by Jasmine Walt
6
“Make sure that you get that sent off right away,” Lady Tyrook ordered as Calrain finished dictating her letter. “I want this business concluded as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, my lady,” Calrain said, inclining his head. “I’ll have it taken care of immediately.”
He tossed a bit of sand on the parchment to help the ink dry, then folded up the letter and tucked it into his robes, revealing nothing of his feelings. But as he left Lady Tyrook’s solar, anger and dread warred in his heart, squeezing at his temples and making his stomach churn.
The letter he’d just dictated was to Lord Sowell, accepting his marriage proposal to Tariel on the condition that he come to discuss terms today and meet his future wife. Lord Sowell, the pompous, fat pig who had already put two wives in the grave and viewed women as little more than receptacles for his seed. Calrain had heard the stories, and the impression the man had given him the one and only time he’d seen him had only reinforced those rumors.
If Lady Tyrook thought she was doing anything other than sending Tariel to an early death, she was gravely mistaken. White hot anger flashed through Calrain, and if he’d still had the letter in his hand, he would have torn it to pieces. How could she allow this to happen? Tariel was her ward. Wasn’t it her duty to protect her, and see to it that she was married off to someone respectable?
But then again, it wasn’t really up to Lady Tyrook, Calrain thought dully. It was Tariel’s mysterious benefactor, who had convinced Lady Tyrook to take her in. Calrain had no idea why this benefactor would approve of Lord Sowell and not the other suitors who had tried to take home the foreign beauty, but then again, the entire situation was strange. Why did the benefactor hand Tariel off to Lady Tyrook to begin with, rather than raising her themselves?
Calrain meant to head straight back to the clerk’s office, but instead he found himself detouring by Tariel’s tower room. As he climbed the stairs to the second floor, his mind began to race. Was there anything he might do to help her? He could try tearing up the letter, but Lady Tyrook would eventually find out that it had never been sent, and he would be punished by Brother Tersen for the oversight. Besides, that would only delay the inevitable…
“What are you doing here?” a sharp voice asked, and Calrain started at the sight of a maid standing outside Tariel’s door.
“I could ask the same of you,” Calrain said, hiding his dismay. Had Lady Tyrook set a guard outside Tariel’s door?
“I had left a feather duster behind and came here to retrieve it.” The maid shook the item in question, which was clutched in her left hand. “But that doesn’t explain what you are doing here.”
“I heard that she was in distress,” Calrain said, thinking quickly, “and I came to offer my services as a servant of Roisen. Might I call on her?”
The maid narrowed her eyes, studying him for a moment. “If you insist,” she said dubiously, turning around. She raised her fist to knock on the door, but it creaked open, and Tariel poked her head out. Her eyes were a bit red-rimmed, her black hair tousled, but even so, the sight of her stunning face knocked the breath out of Calrain. Gods, what he wouldn’t give to be able to spend time with her again, though he imagined the activities they would be getting up to in the storage room would be quite different…
“Are you all right?” Tariel asked, a puzzled look on her face.
Calrain’s cheeks flamed as he realized he’d been staring. “Yes, just a bit tired,” he said, bowing his head. “Might I escort you to the prayer room for some reflection?”
Tariel gave him a small smile, but he did not miss the flash of gratitude in her eyes. “I would like that very much,” she said. “Just give me a moment to make myself presentable.”
She opened the door a bit wider to let the maid in, and a few minutes later, came back out. Her long, dark hair was pulled up into a simple bun, exposing the slender column of her throat, and her face seemed a bit brighter, as if she’d splashed some water on it. Her smile warmed Calrain’s heart as they descended the stairs together, and butterflies began to dance in his stomach.
