The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by Charissa Dufour

  Alone

  Chapter One

  Bethany lowered herself onto the plush bed as she looked around her bedroom. It was exactly the same as she remembered it, as though the last year had never happened.

  But it had.

  Bethany would never be able to pretend differently. She had the scars, both inside and out, to prove it. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the here and now.

  It had been a long night of celebrating, though what they were celebrating she wasn’t entirely sure of.

  After the family accepted her identity, they ushered her up onto the dais and sent all the castle’s heralds out to pronounce the good news throughout Dothan. Bethany couldn’t understand why they had done this. Didn’t they know the truth about her?

  Then again, she realized, Mother didn’t exactly give me a chance to tell her how tainted I have become.

  In fact, when they had asked for her story, she had given them a weak, watered-down version of the truth, stating that she had been captured and not been able to escape until she was leagues into Wolfric’s lands, completely leaving out the fact she had actually be sold into slavery, lived as a slave in King Wolfric’s household, and later discovered. For months, Bethany had been Wolfric’s captive, and was even forced into an engagement with the king’s greedy son. All this, though, she kept to herself. They didn’t need to know the truth. The lie was hard enough for them to accept.

  But if she didn’t tell them the truth, they would never know just how unfit she was to wear her crown.

  Before Bethany could come to grips with how the evening had gone and what she felt she must do, she heard a soft knock on her door.

  “Y-yes?” she asked tentatively, desperately wishing, once again, that Erin was by her side. With him here I wouldn’t feel so alone.

  Her mother poked her head in and smiled at her, a smile that nearly brought tears to Bethany’s eyes. Queen Debowrah was a beautiful woman in her mid-forties. Her long, auburn hair had always been dark, but Bethany suspected it had lightened with age and stress over the last year. In fact, Bethany spotted the beginnings of a gray streak forming near the queen’s temple.

  “I’ve brought some hot water for a bath,” Debowrah said as she pushed the door open and ushered in the row of servants.

  They moved to the copper tub placed in the corner of her room, shrouded by thick curtains, and filled the tub with steaming water. One servant placed a large pitcher of cold water beside the tub for adjusting the bath’s temperature before they filed out.

  “Let me help you off with those things,” offered the queen. “After all you won’t need them anymore.”

  Debowrah placed Bethany’s belt and sword on the foot of the bed, a little humor playing in her eyes as she thought of her youngest daughter needing a sword. Bethany ignored the look in her mother’s eyes, knowing the queen had no idea what it was like within the confines of Wolfric’s land.

  With her weapons safely placed on the bed, the queen moved to help Bethany with her layers of filthy clothing.

  Normally an unmarried woman in Dothan would not allow another person to see herself naked. Her mother was perhaps the only exception.

  Bethany didn’t remember why she should have refused the offer until it was too late. Debowrah let out a gasp as pulled the leather vest off, shifting Bethany’s tunic enough to reveal a small glimpse of the scars that lined Bethany’s back.

  “You need a healer!” exclaimed the queen.

  “No, mother. They’re long healed.”

  The queen glared at her for a second, her eyes habitually flicking to Bethany’s body. “I think, in general, having you seen by a healer would be wise. Please bathe while I fetch Healer Pharem.”

  Bethany obeyed, though a heavy weight began to fill her nervous stomach. The healer would see all her scars. The secrets of her nightmarish year away from home would be revealed, whether she wanted it or not.

  It’s the right thing, she told herself sternly as she scrubbed at dirt ingrained under her finger nails.

  Aside from a splash in a creek, the last time she had bathed had been in the old Domhain capital of Mirartock many weeks ago. Bethany scrubbed every inch of her body, dutifully ignoring her scars. Each one would be examined minutely before too long. She washed her hair and stepped out, though the water was still warm. It wasn’t until she was drying her hair, garbed in a robe left out on the bed, that she realized there was no one to use the water after her.

  Erin was gone.

