Queen Allanna Hammerstrike. Even thinking her name was an unpleasant experience. Not as unpleasant as being in her presence, however. Lizbeth’s mind flooded with scene after scene she wished she could forget.
She’d always understood why her parents were so taken in by the royal house of Hammerstrike and hadn’t held it against them. After all, to be the poor relatives of the King, then to have their only daughter chosen specifically by him from the moment of her birth to be the future wife of his only son and the next queen of the Barbarians must have been a great honor. However, her parents had never truly been privy to the side Queen Allanna saved just for Lizbeth, and she was glad they hadn’t.
Her father, fifth cousin twice removed from the king, Lord Lonhiem Soulenticer, and his wife, Lady Liszt had been kind people. He, a hulking barbarian who loved to laugh and hunt and tell stories, and she, a wood-elf who would rather spend her days collecting mushrooms in the forest and digging in the rich soil than in a parlor sipping tea, had been wonderful parents but easily impressed.
Lizbeth had made a promise to herself they’d never know what the private instructor Queen Allanna brought along to give special lessons to their young daughter was really like, and they hadn’t. She wasn’t even sure the Queen herself truly understood the lengths Master Seiger had gone to. But it didn’t matter whether Queen Allanna had known or not. It was still the Queen who had brought him to Lizbeth’s home and, in the end, it was the Queen who had defended his actions.
Always, the morning after the Queen and her entourage arrived for their yearly visit, the classes would begin. Hour after tedious hour of sitting completely still and reciting over and over the virtues of the Hammerstrike family as Master Seiger saw them and all the reasons Lizbeth was lucky she’d been the chosen one. Every year the list grew longer. Every year she would forget at least one small fact no matter how hard she studied, and that’s when the memory lessons as he called them began.
Lizbeth lay very still, crunched her eyes closed, and forced her breathing to remain steady. Why were these dark thoughts invading now? She didn’t want to think about them this morning. She didn’t want to remember. But it was already too late. The blackness she fought overtook her, and once more, she was back in the classroom staring at the white trunk and dreading what was to come next.
White. How she hated white. Every time the Queen made an appearance at their small castle, she always came with an entourage of servants all dressed in white and was accompanied by Master Seiger with his chalk white skin, long white beard, wrinkled white fingers, and spotless white robe.
Sometimes, the Queen’s family came with her, and sometimes, they didn’t. She always arrived in a white coach driven by eight white horses. She always wore a gown of sparkling white, and upon her head was a crown covered with white pearls. She even wore white slippers upon her feet. But, worst of all, she always, always, always brought along six white trunks of varying sizes.
The very first memory lesson had occurred when Lizbeth was five. She’d actually been as excited to see the beautiful lady everyone called the Queen as anyone else had. She’d even been thrilled at the prospect of a new instructor.
The excitement had quickly turned to horror, however, while during her very first session with Master Seiger, she’d forgotten the name of Adan’s favorite steed. Master Seiger had taken her by the hand, walked her over to one of the pristine white trunks, opened it, and placed her inside. He’d told her bad little girls should either be beaten or fed to the dragons. But future queens must not be allowed to have marks on their skin. So, instead, they must lose their air. It would help them learn to be obedient and not ever to forget their lessons again.
Then he’d closed the lid.
Lizbeth wiggled out from under Adan’s arms, grabbed her discarded clothing, and rushed to the window. As soon as she managed to get it open, she collapsed to the floor, gasping.
It was always like this when she remembered. The trunk closing, the sound of the latch clicking, the weight of Master Seiger sitting upon it so she couldn’t escape. The muffled consequences he threatened her with if she dared tell.
Threats of her parents losing their home and its pretty, forested grounds they so loved. Threats of no longer being the chosen bride of Adan Hammerstrike and the disgrace that would bring upon the heads of her family. Even threats of what would happen to the people she loved and to herself.
