Dark One's Mistress (Dark One Trilogy Book 1)

by Alien, Aldrea

  Only the Citadel. And their waiting lord.

  Chapter Three

  Mount Winding. Named so because of the swirling way it rose, as if the Goddess had failed to smooth out all the little whirls in the great cake of the world. Or where the demons had broken into this land. The reason given seemed to depend on who Clara asked.

  From the humble streets of her home, the mountain had been little more than an impressive silhouette. On the Road, the barren and scarred land had bordered on the depressive. Now, standing on what had once been the mountain's peak, staring down at the kingdom stretched before her, a strange transcendent feeling welled in her breast.

  Looking squat and dismal, Clara's beloved Everdark sat in the shadows at the mountain's foot. Beyond the surrounding forest lay the haphazard patchwork of farms, pockmarked with villages and more woodland. Through it all ran the Murkwater, meandering as far as she could see only to be lost in the forests bordering, and sometimes encroaching on, the steppes of their southern neighbours.

  The world beyond. Awe of a different sort crept up from deep within her chest as she tracked the increasingly-jagged horizon. To the west, barely visible in the haze brought on by distance, stood five towers. The mighty Pillars of Endlight. She'd heard of how imposing they were and their impenetrable defences. At a distance, they appeared to be as massive as the tales said. And yet, they would've been dwarfed by the behemoth looming behind her.

  The gates to the infamous Citadel lay open like a great yawning mouth with portcullis teeth, its tips glinting near the upper rim. Although it was still early enough to be afternoon, dim lights flickered from within.

  A shadow appeared in the opening, faint at first, but fast solidifying into the outline of a man.

  Clara took a step back, wishing the option of climbing back into the nearby carriage was available. Bumping into one of her captors, she staggered a few steps towards the opening as the man shoved her.

  The light shifted and the outline revealed itself to be the hunched form of an old man adorned in a ragged assortment of clothes. His head, bearing the crumpled remains of a suede cap that had to be decades out of fashion now, lifted as he neared. "Ah, the lord's requested young women." He took a hobbling step back and beckoned them onwards with a wave of his hand. "Come, come. Your rooms await you."

  Brenna let forth with a gasp and strode up to plant herself, her arms akimbo, before the man. Taller than he, even without the man's stoop, she towered over him. "Old man," she snapped. "I demand to speak with your master over this injustice. Take me to him at once."

  "Dear lady." He offered her a low bow. "I regret to inform you our most esteemed lord and master has not yet returned." Straightening as much as his back seemed able, he resumed his shuffle towards the gates. "Rest assured you shall all have your chance to speak with him in the morning."

  A man's hand clasped Clara's upper arm, the fingers firm and surprisingly gentle. She was guided through the gateway and into the courtyard, the others following in a similar manner. Jerking around as the rattle of chain reached her ears from behind, she could do naught but watch as the portcullis dropped to the ground and the gates, twin slabs of steel-bound wood, swung shut.

  To her right, the flaxen-haired woman whimpered.

  "Do not be concerned," the old man said. "It is a mere safety precaution. Done only to ensure those who aren't welcomed do not get in."

  And those who want to leave cannot get out. Clara's gaze lifted to the wall above the barred entrance, marking the archers and crossbowmen lining the parapets. How many more would be there to guard the entrances once the lord arrived?

  Everyone knew their Great Lord had enemies. The neighbouring lands were ever eager to be rid of what they perceived as a threat. And once, nearing three decades ago, their kingdom had been a threat. Now the borders were said to be endlessly patrolled. Bastions like the Pillars of Endlight barred the way through the more obvious routes for an army. Nothing could possibly push this far in to attack.

  Yet the old Great Lord had been slain. At Ne'ermore. Why, after coming a hairsbreadth from conquering the city and the kingdom it governed, had their lord risked entering the same place he'd been pushed back from? Clara wished she'd lingered for once to hear the rest of the old man's rambling. And miss being snatched up like some waif. Of course, she would've gotten a lashing from her mother for being late instead. At least her punishment would've been over by now.

