by Jill Myles
Betrothed
By
Jill Myles
Copyright © 2013 by Jill Myles
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Chapter One
From her perch amongst the geese, Seri watched the caravan creaking down the main road and tried not to feel alarmed. For days now, the pretty carriages had been piling into Vidari lands, heading toward the large castle in the distance. She didn’t have to see the bright, silk clothing or rich carriages to know who the newcomers were.
They were Athonites, and they were the enemy.
Like every other day for the past sevenday, the caravan was a line as far as the eye could see. Unlike before, a horde of soldiers swarmed about the carriages. Seri guessed that an important dignitary had arrived to take residence in the old castle. It had been empty for as long as anyone could remember, yet Athoni guardsmen and nobles had streamed toward the castle in a steady flow for the past two moons.
She’d heard a rumor that the Athoni prince was returning to take control of the wild Vidari lands in the east and control the “savages” with a civilized hand.
As one of the savages, Seri had to smile at that. Any prim Athoni lord would have his hands full trying to appease the Vidari people, still bitter despite a hundred years of “civilization,” forced to live on the poorest farmland in the kingdom.
Pulling cornmeal out of a pocket, Seri clucked to her feathered charges and drove them into the covered pen. It looked like rain, and the last thing she wanted to do was to fish eggs out of the mud come the morning. Once the geese had been rounded up, she headed for the small house on the edges of the fields, not sparing a backward glance for the important caravan that wound past their lands.
It was a sight she was already tired of.
“Seri? Is that you?” Josdi’s small voice echoed through the house as Seri entered.
“It’s me,” she confirmed, moving toward the now-banked fire and stirring the coals. It was pitch-dark and cold inside, and Josdi had let the fire die again. Though irritated at having to correct Josdi’s mistake, she could not scold her sister. Fire frightened Josdi. “How is Father?” She stoked the fire and placed a bit more quick-lighting tinder on the logs, hoping for a flare of warmth.
Josdi’s sightless eyes followed Seri. “He has been calling for you,” the girl admitted, her fingers clutching the edges of a pillow tightly. “I wanted to look for you…”
Guilty at having dark thoughts about her sister, Seri moved to her side and patted Josdi on the shoulder. “It’s all right. I don’t want you wandering away again. Remember last time? It took us three hours to find you. It’s best that you stay in the house.” She moved toward her father’s bedroom door and cast another quick look at her sister. “Another pillow?”
Blushing, Josdi nodded, her hands stroking the soft fabric. “I used the decorative knots around the edges, like Mother showed me. How does it look?”
A hard lump still formed in Seri’s throat every time she recalled her mother. She thought of her again, eyeing Seri’s handiwork, intricate even though her sister was blind and had been these past five seasons. “It’s beautiful, Josdi. You did very well.” The words sounded grudging, even to her.
“I’m glad,” Josdi said.
Seri turned toward her father’s room and cracked the door. He looked to be sleeping, his chest rising and falling peacefully. Her steps were quiet as she approached the bed and sat down gently on the side of the frame. His brow was still hot to the touch, and he didn’t stir. Not a good sign, but the local healer could do nothing for him, and Seri could not afford an Athoni healer.
She brushed her father’s forehead with her fingertips, then stood and shut the door behind her. She moved toward Josdi’s side and sat down heavily. “How is his leg?”
“Hot with fever,” Josdi said. “I don’t know more than that.” She paused, as if reluctant to speak. “He asked for butter with his bread tonight.”
Butter. Seri’s mouth watered at the thought. “We should all like butter, I imagine,” she said, keeping her voice light. “But we do not have any, nor have we for months.” Not since last harvesttime when her father had been struck with the wasting disease and lost the use of one of his legs. Now their fields lay unreaped and fallow, and they had nothing but the income that Seri’s geese and Josdi’s bright pillows brought them. “We’re lucky to even have bread.”
Silence met that comment, and Seri knew with a sudden sickening anxiety that the last of it was gone. “No more bread?”
