“What use does a lady have for archery?”
“What use does a captain have for cruelty?”
He came to a jolting halt. Her heart skipped a beat as he yanked her arm to his chest so his face was only a few inches from hers. His eyes looked strange, almost like the pupils were tinged with fire. Not wanting to be the first to break eye contact, she resisted the urge to shake her head. It’s the torchlight playing tricks with my mind.
He leaned close, eyes black as night. “What gives you the right to judge me, captain of the strongest army in Asilee? You’re just a bastard child birthed in a gutter by some nameless whore.”
A sharp pain twisted at her heart, but she refused to acknowledge it. It seemed like minutes passed before she spoke, voice cold as ice. “Release my arm. Now.”
Dim light gleamed off the armor resting on his skin, skin so scarred it looked more like scales. She let her eyes slide over the layers of steel until they rested on the Accalian Crest, a sword framed by large wings, adorning the chest plate over his heart. It was meant to symbolize honor and bravery. “You don’t deserve to wear it.”
She hadn’t realized she had spoken out loud until he sucked in a tight breath. His hand went to the hilt of his sword, and for a moment she feared he would skewer her right there. Anger flaring, she lifted her chin and locked eyes with him. “I dare you. Show the world what a monster you really are.”
He gave her one last hard look before relaxing his hold and shoving her backward. She stumbled and rubbed her arm. Soreness was already setting in, and she was sure she would have bruises.
Orris stepped back and eyed her with a mixture of pity and disgust. “When are you going to stop pretending, Lianora? You’ll never be Ana-Elise.”
Lian tensed at the mention of her older half-sister but managed to keep her temper in check. It was a familiar insult, one she’d heard countless times over the years. I understand. Ana is perfect; I’m not. Thank you for reminding me yet again.
He paused to sling his cape over one shoulder. “You have exactly fifteen minutes. The duke wants you there on time for once. I will send for Ursa.” Then he stalked down the hall and faded into the shadows.
As he rattled away, her chest tightened from trying to contain the emotions fighting inside her: embarrassment, shame, envy, rage, despair. She rolled up her sleeve and looked at her arm; purple imprints of large fingers were beginning to rise.
She ran the last few feet to her chambers, flung open the door, and slammed it shut with a cry of frustration. The room was black as pitch; apparently no servants had been by to light any candles. In an odd way, it was comforting because there was neither sight nor sound, only her.
Falling against the door, she sank to the floor, cradling her bruised arm as she did to keep it still. With delicate movements, she rubbed it with her free hand, trying to soothe the throbbing.
You’ll never be Ana-Elise.
She was sick of it, all of it. The palace, the court, the weight of her identity. The air felt thin as her chest constricted and her breath quickened with the first pinpricks of hot tears.
I have to get out of here.
Her vision blurred. The sensation startled her; she had not cried in so long she had nearly forgotten what it was like. Weakness of any kind made one much too vulnerable for the Court of Night, and she had long since learned to bury her pain and put on an indifferent front.
She rubbed her eyes, as if she could keep the tears inside if she pressed hard enough. Though it felt strange to cry, she couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. It’s too much. Why not let it happen? You are alone, after all.
She drew up her knees and gingerly wrapped her arms around them. Then she laid her head down on the fold of her good arm and stopped fighting it. The tears formed a stream down her arms and dripped from her fingertips, washing away her emotions until she didn’t really feel anything at all. She was so consumed by her grief that she almost missed it.
Ching, ching, ching.
It came from beside her, where the tears raining from her fingertips pooled on the floor. It was like the world had stopped so that little sound could be heard. It was metallic but with overtones and harmonies. The object bounced one last time before settling in front of her.
She scanned the floor, and her eyes widened.
A delicate chain of woven crystal lay sprawled at her feet. Secured to the band was a single teardrop encased in a web of gold spirals. The teardrop swirled with streaks of white light, throwing rainbows onto the walls and reflecting back onto her awestruck face. She wondered if this was what sunlight looked like.
