"Of course, I was good with the old knife back then. Still am, I suppose."
"Back in the room," she said, trying to shunt back the image of the woman doing the exact thing that had coined her name, "you mentioned Lucias wanting something he couldn't have."
Gettie's eyes glittered with the candlelight. "Were you eavesdropping, dear girl?"
Warmth seeped into her cheeks. "He was so loud, how could I not hear?" Feeling her face growing hotter still, she stood and strode over to the door. The racket of the training grounds drifted up to greet her. The thud of bodies hitting the dirt and, every so often, the dreadful clang of steel meeting steel. "Is that why he's always down there? Because of the souls?"
"He swears... How did he put it? Ah yes, prolonged strenuous activity, of any sort, helps him regain his old, less volatile, temper."
Clara crossed the hall, stepping into the window's warm pool of sunlight.
Lucias still battled the same men, or at least others who were remarkably similar. He charged at the group like a madman, the sword he always had at his side swinging to evade their blows whilst striking some of his own. No longer did the image of a sleek tomcat invade her mind. It had become a rabid lion.
One of the larger men knocked the sword from his lord's grasp, sending it flying to one side and into the shadows. Two others lunged for him. One tackled Lucias about his waist, bearing him to the ground where the second landed on top of them. Others joined in only to fall back to a boot or fist as their lord fought to regain his footing.
Although Lucias swayed on his feet, she caught the telltale signs he'd been hit before. Blood covered the dirt at their feet in large, dark patches. His shirt had gone, likely removed before the sparring had commenced, but his back and shoulders told of where fresh wounds had healed over.
His mother needn't bother sending her pet barbarian. He would kill himself soon enough without their help. What he needed was to take up another, less dangerous, activity. But what else could cool his temper as fast as this? What would tire him out quicker still? Prolonged strenuous activity. Her face blazed anew at the thought, its heat slinking down her neck.
Clara plucked at the dress' high collar. She would not become his new pacifying tool. "Gettie?" she called over her shoulder, unable to look away from the swaying man who tried to fight even as he fell. "What is it he can't have?"
"Only what his mother wouldn't give and his father tried to offer, but could not." A squeak of a door hinge spoke of the woman's passage.
What did she mean by that? Clara spun, further questions surfacing. The hall before her stood bare.
Chapter Ten
Her toe bashed against the edge of another step. Clara jumped, catching herself before she could stumble and do something as silly as twist an ankle. Climbing up here purely because Lucias had requested her to was stupid enough without adding to it.
She wasn't even sure where they were. Near the base of a tower by the feel of it. Although those steps weren't the only winding stairs in the Citadel. She could've been anywhere in this accursed place. Alone. With Lucias.
With her palm pressed flat to the cool stone of the stairway wall, she fingered the blindfold and gave serious thought to stripping the coarse linen from her face. I gave my word I wouldn't. She would've labelled it as yet another foolish choice, just above her promise to stay in exchange for Tommy keeping his soul.
Since her abduction nigh on twelve days ago, she couldn't come up with a reason not to trust Lucias' word. As far as she could determine, he hadn't once lied to her. Although he needed her solely for producing an heir, he'd been honest about it and hadn't tried to so much as kiss her after the failed attempt in the training grounds. His actions, on the other hand, well they just puzzled her.
Her foot tapped against the stone, the toe of her slipper lightly brushing another step. At least, she hoped it was a step. Ahead, muffled by the fabric pulled tight over her ears, came the soft squeak of a hinge.
What was this thing he wanted to show her anyway? He'd refused to answer beyond two words. A surprise. It could be anything. He could be leading her to anywhere. His bedchamber?
She shuffled on the spot. Tommy stood at the foot of the stairs. They weren't high, not from what steps she'd counted. A story or two. Tommy might hear if she screamed. There'd be naught he could do except get himself killed.
A finger not belonging to her brushed her forehead, the nail chill against her skin. Clara flinched, not daring to pull back lest she made a deadly misstep. The blindfold lifted. She blinked in the dim light.
