“I asked you a question.”
Prisoner: a deaf one, Bracus thought.
“I apologize, I was lost in my own thoughts.”
“I see that.” Bowen started round the table, a circular one which had stood in that spot for one hundred years, papers sealed under glass in the center, under a sphere of their own.
His fingers trailed the edge of the table as he walked, standing uncomfortably close to Bracus.
Bracus stood still.
“Do you know why you were chosen for this assignment, Bracus?”
Not at all. “No.”
“Objectivity.”
Oh. Bracus was sure that he was not as objective as he had been upon the inception of this assignment.
“You are not...developing feelings for the subject.”
“Of course not. This is about establishing a rapport between our peoples. I have not lost sight of our objective,” Bracus lied smoothly. There was nothing that would stop him from initiating this. The thought of another male with the same objective... carrying it out instead of him.
It would be himself or no one.
“Excellent, I wish to make sure that we remain of one mind; the propagation of the species.”
Bracus backed away, circling the table in the opposite direction, grabbing the paper which lay under the glass weight with a pencil at the ready.
“Let me sketch the primary area of acquisition.” Bracus briefly laid the groundwork for the sphere, showing with fair accuracy its placement in front of the great forest which sheltered his people. To the east lay their sphere's traveling pathway, a small sphere which served as a tunnel of sorts. This sphere tunnel, as Bracus thought of it, seemed to be a vital method of trading with the other spheres. There were also several intersecting tunnels which traversed over the great lake ending in much smaller spheres, a place where many workers lived who tended the oyster fields, all under the great umbrella of the main sphere. Those workers would be picked up in the strange pink and green boats which filled the fields. Searching, rendering and gathering the shell creatures, with the female their unlikely leader. If she were so vital in their leadership, why was she not under guard? Why were their females not better secured? So many questions to which Bracus wished answers.
Bowen leaned over the paper, indicating the point where the main body of the sphere, bisected the sphere tunnel. “This is the point of acquisition we discussed. It is the most vulnerable area.”
“Yes. Kingsley and I feel that their unusual ventilation system needs to release at this area. Also, and this is most interesting, the outside air is drawn in.”
“Fascinating. Myself and the Advisers surmise it is some kind of elaborate cycle of air cleansing. We do not know how this is achieved.”
“Steam,” Bracus said, remembering the heat which escaped the pin-sized holes in the seam that connected the sphere with the tunnel.
“Indeed. The Evil Ones were quite advanced.” The president pressed his fingers to the throat slits on both sides of Bracus' neck, closed at present. He let the uncomfortable intimacy pass without rebuff, but not without effort. It was part of their history. As yet, no one knew why some had the slits and others did not. Females did not have them. Slit breathing was a sign that they would become part of the Band. If you were born with the slits, you would be a part of the protection of his people. No matter, slit-breathers were instinctively protective, it was part of the fiber of their being.
“We will plan for three weeks hence. There will be a new moon that night, with little light, it should be ideal to retrieve the female.”
Today's mission had been the last before acquisition. All the practice and planning were finally behind him. Bracus prepared to leave, the interior guards silently coming forward from walls illuminated by candles, preparing to escort the president to the first rendezvous point.
“Wait.”
Bracus turned.
“What do they look like? Up close.”
Bracus stood thinking.
“They dress strangely...”
“We know it was the Princess's birthday. Perhaps that is traditional attire.”
Bracus shrugged, he was not sure if this was so. However, it made some sense as she normally wore plain garments, which covered her whole body. But not this day. Today she had worn ribbons of gems in her hair, winking at him as he had gazed upon her.
“She is a tiny female, fragile. But fierce in expression. The males seem of adequate constitution.”
“Similar to our males?”
“Yes, but none that compare with the Band.”
“It is possible there is no environmental need for a Band inside the cocoon of their sphere.”
Bracus shrugged.
President Bowen pressed his fist to his heart. “Godspeed to a Goodman.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“Until then.”
“Yes.”
