The Pearl Savage (5 page)

Bracus shrugged, he was not sure if
this was so. However, it made some sense as she normally wore plain
garments, which covered her whole body. But not this day. Today she
had worn ribbons of gems in her hair, winking at him as he had gazed
upon her.

“She is a tiny female, fragile.
But fierce in expression. The males seem of adequate constitution.”

“Similar to our males?”

“Yes, but none that compare with
the Band.”

“It is possible there is no
environmental need for a Band inside the cocoon of their sphere.”

Bracus shrugged.

President Bowen pressed his fist to
his heart. “Godspeed to a Goodman.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

“Until then.”

“Yes.”

Bracus strode out. Leaving the
president in the care of the central Band, he swept by Matthew and
Stephen, the two other parts to their trio, his balance.

They jogged off into the night,
melting into the border of the forest, moonlight shone on their backs
as the quivers beat lightly with their pace.

Bracus’ mind was heavy with his
duties. A terrible portent rode his consciousness. With the date in
the palm of his hand, he should have felt reassured, but did not. He
felt the promise of this meeting with the female lay under some vague
threat he could not name. A shadow of disquiet laced it. He would
come back to this spot, when it was not required to do so and watch
her. Somehow he felt she was in danger and could not make the feeling
leave him.

The three of them accelerated, the
throat slits fully open, ragged tears catching the oxygen as they ran
through the woods, swiftly moving towards home, towards their clan.

CHAPTER 6

Clara put her hands across her face,
prepared to take a blow even knowing that Ada never beat her where it
showed. The Queen prowled closer. In her left hand swung an emerald
green decanter which glistened wetly, bumping her hip on her
approach.

Clara thought it made a fine weapon
for bludgeoning.

When she neared Clara, she shoved
her right hand upon Clara’s stomach, pushing with drunken might,
Clara fell on the wood floor. She looked up at Olive, who winced as
she landed, trembling and angry in equal parts. But Olive knew her
role, had always known her role.

“Insolent girl,” Queen Ada
roared, “how like your father you’ve become. You
must
work the oyster fields, you
must
show your gratitude for the masses.” She swaggered away,
steadying herself as she walked by Clara’s bedpost. The same one she
used to brace for the lacing of stays.

Clara stood, gingerly and covertly
feeling her ribs, which she had landed on, feeling grateful she had
not been abused further. Olive and she exchanged a look. Better that
Ada not set her attention on Clara again.

No such luck. Ada turned, her purple
skirts swirling about her legs like grape vapor. “You will do what
I ask. You will
not
embarrass
me in front of our subjects.”

Clara knew it was useless to defend
herself with the Queen but tried nonetheless, “My Queen,” Clara
took a breath to continue, a rib squawking, “…I like showing
gratitude to our subjects, as I think they remain loyal and joyous
when they are treated well.”

“Yes…
you
would,
” Ada said with derision, her chest rising and
falling, the liquor a wave of rotten fruit immersing the room in a
cloying smell of things which sicken.

Ada came toward her with purpose
now, swinging the decanter in such a way that Clara’s eyes became
mesmerized by it.

“Dear Guardian,” Olive
whispered.

Clara’s thoughts echoed.

Ada came closer, her hips swaying in
time with the decanter, her dark eyes glittering with resolve. This
might be something that Clara would not recover from. She was
resigned to the Queen’s drunken rages, kept them secret.

But she had not wielded an object
before.

The chamber door burst open, causing
all to jump, except Ada, who was as calm as the dead when deep in
drink.

“Who enters?” Her tone said,
who
dares to enter?

“It is I, Queen Ada; King Otto and
Prince Frederic.”

Clara looked away from the Queen
(not always advisable) to see the two monarchs and should not have.
She felt the Queen’s hand sink into her hair piled with pearls and
was wrenched backward, the strand of pearls tearing. They broke free
like birds scattered in the fields Outside. A hundred shimmering gems
bounced and rolled across the glossy floor, pooling around everyone’s
feet.

