by Aldrea Alien
She flattened back against the wall. Hide. That was what she needed. Just a little place. A door or even a niche to tuck herself into.
Only walls greeted her questing gaze.
His footsteps grew ever nearer. A muffled, unhappy thud of heels hitting the rug.
No hiding spots. Nothing for it, then, but to own up to her eavesdropping. She squared her shoulders and stepped away from the wall.
Lucias rounded the corner and halted, visibly startled. “Clara? You—” He glanced over his shoulder before hastening to her side. “You shouldn’t be here.”
She stiffened her back, preparing herself for what was to come, silently reminding herself that if anyone was in the wrong here, it was him. A woman’s touch, indeed. If he didn’t explain himself swiftly, he was going to get one touch he didn’t want. “I could say the same of you.” The words left her lips so sweetly that she could almost taste honey on her tongue. “Who was that you were speaking to?”
“No one of import.”
“Is that what you told her of me?” she muttered, sidestepping him. If he wasn’t going to give her the truth, then she’d get it from the woman.
He grasped her wrist, holding her fast. “Stop.”
Clara obeyed. It was either that or opt to forsake the limb entirely.
“I’m certain the conclusion you’ve reached seems perfectly logical to you at this moment and I wouldn’t blame you for it, but if you think, you’ll understand how it can’t be right.”
“So I saw wrongly, did I?” She retrieved the full use of her arm with a jerk. “You did not have a woman draping herself all over you, then?” Was this the true reason why he’d left the Citadel so soon? Does he love another woman? That sickening thought prowled her mind, picking off any other notions like a wolf amongst sheep. The question released a torrent of others. They darted about, stuck in a current of fear. If he forsook her, she’d nowhere else to go.
“Slow down and think, Clara. Please.”
Huffing, she folded her arms. Then why would he come after me? She clung to that thought like a boulder in a flood. Why look for a mistress if he already has one? He wouldn’t… would he? “Then why not tell me who she is?”
Sighing, Lucias rubbed at the back of his neck. “Because she’s a…” His nose scrunched, exaggerating the beak-like curve. “An unwelcome element of my past. One I am fast regretting having. I could certainly have done without her poisonous presence tonight.” He shook his head. “On the other hand, I’m not even certain the Goddess would know the outcome if we changed but one part of the life we’ve experienced.”
She bit her tongue. So, the woman had been a past lover.
“Clara.” He caressed her cheek. “Don’t look at me like that. Please? I am yours through and through, I swear. I have been since I first laid eyes on you. I would not risk losing a woman of such indomitable spirit.”
“Then tell me who she is.”
He shook his head. “I already told you, she’s no one. You can’t possibly be jealous of no one.”
“I’m not jealous.” The words were out before she could stop them. She folded her arms. She was angry. Angry and upset. And… Jealous. “Stop smirking, it’s not amusing.”
His grin widened. “You’re a terrible liar.”
No, I’m not. He was just good at seeing the truth. Like his mother. He must be aware of inheriting the very power he claimed the Raven Household used to maintain their rule over the Ebony Court at Ne’ermore. “If I’m jealous, then you—” She pressed an accusing finger against the tip of his nose. “—are just as prone to the emotion.”
“Am not,” he scoffed.
“Oh? So was that an entirely different man who didn’t trust the lords of Endlight when Farris came to the Citadel on his way to collect Brenna?” She recalled his expression well, the darkness lurking behind his eyes when he’d caught her innocently alone with Endlight’s undeniably handsome, and very much married, heir. Not that Thad was her type.
“I was never jealous of Thad.”
Clara made a show of rolling her eyes. “I don’t need some fancy inherent magic to know who the liar is now.”
Laughing, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “Oh no, my dear, I knew were you already mine.”
She snorted. “A liar and delusional.” Clara pressed her palm to his cool forehead. “I think you might be feverish.”
“You just don’t want to admit I’m right,” he whispered into her hair.
