He waved his hand, as though it were a minor point. “No one lives forever, Vivienne, even beloved fathers. Someday he would pass, and then we would merge the kingdoms, first under my rule, and then under our son’s.”
Vivienne shuddered inside. Now she had another reason for refusing this union. She had no doubt that, not long after the wedding vows, her father would inexplicably die, leaving Brannon to rule both kingdoms. She kept her thoughts off her face, though, as she answered.
“And what if I wish to rule, Brannon? I have been raised for it, trained for it. Why should I meekly allow you to control not only your own kingdom, but also mine?”
He leaned back in his chair. “Someone must be the final arbiter, Vivi, and you are only the heir because your parents never had a son. Surely you can see that if we merge the kingdoms it must be with me at the head.”
Vivienne’s brain suddenly started working again, and an idea stole over her. Brannon wasn’t just ambitious; he was clever. He’d held her mother all these years, not just so that he would have leverage against Albion, but also so that she would remain the sole heir to the crown. She wondered how long he had been planning it. Since she was born? Before? If she’d had a brother, would he have had an accident? She stared at the king, and something of her true feelings must have shown, for he shook his head.
“Nevermind. Your father will reply to my request, and there is no reason for him to deny me. It is a good idea, and he’ll see that. Not to mention, once we are wed, your mother will be free to return to him.” Vivienne saw her mother’s face in that instant, agonized and hurting. What cruel bait to dangle in front of her. “In the meantime, you may remain as reluctant as you like. It would be prudent of you, however, to familiarize yourself with the rest of the nobility, since you’ll be spending some time among them. To that end, I have someone I want you to meet.” He rose, and went and opened the door. “You may have heard I have a daughter out of wedlock. She’ll never inherit, but she does have a place here at court.”
A lovely young woman, about Vivienne’s age, came in the room. She had a beautiful milky complexion and hair so black it looked like coal. There was a clear family resemblance to Vivi, but her eyes, instead of violet, were a dark midnight blue. Her red, red lips curved in an angelic smile, framed by her sweetly blushing cheeks. Vivienne opened her mouth in wonder at the girl’s beauty, and then smiled. She knew who this was.
“Bianca.”
The girl’s eyes widened, and fear filled them. Vivi looked on in concerned amazement, and then, from behind her, she heard Brannon speak.
“Actually,” purred the king, “when I acknowledged her, I changed her name to Nieve. So much more regal than the vulgar name her mother gave her. No one calls her Bianca anymore.” She heard him rise and come to stand behind her. “Now, where,” he said, his voice filled with menace, “might you have heard that name, pretty cousin? And where,” he leaned down and hissed his next question in her ear, “did you say you spent the last few months?”
He questioned her for hours. Where had she been? How had she met Fain MacTíre? The first time she lied, he slapped her across the face, leaving a smarting hand print. After that she said nothing, hoping silence would fare her better, but it didn’t. Shivers ran down her spine while he hissed in her ear all the ways he could hurt her, without ever leaving a sign that the court would see.
“I will parade you among them every day, your highness, and none of them will ever know what you’re enduring. And you won’t tell them, because if you give so much as a hint, I’ll start on your mother.”
She had been a fool, to think it would be so easy to trick him. Tears ran down her face as she sat and shook her head, over and over. The pain was bad enough, but the fear was worse. Fear that somehow she would give away some clue that would lead him to Fain.
Finally, he summoned a guard to escort her back to her rooms. As she walked out the door, holding her shoulders and shaking miserably, he had a few parting words.
“This doesn’t change anything, Vivienne. You and I are still getting married. I will merge these two kingdoms. I’d prefer your father’s agreement, but if he refuses, we can just skip straight to the marriage bed. Once my child is growing in your belly, he’ll be more than eager to legitimize the brat.” The idea made Vivienne’s stomach turn to ice and her skin crawl with horror.
H is next words drove a dagger straight into her heart.
“One more thing. I will find Fain MacTíre and put him to the sword. With or without your cooperation.”
