Clara nodded, it was difficult to describe.
She slipped the ribbon open, its gauzy weight as light as a feather atop a pen, and scooped out a chain of precious silver. At its end hung a large, single pearl, held in a spider web gallery; complicated filigree surrounded it like an embrace.
Clara's head jerked up and she looked into Charles dark eyes, “A Samuel Pearl,” she breathed out in reverence. The rarity was beyond compare. In her water sphere fields, there was a tiny field for raising the rare, Samuel's Pearls. They were named for her grandfather's grand-sire, a man who had never set foot in the sphere, but perished in the Outside, in the time when the earth was covered in ash.
Charles' beautiful smile broke across his face like the sun of the Outside breaking free of clouds, “I knew you would love it.”
“I love it because of who gave it,” returning his smile with one of her own.
Charles ducked his head, pleased, “Let me place it about your neck.” She turned and he laid her heavy hair aside, securing the clasp behind her neck, rearranging the tousled hair over it.
“Oh, Princess, it is so beautiful against the creaminess of your skin, you must address the looking glass.”
None of them said anything about the bruises; the Queen's careless abuse in evidence.
Clara gazed into the looking glance, staring at the large pearl, the size of her pinky nail, a deep ebony, shining with metallic green iridescence. The luster encompassed the sea gem where it glowed softly at the hollow of her throat. Olive and Charles stood behind her. Clara noticed her disheveled hair, tendrils of deepest bronze escaping and suddenly felt older than her ten and seven years.
Clara watched Charles stroke a thumb over the grape-sized bruise at the side of her throat, his expression sad. It said, how much longer could she bear the mistreatment... could he?
Charles gave her a gentle squeeze on her shoulders, his big, warm hands a momentary comfort, then he released her.
“I must go,” he glanced at the hanging time piece, one half hour until midnight struck.
Charles leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, “Happy Day of Birth, dearest Clara.”
He straightened, a strange expression coming over his face, then he seemed to shake cobwebs away and saying a final good night, he left her chamber.
Olive had followed him and shut the massive door, engaging the huge brass bolt. She turned around, leaning against the door, her relief a palpable thing.
Clara watched Olive walk toward her, “He loves you, Princess.”
She loved him too... but she was not in love with him, he was her dear friend. Clara sighed, “I do not know for a certainty that he loves me any differently than I do him. We have been friends since grammar school,” she shrugged the idea away.
“No, it is different. He watches you as the sun orbits the earth, it is total.”
Olive's words were disturbing. Clara did not wish to mean that much to anyone.
“You have not encouraged his affections, but they exist, my lady.”
Clara said nothing, instead, moving toward the bedpost she twined nimble fingers around the part which narrowed. Her eyes following Olive as she moved to close the heavy drapes that stood open to the blackness of the Outside. They lay slightly damp against the veil of the sphere wall, the steam from the day clinging tenaciously to the fabric, adding weight. Olive used both hands to pull the two sides of the curtain together, the wooden rings sliding over the rod seamlessly but slowly, hindered by the heaviness. Finally, they were closed and Olive moved up behind Clara. Olive began at the top stay, releasing it carefully. With the first stay undone, it was usually a matter of synchronicity with the rest... however, release the first in haste, and each stay needed hand release, a bother at the very least. Clara gave a grateful exhale as the stays loosened and her ribs and breasts escaped the prison of the corset.
Olive breathed a sigh of relief, “The usual damage has been avoided, Princess,” Olive said, a discerning eye roving her torso.
“Oh?” Clara inquired. It felt about the same as all the damage she always suffered when Ada raged against her.
“Yes... it was the corset, my lady, the corset bore some of it.”
Of course! The dreadful encumbrance was worth something after all. The irony was not lost on Clara.
The rest of the garment slid off easily without the resistance of the corset. Olive folded it over the back of Clara's vanity chair, the dress obscuring the ornate bones of the polished wood, like glass in repose.