“Definitely feverish,” she mumbled. Over his shoulder, her gaze drifted to the corridor corner. She half-expected to see the woman standing there. A bitter part of her wished she had been.
But she’d seen that face before, she was certain of it. All she had to figure out was where. She’d feel better just having a name.
“Come.” Lucias stepped back and offered his arm, waiting for her to place a hand into the crook of his elbow before continuing. “We must give the court our leave, then I shall escort you to your chambers.”
Clara glanced over her shoulder as he led her towards the ballroom. She hadn’t gotten an adequate enough answer of who that was. “But—”
“I know where your mind has led you, and there’d be quite a number who would think of it as great sport to send you further astray, but the night is growing late and the day has been long. Not to mention exceedingly more trying than I’d anticipated. Ask me in the morning, if you still find yourself troubled by it, and I will answer any question you ask. For now, I believe we’ve a gaggle of children that…” He arched a brow in question. “…I’m guessing you would like to see before retiring for the night?”
She nodded and opened the door to the ballroom. “Court first, then take me to my children. Wherever they’ve ended up,” she muttered to herself. No one had mentioned them when she was readying for tonight, she’d given little thought to as where they were.
Lucias chuckled. “I believe you’ll approve of the arrangements I made in your stead.”
Chapter Eleven
Clara’s legs wobbled slightly as Lucias escorted her through the castle. Away from the bright candlelit room and heart-thumping music, the day’s trials and excitement swiftly caught up with her. She could barely keep her eyes open. Each step came leadenly.
Nevertheless, she was aware of being led down the corridor to her quarters. Sure enough, they halted before the dark wood door marked with the Great Lord’s flame-like emblem. “I thought we were seeing the children first.” She wasn’t entirely certain if making it to the children before falling asleep was even a possibility, but not even trying? Would they think the worst?
“We are,” Lucias replied, giving her back a brief, vigorous rub. An act she barely felt through the corset. “And they should be resting not far from their new mother’s chambers.” He waved a hand, indicating the doors opposite Clara’s. “I ordered the girls to be moved into the left room and the boys are now sharing with Tommy.”
So close. She’d hoped for them to be ensconced somewhere befitting their new status as children of the Great Lord, but she hadn’t considered they could be placed anywhere near her. “That’s perfect, thank you.” Giving him a little warning squeeze to remain where he stood, she strode up to the left door.
Silence greeted her as the door swung open.
Clara poked her head into the room. Darkness stole any chance of seeing more than a few feet clearly, but she could make out three beds. It was quite late. Perhaps the girls were sleeping soundly.
She crept further into the room, aiming for the closest bed. Even if the smallest of the three girls had chosen to sleep here, the mattress seemed far too flat for anything to be beneath the covers. Gently questing along the sheets with her fingers confirmed this. She moved on to the others and found them in a similar state.
The place was all laid out as it should be, just woefully empty.
Clara backed out of the room, the beat of her heart thumping wildly in her ears. I promised. Safety. Assurance. I shou
ld’ve checked on them first. The court could’ve waited another hour for her presence.
She had time to fix this, hadn’t she? Calm. Breathe. Think logical thoughts. Not the easiest when her heart continued to beat faster than a drummer’s stick. She whirled on Lucias, who watched her with a puzzled frown. “Did you say the girls should be in here?”
Shock widened his dark eyes. Lucias peeked into the room to confirm what Clara already knew. He glanced at the other room; where the boys would be if everything was all right. “Let’s check on them first.” He clasped her hand and led her to the other door.
Clara all but fell over her own feet in her eagerness to confirm the boys were precisely where they should be. The silence coming from the other side suddenly didn’t seem quite so soothing.
Candlelight greeted them as they opened the door. That held no sense of relief either. Not when she knew Tommy could still be up. Whilst he usually slept the same hours as the rest of the people back in Everdark—awake at dawn and in bed at sunset—he suffered from patches of restlessness where sleep was impossible. He was currently attempting knitting as a means to calm his mind enough to rest.
