Amelia put the hand that was in better shape around Evana, pulling her closer to her side. Soon, the girl relaxed and rested her head on Amelia’s shoulder. This light elf was so young, so frail … And yet as strong as iron.
“How can you bear living here? Serving them?” Amelia asked in a hushed voice.
She wouldn’t have been able to spend six years with the Fae. Not ever.
“I got used to it,” Evana responded, and her statement resonated with hidden meaning.
The elfling wished to encourage Amelia, to assure her that in time, she’d learn to accept her new reality – that she was to be a slave forever, too. Because that’s what Evana was – a fellow slave. A captive. Even if they called Evana a servant, they kept her here as a hostage. Even though the conflict was supposed to be long over, the girl and her brother had no choice but to stay at the mansion, as punishment and to serve as a reminder for her kind.
“I don’t plan on doing so,” Amelia murmured, echoing the same thing she’d told Thea and Zoena back at Inherell. Going through their conversation in her head again, Amelia then asked, “Is your brother all right?”
Evana nodded.
“He just had a serious cold.”
“They didn’t even allow you take time off from work so you could better tend to him,” Amelia mused, grimacing as she recalled that the girl had been in the kitchen every day.
“I managed,” Evana murmured, endeavoring to hold Amelia’s rising ire in check, and for the elfling’s sake, Amelia let dropped the subject.
There was another thing she wished to discuss further, though.
“You mentioned that it’d been Aroan who convinced Lord Bryon to spare you,” she ventured. “Did you ever learn why he did so? I mean, he is Fae, and he clearly despises humans.”
Evana burrowed closer to Amelia. She was quiet for so long that Amelia thought she’d fallen asleep, but the elfling spoke up at last, “Lord Roan isn’t so bad. And as for humans,” Evana paused, considering. “I don’t think he despises all humans. It’s more likely just that they remind him of his mother.”
It appeared Amelia was to be surprised at every turn this evening.
“Of his mother?”
“Yes. I possibly shouldn’t be telling you this, but the Lady had been killed by your kind,” Evana explained anyway.
Oh. So Aroan – Roan – did have a compelling reason to hate humans.
“The other Fae seem to dislike me in the same way, though.”
Evana bit her lower lip.
“They don’t. Or … Well, I wouldn’t say all of them dislike you,” she amended. “You know, they aren’t all that bad, either. It’s just that you must remind them of the Lady, too.” She raised her head so she could glance at Amelia. “She was a good person, they say. A healer.” Evana shook her head somberly. “Healers wouldn’t harm anyone.”
The young servant stopped there, but Amelia could still easily guess the rest of the sentence.
And the humans had still murdered her.
To lose someone like that might fuel father and son’s rage and hatred, all right.
“What they did to her …” Evana trailed off yet again, but Amelia inwardly finished for her.
It must’ve been horrifying. And undeserved.
“You’re kind of an oddity around here,” the elfling finally went on.
“How come?” Amelia asked, puzzled at the seeming change of topic.
“You must’ve realized that you’re the only slave at the mansion,” Evana ventured, looking at Amelia, clearly expecting a response.
“Yes. I’ve been curious about that.”
“It’s because of Roan,” Evana explained, then leaned her head on Amelia’s shoulder.
Hugging her close, Amelia inwardly completed the thought. There weren’t any humans around because they reminded Roan of his dead mother – and the despicable act they’d committed.
Evana must be wrong, Amelia thought. Roan had to hate humans with a vengeance. Just like Amelia hated the Fae.
And Roan.
Chapter Twelve
Roan
Morning barely dawned when Lord Bryon rushed into Roan’s sleeping chamber without any announcement.
Sitting up with a start, Roan’s eyes zeroed in on his father who had begun pacing, striding up and down along the far wall.
“Get up,” the lord barked impatiently in his son’s direction as he turned, quickening his pace.
Instead of conforming himself to his sire’s wish, Roan leaned back and straightened the blanket that’d fallen away.
“A good morning to you, too, Father,” he then drawled with a bite to his words. “And welcome home, of course. How was Cerridwen?”
Face reddened and mouth compressed into a thin line, Bryon whirled around to face Roan. He was downright seething with rage.
“If I were you, I’d certainly curb my tongue right now.” He paused, allowing his words to sink in. “Well, my son, how do you reckon your slave got saddled with kitchen work?”
So, that was what this was about.
Roan had expected a discussion about his decision at some point, but even he hadn’t believed it would incense his Lord Father so much that he’d come striding into his rooms first thing upon his arrival back from the capital. But fine, they might as well get the matter out of the way. Let’s get this confrontation over with, then, Roan thought, and though his muscles bunched up with tension, he forced himself to keep his stance relaxed.
“I assigned her to the kitchens,” Roan informed his father, then went on, “Seeing as she is my slave, it was my decision to make, and she does a good enough job there.”
His father stalked over to him and leaned down, getting right into Roan’s face.
“You know well that the slave’s purpose wasn’t to parade around the kitchens,” the Fae Lord snarled. “She was meant for your personal use.” He took a step back, but his gaze still pinned Roan to the spot. “Pray tell me, son, how do you plan on ever learning to be around humans, then, let alone in due time so that you can take a seat on the Council and actually keep it?”
