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

by Alien, Aldrea

  "I—" Lucias gave a breathless cough. Blood tinged his lips. "She's not preg—" The words were lost as he coughed again, then fell silent.

  "Do you think me a fool, boy? You cannot lie to me." She lunged at Clara, her hands clawed like powerful talons. Strong fingers grabbed her shoulders, hauling her free of the barbarian's grip. "Why else would he keep you here, hmm?" Lenora shook her and Clara found herself clinging to the woman with her uninjured hand to stay upright. "How can you be here and not carry his child?" With a sudden, hissing gasp, Lenora stilled. "How..." Her sharp blue eyes narrowed, emphasizing her beak-like nose. "He speaks the truth?" she breathed.

  "He does," Clara spat, jerking herself free of the woman's grasp. Her left arm stung. Had she cut it? "My lord has not touched me." But he'd been so close. Had he guessed this would happen? Surely, he couldn't have known she would need to speak of her purity without falsehood. Wouldn't be able to guess the woman may take his words for truth. Then why did Lenora no longer seem quite so adamant?

  They've their own magic. It wouldn't be something capable of facing the Great Lords head-on. Could the woman tell when someone lied?

  Lenora glanced down at her son. "But—" Doubt flickered across her face for an instant and was gone.

  "What's the matter, my lady?" Clara said through gritted teeth. "Does it bother you to know you didn't give birth to a monster?"

  The woman gave her a flash of teeth Clara assumed was meant to be a grin. "They're all monsters, girl." Lenora nodded towards the barbarian. "Even him."

  Seemingly not hearing the lady's words, the giant of a man lifted his axe and tested the weapon's blade with his thumb. "Do you want me to kill 'im now, my lady?" He jerked the same thumb at Lucias' inert form. His head cocked to one side as he waited for an answer and the bound tail of his ashen hair tumbled across his shoulder.

  The fine arches of the woman's brows drew together. "No. I wish to be as far from here as possible before he dies." She motioned the barbarian back with a wave of her hand. "And he will be gone before this day is out. Nothing can stop it now."

  Clara flinched as Lenora's gaze swung back to her.

  "Bring her along."

  The barbarian advanced, his dark blue eyes hard. He towered over Clara by a good three or four feet. Although his chest was bare and his armoured legs spoke of enduring many battles, he bore little in the way of scars. His thick, calloused hands closed upon her shoulders. His arms, each one thicker than her thigh, barely flexed as he hoisted her off the ground.

  Her knee jerked as he lifted her higher. She whimpered as the joint struck something cold and malleable, but also as hard as metal.

  A strangled grunt passed the barbarian's lips and she slid out of his hands as, clutching himself, the barbarian sank to the floor.

  Clara hobbled back a few steps from the hulk of man, her right knee throbbing. Had she heard Lenora's orders right? First the woman wished to kill her, then they planned on taking her with them. What were they up to? "If you think I am leaving with you..."

  Those eyes, burning with a cold fire, snapped open to glare at her. The words growled through his throat with such ire, even though she couldn't understand them, he could nevertheless only be cursing. He knelt, a hand creeping towards his belt and the heavy knife sheathed there.

  Lenora stilled him with the faint touch of her fingers on his shoulder. She eyed Clara; the falcon had found something interesting in her prey. "Do you know what will happen upon his death?"

  "I do," she snapped. "And once he takes his final breath, you'll have sent hundreds of innocent people to their deaths." And here she was, lingering in what would become the heart of the maelstrom. I need to get out. She needed to find somewhere safe before it was too late.

  "And you still wish to stay?"

  "I never said I'm staying." Truly, she'd no desire to wait for when the madness struck and the land succumbed to those it had punished. "I'm just not leaving with you."

  The barbarian had gotten to his feet. He sheathed his weapons, although he surveyed the room as if expecting an attack. Clara didn't want to think on why the Citadel had suddenly become so silent. Were the servants waiting for the man to depart? Had she been in their place, she would have. "Are we taking the girl or not?" he asked.

  Lenora tipped her head back and glared at Clara down her nose, making the hooked feature take on an even bigger resemblance to a beak. "No," she finally announced in a clipped and precise fashion. "If she'd rather die here, then so be it."

