The Pearl Savage

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Charles bowed. “Princess Clara.” His eyes twinkled as the sod knew very well how she hated the title.

  Clara returned a perfunctory curtsy automatically. “I see you are in good spirits.”

  “Ah yes, a Day of Birth celebration for my dearest friend, what must I feel badly about?” Charles said, raising a brow, tapping a finger on his head as if confused.

  Olive giggled behind them, she found Charles amusing. Clara did as well, but not so much this day.

  Charles examined her expression. “Clara,” he lowered his voice, “there is no alternative, you must persevere.”

  His sadness cloaked her. Charles would rather slay himself with the sword he practiced with than have her married to Frederick.

  Clara felt shame redden her cheeks, he was her dear friend, and as constrained by rules as she. Taking his hand she squeezed it and he leaned down, whispering in her ear, “That is the Clara I know, brave heart. Take my arm, Princess.”

  Clara slipped her arm through Charles’, noticing how tall he had become, the top of her head able to brush his chin. His dark eyes regarded her solemnly, it was time to greet Queen Ada, her mother.

  They approached the throne which sat upon a circular dais. The steps leading to her throne shone in the warm light of the steam-chandeliers, their crystal orbs casting a golden glow directly over the dais, spreading like molten water over the floor before them.

  The Queen regarded them with thinly veiled disdain, her tapered finger eternally running up and down the crystal stem of her emerald wine goblet that shimmered like a jewel in the light.

  “Daughter of mine,” Queen Ada said with silken menace encasing every syllable, “what reason have you for being late to your own Day of Birth celebration. Leaving,” she gave a slight incline of her head, “Prince Frederick, in a most unescorted plight.” Her gaze bored through Clara with talons.

  She allowed herself to look at Prince Frederick, whose thunderous expression told her that her mother was not the only one from whom she would have to assuage temper.

  “Do not look at Prince Frederick,” Queen Ada roared, causing the crowd to gasp, “address your queen!”

  Charles moved behind Clara, unlacing their arms and putting his hand at the small of her back.

  Queen Ada’s razor stare turned to Charles. “She is not to be coddled.”

  Charles hand fell away from Clara’s back and she stood, vulnerable and seemingly alone before Ada.

  Clara took a stoic breath, bracing herself, knowing the shock wave she would send through the crowd. “I have a tale of great magnitude.” Every eye was upon Clara, a feeling of great excitement stole around her heart, squeezing it. “I have seen a savage.”

  The gasps were as one, loud in their combined softness.

  Queen Ada stood, her goblet temporarily forgotten, as Elvira, her lady-in-waiting, swooped forward to steady it. Clara watched her regain her balance, swaying only a little.

  “You lie.” She stood in her swirling gown of deep purple, her favorite color, a long, sensuous rope of black pearls looped and knotted, reaching her knees. Samuel’s pearls, only the rarest for Ada. She never thought of her mother as such, it was always Ada, or The Queen.

  “I do not. I was taking my leave before this celebration,” Clara turned to the many faces, some of which she was close enough to reach out and touch, and spoke to them, giving her back to Ada, a brave thing, “and saw him at the border of the Forest which lays Outside.”

  More gasping. The sightings of the savages had increased in number, along with the sentries at the critical sphere passages between kingdoms.

  Charles grasped her elbows, turning her to face him. “You say you saw one? How close, Cla… Princess.” Charles corrected.

  “I ask the questions here, not you.” The Queen turned her fearsome expression to Clara. “Perchance you use this ridiculous story as a ruse to grant you my mercy for the disrespect you show us by your lateness.” She looked at Clara, for all her drink, brightly and with a keenness that Clara knew very well.

  Clara ignored the question, hoping to distract with her tale.

  “He ran with great speed to my window which faces Outside.” Many voices began at once and Clara was forced to stop her commentary.

  “Silence!” Queen Ada bellowed and the crowds’ voices faded.

  Ada swung her attention to Frederick. “What say you? Does my daughter bear tales?”

  As if he would have a fig’s reckoning of her state of mind.