That line of inquiry shut Roan right up. His father’s logic was sound. Cerridwen now teemed with human slaves, and since the Fae Council’s seat was in the capital, he wouldn’t be able to steer clear of them. Moreover, council members delighted in availing themselves of the slaves’ services – a line of behavior Roan would have to imitate or put on a good face about at the very least.
Roan couldn’t actually tell his esteemed father that he didn’t want to adapt and conform to the Council’s ideas, though. Damn it, he didn’t even wish to become a councilor in the first place. He was more than content residing at the mansion and running the family’s estate in his father’s absence.
“Nothing to say?” Bryon queried, seemingly calmer now. “Well, then. I still expect you to adjust your behavior in a timely manner. I’ve cosseted and indulged you long enough.” The lord’s voice turned icy. “Seeing as you don’t wish to avail yourself of the girl, I might as well get rid of her right now.”
Roan’s blood chilled. Somehow, he still managed to force out, “Get rid of her, how?”
“Well, now, I will dispose of her, of course.” Kill her, he meant. “We have enough workers at the plantation.” Enough slaves toiling for them. “On second thought, I might use her myself first, though. After all, the chief overseer at Inherell assured me she was untouched, and it would be a pity to let her go to waste. Perhaps I will even offer her up to my esteemed colleagues. Invite them to have a go, too,” Lord Bryon’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Not that the slave’s further fate concerns you in any way.”
With that, Bryon turned to go.
Balling his hands into fists under the blanket, Roan steeled himself, and with a voice as bereft of emotion as he could manage, he said imperiously, “No.”
His dissent stopped Bryon in his tracks. It wasn’t often that Roan chose to contradict his father, and the single word seemed to hang in t
he air between them.
“You said she was mine, Father,” Roan went on, doing his best to keep his voice steady. “You bestowed that human upon me. Without stipulations.” He gave the other Fae a steady look, his face filled with determination. “I won’t give her back.”
For the longest time, Bryon regarded his son wordlessly. Then a tiny smile curled his lip.
“Fine,” the lord consented. “Keep her, then. But from now on, I expect you to keep her close to you, as you do your other possessions. I won’t stand for that slave working in the kitchens.”
With that satisfied smirk still gracing his face, Lord Bryon turned and left, shutting the door softly behind him.
Roan sighed. He’d played right into his father’s hands. Bryon had wanted the human girl close to Roan, so he’d manipulated his son into agreeing – no, downright demanding – to keep her. He’d most likely misjudged Roan’s motivation, but in the end, his tactic had still worked.
Roan hadn’t really had a choice, though. Bryon would’ve done exactly as he’d said. He would’ve raped that girl, passed her around, then murdered her or had her killed by one of the guards. Where humans were concerned, his father was that ruthless. And Roan simply couldn’t allow that to happen.
~ *** ~
Amelia
Amelia was in the process of getting dressed when, for the second time in a matter of days, there was a knock on her door.
Wiggling her arm into the long sleeve of her frock as hastily as she could without jostling her hand too much, Amelia did up the buttons on the front of the bodice. She was running a bit late and didn’t want to incur the cook’s wrath by not being on time, so whatever Evana wished to talk about either had to be discussed rather speedily or it’d have to wait.
“Come on in,” she called out anyway after he’d made sure her body was covered appropriately.
Beginning to braid her long hair into a single rope, Amelia turned to the door with a ready smile on her face – and froze.
It wasn’t the young elf who filled her doorway but a rather elegantly clad, well-groomed Fae.
“You’ve been summoned,” the male informed Amelia, not too graciously but not unkindly, either. “Lord Roan wishes to have a word with you.”
Roan wished to have a word with her, indeed. Amelia snorted inwardly. So, she’d been right, after all. Her master had decided on a punishment he found appropriate at last.
“But I’m to be in the kitchens shortly,” she forced out between clenched teeth, trying to settle herself and stop the quivering that was about to overtake her body at the prospect of both her punishment and coming face to face with Aroan anew.
“Do not bother yourself about that,” the Fae said in reply. “The lord’s wished take precedence over all other duties. Come quick, now, please. You shouldn’t keep His Lordship waiting.”
With that, the valet turned to go, and Amelia had no choice but to follow.
As they made their way up the floors, Amelia did her best to take in her surroundings as well as memorize the route they took. No matter what the cause, the opportunity to see more of the mansion in daylight had finally arisen, and it’d be foolish of her not to take advantage of it. So, she pretended to study the tiled hallways and the grand wall hangings while she mapped the mansion’s levels and marked the location of the staircases in her mind. She even managed to furtively sneak a look out the floor-to-ceiling windows so she could calculate their position in relation to the gardens and outbuildings.
The valet finally stopped in front of a heavy oaken door. He made sure she was present as well before he decisively knocked on the door, announcing their arrival.
“Enter,” a male voice ordered from the chamber, and Amelia immediately recognized Roan’s deep baritone.
Opening the door, the Fae who had to be the lord’s valet walked in with measured steps, motioning Amelia inside as well, then bowed to his master.
