Lian dropped her fork and leapt away, but her chair caught on the rug. He seized her by the waist as she stumbled back into her seat, a smug smile on his flushed, round face. Several heads lifted.
“She saw a spider, I’m afraid,” he said.
They chuckled and turned their attention back to their dinners. Wevern leaned in. “Feisty. I like that. Makes the ride more adventurous, so to speak.”
“Not in your wildest dreams.” She grappled with his arm and toyed with the idea of spitting in his face or maybe even biting him. “Let me go, or I’ll –”
“Or you’ll what?” He pulled her closer.
A gloved hand clamped onto the count’s shoulder. “Everything all right, my Lady?”
Relief washed over her. “Gab – er, yes, Sir Gabriel.” She smiled up at him as the drunken count removed his hand from her back and nearly fell over as he swung around to face the fuming knight.
He surveyed the knight with a look of complete uninterest. “I was only complimenting the lady on her gown. You’re not needed here, Knight.” He waved Gabriel away and tried to shrug off his hand.
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as his fingers dug so deep into the count’s shoulder that he winced. He pitched his voice low. “Then I suggest you let your words speak for themselves and keep your hands where I can see them.”
Count Wevern sneered at him. “Careful, boy. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“Do you?”
Lian recognized the wicked glint in Gabriel’s eyes. She saw it when she watched Gabriel battle fifty opponents at the tournament last spring, which he championed, winning the rank of White Knight.
She wrung her napkin in her hands as she looked from one to the other. Half of her wanted Gabriel to beat Wevern senseless; the more sensible half dreaded what might happen to him if he did. The conversations around the room had not died away completely, but those who were closest to them had stopped to watch with mild amusement.
The air was so tense that the sound of a fork striking a goblet startled her so badly that she had to grip the table to keep from jumping. Every head swiveled to the end where Ana-Elise sat.
Gabriel lingered behind the count as a reminder to behave himself. She shot him a grateful smile before giving her full attention to whoever had struck the goblet.
A hush blanketed the room, and her face brightened when she saw the young man standing beside her half-sister. She wondered how she could have missed him. He must have snuck in late.
Alastor was a prince from a wealthy land across the Jasper Sea with whom they had been trading for a few months now. He was one of the few noblemen merchants that still did business with Asilee, despite its growing reputation for not wanting to pay back debt to allying countries.
Tonight he wore an elegant silver robe with spirals and symbols she had never seen before sewn along the neckline and pockets. His pale skin blended in with the metallic material, like he was wrapped in moonbeams, and his glossy black hair was pulled half-way back.
Alastor smiled and swept the room with open arms. “My lords and ladies, it is with great honor I share my good news with you this evening.” Ana-Elise fidgeted. His smile broadened as he glanced down at her, and she gave him a timid smile back as he reached for her hand and gently clasped it in his own. Her eyes warmed as she looked up at him.
Alastor faced the dinner patrons, his joy palpable. “The beautiful Lady Ana-Elise has agreed to marry me.”
There was a collective gasp of surprise as he lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across the back, her cheeks coloring as she dropped her gaze to her lap. Alastor nodded to Feron. “The magnanimous Arch Duke has given us his blessing.”
Applause and shouts of joy rang throughout the hall. Lian sat there dazed for a few moments as she drank it all in. Not wanting to look like a simpleton, she applauded half-heartedly, trying to mask her growing confusion.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Alastor was one of the few decent noblemen she knew, and Asilee would gain an invaluable ally through their marriage contract. Ruhge, Alastor’s homeland, was wealthy beyond imagination, perhaps enough to save their country from destruction. Then there was Ana. She wanted to love her sister, to be happy for her, but she couldn’t summon the will to be happy that such a good man was marrying a woman as frigid and cruel as Ana-Elise. Did that make her a terrible person? Part of her felt ashamed that she could think in such a manner, that she wasn’t strong enough to ignore her own prejudices and be happy for others. She cast another look at Alastor. Him. I could be happy for him. Maybe then, in time, I could be happy for Ana.