  Frederick glared down at Clara, she a terrible but necessary inconvenience, one he would obtain to further his wealth, she was but a pawn on his kingdom’s chessboard.

  Frederick sat slightly lower and to the left of Ada, the King of Kentucky to Ada’s right. It was he, not Frederick who answered, “If I may, I feel disinclined that Princess Clara would falsify such a tale at a time when these savages are unveiling their presence.”

  Clara gulped back her anxiety, eternally thankful for King Otto, who inadvertently paved the way for her next comment, “I may know why they survive Outside,” the silence was that of a tomb but Clara continued, “the male had…” Clara gestured to the slender column of her neck, and the many faces of the crowd followed her motion, “…gills. They appear to aid in his breathing.”

  Excited conversations exploded all around Clara and she hazarded a look at Queen Ada, who looked as if her breath had been robbed, sitting down in a very un-royal heap upon her throne.

  Charles studied Clara, his hand still encircling an elbow when Prince Frederick was suddenly there. “Unhand my betrothed, Mr. Pierce.”

  Charles stared at the Prince with an unwavering gaze, his brown eyes steady, his fingers loosening… then falling away. Clara looked at Charles, her eyes warning him. She saw in his eyes a wish to maim, which would not do, it would not do at all. Her gaze traveling and finding the Prince’s guards.

  “Come Clara,” he said her name with an intimacy he would never earn, “sit beside your future king.”

  Clara would rather drown in the oyster fields than be near him. She turned to look at Charles, and he mouthed, I will be here.

  Clara lifted her skirts to assure her footing as she climbed the dais, sitting in the small, gilded throne at the lower left of Ada, sandwiched between the loathsome Prince and her drunken mother, the one who would whore her for free grapes, giving up their precious legacy of pearls for her love of the cup.

  CHAPTER 3

  Clara’s gaze fell upon the crowd so deeply engaged in the titillating news of a close sighting of a savage. Not a glimpse, no, but an entirely intimate appraisal. She could feel the uncomfortable presence of Prince Frederick at her back, his displeasure with her a thing he bore. He had made it clear that she was not suitable for him. With her very unfeminine desire to man the oyster fields, he had been quite vocal in his dislike of her duties.

  His irritation pleased her.

  It was well-known (at least in her sphere) that the Kingdom of Kentucky was ill-managed; Prince Frederick acted not in the least concerned for his peoples’ prosperity. There had been rumors of poverty which included starvation, unheard of in most spheres.

  A hand gripped her collar bone painfully and Clara checked her expression so the pain would not show. “Smile, my dear, let them all know how happy you are that I have deigned to show my affection for you,” the Prince whispered, his breath so like a rotten fruit that Clara stifled a gag. She plastered a false smile on her face which immediately alarmed Charles, his foot resting on the bottom step of the dais. Clara gave a minute shake of her head, stay there, the look said. She was stuck as a butterfly with a pin through its wing; the Prince abused her in a multitude of subtleties. She could guess what a marriage with him would entail. He released her and the numbness where his hand had been faded, to be replaced with a throbbing that kept pace with her heart.

  Ada leaned forward. “You will explain this later, my daughter, in detail.”

  “Yes, my Queen.” Ada placed her hand at t
he back of Clara’s neck and squeezed hard, a favorite tender spot to abuse. At every vantage point, she was higher than Clara, as tall as most men, and always higher on the dais, always. Clara struggled not to whimper at the double abuse of both the Prince and the Queen. It was a near thing and difficult to hide from her people.

  Ada and King Otto had their heads pressed together in royal commune which suited Clara very well. It meant that the Queen’s attention lay elsewhere. Finally, amongst the noise of the peoples’ conversation, King Otto clapped his hands three times, causing Clara to flinch, which amused Frederick as the crowd quieted.

  “Hail the People of the Kingdom of Ohio. On this day it is not just a Day of Birth Celebration, but also a day of exciting news,” a somber expression rode his face, “your Princess claims to have seen one of these savages near-at-hand and will now explain them to us.”

