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

by Alien, Aldrea

  Around the corner, a pair of chairs akin to the one in his chambers sat before the hearth. A figure, cloaked in flickering shadows, lounged in one of the seats.

  Between the chairs stood a table and on it, lying innocently beside a tankard, was a dagger. Clara gasped. Although the firelight stained the metal, she was sure of it being the same weapon she'd seen last night. He took it. Stole it right out from under his pillow whilst she slept. And she hadn't even stirred.

  Faint against her footsteps, she caught the scrape of a blade being drawn across the table's surface. His hand had fallen upon the hilt, his fingers slowly lifting it into his palm.

  If Lucias had returned for the weapon, he would have stood right next to her. Perhaps even leant over her unconscious form. She shivered. He could've done any number of things to her before she'd been in a position to stop him.

  Except he didn't. He'd all the power to make her obey his wishes and he didn't bother to use it. Was this some sort of game to him? "That dagger was taken from your room last night."

  His fingers withdrew from the hilt. The dagger rocked on the table, glittering in the firelight. "Naturally." Another rustle of old paper filled the silence. "I'd no desire for you to accidently cut yourself."

  She halted at his side, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "And the poker?" What would be his excuse for moving it?

  Lucias glanced up. "The what?"

  Clara frowned. She'd placed the poker near the head of the bed, practically level with the pillow. How could he have missed seeing the slim rod and not stumble over it? "You did go into the room after I was asleep, didn't you?"

  He chuckled. "I assure you, I have not yet returned to my chambers. And I certainly did not attempt such a thing last night." The book snapped shut with a dry thump. "Believe me, I am well aware of how unwanted my presence is." Balancing the book on his knee, he reached for the tankard. "I sent Gettie."

  "Like you did this morning?" She could well recall the ghastly image she'd woken to. Of the old woman looming over her, a mere shadow against the candlelight. A good thing Gettie had already taken the dagger away or the Citadel would've had one less servant. Clara still wasn't sure how to feel about the woman. She had admitted to being Gutting Gettie, the monster who'd terrorised the men of Neardim. Except, the old woman just didn't fit into Clara's picture of a ruthless killer.

  A brow twitched upwards. The tankard lowered from his lips, the bottom gently resting atop the book. "My apologies. I was unaware she'd woken you."

  "You didn't send her in?" Had the woman then decided on her own when to wake Clara? But the servants were meant to be under Lucias' full control. They get sent all over the kingdom. There had to be certain decisions they could make on their own. Orders that can be warped. Had Sirius not twisted his lord's orders on how many women to bring before Lucias?

  "I haven't been beyond these walls since last night."

  She took in the rumpled twist to his clothes—a simple, linen shirt added to the pants and boots he'd worn last night—and the unkempt mass of his hair. "You spent the night here?" She recalled the lonely tray and its remains of the meal she'd found back in the room. He must spend so much of his time... "Alone?"

  "Utterly, save for my books." He waved his hand about, indicating the room in a sweeping arc, and beamed. "I used to come here often as a child, seeking solace in the tomes and scrolls of old."

  "I wouldn't pick you for the scholarly type." He certainly didn't fit with her vision of them, which had more in kin with robes and glasses than leather and swords. Nor did they have any right being quite as muscular as he.

  "Oh?" His shoulders trembled in a silent laugh. "I more or less had to be. My father insisted on his heir having at least some knowledge of the kingdom he was to govern." He shook his head. "I grew so tired of the history he forced down my throat. The battles we've won over the centuries, the internal politics..." The words faded into a weary sigh. "To think I first came here of my own accord looking for answers. For truth."

  She shuffled on the spot, cold despite the roar of the fire. "And did you find it?"

  Lucias drank deeply from the tankard, those dark eyes unwavering as he stared at her over the rim. He sighed again, the sound amplified by the tankard before he lowered it. "If you mean I discovered my father hadn't lied to me, then yes."

  "You suspected your father was lying?" Clara had thought—truly hoped—his paranoia was a current thing, but if he'd been in the habit of distrusting his father's words even as a child... then maybe the souls weren't what made the Great Lords insane.

