“The Celectate was concerned about your safety. There are questionable individuals who might seek to make a profit by abducting his new daughter-in-law,” the captain says a bit too tightly.
He’s a piss-poor liar. The extra guard is meant to ensure I do not flee. The Celectate must think me a complete fool – and a bit reckless – if I would disobey his direct order by abandoning my bond. The realization raises my courage.
I chuckle. “Concern for my safety? If he’s concerned for my safety, perhaps he may let you guard the bedside, since I hear his lineage is very ‘violent.’”
The captain reddens at the insult I’ve just layered on the man he serves and his hand rests on the hilt of his sword. Were I anyone but the ruler’s impending daughter-in-law – and a pawn in his political game – I’d be bleeding through a chasm in my throat.
I step towards the carriage. “Let us not keep Wood waiting.”
The captain bristles at the lack of title I bestow but follows me anyway, assisting me firmly into the carriage. I glance over my shoulder at Helena. She bows respectfully and a sliver of pain stabs my insides.
Helena’s honoring me. She believes I’ll be the next Celecta, should Aspen assume the throne.
Daria only glares at me. I don’t blame her. However, she’s got everything wrong.
I wink at her. She blinks, startled.
I let the door shut behind me and the carriage rumbles to life.
Helena’s timid respect burns inside me. In her eyes, I will be the next Celecta.
Like hell I will.
A crowd has gathered outside the palace walls. These are the rabble that will be barred from attending the ceremony – the solar can hold only nobles. Celectate Wood has had great consideration for the new “bride” and has been praised by Calaisar’s temple and several softhearted High Lords of the Community. I am a shy, frightened, little girl about to brave a very big assignment – the role of the future Celecta. Celectate Wood has made the streets rumble with stories of my great loyalty to him and his son. He’s made me a goddess of purity. Freya.
And before an hour has passed, he’ll regret it.
However, as I peer at the faces of the crowd through my prison window, I don’t see amazement on their faces. I see jawlines made primal with hunger. Eyes sunken in hollowed faces. Lips turned downwards with disapproval. I am to be their Celecta. Another noble to hold the leash around their necks. Another ruler to break their backs to feed my hungers. They despise me.
I don’t blame them.
The guards use their long lances to keep the crowd back as the palace gates open and the carriage rumbles inside. It halts before the grand oaken door of Celectate Wood’s abode – my abode. The harsh-faced captain opens the door for me and allows me to disembark.
The crowd murmurs at my appearance, several faces aglow in the pale morning light just beginning to spread over the earth. One head stands taller than any of the others. The giant from the riot. The giant who’d wanted to break hell’s chains.
He sees me at the same time I see him, and his eyes widen a tiny bit. He hadn’t expected the Celectate’s knew daughter-in-law to be the female scholar from the crowd. If my entire body wasn’t ripe with nausea, I might have smiled at his shock. But I don’t.
I remain stone-faced, staring at the crowd, at his face, until the gates shut over them. He mouths something to me. Something I can’t understand. My brain tries to make sense of his lips formation – but I don’t unravel it.
It must have been a curse. A long overdue insult.
Inside, the palace is decorated in immaculate colors of white, red, and black. Red for the blood covenant. White for the purity. Black for the Celectate’s color. Black, a devil’s color. Red, the color of blood. White, my innocence about to be spoiled.
“Spread your legs wide and grind your hips . . . Moan in pleasure when he rides you . . . Don’t show disgust towards his passion . . . Tis the noble duty of the Celecta.”
I’m going to be sick. Damn Master Ragar!
My escort gives me just enough space to allow my flowing robes to flutter around me. Their gilded helmets are painted with black and red for the occasion and their eyes are the only things visible to me through the shiny armor. They stare straight ahead, respectfully. Only the captain has the nerve to look me full in the face – or gaze up and down my body – like a cur. I glare at him.
