The Pearl Savage (3 page)

CHAPTER 3

Clara’s gaze fell upon the crowd so
deeply engaged in the titillating news of a close sighting of a
savage
. Not a glimpse,
no
,
but an entirely intimate appraisal. She could feel the uncomfortable
presence of Prince Frederick at her back, his displeasure with her a
thing he bore. He had made it clear that she was not suitable for
him. With her very unfeminine desire to man the oyster fields, he had
been quite vocal in his dislike of her duties.

His irritation
pleased
her
.

It was well-known (at least in her
sphere) that the Kingdom of Kentucky was ill-managed; Prince
Frederick acted not in the least concerned for his peoples’
prosperity. There had been rumors of poverty which included
starvation, unheard of in most spheres.

A hand gripped her collar bone
painfully and Clara checked her expression so the pain would not
show. “Smile, my dear, let them all know how happy you are that I
have deigned to show my affection for you,” the Prince whispered,
his breath so like a rotten fruit that Clara stifled a gag. She
plastered a false smile on her face which immediately alarmed
Charles, his foot resting on the bottom step of the dais. Clara gave
a minute shake of her head,
stay there,
the look said. She was
stuck as a butterfly with a pin through its wing; the Prince abused
her in a multitude of subtleties. She could guess what a marriage
with him would entail. He released her and the numbness where his
hand had been faded, to be replaced with a throbbing that kept pace
with her heart.

Ada leaned forward. “You will
explain this later, my daughter,
in
detail.”

“Yes, my Queen.” Ada placed her
hand at the back of Clara’s neck and squeezed hard, a favorite tender
spot to abuse. At every vantage point, she was higher than Clara, as
tall as most men, and always higher on the dais,
always.
Clara
struggled not to whimper at the double abuse of both the Prince and
the Queen. It was a near thing and difficult to hide from her people.

Ada and King Otto had their heads
pressed together in royal commune which suited Clara very well. It
meant that the Queen’s attention lay elsewhere. Finally, amongst the
noise of the peoples’ conversation, King Otto clapped his hands three
times, causing Clara to flinch, which amused Frederick as the crowd
quieted.

“Hail the People of the Kingdom of
Ohio. On this day it is not just a Day of Birth Celebration, but also
a day of exciting news,” a somber expression rode his face, “your
Princess claims to have seen one of these
savages
near-at-hand
and will now explain them to us.”

Once more, all eyes were on Clara.
As unprepared as she felt, she knew the violence that awaited for
non-compliance, so she began, “He seemed of rugged countenance but
not a danger.”

A person from the crowd shouted,
“How can that be? We know they are to be feared.” Clara’s eyes
narrowed, taking in the stance of the speaker.

“That is what we have been told by
the Record Keeper.” A disquieted silence fell, “and this may be,
but
this
savage
offered no violence. It is my belief that he was… curious of us.”

“Of
you,
Princess.” This
came from one of the men which captained the pungy boat, used to
navigate the oyster fields.

“Mayhap of me or it could be
happenstance that I stood by the window, giving opportunity at just
the right moment.”

Olive spoke next, “Tell us, your
highness, what did it look like?”

The group in front leaned forward to
catch her words, “He was of huge body and limb, with long hair to
here,” Clara indicated her shoulders, “and of fierce expression.”
Clara did not indicate clothing as it would be an embarrassment in
front of the People, his nakedness scandalous.

The great time piece chimed four
times, its deep timber reverberating inside the Gathering Room like a
quaking of the earth. Steam rose to the sphere’s arc, the hissing
vapors seemingly disappearing.

The Queen broke through the
questions with a final, “Enough of the supposed
savage
, let
us celebrate my daughter’s Day of Birth.”

Clara knew Queen Ada wished to know
everything in private; an interrogation she would not escape.

Servants came forward with laden
plates of grapes, cheese, and all matter of meats and pastries for
the last course. A great cake was piled four tiers high. It was an
absurd extravagance, more appropriate for a Wedded Joining than a
birthday. They laid the feast at the foot of the royal dais on tables
which had been arranged for the buffet. Another table was piled high
with lavishly packaged gifts from her people.