It had been so long since the two of them had done more than greet each other in the great hall during meals. Why had he not thought of doing this before? The prayer room was a perfect place for an acolyte of Roisen to meet a woman, provided that they were discreet…
What are you thinking? he scolded himself. Just because he wanted Tariel didn’t mean she felt the same. After all, it hadn’t been him she’d tried to visit this morning, had it? No, she had a taste for strong, handsome knights, and that was neither here nor there anyway. He had come to her tonight to offer help, nothing more. Besides, that infernal maid had decided to accompany them. How was he to talk to her with the servant looking over their shoulder?
“Here we are,” the maid said as they stopped outside a simple wooden door. “While you two pray, I’ll just nip off to the kitchens for a quick bite. Don’t go anywhere else while I’m gone,” she warned Tariel.
“I’ll make sure she is on her best behavior,” Calrain promised. A wave of sweet relief swept through him as he ushered Tariel inside. Finally, a chance for them to be alone together!
The prayer room was completely dark save for a handful of candles set in wall sconces, and the flickering flames seemed to emphasize the shadows more than they drove the darkness out. Tariel seemed to notice the same thing, for she shivered as she looked up at the towering statue of Roisen centered in the circular chamber. He was a muscular giant dressed in glorious armor, his hair cropped close to his square head, his teeth bared in a fierce snarl as he wielded a shield in one hand and a lightning bolt in the other.
“I feel like he might smite me as I stand here,” she whispered, her eyes glued to the bolt gripped in the storm god’s fist.
“Roisen might be a stern god, but he is not a cruel one,” Calrain said, though the words did not sound quite convincing even to his own ears. But what else could he say? “So long as we obey him in all things, we shall be rewarded in the afterlife.”
“And what about this life?” Tariel argued, her eyes flashing. “Are we to suffer as we try to hold to his ideals, even as we shun our own needs and desires? And if we do not adhere to his tenets to the letter, will we be flung into the endless storms of hell?”
“I…” Calrain opened his mouth, then closed it again, realizing there was nothing he could say about their faith that would reassure her. “I did not really bring you down here to pray,” he said, clasping her hands in his. “I came because I heard what Lady Tyrook plans to do with you, and I want to offer my assistance, in any way I can.”
Tariel’s lush mouth formed a small o, her eyes widening with surprise. She looked so lovely, the candlelight highlighting her perfect features and illuminating the brilliant azure of her irises. Her small fingers curled around Calrain’s hands, making his breath catch in his throat. When was the last time they had touched?
“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” she said, flinging her arms around his neck. It was Calrain’s turn to be surprised as she hugged him, and his entire body flared with desire as she pressed her sweet curves against him. “You always were so sweet to me,” she said, pulling back to look up at him, “but I don’t see how there is anything you can do to help me, Calrain. My only hope is to make myself repugnant when Lord Sowell comes to visit tomorrow, so that he might change his mind about taking me as a wife.”
Calrain shook his head. “I don’t see how that’s possible,” he said, grazing his knuckles across one of her exquisitely formed cheekbones. “Even if you smeared horse dung all over your face, you would still be the most beautiful woman in the land.”
Tariel’s laugh rang out, echoing off the walls in the small stone chamber. “You are too kind,” she said. “But for my sake, I do hope you are wrong.”
Calrain opened his mouth to say something else, but at the sound of footsteps outside the door, they sprang apart. They had just managed to hit the ground, hands clasped while th
ey knelt in front of Roisen, when the door opened, and the maid came in. Calrain’s heart pounded as he bowed his head and pretended to pray, hoping the maid couldn’t sense anything was amiss. But the woman merely knelt with them and waited until they had finished.
“I thought I heard laughing,” she said as they exited the prayer room together. Her eyes were narrowed with suspicion. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the two of you went in there to do something other than pray.”
Tariel’s face went pale, but Calrain didn’t miss a beat. “I can assure you, my devotion lies entirely with the storm god,” he said, hiding a flash of anger at the maid for being such a busybody. “I hope you managed to find some peace in your prayers tonight, Tariel. Good evening.”