  Clara folded her arms, biting her lip as her hand sharply reminded her it was still broken. She'd no intention of staying. Leaving with them would've ensured her safety from the suddenly free men, but she'd no idea how far she could trust either person. What if the woman decided it would be better to kill her anyway?

  The barbarian grunted and, with Lenora close behind, marched out the door.

  She quietly trailed after the pair, clinging to the doorframe of the main entrance with its shattered doors. The remains of the men who'd given their lives to guard the Citadel lay at its feet.

  Clara watched the pair mount the heavy warhorse. No one appeared to stop them. Not even as much as a single arrow dared to sing out in defiance. The murderer had walked in and now he left without a single care as to what havoc he had wreaked.

  The horse thundered across the compacted earth and through the broken maw of the Citadel's entrance. Beyond lay the sun-bleached road leading down Mount Winding. She could leave. Nothing would move to bar her way now. The carriage would be waiting in the stable yard. It would be easy to take Tommy and depart. Forever. She took a step towards the lure of freedom.

  Her foot landed in something damp and sticky.

  Clara glanced down to find she'd marched to the edge of the carnage littering the steps. Now the area had her full attention, she could see more bodies amidst the courtyard's gloom. Bile rose in her throat as her eyes adjusted and she identified halves and bits amongst the corpses.

  She couldn't leave. To do so now would be to let the kingdom fall, to have this carnage spread across the land like a plague. She glanced over her shoulder at Lucias. He should have been dead. Would've been if his mother hadn't decided to stay the barbarian's hand. He'd still die if someone didn't help him. Like me. Who else would dare?

  Turning her back on the open gate, Clara knelt at his side.

  For a second, she could've sworn Lucias had already left the living world. Blood oozed onto the floor, soaking into the black and red threads to blend well with the rug. Then, as she rolled him onto his back, his breath, near non-existent, gurgled out of his throat. The sword had pierced his abdomen. A thin cut, but straight through.

  Tearing her dressing gown from her shoulders, she pressed her hand to the wound. Warmth quickly soaked through the thin fabric. The flesh underneath her fingers bulged in an unsettling fashion. Clara wasn't entirely certain when it came to the nature of a man's body, but she knew it wasn't meant to feel like this. Had the cut been the other way, she was sure Lucias would bear more resemblance to the men out in the courtyard.

  As it was, he'd die, but the death promised to be slow and, should he regain consciousness, painful. The training grounds. If it could heal a man's arm when cut to the bone, then surely it could mend this.

  Hooking her arms into the hollow area under his arms, she struggled to move him. His weight dragged at her arms, growing heavier with each footfall. The carpet snagged on his belt and pulled at his boots. Her broken hand screamed at the strain, her other arm, dull compared to the fire in her fingers, grumbled its own opinion on the matter. Sweat ran down her back despite the cool air.

  Her foot slipped and she fell backwards with a yelp, losing her hold on Lucias' limp form. He collapsed onto her legs, a groan issuing from his lips.

  Hot tears filled her vision. She slapped the floor, wincing as the movement jarred her aching arm. I won't make it. He was going to die before they reached the training grounds.

  Panting, Clara brushed t
he hair from her face. Her body ached with a deep weariness. She wanted nothing more than to obey its call and sleep. I can do this. They couldn't be far now.

  She pulled her legs free of Lucias' bulk. Her ankle throbbed as she clambered back to her feet. I can do this. He'd die if she didn't.

  Her heel tapped the edge of a step and, muttering between her teeth as she hobbled upwards, she hauled him over. The chill stone underfoot fast numbed her soles, but now there was no longer any carpet, his body didn't drag quite as much.

  Yet each lurching, backwards step took more effort than the last to make.

  Clara stumbled, catching herself before she could fall. Lucias slipped from her arms and onto the floor. In the silence, broken only by her panting, came the rapid thud of footsteps.

  Holding her breath, she listened. The sound was getting nearer. Who was coming down the corridor at such speed? Did they search for her? For their lord? Who amongst the criminals sent here wouldn't wish to see him gone?

