Clara

by Suzanna J. Linton

  “Thank you.”

  He sat her next to the fire and went about trying to get her to eat from the porridge pot. She wouldn’t have it, though, and he let them throw it into the woods.

  Emmerich looked up from his maps as Gavin came in. “A messenger rode up not too long after you left. Marduk is sending forces to help defend Candor. Hopefully, once Asher arrives, we’ll be strong enough to take the city regardless of the force Marduk sends.” He stretched gingerly, wincing at bruised ribs. “How does our little Seer like her new apartments?”

  “Couldn’t tell you.” He poured a goblet of wine and took a large swallow.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Clara’s in a state of some sort. Looks like we didn’t keep her far enough away from the battle.”

  “What is she doing? Or not doing?”

  He took another swallow. “I think you better see.” He set the goblet down, turned on his heel, and walked quickly out with Emmerich on his heels to the late Baroness' apartments. They took the stairs two at a time.

  The sitting room sat empty. He heard soft footsteps and softer humming in the large bedchamber, whose door hung ajar. Both men hesitated.

  “Clara?” Emmerich called, brushing past Gavin.

  He pushed open the door as he stepped inside. She stood, wavering a little in the corner, with Gavin's cloak draped over her shoulders as she stared at the corner. He started when he realized the humming came from her: a tuneless melody that barely came above a whisper.

  “Clara?” he said, stepping toward her.

  She turned and, ignoring him, walked past him to a tapestry of ladies in a garden. With a tentative hand, she traced the woven threads. The hum became more solemn and soft.

  He stepped up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. She twisted away violently, her mouth open in a silent scream. She fell to the ground and covered her head with shaking hands.

  “You’re all right,” he said, kneeling by her. “You’re all right. I’m not going to hurt you.” He pulled her arms away from her head. “Clara, I would never, ever hurt you.”

  Her eyes, though, looked beyond him, to something else. She began to rock back and forth, her hands trembling and her fingers working uselessly as she made a soft wailing sound. A chill went through him.

  He slapped her, knocking her to the floor with a solid thud.

  “Emmerich!” Gavin cried. He took a few steps forward but Emmerich stopped him with a raised hand.

  Her eyes snapped open and focused on them, filling with recognition. She began to tremble and tears spilled over her cheeks.

  He awkwardly gathered her into his arms, letting her cry. Dry sobs wracked her body, driving Emmerich half-mad. He hated when women cried.

  When the sobbing slowed, he lifted her and laid her onto the bed. He asked, “Can you tell us what happened?”

  She hesitated, and then nodded.

  “Where is her slate, Gav?”

  It lay in a corner. On it she had drawn a circle containing sigils. Gavin held it up for Emmerich to see, who only shrugged and looked to Clara. She shrugged and gestured with her hands, as if to say she had no explanation. Gavin wiped the slate clean with his handkerchief before handing it to her.

  She wrote slowly, pausing often as if to consider the best words. After a time, she gave it to Emmerich, who read aloud, “It was like I forgot myself. In a single moment, I saw all of the horrible things that could have happened in the battle. You dead. Gavin dead. So many soldiers dying in different ways. Then, I wandered in a fog with people calling from a far distance. I couldn't see where I was or to where I was going. And then, there was shouting, and it was over. Where am I?”

  Gavin said, “You’re in the apartments of the former Baroness of Orlind.”

  “Aye,” Emmerich said. “I, uh, they will be a nice place for you to stay. And we will be staying here for a time.” He related what he told Gavin.

  She slumped back against the pillows, the slate slipping from her fingers onto the bed. Her face was ashen with fatigue.

  “You were humming earlier,” Gavin said.

  Clara looked at them in surprise, cautiously pointing at herself.

  “Aye. We both heard you. Can you talk now?”

  The question turned her face into a mask and she slowly shook her head.

  After a long moment, Emmerich said, “Are you hungry?”

  She nodded.

