Heir of Pendel (A Pandoran Novel, #4)

by Barbara Kloss

  As it turned out, I didn't find out much. The estate sprawled in a maze of long hallways and short stairs, and it was like walking through the Natural History Museum—everything was off-limits. Most of the doors were locked, and those that weren't were flanked by intimidating looking men wearing blacks and reds, adorned in shiny swords. At the start of my solo tour, I approached a pair guarding one such door, and before I could even ask, they crossed their shiny swords before the door.

  I smiled and said, "Excuse me, sirs, but Lord Danton said I could give myself a tour this morning."

  "I'm sorry, your highness," one of the men said in a very nasally voice—the annoying sort that made you wince, "but you will have to restrict your wanderings to the halls. This room is off-limits, per order of Lord Pontefract."

  "Even for me?" I asked.

  "Especially for you, your highness."

  I didn't like that response, but I left, and the halls didn't prove to be any better. On both sides, standing a few feet from the walls themselves, were fences of brass poles with velvety red rope strung in between, posing an elegant barrier between the portraits hanging along the walls and me, so I was forced to observe them from the center of the hallway. So maybe I had learned a little something about Lord Commodus Pontefract: He didn't like people touching his things.

  After a while, I gave up and went outside to the gardens. It was colder today than it had been last night, and I slipped into my cloak, my breath clouding as I walked. The sky was dark and the air smelled like rain. I didn't know how long I'd be able to wander out here before the sky unleashed its fury, but being outside was better than being in Lord Commodus Pontefract's shrine of untouchables.

  My boots crunched on the gravel path leading into the gardens. The foliage here was plump and rich green, and left unattended it wouldn't take long for this meticulously manicured garden to denature into a tangle of overgrowth and weeds. Nothing was in bloom this time of year, but the garden remained fragrant with balsam and something like peppermint. A soft breeze whispered past, fluttering my cloak behind me, and my gravel trail turned into a thread of damp, rich earth that wove through the hedges. From my brief walk with Danton last night, and with a little help from the view from my bedroom window, I knew the garden was circular and all the notches led to the middle. I meandered through the hedges, passing a few gardeners along the way who were pruning the hedges with enormous shears.

  I reached the inner circle, walked to one of the stone benches, and sat down, relishing the fresh air. From where I sat, I could just see the second story of the Pontefract estate, all gloom and doom and spires in its Gothic glory. A little to my right was my bedroom window, reflecting the dark sky beyond. I rested the flats of my palms behind me, gripped the edge of the bench, and leaned back on my arms. It was peaceful and quiet here, even with the occasional snip-snip-snipping of pruning shears, and there was a somber quality to the air my spirit took comfort in.

  The wind stroked my cheeks and loosed a few strands of hair free from my braid.

  I will come for you soon, a voice said in my mind, startling me. It was that deep and timeless voice I'd thought was Cian, the wind elemental, but now, after all that'd happened with the dragons, I wasn't so sure anymore.

  I was about to ask "Who are you?" and "When is soon?" but then I remembered I'd heard the voice in my head, and I didn't think it would be a good idea for any of the gardeners to catch the princess of Gaia—Danton's soon-to-be betrothed—talking to herself. The wind rustled through the hedges, but the voice didn't speak again.

  My thoughts wandered back to Alex. What was he doing? Was he still in Karth? Or had he left the city? What would he do now? Probably set sail for the shores of Campagna with Sir Torren and his men. I wished I were there with him. I wanted to be there with him so badly, working beside him. Working together like we'd always done when we were little. Sometimes I still couldn't believe I hadn't realized I'd loved him back then, especially when it was so obvious to me now.

