Dark One's Mistress (Dark One Trilogy Book 1)

by Alien, Aldrea

  Bracing herself, she edged closer to the door and her possible freedom.

  The door swung open, slamming into the carriage. Sunlight flooded the interior.

  Clara threw up her hand, surprised her eyes had adjusted to the darkness after such a short time. Blinking away the afterimage, she caught a flash of flaxen hair and dark red skirts on the person sitting hunched in the opposite bench before the view became obscured by the shadow of a woman.

  "And keep yer filthy hands off me, ye dogs," the new woman snarled over her shoulder before plonking herself next to the huddled form of what Clara assumed was another young woman.

  The voice sounded familiar. Penny? Shuffling closer, Clara risked peeking out the door. One of the men paused in rubbing his jaw to glare at the carriage entrance. She grinned. If anyone would dare to punch a man nearly twice her own size, it would be Penny. She supposed such attitude came from being the youngest of six children and the rest being all boys.

  Clara wished she'd had the foresight to do the same.

  Again, the door shut. She held her breath, exhaling as the lock clicked. Outside, there was the discernible slap of leather on hairy horsehide. The carriage resumed its sickening sway.

  "Pawh! What's with the dark?" A shadowy hand reached across the gloom and tore the curtain free. Midmorning light, made wan by the smoky glass, illuminated the trio.

  Clara examined the pair sitting across from her. One she couldn't make out much more than she'd seen moments before. Of the other, there was no question. "Penny."

  The shorter of the two women greeted her with a savage smile. "Got ye too, I see." Her eyes, which the muted light had made a muddy brown, narrowed. "The dogs." The full lips twisted into a sneer Clara could well picture being stamped on the face of an amazon. Her dainty fist pounded on the roof with all the grace of a blacksmith's hammer. "Are yer misbegotten scoundrels snagging every woman in Everdark?"

  Beside her, the other woman flinched and scrunched further into her seat. Her head tipped forward, loose hair throwing her face further into shadow. "Don't antagonise them." Even perched on the seat and squeezed as far into the corner she could go, she still showed the obvious bulk of someone twice the size of Penny. Yet, at the same time, she somehow seemed far smaller despite the other's petite form.

  Penny stared at the woman, jolted from her incredulous stupor as the carriage hopped over an uneven patch in the cobbles. "Don't upset them?" Flicking back hair barely long enough to brush her shoulders, she sneered at the panel above them. "They've no right to take us like this." She punched the roof. "Ye hearing me!" The fist slammed again, wood arching at the blow. "Ye ain't got no right to be doing this to us!"

  Clara leant forward, her shoulder pressed against the wall, shivering as the cold of the metal leached through her heavy linen gown. She peered through the smoky glass at her dear town. The fronts of buildings flicked by, each layout of stone and wood panels near identical to the next. Occasionally, a group of people would appear walking along the street only to be gone in the next breath. All of them seemed as oblivious of the three women trapped within the carriage as Clara had at first been. Certainly no one seemed to have heard Penny.

  She shifted her attention to the silent one of the pair. Where had she seen the flaxen-haired woman before? Her voice sounded familiar. Had she been a customer from her mother's shop? She eyed the skirts draped over the seat's edge. Heavy, dark embroidery ran around the hem. Detailed. Expensive. And, from what little she could see, they mirrored what different hands had stitched into the bodice. Not from my mother's shop then. The bold patterns spoke of foreign lands. They certainly didn't resemble the finer stitching she'd seen her mother put on Feast Day dresses.

  The carriage rounded a corner, tilting sharply and pressing Clara against the wall. A grunt came from the other side as Penny slid into the other woman. There was more grumbling, no doubt coming straight from the short woman's mouth and likely to have gotten Clara a good thrashing if she'd repeated some of the snippets she could hear. Then the pair untangled themselves and resumed their original seats.

  Outside, the weathered canvas awnings gave way to streaks of brighter shades. Their pace slowed as they trundled by a statue of a prancing stallion not much bigger than the carriage. Hadn't she been here once before? Clara peered up at the buildings, certain her mother had sent her here a few years ago to pick up a special shipment of fabric from the weaver.

