The Pearl Savage

Book
One of the Savage Series

by Tamara Rose
Blodgett

The Pearl Savage

by
Tamara Rose Blodgett

Copyright
© 2010-2011 Tamara Rose Blodgett

http://tamararoseblodgett.blogspot.com

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All
rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of
1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or
retrieval system without the prior written permission of the
publisher.

This
book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and
incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used
fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to
persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is
entirely coincidental.

All
rights are reserved.

Edited by
Stephanie T. Lott

For Sirena

Table
of Contents

Prologue 7

CHAPTER
1 9

CHAPTER
2 13

CHAPTER
3 17

CHAPTER
4 20

CHAPTER
5 25

CHAPTER
6 31

CHAPTER
7 41

CHAPTER
8 44

CHAPTER
9 49

CHAPTER
10 59

CHAPTER
11 63

CHAPTER
12 65

CHAPTER
13 70

CHAPTER
14 78

CHAPTER
15 82

CHAPTER
16 90

CHAPTER
17 94

CHAPTER
18 99

CHAPTER
19 102

CHAPTER
20 106

CHAPTER
21 108

CHAPTER
22 113

CHAPTER
23 116

CHAPTER
24 122

CHAPTER
25 126

CHAPTER
26 144

CHAPTER
27 147

CHAPTER
28 150

CHAPTER
29 154

CHAPTER
30 165

CHAPTER
31 179

CHAPTER
32 185

CHAPTER
33 218

CHAPTER
34 222

CHAPTER
35 228

CHAPTER
36 234

CHAPTER
1-TSB 243

A
Love Letter to My Readers: 252

Connect
with Me Online: 253

Acknowledgments: 254

Prologue

1890

Samuel laid on his back, gasping for
air as a fish out of the sea... laboring.
They had done all they could, now the burden lay with their
descendants. His gaze lingered on the house that he loved, now
covered in ash, the sun no longer a bright orb in the sky, but
shrouded in gray. A hush fell over the land, the environs a pewter
wasteland of nothing, cold seeping into his marrow inch by insidious
inch. Many would enter the spheres that had been constructed by the
Guardians. They spoke of selective population, which rang false to
Samuel, or true, as the case may be, his grandchildren safe and
beyond the pale of this time, this
world that he was leaving.

He turned his head, rolling limply
on its side, where his gaze captured Mae, also prone, a strange
contraption with hand-hammered copper and a complex, inky black
netting covering the greater part of her nose and mouth, leather
thong-like straps braided and wrapped her skull, pushing strands of
hair around like lost silver. She made odd, whistling noises as she
breathed.

“Samuel, wear it,” Mae said, her
voice distorted as she lifted the matching mask the Guardians had
fashioned in the few preceding months they had been given.

“No, Mae. I wish to enjoy this
fore-night without the chains of their advances.”

Samuel knew his stubbornness would
cost him his life. The Guardians who were equal part savior and
bearer of terrible news had made concessions for the elders. But
those which survived would be the
strongest, most virile, agile, smartest and etcetera among
them. Samuel and Mae understood at their advanced age of sixty and
one years both, they would be excluded from the mercies of the
sphere.

With blurred vision, Samuel saw a
familiar dimmed figure approach. “Father! Why do you not take rest
in your own bed?” Stella asked, her comely face a salve in his
approaching death. Her wool skirts swirled as she knelt, setting an
illuminated candle beside him, hissing steam from its seams.

Raising his hand, he cupped the
loveliness of her face, knowing the time had come to enter the sphere
the Guardians had constructed for the select. Her eyes brimmed
with tears. “Papa, the Guardians have told you that you might
survive... all is not lost.”

Samuel put a finger to her lips.
“Silence now, child. This is your place now. Do not forget the
things you have been taught. Take this, Dear Heart, hold it safe to
your breast, guard it. It is our history.” Samuel handed her a slim
leather book bound with a black silk tie.

Stella pressed it to her chest, the
tears once held in check, now overflowing down unprotected cheeks.
Mae's eyes met hers. “Go now Stella-girl... take the opportunity
you have been given.”

Her knuckles white as she clutched
the book, misery etched its path on her countenance. “It will never
be the same without you both.”

A clear bell-tone pealed, reminding
Stella of duty. Her duty to leave her parents behind. While the
knowledge of her future, the
safe environment of the sphere was a burden laid on her heart.

Stella's face turned to look at the
sphere, shimmering in a watery iridescence as a giant cloche. But
people were not plants, their future safekeeping a promise of a life
with a family, fractured by separation.

Stella bent her head to kiss Samuel
and Mae goodbye. Gently unwinding the face mask the Guardians had
constructed, she laid a kiss, soft as butterfly wings on the woman
who had nurtured her every desire. The skin giving way like
tissue-thin silk under the pressure of her lips. Turning to her
father, his pale blue eyes watering, she cradled his head while she
pressed a kiss to his forehead. She lowered his head and took a last,
lingering look, knowing this was the final time she would view her
parents in this realm.

Lifting her skirts, she pivoted
away, dropping them as she walked...no, as she ran, brushing
tears from her cheeks, the book clutched tightly in her other hand,
the candle hanging from its copper loop in her squeezed finger.
Approaching the doorway to the sphere, she was the last select
to be ushered inside, casting one final glance, she saw her parents
supine forms, clasped hands held tightly, her mother's mask forgotten
beside her.

Stella whirled toward the entrance,
losing hold of the book, dropping it on the earth now laden with
ash. She picked it up, her last gift from Father. Seeing the title,
she peered closer: Asteroid; A History of When the Rocks Fell.

Stella moved forward as the hole
closed behind her, a fierce idea blooming in her consciousness to
remember... who they had been.
As an indeterminate future stretched before her....

CHAPTER 1

One
Hundred Forty Years Later

Clara beheld the shrouded exterior
as she did each morning, her hands pressed against the pliable
interior of the sphere, fingers sinking into its surface, stopped
before breaching the Outside. The yearning was the same,
she wished to experience the Outside.

Sighing, Clara turned from the misty
view outside the molded window. Her petticoats swept together,
wrapping her bare legs, stockings laid out for her on the bed.

Olive knocked on the door.
“Mistress, may I enter your chamber?”

“Yes.”

She entered with steam-pressed
clothing draped over her arm, scads of material in a rich turquoise.
Clara hated it, hated it all.

“Princess,” inclining her head.

Clara recognized she was penalizing
Olive unfairly. Who truly wished to celebrate her Day of Birth? Utter
nonsense.

Olive peered at her Princess from
under her lashes, she was a formidable young lady, aquamarine eyes
which flashed with energetic temper, deep mahogany hair that cascaded
to her waist, very handsome but...uncooperative when it came to
dressings.

“Please Princess, they await your
appearance this day.”

“Does my mother await?” Clara
asked.

Olive knew that the Queen was deep
in her cup and it was not yet midday. “Our Queen has begun her own
celebration.”

No surprise to Clara, deep in
spirits, celebration or no.

Her people wished to see her adorned
in her finery (a loathsome pursuit) to be reminded that she was their
Princess, the one that saw to their happiness, where her mother, the
Queen, failed them at every turn.

Olive interrupted her internal
musings, “My lady, please employ the bedpost.”

Grabbing the stays that bound the
corset, pulling each cross-member, Olive took up the slack, when
reaching the end, she pulled with all her might, Clara gasped, “Must
it be so tight, I cannot breath properly.”

“It must be hand-span,” as the
last stay was tightened to faint-worthiness.

Finally, Olive bent to use the shoe
hook on Clara's high heels, each button a luminescent
mother-of-pearl.

Clara took in the altered version of
herself, the one that did not roam any space in her head. “Do you
not think you are agreeable, mistress?”

Clara gazed at her image, creamy
expanses of pale skin met the weak light from the sphere window
climbing up to a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and
strange-colored blue eyes, a dark fall of hair that was red in a
certain light, brushed her hips where they swelled. Her mother would
be pleased, she supposed. But Clara wanted to change into her
waistcoat and linen skirt she wore when she visited the oyster
fields.

She turned to Olive. “I look
comely enough to satisfy the Queen.”

“And Prince Frederick,” Olive
added.

Yes, she must not forget her
upcoming nuptials to the Prince. The thought brought a searing tide
of resentment, coiling in her breastbone painfully.

Clara sat at the vanity while Olive
began weaving the pearls into her hair, a rainbow of shimmering
colors began to wink and disappear in the plaiting. “Do you wish to
wear it all at the,” she indicated the back of Clara's head, “your
highness?”

She wished to not attend her Day of
Birth celebration.

“No, Olive, just the forward
section... leave the remainder down.”

She swept the forward part of
Clara's hair off her face in an elaborate coil, twining at the top,
back of her head, the pearls the size of a pinky nail, weaving around
it like a crown. Then arranged and rearranged Clara's hair until she
was satisfied.

“There. That will do,” she said
with satisfaction.

Clara stared at her reflection,
voluminous eyes gazed back, huge in her small face with part of the
rich, deep red hair piled on top, the pearls shimmering in the low
light.

She stood, giving Olive a gracious
nod. “You are most clever with your ministrations.”

Olive gave Clara a deep curtsey,
which she bore as she did her other royal obligations.

Clara procrastinated, wandering over
to her window again, pressing her face almost to the sphere barrier,
its soft but impenetrable surface her prison.

“Princess?”

“Yes, Olive,” Clara said without
turning.

“I implore you, do not stand so
often or close to the window. You have heard the reports of savages,
have you not?”

Yes, she had. Again Clara
thought of how she longed to explore, seeing for herself what lay
beyond her world, the Kingdom of Ohio.

“Yes, I have
heard and it aggrieves me mightily. If some have survived the
bounds of this place,” Clara stretched out her hand to encompass
the sphere, “who are we to feel disinclination? Should we not
welcome others?”

“It is not safe, my Princess.”

“And who has such musings?”

“The Record Keeper, my lady.”

Clara's full lips thinned into a
line of distaste. She detested the idea that one individual held the
history and direction of so many.

“Please... make my excuses for
another half hour hence.”

Olive hesitated, thinking of the
Queen's displeasure. “Yes, Princess.”

Clara turned her face, Olive
catching sight of it in profile, “You are not to be blamed, tell
the Queen that I was obstinate, as is typical.” Clara's mouth
curved into a smile, it pleased her that Queen Ada would suffer
irritation and keep the
dreadful Prince Frederick waiting. A bigger pompous ass the spheres
had never seen.

Clara turned to face Outside again,
Olive slipping out the door and closing it quietly behind her. A
tension slipped out of Clara's shoulders, relieved to own another
moment of time before the abhorrent celebration began.

She stood for time uncertain,
watching the wind (as she was told that was what it was), caressing
the Forest of Trees Outside. As she turned away, her duty before her,
she saw movement, whirling around she pressed her face to the
sphere's interior, her nose pushing in the softness as goose down.
Outside her window, a great male stood, trees flanking his body,
partially covered by branches. On his face lay a fierceness. Arrows
were slung over a shoulder corded with muscle, a bow in one hand, and
strange clothing covering only part of his body, a shocking expanse
of skin showing, immodestly so.

He was fascinating and most
assuredly... a savage.

Without warning he flew out of the
stand of trees that Clara had been admiring since her childhood,
rushing straight for the window she leaned against. Clara clenched
her teeth, holding her position, knowing that the sphere was
impenetrable but stale fear flooded her mouth as she stood watching
the huge male advance at an incredible speed. Clara's heart thumped
painfully in her chest and when a hair's breadth remained between the
sphere and Clara... he stopped.

*

Bracus looked at the female behind
the sphere that the Evil Ones had constructed in his grandfather's
grandfather's time, her image obscure. He had watched the female for
months and had seen her in strange clothing while supervising workers
in the fields of sea creatures that yielded shimmering jewels.

He also knew she was beautiful
and... he wanted her.

She was unlike any of the females
he had seen, which were rare in his clan. A female was highly prized
and safeguarded. His eyes caressed her face, the skin like cream from
the cow, her eyes like the sea near his cousin's clan...hair the
color of fire burnt down to embers. Bracus looked around warily;
knowing he must leave, he was too exposed without the trees at his
back. He gave a last look at the female, her expression
indecipherable, already he felt vulnerable that he had
revealed himself after his careful months of hiding. Turning, he
ground up the hill toward the stand of trees, his long and powerful
strides eating up the ground ahead of him. Reaching the forest he
looked back at the window where the female watched him, then he
turned, disappearing into the stand and made his way back to the
clan.

Clara released the breath she had
been holding, letting it out in a rush. Light-headed, she sat upon
the fainting couch and put her head between her knees. Between the
strange episode with the savage and the absurd corset, she
could not regain her breath. This is how Olive came upon her when she
returned to escort her to the celebration. How could that hold a
candle's excitement to what had just transpired Outside?

Olive rushed to her. “Princess,
what ails you?”

Although not her favorite
transgression it was effective and she lied smoothly to Olive, “I
think the stays may need loosening.”

“Oh! For the love of the Guardian!
Please... forgive me.” Olive rushed around to loosen the stays but
Clara knew that would just lengthen the horror of the event and incur
additional wrath from the Queen.

“Never mind, it matters not,
Olive... hand-span it shall be.”

“As you wish, Princess.”

As she began walking to the doorway,
she turned, giving one look back to the window, where the savage
had looked at her so intimately. He had been so alive...
vital. She knew one thing she had seen would distract her
during the entire celebration.

The
savage had gills.

Turning away from the window, Clara
made her way to the door, swinging it open to the hallway which led
to the Gathering Room, a place of joy. But not for her... not today.

CHAPTER 2

Clara entered with Olive at her
heels, a lady-in-waiting who she also called friend. Royalty was a
lonely role, every friendship
sacred. Clara searched the crowd for Charles, surely he
was somewhere around the room, nowhere... drat.

Her eyes continued to scan the
Gathering Room, taking in the rich tapestries that lined the walls.
Which was a misnomer, there was no puncturing the interior of the
sphere. They had been hung cleverly with scaffolding to adjoin the
material with copper fasteners. The huge Gathering clock donged,
chiming at three hours past noon. Clara loved the enormous time
piece. It had a symmetry that gave one pause, its beauty striking as
sure as the chime she felt reverberate in her chest. Ten feet in
diameter, the gears moved and clanked, clearly seen through a layer
of crystal, steam running it seamlessly. The hot vapors rose to the
highest apex of the sphere, flowed through unseen air portals, which
fed to a central ventilator.

Relief swept through Clara as she
saw Charles moving toward her. He had finished his studies one year
past and begun to work in the fields. He would stay by her;
especially with the understanding that she would have to spend a good
portion of her time in the presence of her betrothed.

She noticed that he wore his clothes
with alacrity, unlike herself, (formal clothing adding no joy). And
indeed he did look dashing, his hat a shining wonder topping soft
black hair, his time piece tucked safely in the front pocket of a
smartly striped brocade vest. His soft velvet pants were charcoal,
tucked into tall boots that rose to the knee and a deep black coat,
its interior lined in scarlet, swirled mid-thigh.

Charles bowed. “Princess Clara.”
His eyes twinkled as the sod knew very well how she hated the title.

Clara returned a perfunctory curtsy
automatically. “I see you are in good spirits.”

“Ah yes, a Day of Birth
celebration for my dearest friend, what must I feel badly about?”
Charles said, raising a brow, tapping a finger on his head as if
confused.

Olive giggled behind them, she found
Charles amusing. Clara did as well, but not so much this day.

Charles examined her expression.
“Clara,” he lowered his voice, “there is no alternative, you
must persevere.”

His sadness cloaked her. Charles
would rather slay himself with the sword he practiced with than have
her married to Frederick.

Clara felt shame redden her cheeks,
he was her dear friend, and as constrained by rules as she. Taking
his hand she squeezed it and he leaned down, whispering in her ear,
“That is the Clara I know, brave heart. Take my arm, Princess.”

Clara slipped her arm through
Charles', noticing how tall he had become, the top of her head able
to brush his chin. His dark eyes regarded her solemnly, it was time
to greet Queen Ada, her mother.

They approached the throne which sat
upon a circular dais. The steps leading to her throne shone in the
warm light of the steam-chandeliers, their crystal orbs casting a
golden glow directly over the dais, spreading like molten water over
the floor before them.

The Queen regarded them with thinly
veiled disdain, her tapered finger eternally running up and down the
crystal stem of her emerald wine goblet that shimmered like a jewel
in the light.

“Daughter of mine,” Queen Ada
said with silken menace encasing every syllable, “what reason have
you for being late to your own Day of Birth celebration. Leaving,”
she gave a slight incline of her head, “Prince Frederick, in a most
unescorted plight.” Her gaze bored through Clara with talons.

She allowed herself to look at
Prince Frederick, whose thunderous expression told her that her
mother was not the only one from whom she would have to assuage
temper.

“Do not look at Prince Frederick,”
Queen Ada roared, causing the crowd to gasp, “address your queen!”

Charles moved behind Clara, unlacing
their arms and putting his hand at the small of her back.

Queen Ada's razor stare turned to
Charles. “She is not to be coddled.”

Charles hand fell away from Clara's
back and she stood, vulnerable and seemingly alone before Ada.

Clara took a stoic breath, bracing
herself, knowing the shock wave she would send through the crowd. “I
have a tale of great magnitude.” Every eye was upon Clara, a
feeling of great excitement stole around her heart, squeezing it. “I
have seen a savage.”

The gasps were as one, loud in their
combined softness.

Queen Ada stood, her goblet
temporarily forgotten, as Elvira, her lady-in-waiting, swooped
forward to steady it. Clara watched her regain her balance, swaying
only a little.

“You lie.” She stood in her
swirling gown of deep purple, her favorite color, a long, sensuous
rope of black pearls looped and knotted, reaching her knees. Samuel's
pearls, only the rarest for Ada. She never thought of her mother as
such, it was always Ada, or The
Queen.

“I do not. I was taking my leave
before this celebration,” Clara turned to the many faces, some of
which she was close enough to reach out and touch, and spoke to them,
giving her back to Ada, a brave thing, “and saw him at the border
of the Forest which lays Outside.”

More gasping. The sightings of the
savages had increased in number, along with the sentries at
the critical sphere passages between kingdoms.

Charles grasped her elbows, turning
her to face him. “You say you saw one? How close, Cla...
Princess.” Charles corrected.

“I ask the questions here, not
you.” The Queen turned her fearsome expression to
Clara. “Perchance you use this ridiculous story as a ruse to grant
you my mercy for the disrespect you show us by your lateness.” She
looked at Clara, for all her drink, brightly and with a keenness that
Clara knew very well.

Clara ignored the question, hoping
to distract with her tale.

“He ran with great speed to my
window which faces Outside.” Many voices began at once and Clara
was forced to stop her commentary.

“Silence!” Queen Ada bellowed
and the crowds' voices faded.

Ada swung her attention to
Frederick. “What say you? Does my daughter bear tales?”

As if he would have a fig's
reckoning of her state of mind.

Frederick glared down at Clara, she
a terrible but necessary inconvenience, one he would obtain to
further his wealth, she was but a pawn on his kingdom's chessboard.

Frederick sat slightly lower and to
the left of Ada, the King of Kentucky to Ada's right. It was he, not
Frederick who answered, “If I may, I feel disinclined that Princess
Clara would falsify such a tale at a time when these savages
are unveiling their presence.”

Clara gulped back her anxiety,
eternally thankful for King Otto, who inadvertently paved the way for
her next comment, “I may know why they survive Outside,” the
silence was that of a tomb but Clara continued, “the male had...”
Clara gestured to the slender column of her neck, and the many faces
of the crowd followed her motion, “...gills. They appear to aid in
his breathing.”

Excited conversations exploded all
around Clara and she hazarded a look at Queen Ada, who looked as if
her breath had been robbed, sitting down in a very un-royal heap upon
her throne.

Charles studied Clara, his hand
still encircling an elbow when Prince Frederick was suddenly there.
“Unhand my betrothed, Mr. Pierce.”

Charles stared at the Prince with an
unwavering gaze, his brown eyes steady, his fingers loosening... then
falling away. Clara looked at Charles, her eyes warning him. She saw
in his eyes a wish to maim, which would not do, it
would not do at all. Her gaze traveling and finding the
Prince's guards.

“Come Clara,” he said her name
with an intimacy he would never earn, “sit beside your future
king.”

Clara would rather drown in the
oyster fields than be near him. She turned to look at Charles, and he
mouthed, I will be here.

Clara lifted her skirts to assure
her footing as she climbed the dais, sitting in the small, gilded
throne at the lower left of Ada, sandwiched between the loathsome
Prince and her drunken mother, the one who would whore her for free
grapes, giving up their precious legacy of pearls for her love of the
cup.

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.

Olive stood at the ready as it was
unseemly for royalty to dish themselves, but Clara would
dish herself on her Day of Birth. She chose the almost foot-long
oyster. These were her favorite, mild in flavor, with a pink
undertone, the looks of it on the plate filled her with pride. They
were most difficult to cultivate to that size, their girth covering
the pressed glass plate in a satisfying way. Clara dipped a small
amount of red sauce and covered the open meat with a fine dribble.
Olive gathered a small salad plate and filled it with greens, adding
a dressing that smelled like cheese, imported from the Kingdom of
Indiana.

Clara sat at the Royal table, placed
on a small dais, with King Otto, Prince Frederic and Queen Ada seated
at a large, rectangular table with the Queen at the head. All other
tables in the Gathering Room were round; not the Queen's, she
demanded the head.

A carafe of wine sat at her elbow,
King Otto simpering beside her, laughing at the foolish comments she
made. Clara knew that he should have a care, as Ada was alarmingly
lucid, especially when she
was deep in her cup. This should not be, but it was so. She had seen
other royals misunderstand and underestimate her, at
their peril. This sphere, with its pearls, commonly
used as a money; trading was heavy with the pearls. For all Queen
Ada's drunkenness, there was motivation to stay within her good
graces.

Clara played with the succulent meat
of her oyster, finally cutting her first bite, placing it in her
mouth, savoring the flavor while she held it on her tongue. Prince
Frederic stared at her, his own oysters gone. They were an expensive
thing and he had not taken the time to do them justice, a vision of
gluttony, scooping and slurping them down in haste.

“Why do you eat them slowly?”
Frederic asked.

“They are meant to be savored,”
Clara stated, shrugging a bare shoulder.

His eyes traveled from her face then
to her bosom, which made a delicate flush rise, like all true
redheads, not an easy thing to mask. She hated how he looked at her.
Somehow, this made her think of the savage, although she knew
not why. His gaze had been penetrating but not intrusive.

When Prince Frederic looked at her
she felt violated.

She glanced to the round table a few
feet behind her and saw Charles watching Frederic and knew that he
had seen the look, his expression dark. She dreaded what he might do;
compromise himself to save her honor. She had Charles to thank for
assuaging her royal loneliness. The son of King Raymond's dear
friend, they had been friends since toddler-hood and she cherished
his wisdom and friendship.

Prince Frederic laughed, “So
easily flustered, Princess. You will be very... entertaining
when we are joined.”

Clara looked down to hide her
expression. She would have rather vomited on his shoes and feared
that her face would show it. He was considered handsome, with his
height and Nordic good looks. Broad through the shoulder, and trim at
the waist, he was the epitome of what the Queen would name good
breeding. But handsome is as handsome does and his heart was stained,
stained with blackness. She lifted her chin and met Charles' stare.

Frederic gave them a considering
look, putting each finger in his mouth to suck the oyster juices off.

CHAPTER 5

Bracus jogged through the familiar
path, vines twisting up trees grown tall over time, the canopy
offering filtered shade. Its lazy light speckling the bare flesh of
Bracus' legs as they flowed, smooth and steady over gnarled tree
roots.

He navigated the path without
looking.

His lungs burning, Bracus felt his
throat slits open fully to bring rich oxygen to his lungs. He climbed
higher, heading for the caves where he would report to their
president, Arthur Bowen. As Bracus neared the cave's entrance he
whistled, high and piercing. To the uninitiated, it would sound like
a bird's call of distress. To Bracus' comrades, it would alert them
it was he, and not an enemy.

They moved as one in front of the
cave's entrance, bows strung tight, arrows poised; the whistle had
not softened their response; Bracus was pleased, putting on a burst
of speed.

Their arrows were trained on Bracus
until he revealed himself with his salute.

“Sir, what did you see?”
Kingsley asked, lowering his bow.

The other sentry, part of the Band,
was Matthew Charier. He would not relax his stance, his arrow pointed
above and behind Bracus' shoulder from his higher vantage point. He
literally had Bracus' back. He was a good man, too serious by far,
but a warrior unlike any Bracus had ever seen. Not a tremor,
Charier's shaft as steady as the trees which towered above them.

“Much. I saw much.”

Charier's eyes flicked to Bracus
then back to their former position. He spoke tersely, but with
feeling, “Did you reconnoiter our position from yesterday?”

“Let me debrief with President
Bowen. Then when you set your bow upon the earth, we will meet at the
fire and discuss the future here...our mutual future.”

Stephen Kingsley made a disgusted
sound and stomped back over to position.

“No effort at stealth, Kingsley?”
Charier asked without turning.

“You know that I tire of the
endless reconnaissance, I wish to develop a way for our people,”
Kingsley said, kicking a small rock into the woods below them.

Charier lowered his bow. “Do not
let your temper overwhelm your intellect, stay vigilant.”

It was Bracus that turned to stare
behind him, while his two finest guards argued amongst themselves,
leaving the cave's most vulnerable point unattended. Bracus knew why
he was in command, he would not be distracted. He was not easily
distracted.

Or he had not been before the
female.

Her face filled his vision, the soft
creamy triangle, with eyes which glowed like the shimmering marbles
he played with as a boy. They took up her face, a window to her soul.
He wished to know that soul... linger in it like a scented bath on
his skin.

Bracus shook himself, his iron-clad
control reasserting itself.

“Quiet,” he hissed at the two
warriors, almost nose to nose.

They looked at their leader, shame
riding their faces.

“Charier, get that bow where it
belongs.” Charier lifted his bow and nocked the arrow.

“That's better,” Bracus said,
clapping him on the shoulder. He turned to Kingsley. “You are not
one ruled by your temper, what say you?”

Charier gave a rare smile. “I too,
tire of the incessant scouting ventures. We need to move now,
before it is too late to save ourselves. You know that our females
are fragile, and too few.”

Yes... Bracus knew. He
never forgot it.

“Carry on men, we will discuss
this more upon my return.” Both men saluted him and he inclined his
head in a half bow, his body already turning to enter the cave. To
debrief the president.

Bracus stepped forward, allowing his
eyes to adjust to the dimness of the cave. This small, little known
crevice in the woods had been a clandestine meeting area for every
president with the Band since the time of the Evil Ones and the days
when the earth breathed ash.

“Bracus,” President Bowen said,
his face in shadows.

“It is I... with news.” Bracus
came forward, dwarfing the president with his height. All the Band
members were huge men, it was a large part of the defense. With their
superior strength, physical acuity and throat slits, they were the
perfect protectors. But without more people, there would be nothing
to protect.

President Bowen, a man of few words
arched heavy brows above deep eyes, waiting for his report.

“I have located the lead female.
The one you say is a Princess.”

The sphere-dwellers had a
strange hierarchy of leadership. Instead of presidents and advisers,
they had kings, queens, princes and... princesses.

“You have been scouting this
location for months, we must take her soon. Contact is critical.”

“She does not frighten easily,”
Bracus said, thinking of her standing her ground as he rushed the
sphere.

“Good, this is exactly what we
need. A high-ranking female, one who can be reasoned with. She must
hear what we say, deliver this message to her people, then there may
be negotiation. Surely they wish to meld our two cultures, experience
the Outside once more.”

Bracus would be driven mad to exist
in a place that was nothing more than a gilded cage. But the female
had always been there.

“I do not know that it is so. I
have watched now these past four months. They labor in those fields
for the shellfish.”

“Oysters?”

“Yes. These... oysters.
They harvest them for food and the small gems which are found
inside,” Bracus said, thinking of how different the female looked
while surrounded entirely by men, her dress and composure utterly
different. Bracus had watched her tending these strange watery fields
from a boat of pink and green, its weather-beaten surface pushed
forward by two men with long poles. Interesting work. The female was
always intense, inspecting the strange shell creatures, returning
some, collecting many. Her hair up off her neck, a slim column of
white with the deepest color of burnished copper on top of her head
like a dying flame, a lone flower.

She held his thoughts prisoner.

“Bracus?”

“Yes, President Bowen?”

“I asked you a question.”

Prisoner: a deaf one,
Bracus thought.

“I apologize, I was lost in my own
thoughts.”

“I see that.” Bowen started
round the table, a circular one which had stood in that spot for one
hundred years, papers sealed under glass in the center, under a
sphere of their own.

His fingers trailed the edge of the
table as he walked, standing uncomfortably close to Bracus.

Bracus stood still.

“Do you know why you were chosen
for this assignment, Bracus?”

Not at all. “No.”

“Objectivity.”

Oh. Bracus was sure that he was not
as objective as he had been upon the inception of this assignment.

“You are not...developing feelings
for the subject.”

“Of course not. This is about
establishing a rapport between our peoples. I have not lost sight of
our objective,” Bracus lied smoothly. There was nothing that would
stop him from initiating this. The thought of another male with the
same objective... carrying it out instead of him.

It
would be himself or no one.

“Excellent, I wish to make sure
that we remain of one mind; the propagation of the species.”

Bracus backed away, circling the
table in the opposite direction, grabbing the paper which lay under
the glass weight with a pencil at the ready.

“Let me sketch the primary area of
acquisition.” Bracus briefly laid the groundwork for the sphere,
showing with fair accuracy its placement in front of the great forest
which sheltered his people. To the east lay their sphere's traveling
pathway, a small sphere which served as a tunnel of sorts. This
sphere tunnel, as Bracus thought of it, seemed to be a vital method
of trading with the other spheres. There were also several
intersecting tunnels which traversed over the great lake ending in
much smaller spheres, a place where many workers lived who tended the
oyster fields, all under the great umbrella of the main sphere. Those
workers would be picked up in the strange pink and green boats which
filled the fields. Searching, rendering and gathering the shell
creatures, with the female their unlikely leader. If she were so
vital in their leadership, why was she not under guard? Why were
their females not better secured? So many questions to which Bracus
wished answers.

Bowen leaned over the paper,
indicating the point where the main body of the sphere, bisected the
sphere tunnel. “This is the point of acquisition we discussed. It
is the most vulnerable area.”

“Yes. Kingsley and I feel that
their unusual ventilation system needs to release at this area. Also,
and this is most interesting, the outside air is drawn in.”

“Fascinating. Myself and the
Advisers surmise it is some kind of elaborate cycle of air cleansing.
We do not know how this is achieved.”

“Steam,” Bracus said,
remembering the heat which escaped the pin-sized holes in the seam
that connected the sphere with the tunnel.

“Indeed. The Evil Ones were quite
advanced.” The president pressed his fingers to the throat slits on
both sides of Bracus' neck, closed at present. He let the
uncomfortable intimacy pass without rebuff, but not without effort.
It was part of their history. As yet, no one knew why some had the
slits and others did not. Females did not have them. Slit breathing
was a sign that they would become part of the Band. If you were born
with the slits, you would be a part of the protection of his people.
No matter, slit-breathers were instinctively protective, it was part
of the fiber of their being.

“We will plan for three weeks
hence. There will be a new moon that night, with little light, it
should be ideal to retrieve the female.”

Today's mission had been the last
before acquisition. All the practice and planning were finally behind
him. Bracus prepared to leave, the interior guards silently coming
forward from walls illuminated by candles, preparing to escort the
president to the first rendezvous point.

“Wait.”

Bracus turned.

“What do they look like? Up
close.”

Bracus stood thinking.

“They dress strangely...”

“We know it was the Princess's
birthday. Perhaps that is traditional attire.”

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. Her
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.

Her gaze suddenly wandered to the
sphere wall and she thought of the savage she had seen
Outside. How she longed for help for a new way, a way to save her
people from the hardship of this forced union.

Charles stood, and clasped their
hands, Olive rested her head upon Clara's shoulder, “Let me think
on it. There must be another way.”

Charles leaned forward, releasing
her hands and putting one on each side of Clara's face, palming the
entirety of it, and placed a gentle kiss upon her forehead.

“Are you hurt?”

“Nothing I cannot bear and bring
to wellness in a fore-night or two.”

“The Queen,” he hissed.

She nodded. He closed his eyes and
finally... Charles pulled away, his forehead breaking contact with
Clara's.

He began to walk to the door then
stopped, turning, he pulled something out of his pocket. A small,
velvet bag in deepest blue, cinched with an icy blue ribbon, he
walked back over and placed it inside Clara's palm, “This is what I
meant to do when I came upon... when I came upon... the
circumstance.”

Clara nodded, it was difficult
to describe.

She slipped the ribbon open, its
gauzy weight as light as a feather atop a pen, and scooped out a
chain of precious silver. At its end hung a large, single pearl, held
in a spider web gallery; complicated filigree surrounded it like an
embrace.

Clara's head jerked up and she
looked into Charles dark eyes, “A Samuel Pearl,” she breathed out
in reverence. The rarity was beyond compare. In her water sphere
fields, there was a tiny field for raising the rare, Samuel's Pearls.
They were named for her grandfather's grand-sire, a man who had never
set foot in the sphere, but perished in the Outside, in the time when
the earth was covered in ash.

Charles' beautiful smile broke
across his face like the sun of the Outside breaking free of clouds,
“I knew you would love it.”

“I love it because of who gave
it,” returning his smile with one of her own.

Charles ducked his head, pleased,
“Let me place it about your neck.” She turned and he laid her
heavy hair aside, securing the clasp behind her neck, rearranging the
tousled hair over it.

“Oh, Princess, it is so beautiful
against the creaminess of your skin, you must address the looking
glass.”

None of them said anything about the
bruises; the Queen's careless abuse in evidence.

Clara gazed into the looking glance,
staring at the large pearl, the size of her pinky nail, a deep ebony,
shining with metallic green iridescence. The luster encompassed the
sea gem where it glowed softly at the hollow of her throat. Olive and
Charles stood behind her. Clara noticed her disheveled hair, tendrils
of deepest bronze escaping and suddenly felt older than her ten and
seven years.

Clara watched Charles stroke a thumb
over the grape-sized bruise at the side of her throat, his expression
sad. It said, how much longer could she bear the mistreatment...
could he?

Charles gave her a gentle squeeze on
her shoulders, his big, warm hands a momentary comfort, then he
released her.

“I must go,” he glanced at the
hanging time piece, one half hour until midnight struck.

Charles leaned forward and pressed a
kiss to her forehead, “Happy Day of Birth, dearest Clara.”

He straightened, a strange
expression coming over his face, then he seemed to shake cobwebs away
and saying a final good night, he left her chamber.

Olive had followed him and shut the
massive door, engaging the huge brass bolt. She turned around,
leaning against the door, her relief a palpable thing.

Clara watched Olive walk toward her,
“He loves you, Princess.”

She loved him too... but she was not
in love with him, he was her
dear friend. Clara sighed, “I do not know for a certainty that he
loves me any differently than I do him. We have been friends since
grammar school,” she shrugged the idea away.

“No, it is different. He watches
you as the sun orbits the earth, it is total.”

Olive's words were disturbing. Clara
did not wish to mean that much to anyone.

“You have not encouraged his
affections, but they exist, my lady.”

Clara said nothing, instead, moving
toward the bedpost she twined nimble fingers around the part which
narrowed. Her eyes following Olive as she moved to close the heavy
drapes that stood open to the blackness of the Outside. They lay
slightly damp against the veil of the sphere wall, the steam from the
day clinging tenaciously to the fabric, adding weight. Olive used
both hands to pull the two sides of the curtain together, the wooden
rings sliding over the rod seamlessly but slowly, hindered by the
heaviness. Finally, they were closed and Olive moved up behind Clara.
Olive began at the top stay, releasing it carefully. With the first
stay undone, it was usually a matter of synchronicity with the
rest... however, release the first in haste, and each stay needed
hand release, a bother at the very least. Clara gave a grateful
exhale as the stays loosened and her ribs and breasts escaped the
prison of the corset.

Olive breathed a sigh of relief,
“The usual damage has been avoided, Princess,” Olive said, a
discerning eye roving her torso.

“Oh?” Clara inquired. It felt
about the same as all the damage she always suffered when Ada raged
against her.

“Yes... it was the corset, my
lady, the corset bore some of it.”

Of course! The dreadful encumbrance
was worth something after all. The irony was not lost on Clara.

The rest of the garment slid off
easily without the resistance of the corset. Olive folded it over the
back of Clara's vanity chair, the dress obscuring the ornate bones of
the polished wood, like glass in repose.

She returned with Clara's dressing
gown which Clara took to dress herself. How she detested being
dressed, this singular step she could do. As she took the gown, she
bestowed a grateful smile on Olive. She was someone that had been
steadfast and loyal throughout, in the terrible years after her
father's passing, and before.

The dressing gown on, Clara walked
to the vanity chair, sitting sideways so as to not interfere with the
dress, while Olive gave her hair the hundred strokes.

Olive sighed, frustrated, “I am
sorry, Princess, I will have to remove these ruined bindings.”

Olive carefully unwound the mess of
the bindings, a few pearls still clinging to their careful housing,
now beyond repair. Clara's hair shone as burnished copper in the
faded golden light cast by the overhead chandelier, its cut glass
globes piercing jeweled rainbows on the interior walls, some prisms
absorbed by the wall of the sphere.

Clara, not one to talk idly, sat
trancelike, as Olive brushed her hair, a ritual Olive's mother had
established before Olive became her lady-in-waiting. It had never
failed to calm her, especially after a horrible night at the hands of
Ada. But this night, Clara could not calm herself, the normalcy of
this routine stolen from her.

Olive paused in her brush strokes,
“What disturbs you, my lady?”

What did not disturb Clara? Her Day
of Birth celebration beginning with a face-to-face engagement with a
savage, the spectacle of her mother's drunken behavior, the
menace of her later in Clara's chamber, with the finish of Prince
Frederic and Charles almost coming to blows? Oh... nothing of
consequence! She must give just due to Olive, for this was all
that she knew; the Queen drank, she beat Clara, Clara resolved to say
nothing. Clara wished upon every star that lay Outside in its
captured velvet...that she could do something to establish protective
measures against Queen Ada. But the threats lay dormant, ready to be
activated if Clara chose not to cooperate. Cooperate or the people of
her Sphere would be ruled by tyranny, not mutual respect and
collaboration. The ways of her father would not be forgotten because
she was incapable of preserving them. That streak of resolve always
held her in its fist when the days grew dark in Clara's soul.

Clara thought of her father, even
though it made her sad, her memories of her girlhood in the oyster
fields alongside her father were dear to her. She ruminated upon them
more frequently than she cared to admit... even to herself.

*

Clara looked at the oyster King
Raymond held in the palm of his hand, its wavy and hammered surface
belying the succulent sea meat held inside, the pretty gem nestled in
its dove gray folds. How the oysters fascinated young Clara! Each one
a surprise. The pearl their reward for diligently and studiously care
taking them until their maturation reached an end.

“Clara-girl,” King Raymond
began, prying open a too small shell, one even she knew was not yet
ready for harvest, “this young is not yet ready for yield.”

“No father! Do not, I wish no harm
to befall the oyster.”

Her father gave her a look of soft
compassion, “You must learn just the correct moment in an oyster's
life span for harvest. One day, I will not be here, and who will make
certain that our way of life continues?”

“You will always be here, Father!”
Clara cried, smoothing her yellow skirt over her knees anxiously, the
hem grazing the floorboards of the pungy.

The king gazed across the water,
looking at the small spheres scattered about the Great Lake, as it
had been called in his father's father's time, “One day, even I
will be no more. It will be your job to steward over these
creatures.”

He pried the shell apart, not a
smooth practice, and inside the creature was undersized and the gem
was but a sparkling speck, the color not yet true.

“Pay attention Clara,” she
leaned forward, her father poking the flesh of the creature with his
prying tool so she could see the interior of its home encased in
shell. After they had examined it together, he placed the oyster in a
wooden bucket with rope for a handle.

He gathered another oyster, this one
of proper girth and length, stretching past his palm, almost to the
tips of his fingers, “This is ready.”

Prying... it sprung open, splashing
muck about the pungy, splatter falling on Clara,(she had the
disquieting thought that mother would be cross). She was often cross
with Clara, especially when she rode the pungy with father.

The creature was full to bursting
its house (as Clara thought of the shell) a glimmering gem
cloistered inside the folds, its luster in stark relief against
the dull-colored creature within. It was beautiful, the pearl was
beautiful.

Father plucked the pearl out, the
juices of the creature still covering it, and gave it to Clara. She
immediately dunked it in the fresh water bucket, getting some of the
grime off. It seemed to wink and glimmer at her from her palm... her
first pearl.

She looked up at her father, delight
on her face and he smiled back, “I also loved the fields and what
they held when I was a lad.”

“Princess?” Olive held the brush
in her hand, staring at Clara in the looking glass' reflection. Clara
had been ten spheres away, in the depths of her memory.

“Yes, Olive?”

“I asked, 'what disturbs you'?”

So much to speak of, but she did not
wish to go through it all again. Once in her mind was enough for
tonight, “My thoughts lay heavy on me. Tomorrow, I will escape some
of the Prince's attention by checking the fields.”

“Queen Ada will not be pleased.”

“I know.” Her mother wished to
have others fulfill the oyster supervision duties, but Clara felt
compelled to oversee much of what had been cultivated for over one
hundred years within her family. After all, Ada was not from this
Sphere originally, but the Kingdom of West Virginia, where there were
no fields. What did she really care what happened to any of it, with
her precious grapes in sight? Clara was her vehicle for their
continuation.

“I tire, Olive. I would sleep
now.”

Olive put the hairbrush down without
a word, folding the bedding back, Clara slid underneath her coverlet,
her eyes like great weights dragging her under. Struggling to stay
awake, her eyes followed Olive as she dimmed the sconces and the
chandelier from a central switch located just inside the chamber
door. With one last look at Clara, she retreated to a smaller door
which led to her much smaller chamber.

The last thing Clara heard was the
lock clicking into place as she fell into a dreamless sleep of
exhaustion.

CHAPTER 7

Charles lay in bed within his small
chamber thinking of Clara... again.
That was usually where his thoughts lay. Aside from her being the
most beautiful creature he had ever beheld she was a most excellent
friend. He rolled over on his stomach, his chin resting on his fist
instead of a pillow. A heavy sigh escaped him, what
to do? That strumpet of a man lay in wait for Clara, whoring
himself with aplomb for the wine-pearl treaty. While Clara was held
like a fragile tether between the two factions. If only King
Raymond were still alive, he thought for the thousandth time,
good Guardian, life was a wreck at present.

Sleep evading Charles entirely, he
ripped the bedding away from himself and sat up, his naked form pale
against the darkness of the bed linen. He padded over to the wall of
the sphere, its clarity allowing the blackness of the Outside to
permeate his chamber. His eyes roamed the Outside, the Great Forest
an outline of staggered black against a deep sky filled with stars,
the moon on the wane.

Clara had seen one of them today...
a savage.

A new thing to worry over.

Although, curiously, she had said
she sensed no menace in the brief snippet of time they had to regard
each other.

Their history warned clearly in that
regard, they needed to be ever vigilant with the savages. The
Time Keeper had made it known that they were a people apart, possibly
not even the same species. Charles doubted that. Early sketches
showed them looking very human...if not larger, fiercer. As a
boy, Charles had looked at many hand-written accounts and sketches of
the savages, and they were markedly similar; large men (a
female had never been witnessed), with unkempt hair and clothing (and
from what Clara had conveyed, a shocking lack thereof). Weaponry had
been noted as well: spears, knives and most prominently, bows and
arrows. Charles thought of his own sword practice. It was not
something that was required in his occupation, but was of keen
interest to him. However, there was also the matter of the airways on
the throat Clara claimed to have seen... gills,
as a sea creature has. Charles could only surmise that this was in
some way an environmental response to the air quality of the Outside.
He longed to explore Outside, but it also filled him with a nervous
dread. Would he survive? Because breathe he must! Charles understood
Clara had been safe behind the security of the sphere but he had a
disquieting portent of the proximity of the savage. What could
have been the reason for his close approach? Were they being watched?

He did not like it.

And what if they possessed salt?
What if they knew the weakness of the sphere's defenses he thought as
he paced the room.

Charles went over the events of the
night and how unable he was to protect Clara. The abhorrent Queen
wielded her tyranny over Clara with a singular focus that drove him
mad. Where was her compassion for her own offspring? Charles dreamed
of dispatching her... permanently.
The idea swelled in his head, especially acute after witnessing
Clara's stiff posture. Seeing Olive's expression, Charles knew what
had occurred. Clara dismissed his concern, accepting the rages as
part of her duties. However, what if Queen Ada lost total control,
deep in the cup as was often? Clara was a small female, her mother
was not. Charles shuddered, Clara said that it was better that
Charles had some contact with her, rather than none. “Do
nothing,” she had said, “so that we may have a friendship. Do not
defend me, or she will never let us consort.” That was all well and
good in theory, but Charles brooded, remembering the bruise that
blossomed on the whiteness of her throat, his fists unconsciously
flexing. He had never wished to harm a female; but the Queen made him
rethink himself.

Further, Prince Frederic was of a
similar ilk, a male with the same disposition as the Queen, a
terrible reality for Clara.

Putting a forearm against the sphere
wall, he leaned his head on it, gaze fixed on the Outside, his flesh
sinking into its permeability. How he wondered what it would be like
to breathe fresh air of the Outside; to have answers to the questions
that ricocheted around his skull! To not be surrounded by heat and
steam? He and Clara often spoke in hushed tones of escape and
exploration; she as interested as he. With a curse, Charles swung
around, heading back toward bed. He must get rest, tomorrow was a
full day in the fields with Trading Day one day hence. And...a plan
must be devised to save Clara, his Clara (before he could stop
the interior sentiment from forming).

He sat back on the bed, rubbing his
eyes, grainy from the lateness of the hour, his eyes locked onto the
small photograph of Clara that sat on his night table. A stiff pose
could not counteract the vulnerable eyes that filled her face, the
black and white colors emphasizing the lightness of them, showing as
the palest gray. Her personality could not be denied in that face, he
could see it.

He loved her.

Charles flopped back against his
pillow, hoping sleep would come. He thought of the long days in the
field, wishing a portion might be spent with Clara. Afterward, a
small joy would take place as he sparred with Clarence, his steadfast
opponent in sword fighting, how he dreamed of being a guard at the
sphere intersects!

As sleep claimed Charles, his mind
filled with the dangers of saltwater, and what it would mean to the
sphere, to all of them,
if that safety was breached.

CHAPTER 8

Clara's eyes came open and she
stared at the apex of the sphere, there to greet her as it had each
day she could remember. She listened for Olive stirring in the
adjacent chamber of their huge, interior house. Modeled after row
houses similar to the ones she had heard tales of from Before, every
house was connected to conserve space. The sphere was a
sound-absorber and noises from one dwelling to the next were not
easily heard.

She shifted to her side,
automatically looking at the drapes, which Olive had closed last
night, her side aching dully. The corset had not buffered all,
she noted. Of their own volition, her feet swung free of the bed
linen and she hopped off the bed, the blood rushing to her
extremities. She used a hand on the bedpost to steady herself then
began slowly walking toward the drapes. Interesting... now that the
savage had been spotted, the drapes were closed. After all,
who concerned themselves over privacy when no soul left the sphere?
However, with a savage coming inches away from the sphere's
barrier, there was new concern over... whatever it was they
were seeking. Aside from the beating and rough handling of the prior
evening, Clara felt robust. A new day awakened with the promise of
the fields and work ahead of her.

Working the fields made Clara feel
accomplished... centered. Most importantly, she felt closer to her
father. While she stood, legs anchored, her pole drivers guided the
boat with smooth wooden poles used until they whittled away into
nothing.

Clara stretched her arms above her,
inhaling deeply, the rich humidity of her environment a salve on her
throat. Smiling, she thought how convenient it would be that the
queen would be feeling ill until mid-day, the consequence of her
over-consumption. That suited Clara perfectly. She would be dressed,
breakfast eaten and in the pungy before the Queen alighted from her
bed.

First order of the day would be to
open the accursed drapes. She detested the light from the Outside
dimmed. Prince Frederic would be similarly disposed, the sloth. He
thought nothing of getting up at the noon hour as routine, also
perfect.

The drapes felt damp, Clara turned
her body, using the strength of her legs for momentum, and with both
hands, strode the left side of the drapes to the right, sweeping them
behind the large, brass holder, which resembled a semi-circle. Head
down, Clara walked quickly to the other side, using the same manner,
putting some energy into the opening of that side. Swinging the heavy
cloth behind the holder, the heavy material barely captured behind
the brass, she turned to survey the Great Forest Outside.

A face loomed in her view, and her
breath caught in her throat. By sheer habit, only a small sound
escaped her. She realized she was half-naked before a man she did not
know and was gazing at her with curious abandon. Her arms, ankles and
half her back was showing...and Clara was frightened. This was
clearly a different savage from the first. There had been a
deep intensity with the former, but this one looked angry.

So this is the female that Bracus
will take. He looked down at her obvious surprise and took pleasure
in it. Bracus was weak, wanting this one, no female should have a
hold over a male. No matter how much their captain thought he kept
his feelings to himself, it was obvious to this
guard what he felt. He looked at the fragile-looking female before
him, trying to fathom what she could possibly offer the Band. She was
interesting with her strange eyes, and deep red hair and the pale
skin like the full moon. Women were not easy to claim in his clan or
anywhere outside, fights would break out. The women had great power
of choice over whom they would mate with, be with. This strange
sphere held many, from the captain's reports. Reporting was all well
and good but he wished to see up close. He watched as she backed
away, wrapping the strange garment around herself tightly in an
effort to hide her body. Why did she do that? He thought that
strange. She seemed frightened of him, and he touched the wall which
separated them.

He touched the sphere's wall from
Outside and Clara leaped back, yelping. She hated the sound but
couldn't help herself, he had startled her. She could not hear him,
but he felt differently to her than the other savage. This
one... she felt menace from him.

She jumped again as Olive came up
behind her, “Is that he? Is that the savage?” she said
excitedly.

“No. It is another.”

“Look at how he stares.” Olive
had never in all her years, seen a male with so great expanse of skin
showing. There was no kindness in his face, no softness. He was all
hard angles and planes, all male. Then she saw it... the gills, “Your
majesty...”

“Yes, he has them too. I see
them.” The gills opened only slightly with his breath.

Both women were well away from the
window when Olive asked, “Does he threaten you, my lady?”

“I do not know. But he feels
differently than the savage who charged the sphere one day
past.”