  Like that time—what, was it four years ago? Sonya had phoned saying Alex had been in a bad riding accident. He'd been put in ICU but his condition was stable and we shouldn't worry—she'd just wanted to let us know. I'd had the car backing out of the driveway within minutes, with my dad running out the door yelling at me. I was only fourteen, so I didn't have a driving permit or anything like that. Minor, irrelevant detail. Alex was hurt and I was going to see him—it was that simple. And then I was going to beat Jinx's hind for hurting him. I knew it was Jinx's fault. Alex had recently bought the thoroughbred, and he'd been breaking Jinx in, but it'd been difficult. Jinx was about as docile as a wild bull with a flag waving in front of its eyes.

  Since I wasn't getting out of the driver's seat without a slew of cross-your-hearts from my father, he soon succumbed to driving me three hours to the hospital where Alex was being kept. By the time we got there, Alex was no longer in ICU. They'd wheeled him to a double room he had to share with a very old man who snored like a bear. My dad stood in the hall with Sonya, but I could still see Alex lying on the bed with his foot in a cast, elevated in a sling hanging from the ceiling. There was a wrap around his temple, too, which made his dark hair stand straight up like he'd been electrocuted, and there was a nasty bruise on his left cheekbone, as well as a mesh of cuts on his cheeks and forearms. When he saw me standing in the threshold of his room, he grinned. It was a lopsided grin, because his bottom lip was swollen on one side, but his sentiment was undeniable—he was proud of his current incapacitation.

  Men.

  I'd rolled my eyes. "Oh, stop beaming, you idiot," I'd said, walking toward the edge of his bed. Alex's gaze followed me all the way, bright and alive.

  "Hey," he'd said. "Good to see you too."

  "You're lucky you can see me." I'd touched the bandage on his forehead before sitting on the edge of his bed, careful not to move the mattress too much, and I looked over the rest of him with a frown. "Do I want to know?"

  Alex had looked away, suddenly interested in the pulley-system supporting his bum leg.

  I knew it.

  Angry, I whacked his cast.

  He lunged for his cast. "Geeze, Daria!"

  "You promised you wouldn't ride her yet!" I'd growled, ignoring his grunting and wincing.

  "She was fine!"

  "Apparently." I moved to jab his cast again, but he grabbed my wrist. He'd grown a surprisingly strong grip in that last year. I glared at him and he just laughed. The sound, though familiar, was deeper and had a strange, hypnotizing effect on me I didn't understand. I wiggled my hand free. "All right, so what happened?"

  Alex had gone into a very detailed monologue about his morning with Jinx, and I remembered sitting there watching him. Admiring him. So animated as he spoke—he was still excited about the fact he'd almost died. And as it turned out—at least from his injured perspective—Jinx had been fine, right until the bunny. At which point it was as if the bunny were some fanged demon from hell who sent Jinx into a fit, and Jinx had bucked Alex right off. Down an embankment and into a pile of thorny bramble.

  "Quit looking at me like that." He rolled his eyes. "It's just a broken leg and a minor concussion."

  "Just." I'd snorted. "I think your brain is what's broken. Are you suicidal?"

  Alex reached for me with that proud and very lopsided grin. "But Daria…she finally let me ride her! Saddle…reins…everything!"

  I'd eyed him and frowned. "You're sick, you know that?"

  He'd laughed again, grabbing my wrists and pulling me closer, and I'd let him. He'd pulled me down until I was lying beside him, my feet dangling over the edge of the mattress, the two of us wedged in that hospital bed. It wasn't unusual for us. We used to lie all over each other all the time. Touching was familiar because of all our fighting and sparring and wrestling. We'd always been so comfortable with one another, back before everything had gotten so complicated. Back before he'd grown so serious with burden and responsibility—which I understood now.

 
; "You smell like grass," he'd said, playing with a piece of my hair.

  "That's because I was in the middle of mowing the lawn."

  "That's not a lawn. It's a carpet square."

  "Shush, before I break your other leg."

  I felt him chuckle against me.

  "I can't decide if I should be flattered you were so worried about me, or insulted…" he'd whispered on my hair, squeezing my waist.

