The Savage Blood (Savage Series, Book 2)

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  That was fine. Tonight he would get all the assistance he needed from that self-absorbed prince. Tucker looked at him, struggling to stand even with the help of his first guard. Maybe he wouldn't be able to dominate the princess. Whatever, Tucker gave an internal shrug. There were many willing men who would enjoy proving to the princess just who was in charge of this little group. He smiled at his internal framework. It always made perfect sense to him.

  Clara watched him thinking and was deeply disquieted to see the expressions wash over his face, changing like an uncertain tide of misery.

  She steeled herself mentally, she would be on her guard. She counted nothing of the tenuous friendship that Daniel had offered her. It may be an olive branch that was still attached to a tree.

  A twisted tree which rotted from the inside out.

  CHAPTER 10

  Anna, Sarah and Clara spoke in muted tones, the two guards standing a distance of perhaps two horse lengths away. Too close to speak loudly, Clara was mindful of the pitch of her words. “I am sorry that you suffered his abuse. I feel it is my fault.”

  Sarah's brows shot down above her eyes in a stern frown, the swelling at her cheek a grotesque mar upon her ethereal beauty. “Do not. That man needed no excuse to strike a woman. He is of that ilk.”

  No one said the words, as Prince Frederic is. It hung in the air, unsaid and understood.

  Clara closed her eyes and held the fragile emotions that swam beneath the surface, ready to bubble over and make her a sodden mess. It would not assist them in their escape.

  She opened them and both women were looking at her for direction. She was the reluctant leader. Clara thought of what Father, the king, had once told her about leadership, about being queen.

  *

  Father clucked at her with his finger as it lay beneath her chin.

  “I wish to be a queen someday,” Clara had said as she and her father floated in the pungy together. The waters of the oyster field lapping gently at the sides, adding to the endless fade of the pink and green of their boat.

  “A noble goal, my daughter,” Father paused, then added, “let us pose the question, what is your reason to be queen?”

  Clara opened her mouth to give the quickest response which sprung to her mind that had known but eight years.

  King Raymond held up a finger to silence her. “Think on your answer. It may not be that which is foremost on your heart but something deeper.”

  He looked at Clara thoughtfully. “It is as the onion,” he clarified.

  Clara scrunched up her nose in puzzlement. Onions were decidedly foul, she thought with confidence. They had a distasteful texture which squished unpleasantly during consumption.

  King Raymond saw Clara's expression and laughed out loud. “You misunderstand, Clara-girl. You have seen Billy peel the onion?” He cocked an eyebrow.

  Clara nodded. She spent a great deal of time with Billy, who never scolded her for wearing breeches about the Royal Manse.

  “Pretend that to be queen you are as an onion. That the top layer is your attire and royal accoutrement. Then each layer thereafter is but another until the core...” he raised his eyebrow in question, hoping that Clara would supply the correct answer.

  Clara's mind sailed from one thing to another. What could Father wish for her to say? She thought of her mother's beautiful royal attire and crown. Although beautiful, how did it make the kingdom fare well? She puzzled as she pushed her small face into her palm.

  Finally, she thought she may know the answer. She did not wish to disappoint Father yet...she knew of his patience.

  She made her decision. “We think of our people first.”

  A broad grin spread across King Raymond's face and he ruffled her hair. “That is very good Clara. Royalty is but an onion. It can look whole and good on its exterior, but the core may be rotting. See that your core is whole and fresh, the first layer matters not.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  He looked at her for another moment, his face flushing slightly and Clara thought he looked like he was fighting tears.

  Men never cried; Clara knew this.

  Nevertheless, in a voice which broke, Father said, “You will make a fine queen, my daughter.”

  She smiled and King Raymond's heart swelled with love for this slip of a girl, so pure of heart.

  *

  “Clara?” Anna asked, breaking the tether of her memories.

  “You were one hundred spheres away!” Sarah quietly laughed.

  Evelyn rolled her eyes at Sarah and corrected, “There are not one hundred spheres, Sarah.”

  Clara smiled, so literal.

  “It is but an expression, Tart,” Sarah said.

  Evelyn huffed but remained silent.

  Clara was bolstered, if they could quarrel with humor, all was not lost.

  Clara gave a surreptitious glance at the guards who were not worried about three females and a young girl.

  Excellent.

  “I believe there is hope. The Band did not come to our aide for a reason.”

  “Clara, could it be that there are forty members of this contingent?” Sarah asked as if she were daft.

  Clara looked severely at Sarah. “That is exactly my thought. Now, did any of you see which of the Royal Guard was...”

  “Killed?” Anna said gravely.

  Clara nodded.

  “All except Clarence,” Sarah said, her bravado hanging by a thread.

  They grew silent at the scope of Clarence as the only surviving member of the guard.

  “What of your friend, will he...” Evelyn began, biting her bottom lip, thinking already that she should not have brought attention to the merciless beating Charles had received.

  Clara's shoulders slumped. She felt each person's mistreatment acutely. She could not disengage the feeling that somehow this Tucker was making every lash a vicarious abuse against her personally.

