She liked Clara in a state of unbalance. Teetering.
“My Queen?” Henry asked.
Ada was snapped out of her reverie.
Matthew stared at her.
“I am Queen Ada, sovereign ruler of the Kingdom of Ohio,” she responded in her imperious manner.
Then she told Henry, without looking at him, “Bring my traveling goblet, guard.”
“Yes, my Queen.” Henry walked to the travel bag, which hung in a jeweled brass case welded onto the side of her traveling cocoon. He brought out the cup, fashioned by a blacksmith from her home sphere from the finest metal, titanium-lightweight and travel ready.
Matthew looked at the female and could not see a mustard seed of kinship between the two women. Clara had said they were mother and daughter, but he could not see it. This woman was as tall as some men. She had raven colored hair and a ferret's face, feral, sharp and too thin by far. Did they not have adequate food in their kingdom? He felt Clara tremble slightly. He knew that the Queen meant Clara physical harm. The other Band did not. That friend of hers, Charles, would know of her mistreatment. He must. Matthew wished opportunity to confer with them as this detail mattered.
The Queen swaggered forward, coming to stand before Clara. Looking down on her, she took in the disarray of her wardrobe, eyes lingering on Clara's healing face.
The length and weight of the stare grew uncomfortable, but Clara had learned to never take her eyes off of Ada. So she waited.
Finally, Queen Ada said, “We have come to bring you back to the sphere. There is much planning ahead for your Wedded Day.”
Clara knew what would happen but she spoke the words out loud. “I will not go back. I do not wish to be wife to Prince Frederick.”
The slap rang out across the meadow. Clara's head rocked back and hit Matthew's chest. The Queen raised her hand again, and Matthew captured her scrawny wrist easily, jerking her close to his face, while putting Clara behind him. “You will never lift a hand against her again,” he growled and released her so hard she stumbled backward.
Henry caught her mid-stagger, his eyes meeting those of the savage.
Yes, Henry thought wildly, this goes most badly. He held the Queen. Her state of drunkenness notwithstanding, she could be quite lucid when deep in the cup.
“I am not wont to strike females, madam,” he said the word like rodent, “but for you, I would make an exception.” His eyes glittered.
Ada turned her attention to Clara, seeing her handprint upon the girl's face and realized that mayhap, if she had handled thing differently, the girl would have gone with her. Now she saw all the eyes of the savages gaze at her with disdain. How dare they? Her eyes narrowed to slits. She was Queen here. They were nothing. She slapped at Henry's hands when he would keep her from saying more.
Charles and Matthew blocked Clara from her sight, but she would not be deterred.
Clara parted the men and came forward. “Beating me will not make me accompany you. Nothing will.” That was not entirely true, but Clara suspected what awaited her return. “I have left our home sphere for my own safety.” The Queen rolled her eyes at Clara, looking as though she would weep with boredom. Clara forged ahead. “I will not return for more abuse such as I received from the Prince.” Clara left off the words and you.
“A little discipline is good for all of us, Clara. Look at you. You heal already. No permanent damage was wrought.”
Matthew frowned at Queen Ada. Was the wretched creature deranged? Could she not see that Clara was still healing? Did she not just strike her own daughter?
Clarence said out loud what they had all been thinking. “Are you quite mad? Do you not see the abuse that still heals upon her face? Did you not just add to it by striking her?” He paced.
“You overstep yourself, guard.” Ada’s glance told him that she would never forget the comment. He cared not. He was not in the kingdom, so she was not Queen here this day, in this time.
“The Prince attacked me before I could escape the sphere. He meant to...” Clara paused, momentarily embarrassed, but pressed on, “have his way with me,” she ended flatly.
“Now that is a tale I would be careful in telling, Clara. Very careful indeed.” Her guard's horses shuffled nervously, their hooves making the grass rustle.
“It is not a tale,” Bracus said. “We were there. We saw what it was. This one,” he pointed to Charles, who had come to stand at Clara's side once more, “was overpowered and could not defend her against the Prince.” Clear distaste dripped from his voice.
The Queen stared at him. This one seemed to clearly be in charge. She would reason with him. Surely he understood hierarchy? Even as a mongrel, he seemed to have a sense of protocol.
She looked around her. The biggest of the savages appeared to have a deep wound in his side. A great many bodies were piled four deep a small distance away where vultures made lazy circles above the hill of death.
Queen Ada switched tactics. “What has happened here? Was my daughter involved in battle without protection?” She crossed her arms over her bony chest. Let her plant the seed of doubt that they were inadequate to protect a Princess.
Which of course they were!
“We do not use females in battle,” James scoffed. How ridiculous was that idea? They had too few females even if they wished to use them in that way, which they did not. He thought this horrible woman crazy. She spoke with foolishness and circular arguments.
Queen Ada smiled. She liked that they became defensive. She could feel herself gaining verbal control and relished the power.
Clara knew what the Queen was capable of and saw her games even if the Band did not. She would put a stop to it. She opened her mouth for rebuttal just as horses came galloping out of the woods. It was Stephen and Joseph of the Band.
