No matter how often the other prisoner turned her gaze away when Amelia stared right back, those deep green eyes kept returning to her.
Chapter Seven
Roan
The sound of clattering wheels pulled Roan out of his daydreams.
Heaving a sigh, he turned his gaze from the roaring flames and set aside the book he’d intended to spend the rest of the afternoon reading.
So much about a little peace and quiet.
With his father away, Roan had been able to let his guard down a bit and be himself, but now that his sire was home, he’d have to slip back into his usual role.
Crossing the library, Roan furtively glanced out the window that overlooked the front of the mansion. It was his father’s entourage arriving, all right. Horses cantered up their long, curving driveway, with their riders calling back and forth.
That wasn’t what drew Roan’s gaze, though. He sought his father so he could gauge his mood in advance, but his eyes found the source of the clattering wheels instead.
Further back, in the middle of the procession, three prisoner wagons ambled up the slight rise.
So, his sire had been successful in his endeavor.
Roan turned from the window when the procession finally came to a stop. Muffled as it was by the thick wall of the mansion, the authoritative voice of his father issuing orders accompanied him down the hall.
He wasn’t about to greet him at the front door like he used to as a little boy, though. It wouldn’t befit his station to interrupt his important work and rush out upon the arrival of a group of new human slaves.
His father would come to him in his own time, anyway, when he was good and ready to inform Roan if there were any new tasks he wished him to carry out.
Roan entered his study, took a seat and turned his attention to the papers on his desk. Picking up a pen, he pulled the first stack closer to him, finally starting on what he should’ve been doing all along.
~ *** ~
Amelia
With a last lurch, their wagon came to stop.
Outside, the Fae were still moving about, sorting-out things and finishing up assignments. Some guards descended their mounts and strode off, leaving their horses with the stable boys, while others rearranged themselves into groups, surrounding two of the wagons. Guards appeared by the door of Amelia’s temporary prison, too, but by the time it came open, the other wagons were already making off with most of the prisoners, accompanied by a regiment of riders.
“You and you,” a lanky guard barked, singling out two of the convicts Lord Bryon had selected. “Get out! Now!”
The young women hastened to comply.
They were led away as soon as they were out of the wagon, leaving Amelia with only the gentle-eyed prisoner who’d been staring at her on and off during their whole journey, of all things. Looking at her yet again, the woman chose that moment to break the silence that had lasted between them since their departure from the camp.
“Whatever comes next, take care, Amelia,” she breathed barely perceptibly but in a voice that had a familiar ring.
The raspy tone made Amelia glance at the woman sharply, and she exclaimed, forgetting herself, “Amanthea!”
The other woman nodded with a barely-there smile.
She should’ve guessed sooner.
“Why didn’t you say something?”
Thea looked around carefully before answering, “I didn’t want to let on that we know each other. You must understand …”
She trailed off, but Amelia didn’t need her to finish. She comprehended what Thea couldn’t bring herself to voice. It was the same thing she’d told herself only days ago, with regards to Naera.
Under these circumstances, even tentative affections of any kind equaled leverage.
Amelia inclined her head, signaling she was aware of Amanthea’s meaning.
The woman she’d formed a kinship with just looked back at her. Then, at long last, she whispered, “Be safe!”
Only two words, but they showed how much Amanthea’d truly come to care.
“I will do my best, Thea,” Amelia promised. “But this isn’t goodbye.”
“The chances of us being placed at the same house…”
She shook her head – unhappily, but in quiet acceptance of her fate.
“That isn’t what I meant,” Amelia retorted fiercely. She took hold of the older woman’s hands and squeezed them. “We will meet again, Thea. You’ll see.”
Now that she knew Amanthea was here as well, she would make sure of it.
When she escaped, she’d take the other woman with her.
Then it was Amelia’s turn to get out of the wagon. She let go of Thea’s hands hastily and stood on legs that shook from the lack of movement that’d been imposed on her, but her stance nevertheless remained proud as she exited – even when the prisoner wagon turned around and ambled back down the driveway, taking Amanthea and leaving Amelia alone in a sea of Fae guards.
“Let’s go!”
The imperial voice belonged to Lord Bryon.
He didn’t wait around to see whether Amelia would obey but strode for the already-open wooden double doors of the stately mansion. As he stepped inside, a liveried butler bowed low, but he hastily drew himself up again as Amelia neared. He was one of the Fae, after all, and he couldn’t possibly give the mistaken impression that he would grace a lowly human with such a gesture.
As Amelia entered the grand hall, the guards fell back, until she was the only one left treading in the Fae Lord’s wake. Not that Bryon would need protection inside his own house – not a Fae of such rank and might.
Anyone foolish enough to try something would do so to his or her own detriment.
Amelia followed the Fae up to the second level, doing her best to keep up with the lord’s hurried pace. He finally came to a stop in front of a carved door and glanced her way impatiently, but waited until she was within hearing range.