  "Insulted. Definitely," I'd teased, poking him gently in the ribs. For some reason I hadn't felt comfortable telling him just how worried I'd been. Because I'd loved him even then, though I hadn't realized it at the time, and I'd refused to let my mind even creep to that precarious edge, because doing so made me feel vulnerable in a way I'd never felt before. And I was afraid of it. Alex's friendship was like a rare and precious gem I wanted to hide away and protect so that no outside force could take it away from me—or worse, shatter it and render it irreparable. And loving him in that way could do just that.

  A cool breeze whispered through the gardens of the Pontefract estate, bringing me back to the present. That was another time, another life. So, so long ago, it almost felt as if those memories belonged to another person. I closed my eyes, letting my mind slip away with it. I missed him. So much. I missed before, the way things had been, before all the walls and awkwardness and duty, and I missed the present, filled with all the raw passion and longing. I missed a future I would never have, not with him. My chest shook with my next breath and I swallowed.

  "Ah, there you are, your highness," said a silky voice.

  Groan. Maybe I should've thrown myself in the fire instead.

  I blinked my eyes open and sat up straight. "Lady Isla."

  She gave me a cherry-lipped smile, and I had the sudden urge to reach out and smudge her perfect lipstick. Isla looked particularly exquisite today, wrapped in a gown of lapis lazuli with black lace accents across the front of her torso and in long plates down her skirts. The fabric—some mixture of silk and chiffon—sashayed as she approached, the hem of her gown tickling the short green grass. Most of her red hair was hidden beneath a lacy black bonnet secured by a fat black ribbon tied under her chin. Long black gloves covered her slender hands and arms, and the cape hiding her shoulders was made of black velvet and lined with black silk. She looked as if she'd stepped out of a nineteenth-century edition of Vogue. Men fought with fists, but women fought with fashion, and Isla had just declared war.

  Her dark eyes did a once over my frame, and I could almost see her thoughts…

  Battle for Danton: Isla one, Daria zero.

  "I'm so glad to have found you," she said, those malignant eyes coming to rest upon my face. "Did you receive my note?"

  "I did."

  There was a moment's pause, and then she smiled broadly. "May I sit?" She waved at the empty space on the bench beside me.

  Before I could say a word, she was already wedging herself beside me. Isla adjusted her skirts then began tugging at the fingers of one of her gloves before pulling it free. "I was hoping to speak with you in the drawing room, and when you didn't show, I thought, perhaps, I was wrong to suggest a place so foreign to one of your upbringing"—she tugged off the other glove—"and I found myself thinking, if I were her highness, where would I be? Naturally, I recalled you preferred to be out of doors, and it seems my memory serves me right." She laid both gloves across her lap before smiling up at me.

  How she managed to thread insults into every saccharine word, I had no idea. It was a talent, no doubt, and I found myself staring at her.

  "How do you like the Pontefract estate?" she asked, all innocence.

  I had to guard every response with my life. Not something I was good at. "I like what I've seen of it so far."

  She smiled at nothing in front of us. "I know it isn't the grand Castle Regius you've grown accustomed to—no doubt both are far better than the bucolic setting I've heard you grew up in on Earth. For myself, I can't imagine living in such simple quarters without servants or cooks or a lady's maid or proper company. It's a wonder you've acquired a sense of decorum in such a short span of time, though you are a wonder…" She laughed to herself, brushing a stray red curl from her face. "But the Pontefract estate does have its charms, doesn't it? Personally, I like the sense of security I find here that doesn't exist in any of the other great houses."

  "Security?" It was a weak response, but it was all I could do not to throttle her on the spot.

  "Surely you've noticed how protective Lord Pontefract is with his home—the guards and garlands of rope." When she saw me nod (a very marginal nod, I might add), she continued. "And since he's granted me passage into any particular room I like, I find I may enter without concern of intruders. I do so love that about this place. It's difficult finding privacy when one is so admired. Though I figured due to the…abruptness of your arrival late last night, you have yet to be granted such privileges, which is why I thought to wait for you in the drawing room. It's rarely off-limits, even to the lower classes."