Someone cleared his throat loudly to her right. Her father, who looked like he should not be able to move in all the furs, brocade, and golden chains dangling from his body, had managed to stand and was waiting for the excitement to die down. Even in his sixties he was still a good-looking man. His auburn hair was streaked gray, but his brown eyes had long since lost their fervor for life.
He cupped his goblet in one hand, and his mouth twitched, like it was broken and no longer remembered how to smile. “At this time, I would like to offer my congratulations to you both,” he said, extending the goblet. He looked at Alastor. “I shall welcome the time when I can look upon you as a son.” His words were polite, but that was all. There was no lilt to his voice, only monotone syllables mumbled in what had once probably been a powerful bass.
No one else noticed the absence of enthusiasm and genuine happiness in his voice. Smiles and murmurs of agreement spread around the table as the courtiers took to their own goblets and raised them high in the air.
To her surprise, Feron was not finished. “In honor of this engagement, I would like to invite you all to a celebration to be held three nights from now, an evening of gaiety grander than there ever was this side of the Jasper Sea.” He raised his glass to Ana-Elise and Alastor. “May you both live long, fulfilling lives, and may your rule be prosperous.”
“Hail, Lord Alastor! Hail, Lady Ana-Elise!”
He tilted his goblet to his lips, and a sliver of red liquid dribbled down his chin. Everyone else followed suit.
Lian took a sip and set her glass down, more in respect to Alastor than Ana-Elise, and felt the slightest bit guilty for it.
Within minutes, the hall was once again buzzing with laughter as people stood to shake hands and offer their congratulations to the couple. Lian finished her drought and stared at Alastor and Ana down the length of her empty goblet, like a telescope. At least they’ll have handsome children.
Ana was clearly her father’s child, but she also possessed many features of the late Duchess, the most notable being her striking gray eyes. Her skin was as smooth as ivory, as her mother’s had been, but her hair was a deep auburn, almost black, that shimmered blood red in the light. She was exquisite, and her glacial demeanor only seemed to compound her beauty, a quality Lian had never quite understood.
Despite her reservations, Lian had to admit that Ana-Elise looked happier than she could ever remember. Was that what it was to be in love? To be so completely consumed by joy so as to actually glow from it?
Lian turned her head and found Gabriel staring at her from a few feet away. His hazel eyes were intense. She had only seen that intensity when she watched him practice throughout the years they had grown up together. He started, realizing she was watching him, and smiled and waved. She started to wave back when a voice spoke directly behind her.
“Little Lian.”
She yelped and whirled around to find Alastor grinning at her. He stifled a laugh as she grasped the arm of the chair for support while she caught her breath.
Alastor dramatically clutched a hand to his chest. “My Lady,” he drawled, “I know I make quite an impression, but this? Really, you’re too kind.”
Her face felt hot, much hotter than it normally did when she blushed, and she felt surprisingly carefree. “You see what happens when you sneak up on a lady? It’s positively devastat
ing!” She slowly blinked. The room looked funny, like it was not quite in focus.
He smiled sheepishly. “I apologize for scaring you. I thought you heard me coming.”
She eyed him with a sloppy grin on her face. He may belong to Ana-Elise, but that didn’t mean she had to be blind. As long as he was here, why not savor the view? She clucked her tongue and rose to her feet, gripping the table as she tried to regain her balance. How many goblets of honey-drought had she consumed that night? She lost count at three.
Alastor moved to pull her chair out of the way as she took a step and stumbled backward. “Easy there,” he said, grasping her arm. He chuckled. “You remind me so much of myself when I was your age: somewhat unsure of yourself and a little reckless.” He said the last word with a wink.
Lian giggled and with considerable effort turned around to face him. “Wherever are my manners? I offer you both my sincerest congratulations.” She offered him her hand.
