Lillian saw Clara's discomfort and put on a kettle to heat some water. When it became hot enough, she would stop up the sink and use soap to get the worst of the travel grime cleaned off. Tonight, they would travel to the hot springs, and Clara could soak for an hour and finally tell Lillian all she knew. Although, Lillian had the feeling that Clara was not a woman to divulge things readily.
“How many years are you?” Lillian asked.
“I just celebrated my Day of Birth. Ten and seven years.”
Seventeen years! Good Lord, she was young. Lillian wondered why her eyes held such age.
She set the kettle upon the stovetop. Heating water might take some time, and the President would arrive shortly. It would have to be a tepid cleaning.
Lillian turned. “Let us go to my chamber, and I will fetch you something else to wear.”
Clara nodded, weariness sucking at her. She was so tired her eyes burned, but she must stay awake long enough to clean herself.
She followed Lillian into her bedchamber and thought it lovely. Low ceilings hugged the room: muted cream-colored plaster with heavy, deep mahogany timbers bisecting it. A lone window stood at its center. Dim light softly illuminated a four-poster bed shrouded in a canopy of gauzy ivory material.
Lillian brought out several long skirts and blouses in soft colors.
“You are a tiny thing.” She studiously held up several different garments. “This should fit you. It fit me when I was ten and three years!” She laughed.
Clara asked tentatively, thinking of Olive. “Would you assist me in the removal of my...” She pointed to her back.
“Certainly,” Lillian said.
She unhooked twenty hooks and asked, “What is this strange garment you wear under your dress?”
Clara saw Lillian out of the corner of her eye. “My undergarment... with the stays?”
Lillian nodded in wonderment at the uncomfortable-looking contraption, grateful she had never had to wear such a thing.
“It is my corset.” Clara lifted one shoulder. “All women wear them.”
Lillian did not comment further but helped Clara slip out of the offending thing.
Clara covered her breasts, feeling exposed even in front of a woman.
“You cannot put the horrible thing back on,” Lillian insisted, eying Clara critically. “Here,” she rummaged in a simple dresser. The handles shone softly in the glow from the window, the brass like butter. “Use this.” She held up a bodice with built-in bosom cups. It seemed to Clara very much like the corset but without the stays. Lillian laced it up, and Clara's breasts spilled out the top in a most revealing way.
“Nothing we can do about your figure. You are built like a wasp.”
“The creatures that sting?”
Lillian took her two index fingers and drew an imaginary hourglass in the air. Clara nodded.
“You did not need this contraption.” Lillian picked it up as she puckered her lips in apparent distaste, barely touching it. “We will burn it later.”
“Burn it?” Clara surprised herself by laughing.
Lillian grinned back. “Yes, I think that would be a good end for it, do you not?”
Clara did and nodded. It felt wonderfully free to be without it. The new garment still bound her but not uncomfortably so.
Clara put on a brown skirt made of silk and cotton in a soft but crude weave. The waist was too large. Lillian found an interior tie and cinched it. Better.
She stood back. Sorting through the clothing, she handed a pale, teal-colored blouse to Clara. It fit perfectly.
“Evelyn's,” she answered Clara's unspoken question.
Lillian's eyes lowered then met Clara's in a steady way. Clara liked this new acquaintance very much.
“She came by our home one day past to help me with something, and she spilled some juice on it. I had to clean it right away.” Lillian's lip trembled, and Clara saw her use her teeth to steady it. “I washed the stain out and....”
Lillian turned her back to Clara.
Clara's heart went out to Lillian. She approached her from behind. “They seem very capable... your Band. I am confident they will return with Evelyn.” Clara placed her hand on the other woman's shoulder.
“It is true. They are. But it is you, Clara, who is the important one. You are our hope... our only hope.”
The kettle shrilled its whistle, and with a last lingering look, Lillian walked away from Clara.
Clara said nothing but wished desperately to know why she had been taken. Why was she so important? Other questions pressed as well. Why were there so few females? What was the fragment that would take a young girl? She would find out.
Lillian poured the warm water into a large pottery bowl and began to wipe the grime off Clara's face, carefully avoiding the worst of her injuries. Her hair, which had been carefully bound up had not suffered as much, but a few small twigs were removed, and a thorough brushing helped immeasurably. Clara felt almost human when they were finished. A soft rap at the door led them both to answer it.
An older gentlemen who had more clothes on than the Band, Clara noticed with some relief, stood flanked by two of the Band: Bracus and the guard who made her uncomfortable. She kept her focus on the man she was sure was their President.
The guard remained outside. Bracus and the President entered as Lillian busied herself in the kitchen.
Bracus looked down at Clara and noticed she wore different clothing. She looked like she had rested. His heart sped. Her face was beginning to heal. Her eye was almost completely open.
“Greetings, Princess.” President Bowen inclined his head.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” Clara responded automatically.
The President turned to Bracus. “You did not overstate her condition.”
Clara felt uncomfortable heat rise to the surface of her skin.