Clara’s neck was bent at a tortuous
angle, as the Queen held her lips above Clara’s ear. “Do not forget
who is sovereign here, my daughter. Now get ye gone from my sight.”

And with a mighty push, the Queen
released Clara. She stumbled over the pearls, which ran like an
iridescent stream upon the burnished wood and tumbled into Olive’s
arms.

The king rushed over to dispatch
assistance. “Do not touch her, King Otto. She needs help from no
one. Do you, Princess?”

Leaning into Olive she whispered,
“No.”

Ada’s gaze narrowed. “Olive, sweet
Olive, how you hate me. I see my abuse upon your face.” Olive
lowered her eyes, never able to hide her expression from the Queen.
“Best you not show your feelings,
servant
. Take her away.”

King Otto said, “Is this not her
chamber?”

Prince Frederic stood beside his
father looking at Clara with a contemplative expression.

“It is,” she remarked, saying it
to the king but giving the full weight of her stare to Frederic.
“Your son understands discipline, do you not?”

Frederic suffered another look at
Clara, dismissing her. “Yes, I think Clara and I have an
understanding of how things will be once we are joined.”

Clara started fantasizing a way for
harm to befall him from that moment onward. A seed germinated inside
the dark recesses of her heart.

She could not be under this man’s
authority.

Her mother’s drunken ire was
something she bore because there was no choice. But his? She needed
to formulate a plan and did not yet know what. She would confer with
Charles.

The king gave her a look that may
have been sympathy. However,
he was
weak
.
H
er
mother’s pearls meant more than Clara’s harm at the hands of the
Queen, and later, his own son.

“Let us take our leave of her
chamber, Queen Ada. There is much for us to discuss. I have brought
some of my most prized grapes that I wish for you to sample,” he
wheedled.

Clara watched Ada’s expression take
on the greed so prevalent with her, looking down at her decanter, its
weight not as heavy now that she had stripped it of its contents.
“Yes, I need not be here.” She swayed and King Otto steadied her
by grasping her elbow.

Clara backed away, Olive’s arm
around her waist, Olive her touchstone. King Otto led Ada away,
several times steadying her. With each step she took, Clara’s
breathing quieted. Then her attention was caught by Prince Frederic.

He stalked to where she and Olive
stood and she felt Olive stiffen behind her. “Your hair…it is
everywhere, you had better clean it up.” He reached out to stroke a
piece that had been released when the Queen tore it free of its pearl
bindings. Clara jerked away from his touch.

Frederic’s hand fell away, his gaze
darkening and then his hands were suddenly around her ribcage,
jerking her forward. He wrenched her out of Olive’s embrace, against
his body and a small pain sound escaped her mouth which made him
smile. His hands moved down lower, encircling her waist. “You will
like my touch… very much,” he said as he bent down to force his
hated mouth against hers, just as Charles entered her chamber.

“Release her, Prince Frederic.”
Charles’ expression was thunder contained. He and Olive looked at
each other and she gave him helpless eyes.

Frederic set her away from him and
she shuddered. Charles would pay for that comment. Charles did not
care as of yet. He suspected Frederic’s character but Clara had more
than suspicion:

She had foreknowledge.

He turned to Charles. “Have a
care, Mr. Pierce. Our interaction is none of your concern,”
speaking with quiet menace. He was showing restraint, Clara did not
believe it. It was so unlike him.

Charles’ hands were fisted. “If
you were not Prince, I would beat you senseless.”

“Ah…but I am,
am
I not
?” Prince Frederic said, a cruel smile sliding into
place.

Charles’ frustration was evident,
his impotence clear. “Have you no honor? She is a
woman
for Guardian’s sake.”

“Yes, I am
very
aware; soon to be mine.”

“She is not a possession… a
thing to own!” Charles threw his hands up in the air.

The silence fell upon them. The only
sound was of the steam sconces, their flickering flames along the
chamber walls hissing their presence, the time piece on the wall,
clicking the seconds as they passed into before.

Prince Frederic suddenly laughed, “I
will let this interchange disappear, I can afford to be gracious with
those beneath me. After all,” his gaze slid possessively over
Clara, “soon, I will see to it that her eyes never behold you
again.”

