The Death Series, Books 1-3 (Dark Dystopian Paranormal Romance): Death Whispers, Death Speaks, and Death Inception

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  “I know that you worry.” She twisted her hands mercilessly. “And it means nothing as they cannot breach the sphere.”

  “But they can.” Sarah looked at them significantly.

  Charles looked back at her. “They must not know the peril of salt.”

  “Why does everyone believe that they are not intelligent beings? Mayhap they understand us as well as we understand them. Possibly more,” Clara said.

  She thought of the savage’s reaction and how it quickened her blood that he responded to her battery so passionately. She was resolute. She would not be reacquired in a neighboring kingdom. Charles was right. She needed to get away somewhere she could not be easily found. Escaping her mistreatment loomed large for Clara. She felt a coward to think of herself foremost. But her face hurt, and her spirit wilted at the prospect of more savagery at the hands of Prince Frederic, who did not even have wine as an excuse.

  ****

  It was decided after much discussion as their eyes grew grainy from tiredness, that after the monarchsʼ departure one day hence at midday, Clara and Charles would go on a trade to the Kingdom of West Virginia, the Queen's home sphere. There, Clara would breach the sphere tunnel walls and slip through. The details were mired down with the inclusion of the guard. Clara paced as she and Charles thought of what they could do so the guard would not prevent her escape and not be blamed for allowing it. “We must use the sleeping potion that the Doctor uses for the twilight sleep,” Clara said.

  “That is measured. What if we murder them by accident?” Charles asked in a flat voice.

  “You are still contrary because of their indecision?”

  “I am afraid it will remain thus, as it was they who saw fit to not aid you while they had me bound.”

  Sarah broke in. “Charles, would you be at the mercy of the Queen if you could prevent it?”

  Charles's scowled. “I would not choose it, but I would have suffered much to help Clara.”

  They were silent for a few moments. Then Sarah said, “How will you manage to accompany her then? I do not envision the Queen will allow you that reward.”

  Sarah had hit at the bottom of it. Charles was not Ada's favorite because he was Clara's.

  “Clarence is the guard at the start of the trade tunnel. He will let us through?” Clara asked.

  “The one you spar with, Charles?” Sarah clarified.

  “Yes, it is he,” Charles replied.

  “Will he suffer at the Queen's hand?” Clara asked.

  “I think not. He can blame the twilight sleep, and she will have to be content with that,” he said.

  Sarah repeated what she had said before. “He will kill you.”

  Charles nodded.

  “I know,” Clara whispered.

  Clara walked out into a night lit by lamps that illuminated cobblestones. Their hissing played a symphony to accompany her home.

  CHAPTER 16

  Bracus's lungs were on fire. His throats slits felt like hot slashes at his neck, overworked and begging for rest. He ignored his body's demands to stop, as he saw the clan's pointed fence come into view. He slowed to a jog and made the birdlike sound that alerted the guard that a warrior of the Band approached.

  Two guards were needed to open the gate. It was laborious, and Bracus waited, taking great inhalations of sweet air, his hands planted on his hips. He hopped from one foot to the other, not wanting to be stiff. He needed to ready his small team for the journey back to the sphere.

  The Princess was in imminent danger.

  Finally, the gate was set wide enough for him to slide through. The two guards bowed as he did. Bracus went straight to the great cistern of water the community drank from. A young girl waited at hand. She worked in an adjacent tub with lye, a wretched but effective product. She wore duck skin gloves so it would not burn her skin.

  Bracus ruffled her hair, and she smiled. She was a wee thing, only ten and two years. Bracus liked her. She was spirited but without friends. There were many males her age but only one other female to share her time with. That set Bracus's teeth on edge. They needed the females of the sphere. The sphere-dwellers must agree.

  They must.

  He drank deep and then still more, his thirst a beast of its own. Finally, he handed the cup back to Evelyn, who smiled at him.

