by Jane Porter
Sera
Sera wasn’t supposed to leave the house when her mother’s guest was visiting. Stay in the back room, keep quiet, don’t ever be seen. Those were the rules and seven-year-old Sera knew better than to break them. Three times a week, maybe four, the visitor would come to her mother’s front door and afterwards there might be food for the table and wine for her mother, although these days there was more wine and less food. Her mother was sick and the wine was like medicine, and her sweet, soft-spoken mother smelled sour now and the visitor never stayed long.
Sera’s stomach grumbled as she went to the door between the living room and the rest of the once grand house and put her ear to it. If she got to the bakery before closing time there might be a loaf of bread left and the baker would give it to her for half price, and a sweet bun to go with it. The bread wasn’t always fresh but the sweet treat was always free and once there’d even been eggs. The baker always said, ‘And wish your mother a good day from me’. Her mother always smiled and said the baker was a Good Man.
Her mother had gone to school with him and they’d played together as children, long before her mother had gone away to learn and train and become something more.
Sera didn’t know what her mother meant by more; all she knew was that there weren’t many things left in their house to sell and her mother was sick all the time now and didn’t laugh any more unless there was wine and then she would laugh at nothing at all. Whatever her mother had once been: a dancer, a lady, someone who could make Sera’s nightmares go away at the touch of her hand...she wasn’t that same person any more.
Every kid in the neighbourhood knew what she was now, including Sera.
Her mother was a whore.
There was no noise coming from the other room. No talking, no laughter, no...other. Surely the visitor would be gone by now? The light was fading outside. The baker would close his shop soon and there would be no chance of bread at all.
She heard a thud, as if someone had bumped into furniture, followed by the tinkle of breaking glass. Her mother had dropped wine glasses before and it was Sera’s job to pick up the pieces and try to make her mother sit down instead of dancing around and leaving sticky bloody footprints on the old wooden floor, and all the time telling Sera she was such a good, good girl.
Some of those footprints were still there. Stuck in the wood with no rugs to cover them.
The rugs had all been sold.
No sound at all as Sera inched the door open and put her eye to the crack, and her mother was kneeling and picking up glass, and most importantly she was alone. Sera pushed the door open and was halfway across the room before she saw the other person standing in front of the stone-cold fireplace. She stopped, frozen. Not the man but still a visitor: a woman dressed in fine clothes and it was hard to look away from her. She reminded Sera of what her mother had once been: all smooth and beautiful lines, with clear eyes and a smile that made her feel warm.
Sera looked towards her mother for direction now that the rule had been broken, not daring to speak, not daring to move, even though there was still glass on the floor that her mother had missed.
‘We don’t need you,’ her mother said, standing up and then looking away. ‘Go home.’
Home where?
‘My neighbour’s girl,’ her mother told the visitor. ‘She cleans here.’
‘Then you’d best let her do it.’
‘I can do it.’ Her mother stared coldly at the other woman before turning back to Sera. ‘Go. Come back tomorrow.’
‘Wait,’ said the visitor, and Sera stood, torn, while the visitor came closer and put a gentle hand to Sera’s face and turned it towards the light. ‘She’s yours.’
‘No, I—’
‘Don’t lie. She’s yours.’
Her mother said nothing.
‘You broke the rules,’ the older woman said.
Sera whispered, ‘I’m sorry...’
At the same time her mother said, ‘I fell in love.’
And then her mother laughed harshly and it turned into a sob, and the older woman straightened and turned towards the sound.
‘You didn’t have to leave,’ the older woman said gently. ‘There are ways—’
‘No.’
‘You’re one of us. We would have taken care of you.’
Her mother shook her head. No and no. ‘Ended us both.’
‘Hidden you both,’ said the older woman. ‘Do you really think you’re the first courtesan to ever fall in love and beget a child?’
Sera bent to the task of picking up glass shards from the floor, trying to make herself as small as she could, trying to make them forget she was there so she could hear them talk more, never mind that she didn’t understand what half the words meant.
‘How did you find us?’ her mother asked.
‘Serendipity.’ Another word Sera didn’t know. ‘I was passing through the town and stopped at the bakery for a sourdough loaf,’ the older woman said with a faint smile. ‘Mainly because in all the world there’s none as good as the ones they make there. The baker’s boy remembered me. He’s the baker now, as I expect you know, and he mentioned you. We talked. I mean you no harm. I want to help.’
‘You can’t. I’m beyond help now.’
‘Then let me help your daughter.’
‘How? By training her to serve and love others and never ask for anything in return? I will never choose that life for my daughter.’
‘You liked it well enough once.’
‘I was a fool.’
‘And are you still a fool? What do you think will happen to the child once you poison your body with drink and starve yourself to death? Who will care for her, put a roof over her head and food in her mouth, educate her and give her a sense of self-worth?’