“You were supposed to go to the miller’s and buy more flour,” Josdi said, her voice small again.
Ah, yes. She’d promised to do that three nights ago and had been distracted by a fox getting into the chicken house. He’d eaten two hens and the rooster before she’d been able to patch the hole he’d dug.
“It’s Restday, isn’t it?” Josdi’s hopeful voice interrupted her grim thoughts. “Today?”
Seri’s eyes narrowed as she focused on her sister. “So it is. Why do you ask?”
“Restday is when they have the night market at the castle. I heard Rilen mention it last time he was here.”
Count on Rilen to fill Josdi’s head with nonsense. He knew too much about the castle already, having skulked about it for the past few moons as it filled with Athoni strangers. He knew Josdi was fascinated by it—a centuries-old castle in the midst of the empty Wildlands—and that she absorbed everything he said.
“Market day?” Seri feigned interest, trying not to think of the chores that were waiting on her before she crashed into her sad bunk for the evening. There were dishes to be cleaned, dinner to cook, and straw to be baled… and she had no help save her own two hands and when Rilen occasionally came by.
“A night market,” Josdi corrected in an excited whisper. “Rilen told me that the Athonites insisted that the market be moved to the night. It’s a custom in their country.”
A strange custom. Wasn’t it dangerous to wander about the castle in the middle of the night? “Seems odd to me.”
“You could sell the goose down we’ve collected and my pillows. I know they’d fetch a few pennies at least, and perhaps we could get some butter and cheese again. Maybe even enough for a cow.” Josdi’s eyes shone in the darkness, her small hand reaching for Seri’s.
Their old, skinny cow had been stolen from them by highwaymen last spring, when Seri had been at a barn raising with Rilen. It had been the last one she’d attended. “Come, Josdi,” she said wearily. “We would not make enough on pillows and feathers to purchase another cow.”
“At least butter, then?” Josdi’s eyes were hopeful.
Seri didn’t have the heart to disappoint her sister, whose pleasures in life were so few. “Aye, at least butter. Gather the pillows and I’ll see if I can meet with a shopkeeper and make a deal.”
She thought back to the train of riches that trickled down the road, of the nobles swarming to the new castle. Surely they’d be buying something.
She hoped.
~~* * * ~~
Her rangy mule saddled with bags of goose down and two of Josdi’s ornate pillows, Seri followed the main road toward the castle, the last rays of sunset affording her eyes enough light to see by. Old Vidara Castle was a good two-hour walk, and she was not the only one on the route. As the sun set into the hills, the wagon train of Athoni nobles had grown to immense proportion, but Seri was the only Vidari heading in the same direction.
Troops in bright regalia lined the dusty trails that wound their way up to the castle. Seri felt foolish on the back of her loaded mule as she pulled up beside one carriage. Two ladies with fine dresses and ornate, looping hairstyles took one
look at her on the side of the road and tittered behind their hands.
Seri’s face burned and she slowed the mule a little. So it would take a few minutes longer to get to the castle. At least she would not have to deal with their insulting laughter the entire way.
The next two lengths passed rather peacefully, if slowly, and the last of the sunlight faded around her. The wagon train lit ornate lanterns, providing a faint yellow glow to the road and enough light for her to see by. Her mule, Bialla, was slow and stiff in her old age and began to wheeze at the uphill trek. Seri slid off the side of the mule and led her by the reins, deciding to walk the rest of the way. It was not so very far to go, and it was a lovely evening.
A loud whistle broke her from her reverie. Seri’s head snapped to the side and she stared, trying to locate the origin of the derisive sound.
A group of soldiers leered behind her on the road, and one fingered his crotch in a lewd gesture. “Vidari girl,” he called, jeering at her. “Coming to make a few coins at the castle? I’ve got something for you to ride.” He gestured at his crotch again. “Why don’t you bring those long flanks over here?”