  Immediately Bracus looked around him, taking in the state of the clan. Everything was as it should be. He saw light trading of wares and most of the children—boys, he corrected himself—learning to figure and read. Not that there was great need for that. So few books remained from the time the Earth was Covered in Ash. No matter. Reading was good for the mind.

  He needed to fill his belly then find his Bandmates and speak with President Bowen. The President would need convincing, to be sure.

  ****

  Bracus was tired to his core and more so now that he had eaten an entire chicken. He stepped out of the community dining center, but instead of seeking much-needed rest, he sought the Band.

  They were easy to spot, and he was surprised that none had seen him first. Philip stood slightly taller than the rest, maybe close to six foot and eight inches, an absolute slab of a man. His shoulder muscles looked like they had been attached separately to his body, growing into his neck. He caught sight of Bracus and raised a hand, half in greeting and half in question. Where have you been?

  He strode to Bracus and embraced him in his mighty arms. “How fare you, brother?”

  Bracus began with an utter lack of finesse. “The Princess has been beaten.” Shock poured over Philip's face. “And we will need to acquire her much sooner than we had first thought. Three weeks is too long, and judging by the fist that fell on her face, if we wait, she will not be alive to acquire.”

  “Who?” Philip asked simply.

  “A young male entered her chamber, and she fought him.” Bracus clenched his teeth.

  Philip's expression darkened. “And he saw you there... outside the sphere.”

  Bracus nodded. It did not make perfect sense to him either.

  Philip palmed his chin. “What happened when she fought him?”

  “She fainted...”

  “Good Lord.”

  “And then he held her.”

  “Against her will?”

  “No, she was unconscious. He held her most tenderly.”

  “None of this makes sense. If he were in league as a protector of this Princess, then why was he not in attendance? Where is her guard? If she is truly a Princess...” Philip looked at Bracus for confirmation, and he nodded. “She ought to have a guard. That she does not, speaks of some internal problem.”

  Bracus nodded solemnly. He had pondered the same.

  Joseph appeared along with the other Band members, but Jack was absent.

  “Where is Jack?” Bracus asked.

  There was shuffling of feet and downward looks.

  Bracus growled. “Where-is-Jack?”

  It was Stephen who spoke. “He is with Lillian. She ails.”

  Philips eyebrows drew together, and Bracus scowled. They did not need a sick female.

  “It is not mortal. She is with child,” Matthew said.

  Wonderful news. Why the anxiety?

  “We lose a Band member, while he lounges and moons over his woman.” James crossed his arms stiffly over his chest.

  Jacob broke out in a grin, clapping James on the back. “You are not mated, or you would not speak such.”

  “I cannot speak for the rest of you, but if my female was with child, I would not be out fighting, leaving her here, defenseless,” Stephen said. Several of the other Band members nodded. It was well known mated Band members were fierce about their women when they could be mated. Further complicating things, it was postulated that the Evil Ones made some sort of genetic predisposition that certain females were more “appealing” than others. The rumored select. They would someday get that opportunity to see who would be their mate. Lord help them if there was a female who had that enigmatic gene
of the select that appealed to more than one male in the Band.

  “When is the celebration?” Philip asked.

  “I do not know, but Jack seemed to think that after she stopped heaving up the contents of her stomach, she would be well enough for the Celebration of Conception,” Joseph relayed dryly.

  There was a good-natured chuckle all around. Many females were terribly sick in the beginning.

  Bracus nodded. This was good news and now he would have to deliver the bad.

  After he finished with his report to the Band, they were all serious and quiet, deep in their own ruminations.

  The guard contained his expression with an effort. He would see this female returned to her sphere. They did not need the sphere-dwellers. Her abuse made his stomach turn, too close to memories that haunted him.

  Bracus announced that a clandestine meeting would be needed with the president. Horses would be used. He needed to be fresh for tomorrow's journey.

  “Matthew, you accompany me,” Bracus said.

  “Of course,” he said in his steady way.

  Bracus turned away.

  “My brother?”