  Oh, why hadn't I just stayed in my room? "How long have you been a guest here?" I asked.

  "A few weeks. Father and I arrived not long after the games ended," she replied, seeming happy to discuss this topic. "My uncle, Lord Vega, had business with Lord Pontefract—they're always doing business together, you see. Lord Vega had other matters to attend, so he asked my father to come in his stead. It's not the first time, nor is it the first time Lord Danton has asked me to accompany him." The smile that followed was distant and pleasured, begging me to ask her for further clarification.

  Which I did not. "It's a good thing you and your father left when you did," I said. "This world isn't safe for travelers right now."

  "So I hear," she continued, losing the smile. "It's a wonder you made it all the way to Pendel in one piece, but then again, you did have your aegis with you. How is Aegis Alexander Del Conte, anyway? I so missed seeing his beautiful face around the castle. He was always so friendly with me…" She let her voice trail, and her smile returned.

  I resisted the urge to punch her in the face and dislocate her jaw so that she would stop talking. "Aegis Alexander Del Conte has always been a perfect gentleman—whether ladies have deserved it or not."

  Of course, Isla snatched at once like a starved bird being tossed a crumb. "I've no idea how you stand it."

  "What do you mean?"

  There was a glint in her eyes. "Oh, come, now. You can tell me. No woman alive could spend so much time alone in Alexander's company without…well, it would be improper for me to say it."

  I frowned. "But apparently it's not improper for you to think it."

  Her smile could've seduced a eunuch. "All we women are allowed are our thoughts, your highness. It's a man's world. If you do not see that now, you will soon. We women must use what we can." When I didn't respond, she continued. "It must be hard for you, not being able to do magic."

  This…all of this was why I'd avoided her. But then again, I could use her gossipy ways in my favor. The most valuable piece of information Isla could have would be concerning my magic. "Not as difficult as it would be for you, I'm sure," I said.

  She looked at me, curious. "Whatever do you mean, your grace?"

  I drew my attention to the hedge across from us that was currently being pruned. Then I imagined that hedge was Isla. Snip-snip-snip. "I grew up in a world without magic," I said. "I'm used to living without it, so I'm probably the best person to have to experience this…inability, because I never learned to rely on magic in the first place."

  She pondered this for a moment, and I could tell she'd been hoping for a different response. "A world without magic," she said more to herself. "I can't even fathom it."

  I didn't doubt there was an entire universe of things she couldn't fathom, but I was done with this conversation. I'd already endured more than I could stand, so I came up with a quick excuse before I could say something that would get me in trouble. "I don't mean to be rude, but I have some letter
s to write, so if you'll excuse me—" I started to get up.

  "Your highness, I sought you out because I wanted to talk with you about last night."

  I paused and looked down to find her smoothing the wrinkles from her gloves.

  She stopped and looked up at me. "I hope I didn't give you the wrong impression."

  "What impression would that be?"

  "Well…" She laughed like a chord of bells. "I know how it might have looked, his lordship and me all alone in this garden at such an hour, and I don't deny I would've jumped to a similar conclusion, had our roles been reversed."

  I stared at her, keeping my expression blank.

  "But I assure you we were only taking a midnight stroll," she continued in a syrupy voice. "We both adore them, you know—Lord Danton and I. Coming out here when it's quiet and there aren't so many listening ears. We can talk about so many things, confide in one another about politics and philosophy and books and dreams—without fret of being overheard. He and I are engaged to be married, you know, and I feel fortunate to be engaged to a man who values my ideals and opinions."

  That answered that question: He hadn't told her yet. Fine. And it seemed Danton had a grab bag of one-liners he liked to throw at women. "What do you want, Isla?" I snapped. "Really. I know you're not here because you care what I think."

  She looked so genuinely astonished I almost complimented her for the act. She even splayed fingers over her heart, or where her heart would be if she'd had one.