.”
Damien turns his calculating eyes on me. “Her venom glands have been removed, and she’s now harmless.”
A ruling member calls to Damien from across the room.
“Hold her leash, will you, Jackson?” Damien shoves me roughly to his brother. After he gives me a wide smile, he strolls over to Ann Emery, the only member of the six who is a woman.
I take a deep breath, striving for calm, and only tremble a little when Jackson tucks my hand in his arm.
“Well, which is it?” I snarl. “Am I a dog or a snake?”
“Would you stop?” Jackson hisses in my ear. “Why do you do this? Why can’t you keep your mouth shut?”
His eyes flash with temper. My hand itches to reach up and touch his face, to soothe away the worry I see there, but too many eyes are on us. I don’t dare give in.
“I haven’t killed him yet,” I say. “Do you know how much restraint that has taken? Please don’t ask me to control my tongue as well as my hand.”
“Does it hurt?” he asks quietly.
Sighing, I prod my tender cheek. “It did at first, but now it’s only uncomfortable.”
His muscles stiffen, and a low, strangled growl escapes him.
I rub discrete, soothing circles on his arm with my thumb. “I’m fine.”
He looks away, pretending disinterest, and asks, “How is Eloise?”
“She’s as well as can be expected. Garrett misses his father.”
Two months ago, not long after the peace treaty was signed, the Assembly announced there would be a lottery every month. If your name is drawn, your personal rights are removed, and you immediately become the property of the ruling six. You are owned, and they can do with you as they please.
At the time it was initiated, they assured the stunned people—the blind sheep who ushered them and their peace treaty into power—that it was a completely fair system, seeing as how all people over the age of eighteen were included. It was simply the luck of the draw. Of course, they added that it was a great honor to have your name pulled.
Eloise’s husband, John, was one of the first to be called. Ironically—or not—his name was chosen only a few days after he’d publicly voiced his displeasure in a number of laws the Assembly had announced. Dress codes, curfews, and arranged marriages quickly became the least of our worries.
John’s body was sent back to Eloise three weeks ago, with no explanation of how he died.
“They’re gathering now,” Jackson says quietly. “No matter what they announce, smile and clap.”
“And what if they say they’re going to slaughter all the children under the age of three?” I ask.
My words are sharp, but my heart is weary.
Jackson looks down, his dark blue eyes shaded by his knitted eyebrows. “I don’t know, Brielle. I just don’t know.”
“Good evening, friends,” Ann Emery says from the podium, her face breaking into a radiant smile.
The woman is beautiful. She’s piled her glossy, blond hair high on her head, and expertly curled strands frame her face. She is always perfect—the kohl she uses around her eyes is never smeared, her gloves are always crisp. Out of the ruling six, I especially dislike this woman. She’s the reason I’m in a corset, fighting with a crinoline that fell out of fashion as soon as the war began. We’re all her dolls, and she’s having a grand time playing dress up.
“I hope you all enjoyed dinner,” she continues. “We have the most wonderful announcement to make tonight. Lord Damien, won’t you come up here?”
Damien leaves his fellow ruling members and steps forward to the microphone. His eyes find me, and there’s something in his expression that makes my blood go cold. Next to me, Jackson tenses—his unease is what brings on my first twinge of true terror.
“As you all know, my heart has been stolen by Miss Brielle Madison.” Damien places a hand over his heart and smiles for his audience. “But we all love Madison, don’t we? Who doesn’t have a soft spot for the vibrant, beautiful warrior who fought like a banshee to end the war?” His sharp gaze doesn’t leave me. “Let’s give her a hand, shall we?”
All eyes turn to me, and the sound of tentative applause fills the room.
Damien waits for the weak applause to die down, and then he continues, “What you may not know, is that Miss Madison has agreed to be my wife.”
Silence. Perfect, shocked, horrifying silence.
Jackson is the first to start clapping again. His fake smile is begging me to play along. I stare at him, my mouth hanging open.
I begin to protest, but out of the corner of my eye, I see the Assembly’s guard closing in on Eloise. She’s standing near the exit, her eyes glassy with terror.