  Gavin found the bell pull and while they waited for the servant to appear, Clara's eyes drooped closed and she slipped away into sleep. Gavin tugged on Emmerich's sleeve, nodding toward the sitting room. They went in together, Emmerich closing the door behind them. A servant came through the chamber door and Emmerich instructed him to bring some food for the lady.

  After the servant had gone, Gavin said, “You shouldn't have done that.”

  “Shouldn't have done what?”

  “You shouldn't have struck her.”

  Emmerich scowled. “I guess I should have just left her there to rock herself back and forth until Doomsday, then.”

  “I would have found her help. She's been horse shit on the bottom of everyone's shoe and now you treat her like she's some battle-shocked soldier who just needs a swift slap across the face? Not like she's a person, a woman, with needs and feelings?”

  “The Healer would have done the same thing. I did what I knew needed to be done.”

  “Oh, because what you decide is always best.”

  Emmerich took a quick step back, as if struck. “There's something more going on here than your infatuation.”

  “I'm not infatuated.” He scowled. “I'm not the one who invited her to a private dinner in my tent, after all.”

  He blinked, having not quite expected that. “What's going on, Gavin? You were fine when you left for Dwervinton. What happened there?”

  “What happened? What happened?” His voice rose to a pitch and Emmerich waved at him to keep it down, glancing over at the bedchamber door. Gavin jammed his fists over his hips and lowered his voice. “You know what's wrong with me? I'm sick of this whole damn war. Those men died, Emmerich, and I knew it was going to happen all along.”

  “Well, that's disheartening, as this war has hardly started. Aside from battles, Gav, what–”

  “You know damn well what I'm talking about. Those spy missions I conducted for you, to learn what the Brethren was doing. Those assassinations. The spreading of your propaganda. And then—that, that lie.”

  “And then you met her. And now you don't want a part of it because you want to take her to some neat little hiding spot, cower in a dark corner, and hope everything ends soon and well.”

  “It's not like that. We aren't fighting cleanly, Emmerich.”

  “Cleanly? Cleanly? War is not clean. You do what you have to do to get the job done.”

  “At the expense of being human?”

  “I did what I felt was best for my men.”

  “Really? By hiding the truth?”

  “When has the truth ever helped anyone?”

  “I guess Monica taught you that one.”

  Emmerich grabbed Gavin, pinning him against the wall, his arm shoved against his throat. “Never mention her name in my presence,” he hissed.

  Gavin glared at him, the anger coming off him like waves of heat. Emmerich stared back for a long moment before letting him go and stepping back.

  Silence stretched between them. Distantly, birds twittered. Emmerich's right hand twitched, his whole arm suddenly remembering the feel of dagger parting soft flesh.

  “I need you to check the rations,” he said huskily.

  “Can't your stewards do that for you?”

  “Aye. But you also need to clear your head.”

  Gavin snorted before turning on his heel and striding out.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gavin's and Emmerich's sightless eyes stared into her own, their blood soaking the ground, and Clara tried so hard to scream. If she screamed or called their names, eve
rything would be all right. They would wake up. Emmerich would rib Gavin over something and Gavin would ignore him and everything would be all right.

  But she couldn't make a sound. It felt as if a horse stood on her chest and all the while, the eyes stared and stared.

  Clara jerked upright in her bed, panting. Light streamed through the tall arrow slits of her room. Every muscle in her body ached and fatigue sat in a snarled bundle of pain just behind her forehead. Slowly, she eased herself out of bed and rubbed her eyes as if she could rub away the images of her nightmare.

  It was so late in the day. Why hadn't anyone woken her? And then she remembered Emmerich's order that she spend today in rest. Well, the day wasn't going to be spent in bed.

  Opening the wardrobe, she sifted through the clothing hanging there. Much of it was her own garments brought from Dwervinton. A few pieces, however, she did not recognize. Had they belonged to the baroness?

  It struck her, suddenly, that she spent last night in a dead woman’s bed and the thought made her skin crawl. It seemed like a horrible sort of invasion. What had the baroness been like? Kind? Or like Lady Maria, all caprice and contrariness?