Clara stood on feet grown shaky from
stress and said, “Thank you all most kindly for your presence at my
Day of Birth Celebration; I am most grateful for your allegiance and
loyalty.”

Ada waved her hand dismissively.
“Yes,
yes
Princess Clara, they understand that.” Her eyes
narrowed upon Clara.

Clara thought that may be the case
but felt the words were most important to say. The Queen cared not,
but loyalty was an uncertain thing, cultivated through decent
treatment, not fear. A lesson her mother did not ascribe to. A lesson
taught by her father, King Raymond, long-since passed.

Someone she never forgot.

CHAPTER 4

Clara leaned back in her gilded
chair, Ada discounting her words of thanks to the People, as was
usual. Ever since Clara’s father had passed, Ada had taken to the
cup. Clara suspected it had been thus even before his passing but he
had shielded Clara from this weakness of the Queen. Clara felt that
great yawning sadness blossom within her spirit whenever she thought
of her dear father, his stewardship over her a memory which pressed
uncomfortably against her mind. It was
he
who encouraged her to come to know the fields that supported their
sphere, showing her each tool, cultivation technique and trade
practice that kept the sphere solvent. Not like her sister sphere,
the Kingdom of Kentucky.

The
sphere of inequity,
rather.

Clara glanced at Frederick and he
smirked back. Loathsome man…if he could be called such.

Queen Ada stood. “Announce my
daughter so the celebration may begin.”

The announcer of the week came
forward. Because, Guardian knew, a new one was appointed at every
turn because of the foulness of her mother’s emotional river, a
current which ran swift, changing its path without warning.

He bumbled forward, almost tripping
on the deep crimson carpet which had been laid at the foot of the
dais for this occasion. Ada scowled deeply, he cast a nervous glance
in her direction then seemed to regain his composure. “On this Day
of Birth Celebration, Princess Clara Williamson, daughter of Queen
Ada, celebrates ten and seven years on this 6th day of June, in the
year of the Guardian, two thousand and thirty.”

As with a Day of Birth Celebration,
there was also one of death, which made Clara think of the day her
father passed.

*

Clara sat by her father, his deep
golden hair, once lush, now dying wheat against the pillow, his skin
of similar pallor.

“Oh Father,” Clara said,
pressing her father’s cool hand to her cheek, “I cannot bear the
thought of you leaving.”

King Raymond gazed at his
daughter, his only child, seeing the woman she would become peeking
out at the edges like lace under a skirt, delicate but strong. The
challenges she faced would be
much, and he hoped that his
imparted knowledge would be sufficient to render success in her
duties.
His heart was heavy with the burden of it. Of the
kingdom that would soon be hers. Not in name, but by necessity.

“Dear Clara, it grieves me to
leave you, but the Healer cannot fix that which ails me.” Clara
held the hand which was too cool, an unhealthy gray, her father’s
breathing labored.

They looked at each other, an
understanding forming. “Your mother is not well,” he said
suddenly and Clara’s ears sharpened at this. She and the Queen had
never been close but the possibility of another parent’s demise was
untenable.

Kind Raymond saw her expression.
“No, my child, fear not, she will not…die, as I am destined to
this day. However,” and his gaze held Clara’s, “I leave you with
her unfortunate proclivity. You must try to appease her. And marry
well, Clara-girl.”

Clara felt sick, she did not desire
marriage. Seeing her look, her father laughed…which turned into a
terrible gasping fit of coughing, making Clara’s heart ache. When
finally he could speak, “Do not fret Clara, this is years hence.
You are but ten and two years and the idea of matrimony is a distant
thing. But heed what I say now: you must marry a man of character.”

“What of love?” Clara asked.

Her father’s gaze grew thoughtful.
“That is not always the way of it,” he said with a faraway look
in his eyes.

It was in that moment that Clara
knew that King Raymond may have not wished to marry Queen Ada, her
mother.

Clara was jolted back from her
reverie by the procession of people wishing to embrace the Princess
on her birthday. She noticed that Prince Frederick had come to stand
next to her. She was angry at his presence. To usurp her as he did!
With them not even husband and wife,
he
galled her.
What made it bearable was Charles was the first in
the receiving line. But his eyes were all for Frederick, his
expression clear,
do not lay hands on her again
. Frederic’s
lascivious grin reappeared. He knew that Charles did not have
authority over him, and in this way he was very much like Ada.