President Bowen noticed her discomfiture. “We made a decision to acquire you sooner, Princess, as Bracus determined your life might be in imminent danger if you remained in the sphere.”
She looked at Bracus, and he looked back for a moment then away. Curious. He must have been on some scouting mission, seen her after what the Prince had done and hastened this kidnapping.
She put her attention back on the president. “My foremost question is this: why have I been taken?”
She held up her hand before he could answer. “I must state my thanks as it appears I was rescued from a fate far worse than this one.”
She waited for the president to continue, but instead he turned to Bracus who expounded. “We came upon the sphere, and the Princess, Clara,” he corrected at her slight frown, “was being attacked. Her companion could not aid her as he was restrained.” He looked at her for confirmation, and she nodded. It was an accurate retelling.
Bracus turned suddenly. “Is he the one?” He gestured to her face.
Her flush returned. Her face felt on fire. “He is.”
She watched the strange reaction take over Bracus. His fists clenched and opened. A vein stood out on his forehead. “We should have ended him back in the sphere for what he did to you.” He swallowed, and Clara heard the dry click. “And for what he was attempting to do.”
The president turned his penetrating gaze on Bracus, and a look she could not decipher passed between them.
“Let us sit.” Bowen indicated the adjoining parlor with its few simple pieces of furniture. Clara sat in the smallest settee and Bracus in the largest, his huge frame engulfing it, long legs flung out before him.
“Princess,” President Bowen began.
“Clara,” she corrected quietly.
“You must call me Arthur then.”
She nodded.
“Forgive my bluntness, but in light of the circumstances of Evelyn's kidnapping and the death of her father, I feel frankness is the best course.”
Clara waited.
The President shifted in his chair. “We are losing people Clara, females in particular
.”
Clara's mind turned quickly. The crowd as they had come upon it had seemed odd to Clara but with all the chaos of the last day she had not struck upon what was odd. Now she realized.
The lack of women.
President Bowen saw the look of comprehension come over her face and continued his unflinching commentary.
What could they want with her? Then she thought of it. She stood so suddenly she tipped the chair she had been sitting upon, racing to the door that led to the hall. Bracus caught her easily.
“Clara! We mean you no harm. Please, let the president finish!”
Clara's heart beat like butterfly wings trapped in her throat. What was she to them? A woman to steal? To impregnate? She shuddered, thinking about the last day in an entirely new fashion. They were going to use her as some kind of elaborate breeder. Clara felt doomed. She had escaped the sphere only to have this as the alternative?
She would formulate a plan, but she must, at least on the surface, pretend to give them her ear. Then Clara would escape this place and reunite with Charles. Despair welled inside her, filling her with stagnation.
What if there was no more Charles?
She shoved that thought out of her mind and concentrated on the present.
Forcing herself to still in the strong arms of Bracus, who had held her gently while they rode upon his horse, and now imprisoned her with his embrace, she said, “I will listen.”
Bracus set her down, warily watching for another escape.
Clara thought that, with the guard lay in wait outside, she would not test any boundary with him. She needed to tell Bracus and Bowen that he had visited the sphere before. She felt strongly that they were unaware of his dalliance. She had sensed much from him, all of it unknown.
She righted the chair as she sat, folding her arms beneath her breasts.
Bracus noticed her posture and was not fooled. Her eyes flashed fire, and she stared at them like enemies.
She would try to escape again.
Unfortunately, she was not understanding their true intent. If only she would listen. Bracus began to see that beneath all the fragility, lay a woman of fortitude.
President Bowen began again. “It is not as it seems. For many decades, our clan,” he stretched his hand to include the immediate area, “and many of our sister clans did not have enough females to grow in number. For every fifteen males born, only one female comes,” he said in a helpless voice.
“We think that the Evil Ones may have made our ancestral pool too limited. And now, as our grandfather's grandfathers lay in this earth, we are desperate to mingle with different peoples.”
Clara thought on it. She was not sure they were even the same species. When she looked at the Band, she felt they were clearly other.
She mentioned that. And what of the Evil Ones? Who were they to these people?
Bracus answered. “The Evil Ones created us, the Band.” He gestured to his throat slits and his extreme size.
“You are genetically engineered?” Clara guessed.
The president raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Clara nodded. “We have a Healer in the sphere who knows a great deal of Science, and she has developed many speculations...”
“It is our supposition that the Evil Ones postulated about our life and what the challenges would be and gave us a select few,” he gestured to Bracus, “for each clan that could be protectors. But as you can see, with the female population dwindling, there may be, in less than a generation, little to protect.”
“That is what happens when you play God.”
Clara blinked at the expression, looking at Bracus. “I will ask again. Who are the Evil Ones?”
Bracus's eyes widened in surprise. “They are responsible for everything here.” He gestured vaguely around himself. “Even before the days when the Earth was Covered by Ash.”
Clara's breath stopped in her throat. “Do you mean, the Guardians?”
They stared blankly at her, and she continued in their silence. “They are who saved us. They and only they are solely responsible for our spheres.”
