Stella whirled toward the entrance, losing hold of the book, dropping it on the ash-laden earth. She picked it up, her last gift from Father. Seeing the title, she peered closer: Asteroid: A History of When the Rocks Fell.
Stella moved forward as the hole closed behind her. A fierce idea bloomed in her consciousness to remember who they had been. An indeterminate future stretched before her.
CHAPTER 1
One Hundred Forty Years Later
Clara beheld the shrouded exterior as she did each morning, her hands pressed against the pliable interior of the sphere. Her fingers sank into its surface, stopped before breaching the Outside. The yearning was the same. She wished to experience the Outside.
Sighing, Clara turned from the misty view outside the molded window. Her petticoats swept together, wrapping her bare legs, as she found the stockings laid out for her on the bed.
Olive knocked on the door. “Mistress, may I enter your chamber?”
“Yes.”
She entered with scads of rich turquoise steam-pressed clothing draped over her arm. Clara hated it, hated it all.
“Princess.” Olive inclined her head.
Clara recognized she was penalizing Olive unfairly. Who truly wished to celebrate her Day of Birth? Utter nonsense.
Olive peered at her Princess from under her lashes. She was a formidable young lady with aquamarine eyes that flashed with energetic temper, deep mahogany hair cascading to her waist—very handsome but uncooperative when it came to dressing.
“Please, Princess, they await your appearance.”
“Does my mother?”
Olive knew that the Queen was deep in her cup, and it was not yet midday. “Our Queen has begun her own celebration.”
No surprise.
Clara’s people wished to see her adorned in her finery (a loathsome pursuit) to be reminded that she was their Princess, the one who saw to their happiness, unlike her mother, the Queen, who failed them at every turn.
Olive interrupted her musings. “My lady, please employ the bedpost.”
Grabbing the stays that bound the corset, Olive took up the slack. Reaching the end, she pulled with all her might. Clara gasped. “Must it be so tight? I cannot breathe properly.”
“It must be hand-span.”
Finally, Olive bent to use the shoe hook on Clara's high heels, each button a luminescent mother-of-pearl.
“Do you not think you are agreeable, mistress?”
Clara gazed at her image. Creamy expanses of pale skin met the weak light from the sphere window climbing up to a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and strange-colored blue eyes, a dark fall of hair that was fiery red in a certain light, brushed her hips where they swelled. Her mother would be pleased, she supposed. But Clara wanted to change into the waistcoat and linen skirt she wore when she visited the oyster fields.
She turned to Olive. “I look comely enough to satisfy the Queen.”
“And Prince Frederick.”
Yes, she must not forget her upcoming nuptials to the Prince. The thought brought a searing tide of resentment, coiling painfully under her breastbone.
Clara sat at the vanity while Olive wove pearls into her hair. A rainbow of shimmering colors winked in the plaiting. “Do you wish to wear it all up, your highness?” She indicated the back of Clara's head.
She wished to not attend her Day of Birth celebration.
“No, Olive, just the forward section... leave the remainder down.”
Olive swept the forward part of Clara's hair off her face in an elaborate coil, twining at the top, back of her head and weaving around it like a crown. Then arranged and rearranged Clara's hair until she was satisfied.
“There. That will do,” she said with satisfaction.
Clara stared at her reflection. He eyes gazed back, huge in her small face. Pearls shimmered in the low light.
She stood, giving Olive a gracious nod. “You are most clever with your ministrations.”
Olive gave Clara a deep curtsey, which she bore as she did her other royal obligations.
Clara wandered over to her window again, pressing her face almost to the sphere barrier, its soft but impenetrable surface her prison.
“Princess?”
“Yes, Olive,” Clara said without turning.
“I implore you. Do not stand so close to the window. You have heard the reports of savages, have you not?”
Yes, she had. Again Clara thought of how she longed to explore, to see for herself what lay beyond her world, the Kingdom of Ohio.