We stop before the great oaken doors of the Solar. The Celectate’s Solar is a very special room, made completely of glass. A glass floor in immaculate colors, a glass roof, and glass walls to emanate the beauty of the Kelban mountain region around it. It is said that Celectate Wood made love to his beautiful wife Erina beneath the stars in that very room as a covenant before the gods. I have been in its greatness but once in my entire life – the long ago night when creatures from hell ended my childhood.
The captain raps his knuckles against the doors and an answering tap follows. They are almost ready.
I am not.
The captain steps into the space between the guards and myself, so close I can smell the harsh soap and hay on him. I wrinkle my nose at the stench. It does not become him.
“I have been ordered to instruct you on how to behave. You are to . . .”
“Walk straight and don’t slouch. Stand firm and don’t react to the blade sliding across my wrist. Smile beautifully when the diamond binds us. Offer my arm to my bond with a show of submission. Bow gracefully and exit the room. Correct?” I search his eyes for the anger I hope to awaken and see a spark.
“Watch that mouth, lovely, or . . .”
“And bide your tongue, captain!” I retort.
He leans close, fists forming at his sides. “You are not his wife yet! Do you really think being his whore will change a thing? You are as miniscule a piece in this giant game as I am. Another means to an end for his highness. He’ll use you, flesh and all, and when that’s gone, he’ll use whatever else you have. Your family. Your money. Until you’re truly gone.” He steps closer. Grabs my wrist. Twists it ruthlessly. I wince but don’t cry out. “You go ahead and kiss his Excellency’s ass and whatever else he wishes your mouth on. You please him as best you can. Because that’s what we’re supposed to do. This is the message Celectate Wood wanted to give you . . .” He jerks my head towards him, his fingers digging brutally into my spine. “You are his.” He lets me go and stalks to the doors.
Breathe. Breathe.
I am not given a chance to.
The doors swing open. “Lady Kyla Bone, esteemed daughter of High Lord Gavin Bone and his lady, Elinor Bone.”
Heir to the diamond mines of her father, I want to add.
The captain thrusts me through the doors. I struggle not to stumble and regain my balance. The open room stares back at me. Five hundred feet to the large glass podium before me. On the podium stands a gleaming, golden altar – Calaisar’s altar. Upon it sits a bowl, a gleaming knife, and a diamond-studded twine. A High Priest stands in his regal robes of blood red waiting. Waiting for me. For my bond. For my doom.
Deep breath, Kyla. Deep breath. It will all be over soon.
As I walk further into the room, the sun above gleams through the glass upon me, warming my skin. It spikes a sudden urgency in the daily tremors of my skin, and it buzzes with life.
Twelve men stand, six on each side, making a small pathway to the podium. The remaining High Lords. As I regally step by each one history lessons of old flash by. Lord Avrok, lord of the coal mines. Lord Singh, Head of the Treasury (and the most capable lord of improving Escar).
When I pause before my father, his robes, the “Bone” legacy, gleaming in our family colors of white and blue upon him, I can’t continue. He stares at me too.
I know I should say something. But my throat is in knots. I clutch the sides of my dress in fists and blink back tears. His face turns white and his lips tremble. He knows the message I want him to receive. The words I can’t convey. The hug I can’t give him.
I�
��ve never been a graceful person – gods know. I’m a scandalous excuse for a High Lord’s daughter. But I will get this right. With all the inner femininity inside of me, I curtsy. I don’t let my knees shake. Don’t let my body tremble as it lowers. This curtsy is to honor my father for all he has done for me. Tears spot my vision. I blink them away.
Father bows, arms trembling at his sides. He raises his head to look at me and his mouth forms words. I try to make them out.
At the podium, Celectate Wood’s personal High Priest has grown impatient, evident by the tick in his jaw.
“His highness, his excellency, his grace, Aspen Wood.”
I ascend the glass podium, my shoes feeling slippery against its sleek exterior. Guards form tight rows and use their lances to hold the crowd back. Everyone is scrambling to get a look at their ruler’s son.
My betrothed approaches with smooth strides, new boots and faded red apparel looking quite dashing on his well-built frame. He is handsome. He is charming. He is regal.