Freezing, I force my face into a smile so wide, my bruised cheek screams in protest. I feign a laugh and then slowly pull my hand away from Jackson, so I can join Damien. Next to him, I smile brightly, but when my eyes find Jackson’s, a knot of panic coils in my stomach. He hides his distress well, but the horror in his eyes is plain to see.
***
“Don’t play with those,” I tell my nephew gently.
Garrett’s sitting near the hearth in Eloise’s suite, and he’s found a box of matches.
“Aunt Brielle,” he protests. “I was making designs.”
He’s so beautiful, though I don’t dare tell him that. His eyes and hair are both dark brown, and he looks very much like his father. I place the box high on the mantle.
He makes a face at me. “If I pull over a chair, I can still reach them.”
I make a face back. “But you won’t, will you?”
He shakes his head and then, losing interest, wanders into his bedroom.
“You can’t do it,” Eloise says suddenly. “You can’t marry Damien.”
My sister has been quiet all afternoon. She’s pale, her eyes void of their sparkle. Since John’s death, she’s lost so much weight.
It breaks my heart to look at her, but I don’t know how to help.
Sitting next to her, I say, “I don’t have a choice, Eloise. They say it’s an honor to live here, but it’s a cage. There is no refusing him.”
“You could run away.” Her eyes are wild.
I shake my head. “Where would I go?”
“Run away with Jackson.” Her voice is a barely a whisper. “You love him. I know you do.”
Hearing his name makes my chest ache. I walk to the window and lay my forehead on the cold pane. “I wouldn’t do that to you and Garrett.”
“You’ll take Garrett with you.” She says it like it’s all so logical.
This is not my sister talking—this is a broken shell of a woman.
“I was wrong, Brielle. I was so wrong.” She stares at her wedding picture on the mantle. “You should have kept fighting.”
“It doesn’t matter now.” I kneel in front of her. “And I’m not leaving you.”
“I was wrong,” she says again to herself.
***
There’s a knock on my chamber door. I was fast asleep, but I’m awake now, and my heart races in my chest. My suite is locked from the outside each night, and the only person with a key is Damien.
“Brielle?” a man quietly calls through the door, but it’s not Damien on the other side.
I rush to open it. “Jackson?”
“Get dressed,” he says. “We’re leaving.”
“You came for me,” I whisper. My head is still a little fuzzy. “How did you get the keys?”
He shakes his head like I’ve lost my mind, but my attention is drawn to his clothing. He’s dressed in denim jeans and a button-up, knit shirt.
“Can I wear pants?” I ask, my voice hopeful.
He gives me an incredulous look, but a grin spreads across his face. It’s the most glorious thing I’ve seen in months.
“I don’t care what you wear,” he says. “Just hurry. You should have been ready.”
“Wait!” I say, grabbing his arm. “What about my family?”
He simply nods, his face warm and assuring.
“Thank you, Jackson.” Relief crashes over me in great waves. “I didn’t know that you…”
He takes me by the shoulders, and his eyes are bright with excitement. “There’ll be time to talk later, but right now, you need to hurry.”
I nod, still overwhelmed that he’s here.
“Hurry,” he prods again, glancing over his shoulder. The change of tone startles me back to my senses, and I rush about my room, grabbing essentials only.
“Jackson!” I call from behind the changing screen, suddenly panicked. “I don’t have a bow—I don’t have my knives.”
Jackson clears his throat. “I’ve got them.”
***
We sneak through the estate likes ghosts, somehow avoiding the guards. Streaks of pink stain the eastern sky, but it’s still and quiet as we race through the mounds of chrysanthemums and late-blooming roses. We’re almost out of the gardens. In the darkness, I can just make out the shapes of the trees and bushes at the edge of the woods.
Suddenly, a cry of alarm rings through the air. Jackson grabs my hand and pulls me with him as he sprints forward. He catches me when I stumble over the uneven terrain, and somehow we keep moving.
The cries grow louder. I take a chance and look over my shoulder, expecting to find guards chasing us.
“Jackson, wait,” I cry.
The estate is bright; light dances wildly in the windows. I gape at what I realize are flames, and I marvel at how fast they seem to be growing. Dark figures pour from the house. They yell frantically at each other, but we’re too far away to hear what they are saying. They’re not looking for us; I know that much.
The Assembly Page 1