Lucias stood before her, a mere silhouette against the brightly lit doorway. His hands took up hers and he gently guided her towards the door. The promise of light and space beckoned her forth. Shrugging him off, she stepped into the room beyond and froze.
Candlelight glittered against mirrors and polished metal. Clara flung up a hand and, her eyes watering, peered through the narrow gap between her fingers. A bedroom. What else could the shimmering curtain at the far end hide but a bed? Why bring her all the way up here to show her this? Was it his bed? Did he think her already cowed?
Her eyes having finally adjusted to the light, she took another, more cynical, look about the space. No. He'd never slept here. The room's decor didn't hold to his preferred motif of red and black, swapping gold for the former. And surely his chamber would have less lace.
"Do you like it?" he whispered, his breath hot on her ear.
Stiffening, she lurched into the middle of the room. Two large screens sectioned off a corner. Someone hadn't chosen just embroidery or mosaics on the panels, but opted to lavish them with both. Then they'd put gilt over the frames. Over most of the furniture, in fact. None of the other rooms bore this much ornamentation. And there was the lace... The same person had put lace on everything they could. Did he mean for her to stay in this temple to gaudiness?
"You... don't like it, do you?"
"It's a bit much." Curtains covered the left wall. They billowed in the centre, parting to briefly allow a sliver of natural light into the room. It didn't improve the look. Who would choose to live like this? "Can I not stay where I am now?" She eyed the way out. No doubt the door bore a sturdy lock to which he'd have the only key.
"Traditionally, the mistress sleeps here when not in her lord's bed." He grimaced as if suddenly aware of what he'd said. "I can have it redecorated to suit you. Anything you want." Lucias fumbled with something in his hand. "Here." He pressed the cold, hard object into her palm, closing her fingers over it. "I-I swear, there's no copy. Use it however you wish."
She opened her fist. A key, barely the length of a finger, glittered in the candlelight. No copy? Did he actually expect her to believe him? She'd only his word it fitted the lock at all. "You led me all the way up here to show me my new prison?" She would not be staying here. She'd rather death claimed her than be forced into another cage. However spacious and tacky that cage might be.
"I don't intend it to be such, although you can lock yourself in if you wish. What I came to show you is behind there." He waved a hand at the curtains. They slid apart at the flick of his wrist and the sharp snap of his fingers.
Like many of the rooms holding such luxury, windows made up much of the wall. Here, most of the view was barred by large leaves ribbed in green and yellow. A glass-panelled door stood in the centre, already open and letting in the cool breeze.
She stepped through the doorway and into the area beyond. Sunlight warmed her face, tempered by the wind. An earthy scent hung in the air along with an aroma that reminded her of the flower sellers in mid-spring. Breathing deeply, she pushed her way through the overhanging leaves, halting as the garden opened out before her.
Large flowerbeds took up much of the balcony, giving way to a row of small bushes. Bees busied themselves amongst the petals, each little buzz working towards a solid hum. Sunlight bathed them, its warmth a welcoming sensation after the chill climb.
Clara walked along the garden's edge, halti
ng as her gaze settled on a metal fence running high above the otherwise low castle wall. Even here, amongst what beauty nature had to offer, she was to be reminded of her imprisonment. A cage would still be a cage even if she possessed the only key.
"My mother's legacy to this place." Lucias halted beside her, his hands clasped at his back. "I can have it removed, if you wish. Although the netting below will remain."
She peered over the edge. A large, awning-like net spanned the drop. She couldn't see a way to climb down to it, safely or otherwise. No doubt the netting was strong enough to keep a person from splatting onto the rooftops or the walkway beyond. "Your mother tried to kill herself?" She glanced at him over her shoulder.
He inclined his head. "When she was pregnant with me. My father had been walking the path below at the time. He put up the net and she tried again."