Lizbeth could still hear his scratchy voice just as clear as if he were right there whispering in her ear. “You’d better not tell anyone, little girl. You’d better not tell. Remember what I said about the dragons. For by darkness of night, wings take flight. And seek out the naughty to devour by next light.”
Then total blackness would envelope her and she would no longer be able to move in the suffocatingly small space. It had frightened her to the point she would sometimes lose control and wet herself, or worse. By the time the air became stale and thin and there was none left to breathe, she’d welcomed what she knew would come next. The terror and finality of darkness and oblivion overtaking her was longed for, considering the alternative was the trunk opening and being forced to face Master Seiger once again. For facing Master Seiger once more meant the process started all over again.
Year after year, this had gone on until Lizbeth was too big to easily fit in even the largest of the white trunks. It had finally stopped when she was eleven.
She remembered the incident precisely. It had been the day after Adan had killed Horatio. Lizbeth had decided she didn’t want to be his queen, after all, and it didn’t matter anymore if Master Seiger carried through with his threats. She would never willingly be put in any small space ever again by anyone.
That was the time she hadn’t gone willingly. That was the time she’d fought back. That was the time she’d demanded to speak with Queen Allanna and exposed Master Seiger for the monster he was.
Queen Allanna had called her an ungrateful little liar and told her how lucky she’d been to be chosen in the first place. The Queen had let her know in no uncertain terms she would be sorry for causing trouble.
Then, the Queen, the King, Adan, his sisters, and the Queen’s entourage, including Master Seiger, had left and never come to visit again. It had also been the first and last time she’d ever seen her mother cry.
Within a season, both her parents were dead.
A horrible sickness had spread like wildfire all across Albrath and taken her parents as two of its first victims. Lizbeth always wondered if it was her fault, her punishment for telling.
It didn’t alleviate her guilt even a little when she’d promised both of them as they lay dying that she would carry out their wish and make them proud of her by becoming the Barbarian queen they’d always wanted her to be.
Although King Alfred Hammerstrike and the queen’s mother, Grandmother Ava, had made a token appearance, the Queen hadn’t had the grace to attend Lord Lonhiem and Lady Liszt’s funerals.
Queen Allanna hadn’t even bothered to attend her own son’s wedding ceremony of the day before. After she’d sent the hideous white gown she demanded Lizbeth wear, she made an excuse about being too distraught over Adan’s loss in the arena at Yulemass and the recent weddings of her four daughters to attend Adan and Lizbeth’s ceremony.
In truth, Lizbeth was grateful her new mother-in-law hadn’t been there.
Slowly, Lizbeth stood, slipped her tunic over her head, and ran her hands down her sides, straightening wrinkles as she went. Then she threaded her fingers through her hair until it was tangle free. Silently, she slipped on her traveling pants and closed the window. She gave herself one final moment to school her countenance and put back in place the mask she’d learned long ago to hide behind, one of indifference.
When she turned, her eyes darted involuntarily toward Adan, and she was relieved to see he still slept. As quietly as possible, she gathered her valise and slipped away.
****
Adan watched the door close behind Lizbeth. Who
was this strange, lovely creature now his wife? She certainly wasn’t the mindless little chit he’d been led to believe. The woman who’d sparred mentally toe to toe with him, then given as good as she’d gotten in his arms was no chit. No, she was vibrant and beautiful and intelligent and more than a little troubled. The question was, what was troubling her, and what, if anything, could he do about it?
Had she been aware he slept little more than she? Did she have any inkling he’d held her all through the night and felt her fears and doubts as real as if they’d been his own?
He’d noticed every startle when he stroked her back, every gasp when she tried to prevent a tear, and every time she’d sighed. And then, just as dawn approached and right after they’d once more made love, something had frightened her. So much so that she’d run away without so much as a word.
Would Lizbeth be happy to see him at the Academy when he arrived later today? Or would she be angry and resent him, thinking he’d followed her?
