Table of Contents
Chapter One: The Dancing Bargain
Chapter Two: Uncle Oscar
Chapter Three: A Dance with Warren
Chapter Four: Through the Hearth
Chapter Five: The Sorceress
Chapter Six: The Great Honor
Chapter Seven: Trial before the Magicians
Chapter Eight: A Quiet Life
Chapter One: Color-Molting
Hazel
A prequel.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents and places are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Hazel © 2017 by Rita Stradling.
Edited by Jazzi Kelley from Creeping Jasmine
Cover by Victoria Cooper Art
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit this book in any form or by any means. For subsidiary rights please contact the author.
Email: [email protected]
This series is for Anne and Gretel.
Thank you!
Hazel
“Nirsha, Sun, Ester, Weire, it is them that we must fear.
“In the morning it is Ester to rise, the gift of life to cherish and prize. Your life Sun will fill with toil, your roots he’ll plant in life’s soil.
“Weire, he will take all from you, in his fires he will judge us true. Forevermore in Nirsha’s care you’ll remain, because the spirit of all is her domain.”
Hymn to the four immortal gods of Domengrad.
Origin unknown.
My dearest friend,
How I miss you.
You must forgive me, as the reason I write to you at such length is a strange one.
As strange as it is, I find it hard to write this—strange because I could always share any confidence with you. Except this. Never this. However, I will force myself to push on.
One day, my daughter will want the details of why she was born with a reputation already ruined.
Am I selfish that I want her to hear the full account of how I came by my ruination in my words alone?
I suppose I am. Yet I have no regrets and never shall. I ask only that you deliver this on the day Annabelle looks for answers.
This is the full account of how I was condemned a murderess.
Chapter One: The Dancing Bargain
Standing at my windowsill, I watched as the carriages lined up before my manor. The sun headed determinedly toward dusk, casting a red autumn glow on our long line of guests. The first carriage in line pulled up and halted before the great stone steps. It stood taller than most carriages. Four lords stepped out. They wore crimson—the same as I and almost every other person in the manor did. Men were allowed to only wear coats in the color. I, like all ladies, was forced to dress head to toe in the color of blood on the holiday celebrating Weire, the god of death.
“I think it might be them,” I called as I pressed myself closer to the window.
My lady’s maid harrumphed with my movement and, likely on purpose, stuck me with the needle she was using to sew up my dress.
Gritting my teeth, I ignored the sting and leaned even further forward. The moment my nose touched the cold pane, one of the men turned toward a lit sconce burning to one side of the manor’s grand portal.
“Oh.” I fell back onto my heels as my smile dropped. “It’s just Lord Daniels and his awful sons.”
“Hazel!” The admonishing word came from behind me, and even before she stomped up beside us, I knew who approached. My governess, Judith. “Get away from the window; you’re not fully sewn into your gown!” She sounded as if I’d been purposefully pulling up my skirts and hanging out a bare leg, not leaning over in a gown with puffed, full-length sleeves while my lady’s maid sewed a couple stitches into the back.
I swished my ridiculous gown back and forth, earning another huff of frustration from my maid. “Trust me, Judith, this gown will kill me before it lets any stretch of scandalous skin show.”
As I looked into her stern expression framed by prematurely whitening hair, I felt a little sorry for the woman who’d cared for me in a mother’s stead since well before I remembered. She truly must have the worst job in the manor trying to keep me under her thumb.
“Hazel,” Judith scolded as her eyelids lowered into slits. “Do you not understand the importance of a coming-out ball?”
I snorted a laugh. “I know all these people already. It’s not like suddenly they’re going to think any differently of me.”
“But they are. You’re coming out tonight as the heiress of the largest, wealthiest seat in all of Domengrad. Tonight, you must not be Hazel the humorist. Tonight, you are Lady Hampton, heiress of Hampton Holdings—”
“It’s them!” I yelled, pointing through the window to the group disembarking from the next carriage. “Hello!” I yelled as I banged on the glass. “Hello there! Fauve!”
Judith breathed in sharply while my lady’s maid released my gown with a huff and, from the sound of it, stomped off.
On the street below, not only did the four passengers of the carriage glance up at me, but also the liveried footmen did as well. Firelight flickered across all of their familiar faces. A wide smile broke over the closest young man’s face. Unlike every other lord in the carriage precession, he wore crimson from head to foot, even his shoes and hat. The sight made me laugh.
“Do you see Fauve’s outfit?” I asked over my shoulder with a grin. “He is flamboyant, as always. I love it so much.”
“Step away from the window, Hazel.”
“In one second.” Going to my toes, I waved to the group.
Fauve put two hands to his mouth, flinging up two kisses toward me.
I pretended to catch them with a smile.
A hand tapped Fauve on the shoulder, and as he turned, I let my gaze slide up to Warren.
He and Fauve stood of a height, and like most lords, their hair fell to their shoulders, but that was where their resemblance ended. Fauve, a ward of Lord Klein, had a warm-brown complexion and rich, curly umber hair with tones of gold in it. Warren and his older brother had a deep-olive complexion with glossy, straight midnight hair.