The savage stared at the two women.
The one who had come through a door, entering the room of this
woman... the Princess.(He scoffed at such leadership.) She was taller
and wider of hip. A good breeder, he thought absently, his gaze
roving back over the small form in front of him, her eyes blazing
with heat. Yes, he would have her; dismissing the other female; she
of the dull brown hair, and eyes which matched. He would have the
red-haired one, the Princess. He noticed that she had marks on her
throat. Someone had handled her roughly. A female abused...who could
have done it? Mayhap females were not prized inside the oddness of
this structure? Possibly she liked this interaction...he was puzzled
anew. Looking around, the guard resisted his longing to gaze
unabated, to plan with her figure before him. Instead, he would take
his leave and when the time was right, he would capture her for
himself. No one would be the wiser. He looked at her a final time,
yes, he supposed he could see what Captain Bracus liked. He would
never have it and it pleased him, it would be his secret.

Clara watched him look at her
again... a considering look which made her heart speed, and then he
ran off. No, that was not entirely accurate, he sprinted to
the Great Forest's edge. He turned to look again, as the savage
from the prior day had, then melted into the woods as if he had
never been.

“I do not think it wise to close
the drapes from this point forward, Princess,” Olive said as they
stared after the savage.

“Yes, I think the whole group of
savages could make an appearance and I, for one, would like to
see them advance. This one gave me quite a start. I opened the drapes
and there he stood.” Clara felt disconcerted. This did not have any
of the excitement or curiosity of the other meeting. It made her
anxious.

Olive turned to her, “Did you take
in the sheer size? The breadth of chest, the height? He is a huge
male!” Olive said in a tone of reverence. Clara would put a damper
on that.

“And what of it, Olive? Let us put
it in the proper context; would you be this enthralled had there been
no barrier?” Olive shook her head, looking chastised.

“Princess, I do apologize, but for
the love of the Guardian, he does impress one!” Clara understood
that he was different enough from the men inside the sphere to be a
novelty, but she could not slip the feeling of foreboding.

“I say that we exercise caution,
Olive... and tell no one as yet.”

“But, my lady, the Queen should be
told. Or what of Charles?”

Clara deliberated, rolling her
bottom lip under her teeth, biting down, nibbling to ease her
tension.

“I know not, but I do not wish to
have more of the Queen's speculations upon me. With another savage
seen at my bedside window,” Clara gestured with her hand to the
Outside, “she could imprison me further. Speaking of which.. .I
dare say it is time I dress and get to the fields.”

Olive sighed, her lady was stubborn
beyond measure. Dare she go behind her back and at the very least,
alert Charles that the savages have marked the Princess in
some way?

The Princess's finger was suddenly
under Olive's nose, “Do not think of it. Tell no one. Your face
shows your feelings, Olive, you must learn to school them, especially
around the Queen.”

Olive curtsied and thought that may
be the end of it.

“I wish to see Sarah before the
fields.”

Olive turned, “My lady?” That
was an unusual turn. The princess did not typically linger in the
morning, preferring to escape the Queen's notice as early as was
possible.

“Yes, I wish to see Sarah, and...
briefly visit with her.”

“Does she not have schooling, my
lady?”

“Yes.”

Olive thought this odd, however, it
may ease her mistress if they could confer. She went to the huge
wardrobe which held the Princess' articles and clothing. She chose
with care, the Princess was not one to enjoy the finer clothing that
the Queen did. As summer was upon them now, she felt the linen best
suited to the climate with the cotton blouse. She chose low-slung
heels in leather, a scarce thing nowadays. She rifled around,
slinging silk stockings over her shoulder, gathering the shoes, skirt
and blouse, walking the whole of it to the bed and laid it on the
made portion. Her thoughts engrossed in the encounter with the
savage. He was everything that the princess had said they
were. He was by far, the largest man she had laid eyes on. Even with
as tall as Charles and [the horrible] Prince Frederic were, these
savages were half a head taller, she would have guessed. And
the nakedness... it made Olive lust for them, and the Outside. She
giggled.

“What say you, Olive?” Clara
smiled at Olive; who was prone to be silly.

“Oh, it is nothing, my lady, I was
lost in my thoughts,” she looked down, blushing.

“It is the male, yes?”

Olive nodded.

Clara was not sure about all the
giggling and silliness that accompanied the supposition of the
opposite sex, it was bewildering. She could not figure it. However,
there were so few men that she could have considered as a royal, and
now that choice had been stolen from her. What was there to suppose?
Or, for that matter, to dream about. Better to keep her mind about
her tasks... her people.

Clara sighed, “Yes, he was...
definitely male enough.” Clara said, remembering the height, the
menace, the impressive musculature.

“Oh yes mistress, frighteningly
male!” she laughed.

Clara turned and threw a pillow at
Olive, which winged her alongside her head and she laughed harder,
unable to stand upright. Finally, she clutched the pillow and flung
it back at Clara, who caught it deftly, hugging it to her chest, she
laughed with Olive, just two young women, one a Princess and one her
friend, forging an alliance in an uncertain time.

Clara dressed quickly, making sure
that her skirt covered the ivory flesh of her ankles, it would not do
to show those about, and gathering herself, she proceeded to the
kitchen to eat a small bowl of oatmeal and honey. She set her sights
on a quick chat with Sarah, her only female friend aside from Olive,
a school teacher, wise and true. She would have wisdom to bestow.

CHAPTER 9

The Queen was not about at present
so Clara took her meal perched on one of the servant's stools, her
favorite place. The cook, William, whom she called Billy, as her
father had before her, appraised her with knowing eyes, “Princess
Clara, are you about the fields today?”

Clara nodded, “It is best I make
myself scarce.”

“How is that different than your
normal duties?”

“The Queen was in ill temper last
evening and it would be well-advised that I take my leave early.”
Clara dug into the oatmeal with relish, she would be hungry soon even
with this porridge before her. Billy's eyes roamed her neckline,
though high, showed a sliver of a bruise which marked the skin about
the lace. She shifted, hoping that little bit of cotton cloth may
slide into position.

“She been after you again?” His
kind eyes held a long-standing compassion.

She sighed, “Yes. She was unhappy
with my behavior at my Day of Birth Celebration.” Clara looked down
at her oatmeal, appetite gone.

Billy put his face on his elbows,
two hand's breadths away from Clara's, “She is a disastrous
monarch, Princess, do not fret. Soon, you will be on the throne and
she will not dare injure you then.”

“This is true, as long as the wine
flows.”

He looked at the bruise buried on
her throat, anger darkening his expression, “If the King were here,
this abuse would not happen.” He held his wooden spatula like a
weapon, his knuckles turning white from the grip.

“Speak not of that, Billy. We
cannot change circumstance.”

“And Prince Frederic,” he
sputtered but before he could go on she held up a hand, “Enough, my
friend. I am honor-bound to attend my subjects, you know this.”

His sad face regarded her, “I do
not have to like it, Princess.”

“Nor I.”

Clara pushed the half-eaten bowl of
oatmeal away, standing and brushing off her skirts. Looking up she
saw Billy staring at her, “I have prepared a pail for your lunch,
my lady.”

Clara inclined her head in thanks,
“Thank you so much.”

“You are most welcome. Tell my
boys 'hello' for me.”

Clara smiled, thinking of the
brothers which were the captains of her small pungy, aptly named,
Clara's Folly. It had been Father's, who named it for his
small girl that loved the fields and the pearls that lay within.

She scooped up the pail with her
lunch, laid in ice...maybe the oysters would be fresh when she needed
to eat them. She peeked inside and saw that Billy had packed her
favorite, tangerines. She adored tangerines, bought at high price
from the Kingdom of Michigan, who had acres of hothouses in which to
grow fruit that filled one's palm. Her mouth watered thinking of it
like the sweetest of candy.

Clara said her goodbye to Billy,
making her way down the long hall which would take her through the
middle of the Gathering Room. Upon entering, she glanced at the great
clock which was a whisper away from chiming eight o'clock. She was
later than she had meant to be, she needed to make haste, speak with
dear Sarah, then very nearly run to the fields to be at the pier in
one half hour hence.

Clara picked up her skirts, hustling
along the corridor until she came to the front door, where the butler
waited at the ready.

“Princess Clara,” Peter greeted
her.

“Hello, Peter, how do you do?”

“Very well, Princess. Off to the
fields?”

Queen Ada never spoke to the
servants, she commanded them.
Clara loved being the Princess to her people, they gave her purpose
in the madness.

“Yes, but not straightaway. First
I must chat with Sarah.”

“Yes, mum. Perfect, then the
fields.”

He knew her too well, “Yes, then
the fields.” she smiled. Peter, like Billy, had been here in the
royal family home before she was in existence. They treated her well.
Peter's eyes flicked to the mar on her skin, but said nothing. His
eyes spoke for him, where hard anger glinted. Ada was not popular and
the few that were wise to Clara's abuse made her even less so.

She gave Peter a frightened look,
“Do not worry, mum, a word will not be uttered,” he said it
tightly, costing him something not to defend her.

She let her relief show on her face,
“Thank you.”

He nodded and held the door open.

Clara stepped outside, the concrete
stairs, six in all, deep and wide, they stretched before her, curving
around both sides of the staircase. Walking to the end of the
cobblestone path, opening the iron gate, she turned, latching it
behind her. Her hand still resting on the black iron she glanced up
at the Royal Manse, loving the look of it, as ostentatious as it was.
The stained glass artisans, having outdone themselves with scrolling
flowers and animals gracing all the tops of the windows, offering
jeweled light inside every nook, albeit interior sphere light. As a
child, she had enjoyed playing on the stairwell, the stained glass
panel at the turn, one that still enraptured Clara. The scene was one
of a fantastical mermaid, a woman captured in a net, the sea all
about her in a riot. She had asked her father of it.

*

“There is a sea Clara, far beyond
here.”

“Outside, Father?”

“Yes, far beyond the spheres, as
the seawater can damage the spheres.”

“What must it be like, Father?”

“You remember the field of
Samuel's Pearls?”

“Yes, the field under guard?”

Her father nodded. It was the
singular saltwater field, where special protections were in place
because of the dangers of saltwater. The rare Samuel's Pearls were
cultivated there.

“That was named for my father's
father, Samuel.” He saw her expression and laughed, “Yes, there
was an actual Samuel. He had a daughter, Stella. And when she was a
girl, they would holiday in a place named Cape Cod. This place stood
on a great sea, called the Atlantic Ocean. In this place were cold
waters, which tasted of salt. There is a ground there, which lay at
its feet, of small shells that are crushed, the water moves back and
forth on this carpet of sand. Samuel said that his daughter made
castles of sand at the edge of this sea.”

Clara stood silently, thinking of a
girl her age, at the edge of a great water where the real sun shone,
and the wind moved the waters. She sighed with pleasure, “Are there
mermaids?”

Father laughed from his belly,
“No, those are myth. But, I will tell you...that your eyes remind
me of the sea. Those waters look like your eyes, Clara. A part of the
sea remains with you. You have only to engage the looking
glass to know those waters.”

Clara stared at the mermaid,
suspended in raging waters, pearls glistening in hair the color of
butter, her eyes a pale lavender blue, the glass increasing the
intensity. The pale light from the sphere piercing the glass, she
seemed to float on a mist of emerald waters washed by brilliant blue.

She turned to her father, “Tell me
more of the sea, Father...”

Clara turned away from the Royal
Manse, and with it, the happy memory. She walked down the sidewalk,
avoiding the unevenness of the wider street, leaving that for horses
and carts, although there were not many. She rounded the corner,
leaving the treed park to the east of her home and saw the sign
hanging off a scrolling iron bracket, which read, School for
Children, Reading, Writing and Arithmetic.

She glanced at the sphere wall,
distracting herself by looking at the Great Forest Outside.
Subconsciously, she was hoping to catch sight of the savages
again. Stumbling,
she righted herself. She needed to watch her footing, in the
transition between the sidewalk and a boardwalk made of wood to the
wider street with uneven cobblestone, it was easy to lose ones
footing. Careless of her. She hopped up the steps, her light beige
linen skirt weighing her legs down as she moved. At least it was not
the season for wool! That weighed an hideous amount.

She peered in the window anchored at
eye level in a massive door made of oak and used the bell. It chimed
shrilly and she saw a smart-looking girl, two years her senior stroll
to the door, while faces appeared behind her, curious to see who was
visiting. When they saw that it was she, the Princess, hands were
raised with hushed whispers behind them.

Sarah's face appeared in the glass,
slightly distorted by the waviness of the pane. Her pale blonde hair
was plaited in a severe braid on the lower part of her head. Sarah
believed in each hair in its place, but she could not contain her
impish manner, she was lively, with a friendly countenance, a perfect
disposition for a teacher.

“Come in, Clara,” she said
Clara's name low, for it would be unseemly for anyone to address
Clara thus, and as Clara stepped inside the foyer Sarah asked, “What
brings you?”

“I wish to visit but must attend
the fields. Mayhap later this evening you can call?”

“Does this have anything to do
with your pronouncement last eve?”

Clara smiled, Sarah was anything but
stupid, “Yes, and there are other... more sensitive matters I wish
to discuss.”

Sarah laughed, clapping her hands
together, “Brilliant! Just name your time, Princess.”

Clara grinned, she thought Sarah
wonderful. She was just the balm Clara needed and quickly calculated
the safest time, “What of half past seven o'clock?”

“That is perfect. I will see you
then.”

Clara gave a quick look down the
corridor and saw a paper glider fly through the air, meeting its mark
in the pigtail of a stout girl with deep chestnut hair, who squawked,
“Thomas Harding, I am telling
Miss Sarah.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, “I must
go.”

Clara nodded, holding back laughter
and Sarah leaned in, giving her cheek a kiss. And with that, the door
closed and Clara watched Sarah regain control of a classroom run
amuck.

Clara whirled, galloping down the
stairs in a near trot (very unladylike, and certainly, exceedingly
un-royal), at a near run for the pier. As she neared it, she could
see the poles marking the fields, the water lapping the shore, the
sand here not that of the great sea that Father spoke of but a
respite from her life, one she would gladly take.

She could just make out the dark
forms of Russel and Sydney. Their poles were buried in the soft muck
of the bottom. She slowed her pace, seeing their laughing faces. They
thought that she was most un-royal in her bearing. Clara
agreed. Billy's sons waited for her as she approached
the pungy. She used Russel's arm for balance upon entry into the
boat, hopping down with expert grace, having done it a thousand times
before.

“High color for your Highness.”
Russel laughed, upon seeing her rosy cheeks.

“You were running again? A
Princess running!” Sydney
teased.

“There will be hell to pay if the
Queen sees you, Princess,” Russel stated.

Sydney flicked the collar of her
blouse, noting the bruise, “looks like there already was.”

The laughter faded as the men
regarded her. She looked down, embarrassed. She should have insisted
on a different garment, one that could hide Ada's fingerprints.

Russel used a finger to tilt her
chin up so their eyes could meet, “no Princess, do not be ashamed.
It is not you who should feel guilty, it is she.”

Sydney nodded agreement, “she
needs some of her own handiwork laid upon her. She would understand
better then, me thinks.”

“Shh, do not say such,” Clara
put a finger to his lips and Sydney grasped it, kissing it then
letting it fall.

Clara's blush deepened. Sydney had
made it clear if she were not Princess, he would have courted her. It
made things vaguely uncomfortable between them but Clara maintained
more friends were better. She needed all the allies she could manage.

Russel cleared his throat, “Let us
cast off.”

Sydney looked at his brother
sharply, then nodded, “Yes, alright.”

They untethered the lines and Clara
took stock of the wooden pails, she counted one only.

“Where is the fresh water bucket?”
she asked, setting her lunch pail in the box built for such things.

Instead Russel was all for asking
after her lunch, “What have you in your pail today, Princess?”
he asked in that sly tone she knew well.

Clara laughed, he was after her
tangerines to be sure.

Sydney wound the rope on the brass
cleats watching the interchange closely, “Do not take what little
food our Princess eats, brother,” he sounded with disapproval, his
eyes roving over Clara's slender form.

Undaunted, Russel pushed the boat
toward the fields with his well-worn pole, “Ah, the Princess has
father pack extra of the sweet gems of orange, yes?”

Clara smiled, “Yes, I may have
enough to spare... if you behave yourself.”

Russel grinned back at her, ever the
jokester, he and Sydney's muscled forearms straining for just the
right momentum as to not over shoot the first of the fields as they
approached. The familiar woven fences came into view and the men
stabbed their poles opposite each other to stabilize the pungy
alongside the fence which held the oysters. Clara looked at their
ghostly white forms under the shallow waters of the Great Lake, she
held fast as the brothers used the stern to leap into the shallow
water, rising fast to their calves. Clara readied herself to grade
the first of their efforts.

The men searched the baskets for the
largest (and oldest) oysters in the culch. There were few to be had,
seeing the basket weighed down with less than a dozen. Clara sighed.
She would need to use divers at the center of the Great Lake again,
fed by the Ohio River. It was there that she would possibly meet the
quota that the Queen had set forth. Ada wished to have the rare,
round pearls instead of the baroque pearls that were the natural
shape of what they cultivated. The round were lovely... but at what
cost? Clara hated the need for divers, sometimes these males holding
their breath for a depth of over forty feet. For what? A pearl to
satisfy the Queen's need for yet another strand about her neck?
Foolhardy was a word she assigned to the Queen more often than not.
She gazed to the furthest point her eye could take her, where the
middle of the lake lay, small sphere-dwellings surrounding the
deepest trenches of the lake. By week's end, she would take the pungy
to meet with the pearl divers, to inform them their services would be
needed again. That would also mean a meeting with Ada. Clara could
not avoid her all the time she supposed.

Russel leaped back into the pungy,
making it rock chaotically to and fro, Clara's footing remaining
true. Turning, he reached for the basket and dragged it inside,
placing it on the floorboards. Clara looked at the biggest of the
oysters, prying one and if adequate, take the rest for harvest. She
grabbed her glove, and using her left hand, held the oyster tightly,
grasping her oyster knife, she worked the tip in at the most open
part by the hinge, moving back and forth until she finally flipped
the knife vertically, breaking the stubborn shell open. Letting the
muck drain while pressing the knife against the creature, Russel
handed Clara the oyster fork so that she might search for the pearl.

There! It was in the interior fold
closest to the back of the shell hinge. She moved it forward with her
fork, the creature seemingly trying to suck it back into its crevice.

Clara plucked it out and gazed at
it, holding the fat, pea-sized gem above her face, both men looking
at it critically. She studied it; the size was perfect with the
classic baroque “pinch” just off center. This field was
cultivated for a perfect cream color and size, but, as with any
organic thing, this oyster was not cooperating by yielding that
butter color with a hint of pink. Clara brought the pearl down beside
her and raised her eyebrows at the brothers.

“Pink,” Sydney said.

“Aye, it be pink, Princess,”
Russel agreed.

She nodded. The Queen would wish the
crop to yield that which was commanded but Clara knew that these
results could be tipped. Perhaps it was the item placed that caused
it. She asked the brothers.

“Glass, Princess, we use it
always. It is what the Guardian's instructed for uniformity,”
Sydney said.

It was confounding, Clara couldn't
explain the color.

“It is not overly pink,” Sydney
said.

“Just a sheen, is all,” Russel
said.

“She will not like it,” Clara
said, stomach becoming tight thinking about the Queen's displeasure.

No one asked who She was.

The remainder of the day was spent
thus. Each field which yielded different size and colored pearls was
checked, all but the pink were in order. Each field represented
different colors at different levels of maturation, only the first
field had a mysterious color result.

Drat.

After lunch, which was quite late,
Clara used the fresh water bucket (that had been in a dim corner of
the pungy) to rinse her hands of the sticky citrus of the tangerine.
Russel not bothering a bit, but indelicately sucking it right off his
fingers.

Clara laughed, “You enjoy the
tangerines more than I!”

“Aye, 'tis true, Princess.”
Sydney chuckled at the two of them with their tangerines, he not a
bit fond of them.

The contents of their lunch put
away, Clara said, “It is time to get back,” seeing how the sun
had lost its highest arc, through the thick air of the sphere.

Clara looked at her time piece about
her neck...half past four o'clock. Ada would most definitely be about
and demanding an audience with her. Wishing to know how the fields
faired, or rather, what they
yielded.

Sydney, who read her well said, “Let
us return to the pier.”

Clara nodded, wishing very much that
she had the forethought to fetch a flat stool upon which to sit. Her
legs were tired from standing the entire day. Tomorrow, she would
need not be in the fields. Instead, she would attend Trading Day and
see what wares the Royal Manse may need. That brought her round to
thinking of Charles. Where must he be? She wondered if he had become
busy in the other fields. Just as she thought it, there he was,
skippering his own pungy.

“Hail Princess!” Charles called
with a shout and a wave. His breeches tucked into supple leather
boots of the deepest chocolate, tied in the front with laces which
wound like Xs up the front. His shirt billowed behind him and his
forearms bulged as he manned the pole. His younger brother,
Alexander, “Alex” worked the stern as he worked the bow, only ten
and two years and already a deck hand.

She raised a hand in greeting and
called back, “Greetings, Charles and Alex!” She was quite happy
to see Charles, a glad tiding to see him. His good will for her plain
on every angle of his face, Alex a smiling mirror behind him.

Charles and Alex pulled beside the
starboard side of her pungy, the brothers fixing large hands against
the boats to keep them from hammering the sides together, Alex
steadied the stern to anchor it.

“Are you heading back to pier?”

She nodded, “I am.”

“Excellent, I will accompany you.”

Sydney gave a glower, failing to
hide his displeasure at Charles' interruption.

Clara sometimes thought her life was
unduly complicated.

They moved alongside one another,
Charles at their stern with Alex still aft, “What say you,
Princess? What of your yield this day?”

Alex was a dear, “Yield is as
expected, however...”

Charles glanced her way then back
ahead of him, keeping the boats separated as the pier came into view,
“What is it?” he asked without looking at her.

“A cream field that has a pink
wash.”

Charles made a disgusted noise,
“That will not be good.”

“Yes, I know that.”

The brothers kept their own council,
not willing to add to her anxiety. Charles didn't bother, he knew the
Queen would discuss the color. She would have to place blame
somewhere convenient. No matter, Clara would deal with the
consequence.

Clara stood straighter, squaring her
shoulders, “In all truth, I cannot control the oysters. It is
inexplicable why there be a color wash,” she said and shrugged.
There was no more she could do.

They pulled up on opposite sides of
the pier where the Pier Keepers took their lines, tethering them to
the brass cleats on the deck, worn smooth from a million tethers,
like golden cream laid solid.

Otis, a lean specimen of a man who
was lead Pier Keeper, helped Clara out of the pungy and she turned,
waiting for a brother to hand off her lunch pail. Russel did with a
wink and a grin, “I do adore tangerines, Princess.”

Clara smiled, turning back to
Charles, already on deck, “Let us walk together.” She gave a
small wave to Sydney, who looked forlorn at her departure with
Charles.

He turned to Alex, “You have the
pungy and,” Charles dug around in the pocket of his breeches,
finding his time piece on its copper chain, “one hour until supper,
do not be late, or mother will have your hide!”

Alex ducked his head and Clara
realized that the admonition must be warranted.

Charles confirmed this, whispering,
“He does tend to dawdle about.”

She understood completely as she
could be a champion dawdler when so disposed.

He, of course, knew that about her
and gave a look between she and Alex, which caused a bubble of
laughter to escape.

Charles frowned, “Dear Clara, do
not encourage him.”

“Yes, I mustn’t encourage his
dawdling.”

Alex giggled behind them as Charles
swept her down the pier and away from the bad example she was
apparently setting. The evening was shaping up nicely. Sarah would
come calling at seven or so this evening and she had managed to put a
peeve upon Charles, marvelous.

They walked quietly together for a
time, looking at the houses, some with candles lighting as the supper
hour drew closer.

“She will be angry, our Queen,”
Charles said.

“I know. That, I cannot help, as
well you know.”

“Let me accompany you as you
explain the yield, the pink pearls.”

Clara thought about this. She
mustn’t give him opportunity to avenge her in a fit of emotion. No,
she would hope something else would assist her this evening.

“I think... she may be deep in her
cup. As will be the case each day that King Otto and Prince Frederic
dawdle here.”

A huge grin broke free across
Charles' face, “Yes, they may dawdle about but I do not care for
their dawdling half so much as yours and my dear brother.”

Clara had made a joke at the
neighboring monarchs' expense and it was a small blight erased from
her worry. She had only her mother's love of grapes made wine to
possibly give her grace. With Frederic here, she was not sure how
things would come to pass.

They had passed Sarah's school and
this was the fork where Charles must split from her to venture to his
own dwelling, “I do not require safeguarding this night, Charles.”

They stood underneath the street
lamp which came on as dusk approached, its soft hissing giving away
its operation.

Charles reached out a hand and
pressed his palm to her face, the warm, dry hand that had helped
shape games when they were young, guidance as they grew older, and
tenderness when there was no one else, “You seek to protect me from
myself, Your Highness.”

Clara lowered her eyes. Was she as
transparent as all that? Could she not contain her expression better?

“Do not self-recriminate, Clara.
It is who you are to think of
others first. But think on this;
what friend would I be to you if I allowed you to go to the Royal
Manse unescorted, to face certain persecution for things that are not
of your making?”

Clara did not have a fair rebuttal.
She knew if their positions were reversed she would not leave his
side.

“Alright, you may come with me.
But, I implore you, say nothing. Do nothing. Promise
me.” Her aqua eyes focused on his dark ones, hooded by the
approaching twilight and he nodded, once.

He had meant it when he agreed. Some
promises a person could not keep, even if their lives depended on it.
That is what Charles would soon find
out.

CHAPTER 10

Bracus, Matthew and Stephen slowed
as they broke into the clearing, the clan fire burning brightly, a
beacon of welcome after their long journey.

Members of the clan were gathered at
the fire but it was the Band whose eyes Bracus sought. There
they were, their height and throat slits an obvious marker of
their status within the clan, noticeable even in the dim light.
Bracus thought of how much the clan would benefit from additional
Band members. But a strange twist of genetics made the choice for
them. With just eight members, they protected the clan. Other,
neighboring clans had near the same number...which led Bracus to
think that it was greater than sheer coincidence. His thoughts
traveled to the Evil Ones. They were somehow mixed about in these
processes. As there was no record of this manifestation of physical
differences before the Days of Ash.

Philip was even taller than Bracus
and had a way of standing that flagged him to Bracus. Philip turned
and gave a salute. Bracus nodded in return, then realized he may not
be seen in the dim light and gave a short wave back. Philip strode to
Bracus, clapping him on the shoulders as he stopped in front of him,
“How goes your scouting?”

“Very well,” Bracus said,
grinning. This was his childhood playmate, the one Bracus spent much
time beating on and winning and losing battles with; practice for
real war. Philip's hands fell away, the callouses of his dominant
hand scraping slightly against the bare skin of Bracus' shoulder.
Years of archery had beaten their forward hands into submission.

Matthew and Stephen walked toward
the fire, shifting their weapons in preparation for disarming for the
day.

Philip's broad shoulders blocked the
light of the fire as he walked in front of Bracus, barring his words
and expression from onlookers, “What of the female?”

“Can you not wait, brother?”

Philip grinned, “I cannot. I must
know... what does she look like? Different from our females?” he
asked, his head tilting to include the few that drew warmth from the
fire.

“Much.”

That caused both men to turn and
look at the lone pair of females near the huge community fire, its
crackling presence flickering on the faces of all who were close.
Bracus appraised them, John, “Jack” Blythe’s mate was one who
leaned in against Jack, the newest member of the Band, his forearm
wrapped protectively around her collarbone, he standing behind her
with his chin touching the top of her head. His eyes met Bracus and
he nodded, watching Philip and Bracus closely; the Band was
protective of their mates. But only one of them was mated at present.
Lillian stood in Jack's embrace, relaxed in the knowledge that her
mate was a superior fighter, she had a protector of skill; a good
thing for a woman of the clans.

The other female stood apart from
all, Anna. Having escaped a
clan she would not name, where a male had tried to force her
attention, an abomination.
Anna glanced warily at the two Band members, acting as if she might
flee if they moved in the wrong direction.

Months
she had lived here with his clan, and still she did not trust.

Philip sighed, sensing his brother's
thoughts. “She wants no one. But there are ones who would want her
if she was so inclined.”

“She is not yet ready.”

“Agreed.”

“Her fear is a terrible thing to
see.”

Philip looked at him. “Yes, it is.
But there are some males...” he let his voice trail off. Bracus was
well aware that some clans were not run as uniformly as theirs.
President Bowen wished to gather the clans together and institute a
Police of sorts. Making the Bands of all the clans a universal
protector.

Much
to consider. It was a matter of priorities, the current one
being the clan's sustainability; it was threatened by the dwindling
numbers of females.

Philip and Bracus walked to the fire
side-by-side, Bracus reluctant to disarm. He wished to take a bath in
his dwelling. He would lay his weapons down in his own dwelling.
Matthew and Stephen's quiver and bow lay at their feet as they used a
log pulled close to sit upon.

Matthew watched their approach, his
backside tight against the ground and his feet crossed at the ankle,
arms resting on the log. “Tell us. Our weapons finished... our day
spent.”

Stephen gave a sour look, obviously
tired of being left out of the immediacy of the president's inner
circle.

Anna watched the group of huge men
come together near the fire, the Band. She scooted back a few steps,
giving up the warmth of the fire for the feeling of security the
distance gave her. The captain, Bracus Goodman, was the only one she
might trust at this time... might,
and one other, her mind whispered. He was their leader and
garnered respect through his treatment of others. He even took time
with the children, a true and decent thing. Memories of her clan
hovered near her, threatening to suffocate with the sheer terror they
provided. She had prevailed, narrowly escaping. Anna forcibly relaxed
her shoulders. Near a half year she had been here. She would not be
able to keep her clan of origin secret forever. Possibly, the one who
had abused her would find her and kill her.

He
had told her so. She shivered, remembering.

*

Anna could feel his body pressing
into hers, filthy hands groping about her clothing while one hand
covered her mouth to quiet her. She remembered the trees that night
as she lay upon her back, their swaying a black outline against the
moonlight which spilled about her, the forest her witness. She kicked
with all her might, bucking and fighting, his hand left her mouth and
backhanded her across her face, she saw stars, stunned, she lay still
and he continued his onslaught. He was a member of her clan's Band;
one sworn to protect the clan, protect the females... yet he did not.

She felt her mind leave her body,
this could not be happening to her. Just as he would have his way
with her, a figure loomed above them, an older female, small boulder
raised above her head. Anna's eyes bulged, the male seeing her
reaction a moment too late before the rock fell on his head, and he
slumped over, off Anna's body. She sat up with a hiccuping sob.
Relief washed over her in a sickening adrenaline surge, overwhelming
her limbs, numbing them. She opened her mouth to say something and it
was Della, who put a finger to her lips to silence her.

The two women turned to look at the
male, Anna's attacker. “Go now, far away. Before he awakens.”

“But what of you? He will hurt
you,” Anna said, her body quaking.

She smiled grimly. “No, he will
be occupied with explaining himself. However, this one is of a mind
to not be remorseful. He will try again. You must go.” Della's
stout body and dour face was set in purposeful lines. She held out a
pack, with odd straps that wound around ones arms.

“This has what you need for a
journey of this length.”

Anna peered inside... jerky, dried
fruit and nuts. More food than she would need. She gave a confused
look at Della. “You need what is here and more... than I can give
you. Follow the cobbled road until it ends. Head west.” Della
rifled through the folds of her skirt, producing a rough map. “There
are rumors that the mid-western clans are governed more fairly.”
Della gave a significant look at Anna. The translation was: the males
were true, without criminal transgression.

That was how the Clan of Ohio had
found Anna; dirty, delirious, and half-starved. Her fear not as
awesome as her desperation.

Anna started when a male spoke to
her, “Anna?”

She instinctively backed away, then
stopped, steeling herself. She must be brave. Not all
males were as the one she had escaped from. Joseph stood looking at
her, eyebrows raised, waiting for a response. She usually just nodded
in return. But this night, still in the grip of her memories, out of
the warm shelter of the fire, she wished to have some
human contact, even if male... especially
male. She purposely stepped closer, regaining the steps
she had given up. She needed to start to believe.

To trust.

Joseph regarded Anna in surprise.
She did not run off as she usually did. He watched as resolve formed
in her eyes and he fought not to show his shock. He had been greeting
her from the very first. When she came to them a starved, filthy
thing, delirious from dehydration, asking over and over, “...is
this the midwestern clan?”

He had watched these months as her
shyness was for males, but females, she trusted. That
had given the Band pause. They considered her to have
been a victim of some kind. But when questioned she just shook her
head. Even Bracus, who had found her and established some trust,
could not extract the reason for her state upon arriving. What clan
did she hail from? A mystery.

One Joseph wished to solve.

“Yes, Joseph,” she croaked out,
her voice unaccustomed to being used.

The remaining Band around the fire
looked up sharply upon hearing Anna's voice, a rare sound.

She immediately noticed their
attention and faltered, but Joseph said, “Please.. .tell me what
you think upon.”

Anna stood stupidly before him, all
thoughts gone, save one. “I am cold.” However insignificant the
statement, it was what she could say.

Joseph smiled, that he
could manage. He extended his hand, sweeping it toward the
fire. “Join me by the heat then, Anna.”

She gave the barest of smiles and
Joseph's heart soared; to see this quaking female regain a semblance
of who she was, giving him the slimmest regard.

They walked toward the fire
together, a man of the Band and a female hanging on to a grain of
hope, fiercely.

CHAPTER 11

Charles and Clara climbed the steps
leading to the Royal Manse, Clara with trepidation, Charles
sure-footed as ever. He looked at her rumpled work skirt and blouse,
tired from the day in the fields, her rosy cheeks giving testimony to
the outdoor work. The sphere felt cloying with the moisture this day.
Charles realized the time was coming for the cleanse of the sphere.
When that time was near, the moisture level became unbearable.

“The cleansing is near,” Charles
remarked, wiping his brow with his once-white handkerchief.

“Yes,” Clara said, smiling. She
was nearly immune to the humidity of the sphere.

Charles gave her a glower, she
looked much fresher than he, his breeches sticking to his body as a
second skin.

Clara laughed, her smile fading as
Peter swung open the double door, ushering them into the wide foyer,
the steam-chandelier not yet operating. Fading sunlight streamed
through the many stained glass windows like fractured rainbows
slicing the interior.

“Princess, Olive has your change
of attire waiting in your chamber.”

“Thank you, Peter.”

Clara turned to Charles, looking
over his sticky breeches and slightly rumpled blouse, he shook his
head. “You Princess, she will require formality in her
audience, I am as a bug.”

Clara laughed, and he winked. “You
will await here then, while I change?”

“Yes.” Charles and Peter watched
her climb the great staircase which led to her chamber.

Peter sighed. “She leads a hard
life, our highness.”

“Yes she does.”

Peter and Charles stood in mutual
silence. They were bound by the same laws that governed everyone in
the Kingdom of Ohio; pretending their monarch was not ruled by her
own selfishness and the ebb and flow of wine, rather than commerce
and the daily yield of life.

Peter and Charles continued in
amiable quiet. For years, since Charles was a youth, Peter had been
at this door. He had seen many things.

An intuitive man, he remarked on
Charles' bearing, “What has happened this day?”

Charles hesitated, then continued,
“Clara's cream field yields a pink wash.”

Peter's face fell. “The Queen will
not like this. She will blame the daughter, whether it be her fault
or no.”

“Yes.”

“This is why you accompany her?”

“Yes, and with Prince Frederic
still about...” Charles let his words trail off.

“Yes, a troublesome man, most
troublesome.” The older man looked at the younger, a gaze of
perfect understanding passing between them.

“It will be good when he takes his
leave,” Peter said.

“Yes, does he not have a kingdom
to rule?”

Peter's lips curved into a wry
smile. “Yes, that is the way of it. However,” he arched a brow in
apparent amused disdain, “I believe whatever 'ruling' there is may
be done by King Otto.”

“He is too weak, by far, to rule
that sphere,” Charles remarked, to which Peter only nodded in
agreement.

They looked up at the same moment
that Clara descended, resplendent, the day's glow still upon the
creaminess of her cheekbones, a dress of the palest pink falling to
brush the tops of white shoes. The bruise the only reminder that hers
was not a life of softness, but of survival.

She nodded at Peter. “Where is the
Queen?”

“She takes rest in her chamber,”
Peter paused. “Princess,” Clara turned, having already begun to
make her way to the corridor, “...the King and Prince await you as
well.”

Clara felt this was worse news. Ada
seemed to gather more strength and anger when she had an important
audience. At least she had Charles. “Thank you, Peter.”

“You are most welcome, Princess.”
Clara knew that it was Peter's way of subtly warning her to be
prepared for more than just the Queen's ire. She and Charles walked
down the long corridor to Ada's chamber. It felt like the old stories
of pirates, when the end had come, one walked the plank. Clara knew
how those lost souls must have felt, her life balanced on the narrow
wood.

CHAPTER 12

Bracus looked up, startled, Anna had
responded to Joseph with actual words. It was a rare thing when she
spoke. As a point of fact, it was he, Bracus, that she most often
spoke to. She was reticent with males.

He observed the two of them say a
few things to each other then they walked over to the fire together.
Amazing... and wonderful.
It would be a great thing for that female to find solace and finally
reach out to a male, a member of the Band would be especially good.
He swung his head back around and both Matthew and Stephen had
matching expressions of surprise. Even unflappable Philip, usually
the one that chose his emotions carefully, had paused at the scene.
He turned and looked at Bracus, his gladness a cloak about his face,
shadowed in the twilight that was giving way to night.

“Joseph has cracked her, I see?”
Stephen said derisively.

Bracus frowned at him. “It is a
good thing that she responds to anyone, you should be glad of it. She
is not an egg, dolt.”

Matthew smiled, calm as always. “You
just wanted her for yourself,” clapping Stephen on the back, who
slapped his hand away.

“I care not. There will be females
aplenty when the sphere is penetrated,” Stephen said.

“I caution you, President Bowen
has only authorized a negotiation with this Princess. It is no
guarantee that they will wish to help us in our plight. After all, it
is not theirs, obviously,”
Bracus said.

Stephen grimaced. “That may be.
But, as I see it, if the negotiations fail,” he paused for effect,
“I, for one, will be inclined to sway them to see reason.”

Bracus saw a vision in his head of
the Princess, being coerced into cooperating by means of force or
anything. He did not like it. He was managing his emotions again.
Something as foreign to him as imagining life as a sphere-dweller.
When he clamped down enough to not let his emotions show, he
responded, “That would not aid us. If we are to convince the
sphere-dwellers to come to our aid, coercion and violence will
not be the way of it.”

Matthew looked between the two of
them, the least volatile of the three. “Perhaps you are both in the
right.”

The two Band members looked at him
in surprise, he as steeped in logic as twenty bags of tea.

“Do you now?” Bracus quizzed.

“Do listen. If the Princess is
disinclined to assist us, we may be able to persuade the other
sphere-dwellers with our logic.”

“She as hostage?” Stephen
intuited, and Matthew nodded.

“It is the same,” Bracus argued.

“Do you not see? She will either
say yea or nay. If she does not, we go to her sphere, and tell them
any matter of thing that we wish. And they may be so inclined with
the sure knowledge that we have her. As you are well aware, they
presume us primitive.”

Stephen said, “Only you. I, on the
other hand, am naturally sophisticated.”

Bracus gave Stephen a sound punch in
the arm. “Say Captain! Why do you strike me?”

“Your voluptuous laziness in the
field today. Nary an ounce of sophistication was in evidence then.”

“He speaks true,” Matthew said.

They laughed together for the
moment. Soon enough, Bracus imagined tensions would run high as the
time drew near to acquire the Princess.

The guard watched the shy female
with Joseph of the Band. He kept his smirking to himself. His time
would come. A female would not be his weakness. He would bend her to
his will. This slobbering obsession with protecting the females and
groveling before the sphere-dwellers in the hopes of acquiring their
females made his blood boil. His patience was a built thing, a
manufactured thing. It was his greatest weapon. No one was as sly as
he. He would use their emotions and weakness towards females against
them. No female would ever be important to him again.

Bracus took stock of the Band, all
in attendance by the great fire. He had not spoken with three of his
team: Joseph, Jacob and James. He would wait for tomorrow. He did not
wish to disturb Anna and Joseph with their fragile bond linking
together before his eyes, sitting at the huge log worn smooth from a
hundred years of fire watching. Joseph dwarfed her form from a solid
two feet away, she was less than half his size. He was a good hunter,
fighter and protector, he liked the man at his back.

The clans were not always on good
terms with one another. Bracus' face darkened. He wished that all
the Bands could see the strength of uniting.
President Bowen did:

*

“Before the Earth Breathed Ash,
Bracus, there was a force such as the one I am proposing, named the
Po-lice. Their sole job was to serve and protect,” President Bowen
stated.

“We are a different people,”
Bracus stated.

“Not so different, warrior.”

“I have read the accounts. They
were civilized, they gave people trial. There was much time spent on
proving innocence when guilt was guaranteed.”

“It was flawed, however, we are as
well. I accept that. But our strength lies in that which the Evil
Ones gave us. This physical manipulation was initialized for a
reason. You were bred to protect. It is physical; it is instinctual.
We must come together and embrace that purpose.”

“We do have a cooperative with
some clans,” Bracus said.

“Not all. That is the goal. I
endeavor to acquire the Princess, and the negotiation being a
successful thing, may create a positive ripple, one which inflates a
sense of hope in all the clans. Once they see there is a possibility
of a future for our peoples, they may be more willing to listen.”

Bracus nodded. Much of what Arthur
said made sense. But Bracus understood human nature, and where there
was not reason, fear would do as a handy substitute. He had seen the
evidence of such.

He snapped out of his reverie as
Jacob and James approached, cousins.
Many of the Band were related, some distantly. They looked as
different as two men could be. One fair haired and skinned with blue
ice chips for eyes, cheeks a ruddy mask, the other with ink black
eyes, dusky skin and hair that blended in with the surrounding night.

When James spoke, his teeth flashed
in his mouth, “We see that Joseph has managed to get Anna to
speak,” he said in a hushed tone.

The three men (and Philip, who had
added himself to the group) smiled and nodded; Stephen the only one
with a stony expression. They hung back at the edge of the forest
clearing, enjoying the fire at a distance.

Jacob said, “A good thing, that.”

The Band nodded, with the ratio of
males to females a dismal fifteen to one, any match was celebrated,
births were greeted with a feast.

“I would give much to know of this
clan that she comes from. That they would give up a female...”
Jacob began.

“She was not given up, cousin, she
escaped,” James said.

Bracus pressed hands to his hips,
legs spread apart. “What say you? She has not mentioned any detail,
nary one.”

“Nor to I,” and he leaned
forward and all heads neared his, until there was a circle of six
heads huddled together. “But Lillian has managed to get some story
from her.”

The Band stood silently, James loved
drama but would eventually get to the end of it. A great story
teller, was James.

“She did not say all, but only
that a male had attacked her.”

“I knew it!” Stephen intoned.

Bracus looked at him sharply, too
loud, his look said. This would explain much. Her shyness of the
males, where none had transgressed against her.

He had suspected as much.

Matthew and Philip stood quietly,
thinking it through, as was typical of them.

“Is there anything more?” Jacob
asked.

“Yes. Lillian thinks he was part
of that clan's Band.”

There was a pregnant silence as the
members deliberated on a female being in the hands of a Band member
that meant them harm.

They would come to harm, of that
there was no doubt.

“How could
she escape him?” Matthew asked. Excellent question, if phrased
oddly.

Philip looked at Matthew in
question.

“Come now? You are all thinking
it. How would that female,” he gestured to Anna, still sitting
semi-stiff beside Joseph, her small form looking tiny next to Joseph,
“defend herself against any of us?”

It was disturbing. All the Band felt
similarly about females. Who would know how they would feel if the
situation were not so desperate? But, they seemed uniformly
protective toward females in a way that was above that of other males
of the clan. The few clans that were allied with them had a similar
urgency and protectiveness. To hear that there may be a faction
desiring to abuse was against all
that they stood for. It was expected from the fragment,
but not of the clan.

Philip asked the most pressing
question of the night, “Did he beat her? Or...”

“It was the other,” James said
significantly.

“A terrible abuse!” Stephen
whispered fiercely, looking covertly at Anna, still beside the fire.

“He should be flogged,” Philip
said.

“Yes, he should,” Bracus said.

“Or possibly something more
creative,” Jacob finished.

The men straightened up, Philip
inclining his head toward the fire, leaving the subject for the
moment. “Let us discuss the business of the sphere. I wish to be
informed.”

Matthew and Stephen nodded.

The Band walked as one to the
communal fire, commanding and deadly, an ancient force of reckoning,
prepared to make a historic move destined to change their lives
forever. As the heat of the fire washed over Bracus' body, that
feeling of foreboding stole over him, the chill fighting the warmth
emanating from the blaze. His senses, ever acute, were on full alert.
As if there was something right under his nose he was missing, if he
just sniffed a little harder, he would discover it.

He shook his misgivings away,
heading toward Joseph and Anna, his spirits momentarily lifted at the
sight of them together.

CHAPTER 13

Charles stiffened as soon as he
entered the queen's chamber. Chamber did not accurately
describe her quarters. The bed was in an entirely different area, a
door between where he now stood and the place where she slept. This
was a parlor of sorts, resplendent in every covering, dimension and
scale. But for the blight upon the room, it would have been a
reflection of beauty. Queen Ada made the room dim
in Charles' estimation. She stood in the middle, her back to the
audience of Clara and he. The deep purple folds of her dress were a
rich warm velvet. The wrong material for the season, but she ran
cold, he had heard, her scrawny form encased in the richest fabrics,
regardless of the season.

He
knew just how cold she really was.

Charles was acutely aware of the
stickiness of his clothes as Prince Frederic's gaze lingered over the
result of his day's work. The Prince was supremely fresh in his linen
trousers, silk blouse of the finest weave and an overcoat of a rich,
deep blue. King Otto sat beside him looking decidedly uncomfortable
which struck a lingering question for Charles: what had they walked
in on? What conversation aborted?

Ada turned suddenly, her back now to
the Outside her dark eyes boring into Clara's, her subdued figure
standing steady under the onslaught of the Queen's stare.

“Tell me, daughter.”

Clara sucked in a breath, girding
her loins, no doubt. “The yield is as expected...”

“But?” Ada asked the question as
a statement.

“...the cream has taken on a pink
wash.” Clara kept her shoulders back and straight with effort. If
she was uncomfortable it did not show to Charles. Of course, Clara
was well-schooled in keeping her expression to herself.

The Queen's hands clenched and
unclenched, she looked from Clara to King Otto.

“May I address this, Queen Ada?”
King Otto requested.

She nodded stiffly and Charles heard
a vague, grunting sound.

“I will trade the pink pearls for
the rare grapes. That is not important.”

Clara looked confused for the
briefest of moments. “Did you not wish to trade for the cream, King
Otto?” Was it possible she would not be the whipping girl for the
wrong color?

The King looked profoundly
uncomfortable and Charles' stomach clenched moments before King Otto
articulated his worst fear, “For the pleasure of a hastened Wedded
Joining I will forgive the color and sweeten the exchange with the
grapes that are so coveted.” His gaze slid to Queen Ada then back
to Clara, “...and forgive even red
pearls for the opportunity of a melding of our
respective kingdoms.”

Charles was flabbergasted. Clara
freshly ten and seven years! She was too young by far to be joined
with Prince Frederic.

Before he could comment, Clara
interjected, “We agreed that we would wait one year hence. Upon my
Day of Birth celebration, marking my womanhood, ten and eight years.”
Clara's face had a pinched quality and had paled but there she stood,
resolute in her bearing.

Charles thought again how beauty had
a faceted quality and hers was many.

Prince Frederic spoke, “I have
decided I cannot wait to appreciate our new status, my Princess.”
His smarmy tone indicated that which he referred.

Charles felt he would be sick, his
anger infused his body, vibrating to his extremities. “She cannot
wed legally, she must
be ten and eight years, the age of legal consent. Even you
must understand that, Prince Frederic, you being twenty and one years
yourself?”

Prince Frederic sharpened his gaze
on Charles, opening his mouth to say something scathing when Queen
Ada interrupted, “He matters not. What he speaks
matters not. He is here by my sufferance alone.”

She looked at Charles. “Yes?”

“Yes, my
Queen.” Charles said with the greatest reluctance. He could
not bear this man touching Clara. That she did not love him, want
him... nay, that she did not even
like him, was a misery he could not tolerate for one more
moment.

Charles said, “Mayhap she does not
wish to rule, my Queen.”

The Queen's eyes narrowed as she
stared at Charles. “She has told you this?”

“Not in so many words.”

Clara turned to him, gripping his
shoulders. “Do not try to help me, dear friend. You know that I
must rule one day. Queen Ada will step down so that I may, once
Prince Frederic and I are joined... rule this sphere.”

Charles' fists clenched into balls
of anger. “You cannot mean that you wish this joining now.”

Clara's face looked pained while she
searched for a way of diplomacy when there was none. “I wish for a
proper betrothal, the length as originally negotiated upon. Not a
rushed affair.” Clara stared at King Otto, who looked away from the
naked accusation he saw there.

“You get what you wish,
daughter...to rule the people that are so precious to you, and I get
my grapes.” Ada threw up her hands triumphantly.

She knew very well how much of a
weakness (or Charles thought, a strength), Clara's love of the People
was. She wished for their happiness and the greater happiness of the
sphere above all else.

They looked deeply into each other's
eyes until Charles became aware of Prince Frederic in his peripheral
vision. He turned slightly to face him.

Instead of breaking their
interchange, Frederic came from behind Clara wrapping possessive arms
about her waist and hauling her up against himself, her fingers
falling away from Charles' shoulders.

Clara's breath caught at the
unexpectedness of the gesture and she automatically struggled against
the prison of his arms. Frederic laughed. “Have we not got over
this futile resistance, my Princess? So soon you forget how much you
will want, no... you will beg
for my embrace.” Holding Clara against himself, he ran his free
hand down her neck, dangerously near impropriety as he approached the
bare upper skin of her bosom.

“Frederic!” King Otto
reprimanded. Finally, Clara thought, a voice of reason. The Queen
laughed at her discomfiture. Clara began to struggle in earnest. She
knew what she must do, but he would not embarrass her further, the
loathsome man!

Something deep and abiding in
Charles broke then, his hand, already balled into a hard fist, swung
backward of its own accord and he felt himself gain momentum as he
swung it directly into the smug face of the Prince. Instantly,
Frederic loosened his grasp on Clara, who ducked and like the smart
young woman she was, got out of the
way.

Charles surged forward as a bull
before a crimson flag, launching himself at the Prince, the violence
of his temper in utter control and the screaming voice of his
subconscious trying without success to halt him. But
stop he would not. The Prince attempted to shield himself from
the pummeling he was receiving but Charles' fists had come alive in
their own power. They rained down upon him, unabated.