He bowed, then turned on his heel and left, heading to the clerk’s office. Hopefully Tariel could convince Lord Sowell that she was not a suitable match. In the meantime, Calrain would continue to think, and see if there wasn’t something he could do to get the woman he loved out of this terrible mess.
7
The next morning, Tariel was awoken by a different servant and told that she would be skipping the morning lessons with the other foster girls. Lord Sowell would be arriving to meet with her at midday, and she needed to bathe and dress to receive him.
She expected to wear the least threadbare of her dresses, but to her surprise, two more servants came in, bearing a fine dress of deep green, with matching ribbons for her hair. The servants didn’t have to explain the meaning behind Lady Tyrook’s uncharacteristic generosity—she was a sow being taken to market.
She just had to make sure Lord Sowell didn’t buy.
After the servants had finished bathing and dressing Tariel, they left her alone in her room to await Lord Sowell’s arrival. At first, being alone with her thoughts was excruciating, as she had nothing to focus on but the fears incessantly gnawing at her. But the time ended up going far too fast, and before she knew it, she was escorted to an unused drawing room.
“Ah, here is my bride-to-be,” Lord Sowell chortled as Tariel entered the room. She desperately hoped the servant would come in with her, but instead he bowed his head and retreated, taking up a post outside. Thankfully, the door was left open a crack, so Tariel could scream for help if she truly needed it. But there would be no one to see if Lord Sowell made any inappropriate advances on her, and she knew he would not be able to resist.
“Good afternoon, Lord Sowell,” Tariel said politely, curtsying. She ignored his invitation to sit on the sofa next to him, and instead took up a seat directly opposite him. “Thank you for coming to meet me on such short notice.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Lord Sowell said, his muddy eyes raking across her form. Tariel suppressed a shiver of revulsion, knowing that he was already undressing her in his mind. “Have you had your maids pack up your things yet? You will be moving to my estate very soon, after all.”
Tariel swallowed, deciding not to mention that she did not have maids of her own—clearly Lord Sowell thought she was better kept than she actually was. “I have not,” she confessed. “In fact, I have not decided to marry you.”
Lord Sowell’s thick, dark brown eyebrows bunched together, and his fat jowls quivered. “Lady Tyrook assured me that you were in full agreement. The preparations for the wedding are already underway.”
Tariel squared her shoulders and forced herself to meet the man’s gaze. “Even so, I have not given my consent, and cannot. I’m afraid I would be a terrible wife, Lord Sowell—I hold no affection for you, and there is little about you I find appealing.”
Lord Sowell leered at her. “Your affection is irrelevant,” he said, leaning in. “A woman does not have to love a man to bear him children, and with a body like that, I am confident you can bear me many sons.” His meaty hand closed around her hip and squeezed. “My last two wives were weak, sickly creatures, the first unable to accept my seed, the second incapable of producing anything more than stillborns. You are just what I need to ensure my line continues.”
“If it is a broodmare you are looking for, you must seek her elsewhere,” Tariel insisted, slapping his hand away. “You are a detestable and repulsive man, and I will not submit to your boorish attentions!”
Lord Sowell laughed, then lunged forward and grabbed Tariel by the throat. She cried out in pain as he dragged her forward, hauling her to her feet. Magic surged through her body in response, and it was all she could do not to lash out at him.
“Oh, I will take great pleasure in taming you,” he gloated as she gasped for air. His hot, sour breath spewed over her face as he pulled her close, his fleshy lips mere millimeters away from her skin. “It’s the spitfires that are always the most fun to break.”
He crushed his mouth against Tariel’s, and the taste of him was so repugnant, Tariel could not hold back any longer. She shoved him as hard as she could, and her magic sent him flying into the sofa behind him. There was a loud crack as he struck his head against the hard wooden frame, and he slumped sideways, unconscious.
“Oh gods,” Tariel breathed, clapping her hands to her mouth. Panic rolled through her as she realized what she had done.
“What happened?” the servant cried, rushing into the room. His face paled at the sight of Lord Sowell, prone on the sofa. “Is he injured?”