Bracus strode out. Leaving the president in the care of the central Band, he swept by Matthew and Stephen, the two other parts to their trio, his balance.
They jogged off into the night, melting into the border of the forest, moonlight shone on their backs as the quivers beat lightly with their pace.
Bracus' mind was heavy with his duties. A terrible portent rode his consciousness. With the date in the palm of his hand, he should have felt reassured, but did not. He felt the promise of this meeting with the female lay under some vague threat he could not name. A shadow of disquiet laced it. He would come back to this spot, when it was not required to do so and watch her. Somehow he felt she was in danger and could not make the feeling leave him.
The three of them accelerated, the throat slits fully open, ragged tears catching the oxygen as they ran through the woods, swiftly moving towards home, towards their clan.
CHAPTER 6
Clara put her hands across her face, prepared to take a blow even knowing that Ada never beat her where it showed. The Queen prowled closer. In her left hand swung an emerald green decanter which glistened wetly, bumping her hip on her approach.
Clara thought it made a fine weapon for bludgeoning.
When she neared Clara, she shoved her right hand upon Clara's stomach, pushing with drunken might, Clara fell on the wood floor. She looked up at Olive, who winced as she landed, trembling and angry in equal parts. But Olive knew her role, had always known her role.
“Insolent girl,” Queen Ada roared, “how like your father you've become. You must work the oyster fields, you must show your gratitude for the masses.” She swaggered away, steadying herself as she walked by Clara's bedpost. The same one she used to brace for the lacing of stays.
Clara stood, gingerly and covertly feeling her ribs, which she had landed on, feeling grateful she had not been abused further. Olive and she exchanged a look. Better that Ada not set her attention on Clara again.
No such luck. Ada turned, her purple skirts swirling about her legs like grape vapor. “You will do what I ask. You will not embarrass me in front of our subjects.”
Clara knew it was useless to defend herself with the Queen but tried nonetheless, “My Queen,” Clara took a breath to continue, a rib squawking, “...I like showing gratitude to our subjects, as I think they remain loyal and joyous when they are treated well.”
“Yes... you would,” Ada said with derision, her chest rising and falling, the liquor a wave of rotten fruit immersing the room in a cloying smell of things which sicken.
Ada came toward her with purpose now, swinging the decanter in such a way that Clara's eyes became mesmerized by it.
“Dear Guardian,” Olive whispered.
Clara's thoughts echoed.
Ada came closer, her hips swaying in time with the decanter, her dark eyes glittering with resolve. This might be something that Clara would not recover from. She was resigned to the Queen's drunken rages, kept them secret.
But she had not wielded an object before.
The chamber door burst open, causing all to jump,
except Ada, who was as calm as the dead when deep in drink.
“Who enters?” Her tone said, who dares to enter?
“It is I, Queen Ada; King Otto and Prince Frederic.”
Clara looked away from the Queen (not always advisable) to see the two monarchs and should not have. She felt the Queen's hand sink into her hair piled with pearls and was wrenched backward, the strand of pearls tearing. They broke free like birds scattered in the fields Outside. A hundred shimmering gems bounced and rolled across the glossy floor, pooling around everyone's feet.
Clara's neck was bent at a tortuous angle, as the Queen held her lips above Clara's ear. “Do not forget who is sovereign here, my daughter. Now get ye gone from my sight.”
And with a mighty push, the Queen released Clara. She stumbled over the pearls, which ran like an iridescent stream upon the burnished wood and tumbled into Olive's arms.
The king rushed over to dispatch assistance. “Do not touch her, King Otto. She needs help from no one. Do you, Princess?”
Leaning into Olive she whispered, “No.”
Ada's gaze narrowed. “Olive, sweet Olive, how you hate me. I see my abuse upon your face.” Olive lowered her eyes, never able to hide her expression from the Queen. “Best you not show your feelings, servant. Take her away.”
King Otto said, “Is this not her chamber?”
