by Aldrea Alien
Lucias led her through the crowd. The people parted like sheep faced with a horse; unthinking and with the softest hint of fear. Unlike the ordinary folk, the nobility seemed to have a far better idea of their Great Lord’s abilities should he be so inclined as to use them. At least, that was what they believed. She wasn’t even certain as to the extent of his power.
The room had a balcony with a good view of the floor and, as they ascended the stairs, she saw the seats full of elderly men and women. They chatted amongst themselves and watched the dancers whilst indulging in an evening drink.
“Ah, my lady!” Count Farris emerged from the centre of the elderly throng. He bowed low, prompting those around him to stand and do the same. “I see our dear Great Lord has deigned to release you from the dance floor.” The count grinned at Lucias and gave his lord a wink. “Come.” He gestured to his recently vacated chair. “Rest yourself awhile.”
She graciously took up the offer, letting out a tiny sigh as she sat. Free of her weight, her feet took up a fresh call of abuse. She wiggled them as best as she could inside her slippers, sorely wishing she could remove her footwear altogether. Would it still be rude to excuse herself now?
“You must be thirsty, my dear.” Farris waved over a serving boy bearing a tray of jugs and goblets. “Not wine, of course,” he went on as the servant filled one of the goblets with an opaque amber liquid. “I hear it’s bad for an expecting mother.” He took up the goblet and presented it to her. “But I hope the juice of the orange fruit will be to your taste, our Thalia loves the stuff when she’s with child.”
Clara inclined her head at the gesture, taking great pains to ensure nothing but polite acceptance touched her face. After the over-sweetened tea Thalia had served upon Clara’s arrival yesterday, she was wary of drinking anything the heavily pregnant woman enjoyed.
Still, well aware her every move was under the scrutiny of their company, she took a sip. The juice was surprisingly tart and refreshing. Orange fruit, was it? Where did they grow?
Her gaze drifted over the dancers and idle nobles on the floor below. Unlike back at the Citadel, where her Great Lord could get lost alongside his servants, plucking Lucias’ image from the crowd was relatively simple. The red and black of his outfit stood out rather violently against the softer hues of those around him. An easy target.
Bile slid up her throat at the thought. Clara concentrated on keeping her face neutral, taking the occasional sip of juice in what she hoped was a nonchalant fashion. He wouldn’t put himself in danger.
Her treacherous thoughts slipped back to when the barbarian stormed the Citadel some months prior. Lucias had faced the man, fully believing he would die. Maybe then, she silently conceded. He would offer up his life to give her the opportunity to flee—she fully believed he would gift her the very world if she asked for it—but not with any other reason.
And this wasn’t the Citadel. If anywhere in this land was safe for him, it was here. There were guards aplenty, from all over the kingdom. The castle was walled, as was the city beyond. Men patrolled both day and night. He is safe. He would stay that way. She’d make sure of it in whatever way she could.
It was her duty.
Chapter Ten
Clara leant against the balcony railing. She was alone for the moment. At least, as alone as a person could be in a room full of others. Small groups milled around on the edge of her vision, visibly straining to hear the slightest word from her lips, no matter how droll. Was this what Lucias had meant when he’d compared such gatherings as being akin to some trick show. Hardly an honest face out there.
Although the urge to chase off the people surrounding her grumbled in the back of her thoughts, Clara contented herself with quietly sipping at her second goblet of the tart orange-coloured juice and admiring the dancers below.
This high, the elaborate steps were lost to the myriad flashes of colour. Couples swapped partners, turning the distinct pairings into one spiralling line. Each one of the women’s skirts became another link in a great chain of expensive cloth, twirling along.
It seemed word of the current fashion for corsets and bustles hadn’t quite reached all the noblewomen, for quite a number of them still sported the poofy shoulders and bell-shaped skirt designs she remembered her mother sewing for some of the wealthy merchant women.