Adan sat and scratched the stubble along his jaw as he stretched muscles that had gone stiff during the night. If he’d been the one who spent his entire life having every trivial fact about her shoved down his throat day and night, wouldn’t he want a chance to spread his wings a little? Wouldn’t he want to see what else was out there in the big wide world before he settled for what would most assuredly be a routine, boring life?
How long had he been aware of the restrictions he and his family lived under? Always watched, always judged, and never having a moment they could be sure was private. Being part of a royal family might seem glamorous to the outside world, but with power and privilege came great responsibility and, ultimately, boredom.
Could he blame Lizbeth for wanting the opportunity to see something beyond the forest she’d grown up in and the castle walls of Alaria? Could he deny her the chance to make her own friends, her own decisions, and her own mistakes? He knew he couldn’t.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to go back to The Academy himself. And if being at The Academy awarded him the chance to be close to his pretty little wife, all the better.
Chapter Four
Though the trip through the portal from Alaria to The Academy had been a short one, it had left her strangely dizzy and disorientated. Her head pounded, nausea threatened, her muscles ached, she was tired, and the first class of the day had more than a half turn of the hourglass to go before it was over. Lizbeth wasn’t sure she’d survive this first class let alone the entire day.
She couldn’t begin to fathom the enormity of an entire four-semester enchanter program, but she was determined to give it her best shot. Even though she felt like the walking dead this morning and probably looked even worse, she was excited beyond belief to finally be at the famous school.
The Academy of Magical Arts was amazing.
Housed within a series of towering castles with spires so high they touched the clouds and baileys so wide they took the better part of a turn of an hourglass to traverse, the Academy was an entity unto itself. Surrounded by fields and gently rolling hills with a backdrop of mountains to the west, it was situated in a northwestern section of the left lower quadrant of the continent of Landis.
The Academy easily boasted a population to match, if not exceed, most small realms. Its ceilings were high, its hallways drafty, its students as varied as they could possibly be, and it was wonderful.
Lizbeth glanced around her Spells and Spirits class and smiled. Even though it was still early, there weren’t many empty seats. Six elfin girls of various genealogies sat together one row in front of her, and two dwarves with their long red beards, big noses, and scruffy robes sat directly in front of them.
Lizbeth couldn’t tell which of the dwarves was female, though she knew from their voices one had to be.
The instructor, a dark-elf with indigo-blue skin and snow-white hair named Mr. Neoseraph, had taken the roll at the beginning of class, and one of the dwarves had definitely answered with a high-pitched female ring.
There were also four halflings, three gnomes, a single troll, two other half-elves like herself, and half dozen full-blooded high-elves scattered about the room, plus five dark-elves sitting together in a clump.
Mr. Neoseraph cleared his throat, and Lizbeth sat at attention. So far, his lecture had been confined to what textbooks and supplies would be needed and the lecture as opposed to lab schedule. She listened avidly, glad something of real interest was about to be imparted.
“Before I start doing any in-depth lectures, I would like to ascertain your levels of expertise. Is there anyone in class who isn’t a beginner? Anyone who has moderate or advanced spell-casting training?”
He then pointed directly at the high-elf females who had started giggling. “And before you raise your hands and waste my time, by moderate or advanced, I mean something beyond your daily PDUP spells and such.”
Lizbeth didn’t hear another word Mr. Neoseraph said. Her ears began to ring, and her mouth suddenly went dry. How could she have been so stupid? How long had it been since she had worried about casting her daily PDUP spell? Protection from Disease and Unwanted Pregnancy wasn’t something she had needed to worry about for quite some time. Being betrothed to the prince of the barbarians had meant after her sexual practices and theory classes were completed, she’d lived a life of celibacy.
She hadn’t been reminded by her instructors to cast the stupid spell for more than a year now. And her brothers…Lizbeth had no doubt they’d taken for granted she would automatically cast whatever she needed to cast when she was supposed to. Just like brushing her teeth or taking a shower or eating her vegetables, not because she didn’t like them but because they were good for her.
