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

by Alien, Aldrea

  "Sirius!" Lucias bellowed, his gaze not once wavering from Clara's face.

  The head servant scurried seemingly out of nowhere to his lord's side, wringing his long-tortured hat every step of the way. "Master?"

  "Have my horse saddled and whatever mount my mistress' page is using."

  The man paused in his dash to obey. "And one for the mistress, master?"

  "No." Lucias dismissed the idea with a wave of the hand. "She will ride with me."

  The Endlight entourage, already prepared to head off, spent their time rechecking straps and adjusting clothes as they waited for the horses. Clara shuffled on the steps, watching as Thad mounted and trotted down the line of men. There didn't appear to be much room for another person atop the horse's back. Yet she was to somehow share Lucias' black brute of a horse. He knows. Lucias had to suspect she'd attempt to flee once outside these walls. What better way to ensure she hadn't much chance of succeeding than to enforce their closeness?

  Tommy emerged from the stables, leading two horses. He handed the reins of Lucias' steed to the beast's owner, then clambered into the saddle of the smaller brown creature and joined the waiting group.

  Lucias swung into the saddle in one leap and, after nudging the destrier to stand parallel to the stairs, offered her his hand.

  She gripped it andhe air around her waist hardened. A strangled gasp caught in her throat as she was lifted into the air and onto the beast. The horse snorted, wriggling underneath her in a most disturbing fashion.

  Clara shuffled in her position behind the saddle. At least this particular creature had enough of a rump to carry her. Her skirts slithered against the glossy coat, giving her the most uneasy feeling of sliding to the ground without actually falling. The horse took a lurching step forward. Unsteady and fearful she would indeed slip free after all, Clara wrapped her arms around Lucias' waist. Her wrist dug into the cold steel of his belt buckle. How was she going to stay aboard whilst they travelled down to Everdark?

  "Your mistress looks rather uncomfortable," Thad said, giving a nod in her direction. "You should let her ride one of the palfreys."

  Clara stared blankly over the man's broad shoulder. Was she hearing right? He wanted her to ride a horse on her own. Her gaze flicked to his face, her cheeks warming. Surely he had not just winked at her.

  Through her chest, pressed hard against Lucias' back as it was, she felt him grunt. "She cannot ride and I do not wish to risk her neck."

  "The carriage then? Be more comfortable than the bony behind of your old nag."

  "I mean your father no disrespect," Lucias said, his voice dropping until it was quiet enough to not carry across the courtyard. "But I wouldn't leave any young woman alone in his presence."

  Thad chuckled. "One day we'll look back and wish we'd the same fervour at his age as he does." With a few clicks of the tongue, he urged his shaggy horse to the forefront of their little parade.

  "I'd settle for just living to his age," Lucias whispered once the man had gone.

  Clara clung tighter to Lucias, partly because they'd begun to move out, but also because of the welling urge to comfort him. He believed he was going to die. Sooner than he had originally thought, too.

  And yet, although she'd angered him, seemingly frustrated him to the edge of his patience at times, he had not attempted to get much more than his first try at a kiss from her. Of course, if she allowed kissing, even once, he may insist on a lot more than she was willing to give.

  Would he have been this persistent if his mother wasn't set on murdering him? She hoped the answer was no. It was almost enough to make her sorry she would betray his trust in her word, but not enough to want to stay. She would escape before this day came to an end. Clara may not have a horse or the ability to ride it, but Tommy had both. Together, they would be free.

  A hand closed over hers. She twitched, jerking back and nearly pulling free before recalling she was perched rather precariously aboard a moving animal.

  "You are awfully silent." His fingers gently stroked over the back of her hand and across her wrist, setting both to tingling in a pleasant and disturbing fashion. "I'd have thought you would've tried to talk me into letting you go by now."

  "If I left, you would take Tommy's soul." Did it not bother him that her compliance was based on protecting another man? Why would he care? As long as she stayed and eventually gave him the chance he wanted, then undoubtedly the reasons behind it didn't matter to him.