  Clara searched for the building, disappointed she couldn't pick it out from amongst the wall of polished wooden doors and windows. Maybe she'd been wrong. In a place as big as Everdark, things were bound to repeat themselves when it came to looks.

  The square and its statue slipped beyond sight as they rolled on. They were slowing even further. At this speed, the carriage resumed its nauseating sway, bumping over the cobbles and gradually coming to a halt. A street, and its scant handful of people, dominated much of the window's view. The rest showed the stone archway of a private garden, still cloaked in morning shadow. Indistinct blobs moved within, fast becoming clearer as they neared the entrance.

  With her nose scrunched against the glass, she made out the form of a young woman, dressed in a simple gown of blue and silver. A pair of the lord's men flanked her, one leaning closer to the woman as they headed towards the carriage. The woman inclined her head.

  Clara wouldn't easily forget the face peaking out under the tumble of brown hair. No one just forgot Caring Katharina. Not after the first meeting. She was the youngest daughter to one of the councillors and could, more often than not, be found wandering the poorer parts, always feeding beggars and tending to injured animals.

  Four men sporting the livery of the watch rounded the bend in the street, meeting the trio as Katharina and her escort stepped out of the walled garden and onto the road.

  Clara held her breath as there was a brief exchange of words. One of the watch, a captain to judge by the knotwork adorning his cuffs and shoulders, waved his hand about. He seemed quite heated. His voice, the words muffled beyond understanding, carried a heavy layer of disapproval. Had word of their abduction reached the watch? Would they be freed after all? If only she could see his face and be certain.

  The taller of the two lord's men stepped closer. He laid a hand on the watchman's forearm, stilling the man with a chilling suddenness. Giving his companion no more than a twitch of the head, the pair continued escorting the woman to the carriage.

  "Why doesn't the watch stop them?" she murmured, her breath fogging the glass. It had only been a touch and the man seemed unharmed, yet none of the watch appeared willing to go near the carriage. Did they not know what the carriage harboured?

  "Interfere with our lord's men?" The flaxen-haired woman scrunched further back into her seat. "They wouldn't dare!"

  Beside her, Penny frowned, her generous lips narrowing as she gave a terse nod.

  Clara flinched at the reminder. She'd hoped that maybe, just this once, help would be at hand when she needed it. She should've known better to hope for rescue from the watch. Not from them. How many times had she been told there was naught to fear from the lord's men? They do only as the Great Lord commands, she reminded herself. Not even their own wishes were to be filled. If only her lessons had included the obvious question of why. Memory recalled all too clearly how asking had been greeted by an uncomfortable, and knowing, look before she was hastened off on some errand. Only as the Great Lord commands.

  So what did he want with them?

  The door opened. Katharina stepped in without pause to seat herself next to Clara. Adjusting her skirts as the growing group was once more shut in, she glanced at the rest of them. A smile plumped her cheeks, echoing in her the creasing around her eyes. "Greetings fellow travellers."

  "Travellers?" Penny snorted, her arms folding across the ample curves that defined her bosom. "More like captives."

  Katharina's full lips pursed. Without seeing her eyes, Clara knew the woman's gaze must have shifted to the door. Little
doubt she hadn't heard it lock. "A simple misunderstanding, I'm sure." She barely moved as the carriage trundled off again.

  Penny's brown eyes widened until Clara was sure they would pop from her skull. "Misunderstanding?" she shrieked. Her fists slammed into the padded seat on either side of her. "Those scoundrels bundled us in here as if we were wayward sheep and yer saying it's a damn mistake?" Her fingers had uncurled to clutch the cushion's edge, her arms shaking as her knuckles went white. "Somehow, I doubt there was any misunderstanding."

  "But there simply must be." Katharina waved a hand at the wall behind her. "The lord, may he live a long and fruitful life, sent a handful of men to the council at dawn. Amongst the messages given was a decree to relinquish one highborn lady into his care to become his mistress." Her head bowed, a curtain of hair falling forward to shroud her face. "I chose to accept this burden."

  If this woman was to become the Great Lord's mistress—and she seemed a rather poor choice for their mighty lord, but then Clara knew not what sort of woman he'd demanded be brought to him—then for what earthly reason were the rest of them being dragged along?