He’s the devil’s son.
He ascends the steps and takes his place on my right, his hands trembling at his sides in anticipation. His ashen hair is smoothed back and his triumphant smirk has returned. He’s getting what he wants. Like he always does.
The Celectate’s entrance is met with applauds from both the High Lords and the audience. However, as he passes a choice few of the Community High lords, Lord Singh, especially, stand straight and keep their hands in fists by their sides. My father claps relentlessly and bows nearly in half when Celectate Wood brushes past him with barely a recognizing glance. He’s worried. Worried that if he doesn’t clap, I’ll be hurt. That I’ll suffer for his actions.
It’s like a blow to the face. I recognize the words he mouthed to me. “I love you.”
It was his way of telling me he was going to try to protect me from whatever Celectate Wood intended for my fate. Even as the future Celecta, I was not safe. The Celectate could use me to make my father do whatever he wanted him to do. I am a puppet. A pawn in the turmoil for Kelba’s rule.
And Celectate Wood doesn’t even look at the grieving father.
Fresh with rage, I fist hands at my side, forcing the rising storm down. He is taking a man’s daughter away – and he has the balls to ignore him. Has the audacity to push the poor man’s suffering into a corner.
Bastard.
Celectate Wood joins his son. He does not wear red. Not a hint of it adorns his apparel. He wears black. Everything, from his slick hair, to his shiny eyes, to his shoes, is dark.
When he finally looks me straight in the face with those monstrous eyes, his lips tilt up unbecomingly. Hot rage boils inside me. The black is meant for my Father – to remind him that he’s losing his daughter and should be mourning. To remind him that he’s going to become a puppet or watch me suffer. The black is meant for me too – to remind me that I’m going to be his tool and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Fools fall for their own snares.
“You are his.”
I approach the High Priest and the altar. Aspen stands beside me, his hand millimeters away. Tensions cascades from that hand. He wants to touch me.
The High Priest begins speaking the bonding rites in ancient Kelban. The words jumble in my head. He finishes the rites and starts on the blessing. Sweat trickles down my spine as he drones and on. As Aspen’s hand inches closer to mine. As his knuckles gently press into my wrist.
“Do not allow fear to cloud your judgment. Do not allow fear to make your choices.”
That same phrase. That same reminder.
The High Priest finishes the blessing. My skin burns. I have waited patiently for this moment. I have planned this to reap destruction on the devil.
“It’s not wrong to make your own choices.”
The High Priest picks up the silver knife and orders Aspen and I to hold out our wrists.
“I don’t want this.”
He draws close to me.
“I know.”
The blade slides across my wrist, opening skin. Blood rolls over my reddened flesh and drips onto the floor. I stare at the droplets.
Suddenly, I remember the giant man’s words. What he had mouthed to me beyond the gates. What he had told me. He had not cursed me. He had not insulted me.
“Break hell’s chains.”
The High Priest cuts Aspen’s wrist. Returns to the table. Picks up the diamond-studded twine. Steps towards us.
“Give us a cause. Give us a fire.”
The High Priest mutters something in ancient Kelban.
I reform the phrase: “Break the devil’s chains.”
“In the name of Calaisar . . .” The High Priest presses the diamond thread beneath our wrists, ready to bind them together. To seal our blood. Our bond.
The Celectate sneers. In his eyes . . . You are mine. And I swear I hear his words loud and clear inside me.
Like hell I am.
He gets every word. I’ve waited for this moment. His eyes flash with shock before I jerk away from the High Priest and rip the sash from my waist, binding my wrist with speed. The bleeding stops. Warm liquid soaks the cloth. I grimace at its coppery stench.
“I refuse!”
One look in his eyes. One flash from within them. One ugly twist of that mouth and all the pain and relentless torture of the last month fades away. My chains are broken. The devil no longer holds the leash. I am free. I have my own mind, my own heart – my own will!
The Celectate stammers for words. “What . . . . did you say?” His tone is layered with ice, and his eyes bore into mine, their murky depths unnerving me.