There were stories of magic, of crafts dead and forgotten, but the only people who believed in such things were the foolish and the insane. Maybe that was why magic only revealed itself to people like that, because it knew no one would believe them. Maybe she was losing her mind. She smiled and shook her head. Perhaps insanity wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe then the courtiers would leave me alone.
With trembling fingers, she reached down and cupped it gently in the palm of her hand. The moment she touched it, it was as if a veil had been lifted, driving away the darkness inside her until there was only hope and peace. It was warm, and its faint light pulsed with the beat of her heart.
Slowly, she smiled.
Mine.
She clasped it to her heart. Where had it come from? Had a chambermaid dropped it? Was it stolen, someone’s heirloom perhaps? It couldn’t have simply “appeared.” It had to belong to someone… but what if it didn’t? What if it were somehow, irrationally, meant for her?
She shook her head. Someone was most likely missing it right this very moment. Eventually, she would have to give it back.
At the thought, a surge of protectiveness surged through her. Who said she had to give it back? Maybe whoever lost it didn’t even realize it was missing. And if they didn’t know, who was she to cause them false alarm? Maybe, just maybe, she would hang onto it for a while and wait to see if anyone said anything about a missing necklace.
She blinked hard. Where had that come from? She had never been dishonest a day in her life. Well, at least not when her life hadn’t depended on it. Of course she’d give it back. “Don’t be selfish,” she said aloud. “You’re going to give it back to whomever it belongs to,” she added, as if saying it would give her conviction.
Someone knocked on the door, and she jumped. “Lian, may I come in?” said a soft voice.
Lian hastily wiped her face on her already dirty sleeve. “Yes. Come in, Ursa,” she called.
The door opened a moment later, and a petite girl about her age stepped inside, her freckled face illuminated by the dull yellow glow of the candle in her hand.
Ursa was her best friend of eleven years and her chambermaid. It was also Ursa who had started the nickname of “Lian” when they were both too little to pronounce “Lianora.”
Lian sighed, relaxing. She would worry about the necklace later. Right now, happiness overwhelmed her at seeing her dearest friend.
“It’s dark as Hesperides in here,” Ursa said, flitting about lighting sconces and candles. Once it was barely light enough to see, she turned around. “Dreaka help me. What have you been doing?” Her eyes rested on the teardrop dangling from Lian’s hand. “That’s very pretty.”
Lian shifted her weight. “Father gave it to me. He bought it off one of the traveling merchants from Irilah, uh, as an early birthday present.” As she was abandoned at the castle door as an infant, no one knew exactly when she was birthed. Since no one else had taken it upon them to name a proper birth day for her, she eventually picked the sixteenth day of summer because it was her favorite season and the number sixteen sounded pretty and petite.
She slipped the chain over her head and hid the teardrop in her blouse, hoping the guilt didn’t show on her face. Why did I just lie? I share everything with Ursa.
Ursa arched a brow. “That… was nice.”
When it became clear Ursa wouldn’t pursue the subj
ect, Lian exhaled with relief. That’s what she loved about her; she knew when to back down, trusting Lian to confide in her at her own pace.
Ursa scurried over to Lian and helped her out of her blouse. “By the gods, Lian!” Ursa’s fingers hovered over the spreading bruise. “What on Eresea happened? Should I fetch a healer?”
“No,” Lian said quickly, covering her arm.
When Ursa looked at her in surprise, she added, “It’s just bruises, nothing to make a fuss over.” She grinned. “I thought my clumsiness was legendary?”
“At least some things never change,” Ursa muttered, walking over to an over-sized wardrobe teetering precariously on three legs. The fourth had been broken for as long as Lian could recall.
Ursa threw open the doors of the wardrobe and began searching its contents. “Remember when we were five years old and you wanted to help me and my mother, rest her soul, in the kitchen for a day? You accrued more burns and bruises within a half hour than our entire kitchen staff combined gets in a day.”