Alastor’s face lit up. “And I gladly accept.” He took her hand and gently kissed the back of it. “I hope you don’t mind calling me brother someday, Lian. Your sister... well, she is the center of my world.” He stole a sidelong glance at his bride-to-be across the room, his expression growing starry-eyed and distant.
Lian grasped both his hands between hers. They were soft, like silk. Had she been sober, she might have thought the gesture too bold. “Lord Alastor –”
“Please. You told me I could call you by your nickname. Since I don’t have one, Alastor alone will do.”
She beamed at him. “Alastor, I already think of you as a brother, and I know you’ll be good for Ana. I just hope she grows a heart sometime before you’re permanently stuck with her.”
She realized what she said too late and bit her tongue.
Alastor’s smile faltered, but luckily, Wevern waddled up to them. He stepped in front of Lian like she wasn’t there, and she took it as a welcome chance to escape before she could embarrass herself further.
She scanned the room for Gabriel, but he had disappeared.
Her heart sank a little, and she left the hall without saying goodnight to anyone. Not that it mattered. No one would notice her missing.
The rain had stopped, and the only sound in the dark hallway was the hissing of the torches as she passed and the clip clop of her heels. As she stumbled back to her bedroom, she became more and more aware of the teardrop resting on her chest. She glanced around to make sure she was alone and tugged it free. It twinkled with that swirling white light, beautiful and frightening at the same time.
Her head spun, no doubt worsened by the drought. No one had mentioned losing a piece of jewelry at dinner, and she hadn’t picked up on any rumors circulating around the staff. She considered posting a notice around the fortress about a missing necklace, but quickly dismissed the idea. Any of those desperate, greedy weasels would claim the teardrop as their own if they thought it would trade well for another month’s worth of liquor or vern.
She clenched the teardrop in her fist, overtaken by a sudden urge to protect it. But the feeling was gone as quickly as it came, and her eyelids drooped as she was hit by a wave of exhaustion. Tomorrow. I’ll figure out what to do with it tomorrow.
As she crossed the passage that overlooked the training yard, the sounds of swords clashing against armor and shields drifted up to her. She tucked the teardrop away and paused on the landing.
Could Gabriel be training at this hour? It must be nearly midnight. Her heart began to race as she tiptoed to the balcony’s rail, eager to catch a glimpse of him. Her head was beginning to clear, but her skin still felt flushed and her equilibrium askew. Gritting her teeth against her growing headache, she gripped the cool iron railing for balance and strained to see the figures sparring below.
CHAPTER 3Premonition
ROWAN SNARLED AS HE lunged for his opponent, the tip of his sword aimed for the heart.
The bulky figure countered him with a swing of a shield, knocking his sword to the side as Rowan stumbled past him. Panting, he lifted a gloved hand to wipe his forehead and brush his bangs from his eyes. Though the rain had cooled the air, it was still unbearably muggy, a typical Asilean summer night.
“You really need to cut that.”
The sound of Orris’ harsh bass was muffled inside the helmet, but that did not make it any less menacing. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I could use it against you in battle.”
Rowan rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’ve heard it all before,” he muttered, studying Orris as he squatted into a defensive position. Rowan imagined the twisted scar curving into a jeer of pointy yellowed teeth as Orris held his shield in front of him and clutched a dagger the size of an infant in his free hand.
Rowan attacked, slicing his sword to the left. At the last moment, when it looked like Orris would fall for his bluff, Rowan quickly changed directions, aiming for the exposed spot along the ribs.
The corners of Rowan’s lips curled in a triumphant grin. Got him.
Orris’ weight shifted. Before Rowan could blink, Orris lunged to the side of his outstretched arm and nailed him square in the chest with his elbow.
Rowan dropped his sword as his breath left him in one huge gush. He stumbled backward, brain scrambled from the blow, and bent over to clumsily grope for the sword. A shadow moved from the corner of his eye.