She tugged at her faded dress. It only reached her knees—scandalous in the Athoni world, but highly modest in her own. She flushed in the darkness and turned toward the castle in the distance, her back to the men.
Laughter erupted from the soldiers, and more began to call out at her: dark, lascivious things.
They might think her people loose because of their long, free hair and different manner of clothing, but to be treated like a common whore? Her cheeks burned and she whipped her head around, tugging on the reins and stumbling up the rocky road a bit faster.
One of the catcalls became excessively crude in nature. “Hey girl, wanna come over here and show me some more of that brown skin?” Seri’s heart hammered, and she strode forward, urging Bialla to move faster. Her foot slipped on a loose rock and she stumbled, sliding a few steps before catching herself and landing roughly against the door of one of the fine carriages that had stopped in the road.
A man’s face stared out at her through the window, and Seri sucked in her breath.
A faint, spicy scent lingered in the air, but that was not what made her pause. The man before her had the most beautiful face she’d ever seen. Dark eyes stared out at her from behind perfectly winged eyebrows, and his face was wide and angular, his cheekbones both masculine and noble at the same time. The jaw that clenched in distaste at the sight of her was strong and clean and bare. He looked as if she might imagine the god of the moon would be—pale and full of masculine beauty—if it weren’t for the look of revulsion that curled his perfect mouth. He eyed her with reproach, as if she were the one misbehaving and not the soldiers around them.
Seri flushed with embarrassment at the intense scrutiny he gave her. This was an Athoni nobleman, so far above a Vidari goosegirl’s station that she’d probably be punished simply for breathing his air. But she couldn’t stop herself from staring. His dark hair shone in neat waves in the lantern light, closely cropped against his skull. An ornate tunic covered broad shoulders; twin golden clasps held a thick cloak and gleamed in the pale light. His mouth might have been his most attractive feature had it not thinned as he looked down at her.
She should say something. “My apologies, sir.” The words came out unapologetic in tone, and she winced. Would she be flogged for bothering someone that was obviously one of the elite nobles? She’d known Vidari that had been beaten for less. “I stumbled.”
He looked at her for so long that she began to feel uncomfortable. Then his gaze slid further down the line to where the soldiers stood. As one, they were silent, becoming solemn and rigid in place. The noble looked back at Seri and then gave her a dismissing glance. “Cease toying with the girl,” he said, his voice loud and carrying to the soldiers. “If she were fortunate, she would not be on the road this evening hitched to a donkey on its last legs. As it is, you would do well to ignore the road trash and remember yourselves as proud soldiers of the Athoni army.”
And that was it. The curtain over the window shut and the cold, beautiful man disappeared, along with the faint spice that whispered along her nostrils.
Seri stiffened at the snickers of laughter that followed the lord’s terse comments. Outraged anger blossomed through her, followed by hate. Arrogant, insufferable lords that thought they could march through their lands and set up their fine keep in the midst of good farmland and lord over the people? It was not to be endured.
Before a smart retort could bubble from her mouth, Bialla brayed, throwing the soldiers behind her into fits of laughter. Humiliated, Seri steered the mule to the side of the road and waited for the men to pass, her hand on Bialla’s nose to quiet her. Better to trail behind the soldiers than to have to deal with their intolerable attitudes for one more moment.
“Seri,” someone called behind her.
She turned, surprised to hear her own name. Riding up at the side of the road was Rilen, his handsome face drawn into a frown. He pulled his mare alongside her own small mule and dismounted, sending up a cloud of dust into her face.
“Rilen,” she greeted, fanning away the choking cloud. She cast a look at the soldiers, but at the sight of the similarly dressed male at her side, they had lost interest in their crude gibes.
Which was just as well, since they did not see Rilen jerking the bridle out of her hands. “What are you doing, Seri? Why are you headed to the Athoni castle?” He brushed a lock of hair out of her face, his eyes possessive as he scanned her. “You shouldn’t be out here alone at night.”