Prince Frederic stood beside his father looking at Clara with a contemplative expression.
“It is,” she remarked, saying it to the king but giving the full weight of her stare to Frederic. “Your son understands discipline, do you not?”
Frederic suffered another look at Clara, dismissing her. “Yes, I think Clara and I have an understanding of how things will be once we are joined.”
Clara started fantasizing a way for harm to befall him from that moment onward. A seed germinated inside the dark recesses of her heart.
She could not be under this man's authority.
Her mother's drunken ire was something she bore because there was no choice. But his? She needed to formulate a plan and did not yet know what. She would confer with Charles.
The king gave her a look that may have been sympathy. However, he was weak. Her mother's pearls meant more than Clara's harm at the hands of the Queen, and later, his own son.
“Let us take our leave of her chamber, Queen Ada. There is much for us to discuss. I have brought some of my most prized grapes that I wish for you to sample,” he wheedled.
Clara watched Ada's expression take on the greed so prevalent with her, looking down at her decanter, its weight not as heavy now that she had stripped it of its contents. “Yes, I need not be here.” She swayed and King Otto steadied her by grasping her elbow.
Clara backed away, Olive's arm around her waist, Olive her touchstone. King Otto led Ada away, several times steadying her. With each step she took, Clara's breathing quieted. Then her attention was caught by Prince Frederic.
He stalked to where she and Olive stood and she felt Olive stiffen behind her. “Your hair...it is everywhere, you had better clean it up.” He reached out to stroke a piece that had been released when the Queen tore it free of its pearl bindings. Clara jerked away from his touch.
Frederic's hand fell away, his gaze darkening and then his hands were suddenly around her ribcage, jerking her forward. He wrenched her out of Olive's embrace, against his body and a small pain sound escaped her mouth which made him smile. His hands moved down lower, encircling her waist. “You will like my touch... very much,” he said as he bent down to force his hated mouth against hers, just as Charles entered her chamber.
“Release her, Prince Frederic.” Charles' expression was thunder contained. He and Olive looked at each other and she gave him helpless eyes.
Frederic set her away from him and she shuddered. Charles would pay for that comment. Charles did not care as of yet. He suspected Frederic's character but Clara had more than suspicion:
She had foreknowledge.
He turned to Charles. “Have a care, Mr. Pierce. Our interaction is none of your concern,” speaking with quiet menace. He was showing restraint, Clara did not believe it. It was so unlike him.
Charles' hands were fisted. “If you were not Prince, I would beat you senseless.”
“Ah...but I am, am I not?” Prince Frederic said, a cruel smile sliding into place.
Charles' frustration was evident, his impotence clear. “Have you no honor? She is a woman for Guardian's sake.”
“Yes, I am very aware; soon to be mine.”
“She is not a possession... a thing to own!” Charles threw his hands up in the air.
The silence fell upon them. The only sound was of the steam sconces, their flickering flames along the chamber walls hissing their presence, the time piece on the wall, clicking the seconds as they passed into before.
Prince Frederic suddenly laughed, “I will let this interchange disappear, I can afford to be gracious with those beneath me. After all,” his gaze slid possessively over Clara, “soon, I will see to it that her eyes never behold you again.”
Stinging heat bit into Clara's eyes and she knew they were the tears yet unshed, burning for release.
“You cannot take away her companions.”
“You will not 'go away', you will simply be unwelcome in our kingdom.”
Clara gasped, “We have not yet chosen where we may settle.” She could feel her eyes brim and held them wide so those tears which threatened would not fall. Olive moved up beside her, clasping her hand.
Charles gave her an anguished look. He alone could intuit what near servitude it would be in this loveless match; the abuse she would suffer with Frederic. Something unimagined but balancing on the chasm of her consciousness. Far worse than the Queen's drunken efforts.
Frederic gave a brilliant smile, tipping his hat at Clara and Olive, who stood stunned at his bizarre behavior, then he gave a small bow to Charles, who fumed.
