The Savage Principle

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  “He says we are equal.”

  “In what?” the Chief asked, looking over the pair of the Band with some distrust.

  “War,” Adahy said simply, the thrum of their common ancestry like a lock slipping into place he did not realize needed to be found.

  It was a good day.

  Epilogue

  Rowenna wailed into Raymond's arms as he patted her awkwardly.

  “I cannot abide his absence!” she mourned, the tears running to pool in the hollows of her collarbone.

  “Listen to me,” Raymond said, giving her a hard, brief shake, barely staving off the hysteria he saw at the edges of her. The maidservant, Olina, cradled the two babes against either side of her body. The little babe of Rowenna's sucked on Olina's finger.

  Rowenna gave up with a sniffle. “This too shall pass. I am sorry that Harland is gone... however,” Raymond raised his finger, practically shoving it underneath her nose, “he wanted you and little...”

  “Clara,” she said in a whisper.

  “Baby Clara to live more than he wished to keep his own life.”

  A silence drew out, the maidservant holding the children to her breasts, both nearing their feeding time. Though little Olive was a month older, the wee red-headed one was brawny and lively, searching for the tit as she sucked on Olina's finger. She fell in love with her as she watched her huge, strange-colored eyes take in the world around them with a keen curiosity. She was a beautiful child.

  She would be a marvelous princess, Olina could feel it in her bones. She was interrupted from her musing while her King put sense into the Savage's head. Olina eyed the young woman curiously.

  Oh the tales she would love to tell. Though she would not. That was part of the code of royal loyalty. You did not just serve the royals, ye kept their secrets for them as well.

  Rowenna dipped her head to her chest, taking a few deep, sucking breaths. She must return. It had already been one day since Harland had died protecting her. Protecting Clara.

  Now she must grieve doubly. Rowenna took a deep breath, striving for calm when madness brought on by heartsick grief tried to close in all around her.

  For Harland was dead and the wee babe would remain with Raymond.

  “Aye, you are right.” Her eyes rose to his, ancient in her experiences and he was so sorry for that. Yet, they were a product of the fates, moved about by the control of forces unseen. Raymond only hoped that the acts they committed now would be for the betterment of all.

  Rowenna cupped his face. “I love you, dear Raymond.”

  Raymond's gaze softened on this fierce woman before him. The mother of his new charge.

  “Get ye back, Rowenna.” His eyes bore into hers, forcing a promise that was too early for her to give. “Wed Rolland, for he wants you. Bear a child that you might keep close to you. Then one day... one day, you shall see your dear Clara again.”

  She gazed into Raymond's eyes. A future of happiness only a theory to a girl who was not yet a woman but had lived through much as if she were.

  Instead of saying all she wanted, she said none of it, just nodded. If she began she would never stop... Rowenna would never leave. She knew that about herself. Instead, Rowenna walked to where the Pathway began to tug on her body, low and deep.

  “I shall not forget you, King Raymond,” she said, her eyes going to the baby whose hair still held her tears, splintered pieces of her heart laying alongside them. Rowenna tore her eyes away from the sight of another woman suckling her daughter and gulped.

  Raymond met her grief stricken stare. “And I, you.”

  “I will love her as is she were mine, Rowenna,” King Raymond promised.

  The tears glittered unshed in her eyes. “I know,” she said in a voice gone low from sadness.

  Then Rowenna was gone.

  Raymond lowered his head until his chin touched his chest, hands pegged on his hips. He took several, slow methodical breaths. When the babes began their noises near the carriage, he felt he was ready to leave the heartache behind him.

  Raymond returned to the Royal Manse, a fed and languid days-old infant in his arms. He looked down and the baby's eyes were at half-mast, holding a small smile on her cupid's mouth. As he watched she gave a little burp of satisfaction from her feed with Olina. Raymond chuckled, brushing the soft tuft of red hair back from her perfect face.

  He did not want to forget Rowenna's sacrifice.

  An idea struck him.

  There lay a dark spot on the royal stairwell, cloaked in shadow, it was gloomy and despondent. Each time Raymond retired for the night he would pass through that turn in the stairs and it would take a little shine off his day.

  He would commission a master glass artisan to fashion something that reminded him of sacrifice and honor. It would allow the sunlight in. Mayhap one day, Clara would make her way to that very spot as she moved through the royal domain.

  She would see the likeness of her mother's gaze upon her, watching over her until they would someday meet.

  It made Raymond lighter to think on it.

  The entire ride back to the royal manse was met with the soft lulling pull, lift and subtle bounce of the carriage as it navigated first the dirt floor of the sphere tunnel then the choppy cobblestone of the interior.

  The carriage gently lurched to a stop and Raymond smiled as he hopped from the door, his foot barely catching the running boards, so light was his step.

  He looked down at Clara with a smile.

  There was happiness to be had in this world. One need not look too hard to find it. It was a ready choice.

  As Raymond gazed at Clara, he chose her. He chose happiness.