“The human, my lord,” her escort announced, straightening again.
“Thank you, Branley.” Roan nodded to the valet. “You can go. And Branley?”
“Yes, my lord?”
Roan briefly glanced at Amelia before turning back to his servant.
“From now on, call the girl by the name she provided,” he instructed, soundly shocking her. “Please address her as Amelia.”
Furrows appeared on the manservant’s brow, but he answered without hesitation, “As you wish, my lord.”
With a final bow, the male retraced his steps to the door and departed, leaving Amelia alone with the other Fae.
Silence descended upon them as Aroan leaned back and crossed his legs, taking up a more comfortable position on the settee. Amelia remained motionless as he studied her, standing two steps from the door with her shoulders straight and her hands behind her back, but at the same time, she used the opportunity to take in the rest of what was obviously a sitting room, though it was the map on the right wall that captured her attention.
The large, precisely drawn piece took up the entirety of the wall, depicting not only the lands of the Upper Kingdom but also those of the Lower Kingdom, along with the rest of the continent. The map even shoved the faraway coasts of Nur Ulylia to the south and east, as well as the relatively small landmass of Drougheenheim that was rumored to be inhabited by foul creatures Amelia had barely heard of, let alone set eyes upon. Nur Ulylia, though …
On that continent, the Fae had lorded over other species for hundreds of years. It had only been here in Tìr’nuadh that humans had retained their freedom up until a couple of years ago. As far as Amelia knew, the Kingdoms were well-nigh the only countries where they hadn’t only coexisted peacefully with the Fae and the Fairykind but also worked together, and they’d all thrived.
Right until the Fae Council had gotten the idea to follow the neighboring continent’s example and relegated all humans to nothing.
Amelia’s gaze returned to their shores, taking in the sandy dunes in the south, then moving up, up, through the much greener plains of the human kingdom’s middle region to Colit in the west. She looked up Mearend next, the town that’d briefly served as her home, and Fosseat, of course, the ancient capital city nestled at the foot of the Great Mounts.
The mountain range had always formed a natural border between the north and the south side of Tìr’nuadh, but formerly, it hadn’t been tantamount to a divide. No, the Kingdoms used to form a cohesive unit, with the ruling families working together to shape the continent they presided over favorably for everyone. Their peoples had mingled with each other in spite of their inherent differences and gradually even brought about interspecies families.
Or, as the Fae Concil would put it, they had muddled the bloodlines. The misinformed fools really believed those unions had weakened the Fae and led to the creation of mongrels.
North of the Great Mounts, the continent widened, opening up to the east and west. Rolling hills took over, emerald grasslands and deep woods with ancient trees and hidden Fairykind settlements. Amelia reckoned she was somewhere among those hills, though she hadn’t been able to find out her exact location as of yet.
Instead of reflecting on that problem further, Amelia sought out LaBell, Sorellee and Larosse. Then her eyes came to rest upon Cerridwen, the former seat of the Ravenell dynasty. The glittering city that was as great as it was majestic. A true treasure chest of knowledge, arts and mystical learning. And Chrystie’s erstwhile home.
Appalled, Amelia turned her attention back to Aroan. Nausea churned in her stomach, but she couldn’t be sick right now. Not while she was in his presence. So, she had to push such thoughts from her mind.
The Fae was still looking at her, studying her much in the same way as she’d been studying the map on his sitting room wall, and Amelia wondered what he saw when he gazed upon her. How good an expert of human nature he was, and how well he interpreted body language and facial nuances. What she could hide from him, and how much of her he managed to take in in spite of her efforts to remain unread
able.
Without meaning to, Amelia shuddered.
“So,” Roan finally spoke, breaking the long silence. “Amelia.”
She startled upon hearing that name on his tongue. It was … odd. She quickly shook off the disturbing feeling, and though the Fae hadn’t truly posed a question, she decided to respond, “Yes, sir.”
“You know, the correct way to address most male members of the aristocracy among the Fae is as ʻmy lord’. I’m sure you’ve picked up on that by now.” He looked at her searchingly, then went on with his explanation in spite of his assumption. “ʻSir’ is usually inadequate. You’d do well to remember that in the presence of other Fae Lords if you don’t want to incur punishment,” he cautioned her, then elucidated further.
“My father is a lord, because we are nobility by heredity, and thus, he is the Earl of Wentbur. Given that I’m his eldest and only son, that title will pass to me upon his death, but I’m also a lord in my own right, because since my twenty-first birthday, due to my father’s frequent absence, I’ve been the acting head of this household and officially holding landed property, not just managing the estate. Additionally, I’m also your owner, so in all honesty, I should make you call me Master,” he added, grimacing distastefully, what surprised Amelia yet again.
Putting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, Roan said, “Come closer, Amelia.”
She obliged him, stepping onto the soft carpet, secretly hoping she’d drag so much mud onto it that it’d be ruined.
“As of now, you’re relieved of your duties in the kitchens,” Aroan informed her. “And from now on, you’ll be residing here, in my chambers.”
The air left Amelia’s lungs in a rush.
She’d be residing here, in these chambers. With him.
Hidden Revenge Page 8
