"What books are your favorite?"
"Everything," she breathed, growing excited by the mere discussion of them. Because they were so hard to come by, she loved them all the more. "Truthfully, anything I can get my hands on."
"I see. I am glad to know this." He rose and went to his bookshelf. It was an impressive personal collection. "I have several here you might like." He began pulling books. Minutes later, he had a towering stack. "There." He set the pile at the side of the table with a thud. "Take these with you when you go, and keep them as long as you like. Though I wouldn't mind hearing your thoughts when you finish."
The prospect of discussing books with Verath thrilled her. She promised to give him a thorough assessment of each. They moved on to dessert while he told her about his favorite books. Truthfully, she found it difficult to follow his conversation. Too often she was caught up in watching him speak, the way his eyes twinkled when he grew passionate, and how animated he was with his hands. She found herself enamored by him in every way.
When the dreaded moment came to cut his hair, nervousness set itself in the pit of her stomach. To Verath, the simple act of a haircut was nothing. To her it felt intimate. Recalling Claire's advice, she was determined to go with the flow, so she took the scissors handed to her, forcing her mind to think nothing of it. That became increasingly difficult as he casually removed his tunic, tossing it upon the sofa. He wanted to keep it free of cuttings, which was understandable, but did he care nothing for her poor flustered heart? Her mind went blank with curiosity as she gazed upon him.
When he caught her staring too long at his sinewy chest, his broad shoulders, and fine physique, his eyes glowed with satisfaction. Fortunately he said nothing. Instead he positioned his chair in the middle of the room and sat down to wait for her. When she recovered, she began the job of trimming away the pieces that had grown too long.
"I hope to keep the ends even," she mused as she went, slowly working her way around. She hardly knew what she was doing. Occasionally she saw the servants assisting each other with haircuts. Most often she trimmed her own hair if the ends became too tangled. But this was different.
Every so often, her fingers brushed his warm skin. Each time, her abdomen clenched in excitement. Once or twice she took advantage of the opportunity, allowing her skin to linger against his for longer than necessary.
Once she finished, she took the liberty of rustling his locks with her fingers. She needed to ensure it set properly. As she did so, she heard a faint growl deep in his chest. Her heart skipped in response. Perhaps it was imagined, yet the guttural noise sounded oddly draconic.
At last she stepped away to review her work. She'd done well enough. His hair looked as it usually did. All was back to normal in her Verath-centered world. She was rather pleased with herself, though she would not admit it. Instead she screwed up her face, shook her head, and said, "Absolutely terrible! You never should have trusted me."
"Is that so?" The side of his mouth twitched.
"Yes, I fear you may need to hide away from the public for some time, or suffer their laughter."
He chuckled. "It is only hair, dear Desaree." She loved how he said her name, drawing out the last syllable. "It will grow back. Perhaps next time you shall do better." His voice was hopeful.
Unable to maintain the joke any longer, she felt her nostrils twitch. "I was only kidding. Your hair looks fine."
He rose and went to examine himself in the mirror. "Indeed! You have done a fine job."
Pleased, he threw his tunic back over his head and came to stand before her. In height she reached his shoulder. To see him better, she had to tilt her head back. This was the closest they had ever been. She could feel warmth radiating from him. She could feel his breath upon her brow. She could see the stubble growing upon his jaw. And she could smell the scent of wood and smoke upon his skin. It left her achingly nervous. Her eyes fell away from his to the floor.
His fingers were warm when they found her chin, bringing her regard back to his face. "Thank you, Desaree." His voice was low and sent warmth spreading through her. "Now, I fear it is getting late. Take your books and run along. And do not burn the wick for too long tonight, eh?"
She eagerly nodded and scrambled away from him, collecting the book pile before bidding him goodnight. His presence left her overly jittery. She welcomed the relief of the quiet corridors that greeted her.
The following day, she struggled to pull herself from her bed. There were always duties to attend to. If only she might get more sleep.