  Using her people to needle her. Breaking her mentally.

  In preparation for what? Clara thought uneasily.

  Sarah articulated her thoughts, “He beat Charles for a reason. What that reason is, I dare say it cannot be good.”

  Clara shook her head. “It matters not. The time is at hand, the Band will come for us.” Her eyes searched the womens' faces. “We must survive until they arrive. I know their mettle. They will protect us. No matter how far, no matter the cost.”

  Anna's head hung low on her breastbone. “What say you?” Clara asked softly, seeing the desolate expression on her countenance.

  She lifted her face to Clara's and tears lay like bulbous diamonds, falling not. “What if they have been...”

  “Killed,” Evelyn interjected bravely.

  “They have not,” Clara said, laying her fist against her bosom. “I would feel it.” She looked at Anna until she swallowed taking a shaky inhale then finally nodding acquiescence.

  “Be ready. Be alert. They will come if there is breath in their bodies,” she said.

  ****

  Bracus and Matthew watched the women huddled together in heated conversation, as two guards of the fragment flanked their position.

  Philip let out a growl, “I see that someone has laid a hand on Sarah.” His expression as dark as the thunder clouds that roiled above their heads.

  The weather change was not lost on Bracus. He swore, berating the ill fortune of inclement weather making the rescue that much more challenging.

  Joseph said, “My brother, do not rage, it is to our advantage. The fragment lay about, complacent in their numbers. They do not hold the constitution of the Band.”

  Bracus' look was steady on Joseph's face. “Tis true, however, we are but four.”

  The statement hung in the humid air, heavy on their tongues, a sour reality none would swallow.

  Clarence pushed forward, grasping a strange contraption strapped to his head with odd spectacle attachments riding the top. He pushed between the warriors and clicking the lenses in place, leather straps binding abo
ut his head in a tight circle, he gazed out to where the women were.

  Philip tapped the strange device. “What is this?”

  Clarence smiled. Mayhap the Band were nearly indestructible physically and battle ready, but the sphere-dwellers were intellectually superior, he thought with more than a touch of smugness.

  “It is something by which to see long distances,” he replied.

  Matthew rushed forward and Clarence flinched. “Let me use this device.”

  “And why, pray tell do you need to? When your introduction has only just been at this moment?” Matthew looked at Clarence and reminded himself that he was a man of honor, even though he made a point of educating the Band on how soft they were in the head.

  Bracus clapped Clarence on the shoulder and he jumped, stifling a yelp. “It is a magnifier of sorts, yes?”

  Clarence gave a numb nod, trying to calm his speeding heart.

  “Matthew has some unusual skills from his time with the fragment.”

  Clarence swung his head toward Matthew. But for his interest in Queen Clara, Clarence had not given the man a moment's forethought.

  The savage, he repeated silently. Man somehow did not quantify them. He was deeply offended by Clara's lack of hesitation in a Wedded Joining with one of them. Could she not see the clear aberration from humankind that they were?

  With as blank of expression as he could manage, he handed the binoculars over with a slap into Matthew's waiting palm.

  Matthew stared at him until his eyes dropped.

  Matthew adjusted the straps and saddled the awkward unit upon his head, setting his sights on Clara's lips. He watched silently for several minutes, motionless, keeping the field of vision squarely before the twin magnifiers. Then he removed the contraption gratefully, his eyes strained and dry in their sockets.

  “How far, do you estimate?” Bracus asked.

  “Mayhap ninety horse lengths,” Matthew responded after a moment of internal calculation.

  “What is Clara about?” Bracus asked.

  “She speculates that we wait and tells the others to be ready,” Matthew replied with a troubled expression.

  “What say you?” Joseph asked, noting his grim face.

  “It is their plan for her that may necessitate the acceleration of our rescue.”

  They stared at him and he repeated what he had seen Prince Frederic say, “They said they would attack her later. While she slumbers.”

  Bracus' fists clenched. He had contemplated the possibility, but to know with certainty it was discussed, planned. He turned a murderous expression to Matthew and found the mirror of his own embedded in the planes of his Bandmate's face.

  “How do you know this? You have paranormal hearing?” Clarence scoffed.

  “No man! He reads lips,” Philip explained.

  Bracus moved his palm back and forth. “What is the count?”

  “Forty-three,” Matthew responded.

  Joseph exhaled loudly. The four stared at each other for a lingering time.

  Clarence could feel something indefinable build in the air, the subtle pressure mimicking the sultry storm that approached.

  The men lifted their fist in the air then laid them on their hearts.

  “For Clara,” Matthew said.

  “For Sarah,” Philip said.

  Clarence glared at him.

  “For Anna,” Joseph repeated.

  “To protect at all costs, to ourselves. To all,” Bracus finished.

  The pressure burst about them like a bubble popped and Clarence rubbed the gooseflesh which rode his arms in a fine blanket. A promise had been made.

  The Band would keep it.

  CHAPTER 11

  Clara knew, without need of a looking glass, that her gills had retracted against her flesh.

  Surely Sarah would have commented upon their existence had they not.