Charles’ gaze slid away from
Frederic to lock eyes with her. His brown eyes met her turquoise ones
and he pressed her hands to his. He leaned toward her, giving the
most intimate hug acceptable within societal protocol.

Frederic’s eyes narrowed
suspiciously. “Not
too
close, Mr. Pierce. She is, after all… spoken for.”

Charles pulled back, looking at him,
face inscrutable. “Princess Clara is not yet wedded to you and I do
not need the reminder, Prince Frederic.”

Clara’s heart surged with triumph.
Charles’ logic was irrefutable, but not so impolite that Frederic
could take offense. Unfortunately, he would always have his eye on
Charles, their friendship, everything. She clamped down on her
expression so Frederic would not see her mirth.
Charles
did see it,
allowing a small smile to appear.

“Happy birthday, dear Clara,”
Charles said.

“
Princess
Clara,” Prince
Frederic corrected.

“Indeed,” Charles said,
inclining his head toward me.

“I thank you, Charles, for your
kindness.”

He understood what baiting Frederic
meant to her, as she was unable.

Charles wandered off to stand beside
the banquet table. The large, multi-tiered cake stood at rigid
attention in the center, flora and pearls scattered at every level,
shimmering and dancing colorfully.

Clara was distracted by the
obligatory percentage of the People she greeted, with a smile that
reached her eyes, saying the correct words, all the while her mind
stayed consumed with the
savage
, his intense eyes a window to
his soul. What did he want with approaching the sphere? He had not
seemed afraid but from the time of her youth, she had been taught
that the
savages
Outside were a danger. She had not seen
evidence of such with this man. He seemed curious, not dangerous.
However, without the safety of the sphere between them, would she
have felt so bold in her opinion? She could not help but smile, the
truth of it was she was brave because of the barrier the sphere
afforded.

Finally, the procession finished,
Clara walked to the banquet table, Prince Frederic easily keeping
pace. The feast was spread before her in lavish display, pressed
glassware in a rainbow of colors presenting the mainstay of her
people. Oysters of every variety, with the complements of red
potatoes, fruit salads and every manner of drink. Clara found her
appetite lacking as Queen Ada stepped up beside her. As Queen, she
was always first, Clara’s celebration or no.

Clara was not prone to violence but
her mother coaxed it out of her with regularity, as now. Ada swayed,
putting a hand on Clara to remain steady, her full glass of wine
gripped in her other hand.

Her drunken gaze found Clara, and
she hissed quietly, “Do your duty brat-of-my-loins.”

Clara stared at her with thinly
veiled disgust. Ada embarrassed her terribly but it would make things
worse if she reacted, experience whispered in the crevices of her
mind. Charles had been close enough to hear the interchange and
glared at Queen Ada, who calmly stared back; she cared not what
Charles thought, his loyalty was to Clara.

Clara turned and elaborately
gestured toward the drunken Queen. “Please, see that you take first
plate at my Day of Birth Celebration, my Queen.” Clara curtsied,
the corset not allowing full movement, but she was an expert at
fooling the eye as if it did.

“You may rise, Princess Clara,”
Ada said, staring at Clara as if she were a bug.

Elvira hovered near the Queen’s
elbow (a constant thing), and piled her plate with every variety of
oyster, lathering the whole thing with white sauce, specially
prepared for her. Clara knew the wine was the only thing that held
interest, the food wasted, but the Queen was entirely about the show.
Did she even eat food? Clara doubted it, Ada was little more than a
skeleton with skin. Clara gazed at the Queen, her hawk-like features
framing eyes that were a deep brown, almost black, her hair being her
best feature, Clara admitted reluctantly. A true black, it shone in
the low light of the steam-chandeliers, a burnished inky thing that
moved like black smoke while she struggled to control her staggering
(Elvira gripping the plate she would not eat from). Ada towered over
Clara, often telling Clara she was a runt and unattractive. Clara had
never been one to admire her form in the looking glass like so many
of the giggling girls her age. She did not take the time, the fields
needed her attention, and Ada was enough of a mirror-lover for them
both.