  Clara tried hard to swallow the lump in her throat. Were they to become servants? Surely not. The lord would have plenty amongst his people and, in any case, what foolishness it would be to grab people off the streets and press them into a service they'd not been trained to do. Penny would certainly not have been her first choice as anyone's servant.

  "Ye chose?" Penny's lips twisted into a snarl. "Chosen, more like."

  "Better her," came a mumble from the dark corner holding the flaxen-haired woman.

  Clara flinched at the words. Her mother would've dealt her several good lashes for voicing such an opinion. The Great Lords were not cruel men. Not anymore. The old one, in the time of her grandparents, had reputedly invaded the surrounding kingdoms no more than a mere handful of times. Purely for appearance sake, at least, according to the rumours of old men. They certainly hadn't taken any land beyond the moors surrounding Endlight, which had been centuries ago. Try as she might, she could only recall the army moving once. Roughly three months ago. How many of them would be returning now they'd a new lord?

  Katharina showed no sign of having heard either woman. She'd twisted to squarely face the window. "Why are we slowing? We can't be anywhere near the city gates." She waved a hand at the window as a fountain came into view. The middle of which bore four rearing horses carved from a whitish stone, the ears level with the nearby roofs.

  The carriage trundled around the fountain. Clara, catching a golden glint, leant closer. Down near the waterline, blossoming from the fountain's centre, sat a school of metal fish, some partly submerged. Each one, with water spouting from their mouths, seemed to be in a constant state of leaping away from the crushing hooves of the statues.

  The picturesque backdrop of buildings beyond passed by until they came to a stop outside the many-columned, gaudy front of the village hall. A handful of equally garishly-dressed men stood on the steps before the massive structure. The village council. She'd always envisioned them as being elderly, yet some of the men appeared to be in their late thirties; no older than her father before his death.

  Brenna stood beside the men, robed in the exact shade of red rumour said to be favoured by the old lord's son. Between the dress and the noonday sunlight, her porcelain skin took on a sickly hue. She crossed her arms in disgust as one of the men pointed towards the carriage.

  "Another passenger," Clara mused aloud. First Katharina and now Brenna appeared to be heading for the Citadel. How many mistresses had their new Great Lord truly requested?

  "Another?" the flaxen-haired woman blurted. "But this carriage can't hold any more people."

  She peered about the interior of their trundling prison. Although the vehicle had more than enough space to comfortably seat its four passengers, Clara guessed it could easily fit another two people with little trouble. More if they were as small as Penny.

  The lock clicked. The hinges issued a faint, ever more familiar, squeak as the door swung open to reveal Brenna's glowering face. She stood beside the bobbing door, hands on her hips and a stern defiance in her eyes. "Forget it!" she snapped over her shoulder at the men. "I'm not getting in there."

  Frowning, the closest man pushed her until she took a halting step forward, heels clacking on the cobblestones.

  She spun to face him. "Keep your hands off me, you filthy peasant." A jerk of the head disturbed the fine array of curls in her black hair. "I am to be the next Countess of Endlight. I will not stand being treated like some copper-bit whore." Brenna leant forward, her hands balling into fists. "Not even by the lord's men."

  Over the woman's shoulder, she saw the man's face, which had hardly been forgiving in the first place, harden further. Such an expression on any other man and she would've said he was angered, but it there lacked a certain fire in his eyes to give the emotion its proper heat. If anything, his gaze was deader than those of the men who'd captured her.

  Brenna must have seen it too for she faltered before him, her shoulders slumping as she faced the carriage door. She glared at the interior, her gaze flicking to each of those who were to be her travelling companions, the generous pout fast twisting into a sneer.

  Clara felt herself fidgeting under the icy stare before she could stop. Her mother used to give her such a look before hurrying off to get the thin belt. From the corner of her eye, she could see the flaxen-haired woman shrink further into the seat.

  Unshielded hostility glittered in her dark eyes. The rosy lips parted. "Move."

  The word, delivered in a near hush, was a whip cracking across her bare skin. Clara shuffled closer to the wall then, seeing the gaze had not lifted, squeezed herself between Penny and the other woman.