  "And why would I?"

  "That was the deal." Had he somehow forgotten the arrangement? "He's meant to be a criminal after all." More like accused of a crime he did not do. What use would he have for the jewels the merchant swore he'd taken? Even if it were true, the watch should've found them on him. Yes, he stole from the stalls, but no one ever objected to him taking a handful of food now and then. It'd been that way for so long he was practically part of the streets.

  Lucias sighed. "You saw the two men he arrived with. Whatever the lad did, he does not deserve their fate."

  "You're letting him go then?" she asked, unable to believe what she was hearing. The boy had arrived at the Citadel as a criminal and he was to be given more freedom than her?

  "I didn't say that. He has settled well within the ranks." He shifted in the saddle. "And he seems content enough with his duties."

  Tommy? He would have her believe the carefree child she'd known for years was content with being someone's errand boy? She couldn't accept it for truth. "If you're trying to convince me to stay here willingly, it won't work."

  Lucias stiffened, jolting her backwards. "Of course," he grated, "I would not wish for you to feel imprisoned."

  She groaned inwardly. Thad had spoken to him. How much had the man told his lord? "But it doesn't stop you from neatly shutting me away from everyone, does it?" Trapped. Unable to find any means of aid. Lucias must revel in watching her escape attempts, she was sure of it.

  His shoulders bounced as he chuckled. "Thad's right, I should've given you your own horse. If only so I could see your face now. You are most enchanting when you're angry, although you hide it well. There's considerable spirit flashing behind those dark eyes."

  She glared at the back of his head. If he wanted to see flashing, she was more than welcome to grant him all the twinkling stars he desired.

  "And I bet you're now pouting those gorgeous lips you so rudely deny me a taste of."

  Clara bit her bottom lip. She had been doing exactly as he said. How had he been aware of her pulling such an expression without being able to see her face? She wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't pointed it out.

  "Now you fall silent. I thought you would be overjoyed to be in Everdark again. Is it not what you wanted?"

  "Not quite," she mumbled. Yes, she wanted to walk the streets once again, but under the mantle of freedom, not bound in these silken shackles.

  She risked a look at the Road lying beneath them. They had reached the lower section now. The cobbles here were worn smooth from the carts and horses of those coming and going from Everdark. Little to trip her up and leave her at his mercy. She could easily jump to the ground and run.

  To where? Her gaze lifted to the nearby woods. Distance made it naught but a dark green lump hunkering on the edge of the wide, unbroken grassland. She'd be out of breath by the time she touched a single tree. And, even without his ability to halt her from afar, Lucias would've caught up with her long before she reached such dubious safety.

  No, she needed a more immediate hiding spot. She needed the rabbit warren of the village.

  Clara watched as the green-lacquered carriage, flanked by its mounted escort, pulled ahead and through the city gates. Lucias' halted his destrier in the middle of the road. Her heart jumped as the beast edged sideways and pawed at the ground. The powerful muscles of the animal's hindquarters rolled beneath her.

  She fought to keep her balance whilst her thoughts raced. Why were they stopping? Had Lucias changed his mind and intended to return to
the Citadel? She licked her wind-dried lips. Did he guess her intentions once within Everdark's walls? She'd given her word, yet she had always planned to break it. Like he did.

  For him to have broken the deal first by declaring he would not take Tommy's soul stung a little. Of course, she was glad the boy would be safe, but she hadn't expected to find her careful planning would be all for naught. Or knowing she'd given up her freedom for even less.

  "It always grows in my mind when I'm away," he murmured. "Yet, every time I return, I'm struck by how small it seems close up."

  Everdark was big for a village and owed its size to the converging trade routes. But, from what she'd heard from Lucias, her home was no Port Dank, full of trade from beyond the sea. Most of the merchants who came through Everdark were of the common kind, bearing mundane wares from nearby farms. The buildings stood in neat lines, pressed together as one long house and stretching off into the haze of smoke, which even the noonday sun could not disperse. People and carts filled the pockmarked streets, their bright clothes breaking up the dull greyness.