“Yes, I have heard and it aggrieves me mightily. If some have survived the bounds of this place,” Clara stretched out her hand to encompass the sphere, “who are we to feel disinclination? Should we not welcome others?”
“It is not safe, my Princess.”
“And who has such musings?”
“The Record Keeper, my lady.”
Clara's full lips thinned into a line of distaste. She detested the idea that one individual held the history and direction of so many.
“Please... make my excuses for another half hour hence.”
Olive hesitated, thinking of the Queen's displeasure. “Yes, Princess.”
“You are not to be blamed. Tell the Queen that I was obstinate, as is typical.” Clara's mouth curved into a smile. It pleased her that Queen Ada would suffer irritation and keep the dreadful Prince Frederick waiting. A bigger pompous ass the spheres had never seen.
Clara turned to face Outside again. Olive slipped out the door and closed it quietly behind her. Tension slipped out of Clara's shoulders. She felt relieved to own another moment of time before the abhorrent celebration began.
She stood watching the wind (as she had been told that was what it was), caressing the Forest of Trees. As she turned away, she saw movement. She pressed her face to the sphere's interior, her nose pushing in the softness. Outside her window, a great male stood, partially obscured by trees. On his face lay a fierceness. Arrows were slung over a shoulder corded with muscle. He had a bow in one hand and strange clothing covering only part of his body. A shocking expanse of skin showed.
He was fascinating and most assuredly a savage.
Without warning, he flew the stand of trees that Clara had been admiring since her childhood, rushing straight for the window she leaned against. Clara clenched her teeth, holding her position, knowing that the sphere was impenetrable, but stale fear flooded her mouth as she watched the huge male advance at an incredible speed. Clara's heart thumped painfully in her chest. When a hair's breadth remained between the sphere and Clara, he stopped.
*
Bracus looked at the female behind the sphere that the Evil Ones had constructed in his grandfather's grandfather's time. He had watched the female for months and had seen her supervising workers in the fields of sea creatures that yielded shimmering jewels.
He also knew she was beautiful. He wanted her.
She was unlike any of the females he had seen. In his clan, females were rare, highly prized, and safeguarded. His eyes caressed her face, the skin like cream from the cow, her eyes like the sea near his cousin's clan, hair the color of fire burnt down to embers. Bracus looked around warily, knowing he must leave. He was too exposed without the trees at his back. He gave a last look at the female. Her expression seemed indecipherable. He felt vulnerable that he had revealed himself after his careful months of hiding. Turning, he climbed up the hill toward the stand of trees, his long and powerful strides eating up the ground. Reaching the forest, he looked back at the window where the female watched him. He turned back toward the clan.
*
Clara released the breath she’d been holding, letting it out in a rush. Light-headed, she sat on the fainting couch and put her head between her knees. Between the strange episode with the savage and the absurd corset, she could not regain her breath. This is how Olive came upon her when she returned to escort her to the celebration.
Olive rushed to her. “Princess, what ails you?”
<
br /> Although not her favorite transgression, it was effective, and she lied smoothly to Olive. “I think my stays may need loosening.”
“Oh! For the love of the Guardian! Please... forgive me.” Olive rushed around to loosen the corset, but Clara knew that would just lengthen the horror of the event and incur additional wrath from the Queen.
“Never mind. It matters not, Olive... hand-span it shall be.”
“As you wish, Princess.”
As she walked to the doorway, she turned, giving one look back to the window, where the savage had looked at her so intimately. He had been so alive, so vital. She knew one thing she had seen would distract her during the entire celebration.
The savage had gills.
Clara made her way to the door, swinging it open to the hallway which led to the Gathering Room, a place of joy. But not for her... not today.
CHAPTER 2
Clara entered with Olive, her lady-in-waiting, who she also called friend, at her heels. Royalty was a lonely role and every friendship sacred. Clara searched the crowd for Charles. Surely he was somewhere around the room. Nowhere... drat.