Charles and Frederic stood staring at each other in aggressive regard, one pale and one dark, evil encased in lightness.
He walked out without a word, leaving the massive door ajar.
Clara glided over to her fainting couch and slowly lowered her body onto it. Silent tears gliding down her face, partially covered by a curtain of hair. She watched dully as Olive, broom and receptacle in hand, gathered the fallen pearls which still littered the floor like glittering tears.
A satin waistcoat, quite lovely, appeared in her watery field of vision. Then vanished as Charles sat beside her, “Dearest Clara,” Charles began, placing a light hand at the base of her neck, wrapping it with long fingers which circled almost to the front of her throat. Such strength in that large hand, but what tenderness as he held her neck in the palm of his grip.
He pushed her head under his chin, his hand still holding her neck and the sobs came. Great, silent, hiccuping wails held quiet by habit, she could not get Frederic's wretched face out of her mind's eye. His smug patience, knowing it was a matter of time... a matter of when, not if.
She would not be powerless. Her father's teachings had not fallen on deaf ears. She had not built his empire to let it fall into governance by a Prince drunk not with wine, but with power. Charles whispered sweet endearments into ears stung by the night. A night that had been less celebration, and more survival.
“I cannot protect you... but somehow I must. He is dangerous. I fear he will hurt you.” Charles said, running his thumb up and down her throat.
“Charles is correct. He is not a real Prince of his people, my lady. He wishes to marry for power, for the pearls. He wishes to be drunk like the Queen,” Olive lowered her voice to a whisper, tucking her voluminous skirts under her knees as she knelt before Clara, “but not by wine... by greed.”
She was so right, dear Olive was absolutely right. They knew what was happening but what to do with that knowledge?
“Refuse the crown,” Charles said suddenly.
Clara wiped her eyes and sat up straighter looking at
Charles, “Whatever do you mean?”
Charles had a stroke of insight and waved her lack of understanding away, “Queen Ada commanded you would not be Queen if you refused this arranged marriage, yes?”
Clara nodded, that had been so.
“Then refuse the crown. You do not care for all this.” He gestured around the room with its extravagant appointments, every surface velvet, satin or silk. Precious metals gleaming like small anchors randomly in a room holding every manner of implements and comforts.
That was true. Her richest treasures were with her now, breathing the air that she did. She looked at Olive and Charles, knowing what she would say next would upset them, “I do have that choice. However,” Clara swallowed, this was most difficult, “I am royal. It is more than a hollow allowance, I am the caretaker of my people, my subjects. If I am not Princess Clara for them, they will be left to the devices of the Queen. That, I cannot abide.”
“Clara,” Charles moaned in defeat, “think on it, do not martyr yourself for us. What good can you do as Princess to his Prince... if he means your death?”
Olive sucked in her breath, for Charles had said their fear out loud. It would be easy for something to befall Clara, with Prince Frederic the ruler of both spheres. The failing Kingdom of Kentucky and her own. Her head ached with the potential for it all.
Her gaze suddenly wandered to the sphere wall and she thought of the savage she had seen Outside. How she longed for help for a new way, a way to save her people from the hardship of this forced union.
Charles stood, and clasped their hands, Olive rested her head upon Clara's shoulder, “Let me think on it. There must be another way.”
Charles leaned forward, releasing her hands and putting one on each side of Clara's face, palming the entirety of it, and placed a gentle kiss upon her forehead.
“Are you hurt?”
“Nothing I cannot bear and bring to wellness in a fore-night or two.”
“The Queen,” he hissed.
She nodded. He closed his eyes and finally... Charles pulled away, his forehead breaking contact with Clara's.
He began to walk to the door then stopped, turning, he pulled something out of his pocket. A small, velvet bag in deepest blue, cinched with an icy blue ribbon, he walked back over and placed it inside Clara's palm, “This is what I meant to do when I came upon... when I came upon... the circumstance.”
Destiny's Dark Fantasy Boxed Set (Eight Book Bundle) Page 69