“Wait right here,” he instructed her, pointing to where Amelia was currently standing for good measure, then knocked on the door once to announce his presence but opened it wide without waiting for permission to enter.
Amelia remained where the Fae Lord had indicated, right next to the elaborately decorated door but out of sight. She did maneuver around a bit, though, so she was able to sneak a glance at the inside of the room – a study, judging by the chairs positioned in front of a heavy oaken writing desk and the single bookcase flanking it that was filled with heavy tomes.
Soon, Amelia perceived the scrape of wood on wood, then words reached her ears.
“Welcome home, Father.”
The deep, steady baritone had to belong to the person Lord Bryon had chosen to seek out upon his arrival, and it had a familiar ring to it. Amelia couldn’t consider that right then, though. She didn’t want to pass up this opportunity to learn more about her hosts.
“Son,” the lord intoned in response, acknowledging the other Fae’s greeting.
His son. The person Amelia was supposed to belong to.
She better not forget that piece of information.
“Everything went well on your journey, I hope?”
A polite inquiry instead of warm words, and hugs weren’t exchanged, either.
It seemed father and son had a quite formal relationship.
“It went very well, thank you,” Lord Bryon assured him as he took a seat. “On that note, I have a present for you.” With his eyes still upon his son, he called, “Come in!”
That bark of a command was clearly addressed to her.
Amelia took a deep breath to steady herself. Straightening her spine and throwing back her shoulders but keeping her gaze downcast, she entered the study.
“This one is for you,” Lord Bryon went on, making sure his son understood that she was to be the aforementioned present.
A heavy silence descended on the room in which Amelia could hear her own heartbeats.
“I don’t need a human slave.”
“Aroan,” the lord said, the single word filled with warning.
There was no need of any further reminders of who the younger Fae was speaking to.
Interesting.
“It’s high time for you to get over your distaste for human slaves. I’ve indulged you long enough.”
Indulged him, how, Amelia mused, but she remained quiet and unmoving. She didn’t look up, either, hoping not to draw attention to her presence.
“As you well know, the day you entered life is soon upon us, and if we wish to proceed with our plans, which is a given, you need to learn to behave acceptably around them. I deem it best that you do so anon, while there aren’t too many curios eyes and idle tongues about.”
Lord Bryon leaned back in his chair and casually crossed his legs, putting an ankle on his knee.
“The girl is here to stay,” he stated, a clear declaration that left no room for discussion, upon which the son – Aroan – acquiesced as it was expected, “Yes, Father.”
“Seeing as she is yours now, you should mark her as such.” The Fae fixed his gaze on his offspring. “The smithy …”
“There is no need for that,” Aroan broke in, his voice cool and collected. “I have something else in mind.” He paused. “My very own mark of ownership.”
Great. So this Aroan had his own method of branding.
Lord Bryon chuckled. “I must admit I’m intrigued, Son. Let us see. Go ahead.”
Aroan shifted his weight, as was evidenced by the light creaking of his chair, but he didn’t come over to Amelia. He didn’t even stand. His energy came awake, though – it rippled right off him. As with Byron in the camp, Amelia could sense it without trying to, in spite of the distance between them.
Then a string of that energy shot out, heading right for her, and it was all Amelia could do not dive out of the way, but she couldn’t. Seeing it coming would’ve betrayed too much about her.
The power circled around her body once, twice, climbing higher and higher as it went, then it finally settled around her neck. Not constricting her air flow but still quite tangible, and Amelia couldn’t suppress her gasp.
A slim ring of leashed flames now surrounded her throat, mixed with a bit of darkness.
She’d indeed been collared.
“So, you can feel it,” Aroan remarked, addressing her for the first time, but he didn’t seem concerned.
Maybe he didn’t know so much about average humans, after all.
“Good. You should be aware that I can use that collar to punish you any time I see fit,” he said, pausing to let his words sink in. “I can apply the collar to cause you unimaginable pain, but it is also capable of rendering you unconscious at a moment’s notice. It can even suffocate you if I so command.”
With his explanation at an end, Aroan turned back to his father.
“Why would I content myself with a brutish metal collar when my powers allow me mark her and leash her at the same time? My energy signature is detectable to all Fae, declaring my ownership of her, but this type of binding also enables me to keep her in check and punish her with barely a thought if necessary.”
He looked at his father intently.
“Well done, my son.” This time, Lord Bryon’s voice rang with pride. “Very well, indeed. You learn fast.” The Fae stood. “I will leave her with you, then.”
Aroan nodded.
“You must be weary after the long journey.”
“I must attend to some matters,” his father countered. “We will speak further, though, before I head to Cerridwen.”
With that, the Lord left the study.
So, he had some kind of business in the capital of the Upper Kingdom. Amelia made a mental note to find out what that was about later.
Now that they were alone in the room and the Fae Lord’s presence wasn’t interfering with Amelia’s perception, it grew apparent how much energy still surrounded Aroan. His ability might’ve been leashed for the moment, but the aura of great might was still definitely there.