  "My father lied practically every time he opened his mouth. But it didn't matter by then. I'd fallen for the tales all these scholars and travellers told of other lands. Places I could never go." He laid a hand on the book still balanced between knee and chair arm. "This has always been a favourite of mine."

  Clara peered at the title embossed on the front. "That book..." The World Beyond. She'd bought a tattier version on the morn of her kidnapping. Had he somehow known? It couldn't be possible. Only two people in the whole world would've known of her purchase. And she was one of them.

  "Quite the humorous read." He patted the leather cover as if it were some old and faithful hound. "Although I must say the kingdoms wouldn't be quite as pleasant as they're depicted in these pages. They've many myths about us and we're often viewed as... unwelcomed visitors."

  Hugging herself, she rubbed at an arm. "The kingdom or its lord?"

  "Both." Lucias leant back in his seat and nodded at the curtained window. "Tell me, what do you see?"

  Clara marched over to the thick drapes and jerked them aside. The room sat high enough to offer a beautiful view of the surrounding land. She leant against the glass. Below sat Everdark in shades of grey and beige.

  Her chest constricted at the sight, even though Everdark was dull against the vivid green backdrop of the land. Near lifeless in appearance. All her life she'd only ever wanted to leave the place and now... "I see a home I can never return to."

  "And beyond it?"

  Her gaze lifted, following the winding path of the Murkwater. It meandered by fields and forests, past the faint suggestions of other villages dotting the green, and then finally vanished into the forests standing along the border. Beyond the trees sat the milky-blue haze of the steppes. "A land I'll never get to walk over."

  "You could," he said, his breath warming her neck, "if that is what you wish."

  Clara stiffened. I didn't even hear him move. And now he stood between her and the only way out. She should never have turned her back on him.

  His hand brushed against her side and she shivered as it slid down to settle in the subtle curve in her waist created by her skirts. "You've certainly more chance of wandering this world than I."

  "Because of your mother's desire to kill you?" She slunk along the window, keeping her movements small in the hope he wouldn't notice. "I don't understand why she desires your death so intently. Surely you cannot be blamed for your father's actions."

  In the faint reflection on the glass, she saw him grimace. "She does it because of what her people believe. We've become their nightmares, the tales they tell to scare unruly children." His arm wrapped around her waist, gently drawing her back to him. "To those beyond the kingdom's borders, I'm just one in a long line of Dark Lords," he whispered. "A line that has gone on too long by their thinking." The bitterness in his voice hung in the air, lifting the hairs on the back of her neck just as much as his breath did. "People who have barely heard of my family will envision me as just another parasite who drains men of their souls."

  Clara spun to face him, tearing free of his grasp. "But you do." And kidnap young women. Just as his father had done with his mother all those years ago.

  "To the exact same men their laws would rather see hang. At least here they can be put to good use and serve the kingdom."

  "Men like Tommy?" How many men, and women, had been accused of crimes they hadn't done and suffered having t
heir souls wrenched from their bodies?

  His gaze slid to the windowpane, although unfocused as if he stared at some unseen place. "It matters not what land you go to," he murmured, "sometimes innocent people get unjustly punished." He leant forward, his hands resting on the wall behind her. "And if I have not at least sired an heir before this accursed barbarian arrives to take my life, then the real wicked men will either die with me or be set free. Such a fate is far more unjust than anything I could do to the people."

  She jerked back. The corner of the windowpane greeted her with a vicious dig between her shoulders. Her eyes watering, she struggled to think of anything beyond the paralysing burst of pain radiating down her spine. "Y-you mean you don't know either way?"

  "The only way to be certain is for me to die. I'd rather the world didn't find out in such a way." To her right came the squeak of his hand on the window. "Just imagine... the village being set upon by the same murderers and thieves it sent me."