Clara peered around the door, trusting that her page would still be there and perhaps know where the children were.
Several pairs of eyes looked her way with equal levels of alarm.
Relief jellified her legs. She clung to the door. “They’re here,” she called over her shoulder. “All of them.” They appeared to have been playing some sort of game with various bottles and jars, and what looked suspiciously like a balled-up stocking.
Tommy twisted in his cross-legged position on the floor. “Clara!” he announced, hopping to his feet. He froze, shooting the children a worried look, then shifted that gaze to Clara. “A servant told me they were staying here?”
She nodded. “That’s right. They don’t have a home, so they’re going to be living in the Citadel with us.”
All at once, the worry melted from Tommy’s face to be replaced with the warmest smile. “Gettie will like that.” He returned to facing the children, sinking back to his place on the floor.
Derek gently lifted the youngest girl’s sleeping head off his lap and stood, eyeing the older boy with the same slowly sweeping stare the majority of people did after spending some time with Tommy. Most seemed to believe Tommy was putting on some sort of act, but Clara had never known a time that the boy wasn’t earnest. And if Tommy ever noticed the glances, he gave no indication.
“It’s all true, then?” Derek asked.
Grumbling came from behind him. The heavily freckled girl sat up, yawning and scrubbing at her face. “What—?” Her brown eyes widened as they fell on Clara. “You came back.” In one almighty burst of activity, she scrambled across the bed, tumbled onto the floor and scuttled over to throw her arms around one of Clara’s legs.
Without thinking, she caressed the girl’s hair. Now that the limp, dark mass was freshly washed, her hair had more of a light brown tint and stood out from her like a fuzzy halo. “Didn’t I say I would?”
Movement on the edge of her vision caught her attention. Clara lifted her head to find the rest of the children standing in a row before her. They’d all been scrubbed clean during their time here and decked out in the red and black attire of Lucias’ house.
Derek, who she now knew was only thirteen years old—thanks to Lucias’ little chat with Thalia—stood the straightest. The rest mimicked him to the best of their abilities.
She surveyed them, taking in the timid looks and slightly poised stance that reminded her of the half-wild stray cats the roamed Everdark’s streets. “It rather occurs to me that I know very little about any of you.” She clasped her hands together and—after a touch of wrangling to have the freckled-faced girl release her grip on Clara’s leg—lowered herself onto the end of the nearest bed.
One by one, the children turned their attention to the boy who’d been their sole carer for a great deal longer than any child should need to be. Derek’s fingers worked furiously at his other wrist.
Clara held out a hand to him. “You’re scratching. May I see why?”
“It’s nothing, Miss.” Still, the boy sidled up to kneel before her.
She delicately cradled Derek’s hand, being careful not to touch the paler parts of his skin—white even against the olive brown backdrop of her palm—for it looked quite inflamed. Redness adorned his knuckles. It could’ve been mistaken for him having a violent nature at a glance.
Gently pushing up the cuffs of his shirt, Clara moved on to examine his wrist where the patch of white stopped haphazardly. He appeared to have scratched quite deeply along the joint, breaking the skin in some places. “How badly does it hurt?”
The boy’s expression soured. Betrayal glittered in his eyes as, huffing, he rolled them. “It doesn’t,” he muttered, jerking his hand free. “And I’m not contagious either.”
“I know that,” she replied, trying to maintain an even tone, for this certainly couldn’t be the first time someone had remarked on his skin. And few doing so positively judging by his reaction. “I meant the sunburn. It’s clearly irritated.”
Derek gave an uneasy grimace, his gaze dropping. “A little,” he mumbled before pride had him lifting his chin. “I can handle it.”
“You’ve gone and burnt yourself again?” Sweetie railed from her place alongside the others, her mouth puckering. “I’ve told you, if we’ve got to watch the sun, so do you.”
“Not Ruby,” crowed a slightly younger boy. “She just freckles, see?” One pale finger pointed to the third girl in the room, or more at the brown flecks that were barely visible upon the girl’s cheeks.