“Charles! Stop this!” Clara
screamed, afraid for him.

Vaguely Charles heard the Queen yell
for the guards and Charles felt himself unceremoniously lifted off
the prince, his royal blood decorating the floor, (giving Charles
momentary satisfaction), before he was strung up like a turkey, ropes
at his hands and ankles alike.

The Prince stood on feet which were
unsteady, strode directly to Clara and backhanded her in the face, a
move so completely unexpected that she fell against the wall from the
force of it.

The Queen's guards moved forward,
leaving Charles in stupid surprise, completely unable to defend her.

As the guards approached Prince
Frederic, Ada said with quiet menace, “As you were.” She pointed
back at Charles and the guards hesitated. When she repeated what she
said the guards came back to where Charles lay with uneasy
expressions of surprise.

Ada turned to Clara. “Remember,
dear Clara, the other night when I mentioned that Prince Frederic
understood discipline?”

Clara, whose mouth lay open and
bleeding, could only nod. She used her hand, sliding it along the
wall to steady herself, standing.

“This altercation has the surest
signs of a lack of understanding, does it not?”

Clara was not sure of what was
coming but nodded in agreement. The Queen did not really wish an
answer, she wished an audience for her wisdom. Her supposed
wisdom.

“Do you love Charles?”

Clara nodded. Of course she did.

“Does he love you? Now think on
this, my daughter.”

Clara felt as one in a fox snare.
She knew whichever answer she gave would cause her trouble but she
settled for what she thought was the truth, but not before looking at
Charles. He looked profoundly sorry, she knew not why. She had hated
the Prince's horrible caresses more than the back of his hand.

Everyone waited for her response. “I
believe he does... love me.”

Charles stared daggers at the Prince
and Queen in equal turns while King Otto looked to be sick at any
time. (He did nothing, Clara noted.) The guards struggled with their
duty to obey the queen and their desire to protect Clara.

The Prince circled Clara and she
kept her back to the wall, the small movement the only protection she
had, her eyes searching those of the guards and finding indecision in
theirs. Here was their future monarch, unprotected against another,
her betrothed no less. While
the queen gave orders which left her own daughter vulnerable against
violence.

The guards were confused and uneasy.
They had heard rumors that the princess was abused at the Queen's
hand but had not anticipated this level of debasement. They looked at
each other, neither sure what to do.

Quick as a snake, the Prince slapped
the other side of Clara's face and she sank down to her knees, unable
to stand. His blows hurt so much more than the Queen's, and about the
face.

“No! Do not touch her again,”
Charles bellowed, the guards holding him fast.

Finally, King Otto said quietly,
“Stop this. Do not strike her again.”

Clara could not believe a more
unlikely savior than he, but was grateful there may be a respite in
sight.

It was at that moment that Charles
vomited on the floor, distracting them all.

The Queen looked on in distaste.
“Elvira...come see to this mess,” she looked at Clara, prone on
her knees on the floor. “You see now how absurd
your answer was, Clara?”

Clara could not see anything, her
ears rang from the second blow and her head was buzzing with the
beginnings of a punishing headache. Further, she did not care one fig
about what her answer had been.

“He does
love you, Clara. Nay, not simple
love, but real love. He is in
love with you. Your abuse was for him.” She and Prince
Frederic looked at each other and then he looked at Charles.

Kneeling down face-to-face, Frederic
a hand's breadth away from Charles, Elvira cleaning the mess at his
feet he said, “It is so much more effective to seek my revenge upon
you by using her,” he inclined his head at Clara. “Certainly, it
would be satisfying to see you flogged, but to see you put away so
miserably in your ineffectiveness to do nothing to aid her? Well
that, I must say, is profoundly satisfying.”

Smirking, the Prince stood, gently
dabbing at the corner of his mouth where it bled due to Charles'
fists. “Profoundly,” he repeated.

King Otto stood. “It is settled
then, three months hence, they will be joined in the Kingdom of
Kentucky.”

From the floor Clara looked up at
the King, utter disgust covering her bleeding face. His gaze took in
her swollen lip and cheek. Then he looked from his son to his
soon-to-be-relative and his shoulders slumped. Clara realized he
would be no help to her. Her eyes sought Charles' and there was
sadness and regret there. She gave a subtle shake of her head. It
meant so much to her that he had tried to help her

The Prince approached Clara and she
flinched; he laughed. She expected another blow and the guards looked
ready to assist, perhaps having lost all sense before a woman beaten.
Instead he reached out and tenderly ran his finger over the most
sensitive part of her lip and she stifled a whimper.

“We will see if you are a woman
who learns quickly. Mayhap you are. If not, I shall enjoy the
lessons. Oh yes, I shall.”

Clara could not help it, she moved
away from his touch, as if scalded. It was then, as she would think
back on it later that she decided she could not marry this fiend. He
would kill her. But first he would make her suffer. Then, he
would take her kingdom and rule it with a scepter of tyranny.

Prince Frederick, King Otto and
Queen Ada left her bleeding on the floor, the guards hauling Charles
away to a special cell. Elvira waited until they were all gone before
rushing to Clara and using a fresh washcloth, ministering to Clara's
wounds. Clara thought not of the tears she wished to shed, but of the
plans to be made. Sarah, who would be calling momentarily at the
Royal Manse would know more of what to do. Together they could
formulate a solution. Quickly.

****

Sarah was ushered in by Peter who
looked at Clara resting on her bed and quickly away. “No...come,
Peter. Do not fret.”

Peter, the faithful butler, looked
about him in the hall and rushed to her bedside. She looked a mess,
she knew. Her hair in disarray, framing a face swollen and red from
blows and tears. Peter's face reddened in a most alarming way.

“Princess, oh my
Princess,” Peter said, kissing the hand that had beckoned
him.

Sarah looked down at her solemnly,
her natural humor dead on her face. Clara had not gazed in a looking
glass but felt that her People's faces told her what the mirror could
not.

“You cannot wed him, Clara. He
means your death,” Sarah said indelicately. True to form, Sarah was
bold with her words. Peter put her hand upon the blanket and nodded
in agreement.

“What of Charles?” Clara asked.

Sarah smiled. “And he asked only
of you.” That caused Clara to smile, then she winced as the pain in
her mouth lanced her.

“Ouch!” She instinctively placed
a finger on the sorest part of her mouth. All of it hurt fiercely,
throbbing, but one corner was very tender.

Olive slid through the chamber door,
closing it softly behind her. “I have some ice, mistress.”

Clara eyed the bundle, swaddled in a
thin, cotton cloth used for drying dishes. (Billy must know, she
thought absently), and gave a sigh of relief when the crushed ice
made soft contact with her mouth.

She closed her eyes briefly, the
throbbing heat becoming more bearable.

Sarah looked at Peter and he stood
to go. “I must not be absent overlong, Princess.”

Clara's eyes opened and she nodded.
He wished to escape the Queen's notice; they
all did.

Peter, Olive and Sarah looked at one
another, then Sarah nodded and Peter inclined his head to the two
women, taking his leave.

“He is a good man,” Sarah
remarked, and Olive nodded.

“Yes,” Clara whispered through
her swollen mouth.

“This must stop. The abuse you
endure from her Majesty, our Queen,” Sarah said with obvious
disdain, “is something I know you feel you do for our kingdom.
But,” and she waggled her finger, “that creature that pretends to
be a man. For Guardian's sake, what right does he have to lay hands
upon you? None! I say none.” Sarah's face was bright red, she had
spun herself up into high dander, pacing about the room and returning
to Clara's side.

“Is this why you stopped by the
schoolhouse? So that we may confer together? I must say, it is a long
time coming if that be the case. You cannot wed him.”

“I will not,” Clara said in a
whisper.

“What?” Sarah said, spinning
around and leaning down to kissing distance from Clara's face.

“I said, I shall not wed him.”

Olive gasped, then clasped her hands
together in delight.

“There will be a hell's ransom to
pay, you know,” Sarah said.

Clara nodded, she knew.

“I will assist you. For you must
escape.” Clara's eyes widened.

“Shh, do not speak. Listen to what
I say.” When Clara lay silent, Sarah continued, “trading day is
one day hence, correct?”

Olive and Clara both stared at her.
Yes it was and what of it?

“It is a perfect time for you to
move through the tunnels. I have friends in the other kingdoms, you
could make your way there, possibly hide for a time until things
quiet down.”

Clara smiled, Sarah, so naïve.
Brilliant, but not versed in the intricacies of royal life. As if
Clara's absence would buy her time without notice.

Clara held both hands out to Sarah
who took them. “Dear Sarah, a most excellent plan, but it is time
that is my enemy, not placement.”

“Yes, my lady, it has been
announced that Clara is to wed Prince Frederic three months hence,
not twelve,” Olive clarified.

Sarah's eyes widened. “What say
you?”

“Three months hence.”

“Is that true, Clara?”

“It is.”

“Speak on this,” Sarah asked.

Clara did.

She told her the entirety of the
interchange, leaving out nothing. Sarah stopped her, asking questions
that she had not received answers for from Charles during her brief
time with him.

Clara asked after him.

“He is fine. Eager to see you.”

“When will he be released?”

“A fore-night, no more,” Sarah
said.

Clara nodded. She tried to not rely
on Charles overly much, but she could admit, if only to herself, that
the Prince terrified her, very much. She cast a glance at the door
then looked to Olive, who nodded.

Olive walked quickly to the door,
stepping into the doorway. Looking each way, she closed it softly,
throwing the lock simultaneously with its closure. Clara felt the
breath slide out of her body in bold relief, she could possibly
sleep.

Sarah smiled. “Let me lie on your
couch beside your portal which overlooks the Great Forest Outside. I
will stay here this night, standing watch over you.”

Clara wanted to tell her no, Sarah
was terribly stubborn. Not unlike Clara herself. She smiled at Sarah
and Olive fetched a bundle of bed linen for the fainting couch.

Clara needed to relieve herself and
brush her hair. She swept the covers aside and Olive was suddenly
there. Clara quietly told the girl her needs and they walked over to
the necessary together. Afterward, Clara sat down in front of the
vanity and Olive stood behind her brushing her hair. Sarah flanked
her. Slowly, Clara lifted her eyes up from her lap and met the ones
in her face; if one could call the reflection which greeted her a
recognizable likeness.

Clara stared at the swollen cheek, a
lump of reddened flesh the size of one of her beloved tangerines,
buried beneath an angry welt. Her lips were twice the size of normal,
with a sore, open and bleeding on one side where it had been cut
open. A bruise formed, seemingly out of nowhere, underneath her left
eye, a shadow mark, making her turquoise eyes appear to float above
the marks the Prince had laid.

She looked at herself and every
abuse the Queen had ever made swam to the surface of her
consciousness and her soul could bear no more. A strangled cry rose
from deep in her throat and hot tears which scalded her wounds slid
down her face. Her crying, for once, was not silent. Her two friends
attended her as she cried tears of loss and grief.

Some for her people and many for
herself.

CHAPTER 14

If Charles had anything left in his
stomach it would be dispatched immediately. However, he did a fine
job of it in the Queen's chamber. If the situation with Clara had not
been so grievous, he would have taken a certain grim satisfaction in
begriming her room so thoroughly. As it were, he could not.

Being helpless to protect Clara as
the Prince savaged her had been the very worst experience of Charles'
life. It left nary a doubt as to Prince Frederic's intentions toward
her and their execution. He meant to deal with her as a possession he
had a right to abuse, neglect, then throw away when the time came for
such things.

It was enough to make one take one's
chances Outside.

The idea rippled in his head like a
stone on the Great Lake: he and Clara could make a fresh start
Outside. Sarah had touched on the idea when she briefly visited
him in his cell. He was warming to it moment by moment.

The guards had provided his supper
(fit for a king; he knew it was Billy's doing). One of the guards had
whispered in Charles' ear that it was a very good thing to have
beaten on the Prince.

Charles agreed.

Not that he wished to be in the
cell. It was all for appearances as Ada was deep in her cup and the
Prince and King would avail her this last night before their
departure one day hence for the Kingdom of Kentucky. Charles was very
likely to get into deeper problems than his current situation. His
sincerest wish was not for Prince Frederic's abuse, but
his demise.

Sarah's idea mimicked his but it set
Clara's escape squarely in another sphere. But they would never
follow her Outside. They must set their eyes upon the Outside.
Another sphere was too close for the long reach of the Queen's arms.
Charles brooded.

Finally, he laid down on his back
with his arms crossed beneath his head, thinking of Clara. It was
very good that Prince Frederic would be journeying to the Kingdom of
Kentucky after Charles was released. He knew that once he saw Clara's
face, no force of nature would be enough to stop him from permanent
abuse of the Prince.

The hour late, Charles felt himself
fall into sleep, plotting escape and protection. Remorse for his
actions stealing itself amongst his dreams like a seed which
germinates.

****

Bracus watched the glowing pile of
embers at his feet as they burnt down to ash. His eyes burned with
the need to sleep but his mind wandered over and over again with
thoughts of the Princess. He could not shake the feeling something
was terribly wrong. He needed to satisfy his disquiet. He would
return to the spot in the forest where he could view her; make sure
that all was well. Bracus had not sat this long as captain of his
clan's Band for nothing. He had learned through hard experience to
recognize and seize upon his intuition. Three weeks seemed an
interminable time to wait. He must be patient, anything else would
give away his feelings. Bracus was not one to show his emotions.
Philip was the only male he spoke to of that which weighed upon him.

He looked over at his brother, lying
prone, deep snores resonating from his chest and pushing his throat
slits wide. Bracus smiled.

Standing, he swung his foot out,
making hard contact with the sole of Philip's foot. Philip sucked in
a huge wallop of air and kicked out with the same foot, slamming it
into Bracus' shin. Bracus stumbled backward from the impact,
pinwheeling his arms for balance, regaining it, and finding a blade
at his throat. “What say you, brother?”

Bracus smiled, Philip, asleep
but aware, a marvelous thing. “Testing you, my
brother. I wished to see if you were still warrior enough to notice
me.”

“Aye, I am,” Philip said,
pressing the point of the blade deeper into Bracus' neck until a drop
of blood made its way down the blade.

Suddenly, Philip looked down to see
Bracus' blade pressed against his vulnerable side.

They grinned at each other,
stalemate...again. They lowered their blades and sheathed them. The
other Band members were now fully awake after a night of heated
discussion of sphere-dwellers that had waned into exhaustion.

The guard looked at the brothers'
warily. His captain and his brother, Philip, even larger than Bracus.
They would bear watching. He ruminated about that which had engaged
them this night: acquisition of the female, the
Princess. They did not know his plan differed from theirs
so hugely. They would soon enough. The sphere, all the spheres,
needed to be broken open, their peoples mingling. He sat thinking.
The clans would be the obvious rulers of the people, clan and
sphere-dweller alike. It was most logical, considering the
sphere-dwellers' inferior physical status and obvious lack of
prowess, and abundance of females. Things would go as planned.

As
he planned.

Bracus looked around him in
amusement, the entire Band had dozed by the fire, only Jack absent.
They all looked at him and Philip, eyes glittering in the light cast
by the fire. Bracus looked at the sky, a few hours before dawn. He
would stand first watch and Stephen second. Bracus announced the
watch status, having allowed some laziness beside the fire. However,
important developments straight from the president's lips needed to
be conveyed and deliberated upon. Of that, Bracus felt sure.

Stephen rose, placing the flat of
his palm upon the small of his back, arching and stretching as a cat.

Matthew gave his taunt stomach a
glancing blow and Stephen crouched, at the ready. “See how you
tarry?”

Stephen jabbed him back in the
vulnerable solar-plexus.

“Guards!” Bracus hissed and they
looked at him. “Now is not the time to seek romance with each
other.” They glowered at him. No matter, there would be time enough
for sparring when the female was within the safety of the clan. Until
such time, he wished for the Band to be ever vigilant.

Stephen gave up and trudged to his
post, not easily seen by the fire. No matter, there was a fence made
from the towering trees which ran the length of the clan's primary
compound and was not easily transgressed. Bracus, for one, enjoyed
running the perimeter. He told himself he liked the exercise to
remain in top shape for warring amongst other clans and the dreaded
fragment. The truth was that he wished to secure the clan's
perimeter each day. He never ran at the same time, wishing no one
mindful of his routines.

Bracus had changed his mind,
choosing to take second shift. This would allow him time to be at the
sphere when dawn saw the new day. He would then creep toward the
sphere, stealthily, and look once more at the female. He needed to
calm his skin which itched with the wrongness of something he could
not name.

He approached Stephen. “I will
run, then return one hour past dawn.” They looked at the sky,
judging the time. Stephen nodded. That struck Bracus as odd. Stephen
was one to be vocal, always. But he had been unusually subdued this
night. Bracus prided himself on being acutely aware of his Band's
mental state. It was critical, their lives had depended on it...
would always depend on it. He
realized he may be letting his disquiet permeate his thought process
too deeply. He shook it away, moving toward the perimeter, his throat
slits relaxing in preparation for exertion.

CHAPTER 15

Clara slowly opened her eyes, or
should she say eye. As it was, the bruising underneath her
eyeball, exacerbated by her tears had swollen up from the underneath,
distorting her vision. Clara swung her legs around until they hovered
over the floor, dropping down and immediately she steadied herself as
her vision swam before her, streamers of color running out in
different directions. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
Finally, when she was steadier, she shuffled over to her looking
glass and gasped at what she saw there. Although the primary damage
had settled down a bit, the swelling below the eye and her lip made
it apparent that she had been struck, badly.

There would be no attending the
fields this day. She could not suffer the questions, sympathetic
glances, and cool the tempers of those that wished to avenge
her.

Dawn bore its champagne light
through the sphere, the slightly obscure nature of it burnishing the
room softly so it glowed. Clara turned away from her pathetic
reflection and wandered again to the window that was actually the
sphere wall and pressed her body against it, her nightgown flowing
around her legs. She could just make out the stand of trees and had a
sudden wish that she could see the savage. Not the one that
looked like he wished her harm but the other.

Sighing,
she looked at the Forest Outside and he appeared.
Just as she remembered and her heart sped, the pulse fairly leaping
the prison of her throat. But she was unafraid. He gazed at her from
the stand of trees, then looking around him, he carefully set aside
his bow, arrow and quiver...he was disarming.

Bracus lay his weapons aside, as to
not intimidate the Princess. If he were attacked, in the open, at
dawn, his daggers would do very well.

His throat slits opened wide, taking
in the extra oxygen he needed as he sprinted the short distance
toward the sphere. He arrived and stopped before the Princess, her
face he could see as through dark water, shimmering and slightly
obscure, the material of the dome a milky cloak.

Clara stood stock still, her pulse
hammered and her hands grew damp, a fine tremor taking up residence
as she watched that muscular form and long legs eat up the distance
between them. He was a thing of beauty to watch in motion.

As before he stopped and she saw his
face change in expression from fierceness to rage and she stepped
away from the window, her hand to her throat, what had angered him so
mightily? She had done nothing.

What Bracus saw caused his heart to
stutter in his chest. She had been beaten. A black rage, the likes of
which he had never known washed over him, making the blood rush
through his body and roar in his ears, he tipped his head back and
shouted to the heavens, his concern over circumspection forgotten in
the face of her injuries. Who could have dared touch her in this way?

He would kill them he vowed, as sure
as he stood before her.

Clara jumped when Bracus shouted his
rage.

He approached again, his face edged
with hard anger and beckoned for her to come closer. She shook her
head.

Bracus could taste her fear, it
wafted out to him on the wind. He looked more closely at the one eye
he could see, the other almost completely shut from the blow she had
suffered. Her beautiful lips, full and ripe when he'd last laid eyes
on her, now were distended and bloodied. He felt his hands curl into
fists. But he restrained his expression. He knew that this trauma she
had suffered would make her uneasy with his show of emotion. Instead,
he indicated he had no weapons then pointed to the area of her face
that was injured, throwing his hands wide he gave the universal
gesture for, who? Then
he leaned forward, his face almost pressed to the sphere and mouthed,
“who did this to you?”

Clara would have been a fool to not
understand that he wished to know what had happened. Her fear began
to slide away. He was not the enemy her People thought them to be.
For all his fierceness and huge stature, he was not intrinsically
evil. Clara opened her mouth to speak and Charles walked in the room.

Bracus' head snapped to attention as
a young male entered the Princess's room, and he growled low in his
throat. Was this the male that had hurt her?

Charles
came into Clara's chamber and immediately spied the savage
outside her window. What in the bloody hell? He ran to her.

Clara
felt herself being lifted from behind and shrieked, the memories of
the night before fresh. She bucked and fought, fighting for all she
was worth, the
savage's roar of rage ringing in
her ears. She could feel herself hyperventilating. Please, dear
Guardian, I do not wish to be beaten, Clara all but sobbed.

“It is I Clara! It is Charles, be
still, it is I!” Charles shouted.

But it was no use, Clara was a still
bundle in his arms.

She had fainted.

Bracus looked at the scene before
him, the male held the Princess with tenderness, belying how she had
fought him. The male looked up at Bracus and he looked back with dark
intent, he would kill the one that had done this.

Bracus had seen how the poor female
tried to fight him off. And now she lay still and vulnerable in his
arms. Every protective instinct he harbored screamed to be released,
his hands as evil hammers of abuse at his side. There would be
another day that he would exact his revenge. Three weeks hence was
too long to wait for acquisition, the need to rescue her was now.

Where were her protectors? He looked
at the male...he would pay dearly. With a final look at the Princess,
he raced up the incline, bound for the stand of trees, his throat
slits pouring oxygen into his circulatory system. Bracus needed it,
he would run the entire way back to his clan, where he would alert
the Band to this change.

Charles
saw the savage look at
him with murderous intent and realized that he thought that Charles'
was responsible for the abuse he saw on Clara's face. Not that it
mattered what a savage
thought but it bothered Charles that another would think he could
harm Clara. He was a huge male, inches taller than Charles, with the
strange gills she spoke of, opening and closing with his breathing.
But it was his eyes that transfixed Charles, eyes which narrowed,
memorizing Charles' face. He looked one last
time at Clara then turned, flying up the incline to the Forest of
Trees Outside, his form slipping into the wood, disappearing from
sight.

Charles
stared for a moment after the savage,
glad that the sphere protected him, as he had seen his beating upon
the savage's face. His
fixation on Clara made Charles uneasy. The savages'
existence was a problem. Surely Clara could see that? And what of his
plan to escape with her? To get her away from this abuse and safely
Outside, but the savages were
there.

Clara stirred in his arms and he
lifted her up easily, she weighed nothing. He lay her down gently, a
fragile burden, her face swollen and marked. His chest grew tight
again, thinking of Prince Frederick and what he was unable to stop
him from doing.

Clara
opened her eyes and saw Charles. She quickly looked at the window for
the savage.

“He is gone,” Charles said.

Clara sank back in her pillow and
Charles reached out to her face, gently running a finger over her
lip, picturing the Prince. “I could kill him, you know.”

Clara captured his finger. “Do
not,” as she lay his hand against her uninjured cheek.

“I do have a plan, dear Clara.”

“Is it the same one that Sarah
has?” Clara whispered.

“It is. We will reconvene later,
when you feel better and establish a time line.”

Charles looked at her face. “I am
so sorry. He beat you because of me and I could do nothing.”

“He needed no excuse, it would
have happened eventually.”

“Why do you say this?”

“He is of the Queen's ilk. He
enjoys punishing for its own sake.”

They were silent for a moment.

Charles
looked off at the window, his face darkening. “Why does the savage
return to you?”

“I do not know,” Clara said,
giving a small shrug, but added, “he does not mean me harm.”

“He
looked like he meant me
harm!”

Clara had a horrible thought. “I
fought you...”

“Yes, I am sorry I took you by
surprise, I thought that... I do not know what I thought. I saw him
looming over you and lost myself. After last night, I feel just a tad
bit more protective than before. It makes no sense, as he cannot
breach the sphere...”

“He thinks that you harmed me.”

Charles
nodded, remembering the savage's
eyes.

“It cannot be good, I feel there
is a purpose for these visits he makes. I do not know for what reason
but there is one.” Clara sat up in bed with a clear sense of
foreboding wrapping itself around her, stealing into her bones and
she grew cold. Charles folded her into his arms and she allowed
herself to be held. His strong arms tightened about her and Clara
could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady. The smell of his
maleness and the warmth of him a comfort she was used to.

****

Clara righted her appearance as much
as she was able but looked battered. Taking the back streets that the
street lights did not illuminate, she made haste to Sarah's domicile.

Clara crossed the threshold of the
foyer that lay unlocked, always, the interior door barring intruders.
Guardian knew, there was always a faction of the People that busied
themselves with theft. She depressed a bell fashioned of a hammered
brass scroll, slightly warm from the steam which lit it softly. Clara
could see Sarah's form through the warped glass, over one hundred
years old, distorting her image.

Sarah opened the door and gasped,
her hand flying to her mouth. “Good Guardian, it looks worse this
day than one day past.”

Clara nodded, she knew from
experience that it would not right itself for another week hence.

“It is bad, but has been worse.”
But she had never suffered such about her face.

Sarah stared hard at Clara, then,
saying nothing she stepped aside. “Please, come in, do not linger.
Charles will arrive momentarily.”

Clara passed into the beautifully
appointed interior, gazing upon all the things she had seen her whole
life during a friendship that spanned their lifetime.

The foyer was lit by a single
steam-chandelier. Its soft, apricot glow reflecting off the mercury
glass balls that Sarah collected, stacked haphazardly in a large bowl
inside the vestibule. Clara stood a little uncertainly, feeling the
weight of an unknown decision pressing down upon her. She felt
miserable at the thought of deserting her People, if even for an
indefinite period.

Sarah stared at Clara critically.
“Do not fret, you cannot help us if you are dead.” She made
direct eye contact. “And well you know that will be the
terminus with that depraved man.”

Charles entered, hearing the last
comment. “I wouldn't call that cad anything close to 'man,'...
abomination is more like it.”

He leaned down to Clara, giving her
a feathers kiss on her forehead, the only unmarred skin on her face.

Clara leaned gratefully into his
affection and Charles fought not to wrap her up into something more
intimate. Sarah watched them both with narrowed eyes, Charles meeting
hers over Clara's head.

Clara thought she was protecting her
People, but it was her friends that were her protectors.

“Follow me,” Sarah said, moving
ahead of him. The bustle of her skirt made a soft rustling sound as
she entered the parlor, seating herself on a beautifully made
rosewood loveseat. Charles and Clara settled themselves in the
flanking chairs that matched the settee.

Charles began, “We will get Clara
out of this sphere, however, it may be best that she disappear, into
the Outside...”

“Are you mad?” Sarah asked.

Charles' eyebrows drew up into an
offended scowl.

But it was Clara that answered, “We
do not know enough about Outside to know the outcome of such an
escape.”

Charles waved the comment away
dismissively. “They live
Outside. And might I add, seem to be of robust composition!”

Sarah scowled, males, she
thought with irritation, never thinking about danger, but embracing
it. “You must know that they have physical attributes which make
the Outside tolerable,” she said with thinly veiled scorn. “Another
sphere is the practical choice.” She leaned back, satisfied with
her answer's truth.

Charles' eyes narrowed. “It is
where they will not look.”

Clara could see where this was
headed, the two of them fought like feral cats. “Stop this.” They
looked at her, mouths open in preparation for rebutting each other.“I
have decided what must be done.”

The silence stretched out, Clara
could hear the steam rising from the small clock on the wall, the
ticking loud in the silence.

“I will do as Charles suggests...”

Sarah opened her mouth in protest
but Clara held a hand up to silence her. “Look upon my face.”

They looked.

“He will not let me live. He will
chase me wheresoever I go and will
not think that I would breach the sphere.”

Sarah made a last attempt to stymie
what she thought was a dangerous plan, “You will compromise the
sphere.” The comment fell as a stone in a shallow pond.

Charles glared at Sarah, who knew
very well how closely Clara guarded the safety of her People. Sarah
glared right back, she cared not, she wished for Clara's safety above
her own.

Clara rolled her lower lip between
her teeth, forgetting her injuries and wincing at the contact.
Charles laid his hand on top of Clara's, his finger absently stroking
circles.

“Dear Guardian, do you think I
would endanger her?” he asked, aghast, insulted.

“Not intentionally.”

“I would not endanger her
accidentally either.”

“It is unknown and there are the
savages to consider.”

“They mean no harm. I do not care
what the Record Keeper reports,” Clara said.

“Some mean harm, obviously,”
Sarah said, giving Clara the full measure of her stare.

“What say you, Sarah?” Charles
looked from one to the other of them, knowing they had a shred of
secrecy tethered between them.

Clara looked down at her hands,
tightly clasped in her lap, having let go of his hand.

“Clara?” he asked softly,
prompting her.

Clara sighed heavily. “A savage
appeared at the window...”

“I am aware...”

“No, not the one that you saw
today... another,” Clara
said quietly.

“You did not speak of this, why?”

“I know that you worry,” she
twisted her hands mercilessly, “and it means nothing... as they
cannot breach the sphere.”

“But they can,” Sarah said,
looking at them significantly.

Charles looked back at her. “They
may not know the peril of salt.”

“Why does everyone believe that
they are not intelligent beings? Mayhap they understand us as well as
we understand them. Possibly more,” Clara said.

She thought of the reaction of the
savage and how it quickened her blood that he responded to her
battery so passionately. She was resolute. She would not be
reacquired in a neighboring kingdom. Charles was right, she needed to
get away somewhere that she could not be easily found. Escaping her
mistreatment loomed large for Clara. She was a coward to think of
herself foremost. But her face hurt and her spirit wilted at the
prospect of more savagery at the hands of Prince Frederic, who did
not even have wine as an excuse.

****

It was decided after much
discussion, their eyes growing grainy from tiredness, that after the
monarchs' departure one day hence at midday, Clara and Charles would
go on a trade to the Kingdom of West Virginia, the Queen's home
sphere. Where Clara would breach the sphere tunnel walls, and slip
through. The details mired down with the inclusion of the guard.
Clara paced as she and Charles thought of what they could do so the
guard would not prevent her escape but neither would they be blamed
for allowing it. “We must use the sleeping potion that The Doctor
uses for the twilight sleep,” Clara said.

“That is measured, what if we
murder them by accident?” Charles asked in a flat voice.

“You are still contrary because of
their indecision?”

“I am afraid it will remain thus,
as it was they who saw fit to not aid you while they
had me bound as well.”

Sarah broke in, “Charles, would
you be at the mercy of the Queen if you could prevent it?”

Charles' scowled. “I would not
choose it but I would have suffered much to help Clara out of that
most dire circumstance.”

They were silent for a few moments
then Sarah said, “How will you manage to accompany her then? I do
not envision the Queen will allow you that reward.”

Sarah had hit at the bottom of it.
Charles was not Ada's favorite because he was Clara's. She
could do nothing about that. But she would endeavor to think up a
scheme. Which she told the two of them, adding that Charles should
procure the twilight drug that would make the guard fall into false
sleep.

“Clarence is the guard at the
start of the trade tunnel, he will let us through?” Clara
clarified.

“The one you spar with, Charles?”
Sarah asked.

“Yes, it is he,” Charles
replied.

“Will he suffer at the Queen's
hand?” Clara asked.

“I think not, he can blame the
twilight sleep and she will have to be content with that,” he said.

Clara stood, every bone in her body
weary, her conscience assailing her at every turn. She knew she was
abandoning her People to save her wretched, royal skin. She had never
felt less royal in her life.

Sarah knew she needed to say what
she had before, “He will kill you.”

Charles nodded.

“I know,” Clara whispered.

She walked out into a night lit by
lamps that illuminated cobblestones, their hissing the symphony by
which she made her way home.

CHAPTER 16

Bracus' lungs were on fire, his
throats slits hot slashes at his neck, overworked and begging for
cessation. He ignored his body's demands to stop, as he saw the
clan's fence come into view, the points on the top mimicking spears.
He slowed to a jog and made the birdlike sound that alerted the guard
that it was a warrior of the Band who approached.

Two guards were needed to open the
gate. It was laborious and Bracus waited, taking great inhalations of
sweet air, his hands planted on his hips. He hopped from one foot to
the other, not wanting to be stiff. He needed to make a small team
ready for the journey back to the sphere.

The Princess was in imminent danger.

Finally, the gate was set wide
enough for him to slide through, the two guards bowing as he did.
Bracus went straight to the well which held the great cistern of
water the community drank from, a young girl at hand. She would soak
the cup in lye, a wretched but effective product, she wore gloves
made of duck skin so it would not burn her skin.

Bracus
ruffled her hair and she smiled. A wee thing, only ten and two years.
Bracus liked her, she was spirited but without friends. There were
many males her age but only one other female to share her time with.
That set Bracus' teeth on edge. They needed the females of the
sphere, the sphere-dwellers
must agree.

They must.

He drank deep and then still more,
his thirst a beast of its own. Finally, he handed the cup back to
Evelyn, who smiled at him.

Immediately
Bracus looked around him, taking in the state of the clan, everything
was as it should be, light trading of wares and most of the children
(boys,
he corrected himself) learning to figure and read. Not that there
was great need for that. So few books remained from the time the
Earth was Covered in Ash. No matter, it was good for the mind.

He
needed to fill his belly then find the rest of the Band and
speak with President Bowen. He would need convincing, to be sure.

****

Bracus was tired to his core and
more so now that he had eaten an entire chicken with every ground
vegetation he could consume. He stepped out of the community dining
center, but instead of seeking much-needed respite, he sought the
Band.

They
were easy to spot and he was surprised that none had seen him first.
Philip stood slightly taller than the rest, maybe close to six foot
and eight inches, an absolute slab of meat of a man. His shoulder
muscles looked like they had
been attached separately from his body, growing into his neck. He
caught sight of Bracus and raised a hand, half in greeting and half
in question. Where have
you been?

He strode to Bracus and embraced him
in his mighty arms. “How fare you, brother?”

Bracus began with an utter lack of
finesse, “The Princess has been beaten,” shock poured over
Philip's face, “and we will need to acquire her much sooner than we
had first thought. Three weeks is too long, and judging by the fist
that fell on her face, if we wait, she will not be alive to acquire.”

“Who?” Philip asked simply.

Bracus thought on this but
ultimately decided to mention it, “A young male entered her chamber
and she fought him.” He clenched his teeth, Philip's expression
darkened, “And he saw you there...outside the sphere.”

Bracus nodded, it did not make
perfect sense to him either.

Philip palmed his chin. “What
happened when she fought him?”

“She fainted...”

“Good Lord.”

“And then he held her.”

“Against her will?”

“No, she was unconscious; he held
her most tenderly.”

“None of this makes sense. If he
were in league as a protector of this Princess, then why was he not
in attendance? And the better question, protecting her? And where is
her guard? If she is truly a Princess...” Philip looked at Bracus
for confirmation and he nodded. “Then she ought to have a guard.
That she does not, speaks of some internal problem within.”

Bracus nodded solemnly, he had
pondered the same.

Joseph appeared along with the other
Band members but Jack was absent.

“Where is Jack?” Bracus asked.

There was shuffling of feet and
downward looks.

Bracus growled out, “Where-is-Jack?”

It was Stephen that spoke up, “He
is with Lillian, she ails.”

Philips eyebrows drew together and
Bracus scowled. They did not need a sick female.

“It is not mortal... she is with
child,” Matthew said.

Wonderful news, why the anxiety?
Bracus wondered.

“We lose a Band member, while he
lounges and moons over his woman,” James said, arms crossed stiffly
over his chest.

Jacob broke out in a grin, clapping
James on the back. “You are not mated or you would not speak such.”

“I
cannot speak for the rest of you, but if my female was with child, I
would not be out fighting, leaving her here, defenseless,” Stephen
said. And several of the other Band members nodded, agreeing. It was
well known mated Band members were fierce over their women. At least,
when they could be
mated. Further complicating things, it was postulated that The Evil
Ones made some sort of genetic predisposition that certain females
were more “appealing” than others. The rumored
select. They
would someday get that opportunity to see who would be their mate.
Lord help them if there was a female that had that enigmatic gene of
the select
that appealed to more than one male in the Band.

“When is the celebration?”
Philip asked.

“I do not know, but Jack seemed to
think that after she stopped heaving up the contents of her stomach,
she would be well enough for the Celebration of Conception,” Joseph
relayed dryly.

There was a good-natured chuckle all
around. Many females were terribly sick in the beginning.

Bracus nodded. This was good news
and now he would have to deliver the bad.

After he finished with his report to
the Band, they were all serious and quiet, deep in their own
ruminations.

The guard contained his expression
with an effort, he would see this female returned to her sphere, they
did not need the sphere-dwellers. Her supposed abuse made his stomach
turn, too close to memories which haunted him.

Bracus announced that a clandestine
meeting would be needed with the president. Horses would be used, he
needed to be fresh for tomorrow's journey.

“Matthew, you accompany me,”
Bracus said.

“Of course,” he said in his
steady way.

Bracus turned away.

“My brother?”

“Yes?”

“Let me join you in this journey,”
Philip said.

Bracus shook his head. “You know
that I will need you.”

“We will use horseback again?”
Philip asked.

“We
must. I wish not to be attacked with a female. Think of another clan
getting hold of the Princess, or the fragment.”

The
Band thought of this with a soft horror. The fragment
used females as breeders. The women were beaten and mistreated. Many
tried to escape.
The
fragment
would do anything to propagate. Of course, they had no Band. They
were fractured clan, refugees from clans who banded together,
kidnapping females wherever they could. That is why the females had
males accompany them when they ventured outside the wall of their
clan. Food needed to be gathered so the females went, but not alone.

Bracus turned to fetch the messenger
and Jacob put a hand on his forearm. “He has been summoned and
dispatched. He hails the president now.”

“Very good,” Bracus said,
looking at Matthew, who nodded back. Bracus and Matthew gathered
their weapons, saddling the horses. Bracus raced to his dwelling to
change from his sweat-laden clothes.

He changed into a fresh set of
tight-fitting breeches, perfect for riding. His rough cotton tunic,
snug against his lower chest, left his upper chest and arms bare to
the wind. Perfect for movement in fighting, riding and of course,
running.

CHAPTER 17

Clara received not one moment's rest
and shadows lay as dark smudges beneath her eyes. She felt in the
marrow of her bones that they would be discovered. The Queen could
not let more than one day pass without inflicting some kind of absurd
discipline on Clara.

Under the pretense of trading with
the neighboring kingdom, Clara could take a small knapsack and the
appearance of normalcy would stay intact. Olive entered her chamber
at the same time that dawn illuminated, the tangerine glow laying its
light against Olive's face. Clara must keep this secret from Olive
too. The Queen was not above torture if she could excuse it and if
Olive knew nothing, she could say nothing.

“Princess... what are you
packing?” Olive's brows rose.

“Trading day,” Clara responded
neutrally.

Olive gave a puzzled look at the
knapsack. “Do you wish for me to ask Billy for tangerines?”

A blessed distraction for Olive, who
gazed on Clara with thinly veiled suspicion.

“Yes, that would be most helpful.”

Olive nodded and turned to go, but
remembered something at the last moment. “May I mention that if you
travel for trading, the Queen will expect a certain wardrobe... and
your crown.”

Drat. Clara was hoping to avoid
that. However, it may play to her advantage if she cooperated with
looking like a Princess. The Queen would be more lenient.

“I agree,” Clara said, which
caused Olive to stare. Clara sighed, it was not typical for her to
agree to anything that had to do with pleasing Ada.

Olive considered for a moment more
then she slipped out the door.

Clara had just closed the knapsack
with its supple leather ties when there was a rap on the door.

Excellent! She rushed to the door
throwing it open, a ready smile on her face, but it was Prince
Frederick who filled the doorway.

Clara blanched and stepped back as
he entered her room, pacing her progress almost to her bed. He lifted
a hand to his face to push his hair back and Clara flinched.

He laughed. “I will not beat you
at every turn. But I must say, you do bruise quite nicely,” he
said, reaching out to touch the bruise that lay over the swelling on
the arc of her cheekbone.

“Do not touch me,” Clara said in
a low voice.

“I will touch you when and how I
like.”

“You have not the right!” Clara
shouted into his face.

Prince Frederic leaned forward from
his considerable height. “I will have all kinds of rights soon
enough.”

“But not this day,” Clara said.

Frederic straightened with a sly
smile, moving away from her and pacing about the room, touching all
her things. Clara marked his progress with anxiety. She cared not
what he touched, her hope was to not look upon the trappings of her
royal life for some time.

He paused, whirling around and
firing a question at her, “I hear that you go to trade this day.”

“ 'Tis true, but in the late
afternoon.”

He nodded, almost to himself. “Then
I will take my leave now, as I will not return until our Wedded
Joining.”

He approached her, taking her hands
in his, his sudden tenderness more disturbing than his beating her.
“I will not always be unkind to you. If you would but do as I say,
then this would be easier upon you.”

Clara snatched her hands away and
said, “I cannot.”

He stared at her for a full minute,
his eyes narrowing. “You will.”

There was a noise at the door and
they turned to see Charles framed by the doorway.

He looked intently at Clara, then
his gaze moved to Frederic, and his fists clenched and opened,
clenched and opened. “Clara, are you well?”

Clara nodded.

“She is very well, you do not need
to fret over her. Soon she will not need anyone fretting over her at
all,” he smirked. “I am not overly jealous, as my time of
solidarity with Clara is soon.” He looked at both of them with a
knowing smile and walked out.

Charles' shoulders visibly relaxed
after the Prince was gone. Clara rushed forward putting herself in
the circle of his arms and he stroked her hair.

“I thought he was here to hurt you
again,” he said.

“No, just to threaten.”

“It matters not. We leave today
and he will not lay his hands upon you again.”

Clara was still grappling with the
feelings of her desertion. Her face was long and her spirit much
subdued.

Charles noticed her disquiet. “Do
not, Clara. We have moved so far beyond what we thought you would
have to endure. Now, because of his beastly manner, we know that it
is better you escape. You cannot, as Sarah said, rule anything if you
are dead.”

She nodded, biting her lip so she
would not cry her weakness to the world.

If she began, she would never stop.

****

Charles left again after checking on
her, the two of them going over the next four hours to the minutest
of details.

Clara
carefully dressed, taking care to put on royal attire, Princess
attire. Because
of the lateness of the season she would have to wear something as
lightweight as possible. Olive had come and gone several times,
fetching only Clara's favorite food items for the journey. Clara
decided on a teal dress, which barely grazed the instep of her heels.
It had an organdy overlay in a light sherbert orange which caused the
material to shimmer as the ocean with the blush of sunset upon it.

The corset secure and dress on,
Olive came to Clara with the small tiara encrusted with pearls in all
colors, diminutive Alexandrite gems encircled the pearls in their
elaborate gallery, winking in different colors as Clara moved.

Clara came to stand in front of her
looking glass, mesmerized by her small crown, which she had worn a
handful of times. It sat awkwardly on her head. Turning away from her
bruised reflection, she picked up her knapsack, preparing to visit
Ada before her departure. Always an ordeal, the extra burden of the
upcoming escape swirled in her mind like mud in a river.

****

King Otto and Prince Frederic had
left and were well on their way to the Kingdom of Kentucky. Clara had
not realized how encumbered she was with his presence until she knew
that he was gone. It lifted a weight from her shoulders and dusted
the cobwebs from inside her head for the upcoming conversation with
the Queen.

She entered Ada's chamber and was
struck by the mess. Even with Elvira's constant cleaning, Ada was a
continual job.

Clara faced the Queen's back and she
stiffened, just knowing Clara was present brought about the reaction.

Turning, she looked at Clara
critically, then finally nodded. “You look as you should for once.”

Clara nodded. “I came to say
goodbye for one day and night of trading...”

Ada threw her palm up, silencing
Clara. “I have been made aware. And that is acceptable, especially
as you have taken pains to appear royal and not embarrass me with
your typical, foolish dress.”

Clara said nothing.

“Elvira,” Ada barked.

“Yes, my queen,” she said in her
cowed way.

“Do you have the list of parcels
for the Princess?”

Elvira nodded, her hair bouncing
about her shoulders, having come undone from its confines with all
the straightening.

“Fetch it then, servant.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Clara loathed her mother.

Elvira
brought the list to Clara, and while looking it over noticed a
different thing. “What is this, spirits?” Clara
looked up sharply, her suspicions confirmed.

“It was Frederic's suggestion...”
Ada remarked casually.

He wishes to have her drunk with
something stronger than grapes; this would aid his plan of power.

“Are the grapes not enough?”
Clara asked with transparent disdain.

“Watch your tone, Princess.”

Clara waited.

“I tire of wine, methinks spirits
a refreshing distraction.”

Liar,
Clara
thought.

Well, she would not be getting any
spirits on this journey. That thought appeared the happiest of the
day.

Olive entered the Queen's chamber.
After a low curtsey, she turned to Clara. “Princess, Sarah has
requested your presence.”

“Really?” Ada's eyes narrowed
and Clara rushed to explain.

“I was compelled to cut our visit
short one night past.”

“That is not what I heard. I was
told that you arrived back at the Royal Manse, half past one this
morn.”

Clara was speechless for a
heartbeat. “We had much to discuss.”

The Queen approached Clara, all
subdued violence-in-motion, her hand moving restlessly over the
strand of pearls she always wore about her neck.

“Do not let your discussions stray
to royal tales, Clara.”

“I will not.”

“Will
not, what?”

“I
will not, my
Queen.”

Ada smiled cruelly, and turned on
her heel, giving a dismissive wave to Clara.

Clara was almost to the door when
she spoke again, never turning, “What will you tell others when
they see your face?”

“That I fell, Queen Ada.”

“Very well.”

And Clara walked out, eternally
grateful to leave the space the Queen occupied.

CHAPTER 18

President Bowen was as distressed as
Bracus over the Princess's state, but was equally interested as to
why Bracus would have been in close enough proximity to know that the
Princess had been thus abused.

“I do not have a plausible
explanation but I had a feeling of foreboding...”

“One day past?” President Bowen
asked.

Bracus nodded.

Bowen palmed his chin thoughtfully,
bringing it over the front of his face, rubbing back and forth in
irritation while Bracus waited.

“I
cannot dismiss the relevance of that. I remember very well your
intuition saving us during the fragment
conflict.”

Still Bracus waited and the silence
drew out.

Finally, Bowen said, “Take half
the Band and extract her.”

Bracus swung around to leave.
“Goodman,” Bowen called after him.

Bracus turned, his body illuminated
by the early morning light that filtered in through the cave's
entrance.

“Keep the casualties at zero, if
you can.”

“Yes, President Bowen,” his chin
brushing his sternum in a formal nod.

Bracus jogged outside the cave where
Matthew waited, saddled upon his mount, his eyebrows raised in
question.

“He agrees.”

Matthew's shoulders settled into a
relieved posture.

“We must retrieve four members and
acquire the Princess.”

“Including us?”

Bracus
nodded, “Yes, we must keep a contingent here in our absence. There
have been sightings of the fragment.”

Bracus
knew that the fragment
lurked around the perimeters of the clans, searching for the lone
female as easy pickings. Not during his time. It would not happen,
had not happened. He was ever vigilant in securing his clan's
safety.

Matthew brought him back from his
thoughts. “Let us take our leave and alert the others.”

Bracus mounted his horse, and turned
her, at the same time stroking the animal's side. Briar Rose was a
fast ride, well trusted. He felt as if they were of one body when he
rode upon her.

****

Bracus made careful selection
amongst the Band. Philip would accompany him, of course and Jack
would stay with Lillian as he would be too much in his head to fight
if it were needed.

He looked at each of the male's
faces and called out, “Philip, Stephen, Matthew, and Joseph.”

Matthew gave Bracus a hard look.
“Captain Goodman, do you think only five is wise? Did the President
not say...”

“He did. But,” and Bracus held
up a finger, Briar Rose shifting under his weight, “I am not
comfortable leaving the clan with only two of the Band.”

Philip looked sharply at him, his
hand shielding the sunlight from his eyes. “Do you have... a...”

“Yes.
I am disquieted on both fronts. We need to rescue the Princess and
defend
the clan while the majority of the Band is not here,” Bracus said,
looking at each Band member's upturned face, except for Matthew, who
was mounted as he.

“We mustn’t return to a
compromised security. This is the only way I can leave and have my
heart stay within my breastbone.”

The Band laid their fists over their
heart and Bracus was moved by their loyalty.

He dismounted and a lad of about ten
and three years took Briar Rose. Bracus turned, telling the boy,
“Please give her the oats and only one cube of sugar... you will
rot her teeth out of her head, boy!” he said in admonition, but
smiled to soften it. That boy took very good care of his mount, who
looked upon him quietly as if she understood she would receive a
treat.

He slapped her on her hindquarters,
making it a long caress at its end, she neighed softly at him as she
was led away to the stable.

There was much to do and Bracus
wished to make the most of it. He gathered up his weapons and a fresh
change of tunic for the journey, storing a soft, cotton blanket in a
tight weave... what else? Ah! He grabbed his flask, filling it with
the salt. It would not have done to forget that! Which reminded him
to go to Evelyn and see how she fared with the hot water.

Bracus approached the cistern with a
swinging bucket resting atop. Evelyn gave him her charming smile, her
hair tied with a single, blue ribbon of satin.

“Captain,” she curtsied.

“Evelyn... how fare you?”

“Very well this day,” she said,
smiling through platinum hairs which escaped their tether.

He smiled and held up his flask,
which she frowned at and Bracus raised his eyebrows.

“Is it the flask that is lined
with duck?”

He nodded and she sighed with
relief. “Good, this will need to be very hot to dissolve the salt
and...” she mimed twirling the whole lot of it, “needs to be
shaken about like this,” she did it again, “to keep the salt from
settling at the bottom and hardening like the clay beneath our feet.”

Bracus looked down at the dirt floor
of his clan and did agree. It was heavily trod upon and acted almost
like the cobblestone paths and roads he had seen outside of the clan,
where vines grew rampant over everything the eye could see.

He grabbed the flask away from her
and she held on, not letting go until he gave her a good tickle.
Finally, she gave in clutching her ribs and giggling as he captured
his prize. An important one, as it held the key to the penetration of
the sphere.

The
sphere which held the special female, his
female
his mind whispered. His heart sped in anticipation of rescuing her.
For that was what it now was. It was no simple acquisition mission.
Not that it ever had been simple. He now had her safety to secure as
well. Who preyed upon her? And where were her protectors? Bracus
thought yet again as he said goodbye to Evelyn.

He strode to Briar Rose, the lad
Jonathan, gently holding the bridle, being mindful of her mouth.
Bracus grabbed the reigns, tossing them over her neck with slack, he
stuffed one leather encased foot in the stirrup and heaved his body
on the saddle, settling in comfortably.

