savage 04 - the savage vengeance

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Clara threw back her head and laughed, tears beginning to stream out of her eyes, it was too precious by far.

  When a hand clutched Clara's hair and jerked her to her feet the laughter was squeezed out of her throat without mercy.

  Olive's eyes widened and she wanted to cry. The curtain of fog lifted from her mind just long enough for her to remember that Caesar had never left, remaining hidden behind the one drape that Matthew had not flung aside.

  *

  Caesar dragged Clara behind him, grasping the last of the salt from a leather pouch that he had confiscated from the dolt, Tucker.

  Before he had gotten himself killed by this weak female.

  Clara struggled as he moved to throw the deadly salt at the sphere wall. She did the only thing she could. She bit the hand that held the crystals. He released it with a grunt, where it rolled on the floor like glittering tears. The crystals tumbled and scattered about the wood when Clara felt the first blow strike flesh already tender from the abuse of the last few days.

  The abuse caused by Caesar's hands from before.

  She twisted the wrist that he held in one direction, then another, as Calia had taught her. It was nearly impossible, regardless of size, to maintain a firm hold. She broke free, running through the door that had chambered Ada.

  Clara had sought escape many times and knew that room intimately. She would give herself time if she could.

  Caesar hit the girl in the back from behind with a broken chair leg, Clara flew forward with a satisfying landing, the wind knocked out of her.

  Most excellent, Caesar thought with vindictive joy, clutching his opportunistic weapon as he moved toward Queen Clara.

  Clara shook her head and her vision ran in streamers of blurred grays, stars bursting behind her eyes. The brute had thwacked her from behind.

  Like the coward he was.

  When he spoke to her she saw it. She felt it.

  Clara tasted his insanity like bile on her tongue. She watched from the unyielding ground as he came for her, the thick wood in his palm slapping against his other in a beat of portentous violence and she shivered with the promise of it.

  Clara scrambled backward on the floor like an awkward spider, her hair spiraling out of control and blinding her as the snake that was Caesar reached her, drawing his arm back he whispered, “you could have been my queen, but I will not abide comedy at my expense. You will taste how powerful I am...”

  There was nowhere to go, to hide. Clara rolled over on her side, assuming the fetal position, praying she could survive the abuse.

  Knowing in her heart she could not.

  One thought beat in her head like a drum:

  Matthew.

  With a loud crash a door came off its hinges and Matthew charged through, a frantic Maddoc at his heel.

  Caesar did not sway from his objective, bringing the club of wood down upon her body, where it met the flat side of a blade instead of her flesh.

  The cold press of metal brought a comfort to Clara, for she knew it for what it was, a shield.

  Matthew's blue eyes flicked to her, assessing the damage as Caesar swung the wood into his head.

  “No!” Clara screamed.

  Matthew twisted in a blur of motion, an instinctive evasion even as his dirk was brought in an upward arc that terminated in Caesar's belly.

  His eyes bulged in disbelief, Caesar's self-assurance having left him woefully unprepared for the reality of his mortality.

  Now he gazed into the mirror of death.

  Upon seeing his reflection he gasped in surprise.

  Matthew deepened the strike and Caesar's hand wrapped the hilt of the blade that was embedded in his body.

  Caesar met Matthew's eyes as he drove the blade through his sternum to where the collarbones met.

  Matthew released the hilt and shoved Caesar backward with both hands.

  He staggered backward as his vile insides spewed out of the cavity of his body, his eyes glazing over, the protruding hilt of the dagger a grotesque necklace of death at his throat.

  The agate gleamed softly as his body slid to the floor in final repose.

  Matthew walked to Clara and grasping her arms he lifted her off the floor until her knees buckled beneath her and then she was in his arms and moving.

  She did not know where.

  But one assurance Clara did have was her safety.

  Forever.