  "This way, dear ladies."

  She fell into step beside Katharina as their little group followed the old man into the Citadel's main entranceway. Lanterns glowed along the corridor, tiny flames lending a tender warmth to the otherwise pressing chill of the stone. Their light illuminated a vast array of tapestries and banners, some of the latter looking suspiciously like emblems of fallen enemies, with those nearest the doorway fighting, and losing, their battle against time and age.

  The hall stopped at the foot of a stairway. Clara halted on the first step, her gaze following the red and black carpet up to the next landing. There the stairs split into four miniature, but no less grand, versions of the staircase...

  She tipped her head back, continuing to track the steps. Another landing sat high above them. Without seeing it, she knew there was, at least, a fifth flight of stairs. And, no doubt, there was a sixth hidden from sight somewhere. It stood to reason six towers would require just as many stairways. She doubted they'd been placed there purely for appearance's sake.

  The old man clapped his hands twice. It echoed up the stairs to be accompanied by the rapid tap of feet running across bare stone. Five men materialized from around the base of the stairs to silently stand before the old man. They seemed to be older than those who'd brought the women here, certainly less thuggish in form, yet they bore the same dead look in their eyes.

  "These men will escort each of you to your prepared quarters." Now he stood in the well-lit room, she could see even this old servant had the same odd tinge to his face. "And I must ask you to not try leaving your rooms."

  "Is it because we should not leave," Penny said, "or cannot?"

  "Regrettably, I am afraid that, for your own safety, it must be cannot for now." He waved a hand about. "The Citadel has a great many rooms, some have been unused for years, and we wouldn't want any of you to go missing." With the click of his fingers, which sent the men to stand by their sides, the old man shuffled off into the shadow of the main stairway.

  "Miss," said the man closest to her, "if you would come with me."

  Clara tore her gaze from the shadows to give her guide a nod. The uneasy twinge in her gut returned as she followed him up the main stairs, then to the smaller flight on her left. A few glances over her shoulder revealed the other women taking similar treks up the other stairways. The idea of being separated from them was enough to make her stomach churn. As much as she would've loathed the company, she wasn't keen on being alone either. Who knew what they could do with them then?

  The minutes seemed to lengthen on to eternity as they climbed, encased in the yellow glow of the candlelight. The stairs she'd first thought were so short had doubled back on themselves a number of times, with each landing leading to yet another level, before leading off into a small room and beginning what seemed to be a long, spiralling ascent. Was she being led to one of the towers?

  Her guide silently walked up the steps before her, silhouetted by the light. How fast could he turn to stop her if she fled? Clara glanced behind her where the stairs vanished further down into darkness with each step.

  "What is to become of us?" She'd a sick feeling she already knew what one of them was destined for. A new mistress for the new lord. Were they all to be pressed into such a service? Surely he'd no need of a harem anymore than he required extra servants.

  The man paused on another narrow landing. More stairs led up and into gloom beyond the candlelight's reach. "That, miss, is for our lord to decide," he said before resuming his steady pace up the steps.

  Clara envied her
light-footed guide. Being used to the more-or-less flat streets of Everdark, she could feel her legs beginning their wobbly objection to this unusual punishment, aching more and more with each step. If the Citadel did have a number of unoccupied rooms, then why put them in towers? And, seeing they were already perched atop a mountain, how tall did these towers need to be?

  "Not much further, miss."

  Puffing, she glanced up at the shadows ahead. Naught to be seen but more stone. Another step and then, as if called into being by the man's words, a door came into sight around the curve of the wall. She slowly followed him, muttering to herself as her guide trotted up the last few steps.

  "Your evening meal shall be along presently," the man said. "Until then, please feel free to make yourself comfortable." He bowed, the door swinging inwards at a gentle push. Ruddy light flowed out into the tower, bringing with it the musty warmth of an unused space that had only recently been aired.