“What’s your name?”
It was the Fae who broke the silence by addressing her again, this time also waiting for an answer.
What is it to you, Amelia wanted to shoot in his face, but she curbed her tongue and kept her eyes downcast, forcing herself to state instead, “Amelia, sir.”
Aroan seemed to take that it. To take her in.
“You can look at me, you know,” he told her after a while in a gentler tone than before.
Amelia debated if that was a trick and whether she’d be better off ignoring Aroan. She had to look at him sooner or later, though, and she was also curious, so she lifted her gaze … and sucked in a sharp breath.
The Fae sitting behind a desk strewn with papers was the embodiment of maleness. His broad frame filled out his sleek, expensive suit, enhancing the aura of power that made him seem even bigger. Pale, pale blond strands of hair that were so common for certain Fae framed an ethereal face and stopped just shy of the collar of Roan’s deep blue shirt. And that distinct gaze – those clear blue eyes flecked with the tiniest bits of pure white that were so much like his father’s but somehow also strikingly different …
It was him.
Chapter Eight
The old dread was back with a vengeance, chilling Amelia’s bones to the marrow.
He seemed older, of course. It was only logical since years had passed since that fateful day, but still … He was the one. Amelia was sure of it.
She would be able to discern those features anywhere.
They were burned deep into her memory.
The sudden recognition froze her, just like that day. It brought back the staggering feeling of loss, the incredulity, because what’d been occurring – what she hadn’t been able to wrap her mind around back then – had seemed so outrageous that it couldn’t ever be real. But it had been. It was. It had happened.
And he’d been there.
A soul-deep rage superseded Amelia’s fright and pain. The burning need to finally, finally act suffused her, dispelling the shock keeping her in place.
The urgency of Chrystie’s desperate warning also came to her mind, though.
Chrystie’s demand that she run was what had driven Lia to flee, had practically compelled her to save herself. She had survived because of Chrystie – for Chrystie.
And she’d done whatever was necessary to keep on living.
To honor Chrystie’s last wish, and so she could fight another day. She soldiered on in remembrance of the one person who’d made her whole.
Lia hadn’t been able to help back then, but she could avenge her lost loved ones at the very least, and she could try to restore things to how they used to be – or better yet, to how they should be, how they would’ve been if Chrystie had lived long enough to grow up.
That’s why Lia had learned so much, practiced and sought knowledge for years. That was what she aimed for, what drove her.
Her one and only true goal in life.
She’d worked too hard to fail now.
And that was exactly why she had to stand down. For the second time in a matter of barely more than a week.
Her day of reckoning wasn’t here yet – not until she learned the identity of everyone involved in the plot and horrible events of that day, and how exactly they’d contributed to the happenings.
She had to get close to her enemies, get to know them better than they knew themselves. Only then would she be able to make them hurt as much as she’d ached – by taking away what they cherished the most.
Alas, despite appearances to the contrary, she still had a long way to go. As Amelia. Stumbling across Aroan and being purchased his father, of all people, was only the first step. The opening in this deadly game.
Which was why she’d als
o need a way out before she acted. She couldn’t sacrifice herself, because then everyone except Aroan would go unpunished, and that was unacceptable. No matter what role he’d played in Chrystie’s murder and how much satisfaction killing him would bring her personally, Roan, her new owner, wouldn’t be the only one to suffer.
She might’ve gone off course with regards to her original mission to thwart the Fae and help humans, but the new developments could even prove useful in that regard. After all, there weren’t many places where she could learn more about the Fae’s secrets than right here in the Upper Kingdom. It wasn’t every day that a spy got placed in a prominent Fae household as a slave, and that put her in a very unique position.
He wouldn’t recognize her, of course, and neither would his father How could they?
Inwardly, Lia laughed bitterly.
Aroan would never know. Not until she was ready to tell him.
As for until then, she had a role to play. They thought she was nothing but a silly human girl, a simple troublemaker, so she would behave accordingly. She’d stay at this godforsaken mansion and gather as much intelligence as she could before she made her next move.
She’d play the long game and win. Even if it cost her everything.
Chapter Nine
The heat beat down on Amelia incessantly.
The burning kitchen fires were barely a few feet from her spot, and after the long hours she’d spent peeling potato after potato, Amelia felt like she was being cooked alive. Her light skin was flushed and sweat rolled down her back in great beads, collecting in every nook and corner underneath her rough-hewn dress and plastering it to her body.
Amelia kept peeling, though, her dull knife stripping off the outer layer of the vegetables without a word of complaint, because at the very least, she could complete this task sitting down instead of scrubbing the earthen floor of the kitchen or the tiles in the servants’ hallway on hands and knees all day long. Her muscles still ached from the effort. Not that she wasn’t accustomed to that kind of work – she’d done her share of menial labor in the past, but it’d been a while since she’d had to muster so much physical effort.
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