Lian laughed, fingering the smoothed scars along her arms and hands. “Yes, I remember deciding afterward that I no longer cared if I knew how to cook or not.”
Ursa giggled. “If only life were still that simple.” She placed a finger to her lips, muttering something about lace and gems.
“Forget it,” Lian called. “You know I detest lace.” She perched on the edge of the bed so she could work off her boots without jostling her arm.
“So,” Ursa said hesitantly, changing the subject, “did you have another archery lesson with Gabriel?” She dug deeper into the wardrobe, muffling her voice.
Lian peeled the breeches off and flung them to the floor, where they joined her boots. “Yes, I did. I think I’m getting better at it.” She left out the part about missing the target completely – that didn’t count. Her aim actually had been improving. Until today, she hadn’t missed a target in weeks.
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Ursa said. “Gabriel’s the best archer in all of Accalia. You’re so lucky, Lian.” She mercifully pulled a plain dress of black silk from the wardrobe.
Lian smirked. “Oh, good. My favorite color.”
“More like your only color. I’m afraid options are rather limited.” They both paused to look at the near solid black wardrobe.
At first, Lian had hated black more than any color in Eresea. The fortress – her prison – was black. But over time her distaste gradually faded into indifference.
Ursa folded the dress over her arm and crouched to dig for shoes. Upon finding a suitable pair, she crossed the room and helped Lian into the cumbersome petticoat and stockings. Then she unlaced the bodice of the dress and held it open. It slid over Lian’s body and would probably have looked very attractive if she actually had any curves to fill it out. Thankfully, the sleeves were long enough to cover her bruises.
Ursa began threading the strings through the back of the bodice, keeping her eyes low. Usually she’d be talking Lian’s ear off by now. “Are you all right?” Lian asked, watching Ursa’s reflection.
Ursa’s head snapped up. “Oh, yes! I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Lian shook her head. “It’s nothing. You seemed quiet, that’s all.”
Ursa smiled. “I’m only lost in my own little world.” She secured the string with a tiny bow and stepped back to inspect her work. “There now.” She sighed, frowning. “I wish the color prohibition hadn’t passed. Do you remember pink, Lian? I’ve always thought that would be a nice color on you.”
With the duke sinking further into debt, dyes had been deemed too expensive to import. Thus, the duke had decreed that the purchase of any color, aside from black, gray, cream, and white, was unlawful and punishable by law. It had been that way for as long as she could remember.
Ursa busied herself with working out the snarls in Lian’s hair and piling it atop her head in a mess of curls. Lian begrudgingly shoved her feet into a pair of heels and made Ursa blush with her string of curses as she tried to walk in them. “It just takes practice, that’s all,” Ursa said. “Best of luck, and try to have fun.” She gave Lian a reassuring smile and let herself out.
Lian studied her reflection in the wall. The dress washed her out and blended in with the black glass so that only her flaxen head and bared white shoulders floated like a specter, staring back at her with pale green eyes and brows so white they disappeared into her skin.
The teardrop flickered and she looked down and smiled. Instantly, her mood lightened and the glass cage didn’t seem so dark. Feeling sure of herself, she tucked the teardrop into her bodice and eagerly trotted to the door, the slick heels slipping and sliding on the floor.
She knew Orris would be waiting for her on the other side. Bracing herself, she called, “I’m ready.”
This time, it felt true.
CHAPTER 2Surprise
IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG for Lian to remember why she detested her father’s dinner parties.
The dining hall was filled with the bubble of laughter and the steady hum of multiple conversations, underscored by a light rain. A lute player with a thin voice sang madrigals from the corner, sounding utterly bored. Something brushed her skirt, accompanied by a strong waft of wet dog. She stuck another forkful of salad into her mouth. It was bland and flaky, and the leaves disintegrated as soon as they hit her tongue. She wondered if they would taste any different if they actually had more sunlight – any sunlight, for that matter – to grow in.