Lucias danced amongst the other nobles, leading this woman and that across the floor, but never for long. He would halt every so often, his face turning her way. No doubt checking she hadn’t left. Every time he did so, she would raise her goblet in acknowledgement and he would incline his head before returning his attention to those surrounding him.
The presence of another person creeping up on her pulled Clara’s attention from the dancers. She twisted slowly, lest her awareness tipped off an opportunistic assassin. Her hand casually strayed to where her dagger nestled in the folds of her skirt.
Relief drew her lips into a wide smile upon seeing it was merely Thad intruding on her small pocket of solitude.
“I had been wondering where Endlight’s heir had disappeared to.” He’d been at the feast earlier, and she knew the man’s wife had retired after eating, joking about how the babe must be a boy for it to already exercise such demands over its mother. She had expected to see Thad amongst the first to greet her and Lucias in the ballroom, but his presence had been conspicuously absent.
“I apologise for my tardiness, my lady. Other duties took me from the festivities.” Thad grasped the railing, his shoulders bunching as he stared at the dancers. “How have you found dear Endlight so far? I hear Lucias has already given you a personal tour around some of our fair city.”
Clara winced as her mind drifted to the day’s events. How likely was it that Thad knew the full story? Extremely. “He did,” she confessed, her thoughts barely contained. She wanted to ask, to blurt out all the questions coming to mind.
Had Thad learnt something new about Lucias’ would-be murderers? That would certainly explain why the man glared at the dance floor as if willing it to ignite. Was it really Lenora trying to enact her revenge once more? Or did she now have the backing of the entire Ebony Court at Ne’ermore?
Holding her tongue there took a great deal more control than Clara anticipated. She fingered her dagger hilt, finding peace in tracing the cool lines etched into the metal. The court appeared to know about the attack, but that didn’t mean they were aware of the full details. “The city was every bit as enthralling as I’d imagined,” she managed. “Especially the Pillars. They’re as impressive up close as the tales tell.”
Concern darted across Thad’s face. “He took you as far as the Pillars?” He slid closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I believe I misheard you, my lady, because it sounded like you said he went beyond the city border? Unaccompanied? Did the attack not happen within Endlight’s walls?”
“No?” She’d been so caught up in seeing the Pillars that she’d only thought of the risk once they were closer. “We didn’t go very far outside the border,” she continued, hoping to ease some of the lord’s distress. “Just the last hill before the valley.” The revelation seemed to have no effect on his expression. “Is something wrong?”
Thad muttered under his breath, the occasional impolite word reaching her ears. “He’s not meant to leave the city without a full, and very much armed, escort. He knows this.”
She hunched her shoulders, sharply recalling the lieutenant’s hesitance at letting them through the gates unescorted. “If it’s any consolation, the gate guard did try.”
Sighing, he hung his head. “It was one thing for Lucias to be this reckless with his life when his father was alive, but now?” His blond hair shimmered in the candlelight as he shook his head. “I had hoped your presence would’ve curbed this… self-destructive behaviour.” He glanced at her, those green eyes dark and angry. “You should’ve stopped him. That’s your duty. To ensure he comes to no harm.”
“And did he?” She’d been thorough in
determining that for herself long before Thad knew of the attack, enduring Lucias’ whimsical quips as she ensured he hadn’t the slightest scratch on him. It seemed the big, black brute of a warhorse had done well in protecting his owner in her stead.
“He could have!” Thad snarled, still in a low enough voice that the words clawed their way out from between his teeth. “All it would’ve taken was one lucky blow, or one man getting hold of him and dragging him to the ground. You’re fortunate none of those men bore crossbows.”
Clara stiffened. Yes, he was correct in that Lucias had been lucky, but she couldn’t let the tone slide, not in public. Keeping her back straight and head high, she swivelled on her heel to face the man. “I don’t know who you think you are addressing, my lord, but—”
“A child, it would seem,” he snapped, pressing closer until he towered over her.