  She tightened her grip on Lucias' waist as he kneed their mount into a lazy trot and caught up with the carriage. They made their way through the crowds swirling around them. People stopped to stare at the passing group and Clara frowned at the awed faces fixated on the carriage. Lesser nobles came to Everdark, but it was clear this was a special delegation.

  Did they know their Great Lord rode amongst them? Such knowledge could prove to be a problem. It hadn't occurred to her before now that the crowd might attempt to stop her from fleeing.

  The shaggy rump of another horse suddenly blocked her view. Clara jerked upright, finding Thad had joined them at the rear of their small parade.

  He urged his mount closer, leaning towards Lucias. "Thought you'd gone and lost your nerve for a moment or two there." Thad's green eyes glittered sharply as he surveyed the crowd. "You know your mother would have a good deal of trouble blending in here."

  Lucias sat straighter in the saddle. An arm slid along hers as he grasped his sword hilt. "She is capable of blending in anywhere. It is part of her power."

  "It's not absolute and the giant she travels with surely couldn't escape notice." A grimace formed on the man's lips. "In any case, seeing the people would not be able to reveal to her where you are, she would attempt the Citadel first, would she not?" Thad scrubbed at his chin as Lucias made no indication he'd heard. "Why haven't you chosen to hide yourself in the village anyway?"

  Clara was pretty sure she knew precisely why Lucias chose to stay within the thick walls of the Citadel. Although hiding in the village might keep other people safe for a time, their safety was not the sole reason he didn't choose that path. Where else but the Citadel could he lock her away and be certain she would break?

  She stared at Lucias' back and then the crowd. He carts me about like some simpering damsel. Worst of all, a small part of her liked it. Just as she adored the silk and the room he'd gifted her. Was this how people broke? Not all at once, but bit by bit. She couldn't break now. Her home was too close to give in.

  "It wouldn't matter if I were to stay here or elsewhere," Lucias said. "My mother would find me. If I stay in the Citadel then there's no chance of innocent people dying."

  Until she kills you. Clara swallowed in an effort to relieve the tightness in her throat. Then the soulless men would be free and everyone would suffer. First the criminals would come, then the armies sent by Ne'ermore and the other neighbouring kingdoms.

  Her gaze returned to the crowd. All those faces. She could picture them frozen in horror as their way of life crumbled beneath the feet of death.

  Laughter drifted up to scatter her thoughts as they rode past a less crowded street. Here, the children had not halted their play. They seemed altogether heedless of the carriage rumbling by, their little forms darting amongst the adults with uncaring glee. She wished she was still young enough to join them in their bliss.

  "Ben!" a woman shrieked as she pushed through the crowd, her arm outstretched towards a small boy. "Come back here!"

  The lad, no more than five years of age, ignored his mother to run towards the front of the carriage.

  One of the horses reared, the driver issuing a stream of abuse. A similar flow of words came from Lucias' mouth. His mount launched forward just as she caught sight of the boy tripping and falling before the wheel.

  Despite the driver's efforts to halt the harnessed team, the carriage creaked onwards. Time seemed to slow. Clara shut her eyes, her heart pounding hard enough to leap out of her chest. Any moment now and the boy would be crushed beneath the iron-bound wheel.

  The collective gasp of the crowd hit her ears. She opened her eyes a fraction, feeling bolder when no pained cry of a wounded child followed.

  The carriage wobbled in the air, just high enough to miss the boy. With her chin pressed against Lucias' shoulder, she could feel him shaking. How much effort did it take to lift a carriage?

  The destrier swung around, destroying her precarious seating. Clara slipped to one side, her descent halted by her hold on Lucias' waist. The muscles under her fingers tightened. Any moment now and he'd gain control of the situation, then draw her back onto the horse.