  Bethany felt tears prick her eyes and bit down on her tongue, effectively distracting herself from the pain of his leaving. She was home; she had no reason to be sad, even if he had abandoned her without warning.

  To distract herself from the pain in her chest, she hurriedly hid her weapons and garments. Though she may never need them again, she wanted to be prepared, as Erin had taught her, for any eventuality. Bethany was just adjusting her thick mattress over her sword when she heard a knock on the door.

  “Enter,” she said as she settled into one of the chairs near the crackling fire.

  A strong, middle-aged man entered, followed by her mother.

  “Bethany, this is Healer Pharem,” introduced her mother.

  “Princess Bethany,” said the healer as he bowed.

  Bethany cringed at the display of respect. It was unnecessary, even unexpected coming from a healer. Throughout the large peninsula, healers were outside the cultural hierarchy. Being in charge of a person’s life, whether it be peasant or king, meant they couldn’t be held to the same protocols.

  Bethany forced a smile to her lips.

  “Your mother tells me you have a scar or two she wants me to look at.”

  “I’ll leave you two to it. I’ll be right outside if you should need me,” said the queen before slipping out of the room.

  Healer Pharem took a seat across from Bethany and smiled at her, his eyes flicking to her hands, which she suddenly realized were tightly clutching the opening of her robe near her throat.

  “I understand you had a rather rough journey in getting home,” began the healer as he absently took up a biscuit from a plate on the table between them and munched on it.

  Healer Pharem was a robust man, reminding Bethany of her father. His hair was thinning and had been cropped extremely short, almost shaved. The man’s beard was of equal length, giving him a rather hairy impression for someone who was clearly balding.

  “Yes,” whispered Bethany, ashamed of the way her voice shook.

  “I realize the scars are likely rather set, but I won’t be allowed to leave you in peace until you show them to me. Your mother will insist upon it.”

  Bethany let out a stuttering breath before turning in her seat and lowering the back of her robe until the top of the scars showed. She heard the healer rise from his seat and kneel beside her. With shaking fingers she released her death grip on the robe and allowed the healer to lower it further.

  The healer didn’t say anything as he poked and prodded the overlapping scars on her back. Bethany never had counted the times she had been whipped while in the service of King Wolfric. Some had been nothing more than a bruising, just slightly worse than what her father had done to discipline her when she was a caustic child, while others had left her close to death.

  “Yes, these are completely healed. Are there any others?” asked Pharem in a detached voice Bethany recognized as his healer-voice.

  “Yes,” said Bethany.

  “Let me see.”

  Bethany adjusted her robe to cover herself again before holding out her right hand, pulling the robe up to show the cauterized wound on her forearm from where she had been bitten by a wolf.

  The healer took her hand, momentarily noticing the small scar on her hand from when she had been bitten by a snake, and shifted her arm back and forth to see both sides of the wolf bite.

  “This is newer?” asked the healer, though they both knew it was.

  Bethany nodded.

  “Nearly healed a
s well. What happened?”

  “Bit by a wolf. We… I mean, I couldn’t get the bleeding to stop, so I cauterized it.”

  “Any others?” asked the healer, sounding a though he didn’t expect there to be.

  Bethany let out a great sigh before lowering the front of her robe just enough to show the burn mark where King Wolfric had punished her for slapping him. It was below the neckline, just beside her armpit. The healer gave it the barest of glance before pulling his eyes up to her face again.

  “And of course the two scars on your face,” said the healer, his eyes flicking to her temple and her lip. “Anything else?”

  Bethany considered how to show him the cut on her side without revealing anything else. She wasn’t embarrassed by nudity anymore, but she knew the healer expected her to be.

  “One on my side. It is the newest,” she added, the words out before she could stop herself.

  “Then I better have a look at it.”

  Bethany couldn’t make herself blush, so she lowered her robe, using her arm to cover her breasts, and showed him the long cut across her side. It was only three weeks old and still showed signs of healing.

  “How did you get this?” the healer asked, finally finding something he could tend to.