What was this?
They pulled up short of the group. Their steed's hooves dug into the soft earth, and they slid to a stop. Dismounting in a rush with weapons drawn, Stephen glanced but for a moment at the Queen and her royal guard, his eyes touching on Clara and Matthew, then finally, Bracus.
“Captain.” He put his fist to his heart, and Bracus returned the gesture. “A large contingent approaches. It is the man from the sphere tunnel.”
The Prince, Clara thought with an anguish like heat washing up from her feet to head. She sat down with an unladylike plop and put her head between her knees. It was that or she would spray vomit where she stood. She shook uncontrollably. The mere thought of being in his presence after the recent assault was too alarming for words.
Charles knelt by her side. “He will not have you or harm you. We will die before we allow it.”
Matthew drew her up against his body. Bracus and Charles both looked at him with identical expressions of irritation. They wished to be the men to comfort her. Matthew tightened his grip.
Clara felt the heat of him, the wonderful masculine smell as that special warmth burnt between them. She allowed herself to be comforted for a moment, listening his heart beating beneath her ear. Then she pulled away. She had to look... to watch. She turned in the circle of his arms and what she saw stole her breath.
There were so many.
The Prince had the entire guard with him.
They had only seven of the Band—one injured—Clarence, and Charles. There were thirty of the guard. Thirty.
She felt Matthew tense around her and understood what he thought of the odds.
The Prince saw the group of savages standing some distance from a pile of corpses and blood which littered the field before them. Good. They were tired from their battle with other savages or whoever they were. It mattered not. He looked upon the Queen’s typical drunken indignation and thought it excellent that soon she would never be indignant again. Finally, his gaze slid to Clara. She was within his grasp! He felt his heart speed with excitement. She would be underneath him again. He knew that as sure as he sat on his mount, smelling the remnants of battle. His gaze darkened as he saw the huge ma
le who held her close, and his vision instantly went red. How dare another man touch her? What had she done with him? Had she become a whore so quickly? He approached the group.
Queen Ada stalked toward him, her rare pearls swinging, and an image came to him of strangling her with those pearls. It made a smile come into place where none had been before. His anger at Clara clawed like a caged animal wishing to be free.
Bracus looked upon the Prince, taking his measure. Frederic was without a moral compass, Bracus knew, to harm a female as he had Clara. Bracus was unsure of the communion between this Prince and the Queen. He would watch and signal the Band to be ready.
The Queen saw the smile on Frederic's face, and her step faltered. An internal alarm went off, which she promptly ignored. Instead, she thought, more wine will make all this dreadfulness go away. Clara would return to the sphere with the Prince, marry him, and she would have grapes aplenty. Immensely satisfied with her internal musings, Ada rushed forward.
As the Queen neared Frederic’s horse, Clara had a sudden, internal portent and shouted, “Mother, no!”
Fierce hate and love intermingled in a confusing tide of emotion.
Ada turned her head to gaze at Clara just as the Prince hooked his fist in the pearls around Ada's neck, jerking her close to his horse. In his opposite hand, a small dagger arced, piercing her chest as he dumped her body away from him, her side hitting the horse on the descent then landing on her back. The pearls fell on the grass like black beetles let loose from a jar.
There was utter silence for a moment when nothing stirred, not a savage, guard, bird, animal. Even the flies ceased droning. Then the world slid into an abyss of clashing metal and diving swords. The men launched themselves at each other, and Clara hit the ground. Evelyn crawled after her.
Clara reached Ada and lifted her head, cradling it as blood welled brightly. A shiny flood of rubies cascaded down her pale flesh, soaking the deep purple velvet and turning it to black. Ada’s eyes were becoming glassy, and Clara knew she would not last in this plane of existence much longer. After so long living in fear, Clara found an abiding sadness taking residence in her heart. All the lost time with the Queen, her mother, now gone.
With the sounds of battle all around her, she held her mother's head and saw that she was trying to say something.
“Yes... my Queen. Mother.”
The name felt foreign on her tongue.
“...not... not... your...” Queen Ada gasped, her dark eyes bulging in their sockets.
“What are you not?” Clara asked. Evelyn crouched beside her.
“...your mother,” Ada whispered, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
Clara felt her mouth open.
They were not mother and daughter.
Queen Ada raised a claw-like hand and beckoned for her to move closer.
Clara did.
Queen Ada grasped her ruined blouse and jerked Clara against her with the last of her strength. Their chests touched. New blood mingled with the old.
With her last ounce of breath Ada said, “The mermaid...” and died.
Her hand loosened from the tangle of clothing Clara wore, falling limply beside the stillness of her body.
Those eyes that had looked into Clara's a thousand times with loathing, disappointment, anger and disdain... saw her no more.
CHAPTER 33
Clara let her mother's head slide out of her grasp and fall to the grass. She reached for Evelyn, who grabbed her hand like a lifeline. Looking about, Clara could not make out one from another. The Queen's guard blended with the Prince's. Only the savages stood out in stark relief, their movements like a beautiful, macabre dance of violence in motion. She and Evelyn huddled together. The horses scattered about as far away from the battle as they could be.