Her eyes scanned the Gathering Room, taking in the rich tapestries lining the walls. “Walls” was a misnomer. There was no puncturing the interior of the sphere. The tapestries had been hung from scaffolding with copper fasteners. The huge Gathering clock donged, chiming three hours past noon. Clara loved the enormous timepiece. Ten feet in diameter, it had a symmetry that gave one pause, its beauty striking as sure as the chime she felt reverberating in her chest. The steam-powered gears moved and clanked, clearly seen through a layer of crystal. Hot vapors rose to the highest apex of the sphere, flowing through unseen air portals, which fed to a central ventilator.
Relief swept through Clara as she saw Charles moving toward her. He had finished his studies one year ago and begun to work in the fields. He would stay by her, understanding that she would have to spend a good portion of her time in the presence of her betrothed.
She noticed that he wore his clothes with grace and charm. He looked dashing, his hat a shining wonder topping soft black hair, his time piece tucked safely in the front pocket of a smartly striped brocade vest. His soft velvet pants were charcoal, tucked into tall boots that rose to the knee. His deep black coat lined in scarlet swirled mid-thigh.
Charles bowed. “Princess Clara.” His eyes twinkled. The sod knew very well how she hated the title.
Clara automatically returned a perfunctory curtsy. “I see you are in good spirits.”
“Ah yes, a Day of Birth celebration for my dearest friend, what must I feel badly about?” Charles raised a brow, tapping a finger on his head as if confused.
Olive giggled behind them. She found Charles amusing. Clara did as well, but not so much this day.
Charles examined her expression. “Clara.” He lowered his voice. “There is no alternative. You must persevere.”
His sadness cloaked her. Charles would rather slay himself with his own sword than have her married to Frederick.
Clara felt shame redden her cheeks. He was her dear friend and as constrained by rules as she. Taking his hand, she squeezed it, and he leaned down, whispering in her ear, “That is the Clara I know, brave heart. Take my arm, Princess.”
Clara slipped her arm through Charles's, noticing how tall he had become. The top of her head brushed his chin. His dark eyes regarded her solemnly. It was time to greet Queen Ada, her mother.
They approached the throne upon its circular dais. The steps leading to her throne shone in the warm light of the steam-chandeliers, their crystal orbs casting a golden glow directly over the dais, spreading like molten water over the floor.
The Queen regarded them with thinly veiled disdain, her tapered finger eternally running up and down the crystal stem of her shimmering emerald wine goblet.
“Daughter of mine,” Queen Ada said with silken menace encasing every syllable, “what reason have you for being late to your own Day of Birth celebration? Leaving”—she gave a slight incline of her head— “Prince Frederick in a most unescorted plight.” Her gaze bored through Clara.
She allowed herself to look at Prince Frederick, whose thunderous expression told her that her mother was not the only one from whom she would have to assuage temper.
“Do not look at Prince Frederick,” Queen Ada roared, causing the crowd to gasp. “Address your Queen!”
Charles moved behind Clara, putting his hand at the small of her back.
Queen Ada's razor stare turned to Charles. “She is not to be coddled.”
Charles hand fell away from Clara's back, and she stood, vulnerable and seemingly alone, before Ada.
Clara took a stoic breath, bracing herself, knowing the shock wave she would send through the crowd. “I have a tale of great magnitude.” Every eye was upon Clara. A feeling of great excitement stole around her heart, squeezing it. “I have seen a savage.”
The gasps were as one, loud in their combined softness.
Queen Ada stood, her goblet temporarily forgotten. Elvira, her lady-in-waiting, swooped forward to steady it. Clara watched Ada regain her balance, swaying only a little.
“You lie.” She stood in her swirling gown of deep purple, her favorite color, with a long, sensuous rope of black pearls looped and knotted, reaching her knees. Samuel's pearls, only the rarest for Ada. Clara never thought of her mother as such. It was always Ada, or the Queen.