The Band looked at Bracus and he
looked at who he left behind. They would be the protectors in their
comrades' absence. It should be sufficient he told himself. But his
gut churned and his intuition flared to life, whispering to him it
was not a perfect solution.

They nudged their horses' sides and
the great beasts sprang to life, taking the path that had been trod
so often before. That which led outside the clan gates and into the
forest below.

CHAPTER 19

Clara clutched Sarah in her arms,
both women not wanting to say goodbye. Finally, Sarah pulled away and
looked into Clara's face. “You are doing what is right, Princess.”

“Do not call me thus, I do not
deserve the title.”

“Clara, our People do not wish for
your death. And that is what this would be, if you stayed,” Sarah
said, a finger tracing first Clara's lip then the swollen lump which
made her eye a fraction of its normal size.

Clara sighed. “I am glad that you
think so highly of me, it will take some doing for me to share your
esteem.”

“It may not be as long as you
think, once things settle here...”

“Or if they do not?” Clara said,
anger slipping into her tone.

“We will not revisit this
conversation, it is circular as well you know.”

Clara did.

Charles said, “We must go.”

The women looked at him, sighing
then Clara nodded.

Sarah and Charles embraced each
other and she said, “Take care of her, Charles.”

He looked insulted. “You know that
I will.”

“I must say the words.”

Charles laid his hand on her
shoulder, looking down into her earnest face. “I know, we are all
on edge. We will see you sometime.”

“Yes sometime,” Sarah said
sadly.

Clara ran to her again, skirt
pouring behind her, all but flinging herself in Sarah's arms. “Do
not weep for me, there will not be one day that I do not think of you
and all that you have been to me.”

“And I, you,” Sarah said through
a voice choked by emotion.

Charles separated them and pulled
her out of Sarah's vestibule, with no definitive time of returning.

****

Clarence
saw Charles' tall form and that of the Princess in her royal attire
and fought his emotions. He was the main guard at the intersection of
the trade tunnel and their sphere, and felt derelict in his duties.
Yet,
after Charles had explained the Princess' plight, he felt honor-bound
to assist them.

And as she drew near, the evidence
of the violence divested upon her stood out in stark relief. Her
glorious eyes, usually filled with fire and good humor, were now
tight with anxiety and one of them almost swollen shut. Prince
Frederic should be put out of his misery, Clarence thought, not for
the first time.

“Greetings, Princess,” Clarence
said, bowing low.

“Please
Clarence, Clara
is fine. The Queen is not here to notice in any event.”

Clarence contained his expression of
shock as Clara's face came into view as the light grew brighter at
this junction of the sphere. However, she noticed some of the dismay
he could not contain and self-consciously covered her face in shame,
a small hand in front of the damaged eye.

Charles took her hand away. “It is
I that should be ashamed, as I could not aid you, not you. Never
you.”

“Princess, he is less than a man
for having hurt you,” Clarence added in agreement.

“I could do nothing, and that is
what shames me, not the beating.”

They heard the hissing at the same
moment and looked as the tunnel seams released steam to the Outside.
That happened at the top of each hour. And sure enough, the time
piece that hung, suspended from its copper housing, clanged two
chimes, the gears moving almost soundlessly below the crystal.

“The hour draws near for my
replacement to relieve me.”

Charles was already searching
through his knapsack and finally came out with a small crystal vial
with cork for a cap.

The liquid gleamed inside the vial,
Charles also extracted a decanter with something in it.

Clarence raised his brows.

“Wine. We 'shared' a glass before
you saw us through the first milepost.”

“Clever.”

“I thought so.”

“Oh! You two, you make me nervous,
get on with it.”

They looked at her, her hands white
from clenched tension, their self-congratulation lost in the brevity
of the circumstance.

Humor disappearing, Charles solemnly
poured a small amount in the wine decanter. Handing it to Clarence,
who took it and brought it to his lips, downing the entire flask.

Giving it back to Charles he asked,
“How long?”

“I do not know, but soon.”

Clarence nodded and sat upon the
chair pulled up closely to the small table that was high and narrow.
Upon it was the ledger of the comings and goings of all who passed to
and fro the Kingdom of Ohio.

Clara and Charles stared at
Clarence, his eyelids heavy. Finally, they drooped closed, and
Charles approached him, catching him as he slipped from the chair.
“Clarence, Clarence, wake up!”

The twilight drug had worked. Now
Clarence was safe from prosecution, the blame placed squarely on
their shoulders.

****

They moved quickly through the
tunnel, making haste. There would be a rest station only a mile ahead
but Charles wished for distance. They needed to arrive at the
least-heavily trafficked part of the tunnel, then use the salt
mixture to penetrate the sphere wall.

Clara was literally gasping for
breath, the clothes she wore a hindrance, the corset constricting her
breathing. The crown gleamed like a living thing atop her head.

Charles had stopped to allow a brief
rest with water; Clara and he guzzling the lot of it like thieves in
the desert.

“I am so tired,” Clara said,
dangerously close to complaining.

“It is not much further, Clara,”
Charles replied in a calmer voice than he felt.

He drew her body into the circle of
his arms and she gradually stilled, wrapping her arms around his
waist, resting her head on his breastbone. “Thank you for coming
with me. I feel safer with you. And thank you for not hating me.”

Charles pulled back, looking down
into her injured face. “I could never hate you. Do not say such.
You cannot help who you were born to any more than anyone. We are
righting an injustice.”

Charles was not entirely convinced
that she believed him.

They replaced the glass bottles of
water in the knapsacks. Charles checked his timepiece, thinking that
Clarence's replacement would arrive at three o'clock and they needed
to breach the sphere at the same time.

Ten minutes hence.

He grabbed Clara's hand and they
hurried on.

****

Bracus rode hard, the Band flanking
him, Briar Rose a sleek machine beneath him, her breath labored but
steady. As the trees thinned on either side and the path narrowed,
Bracus slowed, pressing his thighs into her sides, gently squeezing.
Briar Rose slowed to a trot, then a walk, stopping as the crest of
the hill came into view.

The Band dismounted, leading the
horses to a small stream which flowed along the interior forest
border. They drank greedy gulps, their sides heaving from the fifteen
mile ride.

Philip came to stand beside Bracus,
putting one hand up to shield his eyes as he looked upon the sun,
ascertaining its position in the sky. “Mayhap two hours past noon.”

“No, I say near three.” Philip
leveled a look at Bracus.

Stephen sighed. “We do not have
time for sibling rivalry about the time Captain.”

Bracus did not need to be reminded
of his duties and turned his penetrating stare to Stephen who threw
up his hands, stalking away.

Tempers were short.

Bracus knew that much depended on
the success of this mission. He sighed, turning to Philip. “We let
the horses have their fill and tether them here.” Bracus indicated
the pole they had fashioned for their exploration outside the forest
perimeter.

Philip grinned, giving Bracus'
shoulder a hard clap.

Matthew approached the pair, his
solemn expression unchanged as always. “What is next?”

Bracus outlined the strategy to
Joseph, Philip, Matthew and Stephen. Matthew asked thoughtful
questions, but it was Joseph who asked the most intelligent, “What
if she is guarded?”

“We assumed until most recently,
that she would be under heavy guard because of her stature in the
hierarchy of the kingdom. Now, we are not sure what is happening,”
Bracus shrugged.

Philip said, “It is best for
preparedness. Let us assume that she will be under heavy guard.”

“Our females would be!” Stephen
scoffed.

“That
is our way, our necessity, but
sphere-dwellers...”
Joseph trailed off with disdain.

“We will have answers soon enough.
Let us keep our speculations and curiosities in the back of our
minds. We do not need to be inside our heads this day, but cognizant
of the dangers,” Bracus said.

Their heads almost touching, leaning
over the mock dirt map of approach that Bracus had outlined, they
stood, straightening their posture. Philip rotated his massive neck,
the muscles bunching and releasing with the movement. Joseph placed
one of his hands on the opposite elbow, stretching the arm behind his
head, then doing the same for the opposing side.

The Band was restless.

They were ready.

CHAPTER 20

Clara could see the rest stop just
ahead, nothing more than a distended crescent along the wall of the
sphere. It afforded a bench, towel and a spigot which stood three
feet above ground, fed by the underwater copper piping that had been
laid by the Guardians over a hundred years past.

As Charles and she approached, she
was grateful for the sight of the slender, copper pipe, its goose
neck posture a welcome view.

“It will be divine to have another
spot of water,” Clara said gratefully. Her sides were burning and
her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Charles nodded, gaining his bearings
as he looked Outside; everything looked as it always did, the Great
Forest Outside a familiar flag post. Turning, he dug for the water
bottles again, and filling them, he saw that the cleanse had been
most recent as the water from the spigot was still chilled.

Clara accepted her water with a
smile, and careful not to gulp, consumed about half. The glorious
water slid down her throat like a salve.

Vaguely, Clara became aware of
approaching footsteps, but was unconcerned, they came from the
neighboring kingdom. It would be at least another hour before
additional guards were sent to see why Clarence was in a sleep from
which he could not wake. And what of it? Charles and she would be
well and away Outside.

Clara felt the first stirring of
excitement swell inside her. Even as the circumstances were dire, it
would still fulfill her fondest wish: to see the Outside.

Charles set his water down, concern
riding his face. “I do not like this.”

“It is fine, just neighboring
people traveling on trade day.”

“But we must concoct a deception
and dispatch them immediately. We cannot afford to appear...”

“We will not, do not worry.”

Charles looked down at her face and
she squeezed his arm, the brushed cotton of his blouse a familiar
texture beneath her palm.

The group rounded the corner and
Clara's heart fell to her feet: it was Prince Frederic and his royal
guard.

****

Bracus and the others lined up at
the swell of the hill where the forest met the open valley below,
quivers filled and riding high on their muscular backs, the bows
strung to their sides.

It was some distance but he thought
he could make out the tunnel which led from the main sphere. The
place that the sphere-dwellers used to trade goods with one
another and travel.

Philip turned to him. “Why do we
go here? Should we not acquire her at her chamber? That is where you
have seen her before.” he said, his face set in puzzled hard
angles.

Bracus shook his head. “No, we
enter at the place that has the least of them.” He pointed to a
point one-third from where the main body of the sphere met the travel
tunnel, steam escaping in lazy spirals. “We will infiltrate here,”
he unsheathed an arrow, pointing to a place that bowed out slightly
from the tunnel.

Matthew summarized the plan, “We
will enter there, retrace our steps, overtake their lone guard and
enter the main body.”

Bracus nodded.

Stephen said, “We may meet
resistance on our approach.”

“Yes,” Joseph said. “But,
Bracus has said we will escape from her chamber, and they would be
reluctant to follow; too busy with filling the hole we have created.”
He held up his flask with the salt mixture that each Band member had.
Things may occur out of the scope of their expectations, better to be
prepared.

Joseph was of sound mind. They all
were.

Bracus nodded, time to be about it.
The Band carefully looked about them and Bracus gave the special
call. The war call.

The shrill, ringing tone carried
along atop the light breeze like music on the wind.

CHAPTER 21

“Well,
well... my little Princess and her friend
are here, how convenient for me,” Prince Frederic said, a knowing
smile overtaking his face.

Charles pulled Clara behind him with
a firm hand on her wrist.

Clara told herself that they were
doing nothing wrong, that the Prince knew what they were about. That
she had told him they traveled this day for trading with the Kingdom
of West Virginia. But his face... his face told a different tale...
and she knew not what it was.

“Did you think I was so stupid
that I would not check on your plans? Your travel plans with this
fool,” he said in a furious voice that shook with rage, sparing a
glance at Charles, who stiffened.

Clara tried to step around Charles
to address the prince, but Charles said, “Do not.”

“Prince Frederic, you knew of the
Princess's plans to trade this day, what has provoked your ire?”
Clara bunched her hand in the fabric of Charles' blouse, the heat of
his body seeping into hands that had grown cold.

“We left a sentry behind,”
Prince Frederic said as explanation.

Clara's thoughts turned to Clarence.
One of the Prince's guard must have come upon Clarence...

Clara, once so adept at containing
her expression had allowed some of what she was feeling to show on
her face.

The Prince smiled. “I see by your
expression you understand what I mean. Search them,” waving a
dismissive hand in their direction.

The salt.

Charles thoughts raced, how could
he extradite them from this now? Obviously, the sentry had come
upon Clarence and communicated this to the Prince. And although he
may not know exactly their plan, he must assume it did not include
him or the kingdom that Frederic coveted.

Prince Frederic had four guards with
him, all of similar size to Charles, he noted with grim uneasiness.

He must protect Clara at all costs.

Charles gave over the knapsack to
the guard, the hilt of a hidden dirk lay at the small of his back,
the element of surprise may be enough. He had been in training these
many years to eventually be in the royal guard, he would need every
ounce of that training now.

****

Prince Frederic approached Clara
slowly, a shark testing the waters, and she stayed behind Charles,
the guards busy ransacking their things.

One of the guards lifted the flask,
opening it, he gave it a whiff, moving his palm back and forth over
the top, smelling the contents.

He lifted his head. “Salt, Your
Highness.”

Prince Frederic came very near
Charles and Clara, Charles eyes following each step. “Now what,
pray tell, might you want with salt? Diluted salt at that?” he
said, eyes narrowing.

“To breach the sphere is to be
executed, you are aware, Princess.”

He looked her over very carefully,
taking in her royal attire, her crown, the vestiges of which lay
awkwardly upon her.

“Very wise to wear your proper
royal garb. But it will not save you, for I know what you are about.
Your costume did not fool me.”

And with that, he reached his hand
out, wrapping it around Clara's wrist, moving the bones together
within the steel band of his grip as Charles shouted, “No!” at
the same time releasing her other wrist, Charles smashed the flat of
his palm in the Prince's face, and blood sprayed in a graceless arc.

He did not hesitate, grabbing the
dirk from the small of his back, slashing in a tight, backhanded arc
toward the neck of the closest guard at the same time the other guard
grabbed his free arm. The first guard lay dying upon the ground, his
mortal wound spilling his lifeblood upon the dirt floor of the
tunnel. While Charles grappled with the guard who lay hold of his
weaponless arm and buried the dirk in his upper chest. Staggering
back, hand on the hilt, the guard gave a surprised, wide-eyed glance
at Charles, who dismissed him. His full attention on the remaining
two guards and now he was without the dirk.

“I think we shall have some sport.
Guards, detain this man and make him watch while I teach my betrothed
the lessons herein.”

Clara struggled in earnest then,
knowing the beating she had suffered would pale in comparison to
what she was afraid he meant.

Frederic shoved Clara down to the
dirt floor, where she landed on her back, the wind whooshing from her
lungs. She struggled to get up, the stays in the corset like
unyielding bones which stymied her progress.

He slapped her so hard across her
face that her vision dimmed and in her head swelled an impenetrable
fog. She was vaguely aware of Charles struggling with the other
guards, even so far as to hear the meaty sounds of his fist
connecting with their flesh. But the prince was a distraction as he
lay atop her, lifting the hem of her dress to her knees, trying to
work it higher.

He
meant to rape her,
with
Charles as witness.

Clara bucked and fought.

He struck her again, pinning her
wrists above her head with one of his hands, unlacing his breeches
with the other and Clara lost all semblance of sanity, screaming
wildly for Charles.

****

“Did you hear that?” Matthew
asked the others.

Bracus nodded, changing his speed
from jogging to sprinting. They moved toward the sphere tunnel as a
lethal wall of menace, throat slits fully open, deep red slashes of
flesh against their throats. Arriving outside the slightly bulbous
outcropping of the sphere tunnel, they were not able to believe the
sight which greeted them.

Bracus' breath caught in his lungs,
prisoner. A man lay atop the Princess, undoing his breeches with one
hand while she screamed for someone and struggled to free herself.
But even Bracus could see she was no match for the one that rode her,
a male of similar size to some of the smaller Band members.

Philip growled low in his throat,
“Gather the flasks!”

Bracus nodded, shouting, “All of
them, throw everything on my command...”

“Now!” Bracus' shout penetrated
the interior of the sphere.

****

Charles was prone on all fours
surviving a well-placed kick to the ribs, still crawling to help
Clara when she screamed for him, the plea a stab to his heart, the
abhorrent prince trying to have his way with her. He must reach her,
he thought, when he heard a powerful yell from Outside.

Prince Frederic froze on top of
Clara, his undergarment a thin barrier between himself the Princess
and what he wished to defile. Looking over the top of her head he saw
men. Huge men, like the rumored Vikings of his ancestry. The gills in
their necks like slashes from a knife, opening and closing with their
breathing.

Charles and the guards were
transfixed when water hit the sphere and a moment passed with the
liquid cascading down the outside, hissing and smoking. A tear formed
and the fresh air of the Outside reached their lungs for the first
time.

Clara was in a dim fog, her dress
about her hips, the Prince poised above her when a foot connected
with his jaw and he flew several feet away from her. She lay stunned,
a dull ache rooting her shoulders to the awkward position above her
head as she watched the scene unfold.

Huge
men flooded into the confines of the tunnel, working without mercy on
the remaining guards, slitting both their throats and dumping their
bodies to the ground like garbage. The one who lay on his back, hilt
sticking
out of his chest like an exclamation point breathed shallowly while
one guard came upon him, twisting the hilt while he screamed in
agony. Finally, he removed it and slit that guard's throat, turning
his head to look at Clara while simultaneously wiping the bloodied
blade on the guard's clothing. It
was him,
Clara thought with a shudder, the savage
who
frightened her.

He
gave her a grim smile and walked toward where she lay. Her breath
coming in large gasps, she was frozen to the ground, unable to move.
She would die here, in this tunnel, surrounded by savages
on the dirt floor of the tunnel.

She
craned her neck, her vision swimming and saw Charles being approached
by two savages,
their thick thigh muscles bunching as they squatted in front of him,
a battered heap before them.

She screamed, not caring for her own
safety but thinking only of him, “Spare him! He is my friend...
please, spare him...” she cried in a pathetic whisper, her eyes
swimming through a wash of tears.

A
fierce face loomed in front of her vision and it was he...
the savage
she had seen through the sphere wall, the one which looked upon her
with tenderness, as he did now.

“Fear not, Princess, no harm will
come to you,” Bracus said while lowering her arms down to her sides
and lowering her dress. His expression was one of contained rage as
his gaze wandered to Frederic, who lay unconscious beside her.

Her
head swiveled back to Charles, the two savages
kneeling
beside him, awaiting the command of their leader. Her eyes met
Charles' and he hung his head, realizing that their fate was in the
hands of the savages.

Bracus looked down at the Princess
and the black spot in his heart spread like ink spilled as he looked
upon her injuries, which led his gaze to the large male who lay
breathing a few feet away. He knew in his guts that this was the male
that had done the first abuse. The other, who lay on the ground near
Stephen and Joseph, looked as though he had defended her.

“Bracus,” Philip said, staring
down at him but his eyes strayed to the Princess.

“We must go. Let us dispatch these
two and take our leave, quickly, before more arrive.” He cast
studious glances around them.

Clara lifted a trembling arm,
shaking from lack of blood circulation and laid it on Bracus'
forearm, her touch light as a feather.

He
looked down at the small hand, fascinated by its size, this
female was killing him,
but his expression remained stoic.

The Princess said, “Please, I beg
you, do not harm him, he is my dearest friend. Take me and leave him,
please.”

“Clara no! You know not what their
intent is!” he shouted, trying to get to his feet, but the guards
held him in position.

“Do not harm her! She has done
nothing,” Charles said to the group at large.

To
which Matthew replied, “That is not our intent, sphere-dweller.”

Charles and Clara both heard the
note of disdain in his voice and he looked at them as if insulted
that they would think he would harm the female which lay vulnerable
and injured at their feet.

Stephen looked down at Charles. “It
was our plan to take her, not you. It was happenstance that you were
here... and the others,” he shrugged. Like their death had been
collateral damage and not of great importance.

Bracus knew that time was short. He
stood, and bending over he hauled the Princess to her feet.

Clara was suddenly on her feet and
up from her horrible position on the ground, but the movement had
been too fast and she swayed, feeling overcome physically with all
that had transpired. As she felt her vision narrowing, her body
filled up with heat. It began at her feet and rushed to her head, she
knew she would faint.

“No
you don't, Princess,” the savage
said, swooping her right off the ground. Clara wasn't sure this was
an improvement as her face lulled against his huge chest and his arms
folded her into his body as if she were the size of a child. To him,
she probably was.

“Do not take her!” Charles
yelled, struggling against the guards and Bracus gave Stephen a terse
nod and he slammed his fist into Charles temple, his body slumping to
the floor in a heap.

“No!”
Clara screamed, struggling in the grip of the savage,
but to no avail, he had terrible strength and stood immune to her
movements.

Suddenly,
the savage
that she did not trust was in her face. “Be still. You needed the
rescuing from what we saw.”

Clara cringed back from him in fear
and Bracus' eyes narrowed. Her response did not make sense. Why was
she so afraid?

“Cease this; we mean you no harm,”
Bracus told her.

She stopped and looked up into
Bracus' face, his intense hazel eyes warm with sincerity and it was
all too much.

Clara fainted.

CHAPTER 22

Bracus looked down at the still form
of the Princess and couldn't believe she was finally in his arms. He
checked his expression to escape notice. She lay so light in his
embrace. A fragile thing. He hugged her tighter to him and her head
rolled against his chest.

He looked over at the large male
with yellow hair who still lived, rage shimmering within Bracus.
Killing him now would be best.

He looked at Philip who nodded and
prepared to land the killing blow but Stephen interrupted, “Do
not.” Philip's hand hesitated, hovering over his breastbone. “He
looks to be someone of importance.”

They took in his regal attire, heavy
gold rings and thin band which lay atop his head.

Bracus made a noise in the back of
his throat, he was a loathsome man. “He does not deserve to live.”

“I agree. But, if we wish for our
negotiations to move forward, killing a person of importance may not
assist our cause,” Stephen said.

He was right, but there was
something primitive in Bracus that wished to end the life of he who
had laid violence against the Princess.

He wavered.

Finally, he walked over to him and
ground his heel into his groin with crushing force. A low moan
escaped Prince Frederic.

Bracus smiled, that had felt good.

The Band laughed. It would be some
time before he tried to take a female by force.

The Band silently made their way out
of the tear in the sphere wall.

Joseph turned around once they were
out, calling out to the Band, “Look upon it,” he said, pointing
to the slit.

They watched it begin to repair
itself. The Evil Ones had thought of a contingency for a sphere
breach. They wished not for an intermingling of the two Peoples.
Well... Bracus thought... they would have a surprise.

The
Band closed in around him and kept their senses alert for intruders
from other clans or the fragment.

*

They reached the forest border,
relief washing over Bracus.

They came upon their horses and with
the evening meal almost upon them they found a mossy area by the
stream and lay the Princess down upon it. She barely stirred. Bracus
did not like the deep shadows that lay beneath her eyes and the
paleness of her face. He brought out his knapsack and rifled through
it until he came upon a blanket, the one he had chosen especially for
its tightly woven properties. He laid it over her. As it was made for
him, he was able to take the excessive length and use part of it to
bundle up as a makeshift pillow.

The Band drew together and looked
down upon her.

Stephen spoke first, “She looks
weak.”

“She is, dolt,” Philip said,
frowning at him, massive hands planted on his hips.

“It would be interesting to find
out what her intentions were this day. Where were they going? Were
they traveling with that guard?” Joseph reasoned out loud.

Bracus shook his head. “I do not
think so. Did you notice the one that was committing violence against
her? Their clothing was different. They are not from her home
sphere.”

Bracus watched the slight rise and
fall of her chest, having never laid eyes on a woman this small, she
was very close in stature to the young Evelyn who tended the well.
But how brave she had been! With huge, strange males all around, she
had pleaded for the life of her friend. He looked more closely at
her. She wore the strange clothes again and a bejeweled crown sat
upon her head. He shook his head, the mystery of it all deepening.

“So frail,” Matthew said,
bending down close to her still form he picked up her hand, the full
size of it taking up only his palm, his fingers free of it.

“Don't touch her,” Bracus spoke
to Matthew in a low, clear voice.

Matthew looked at him, carefully
putting Clara's hand down where it had been, his eyebrows raising as
he straightened to his full height.

“Why, Captain?”

Bracus realized his mistake too
late. He did not want any male touching her. “I do not wish her to
awaken and find your ugly mug above her.”

The Band laughed at the joke and the
tenseness left like water through netting.

Philip clapped Matthew on the back.
“Come, let us find food. It has been a long day, and I, for one,
wish to end it with a full belly and the stars above me.”

Bracus chose Joseph to watch over
Clara, instructing him to give the alert if she awoke. He nodded
solemnly. He understood better than the others because he wished for
Anna to love him. In turn, he may be more careful with this new
female.

Bracus walked away, the need to stay
by the Princess' side and unbearable pull that no amount of shaking
off would loosen.

CHAPTER 23

Clara
opened her eyes slowly, the cold waking her. She did not know at
first where she lay. A damp, lightweight blanket covered her from
foot to chin and she discovered one lay under her head as well. She
cautiously turned her head to the left and the huge savage
lay beside her, then at her right was the other savage.
The
one that made her heart race with trepidation.

Her
mind flooded with memories of the last moments before she fainted:
Charles struck down, the guards killed, Prince Frederic on the floor,
unconscious. That they had not killed her was a mystery. They
probably wanted details of the kingdom; they would not have it.

It was the least she could do.

Clara removed her crown, laying it
behind her head, symbolic of her dislike of being a Princess, it
could stay where it lay. She sat up quietly and looked at the sky,
the stars glittered above her like diamonds in black velvet. Taking a
deep breath she was assaulted by the dryness of the air, cool on her
lungs, she stifled an urge to cough. The air was so strange Outside.
The Record Keeper had been mistaken, for she lived.

She breathed, and she lived.

Her people did not need to be
confined to the sphere.

Clara
looked at the savage
who lay beside her, his chest rising and falling with each breath,
her eyes traveled to his gills and they fascinated her. They flowed
apart and together with synchronicity.

She shook her misgivings away, she
need not dally. Now was the time for escape. She spied her knapsack
at the base of her bed and quietly crawled to the end of the bedding,
careful not to rustle or make noise. She looped the knapsack over her
shoulder as she stood, then round the other and backed away.

As she was turning she noted that
there were five males, all the biggest she had ever seen in her life.
She knew that they were humanoid, but not entirely. With the gills
and the hugely muscled physique, she was not absolutely certain of
it.

She moved away slowly, gaining
distance, placing her feet in areas where the brush was least and she
could traverse it silently. She looked above her, noting the moon was
full, so bright outside the sphere it hurt her eyes to look upon it.

She
traveled, wishing all the while that she could stop and appreciate
finally having escaped to the Outside.
As
she walked she made her way to the forest border, seeing the sphere
beneath her and thought of Charles. What
would be his fate? Again, it was more her fault than she liked to
admit.

Tears
burned unshed in her eyes, could
she do nothing for anyone?
She was by herself, having escaped Prince Frederic and the Queen's
abuse. But what of food, shelter and clothing? She sighed, moving
forward.

Feeling
thirsty, she disentangled her knapsack. Lowering it as she squatted
and searched for the water bottle she remembered Charles had filled
before the guards and Frederic had come upon them. She shuddered,
remembering. He would have raped her had it not been for the savages'
timely interruption. A momentary pang of guilt seized her, but she
would not let it overwhelm her. She needed to escape them as well.
Charles' sacrifice would not be for nothing.

She gulped the cool water down,
relishing its sweetness, placing her palm on the rough bark of the
tree, feeling the texture of it for the first time. So many new
tactile experiences.

It was at that moment Clara became
aware of a noise behind her and immediately thought of an animal or
some such. The Record Keeper told tales of large animals in the
wilderness of the Outside.

Clara
whirled around, her skirt swirling around her legs and before her
stood the savage.
Clara's heart stopped in her throat, a look of rage stood on his
face. Clara did not hesitate, she turned and ran.

She could hear his pursuit and
realized it might be futile but she would not just stand there, prey
to be taken.

Branches grabbed and tore at her
clothing as she ran, her shoes a hindrance, the corset binding her
lungs.

Crashing
behind her, the savage
came.

When she felt she could run no more
and the breath burned in her throat his strong arms clasped her from
behind and he lifted her off her feet. She kicked and flailed about,
trying futilely for release but his arms were bands of brass,
unyielding and hard.

“Be still! I mean you no harm!”
he spoke by her ear urgently.

Clara
stilled. It was no use, she could not escape the Prince and his
guard, she could not escape the savages.
Her fate was sealed, she was not her own mistress but
the
mistress of others.

****

Bracus looked down at the Princess
as she struggled, good Lord, was she a fighter! For such a small
female, how she thrashed about. Bracus worked to subdue her without
hurting her, harder than it seemed. Finally wrapping his arms over
the top of hers from behind and folding her against his frame where
her head touched his chest. She slowed her struggles when he told her
but he did not trust that she would cooperate. He cautiously released
her and she turned on him, furious...those beautiful eyes flashing,
one still bruised and swollen.

Clara
turned on the savage,
angry at him for capturing her, angry at the circumstance, angry
about everything.

“Let me go,” she hissed, her
bravado slipping before such a huge male.

“I cannot,” he answered,
spreading his arms wide.

Somehow, this is not how Bracus
envisioned their first meeting to be.

“I
have escaped the sphere and wish to be free. I do not want to be
forced anymore,” she looked around her and became aware that the
remaining savages
had
subtly appeared in the holes between the trees and her anxiety grew.
She felt claustrophobic, their presence a reminder that possibly, a
new prison awaited.

“We mean you no harm. We wish to
establish a peace between our peoples...”

“So...
you kidnap
me,” Clara raised a brow, looking at each savage
before her, their eyes glittering back in the shattered light cast by
the moon. “You rip a hole in the sphere...”

“How else were we to establish
communication?” Bracus asked logically.

Clara crossed her arms, narrowing
her eyes, feigning bravery she did not feel. “Peaceably?”

Bracus was silent. This was not
going as expected, her exterior did not match the fire within. “I
am Bracus.”

“I
am Clara,” she said, looking at each savage
amongst the trees. If they meant to kill her, they would have done so
already. Her eyes rested on the
savage
who had been outside her sphere the one time. She was not sure what
role he played but she felt least confident about him.

“We need you to accompany us. Our
President has a proposal...”

“Your president?” What was that?
thought Clara.

“Our leader,” Philip said
stepping forward and Clara automatically stepped back, which made
Bracus itch to touch her, his hands clenching by his sides to halt
the action.

They had no King she asked herself?

Bracus
saw her expression and interpreting it correctly answered, “We have
a different hierarchy, Princess,”
he said.

“You
don't seem like savages...”
except for the clothes, or lack thereof, she thought. But she wisely
kept that to herself.

Bracus
was offended. “We are not savages.
We are the Clan of Ohio. And these men and myself... we are the Band,
the protectors of our clan.”

Clara covered her mouth, the what?
She looked up at him, willing herself not to laugh but they all wore
serious expressions.

The
savage
that frightened her came forward and she cringed back. Bracus, seeing
her expression looked that way and saw nothing but the Band. What
frightened her so?

He opened his mouth to inquire when
she spoke, “What do you mean to do with me?”

“Just a meeting with our President
for a possible negotiation. Then you may return.”

She never wanted to return. Not as
long as the queen ruled or Frederic held her captive under the sham
of a marriage for alliance.

“But first, I must ask: who has
laid their hands upon you?”

She had no idea what he was talking
about.

He touched his own face, indicating
her injuries and she was reminded of the beating.

Automatically she replied, “I
fell, in the Royal Manse, two days past.”

He stepped closer and she fought not
to move away, her knees weak.

“I know the abuse of a hand and
the difference between that and clumsiness. You did not fall,” he
stated with surety.

Clara
said nothing. By sheer habit and force of will she held her tongue.
She was ashamed by her face, by not being able to defend herself. At
least she would not admit it all to this stranger. Bracus,
her mind supplied.

Bracus wished to run his hand over
her injured face, erasing it from her; why would she not admit the
truth? There was much here he needed to understand. There would be
time for it. Somehow, in some way he could not explain, she reminded
him of Anna, but not near so timid. She had a fire inside her that
burned bright. He smiled at her upturned face.

She smiled tentatively back, her
anger beginning to leak away. She did not feel harm from him. Clara
felt she was near expert in determining if someone meant it.

He
turned, making his way ahead of her and she followed. Her future lay
uncertain before her and she must follow it where it led, even if the
outcome was a mystery. He held his hand out, and she lay hers within
it as he clasped it around her, the size swallowing it whole. He made
her feel safe, she was not sure why. She turned to look behind her.
The savage that
she did not trust was at her heel, dark intent shadowing his face and
she shuddered, walking on.

The
guard was biding his time. The Princess, Clara,
he corrected, holding the hand of his Captain. She was so close he
could have reached out
and moved his palm through her hair, which had come undone from its
tether during all the transit. But he knew that time was his
friend... and soon enough, he would have his chance to have her all
to himself. Protecting his clan from the dangerous females of the
sphere.

****

They traveled back the way they had
come, Clara and the Band. The horses came into view, Briar Rose
appearing silver in the moonlight, a spattering of a darker color
appearing along her back and sides. She shone like a faded star and
Clara was drawn to her as a moth to flame.

Bracus released her hand reluctantly
as she approached the horse, and he warned her, “Not from behind,
Princess, a horse likes to see a person's approach.”

“Clara,” she corrected absently.

Changing the direction she had been
moving, coming right up underneath the animal's nose, she turned to
Bracus. “May I pet it?”

“Her,” he corrected. “Briar
Rose.”

“From the fairy tale?”

He looked surprised. “I have heard
such.”

“Mayhap we have some of the same
literature.”

“Much of what we had was lost,”
Bracus said.

Philip added, “In the Time when
Ash Covered the Earth we lost many things of importance.”

Stephen interrupted harshly, “It
is not important. Survival is important. That is all that matters
now.”

Matthew shrugged and Joseph said,
“It is a hard thing, survival. But, if happiness and purpose could
be obtained as well, I would be keen for that.”

The group of men nodded and Clara
felt that their two peoples were not as divergent as she had
presumed.

Reaching out, she touched the great
horse's nose and it was crushed velvet beneath her hand. She had
never known another texture like it, so shocking.

She drew her hand away and looked at
Bracus. “She is so soft.”

As if on cue, Briar Rose neighed
softly, shaking her mane and bumping Clara's hand, an invitation for
more petting that made her laugh.

Bracus could not get enough of
looking at her. Here she was, kidnapped from the only home she had
known, with five strange men and a new animal she'd never laid eyes
on, beaten and yet she could enjoy a stolen moment with the horse.

Matthew broke the silent rapport,
“Let us be about breaking down camp. We have much to accomplish and
the clan does not need our lengthy absence.”

Matthew
was practical and in this area especially, he was vigilant. They did
not need the fragment
to
come lurking about while they were gone. Normally, five males would
be too much to take, but Bracus had felt confident that it was
required. Now that the acquisition of the Princess, (Clara,
he corrected) was accomplished, he knew he had made the right choice.

CHAPTER 24

Charles groaned and looked about
him, his eyes gradually adjusting, he became aware of pandemonium all
around him. Guards and civilians alike were milling about, speaking
in all volumes while Charles sat up, trying to get his bearings.

Clara,
Charles
thought wildly. Looking all around him, finally, his gaze rested on
the tear in the sphere side, now but a hazy scar of its former
breadth.

She
was gone, taken
by the savages.

A great pain began in Charles'
breastbone and spread like an icy fissure, cracking and infinite, he
felt the breath stop in his body.

He had not protected her after all.

She
was most assuredly Outside, as was their plan, but not with him...
but with savages
of
unknown intent.

He
did not care if he lived, the thought of Clara being in the hands of
those creatures.
He
shook his head to clear it.

Wallowing about in grief at her
disappearance would not get her back to him. He stood on shaky legs,
his head feeling like a vise of copper had been about it. He looked
down the tunnel, through the throng of people and caught sight of
Sarah and Clarence and his heart lightened. Between the three of
them, mayhap her rescue would be a possibility.

Sarah and Clarence quickened their
strides, coming before him, their sides heaving.

“I ran almost the entire length of
the tunnel,” Sarah yelled to be heard over the din.

“I have not much time,” Clarence
said, looking decidedly ill, “the twilight drug that you
administered has made me vomit up my internal organs.”

Charles smiled, “You will live
another day, my friend.”

Clarence glowered but held his
stomach gingerly.

“Where is she? And why, for the
love-of-the-Guardian, are you not Outside and with her?”

Charles looked about him
surreptitiously and noticed the Prince’s guards were hovering
around him like flies to a fresh carcass.

Charles
pulled his two friends away to the only available space there was and
explained everything: the Prince's forced sexual advance against
Clara, the savages
breaking
in and taking her... everything.

“He tried to rape the Princess?”
Clarence asked, a look of dull horror on his face.

Charles nodded.

Sarah
looked not as surprised, “And the savages?
They
struck you but took her? Did they mean her harm?”

Charles hung his head, it was his
primary intent to find out.

“I do not know,” he answered.

They looked at the healing tear of
the tunnel wall.

“It appears scarred, Charles,”
Clarence said, as there was no going near it, the Queen's guards
crawled all around it like ants scurrying on their mound.

“So the rumors are true? It is the
salt that tears the fabric of the sphere?”

Charles
nodded, “Yes, and the savages
were aware of that fact.”

Sarah's hand trembled as she pushed
her hair behind her ear. “What is there to do now?”

“I
must escape of my own accord, quickly. They cannot have too great a
lead.” But Charles had misgivings as he had seen how they moved and
acted, spoke, competent travelers and fighters.

“But what of Prince Frederic?”
Clarence asked. He spared a glance at the Prince, who was batting
away his guard's offers of help, grabbing his nether regions as if
they would come off without his hold.

“Why does he hold himself thus?”
Sarah inquired.

“I am not sure, but it would seem
that he may have suffered injury.” Charles said.

“The
savages?”
Clarence asked.

“Mayhap. He was not able to finish
what he started with Clara and did not harm her in my presence.”

“Yet, you were not conscious for
her departure,” Sarah said, emphasizing the last word.

Charles shook his head.

The
Prince noticed the three standing apart and walked toward them.
Wincing as he walked, he gave up and limped toward them. Charles
mastered his expression to not alert the Prince just how much it
pleased him he was injured there.

“Mr. Pierce!” Prince Frederic
shouted, his voice easily swallowed in the tight space of the tunnel
with so many people packed together.

“I must speak with you.”

Sarah instinctively stepped behind
Clarence. She wished for none of his notice.

Charles was having an elaborate
fantasy where the Prince fell clumsily on one of his guards' swords
where they hovered as he drew near.

Damn,
here he was, right before him. Charles' head ached and his hand was
itching to draw upon the dirk that lay buried in one of the dead
guard's necks.

The image of Clara struggling
beneath him was etched forever in his brain.

The Prince leaned forward until
their noses almost touched, “You have killed one of my guards,”
he began in a furious tone.

Charles smiled, holding up two
fingers, “You have more.”

The Prince's rage overtook his face,
painting it a red so deep it was nigh unto purple. “You will suffer
for that insolence. Queen Ada will allow me whatever I wish.”

“Oh,” Sarah said sweetly,
sidling up beside Charles but slightly in front of Clarence. Prince
Frederic's eyes slid to her, over her body, encased as it was in sky
blue velvet.

“I
think not, as the rape
of the Princess would not be well-received and,” she added, drawing
her finger upon the flesh which rode the top of her bosom, his eyes
trained upon it, “you have not the leverage, as the savages
have taken Clara and she is not here for you to wed.” Sarah said
smugly, her smile alight with the knowledge of his impotence.

Quicker
than lightning he grabbed her wrist, jerking her body against his,
“It does not have to be the Princess that I bed. It could be
anyone.
I was ensuring she understood what life she would lead in my tender
care.”

“Release me,” Sarah said, her
chin jutted out stubbornly.

Clarence intervened, “Prince
Frederic, is this the attention you desire...” he looked about him
significantly, the many people around them stopping their hurried
conversations. His behavior judged unacceptable even for his station.

Prince Frederic exhaled in disgust,
pushing Sarah into Clarence, who held her loosely by the shoulders
and turned his attention once more to Charles.

“You and she planned an escape.
The guards searched your knapsack and discovered the salt mixture.”
He straightened and looked every bit the satiated animal except for
the wince when he stood, Charles noted with a small stab of joy.

Charles searched the tunnel for any
sign of his knapsack, seeing none, his eyes returned to Prince
Frederic, “I do not see my knapsack about.”

The Prince yelled for a guard, and
the one at his side jumped, “You there...” the guard's eyes
widened, “find the knapsack which belongs to him,” he said,
pointing a finger at Charles. If the guard thought the request was as
absurd as Charles, he did not show it. Very wise...he must understand
the Prince better than they realized.

His attention returned to Charles,
“We are at an impasse, for now. But know this: I intend to retrieve
the Princess, and you will not be part of that plan. Is that
understood?”

Sarah
spoke again, “What we understand is you
do not have leverage of any sort with our Queen. She cares only for
the grapes. If you do not recover Clara, there will be no
combined kingdom.”

They stared at each other and Sarah
did not back down. Clarence and Charles waited for the Prince to show
his violent predisposition but he clenched and unclenched his fists,
glaring at her.

Her words were true, there was no
satisfactory rebuttal.

The guard approached, shaking his
head.

Charles smiled at the prince and
Frederic shook his head in disgust.

“It does not end it. I will find
her and we will wed.”

“I
think you underestimate the savages.”

“No, they underestimate me.
Whatever I desire, becomes mine.”

“That is yet to be seen, Prince
Frederic,” Charles said.

They watched the Prince walk off,
the slight limp in his stride noticeable to all that observed.

CHAPTER 25

Clara gazed about her, everything
Outside was new, yet old. She had seen much from inside the sphere
but it was surreal, to view it in the flesh. She felt the huge beast
move beneath her body, a warm and stout presence. Clara kept her
hands clenched tightly to the saddle, occasionally casting a glance
behind her at the guard whom she did not trust.

Bracus said, “Princess, put your
arms about my waist, it is not safe for you, the horse could throw
you.”

Clara
was sure that it was not proper for her to touch a man she did not
know, but a stumble from Briar Rose made her mind up for her. She
latched onto the savage-
Bracus, and
laid her head against his broad back.

Bracus tried not to physically show
the Princess how much he enjoyed the contact. But he couldn't help
but shift on the horse to put him infinitesimally closer to her
embrace.

Clara sighed. She knew she should
not feel remotely safe. Yet, he had not harmed her, she was Outside,
and there was nothing she could do for Charles, she thought, frowning
slightly. She wished with all her heart she could but know what was
happening to him right now. However, she must persevere. Soon, she
may have a life Outside. A plan to regain her father's kingdom could
be fashioned in a way that he would be proud of.

Clara yawned against Bracus' back
just as the sun made its way over the top of the mountains to the
south, the tangerine glow painting the path ahead with golden light.
The rhythm of the horse beneath her lulled her to sleep and she felt
it pulling her under like a stone in a well.

Bracus felt Clara's breathing change
and knew that she had fallen asleep. He slowed Briar Rose to a halt
and her body began to slide away from his. He gently repositioned her
in front of him where she fit in the cradle of his arm perfectly. As
his right arm held her, he grasped the reins in his left, gently
kicking Briar Rose's side and she continued to walk.

Joseph came abreast of him on his
stead, a great chocolate beast that eyed him cautiously. “She
sleeps, that is good,” he said, gazing down at her face, curled
against Bracus' chest, her breath a warm tingle.

Bracus looked down upon her, knowing
she probably would not have wanted to be held so intimately but in
her sleep he could hold her as he wished.

After another hour of riding, with
the weight of Clara beginning to numb his arm, the Band were at the
clan's gate.

Bracus came alert immediately as
people were running around in a panic. He unconsciously tightened his
grip on Clara.

Something was wrong.

He felt the weapons against his
horse's flank and was comforted by their presence; his throat slits
involuntarily opening wide to gather oxygen in preparation for the
unknown.

Philip galloped up to Bracus' side,
having been rear guard during their journey homeward, “What is the
trouble here?”

“I do not know, but we best be
about finding out.”

Philip nodded, twirling his finger
in a circle above his head. Stephen and Matthew began on opposite
ends of the clan's large barrier fence to do a perimeter
reconnaissance. If there was something amiss, they would find it.
Their horses thundering departure was not heard above the noise of
the people's panic.

****

The lead guard at the gate, Oliver,
ran to Bracus, speaking in a rush, “Captain Goodman,” he said,
not even bothering with a nod, “The girl from the well...” he
stuttered out.

“Evelyn?” Bracus nearly yelled
and Clara stirred, having been in a near stupor. He kept his hold
firm, he would not have her away from him and out of his sight. But
he did need to have both hands free and at-the-ready.

“Yes,
sir,” he wrung his hands. “It appears that she has been taken...
by the fragment.”

Oh
dear Lord, she is
but a child, Bracus
thought with dread pooling like rotten meat in his entrails.

Oliver looked at Clara in his arms
with open curiosity.

“How?” Bracus barked, breaking
his glance with the harshness of his words at the same time that
Clara opened her eyes and saw that she was in the circle of Bracus'
arms. She sat up, feeling ridiculous and groggy. Looking about her,
she saw many people running about in a state of panic. She rubbed her
eyes and pushed her hair away from her face, the tether which bound
it long gone.

Bracus kept his arm around Clara,
pulling her against his chest as he felt her stiffen. “There is a
problem, and I need my hands free but I need you protected,” he
spoke quietly against her ear, “if I let you down, would you stay
by my side?”

Clara nodded, she was not interested
in another problem and she was ill-prepared for it, her mind fuzzy.
She was tired and hungry and wished to get out of her royal garb, an
absurd thing to be wearing while riding upon a horse.

Bracus held her arms as she slid
down the horse's side. Her feet hovered above the ground and she
lighted upon it. Craning her neck back to look up at him. The
bruising of her face was better today, but it made his guts clench to
see it, he would never become accustomed to the sight.

Oliver came around the side of the
horse to approach Clara, but Bracus said, “No, attend the gate, I
will have someone from the Band assigned to the Princess.”

Joseph said, “Captain... I
need...” he began

Anna,
good
Lord, the females.
If the young girl was taken, who else?

“Yes, go to her now.”

Joseph galloped headlong to the
gate, people scurrying out of his way.

Philip was the only one left, “Stay
with Clara.” Bracus ordered tersely. He must see what had happened
to Evelyn... how it happened.

He and Philip looked at each other
for a swollen moment then Philip nodded. They needed their watch-care
now more than ever.

Bracus kicked Briar Rose's sides,
and she galloped to the gate.

To the answers.

****

Bracus all but threw his reins at
Jonathan, who caught them deftly, his face grave.

“Captain,” he said, nodding.

He was the first person on the
inside he had seen and should know more than Oliver, who had been in
no position to leave the gate.

“What has happened to Evelyn?”
Then, “what of the other females.” Bracus barked out.

“All are here, sir... it is only
Evelyn.” Jonathan said, shifting his weight from one foot to the
other .

“How could this happen?” Bracus
said, somewhat more gently.

“She went to pick the berries...”

“By herself?”

He shook his head, “Nay, her
father accompanied her.”

Bracus closed his eyes for a moment.
Opening them, he grasped Jonathan's shoulder, giving it a small
shake. “Speak.” and dropped his hand.

Jonathan
looked down, a tremor in his voice, “I told her not to go this day.
I told her it was safer to pick a day the Band was
all
here,” Bracus nodded encouragement and he continued, “but she
insisted, you know how she is, stubborn.”

He knew.

“Then,
she argued that her father would be with her.” His eyes betrayed
his frustration, narrowing, “and I told her it was not
enough.
That the fragment
was
about, that they could be overwhelmed. She would not listen.
She never listens. I could have protected her!” he shouted out, his
fists clenched, the knuckles bleeding to white.

Bracus shook his head. “Did her
father protect her?”

“He tried.”

“What of him?”

“Massacred.”

Bracus
groaned, rubbing a hand over the front of his face, a male dead, and
a precious female gone. Were the fragment
so
desperate that they would take a female that was not yet ready? He
shuddered. They must reclaim her.

He
looked down at the angry boy, “You could have done nothing. Do not
assume the guilt of this. Her own father died at the hands of the
fragment.
We will retrieve her.”

He nodded, “When?”

Bracus'
thoughts shifted... Clara.

“Today, as soon as we can restore
our energy and pack our supplies.”

Clara and Philip approached, he a
head and a half taller than she, his huge hands holding his mount's
reins, the beast's sides glistening from the travel.

Philip cocked an eyebrow.

“The
girl that works the well, Evelyn,
has been taken,” Bracus said.

“The wee one?” he asked, using
his palm to indicate a height very close to Clara's own.

Bracus nodded.

Philip growled out his displeasure
and Clara backed away from him. He sobered, turning to her. “She is
but a child...only ten and one years.”

It
sounded horrible, Clara knew, but she looked at them in confusion,
taken by whom?

Bracus
knew from her expression her unspoken question, “It is the
fragment.
They take unprotected females.”

“Who
are the fragment
and
why
do they take your women?” Clara asked.

Philip and Bracus looked at each
other.

“What?” Clara asked, putting her
hands on her hips. She did not wish to be ignorant of danger. Her
days of being unprepared were over.

“They belong to no one. They are
separate,” Bracus began.

“From whom?”

“The clans,” Philip responded.
“All the clans.”

Those answers made more questions
than they answered, Clara thought.

Bracus sighed, he did not have
sufficient time to answer. And he did not know that enlightening
Clara about the shortage of females at this juncture would help him
with her. In fact, seeing the burning intelligence in her eyes... he
thought not.

“We must retrieve the girl
immediately.” He looked at Bracus, “I will assign Joseph, Stephen
and Matthew here. The others will accompany us.

Bracus nodded, “Good choice.”

“Joseph will not be worth anything
if his mind is upon Anna's welfare.”

“That was my opinion.” Bracus
agreed.

Bracus was most comfortable with
Matthew and Stephen, his first and second in command. They would
guard Clara and be sufficient protection for the clan while the girl
was rescued. No one took their people...their females. His gaze
wandered to Clara, her battered face healing, and his heart beat
painfully in his breastbone. Duty tore at him, his feelings for her
beat upon him like the wings of a great bird, soft yet insistent.

He looked at her a moment more,
“Philip, stay with her...I need to be about discussions with
Matthew and Stephen,” he said, stalking off.

Clara looked at Philip, “What have
I done?” She knew that her escape had made him dislike her but he
had tended to her closely afterward. She determined he was a man of
duty and did not subscribe to feelings of mercy.

“It is not you, Princess. It is
the circumstance. He must protect the females; he is the Captain of
this clan.”