  Blackness engulfed her in a blanket of comfort wrought by circumstance and trials overcome.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It had been two weeks past since the happenings that culminated in events being put to right again in the sphere. Dear Olive was on the mend, as was Peter. Billy had shown he was far more than a baker and perhaps would need to engage in training that was of a non-culinary nature.

  As it were, Clara was to make choices regarding the future of her sphere.

  She risked all, going against her mother's wishes, disappointing someone whom she now called friend. However, in the end, her heart had won against all odds. Though the Ritual of the Select had given proof of her heritage, eventually leading to the discovery of who she was, what she was destined to be; it was not sufficient to make her mind up for her.

  Clara was her mother's daughter, after all. King Raymond's early teachings a thing that were not easily deviated from. Her future was here, with her people and the clan dwellers as well. No longer savage but just... different.

  Clara breathed deeply as Olive tightened the stays on the corset, the only sound in the room the steam which escaped the sconces clinging to the false walls that lined the interior. Clara gazed into the looking glass, meeting Olive's brown eyes with her turquoise ones.

  “You may not please everyone, Queen Clara,” Olive said thoughtfully, grasping the last stay with practiced viciousness and pulling the end of it taut. Olive grimaced. “It has become too easy to tie you in the corset, my lady.”

  Clara gave a small smile, her old corsets ill-fitting now, her waistline slimmer from the hard two weeks just past.

  “Nay, it is not funny!” Olive huffed.

  “Mayhap it be time to do away with these undergarments?” Clara said with more than a hint of mirth.

  Olive looked shocked. “What has given you these ideas?”

  Not what but who. “Calia.”

  Olive pressed her hands onto her rounded hips. “Aye, and she be an expert to fashion and what is required of a lady? A queen?”

  “No... yet...” Clara began, rolling her lip between her teeth and biting it softly. She met Olive's eyes. “There is some wisdom to be had.”

  Olive rolled her eyes. “You will not get me off the subject of false guilt, your majesty.”

  Clara sighed. Olive was as the ill-tempered dog with a single bone. She would worry at it until every scrap of meat was gone.

  “Do ye love him?” she asked Clara directly.

  A huge lump gathered in Clara's throat and Matthew's image swam to the surface of her mind. His unshakable loyalty, his quiet tolerance of who she was, his fervent protection and devotion to her. The chemistry that flared between them a heat that could not be cooled.

  Would never be.

  She nodded, a fat tear rolling down her cheek. Olive turned her from the mirror, taking her hands. “Marry him, my Queen. If Rowenna truly loves you she will see that it is best for you. If Daniel is truly your friend he will wish for your happiness.” Olive's eyes searched hers. “What says Sarah?”

  Clara swiped the tear away and told her.

  “Aye, she believes as I. Taken together, it is gospel I say.”

  A tremulous smile broke through Clara's sadness and she replied softly, “You might be a trifle mouthy for a maidservant.”

  Olive laughed. “Aye, I may have been told that a time or two!” she laughed. “Now, get ye gone. Meet with them, tell them what is in your heart. It has always led true, my lady.”

  Clara looked at Olive for a long moment, taking in her measure as friend and con
fidant. What she saw there made Clara sure she was doing what was best for herself and her people.

  She turned and faced the doorway. Smoothing her deep sea-green skirts, she pushed open the chamber door, making her way to the Gathering Room.

  *

  Matthew stood as Clara entered, the abuse of the past but a memory, her face smooth and beautiful as it should be. He could feel Edwin and Daniel at his side and contained his anger with an effort. He knew that she had finally come to a decision.

  Matthew clung to the look that she had given him before Caesar had absconded with her. A look that bore weight, a lone comment underscoring her gaze.

  Promise.

  He straightened to his full height and watched as Rowenna strode toward Clara, her lavender tunic and skirt making a soft noise as she came forward, embracing Clara. Their skirts mingled together like clouds of purple and aquamarine mist.

  They broke apart, both smiling.

  Clara took her place on the throne, the dais she sat upon a golden foundation for her chair. He watched her as she folded delicately built hands like polished ivory and knew she contained some large emotion with difficulty.