  Why did they not remain like the other of the Band? Why, in the name of the Guardian, was she not savage at all times? Where was the benefit of being of savage blood if she could not count on any of the abilities that were renown with the Band? Of course it mattered not. Even if she had their physical stealth and prowess, she would lack the basic understanding of the execution of such.

  In an oyster shell, she simply did not know the skills.

  Battles skills.

  She lamented her ridiculous physical attributes. Her small size was not a benefit.

  No one knew her secret except the fragment and the prince.

  Charles did not know. Clara imagined their relationship was of little concern in the face of their imprisonment. However, she realized this would widen the chasm they found themselves in.

  It explained much about her status as select. Obviously, her lineage had much to do with it.

  The guards approached their now silent group and the women stood. One was the guard she recognized as Robert. “Time to eat. Follow us.”

  Evelyn hung back, no doubt remembering him as the one that had fondled her head with anticipation. Clara clasped her hand and Evelyn looked at her gratefully.

  Her anchor in the storm.

  *

  Clara lay atop her bedroll, an elbow her pillow. She gazed up at the wonderful blanket of stars and was filled with gratefulness to be alive. Her circumstances were dire, but she embraced what she could. As she focused on the positive, she felt Evelyn's hand creep out to hold her arm which lay by her side.

  She turned her face to look at the girl. Pale moonlight illuminated her and they stared at each other for a time. No need for words. The girl should sleep but Clara was as anxious as she had ever been.

  Mayhap she had been premature in her vehement confidence in the Band?

  She watched Evelyn's eyes grow heavy, then finally close.

  Thoughts of Charles and Prince Frederic crowded her mind. Frederic had been absent from the spartan provisions that had been provided for their nourishment. As was Charles.

  Not knowing whether or not her childhood friend lived, whether he fared well? She could not dwell on it. Regardless of their most recent strife, Clara cared deeply for Charles.

  She loved him, truth be told. But it was not the flavor of love that he craved. That she could not give.

  She sighed and turned away from Evelyn when she heard her breaths deepen, laying once again on her back. Anna and Sarah lay but a horse length from her position. Their group was a small distance from the main group of fragment soldiers, Daniel amongst them.

  He had been most odd at supper. His eyes following her everywhere she went, watching the smallest of her movements as the falcon. She was uncomfortable with his scrutiny but mayhap there would be something to gain? He was different than the others. She knew not how but he reminded her somewhat of the Band.

  Clara pressed her eyes tightly closed, allowing herself the deepest part of the night to shelter her tears. She cried for Charles, she cried for the women and Evelyn, who she could not protect.

  She cried for a future she may never know...satisfy. She floated along that slim edge which separates sleep and wakefulness, the twilight of consciousness wrapping her like a cloak.

  She heard a small noise and her eyes sprang open.

  Rough hands grabbed her shoulders and startling, she slung her arms up in a protective stance immediately.

  She saw the face of Tucker upside down and swung her palm into the nose that loomed above her. She had a moment of supreme triumph upon hearing a crunch, having struck an accurate jab. She rolled and swept her nightdress aside as she stood. Facing him, she crouched down as she had seen the Band do. He covered his nose with fingers which seeped blood like oil from an oyster.

  Clara backed up and collided with a solid chest and was grabbed from behind. She knew it was Prince Frederic.

  His smell preceded him.

  “Get that bitch over there,” Tucker hissed quietly, stalking toward her.

  Clara began to struggle in earnest, frantically looking around at Sarah and Anna. They slept peacefully
through her flailing. A familiar heat began to crawl along her neck like fingers of fire wrapping themselves like vines around her throat.

  The prince drug her to the forest's edge and threw her to the ground in a heap, her nightdress riding immodestly to mid-thigh. The prince gazed upon the bare expanse of her legs and she jerked the gown down to her ankles.

  “It seems that I have recovered sufficiently enough from your ministrations to perform. In all truth, it took very little persuasion from my good companion, Tucker, to see keeping you in hand is a two-man affair.”

  Tucker grabbed her wrists and jerked her upright. Her head the height of his shoulder, her arms high enough that the sockets threatened to detach.

  “They return,” Frederic said flatly.

  “Huh? Ah yes, what do we have here?” Tucker said, as he jabbed a finger into the delicate gill membranes that had erupted on Clara's neck and she screamed in agony. It felt very much like someone was digging around the inside of her mouth with a dull knife.

  In this case it was a blunt finger.

  “You are as vile as them, Clara. It is time you are treated in a way that is worthy of your new station,” the prince said, moving forward.

  Tucker had tired of the ruination of her new body part that throbbed from the assault, blood trickling down between her breasts from the abuse.

  The prince latched onto her bosom with both hands and she lost all hope. Tucker behind, keeping her arms taut while the prince assaulted from the front. He mauled her viciously and she cried out, her chest a searing blanket of fire.

  Her eyes had been tightly shut, her feet near dangling from the awkward hold that Tucker used. When she opened her eyes she thought they lied.

  Matthew.

  His eyes captured hers and she saw the mens' death in them.