“It
is his duty then? He must face this fragment?
What if,” she was loathe to utter it but plunged forward, “he is
unable to overcome them?” she
threw her hand out, indicating the forest which lay beyond the clan
perimeter.

Philip looked down at her
disdainfully and she struggled not to move away again. These men were
so physically intimidating. She stood her ground with an effort. “He
will not fail. We are the Band, we do not fail, we succeed.”

Indeed.
A small smile formed on her mouth and Philip looked down at her,
first at her lips then at her expression. She
was beautiful,
he decided. Even underneath the healing battering, her unkempt hair
and strange clothing, he saw a female worth having. But something
told him in his gut, that it was his brother that wanted her, and
that he
would not stand in the way of.

“Come,” he took her by the
elbow. “Let us introduce you to Lillian and Anna.”

As
they walked away together, Clara's thoughts were on Bracus, his
intent to leave her with the clan, a group of strangers who lived
Outside. But, she did not really know him either. It was he that
stopped the assault upon her by Prince Frederic. It was he
that she owed a debt of gratitude to. She was ashamed by her attempt
at escape now. Clara knew that her heart and mind were conflicted.
This is not what she and Charles had conspired together, the fruition
of which was entirely not of their making.

They approached a small building
amongst several that were similar. Made of stone with thatched roofs
and thick wood doors that had circular windows at face level in odd,
convex configurations. Clara immediately loved the one they came
upon. The irregular stones they trod on led to one of the unusual
doors which was flanked by wild roses, their buds dripping of
delicious fragrance and shell pink blooms.

A woman lives here.

Clara was reminded of the great
hothouses inside the sphere which contained a vast amount of roses.
But without the constant presence of the steam to nurture them they
would be unable to survive.

Clara paused, caressing a delicate
bloom, and a thorn pricked her finger. She gasped, putting her finger
to her mouth.

Philip frowned, “Let me see,
Princess.” he said, holding his hand out.

“It is nothing, really,” she
said, moving away. He caught her hand, turning it over in his huge
one, her palm swallowed by his.

Philip felt a strange tingling when
he touched the Princess's hand, it rushed up his arm in a hot surge
and he dropped it.

“What was that?” she whispered.

“I do not know,” he said,
rubbing his hand as if something remained there he wished to remove.

Just then, the door opened and
Lillian looked out.

“You should not open your door
first, without looking,” Philip said disapprovingly.

Lillian nodded, “Calm yourself,
warrior. I know that the Band has returned and Jack is within.” She
gestured behind her as Jack appeared.

Clara looked warily at another
member of the Band and noticed how they all looked so much alike. All
huge males with the strange gills. The other males looked like the
men of her sphere. The woman looked ordinary compared to him. Deep
brown hair grazed the swell of her collarbone, with sapphire eyes and
honey-colored skin. It was her ready smile that caused a great,
aching sadness in Clara, instantly reminding her of Sarah. She
controlled her expression. Her sadness was not something she wished
to reveal to anyone, nor her shameful circumstances.

She looked back at Philip, the odd
expression still riding his face from the strange touch of his hand
on hers. She remembered the tingling after he had touched her and
wondered at its significance. She put her hand to her chest and
looked at Lillian and Jack.

Lillian
contained her shock at seeing the condition of the Princess. Who had
done this to her face?
She
knew exactly what Jack must be thinking behind her. The poor waif.
She took in the disheveled hair, the ruined dress, her delicate face
in various stages of healing. To Lillian, it was obvious that she had
suffered beatings that were separate from one other. She would ask
Bracus later, he would know more on this.

Her
eyes met Philip and he shook his head, rubbing his arm in a most odd
fashion. She made a decision, she would take care of her while the
Band reconvened. She knew as she stood here and took breath they
would go after Evelyn. She closed her eyes briefly, she
hated
the fragment.
They were the only thing that kept the clan from true contentment.

She looked at Clara, “Please, let
me help you get settled. You need new clothing, rest and perhaps a
hot bath at the springs?”

Jack looked at her, narrowing his
eyes. “It is not safe, Lillian.”

“I can have Stephen or Matthew
accompany us,” she said coyly, stroking his arm. His anger melted
like candle wax at her feet.

He touched a strand of her hair.
“Mayhap, but it makes my guts twine to think of harm befalling
you.”

“You must go with us to find
Evelyn. Joseph, Stephen and Matthew must remain to guard the clan,”
Philip said to Jack, but his eyes were trained on Clara and she
lowered hers. She still felt like she had done something wrong and
could not shake the guilt of her presence. Had she not been here, the
girl would still be here with her clan.

She could not wonder overlong as
Lillian looped her arm through Clara's hauling her inside the
cottage, telling Jack to take his leave with Philip, “I am quite
sure that the Band has much discussion and planning. And the Princess
needs food and rest.”

“President Bowen must meet with
her,” Philip said.

Her eyebrow swept up. “When?”

Jack looked at the sun's position,
“One hour more...”

He looked at Philip, who nodded in
agreement.

Lillian sighed, “Be off then...”
she smiled to soften her remark and the men laughed, Jack swooping
down to land a soft kiss upon her lips and Lillian pressed her body
against his, mingling perfectly for the stolen moment. Clara looked
away, embarrassed. It was very different Outside. She thought she
might like it. They had an openness of expression that was sorely
lacking in her sphere.

Jack left her, looking back one last
time, as did Philip at Clara. She looked nervously away, not knowing
what to think of it all.

“Come, Princess,” Lillian said.

Clara
found her voice, “Please, call me Clara. That is what my friends
call me.” When
the Queen is not in attendance, she
added silently.

“Alright
Clara,”
Lillian said, walking away with the expectation that Clara would
follow her and she did.

They wound their way through the
small cottage, which at its back held a small kitchen overlooking a
ravine. Clara listened and thought she heard running water.

“What is that sound?” she asked
presently.

Lilian raised her eyebrows and stood
still listening. She smiled. “It is a wee creek.” She turned and
stood before an odd-looking sink with a spigot from which water
flowed. Clara looked on in fascination. All the plumbing of the
sphere clanked and hissed with the steam-driven machinery, but Lilian
turned a strange handle shaped like a “T” and out sprung a rush
of water, frosting the spigot simultaneously.

“How curious,” Clara said,
reaching a hand to touch the stream of water. Thirst immediately
boiled to the surface, her throat parched.

Lillian smiled, fetching a glass off
a low hung shelf made of roughened wood, the glass' misshapen
thickness sparkling from the dim light that permeated the windowpane.

She gulped the water greedily and
looked about her, taking in the small house then she spied a looking
glass and slowly approached.

Clara immediately regretted it; she
looked atrocious. Her dress, once a beautiful turquoise, was a sodden
and dirty green color and her hair lay unbound and filthy. She looked
away, a high flush coloring her cheeks. She noticed with some relief
that her face did not look as terrible as one day past. That was
something at least.

Lillian saw Clara's discomfort and
put on a kettle to heat some water. When it became hot enough, she
would stop up the sink and use soap to get the worst of the travel
grime cleaned off. Tonight, they would travel to the hot springs and
Clara could soak for an hour and finally tell all that she knew to
Lillian. Although, Lillian had the feeling that Clara was not a woman
to divulge things readily.

“How many years are you?”
Lillian asked.

“I just celebrated my Day of
Birth, ten and seven years.”

Seventeen years! Good Lord, she was
young. Lillian wondered why her eyes held such age?

She set the kettle upon the stove
top, the fire low in the summer. It might take some time and the
President would arrive shortly. It would have to be a tepid cleaning.

She turned. “Let us go to my
chamber and I will fetch you something else to wear.” Clara nodded,
weariness dragging at her marrow. She was so tired her eyes burned
but she must stay awake long enough to clean herself.

She followed Lillian into her
bedchamber and thought it lovely. Low ceilings hugged the room,
plaster a muted cream color with heavy, deep mahogany timbers
bisecting it. A lone window stood at its center, dim light softly
illuminating a four-poster bed that lay shrouded in a canopy of gauzy
ivory material.

Lillian brought out several long
skirts and blouses which billowed in soft colors.

“You are a tiny thing,” she
said, studiously holding up several different garments, finally
saying, “This should fit you, it fit me when I was ten and three
years!” she said with a laugh.

Clara asked tentatively, thinking of
Olive, “Would you assist me in the removal of my...” and she
pointed to her back.

“Certainly,” Lillian said.

She unhooked twenty hooks when she
asked, “What is this strange garment you wear under your dress?”

Clara turned, her face in profile,
seeing Lillian out of the corner of her eye. “My undergarment...
with the stays?”

Lillian nodded in wonderment at the
uncomfortable looking garment, grateful she had never had to wear
such.

“It is my corset,” Clara said,
one shoulder lifting then falling. “We all wear similar.”

Lillian did not comment further but
removed the stays until Clara could slip out of the offending thing.

Clara covered her breasts, feeling
exposed even in front of a woman.

“You cannot put the horrible thing
back on,” Lillian insisted, eying Clara critically. “Here,” she
rummaged in a simple looking dresser, the handles shone softly in the
glow from the window, the brass like worn butter, “use this.” She
held up a chemise which had built-in bosom cups. It seemed to Clara
very much like the corset but without the stays. Lillian laced it up
and Clara's breasts spilled out the top in a most revealing way.

“Nothing we can do about your
figure, you are built like a wasp.”

“The creatures which sting?”
Clara asked.

Lillian nodded, taking her two index
fingers and drawing an imaginary hourglass in the air. Clara nodded.

“You did not need this
contraption,” she said, picking it up disdainfully with her
fingertips barely touching it. “We will burn it later.”

“Burn it?” Clara said then
surprised herself by laughing.

Lillian grinned back. “Yes, I
think that would be a good end for it, do you not?”

Clara
did and
nodded. It felt wonderfully free to be without it. Yes, the new
garment still bound her but not uncomfortably so.

Clara put on a brown skirt made of
silk and cotton in a soft but crude weave, the waist was too large.
Lillian approached and found an interior tie and cinched it. Better.

She stood back, sorting through the
clothing she handed a pale, teal-colored blouse to Clara. It fit
perfectly.

“Evelyn's,” she answered Clara's
unspoken question.

Lillian's eyes lowered, then met
Clara's in a steady way. Clara liked this new acquaintance very much.

“She came by our home one day past
to help me with something and she spilled some juice on it. I had to
clean it right away and,” Lillian's lip trembled and Clara saw her
use her teeth to steady it, biting slightly, “I washed the stain
out and....”

Lillian turned her back to Clara,
facing the window.

Clara's heart went out to Lillian,
she approached her from behind. “They seem very capable... your
Band. I am confident they will return with Evelyn,” Clara said
before placing her hand on the other woman's shoulder.

“It is true, they are. But it is
you, Clara, that is the important one. You are our hope... our only
hope.”

The kettle shrilled its whistle and
with a last lingering look Lillian walked away from Clara.

Clara
said nothing but wished desperately to know why she had been taken...
why was she so important? Other questions pressed as well: why were
there so few females? What was the fragment
that
would take a young
girl and had half their protectors racing to reacquire her? She would
find out.

Lillian poured the warm water into a
large pottery bowl and noticed it was lukewarm when she began to wipe
the grime off Clara's face, carefully avoiding the worst of her
injuries. Her hair, which had been carefully bound up had not
suffered as much but a few small twigs were removed and a thorough
brushing helped immeasurably. Clara felt almost human when they were
finished and a soft rap at the door led them both to answer it.

An older gentlemen (who had more
clothes on, Clara noticed with some relief) stood flanked by two of
the Band. Bracus and the guard that made her uncomfortable. She kept
her focus on the man she was sure was their President.

The guard remained outside. Bracus
and the President entered as Lillian busied herself in the kitchen.

Bracus looked down at Clara and
noticed she wore clothing that was different and looked like she had
rested. His heart sped at the sight of her and he noticed her face
was beginning to heal, her eye almost completely open.

“Greetings, Princess,” President
Bowen said inclining his head.

“I am pleased to make your
acquaintance,” Clara responded automatically.

The President turned to Bracus. “You
did not overstate her condition.”

Clara felt uncomfortable heat rise
to the surface of her skin as they referenced her beating.

President Bowen noticed her
discomfiture and said, “We made a decision to acquire you sooner,
Princess... as Bracus determined your life may be in imminent danger
if you remained in the sphere.”

She
looked at Bracus and he looked back for a moment then away.
Curious.
He must have been on some scouting mission, seen her after what the
Prince had done and hastened this kidnapping of her.

She put her attention back on the
president. “My foremost question is this: why have I been taken?”

She held up her hand before he could
answer and said, “I must state my thanks as it appears I was
rescued from a fate far worse than this one.”

She
waited for the president to continue but instead he turned to Bracus
who expounded. “We came upon the sphere and the Princess, Clara,”
he
corrected at her slight frown, “was being attacked, her companion
could not aid her as he was restrained.” He looked at her for
confirmation and she nodded. It was fairly accurate as retelling
went.

Bracus turned suddenly, giving his
attention to her. “Is he the one?” he asked, gesturing to her
face.

Her flush returned, her face felt on
fire. “He is.”

She watched the strange reaction
take over Bracus, his fists clenching and opening, a vein standing
out on his forehead. “We should have ended him back in the sphere
then for what he did to you before,” and he swallowed, Clara
hearing the dry click, “and for what he was attempting to do.”

The president turned his penetrating
gaze on Bracus and a look passed between them she could not decipher.

“Let us sit.” Bowen indicated
the adjoining parlor with a few simple pieces of furniture. Clara sat
in the smallest settee and Bracus in the largest, his huge frame
engulfing it, long legs flung out before him.

“Princess,” President Bowen
began.

“Clara,” she corrected quietly.

“You must call me Arthur then.”

She nodded.

“Forgive my bluntness, but in
light of the circumstances of Evelyn's kidnapping and the death of
her father, I feel frankness is the best course.”

Clara waited.

The President shifted in his chair.
“We are losing people Clara, females in particular.”

Clara's mind turned quickly. The
crowd as they had come upon it had seemed odd to Clara but with all
the chaos of the last day she had not struck upon what was odd. Now
she realized.

The lack of women.

He saw the look of comprehension
come over her face and continued his unflinching commentary.

What could they want with her? Then
she thought of it. Standing so suddenly she tipped the chair she had
been sitting upon, racing to the door which led to the hall, Bracus
caught her easily.

“Clara! We mean you no harm.
Please, let the president finish!”

Clara's
heart beat like butterfly wings trapped in her throat. What was she
to them, a woman to steal. To impregnate? She shuddered thinking
about the last day in an entirely new fashion. They were going to use
her as some... some kind of elaborate breeder. Clara suddenly felt
doomed. She had escaped the sphere only to have
this as
the alternative?

She
would formulate a plan but she must, at least on the surface,
pretend to give them her ear. Then Clara would escape this place,
reunite with Charles. Despair welled inside her, filling her with
stagnation.

What if there was no more Charles?

She shoved that thought out of her
mind and concentrated on the present.

Forcing herself to still in the
strong arms of Bracus, who had held her gently while they rode upon
his horse, and now imprisoned her with his embrace, she said, “I
will listen.”

Bracus
set her down, warily watching for another escape, with Clara thinking
all the while that the guard
lay in wait outside, she would not test any
boundary with him. She needed to tell Bracus and Bowen that he had
visited the sphere before. She felt strongly that they were unaware
of his dalliance. She had sensed much from him, all of it unknown.

She righted the chair as she sat
upon it, folding her arms beneath her breasts.

Bracus noticed her posture and was
not fooled. Her eyes flashed fire while she stared at them like
enemies.

She would try to escape again.

Unfortunately, she was not
understanding their true intent. If only she would listen. Bracus was
beginning to see that beneath all the fragility, lay a woman of
fortitude.

President Bowen began again, “It
is not as it seems. For many decades our clan,” he stretched his
hand to include the immediate area, “and many of our sister clans
did not have females enough to grow in number. For every fifteen
males born, only one female comes,” he said in a helpless voice.

“We think that the Evil Ones, may
have made our ancestral pool too limited. And now, as our
grandfather's grandfathers lay in this earth, we are in a desperate
state to mingle with different peoples.”

Clara
thought about it. She was not sure they were even the same species.
When she looked at the Band, they were clearly other.

She mentioned that. And what of the
Evil Ones? Who were they to these people?

Bracus answered, “The Evil Ones
created us, the Band.” He gestured to his throat slits and his
extreme size.

“You are genetically engineered?”
Clara guessed.

The president raised an eyebrow in
surprise and she nodded. “We have a Healer in the sphere that knows
a great deal of Science and she has developed many speculations...”
she trailed off.

“It is our supposition that the
Evil Ones postulated about our life and what the challenges would be
and gave us a select few,” he gestured to Bracus, “for each clan
that could be protectors of a sort. But as you can see with the
female population dwindling there may be, in less than a generation
little to protect.”

“That is what happens when you
play God.”

Clara looked at Bracus. “I will
ask again: who are the Evil Ones?”

Bracus' eyes widened in surprise.
“They are responsible for everything here.” he gestured vaguely
around himself. “Even insomuch as before the days when the Earth
was Covered by Ash.”

Clara's breath stopped in her
throat. “Do you mean, the Guardians?”

They
stared blankly at her and she continued quickly in their silence.
“They are who saved
us.
They and only they are solely responsible for our spheres.”

She looked from one to the other,
the uncomprehending expressions on their faces told all.

They
did not know what the history was.

She
thought suddenly of the book that had been carefully maintained for
over a hundred years that told of the inception of the spheres. And
more importantly,
why.

“My
grandfather's grand-sire devised a book, a history if you will, that
tells of what our people were before.
That there was a time when we all were one people across this great
land, in huge cities. Then,” she paused for a moment, “the rocks
fell from the sky and damaged our planet. But the Guardians were able
to save us in nineteen different spheres. And there we have lived
since that time, one hundred and forty years past,” she finished,
folding her hands in her lap.

President Bowen's shock was evident.
“They are your saviors,” he said slowly, “but they are our
nemesis.” He stroked the stubble which rode at the bottom of his
chin.

“I have questions of a
technological nature as well.”

Clara nodded for him to continue,
let them ask, she thought. “We think that somehow you use steam in
the sphere to manufacture and live day by day?”

“Everything is powered by steam.
Our lights, time pieces, cooking apparatus, everything,” she
answered.

“What of the climate?” Bracus
asked, thinking of a home without the sun on one's back and no rain
for the streams.

Clara
shook her head. “I am not privy to all details but when it rains on
the Outside, our sphere allows a fine mist to permeate its surface
and plants and other organic,” she hesitated, “matter
is fed such. Also, the suns rays do gather and permeate, but not
powerfully enough to darken the skin.”

She held out her slender arm, the
color of polished ivory and Bracus' heavy gaze lingered upon it as
she let it drop back on her lap.

“What of insurgence and weapons,”
Bracus asked and President Bowen nodded.

“We have had battles amongst the
spheres and guards which train with sword and dagger for protection.”
Clara hesitated, did she say too much? Was she giving away
information which would showcase the sphere's vulnerabilities?

“Who is that man who attacked
you?” Bracus demanded and his tone gave Clara pause. The president
gave Bracus a look of inquiry.

She said, “He is Prince Frederic,”
she looked down at her hands tightly clasped in her lap. “We are to
be wed.”

The silence had a pregnant feel to
it.

It went on at length.

Finally, Bracus clarified, “You
cannot mean to be mated with the man that attacked you?” He stood
as he said it, towering over her so she stood as well.

There
was a physical potential to him that frightened Clara, but not in the
same way that she felt from the Prince. Rather, she felt it directed
at others so she expounded, “I have no choice... I am royal.
My mother, the Queen, has betrothed me to him to align our kingdoms
as one and to facilitate trade.”

Bracus glared down at Clara, aching
to touch her. He was not like this around the few women of his clan.
He thought back to the genetic predisposition of certain females that
held a potential for members of the Band and thought she was such a
female. Clara made him feel fiercely protective (more than was usual)
and he longed to be near her. It made him edgy and angry. He realized
he was not angry at her; he was a prisoner of her to a degree he was
uncomfortable with.

He allowed his gaze to soften. “He
has hurt you.” Bracus reached out putting the lightest of touches
against her cheekbone. No longer a horrible grape color, but fading
to yellow.

Those
hands that had maimed and killed so many of the fragment
and
others pressed
tenderly against her face.

The
President cleared his throat and Bracus took his hand away.
“Princess... Clara,
we
have acquired you but briefly. It was my utmost desire that we may
begin negotiations for an acquaintance with our peoples. After the
Band surveyed the sphere for some time, you were chosen as the most
likely person to assist in this...” he trailed off in a hopeful
way.

Clara had misunderstood their
intent. They hoped that they could intermingle with eventual
cohabitation their goal. But they did not understand the Queen, she
would never allow it.

“I am not supreme ruler of our
sphere. It is Queen Ada that would have the final say,” she paused,
trying to formulate words that would make sense, give nothing away,
and dissuade them from approaching the sphere. “The people of my
sphere think that you are a... primitive people and decidedly
violent.”

She looked from one to the other,
seeing mild offense in both faces, and she rushed to assuage their
tempers. “Not all, but most. As humans we are most afraid of that
which we do not know. And,” she looked at Bracus, “your rescue of
me will be looked at as confirmation of these speculations.”

“What of your companion?” Bracus
asked.

“Charles?”

He shrugged. “The one who
dispatched two guards before we came upon you.”

Tears stung Clara's eyes and she
thought of her childhood friend, confidant, protector.

Bracus
saw her struggle with her emotions and wished to know what place this
Charles held
for her.

“He
is my very best friend and has helped me with...” the
beatings the Queen has rendered,
“difficult situations.”

Bracus' eyes narrowed, he knew there
was much she was not saying and he was determined to find out what it
was. But not now with the President's hawk-like eyes as audience.

Jack came in at that moment. “Where
is Lillian?” he asked, a trifle anxious, which made Clara on guard.
Was something afoot?

Bracus saw the tightening of her
eyes and posture. “Lillian is with child and sometimes does not
feel well.” That was an understatement, Bracus thought.

Clara relaxed, she knew that was
typical for women during the first part of their time with child.
Though earlier she had seemed so energetic.

Jack said, “It comes on quickly.
She may be lying down now. I will check on her,” he nodded to
Bracus, then Bowen. “President.”

Bracus saw Clara's exhaustion and
composure fraying around the edges and said quietly to the President,
“Clara may need some time to acclimate to her new circumstances.”

The President nodded. It would be a
tremendous change, coupled with the attacks she suffered. His gaze
fell upon her and he looked at her, really looked at her. She looked
like she was sleeping while standing, her frail figure held together
by force of will alone.

“Yes, I will be here one
fore-night more and then take my leave to the central clan,” he
looked at Bracus. “We will speak more on this one day hence.”

Turning his attention to Clara he
said, “I felt it imperative that we discuss our intentions so you
would not feel unsafe here or misconstrue our intent.”

The
guard floated up in her mind. He,
she did not feel safe around. She opened her mouth to say something
when he
entered the cottage. “Captain, they are ready to depart.”

Bracus nodded. “Very well.” he
looked at Clara. “We will be gone a fore-night, no more.” As he
gazed at her he hoped she may be able to discern how little he wished
to leave her, even in the competent care of his Band mates. “We
have three of the Band here and you will not want for protection.”

Clara nodded. She would say nothing
with the guard standing there looking upon her with those steady
eyes, intense eyes.

The
guard thought the Princess might be understanding more than he liked
and did not desire to give her unnecessary time alone with Bracus and
President Bowen. He
would take her tonight,
it was the perfect opportunity for him. He was assigned duty to she
and Lillian at the bathing springs. He would take her and she would
be his to return to the sphere. He smiled as he thought on his plan.

Clara
saw the smile slowly reveal itself upon the guard
and thought that it would behoove her to never be alone with him. She
maintained an uneasy silence.

Bracus felt her disquiet and could
not ascertain its origin. He looked at his Band members and saw
nothing amiss, but her eyes remained troubled. He did not wish to
leave her yet, he must get to Evelyn.

He turned away, giving a curt nod to
Clara. With the President ahead of them he walked outside and spoke
quietly with Matthew, Stephen and Jack. “She may try to escape.
President Bowen has told her enough that she feels confident that our
intentions are for the good of both our peoples,” Bracus said,
rolling his shoulders into a shrug.

Jack said, “Joseph will remain
behind and either Stephen or Matthew will accompany the women to the
bathing springs.”

Matthew looked at Jack.

“If Lillian is well enough to go,”
Jack said.

“It matters not. The women like to
primp and preen,” Stephen said disdainfully.

Jack replied, “Watch your tongue
before I cut it out. Lillian does none of that. I think it is but an
excuse to wheedle information out of the Princess.” He glowered at
Stephen.

“There
is much to be learned of the sphere-dwellers,
that is true,” Bracus said.

“Another female may coax
information,” Matthew agreed.

President
Bowen reminded them all, “She is to be kept under close
supervision. I wish to make haste with a treaty of sorts and that
cannot be done if harm befalls her or she escapes and is picked up by
the fragment.”

Bracus
would never let that happen.

Out loud he said, “Let us make
haste to rescue Evelyn.”

“See that you do,” and with
that, Bowen walked off with a member from the central clan's Band.

Bracus turned around and looked at
the cottage, his gaze lingering. He desperately wished to see her one
more time before his departure. No matter, there would be plenty of
time upon his return to sort out his feelings and deepen their
acquaintance. He knew he did not wish for Clara to return to the
sphere.

Ever.

And as he stood there she appeared
in the window, her form warped from the glass' imperfections. She
gave a small wave and Bracus' heart became lighter. After all that
she had been through, she bid him farewell.

The guard watched Bracus stare at
Jack and Lillian's dwelling, his thought process clear to all that
bothered looking for it. Oh how surprised he would be when his return
marked the precious Princess as absent.

Perfect.

CHAPTER 26

Charles,
Clarence and Sarah spoke quietly in her foyer, yet again.
The Queen had been caught unawares by their story. She had known that
something was not quite right but when they placed the blame on the
savages'
kidnap of Clara, they were able to ascribe blame also to the drugging
of Clarence. What they could not do was explain the Prince’s
proximity or physical injuries very well. However, the Prince was in
no great hurry to bring to light his assault against Clara. Beating
her had been one thing but rape? Even the Queen may be given pause
over that.

Charles was arguing with Sarah, who
thought it too risky to leave the sphere immediately after their
first escape attempt. But Charles felt there was no choice, and
besides, his mind was quite made up.

“She
is with them,
the savages.
Each moment that I do not go after her. Guardian knows what could be
happening to her... as we speak, Sarah!
Surely
you must know that?” Charles' hands were planted on his hips and
his legs spread wide, glowering down at Sarah.

Clarence said, “Charles, your
voice.”

Charles glared at him then began to
pace the small room, frustrated beyond measure. He must find her.
Already he was a day behind.

He and Clarence looked at each other
and Sarah asked, “What are your thoughts?” Her eyes searched his
face. “You know that if you go now, you may never return while
Queen Ada reigns.”

He knew and cared not. Clara was
most assuredly in grave danger.

“I will go with you,” Clarence
said decisively.

Charles turned. “You know what
this means. Mayhap you would be trapped Outside forever with no clear
future.”

Clarence lowered his voice and said
quietly, “I do not care for our monarch. Without the efforts of
Clara, what does it matter?”

“She will wish to return if she
can. She cares nothing for her own safety. She cares only for her
kingdom, her father's kingdom.”

“King Raymond,” Clarence said,
laying a fist over his heart as Charles did the same. The three
silently remembering a kingdom governed with a fair and true monarch.

“Aye, she will but a dead ruler
cannot rule,” Clarence said.

“My sentiments exactly,” Charles
said.

“She will argue to come back...”
Sarah said.

They were all quiet for a moment and
Clarence voiced what they had all been thinking, “If she can.
Perhaps she is...”

“Do not speak such,” Sarah said.

Charles looked at Clarence. “I am
sorry, but the odds are not in her favor, Charles...” he looked at
Sarah. “Sarah.”

“I take comfort that they appeared
to be expecting the situation. They were prepared. The manner in
which they dispatched the Prince's guards speaks of planning. If that
be the case, they may be holding her for reasons unknown. We may be
able to reason with them,” Charles explained.

Sarah
rolled her eyes. “They are savages,
Charles. Their primitive brains do not comprehend negotiation.”

Charles shook his head. “I do not
think so. They seemed sophisticated in their manner. Supreme
fighters, they employed a degree of stealth that we could never have
managed even with the finest of our guards,” he said, looking at
each of them in turn. “I will take my chances.”

“And I will take them with you,”
Clarence said.

Sarah
huffed and turned her back on them both. Insufferable men! Could they
not see the
tiniest
bit
of patience may result in the element of surprise and an escape which
would not be anticipated?

Charles
swung her around to face him and she gave him a hard stare. “You
were not there, you did not see them.
I have seen nothing like it. They are very much what the Record
Keeper said they would be.”

“Tales, she bears tales,” Sarah
responded, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Not in this. They are as she
said: fierce, large, great warriors, and tenacious. They will not
easily be dissuaded of their goal. And I think their goal may have
been to capture Clara.”

Sarah leaned back, taking herself
away from Charles' angry grip. “To what end?”

Charles shook his head. “I will
find out. It cannot be good.”

“And the Record Keeper told
stories which made people of the spheres fear the Outside. Look now,”
Sarah swung her arm around her, “clearly we need not have worried,
the sphere wall repaired itself and no one who was exposed to the
Outside air died a miserable death.”

Clarence clarified, “It may have
been very true at one time years ago. If the sphere had been
breached, the toxicity of the Outside would have sickened and killed
many. It is possible there has been enough years since the Days of
Ash that we may be able to exist Outside.”

Sarah shrugged. “I trust none of
them: the Healer, the Record Keeper, and most especially the Queen.
To say nothing of that miserable excuse of a Prince.”

Charles thought they could all
safely agree on that.

“Let us make haste and go this
night,” Charles said, with Clarence nodding at his comments. Sarah
rolled her eyes, there was no stopping them. She may as well offer
help.

“Wait,” they turned. “Let me
collect a few items for Clara.”

Charles sighed, exasperated. “We
have not time for this.”

“Take the time,” she said, her
eyes steady on his face. He stared back, realizing that she loved
Clara too, not the way that he did but no matter. He and Clarence
would go in her stead and this was her only way to communicate with
Clara.

He waited while she put some items
in a small sack.

“Where is your knapsack?” she
asked.

Charles shrugged. “It has not been
recovered by the Queen's guard.”

Clarence
gave him a sharp look. “The savages.”

Charles nodded.

Sarah
studied them. Finally she succumbed, giving them fierce hugs. The
last tie to Clara was leaving her and she wished with all her heart
it could have been she
who was going to her friend. One day she would see her again. Sarah
held back tears as Charles and Clarence left her standing alone.

Alone.

CHAPTER 27

Queen Ada tapped her foot, waiting
for that dim-witted woman, Elvira, to finally be about getting her
wardrobe assembled for the day. Or what was left of it.

She gazed about her room and
wondered when she could begin to sample the wonderful new wine that
Otto had brought with him.

Not
soon enough, as certain things claimed her attention: primarily where
that foolish girl had run off to. Charles, that inept friend of hers,
claimed that the savages
absconded to the Outside with her.

Ada was not convinced.

Just
because a few
savages had
been seen did not mean they had the presence of intellectual
fortitude necessary to breach the spheres' defenses. However, there
was no other plausible explanation and her own guards assured her
that indeed, there was a scar, a tear in the tunnel wall.

That
would mean the unthinkable.
That
the savages
had planned the capture of Clara; which secretly pleased Ada. She
could be done with the wretched girl, gain sympathy and force King
Otto's hand as this was certainly not her fault that Clara had been
taken. She would still have her wine, and no more Clara. She would
task the running of the kingdom to... she deliberated, whoever
she
thought with dismissive musing.

Ada
would need to talk to that fool Charles.
And the incompetent guard that allowed himself to be drugged with the
twilight sleep. How had that happened
for
Guardian's sake?

Imbeciles.

Something was not agreeing here and
she planned to get to the core of it.

Elvira came into the room with a
gown of deep lavender and the Queen smiled. Perfect.

Everyone knows that royalty wears
only purple.

****

Charles took the time to tell his
younger brother what he was about, but only enough to satisfy him. He
knew that if Queen Ada felt justification, she could bring misery
down upon his family. There lay guilt, Charles realized. He
remembered his father's words of encouragement, “Bring her back,
son, there is no kingdom without her.” He couldn't have agreed
more. But shirking his duties in the fields felt like an unfair
burden to place on his father and brother.

He and Clarence made their way
through the tunnel. Clarence was familiar with every part, having
been the day guard there for one year past. “I know when David
takes his break and he always uses the necessary. We have but a small
time when he will not be in attendance and we can run for the alcove
in the tunnel.”

Charles
looked at Clarence, his feet shod in rough leather boots, buckskins,
rough cotton blouse and a knapsack slung over both shoulders. His
wavy hair moved about his face from the wind that was forced by steam
cleansers which ran the length of the tunnel, the seams allowing the
escape of humanity's pollution. Charles was dressed much the same,
having borrowed his father's knapsack because the savages
had
taken his.

They reached the first sentry point
and hesitated, pressing their forms into the permeable surface,
sinking against the softness of it like a goose-down bed.

Clarence whispered, “One minute
more...”

Charles looked at him thinking he
had never felt the burden of time more acutely than now.

“Go!” Clarence urged and they
sprinted from that spot. Their feet tapped their backsides as they
put on a final burst of speed at the end, rounding the corner to the
rest spot with the tear.

Charles was untangling his limbs
from the knapsack, all but flinging it off in his haste to get the
salt-mixture. It would be best used in the weakest part of the
sphere.

Clarence glanced about him
anxiously. “Hurry, it is because we try so soon after the
Princess's capture that we have this chance.”

“I have found it,” Charles said,
hauling out the flask with the salt mixture. It had been very
difficult to get the raw salt needed for their escape, as none could
be purchased at Trading Days. A certain royal cook had worked it so
he had enough salt to break through two sphere walls if he chose.

Charles gave the briefest of glances
at the wall, the area where it had been breached translucent, dimmed.
He stood upright, flask in hand. Opening it, he spun the top away
hurling the contents at the scar, reopening it like a raw wound.

The salt-mixture dissolved the wall
almost instantly and the air of the Outside rushed in, mingling with
the steamed environment of the tunnel. The cooler air was painful on
Charles' lungs, he'd never felt anything like it before, having been
unconscious for most of the event when the wall was open and Clara
was taken.

Clarence gasped at the new air and
squeezed out, “It feels thin,” he exhaled and coughed, “cold.”

Charles nodded, saving his speech
for when he needed it. Regardless, it mattered not, they had done the
deed and needed to press forward.

So they did.

They
slipped through the hole they had caused and into a night filled with
real stars.
Wind and air which felt fresh and fragrant, their starved lungs took
in all that they could. The men raced to the Great Forest, lungs
burning while guided by a moon which rode high and bright.

Lighting their path into the Great
Forest Outside.

CHAPTER 28

Clara walked back to Lillian's
chamber, passing through the kitchen, the glasses lining the wood
shelf like drops of rain caught in the sunlight. A sharp stab of
homesickness for the sphere pierced her heart. That she would feel
thus filled Clara with confusion. What was wrong with her that she
would miss it? It may be as simple as it being the only home she had
ever known. It was a wonderful home before Father had died and she
would think on that as she opened the chamber door to attend to
Lillian, her eyes burning with tiredness. She must rest soon or she
would drop where she stood.

Lillian lay upon the beautiful bed,
the gauzy covering making her face appear luminescent, obscure.

“Ah, I see Jack has told the
entirety of the clan that I ail,” she said with mirth.

“Not all,” Clara smiled back,
matching the humor without effort. Lillian did look a tad green.
Clara could not imagine tending to a babe at this juncture in her
life. She sighed sadly, holding a fierce hope that someday she would
have a family.

Lillian turned on her side, looking
at Clara critically. “You look tired, Princess.”

“Clara,” she reminded absently.

Lillian nodded. Rising, she steadied
herself on the bed post, walking past Clara and opening the door.
“Follow me, we have a small room where you may rest. After supper,
we will go and bathe at the hot springs.” Lillian looked away
dreamily for a moment. “It is a sublime place.”

Clara was indeed looking forward to
becoming clean. She followed Lillian into a tiny chamber with an open
casement window, the hinges held by brass that had been nailed into
the wood and gleamed with a red hue in the filtered light from the
forest.

Clara spied a narrow bed directly
underneath the open window. She walked slowly over to where it lay,
resplendent with ivory bed linen and a light comforter.

She turned to Lillian. “Thank
you.”

“You
are most welcome. You will see, Clara, that we are not savages here.
We are a different people; we are human beings, just as the
sphere-dwellers are.”

Clara nodded and smiled, which
turned into a gigantic yawn. Her face felt much better. She ran her
fingers gently over the worst of the swelling and thought it subdued.
Her eye was almost completely open now.

Lillian smiled back. “I will go
lie down myself.” and with that, she closed the door and Clara
stripped off the skirt and blouse she had worn but an hour, laying
them carefully over the sole wooden chair which stood in the corner
of the room. Her hair hung loose and she wished fiercely for her
knapsack which held her grooming tools and realized one of the Band
must have hers and Charles' as well.

She lay down under the comforter and
allowed her body to loosen in stages, so tense from all the running
and tumultuous circumstances. Clara's tiredness consumed her but she
lay awake for a time, overtired.

She listened to the sound of water,
it was strange and delightful at the same time. And the air! She did
not know if she would ever become accustomed to the fragrance of the
woods which clung to each breath that she took.

Clara gazed out the window, taking
in the great branches of the trees, their deep green shone like...
like the decanter that the Queen drank her beloved wine from.
Gooseflesh rose upon her arms, and it was then, in that realm between
sleeping and waking, that sleep prevailed, dragging her under into
unconsciousness.

The disturbing echo of her memories
following the spiral of her sleep.

****

Bracus looked down on the sleeping
form of Clara. Not a muscle moved, her breath causing the barest rise
and fall of her chest. He gazed at her for such a long time, Lillian
touched his shoulder and he sighed quietly as to not awaken her,
closing the door behind him soundlessly.

“She needs the rest, do not fret
over her. You have done as the President asked. She is here, safe.”
Lillian looked at him curiously, the captain of the Band was an
enigma. Not unkind... but not a member of the Band she would chat
with casually. Jack spoke of him in the highest of terms. However,
there was much below the surface of this warrior.

Bracus
swung his face toward Lillian and met her gaze. “I do not like to
leave the clan unguarded, the Band split by the fragment
now.”

“We have Stephen, Matthew and
Joseph. All will be well. They did not penetrate the gate, the
perimeter, nothing.”

Mayhap it was not penetration they
sought? Could it be that it was their desire to split the Band, so
that when the clan lay more vulnerable to attack they could move
against it? That is exactly what Bracus would do had he designs on
striking another faction.

Lillian
looked at the emotions that played over his face, not sure what they
meant but she understood this: there was more to his interest in the
Princess
than mere protecting. She meant something entirely different to him.
Call it woman’s intuition. And what of it? Except that Lillian knew
that
he would need to return her to the sphere from which she came and
then what? Would the sphere-dwellers
be agreeable? There was no way to know. She may not be a woman he
could have.

Bracus would have felt better to see
Clara awake and tell her goodbye. No matter. He would be gone but a
fore-night.

He nodded a goodbye at Lillian,
having turned down her offer of a drink. He did not wish to spend one
more second inside the gates of the clan. He wanted to retrieve
Evelyn and return to Clara. His duty then his wish. In that order. He
was nothing if not disciplined.

Lillian watched him leave with James
and Jacob. As she kissed Jack, he and Philip mounted their horses,
Jack's face revealing how much he would worry over her in his
absence. Why he worried she knew not. The finest guards were here
watching over her and the clan.

What could go wrong?

****

Anna watched Joseph approach, grimy
from the acquisition of the Princess. His grim expression told her he
knew of Evelyn's kidnap but when his eyes caught hers, his face
lightened. She could not help but give a small smile back. He might
be a male who would treat her well. She had been here a half year and
had yet to be threatened. She felt like a coward, leaving her clan,
leaving the other females at the possible peril of the Band. There
were more females in her sea clan and not all the Band was bad, but
there was a great deal of in-fighting amongst the males over the
females.

She
had a hard life in her clan, the endless chores, the violence a
constant thing. She was finally becoming accustomed to the easy
cadence of
this clan, everyone working together as a unit, gathering, working,
cooking, and maintenance of the dwellings. Things were shared and it
was something that made Anna feel a part of something larger and it
lifted her heart. As he approached Anna she felt that stirring and
tried to squelch it. His hold on her deepening like fingers in flesh.
He moved her soul and she tried with everything she was to resist
that pull. Her disappointment in other males kept her from allowing
too much for this one.

Joseph
was very glad to see Anna. Her tentative smile acted as a salve on
his travel weariness and stress over the plight of the small girl,
Evelyn. Who had surely seen the murder of her father then been torn
from the woods by the fragment.

He longed to sweep her up into his
arms but knew that would scatter their fragile bond like dandelion
seed.

Instead, he looked down into her
face, still closed to him, and squeezed her shoulder. “I am glad to
see you well.”

“And I you,” Anna said, stepping
closer, her heart beating like a trapped thing in her throat,
panicked.

Joseph
held his ground, it was almost too much to hope for.
After months of working his way closer to her, trying at every turn
for her acceptance, she had made a move toward him.

He held himself still. She must wish
it, he would force nothing.

Anna placed first one hand on the
left side of his waist and then the right, feeling the hardness of
him underneath her hands. Supple skin over hardened muscle...she
stepped closer yet, her head a breath away from touching his chest.
Her fear and bravery combined in a heady rush, making her dizzy.

Joseph
could stand it no more. She was touching him and he had to touch her
back. His
hands found purchase on the small of her back, he pulled her to his
body, molding it to his and she gave a soft moan of pleasure,
surprising them both. As she began to pull away he held her tighter
and she stiffened.

Anna was immediately frightened and
although she had initiated the contact, she did not know what to do
about it. His arms tightened about her like steel bands, his heart
beating strong and fast in her ear.

“Do not... do not go. Let me hold
you but a moment longer.”

Anna clenched her teeth, willing her
body to relax. This was Joseph, a male that had treated her with
kindness and been tender with her each day she had been here. She had
to learn to trust him. She was so utterly lonely she could taste it
like bitter fruit.

She would force herself to trust.

Joseph felt her relax in his arms
and it was the single best feeling he had ever had the pleasure of
knowing. This is what life was about. There must be something beyond
existing and he meant to grab it. He kissed the top of her head,
which smelled of the soap of his clan., everything that was clean and
pure.

Joseph held Anna tighter.

CHAPTER 29

Charles
and Clarence were tired. They had not time to appreciate their escape
into the Outside. In the pursuit of Princess Clara as their focus,
the distractions of the new environment were of no help. Twigs,
grass, large branches hindered, tore and laboriously slowed their
progress. Charles had only books on tracking techniques with which to
guide them and this was the savages'
environ. They
were familiar. He and Clarence were not and more and more Charles
felt that weakness as an exquisite paralysis.

They pressed on.

Presently they passed an odd looking
pole, worn smooth, as long as the banquet table in the Gathering
Room, with two shorter poles anchoring it. He noted there was manure
scattered about the area.

Clarence squatted down, looking
closer at the construction of it. A drop of sweat ran down his face
from temple to chin, falling to the ground on top of droppings where
lazy flies hovered. That was another thing that Charles could not get
accustomed to: the sheer volume of insects and other small creatures
roaming freely, untroubled by their presence.

“It is a pole to tether a horse,”
Clarence stated.

“How do you know?”

“There is one for Trading Day that
the other spheres which visit tie their horses upon.”

Charles
looked at it, realizing that the mystery of the savages
continued to deepen.

He and Clarence scouted the area
taking deep pulls of water from their flasks. Soon it would not be
enough. They would have to find a water source.

That is when they heard it... water.
Charles could not believe their luck.

It was ten minutes more before they
found the source of the water. A small creek flowed through the
deepest part of the forest but what gave them pause was the
depressions which lay beside the creek. People had lain here.

Clara had been here.

Charles knew this because her crown
lay sparkling in the dim light.

He picked it up, searching the
filigree gallery. Where was she? he thought, clenching the crown, its
delicate metal biting the tender flesh of his palm.

He and Clarence looked at each
other.

“Mayhap she left it as a sign she
had come this way?” Clarence speculated.

Charles nodded. “Possibly. But I
think it more likely that it escaped her notice. After all, it is not
every day that one is kidnapped by a merciless group of primitives.”
Obviously, they were not as primitive as the People of the Sphere had
presumed.

They pressed on, using the hoof
prints of the horses to follow behind, praying to the Guardians that
rain would not come and wipe away all traces of the trail of bread
crumbs which followed Clara.

Clarence and he counted five horses.
When they stopped to look closely at the prints there was one set
which left a deeper impression and Charles said, “This must be the
horse that carried two riders.”

Clarence
looked up at him, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. The
open meadow allowed the heat and brightness of the sun to permeate
into every pore. And they had thought that the heat of the sphere
unbearable! This was altogether
as hot
but a different type of heat.

Clara
was alive. These
prints were fresh, causing hope to swell inside Charles.

Clarence grinned as hope flared.
They would be able to retrieve the Princess after all.

They bedded down for the night at
the meadow's edge. The stars began to appear in the twilight which
enveloped the day, winking at them from a dressing of inky velvet.

It was a view Charles had never
seen, one he wished he could have shared with Clara.

****

Clara
awoke, completely disoriented and slowly her memories assaulted her:
the aborted escape, the attempted rape, her “rescue” by the Band,
her new place here amongst the clan-dwellers.
She opened her eyes, unsure of what time it was but the light that
filtered into the room spoke of twilight. Mayhap she had slept four
or five hours. Her stomach told her she had missed lunch entirely
with a low rumble.

Suddenly, Clara thought of the
oysters: she would never eat oysters again. Another wave of
homesickness washed over Clara and her eyes stung with tears. She
reminded herself that living was better than the alternative which
awaited her in the sphere.

It was a mantra that she tired of.

She swung her feet over to the
floor, touching it immediately, the bed not high like the one inside
the sphere. Clara gulped back her weak feelings of isolation. Spying
a wash basin with a pitcher, she walked over to it using the water on
her hands and splashing some upon her face.

She dressed quickly, again wishing
she could have her grooming implements, she knew she looked a fright.
With that lovely assessment, she quietly stole out of the room and
came upon the remainder of the Band sitting about the eating table,
their long legs splayed out before them. Lillian was not to be seen
or Bracus.

She
schooled her expression of unease. Unknown males were not something
that instilled confidence and trust. And,
she
had seen them kill the remainder of the Prince’s guard.

The guard looked at the Princess and
thought how interesting it was that she was a master of her
expression. One so young, she should show everything on her face. Yet
she was self-contained in a way that was fascinating to him. No
matter, he was sure, as their acquaintance progressed he could elicit
emotions. Oh yes, he was positive of that.

The Band stood as she came into the
room and she fought not to react to the sheer size of them. They
were so huge, their stature filling the room. Instead, she bit the
inside of her lip to a point of pain which filled her with the
wakefulness necessary to be sharp-witted. She repeated to herself if
they had meant to harm her they had ample opportunity and she could
have done naught to defend herself against them.

She took a deep breath. “Good
evening.”

“Princess,” they nodded at her.
The guard smiled in a way that would have made a lesser woman squirm.

Lillian came in and relief took
residence in her breast like a welcome friend.

“Oh! Clara, you are awake.”

“Yes, I feel much more myself.”
she smiled gratefully.

Lillian said, “Please, let us find
the community dining area and we will have some food. I am sure you
are starving.”

Actually, Clara was.

“That would be wonderful,” she
answered.

Joseph smiled at her and another
woman came in, her simple clothing the same for all the females of
the clan. But it was her demeanor that was so unique; she had a
caution that was completely absent in Lillian, and she looked a bit
different than the people of this clan.

The
other two guards, Matthew and Stephen followed her out. She could
feel one of their eyes boring into her back and wished that Bracus
was here so she could but mention her feeling about the guard.
that he had visited
her while she stood at her window inside her chamber when she lived
therein. Clara felt a trifle foolish...after all, had she been of
such sound
mind prior, would she now be in this emergent situation? Her
shoulders slumped a little thinking of her future. A future unknown.

When they had all exited the
cottage, Joseph turned and introduced the woman to Clara, her name
was Anna.

She looked at Clara with ancient
eyes in a young face, a mirror of her own.

“Anna is from a sea clan, far east
of here,” Joseph said.

Clara looked at her with interest,
her large brown eyes regarded Clara in an intense way, equal parts
caution and curiosity.

“It is very good to make your
acquaintance,” Clara said.

To which Anna replied, “And I,
yours.” She gave a small curtsey.

Clara knew not how long she would
remain here but it would be very good to have a bit of female
companionship amongst all the males.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a
most fragrant smell.

“What is that?” she asked.

“What?” Lillian responded over
her shoulder.

Clara opened her mouth to elaborate
when the guard stepped up beside her and said, “Meat.”

She
was so engrossed by his nearness that she did not watch where she
walked, stumbling.
She
would have fallen if it had not been for him grabbing her elbow and
it was as it had been with Philip, but more.
A
charge of intense heat climbed up her arm at the point of contact,
surging into her head and making the small hairs on her nape stand on
end. She saw his eyes widen in shock and he snatched his hand away,
rubbing it where it had touched her. But she knew although he acted
as if shocked by lightning, it had felt good.

They stood facing each other and the
group stopped, staring at the two of them. “What has happened?”
Lillian asked.

Clara shook her head, she did not
know. However, this reaction seemed to be something between her and
the Band. But not all she noticed. Why did it not occur with all of
them?

Joseph walked over, looking down at
her. She explained as best she could, “I stumbled and he caught my
elbow to arrest my fall,” she said, pointing to the guard, “and I
felt a heat...”

“Akin to a burn?” Joseph asked.

Clara nodded. “Not precisely,
there was no pain... but a...”

Stephen said, “We do not need to
discuss the possibilities of all this right now.” His face and
stance gruff, legs apart and planted on the ground, his arms crossed
on his chest.

Joseph's
cheeks colored and he turned to the first and second in command. “I
will address this potential
with
Clara later this evening.”

Matthew said, “Let us do it before
much longer as she and Lillian wish to bathe at the springs.”

“Yes, a critical plan, that,”
Joseph said, walking toward the building where they would dine on
meat for the first time in Clara's life. She should have been
sickened by the prospect of something that had been butchered and
cooked for her. But hunger is a strange thing, a needy thing that
does not have a conscience.

Her interaction with the guard
obviously meant something to them that she was not aware of. She had
certainly never felt that with the males of the sphere. This was a
new thing entirely. Clara walked toward the dining hall.

Holding her elbow as if it were on
fire.