  She hobbled to the nearest door. It was unlocked, the room beyond devoid of life. They could hide and wait for the person to pass. Her heart hammering, she tried to lift Lucias again. Her arms refused to bear his weight any longer. Grabbing the collar of his jerkin, she hauled. Lucias didn't budge.

  A shadow, tall and wavering in the light, appeared on the wall. Clara tugged harder. Her aching shoulders protested. What she wouldn't give to feel a dose of fear right now, then she might actually have the strength to move him, even if only for a moment.

  The shadow merged into a figure. A small, lean man. He paused before resuming his advance at a slower pace. Torchlight picked up the edge of a sword. She planted herself firmly between the person and Lucias. If she was to die here, then she wasn't doing so peacefully.

  "Clara?" The torches illuminated a face she hadn't expected to see. Although, in the flickering light, the sweet, simple boy she'd known for years had vanished.

  Relief washed over her, near stealing her ability to stand. Tommy was alive.

  He stepped closer. "They told me to wait so I did. Then the man came and the others died. I waited until he was gone, but you didn't come." A worried frown creased his gentle brow. "We need to go."

  "No." They couldn't leave. Not yet. "You have to help me." She crouched by Lucias. His breathing seemed shallower than before. They were running out of time. "We need to reach the training grounds. Do you think you can get him there?"

  Those soft brown eyes lowered to examine Lucias. He brushed a finger across the dark stain marring the jerkin. His gaze flicked to her and his lips pressed together. Sighing, Tommy handed her the sword.

  The hilt tilted in her hand, the sharp tip glancing off the floor with a jarring clank. Her hold on the worn leather slipped and the sword hit the stone. The clatter of its passage rang out along the corridor.

  Tommy grabbed the older man around the chest and, grunting, started the task of dragging him down the corridor. Clara hastened to maintain control of the sword before the noise drew less trustworthy men. She followed close behind the pair, absorbed in keeping the sword free of the floor.

  They were further from the training grounds than she'd hoped. Too far for her to have made it before Lucias succumbed to his injuries. Tommy set a good pace, faster than she could've done uninjured. How much time did they have left? It'll be close. Hopefully the magic would work. It has to. She couldn't bear to think on Lucias actually dying.

  Clara glanced up as she walked by a pillar. Another sat a few feet away, followed by the dark expanse of the training grounds. Not far now. Torches burned on each pillar, lending the area an air of undisturbed solemnity.

  Beside her, Tommy lowered Lucias to the ground.

  Her body tingled as she padded onto the dirt. The aching in her shoulders diminished then vanished altogether. Her ankle and knee, having puffed up in the walk here, shrank back to their original sizes. And her hand...

  She dropped the sword to examine the swollen, purple fingers. It still hurt, but maybe mending bones took longer than knitting flesh back together. Hopefully the magic was working faster on the stab wound.

  Clara knelt by Lucias' head. His breathing no longer seemed quite as shallow or laboured. She plucked at the jerkin, lifting the congealed mass around the cut to see if anything was happening. The wound still lay open, but his blood no longer ran as freely. That wasn't necessarily the magic's work.

  Tommy suddenly dove for the sword, bringing the tip around as he stood and faced the dark corridor. "Someone's coming."

  Now she was listening for it, the faint tread of feet reached her ears. She twisted around, eyeing the weapon racks on the other side of the grounds. No use trying to make a run for them. She'd never reach the racks before the person got here and, even if by some miracle she did, there were few weapons she could lift let alone wield.

  "May the Goddess forgive me," Gettie said, "I thought he'd be dead by now. Just what do you think you are doing, girl?"

  Clara swung to face the old woman. Gettie stood in the corridor, a large meat cleaver in her hand. Her gaze bore into Lucias. He didn't seem any better. Were they too late? Had the Great Lord's old magic finally released its prisoners?

  "The training ground heals people," Clara said by way of an explanation. She smoothed back Lucias' hair, damp with sweat. His body trembled under her fingers. "It will heal him, won't it?"

  Gettie threw up her hand. "Pah! Doesn't the lad tell you anything? The magic feeds off the Great Lord's strength. Look around you, girl!" She flapped her hand at the walls.