True to her word, Claire attacked her for details the moment they saw each other. Together they delivered breakfast trays, accomplishing bits of discussion in between each delivery. "He let you cut his hair?!" Claire gasped when she got to the end of her retelling. "Oh my God! Desaree, tell me all about it."
She felt her cheeks blush just thinking of the way Verath's soft hair felt against her fingers. Eagerly, she revealed everything. The only part she kept to herself were the last moments when Verath lifted her face to his and gazed into her eyes before thanking her.
Throughout the day, Claire brought up snippets of her conversation, over-analyzing the details down to each word. She didn't mind. It was fun to share her excitement with a friend. As they walked from the west wing to the cookery, she went back through each of Verath's statements. Claire wanted to explain what she felt Verath meant by them. They had just rounded a bend in the corridor when Lady Caterina came into view followed by her entourage. Her blood turned to ice. The ladies were moving in the opposite direction, coming straight for them. As was proper, she pulled Claire to the side of the walkway and stood waiting. The serving class was required to allow any of higher rank to pass by undisturbed. Claire followed suit, albeit after protesting.
"Look, ladies. It is the scum of the keep." Lady Caterina took the opportunity to throw them an insult in passing. Ignoring insults was second nature for her, but not for Claire.
"Excuse me?" Claire cried out. She tensed, grabbing Claire's hand, attempting to quiet her. Claire ripped her arm away. "What did you just say, Caterina? Because it sounded like you insulted us."
Caterina, who had already passed, stopped and turned to them. "I called you scum, for that is what you are. Look at you, dressed in rags. You are worth nothing."
"How dare you!" Claire’s expression turned to disgust. "How dare you judge us when your father betrayed the king!"
Caterina's face turned paper white. So the rumors were true then? Lord Stefan Rosen had betrayed the king? Desaree turned from Caterina to Claire, and then back to Caterina, who looked livid as she said, "I do not know what you're talking about." Then Caterina turned to her ladies. "Never trust a servant. They lie about everything!" Unfortunately, the damage was done. Caterina's act was hardly convincing, and it was very evident that she was lying.
"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about." Claire said with no intention of desisting. "You see, Caterina, I am the one who turned your father in. I am the one who gave his name to the king." Claire stepped towards Caterina, holding her ground. "And from now on, Caterina, you stay away from Desaree. Don't you so much as look at her, or I'll make sure you follow your father to the dungeons." Those words were enough to earn the reaction Claire wanted.
"You!" she shrieked, pointing her finger at Claire. “I will kill you for what you have done!" Caterina lunged at Claire, but Claire was too fast. She quickly side-stepped.
Meanwhile, Desaree tried to move her own feet, but stood frozen in place. Everything was going wrong! Claire was bound to get them into trouble. Speaking to a superior in such a way would earn them severe punishment. What was more, an audience had gathered to witness the spectacle.
Her eyes fearfully flicked back to Caterina, who screeched in anger. Having failed to grab ahold of Claire, the horrid woman reached out and grabbed a fist full of Desaree’s long hair. Desaree cried out as pain erupted on her scalp. She was shoved into the ground. Little stars erupted in her visio
n. She tried to push Caterina away, but the woman wrestled with her, clawing at her face, grabbing at her arms, screeching like a mad woman.
"Don't you dare touch her!" She heard Claire's cry. A moment later Caterina was ripped away and flung up towards the ceiling of the corridor. Gasps echoed down the walkway. Caterina's body slammed against the stone as if thrown upwards by an invisible force. Then she fell to the ground, silent and unmoving.
She got to her feet. Her body shook with fear and strain. She looked with wide eyes from Caterina to Claire. Then she turned her regard upon the gathered crowd. They were just as surprised as she.
"Stop this immediately!" An authoritative voice cut through the muttering voices, drawing her attention in its direction. Lord Reyr rushed forward and came to a stop before them. He looked aghast as he assessed the scene. Then his eyes fell upon Claire, who stood over Caterina. Claire's face was white as snow.
"What happened here?" Reyr asked one of the bystanders.
The man pointed at Claire with an accusing finger. "She used magic!" Several of his neighbors agreed. "That one there, Lord Reyr! She hurled Lady Caterina into the ceiling. She used magic, I tell you!"