In response, Ruby puffed out her chest and thumped it dramatically. Now that she was clean, the girl’s lank hair displayed its muted tones of dark red.
Clara hummed to herself. “I’ve a balm that might help. Tommy?” She glanced over Derek’s shoulder at her page. “Could you fetch it for me, please? It should be on my dressing table, just behind the screen. The blue jar.”
Nodding, Tommy bounced to his feet and scurried through the open door.
She sought out the boy with the chapped lips before her gaze slid to the one with the peeling and terribly sun-reddened face. “It might help the both of you as well.” She rocked back, tapping a little tune on her thighs. “Shall we start with names and ages whilst we wait? I already know you, Derek, and your sister.” She peered around the boy to smile at his sibling, who offered the same in response. Her gaze returned to the small boy with the sunburnt face. “You too, although I don’t believe your name really is Trubs.”
“It’s Trouble,” the boy replied, a touch of defiance tightening his jaw. He squared his shoulders. “And I’m five and a half years old.” He punctuated himself with a stiff nod.
“Sweetie found him out the back of the cattle yards,” Derek said. “He’s only been with us for a year or so. His dad left when his mum fell ill. She died.” His voice fell at those last words, almost a whisper.
Clara felt the tips of her fingers gracing her lips before she realised she’d moved. She stood, taking a few staggering steps to fall to her knees before the young boy and wrap her arms tightly around his slender shoulders. “My dad fell to a wasting illness some years back,” she confessed in a teary whisper.
The memory of watching the strong man her father had once been withering to a figure half his original size whilst under the illness’ thrall was one she’d never be free of. She hadn’t even been able to hug him in his final moments for fear of contracting the same sickness. Not many in Everdark had fallen to the illness that had beset her father, but not a single infected soul had survived. “It must’ve been terrible.” To lose, not one, but both parents whilst so young.
Tiny hands gripped her gown, clinging tight. Trouble buried his face into her shoulder and the smallest of sniffles drifted up to her ear.
She gave him a little reassuring squeeze and tilted her head to catch Derek’
s eye. With the gentle tip of her chin, she indicated that he kept talking as though the boy in her arms wasn’t quietly soaking her clothes with his tears.
Clearing his throat, Derek jerked a thumb at the boy with chapped lips. “That’s Rascal. Reckon he’s six years old. Found him wandering around the moor-side wall about two years back. He came to Endlight with his old man, but we’ve no idea where he went off to.”
The boy with chapped lips smiled uncertainly, those dark eyes peeking out from beneath his sandy hair.
His father’s probably back home. And likely heartbroken, for the man would surely be thinking his son had fallen afoul of someone and was either dead or out of reach. Maybe, with some help from the nomads, they could reunite them. She made a mental note to see if it was at all possible before announcing the idea to the boy.
The older boy moved up the line of children, laying a hand on one of the girl’s shoulder. “Ruby’s also six,” Derek continued without missing a beat. “Her family was in the same sector as Trub’s. The illness took a lot of people. Don’t ask her to speak, she can’t. Never been able to. Doesn’t know why.”
Clara held out her hand in supplication to Ruby. The scrawny girl eagerly accepted the silent invitation of a consoling hug.
Derek’s hand had barely slipped from her shoulder before he clapped his other hand onto the last unnamed boy—the one who’d been proud of Ruby’s skin freckling rather than burning. “Whereas Woden…” Derek grimaced. “His parents went out one day, left him playing with all us kids, and just didn’t come back. He was four then and that was three years ago.”
Woden was the palest of the bunch alongside Sweetie. He’d fine, almost white hair, and blue eyes that examined her likely as much as she did him. Whilst she didn’t doubt the age Derek claimed, Woden’s mannerisms gave him the air of being far older than the other boys. More reserved, too.
Finally, Derek stopped to tousle the youngest girl’s brown hair. “And this is Poppet. She’s four now, but she’s been with us since Sweetie found her in an alley. She was just a baby.”
