The Dothan Chronicles: The Complete Trilogy

by Charissa Dufour

  Bethany felt her lips copy Obadyah’s and pull up into a smile, much to her surprise. Her whole focus was on keeping air going in and out of her lunges. Though she abstractly knew the crowd was cheering and her lips were smiling, her world began to contract into darkness. She felt the room begin to spin when a sharp pinch on her wrist brought her back to the here and now.

  She glanced down at her stung wrist, suddenly realizing Ob had pinched her just below her wolf-bite scar.

  “Keep it together,” he whispered, his smile still in place.

  “Now,” continued the king, “let the dancing begin!”

  Before Bethany could breathe a sigh of relief as the revelers turned to find partners, Obadyah grabbed her arm and tugged her to her feet. He dragged her onto the dance floor before Gilead could claim her.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he said quietly as he pulled her into his arms. “What’s got you so freaked out?”

  Bethany took a deep breath, clinging to her favorite brother. “It’s nothing. He just surprised me.”

  “Rubbish. Don’t believe it for a minute.”

  “I just… I just thought I’d have a little more time to adjust.”

  “Ma said things were worse for you out there than you let on. This true?”

  With her head safely tucked beside his neck, where he couldn’t read her expression, she nodded.

  “What happened?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”

  “Yes it does. Especially if you nearly faint at the news Gilead wants you to marry. Surely you knew that already,” said Ob. “I don’t mean to be harsh, but we can’t help you if you don’t tell us the truth.”

  “It’s okay. I’m okay now.”

  Obadyah refrained from pushing any further, but contented himself with spinning her around the dance floor. The song was barely half over when they were stopped by a tap on Ob’s shoulder. A man Bethany recognized as a friend of her father’s stood beside her brother, smiling down at her.

  “May I cut in?” he asked.

  Bethany swallowed a lump in her throat and forced her knees to bend as she bowed to the lord while frantically trying to recall his name.

  “Lord Miach,” Ob said, supplying her with his name. “Of course. Let the games begin,” he added with a wink to his sister.

  With that one small statement, her brother had warned her that this would not be the first man to approach her, now that they thought her ready for courting. It was another two hours before Bethany managed to escape the clutches of the men, her battered feet throbbing with the beat of her heart. Before another potential husband captured her attention, she slipped through the crowd and into a small servant’s corridor, keeping her head down so that no one would recognize her.

  The servants ducked out of her way as she picked up her skirts and ran up a flight of stairs. She burst into one of the upper hallways, jogged down its deserted length, and slipped into a dark stairwell that led up to the keep’s battlements. Bethany lowered herself onto a step next to one of the tiny holes in the outer wall designed to provide small rays of light for people to see by. Being night, all the little hole did was give her a small glimpse of the world outside. Bethany stared out the hole, looking at the stars that twinkled against the black sky.

  “Where are you, Erin?” she whispered into the darkness, tears beginning to make their way down her face.

  Chapter Five

  Bethany sat silently embroidering next to her mother in the great hall while Gilead discussed state issues with his advisors. After running from the banquet the night before, Debowrah had given Bethany a lecture and declared her plan to take Bethany underwing. Bethany had dutifully joined her mother in her rounds around the castle, talking with the housekeeper, the teacher, the healer, and the mistress of the storerooms before following her mother into the main hall where Gilead worked. Bethany noticed Obadyah was nowhere to be seen.

  “Bethany! What in the world are you stitching?” her mother asked, bringing Bethany’s attention back to her hands.

  She looked down at the swatch of cloth held in her hands. Debowrah had given her a dark green cloth for her to make into a new dress. For the last hour or so, Bethany realized, her fingers had been working of their own accord. She looked down at her work and found that she had stitched a curving line across what was supposed to be the bodice, completely missing the line where the seam had been intended.

  Bethany fumbled with her needle, tears pressing against her eyes as she felt the men’s gazes turn toward the previously silent women. What was wrong with her?

  “Sorry,” Bethany mumbled before beginning to pull the erring stitches from the delicate fabric.

  “Bethany, what is wrong with you?”

  I don’t know! Bethany wanted to scream. Instead she shrugged.

  “Really, Bethany, I just don’t know what to do with you. You’ve changed so much,” grumbled Debowrah loudly.

  Bethany flinched at her mother’s words. She knew her mother was speaking out frustration and confusion. She had never had a daughter return from a life of slavery. She didn’t know how to handle the situation, and her ignorance was throwing her even more off her balance.

  The princess wanted to help. She didn’t mean to continually make a scene or upset her family, but she couldn’t seem to fall back into the daily routine of her old life.

  As Bethany worked to remove her runaway seam, her attention was drawn to the men. A messenger ran up to the table where the men worked and thrust a letter into Gilead’s hand before dropping to the ground, gasping for breath.

  A servant ran to the messenger’s side and began rubbing the runner’s legs.

  “What is it?” asked one of Gilead’s advisors once the king had read the letter and slipped into a nearby chair.

  “It’s a letter from Wolfric,” said the king, sounding as though he didn’t actually believe his own words.

  Bethany felt her heart drop into her stomach before racing around inside her chest. What would Wolfric want with my brother?