  She entered the room ahead of her guide, barely taking a couple of steps from the threshold before the door slammed shut. Clara spun, grabbing the handle and fighting to turn it when she heard the lock click. Pressing an ear to the wood panel, she listened for any hint of what would follow. No sound came through. Stupid girl. Her fist thumped the door, letting out a muffled thud. She should've predicted this. Stupid, stupid girl.

  Flattening her back against the door, she peered around the room. Dwindling afternoon sunlight shone through a trio of floor-to-ceiling windows facing the west. The glass, still covered in patches of grime, allowed streaks of light to fall across the room. Nothing suspicious lurked in the shadows.

  Clara squished her face against the window and peered at the roof below. It had to be no more than a story lower. She used to clamber down such heights on a regular basis during her childhood. Surely she still could now. Her fingers caressed the latch. The metal gave a faint screech as it moved. If she could just open the pane wide enough to get out, she could escape this room. But to where?

  Her brow twitched, squeaking on the glass. The longer she stared at the roof, the more certain she became of its steep pitch. One mistake could send her plummeting over the edge. There had to be another, less dangerous, way out.

  A small bed sat against the wall to her left, its bedding smooth and the drapes pulled back. On the far side hung a mirror, the silver backing near opaque with age. A table stood under it, on top of which sat a candlestick, its metal bands glinting in the light as she rounded the bed end.

  She picked up the candlestick and, removing the unlit candle, bounced it in her hand. The smoothed wood felt hard and solid. It might, just, be heavy enough.

  Someone rapped on the door. "Miss?"

  Scurrying across the room, Clara pressed herself against the wall beside the door.

  Another, harder, knock came. "I would come back another time, miss, but I've been instructed to serve you the evening meal now." The rattle of a key in the lock followed, then the creak of the door handle.

  She stiffened. The door slowly swung into the room. The unmistakable jingle of crockery filled the silence. Lifting the candlestick high, Clara waited for the man to step into view.

  "Miss?" A head, the hair just beginning to show the signs of balding, stuck out from behind the wooden panel.

  She struck with all the force she had, sending the man to the floor before he'd the chance to fully enter the room. The platter he'd been holding fell with a clang. Plates smashed as they connected with stone, their contents spilling onto the rugs.

  Clara dropped the candlestick. Picking up her skirts, she hurdled the chaos she'd created and ran. Down the spiralling steps, one hand on the inner wall to keep her steady. A brief pause on the first landing, then out through the door and into the empty corridor.

  The carpet muffled her steps, she rushed by closed doors and vacant halls in her search for the main passage down. One corridor appeared more used, and therefore more promising, than the others. She took it, finding a short flight of stairs at the end to take her to the next level.

  Onwards she went, racing down another level to creep along a third as the halls resonated with the sounds of life. It could take hours for her to make her way to the entrance like this. How long did she have before they noticed the absence of one servant? Would they have opened the gates by then? When did they open the gates?

  Clara slowed as the last question buzzed through her mind. She could run through these halls all night and avoid every person within, but it would all be for naught if she couldn't get outside. Out into the dark. Down the unfamiliar road and back to those who hadn't stopped this. They'll send me back.

  Maybe this was a sign she should leave Everdark. Wandering aimlessly through the world beyond her village didn't sound at all bad, especially given the alternative.

  The heavy tramp of boots echoed through hall, preceding the wan glow of candlelight coming from around the corner ahead. Clara halted in the middle of the corridor. She needed to hide. But where? Going back would take too long.

  The hall was pocked with closed doors. No sound came from the rooms they shut off. Could she hide in one and wait? She fled to the nearest doorway. The handle twisted at the softest of jiggles and she hastened inside, gently pushing the door shut behind her.

  She listened for the man's passage, the muffled thump of the unseen seeker's steps paling as a steely hiss issued from within the room. Fear of what stood behind her put a lump in her throat, choking off any thoughts of crying out.