  Pushing aside the thoughts, she took out an unfamiliar midnight blue gown, in the Southern style, that is, all one piece with a full skirt. The morning light caught the small silver stars embroidered on the hem, collar, and cuffs. She thought it rather pretty, though she couldn’t really picture herself wearing it. Holding it up against her, excess material pooled at her feet. The baroness had been at least three inches taller than her. Laying it aside to hem later, she reached for the familiar gowns and selected a dove grey gown with a pale blue tunic. She took a dark blue belt from a drawer.

  Setting these beside the blue gown, Clara took her time washing up and fixing her hair before pulling on the clothing. She was tying on her slippers when she heard someone come into the sitting room. Hastily grabbing her slate and chalk bag, she left her room, only to freeze in her tracks.

  Haggard stood beside the breakfast table on which laid a tray of food.

  “I brought you some breakfast,” he said. “Thought you might be up by now.”

  She watched him carefully, body tense as she waited for any sudden movements.

  “I’m glad you’re better. Gave us quite a scare yesterday.” He smiled weakly, showing he was missing an eyetooth.

  She nodded a thank you but made no move to take up her slate or come closer.

  He started to walk toward her but stopped when she took a step back closer to her bedchamber.

  Haggard held up his hands and said, “I’m not going to hurt you, lass. I’m… I’m sorry for what I did. But, it seemed like the best thing at the time. And now look where you are now, in this place, with fine clothes!”

  Her hands balled into fists as tears blurred her vision. She longed to make him feel what she had felt over the years—the pain, the cold, the hunger, the loneliness and despair. She wished she could cram it all down his throat. She reached up and rubbed away the tears. When her vision cleared, she jerked back. Haggard had come closer, standing near enough to touch her.

  “Easy, Clara,” he said. “I want to… I can’t go to the other children I’ve helped to sell but I can do this for you and maybe it’ll make up for the others.”

  He drew his sword and for a brief moment, Clara wondered wildly if she would be able to make it to the main door or if she could alert her guards someway. But then he knelt and turned the sword to offer her the hilt.

  “Take it,” he said.

  She slowly reached out and took the sword, raising her eyebrows at the weight. It weighed no more than a small basket of apples or a large tin of sugar.

  “My lady,” he said, “my sword is yours. My life is yours. Do with them what you will.” And he bowed his head, exposing the back of his neck.

  Clara's pulse quickened as the moment stretched in silence. She could kill him, if she wanted. Surely Emmerich and Gavin would know this ceremony, ritual, or whatever it was. They wouldn’t blame her. A voice in her mind hissed, “You let Dwervin die. Would this be so much harder? Just let the blade fall. What did Emmerich say one day? It doesn't take that much strength to kill a man.”

  She wanted to do it. The fire of anger roared through her. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears. But then she pictured their faces when they saw what she had done, how disappointed they would be in her for killing a man offering her his life. It was like water on the fire and she suddenly felt cold and empty.

  With her free hand, she tapped him on the shoulder. When he looked up, she offered the sword back to him as he had offered it to her. Haggard stood and took it, sheathing it.

  “This means I’ll do anything to protect you,” he explained. “Just say the word, and I’ll even kill for you, my lady.” He bowed. “I’ll leave you to your breakfast.”

  And he left.

  Gavin rubbed his left shoulder. “Good match,” he said.

  “Aye,” Ivan said, “but you seemed a little distracted, if you don't mind my saying, my lord.”

  “A lot on my mind.” With a wave, he left the weapons master to have at his next victim–that is, sparring partner.

  He entered the main hall of the castle. Sighting the maid that attended Clara's rooms, he said, “Hello, you there.” The maid stopped and waited for him to approach.

  She curtsied. “Aye, my lord?”

  “Do you know if the lady is awake?”

  “I don't, my lord. One of her guards took her breakfast and I haven't been called to her rooms.”