Lady Caterina's ladies were crouching over her now, clucking like hens and fussing over her as they attempted to wake her. Reyr rushed over to the wretched woman, pushing the two ladies aside. He felt her neck for a pulse then stood.
"She is only unconscious," he announced. There was no relief in his voice. "You two," he called to the guards who had arrived. "Carry her to her room. And the both of you can follow." He pointed to her ladies. "Make sure she is all right when she wakes up." He then turned to Claire, poor confused Claire. She had only tried to fight back gainst Caterina. Now she would be punished for her crime.
"Claire, you are coming with me." Reyr took ahold of her arm. Claire was ushered away. Just before she melted into the crowd, Desaree saw her glance back over her shoulder with an apologetic look. The onlookers dissipated thereafter, until Desaree was left standing alone.
Shaking her head, she blinked several times. What had just happened? Everything moved so fast she could hardly make sense of it. Somehow—and she could not explain it—Claire used magic. That was not what stunned her: All the rumors she heard were true. Caterina's father, Stefan Rosen, a man who was once her own stepfather, was imprisoned for betraying the king. Oh happy day!
55
Kastali Dun
Claire allowed Reyr to lead her through the keep’s corridors towards what was undoubtedly the south wing, the place King Talon lived. Initially she was too astounded to protest. How was it possible that she’d done magic? She chewed on her bottom lip, trying to understand it. One moment Caterina was clawing at Desaree and the next she was slammed into the ceiling. Onlookers blamed the matter entirely on her. She might have disputed their accusations; she might have denied her involvement in the matter. Arguably, she never physically touched Caterina. Yet, with the same certainty as the crowd, she knew she was responsible. The moment she performed magic, it felt as if some of her essence exploded away from her. When that power left, a formidable wave of exhaustion clung to her body leaving her breathless and weak.
“Reyr…” She and Reyr climbed a set of stairs that took them into a wide corridor. “I don’t understand how this happened.” Her own ears heard the panic in her tone. What was wrong with her? First telepathy, then Cyrus’s voice, and now magic? “I swear I didn’t mean to hurt Caterina like that.” The closer they got to the southern wing, the more she began to pull against him. Her own reluctance was mounting.
“Whether or not you understand what happened, Claire, it happened. You performed magic.”
“But…I…” She fumbled for words. “Can’t we stop for a moment to talk about this? Please! Why must we take this matter to the king? Can’t we settle it another way?”
She stopped to face him. For a moment he gazed back at her, saying nothing. Then his face softened. “Unfortunately Claire, it is too late for that. You of all people should know how quickly thoughts travel when sent telepathically. Did you fail to hear our king’s command in your mind? I was told to bring you to him.”
Aegan dulled the potency of voices within her mind. She must have missed King Talon’s summons amidst all of the chaos. “You mean…King Talon already knows about this? About me?”
“Aye. I told him the moment it happened.”
Her heart sank. In a way she felt betrayed, even though it was illogical. Reyr’s duty was to his king, not her. But that didn’t stop her heart from tightening. He must have spilled the beans the moment he saw what happened. Instead of asking her first, he ratted her out.
“It was only an accident, Reyr,” she whispered. The corridor they stood in was empty. She took a step backwards. “You know King Talon is going to make this more than what it is.”
“And what is it? How do you explain what happened? How do you explain your use of magic?”
“I…” There was no explanation for it. She shook her head.
Reyr stepped up beside her. “Come now. Let us not leave King Talon waiting.” He placed a firm pressure of his hand upon her lower back. She had no choice. He was going to take her to the king. This time her reluctant feet moved slowly. Each step felt heavy.
When they passed into the south wing, a feeling of dread came over her. It intensified with each corridor and staircase they passed through. As they came increasingly closer to their destination, the castle grew more lavish in its decoration. Reyr led her down a carpeted hall. She anxiously glanced about her, longing for an escape route. Large paintings graced the walls enshrined within hand carved wooden frames painted with gold leaf. Each opulent painting with its rich colors depicted a large dragon and a crowned maiden. She passed several before realizing they were the kings and queens of Dragonwall.