****

Bracus slowed Briar Rose about one
half mile away from the area where Evelyn's father had met his end,
signaling with his high-pitched call to the Band.

They dismounted, Bracus leading his
steed to the creek and letting her drink her fill, using an
additional tether so she could reach the water should she thirst
while he was gone and tied to one of the stout trees that stood near.

Jack approached sure-footed down the
steep ravine to find Bracus tying secure knots.

Bracus looked at the big man, his
massive arms stretched out, maintaining his balance as he reached him
“Captain...”

Bracus raised his brows. There, a
perfect knot, she would not escape it. He looked up. “Yes?”

“I cannot shake a feeling of
unease about leaving the clan...”

Bracus frowned, it was usually not
Jack Blythe that had intuitive leaps, it was he. However, his mate
was with child, it was surely that which caused a greater need to be
back at her side.

He told him so.

Jack shook his head stubbornly. “It
is more than that. And, I must say, that I feel I have erred greatly
in not telling you. I felt I could not share those things which I had
been told in confidence.”

Bracus
studied Jack, this was not helping his focus. It was bad enough that
thoughts of Clara crowded his mind. He hoped there was not some other
calamity that would wrest attention away from the coming turmoil of
rescuing Evelyn from the fragment.

Bracus turned slowly to Jack, his
face full of puzzlement. “And you tell me this now?

Jack sighed as Jacob and James
joined them. “What say you, Jack?”

Jack looked back at the tall
warriors, their expressions serious. For once, James was not making a
joke at someone's expense. “It is Matthew. I fear that he is not of
sound mind.”

Bracus' disquiet increased, his
puzzlement deepening. Many things plagued his mind but that which
stood out was the absolute absence of lack of propensity. When had
Matthew ever given him pause?

“You remember when Matthew came to
us?”

Bracus
nodded, he would never forget. He had been rescued; starved and
mistreated far from their clan by the fragment.
It was only the clan's hunting such a distance away that allowed them
to stumble upon him.

James steadied himself on the rough
trunk of an evergreen. “What of it? He was ten and two years, it
has been a decade since,” he said, shrugging it off.

“He is Band, that was clear when
he was found,” Jacob said, indicating his throat slits with a
casual wave of his hand, his bicep bunching with the movement.

“Out with it,” Bracus said,
silencing the others with a look.

Bracus was acutely aware of the
rushing stream at his right. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of
the trees, the breeze rustling the branches.

He waited in the silence that was
the forest.

“He does not like females,” Jack
said quietly.

“What did you say?” Bracus
stepped forward into Jack's space and he held his ground.

“We were reconnaissance for the
acquisition of the Princess, you do remember?”

Bracus nodded.

“And
he fell away from me, leaving to go closer to the sphere... to get a
look at her.”

Bracus said low and with feeling,
“And you did not tell me this?”

“I thought nothing of it. I stayed
behind and he said he was just curious about what the importance of
the female was.”

“That is ridiculous! Of course the
importance is because we don't have enough females!” James said,
stomping off to another tree.

Bracus looked after him for a moment
then swung his gaze back to Jack.

“He
went to the sphere and showed himself to Clara, saying nothing to the
rest of us,” Bracus looked at James and Jacob, who shook their
heads, they had known nothing. “He returns to your mutual post and
he says...” Bracus held out his arms away from his body, what?

“That
you did not deserve to have her. That all females needed to be
brought to heel.”

“And
we have left him at the clan with your
mate
and Clara?”

Jack
shook his head. “I make too much of this, he meant it as a joke, I
am certain. But his background, his mistreatment by the fragment...”

“He
has never spoken of his time with the fragment,”
Bracus said.

James, Jacob and Jack shook their
heads.

“How do you know of his time
there, he has not divulged it to us.”

“You but need to watch how he
behaves around females,” Jack said.

A thousand kaleidoscope pieces came
together at that moment. For all Matthew's skill in battle, he had
shown nary an ounce of interest in the few females of the clan,
making a wide berth.

Far more disturbing was the
incidences of Clara looking frightened of the Band. But it had not
been all the Band but Matthew.

He must return to her. If Matthew
had ill intent she was but a lamb being led to slaughter.

His guts churned with it, he had
left her and there was no protection. His first in command was
compromised and he had been unaware. But he must ask:

“Why does he think I am deserving
or not?”

“We all know that you have
feelings for the Princess, Captain. Whether or not it will come to
pass... we do not know, but they are there.”

Philip exited the shadows, badly
startling Bracus. That he would be so unaware of his surroundings
spoke of how badly he had been shaken. “Yes, my brother, we all
knew. But, we have bigger problems than his possible treason of the
Band,” Phillip said.

“What could possibly be worse?”
Bracus asked. His mind turned the facts and different reactions of a
thousand days spent in the company of Matthew and found disturbing
images start to connect like magnets to one another.

“I
think that she is a select.”

The other Band member's faces fell
and Bracus' throat slits opened fully when he gulped in a lungful of
air and roared out, “No!” his bellow causing the birds to
evacuate the tree cover in a noisy rush.

He wanted to collapse on his knees
but that would not get him to her sooner.

“How do you know?” Bracus asked,
his voice fierce, his mind in turmoil.

“She pricked her finger on the
rose that grows outside Jack's dwelling. I went to assist her... I
touched her hand...” he looked down, almost ashamed.

“Did you feel it?” Bracus asked.

He looked up suddenly, his eyes a
glittering intensity in the darkness. “I did.”

A
select.
Only rumored about during his lifetime, the hope that a Band member
would have a chance with a select.
They had given up hope. There had been females which possessed the
trait that appealed so much to the Band and was the promised freedom
from the dwindling population. But if that were the case, Clara alone
was much more than just a female. She was The Female.

“Why did you not tell me?”
Bracus asked incredulously.

“I thought there time enough after
we get the girl to explore this,” Philip said.

He walked toward Bracus and put his
hand on his shoulder. “It does no good to talk of it. It is but a
feeling on Jack's part. That Matthew would harm a female... is
unthinkable. We have known our brother how long, ten years?”

“Besides,
you know what the history of the Evil Ones say. That if a Band member
chooses from the select...
it is a biological imperative. There is no choice. The male would not
harm her. He would be unable to,” Jacob said, lifting his hands up
in placation.

But
nothing said could make Bracus feel safer but having her near him.
Maybe it was nothing but Jack felt it odd enough to mention and
Matthew had revealed himself to her. And now she was a select.

It
was a horrible set of circumstances. He was honor-bound to rescue
Evelyn. Of course he wished to, but a rare female of the select
lay in possible danger and he could do nothing. His teeth clenched in
frustration.

Jacob said, “Joseph and Stephen
are there as well. They will not let harm befall the Princess.”

“I should have said nothing. My
mate is there, and with child. If I had felt there was a present
danger, I would have not come on this errand,” Jack said.

Bracus cursed. “I wish you had
said something earlier. We will rescue Evelyn, then make haste to the
clan. And Clara had better be in pristine condition,” he said,
staring Jack in the eye.

****

Clara pushed the heavy crockery
plate away and was so full she could not take another bite. In her
bones she knew that after a bath in the hot springs and another
night's sleep she would feel human once again.

She chanced a look at the guard
which had inadvertently touched her but his eyes eluded hers. He had
been strained since the incident and the whole group was treating her
differently. She was not sure that she liked the new treatment. It
felt a little like when everyone in the sphere were keenly aware that
she was royal. She had enjoyed being just Clara to these people. Now,
because of the odd reaction, they were all looking at her and at each
other in the strangest way. Later, when she and Lillian had privacy,
she would ask her what it all was.

They stood in an awkward pool of
silence and finally Clara broke it. “I do not know what is wrong,
presently, but tomorrow, when I am better rested, I do wish to be
advised of this strange occurrence.”

She could feel his eyes on her and
that strange heat she had felt earlier flared up. Her eyes met his
and he stared at her and she could think of nothing else but him.
That she had been nervous or scared of him earlier now struck her as
odd. What was happening? What were the Band to her?

Matthew
looked at her and was angry. She had done something to him and he
knew not what. It did not alter his plans in the slightest. It did
not matter that she was a select,
as all the others must be thinking now. It was a myth that he did not
ascribe to. No female had power over men unless they told themselves
thus. It was ridiculous, an excuse for weakness. He thought on his
earliest memories with the fragment:

*

He groveled at her feet touching her
skirt, his belly burning with acute hunger. If she would but give him
some of the delicious food that she prepared, even a small amount he
would be so grateful.

Instead, with a leather-clad foot
she kicked at him and he moved swiftly before her foot found
purchase. He knew he was different amongst these people: faster,
stronger. He had strange airways which caused a constant onslaught of
teasing. But he persevered, he would escape this terrible place with
these people that hated him. The males around him beat the females.
All the females hated all the males, save one. There was one small
female that showed him mercy, sneaking food to him when no one was
aware. Margaret alone kept him alive. And he had been too young to
save her when she was savaged by one of the males, but they had
forced him to watch. Yes, indeed they had. He could never erase it
from his mind.

Her screams pierced his ears as they
beat her, did things to her. His twelve-year-old mind tried to shut
out her pleading but he could still hear her wretched wailing,
“Matthew, save me!”

The males holding him said, “This
is what happens to females that lie with monsters like you.”

“She did not lay with me! We are
but children. She fed me when I hungered!”

“Shut
up abomination,” and Matthew's head rocked back as a blow from a
male of the fragment
split his lip like a ripe fruit, blood flowing out of it. His tears
of anguish added salt to the pain of his injuries.

Finally, after what seemed an
eternity, he could hear her no more. The males who assaulted her took
her limp body and threw it at his feet, laughing derisively, “A lot
of fight in that one!” Matthew told himself he would not look at
her... but then he did. Her frail form lay broken and bleeding. The
long, dark hair strewn about like black water mingling with the pool
of her blood.

Matthew looked up at the males
responsible for her death, memorizing each face and vowed he would
kill them all one day.

“Look at his face, he is so
strong...” they mocked him. One kicked him in the ribs almost
playfully but they did not give. Matthew had a very strong
constitution but as the night wore on, it was proven that even he
could not take all the beating they had for him. Eventually he passed
out from the pain.

When Matthew could move again and he
was certain he could escape, he vowed to never love another female.
The pain too great a price.

People were not to be trusted.

His
vow intact, he fled. Leaving the fragment
and a piece of his heart there forever.

Clara saw Matthew's fists clench and
unclench while he looked at her. Surely he was not cross with her?
But rage burned twin holes into her body and she stepped back,
confused.

He gave a disgusted exhale and
strode off, narrowly missing a young man who was walking by.

Joseph and Stephen looked at each
other and walked off, following him.

Lillian took Clara's hand. “Do not
mind him... he is not at all sociable. Mayhap the interaction
surprised him.”

Indeed, if that was the case, Clara
felt she was more in tune with shock, having left surprise behind
some time ago.

She allowed herself to be led away
and fervently wished for the streetlamps that would have been burning
inside the sphere to light their way back to the cottage.

Even with Lillian by her side she
had never felt so alone.

CHAPTER 30

Queen
Ada stood before the guards, giving them the full measure of her
gaze. “My daughter is gone, and her cohort, Charles,
is also gone. And one of our own sentry guards has disappeared as
well.”

She swayed over to the nearest
guard, her hand lashing out to grasp his chin, eye-to-eye, .and those
eyes were wide. No one wished to have the Queen's full attention. Her
fingers bit into the tender flesh of his jaw. “Who is responsible
for allowing those two traitors free access to the Outside...
damaging the sphere-wall once more?” She threw his face away and he
stumbled a little the crescents left by her nails filling with blood.

“It disgusts me that you would
allow more damage. The sphere is the thickness of parchment now!”
she raged, storming about the Gathering Room in a fit of temper as
she threw up her hands in a jerky, chaotic dance. Bright, irregular
spots of molted color appeared on her face and she whirled around,
the royal guard stilling as one.

“You
will find her and
those two traitors and bring her back to this sphere! It is apparent
to all that we might now survive Outside. No matter.” She waved
away the uneasy shifting and murmurings from the guard, none of which
wished to risk the Outside. Their whole lives warned against it.

“Your Majesty.” Her eyes
narrowed on a guard brazen enough to address her directly.

“Mayhap you should accompany us so
that you may address her captors directly. Obviously they should be
punished for daring to take our Princess.”

The queen stopped her frenetic
pacing, the wine goblet stem a constant thing she stroked.

What of her wine?

But
it was King Otto who answered, “Given the circumstance Queen Ada,
myself and Prince Frederic would be happy to assist by maintaining
things here for your short journey. And,” he said, mustering up
false sincerity like a sudden storm, “we would very much like to
supply whatever
you may need.”

The
wine, she
interpreted with tremendous relief.

Yes,
she would like to go on this journey. That wretched girl had done it
this time. She probably begged to go with the horrible savages.
Anything to not
fulfill her betrothal obligation. She had never been grateful for
Ada's sacrifices for her, for that stupid man she married... Raymond.
What a waste, a martyr like Clara. No matter, at least she was Queen,
she smiled grimly. She had that and her wine.

“Very well,” she looked about
her and caught sight of Elvira, “you-servant.” Elvira rushed
over, her body and face cowed. “Get my reticule and everything that
one needs for...”

She looked sharply at the guard with
the big mouth.

“One week your majesty, methinks
we need that much time.”

Queen Ada made an exasperated sound
low in her throat.

Imbeciles.

Could no one get anything done with
haste?

She looked back at Elvira. “Are
you daft? You heard him, one week,” she enunciated slowly as if the
girl could not hear.

Elvira scurried off, knowing the
Queen would squish her like a noxious bug if she were to be afoot a
moment longer.

Ada whirled around again, slightly
unsteady, already loathing that she had sent that stupid girl away.

Her goblet was quite empty.

Prince Frederic looked at the guard
and they gave him uneasy eyes back. “Why don't I take that from
you, Queen Ada. Would you like to enjoy a brief respite with father,
while I secure refreshments?” he inquired, never taking his eyes
off Ada's.

He captured the goblet, plucking it
from her limp fingers as she cast a benevolent smile upon him at the
same time he was fantasizing about how close he had come to having
her daughter in his grasp.

And he would again.

He would take his own guard,
trailing behind hers in secret. And there would be an unfortunate
ambush...one that she would not recover from.

Who would the pearl kingdom have
then?

It
would have him, the
Prince thought. Strolling away with the Queen's goblet in his fist,
the brilliant blue crystal throwing shards of color as he walked
away.

It speared the carpet, a path of
blue blood splashing before him.

****

Clara and Lillian made their careful
way to the hot springs, its beaten path anciently etched between
great swaths of densely blanketed evergreen trees. Clara breathed
deeply of the fragrant air, never able to get enough of it, the
headiness a taste upon her tongue. There was nothing for her to match
it in her memory, it was unique.

Lillian watched her and thought how
strange it was that she smelled everything. Of course, she had never
been outside before. For Clara, every sight, smell and taste was a
first. She had been almost reverent of their crude food tonight,
asking about every little detail. Lillian decided that she was quite
good company. Not at all what a Princess should be.

They had an old book of fairy tales
that talked about royalty like remote creatures that were above
everyone. Although Clara had a strikingly delicate beauty, as told in
the tales, she was comfortable to be around and not haughty in any
way.

Lillian liked her.

Lillian was nervous of Matthew
following a scarce twenty feet behind them, he had not seemed himself
lately. Always quiet and brooding; since the acquisition plans for
the Princess, his mood had changed from quiet and brooding to remote
and edgy. Joseph and Stephen were sweeping the perimeter of the clan
as was typical at this time. She watched Anna as she walked ahead of
them. Lillian had invited her but she was so shy she removed herself
from the conversation. Lillian sighed, would she ever relax with her?
Of course, with a male close by, sometimes just their presence was
enough to make her skittish as a colt.

Lillian
glanced behind her and did not see Matthew. Thank goodness, checking
all points of possible entry. Let him scout and be out of her sight.
Soon enough, she would have to address Clara's status as select.
That she did not look forward to.

Anna stopped ahead of them, the cave
entrance to the springs directly ahead.

She turned, her dark eyes probing
around them in the dimness of the twilight. “Where is Matthew?”
her eyes danced restlessly.

Lillian shrugged. “Scouting, I
presume.”

Clara looked where Anna did. Seeing
nothing, she went to move forward and Lillian caught her wrist. “Have
a care.”

Clara looked down and saw that the
ground had grown soft and a pebbled path veered off to the right,
leading down into the murky darkness.

But
for some light!
Just as she thought it, Anna pulled a candle from her small reticule
and Lillian poured the smallest amount of foul smelling fluid over
it. Using a small ignition, Lillian lit the candle. Clara thought,
they have no steam
to power their lights.
The candle illuminated the path in front of them, but vaguely. Little
more than enough to keep them from stumbling.

Finally, after another five minutes
of walking, they arrived at a small dark pool. Lazy spirals of steam
made a rich vapor in the air, clinging to the surface like departed
spirits. A pocket of sky rode the open area where there was no tree
cover. The moon, almost full, lit the water and Clara realized she'd
been wrong. She could see quite well from where she stood.

The two women undressed quickly and
got in. Lillian gave a satisfied groan of pleasure. “It has been
two days since my last bath and I, for one, was in need of it,” she
said, flipping suddenly on her back and floating. The moonlight
caressed her form. The belly which held the babe with the barest
swell.

“Do get in, Clara,” Lillian
said.

Clara looked about her nervously.
“What of Matthew?”

She did not want to be naked and
vulnerable with any male around. The assault upon her by Prince
Frederic was still a fresh wound.

Anna
smiled and it took Clara's breath away,
she
was lovely. But
had been so solemn since their first introduction Clara had not known
what to think of her. The look of happiness suited her.

Looking about her once more, she was
satisfied. Removing her clothes, she stood naked, the slight breeze
refreshingly cool and unique upon her bare skin. This is what the
wind felt like. For it could not be seen, only felt.

Matthew saw the Princess look right
at him through the trees and held very still. The other women had
already gone into the spring but it was she that made his heart
speed, he had not bothered to even glance at the others. She turned
her face away and his eyes stole from the top of her head to her
feet. She made him ache. He did not know why.

How he hated her perfection: the
perfectly formed body with a waist so small his hands could span it,
and her eyes...! The heat that had infused his body when he had
brushed her skin to arrest her fall rose up to the surface of him
again.

So
this is what a select
could do. He would not have it and neither would the Band. He would
get rid of her, take her back to the sphere or somewhere else. But as
he looked upon her form, the moon making a silhouette
of her body the ache grew in intensity and it made him more angry,
not less. He would wait until they finished then take her with him.

No
female could make him care again, select
or no.

Clara immersed herself in water that
was almost too hot for her flesh. Much of which was tender from the
new movement of the horse, sleeping on the ground and she was still
sore from the beatings.

Yet
that was
fading and she had a glimmer of hope. It shimmered just below the
surface of her soul, waiting to solidify.

Memories of Charles stole over her
slowly and her mood turned melancholy.

“Clara...” Lillian spoke her
name softly.

“Yes?”

“Because of the way you interacted
with Matthew, we know what you are to us.”

Clara stilled in the water, the
fragrant soap Lillian had given her a foamy pile atop her head.

“The
Evil Ones...” The
Guardians,
Clara corrected mentally, “have a prophesy of sorts. Which speaks
of this problem of our people dwindling and then the mingling of a
new people. Females that will be our salvation. They will unlock the
genetic code for us to begin to live again, have children again.”
she touched her belly with reverence.

“You
are one of the select,
Clara.”

Oh
my Guardian, Clara thought. Those words were right out of the book
that Stella, Clara's great-great grandmother, had kept safe for the
royal family. It was no coincidence that the Guardians had called the
people they chose for the spheres' the select.
But
how could they know? These clan-dwellers?

“And what does this mean for me?
For the Band?”

“Are there others like yourself
inside the sphere?” Anna asked, finally entering into the
conversation.

“There are many females and males
as well,” Clara said, confused.

Lillian shook her head. “No,
mayhap a relation or someone that is special...?”

Clara had many relations, much of
them very distant. She told that to Lillian who shrugged. “You may
make it known during your negotiation on behalf of our president that
this is a wonderful possibility.”

Clara
did not think the females of the sphere would be receptive to the
savages needing
special mates. But she did not say, not wishing to alienate these
females who were working toward a fragile friendship.

Clara relaxed again, using the pause
in conversation to rinse off her hair, her breasts tipped to the sky.
Wringing the remainder of the water from her hair she sank down into
the warm depths, grateful for the heat that stole the chill she had
felt from the air.

Matthew's
eyes followed her motions with an abiding hunger.

“Tell us of the sphere,” Anna
said, her timid voice mingling with the sounds of the forest. They
were small but so many it was a background symphony of nature, ebbing
and flowing in volume.

Clara closed her eyes and spoke into
the dark, “It is like anyone's life. I work in the fields by day
and by night I think on royal things. My duties.”

Matthew drew closer, trying to catch
her words. He wanted to know more as well. He crouched down,
listening.

“The fields?” Anna asked.

“The oyster fields. They yield
succulent meats and gems that we use for trade with other spheres.”

“How many spheres are there?”
Lillian asked.

“Just nineteen,” Clara replied,
thinking again how she would like to visit the sea. Suddenly she
remembered Anna was from a sea clan.

“What of you, Anna? I hear that
you hail from a sea clan.”

Clara waited in the darkness for so
long she was planning to repeat her question when Anna finally
answered, “Yes, I am from a sea clan. But I do not speak of it.”

Clara
thought before she spoke, intuiting much of what may trouble Anna. “I
too, have bad things which await me in the sphere. That is why I was
where I
was when the Band came upon me and Charles and Prince Frederic,”
she whispered.

Yes, Matthew wondered. Who are
Charles and Prince Frederic?

“Who are they?” Lillian asked,
and a fine tremble broke over Clara, sweat beading on her upper lip.
Thinking about the attack made her breath quicken and become shallow.

“What is it? Clara, what is
wrong?” Anna asked.

Matthew stood, what was going on? He
scanned the environment, his night vision that of an owl. Seeing no
threat, he crouched again.

Clara reminded herself that the
attack was not happening now but she was quaking like a schoolgirl.
Prince Frederic was obviously not here.

She clearly saw the faces of Anna
and Lillian staring anxiously at her and felt some explanation was in
order. “I was to marry Prince Frederic of the Kingdom of Kentucky.
The Queen...”

“Your mother,” Lillian
clarified.

Clara nodded. “She wished to ally
the kingdoms so that they may mutually benefit each other.”

“What do they have that you need?”
Anna asked.

Nothing, Clara thought.

“Grapes,”
she answered instead. “And we have pearls and oyster meat aplenty.
Many of the spheres would do much for our alliance but Queen Ada
chose this kingdom.”

Lillian's eyes narrowed, there was
something here that did not quite agree. “If that were so, then why
do you escape?”

Clara said nothing.

“If this alliance is so critical,
why do you leave?” she pressed.

Anna interrupted, “Grapes for
eating?”

“Yes, and for wine.”

“Spirits?” Lillian asked.

“Not exactly, but of a sort,”
Clara responded carefully. “He was beating me.” she hung her
head.

Anna floated over to where Clara was
and put an arm around her. “He is not here now to hurt you.”

That
Prince who attacked her was to marry
her? Matthew could not understand a marriage between the two of them.
Could he, in good conscience, return her to the sphere knowing what
fate she might have there? He was troubled by what he was hearing. He
listened.

Something tight and horrible
loosened in Clara's chest. She almost felt safe.

“And the Band, they came upon me
in the tunnel. Prince Frederic had somehow known I was attempting to
break free and intercepted our escape. He tried... to rape me,”
Clara whispered.

Dear Lord, Lillian thought,
we have a monster living in the sphere. One that preys on females.
That would not be tolerated in the clans. Well that was untrue,
judging by Anna's expression. She understood exactly what Clara had
been through.

Anna looked at Clara with sympathy.
“I made a narrow escape from a similar event, one that led me here
as well. Not all males are as that one.”

Clara knew that. After all, she had
known Charles her whole life and he had been nothing but tender and
loving. Their friendship unsullied by violence or rancor.

Matthew was shocked. He had thought
her a spoiled female of high rank that possibly enjoyed violent
trysts. But it did not explain the way her face looked before. Was
there other violence against her? It made no sense. Why would their
Queen allow the abuse of her own kin?

Clara suddenly felt flushed and
wished to be out of the spring, her fingers pruning and her body
languid.

The mood was solemn as they exited
the pool. Clara took her time to dry off, the fragrance of the soap
heady in her nostrils. Though she was somber in her mood, she found
these females brought her happiness. It had been some time since her
spirit felt weightless.

She dressed quickly and, gathering
up their towels, and implements, she followed her new friends up the
steep path.

Having lived a life where she was
constantly aware of her surroundings she almost missed being taken by
Matthew of the Band. But in the end, she was no match for his
stealth, reacting a moment too late.

He claimed her from behind with
ease, clamping on to her waist and covering her mouth. She could hear
the murmured conversation of Lillian and Anna ahead of her, powerless
to alert them as she was taken from the area with swift and deadly
precision.

The
guard, Matthew,
she thought, for she knew who it was as the fire, that liquid warmth
climbed to the surface of her body like banked embers. He had
captured her easily and ran with her body slung over his shoulder.

Clara fought in earnest and he held
her tighter against his shoulder, his slow trot never wavering.

My Guardian, he was strong, he made
the Prince look weak. She grew dizzy as the time wore on, his
breathing becoming more labored as he tore through bushes, seamlessly
navigating a path that she could not see, her head bobbing against
his flank.

Finally, he slowed, then stopped.
Roughly grasping her legs, he swung her upright and set her down on
her feet with an alarming thud. Lightheaded after being upside down
for thirty minutes or more, Clara swayed and fell to her knees.

Then she retched the supper she had
so enjoyed onto the ground before her.

Matthew tried to not feel anything
for the female, remembering that she was to be returned. Or at the
very least, out of his clan but he had a physical reaction to her
weak retching and dizziness, his gut churning and releasing. It was
possible he had treated her too roughly, the constant jarring and
subsequent dismount to the ground. He did not know, he had no
experience with females except for Margaret.

That strengthened his resolve, he
would not weaken before her.

Clara
looked up at Matthew who gazed down at her coldly and wished she were
dead. He had captured her and was taking her, Guardian knows where.
All her earlier peace gone on the wind. She wiped a shaky hand
against her mouth, throwing spittle away in the ferns at her side.
She shook her head, trying to clear it and started to crawl away. She
would not go willingly if it killed her.

He could not believe this female!
After all that she had been through she still would try to free
herself of him.

Grimly, Matthew went after her and
flipped her over on her back and she cried out, “Please!” she
shielded her face. “Do not... do not hurt me.”

Ignoring the instinctive twist of
his gut as her words speared his consciousness, Matthew grabbed her
by her wrists and jerked her roughly to her feet. Taking her slender
throat in one hand he slammed her against the tree. “We do not need
females from the sphere.”

Fragrant evergreen needles fell on
Clara like rain when her back hit the tree... her head swimming in a
nauseating fog. She saw his face, the intense blue eyes boring into
hers and she said the first thing that came to mind, “Kill me,”
she squeezed out of her raw throat. Her vision dimmed to a small
point and the edges began to fade to gray.

Matthew became aware of heat in his
hand and saw her eyes start to flutter closed and a feeling of
fierce, instinctive protection swelled up inside himself for her...
for this female. As much as his intellect battled to assert his will,
he could not physically harm her. He gathered her limp body with his
free arm, and took his hand gently from her neck, her head falling
forward on his chest. He scooped her into his body in a cradle hold,
as confused as he had ever been in his life.

An inner turmoil raged within as he
made his way to the fence which surrounded his clan, her still body
pressed against his chest.

****

Lillian gave a low chuckle at Anna's
comment, thrilled that she was so engaged in conversation and turned
to look for Clara. Shouldn't she be coming along; what had her
lagging behind so?

She paused and Anna turned, her
eyebrow raising was clearly illuminated by the glow of the candle.

“Clara?” Lillian called. “do
not dawdle, we have much yet to discuss.”

Anna's face changed to worry. “She
does not impress one of folly. Was she not right behind us?”

Yes, she had been.

The women hurriedly retraced their
steps and came upon Clara's reticule and towel, sprawled on the path
in a wet heap.

“Clara!” Lillian screamed.

“She has been taken!” Anna
cried.

By
whom,
Lillian thought. Her mind immediately went to Matthew.

Where was he?

Anna whipped her head around to look
at Lillian. “Where is Matthew?”

Where indeed?

The women wasted no time, rushing
the entire length back to the clan. They stumbled into the dwelling
area and found Stephen and Joseph who stood upon seeing their
expressions, their backs to the fire.

“What is it?” asked Joseph eying
Anna over carefully and finding no damage. She shook off his concern
immediately, worried only for Clara.

Both women spoke frantically at the
same time and Stephen put a hand up, silencing them.

Joseph was shocked, he had never
heard Anna speak so much.

Anna looked at Lillian.

Lillian nodded and told the tale.
She mentioned that she suspected Matthew and Stephen's eyes became
hooded with anger.

“It cannot be him, he is Band. He
would not harm a female, let alone take one.”

Joseph shifted uncomfortably,
Stephen turned on him, grabbing his large bicep. “What say you?”
he said in a low urgent voice.

“Matthew is friends with no one.”
Stephen nodded, releasing him and giving him the gesture with his
hand, go on, “even you, who runs with him, fights with him. You but
know him a small amount.” and Joseph put his index and thumb
together, leaving the barest of spaces between them.

“And
you do? Know him?” Stephen spit out, angry at the situation,
frustrated at their position. The Princess gone, maybe taken by a
member of the Band. Or worse, in the hands of the fragment.

“He
spoke of his past only one time.” They all waited for
him to continue. “And there was a girl...”

“How old was he when he came to
us?” Lillian asked for clarity, knowing that Anna knew even less
than she.

“Ten and two years.” Stephen
said immediately.

“He
was with the fragment
and how
he was with them we do not know, as they have no Band. But, he was
mistreated by all, save one girl, Margaret. She saw that he had food
enough to exist, but could do no more. Later, when some males
discovered what she meant to him, they assaulted her in front of him
unto her death. He vowed that he would never care about a female
again.”

“This would have been good
information to share,” Stephen said with real reproach.

Joseph sighed. “He swore me to
secrecy. He promised it would not affect his duty to the Band.”

“Isn't it a biological directive
to protect if you are Band?” Lillian asked.

“It is,” Stephen said slowly.
“But it is entirely possible he has some internal wires crossed;
his directive becoming mixed with the environment in which he was
raised.”

“When he was forming, a young man
subjected to that much abuse...” Anna trailing off, entering the
conversation again.

“Yes, it would be a devastating
start for one of the Band. We are aggressive by nature and that kind
of treatment, over time would not be ideal.” Joseph said.

“Ideal?” Stephen questioned
sarcastically. “If he has indeed taken Clara, then we are
honor-bound to find him before something irrevocable happens to her
or to him.”

“Agreed,” Joseph said. “But
how,” he asked, flashing a palm toward the women. “We cannot
leave them here and the clan unguarded.”

Stephen had an idea. “Is President
Bowen still here?”

Joseph nodded.

A look of relief washed over
Stephen's face. “He can remain with his Band and leave after our
return.”

“What do we say about Matthew?”

“For now we treat this as a
disappearance, what if Matthew is not responsible? Then we cast doubt
upon him forever with an unproven accusation. No. We see the
President now,” he looked at the women, “Go now to your
dwellings, say nothing. We will return and tell you what will
happen.”

Lillian did not like that Matthew
was being afforded this benefit. But, she realized it was justice, of
a sort. After all, he was twenty and two years and there had never
been anything she had heard that was contrary to his loyal protection
of the clan. Still, Clara was gone.

A frown furrowed the area between
her eyes. How much more could the Princess withstand?

****

Charles and Clarence came into view
of a huge timber fence with single logs too big for a man to embrace.
The tops of which had been sharpened to pencil points. He was sure
that he could see the flash of a fire which burned in the heart of
it.

“It
looks like this is the end of the trail. The savages
must abide here.”

Charles nodded. They were achingly
tired, having traveled two days to this spot. But he must try to
penetrate the fence and find Clara. At the very least, he needed to
know that she lived.

A large gate swung open and two huge
men exited One was speaking heatedly with the smaller guard that was
operating the gate. Another man that was noticeably older with an air
of authority (the Queen came to mind) gestured toward a point which
was north of here.

They
crouched down, unmoving. “Savages,”
Clarence breathed out.

Charles
nodded, taking in the huge males' height and something he wasn't sure
how to name. There was a lethal grace in the way they moved. He had
trepidation about the potential to come against them, yet Clara had
been taken. He
swallowed back his anxiety. Some things needed to be done,
regardless of how one felt about it. Bravery was a matter of
containing your fear while throwing away caution.

They
watched as the savages
threw strange-looking knapsacks on their backs. A small stable boy
approached with giant horses; horses that bore no resemblance
to those of the sphere. Where was Clara, Charles thought in
frustration?

Suddenly,
a women ran to one of the savages
throwing her arms around him. He hugged her hesitantly at first then
the hug turned fierce as he
wrapped his arms around her until she was engulfed in his embrace,
his size overwhelming hers.

They waited.

****

Anna and Lillian watched President
Bowen argue with Stephen and knew that if Bracus was here, things
would not be at the fever pitch that they had slid into.

“Bracus is rescuing Evelyn now and
you are reclaiming the Princess?” President Bowen said derisively.
“Why was there only one guard on her?”

Stephen held his temper, but it was
a near thing, swimmingly close to the surface, as it was for all the
Band. “It is as I said before. The women,” he gestured to Lillian
and Anna, “planned to bathe at the springs and we felt that inside
the border, they would be safe enough with one member of the Band
about.”

President
Bowen's gaze fell like a weight on Stephen. He held his breath,
hoping beyond anything that Bowen would not intuit the circumstances
of her disappearance. What if Matthew had claimed her in some odd
way? What if she were a select?
After all, had she not responded strangely to first Philip and then
Matthew? None if it bore any sense. It was his
natural directive to protect, which would be even more amplified with
a female. However, with the knowledge of his abuse at the hands of
the fragment, his
motives were now in question.

The
President ran a hand through what little hair he had atop his head
and with a heavy sigh said, “We will stay for two days hence, with
my
Band.” and he frowned. “But know this, I want that Princess back
here, standing in front of me, unharmed. Do you understand?”

He did.

“I will, Mr. President,” Stephen
replied, casting a glance at Joseph who looked like he may have been
nervous. But the Band were predators, heaping emotion or perceived
weakness under the veil of blankness. They all did that very well. It
was automatic, akin to breathing.

Bowen
narrowed his eyes at Stephen and pointed his finger at his chest,
where his head reached. “Do not engage the fragment,
they are too many without your Band mates. Even for her.”

He nodded but knew if she was coming
to harm, he and Joseph would die to save her.

A sound made him turn and it was
Anna, running toward them.

Now what?

Joseph looked at her with contained
care, his desire riding in his eyes, bypassing his instinct for
indifference. She leaped into his arms making him stagger back from
the impact. Then hesitatingly, he wrapped her in his fierce embrace.

She pulled away from him just a
little and they stared into each others eyes. Hers were brimming with
unshed tears. On his face rode a stunned expression of surprise that
he made no attempt to hide.

Stephen looked on with interest. He
could not believe this was Anna.

Apparently,
neither could Joseph.

“Why now?” he whispered bending
down, his lips moving close to her ear.

“I don't want to lose you, I know
that now,” she stammered, the first fat tear making a wet trail
down her cheek. It trembled at her jaw and Joseph used a finger to
catch it.

“I will return for you,” Joseph
said simply, his fingertips climbing their way up her arms, where
they grasped her shoulders. He drew her closer and she looked up at
him, putting a hand on his chest.

She warned, “It will not be simple
between us.”

Joseph shrugged. “Nothing valuable
is gained through ease.”

She smiled and it was sun breaking
through the clouds, he couldn't help but grin back. It was a
contagious thing, breaking the tension of the preceding moments like
rain in a desert. It was a fine thing to see a member of the Band
commit to a female and she to him.

The President said, “I do not wish
to separate two so newly linked...” he trailed off.

Anna looked at him with gravity. “I
understand duty.”

He nodded. “I am glad that you do,
but I will not lie. I am unsure as to how and where the Princess and
Matthew may be... what danger awaits them.” he looked at Joseph and
Stephen tilting his head in their direction. “I cannot make
promises.”

She
nodded, drying tears marking her face. But it was a face that shone
with hope, an
expression she had not owned in some time.

Joseph felt for the first time in
his life there may be something beside purpose and duty. And he now
had an inkling about what made Jack who he was. He had Lillian, the
other half that made him whole.

Anna felt the feather light kiss
that Joseph brushed against her forehead and steeled herself not to
hurl her body on his; stopping him from leaving her. Now that she had
decided to trust him the grief she felt from his departure crushed
her, immobilizing her. She prayed that he felt as she did.

She watched his broad back disappear
on his horse, Stephen riding beside him.

Trepidation and fear swirled around
her heart like clinging fingers of mist, a shroud she hoped not to
bear forever.

CHAPTER 31

Queen Ada's gaze narrowed on the
scarred mess of the sphere tunnel's wall. She was unconcerned about
the ramifications of her actions. All that mattered is she retrieve
her imbecilic daughter and keep the Wedded Day firmly within sight.

She
looked about her impatiently, where was that ridiculous man? Ah!
Coming toward him in a halting bumble was the Record Keeper's
associate, Ernest. He was an abiding fool, but Ada needed him.
He
held precious maps, set aside from the time Before Ash Covered the
Earth.

He twisted and wrung his hands as he
neared her. A fine sweat beaded his upper lip, his waistcoat soaked
with nervous sweat. “My Queen,” he said dipping his head and
bowing twice.

Insufferable fool.

She placed her hands on her hips,
the guards swarming around her like pesky but necessary wasps.

“I have the records you need, the
maps.” He held up long scrolls of paper bound together with
different colored ribbons, each color signifying a different
geographical area.

“Fine,” she said the word curtly
and she saw him cringe. Ada looked around for a moment then snapped
her fingers, her string of pearls hitting her hip as she whirled
around to face the nearest guard who approached.

“My Queen,” the guard dropped to
his knee before her.

She rolled her eyes. “Stand.”

He stood, his guarded eyes assessing
her mood and finding it foul, as usual.

“You will be in charge of these
documents,” flinging her hand in Ernest's direction.

“Yes,
my Queen,” he said with gravity. What he really knew, looking at
Ernest, who nodded with a bob of his head, was he
would pay with his life if they left his sight or he guided them
wrong. Or, if the Princess was not recovered.

He had a dim hope that something
good would come of this. But like the other guards, he knew that
without the princess' involvement in the kingdom, they were utterly
lost. The Queen wished to drink from the cup and the Prince of
Kentucky was a tyrant bent on reigning through fear, threats and
abuse. How he wished for the days under Kind Raymond. Henry hoped
that they could recover the Princess and put her where she belonged.
Selfishly, he knew that the Prince was the very worst match for her.
From what he had heard from the guards who were on shift the prior
eve, the prince was a danger to the Princess as well.

There was no easy solution.

The
Queen observed the machinations of Henry and did not care for a guard
that thought overly much. She preferred her guards simpler. Ada had
been fortunate not to have Henry or other guards like him that night
when Clara had needed discipline.

“Leave us,” the Queen said,
dismissing Ernest by turning her back on him.

He glanced nervously at her back
then at Henry. Finally he shuffled to Henry, keeping a wide berth
around the queen and handing the maps off to him. Henry nodded to
Ernest as his departure kicked up dust from the floor of the tunnel.

Henry called over the guard who had
the salt solution then turned to the Queen. “The sphere's wall is
but a vapor now, my Queen. May I restate my earlier opinion that
a...” he began.

She cut him off with an impatient
wave of her hand, “Your opinions have been duly noted and I care
not. Obviously, our need for protection from the Outside air has been
greatly exaggerated. Mayhap the Guardians were not so benign after
all.”

Henry sucked in his breath, she had
overstepped herself. Such blasphemy was inexcusable.

She smiled slyly at him. “Fear
not, the Guardians have not been a presence these one hundred forty
years past. I do not quibble with things that are no longer real.”

Henry felt they were very real
considering the advancements that kept their sphere and the other
nineteen running seamlessly. The spheres themselves were also a
marvel. Could she not see the importance of it all? He loathed her
for her purposeful ignorance.

“We will traverse this wall, we
will follow the trail of my disobedient daughter and her cohort. Do
you wish to contradict me in this, guard?” she stepped into his
personal space, so close that their chests were almost touching.

He stood his ground, keeping his
gaze respectful with an effort. She took the challenge of civility
seriously.

“I thought not,” she said
triumphantly.

He wished to strike her.

Her thoughtlessness for the people
of the sphere a palpable disregard.

She smiled at him, some of what he
felt must leak out of the pores of his skin, he could not contain it
all. His allegiance to the kingdom lay firmly with the dead monarch,
not the living one. And in the future it would most certainly be with
Princess Clara; that was his fervent wish.

The guard who Henry had called stood
before him and he nodded. The Queen watched from his side as a large
glass canister was emptied of its contents in one smooth movement and
flick of the wrist.

It splattered across the surface of
the tunnel wall, now thrice compromised, a thing of terrible beauty
damaged forever. It no longer hissed but began to evaporate at a
maddening pace. The once opaque iridescence dissolving to the
Outside. The wind and smell of a million different things in a nature
Henry had never experienced, assaulted his senses.

It was overwhelming.

He looked over at the Queen and saw
that she was similarly stunned. The other guards shifted around
nervously. Finally, after a few long minutes, the Queen's royal guard
led their stout horses through the portal into the Outside, the
sunlight streaming down upon them.

The heat from the orb lit upon their
skin with a vibrant warmth that instantly cheered Henry, his very
marrow awakening. He thought regardless of circumstance that he would
like the experience. Very much. The smells of the Outside were like
tasting food in his nose. Impossibly rich.

Henry
immediately surveyed his surroundings, looking for the clues of other
humans and found many. His frown deepened. The meadow grass had many
imprints, but of varying size, depth and type.

He
knew the footprints of the savages
by
sheer size alone. The leathers that they wore were distinctive as
well. An odd configuration possibly meant for traction graced the
soil in the soft earth. Henry was internally relieved that no rain
had fallen since Clara was taken. That would have ruined the trail.
He placed his shoe next to indentations of the savages'
prints
and saw theirs were thirty percent longer and half that more wide.
They were formidable in size, the savages.

He
looked up at Queen Ada from his crouch and he could see that she
understood his advice for the entire
guard
had
not been unfounded.

They looked at each other for a
swollen moment. Henry stood, looking at the guards on their mounts.
He gave the signal with his finger that they needed to spread out,
twirling it once, twice. One guard stayed behind, the Queen pulled
behind his horse in a contraption most odd. But it saved her
sensibilities and her wine was within reach as well.

She spoke to him almost on a level
equal with he, lifting her flask, she used it to gesture at him.
“What say you? How much longer?”

Henry
held a neutral expression as she took a very un-royal like pull from
the flask. “I do not know. However, they would have had
to seek shelter somewhere nearby. They sought a place with cover,
water... seclusion.” he shrugged. “Mayhap, it will be eight hours
hence to reach such a place.”

Henry unrolled one of the scrolled
maps looking at it intently. One such water source could be clearly
seen. Perhaps it was the source of the Great Lake that the pearls
were harvested from. He shoved that thought away for future
reflection. He had not time to think on speculations.

Ada narrowed her eyes on him,
glaring. He understood that she wished to find Clara but he could not
instantly transport them to the proper location. He was as new to
this terrain as she.

“Let us make haste,” she said.

Henry nodded. Finally she would be
silent and let them begin the journey.

He walked over to his guards and
they all took turns looking at the map, discussing the different
routes. They decided on bedding down adjacent to the water source,
which looked to be some kind of stream or small river. Possibly
feeding into the Ohio he decided.

He jogged back to where the Queen
was and conveyed the plan.

“Fine,” she said tersely, taking
another pull from her wine flask. “Fill this, Henry. I become
thirsty and need additional quenching.”

He turned, sighing quietly to
himself... ghastly royal.

Henry
poured the wine from the larger flask into the smaller then added
some spirits. He would get the Queen drunk enough so that she passed
out. That would be
merciful to the guard, he
thought, adding a bit more.

Turning, he handed over the flask
and she tore it out of his grip without acknowledgment.

She reclined in her odd contraption,
equal parts leather and wood. The cage-like creation of hammered
copper with brass fittings held her in a half egg metal cocoon piled
with cushions in the interior. Steam hissed to provide light when it
was needed, hanging off a brass hook which shimmered like gold in the
sunlight.

The steam canister would not last
for more than a fore-night but Henry was grateful for the light it
would provide for their first night Outside.

The horses began to climb the hill
toward the Great Forest, the Queen's lantern catching the light and
refracting it in a million diamonds across the unknown terrain of the
Outside.

****

Prince Frederic and his guard looked
through convex lenses attached to a heavy contraption that fit snug
on the head. A sight magnifier that swiveled between an upright
position above the forehead and one which covered the eyes. In the
locked position it allowed distance-viewing. In the upright position
your vision was your own.

The Prince had a perfect view of the
Queen and her guard entering the woods.

Exactly what he planned.

He flipped up the lenses, pleased to
see the momentary reflection of himself. He was quite handsome and
knew it.

He turned to Jabez, the First Royal
Guard. “We advance one hour hence. I wish to ambush them after they
have bedded down here.” he pointed to his own map and his lenses
flipped down as his head bent forward. He slapped them impatiently
back in place until he heard them click into the fixed position.

Jabez
looked down at where the Prince was pointing and noted it was
adjacent to a creek or stream. He straightened, nodding. This whole
quest made him uneasy. He was certain that King Otto was also
nervous. If the Queen survived the royal spheres would be at war and
that the
Kingdom of Kentucky did not desire. Better to place blame on the
savages
then capture both kingdoms. He was not certain that this was the best
way.

Jabez glanced around him, he did not
like the Outside with its strange smells and noises and it was
disturbingly open as well. He also did not like the obsessive
quality his prince had toward Princess Clara. It was not the first
time that he had thought the prince mad and no small amount either.
His sphere did not see a great deal of royal out breeding and most
likely the prince had suffered genetically because of it. Yes, there
was more to the alliance of Princess Clara and Prince Frederic. More
than Queen Ada and Princess Clara ever realized.

Like not having insane royals.

He rolled up the map and retied it
with its leather tether, watching his Prince as he strode about
barking orders self-importantly. The horses that the guard sat upon
shifted their hooves nervously in the soft dirt. They had never been
outside the sphere either; their senses were overwhelmed by the
newness of everything.

Jabez
had counted the Queen's guard at ten. Why their monarch insisted upon
going, he did not know. A Queen needed to stay in the sphere. With
her daughter likely captured by the savages,
she
could not have been thinking clearly. Or her advisers were daft. She
may have not listened to her advisers. She struck Jabez as stubborn
and cruel.

Jabez and the guard were mounted and
ready, keeping a discreet distance behind the Queen's guard.

They were confident in their plan of
attack and eventual acquisition of Princess Clara.

CHAPTER 32

Clara woke gradually to rhythmic
movement, a swaying sensation. She opened her eyes and saw the
underside of a very masculine jaw.

Reality and memories rushed upon her
in a confusing slush. It was Matthew who had taken her from the clan,
from her new women friends. She was a ship without oars being steered
by a male without regard for her welfare.

Her future prospects were bleak.

Matthew became aware of the female's
change in breathing and knew when she woke. He slowed his running to
something that was not so jarring.

He stopped underneath a deep canopy
of trees, moss springy underneath his leathers. He looked around and
noticed a dry area where the moss seemed less green and took Clara
there, gently lying her down.

Clara looked at him and moved
backward on her hands and legs until she felt her back meet the bark
of the nearest tree, eying him warily. She had never given him great
regard, with the chaos of the past days, just getting proper food and
rest being foremost on her mind. Now she belatedly realized he should
have had her full attention. She looked him over closely. He was as
tall as Bracus, but fiercer of expression. What she had thought of
as anger, when he had gazed at her while she was safely encapsulated
in the sphere, she now understood to be some kind of intense
indifference.

As if he willed himself not to care.

He spoke to her, “Do not try to
run.”

She shrugged. “And where, dear
sir, would I go? Where would I go and you not catch me and
assault me further?”

He
took a step nearer to her and she instantly regretted her flippant
comment. He was huge in the way of the other savages
and
could easily harm her. Slowly, if he so chose.

He
saw her eyes widen in fear and hesitated. Matthew was still unsure of
what to do with her. His plan had been so full, so sure. And now? All
he could see were those swimming aquamarine eyes and feel the heat of
her when she touched his bare skin. He hated her power over him.
Mayhap
it was not a conscious thing on her part. After all, if she were
select
it would not be something she could help.

She saw him hesitate and arched her
brow.

“I do not wish to harm you,” he
said.

Clara
crossed her arms underneath her breasts and let her face fill with
disbelief. Oh yes, he so
did not wish to
harm
her after the whole slam-into-the-tree episode and her fainting, yet
again.
And the vomiting everywhere. Yes, that was it, her welfare was
so
important.

She felt battered and not just her
body.

Matthew raked a hand through his
hair, ripping a tether from his knapsack and tying it back.

She
would be difficult,
he thought. Soon he would have the entire Band hunting them both and
he would have to think of an explanation as to why he had taken her.

More and more he could not think of
one.

Clara stood, stretching the
tightness of her body, small popping sounds emitted from her back as
the tension was released. She moved her neck in a small circle, the
kinks slowly easing. She would kill for something to wash her mouth
out with. Tentatively she reached for the flask in the knapsack that
lay at her feet. Sniffing it and smelling nothing, she took a pull of
water, discreetly spitting it out behind her. Then she took her fill
of water, all the while feeling his eyes on her. She looked back at
him as neutrally as possible. She wanted no more shows of force.
Possibly, if she were cooperative, he would not be rough with her
again.

Matthew
saw her body moving to relieve the pressure of travel and he wished
to rub her neck and back. He wished to touch a female,
this
female. He clenched his fists. He would not touch her, it was too
much of a betrayal of Margaret.
No other female could be as pure and vital as she had been. Yet his
eyes strayed back to Clara's form again and again, watching her
drink, watching her move.

Clara watched him watching her, his
range of emotions going from indifference to pensive to resolution.
She wished very much to find out about this strange man. Why was he
not following Bracus' commands? Was he not second-in-command?

“Why do you kidnap me? When your
captain returns he will be unhappy,” she stumbled over that word,
thinking that it may be quite a bit more than that. “Surely there
will be conflict. It has been explained to me what my potential role
is for our peoples. You put that at risk. Your actions put that at
risk.”

She gazed directly at him and that
heat licked at him. She was beginning to undo him. He walked to her
and her eyes widened but she did not back away. Clara was accustomed
to intimidation, the Queen having been an adept teacher.