  He wrestled with himself not to go to her. Matthew remained were he stood.

  Clara looked out at the small group who were assembled, the kingdom not due to arrive for another half hour hence. She was ready.

  She turned to Rowenna. “Mother,” Rowenna smiled and Clara continued, “I am most grateful for the acquaintance of Edwin and all that an alliance and friendship between the spheres would mean to all.”

  Rowenna's face showed patient neutrality.

  Matthew could feel Edwin tense beside him almost imperceptibly.

  “But my feelings do not go beyond friendship,” Clara said and saw the beginnings of a frown form on her lovely features, her lavender eyes clouded.

  Bracus took her hand in his and squeezed it. He knew something of what Clara was feeling and was giving a subtle signal to Rowenna that she allow Clara latitude. For Bracus endeavored to believe in Clara. Her intuition and wisdom had been proven. Rowenna glanced at him and gave a subtle nod in acknowledgment. He relaxed his shoulders as Clara continued.

  Clara's gaze met Daniel's and she smiled. “I have found a friend amongst the fragment,” her words startling to those gathered and she held up her palm, “it is proof that people should be judged on their merit as individuals, rather than a group.” Her eyes searched the faces of who listened: the Band, Charles, Clarence and Sarah.

  “I have found that being royal is more than propriety, more than riches and acclaim. It is a spirit of leadership that I hope to perpetuate in the nurturing of my people while also being true to oneself. I am not able to do this unless I start first with myself. As it is, I must be honest with what I desire. An unhappy queen cannot rule.”

  Charles interrupted, “As was keenly evidenced in the former queen.”

  Clara welcomed his observation, an astute one. “Too true, my friend.”

  He inclined his head, their fragile friendship balanced day by day.

  Clara stood, her skirt settling around her feet in a sweep of silk. “It is with some regret that I announce my decision with the hope that I have not irrevocably damaged future friendship and alliance with the two men I call friends,” Clara paused, a fine blush rising into the ivory of her cheeks and fanning across her face, a lovely pink infusing it, leaving radiance behind.

  “However, it is with the greatest joy that I announce my decision in mate... if he will have me,” Clara cast her gaze down, taking in the exquisite contours of her footwear, pearls extending five inches past her ankles as closures of delicate proportions, her heartbeat pounding in her throat.

  Clara waited, hope and anxiety swelling within her breastbone.

  Then boots appeared in her line of vision and her heart raced. Clara knew those leather encased feet. Knew them well.

  Tears filled her eyes.

  Of hope.

  Of happiness.

  Her trepidation disappeared as if it had never been.

  Clara raised her gaze. And as it traveled over the finest male body she had ever beheld it landed on eyes of the richest blue and she found the answer to her question trapped in the depths of that stare.

  Yes.

  Matthew gripped her upper arms and pulled her into his embrace.

  Forgetting all propriety of any sort, she wound her arms around his neck and heard the roar of applause as his mouth consumed hers in front of the assembled group and the people of the kingdom as they poured into the Gathering Room.

  The view of their queen in the arms of their future king as he laid claim to her with passion.

  With finality.

  Her feet left the floor as Matthew tightened his grip on Clara. He deepened their kiss as Clara felt joy unlike any she had ever known take root deep in her heart and was most glad of it.

  Most glad.

  #

  EPILOGUE

  Edwin tapped the heavy parchment invitation for the Wedded Joining against the solid polished wood of his desk once, then set it down. He picked it up again, fiddling with it and looked at the scripted notation in engraved silver with a fine line of gold that embellished the front:

  It is with sovereign joy that the Kingdom of Ohio announces the Wedded Joining of Queen Clara Williamson with Matthew Charier of the Band of the Clan of Ohio, on the thirty-first day of March, in the year of the Guardian twenty and thirty-two.