In her rooms she found her mother and Bianca. The guards gave them black looks, but didn’t ask them to leave, so Vivienne assumed she had a very limited freedom. Once the doors were closed, she fell on the bed, weeping.
“Oh, gods.” Her mother stroked her hair and whispered urgently in her ear. “Did he hurt you? Vivi, talk to me.”
“Yes, he hurt me,” she sobbed into the sheets. “But it isn’t that. I’m scared for—” She broke off, realizing there might be listeners.
Bianca came over and brushed Vivienne’s hair gently out of her face. Her face was full of ethereal purity, and her eyes were deep pools of sadness, reflecting the anguish Vivi felt in her soul. She spoke softly.
“I worry for my foster-brother everyday. But have faith. He’s strong, and brave, and resourceful, and he’ll never give up.”
Isabelle joined Bianca in her comforting platitudes, but Vivienne curled tighter on the bed and ignored the words that washed over her. Despair left no room for comfort. What, in the name of all the gods above, had she done?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The days passed slowly for Vivienne. Brannon would occasionally summon her for questioning, and she always left him aching and fearful. She steadfastly refused to even speak to him, and eventually he’d give up in disgust and send her away again, but not before making her cry out in pain.
Afterwards, Vivi always found Bianca waiting in her rooms to attend her.
One bleak afternoon, after Brannon had taken his riding crop to Vivienne’s shoulders, Bianca gently helped her from her dress and smoothed a salve on the blossoming bruises. Vivienne tried to hold still, but sometimes even Bianca’s light touch would cause her to hiss in pain.
“I’m sorry, Vivi.” Bianca’s gentle voice was full of remorse. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“No, keep going. The salve helps.” The light green unguent smelled like spring and tingled mildly before spreading a cool numbness deep into her skin. “Where did you get it?”
“I make it myself.”
“Really? I had no idea you were an herbalist.”
“I’ve always enjoyed harvesting and preparing remedies. The king encourages my pursuit, as a hobby befitting my station. One of his huntsmen is assigned to escort me whenever I wish to ride out into the wilds. “
“And does he know that you’re using your skill to treat me?”
“Oh, no!” Bianca was dismayed. “Please don’t tell him, cousin. He would forbid it, I think. As long as he doesn’t know, I can do as I like.”
Vivienne fell silent a moment. It hadn’t taken long to realize that Bianca never defied her father in anything. She had asked Isabelle about it, once.
“She used to be much like any other girl, when she was growing up. Perhaps not as willful as you, my dear,” Isabelle had smiled at her daughter, “but lively enough. Something happened when Brannon took her from the MacTíre s. I don’t know what; she never speaks of it. But it broke her inside.”
Remembering the conversation, Vivi spoke up.
“Bianca, why do you refuse to be called Nieve? It’s the only thing I’ve ever seen you refuse the king.”
“My mother named me Bianca, and it’s the only thing I have left of her.” Bianca’s face was almost resolute, an expression that Vivienne had never seen on her before. “Brannon wants to change it because he thinks it’s too common, but I think it’s lovely.”
“And so it is.”
“Do
you know what Nieve means? It’s the Castellian word for snow. I think he’s trying to reinforce the idea that I’m pure and innocent, so that people will forget I’m just a by-blow.”
Vivienne smiled at the comment. Her cousin was a gentle, sweet creature, but she wasn’t stupid.
“Oh, Vivi, he’s split the skin on this one.” The salve stung on the open wound. “They’re getting worse.”
“I know.” She hated the beatings, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit smug.
“Why on earth do you sound pleased?”
“He’s desperate to get information from me. He was so confident he would find Fain, but I think he’s wrong.”
“I don’t know how you stand it.”
Vivienne laughed. Just a bit, because to laugh harder made her body ache. “I said something similar to my mother, right after I got here.”
“What did she say?”