  Once more, all eyes were on Clara. As unprepared as she felt, she knew the violence that awaited for non-compliance, so she began, “He seemed of rugged countenance but not a danger.”

  A person from the crowd shouted, “How can that be? We know they are to be feared.” Clara’s eyes narrowed, taking in the stance of the speaker.

  “That is what we have been told by the Record Keeper.” A disquieted silence fell, “and this may be, but this savage offered no violence. It is my belief that he was… curious of us.”

  “Of you, Princess.” This came from one of the men which captained the pungy boat, used to navigate the oyster fields.

  “Mayhap of me or it could be happenstance that I stood by the window, giving opportunity at just the right moment.”

  Olive spoke next, “Tell us, your highness, what did it look like?”

  The group in front leaned forward to catch her words, “He was of huge body and limb, with long hair to here,” Clara indicated her shoulders, “and of fierce expression.” Clara did not indicate clothing as it would be an embarrassment in front of the People, his nakedness scandalous.

  The great time piece chimed four times, its deep timber reverberating inside the Gathering Room like a quaking of the earth. Steam rose to the sphere’s arc, the hissing vapors seemingly disappearing.

  The Queen broke through the questions with a final, “Enough of the supposed savage, let us celebrate my daughter’s Day of Birth.”

  Clara knew Queen Ada wished to know everything in private; an interrogation she would not escape.

  Servants came forward with laden plates of grapes, cheese, and all matter of meats and pastries for the last course. A great cake was piled four tiers high. It was an absurd extravagance, more appropriate for a Wedded Joining than a birthday. They laid the feast at the foot of the royal dais on tables which had been arranged for the buffet. Another table was piled high with lavishly packaged gifts from her people.

  Clara stood on feet grown shaky from stress and said, “Thank you all most kindly for your presence at my Day of Birth Celebration; I am most grateful for your allegiance and loyalty.”

  Ada waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, yes Princess Clara, they understand that.” Her eyes narrowed upon Clara.

  Clara thought that may be the case but felt the words were most important to say. The Queen cared not, but loyalty was an uncertain thing, cultivated through decent treatment, not fear. A lesson her mother did not ascribe to. A lesson taught by her father, King Raymond, long-since passed.

  Someone she never forgot.

  CHAPTER 4

  Clara leaned back in her gilded chair, Ada discounting her words of thanks to the People, as was usual. Ever since Clara’s father had passed, Ada had taken to the cup. Clara suspected it had been thus even before his passing but he had shielded Clara from this weakness of the Queen. Clara felt that great yawning sadness blossom within her spirit whenever she thought of her dear father, his stewardship over her a memory which pressed uncomfortably against her mind. It was he who encouraged her to come to know the fields that supported their sphere, showing her each tool, cultivation technique and trade practice that kept the sphere solvent. Not like her sister sphere, the Kingdom of Kentucky.

  The sphere of inequity, rather.

  Clara glanced at Frederick and he smirked back. Loathsome man…if he could be called such.

  Queen Ada stood. “Announce my daughter so the celebration may begin.”

  The announcer of the week came forward. Because, Guardian knew, a new one was appointed at every turn because of the foulness of her mother’s emotional river, a current which ran swift, changing its path without warning.

  He bumbled forward, almost tripping on the deep crimson carpet which had been laid at the foot of the dais for this occasion. Ada scowled deeply, he cast a nervous glance in her direction then seemed to regain his composure. “On this Day of Birth Celebration, Princess Clara Williamson, daughter of Queen Ada, celebrates ten and seven years on this 6th day of June, in the year of the Guardian, two thousand and thirty.”

  As with a Day of Birth Celebration, there was also one of death, which made Clara think of the day her father passed.

  *

  Clara sat by her father, his deep golden hair, once lush, now dying wheat against the pillow, his skin of similar pallor.

  “Oh Father,” Clara said, pressing her father’s cool hand to her cheek, “I cannot bear the thought of you leaving.”