  “When was this? The breakfast.”

  “One or two candle marks ago, my lord.”

  “Ah. All right.” He nodded to her and continued on his way.

  After stopping by his rooms to wash and change, he went to Clara's. Two guards, one of which was Haggard, stood on either side of her door.

  “Which one of you brought her breakfast?” he asked.

  “I did, my lord,” said Haggard.

  Gavin frowned. “The Lord General gave you strict orders not to address her.”

  “Only wanted to make peace, my lord.”

  “Did you?”

  “I think so, my lord.”

  Gavin found this a little hard to believe. He entered the sitting room. It sat empty but the door leading to the balcony stood open. Crossing the room, he went out onto the balcony. Clara sat in a chair, hemming a blue gown. She made to stand but he waved a hand.

  “Please, don't,” he said. “You need your rest.”

  She shrugged and went back to her work.

  “That must be one of the baroness'. Emmerich and I thought you would like some of her clothes. I thought that color would look especially good on you.”

  Picking up her slate, she wrote, “Thank you.”

  “You're welcome.” He sat in the other chair and watched her for a few moments. “You look quite beautiful in the sunlight.”

  She gave him a slight smile.

  He shifted a little and said, “Haggard said he spoke to you. I hope he didn’t bother you.”

  Clara set her work down again and, picking up her slate, wrote out a reply: “He did this ceremony where he gave me his sword and said that his life was mine, to make up for what he had done.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “That’s very serious. That means you could ask him to do anything, and he would be obligated to do it.” Gavin paused, thinking about that. “He must be truly sorry.”

  Clara nodded, her eyes filled with thoughtfulness, and she picked up her work again.

  The warmth of the sun, a lack of sleep, and the sparring session eventually took their toll and Gavin drifted to sleep, his head lolling onto his chest.

  He walked down a wide Great Hall. Wind pounded on the stones outside like a giant's fists, sending tremors through the floor. Torches lit the hall but the shadows in the corners moved and shifted.

  A hand touched his shoulder.

  Yelling, he whirled. Men, women, children, pre
sbyters in cassocks, and soldiers in armor stood behind him, filling the once-empty hall. The stench of decay rolled off them and he gagged. Open sores on their faces, necks, and arms oozed puss and blood.

  “Why?” whispered their voices. “Why?”

  The hand shook him again and he turned, lifting his hands to defend himself–

  And he was on the balcony, Clara standing in front of him and watching him with wide, fearful eyes. She reached for her slate but he said, “I'm fine. I'm fine.”

  He stood and turned away from her, looking out over the gardens. Servants tended the neat, square beds. He felt a soft touch on his shoulder. Looking down, he reached up to cover Clara’s hand with his.

  “There are things I have done that still haunt me, I'm afraid,” he said. Turning, he faced her, taking both her hands between his. “Clara, there is something I must know. Did you let Dwervin die?”

  She jerked her hands away and stepped back, staring at him with an unreadable expression.

  “I wouldn’t judge you, if you did. We’ve all had to make…hard decisions. I wish I could just walk away from all this, but I can’t.”

  She nodded and looked down.

  He cupped her face in his and lifted it so he could look in her eyes, which were full of fear and anguish. For him, perhaps? “When this is over,” he said, “I do not want to see you spirited away into Emmerich’s court. You are the only thing that’s making any of this bearable, sweetling. I hate to see you bound up in this, but I don’t think we have a choice. Maybe you see the battles as you do because your fate is entangled with ours, too much so to just sever.

  “I love you, Clara. Please say you will be mine always.”

  Her mouth opened, making a little “o” of surprise. To Gavin, time seemed to stop as he waited.

  “Lord Gavin?”

  Looking up, he saw Haggard standing just inside the parlor. Scowling, he asked, “What is it?”

  “The Lord General wishes to see you in the audience chamber.”

  He nodded, sighing, and the guard saluted before retreating. Gavin looked back down at Clara. “I’ll be back, my love. You can give me your answer then.”