“The pain seems such a small thing, in comparison to the wealth of suffering I would have to trade to end it. “
When she wasn’t being interrogated, she spent her time coming to know Isabelle and Bianca. The three of them would pace for hours in the cold of the winter garden, holding whispered conversations where they couldn’t be overheard. Sometimes they told stories, learning about the years they’d spent apart, and sometimes they discussed the current state of Toldas. Vivienne was dismayed to find that the nobility at court were a greedy, powerless bunch, who blindly supported the king as long as he filled their pockets.
“They don’t care what Brannon is doing to the people?” She asked her mother incredulously.
“Many don’t.” Isabelle shook her head sadly as she replied. “Others don’t know. They live lives far removed from their farmers and herders.”
“There was a village called Dorshire, in the mountains, and all the people went missing…” Vivienne trailed off. The fate of the people of Dorshire weighed heavy on her heart, but she hardly expected her mother to know what happened to them. To her surprise, Isabelle nodded and answered.
“They were rounded up and taken to the logging camps in the north. The king has been sending conscripted laborers there for quite some time, but I haven’t been able to find out why.” Isabelle furrowed her brow in thought.
“How did you know that?”
It was Bianca who answered. “Your mother spends a great deal of time finding out what the king is up to, and passing that information along.”
Vivienne gaped at her mother. “You’re a spy? “
“I told you I was doing good here, Vivienne. Did you think I meant embroidery work?” Isabelle glided serenely away, and her cousin linked arms with Vivi, tugging her along.
“You don’t want them to wonder what we’re speaking of.” Bianca reminded her.
Isabelle was waiting for them by the frozen fountain. Vivienne slipped her free arm through one of her mother’s, so all three of them were arm in arm, gazing at the tiny rainbows created by the icicles on the fountain. It reminded her of the waterfall, and Fain.
“You wouldn’t leave, even if you could, because you’re doing good here.” Vivienne struggled to put her feelings into words. “And he won’t leave, either.” She didn’t have to say who she meant, both women standing with her would understand. “I thought I could find a way for us to be together, I told him I would find a way. But I have to go back to Albion and he…” She bit her lip, and forced herself to say the words. “He has to stay here.”
Isabelle folded her hand over Vivi’s. “There are always options, my love. Nothing is ever certain. And Brannon won’t hold the throne forever.”
“But I can’t wait forever.” Vivienne spoke with quiet despair. “I will have to marry and produce an heir for Albion.”
Bianca wrapped her arms around Vivi’s shoulders, and her mother held tighter to her hand. Vivienne sagged in their arms, feeling the great well of sorrow that had opened in her heart. Even if she managed to go home, it would never be with Fain. She had been a fool.
She didn’t know how long they stood there, but finally she straightened her shoulders, and lifted her chin.
“If I must, I will return home without him. I will even wed another, and bear a child, to secure the succession of Albion. But I will never forget that I love Fain MacTire.” She said the words solemnly, as though she were making a vow. Then she narrowed her eyes and ground the next words out between clenched teeth. “And I will never, ever stop trying to pull that evil bastard off the throne.”
Despite her newfound determination, Vivienne’s chances to overthrow the king were non-existent, so instead she did her best to make his life exceedingly unpleasant. Isabelle chuckled in private over her daughters machinations, but stayed well away in public, to avoid Brannon’s notice. Bianca staunchly stuck by her, but seemed to be perpetually nervous. She had a hard time deciding whether she enjoyed Vivienne’s antics, or was terrified of the retribution they might bring. When the guards escorted them to walk in the galleries, Vivienne took every opportunity to wreak havoc.
“Princess Vivienne? Oh, princess, if I might have a word. Excuse me, Lady Nieve.”
“Oh Lord Van dleforb! I saw the king just this morning, and I told him your lovely plan to cut down the forest north of your land.”
“What?! No, that’s what Lord Madred wants, I want to keep the forests.”
“Oh dear, that must be why he said he was so delighted you’d changed your mind. I’m so sorry, Lord Vandleforb.” The obsequious little toady ran off in a panic, and Bianca gave a terrified giggle.
“It will take him hours to figure out you never said any such thing.”
“And when he does he’ll just think I’m so stupid I can’t even remember what I said.” If nothing else, Vivienne’s little strategy was vastly eroding the support for their marriage that the king had garnered among the nobles.