  “A sword,” she said, unable to lie.

  Pharem’s eyes streaked up to her face for a second before he schooled his features and probed the healing cut.

  “Something has been used on it. What?”

  “I am not at liberty to say,” said Bethany, pulling her robe up even though he was still examining the cut. “It is not my cultural secret to share.”

  The healer opened his mouth to disagree when Bethany jerked her head toward the door. For some reason the healer chose not to argue the point.

  “I will send a salve for that cut,” he said as he opened the door.

  Bethany could see her mother waiting impatiently in the gloomy corridor. The healer pulled the door shut forcefully, causing it to bounce open again. Bethany had been taught not to eavesdrop, but after a year of fighting to survive such niceties were beyond her.

  “Well?” asked her mother.

  There was a pause.

  “Her body is covered with scars, most of them long healed. There is only one that will receive any benefit from my aid. She says she got it from a sword, and in my opinion she is not lying. Whatever happened to the princess out there, it was more than what you have told me.”

  Another long pause.

  Long after Bethany had stopped listening to the doings beyond her door, her mother slipped back into her room, a grim look set into her features. Debowrah took the seat Pharem had recently vacated and stared at her youngest daughter until Bethany began to squirm, just as she had when she was a child.

  “All right Bethany, it’s time to tell me the truth. What happened out there?”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know the truth.”

  “I’m your mother. Of course I do.”

  Bethany ground her teeth together, her mind trailing to Erin for a second. “The truth would tear you apart, Mother.”

  “Tear me apart, or you?”

  Bethany stared at her mother, unsure what she meant.

  “Is it that I cannot cope with the truth of what happened to you, or is it that you can’t bear to tell me?”

  Bethany stared down at the ground, the truth of her mother’s words feeling like a fist to the gut. “Maybe a bit of both,” Bethany admitted. “Mother, I shouldn’t be here.”

  “You had a very rough journey. It is amazing you made it back at all,” agreed her mother.

  “That’s not what I meant. You’re right. I can’t tell you the whole story, but trust me when I say if you knew it all you wouldn’t bring me back to my old room. You might not even give me a job as your servant. I can’t… I can’t be a princess anymore. I don’t deserve to wear the Kavadh crown. I don’t deserve your love.”

  To Bethany’s surprise, her mother smiled at her—a sad, resigned sort of smile.

  “Bethany, if you think anything you could possibly do would make me stop loving you, then you don’t understand what love is.”

  Bethany mulled over her mother’s words and found some truth in them. She loved her family, loved her people, and nothing they could do could make her stop loving them; but after months of believing her impurity would ruin her chances at happiness, it was hard for Bethany to accept her mother’s words at face value. Besides, her mother still didn’t actually know the whole story, and Bethany wasn’t ready to share it with her.

  Slowly, Bethany nodded to keep her mother from asking more questions.

  “You don’t have to tell me everything. For now, just tell me how you got the scars on your back. They look…” Her mother trailed off, unable to finish the statement.

  “They’re whip marks. After being captured, I was sold into slavery,” Bethany admitted to the floorboards of her bedroom, feeling a small weight lift from her heavy shoulders.

  When she finally lifted her head to look at her mother, she found tears brimming over her mother’s large eyes.

  “I’m so sorry, darling,” her mother finally said, pity showing her eyes.

  Bethany shrugged. “I survived it.”

  “But you never should have had to.”

  “I want you to know, Mother, that Sir Pelor was not at fault. They all fought valiantly. It was my own stupidity that got me mixed up with the slavers.”

  “Sir Pelor’s been banished.”

  Bethany nodded, barely able to keep her mouth shut. She had nearly admitted to knowing this already, but that would have brought forth more questions.

  “That’s too bad,” Bethany said to cover up her silence.

  “It’s late. And I’m sure you’re tired. I’ll see you in the morning. Get some rest dear.”