She returned with Clara's dressing gown which Clara took to dress herself. How she detested being dressed, this singular step she could do. As she took the gown, she bestowed a grateful smile on Olive. She was someone that had been steadfast and loyal throughout, in the terrible years after her father's passing, and before.
The dressing gown on, Clara walked to the vanity chair, sitting sideways so as to not interfere with the dress, while Olive gave her hair the hundred strokes.
Olive sighed, frustrated, “I am sorry, Princess, I will have to remove these ruined bindings.”
Olive carefully unwound the mess of the bindings, a few pearls still clinging to their careful housing, now beyond repair. Clara's hair shone as burnished copper in the faded golden light cast by the overhead chandelier, its cut glass globes piercing jeweled rainbows on the interior walls, some prisms absorbed by the wall of the sphere.
Clara, not one to talk idly, sat trancelike, as Olive brushed her hair, a ritual Olive's mother had established before Olive became her lady-in-waiting. It had never failed to calm her, especially after a horrible night at the hands of Ada. But this night, Clara could not calm herself, the normalcy of this routine stolen from her.
Olive paused in her brush strokes, “What disturbs you, my lady?”
What did not disturb Clara? Her Day of Birth celebration beginning with a face-to-face engagement with a savage, the spectacle of her mother's drunken behavior, the menace of her later in Clara's chamber, with the finish of Prince Frederic and Charles almost coming to blows? Oh... nothing of consequence! She must give just due to Olive, for this was all that she knew; the Queen drank, she beat Clara, Clara resolved to say nothing. Clara wished upon every star that lay Outside in its captured velvet...that she could do something to establish protective measures against Queen Ada. But the threats lay dormant, ready to be activated if Clara chose not to cooperate. Cooperate or the people of her Sphere would be ruled by tyranny, not mutual respect and collaboration. The ways of her father would not be forgotten because she was incapable of preserving them. That streak of resolve always held her in its fist when the days grew dark in Clara's soul.
Clara thought of her father, even though it made her sad, her memories of her girlhood in the oyster fields alongside her father were dear to her. She ruminated upon them more frequently than she cared to admit... even to herself.
*
Clara looked at the oyster King Raymond held in the palm of his hand, its wavy and hammered surface belying the succulent sea meat held inside, the pretty gem nestled in its dove gray folds. How the oysters fascinated young Clara! Each one a surprise. The pearl their reward for diligently and studiously care taking them until their maturation reached an end.
“Clara-girl,” King Raymond began, prying open a too small shell, one even she knew was not yet ready for harvest, “this young is not yet ready for yield.”
“No father! Do not, I wish no harm to befall the oyster.”
Her father gave her a look of soft compassion, “You must learn just the correct moment in an oyster's life span for harvest. One day, I will not be here, and who will make certain that our way of life continues?”
“You will always be here, Father!” Clara cried, smoothing her yellow skirt over her knees anxiously, the hem grazing the floorboards of the pungy.
The king gazed across the water, looking at the small spheres scattered about the Great Lake, as it had been called in his father's father's time, “One day, eve
n I will be no more. It will be your job to steward over these creatures.”
He pried the shell apart, not a smooth practice, and inside the creature was undersized and the gem was but a sparkling speck, the color not yet true.
“Pay attention Clara,” she leaned forward, her father poking the flesh of the creature with his prying tool so she could see the interior of its home encased in shell. After they had examined it together, he placed the oyster in a wooden bucket with rope for a handle.
He gathered another oyster, this one of proper girth and length, stretching past his palm, almost to the tips of his fingers, “This is ready.”
Prying... it sprung open, splashing muck about the pungy, splatter falling on Clara,(she had the disquieting thought that mother would be cross). She was often cross with Clara, especially when she rode the pungy with father.
The creature was full to bursting its house (as Clara thought of the shell) a glimmering gem cloistered inside the folds, its luster in stark relief against the dull-colored creature within. It was beautiful, the pearl was beautiful.
