Higher Power (Prophecy Of The Cataclysm Book One), page 5
“Uprising?” he laughed. “As if I have anything to fear from mere peasants.”
“Civilizations greater than ours have fallen to mere peasants and better men than you have been torn from their thrones.” She could hardly believe such words were passing her lips, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from speaking. “Try picking up a history book every now and then and you might know as much.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Richard leaned forward and slammed his goblet down on the low table between them. “Then your precious brother could be king in my stead. Well, it’s not going to happen.”
“Your blind hatred of Charles is madness,” she said. “It’s hardly his fault your father always favored him over you.” The moment the words were spoken she knew it was a mistake. She’d have taken them back if she could have.
Fury flashed through Richard’s eyes. Anastasia rose to her feet and stepped toward the door, wondering if she cried out for help if the guards outside would let anyone come to her aid, or if they would leave her to the mercy of her cousin.
“I think you should leave now.” Though she tried, she could not keep the slight tremor from
her voice.
“What’s the matter, cousin?” Richard rose smoothly to his feet. “Do you fear me?” His voice was low and calm, but beneath his finely tailored raiment, his posture was rigid.
Somehow, this calm was far more frightening to Anastasia than if he had lashed out at her in rage as he had done when they were children. “I’m not afraid of you. I simply want you to leave.”
“Very well.” Richard stepped around the table. Before Anastasia could think to move, he grabbed hold of her arm and jerked her close to him. “You should be afraid,” he spoke with his face inches from hers. “I intend to make Charles suffer for my humiliation at his hands and I will use you to do it.”
She gasped as he pulled her closer. He leaned in until his lips brushed her ear and whispered, “I am so looking forward to our wedding night.” He released her and strode out the door.
Anastasia stood trembling where he left her, listening to the sound of retreating footsteps as his guards fell into place behind him. Betrice hurried into the room. “My Lady, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Anastasia forced the words past numb lips. She could tell by the expression on her handmaid’s face her words were not convincing, but she didn’t feel like accepting the woman’s ministrations at the moment. “Please, I... I would like to be left alone.”
Betrice bowed her head. “Yes, my Lady.” She drew the door shut as she backed out of the room.
Anastasia sank down onto the divan. Warm tears rolled down her cheeks. There and then she made a silent vow to the God Above; if she were forced to marry Richard, there would be no wedding night. She would fling herself from the highest tower in the castle. It would hurt her brother, but not as much as knowing she was suffering at Richard’s hands and being unable to do anything about it. Her death would both thwart Richard and spare her brother.
The sound of raised voices in the hall caught her attention. She couldn’t make out the words at first, but recognized the timbre of her brother’s voice. She stood, wiping the tears from her cheeks with both hands.
“My Lord, please.” Betrice’s voice sounded clear as the commotion neared the parlor door. “Lady Anastasia has requested to be left alone.”
“I saw the royal coach leaving” Charles said. “And I want to know – Stop grabbing at my arm, Simon. No, I will not calm down. I want to know who was here. Betrice, I demand you step aside and let me enter.”
Anastasia licked her lips and took several deep breaths to steady herself. The door opened and Charles barged inside with Simon right behind him.
“I’m sorry, my Lady,” Betrice said from the doorway. “He insisted.” Beyond her, Paul stood wringing his hands and looking almost comically woebegone.
“It’s quite all right, Betrice.” Anastasia dragged out a smile. “But really Charles, why are you charging about the house like an enraged bull? You’re upsetting the servants.”
Charles’ eyes narrowed. “Was Richard here?”
“Yes.” Anastasia smoothed out her skirt in order to give her hands something to do. “You just missed him.”
“What did he want?”
“To talk.”
A vein throbbed in Charles’ neck. “About what?”
“Nothing, really.” Her gaze slid away from his face. “It wasn’t anything important.”
“At least have the decency to look me in the eyes if you’re going to lie to me.”
Anastasia stiffened. “That is no way to talk to me. Especially in front of the servants.” Every word she spoke burned her throat. Worse, tears were building up behind her eyes again and she could not afford to break down in front of Charles.
“I think we’re done here.” She brushed past him toward the door.
Charles laid a hand on her arm to stop her and she was not quick enough to suppress a gasp of pain. He was not rough with her, he could never be rough, but his fingers had wrapped around the tender spot where Richard’s hand had so recently lain.
Their eyes met and Charles’ face darkened. “He put his hands on you?”
“Charles, please,” she said. “It was nothing. I...I antagonized him. It was my own fault.”
He slid the sleeve of her dress up to reveal an ugly red mark already bruising at the edges. The muscles in his jaw clenched and he turned, every muscle in his body taut.
Simon pushed the door shut and stood in front of it with his arms crossed. “You need to calm down.”
“Move out of my way.”
“I can’t do that.”
Charles’ hands curled into fists. Simon paled, but didn’t budge. Anastasia slipped in between them and placed both hands on her brother’s chest. “Stop it, Charles. You stop it this instant. You are behaving as if you were fourteen years old again. We are not children now. You are a grown man.”