“Do you know the punishment for such outbursts?” he asks.
The punishment? My gut clenches. People dance before me. However, they aren’t just ordinary people. No. They’re skin is melted at the shoulder, etched with the horrible “ostracized scar.” Their backs shine blood red from whips. Their skin falls from their bones as they stalk through the poisons of the Wilds. Shadows rip at their clothing and hair from the darkness. Yes, I know the punishment. I nod.
“I order you to marry my son!” His voice is deadly calm. No tremor rocks his words. Only his eyes speak volumes as they sizzle within their dark depths, glazing my face with heat. He’s giving me one more chance. One last chance to obey and become the simple pawn. To become his.
But behind that threat, I see fear. He has spent the past month painting me as a simple “weakling” with no ability to think for herself. He has told of my devout loyalty to him and his son. Of my steadfast honor. Of my unbreachable innocence. Lady Kyla Bone. But I am not just Lady Kyla Bone. No. I am also Ky Bone – scholar by day, soldier companion by night.
I turn away from those eyes and look over my shoulder. Father is on his feet, as are a few other High Lords. Fear glazes his eyes in a sheen of tears and his lips tremble. He shakes his head at me. From the crowd, two people stretch over the lances, beckoning for my attention. One is Mother. The other is Landor. Landor shakes his shoulders at me in a what-are-you-doing sort of way.
But Mother only stares at me. In her face, I see no fear. No pain. She’s smiling in that mysterious way she’s looked at me of late. In her eyes flashes the same fire that burns within me – the same spirit.
My hands tremble, and I fist them at my sides. I won’t allow myself to be afraid to make my own choices. It is my life.
My life!
I face Celectate Wood squarely. Something dark glints in his eyes and then it is gone. He tries to put all his hate, all his anger, all his threats, into one, long stare. I am his. He wants me to be afraid. He wants me to cower.
“I refuse!”
The back of his knuckles sweep across my cheek with break-neck speed and throws me sideways, off balance. My skirts wrap around my legs, cinching them close, and I can’t recover myself fast enough. My hip cracks against one of the steps as I fall sideways. My right side connects with the floor. Numbing sparks hover in my neck. The podium steps swirl in
my vision. A trail of blood mars their marble magnificence. My blood! It drips down my face from a gash in my temple.
It is in a time like this that my vision would blur, my neck would start pulsing, memories would flash, and I’d faint dead away. But I don’t. My neck doesn’t pulse. My vision doesn’t blur. In fact, my thoughts have never been clearer.
“Take her away!”
Everything happens fast. Guards flank me from all sides, grabbing at my arms, pulling me to my feet, forcing them behind me back. Shackles slap my wrists with cold accuracy. The clanking chains rattle my ears and make me want to retch.
My captors turn me towards the doors that will be my exit – and my departure from life – I hear Father’s screams. They chill my blood. I’ve never heard him scream before. Even on that long ago night on the street he had not screamed.
The guards don’t pay any notice and shove me forwards. One of them cries out in pain and I see him fall. Father’s hands dart towards me. I catch a glimpse of his reddened face as he tries to force his way between the security around me. Tears flow on his cheeks. One of the soldiers kicks him in the chest and he falls out of my sight.
I stop and look behind me. Celectate Wood has not left the podium. He meets my gaze – and it is my turn to present him with a message of my own. I know he receives it the moment his eyes turn so dark there’s no humanity left in them.
I am no Freya, dear fool. I am no goddess of purity.
I am a fire – and I will burn you.
The guards lead me out the door. Out of the chaos. Down the steps of the palace. An iron door opens up through the maze of corners and rooms we enter. Intimidating stone steps glare up at me.
Down, down, down we go, deeper beneath the palace. To the dungeons. Now my neck should start pulsing. Memories and nightmares should start flashing. My breathing should falter.
Instead, my feet pound out a rhythm on the stone floor.
I made my own choice. I made my own choice.
I made a choice.
Ostracized (The Ostracized Saga Book 1) Page 10