Stinging heat bit into Clara’s eyes
and she knew they were the tears yet unshed, burning for release.

“You cannot take away her
companions.”

“You will not ‘go away’, you will
simply be
unwelcome
in our kingdom.”

Clara gasped, “We have not yet
chosen where we may settle.” She could feel her eyes brim and held
them wide so those tears which threatened would not fall. Olive moved
up beside her, clasping her hand.

Charles gave her an anguished look.
He alone could intuit what near servitude it would be in this
loveless match; the abuse she would suffer with Frederic. Something
unimagined but balancing on the chasm of her consciousness. Far worse
than the Queen’s drunken efforts.

Frederic gave a brilliant smile,
tipping his hat at Clara and Olive, who stood stunned at his bizarre
behavior, then he gave a small bow to Charles, who fumed.

Charles and Frederic stood staring
at each other in aggressive regard, one pale and one dark, evil
encased in lightness.

He walked out without a word,
leaving the massive door ajar.

Clara glided over to her fainting
couch and slowly lowered her body onto it. Silent tears gliding down
her face, partially covered by a curtain of hair. She watched dully
as Olive, broom and receptacle in hand, gathered the fallen pearls
which still littered the floor like glittering tears.

A satin waistcoat, quite lovely,
appeared in her watery field of vision. Then vanished as Charles sat
beside her, “Dearest Clara,” Charles began, placing a light hand
at the base of her neck, wrapping it with long fingers which circled
almost to the front of her throat. Such strength in that large hand,
but what tenderness as he held her neck in the palm of his grip.

He pushed her head under his chin,
his hand still holding her neck and the sobs came. Great, silent,
hiccuping wails held quiet by habit, she could not get Frederic’s
wretched face out of her mind’s eye. His smug patience, knowing it
was a matter of time… a matter of
when
, not if.

She
would not be powerless
.
Her father’s teachings had not
fallen on deaf ears. She had not built his empire to let it fall into
governance by a Prince drunk not with wine, but with power. Charles
whispered sweet endearments into ears stung by the night. A night
that had been less celebration, and more survival.

“I cannot protect you… but
somehow
I must.
He is
dangerous. I fear he will hurt you.” Charles said, running his
thumb up and down her throat.

“Charles is correct. He is not a
real Prince of his people, my lady. He wishes to marry for power, for
the pearls. He wishes to be drunk like the Queen,” Olive lowered
her voice to a whisper, tucking her voluminous skirts under her knees
as she knelt before Clara, “but not by wine…
by greed.”

She was so right, dear Olive was
absolutely right. They knew what was happening but what to do with
that knowledge?

“Refuse the crown,” Charles said
suddenly.

Clara wiped her eyes and sat up
straighter looking at Charles, “Whatever do you mean?”

Charles had a stroke of insight and
waved her lack of understanding away, “Queen Ada commanded you
would not
be Queen if you refused this arranged marriage,
yes?”

Clara nodded, that had been so.

“Then refuse the crown. You do not
care for all this.” He gestured around the room with its
extravagant appointments, every surface velvet, satin or silk.
Precious metals gleaming like small anchors randomly in a room
holding every manner of implements and comforts.

That was true. Her richest treasures
were with her now, breathing the air that she did. She looked at
Olive and Charles, knowing what she would say next would upset them,
“I do have that choice. However,” Clara swallowed, this was most
difficult, “
I am royal.
It
is more than a hollow allowance, I am the caretaker of my people, my
subjects. If I am not Princess Clara for them, they will be left to
the devices of the Queen. That, I cannot abide.”

“Clara,” Charles moaned in
defeat, “think on it, do not martyr yourself for us. What good can
you do as Princess to his Prince… if he means your death?”

Olive sucked in her breath, for
Charles had said their fear out loud. It would be easy for something
to befall Clara, with Prince Frederic the ruler of both spheres. The
failing Kingdom of Kentucky and her own. Her head ached with the
potential for it all.