  The rest of the room was silent as each person took in the king’s words in their own way. A few of the advisors took seats like the king, while others began to pace. Debowrah seemed the only person able to continue their task.

  “What does he want?” someone finally asked.

  “He wants peace,” stated Gilead.

  “What?”

  “It can’t be!”

  “Lies!” cried the various advisors at the same time.

  Gilead raised his hands for silence, and eventually they granted it to him. The advisors settled down, more of them taking their seats around the large table.

  “Wolfric offers his daughter to me.”

  This brought a new wave of protests from the advisors. Secretly, Bethany agreed with their cries of distaste.

  “Now, now. Think of the lives it would save if his offer is genuine.”

  “Yes, my lord, but can it possibly be genuine?” asked one advisor.

  “This is Wolfric after all,” added another man.

  “I know, I know,” said Gilead, waving his hands at the angry men around him. “But he is offering me his daughter. Would he do that if he intended to attack? Once I have her safely in my home, and in my bed, he wouldn’t dare attack.”

  A few of the men chuckled while the rest glowered at their king.

  “Perhaps, but would you want a Tolad bitc…woman,” said an advisor, clearing his throat as he glanced at the women sitting a short way away, “in your bed?”

  Gilead laughed. “Women are women. I doubt they’re made any differently in Tolad.”

  Bethany tried to focus on her stitching to keep herself from laughing. Gilead had no idea what Mirabelle was like. Her family still didn’t know she had been a slave to Wolfric’s family, and she wasn’t about to tell them. Bethany felt her chest tighten as anger overtook her momentary gaiety.

  Wolfric and his family had systematically tortured her, tearing her down and abusing her relations
, and now her brother was considering joining their families in marriage. More worryingly, Gilead was considering trusting Wolfric.

  Trying her best to funnel her anger into something other than words, Bethany jabbed her needle into her dress, stabbing her finger in the process. Without knowing what she was doing, she let out one of Erin’s favorite curses, effectively silencing the room.

  Bethany looked up to find a sea of faces staring at her, most of them masked in shock and consternation. Gilead was the only one showing any signs of humor. Unlike her mother, the king didn’t seem too concerned with what she had endured during her time away.

  “Bethany!” cried her mother, tears of distress filling her eyes. “Where did you ever learn a word like that?”

  “Something bothering you, lil sis?” asked her brother, more humor making his eyes glow.

  “Yes,” snapped Bethany, losing what little calm collection she had maintained during their conversation. “You’re a fool, Gilead, if you think you can trust Wolfric, with or without his daughter in between your sheets!”

  “Bethany!” shrieked her mother.

  Had Bethany been a proper young lady, without scars both inside and out, she would not have known anything about a man’s bed. To her mother, Bethany’s statement was more shocking than her cursing.

  Bethany didn’t wait for her mother to say anything else, but rushed out of the room.

  Bethany felt the hot tongue strike her back as he brought the whip down again and again. She screamed, her throat tearing with each cry of pain. Why was he doing this? Weren’t they friends now?

  The tears Bethany shed were as much due to her confusion than the agonizing pain his sudden attack caused. They had grown so close lately. Why would he take to attacking her now, punishing her? What had she done to deserve it?

  Suddenly the blows stopped and Bethany felt a hand grab at her shoulder, rolling her onto her shredded back. Bethany shrieked again as the face came into focus. It wasn’t Erin; it was Féderic.

  Despite her growing fear of the man towering over her, Bethany felt a sense of relief. It wasn’t Erin. He didn’t hate her again. Wherever he was, he was still her friend.

  Bethany tried to scramble away as Fed lowered himself to his knees and began fumbling with his trousers, but as she shifted her torn back caught on the rough ground.

  She let out another shriek of pain before opening her eyes.

  Bethany blinked, wondering why her mother was suddenly the one towering over her. Debowrah stared down at her daughter, deep lines of concern pulling at her eyes and lips.

  Bethany licked her lips, suddenly realizing her mouth was dry and her throat ached. She lay in bed, covered in sweat even though her body shivered. It took her another moment to realize that the attack had been a dream and that her mother was the reality.

  Debowrah sat down on the edge of the bed and pushed a strand of wet hair out of Bethany’s face.

  “Bad dream?” the queen asked.

  Bethany pushed herself up into a sitting position and shrugged. “It’s over now.”

  Debowrah’s frown deepened. “Won’t you ever open up to me?”

  “It’s just a bad dream, Ma. Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

  “I sat up with you night after night with bad dreams when you were a child. That wasn’t a simple bad dream.”

  Bethany chewed on her bottom lip, refusing to meet her mother’s gaze. Debowrah was correct. That had been more of a memory than a dream, in the way dreams often mutated memories.

  “You know bad things happened to me out there. You’ve seen the results,” Bethany added, nodding toward her scarred back.

  Debowrah nodded slowly, her shoulders slumping slightly. Bethany couldn’t understand why her mother wanted the details of her year away from home. What good would it do either of them?

  “Ma, do you really think Gilead means for me to marry?” she asked, hoping to distract her mother.