“Yes, I am a man,” Charles said through clenched teeth, “and as such I cannot allow anyone, Crowned Prince or not, to barge into my home and bring harm to my family.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” Beneath her hands, his body was quivering with pent up rage. “It’s nothing but a bruise. It will fade.”
Charles shook his head. “It’s more than that. It’s not right he should be able to do whatever he wants to whomever he wants simply because he is the king’s son. Everyone’s actions should have repercussions.”
“I agree,” Simon said. “But what do you want to do about it? Go charging after him? You wouldn’t get within ten feet of his coach before his guards cut you down. And they would be well within their rights to do so. Then what? What good would your pointless death do for Ana?”
Charles gritted his teeth and for a moment Anastasia feared he meant to go charging off anyway, despite the wisdom in Simon’s words. Then his shoulders slumped as all the tension drained from his body.
“I cannot stand feeling so helpless,” he said. “I need to do something.”
Anastasia threaded her fingers through his. “I appreciate your desire to jump to my defense, but we mustn’t do anything rash.”
“I know.” His gaze shifted to the bruise. “If he comes here again, I want you to refuse to see him.”
“I can’t. He’s the Crowned Prince.”
“I don’t care,” Charles said. “I won’t endanger the servants by telling them to refuse him admittance, but I don’t want you alone with him. He’s dangerous and obviously cannot be expected to behave in a civil manner. And if he comes around while I’m here I’ll tell him so to his face.”
Anastasia nodded. “All right. I’ll refuse to see him. But it will make him angry.”
“So let him be angry,” Charles said. “It isn’t as if he can do anything worse than he’s planning to do already.”
CHAPTER NINE
Daniella stared into her crystal ball, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her fingers were pressed so tight against the chill surface they had begun to ache. The images within the crystal remained as they were no matter how hard she focused her energy. She could see no further into the future then she ever had, nor could she make the crystal show her how the scene playing before her eyes would come to pass. So long as she didn’t know how it would happen, she had no way of stopping it.
She turned away from the crystal with a disgusted sigh and paced to the window. At times her power seemed woefully inadequate. What good did it do her to be able to part the veil and peer through the aether if she couldn’t control what she saw?
Richard’s mother had taught Daniella well in the magical arts, but died before her training could be completed, leaving Daniella to finish out her education on her own. Perhaps this was her trouble with the crystal. Though she had Samantha’s books, so much remained she didn’t know. Couldn’t know, not without someone else’s help. And she knew no one she dare turn to for such help. If anyone ever found out her interest in magic was anything but academic it would be the end of her.
She glanced back at the crystal. Not for the first time, she considered the idea of trying to make contact with her aunt. But something held her back. Fear, she supposed. It was one thing to muck about with the aether and something entirely different to reach out to the Otherworld. She was not interested in catching the attention of the higher powers.
Sometimes she wished her mother hadn't died. If Annabelle was still alive, then her younger sister never would have come to be Daniella's nursemaid and thus never would have caught the eye of the king. Then Robert never would have married Samantha and Richard never would have been born. Daniella never would have learned magic, or foreseen some terrible future she was compelled to prevent from happening. Life would be different. Perhaps even she would be different. But these were idle thoughts which served no purpose. Best not to think too long on things which could never be.
With a flick of her wrist, the crystal darkened. Daniella closed the shutters over the window, leaving only a thin crack to allow enough light to see by. What she had in mind might not work, but she grew tired of feeling so useless. She needed action.
Daniella took a purple candle rendered from dragon fat down from the bookshelf and placed it on a low table in the center of the room. She sank to her knees on the dark blue rug, then took up a tinderbox and used it to light the candle. Blue flame flared up from the wick.
Placing her hands on either side of the candle, Daniella stared into the dancing, shimmering flame while the world around her slowly faded into darkness. Until the pale blue light stood at the center of time and space, becoming the entirety of her existence.
Her lips moved slowly as she whispered the words of an invocation. Each syllable had to be carefully and properly pronounced or the results could be disastrous. A faint sound similar to paper being torn in half filled the air as a small rift appeared beside the candle.
An imp, six inches tall and blue skinned, hopped out of the rift onto the table. Wiry, white hair sprouted from the top of his head and the tips of his pointed ears. He grinned, showing a row of sharp teeth.
“Gibli at your service, mistress.” The imp bowed.
Daniella narrowed her eyes at the creature. “Can you shift?”
“It depends on what sort of shifting you require, mistress.”
“A bird should do. Can you manage it?”
“I can, mistress. And what do you require of your humble servant in the guise of a bird?”
“I have had a vision of the future,” Daniella said. “A vision I wish to alter. I need you to gather the energy from this vision and use it to direct you toward the instrument of my death.”
“Yes, mistress. My payment will carry the energy to me.”
“Good.” Daniella slid her slender dagger from its sheath concealed in the side of her boot. She gritted her teeth as she slid the blade across one finger. Gibli opened his mouth and she held her finger over it, allowing a single ruby drop to land on his tongue before drawing her hand back.
A shudder ran through the imp’s body, and then a bluebird sat in his place. Daniella got up and went to open the window so Gibli could fly out. She watched his form disappear into the sky before turning back to the table.