  It was not Edwin's intent to linger for the nuptials between Queen Clara and Matthew of the Band. He rolled his lip with distaste, fingering the deep etching on the elaborate paper. What he needed right now was a solid engagement with the fragment. Yes, that would do quite well as distractions went. Edwin sighed. He seemed to be the only one grieving, avoiding Clara as much as possible. He would be about returning in the next two weeks hence, to his rightful clan. As soon as the weather allowed travel, he would make the journey home, he and his sister Calia.

  Just one day past they had nearly come to blows. Something that Edwin would have thought impossible before his reunion with her. Oh... but she was stubborn and unreasonable! She insisted that she remain in the Outside, taking her chances amongst the fragment. Calia would not listen to the facts as they were.

  Philip and Daniel had saved her at the hand of a fragment. She was not invincible. But female. In need of the reminder, he thought.

  At least Rowenna had sided with him. Edwin smiled grimly, he thought it likely that Rowenna took a small consolation in the loss of Clara as his mate, but to return with a full-blooded select... well, that was not so inequitable.

  He set the invitation on the desk, moving a glass paperweight to set atop it. He picked up his rucksack and made his way to tell Queen Clara he would be making his departure shortly when something caught his eye.

  It was a note addressed to him, hidden under the girth of the fancier invitation for the joining. He plucked it out from underneath and read what it said there.

  His rucksack slipped out of his slack palm, falling to the ground, forgotten.

  His eyes trained on the seven words written thereon:

  Remember my love for you, brother.

  Calia

  Edwin sprinted out of his borrowed chamber, seeking the two males who might know where she had gone; fear's cold fingers clenching his heart.

  Had he found her once only to lose her again?

  *

  Evie huffed out of sight of that big lout, Maddoc. Oh, how he angered her! How dare he tell her that she could not extend invitation to Jonathan? What right did he have? She being almost ten and five! Evelyn was no longer a child to be bullied into compliance.

  She was a young woman. And as such, should have decisions made by her own authority. Not others.

  Males!

  So forceful were her thoughts that she did not watch her step as she barreled into the female select of the Band, Calia.

  “Ah! Pardon me!” Evie said as she stumbled and Calia
caught her.

  Calia took in the girl's high coloring and distraught bearing and a slow smile spread over her lovely features.

  “What say you, Evie?” she asked in the lightest tone.

  “Ugh! It is that male!” she huffed, crossing her arms firmly below her full breasts.

  Calia cocked a brow. She knew male troubles when she heard them. Calia had a few of her own. Starting with that cocksure brother of hers. She frowned slightly.

  “Maddoc?” Calia guessed gently.

  “Aye,” Evie responded sullenly.

  “Ah... well. He be a good protector? It 'tis obvious that he cares for you, wee one.” Calia searched her eyes.

  Evie narrowed hers and Calia laughed. “Full of fire are you?”

  “He says I cannot ask Jonathan to attend Clara's Wedded Joining!”

  Calia frowned. Those of the Band, so possessive, so... controlling.

  “Is that all that ye wish? To have your friend be here at your side? To partake in the affair?”

  Evie nodded vigorously even as she thought a little of the reason might be to incite jealousy in Maddoc. It is not as if he had made protestations of undying love or some such. He had protected her, yes. He had seemed like he cared but then he rushed in and played the fool. It was all so confounding.

  Calia was not sure but... if the girl simply wanted a little freedom, Calia could give her that. She tucked the girl in against her lithely muscled body. “I be on my way to Outside. I could return you safe to your clan. You could ask Jonathan yourself, then return here safely.” Calia cocked a brow. The fragment had taken a blow to their numbers, the sphere was secure, the clan, close. What could go amiss?

  Evelyn bit her lip, thinking of Bracus. She should not just sneak off, the Band would be sore with her.

  Perhaps a tad more.

  However, it was an easy thing to talk herself into it. She be gone but a short while and return to them in the sphere safe and accompanied by Jonathan. They might not even know she had gone, so quickly she would return.