When he was but a foot away from her
he asked, “Who did this to your face?” He could not stop himself
as he put a finger along the chartreuse bruise which bloomed like an
ugly flower; beginning at her cheekbone and fanning out toward her
temple.

She
felt the tender touch of his finger as it glided against her
cheekbone, in sharp contrast to his rough treatment of her earlier.
And it made Clara wonder, had he been
scared
of
her before? Scared not of her
but
what she represented?
What was he afraid of? The melding of their peoples, as preposterous
as it sounded with the Queen's involvement, would be a positive thing
for their peoples. She was puzzled and felt her brows knit together.

What was he doing? He saw her frown
at his caress and took his hand away, a dull warmth throbbing where
he had laid that small touch upon her face.

Her face smoothed out and as his
hand fell away she felt like she had lost a granule of comfort. It
was almost, with this stranger, as it had been with Charles. But how
could that be? She and Charles had many seasons built upon one
another, many events which bred their easy familiarity. She had
nothing with this guard, except his disregard of the rules, his rough
treatment of her, and his simmering anger which ran underneath his
skin. She could feel it boil and ripple like a fish seen through a
dark glass of water.

“I wish to know, why do you take
me? Why not let our peoples mingle? You have a need for propagation
and we need to be free of a life of only the sphere.” Clara thought
briefly of the ocean her father had told her of and had a sharp ache
of longing for that unknown sea far away.

“I believe that the Captain cannot
be objective where you are concerned,” he rubbed his hands
together. “He has shown a degree of...” he paused,
“subjectivity. He has lost his focus, our purpose.”

Clara was not entirely sure but she
threw out her thoughts, “Does he... is he...?

Matthew nodded. “He wishes to have
you. If your people were resistant to the idea...” he shrugged.

“They will come for me, you know,”
Clara stated.

Matthew's eyebrows came together.
“It does not matter, the Band is not afraid of any that may come.”

“What
of the fragment?”

“What of them?” Matthew snarled
out.

Ah...
Clara thought, watching his fists clench, she had touched on
something tender which bled. Of course, the girl, Evelyn, had been
taken. She was obviously close to him, as Bracus had clearly been.

“Is it Evelyn? The young girl that
Bracus seeks?”

He shook his head. His expression
momentarily softening then hardening again. “It is not the girl.”

Clara cocked and eyebrow.

He
sighed. “Not entirely the girl. I...” he shifted around, “the
Band will retrieve her. But it is a personal matter between the
fragment
and I.”

Clara waited.

He
looked at her and realized that somehow he had been cornered into
saying more than he had intended. He did not wish to speak of his
time with the fragment,
of
Margaret.

They looked at each other, a tiny
young woman with fierce eyes and a bruised face and the warrior with
a troubled heart and an abusive past.

Could he trust her? Would it matter?
Why was it important at all that he tell her anything...?

Clara saw the conflict rage within
him without knowing what was the cause of it. Instinctively, against
every internal warning she said, “Please, tell me that which causes
you this suffering.”

He watched her silently, searching
her face for any deceit therein.

She continued, answering his earlier
question, “The Prince. He and my mother, the queen.”

“What?” Matthew asked, confused.

“Your question,” Clara answered.
“That is who put this abuse upon my face.”

Matthew stood stunned. He had known
that the Prince was a viper, as the Band had come upon him in the act
of assaulting the Princess. But her mother the Queen? It made no
sense.

Seeing his expression, Clara gave a
harsh cough of a laugh that ended in a sob. She put her hands over
her face so that she could not see him. Her shame shone as bright as
the orb which burned Outside.

Matthew
was moved, his soul churning. This tiny female had suffered abuse but
not by strangers as he had within the fragment
but
by flesh and blood.
He could not reason it out. But his heart, which ached for no one,
now ached for her. He thought that he might comfort her but did not
know how, could not.
So he stood awkwardly watching her misery, powerless to help her,
hating his incompetence.

Finally Clara removed her hands. She
swiped at her useless tears. Embarrassed beyond words by her stupid
weakness as this huge male stood staring at her, expressionless,
probably bored to weeping by her tirade. She straightened, building
herself back up.

Matthew
watched her gather herself together and grudging admiration began.
Beaten, almost raped, and kidnapped twice.
And
yet here she was gaining
her composure. His hands ached to hold her but he remained where he
was. There was one gift he could give her and he did; his trust.

It
was a larger thing than his comfort.

“I was twelve when the Band found
me starving and delirious from thirst, hunger and neglect,” he
began. His mind wandered a million miles from that spot remembering:

Matthew
lay down in the meadow, his head swimming with dizziness, flies
buzzing above him, impatient for his death. He looked down at his
body, the planes of it like weaponry: sharp hipbones, ribs like poles
of a house, tethered together with skin. His eyes rolled, dry and
swollen within their cavities to where he had heard a noise. He
raised a hand at the alien noise, knowing it was not the fragment.
Hoping, as only a young boy can, that someone would help him, that he
could either end forever or begin with new hope.

A shadow fell over his body and he
had not the strength to shield his eyes from the sun. The shadow form
seemed to realize this and fell over his line-of-sight. A great
warrior stood over him, weaponry hanging off his body like the leaves
of a mighty tree. Matthew was too weak to feel fear but his heart
paused its rhythm, stuttering.

The great male crouched down in
front of him, grabbing him gingerly by the wrist, firm but gentle.

He seemed to pause for a moment,
head cocked. Then he spoke to someone just behind him, “He is
Band.” As he turned his head, Matthew saw a bow shift with his body
and the boy took in his weapons: daggers lay at the small of his back
in a complicated contraption of leather, a bow rested upon the back
of his right flank and a quiver down his spine. A small dagger lay at
his right hip and another at his ankle.

His eyes flitted to the great male
above him and he smiled down at Matthew. “Where do ye hail from,
lad?”

Matthew opened his mouth to answer
but was too parched to form words. The male saw his problem and said,
“Bracus, fetch me the flask. His heart beats steady but not for
long. If we had not arrived...”

“Yes, father,” a young voice
came from behind him.

Suddenly, a second shadow crossed
the first and Matthew was looking into the face of a male that he
instinctively knew was the same as he.

Finally, Matthew belonged.

Beleaguered, starving, thirsty...
near death...he had come home. These were his people. He gave a weak
smile, drank the water, the large male's hand cupped underneath his
neck and then passed out.

Clara
listened to Matthew quietly tell of his recovery by the Band. Why,
she asked, had he been with the fragment?
Why had they beaten him, starved him, treated him so terribly?

“Why does your mother beat you?”
Matthew countered.

“I do not know,” Clara said, her
eyes filling with unshed tears. Realizing, perhaps for the first
time, that she wished that her mother loved her.

Matthew saw the loneliness and fear
rise in her eyes like a poisonous tide and could have struck himself
for being insensitive in his comment.

He
tried to salvage things, “I think it may be because I was different
and they knew that. I was threatening to them, their way.”
He thought carefully about his next statement. “You may also be a
threat to your mother.”

“The Queen,” Clara corrected
automatically.

Matthew inclined his head in
acknowledgment, watching her distance herself from the familial tie.

“I do not threaten her. She is in
ultimate control of all,” Clara said, sweeping her hand around the
forest, visualizing it as her kingdom.

Matthew saw the marks on her throat
from his fingers. They were reddening, just shy of bruising and he
was ashamed.

Clara saw him flick his eyes at her
throat and back to her face, an uncomfortable expression laying
there. She narrowed her eyes, what was he thinking?

She
asked the next question instead, the most obvious one, “What is
this fragment?”

His eyes became hooded and dark.
“They are a people bent on taking. They take whatever they can,
from whomever they can. Use it until it is no longer worthwhile then
discard it. As the locust.”

Clara stared at him, watching his
fists clench. The cords on his neck stood out, his huge hands bunched
into fists the size of the reticule she had used, now laying by the
hot springs.

“Bracus said that they kidnap
women, for forced breeding.”

Matthew nodded, once.

So,
it was true.
Suddenly,
Clara became acutely aware that it was just she and Matthew. Band or
no, here in the forest they were quite vulnerable.

Matthew saw the emotions pass over
her face and knew what she was thinking before she did.

“Fear
not. They would not dare try to take you.” Clara watched his
posture change, becoming more.
He would be something
for
them to fight against.

“They have no Band?”

Matthew shook his head. “No. My
existence with them...” he shrugged. “We do not know why I was
with them. Bracus has speculated...” he trailed off turning away
from her.

He could feel her approach. Her
warmth a thing of solidity, worming its way underneath his skin.

“What?” she asked softly.

“That they may have come upon my
mother...” he breathed out in a rush, his face hotter than he could
hardly stand, but he continued, “ and they kept me for a slave of
sorts.”

Oh,
how horrible.
They may have taken him while he and his mother were outside the
protection of their clan, whichever one that was.

And
he had been raised a slave.

Clara was a hair's breadth from his
back. She reached out to the broadness of it, the fine fibers of the
tunic having small bumps where the linen and cotton mixed.

He
had suffered as she. They actually knew each other well, she thought.
At least in the ways that mattered.

She
pressed her palm on his back. The spine formed a shallow canal
between muscles that bunched and intersected, running from huge
shoulders to a waist which tapered to the small of his back, where
diminutive swords lay crisscrossed. But Clara was unafraid. His
treatment of her was that of someone that did not know, could not
know,
kindness, concern... care. How could one show compassion when one had
never known it? And the males of the Band would include him but would
not be nurturers.

She lay her head in the middle of
his back, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. Silently lending
her compassion to him, wanting him to know that she forgave him his
treatment, that he understood he had a friend.

He felt her heat emanate into his
body, seeping from the point of contact. It slid to his extremities.
With a low groan he turned in one smooth motion and grabbed her upper
arms, his hands completely encircling them and drew her to him until
their chests were crushed together.

Clara
felt him pull her against him in a spine-tingling rush of desire that
swept over her in a heated wash and was powerless to remind herself
that this must not happen, that he was not of the sphere. The
fragment
raged about them waiting to take the unprotected. His own Band sought
them even now. Instead, she fell into his embrace like a woman lost,
a bottle in the ocean, swept to sea.

Matthew
put a hand underneath her chin, cupping it loosely, his fingertips
moving up the length of it, gliding until they swept beyond her
temple, carving pathways through her hair. He fisted it tightly and
she gasped.
He held her there and gazed into her eyes. He did not want to force
her but he could not seem to help his actions, resisting as long as
he could. He felt that his whole life had been but preparation for
this moment with this woman.
All
intellect lost before her.

Matthew let the question fill his
eyes, she saw it and gave a very slight nod and he bent his head and
pressed his lips to hers.

Clara was shocked by the softness of
his kiss. For all his size and mannerisms she thought his kiss would
be an onslaught. But it was not. It was soft, a velvet feather. With
pressure and movement, his lips lifted, sought, connected and
explored. When he took her lower lip in his teeth capturing it there,
he nibbled on it then sucked it into his mouth softly, his tongue
explored the inside of her mouth delicately then with increasing
passion and Clara was lost in it, her body afire. Clinging to his
shoulders like a lifeline, she gave back what she got, pressing her
body harder into his, her hands sliding up around his neck.

Matthew was desperate for more of
her touch and when her hands dug into his shoulders as she began to
move up to encircle his neck, he lifted her right off the ground and
she held onto him. His kisses rained down like rose petals on her
throat... her neck, everywhere skin was, he worshiped it with his
mouth.

She felt him move her until her back
was against the very tree that she had cowered against earlier. The
rough bark biting slightly as his body covered hers completely. Those
large hands pressed her body against his, one hand exploring her
ribcage and waist and the other holding her against the trunk.

Matthew became aware of far-off
noises and broke off his attentions...his breath coming in quick
gasps. His senses sharpening, he looked down on her. Clara's eyes
were swimming pools of turquoise in a face flushed a deep pink, the
marks of abuse fading and in their place lips that were swollen from
kisses instead of fists.

Damn.

He wanted her, it sung in his body
like a finely tuned instrument. But his senses had roared to life and
that meant threats were near. Ignoring his Band's directives could
not negate those deeply honed instincts that he had been born with.

“What?” Clara asked, languid and
drowsy in his embrace.

“Someone draws near,” Matthew
said, gently lowering her down, his arms around her, pulling her
tight against his chest, his hand stroking her hair, his eyes
scanning the distance.

He
heard horses but not Band. Fragment?
He
pushed Clara behind him and said, “Stay behind me, no matter what
occurs, do not leave my side.”

Clara felt sick, it was too many
things, one on top of the other. She put her hand on the tree but met
his gaze, nodding.

Satisfied, Matthew turned away from
her. Releasing his daggers from the small of his back, his hands
swinging around to the front of his body, his stance widening as the
thundering of the horses hooves neared. Matthew lowered into a
crouching stance.

Clara watched Matthew move in front
of her and take the small swords from their sheathing, a singing
metal sound as they briefly connected making her ears ring. She did
finally hear the approaching horses and knew that her life would be
changing yet again. She badly wished to move up behind Matthew, out
of sight and hidden behind him.

But if there were to be a fight, she
would be in the way so she stood where she was, vulnerability her
burden to carry.

****

Charles
and Clarence waited until the two savages
were gone and the others back inside the gate then followed them
after some discussion.

“She
is not here, you heard those savages.
She has escaped...”

“Or been taken,” Clarence said.

Charles nodded.

“We follow them then. Where they
lead, we shall follow and the Princess will be there.”

Charles
palmed his jaw thoughtfully. “They went to the trouble to acquire
her and then she slips between their fingers?” his fingers
clenched, then splaying, he shook his head. Something was amiss. The
savages
seemed far too astute and instinctual
to
allow such a thing.

“Agreed, but our path is laid
before us, Charles. Whatever may have happened, it matters not. She
is still in danger, true?”

“Yes,” Charles replied.

They
followed, the savages'
stealthy
tracks a challenge to navigate but they did, for Clara.

****

Queen Ada sent Henry ahead to the
huge complex which was surrounded by an intimidating natural fence
made of the huge timbers that were so prevalent in this strange
place.

It had not been without argument.

“Queen Ada, I implore you, that we
behave in a friendly and peaceful way, not lurking about as if we
mean harm.”

“We
do mean harm, Henry. I do not wish to 'make peace' with the savages.
I wish to take what is mine, return to the sphere and have the
betrothal go forward so that we may ally the kingdoms,” she said to
Henry as if he were a simpleton.

He sighed, she was stupidly
stubborn. “My Queen,” she smiled at him without warmth, “I will
spy for you but I do not feel it is to our benefit.”

“Duly noted. Now go,” she said,
uncapping her wine flask.

Henry eyed the flask and tried
again, “Queen Ada,” she narrowed her eyes on him, “what of
food? When was the last time you took a meal? Some cheese perhaps?”
she glowered at him and he unflinchingly held her gaze.

“Fine,” she made a disgusted
noise in her throat. “You, guard,” she barked.

The guard which dragged the load
that was the Queen, jumped on his mount at her tone, turning quickly.
“Yes, my Queen?”

She
spoke to him but looked directly at Henry, “Ready some cheese with
grapes,”
she spat the last word sarcastically. Henry was sure it was for his
benefit. “So this worrisome nagging will discontinue.”

“Post haste, my Queen,” he said.

Henry could hear him rustling for
the food.

“Satisfied?” she said, her
question both a challenge and a statement.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes,
my Queen,”
Henry said with resignation.

She smiled at his discomfiture.
Whatever made others uncomfortable seemed to please her, he thought.

She was a hateful example of
humanity.

He turned away and left her and the
other guards in the deepest part of the woods, making his way toward
a fence constructed of huge logs that had their tops sharpened to
dangerous points.

As
he approached, he became aware of raised voices. He crouched down
behind wild ferns with serrated fronds that rose about in all
directions, the low branches of the evergreen trees almost caressing
their tops; he could not be seen.
Yet
one of the huge savages
turned in his direction, his nostrils flaring, his hand hovering over
the hilt of a dirk that hung at his hip.

But
a short man with a barrel chest and a bald head of a certain age
gained his attention and he was distracted. However, it was what
they said that made the breath still in Henry's body.

“...but know this, I want that
Princess back here, standing in front of me, unharmed. Do you
understand?”

More
words were exchanged, snippets heard but not in their entirety.
Somehow, they had kidnapped the Princess, then lost her? To whom?
Henry was more mystified than ever. This was no longer a simple
acquisition mission. They had grossly underestimated the
sophistication of the savages.
Wrongly assumed a state of primitiveness that was unfounded. He
closed his eyes for a moment, despairing. Gaining Clara for the
sphere was now no longer a directive by the Queen.

She was their last hope, their
greatest chance for a future without tyranny.

****

Jabez watched the Queen's First
Guard make his stealthy departure from yonder foliage. Taking his
leave, he was certain, to explain the surprise of what he had also
heard.

The Princess had fallen out of their
grasp and she was being reacquired somewhere in this vast wilderness.

Jabez
moved quietly away toward their camp. He had seen the savages
scanning the area constantly, as if they may know they were
observed, which was impossible. He thought upon their strange size,
the gills, that only fish should have. Their way of movement was
lithe and graceful, but deadly. They would be fierce fighters.

Jabez could envision this.

His
heart raced with the anticipation of coming against them. The
Prince's guard would prevail, there were simply too many for the
savages
to gain advantage.

They would surrender or die.

He hurried back to tell the Prince
all that he knew.

****

Matthew's body trembled, adrenaline
coursing through him, the female at his back. A new purpose drilled
through his body which was almost painful. It was more than pure
desire, he wished to share something more, something intrinsically
powerful.

Life.

Now that epiphany was threatened.

Horses
slowed and came into view... it was the fragment,
and they were many. Matthew's heart sped, he could feel Clara's fear
behind him. The need to cover her with his protection choked him,
singing through him, unlike anything he had ever experienced.

His
eyes traveled the group of twelve and one female,
Evelyn.
Her eyes pleading with him, her hair a matted mess, one eye swollen
shut.

Rage surged through Matthew. They
would die. Or he would die making them sorry.

Then his eyes landed on one male,
then another, whom he recognized. The decade past had not dimmed in
his memory.

Margaret’s attackers.

The
large male of the
fragment dismounted,
keeping his gaze locked on Matthew. “Well, what do we have here?”
he said, his eyes flicking behind Matthew then to Clara.

Clara
looked at the girl, obviously abused and knew instantly that it was
Evelyn. She looked upon each cruel face and saw no mercy, only evil
intent. She knew that look, she knew it very well. The fragment
looked upon them as the Queen looked upon her. As Prince Frederic
did. Good Guardian, this was a horror.

“Ralph, does this breeder look
familiar to you?”

“Aye, he does, healthier
though...” Claude chuckled.

Matthew eyed them both, calculating
his dagger thrusts as they bantered back and forth. His mind was
already gutting them like the swine they were.

Suddenly, from the other direction,
horses approached. Matthew knew the gait, the cadence of those
horses:

The Band... his brothers.

Matthew straightened as Bracus,
Jack, Jacob, James and Philip came into sight. Their steeds' sides
heaved, glistening sweat wrapping the horses' bodies.

Clara
could not believe her eyes; the
Band. She
dared to hope.

Bracus
laid his eyes on Matthew, then Clara behind him. What was happening
here? He saw the fragment,
still with Evelyn and realized the Band's surprise entrance into the
heart of the fragment
foothold had been for naught. They had not been there. Having taken
Evelyn, they had then led a hunting party. She had yet to be taken to
their stronghold. Then his eyes touched on Clara again.

What was Clara doing out of the
clan?

Bracus' heart was hammering so hard
in his chest he thought it may escape. He drunk in the sight of her,
she was beginning to heal from the beating but looked as if she had
traveled hard, her hair falling about her in a riot of burnished
copper, shining in the sun which lit the meadow they found themselves
in. Her eyes widened at the sight of them, scared and trembling, on
the verge of shock.

Bracus shook off the reason as to
why Matthew and Clara found themselves here instead of inside the
safety of the clan. One disaster at a time. And right now, his
priority was Evelyn. He glanced at Matthew, their eyes meeting, an
uncanny understanding flowed between the two. Matthew nodded
acknowledgment of Bracus' unspoken directive.

Matthew
would protect Clara. The Band would concentrate on the fragment.

The
Band stood behind Bracus, fluidly dismounting as a single unit. They
had no time to tie the horses down. But then neither did the
fragment,
who had also dismounted.

Ralph
tied the girl to the reins of the horse, let the hellion try to
escape.
She had needed quite a spot of discipline for them to come to an
understanding. She'd
be a fine breeder when she came of age,
he thought, licking his lips. He looked into her upturned face and
should have known what was coming next as she reared her head back
and spat at him, much of which landed directly in his face.

Rage surged through him and he
backhanded her hard enough that it threw her small body against his
horse, who staggered a step backward, neighing nervously.

Evelyn slid down the horse's flank,
landing with an indelicate plop beside one of the horse's hooves, her
ears ringing and bile rising in her stomach.

Bracus
roared at the Band, Evelyn's abuse untenable. They surged forward,
Bracus in the lead, Philip on the far corner. He would tame the
fragment's
flank.

Clara
watched the Band advance, their muscles flexing as they moved against
the fragment
in an elaborate dance choreographed of violence. Even
with their superior size, they were yet outnumbered so how would they
prevail?

Ralph met the large one with his
dagger extended swiping forward, slashing a great swath at that broad
chest. Bracus stepped into the swinging metal, meeting it with his
dagger, the sound of clanging weapons lifting the birds from the
trees.

Two
of the fragment
circled around Philip. Half a head taller than both, he brought his
weapons away from his body, one dagger clockwise, the other counter.
They swung in a semi-circle as one of the fragment
came forward.
Claude,
Clara thought, wondering if he had been the one to lay hands on that
small girl which lay in a crumpled heap at the feet of a horse.

Everywhere Clara looked there were
males entangled with one another. The noise of fists striking flesh,
the meaty sounds of impact underscored by metal which struck,
churning the silence into a clashing frenzy.

Claude
distracted the large male, his eyes trained on the strange gills,
fully open, having a bright pink interior as they assisted...his
breathing. Claude feigned a lunge and another fragment
grabbed
the breeder from behind, leaping on his back and looping a forearm
around his neck.

This only seemed to enrage him. With
a roar, Philip used the male's momentum, grabbing the forearm about
his neck, he swung him over the top of his shoulder and launched him
as far as he could, at the same time he felt a deep burning in his
side. He looked down, seeing the hilt of an unfamiliar dagger buried
within him.

Claude,
of the fragment,
felt an evil smile fill his face. He had him now.

Philip ignored the dagger, leaving
it in place, knowing there would be more blood loss at its removal.
With a war cry he launched himself at Claude, his dagger arcing above
him, the shine off the blade momentarily blinding Claude who
sidestepped Philip.

Philip instinctively anticipated the
avoidance maneuver and curved his body toward his opponent, slashing
at his neck, downward. Then, with a vicious twist, he buried and
turned the blade in one movement. Rolling to the ground the dagger
pierced his side deeper as he landed, the pain turning into a roaring
inferno. He lay on his back slowly turning his head to look at his
opponent, who lay cooperatively bleeding out, his blood spilling like
red water.

Clara
watched the horror unfold before her as two of the fragment
approached Matthew. Not wishing to distract him, she shrunk against
the trunk of the tree making herself as small a target as possible.
His blades clenched
in his hands... he prowled toward them, meeting them before they got
closer to where Clara stood.

Matthew
was keenly aware of Clara behind him as the first male of the
fragment
lunged at him and he swung his head to the side as the male's blade
pushed air against his face and the second male advanced. He did not
turn. Hearing the movement of the second male's arm, he reflexively
lashed out behind him, punching his dagger in the direction his
senses were tuned to, at the same time thrusting the dagger in his
right hand up and into the underside of the jaw of the first.

Clara
watched blood pour out of one of the males of the
fragment
who were on Matthew's right side. The male who had been circling to
attack from behind was nursing a slashing wound that had opened an
eight inch gash from collarbone to shoulder, narrowly missing the
tender flesh of the neck.

His eyes caught Clara's at the same
time that two more of the fragment advanced on Matthew. The male with
the wounded shoulder seemed to shake off the pain, blood running
freely from the sucking hole. He came at Clara, who looked around
frantically for the closest Band. She saw Philip was down and Bracus
was actively working his way to the girl, two fragment were on the
ground and the other Band were sorely outnumbered and fighting what
remained.

No one noticed that Clara was in
desperate trouble.

She whipped her head around for a
weapon. The male, seeing her looking for something, smiled with grim
joy and came nearer.

Clara lost her nerve and fled.

She heard the male come crashing
after her but felt confident that she would be able to escape; his
wound should slow him down.

It
did not:

She felt strong arms wrap around her
waist and her feet popped off the ground. She fought for her life,
swinging and flailing about, trying to gain time. Time for the Band
to find her.

Finally, she kicked behind and her
foot found his shin. With a grunt her captor's hold loosened and she
was free. Just as she started to run she was shoved from behind and
only her arms braced her fall . Clara started to scramble away and
was kicked in her side, the air leaving her body, her lungs began to
burn and her eyes watered.

She could see him above her, blood
soaking most of whatever tunic had covered him, no longer pale, but a
bright tomato red. He wasted no time, grabbing the top of her bodice,
he tore it open, the seams giving way with a powerful rip. Clara's
breath came back in a rush. Finding her voice she screamed,
“Matthew!”

The male jerked her upright by her
hair and she yelped. Dragging her close to him, his sour breath
pouring over her face. “Shut up or I'll beat you senseless.” His
strange accent drug like grated glass across her eardrums.

It felt like he was tearing her hair
out of her scalp but she laid still as he let her head fall back and
started to undo his breeches.

Clara
could only think of Prince Frederic.

She was tired to the bone from the
beatings and the attempted rapes. She would die before allowing
herself to be abused ever again.

She
scrambled quickly to her feet with the male's blood covering her. The
top of her blouse was hanging open where he had torn it, flapping
loosely with her movement. She saw a bleeding and battered Matthew
appear with Bracus, behind the male of the fragment
who
had not heard their approach.

The
male of the fragment
would have this female while the others battled, none the wiser.
There were not enough of them in the fragment
and he liked his females with a bit of fire. This one had spirit, he
thought as he took out his dirk, hidden in a small sheath inside the
waistband of his breeches. Maybe she needs a little encouragement.
Yes,
that was the answer, what female could say no
to the blade?

Clara was relieved for exactly one
moment before catching sight of a small sword-like dagger that the
male removed with a practiced hand from the waist of his breeches.
She flicked her eyes to first Matthew's then Bracus' in warning as
the male lunged for her and she threw herself just out of reach,
stumbling then falling backward down a small slope. As she tumbled,
Clara kept herself as loose as she could, hoping to avoid injury.

Finally, she came to a stop and laid
there on her back, her eyes staring at the dappled light spearing
through the forest. She cautiously wiggled her toes and fingers,
taking stock of her limbs. It felt like everything was still working.
She sat up and saw Bracus and Matthew navigating the small slope to
get to her. Matthew heaved the broken body of the fragment down the
ravine like so much garbage.

Bracus looked grim and Matthew
relieved.

Matthew reached her first and a
moment later, two different hands were extended to help her up. They
glared at each other but Clara took both hands that were offered.
Bracus' cool and dry, Matthew's a thing of liquid heat, making her
gasp slightly. She knew that he felt it by the subtle widening of his
eyes.

Bracus' eyes narrowed on them.

“Let us get back to the others,”
Bracus said.

“Yes,
Captain,” Matthew said staring intently at Clara as he added, “Why
did you leave my side? I said, 'no
matter what occurred',
to remain.”

They walked up the hill together.
When it became apparent that Clara was weaker than she wanted to
admit. Matthew scooped her up and packed her the rest of the
distance, walking as if she were weightless. Bracus glaring at
Matthew the entire time.

Cresting the hill, they headed
quickly through the small patch of woods she had fled through,
stepping out of the forest into what was now a small battlefield.
Clara stared at the Band: Jack stood straight and unharmed (Clara
thought briefly of Lillian and relief flowed over her), Jacob and
James both had wounds of little consequence and Philip was sitting up
with a dagger sticking out of his side like an obscene flag. His skin
had a grayish pallor and his breathing was shallow.

Bracus rushed over to his side. “My
brother, let me take the blade.”

Philip nodded and Bracus turned to
James. “Get the healing sack.”

James was already rummaging through
the odd knapsack of the Band when he pulled out some gauzy material
made of fine-colored beige linen and a small apothecary bottle which
held amber-colored liquid. A large needle and thread were gathered
and brought to Bracus.

Jacob stepped forward. “I will do
it. I have the steadiest hand, Captain.”

Bracus nodded, taking up position
behind Philip's head, cradling it while Jacob put a leather belt by
his mouth. “Open up brother, this will give you something to bite
down on.”

Phillip did.

Matthew put his arm around Clara's
shoulders and she leaned into his body, Bracus' eyes taking them in,
a cold shadow residing where none had been before. Clara shivered and
Matthew drew her in tighter.

In one smooth movement, Jacob pulled
out the knife and with a shrieking shout, muffled by the belt, Philip
began to sweat in earnest, rivulets running down his face. Jack and
James were on either side of him, their hands gripping his that were
white-knuckled. Clara saw with real alarm that it was four inch long
blade. They stared, the gaping hole looking like an open mouth. As
they stood staring, the whiteness of the hole started to fill with
bright blood and Jacob poured some of the liquid from the vial into
the gash, the needle and thread moving in and out of the deepest part
of the wound that he could reach. Dabbing at the slash, pouring the
fluid inside, stitching then repeating the process, all the while
precious blood pouring out.

It was a miracle that Philip
remained awake.

Jacob worked feverishly, closing the
lethal escape hatch that was Philip's side, his mouth set in a grim
line as Clara looked around her.

There she was, Evelyn, looking pale
and ill. Her small body lay wrapped in a blanket not five feet from
where they repaired Philip. Clara nudged Matthew and he looked down
at her, his expression a mixture of stress, relief and something she
could not name. “May I check on Evelyn?”

Matthew
nodded, reluctantly releasing her, his hand lingering on her waist
before she slipped out of his grasp. She had felt so right against
his side.
He watched her as she made her way through the bodies of the
fragment,
their limbs entangled with one another like puppets cut from their
strings, throats slit, some with cuts under their knees to slow their
escape.
Matthew thought of all this dispassionately, he was only sorry that
he could not kill the men named Ralph and Claude himself, for they
were part of Margaret's degradation, the finality of her life.

But there were others.

Eventually, they would all die under
his blade for what they had done.

Bracus
watched the two of them from his vantage point on the ground,
becoming more disturbed as time went. How was a male as Matthew was,
quiet to the point of being taciturn,
suddenly
so intimate with Clara? Who had treated even he, Bracus, her rescuer,
with
extreme caution? It galled him and he intended to find out. He looked
down at his brother, who would heal this wound. It took much to kill
one of the Band. As Bracus watched the
wound had stopped bleeding, some color returning to Philip's
cheekbones, the sickened color leeching away.

Jacob finished his ministrations and
nodding, mostly to himself. “That will do, I think his major organs
were missed.”

“Fool,
it does not feel as though anything was missed, feels like the sod
got a bit of
everything,”
Philip said sourly.

The tension broke as the Band
laughed.

Philip would live to fight another
day, Bracus thought.

James fetched an additional blanket
and rolled up another for under his head. Jack got the water flask
for Bracus to give Philip a pull of water.

The Band looked at Matthew and he
fought not to reveal his discomfort. Then they looked at where Clara
was, talking softly to Evelyn.

“What say you?” Bracus asked
fiercely, as a flush of red colored Matthew's cheeks, making the Band
narrow their focus even more.

He could not stop his body's
betrayal. He was awkward with these new emotions coursing through
him. Matthew understood what he had done was wrong. It was a matter
of time before Stephen and Joseph would find them and speak of his
betrayal.

But they were not here now. He would
stall. Gain some time to organize his thoughts. Which at present,
were a riot inside his head.

Matthew opened his mouth to
formulate a semblance of an explanation when two men appeared out of
the woods.

Matthew recognized one immediately.

Sphere-dweller.

Instantly, the Band stood and faced
the two men as Clara slowly rose from her crouched position next to
Evelyn.

When Charles and Clarence appeared
out of the forest Clara felt as a woman that sees a mirage in a
desert and with it, a relief so profound she sunk back to the ground
covering her face as she wept in blatant relief; Charles was here.

That is not how the Band assimilated
Charles and Clarence's appearance. Daggers unsheathed, they
surrounded the pair.

Charles
spotted Clara right away, on the ground, crying like her heart was
broken. What in Guardian's name was amiss?
Taking
a step toward her he felt a strong hand encircle his forearm.

He turned and looked at Clarence.
“Let me go, I must go to her.”

“Caution, my friend, look yonder,”
Clarence said quietly, inclining his head in the direction of the
Band.

Charles
could see what he meant. The Band surrounded them at all points
except behind. Every one of them had a similar stance, all but two
were present. Charles' eyes flicked to a huge male laying on the
ground, apparently
injured with another savage
beside
him. A weapon naked in his hand.

They were ready to kill him, Charles
thought. He looked at Clara who had stopped sobbing and was moving
toward him, picking up her skirts she ran.

Clara
had finally gotten a hold of her emotion. It would not do to have the
Band kill Charles and Clarence for mistaking them for the fragment
or some such. She hiked up her skirt and ran faster.

As she neared them she sailed past
Bracus who grabbed her and pulled her against his body and with a
gasp she was held in a grip that was almost painful. She was so close
to Charles, only two horse lengths, yet she was held by the Band. Did
they not remember him as her companion? He meant no harm to her!

Matthew
turned to Bracus and growled, lowering his stance as if to attack and
Bracus looked back at Matthew flabbergasted. What was this?
And
then Clara's bare flesh touched his wrist and he felt it, the heat
climbing his body and knew what it was that he held:

A select.

“Unhand
her!” Charles roared, taking a menacing step toward the savage
which held Clara against her will. A movement to his right caused him
to duck just as a fist grazed his head, the glancing blow making his
ears ring.

“No!” Clara screamed, tearing
herself out of the dazed grasp of Bracus, who stumbled back as if
pegged between the eyes with a hammer of brass.

She
stepped in the middle of the fray. Matthew was grabbing Charles by
the blouse and hauling him off the ground by its neck, Matthew, at
least six inches taller, and Charles was no small man.
Dismissing the danger, she threw herself between them, pushing a hand
against the middle of Matthew's chest, the heat of her palm warming
him, leeching the aggression
out of him. He had the male within his grasp, his face a foot from
his own. But as he looked down, it was Clara's face that filled his
vision, captured his mind, made him realize he was going to kill this
male simply because he was near her.

Matthew
lowered the sphere-dweller
to
the pasture grass, his face beet red and gasping for breath. Charles
put a hand to his own throat as he backed away, Clarence behind him.
He looked at the other faces of the savages,
who watched him warily but not aggressively. After all, apparently
one of them was all that would have been needed to dispatch the both
of them. Good Guardian, they were strong, like the oxen of old.

Clara looked up into Matthew's face,
his fierce eyes wild and she kept staring, seeing a softening around
the edges. Finally his shoulders relaxed, he lowered the dagger to
his side and she let her fingers trail down his chest then away.

“He is my dearest friend... I
must... I wish to go to him.”

Matthew's heart raced and he
clenched the dagger until the hilt creaked in his hand.

Clara saw that wildness start to
creep back into his gaze and quickly said, “Just for a time.”

Matthew looked at Charles and nodded
reluctantly, his eyes never leaving hers.

Clara
began walking backward keeping her eyes locked on Matthew... all the
Band. Bracus was looking at her most strangely.
It
was up to her to defuse things, she had ample practice.

Turning, she threw her arms around
Charles. Her relief and love for him a cloak of intense comfort that
she shrugged on, wrapping herself in its embrace.

Charles
had never felt a moment of more intense joy than when he held Clara
in his arms once more. Unshed tears of relief burned his eyes and he
held them in check by the barest thread. He breathed deeply of her,
smelling the strange freshness that was
Outside.
Sweat,
fresh earth and beneath
it all, his Clara. He stroked her hair and murmured those things when
you wish someone you hold dear to feel safe.

Clara had no such compunction. Fat
tears chased each other down her face. She cried and laughed, hugging
him with such abandon and delight that the Band sheathed their
swords. Bracus and Matthew both stared at them with a mixture of
irritation and unhappiness.

He cupped her face. “You look
well, my Clara.” his gaze roved over the healing marks upon her
face.

She nodded. “Aye, as well as I can
be,” she said through laughter and tears, thinking of what she had
been put through and narrowly escaped.

Charles saw that her lovely eyes
were healed, the swelling completely gone. Only the horrible bruise
in a kaleidoscope of faded green and yellow remained. He couldn’t
help his frown, laying a tender finger, the touch of which reminded
Clara of when Matthew touched her the same way. But it had been
different, very different indeed.

She backed away, suddenly
uncomfortable... aware.

“It heals,” Clara said
dismissively.

Charles nodded, not wanting her out
of his embrace but allowing her distance. Claiming this
self-restraint was not a pretty thing he realized, forcing an
expression of neutrality.

Clara noticed Clarence for the first
time and felt acutely embarrassed. She nodded to him. “Clarence, it
is good of you to accompany Charles.”

He
shrugged glancing at the savages,
eyes guarded. “Greetings, Princess,” he said, bowing.

She curtseyed in her ruined
clothing, feeling ridiculous but absolutely compelled in her royal
bearing to reciprocate.

Matthew
watched in fascination as Clara seemed to be another person entirely.
She seemed confident, regal.
Perhaps when she was not being kidnapped and assaulted she was able
to just be who she was.

Clara
became aware of an awkwardness, everyone in the meadow battle-weary
and beleaguered. She must introduce them.
She was the only one here that knew both peoples. She must form an
alliance in this unlikely place. Their president had said she would
serve as a liaison of sorts. Clara frowned, thinking of what awaited
her in the sphere. She was not sure that she was the best
representative. She shoved those thoughts aside. She looked from
Charles and Clarence to the Band. Then her eyes took on the
battlefield with bodies of the fragment
laying about, lethargic flies buzzing above them for an easy meal.

Charles followed her gaze and saw
the corpses in various stages of decomposition. The lingering
violence clung to the meadow, the metallic smell of blood everywhere
he breathed.

“What happened here?” Charles
asked and Clarence grunted behind him.

Charles turned to Clarence who
spread his hands wide. “It is not obvious?” Charles rolled his
eyes, Clarence was always rash with his words.

“Yes,
I see the dead. I wish to know why, dolt.”

Clara covered her mouth to stifle a
laugh. It was too somber by far to engage in a giggling fit when they
were knee deep in the presence of the dead.

She looked at the Band and Bracus
nodded once, as if giving permission.

She began recounting the whole of
it, leaving out why she had come to be in this place.

“So,
let me rephrase this Princess,” Clarence paused, pacing a short
distance back and forth, tramping down the longish grass in the
field. “You found yourself here with these savages,
then this fragment
appeared and they sought to kill you. Why?”

Clara corrected Clarence quickly,
“They call themselves clan.”

“Yes,
we are not savages, but we can be
savage,” Bracus clarified, a look of vague humor sliding into place
on his face.

Charles looked around. “We see the
evidence of such here this day.”

Bracus narrowed his eyes tensely,
humor gone.

Clara
continued, “They are a faction of people....” she stumbled to
explain. She still felt that she knew so little about all of it: the
clan,
fragment,
it was all so new.

Matthew began where she faltered,
stepping forward, “They take our women, our meat... anything that
we do not guard, they scavenge.”

James nodded, adding, “They speak
not as we do and war with one another, gaining nothing. They are
fools and cowards.”

“They
are more
than
that,” Jacob said, inclining his head in Clara's direction,
bringing her torn clothes to light once again.

Charles face darkened, becoming
grim. “Why were you outside the clan then, unprotected? Why was
this young girl here abused?”

He looked at the Band with
accusation. Charles tore through his knapsack. Finally finding what
he was looking for and wrapped it in his large hand. Raising it above
his head he said loudly, “You have taken something that is most
precious to the people of our sphere, kept her from us then allowed
her in harm's way with a people less sophisticated than even you. How
dare you!” his breathing sounded harsh while he leaned forward, the
veins of his temples pulsating with his anger.

All eyes swiveled to the crown that
glittered in his hand, pearls and Alexandrites winking in the
brilliant light of late afternoon. He slowly lowered it, looking in
each face. “This is not a game to us. We endeavor to escape
something that is beyond our control and the Princess has gone from
one untenable and dangerous circumstance into one which appears
worse,” he said, throwing a hand disdainfully toward Clara's
blouse.

Clara
closed the loose cloth with one hand and turned to Charles. In a low,
ringing voice she said, “That is enough
Charles.
They do not mean harm. They have done their best, hacking out an
existence in the belly of their enemies. I was simply caught in the
center of it.”

She searched his face and he looked
back at her. “We must go, Clara. Somewhere that is safe for all,
away from this,” Charles said, opening his arms wide.

“I do not think that is wise,”
Clarence said, looking at the loose group that was the Band, tense as
a cat in a room full of rockers is what he didn't add. Clarence
sensed that any movement in the wrong direction would disrupt the
harmony he sensed hanging from the thinnest of threads.

Evelyn walked slowly to Clara,
slipping a hand in hers. Clara smiled at the young girl, almost the
same height as she. She squeezed her hand with encouragement,
thinking that there were some things that were precious. That the
sphere was only one thing of many, that there were things bigger than
she at work here and her sphere.

She looked back at the Band who were
glaring at Charles and said, “Their President...”

“Whose,” Charles and Clarence
said at the same time.

“Their leader, President Bowen...”

“They have no King?” Clarence
asked.

“Quiet, run-the-mouth, let her
finish!” Charles said, making Clarence huff and begin pacing again.

Clara smiled. “My taking was a
planned event.”

The men looked at her, mouths agape.
“They were not simply passerby, taking the opportunity that
presented itself?” Charles asked, looking at the Band from a
different perspective, yet again.

Clara shook her head.

Bracus said, “The Princess was a
longterm choice. We wished, we hoped, she would be a liaison of sorts
between our peoples. We needed to make peaceable contact and begin a
negotiation. She seemed a good choice.” he rolled his massive
shoulders into a shrug.

Clarence
said, “Peaceable, really? Is this
peaceable.”

James laughed. “Perchance he makes
sense, Captain.”

Matthew grunted, “The best laid
plans...”

“Run amuck...” Jacob finished.

To which Philip bellowed from his
perch on the ground, “be a good nursemaid and fetch me another pull
of water!”

Jacob
raised his eyebrows. “Duty beckons,” and maneuvering around the
corpses went to Philip in short order. Where words such as “nag,”
and “simpleton” could be heard. Clara was sure had Philip been
well and standing, there would have been a great deal more
interchange of the physical variety.

“Let us take care of the dead,”
Bracus said. “Afterward we will make a camp and speak more on this.

Charles' temper seemed to have
cooled sufficiently enough to lend a hand. Clara and Evelyn walked to
the area that began to transition into forest. She found a mossy area
where they could sit and visit together. It was most obvious that
Evelyn was desperate for some feminine contact and certainly Clara
was. They sat down and began to chat in earnest.

Clarence
and Charles helped the rest of the Band, all but Philip and Jacob,
haul each member of the fragment
as far away from the border of the forest from whence they needed to
return to their clan (Charles knew the exact location, having
followed two from there).

That got him thinking. “Where are
the two Band that I saw leave the clan?” Clarence said, depositing
a body on top of another. It had deep, slashing gouges, which allowed
intestines to protrude like glistening worms laying open and shining
in the glaring light of the day.

He used the back of his forearm to
wipe sweat off his brow, mindful not to touch himself with hands that
handled death.

James looked across the body at the
pair. “Who?”

“Two males, like you,” and
Charles pointed at his height, the gills on his throat.

A puzzled expression came over his
face. “Captain!” he called, never looking away from Charles.

Bracus strode over. “What say
you?”

“He said...” his eyebrows
raised.

“Charles,” Clarence said.

“Charles
said...” he nodded, continuing, “that two of the Band left our
stronghold some hours past.”

Bracus' eyebrows met as one. That
meant there was trouble and the clan was unprotected. He said as much
and the other man, Clarence, spoke, intuiting his expression.

“They were speaking with a short,
stout man, who said there were other Band'?” he said as a question.

Which got Bracus nodding. “It did
not sound as if they were alarmed.”

“Stephen and Joseph?” James
asked.

Bracus nodded. Why would they feel
compelled to leave the clan in the first place? They disobeyed a
direct order of protection? It did not make sense. Again Bracus
wondered why Matthew and Clara had come to be here. He would get to
the bottom of this puzzle just as soon as they were done with the
grisly clean up. The wildlife would smell the perfume of death and
come this night, scavenging all. He wished to be far from this place
before that occurred.

Bracus
glanced to where Evelyn and Clara huddled together and thought of the
reaction he had with her. He knew that somehow, rare as it was,
she was a select.
That greatly complicated things. His eyes sought and found Matthew,
throwing another body on a second pile of fragment.
Mayhap he had been overcome in some way.

“Captain?”
Jacob broke into his thoughts. Then he heard it, horses.

What
now? So
deep in thought he had all but missed the upcoming threat.

He whipped his head around and saw
with satisfaction that Matthew was sprinting toward the females and
had reached them.

Charles wondered what all the fuss
was about, alarmed when he saw the huge male that appeared constantly
angry race toward Clara and the girl with golden hair. Not to harm.
But Charles squinted and there it was, movement through the forest.

He saw it first and heard Clarence
exclaim, “Dammit all to Hades.”

Yes, that was about perfect, he
thought.

As the deep purple of the royal flag
of the Kingdom of Ohio came into view, Charles heart sunk in his
chest. The Queen was here, she had followed them Outside.

Bracus stayed where he was, scanning
his men, their eyes sharp and ready. They looked at him for direction
and he made an elaborate circle with his finger. Philip rose
unsteadily to his feet. Hand at his side, he covered his dressings as
he walked slowly to where Bracus stood.

“Brother, who comes?”

Bracus shook his head, but Clarence
responded, “Our Queen.”

Philip and Bracus looked curiously
at him for his tone was not one of reverence, but one of weary
resignation.

Charles said, “She will wish
Clara's return.”

“Of course. And she shall but not
without a space of time to negotiate. This is fortuitous that your
Queen is here. We can begin peaceable negotiations now and Clara can
assist in this,” Bracus said.

Clarence barked out a laugh and
Bracus frowned.

“Why
do you laugh? What is funny here, sphere-dweller?”
Philip said with gravel in his voice, thinking he made a joke at
their expense.

“He
does not think there will be negotiations
with
Queen Ada,” Charles said.

“Why?” Bracus asked.

“Queen Ada negotiates with no
one,” Clarence said.

Bracus looked at the entourage break
into the meadow. An elegantly made copper staff with a deep violet
flag flew stoutly from its top, held by a male of stature, the
outline of the sphere etched into the rich material of the flag. His
excellent vision could just make out the symbol of one of their
strange sea creatures in the center. His frown deepened.

“Is she contrary in nature? Is
that what you imply? Speak quickly, as I must know how to proceed,”
Bracus commanded.

“She is our monarch. That is all
the explanation that we may give you,” Charles responded.

“Worry not, you will know much
inside the first five minutes spent in her company,” Clarence said,
spitting out the last word like spoiled fruit upon his tongue.

Philip and Bracus became uneasy. He
did not sense the easy loyalty that they shared with President Bowen.
It was confounding. He had found Clara to be pleasant and of amicable
disposition after she became aware of things, their purpose.

The Band spread out in the meadow
and Matthew returned to the group with Clara and Evelyn, while the
royal and her guard stood on the forest's edge.

They formed a loose circle together
and watched as the Queen moved toward them. The Band unsheathing
their daggers as one, the smooth sound of metal releasing its casing
a single musical song note in the now-silent meadow.

*

Henry
saw the group of fierce warriors, numbering five, standing about
Princess Clara. Two of the sphere's subjects he had known their
entire lives. The troublemaker,
now
one of his guard, although only a tunnel sentry, Clarence and
Charles, companion to the Princess. This was going bad quickly, he
thought for the hundredth time. His eyes sharpened as he noticed the
daggers which came from their sheathing to stand naked in the hands
of these savages.
The way they held them spoke of easy grace and much use. Henry
swallowed a nervous lump in his throat, forging ahead.

The
Queen spied Clara standing like the coward she was in the midst of
the strange
savages. Ada
took them in,
drunk
them in. Now
these were men,
real men, her mouth watering slightly. And there her daughter stood.
Ada narrowed her eyes on Clara, taking in the disheveled hair and her
gaze fixed on the torn bodice and blood which covered her upper body.
What had happened here? What had the stupid girl gotten herself
wrapped up in? No matter, the queen thought, she would return with
the wretched girl and after being cleaned and scoured, they would
determine if she had been defiled. Hmm, the Queen pondered, she had
better be pure. She wanted nothing to impact the treaty.

All
of this went through the Queen's drunken fog in seconds as they
neared the group and the horse stopped. She rose unsteadily from her
cocoon
as if she was in her royal throne room. Purposeful, determined,
vital. She would have everything she wished, savages
or no.

She
was Queen Ada, reigning monarch of the Kingdom of Ohio,
she rehearsed, straightening to her full height.

Henry hurried over to assist their
Queen but she shot him a withering look of such magnitude he halted
in his tracks.

Bracus looked at the strange
contraption. A half-egg assembly filled with voluminous pillows and a
lantern of some kind which hissed with steam, the soft light catching
the colors of the cushions within, metallic copper thread a light of
its own.

Her First Guard hovered around her
elbow, a hammered body armor of some lightweight metal was strung
together with leather that ran the length of his torso, armpit to
waist. Bracus immediately searched for entry spots. He had never
fought in a war in which his enemy wore armor. It was disquieting. He
could sense the Band searching as he was.

Clara stood alone. She looked to her
side. She was not quite alone; Evelyn needed her, squeezing her hand
again. Clara refocused on the Queen, rising from her moving throne
she stood facing the group as Henry, First Royal Guard, stood loyally
at her side. Clara felt sick, she wished to never see Ada again as
the Queen gazed upon Clara with such lack of compassion and concern.
Clara admitted, if only to herself, it was crushing to her spirit.

“Clara,” Queen Ada began,
ignoring the Band as if they weren't there.

Clara curtsied. “Yes, my Queen.”

“You look terrible. Are you
without pride?” she asked, her laser stare piercing marrow and
bone.

Clara swallowed her despair in a
bitter pill. No question as to the blood and marks of battle.

“I... I was a part of a....” she
began.

Matthew was suddenly there behind
her and Clara struggled not to show open relief. Only years of
training to blank her expression enabled Clara to obscure her
emotions.