“I’m not sure,” Tariel said, torn between the desire to check him for a pulse and the need to stay as far away from him as possible. “He collapsed without warning and hit his head on the couch.”
The servant touched Lord Sowell on his head, then jumped back when the man let out a loud groan. “I did no such thing,” he growled, opening bleary eyes. He jabbed an accusing finger at Tariel. “You struck me!”
“I—I—”
“Leave us,” Lord Sowell hissed at the servant. He ignored the servant’s attempts to help him up into a sitting position, and glared at him until the servant skittered out of the room. “And shut the door behind you!”
“No!” Tariel cried, but it was too late. The servant wasn’t going to help her, not after what she’d done. A shadow fell over her, and she looked up just in time for Lord Sowell to grab a fistful of hair. He yanked her head back so sharply she felt something crack, and pain zinged through her neck.
“I don’t know how a scrawny little thing like you managed to push me over, but it wouldn’t be too difficult to convince the others you did it with witchcraft,” Lord Sowell snarled. “If you do not agree to this marriage, and submit to my every wish, I will summon Jerrold the Witch Hunter and have you burned at the stake. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes,” Tariel stammered, her heart pounding with fear. She wished there was something she could do to stand up to Lord Sowell, but even if she could strike at him again with her magic, it would do no good. If he survived, he would have her burned at the stake, and if he did not, she would be hanged for murder.
“Good. Now give your husband-to-be a kiss.”
Tariel squeezed her eyes shut as Lord Sowell mashed his wet lips against hers. Tears burned at the corners of her eyelids as her new fiancé slobbered all over her, and she wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor and never, ever come back up again.
She had tried to get Lord Sowell to reject her, and now, he held the ultimate threat over her head. Her only choice was to submit…or to fall upon a sword of her own making and die with what dignity she still had left.
8
Tariel wanted nothing more than to retreat to the solace of her rooms, but after Lord Sowell informed Lady Tyrook that Tariel had accepted his proposal, Tariel was forced to spend the rest of the afternoon with them as they talked through various negotiations and discussed the details of the wedding. She spoke as little as possible, but Lord Sowell didn’t seem to mind—her presence was less about the need for her opinion and more to ensure her obedience.
After dinner, Lord Sowell informed them he needed to get back to the estate, and that he would be back in seven days for the wedding. Lady Tyrook all
owed him to escort her back to her tower room before he took his leave, and at the top of the steps, Tariel was forced to endure yet another one of his awful kisses. He pressed her up against the wall, and terror gripped Tariel’s throat as his engorged manhood jutted against her thigh through her skirts. A servant waited just below, but Lord Sowell needed only to clap a hand around her mouth to ensure she didn’t scream if he wanted to violate her. With the threat of being burned at the stake hanging over her head, she would not be able to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to her body.
“Don’t fret, bride,” he sneered, pulling away. “I will not invite Roisen’s wrath upon me by taking you before our wedding night. You will be safe until then, as long as you remain on your best behavior. Don’t even think about trying to escape—you’ll be watched very carefully while I’m gone.”
Tariel said nothing—she simply wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, the only show of defiance she could manage. Lord Sowell’s eyes narrowed at the insult, but as he looked her up and down in the dim light, taking in the way her entire body quaked with fear and rage, a smirk curled his fat lips. Oh, how she wished she could hide her weakness from him!
When Lord Sowell finally lumbered down the stairs, Tariel sighed in relief. It took her several fumbling tries with the key to get the door open, her hands were shaking so hard. Only when she locked the door securely behind her did she finally let the tears flow freely.
What was she to do now? Even if she kept her head down and did as Lord Sowell asked, she was bound to have a magical outburst in his presence sooner or later. She wouldn’t be surprised if it happened during their wedding night, and she injured him, or even accidentally killed him.
What if you did it on purpose? an insidious voice whispered in her mind. If you used your magic to make it look like an accident, you would gain his land and wealth.