What the –
Before he could finish the thought, Orris had stepped behind him, grabbed his arm, pinned it behind his back, and knocked him to his knees with a sharp kick. It happened so fast that Rowan barely had time to register he had lost before Orris grabbed a fistful of his shaggy hair and yanked his head backwards, exposing his throat. Orris laid his dagger alongside his neck.
For a few moments, Rowan only sat there catching his breath. What happened? Did he really just lose again?
His body finally slacked with the acceptance of surrender. Orris released his grip, sheathing his dagger as he did.
Rowan buckled over and gingerly rubbed his chest. “Did you really – have to hit me – that hard?” he said between gulps of air.
Orris only grunted as he removed his helmet and shook out his sopping wet hair. He stalked over to his bag and removed a cotton cloth, turning his back to Rowan as he methodically began polishing his shield.
“You haven’t been practicing.” Orris continued to clean his shield, moving his hand in short circular strokes. He did not sound angry. His tone was even and gruff, like he was merely making an observation.
Rowan swallowed hard and suppressed a bitter laugh. “Yes, well, I’ve been busy.” He already spent a good twenty hours a week training in addition to his duties as Black Knight. What made Orris think he’d want to spend every waking hour with a sword in his hand?
Rowan rose and stretched his arms high over his head, trying to loosen up his already sore chest.
“Putting this off isn’t going to change anything,” Orris said. “You’re still going to take my place someday.”
Rowan let his arms fall to his sides and groaned. “Save your breath, Father. We’ve already been through this a thousand times.”
He shuffled over to the bench, swiped his towel and closed his eyes, trying to calm his unsettled nerves. He was so focused on his own thoughts that he didn’t hear the footsteps until they were upon him.
Orris grabbed his shoulder, swung him around, and backhanded him hard across the cheek, gauntlet still on.
Rowan bit his lip to keep from swearing; that would only make Orris hit him again. He tasted blood on his lip and on the inside of his mouth where his teeth had cut into his tongue from the force of the blow. He closed his eyes, breathing hard as his father began his tirade.
“Then you must not have been listening the first thousand times! Gods, Rowan, why do I have to keep repeating myself? You’re nearly eighteen years old. When I was your age, I was already a sergeant with a unit of my own men. And what have you done? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“And
I’ve told you I don’t want this. I don’t care about being captain!” Rowan shouted, drawing himself even.
Orris’ eyes burned, the centers like tiny glowing coals. “You’re too young to realize what a fool you sound like. This family has had generations of established soldiers, and I will be damned if it ends with my son because he didn’t want to.”
Rowan looked away, unable to stand looking at his father. He silently fumed as Orris turned his head, spitting loudly. “Don’t forget about what we spoke of earlier,” Orris said, lowering his voice. “You don’t have much time to claim it. Don’t let me down again.”
Rowan glared at him. As if I could possibly forget when you remind me at every turn.
Without another word, Orris stormed out of the training yard, throwing his helmet to the ground as he went.
Rowan’s loathing toward his father felt like acid, slowly decaying his insides with hatred and resentment as he watched the retreating figure. Someone gasped softly from above. He whirled around to find a ghost staring down at him, her eyes and mouth drawn wide in shock.
No, not a ghost, he thought with growing distaste. A girl; Lianora.
“You don’t have much time to claim it.”
His irritation grew. She’s nothing but trouble. She’s driven a wedge through the royal family, and now she’s going to drive one between my father and me. How important can a damn necklace be?
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, lining up venomous words on his tongue. When he looked back up, retort ready, she was gone.
The training yard was once again quiet, save for the soft erratic clicking of the greyner beetles. Scowling, he cried out and kicked the helmet as hard as he could, pitching it clear across the yard into one of the wooden dummies. He looked very much like a spoiled kid throwing a temper tantrum and didn’t care in the least.
The military academy had been his home, the cadets his family. They raised him as one of their own after his mother died and he saw less and less of his father. But every day, the glass walls seemed more and more like a prison.
Veiled Innocence (Book One, The Soul Cycle) Page 3