Her heart thundered in her ears. This close, she was sharply reminded of Thad’s bulk. “Are you trying to scare me?” she managed, struggling to shake the terror squeezing her chest. Thad might not be as imposingly large as the barbarian she’d faced some months back, but he was certainly strong enough to bodily lift her with ease. “Because I’ve seen scary and you’re nowhere near as alarming.”
Blinking, Thad seemed to become aware of their position near the balcony rail, of how several people below had halted in their dancing to stare up at them and lean towards each other to chatter amongst themselves.
Lucias is going to love that. As much as he teased her for being concerned about how the court viewed her, he still took certain steps to ensure they only gossiped about what he wished them to. Having his closest friend seemingly bully his betrothed would not be an act easily glossed over.
The same thoughts appeared to cross Thad’s mind as the man took a few careful steps back. "I would not dare to intimidate you, my lady." Nevertheless, his gaze lowered to the dance floor where Lucias still mingled amongst the other nobles, outwardly oblivious. Whilst people had stopped paying them any obvious mind, Clara knew better than to assume her future husband hadn’t caught her little exchange.
"That’s good to hear,” Clara muttered distractingly as she walked a few steps down the balcony’s length, her hand gliding along the smooth railing. “Because I'm certain Lucias would be less than amused to discover his trusted right hand couldn't be.”
Thad glared at her, those blond brows drawing tighter and further wrinkling the bridge of his nose. He gripped the railing next to her hand, the breadth of his fingers twice that of her own. “Is that a threat, my lady?”
“Why would I threaten you? We are friends here, aren’t we?” Smiling, she patted the back of his hand. “Although, I must say you were much nicer when we first met in the Citadel.”
“Well, I didn’t have to deal with the threat of the Great Lord’s death on my doorstep, nor was there some wayward waif of a girl leading my lord astray.” He leant closer, keeping his posture in a carefully neutral display of deference whilst the tone of his voice gained a sliver of menace. “And whilst I am on the subject, what’s this I hear about him allowing children off the street into the castle? The Great Lord is supposed to sire a child, not adopt them.”
Clara’s gaze drifted over the dancers, idly picking Lucias out of the crowd. “Since when were those things mutually exclusive?” No one else had mentioned the arrival of the children she’d bundled off the street. If Thad had merely heard, then there was the possibility that others had, too.
She’d rather hoped that the appearance of seven children, scruffy as they were, would’ve been overlooked. Although, that they were noted did say something about the vigilance of the castle’s security, which did ease a certain tension. Here was safe, even if outside the city walls wasn’t.
Thad’s chest swelled as he inhaled mightily through his nose. Those green eyes flashed disapproval. “You’ve a duty to—”
“I am well aware of my duties.” Whilst the prospect of a Great Lady was a novelty to the court, her presence meant more than dances and pretty words. Lucias had made it absolutely clear in regards to the practical reason of why she was needed long before he proposed marriage. “Lucias will have his heir at a time of our choosing.” She whirled on him, fixing him with a cool stare that she was certain would’ve made her mother proud. “Although, I’m sure he would love to discuss the timing of such a matter with you.”
Thad gnawed on the corner of his lip, those piercing green eyes burrowing into her as his brow scrunched in thought. "So, this is what the court will have to face after the wedding?” he murmured, almost to himself. “You've certainly changed from the meek woman I remember when we first met."
Her cheeks warmed a little at the remembrance of their first conversation, which had effectively been her begging Thad to aid in her escape the Citadel she now called home. "Should I remain the same?” She shook her head in answer before he could utter a word. “If I am to rule at Lucias' side, I refuse to have anyone believe I am an easy target for their will. These are my people, too. I'm prepared to do what I must to keep them safe. That is all I am concerned with."
“I think you might have underestimated how much influence you have over him.” The harsh edge in his voice had softened, the same couldn’t be said for the starkness of his face. “The court is hoping that his marriage to you means the kingdom has regained a stable ruler. Lucias might have been reckless with his life these past few months, but the same could never be said about the way he treats those under his command.” Thad bowed his head. “And I am looking to see that he won’t become…” He stalled, clearly looking for the right words.