  In the film of her tears, Clara could see it all so clearly. If they did not die with their master, the as-for-now-servants of the Citadel would pour down the mountain in a vengeful avalanche of death, taking what they could and destroying what they could not. "The watch will—"

  "The watch?" His lips twisted into the ghost of a sneer. "They would not be enough to stop such men."

  He was right. She hated to agree with him, but he was right. She'd heard the young men who'd joined the watch boasting on how they never had to do much. Just watch. The tasks of tracking and imprisoning criminals were ones best left for the lord's men.

  "Such a scene would play out across the kingdom. Some of the more fortified towns along the border will withstand the initial assault, but between here and them?" His shoulders flexed, sending ripples down his sleeves. "If they don't fall beforehand, they will when we are invaded." He stepped closer, pressing her against the wall. The musk of linen and warm skin filled the air between them. "I must beget an heir to keep the kingdom safe, both from internal strife and invasion." His breath fell hotly upon her face. "And, of course, to beget an heir, I require a woman."

  "Me?" she squeaked. Her cheeks burned. What a foolish thing to say. Of course he meant her.

  His lips slowly curved into a soft smile. "You are my preference, yes." He leisurely curled a lock of her hair around his finger. "I know it is unlikely to mean much to you in light of the circumstances, but you possess many of the qualities I desire in the mother of my child."

  "Like being a virgin of age?"

  The soft puff of a laugh escaped through the gap between his lips. "Those points are important, in the beginning at least. But fleeting. I was referring to the lovely strong mind you're harbouring behind such a sweet face." Releasing her hair, he caressed her cheek. "I've no doubt there's a cunning lurking in the depths of those rich brown eyes, equal, perhaps, to your compassion. You'd have done well in the Ebony Court; those stuffy nobles at Ne'ermore wouldn't quite know what to make of a woman like you."

  Clara jerked her head away, fighting to quash the scorching fire in her cheeks. "So my lack of willingness to be here, to be used as you wish, means nothing?" Her arms had become pinned at her side. A bit of wriggling gave her the room to slip them between their chests. Such a position wasn't much better.

  "Nobles of all kingdoms arrange—"

  "I'm not of noble blood!" With her back braced against the wall, she shoved. He didn't budge.

  "Yet your marriage was still being taken care of for you. I'd have thought you would've seen me as an improvement on the alternative."

  "And now you know better," she snapped, attempting to push him away again. She'd no intention of allowing her mother to shuffle her off to be some man's wife, first or second. At least the cobbler she could've escaped. "And if you think it so beneficial to have it all arranged, then why has it not been done for you?"

  "There hasn't been a marriage in the family since the fourth Great Lord." Frowning, he glanced down and seemed to notice the placement of her hands for the first time. "In any case, apart from there not being any ladies of age—none I know of at least—it's an old belief too much noble blood weakens the next generation's ability to handle the power."

  Something had happened back then. She could see it in his eyes. Something horrible enough to have them forsake wives and legitimate heirs. They go mad in the end. Was the madness what had happened to the fourth Great Lord? Had the magic, the souls, warped his mind so much he'd attacked his wife? She couldn't bring herself to ask.

  "But your parents... your mother." If Lenora truly was of the Raven Household, then she'd be no less noble than any other lady of the court. "She—"

  "It's been a couple of successions since any noblewoman has shared a Great Lord's bed." Taking up her hands, he softy ran his thumbs over her fingers before releasing them to step back from her with a sigh. "Besides, the Raven line has its own small measure of power."

  But not as dark as the Great Lords' magic. Nor could it be as strong, otherwise Lucias wouldn't have existed. Clara inched along the wall. What did it mean for him? Would it prove to give him the edge his predecessors simply hadn't had access to? Or was he doomed to grow insane quicker than his father? She shivered, the thought of him going mad chilled her insides. Whether he did or not, she didn't mean to be around to find out.

  "My lord!"

  Clara jumped at the voice. The answering hiss of Lucias' blade being half drawn had her flattened against the wall without a sound. Did he expect her stand idly by whilst he slaughtered someone?

  He slammed the weapon back into its sheath as Tommy appeared around the cabinet, his brown eyes wide.