Unlike them all, my complexion and hair resembled that of most Northerners, pale and flaxen as the goddess Nirsha was said to have.
When my green eyes met Warren’s golden ones, I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped me. He nodded only slightly and returned his gaze to mine.
Heat licked up my cheeks.
Judith grabbed my arm. “Step away from the window, Hazel!”
I listened. I more than listened; I rushed away from the window to come stand in the middle of my bedroom. “Oh my gods, I just made a complete idiot out of myself. Why didn’t you stop me?” I asked Judith.
She gave me an irritated look as she walked behind me, but her hands were gentle as she set to finish the stitching what my lady’s maid had abandoned. Judith’s voice, too, gentled as she said, “I know you care for the Kleins, darling, but you have to understand, now the Klein heir is engaged, it does not look right for you to pay too much attention to their family. It’s for their reputations’ sakes as much as your own. The only Klein who was eligible for your hand is spoken for, and his younger brother is far below your station. Furthermore, Fauve is baseborn-”
“Unjustly so!”
“Hazel! You promised you would never say that again,” she hissed angrily, almost directly into my ear.
“I’ll just think it then,” I grumbled.
“Apologize for your words,” she whispered.
“I spoke hastily. The decisions the Congregation makes
are not for us to question.” I said the words loud enough that anyone listening at the keyhole would hear me. The words were rote, something we all said daily. The Congregation, headed by the eight great magicians, ruled us by law, mind and spirit—and enforced that rule with the threat of execution. If they declared a lord’s son baseborn, he was so, even if he was born without anything objectionable before he was declared so. “So what you’re saying is I can’t be their friend, as I have been my entire life?”
“What you very well know I’m saying, Hazel, is that after coming out into society as someone eligible for courting, if you pay too much attention to any man—”
“Warren, a man?” I sputtered out on a laugh. “I mean . . . Warren or Fauve,” I quickly amended. “They’re not men; they’re my age.”
“Any young man, then—if you pay too much attention to any young man, rumors and snide remarks will spread.”
“As if I care,” I scoffed.
“I think you will care, and I think you already know why. The rumors won’t spread about you, my dear.”
I glanced around my room at the delicately carved birch furnishings. Carvings spanned the entirety of my massive bed and cut into the walls in every direction. The figures of snow-laden animals pranced across my walls and furnishings, all inlaid with platinum, gold and silver. White silk draped over the high ceiling, matching my embroidered bedding and canopy. The remodel had been a recent present to me, to have my room match my favorite season. I would always be in the loving embrace of a Northern winter, though quite considerably more warm.
I glanced down, too, at my dress, crusted in rubies.
For the first time ever, I hated all of it.
“They are no fortune hunters; they’re some of my dearest friends.”
Tying off the last stitch, Judith stepped around me and regarded me with her serious blue eyes. She could be the image of winter: tall, pale, white-haired and stern as an ice storm. Underneath that all, there was a softness she very rarely let shine through her ice; I could see but a glimmer of it now. “You can keep the friendship, Hazel. But for tonight—at your introduction to society—you must focus your attention elsewhere.”
“For how long?” I tried not to sound as if I was pleading, but it was difficult.
“For the whole party,” she said. “It’s your father’s orders.”
Immediate tears welled in my eyes. “The whole party?” I slumped back on the seat at the foot of my bed. “How will I bear it? They’ll be dancing and having fun beside me while my heart is aching to be with them.” I clutched my chest, literally feeling the ache there. I sniffed in a sob and laid my head against the mattress.
“Pull yourself together, child.”
“I don’t think I can,” I whispered. “My heart aches so—I wish I never turned fifteen. I wish I stayed fourteen forever.”
With an audible sigh, Judith took me by the shoulders and gently pulled me upright on my seat. Clicking her tongue, she examined my face. “Your tears have stained your face a brighter red than your dress.”
“What does it matter?” I spat. “Those lords want to dance with my father’s money, not me. I might as well just stuff my gown and send it down in my stead.”
“My foolish girl.” Grabbing out an embroidered handkerchief, she blotted at my cheeks. “I can only ask the gods that you’ll never have a genuine reason to weep so. I can’t have you frightening all the lords in Domengrad.” She cupped my chin in her hand. “I’ll make a deal with you. If you’re on your best behavior, I’ll have a word with your father and ask that you be allowed to save the last half hour for the Kleins.”
“I know he’ll say yes if you ask. He listens to no one so much as you.”
She raised a hand. “It will only work if you are a very charming hostess.”
A smile broke across my face. “I can be charming! I can be so very charming. I’ll dazzle them with my polite, well-behaved charm.”
She let out a snort that could almost be taken for a laugh. “Just do your best not to start any feuds between the Hamptons and the other lords and ladies of Domengrad, and I believe your father will be satisfied with your performance.”