  "Don't move."

  Clara halted in the act of turning to face the sound. Only now did she note the warm light flickering in the hearth, its smoky aroma adding to the soapy smell in the air.

  "Step away from the door. That's it. Now turn around. Slowly."

  She did as the deep voice commanded, fast flattening herself against the wall as the blade of a sword came into sight. It was held steady before her, the tip glittering in the candlelight. Her gaze travelled down the sword's sharp length to the man on the other end.

  Dark eyes blazed with barely restrained fury as they regarded her from under a wet mop of black hair. "Who are you?" he asked, his teeth clenched and his lips barely moving. "Who sent you? What are you doing here?"

  "No one sent me anywhere. I—" Her eyes snapped back to stare at the sword's lethal point as it twitched. "I was brought here against my will."

  "You?" The sword lowered, its tip brushing against the rug. One dark brow rose, the glint in his eyes intensifying as his gaze slowly ran over her once more. "They picked you to be my mistress?"

  This is our new Great Lord? No longer faced with the weapon, she risked a glance at her surroundings. Little furnished the room—a table and stool in one corner, a chair sat by the fireplace and a couple of rugs littered the floor. Two doors sat in the far walls, one shut and the other open enough to allow entry to the amber glow of candlelight.

  Her gaze returned to the man before her, her cheeks warming upon realising he wore naught but a towel around his waist. The light played upon his bare shoulders, seeming to delight in giving his wet skin a faint shimmer and glistening through the dark hair on his chest as much as it glittered on the sword's blade.

  A sharp knocked rattled the door. Clara jumped, stifling a shriek with her hands.

  "My lord?" The door opened. In the dim light shining through the crack, she saw the glint of an eye. "Ah, master." The gap widened and the old man stepped through to offer the younger one a low bow. "You found her. We feared we'd lost one of them."

  "One of them?" The Great Lord's gaze jerked from her to bear down on the man. "How many have you acquired?"

  The old man cringed. "Five, master."

  "Sirius," the word hissed out between his teeth, his voice without heat. "I only asked for one." His brows lowered, merging in the middle. "In fact, I do believe I ordered it." A faint sneer pulled at his lips. "I thought one was the number even a drooling imbecile could count to!"

  "Forgive me, master, the change in your order was my doing
." The suede cap seemed to tumble off his head and into his wrinkled hands, where the fingers deftly wrung it into a tube. "But you have kept to yourself for many years. Your visits here ever fleeting. None of us were certain enough of your tastes in women to pick one." He waved a hand in Clara's direction, the cap flapping back into its more-or-less original shape before returning to cover the balding head. "You may take as many as you desire, of course, those you do not wish to keep shall be disposed of in whatever manner you like."

  "You're giving me a choice?"

  Clara stiffened, painfully aware of the heat in her face as the Great Lord's gaze ran over her once again.

  Running his fingers through his hair, sending droplets of water onto the bare stone with a hushed splat, he sighed. "Very well. Gather them in the audience chamber at first light."

  There would be a choice? No one had mentioned the Great Lord choosing between them. "B—"

  Sirius' hand, far stronger than she would've thought for a man of his advanced years, latched onto her wrist. She opened her mouth again, gasping as the pressure increased.

  "But of course, master." Sirius bowed, dragging her down with him. "You must be weary." He stepped back, pulling Clara along with him and opening the door in the same motion. "I shall return this errant young woman to her quarters at once."

  Again came the silencing pressure on her wrist, this time before any thought of voicing her opinion bubbled to the surface. Gritting her teeth, she glanced over her shoulder to find their new Great Lord still staring at them, even as Sirius pulled the door shut.

  Clara quietly allowed herself to be guided back up the corridor. He'd asked for one woman and they gave him five. A choice. She stumbled as the old man muttered and prodded her to move faster. Goddess, please don't let him pick me.