She saw Henry lying on the ground with his throat open and blood spraying through his fingers while his mouth opened and closed. She turned to Evelyn, burying the girl's head in her bosom, marking her pale hair with Ada's slick blood. She watched one of the Prince's guards remove Henry’s head with a saber of some length then turn his attention to Clara. He sheathed his sword, making his way toward her. Blood splatters from ruined throats decorated his uniform in a ghastly crimson pattern of death. Clara did not pause, jerking the girl to her feet and running to where the Band's horses stood. She could feel her pursuer gaining and fought not to turn. Evelyn ran as fast as she.
They were almost upon the horses when Evelyn was ripped from her grasp. She turned without hesitation, launching herself at the Prince's guard, understanding the futility even as she moved against him.
She knew what it was to be unprotected.
The guard held Evelyn tightly, and Clara came at him like a wild animal, latching onto his forearm with her teeth. He howled and released Evelyn. He lunged at Clara, but she managed to avoid his fist.
Matthew's saw Clara leap upon the guard. He let the dead guard slide down his body, then heaved him to the ground.
He ran to Clara.
Clara was playing a deadly dodging game with the guard. He would rush forward, and she would back behind a horse. He would slap its hindquarters, and it would trot off, revealing her.
Clara stood before the guard. Evelyn had the sense to make her way into the midst of the horses, camouflaging her position. The guard's focus was all for Clara, which was what she had wanted all along.
To protect Evelyn.
“You are coming with me, Princess. That is Prince Frederic's order. Do not attempt to bite me again.” He warily approached her, and she stifled a wild bubble of laughter. That a big brute such as he would be wary of her. Her eyes dipped to the wound that her mouth had caused, and it was a disaster upon his arm.
Suddenly, she was wrapped in his embrace, and an evil look overcame him as he searched for some place to take her. Then his eyes bulged, and his body stiffened, a surprised cry escaping him as his arms loosened about her. He slid to the left, falling in a crumpled heap to the ground. A dagger stuck out of his back, a thick agate embedded in its hilt. Clara looked up. It was Matthew who calmly crouched above the guard, taking the dagger out and wiping it casually on the guard's uniform before sheathing it.
“Clara.” He moved toward her.
Her lip trembled, and she told herself that she would not cry. Her relief was as profound as any she had ever known as she burst into tears. He drew her into his body, shielding her from the war that raged about them, the sounds of swords finally diminishing until the clatter ceased.
An unnatural silence took hold of the meadow. The sun slanted along the ruined and bloodied grass, the whole of it looking like it was on fire.
****
As soon as Clara could gain a measure of control, she backed away from Matthew, shaky and spent. Looking about her, she saw the dead Queen as pale in the repose of death as she had when she lived. Clara shuddered, feeling numb.
Charles approached her at a jog. Following her gaze, his eyes landed on Queen Ada. He ran to Clara, wrapping his arms around her. But she could not cry any longer, her emotions depleted.
He pulled away and looked down on her. “I am so sorry, Clara. I know she showed you every unkindness, but she was still your mother.”
No, she was not, Clara thought, but she said nothing. She would reflect on that disturbing revelation at another time. At present, she needed to take stock of what had happened.
Quite a lot, apparently. Her eyes took in the battlefield where no less than thirty new corpses lay. As she looked, she grew more frantic. The Prince did not appear to be among them.
He lived.
Her eyes flew from one Band member to the next, all alive. Gore and blood covered some from head to toe. Bile rose in an indelicate lump, surging upward. Clara clamped her hand over her mouth and raced to the border of the field where she spent some time purging the contents of her stomach, which were small. Nevertheless, her body heaved.
A small hand landed on her shoulder, and she turned, seeing Evelyn holding a flas
k in one hand and a cotton cloth in the other. Clara took them gratefully from the girl, noticing that she looked a little better. Having all the enemies gone and still living herself may have something to do with that.
Finally Clara stood, feeling much fresher, and the first thing she noticed was the Queen's body covered in a loose shroud a mound of white in the sea of blood and grass. The other bodies made a third pile. Clara swallowed, pushing herself to walk past the hills of the dead. She found the Band, who had marked her progress back into the meadow's center.
She saw them all. They had fought over thirty of the Prince and Queen's respective guards yet all stood before her in various states of injury.
Clarence and Philip lay on the ground beside the band. Jacob attended them both. He must be a healer she thought absently as she came to Clarence's side, bending down beside him as she tucked her long skirt under her knees.
“My Queen,” he said in a clear voice.
Clara just stared.
She whipped her head around and looked at Charles, who formally bowed. “My Queen.”
She was Queen now.
Clara curtsied to her subjects, her friends, as if she were on the royal dais instead of in this bloodied field of death. Their acknowledgment of her new royal status was the most surreal of her young life.
The Band watched this knowing that now the former monarch was dead, there would be no need for negotiation with anyone but Clara.
All eyes turned to her.
She looked at each one. Surprising them all, she asked, “What has become of the Prince?”
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