“Reyr”—her pulse raced—“you’re not going to tell King Talon about…about my ability, are you? You’re not going to tell him that I hear the Drengr, are you?”
She heard his sigh, but he did not answer. They were already at their destination. The keep’s soldiers standing guard at the tower’s entrance parted their spears and permitted them passage. She could feel the blood pounding in her ears. Her palms grew instantly sweaty, and no amount of licking parched the sudden dryness of her lips.
Ever since coming to Kastali Dun, every dealing with King Talon had gone poorly. The trial was only a taste of what she experienced in the torture chambers. Their most recent interaction in the servant’s corridor had been better, sure, but still awkward. What would happen now?
She and Reyr stepped into a lavish entry chamber leading directly into a circular sitting room. A large couch arrangement was set about a tall fireplace. Her eyes zeroed in on this feature, but not because of the marble’s grandeur. It was the formidable and nearly statuesque man standing with one arm propped upon the fireplace mantle, staring into dying embers, that captured her gaze. One fire was nearly extinguished, but the one inside her was blazing fiercely. She couldn’t help but imagine the severity of burns to come.
At her entrance, Talon’s gaze snapped to hers. The hairs on her skin reached outward, as if trying to fearfully flee her body. Apprehension sank into the pit of her stomach. Talon’s regard was stony, and his silver eyes danced with suppressed anger.
Reyr deposited her in front of an armchair that faced King Talon. “Sit.” His clipped command did not offer comfort. He moved away, leaving her the sole victim of Talon’s roving gaze. For all the times she and Reyr seemed friends, this very moment hinted otherwise.
She wanted to sit as Reyr had instructed her, only she couldn’t. She was captured by Talon’s penetrating stare like a bug caught in a spider’s web. Today he wore a blue velvet tunic, one she’d seen before, with a silver dragon head embroidered just above the left breast. His black pants were accented with shiny black boots. Strapped to his waist was a glittering belt crusted with black stones. The sheath of his Sverak was likewise decorated. The same cro
wn she’d seen on his head during her trial rested there now.
At last his lips parted to speak, breaking apart the sticky strands gluing her in place. “Reyr told you to sit.”
In response, she sank into the plush chair. The other Shields were present, sitting about the fireplace too. Her eyes flicked to each of them before finding Talon again. She couldn’t let him out of her sight. Too many memories from the torture chamber replayed in her mind. She was instantly reminded of his aggressive tendencies. Would he put a knife to her throat as he’d done then?
“Explain yourself.” Talon’s voice had a way of ensnaring its victims. It was rich enough to captivate a willing audience, but powerful enough to leave enemies quaking. Where did she fit into that equation?
She opened her mouth to answer and instead croaked. Mortified, she swallowed. She hadn’t a reasonable answer anyway. Talon would never settle for, I don’t know.
“Well?”
“I don’t know…” She echoed the thought. Was it fear of Talon leaving her insecure, or fear for what she’d done?
“How can you not know?” Talon’s gaze narrowed. “Did you or did you not throw a certain lady against the ceiling, thus rendering her unconscious?”
“I did—”
“What lady?” Jovari interrupted her. He sat closest to her. Didn’t he already know? Her forehead crinkled.
“The lady we speak of is Lady Caterina.” All eyes turned to Reyr. “I apologize, Jovari, for not relaying the particulars during the heat of the moment. There was a skirmish between Caterina, Claire, and another servant girl—I do not know her name.”
“Wait—Lady Caterina?” Koldis sat forward in his seat. His face was eager. “Is this the same Lady Caterina whom we all love so dearly? That is the reason for this emergency?” His eyes moved from hers to Reyr’s, who confirmed the answer with a curt nod. Koldis grinned and turned to her before saying, “Let me get this straight, Claire, you knocked Lady Caterina unconscious?” Under his piercing gaze, she managed to nod. “Ha! Then why in the name of the gods are we sitting here as if you have committed a crime? A favor perha—”
Talon the Black Page 51