Mama looked close to crying. ‘Not you.’
‘I don’t see many choices left to you.’ The woman glanced around the room. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve already sold everything of value. Any jewellery left?’
‘No.’ Sera could hardly hear her mother’s answer.
‘Does the house belong to you?’
‘No.’
‘How long have you been ill?’
‘A year. Maybe more. I’m not—it’s not—catching. It’s cancer.’
The older woman bowed her head. ‘And how much longer do you think you can last, selling your favours to the lowest bidder? How long before he looks towards the girl and wants her instead of you? Yuna, please. I can give you a home again. Treatment if there’s treatment to be had. Comfort and clothing befitting your status and hers. Complete discretion when it comes to whose child she is—don’t think I don’t know.’
‘He won’t want her.’
‘You’re right, he won’t. But I do. The Order of the Kite will always look after its own. From the fiercest hawk to the fallen sparrow. How can you not know this?’
A tear slipped beneath her mother’s closed lashes. ‘I thought I’d be better off away from it all. For a while it was good. It can be good again.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ The older woman crossed to her mother and took hold of her hands. ‘Let me help you.’
‘Promise me she won’t be trained as a courtesan,’ her mother begged. ‘Lianthe, please.’
‘I promise to give her the same choice I gave you.’
‘You’ll dazzle her.’
‘You’ll counter that.’ The older woman drew Sera’s mother towards the couch, not letting go of her hands, even after they were both seated. Sera edged closer, scared of letting the hem of the woman’s gown get in the puddle of wine on the floor, and loving the sweet, clean smell that surrounded her. The woman smiled. ‘Leave it, child. Come, let me look at you.’
Sera withstood the other woman’s gaze for as long as she could. Stand tall, chin up, don’t fidget. Her mothe
r’s words ringing in her mind. No need to look like a street urchin.
Fidget, fidget, beneath the woman’s quiet gaze.
‘My name’s Lianthe,’ the woman said finally. ‘And I want you and your mother to come to my home in the mountains so that I can take care of you both until your mother is well again. Would you like that?’
‘Would there be visitors for Mama?’
‘What kind of visitors?’
‘The man.’
Her mother and the lady shared a long glance.
‘He would not visit. I would be taking you too far away for that.’
‘Would there be wine for her?’ Because wine was important. ‘Wine’s like medicine.’
‘Then there will be wine until we find better medicine. Tell me, child, are you hungry?’
So, so hungry but she’d learned long ago that sometimes it was better to say nothing than to give the wrong answer. Her stomach grumbled the answer for her anyway.
‘When did you last eat?’ the lady asked next.
Same question. Trick question. ‘Would you like some tea?’ Sera asked anxiously. There was tea in the cupboard and Mama always offered visitors a drink. Tea was a warm drink. She knew how to make it and what cups to use. There was a tray. ‘I could bring you some tea.’
The lady looked towards her mother as if she’d done something wrong. Something far worse than forgetting to lock the door or not turn off the bedroom lamp at night. ‘Yuna, what are you doing? You’re already training her in the ways of self-sacrifice and denial. It’s too soon for that. You know it is.’
Another tear slipped silently down her mother’s face. Lianthe’s gaze hardened.
‘And now she looks to you for guidance and approval. Yuna, you must see what you’re doing here. This isn’t freedom. This isn’t childhood as it’s meant to be lived. This is abuse and, of all the things we taught you, no member of the Order ever taught you that.’
‘He’s not to know,’ her mother said raggedly. ‘He’s not to take her.’
‘He will never know. This I promise.’
‘She’s not to be sent anywhere near him.’
‘You have my word.’
‘She gets to choose. If she doesn’t want to be a companion, you set her up to succeed elsewhere.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Sera?’ Her mother asked her name as a question but Sera stayed quiet and paid attention because she didn’t yet know what the question was. ‘Should we go to the mountains with the Lady Lianthe? Would you like that?’
Away from here and the baker who was a Good Man and the kids who called her names and the men who looked at her with eyes that burned hot and hungry. Away from the fear that her mother would one day go to sleep on a belly full of wine and never wake up. ‘Would there be food? And someone to take care of us?’
Her mother buried her face in her hands.
‘Yes, there will be food and people who will care for you both,’ the Lady Lianthe said. ‘Sera. Is that your name?’
Sera nodded.
‘Pretty name.’ The woman’s smile wrapped around her like a blanket. ‘Pretty girl.’
Copyright © 2019 by Kelly Hunter
ISBN-13: 9781488044250
The Prince’s Scandalous Wedding Vow
First North American publication 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Jane Porter
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 22 Adelaide St. West, 40th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M5H 4E3, Canada.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