  Without the stark daylight, Clara easily spied a chain of glyphs encircling the grounds. They seethed with pale blue light.

  "It's struggling to mend him. If he hasn't got enough left in him to aid it, nothing will stop him from dying." The woman waggled a finger at her as if Clara were an unruly child. "You better pray there's enough magic left to make him stronger or we're all going to be in trouble."

  "The magic still works." Her hand continued to tingle. Upon examination, it didn't look quite as purple as before. "I can feel it."

  Gettie's eyes narrowed. "If you're hurt, girl, then you'd best stay out of there and let the magic work on him alone until he's stronger."

  Lucias' brow moved, pushing against her fingertips. A soft puff of breath left his lips. She could've sworn it was her name.

  Clara lifted his head and pillowed it on her lap. "It'll work." She bent over his body, lifted the jerkin and checked the wound. It'd grown smaller, the flesh within no longer quite so angry-looking. "He's healing." She gently wrapped her arms about his shoulders, briefly squeezing. He's going to live.

  "Yes," Gettie mumbled, marching along the line of pillars with her cleaver at the ready. "I can feel it."

  Clara stared at the old woman, her face burning with embarrassment. How could she have forgotten that Gettie, although kind and as protective as any grandmother, was soulless like all the other criminals? "I'm sorry." With Lucias alive, the old woman's chance at being truly free died.

  Gettie paused. "It is not your fault, child, anymore than it is his." She nodded towards Lucias. "Things happen the way do and not all mistakes can be undone. It is the way of the world and there's little we can do about it."

  "But you never should've been punished." The woman had only been protecting the innocence of young girls after all.

  Gettie stared at her with a vapid smile. "But I did kill them. Didn't have to. Could've gone to the authorities." She shook her grey-haired head. "Chose the other path. You may not think I deserved this life, and it may be true, but it's the only life I've had. No point in regretting it at my age."

  Lucias bucked beneath Clara's hands, starling her. His head thrashed, rocking between her knees, then stilled. A groan rumbled through his throat. His eyelids flickered open, slid shut, then widened. "W-what... how?" He blinked up at her, frowning. "Clara?" he croaked. "No, you can't... You ca—" He gasped for another breath. "You must go."

  Her stomach fluttered. He'd almost d
ied and his first conscious thought was towards her safety. "Don't be daft." She calmly brushed the hair from his eyes, holding his head still when he tried to object. "I'm not going to go gallivanting down the mountain with the one-man siege machine out there." The barbarian could still return. Lenora must be searching for signs of an uprising. Would the woman dare another attempt on her son's life so soon after the first had failed?

  "You can't stay—"

  Clara laid a hand over his mouth. The lips beneath her palm were soft and warm. "Hush now," she whispered. "Close your eyes. Rest."

  "I'm sorry," he mumbled against her fingers.

  "Don't think on it. You can apologise to me later." There would be a later. She was certain of it. "Right now, you need to rest."

  His eyelids slid half closed. "Don't leave me."

  She took up his hand and squeezed the fingers tight. "I'm still here."

  Lucias rolled his head to one side, his cheek resting against her thigh. "I love you," he whispered.

  "Hush now." Clara smoothed the hair back from his face. He loved her? She couldn't have heard him right. He had to be delirious with the blood loss. Healing such a wound, even with the aid of magic, must take its toll on the body. And he was so pale. How much blood could a body lose before it was too much? But still...

  She bent and kissed his forehead. He loves me.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Clara stood in the main entrance, clean and freshly clothed. The sun had risen whilst she'd washed away all traces of blood from her skin. In the dawn light there wasn't much left of the aftermath, just a few pools of red staining the earth and a thin column of smoke rising above the Citadel's outer walls from a funeral pyre.

  With the barbarian gone and Lucias' life no longer in danger, the servants had appeared in force. She watched them mill about the courtyard. Some were beginning to repair the damage the giant of a man had done. Most of the men were engaged in the grisly task of removing what was left of those who'd fallen in the initial attack. The rest scoured the mountainside for any sign of Lenora and the barbarian.