She looked from one to the other. The uncomprehending expressions on their faces told all.
They did not know the history.
She thought suddenly of the book, carefully maintained for over a hundred years, that told of the inception of the spheres and, more importantly, why they had been built.
“My grandfather's grand-sire devised a book, a history if you will, that tells of what our people were before. There was a time when we all were one people across this great land in huge cities.” She paused for a moment. “Then the rocks fell from the sky and damaged our planet. But the Guardians were able to save us in nineteen different spheres. And there we have lived since that time, one hundred and forty years.” She folded her hands in her lap.
President Bowen's shock was evident. “They are your saviors,” he said slowly, “but they are our nemeses.” He stroked the stubble at the bottom of his chin.
“I have questions of a technological nature as well.”
Clara nodded for him to continue. Let them ask. “We think that somehow you use steam in the sphere to manufacture and live day by day?”
“Everything is powered by steam. Our lights, timepieces, cooking apparatus, everything.”
“What of the climate?” Bracus thought of a home without the sun on one's back and no rain for the streams.
Clara shook her head. “I am not privy to all details, but when it rains on the Outside, our sphere allows a fine mist to permeate its surface and plants and other organic matter is fed such. Also, the sun’s rays do gather and permeate, but not powerfully enough to darken the skin.”
She held out her slender arm, the color of polished ivory. Bracus's heavy gaze lingered upon it as she let it drop back on her lap.
“What of insurgence and weapons?” Bracus asked, and President Bowen nodded.
“We have had battles amongst the spheres. Guards train with sword and dagger for protection.” Clara hesitated. Did she say too much? Was she giving away information that would showcase the sphere's vulnerabilities?
“Who is that man who attacked you?” Bracus demanded, and his tone gave Clara pause.
The president gave Bracus a look of inquiry.
“He is Prince Frederic.” She looked down at her hands, tightly clasped in her lap. “We are to be wed.”
The long silence had a pregnant feel to it.
Finally, Bracus spoke. “You cannot mean to be mated with the man who attacked you?” He stood, towering over her, so she stood as well.
There was a physical potential to him that frightened Clara, but not in the same way as the Prince. Rather, she felt it directed at others. “I have no choice. I am royal. My mother, the Queen, has betrothed me to him to align our kingdoms as one and to facilitate trade.”
Bracus glared down at Clara, aching to touch her. He was not like this around the few women of his clan. He thought back to the genetic predisposition of certain females held for members of the Band and thought she was such a female. Clara made him feel fiercely protective, and he longed to be near her. It made him edgy and angry. He realized he was not angry at her. He was her prisoner to a degree he was uncomfortable with.
Bracus allowed his gaze to soften. “He has hurt you.” Bracus reached out, putting the lightest of touches against her cheekbone. It was no longer a horrible grape color, but fading to yellow.
Those hands that had maimed and killed so many of the fragment pressed tenderly against her face.
The President cleared his throat, and Bracus took his hand away. “Princess—Clara—we have acquired you but briefly. It was my utmost desire that we may begin negotiations for an acquaintance between our peoples. After the Band surveyed the sphere for some time, you were chosen as the most likely person to assist in this...” He trailed off in a hopeful way.
Clara realized she had misunderstood their intent. They hoped that they could intermingle with even
tual cohabitation as their goal. But they did not understand the Queen. She would never allow it.
“I am not supreme ruler of our sphere. It is Queen Ada who would have the final say.” She paused, trying to formulate words that would make sense, give nothing away, and dissuade them from approaching the sphere. “The people of my sphere think that you are a... primitive people and decidedly violent.”
She looked from one to the other, seeing mild offense in both faces. She rushed to assuage their tempers. “Not all, but most. As humans, we are most afraid of that which we do not know.” She looked at Bracus. “And your rescue of me will be looked at as confirmation of these speculations.”
“What of your companion?” Bracus asked.
“Charles?”
He shrugged. “The one who dispatched two guards before we came upon you.”
Tears stung Clara's eyes and she thought of her childhood friend, confidant, protector.
Bracus saw her struggle with her emotions and wished to know what place this Charles held in her life.
“He is my very best friend and has helped me with...” the beatings the Queen has rendered, “difficult situations.”
Bracus's eyes narrowed. He knew there was much she was not saying, and he was determined to find out what it was but not now with the President's hawk-like eyes as audience.
Jack came in. “Where is Lillian?” he asked, a trifle anxious, which put Clara on guard. Was something afoot?
Bracus saw the tightening of her eyes and posture. “Lillian is with child and sometimes does not feel well.” That was an understatement, Bracus thought.
Clara relaxed. She knew that was typical for women during the first part of their time with child. Earlier, Lillian had seemed so energetic.
Jack said, “It comes on quickly. She may be lying down now. I will check on her.” He nodded to Bracus then Bowen. “President.”
Bracus saw Clara's exhaustion and composure fraying around the edges and said quietly to the President, “Clara may need some time to acclimate to her new circumstances.”
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