“His father?” Clara supplied. Had the Endlight lord wondered, feared perhaps, that his friend—the man he likened to a brother—would become instantly mad? It must’ve crossed his mind at least once since the previous Great Lord’s demise.
“Quite.”
Clara laid a hand on his forearm, the corners of her lips curving in what she hoped was an empathic smile. “We’ve the same goal there.” One day they may have to face a madman with unrivalled power at his command, but that time would, hopefully, be a long way off.
Thad cleared his throat with a brief, muffled cough. His gaze dropped pointedly to her hand until she removed it. “Well, I’m sure the other nobles find it a refreshing change.”
“And just what was his father like, if I may?” Lucias spoke so little of the man and always with a sense of disdain, as if the mere thought of his father nauseated him. The servants and guards in the castle were even less willing to broach the subject beyond a casual mention of the past. She knew only of the unsavoury deeds he’d committed in procuring an heir from Lucias’ unwilling mother.
“I couldn’t tell you much. My father dealt with him more than I. But I do know he’d a rather short temper.”
She chewed on her lip. Several questions darted through her mind. She settled on the strongest blaring from the depths. “Always? Or only after he took up his inheritance?”
Those green eyes, which had bored so deeply into her only moments ago, now narrowed in fresh suspicion. “I couldn’t rightly say one way or the other. The impression I got from my father was that the change wasn’t a new thing.” Thad smiled coolly. “But the night is getting late. You’ve had quite the day, it would seem, and I must retire.” He retreated, bowing respectfully. “I wish you fair dreaming, my lady.”
Clara watched him depart before returning her attention to the crowd below. Thad was right in it being quite late. It didn’t seem to deter the dancers or their enthusiasm in twirling and stomping about. As much as she would’ve liked to stay and watch them, a nagging feeling in the back of her mind had her thoughts turning to the orphaned children.
I should check on them. Whilst she was confident in Lucias’ appraisal of Thalia’s care, she’d feel better after ensuring they had indeed been adequately looked after. Perhaps she could convince Lucias to come with her so they could introduce themselves properly.
Leaning over the b
alcony rail, she searched for Lucias amongst those on the dance floor and found him on the edge of the crowd. Clara tipped forward further a heralding cry on her lips.
The words died before she voiced them.
A woman stood next to Lucias, not gleefully dancing with him as she’d seen each one do for most of the night. That brown hair and pasty skin seemed familiar. Lucias certainly knew her, for he appeared to be guiding her out a doorway into darkness with his hand firmly clamped upon her upper arm.
Clara hastened to follow, trotting down the stairs to the astonished gasp of onlookers. She slipped through the door. Only the dimly lit hallway greeted her. Blast. A scant handful of pathways and exits peeled off this route, leaving her with a few possibilities.
Whispers and softly-spoken grumbles echoed from ahead, barely audible with the raucous of the music and revelry at her back. She crept down the corridor to where it rounded a corner, her soft-soled slippers aiding in her silent steps upon the rug running the length of the stone floor.
The voices were a little more distinct. Not enough for her to make out what was being said, but it was definitely her wayward Great Lord.
Clara peeked around the corner, sticking only enough of her face out to see with one eye. The tip her nose scraped against the stone wall, jolting her back. Odd how rough the surface was when it looked so smooth. Like a cat’s tongue. Rubbing her wounded nose on the back of a finger, she focused on the pair standing in the middle of the corridor.
The dark-haired woman clung to Lucias like a scorned puppy. “You need a woman’s touch.” Not much room for assumptions there; the woman was completely sure of her words.
Bitterness crept up Clara’s throat. Gentle ire sealed away her voice and quavered through to her very bones.
Lucias turned his head and muttered something. When the woman didn’t move, he shoved her back and turned on his heel to march Clara’s way.