Father plucked the pearl out, the juices of the creature still covering it, and gave it to Clara. She immediately dunked it in the fresh water bucket, getting some of the grime off. It seemed to wink and glimmer at her from her palm... her first pearl.
She looked up at her father, delight on her face and he smiled back, “I also loved the fields and what they held when I was a lad.”
“Princess?” Olive held the brush in her hand, staring at Clara in the looking glass' reflection. Clara had been ten spheres away, in the depths of her memory.
“Yes, Olive?”
“I asked, 'what disturbs you'?”
So much to speak of, but she did not wish to go through it all again. Once in her mind was enough for tonight, “My thoughts lay heavy on me. Tomorrow, I will escape some of the Prince's attention by checking the fields.”
“Queen Ada will not be pleased.”
“I know.” Her mother wished to have others fulfill the oyster supervision duties, but Clara felt compelled to oversee much of what had been cultivated for over one hundred years within her family. After all, Ada was not from this Sphere originally, but the Kingdom of West Virginia, where there were no fields. What did she really care what happened to any of it, with her precious grapes in sight? Clara was her vehicle for their continuation.
“I tire, Olive. I would sleep now.”
Olive put the hairbrush down without a word, folding the bedding back, Clara slid underneath her coverlet, her eyes like great weights dragging her under. Struggling to stay awake, her eyes followed Olive as she dimmed the sconces and the chandelier from a central switch located just inside the chamber door. With one last look at Clara, she retreated to a smaller door which led to her much smaller chamber.
The last thing Clara heard was the lock clicking into place as she fell into a dreamless sleep of exhaustion.
CHAPTER 7
Charles lay in bed within his small chamber thinking of Clara... again. That was usually where his thoughts lay. Aside from her being the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld she was a most excellent friend. He rolled over on his stomach, his chin resting on his fist instead of a pillow. A heavy sigh escaped him, what to do? That strumpet of a man lay in wait for Clara, whoring himself with aplomb for the wine-pearl treaty. While Clara was held like a fragile tether between the two factions. If only King Raymond were still alive, he thought for the thousandth time, good Guardian, life was a wreck at present.
Sleep evading Charles entirely, he ripped the bedding away from himself and sat up, his naked form pale against the darkness of the bed linen. He padded over to the wall of the sphere, its clarity allowing the blackness of the Outside to permeate his chamber. His eyes roamed the Outside, the Great Forest an outline of staggered black against a deep sky filled with stars, the moon on the wane.
Clara had seen one of them today... a savage.
A new thing to worry over.
Although, curiously, she had said she sensed no menace in the brief snippet of time they had to regard each other.
Their history warned clearly in that regard, they needed to be ever vigilant with the savages. The Time Keeper had made it known that they were a people apart, possibly not even the same species. Charles doubted that. Early sketches showed them looking very human...if not larger, fiercer. As a boy, Charles had looked at many hand-written accounts and sketches of the savages, and they were markedly similar; large men (a female had never been witnessed), with unkempt hair and clothing (and from what Clara had conveyed, a shocking lack thereof). Weaponry had been noted as well: spears, knives and most prominently, bows and arrows. Charles thought of his own sword practice. It was not something that was required in his occupation, but was of keen interest to him. However, there was also the matter of the airways on the throat Clara claimed to have seen... gills, as a sea creature has. Charles could only surmise that this was in some way an environmental response to the air quality of the Outside. He longed to explore Outside, but it also filled him with a nervous dread. Would he survive? Because breathe he must! Charles understood Clara had been safe behind the security of the sphere but he had a disquieting portent of the proximity of the savage. What could have been the reason for his close approach? Were they being watched?
He did not like it.
And what if they possessed salt? What if they knew the weakness of the sphere's defenses he thought as he paced the room.