Kill yourself to destroy the heir. Her stomach twisted at the thought. How long had the old Great Lord held Lenora to make her so determined? "She didn't attempt any other means?"
"She tried. But, like you when you first arrived, she was not let near the sharper implements."
Clara winced at the memory. Although they checked each knife and fork before letting her leave the dining hall, at least they now allowed her to cut her own food. "There are other ways." Her gaze wandered to the windows and the curtains hanging on the other side. Given enough time alone, she could strangle herself with them. "I'm surprised she didn't try killing you sooner." Surely a babe would've been easier to slay than a fully-grown man.
His silence drew her back to stare at him.
Those dark eyes watched her, their sadness mirrored in the quirk of his lips. "I was removed from her side at birth. Nursed by so many servants I cannot recall all their faces." His lips curved further, the smile self-mocking. "My mother wasn't permitted in the same room as me until my fifth year and even then, not without an armed escort at my side." With one hand on his bet, his thumb hitched behind the dark leather and the other hand gripping his sword hilt, he put his back to the fence to stroll about the garden. "S'ppose it's about as far-fetched to you as my mother seeking to kill me."
She glanced at the netting. The ropes seemed new, but their anchors bore the rain-worn mark of age. "Some things are looking a little more plausible." If it was possible his mother had been imprisoned here and kept from killing herself, then who was she to say it wasn't likely the same woman would attempt to do away with her unwanted son? "Your father must've cared a great deal to ensure your safety."
Lucias halted by a raised flowerbed. "My father?" He shook his head. "I was something he needed to have. He cared more about what I was than who I am." Sighing, he sat on the high stone edging. "At his word, I was ushered off to the outposts as soon as I could lift a sword, only to return for one month of every year to live within these walls and learn of the family's gift." He eyed the garden as if held more than vegetation and insects. "By the end of the month, I would always look forward to my next posting. Even the dangerous ones."
"Then why stay here?" If she could get him to leave this place to an area less simple for him to enclose, then perhaps she and Tommy would be able to escape.
"This is where the Great Lord lives. It's where he's always lived. Where else would I go?"
"Surely there must be somewhere which makes you feel more at home." Would it be too much to hope there was also a young woman missing his presence? He must have had some small measure of womanly interaction during his time amongst the guards. The way he stared at her spoke of knowledge she did not yet possess. It scared her. And yet, it also bore an alluring edge, which frightened her even more. How long would it take before she could no longer ignore its pull and gave in?
He shrugged. "I've never stayed in one place long enough to know the city much less the people, with the exception of Endlight but..." Even with his head lowered, she could feel his gaze on her, peering covetously through the mop of black hair. "In any case, out there, amongst the guards not under my father's command, many a man's dealings with women end in the exchange of coin. I was probably about the same age as you when the local guards at Port Dank took me to a certain house along the wharf."
She squirmed, her cheeks warming despite herself. "I don't wish to—"
"It was quite the eye-opener."
Clara frowned down at the tiled floor, her face now fully ablaze. "I'm certain it was," she mumbled. She should've known, should've expected it. "Then why didn't you choose one of them to carry your heir? They would've been more suited than I in a-ac-cepting y-your..." The heat in her cheeks grew, taking her voice with it.
His gentle smile returned in force, amusement crackling in his eyes. "Why would I?" A chuckle escaped the small gap between his lips. "Apart from the necessary waiting required to ensure it is indeed my child, there is quite a difference between spending an hour, or a night, in their company and suffering it for nine months."
"So then you intend to do as they did to you and separate mother and child at birth."
Lucias leant forward, his lips brushing against the forefingers steepled before him. Those dark eyes stared at her. Intense. Hungry. "No," he sighed. His shoulders drooped, his hands falling to dangle between his knees. "That is to say, I had hoped you'd opt to stay." One brow lifted. "You know, I've the power to give you everything you desire."
"It'll do you no good, my lord. All I desire is to go home."