  "Peasants," Brenna muttered. "Give 'em a whiff of higher living and suddenly they think they're somehow nobler than their betters." She stepped into the carriage, shoving Katharina further along the seat. "I swear." Her eyes lifted to reward Clara and the two women flanking her with another cool glare. "The world would be better off without them."

  Clara rolled her eyes. Just who did she think made the clothes she wore or cooked the food she ate? The woman had probably never set foot in a kitchen, never mind a place of labour.

  To her left, she felt Penny stiffen. Her thoughts snapped to the recent memory of the nameless man nursing his injured jaw. Clara clamped a hand down on the smaller woman's arm, her heart jumping as the limb twitched. "I wouldn't," she whispered out the corner of her mouth. If Penny decided to hit Brenna, then she'd certainly break the woman's dainty nose, and Brenna would make sure a suitable punishment was delivered in return. Flogged to within an inch of her life, no doubt. She wouldn't be surprised if Brenna ensured all of them were chastised, just in case they got the same ideas.

  "We are less than those we mock," Katharina murmured.

  A less-than-delicate snort erupted from Brenna's nose. "I'd expect such syrup from you." With eyes shadowed by more than dark powder, she slowly faced the woman, her gaze flicking up to bore into the brown-haired head. "And you're a fine one to talk of being less." Her petite nose wrinkled. "You've everything a lady could desire and yet, for some reason only the Goddess herself can even begin to fathom, you prefer wallowing in the mud with all these filthy peasants." She ran a considering eye over Penny, her lip curling. "Small wonder they think of themselves as our equals." Her gaze slid over Clara to peer at the woman huddled in the corner. "Although, this one seems to comprehend her status perfectly well. You two could learn a lot from her on proper behaviour around your betters."

  "Yer not betta'!" Penny muttered and Clara fancied she heard the woman's teeth grinding off several layers of enamel. "Fancy clothes and trinkets don't make ye betta' than no one. Not as if it all belongs to ye, is it? In fact, if it weren't for yer pop's coin, ye'd just be another flamin' tart."

  A cold silence crept into a space that suddenly seemed a lot smaller. She should've kept her mout
h shut. Clara hunched her shoulders, waiting for the backlash. She'd seen Brenna's temper in full force before and, if anything was to incite such outrage, it would be this.

  "What was that awful noise?" Brenna put the tip of a finger in her ear and made a show of wriggling it about. "Is that what you call talking?"

  Still held down by Clara's firm grip, Penny leant across the space, raising her other hand before she could be stopped. The snap of her dainty fingers connecting with the pale cheeks cracked through the carriage. "Ye want me to break yer pretty, little jaw as well?" Balling her hand, she waved it under Brenna's nose. "One hit s'all it'd take me, then we'll see how well ye talk."

  Brenna's hand froze in rubbing at the steadily reddening cheek. Only her dark eyes dared to move as she tracked the fist. The rosy lips moved wordlessly before shutting, anger continuing to glitter in her eyes.

  The carriage bounced, briefly lifting Clara free from her seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the thick planks of a gate. Her gaze snapped from monitoring the two women to stare out the window. Wood gave way to stone set in large and imposing chunks. The western gatehouse. It must be. Pressing her back into the thin padding behind her, she watched as the final piece of the gatehouse slipped by, vaguely aware the others were mimicking her. We've left the village. No hope of a rescue now.

  The crack of a whip split through the gentle rumble of wheels on cobble, a whinny fast following. The carriage rocked and bounced up the road. The speed did little to the field of grass that was their only view. Green and uniformly short, it stretched from the edge of the walls to the bare foot of the mountain without even a single bush in sight. To the east and on either side, miles of open land lay between Everdark and the nearest forest.

  Clara's vision blurred, the brightness of outside blending with the gloom of the carriage. She wiped the tears away. What would her mother think of hearing her daughter had cried like a two-month babe? Clara sniffed back the beginning of a sob, her tears renewing their silent flow. How unlikely was it that anyone would know what had happened, let alone what she'd done? No matter what transpired in the Citadel, she'd a sinking feeling she'd never hear her mother's voice again, never mind the acidic retorts that had become so familiar. Nothing to be sure of anymore.