The hall was large, with an arched ceiling from which dangled layered chandeliers of wrought-iron scrollwork. Accalia’s black banners, with the crest stamped in the center, swayed in the draft above their heads. Sculptures of mythical creatures, from the two-tongued neatherbeast to the elegant, winged Pren, looked down on them from tall columns that reached the ceiling. There was no reflection to keep her company; the glass walls had been covered from top to bottom in long black and white tapestries telling the story of Accalia’s birth, how it had been wrestled from the fool king, Tersopeth, long ago to become the grandest city in all of Asilee. A cloth of black silk ran the full length of the ornate table, upon which sat exotic fruits and an assortment of cheeses from every corner of the country.
Fruits, though expensive, apparently hadn’t been deemed so extravagant to warrant a prohibition like colors. Since the only fruit that grew in Accalia was the lethal “night berries” – named so for their dark coloring – fruits had to be imported from other countries.
Meats from prized game slain in Dreaka’s Forest lay on tarnished platters beside the fruit, whose colors were dulled by the hall’s subdued lighting. It all looked better than it actually tasted.
A handful of knights dotted the walls, Gabriel among them. Most of them were chatting with the dinner staff or with each other, while some looked ready to fall asleep on their feet. Orris had taken off the moment he deposited Lian at the door. She might have imagined it, but she could have sworn his eyes widened slightly at seeing the crystal chain around her neck; however, he hadn’t spoken a single word, which had suited her just fine.
Someone giggled from across the room, and she looked up as a serving girl flitted past Gabriel, hiding a bashful smile. He grinned back at her, the set of his lips sly and suggestive. He slipped a hand around her waist, pulling her to him, and whispered something in her ear which made her blush before she slapped his chest playfully and scampered away.
A dark knot uncoiled itself in Lian’s gut, and she thrust her fork into the breast of whatever animal lay across her plate, trying to convince herself it was nothing. She poked the meat into her mouth and scanned the room.
Her father, Lord Feron, sat at one end of the table, looking more frail every day as Asilee’s economic stability teetered further over the edge of bankruptcy. Opposite him sat Ana-Elise, poised and prim, shining with a cold beauty that sent shivers down Lian’s arms. Lian picked up her goblet and took a sip of honey-drought, her shoulders relaxing as its sweet warmth trickled over her tongue and down
her throat.
“Well, well. Aren’t I the lucky man at the table tonight?”
She nearly choked.
“Perhaps it was fate that made me late,” Count Wevern said, squeezing himself into the seat beside hers. “Funny how we keep running into each other, wouldn’t you agree?”
She grimaced. “Indeed.”
She had been relieved to see him absent and hoped he had been called away to his wife, who was expecting any day now and was on strict bed rest. She tried to ignore his hungry stare as he leaned toward her. Abruptly grabbing a pastry, she popped it into her mouth in an attempt to appear too busy to talk.
It didn’t work. “To be honest,” Wevern said, “I was rather hoping I’d see you here tonight. For the record, I’m grateful you choose to wear breeches and a blouse over a dress. Leaves less to the imagination.”
The syllables slurred together, and he was so close she could feel spit slap across her cheek as he spoke. Her stomach rolled, but she managed to keep down the bitter pastry she practically inhaled when he leaned toward her. Still, she refused to meet his gaze. Maybe if she ignored him, he would lose interest.
“You get prettier every time I see you.” He rested a hand on her knee. “Though no one can compare to the fair Ana-Elise, you look more and more like a woman and less like a tomboy every day.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Wiping her mouth with her napkin, she gave him a smile frosty enough to rival Ana-Elise’s. “Thank you for the compliment, my Lord.” She inched her leg away, but his hand remained where it was. “How is your wife?” she asked, hoping the reminder of his vows – which she was fairly certain did not include feeling up young girls – would deter his intentions.
It turned out Dreaka, goddess of light, life, and luck, was not feeling so merciful. “Well enough, I suppose,” he replied. His hand slid up her thigh.
Veiled Innocence (Book One, The Soul Cycle) Page 2