"Why?" he blurted, leaping to his feet with such speed that she jumped. "Your mother has made it plain she doesn't want you back. You have no other family to take you in."
"Because, like this place is for you, it is my home."
He stared at her, his mouth agape. "Fair enough. I cannot condemn what I am also guilty of." He finger-combed the hair back from his face. "I swear if I'd the time to spare in courting, I never would've..." His arm fell to his side. A sigh puffed out his nose. "If you wish to return home after you've conceived, I will not stop you. I probably won't be in any position to argue the point, if I'm to be realistic. All I ask in return is for you to give me a..." The entreaty trailed off as she silently backed away. "Again, you look at me with fear in your eyes," he snarled, following her passage across the garden. "Clarabelle, ple—"
"Do not speak that name to me!" How she hated the way it sounded coming from his lips. Like she was some farmer's cherished cow. "Clara will suffice."
He halted, his brows lifting incredulously. How many people would dare speak to him in such a manner? Anger flared in his eyes, briefly twitching across his face.
She trembled under his gaze. Would he attempt to take her here like he'd threatened to do come the new moon? Perhaps force her down amongst the flowers and empty his seed into her own section of fertile ground. Had he not promised her a month to decide? A full passing of the moon. She hadn't even been here half the time.
The door wasn't far, although he stood between her and it. She clenched her fists, prepared to fight her way free if she must. The key bit into her palm. "This room," she snapped, "it is mine?" Clara held her breath, both waiting for and dreading the answer. What if it was no? She didn't want to think on it.
Frowning, Lucias gave a curt nod.
Crossing her arms, she gathered her strength. "Then you have overstayed your welcome."
Those dark eyes, harder than stone, glared at her. So intense, she thought his gaze could drill its way into her mind. "It appears I have." With one hand clutching his sword hilt, he strode across the garden in silence, his boot heels tapping his fury into the tiles and halting in the doorway. "I... I'm sorry," he said, the words barely decipherable as he spoke into the bedchamber. "It was not my intention to upset you. You have been here but a short time and I understand you are not yet ready to accept your fate."
Her fate? This was not her destiny. She wasn't sure what the Goddess had planned for her, but it wasn't this. "Gettie's right," she spat, aiming to strike the one place she knew she could. "What you want, you simply cannot hope to possess."
&nbs
p; He stiffened as if she'd run him through. The look he shot her bordered on pained, then he inclined his head, nodding gently. "I shall relieve you of my presence this evening. Good day, Miss Weaver."
Feeling sick at having spoken the way she had, she watched him leave in guilty silence. The hum of bees and birdsong gradually invaded the quiet, both sounding far too cheerful for her liking.
Chapter Eleven
The room had a subtle warmth about it, adding the cosy air of home to the dim glow of the candles, their ruddy light turning the gilding brassy.
With the key firmly stuck in the lock, she pressed her back again the door. Solid wood. Not enough to stop the determined. Even the lock wouldn't keep the more resolute out. No escape from this place. No secret passages to aid her in times of danger. At least, none she was aware of. She could hardly ask Lucias and expect a believable answer.
True to his word, he'd left her in peace this evening. Clara hadn't expected the dining room to be utterly devoid of life when she'd entered. Her meal, so rich in looks, had lacked the flavour it'd borne in the past week. Twelve days. Strange to think it had been so short a time. She could've sworn she'd spent months under this roof.
And, for the first time since she'd been kidnapped, she felt alone. Tommy sat at the bottom of the stairway, the closest he'd been for any extended time, and she still couldn't shake the feeling. Odd it hadn't struck her before. Not even when they'd shut her away against her will and left her utterly by herself with no explanation of why she was there.
Could she actually be missing Lucias' company?
Clara shuddered. It couldn't be right. She was just stunned by not having to listen to his soft, almost rational, voice. Yes, that's it. Being free of his captivating gaze and the way it raked over her every time they were together would make anyone feel strange.
Dark One's Mistress (Dark One Trilogy Book 1) Page 9