  “Yes?”

  “Let me join you in this journey,” Philip said.

  Bracus shook his head. “You know that I will need you.”

  “We will use horseback again?” Philip asked.

  “We must. I wish not to be attacked with a female. Think of another clan getting hold of the Princess, or the fragment.”

  The Band thought of this with a soft horror. The fragment used females as breeders. Their women were beaten and mistreated. Many tried to escape. The fragment would do anything to propagate. Of course, they had no Band. They were fractured clan, refugees from clans who banded together, kidnapping females wherever they could. That was why the females had males accompany them when they ventured outside the walls. Food needed to be gathered, so the females went, but not alone.

  Bracus turned to fetch the messenger and Jacob put a hand on his forearm. “He has been summoned and dispatched. He hails the president now.”

  “Very good.” Bracus looked at Matthew, who nodded back. Bracus and Matthew gathered their weapons, saddling the horses. Bracus raced to his dwelling to change from his sweaty clothes.

  He changed into a fresh set of tight-fitting breeches suitable for riding. His rough cotton tunic, snug against his lower chest, tied loosely across his upper chest and opened at the neck. His arms remained bare to the wind, perfect for movement in fighting, riding and of course, running.

  CHAPTER 17

  Clara found not one moment's rest, and shadows lay as dark smudges beneath her eyes. She felt in her bones that they would be discovered. The Queen could not let more than one day pass without inflicting some kind of absurd discipline on Clara.

  Under the pretense of trading with the neighboring kingdom, Clara could take a small knapsack, and the appearance of normalcy would stay intact. Olive entered her chamber at dawn. Clara must keep this secret from Olive too. The Queen was not above torture, and if Olive knew nothing, she could say nothing.

  “Princess... what are you packing?” Olive's brows rose.

  “Trading day,” Clara responded neutrally.

  Olive gave a puzzled look at the knapsack. “Do you wish for me to ask Billy for tangerines?”

  That would be a blessed distraction for Olive, who gazed on Clara with thinly veiled suspicion.

  “Yes, that would be most helpful.”

  Olive nodded and turned to go, but remembered something at the last moment. “May I mention that if you travel for trading, the Queen will expect a certain wardrobe... and your crown?”

  Drat. Clara was hoping to avoid that. However, it might play to her advantage if she cooperated by looking like a Princess. The Queen would be more lenient.

  “I agree,” Clara said, which caused Olive to stare. Clara sighed. It was not typical for her to agree to anything that had to do with pleasing Ada.

  Olive considered for a moment more. Then she slipped out the door.

  Clara had just closed the knapsack with its supple leather ties when there was a rap on the door.

  Excellent! She rushed to the door, throwing it open with a ready smile on her face. But Prince Frederick filled the doorway.

  Clara blanched and stepped back as he entered her room. He lifted a hand to his face to push his hair back, and Clara flinched.

  He laughed. “I will not beat you at every turn. But I must say, you do bruise quite nicely.” He reached out to touch the bruise over the swelling on her cheekbone.

  “Do not touch me,” Clara said in a low voice.

  “I will touch you when and how I like.”

  “You have not the right!” Clara shouted into his face.

  Prince Frederic leaned forward from his considerable height. “I will have all kinds of rights soon enough.”

  “But not this day,” Clara said.

  Frederic straightened with a sly smile, moving away from her and pacing about the room, touching her things. Clara marked his progress with anxiety. She cared not what he touched. Her hope was to not look upon the trappings of her royal life for some time.

  He paused, whirling around and firing a question at her. “I hear that you go to trade this day.”

  Clara's heartbeat accelerated. “ ʼTis true, but in the late afternoon.”

  He nodded, almost to himself. “Then I will take my leave now, as I will not return until our Wedded Joining.”

  He approached her, taking her hands in his, his sudden tenderness more disturbing than his beating. “I will not always be unkind to you. If you would but do as I say, then this would be easier upon you.”

  Clara snatched her hands away. “I cannot.”