Casting the PDUP spell was expected. It was part of every female’s normal daily routine even before the time they were old enough to begin their cycle of the moon and bleed. Which was something, she had no doubt, her brothers would rather not think about.
What had she done? She hadn’t intended to have sex with her husband last night. As a matter of fact, it had been her intention to do just the opposite and leave him sitting in his cold, white castle high and dry.
Lizbeth sighed. It was yet another thing she’d failed at.
Her hand involuntarily went to her flat stomach. Could she be? What would she do if she were? She couldn’t be. After all, it had been just one night. God Draka couldn’t be so cruel as to let her get pregnant after just two times. Could he?
She didn’t want to be. It would ruin everything. How could she finish the enchanter program if she were with child? She couldn’t. Adan would lock her away in his castle. He’d want his heir safe.
And the Queen, oh my God Draka, the Queen would want to oversee the birth. She would expect to be involved. She’d want to pick the child’s instructors when it was old enough.
Little girls lose their air when they’re bad.
Bile rose, and Lizbeth rushed from the room. She barely made it through the doors, down the hallway, and into the stall of the ladies room before what little food she had broken her fast with came back up. Splashing cold water on her face and wiping it dry with a towel, she finally said the spell she should have said the day before. She hoped with all her heart it wasn’t too late.
Turning and heading back out the door, Lizbeth’s mind was spinning. Did the PDUP spell work right away? She couldn’t remember. And did she need to say a series of them before she was sure she was protected? If so, how long did she need to wait before it was safe to once more do the things she and Adan had done? Not that there was going to be an opportunity to do any of those things with Adan miles and miles away.
Heat flushed her face, and Lizbeth cringed. How could she be thinking such things, and why couldn’t she recall even the most basic principles of the PDUP spell? It was almost as if thinking about the man placed her under a magical spell.
A smile involuntarily curved the corners of Lizbeth’s lips. What had transpired in the circle of her husband’s arms ha
d certainly been magic.
Even though he was miles away, Adan’s face the way it had looked this morning, with passion burning in his eyes and her name on his lips, invaded her mind, and she blushed even hotter.
Deep in thought, she headed back toward class. She hadn’t taken more than a handful of steps before someone warm and solid stopped her forward progression. Two strong arms enveloped her, and Lizbeth slowly looked into the last face on Albrath she’d expected to see again this morning.
For a moment, excitement filled her to her toes, then she groaned. “What are you doing here?”
The rumble of Adan’s laughter grated on her already stretched thin nerves. “I may very well be a barbarian, Lizard, but I’m a well-educated one. I’ve been taking classes for sometime now, as you well know, and even teaching a few. So see, you aren’t the only one with outside interests, and since you did lose the bet, I don’t have to leave you alone. As a matter of fact, I spoke with Headmistress Seychelle, and we now have an entire suite of rooms all to ourselves. What do you think of that?”
Lizbeth closed her eyes and counted to ten, then counted to ten again. What was she going to do? The warmth of his arms was already wreaking havoc with her senses, and it hadn’t been but a few moments since she’d finally cast her PDUP spell. She couldn’t do this, even if he did smell faintly of wood smoke and lust and even if his arms were a safe haven. She wasn’t going to give in. She couldn’t. It would ruin everything.
Lizbeth glanced into Adan’s eyes and knew without a doubt her hopes and dreams would fall to the wayside if she gave in to his wishes, and she wasn’t ready to chance that. There was only one thing she could do. She took two deep breaths, looked him straight in the eye, and denied her own desires.
“First, don’t call me Lizard,” she said. “I don’t like it. Second, of course, I know you’ve been taking and giving classes here. I know everything about you. Third, go away, Adan. I don’t want to share a room or anything else with you. I paid the price for the bet I lost in full. One night only, remember? And lastly, I have a perfectly good cot in my dormitory. I have no need nor do I want to share your bed.”
The Academy Volume One Page 65