  Her mother rose and kissed Bethany on the head. Bethany felt warm tears wet her hair and she bit down on her bottom lip, willing herself to look calm when her mother looked at her one last time. As she expected, her mother had more tears in her eyes when she smiled at Bethany and left the room.

  Bethany moved to the large bed, put a nightdress on, and climbed under the thick covers. She had intended to enjoy her first night in a real bed, but after three months of sleeping in the dirt, and many months before that sleeping in a pile of molding straw, Bethany couldn’t relax into the softness of the mattress.

  She tossed and turned, trying new positions in an effort to get comfortable. Part of it, she realized, was the fact she wasn’t tired at all. It hadn’t been that late when she arrived in Dothan. Bethany had spent the evening feasting on food rather than practicing swordplay with Erin. Though she was emotionally drained, her body wasn’t worn out yet.

  Bethany cringed at the thought of Erin. Where was he now?

  A single tear escaped her defenses and moistened her pillow as she thought of her lost friend.

  Chapter Two

  Erin huddled over his little fire. He couldn’t decide if he considered the Dothan people as friends or enemies, therefore he kept the fire small in the hopes of not attracting unwanted attention. From the first moment he had saved Bethany from Féderic’s bed, he had intended on handing her over for a large reward, but that had changed when he realized one important fact:

  He loved her.

  Dammit, how had this happened? he wondered as he stared into the tiny fire.

  He had hated her for so long, the new feelings took him by surprise. She was a princess. A spoiled rotten princess. Only she wasn’t. Not after months of traveling with him through some of the toughest lands on the peninsula.

  But she will be now, he reminded himself. He couldn’t bear to watch her turn into the bitch all over again. Her family would dote on her, faun all over her in response to her return, and she would bathe herself in their affection, throwing away all the strength of body and mind she had acquired over the last couple months.

  Erin squeezed his eyes shut against the image his mind h
ad created. He had to put more distance between himself and Dothan. If we wasn’t careful he’d turn around, kidnap her, and take her away from the horrible effects of wealth.

  No, he couldn’t do that. She didn’t want him. No one did.

  Everyone’s afraid of you, a voice said in his mind. And the voice was right. He had seen it himself. They all feared him and his scars. He had seen it in Bethany’s face when he had kissed her. She had been so shocked and frightened he doubted she had even heard a word he had said.

  What a mess you’ve made of it, old boy.

  Pelor sat nestled in a large chair in Wolfric’s great hall watching the happenings of the royal family and their closest friends. He still couldn’t believe he was now counted among them, despite his epic failure. After all, it was his fault Bethany and Sir Caldry had escaped into Dothan. But when King Wolfric discovered his former allegiance to King Middin of Dothan, the king had taken him into his inner circle. The greedy king wanted all of Pelor’s secrets, which Pelor revealed to him slowly.

  Pelor knew the minute he ran out of juicy tidbits to share, he would be useless to King Wolfric.

  The ex-Dothan glanced around the room. As usual, Mirabelle, the oldest princess, had found a seat near Pelor. He did his best to ignore her, avoiding eye contact in general and answering her catalogue of questions with as few words as possible. The desperate woman had attached herself to Pelor within his first week as part of the royal assemblage. At nineteen years old, Mirabelle was entering what many women called the “dangerous zone.” Mirabelle and her mother knew there was a very real chance the princess would never marry.

  Had his head not been so close to the proverbial chopping block, Pelor could have told them why no one wanted her—the damn woman wouldn’t shut up.

  Pelor let the princess prattle on as his eyes ran over the group assembled. Prince Féderic sat in a plush, high-backed chair, his feet up on a stool. After three months, the life-threatening gash running down the length of his back was beginning to heal. The official story was that the heir apparent had been very ill. Only those present knew the truth, along with one trusted slave. Pelor didn’t know Féderic but, from what the others were saying, it sounded as though Féderic had gone through a rather drastic personality change during his convalescence. Pelor wondered what the prince had been like before the accident. He already thought the prince rather high-handed, even for the heir of the largest nation on the peninsula.