  *

  later

  Rolland watched Rowenna when she was not aware and smiled. He could not stop the expression.

  They had been joined and he now knew her, body and soul, as true mates do.

  When she had returned from the world of the sphere, ruined by grief and the sadness of both the loss of her babe and their good friend, Harland, Rolland had attended her. As the months wore on, she had gradually cleaved to him. Not because she was weak, but because she was strong.

  In the end, Rowenna wished to survive and heal.

  Sometimes Rolland would catch her with a wistful expression that was wounded at the edges and knew she thought of Clara, the babe now raised by another. That shadow of sadness would always linger.

  Yet, as he looked at his mate now, Rolland thought that she could be happy again. Would be happy again.

  He came to her, wrapping his strong arms around her swollen middle. He brushed his words of love against her temple, the warmth and natural chemistry between the pair causing her to shiver and he tightened his hold. He loved how she reacted to him.

  Rolland would die to protect her. Her back was pressed against his chest and she wound her hands backwards into the thick mass of hair at his neck.

  He kissed first one arm that lay beside his jaw then the other. Rowenna's words surprised him. “Thank you, Rolland.”

  Rolland turned her in his arms, kissing each eyelid, then landing on her soft mouth. Her breath caught and he pressed forward, stealing it, their passion ignited.

  “For what?” he breathed, trailing his lips from jaw to collarbone and she groaned in pleasure, the sounds she made worsening his desire instead of abating it.

  “For my son,” she said in a tone of soft joy.

  That caused Rolland's head to lift. “What say you?” he asked.

  Her hands pressed against her distended belly. “It be a boy.”

  He cocked a brow. “How would you know?” But a smile bloomed on his hard face, softening it into an expression he reserved for Rowenna alone.

  “I just do. And I have a name for him,” she said with a thread of excitement.

  “Aye?” He pushed her into the wall, gently pressing against her swollen stomach. “And tell me what you shall name our son?” he said without a trace of sarcasm.

  “Maddoc. I wish to name
him Maddoc.”

  Rolland thought on the name and found he liked it. He grinned down at her. “Maddoc it is....” Then he gave Rowenna a curious look.

  “What say you?” she laughed.

  “What if it be a girl?” He watched the happiness fade from her face.

  Dammit, he had reminded her of Clara. Fool, he chastised himself.

  A shadow passed over her face but then like a wayward sun, it peeked out from behind the clouds and her smile was back with a smirk. “Well, it shall not be named Jocelyn!” Rowenna laughed.

  “That is fine. I think it most excellent that the worst name be held by the worse female,” he said in a tone of confidence.

  “Beatrice,” Rowenna hissed, thinking the babe stood no chance with her as parent.

  Rolland pressed his fingers to her lips. “Let us not talk of that she-devil.”

  Rowenna looked up into her mate's face of almost one and half years, his tender watch care after the death of Harland and Clara's absence having stolen much of her sadness. “What... shall we discuss?” Her words innocent, her eyes holding violet fire.

  Rolland's eyelids slid almost shut at her soft utterance. He held her close and after nearly a full minute of silence replied, “Nothing.”

  They did not speak, but much was said.

  The End

  Read on for the exciting first chapter of book #4, THE SAVAGE VENGEANCE....

  The Savage Vengeance- Chapter 1

  Book Four of the Savage Series

  by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  The Savage Vengeance

  Book Four of the Savage Series

  by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Copyright © 2011-2012 Tamara Rose Blodgett

  http://tamararoseblodgett.blogspot.com

  ISBN-10: 1470161044

  ISBN-13: 978-1470161040

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to a legitimate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For~

  My dad: for without his drive and discipline through example, none of this would have been possible.

  Words are inadequate.

  I love you, Dad~

  June 6, 1930- March 22, 2012

  A special thank you to reader, Kami Bravo, who graciously supplied the title for this work~

  CHAPTER 1

  “They have killed all the homing pigeons,” Rowenna mourned as Clara looked about her, the fragment having departed after their nefarious deed was executed with precision. The small bodies of the birds were strewn about the ground, their feathers like lonely pilgrims of purity amongst the graves that stood near at hand.

  “Nay,” Bracus began, “we have one that lives at the clan.”

  All eyes swept to him and he rolled his bulk into a shrug. “I had sent word but one day past, even now the homing pigeon returns.”

  Clara breathed out a sigh of intense gratitude. “We will have an additional sentry stand guard at the portal, day and night. The assurance of which will be the aid that we may procure for this.”

  “Methinks the other spheres may now lend an ear, Queen Clara,” Clarence said with surety, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

  Clara agreed. She thought it very likely that they might offer assistance. After all, to her knowledge, hers was the only sphere with an active alliance with the clan-dwellers. Of course, the spheres were more populated than the clans. Nonetheless, it would not be overly long before the fate of her sphere was joined by the remaining eighteen.