“I do not. I was taking my leave before this celebration.” Clara turned to the many faces, some of which she was close enough to reach out and touch, and spoke to them, giving her back to Ada, a brave thing. “I saw him at the border of the Forest, which lays Outside.”
More gasping. The sightings of the savages had increased in number, along with the sentries at the critical sphere passages between kingdoms.
Charles grasped her elbows, turning her to face him. “You say you saw one? How close, Cla... Princess.”
“I ask the questions here, not you.” The Queen turned her fearsome expression to Clara. “Perchance, you use this ridiculous story as a ruse to win you my mercy for the disrespect you show us by your lateness.” She looked at Clara, for all her drink, brightly and with a keenness that Clara knew very well.
Clara ignored the question, hoping to distract with her tale.
“He ran with great speed to my window.” Many voices began at once, and Clara was forced to stop.
“Silence!” Queen Ada bellowed, and the crowd’s voices faded.
Ada swung her attention to Frederick. “What say you? Does my daughter bear tales?”
As if he would have a fig's reckoning about her state of mind.
Frederick glared down at Clara. She a terrible but necessary inconvenience, one he would obtain to further his wealth. She was but a pawn on his kingdom's chessboard.
Frederick sat slightly lower and to the left of Ada, the King of Kentucky to Ada's right. It was he, not Frederick, who answered. “If I may, I feel disinclined that Princess Clara would falsify such a tale at a time when these savages are unveiling their presence.”
Clara gulped back her anxiety, eternally thankful for King Otto, who inadvertently paved the way for her next comment. “I may know why they survive Outside.” The silence was that of a tomb, but Clara continued. “The male had...” Clara gestured to the slender column of her neck, and the many faces of the crowd followed her motion. “...gills. They appear to aid in his breathing.”
Excited conversations exploded all around Clara, and she hazarded a look at Queen Ada, who looked as if her breath had been stolen, sitting down in a very un-royal heap upon her throne.
Charles studied Clara, his hand still encircling an elbow when Prince Frederick was suddenly there. “Unhand my betrothed, Mr. Pierce.”
Charles stared at the Prince with an unwavering gaze, his brown eyes steady, his fingers loosening then falling away. Clara looked at Charles, her eyes warning him. She saw in his eyes a wish to maim, which would not do. It would not
do at all. Her gaze traveled, finding the Prince's guards.
“Come, Clara.” He said her name with an intimacy he would never earn. “Sit beside your future king.”
Clara would rather drown in the oyster fields than be near him. She turned to look at Charles, and he mouthed, I will be here.
Clara lifted her skirts to assure her footing as she climbed the dais and sat in the small, gilded throne at Ada’s left, sandwiched between the loathsome Prince and her drunken mother, the one who would prostitute her for free grapes, giving up their precious legacy of pearls for her love of the cup.
CHAPTER 3
Clara's gaze fell upon the crowd, so deeply engaged in the titillating news of a close sighting of a savage. Not a glimpse, no, but an entirely intimate appraisal. She felt the uncomfortable presence of Prince Frederick at her back. He had made it clear that she was not suitable for him. With her very unfeminine desire to work the oyster fields, he had been quite vocal in his dislike of her duties.
His irritation pleased her.
It was well known, at least in her sphere, that the Kingdom of Kentucky was ill managed. Prince Frederick acted not in the least concerned for his people’s prosperity. There had been rumors of poverty, which included starvation, unheard of in most spheres.
A hand gripped her collarbone painfully, and Clara checked her expression so the pain would not show. “Smile, my dear, let them all know how happy you are that I have deigned to show my affection for you,” the Prince whispered, his breath so like rotten fruit that Clara stifled a gag. She plastered a false smile on her face, which immediately alarmed Charles. Clara gave a minute shake of her head, stay there, the look said. She was stuck as a butterfly with a pin through its wing. The Prince abused her in a multitude of subtleties. She could guess what a marriage with him would entail. He released her, and the numbness where his hand had been faded, replaced with throbbing that kept pace with her heart.
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