“It wasn’t a feud—and it was barely my fault!” I objected.
To this, she only gave me a look that clearly said it was my fault.
Truly, it wasn’t. I had no idea the Trubone heir didn’t know how to swim when I pushed him in the lake for telling me I was too opinionated for a girl.
Not quite ready to let the subject drop, I added, “I dove in and saved him—something no one thanked me for. Knowing Fredrick Trubone, that was because no one actually wanted me to pull him from the lake. But I did do it.”
To all this, Judith only shook her head. “If you want me to make your case, we better go now.”
I hopped off the chair so fast that I came within inches of crashing into Judith. “Gods give me strength,” she mumbled as she stepped away from me and paced out of my bed chamber.
Chapter Two: Uncle Oscar
As we approached my father’s smoking room, raised voices greeted us. My father’s voice could be clearly heard through the closed door, but that was nothing new. He had a booming baritone that carried whether he was happy, indifferent or, most of all, furious. He was furious now.
“You are the one who suggested it! Now I hear you’re going about the country condemning my proposal to the House of Lords?”
“I never supported it.”
A scowl crossed my face as I heard my uncle’s voice.
Judith grabbed my elbow as I made for the carved light-oak door. “Hazel,” she whispered the warning with a meaningful look.
“He is lying. I was there in the drawing room when he suggested my father build a second press so news could be spread about the counties. I remember being impressed—his suggestions usually sound much more far-fetched and costly.” In the past month, my father had raged more than once over how my uncle was going from lord to lord, decrying the idea as a break with the Congregation.
My father had created the first printing press for the express use of the Congregation, so they could spread their words and parables about the four gods among the people. My uncle now alleged that to create a second press would muddy the medium that should be reserved for spreading the Congregation’s words alone.
I turned to Judith. “I asked that Uncle Oscar would be specifically uninvited to this ball. I can’t swallow my anger at this betrayal. My father supports him, his wife, children and many mistresses.”
She released my elbow and raised an eyebrow. “I thought you had dedicated yourself to dazzling your guests with your polite, well-behaved charm?”
I stood straight. “And I shall. I won’t say a word about his faithlessness.” Walking up to the tall wood door, I knocked. The thick material of my gloves muffled the sound.
The voices rose again, this time my father. “It’s not only the rumor spreading, Oscar. I’m starting to think that paying these debts only worsens the situation you and your family are in.”
“You’ll leave me to debtors’ prison? Your own brother?” Oscar yelled.
My father’s tone softened, though I still could clearly hear his voice. “Phoebe and the girls would be welcome to live here.”
When Oscar’s shouting rose again, this time more sounds than words, I made a fist and banged on the door instead. “Father?” I banged harder. “Father!”
The voices silenced, and a moment later, my father’s door flew open. Fury was clear on his face, the wideness of his azure eyes and the dark wrinkles on his pale features. His gaze fell down to me and his glare immediately softened. “Damn it, Oscar! You’ve made me late to my daughter’s presentation.”
“Not too late, Father,” I said, taking his arm. He twisted a little, and I caught my first sight of Uncle Oscar.
My father’s long, silky hair and complexion were as pale as fresh snowfall. Usually, my Uncle Oscar could be a younger version of my father. In the past weeks, I
had even decided that my Uncle Oscar did not deserve his looks. He was a pristine green apple with a worm inside.
Yet today, Oscar’s over-powdered face and hair had a sickly cast, while my father retained the blush and luster of a man who rose early, rode often and laughed freely.
Indeed, even my father’s white-gray hair had a vibrancy that my still-entirely-flaxen uncle’s could not muster.
“Uncle Oscar,” I said with a nod of my head. After he spoke ill of my father so widely, I’d only curtsy to him to save my life—actually, scratch that, not even to save my life.
“You look lovely, dearest niece,” he said, crossing the room to stand just beyond the doorway. I was wrong about his looks; they were more wan than I’d first observed. “Are you even old enough to attend a ball? Aren’t you still thirteen?” He looked confused as he raised a glass of my father’s scotch to his lips.
“I just turned fifteen, Uncle. This is my coming-out ball. But of course, you know that—that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Of course, felicitations,” he said right before he drained the glass. His eyes darted between us. “Hugh, I should really like to finish our discussion.”
“Later,” my father said as he took my arm. My father’s arm was nice and sturdy, just the right ratio of muscle and fat to feel secure yet comforting to hold onto. It was the same now as it had been when I was five and he’d carry me in those comforting arms. He nodded, as if making a decision, and turned back to Oscar. “The matter is final. I have no more time for this. I only get to present my daughter to society once. I suppose you’ll come downstairs for some refreshment, Oscar.”
Uncle Oscar half fell, half sat onto a freestanding arm chair. “It can’t possibly be final. You’ll speak to me after?”
My father didn’t answer, just led me into the hall. He smelled like pipe tobacco, and I couldn’t help but lean in to smell him a little more.
Hazel: A Colorless Prequel Page 1