  She released him, letting herself fall. Her feet tapped the cobbles.

  Clara dashed into the crowd, shoving aside those who barred her way. No one called for her to stop. No magic snaked out to snatch her into the air. She dared to glance over her shoulder.

  Lucias was nowhere to be seen.

  Hitching up her skirts, she raced through the streets, rounding one corner after another. The familiar maw of an alley neared. She nipped down it. A wooden fence, covered in faded posters, barred the far end. Kicking the boxes aside, she tugged at the boards. One gave and she slipped through to the other side.

  Flattening herself against the brickwork, she listened for some sign of pursuit.

  The clop of a hoof greeted her ears, but the sound fast became the steady plod of a carthorse. There were no shouts over the general clamour. Had she lost him then? She didn't think it'd be so easy.

  Clara peered out into the street. Few people walked here. The lone cart rounded a corner and vanished from sight. She hurried across to another alley, turning off to follow a narrower path between the buildings. Cold and slimy things squelched underfoot. Other things, things she wanted to think of even less, gave with a crunch.

  With much relief, she left the alley, and her slippers, behind. Having been sheltered by the sun, the cobbles were gently cool against her skin as she scampered across the street to squeeze down the last alley. Here, sheltered by an L-shaped wall, stood the back way into their home. Clara prised a wobbling brick from under the door, sliding the key out of its hollow bed.

  The lock clicked. She froze, her hand flattened against the wood. Flakes of paint drifted to the ground. Fourteen days had passed since she'd been taken. The last words from her mother had not been kind. But they never were.

  Clara pushed the door open. It didn't matter. She'd done it. She had finally returned home where she was safe at last. Better to be here, where freedom meant stepping outside, than shut away in some fortress.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Warmth greeted her, followed fast by the musty smell of wood and cloth. Although her mother had tried several times over the years, nothing could banish what Clara had always considered as the storage room's oddly comforting aroma. She strode past the shelves lining the walls with their bolts of wool and linen, halting as she stood in the doorway.

  A curtain partitioned this area from the main shop. Pushing the old sacking aside illuminated the battered doorframe. She ran a hand up the age-polished wood, her finger instinctively settling into the old grooves where her father had carefully noted her ever-changing height.

  She twisted to take in the storage room. Her gaze swept over the shelves and drawers. Here sat the chair, banished to the dark corner because of the wobbly leg, where she would practise her sew
ing as child. Her father had always meant to get it fixed. She peered at into the gloom. There, tucked away behind crates and cases, stood the old seamstress' dummy her mother never quite managed to be rid of.

  Little seemed to change within this room. The years came and went. The bolts of cloth may arrive in whatever colour the seasons and the fashions dictated, but there would always be cloth. Just as there would always be the dummy, the chair and the notched doorframe.

  Taking a deep breath, she left behind the storage room and its memories to enter the main room beyond. "Mum?" she gently called into the silence. Listening brought only the haphazard snapping of the fireplace. Clara crossed the room to part the doorway curtain and peer out into the shop front.

  No sign anyone had recently been here. By the silence in the kitchen, she could also rule out there. Upstairs? No, ever since her father had passed away, her mother rarely ventured into the upper rooms during the day. The workshop.

  She padded down the hall, a rhythmic ticking starting up and growing louder as she neared the closed door at the far end. The sound stopped as she twisted the doorknob. She opened the door to find her mother turning in her seat to face the intruder.

  Clara smirked at her mother's shocked face. She'd never been able to surprise her mother before now. To suddenly appear, barefooted and silken skirts ruined, she must be a dreadful sight. "I escaped him, Mother. I've come back home."

  Her mother stood, her hands flying up to plant themselves on her hips. "Well I never," Marian breathed. Her auburn brows, generous in their sprinkling of grey, pulled down and increased the wrinkles. Those eyes, a lighter brown than Clara's, glared at her as if she were some ancient enemy. "Not only do you have the hide to show your face, you have the audacity to march in as if you belong!"