  She would need to journey to her neighboring sphere and visit the king that presided thereof. King Otto.

  What a joyous occasion that would be.

  Clara looked around her, the afternoon sun of Outside beating down mercilessly against her unprotected skin. But that is not what gave Clara pause. It was the pock-marking of her sphere that stilled the breath in her throat. Clara took in the damage caused by the fragment but one day past and guilt seized her in its iron grip. Had Bracus not just discussed with her a preemptive strike against the very ones that had now peppered the sphere with weapons of salt? Pellets that once launched, burrowed an insidious pathway through the permeable walls of her home.

  Damn them.

  Clarence shattered the stream of her thoughts like a hammer to glass. “Queen Clara,” he began, nervously wringing his hands together, “let us send word to King Otto that we must call a Gathering.”

  To think of being in the presence of that odious man galled Clara. Especially given what had transpired due to the wretchedness of the man.

  However, it could not be avoided. She would bring the glad tidings of Prince Frederic's demise. A petty smile, not usually at home on her face, sprung to life and flourished.

  “Yes, I do say that shall be a fine idea,” Clara said, lifting her long skirt just enough to clear the grass that rustled in the thin breeze of early winter. The air had bite and she shivered. A hand at her back told her Matthew stood behind her, and she turned as that palm burned its imprint at the base of her spine.

  “You are cold. Let us go inside the sphere,” he said, his blue eyes flashing in a face like a berry kissed by summer.

  Clara smiled at him, her heart instantly warm, despite a future that held uncertainty and danger. She looked at the Band standing beside her, the dead birds and graves standing sentinel around them. It was portentous. She studied the Band which remained and thought of what she must do, her gaze settling on Rowenna.

  Rowenna nodded. “I see the mirror of my feelings upon your countenance, daughter.”

  She knew her too well already. Clara dipped her head briefly then met her mother's gaze. “Aye, you speak true.” Clara's eyes traveled the group, all in attendance, even Charles. “We must warn our neighboring sphere.” She looked at Rowenna and held her gaze. “We must also bring assistance from the Bands of the sea.”

  “President Bowen must be informed. His Band would fight beside ours. Without question. This affects the mid-western Bands directly,” Matthew said. Bracus nodded in agreement but Maddoc and Edwin looked confounded.

  “Who might this fellow be? This Bowen?” Edwin queried.

  “He is the president of the mid-western clans,” Charles answered, keeping a civil tongue for once.

  Maddoc paced, narrowly missing the graves which lay but four horse lengths from the brass portal that entered the sphere tunnel. He was obviously deep in thought but Rowenna had tarried enough. “Maddoc, do stop strutting about like a nervous Peacock and tell us what you are about.”

  He swung on his heel and drilled Clara with his sea colored eyes. “Sister?” His hand palmed his chin thoughtfully as he strode toward her.

  “Yes?” Clara asked, puzzled.

  “How many spheres are there?”

  Clara answered automatically, “There be nineteen in all.”

  He laughed and Clara frowned. “Do you not see, we will meet the fragment in battle head-on. Sheer numbers will impel our victory. They cannot stand against us.”

  Clara saw his passionate youth, and realized he was but one year younger than she. Maddoc, her half-brother, had seen battle, fought beside warriors without compare, but in life she felt that perhaps he had not the lessons meted out that she had been exposed to. Clara chose her words with caution.

  “Maddoc, the people of the spheres do not understand war as the clan-dwellers and obviously, the people of the fragment.”
>
  “That moniker is too generous by far, Clara,” Edwin snorted and she inclined her head in his direction. With the exception of Daniel, she had not encountered one of the fragment that had a good intention. Nary a one.

  “Let us get ourselves in the comfort of the sphere,” Charles said, his expression anxious. His look took in the openness of the Outside with distrust.

  Clara watched the eyes of the assembled group train on the sphere, the holes in its porous shell widened slightly, even from one day past, when the fragment had started the beginning of the end of the only way of life Clara had ever known. She had much to fight for, she realized. Though it would be fundamentally impossible to gather a resistance between sphere-dwellers and clan-dwellers in a way to cause them to unify against the fragment, she realized it could be their only hope. Of course, that supposition was in place only so long as the dreaded Travelers elected not to reappear at a critical moment and interrupt their lives irretrievably yet again.

  Matthew clasped her hand, feeling its iciness and kissed the delicate skin of her wrist where blue veins ran like exquisite lace, intersecting with her palm. His eyes met hers. “Nothing will be fixed Outside with the dead. Let us retreat inside, where the living breathe. We will formulate a plan of victory.”

  “Matthew speaks true,” Edwin said and Bracus nodded.

  “I'm game,” Daniel said and the groups' brows drew together in confusion. He laughed from his belly. “I am willing to attempt a war in unity so that we may prevail.”

  Ah! Clara thought, giving him a rueful smile, his strange speech so much a part of who he was. It seemed most odd to hear him mimic the speech of the sphere.