  “Don’t you want to get married?” asked her mother in response.

  In her younger years Bethany had talked about nothing else. It was her life-long dream to be married, running her own home just as her mother and sister did, but there were portions of marriage she had not understood. Now that she did know what was expected of a woman, through Féderic’s teaching, she was less interested in a union. In fact, the idea of marrying scared her.

  Bethany shrugged again. “Sure. I guess. I just thought I’d have more time to adjust.”

  “You’re twenty-one. How much time do you think you have?” her mother asked, not unkindly.

  Bethany cringed. “But I didn’t get married before all this ‘cause there wasn’t anyone to marry. All the men were at war, or dead. What’s changed?”

  “Many of them have come back from the war. Wounded, yes, but still able to bear children.”

  Bethany chewed on her lip again, ignoring her mother’s allusion. “I just…”

  Before she could think of a way to finish her sentence, her mother nodded, as though she understood even though her daughter hadn’t actually said anything.

  “I’ll talk to your brother, but I can’t promise anything. You need to be married.”

  Bethany nodded dejectedly.

  “Get dressed and come downstairs,” ordered her mother, her voice still detached, as though her thoughts were elsewhere.

  Her mother left, shutting the door softly. Bethany knew her mother had intended her to call for Cilia, but she didn’t much want to be around the young lady-in-waiting. If Cilia did join her, Bethany had no doubt she would go on to inform the queen of anything that happened while they were together. Instead, Bethany pulled out one of her simplest dress—one she would have used in the past to work with the healers—and slipped it on. She braided her own hair into one braid, leaving the short plait to bounce against her shoulders.

  She bounced down the stairs, trying her best to dispel her fear and anxiety. During her time as a slave, Bethany had learned the art of thinking only of the here and now. If she thought about the past she would be sad, if she thought about the future she would be afraid. What she did in this moment was all she could control, and so Bethany banished the idea of marriage.

  Bethany reached the doors to the main hall which had been left open enough for a single person to slip through. From the wide corridor she heard her mother’s voice speaking loudly.

  “And as her mother, I am telling you she’s not ready for that.”

  “She’s twenty-one,” retorted Gilead.

  “Age aside, Gilead, we only have a small glimpse of what she’s been through this last year…”

  “If she’s not willing to tell us what happened to her out there, then I can’t adjust my decisions based on that secret information.”

  Bethany knew that was the end of the conversation. Gilead could use the same tone of voice her father had used to signal the end of a discussion. Bethany took a deep breath. Though she didn’t want to admit it, her brother was right. If she wasn’t going to tell them, then they couldn’t base their choices on her past. But Bethany wasn’t ready to tell her family that she had been raped. She was going to have to, she knew that, but it didn’t have to be today.

  Again, Bethany pushed her fears away and focused on the here and now. What she could do now was find some breakfast.

  Bethany waited another minute so that it wouldn’t seem like she had been eavesdropping before marching into the great hall. Her mother smiled at her as Bethany went to the table laden with food and filled a plate. She still wasn’t used to eating three meals a day, and her mother frowned at her until she added more food to her seemingly generous supply.

  As they ate, a messenger arrived, thrusting another letter into Gilead’s hand. Gilead read it through before handing it to his mother.

  “Mara’s sick,” he said, explaining the letter’s content before his mother could read it.

  “Oh dear,” Debowrah said as she scanned the letter. “Should I go see her?”

  “I thi
nk not,” said Gilead.

  Bethany watched her mother purse her lips as she carefully folded the letter. In the short time Gilead had been king, he had taken easily to the role of master in the family, and it was clear their mother was not adjusting to the change.

  Naturally her mother wanted to be with her sick child, but it was not within her power to go without the king’s blessing, even if the king was her own son.

  Lyolf sat at the table, making steady progress through the food Brid had placed before him. Despite his focus on his food, his eyes couldn’t help but dart to where the other residents of the castle ate at the other end of the long table. He still couldn’t make them believe that he had no control over Wolfric’s harsh taxes, or that he too felt the pinch of the taxman.

  Before he had finished his meal, Brid and Cred sat down across from him, their own plates full of Brid’s good food. Cred glanced down to where the other workers ate and grunted.

  “Fools,” he said under his breath.

  “They’re tired,” Lyolf replied, trying his best to give them an excuse for their rude behavior. “They’ve been working hard. Perhaps when the season’s over we should have a little celebration.”

  “That’s a long way away,” said Brid quietly.

  Outside of her kitchen and her garden, Brid was timid to offer her own opinion.

  Lyolf and Cred nodded. Once again, Lyolf thanked whatever powers may be that he had met Cred and Brid. He would never have had a chance at reinvigorating this dying keep without their sensible advice and back-breaking work.

  “We could tell them once we’ve finished repairing the south tower we will have a celebration,” suggested Cred, keeping his voice equally quiet.

  “That’ll take all season as it is,” said Lyolf, not understanding Cred’s suggestion.

  “We know that, but they don’t. Besides, it might get them to work a bit faster.”

  Lyolf nodded, noticing out of the corner of his eye that the workers were eyeing their quiet conversation. Lyolf leaned in a little closer.