They were discussing the hideous painting before them when Sir Miles hurried up. Vivienne hated Sir Miles. He was a vile serpent of a man, who lived to carry out Brannon’s every whim. Not only that, but the more tyrannous the deed, the more he seemed to enjoy it.
He gave an oily smile to them both. “Excuse me, princess, Lady Nieve…”
Vivi ignored him. “ It’s really caused by the horrible blend of colors, don’t you think, Bianca? I mean, they have managed to cover this canvas with something that looks exactly like vomit!”
“Ahem, princess, I just need to tell you about th—”
“It doesn’t help that it’s oil paint. So glossy. So lumpy. You can almost imagine it’s fresh from someone’s mouth, can’t you?”
“Lady Nieve,” he turned to Bianca, targeting her as the weaker of the pair. “I have been sent to summon you to—”
“I wouldn’t know, Vivi,” Bianca said in her soft voice. “It isn’t as though I’ve made a study of vomit.”
Vivienne couldn’t tell if Bianca was finally joining in the fun, or simply being sweetly earnest.
Sir Miles fumed, and blurted out his message.
“There’s an audience in the throne room!”
Vivienne felt ice go down her spine. An audience? Maybe her father had responded to Brannon’s request for her hand. Her stomach lurched. Bianca saw her distress and took her hand.
“We’ll be there in a few moments, if you’d like to notify the king.” Sir Miles barely bowed before sauntering off, and once he was out of earshot Bianca spoke soothingly. “Don’t worry, Vivienne. Your mother speaks of your father as a wise and good man. He wouldn’t agree to this without your consent. Now take a few deep breaths.”
Vivi complied, and they set off, hand in hand, to find out what had happened.
The throne room was abuzz. No one knew why they had been summoned, which made Vivienne’s pulse slow down. Surely a royal messenger from Albion would have been noted. This had to be something else. She and Bianca were among the last to arrive, and moments after they made their way to the foot of the dais, Brannon planted himself on the throne. His face was a
light with evil delight, and he cast a malicious glance at both young women. Suddenly Vivienne felt sick again. Maybe the messenger would have been better than whatever was coming next.
The horns sounded and a squad of troops, not from the regular army or the city watch, but the king’s own Royal Guard, herded John Marlplot into the room. He looked battered, although otherwise unhurt, but when he saw Vivienne he gave her a look of such misery that she almost folded up on the floor. How had they caught him? What was going on?
Brannon began speaking. “Many of you know of my ongoing attempt to find the outlaw band that has repeatedly robbed the royal treasury of our tax payments.” The nobles glanced from one another to the large youth standing amongst the guards. He was big, but didn’t look like a hardened criminal. Vivienne could see the questioning doubt on their faces. “Recently I came to believe that some of these outlaws had family residing in the mountains. Specifically, in a little town between here and Albion.” Vivienne started shaking. “After surveying the town, these heroes before you managed to identify one of the bandits and track him back to their hideout. We now know where the Beast has been keeping himself. And we’re going to eradicate these vermin.”
Vivienne locked eyes with Marlplot. She knew he must feel overwhelming guilt over giving away the location of the keep. She wished she could tell him that it wasn’t his fault. Brannon had gleaned a hint from Vivienne after all, and it had been enough to lead him to John. The real fault lay with her. And now, unless a miracle occurred, Brannon was going to kill every man in that keep.
He was going to kill Fain.
“I, personally, will be leading this expedition. We know their location and their numbers, and will have surprise on our side. It’s little more than a hunting expedition, my friends. And you,” he addressed Marlplot, “may come with me. You and your friends can be executed together.”
John barely acknowledged him. Instead he looked at Vivienne. She stopped trembling and squared her shoulders, meeting the loyal man’s gaze with new resolve. She’d been worried and adrift ever since her mistake. Well, no more. It was up to her to escape from here and go warn the men in the keep.
Once Upon a Romance 02 - As The Last Petal Falls Page 22