  King Raymond gazed at his daughter, his only child, seeing the woman she would become peeking out at the edges like lace under a skirt, delicate but strong. The challenges she faced would be much, and he hoped that his imparted knowledge would be sufficient to render success in her duties. His heart was heavy with the burden of it. Of the kingdom that would soon be hers. Not in name, but by necessity.

  “Dear Clara, it grieves me to leave you, but the Healer cannot fix that which ails me.” Clara held the hand which was too cool, an unhealthy gray, her father’s breathing labored.

  They looked at each other, an understanding forming. “Your mother is not well,” he said suddenly and Clara’s ears sharpened at this. She and the Queen had never been close but the possibility of another parent’s demise was untenable.

  Kind Raymond saw her expression. “No, my child, fear not, she will not…die, as I am destined to this day. However,” and his gaze held Clara’s, “I leave you with her unfortunate proclivity. You must try to appease her. And marry well, Clara-girl.”

  Clara felt sick, she did not desire marriage. Seeing her look, her father laughed…which turned into a terrible gasping fit of coughing, making Clara’s heart ache. When finally he could speak, “Do not fret Clara, this is years hence. You are but ten and two years and the idea of matrimony is a distant thing. But heed what I say now: you must marry a man of character.”

  “What of love?” Clara asked.

  Her father’s gaze grew thoughtful. “That is not always the way of it,” he said with a faraway look in his eyes.

  It was in that moment that Clara knew that King Raymond may have not wished to marry Queen Ada, her mother.

  Clara was jolted back from her reverie by the procession of people wishing to embrace the Princess on her birthday. She noticed that Prince Frederick had come to stand next to her. She was angry at his presence. To usurp her as he did! With them not even husband and wife, he galled her. What made it bearable was Charles was the first in the receiving line. But his eyes were all for Frederick, his expression clear, do not lay hands on her again. Frederic’s lascivious grin reappeared. He knew that Charles did not have authority over him, and in this way he was very much like Ada.

  Charles’ gaze slid away from Frederic to lock eyes with her. His brown eyes met her turquoise ones and he pressed her hands to his. He leaned toward her, giving the most intimate hug acceptable within societal protocol.

  Frederic’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Not too close, Mr. Pierce. She is, after all… spoken for.”

  Charles pulled back, looking at him, face inscrutable. “Princess Clara is not yet wedded to you and I do not need the reminder, Prin
ce Frederic.”

  Clara’s heart surged with triumph. Charles’ logic was irrefutable, but not so impolite that Frederic could take offense. Unfortunately, he would always have his eye on Charles, their friendship, everything. She clamped down on her expression so Frederic would not see her mirth. Charles did see it, allowing a small smile to appear.

  “Happy birthday, dear Clara,” Charles said.

  “Princess Clara,” Prince Frederic corrected.

  “Indeed,” Charles said, inclining his head toward me.

  “I thank you, Charles, for your kindness.”

  He understood what baiting Frederic meant to her, as she was unable.

  Charles wandered off to stand beside the banquet table. The large, multi-tiered cake stood at rigid attention in the center, flora and pearls scattered at every level, shimmering and dancing colorfully.

  Clara was distracted by the obligatory percentage of the People she greeted, with a smile that reached her eyes, saying the correct words, all the while her mind stayed consumed with the savage, his intense eyes a window to his soul. What did he want with approaching the sphere? He had not seemed afraid but from the time of her youth, she had been taught that the savages Outside were a danger. She had not seen evidence of such with this man. He seemed curious, not dangerous. However, without the safety of the sphere between them, would she have felt so bold in her opinion? She could not help but smile, the truth of it was she was brave because of the barrier the sphere afforded.

  Finally, the procession finished, Clara walked to the banquet table, Prince Frederic easily keeping pace. The feast was spread before her in lavish display, pressed glassware in a rainbow of colors presenting the mainstay of her people. Oysters of every variety, with the complements of red potatoes, fruit salads and every manner of drink. Clara found her appetite lacking as Queen Ada stepped up beside her. As Queen, she was always first, Clara’s celebration or no.