  He stared at her for a full minute, his eyes narrowing. “You will.”

  There was a noise at the door, and they turned to see Charles framed by the doorway.

  He looked intently at Clara. Then his gaze moved to Frederic, and his fists clenched and opened, clenched and opened. “Clara, are you well?”

  Clara nodded.

  “She is very well. You do not need to fret over her. Soon, she will not need anyone fretting over her at all.” He smirked. “I am not overly jealous, as my time of solidarity with Clara is soon.” He looked at both of them with a knowing smile and walked out.

  Charles's shoulders visibly relaxed after the Prince was gone. Clara rushed forward, putting herself in the circle of his arms. He stroked her hair.

  “I thought he was here to hurt you again.”

  “No, just to threaten.”

  “It matters not. We leave today, and he will not lay his hands upon you again.”

  Clara was still grappling with the feelings of her desertion. Her face was long and her spirit much subdued.

  Charles noticed her disquiet. “Do not, Clara. We have moved so far beyond what we thought you would have to endure. Now, because of his beastly manner, we know that it is better you escape. You cannot, as Sarah said, rule anything if you are dead.”

  Clara nodded, biting her lip so she would not cry.

  If she began, she would never stop.

  ****

  Charles left again after the two of them went over the next four hours to the minutest of details.

  Clara carefully dressed, taking care to put on royal attire, Princess attire. Because of the lateness of the season, she would have to wear something as lightweight as possible. Olive had come and gone several times, fetching Clara's favorite food items for the journey. Clara decided on a teal dress, which barely grazed her heels. It had an organdy overlay in a light sherbet orange, which caused the material to shimmer like the ocean with the blush of sunset upon it.

  Once the corset was secure and the dress on, Olive came to Clara with the small, pearl-crusted tiara with diminutive Alexandrite gems encircling the pearls, winking with different colors as Clara moved.

  Clara came to stand in front of her looking glass, mesmerized by her small crown, which sh
e had only worn a handful of times. It sat awkwardly on her head. Turning away from her bruised reflection, she picked up her knapsack, preparing to visit Ada before her departure. Always an ordeal, the extra burden of the upcoming escape swirled in her mind like mud in a river.

  ****

  King Otto and Prince Frederic had left and were well on their way to the Kingdom of Kentucky. Clara had not realized how encumbered she was with Frederic’s presence until she knew that he was gone. It lifted a weight from her shoulders and dusted the cobwebs from inside her head for her conversation with the Queen.

  She entered Ada's chamber and was struck by the mess. Even with Elvira's constant cleaning, Ada was a continual job.

  Clara faced the Queen's back. Ada stiffened.

  Turning, she looked at Clara critically, then finally nodded. “You look as you should for once.”

  Clara nodded. “I came to say goodbye for one day and night of trading.”

  Ada threw her palm up, silencing Clara. “I have been made aware. And that is acceptable, especially as you have taken pains to appear royal and not embarrass me with your typical, foolish dress.”

  Clara said nothing.

  “Elvira,” Ada barked.

  “Yes, my Queen,” she said in her cowed way.

  “Do you have the list of parcels for the Princess?”

  Elvira nodded. Her hair bounced about her shoulders, having come undone from its confines.

  “Fetch it then, servant.”

  “Yes, my Queen.”

  Clara loathed her mother.

  Elvira brought the list to Clara.

  “What is this, spirits?” Clara looked up sharply at her mother’s glass, her suspicions confirmed.

  “It was Frederic's suggestion...” Ada remarked casually.

  Clara knew he wished to have her drunk with something stronger than grapes.

  “Are the grapes not enough?” Clara asked with transparent disdain.

  “Watch your tone, Princess.”

  Clara waited.

  “I tire of wine. Methinks spirits are a refreshing distraction.”

  Liar, Clara thought.

  Olive entered the Queen's chamber. After a low curtsey, she turned to Clara. “Princess, Sarah has requested your presence.”