Charles went over the events of the night and how unable he was to protect Clara. The abhorrent Queen wielded her tyranny over Clara with a singular focus that drove him mad. Where was her compassion for her own offspring? Charles dreamed of dispatching her... permanently. The idea swelled in his head, especially acute after witnessing Clara's stiff posture. Seeing Olive's expression, Charles knew what had occurred. Clara dismissed his concern, accepting the rages as part of her duties. However, what if Queen Ada lost total control, deep in the cup as was often? Clara was a small female, her mother was not. Charles shuddered, Clara said that it was better that Charles had some contact with her, rather than none. “Do nothing,” she had said, “so that we may have a friendship. Do not defend me, or she will never let us consort.” That was all well and good in theory, but Charles brooded, remembering the bruise that blossomed on the whiteness of her throat, his fists unconsciously flexing. He had never wished to harm a female; but the Queen made him rethink himself.
Further, Prince Frederic was of a similar ilk, a male with the same disposition as the Queen, a terrible reality for Clara.
Putting a forearm against the sphere wall, he leaned his head on it, gaze fixed on the Outside, his flesh sinking into its permeability. How he wondered what it would be like to breathe fresh air of the Outside; to have answers to the questions that ricocheted around his skull! To not be surrounded by heat and steam? He and Clara often spoke in hushed tones of escape and exploration; she as interested as he. With a curse, Charles swung around, heading back toward bed. He must get rest, tomorrow was a full day in the fields with Trading Day one day hence. And...a plan must be devised to save Clara, his Clara (before he could stop the interior sentiment from forming).
He sat back on the bed, rubbing his eyes, grainy from the lateness of the hour, his eyes locked onto the small photograph of Clara that sat on his night table. A stiff pose could not counteract the vulnerable eyes that filled her face, the black and white colors emphasizing the lightness of them, showing as the palest gray. Her personality could not be denied in that face, he could see it.
He loved her.
Charles flopped back against his pillow, hoping sleep would come. He thought of the long days in the field, wishing a portion might be spent with Clara. Afterward, a small joy would take place as he sparred with Clarence, his steadfast opponent in sword fighting, how he dreamed of being a guard at the sphere intersects!
As sleep claimed Charles, his mind filled with the dangers of saltwater, and what it would
mean to the sphere, to all of them, if that safety was breached.
CHAPTER 8
Clara's eyes came open and she stared at the apex of the sphere, there to greet her as it had each day she could remember. She listened for Olive stirring in the adjacent chamber of their huge, interior house. Modeled after row houses similar to the ones she had heard tales of from Before, every house was connected to conserve space. The sphere was a sound-absorber and noises from one dwelling to the next were not easily heard.
She shifted to her side, automatically looking at the drapes, which Olive had closed last night, her side aching dully. The corset had not buffered all, she noted. Of their own volition, her feet swung free of the bed linen and she hopped off the bed, the blood rushing to her extremities. She used a hand on the bedpost to steady herself then began slowly walking toward the drapes. Interesting... now that the savage had been spotted, the drapes were closed. After all, who concerned themselves over privacy when no soul left the sphere? However, with a savage coming inches away from the sphere's barrier, there was new concern over... whatever it was they were seeking. Aside from the beating and rough handling of the prior evening, Clara felt robust. A new day awakened with the promise of the fields and work ahead of her.
Working the fields made Clara feel accomplished... centered. Most importantly, she felt closer to her father. While she stood, legs anchored, her pole drivers guided the boat with smooth wooden poles used until they whittled away into nothing.
Clara stretched her arms above her, inhaling deeply, the rich humidity of her environment a salve on her throat. Smiling, she thought how convenient it would be that the queen would be feeling ill until mid-day, the consequence of her over-consumption. That suited Clara perfectly. She would be dressed, breakfast eaten and in the pungy before the Queen alighted from her bed.
Destiny's Dark Fantasy Boxed Set (Eight Book Bundle) Page 70