Of course she shouldn’t. Even she had some sense, after all. But sense wouldn’t put food on her empty table, and Josdi was hungry. Mutinous, Seri stared up ahead, at the castle walls which loomed so near and yet so far away. “We need things from town. Money. You filled Josdi’s head with stories about the night market, and now here I am, heading there to buy dinner,” she said, irritated that she had to explain herself. It was even more irritating that he didn’t seem to understand their dire situation at home. What was she supposed to feed her father and sister? Hay?
Rilen tugged old Bialla forward with a strong hand, his other leading his own horse. “If you are determined to be foolish enough to head into the Athoni market, at least let me go with you. What will the others say if I let my future bride get killed over an old broken farmer and a blind girl?”
She ignored his thoughtless comments. Rilen was like that at times—blowing hard when he felt his manhood threatened, especially in the face of the interloper Athonites. As she watched, he glared at the Athoni soldiers nearby, putting a proprietary hand around her waist to claim her. Typical Rilen. Still, it grated on her nerves and took everything she had to swallow down her retort. “You were not there, Rilen,” she said, forcing her tone to be even and calm. “There was nothing for Josdi to eat. What was I supposed to do?”
“I was coming over. You could have waited for me.”
As usual, it was useless to argue with Rilen. Instead of throwing herself into the dispute as she usually would, she eyed the caravan that took over the entire road and remained silent. If the Athonites must see the Vidari, at least let them be united together.
Still, it was a long walk to the castle.
~~* * * ~~
The last rays of the sun disappeared, and Graeme felt his strength return. He relaxed for the first time in hours.
Across from him inside the carriage, Lady Casila put an embroidered handkerchief to her nose. “Savages,” she said in a haughty tone. “I cannot believe that you let that one touch your carriage and live, Prince Graeme.”
Graeme stared coldly at Lady Casila’s features, beautiful in the dancing shadows cast by the lantern. Beautiful, but elegantly icy, like all his people. She was the epitome of a courtier, with her beautiful, teasing smile and the high collar of her gown that hid the markings of the many bites of her previous suitors.
And she was angling for him a
s her next conquest. He knew that, and he had thus far allowed her flirtatious advances. Graeme looked over at Lady Aynee, seated next to him. She was his current lover, and if things continued as they were, she would soon be his lover no more. For three long months they’d been companions and bedmates, and he’d drunk from her beautiful throat. But, like all mortals, the taste of her soon faded from his tongue, and he knew that it would be time to choose another soon.
Such was the way of life for a prince of the Blood—to flit from throat to throat, lover to lover. Never to find relief with a partner, except for the mythical Eterna.
And so even though Lady Casila was haughty and proud, unlike sweet Lady Aynee, he would likely take her as his next mistress. He had not drunk from her yet, not tasted that cool throat beneath his lips. Thus she was as good a choice as any other.
If he could only persuade her to be silent.
“Did you smell that creature? Vile.” Lady Casila touched her handkerchief to her nose again.
Graeme gave her a haughty look, meant to intimidate and silence. It worked, of course. None would dare to anger a prince of the Blood.
He’d barely glanced at the girl, to be honest. All he’d seen was a glimpse of startled eyes, brown skin, and waves of messy blond hair. He’d been far more interested in the distressing, loud, unmannered behavior of his soldiers, and had scarce given the girl a thought. “A native, I assume,” he said, acknowledging Casila’s spoken thoughts.
“One of the Vidari,” Lady Aynee murmured at his side.
Casila fanned herself. “Do they still roam the plains in heathen packs?”
“Not since my father conquered them a hundred years ago,” Graeme said drily. Casila’s antics and overblown comments were designed to stir up conversation, and they were working—but he wanted to silence her, not encourage her.
“Is that why you have moved your court to this horrible land? Are those wild men causing trouble?”
The Vidari weren’t wild but downtrodden, he wanted to retort, but held his tongue. After all, his father—the king of the Athoni lands—wanted to make sure that the Vidari remained as they ever were: sullen, broken, and insignificant.