Speaking the invocation backwards sealed the rift. Daniella sighed. She hoped calling the little demon was the right choice. Summoning a creature from the aether was not something to be done lightly, which was why she had waited so long before resorting to it. But desperate times called for desperate measures and she could think of nothing more desperate than her impending death.
Daniella blew out the flame and returned the candle to its place on the bookshelf. Surely if she knew the nature of the danger she could stop it. She was a witch, after all, and though her power wasn’t as great as her aunt’s had been, it was enough to keep her safe from any threat. It had to be.
CHAPTER TEN
“Three.” Slap. “Dead.” Slap. “Bodies.” Slap. Deke expressed his displeasure by accompanying each word with a strike of his riding crop against the top of the bar inches from where Ethan’s feet rested.
Ethan leaned back and studied his boots. They could use a good shining. “Those men had the audacity to threaten me with violence. I simply responded in kind.”
“Did you have to respond so well?” Deke asked. “Those bodies practically scream assassin.”
“I am not an assassin.” Ethan lifted his head to meet the Guildmaster’s gaze. “Assassins are low, cowardly creatures only capable of killing from the shadows. I like to stand face to face with a man as I kill him. Even the lowest of the low deserve to see their death coming.”
“Tell Brandon that.”
Ethan fingered the lace on his cuff, a small smile playing about his lips. “Now that would be an interesting encounter, wouldn’t it?”
“Focus, damn it,” Deke snapped. “I don’t appreciate having the town guard come knocking at my door in broad daylight. It’s bad for business.”
“Don’t we pay them to ignore this kind of thing?”
“I pay them, yes,” Deke said. “But it’s hard to turn a blind eye to three dead bodies in the middle of the street. Couldn’t you have dragged them into the alley at least?”
Ethan wrinkled his nose. “And risk ruining my suit? Real silk is rather difficult to come by in Marigold, you know. As it was I had to throw away a perfectly good handkerchief because of the blood.”
“Crazy people,” Deke muttered under his breath. He shook his head as he walked out of the kitchen. “I’m surrounded by crazy people.”
Ethan swung his legs off the bar and stood for a moment in thought. He was silently debating with himself which to do first, go and talk to Jesse or get his boots polished, when the kitchen door opened and answered the question for him. Jesse entered the room with Brandon close behind.
Brandon hopped up on the counter and grabbed an apple from the bowl. He then sat kicking his feet like a child while he ate it. Juice dribbled down one side of his jaw. Ethan’s gaze never so much as grazed the assassin, but nor did he ever turn his back on the man. It wasn’t fear, exactly, which made Ethan so wary. It was something else. Something about the man which set off warning bells in the back of his mind.
“Ah, Jesse,” Ethan said, “exactly the man I wanted to see. I have some information concerning the rebellion.”
Jesse leaned back against the wall. “Something good I hope.”
“It depends on what you define as ‘good’ I would imagine,” Ethan said. “One of my lady friend’s noble born lover, after imbibing in a more than healthy dose of red wine, informed her of his brother’s involvement with a group of would be rebels who happen to be plotting against the throne.”
“And you’re sure this nobleman wasn’t simply trying impress the woman?”
“She assured me this gentlemen, when properly drunk, is more than happy to spill all his family secrets. He hasn’t lied to her about anything else, so far as she knows.”
“What is the name of this gentleman?”
Ethan smiled. “Ah, this is what I meant about your definition of good. The gentleman is none other than Marquis Armand Lassard.”
Brandon whistled, sending bit of apple sailing through the air. “So the traitor is Duke Victor, the White Knight? Who would have thought?”
Jesse shook his head. “The king’s own champion? It’s hard to believe.”
“Actually, it doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Ethan said. “It’s always the ones you least suspect.”
“What am I supposed to do with this information?” Jesse asked. “Lady Anastasia is not going to blindly accept the word of Marquis Lassard’s mistress. We need proof.”
“We could always blackmail the Marquis into providing proof of his brother’s duplicity,” Ethan said. “I doubt his Lady wife would appreciate news of his extramarital amusements being spread around.”
Jesse made a face. “I don’t like blackmail. You never know for sure how your target is going to react to it.”
“We could always get a little more hands on,” Brandon said around a mouthful of apple. “People tend to react the way you want them to once they’ve lost a finger or an ear.”
“We are not torturing people,” Jesse said. “Get the idea out of your head.”
Brandon shrugged. “Okay. It was only a suggestion.”
“I need a minute to think.” Jesse ran a hand back through his hair. “This is getting way too complicated. I’m a ‘point me at somebody I can fight’ kind of guy. Playing around with treason is a little trickier than what I’m used to. I don’t want to die at the end of a rope.”
Ethan studied his fingernails. “You could always make a trip to Count Victor’s manor, inform him you’ve become aware of his association with the rebellion, and ask if he’d like to talk to you about it.”
Jesse stared at him as if wondering where his sanity had gone. “Yeah. And I could also jump off the roof of the Guild house. It would have the same outcome but at least it would be quicker.”