  Puffing, the boy staggered forward a couple of feet before propping himself on a nearby bookcase. "There... there's..." he gasped, a shaking finger pointing behind him, "m-men... on the Road!"

  She peered out the window. The Road's winding passage took the mountain in great swooping arcs, allowing the sole path towards the Citadel to be visible from many perspectives. Here, she could only see a couple of corners, but coming up the Road, flanked by men on horseback, trundled a carriage.

  "Endlight colours," Lucias murmured over her shoulder, although Clara couldn't tell the precise shade of the dark lacquer. He grasped her hand, drawing her out into the main section of the study.

  Clara stumbled, desperately trying to free herself from his grip before she became tangled in her skirts and fell. Who had come all the way from Endlight to this dismal place?

  And could they take her with them?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Through the halls they went, him striding along the carpet and she skittering behind like a two-toned leaf. Lucias released her hand as they reached the steps leading out into the courtyard and the green-lacquered carriage that now dominated the area. The golden image of the setting sun had been embedded in the carriage doors, its metallic sheen glittering in the noon light. Endlight. The first defence of the western border.

  At the far end of the courtyard, so close yet no more accessible to her than the freedom they boasted, the gates swung shut.

  Guards and mounted soldiers bustled about the yard, making a mockery of the paltry show the lord's men had shown when she'd first arrived. Two men, one near bald and the other blond, stepped out of the carriage.

  If she were to judge by their clothing—finely-made leather armour—and the way they stood in the centre of this apparent chaos, neither one was a mere commoner. Both held themselves with a sort of rigid grace that spoke of a great wariness honed by years of living on the border and the perpetual danger of invasion. Was Endlight where the kingdom's lords learnt their paranoia?

  Lucias strode down the stairs and, as if they were of one mind, the two strangers faced the Citadel's maw of an entrance.

  "Ah ha!" the older of the pair bellowed. "There he is! Come here, my boy." Extending an arm, he drew Lucias into a hearty embrace. The thump of the man's hand on Lucias' shirt bounced around the courtyard. "Couldn't be having with travelling
this far inwards and not welcome our new Great Lord, now could we? Especially what with being in spitting distance of your doorstep." He swung to stand at his lord's side, keeping Lucias close with an arm draped over his shoulder. "Tell me, lad, how've you been faring since your father's unfortunate passing?"

  "Well enough." Lucias' mouth curved into a simple smile. "I see rumour travels as it always has."

  "Swifter than the crows fly, my boy," said the old man with the nod of his head. "Thought you'd be knee-deep in young women by now."

  Lucias laughed. Clara had never heard such a sound from him before. He had laughed in her presence numerous times, but not like this. Never so open and at ease. "I assure you," he said. "One is quite enough."

  "Bah! Take it from me, lad, they wear out far too soon."

  Clara halted on the top step. The man had to be in his seventies—like Sirius—yet he held himself far straighter than the hunched figure who'd greeted her upon her arrival. Stronger too. His shoulders, like those of the younger man, were broad and appeared to be well-muscled despite his age.

  Lucias glanced over his shoulder. Untangling himself from the old man's grasp, he beckoned her closer. "Gentlemen, may I introduce my dear mistress, Clara." Taking up her hand, he brought her before the two men, keeping her just out of arm's reach of either one.

  The pair eyed her. She seethed under their gazes. The younger man's face was politely neutral. But the old man... She could all but feel his eyes undressing her. She didn't think she had ever been so glad for the high collar of a gown than she was right now.

  "This," said Lucias, indicating the older of the pair, "is Farris—"

  "The esteemed Count of Endlight and his son, no doubt." Clara curtseyed. "My lords," she murmured between clenched teeth. Lucias seemed awfully at ease with the pair. Was there any hope of convincing the two men to take her with them?

  "Quite a fine maiden you've got there." Grinning, the count gave Lucias a nudge in the ribs with his elbow, the force of which had the young lord rocking to one side. "Would've thought you'd have cured her of the blushing by now, my boy."