Ada
flicked her eyes to the huge male which came to stand behind Clara.
Most curious,
the Queen thought. He lingered about the girl, as if branding her.
His whole being seemed poised to take on whoever dare go near her.
Ada paused. She did not like this male, he was entirely too concerned
over Clara. That would not do. Then her eyes took in Charles, to the
left of Clara. She scowled. That dreadful young man was like a weed
which came up in the same spot in the hot house of roses. He would
need to be dealt with as well, a thorn in her side. And
Clarence,
her scowl deepening. He had obviously been behind the escape from the
beginning. Traitor.
So be it. Queen Ada liked to solve problems, it came to her so
easily; discipline to all.
Why
King Raymond never saw the logic of that precept was beyond her. He
was soft. She had always known that of him.

“Who are you?” Matthew asked,
looking at the flag which bore the symbol of the sphere, framing the
Queen perfectly.

Queen
Ada let her eyes begin at his leather-clad feet, shod in shoes which
laced up calves that swelled deliciously to powerfully constructed
knees and joined thighs built like heavily-muscled timber, the like
of which they
had just traveled through. She was not accustomed to such flesh
exposed on a male. Shocking indeed, but she found she liked it, she
liked it very much. She took in his trim waist which broadened across
a chest in a leather tunic which hung shoulder to mid-thigh, his hair
swinging free in loose waves which moved in the wind. But it was his
eyes which captured hers. Utterly wild, he was an untamed thing.
And
as she stared he placed a palm around Clara's neck, meant to steady,
the hand encircling the girl's throat easily. And a look of
relaxation slid into her eyes, as if she felt protected by the brute.
This was not good, not good at all.

She liked Clara in a state of
unbalance., teetering.

“My Queen?” Henry asked. And Ada
was snapped out of her reverie.

Matthew stared at her and she
answered, “I am Queen Ada, sovereign ruler of the Kingdom of Ohio,”
she responded in her imperious manner.

Then she told Henry, without looking
at him, “Bring my traveling goblet, guard.”

“Yes, my Queen.” Henry walked to
the travel bag which hung in a jeweled case of brass, welded onto the
side of her traveling cocoon. He brought out the cup, fashioned by a
blacksmith from her home sphere in the finest metal,
titanium-lightweight and travel ready.

Matthew looked at the female and
could not see a mustard seed of kinship between the two women. Clara
had said they were mother and daughter but he could not see it. This
woman was as tall as some men. Raven-colored hair and a ferret's
face, feral and sharp and too thin by far. Did they not have adequate
food in their kingdom? He felt Clara tremble slightly and his hand
squeezed around her fragile neck. He alone knew that the Queen meant
her physical harm. The other Band did not. That friend of hers,
Charles, would know of her mistreatment, certainly he must. He wished
opportunity to confer with them as this detail mattered. But, of
course, as was typical... danger of circumstance preceded useful
knowledge.

The Queen swaggered forward, coming
to stand before Clara. Looking down on her she took in the disarray
of her wardrobe, her eyes lingering on Clara's healing face. The
length and weight of the stare grew uncomfortable but Clara had
learned to never take her eyes off of Ada, so she waited.

Finally, Queen Ada said, “We have
come to bring you back to the sphere. There is much planning and
discussion for your Wedded Day.”

Clara knew what would happen but she
spoke the words out loud, “I will not go back. I do not wish to be
wife to Prince Frederick.”

The
slap rang out in the meadow, Clara's head rocking back and hitting
Matthew's chest. The Queen raised her hand again and Matthew captured
her
scrawny wrist easily, jerking her close to his face, while putting
Clara behind him. “You will never lift a hand against her again.”
he growled out as he released her so hard she stumbled backward,
Henry catching her, his eyes meeting those of the savage.

Yes,
Henry
thought wildly,
this goes most badly. He
held the Queen, her state of drunkenness notwithstanding as she could
be quite lucid when deep in the cup.

“I
am not wont to strike a female, madame,”
he said the word like rodent,
“but for you, I would make an exception,” his eyes glittering
with intent. Ada immediately understood the potential in them.

She
turned her eyes to Clara, seeing her hand print upon the girl's face
and realized that mayhap if she had handled that differently, the
girl would have gone with her. Now she saw all the eyes of the
savages
look at her with disdain. How dare they?
her
eyes narrowed to slits. She was Queen here; they were nothing. She
slapped at Henry's hands when he would keep her from saying more.

Charles and Matthew blocked Clara
from her sight, but she would be undeterred.

It was Clara who parted the men and
came forward. “Beating me will not make me accompany you, nothing
will.” That was not entirely true but Clara suspected what awaited
her return. “I
have left our home sphere for my
own safety,” the Queen rolled her eyes at Clara, looking as though
she would weep with boredom. Clara forged ahead, “and will not
return for more abuse such as I received from the Prince.” Clara
left off the and
you.

“A little discipline is good for
all of us Clara. Look at you, you heal already. No permanent damage
was wrought.”

Matthew frowned at Queen Ada, was
the wretched creature deranged? Could she not see that Clara was
still healing? Did she not just strike her own daughter?

Clarence said out loud what they had
been entertaining, “Are you quite mad? Do you not see the abuse
which still heals upon her face? Did you not just add to it by
striking her?” he started pacing.

“You overstep yourself, guard,”
Ada said, her glance telling him that she would never forget the
comment. He cared not, he was not in the kingdom, so she was not
Queen here this day, in this time.

“The Prince attacked me before I
could escape the sphere. He meant to...,” Clara paused, momentarily
embarrassed but pressed on, “have his way with me,” she ended
flatly.

“Now that is a tale I would be
careful in bearing, Clara. Very careful indeed.” Her guard's horses
shuffling nervously, their hooves making the grass rustle.

“It is not a tale,” Bracus
began. “We were there, we saw what it was. This one,” and he
pointed to Charles, who had come to stand at Clara's side once more,
“was overpowered and could not defend her against the Prince,” he
said with clear distaste dripping from his voice.

The Queen stared at him. This one
seemed to clearly be in charge, she would reason with him. Surely he
understood hierarchy? Even as a mongrel, he seemed to have a sense of
protocol.

She
looked around her, seeing the biggest of the savages
appeared to have a deep wound in his side that he was favoring. A
great many bodies were piled four deep a small distance away where
flies droned in lazy circles above the hill of death.

Queen Ada switched tactics. “What
has happened here? Was my daughter involved in battle without
protection?” she asked, crossing her arms over her bony chest. Let
her plant the seed of doubt that they were inadequate to protect a
Princess.

Which of course they were!

“We do not use females in battle,”
James scoffed. How ridiculous was that idea? They had too few females
even if they wished to use them in that way, which they did not. He
thought this horrible woman crazy. She spoke with foolishness and
circular arguments.

Queen
Ada smiled. She liked that they became defensive. She could feel
herself gaining verbal control and relished
the
power of it.

Clara knew what the Queen was
capable of and saw her games even if the Band did not. She would put
a stop to it and as she opened her mouth for rebuttal just as horses
came galloping out of the woods. It was Stephen and Joseph of the
Band.

What was this?

They pulled up short of the group.
Their steed's hooves driving into the meadow grass, digging into the
soft earth below and sliding to a stop. Dismounting in a rush with
weapons laid bare, Stephen glanced but for a moment at the queen and
her royal guard, his eyes touching on Clara and Matthew, then
finally, Bracus.

“Captain,” he put his fist to
his heart and Bracus returned the gesture, “a large contingent
approaches. It is the same from the sphere tunnel.”

The
Prince, Clara
thought with an anguish like heat washing up from her feet to head.
She sat down with an unladylike plop and put her head between her
knees. It was that or she would spray vomit where she stood. She was
shaking uncontrollably, the mere thought of being in his presence
after the recent assault was too alarming for words.

Charles
knelt by her side. “He will not have you or harm you.
We will die before we allow it.”

Matthew
drew her up against his body. Bracus and Charles both looked at him
with identical expressions of irritation. They
wished
to be the men to comfort her, not he. Matthew tightened his grip.

Clara could feel the heat of him,
the wonderful masculine smell as that special warmth burnt between
them. She allowed herself to be comforted for a moment, his heart
beating against her ear where it lay just below. Then she pulled
away, she had to look...to watch. She turned in the circle of his
arms and what she saw stole her breath.

There were so many, she thought with
dismay.

The Prince had the entire guard with
him.

They
had only seven of the Band and one injured; Clarence and Charles.
There were thirty of the guard,
thirty.

She
felt Matthew tense around her and understood what he
thought of the odds.

The
Prince saw the group of savages
standing some distance from a pile of corpses and blood which
littered the field before them. Good. They were tired from their
battle with other savages
or whoever they were. It mattered not. He looked upon the Queen in
typical drunken indignation and thought it excellent that soon she
would never be indignant again. Finally, his gaze slid to Clara. She
had been within his grasp! He felt his heart
speed with excitement, she would be underneath him again. He knew
that as sure as he sat on his mount, smelling the remnants of battle
around him. His gaze darkened as he saw the huge male that held her
close to him and his vision instantly went red. How dare another man
touch her? What had she done with him? Had she become a whore so
quickly? He wondered and approached the group.

Queen Ada came stalking toward him,
her rare pearls swinging between her knees and an image came to him
of strangling her with those pearls. It made a smile come into place
where none had been before. His anger at Clara clawed like an animal
in a cage wishing to be free.

Bracus looked upon the Prince,
taking his measure as a male. He was without a moral compass, Bracus
knew, to harm a female as he had attempted with Clara. Bracus was
unsure of the communion between this Prince and the Queen. He would
watch but signal the Band to be ready.

The Queen saw the smile on
Frederic's face and her step faltered, an internal alarm going off,
which she promptly ignored. Instead, she thought: more wine will make
all this dreadfulness go away. Clara will return to the sphere with
the Prince, marry him, and she would have grapes aplenty. Immensely
satisfied with her internal musings she rushed forward and as she
neared the horse Clara had a sudden, internal portent and shouted a
moment too late, “Mother, no!”

Too late, her guard responded to
Clara's anguished cry, fierce hate and love intermingled in a
confusing tide of emotion. Ada turned her head to gaze at Clara just
as the Prince hooked his fist in the pearl's that hung around Ada's
neck, jerking her close to his horse. With his opposite hand a small
dagger arced, piercing her chest as he dumped her body away from him,
her side hitting the horse on the descent then landing on her back.
The pearls wrapped the hilt and fell about the grass like black
beetles let loose from a jar.

There
was utter silence for a moment when nothing stirred, not a savage,
guard, bird, animal, even the flies ceased their droning. Then the
world slid into an abyss of clashing metal and diving swords. The men
launched themselves at each other and Clara hit the ground, Evelyn
crawling after her.

She reached Ada and lifted her head,
cradling it as blood welled brightly. A shiny flood of rubies
cascaded down her pale flesh, soaking the deep purple velvet and
turning it to black.

Her eyes were becoming glassy and
Clara knew she would not last in this realm much longer. After so
long living in fear Clara found an abiding sadness taking residence
in her heart. All the lost time with the Queen, her mother, now gone.

With the sounds of battle all around
her she held her mother's dying head and saw that she was trying to
say something.

“Yes...
my Queen, mother,”
Clara said.

The name felt foreign on her tongue.

“...not... not... your...” Queen
Ada gasped, her dark eyes bulging in their sockets.

“What are you not?” Clara asked,
Evelyn beside her crouched in a semi-fetal position.

“...your
mother,”
she whispered, her breath coming in shallow breaths.

Clara felt her mouth open. She had
just told Clara that they were not mother and daughter.

Queen Ada raised a claw-like hand
and beckoned for her to move closer.

Clara did.

Queen Ada grasped her ruined blouse
and jerked Clara against her, their chests touching, new blood
mingled with the old.

With her last ounce of breath she
said, “The mermaid...” and died.

Her hand loosened from the tangle of
clothing Clara wore. Those eyes that had looked into Clara's a
thousand times with loathing, disappointment, anger and disdain...
saw her no more.

CHAPTER 33

Clara
let her mother's head slide out of her grasp, falling to the grass,
the flesh still warm and reached for Evelyn, who grabbed her hand
like a lifeline. Looking about, Clara could not make out one from
another, the Queen's guard blended with the Prince's. Only the
savages
stood out in stark relief, their movements choreographed like a
beautiful, macabre dance of violence-in-motion. She and Evelyn
huddled together, the horses scattered about as far away from the
battle as they could be.

She
saw Henry laying on the ground with his throat open and spraying
blood leaking through his fingers while his mouth opened and closed.
She turned to Evelyn, burying the girl's head in her bosom, marking
her with Ada's slick blood. She watched one of the Prince's guards
remove his head with a saber of some length, then he turned his
attention to Clara. He sheathed his sword, making his way toward her,
blood splatter from ruined throats decorating his uniform in a
ghastly crimson pattern of death. Clara did not pause, jerking the
girl to her feet and ran to where the Band's horses stood. She could
feel her pursuer gaining and fought not to turn, the girl as fast as
she.

She was almost upon the horses when
Evelyn was ripped from her grasp and she turned without hesitation,
launching herself at the Prince's guard, understanding the futility
even as she moved against him.

She
knew what it was to be unprotected.

The guard had Evelyn tightly held
and Clara came at him like a wild animal, latching onto his forearm
trying to meet her teeth as they connected with his flesh. He howled
and released Evelyn. He lunged at Clara but she managed to avoid his
fist as he was off-balance with a bleeding and throbbing arm.

Matthew's attention swung to Clara
and saw her leap upon the guard. He let the dead guard slide down his
body, then heaved him to the ground in front of him.

He
ran to Clara.

Clara was playing a deadly dodging
game with the guard. He would rush forward and she would back behind
a horse. He would slap its hindquarters, it would trot off, revealing
her.

Clara now stood before the guard.
Evelyn had the sense to make her way into the midst of the horses,
camouflaging her position. The guard's focus was all for Clara, which
was what she had wanted all along.

To
protect Evelyn.

“You
are coming with me Princess, that is Prince Frederic's order. Do not
attempt to bite me again,” he ground out, warily approaching her
and she stifled a wild bubble of laughter. That a big brute such as
he would be wary of her,
then her eyes dipped to the wound that her mouth had caused and it
was a disaster upon his arm.

She knew better than to take her
eyes off him but too late she was wrapped in his embrace and an evil
look overcame him as he searched for some place to take her.
Suddenly, his eyes bulged and his body stiffened, a surprised cry
escaping him and his arms loosened about her. He slid to the left,
falling in a crumpled heap to the ground. A dagger stuck out of his
back, a thick agate embedded in its hilt. She looked up and it was
Matthew who calmly crouched above the guard, taking the dagger out
and wiping it casually on the guard's uniform before sheathing it.

“Clara,” he said, moving toward
her.

Her lip trembled and she told
herself that she would not cry. Her relief was as profound as any she
had ever known as she burst into tears. He drew her into his body,
shielding her from the war which raged about them, the sounds of
swords finally diminishing until the clatter ceased.

An unnatural silence took hold of
the meadow, the sun slanting along the ruined and bloodied grass, the
whole of it looking like it was on fire.

****

As soon as Clara could gain a
measure of control, she backed away from Matthew, shaky and spent.
Looking about her, she saw the Queen dead, looking as pale in the
repose of death as she had when she lived. Clara shuddered, feeling
numb.

Charles approached her at a jog.
Following her gaze his eyes landed on Queen Ada and he flashed back
to her, wrapping his arms around her. But she could not cry any
longer, her emotions depleted.

He
pulled away and looked down on her. “I am so sorry, Clara,” he
thought but for a moment. “I know she showed you every unkindness,
but she was still your mother.”

No,
she was not,
Clara thought, but said nothing. She would reflect on that disturbing
revelation at another time. At present, she needed to take stock of
what had happened.

Quite
a lot, apparently.
Her
eyes took in the battlefield where no less than thirty new corpses
lay. As she looked, she grew more frantic. The Prince did not appear
to be among them.

He lives.

Her eyes flew from one Band to the
next, all alive, gore and blood covering some from head to toe. Bile
rose in an indelicate lump, surging upward. Clara clamped her hand
over her mouth and raced to the border of the field where she spent
some time purging the contents of her stomach, which was small;
nevertheless, her body heaved.

A small hand landed on her shoulder
and she turned, seeing Evelyn, holding a flask and a cotton cloth,
one in each hand. Clara took it gratefully from the girl, noticing
that she looked a little better. Having all the enemies gone and
still living yourself may have something to do with that.

Finally Clara stood, feeling much
fresher and the first thing she noticed was the Queen's body covered
in a loose shroud and by itself, a mound of white in the sea of blood
and grass, the other bodies in a third pile. Clara swallowed, pushing
herself to walk past the hills of the dead. She found the Band, who
had marked her progress back into the meadow's center.

She saw them all, they were injured,
true. Yet they had fought over thirty of the Prince and Queen's
respective guards and all stood before her in various states of
injury.

Clarence and Philip lay on the
ground beside the band, Jacob attending them both. He must be a
healer she thought absently as she came forward and went to
Clarence's side, bending down beside him as she tucked her long skirt
under her knees.

“My Queen,” he said in a clear
voice.

Clara just stared.

She whipped her head around and
looked at Charles, who formally bowed. “My Queen,” repeating what
Clarence had uttered from his back, without a hint of sarcasm.

She was Queen now.

Clara
curtsied at her subjects, her friends,
as if she were on the royal dais instead of in this bloodied field of
death. Their acknowledgment of her new royal status the most surreal
of her young life.

The Band watched this knowing that
now the former monarch was dead, there would be no need for
negotiation with anyone but Clara.

All eyes turned to her.

She looked at each one. Then
surprising them all, asked, “What has become of the Prince?”

Bracus stepped forward. “He
slipped out of our grasp, he and his weasel of a guard.”

Jabez,
Clara supplied internally.

“They
will need to be found,” she said with halting authority. No one
ordered the Band about,
“As he will try to...” she found she could not finish without
emotion overtaking.

Charles
nodded, approaching her side. “We will find him,
Clara.”

She looked at him. “What of our
guard?”

He shook his head “All dead, Queen
Clara.”

“Just Clara, please. She is no
longer here to force formalities.”

No
one asked who She
was.

Clara looked at Matthew and Bracus,
their intense eyes followed her with an uneasy intensity. Of course,
her eyes followed Matthew as if magnetized. She sighed. Things were a
mess, that was certain.

They began the ugly task of rifling
through the belongings of others, taking all that they found useful;
food and drink was of a critical importance. They gathered what they
could and departed the meadow, leaving behind the gore for the
creatures of the Outside.

Ada's body was dragged on a
contraption of wood poles strung together with a leather bottom.
Clara could make out her profile through the roughly woven shroud and
it tightened her heart.

She looked away.

After eating in the woods, they
drank their fill and traveled back to the clan. A long line of horses
with the ransacked gear made a train-of-sorts, the Band its caboose.

CHAPTER 34

The Sphere

Clara dipped the ink quill into the
glass jar of ink, while six anxious faces watched her pen strokes as
if enthralled.

The truth of it was this:

They were now at peace with the Clan
of Ohio, their sworn allies, this fourteenth day of July, in the year
of the Guardian, twenty and thirty.

Clara
looked up at all that watched, at the sea of faces in the Gathering
Room who witnessed the event with a mixture of excitement and
curiosity. Here were the reported
savages,
present in the sphere, their President and their people aligning.

It was an historic occasion.

Clara stood, the hot wax dripping
from the Marker's personal seal. Stepping forward before it could
cool, she pressed the royal crest from the ring that she wore into
the soft wax, waiting, then releasing it with a light pull. The mark
of the sphere with the oyster and pearl at its center stood out in
stark relief and the treaty was complete.

The announcer (the same bumbling
fellow who announced at her Day of Birth Celebration but miraculously
more graceful) declared to the kingdom:

“Let it be known that Queen Clara
Williamson, high monarch of the Kingdom of Ohio, has signed a Treaty
of Peace and Alliance with the Clan of Ohio from this day onward.”

He stepped back and Clara gave him a
small nod of acknowledgment and he smiled back. His voice had rung
true and proud and she was pleased.

Charles came up beside her and gave
her a gaze so full that she had to look away as tears threatened.
Clara would have never foreseen these circumstances coming to pass
and she ruthlessly collected herself so she could address her People;
her emotions a shimmering thing that undulated right underneath her
tightly held composure.

“Thank you all for being so
gracious during this enormous transition of leadership.” There was
a smattering of applause and Clara held up her hand to quiet it. “I
would like to thank my adviser, Sir Charles Pierce, for his diligent
service to the crown and my loyal guard, who defended the injury to
our sphere until we could manage a portal that would safeguard us
properly once more.”

She looked out over her people with
shining eyes, and continued, “And for all of you that have shown
and told me how much you enjoy this change of leadership and swore
your undying loyalty, I thank you as well.”

Clara stepped back, taking a deep
cleansing breath of the steamy sphere air, relishing its familiarity.

“Let us begin our celebration,”
she announced.

The people broke apart, mingling and
taking food from the large banquet tables, loud and raucous. Clara
smiled, they were relaxed and happy, their new ruler someone they
followed out of respect, not fear.

Charles was animatedly speaking with
Sarah and everyone seemed to be deep in cup, food or conversation.
Clara found her eyes seeking the man she could not stop thinking
about.

There he was, his gaze already
locked upon her.

Matthew saw Clara's eyes find his
and his body moved of its own volition, the need to be near her
burning from the inside out. It had been three long weeks of
explaining and regaining trust and he had been kept from her. Now,
finally, they could see each other.

Clara
met him halfway, the throne a backdrop behind them, her gaze went to
the gills on his neck and she belatedly realized that when he was
excited they would fully open,
as
they did now. The stripes of pink flesh decorated a neck the size
of one of the small timbers Outside.

Her
legs weakened as he got closer, then he was suddenly there,
right in front of her. When he took her elbow, she could feel his
fingers like brands of fire, running from the point of contact and
radiating throughout her body, as warm heat spread.

His
nostrils flared as he looked at her mouth and she knew, knew,
that
he wished to put his upon her lips. But propriety swirled around them
and as they looked at each other, President Bowen appeared.

He cleared his throat and Clara felt
Matthew's fingers slide down her forearm, then fall away and it felt
like a loss.

They turned and faced him.

He looked at them both and indicated
they talk in a far corner of the Gathering Room. Clara saw Charles
watch her, his face darkening.

He
was all for the treaty but did not like her role amongst the
savages...
clan, she corrected herself.

She knew, as Sarah and Olive had
both said, that Charles' feelings went beyond friendship. It was
causing a strain this past month. A strain upon a friendship that had
once been easy.

Bowen turned, taking her arm and
Matthew tensed. She sensed he did not like anyone touching her, any
male.

She came back to what Bowen had been
saying reluctantly, distracted this near Matthew.

She interrupted him, “I apologize,
President Bowen, I missed that first part...”

“Arthur, please, Clara.”

She nodded.

“As I was saying, now that the
signing of the treaty is behind us, how do you propose to introduce
the delicacies of ...” and he raised his eyebrow.

She was unsure how to broach the
subject. Possibly, she could let it run its natural course. She said
as much, Matthew's pulsating heat spilling into her.

He shook his head. “That may take
time. Perhaps there are women who would wish to live Outside, become
part of the community. Then they may find themselves amongst the men
of the clan. Visitation would not facilitate unions with any
expediency as compared to a change of residency.”

He was right, but how to say such
without the whole of the kingdom becoming squeamish about the basest
fact that the Clan was dying out because there were not enough
females? There was not an easy solution within the societal
constraints in which they lived.

“Unless....” Bowen trailed off.

Clara looked at him sharply, her
mind racing furiously to intuit his implication.

“What say you, President?”

“Unless
their Queen was to mate with a clan-dweller.
In that way, she would lead by example,” he said, his eyes hooded,
his expression cloaked in the shadows of the corner.

Matthew's eyebrows lowered and his
hands became tight. “She cannot mate with just anyone, sir!” he
said fiercely, his face a mass of tight angles. Clara reached out and
he relaxed under her touch, his eyes softening.

“I
did not say she was without choice. Obviously, it is entirely up to
the Queen, whom she would choose. She is a
select,
after all. That very thing predicates the choosing.”

They
fell silent, her strange select
status a detail which needed much discussion.

“She needs to come to the clan,
stand before the Band and be tested. This is the only way,” Matthew
ground out.

President Bowen bowed his head, not
meeting Clara's eyes.

“Sir...
Arthur,
what is this he says?” she asked, giving them troubled eyes.

“We
have not encountered a select
in many years, before my time,” he paused, spreading his palms away
from his body. “It used to be these special females were meant only
for the Band and that whoever they responded to most, would then be
their chosen mate. It was not a matter of intellect, but rather,
biology.”

“I am understanding that you wish
for me to come to the Band, be 'tested' to see if I react to certain
males more than others? And if so, I should choose which to mate?”

They stood there silently and Clara
felt their discomfort.

“What?” she asked impatiently.

“If there is more than one male of
the Band that you respond to equally, they may decide to....”

“To fight for you,” Matthew
finished flatly for Bowen.

Clara
stood there, struggling with her emotions. Is what she felt for
Matthew some kind of odd chemistry? It was not real? She could
possibly go to the Band, and feel this
with
one of the others? It was a terrible potential.

Matthew's anguished eyes told her
she was right.

But
she had her duty, always her duty. It was not just
to the people of her sphere. She had given her word that she would do
all she could for the people of the clan as well.

Clara straightened. “When?”

President Bowen exhaled in a great
rush. “One day hence.”

Clara nodded, looking at Matthew,
what would this mean for them?

“Clara,” Bowen said her name.

She looked at him. “You understand
that Matthew's standing amongst the Band has been compromised by your
taking...” he trailed off.

She looked at him. “Meaning?”

“That he will not be included in
the test.”

Her eyes met Matthew's tortured gaze
and she could only stare.

“That is not acceptable,” she
all but yelled. “Did he not tell you of his...” she looked at
Matthew, not wanting to betray what she knew of him, “past
circumstances? Surely that gives him some allowance?” she finished,
placing her hands on her hips, her eyes on fire, the hair that
Matthew so admired flying about her hips. He looked at her with a
longing that shook her to her core. She would not desert him, wrest
his chance with her because the Band and their leader were trifling
about what had happened. She was fine, she was well, all was as it
should be.

Abuse free at last.

“If I do this, at least allow his
inclusion.” She gazed steadily at the President, their eyes meeting
for a pregnant pause.

“Very well, but on this
condition,” he said, looking at them both, “he shall be last.”
His words sat there in the moist air, both men blotting their faces
with linen cloths, neither acclimated to the humidity that was the
sphere.

Clara
deliberated. It was the best she could do and satisfy everyone. The
larger question remained: what would happen if another of the Band
made her feel the way she had with Matthew? What then? She happened
to raise her eyes and saw that Charles' full attention was on her
small group of three and his eyes narrowed. She knew he would never
condone this. But for his own reasons.

It
was an excellent political decision for the sphere. Her marriage to
their allies would solidify and progress the alliance. That had been
Queen Ada's reasoning, even though flawed with Ada wishing Clara to
marry the sadist Prince. However, their friendship would suffer, and
that she
valued, she valued
it very much.

As he approached, a thousand
memories encroached and her spirit felt torn. He was her closest
friend, yet, his love for her crippled his objectivity. She had not
seen it before.

She did now.

“What is this, Clara?” Charles
asked, looking at the two men, his eyes settling on her.

“We
were discussing my designation as a select.”

Charles' gaze darkened. “What of
it?”

Clara
drew a deep breath. “They have a tradition amongst the
clan-dwellers in
which if there is a
select,
she is 'tested' with the males of the Band for the most beneficial
mating.”

A silence cloaked the moment so
thoroughly it felt as though the noise all around them was heard
through glass and rain, deafening and at the same time, silent.

He
kept staring and she stared back. It was when his face started to
gain high color that Clara became alarmed, but it was not she that he
directed his anger at it was
Matthew.
He
was more than ready to respond, his emotions boiling beneath the
surface.

“You cannot leave her alone, can
you? What exactly did you do to her Outside, when no one was around
to defend her against you?” Charles said in a low and furious voice
which traveled better than she would have liked.

Matthew closed the distance between
them in two long strides. “I have not forced my hand or body
against her, sphere-dweller,” he said. Grabbing Charles by
the lapel, he dragged them almost nose-to-nose, which instantly
gained the attention of all the Band members and a few of Clara's
subjects as well.

She came between them, struggling to
assert her body, dividing their anger physically.

“Stop this, both of you,” Clara
said. Turning in the tangle of their arms and facing Charles, her
back pressed against Matthew's chest she stared at Charles. “Please,
do not do this, not now. Let us discuss this later, in private.”

Her
eyes dug into his, imploring him. Charles grappled, he was most
assuredly done with hiding his feelings, he no longer wished to
squelch what he felt for Clara, yet he did not wish to hurt her. He
was starting to calm down when the savage
leaned down and took a deep breath of the crown of her head, smelling
her fragrant hair, which undid him utterly. Every intellectual
command he had just given himself was gone in a red haze of rage and
jealously.

He
launched himself around Clara, landing a grazing punch on the jaw of
the savage,
who used one arm to twist Clara behind him, protecting her from him.

Clara
couldn't believe this was
the
Charles she
had grown up with, this raging animal who came at Matthew, death
riding his eyes.

“Guards!” Clara screamed and
they came to their Queen's command, grabbing Matthew.

“No!” she shrieked as Charles
landed another blow on Matthew, and he retaliated, snapping his arm
forward as quick as a snake, impacting Charles' jaw as she watched
his head snap back and he staggered backward. But like an enraged
bull, he came at Matthew again, his bell rung but not stopped. Head
down he charged and Clara did the most stupidest thing she had ever
done in her life. She ran in front of Matthew, as if her fragility
was a shield that he needed.

“Clara,
no!” Matthew roared and Charles' momentum carried him into them
both, knocking the wind out of Clara. She fell against Matthew, who
pinwheeling
backward, grabbed onto her as she was falling, cushioning her fall.
She bounced on top of him and her head cracked back into his forehead
and she was saw stars, literally.

Bright spots of color danced before
her eyes like fireflies, narrowing to a single pinpoint laser beam of
light. The last face she saw was Bracus, his mouth moving but no
sound coming out, then she knew no more.

CHAPTER 35

Clara came awake in stages with
Charles at her bedside. She did not snatch her hand away but she said
the one thing that came to her mind, “Matthew.” She saw Charles'
eyes flinch and she had a stab of guilt, then recalled his behavior
and was battling her remorse less keenly.

It was not Matthew but Bracus which
appeared at her bedside. Clara gazed about her room and saw that
there were four guards, two inside her doorway and two outside.
Breathing easier, she sat up, releasing Charles' hand and arranging
the pillows behind her.

She noticed that she was still in
her royal wardrobe but missing the crown. Olive had put it away, she
was sure. Clara had not yet donned the Queen's crown, preferring her
own to the ostentatious ornament that had been Ada's.

Clara's head throbbed where it had
landed on Matthew's forehead and she gathered her wits about her
laboriously. “Bracus,” she began and he stepped forward under the
glare of Charles' scrutiny.

“Where is Matthew?”

“He is in the guest chamber's of
the Band,” Bracus answered.

She nodded, that was good. “Is he,
did I hurt him?”

Bracus grinned so wide she heard his
face smile, his gills opening slightly. “Nay, Queen Clara, a wee
thing such as you bouncing off his thick skull would do nothing.”
His smile faded and he looked at Charles briefly then back at her.
“It is you that had us worried.” His gaze traveled her face as if
he knew every curve and plane. Clara could feel a reciprocal heat
warm her face and she knew that her response showed. Charles' eyes
narrowed as he watched. What had happened to him? His anger seemed
always near now.

Clara did not wish to incite Charles
further and a pool of resentment bubbled up within. She was tired of
tiptoeing about, walking amongst peoples' feelings as if eggs were
scattered at her feet.

She sighed. “Bracus?”

He
inclined his head, taking in her loveliness, that special fragrance
that was Clara but also more, other.
That
“adviser” of hers was going to be trouble, even before today
Bracus had known it. His feelings for Clara clear to all but her.

“Let me have a word with Charles
at present and later today we will convene with your president and
choose a time that works for all.”

“Yes, Queen Clara.”

“Please, we have been through
entirely too much to stand on ceremony, it is my wish to be called
Clara by you.”

Bracus smiled, she made a fine ruler
for one so young. He did not mourn the other Queen's passing.
Especially in light of what Matthew had told the Band. He paused
remembering what he had said:

*

“She has known little of
compassion since the death of her father, the king.”

“Why did the Queen beat her?”
James had asked Matthew.

To which he had shrugged. “She
drinks of the cup incessantly. She only breaks from it while asleep.
Clara kept the secret of her abuse for years.”

“Aye, it is very good that she is
dead. It is that wolverine of a Prince that gives me worry. He and
that guard evaded our blades. I, for one, will not rest until his
neck is beneath it again.”

The Band put their fist to their
hearts, a promise was forged. For the protection of the new Queen,
for the strengthening of the alliance between their peoples, the
Prince must be found and executed.

“Bracus?” Clara laughed.

“I apologize, Clara, I was deep in
my memories.”

“Of what, pray tell?” Charles
asked, and Clara gave him a look of warning but he ignored her.

“I was thinking of the discussion
I have had most recently with the Band about the Prince and the
serpent's whereabouts,” Bracus said with gravity.

Charles nodded. “We have scouts on
the patrol for him but with the rain of the Outside...”

Bracus nodded. The weather had made
tracking virtually impossible.

“He
will not try to enter the sphere again. Let him take his chances
amongst the fragment
and clans which are not as friendly as yours,” Clara said
dismissively, the Prince utterly gone from her mind.

And that was where she wished for
him to remain.

“I
am afraid the
fragment
may welcome someone such as he,” Bracus said. “However, we can do
no more and he has no force now that the king of that sphere has cast
him out. He is but a refugee of the Outside,” rolling his
tremendous shoulders into a shrug.

Clara nodded and Bracus began to
walk to the doorway where a guard opened the massive door of oak,
turning he looked to her directly. “I will speak with you later,
all of us.”

Matthew.

Just thinking of him had brought a
trembling energy to her body and she struggled to suppress it,
Charles watching her facial expressions like a hawk.

Clara got right to it. “Charles,”
she began, taking his hand, “we are the greatest of friends and
although you have made your intentions for me known, my feelings do
not extend beyond friendship.”

“Can you not see what we could be
together?” he asked.

She
could see,
that was the misery of it. Clara loved him, with all her heart.
But
there was no fire, no passion. Mayhap in time, it could grow, she did
not know. Then there was the complication of being a select.
Whatever
that meant. She did not fully understand it yet.
She
knew that there was a certain biological compulsion working within
her that colored her thoughts and emotional processes. Mayhap robbing
her of what she may have thought and chosen in their absence. The
facts were, it was her reality now. And apparently, for a few others
as yet undiscovered. Clara was keenly aware that she was royal, her
father never let her forget her sense of duty. If she were to marry,
or mate, as the clan referred to it, she could not exclude the Band,
as they were seen as the “royalty” of their culture. It was all
very convoluted and she wished not to dwell upon it but dwell she
must.

Clara needed to walk, holding on to
Charles' hand she swung her stocking feet out from the covers and
stood, Charles rising with her.

“You answered not my question.”

“I will, let us walk. I need to
ease the throbbing in my head and I believe my blood moving will aid
in that.”

Charles could not suppress his
guilty expression. Clara had suffered because of his jealously. He
held out his arm and she took it, the guard smoothly opening the door
that led out of her chamber. He could not longer think and act
rationally where Clara was concerned and it troubled him.

Clara felt a trifle lightheaded as
they made their way to the top of the huge staircase and began their
descent, Charles' right hand gliding atop the polished wood
bannister.

“I do see what we could be,
Charles. But there is more to my decisions than potential. I have
many things to consider.”

Charles stopped on the stairwell,
the magnificent stained glass mermaid observing them. Charles put his
back to the glass, the colors of the sea washing him in a halo of
aquamarine. Clara looked into his face and then the sun slanted into
her eyes through the sphere wall, bleeding through the glass. Lifting
her hand to shield her eyes at the same time she shadowed her eyes
the face of the mermaid was in shadowed relief, only the eyes glowing
softly down at them.

Clara's memory poured over her and
she heard her father's words:

*

“Those waters look like your eyes,
Clara. A part of the sea remains with you. You have only to engage
the looking glass to know those waters.”

Clara's mind hovered on the edge of
a revelation. She sat in Charles' grip, looking up at the mermaid as
if she were an angel come from heaven, remembering the touch of
sadness in her father's voice as he recounted the sea.

Suddenly, it slammed into her with
the force of the ages:

“The
mermaid...” Queen
Ada had said. She had said she was not her mother. Then Clara flashed
her eyes to the window above her. The one that had looked over her
countless times, walking, playing on the step, admiring it. And all
the time it had been...

“Clara, what is it?” Charles
shook her slightly.

“Charles, when was this stained
glass window commissioned?” she asked with a thread of hope running
through her. The beat of her heart a wild thing, like a moth in a jar
straining toward the light.

Charles leaned his head back, a
puzzled look coming over him. “After your birth.”

Clara's heart leaped with joy, could
it be?

“It was not old, as the others?”

Charles shook his head. “No, it
was replaced after your birth.”

“Do you know for what reason?”

Charles stood quietly for a moment,
considering what she had said, the oddness of the question. Finally,
when Clara felt she was near bursting he said, “I believe it was
celebratory. I remember my father speaking of it.”

“Why is this important?” he
asked, a hint of impatience leaking into his voice.

She is my mother.

It
was the only way that my father could have her with him. That is why
Queen Ada had mentioned it at the last. It was the one kindness she
had ever bestowed on Clara. The Queen's actions made so much more
sense now! She had never loved Clara as Clara
was
not hers, only
King Raymond's and this mystery woman. Clara's eyes went to the
glass. How she had never seen her own face staring down at her she
did not know. But there
it was, Clara's face with hair of spun gold and eyes of the palest
violet. She must find her... her
mother.

She looked at Charles with barely
contained joy that was so contagious that he smiled down at her in
response.

She told him the lot of it and he
turned to look at the stained glass apparition behind him, his face
at once becoming an aqua wash, gazing at it for a full minute. He
looked at Clara, then back at the glass.

“It is you, but not. Do you really
believe...?”

“I do.”

“You do not think that she
misspoke, so near death...?” he let his question trail off.

“I do not.”

He nodded, if anyone could be lucid,
it was Queen Ada.

On impulse Clara reached up and
hugged Charles fiercely and surprised at first, he stood still, then
his arms came around her, her joy encompassing them both.

Finally, she went to let go and he
cupped her chin in his large hand, palming her entire jaw and in his
eyes was a question she had seen once before. Weakened by his
nearness and their friendship, she allowed him to kiss her.

Charles didn't ask twice, he pressed
her body against his, hip to chest and she could feel... all of him.
His heart beat fast and hard against her chest and one arm held her
against him while the other moved to the nape of her neck and climbed
into her hair, tilting her head up to meet his kiss. When his lips
touched hers they molded to her mouth as if they had a thousand times
before and she felt such surprise at it her mouth opened and his
tongue found entrance, caressing hers as he pressed and moved his
lips over hers. Then he broke the kiss, moving her closer until she
was crushed against him. He worked his kisses from her jaw to the
tender places of her throat and a involuntary moan escaped her. She
was not herself, the moment capturing her entirely. She responded
against everything she knew was proper, her hands traveling and
reaching his hair. She grasped it, winding slender fingers through
the silky blackness and when his kissing went lower she came to
herself, the velvet brushes of his lips on the tops of the exposed
flesh of her bodice bringing her back to her senses and she said,
“Charles... no... we mustn’t,” she said in the softest voice.

“Your body says yes but your words
say no,” Charles said, raising his head. Any closer and their faces
would touch, his eyes black pools of longing. That cooled the heat
between them, her intellect slowly returning. But it was a sound at
the bottom of the staircase that made them part.

Clarence looked up at the two,
having come upon them while Charles was crawling down their Queen's
throat, bending her small body backward even as he drew her closer.

They looked down at him and Charles
looked guiltily away.

Clara met his eyes. Her swollen
lips, flushed cheeks, hair forming a halo about her and Clarence was
struck by her beauty. With the light from the window behind her, she
looked like a goddess on the stairwell.

He shook his head. “What are you
doing with our Queen, my friend?”

Charles
looked down at him in anger. “Kissing her,
dolt.”

Clarence strode up the steps, taking
them two at a time. “You forget your duty to her, to our kingdom,
when you press your advantage.” Clarence's chest heaved, not with
breath, but with righteous indignation.

“I
want her to understand that the savages
are not the only one she can feel passion with!” Charles said,
disgusted.

“Your prejudice against them
cannot affect her decisions as Queen, you know this!” They stood
chest to chest, ready to come to blows.

Males.

“Stop
this. I go to their clan. I will be
tested.
If there is one amongst them that is a contender,” Clara stumbled
over the word, “I will consider a courtship. That is the end of
it.”

“What of us?” Charles asked.

Clara looked at him.

He stepped forward, and it would
have been more comfortable had they been touching but he kept himself
uncomfortably close, without contact. “You do not know.”

She
nodded, she
did not. But she must be fair. Charles was her friend but he had
proven something this day, that they could
be
more, if he captured her heart. But the heart felt as it would,
without sense or direction. And the Band were not males that
intellectualized, they were instinctual.

She looked back at the window, as
did Clarence and Charles, their tempers cooled, following her gaze.

Looking
at the face that stared down at her, a mirror of her own, Clara knew
that she had much to seek,
many questions that needed answers. But not this day.

This day was filled with
conversation with the Band and their president, for in the morrow she
traveled.

CHAPTER 36

Clara stood with half her royal
guard before the new portal that had been fashioned over the gaping
wound of the sphere tunnel.

Curiously, the edges of the sphere,
where it lay ragged, had begun to “grow” around the brass
perimeter framework. She looked upon it and gauged it to be eight
feet high by twelve feet in length. The doors were made of solid
brass and fitted with pearls in the emblem of the sphere.

They were so heavy that they slid
upon runners of brass, oiled by the oysters after the meat was
evacuated and cleansed. When closed, there were great, built-in locks
that rode the bottom corners, used to secure them.

Clara
did not know if the fragment
was aware of the saltwater weakness of the sphere as the clan had
been. Their scouts thought not. But one could not be too careful.

“My Queen,” Clarence asked as
both statement and question.

Clara nodded, she was ready. The
portal doors took three guards to slide open. As the Outside was
revealed, Clara took a deep breath and left the safety inside the
womb of the sphere.

****

Clara stood nervously before the
entire clan, a contingent of her royal guard at her back, the
circumstances entirely different than when she had but dallied here
briefly with Anna and Lillian. She searched the faces of the crowd
until she came to Jack and Lillian, who smiled at her and she
returned it. Then her eyes came upon Joseph and Anna and there seemed
to be a tension there. Before she could think on it President Bowen
came out and introduced Clara. Would she ever get used to the title
of Queen? She thought not.

The Band stood to the right of
Bowen, their backs ramrod straight, their expressions neutral, a
backdrop of contained menace.

Bowen continued, “As you are all
aware, the Evil Ones left a portentous book of sorts that cataloged
some of the events of this time and we have, by necessity, had to act
upon some of the suppositions therein.”

Clara could see that they were
aggrieved to do so.

Bowen outlined the “rules” of
the testing. This so incensed Clarence that he had wrapped his hand
around her upper arm and was furiously whispering in her ear, she
shook her head. She would allow it. They were a different culture,
there were some concessions to be made.

Clarence went against her wishes,
speaking directly to Bowen, “She cannot be expected to kiss each
one? She is a Queen, not a common trollop!” Clarence sputtered,
throwing up his hands and huffing about.

“Clarence,” Clara said with
ringing authority, hating what she was about to do but realizing that
she must, “you must stand down.”

He stared at her.

“That is a royal directive,” she
finished quietly.

He came to stand before her and she
met his eyes. Clara knew that she must set a precedence here, now, so
that her authority would be respected. She was uncomfortable to do
so, but she had her duty.

Clarence relented, adding a
muttered, “I will remain here.”

That was as good as she would get
from him, she thought.

The Band came forward: Bracus,
Matthew, Jacob, James, Stephen, Philip (looking quite well healed she
noticed) and Joseph. Clara swallowed the lump in her throat and
sought out Anna, who looked back at her calmly. Clara was suddenly
much more awkward than before. Only Jack remained, already mated to
Lillian, whom he held against him.

She felt no accusation from Anna,
but in her heart, she felt sadness.

Clara stepped forward and stood in
the place that they had indicated. A groundwork of curiously
beautiful stones were made in a pattern inside a circle, which looked
vaguely star-like in its design. She turned briefly and looked at
Bowen with a silent question.

“It has been assembled as
written.”

Ah, Clara thought, the book
from the Guardians. She stepped inside the circle and it seemed to
hum with independent energy, a symbol whose weight she felt in her
limbs, running through her in a low thrumming buzz, and knew that
inside this circle, which was at least six feet in diameter, she was
calm as a consequence of being inside it. She should have felt fear,
but instead that curious energy stilled her.

James swaggered into the circle, his
feet passing its perimeter and he almost stumbled, as surprised as
she had been by the effect.

He quickly regained his composure
and approached her.

They stared at one another. He tried
to remain polite but already she could see desire pooling in his eyes
and Clara knew before he moved that he would touch her. She felt the
wind from his body, every small hair standing on end, as he wrapped
her close to him, smelling of pine and earth and male. His arms were
bands of steel as he pressed her against him and when his lips
touched hers there was a jolt, shot through with the kind of spark
one feels right after the sphere's cleansing and it is dry and you
touch a knob of brass. It almost hurt and she gasped and they pulled
away, only a brushing of lips, no true passion.

The disappointment on James' face
was obvious. He looked at Bowen and shook his head. Looking at Clara
he inclined his head in the barest of bows and retraced his steps out
of the circle.

Clara rubbed her hands up and down
her arms, that had been disquieting.

There was more to the testing than
she realized.

****

Clara
was tired. Her lips numb from being kissed, quite thoroughly, by both
Jacob and Stephen with similar, jolting and somewhat painful results.
And it helped not that the one male she might
enjoy
kissing was last and off on the barest edge of where the stone
perimeter was, anger riding his body.

He
did not like other men handling her.

Joseph was next, coming to her as
though he would rather be anywhere but here in this ring and she had
great sympathy for him and Anna.

They came together awkwardly, he
reached for her and keeping his body away from hers, he leaned
forward, pressing a chaste kiss on her lips. The barest pressure and
a spark ignited that licked as a flame and spread.

Joseph's eyes widened in surprise
and almost as if he could not help himself, he pulled her against him
and with a low groan he began to feed on her mouth all the while
fighting it. Clara responded, her hands finding their way around his
neck, but because of his size, she simply could not meet them. He
pressed her lips once more, and forcibly pushed her away. She almost
stumbled but caught herself. He looked at her with a mixture of
disquiet and soft horror.

He
was Band,
he was not commanded by causal lust. This Queen, had stirred
something deep within him that he wished not to recognize. Joseph
backed away, while his body fought him to get back to her. He all but
ran out of the circle and away from Clara.

That left Philip, his brother Bracus
and Matthew. She looked behind her at Clarence who scowled back.

Marvelous.

Bracus clapped Philip on the back
and he approached her. “Queen Clara.” he inclined his head.

“Philip,” she said, noticing his
side was without scar. “You are healed,” she said incredulously.

He nodded. “It is always such with
the Band.”

Then he pulled her to him and the
moment their lips touched the heat came upon them and his eyes
snapped open. He pulled her closer. As the largest of the Band, he
had to awkwardly maneuver her around until his hand found her hair
and then he wrapped his fist in it, with his arm he lifted her off
the ground.

“Philip!” President Bowen
interceded.

He pulled his head away, his
breathing harsh and stared down at Clara, eyes gone wide with shock
and surprise.

Two of Clara's guard entered the
circle and he turned in a crouch, jerking her against himself and
growled at the guards.

Growled.

“Get back,” Clara said with a
tremor in her voice. It was one thing to see the Band fight from a
distance and quite another to be intimately pressed against one of
them.

Bracus did not cross the border of
stone but said in a low, clear voice, “Let her down, brother,” he
said, putting a palm out in supplication.

They stared at each other for a long
moment, his forearm jammed underneath Clara's ribs, her body against
him, heat coming off his body in waves.

Gradually, he lowered her to the
ground and said, “I will not look upon you now, Clara I fear it may
be my undoing.”

He backed away from her, then
turning, he made his way outside the stone perimeter. It was only
when he exited that he looked at her, a sheen of sweat coating his
face and arms.

Clara stood alone in the circle,
wondering when it would be over. Matthew and Bracus paced outside the
border, never taking their eyes off each other.

When Bracus crossed the border of
stone, her body reacted with a dizzying rush of power, rising up out
of the ground and flowing up her as if she were plunged in water...
and he had not yet touched her.

Everyone that was close to the
border gasped at the reaction and Bracus' face changed. He did not
approach tentatively, but as a man drowning. He came for her almost
at a dead run and she fought to remain where she was, telling herself
that he had never offered her harm.

She had not considered what it
looked like to her guard which swarmed the circle when their Queen
was threatened.

However,
they came too late as Bracus was upon her and snatched her up, taking
her by the thighs and lifting her right to his mouth. She wrapped her
arms around his neck. His mouth was all over hers with bruising
force. She opened it for him and still he pressed his lips down
harder, making her gasp. He took that as encouragement and with one
hand under her legs he forced
her head to meet his and she leaned into it so her neck was not
broken. With him kissing her that way. Clara couldn't think, she
could hear the
guards trying to pull him off her but that just made him clutch her
more tightly. It was about then that Clara realized she could no
longer breathe and began to feel dizzy with her mouth pressed to
Bracus' straining to reach him at the same time her breath was not
coming.

Strong arms grasped Clara and she
saw Bracus' eyes open and lifting his head, he roared in a primal
surge, throwing three of the guard off his back and dropping Clara as
he did. But Clara did not fall, instead, she was turned in one fluid
motion and it was Matthew.

Moving away only a little, the fray
behind them like white noise, he kissed her and the whole world
melted away. It was only Matthew in a searing fire, washing away
every other sound, noise and tactile sensation except his lips and
hands that roamed her body. Matthew was raggedly panting, his hands
moving everywhere they could, her shoulders, her waist, skimming the
sides of her breasts, moving to each side of her jaw, his hands
overlapping into the hair by her temples, his lips eating at her like
a man starved.

She was torn away from him and she
only needed to see Matthew's expression to know who held her.

The two men roared at each other and
Bracus shoved Clara behind his back and charged Matthew, who used his
momentum against Bracus. Taking the sprint full tilt, grabbing
Bracus' forearm and swinging him in the direction he was running,
stepping out a laced boot and throwing him as he tripped, Bracus flew
several feet into a landing roll.

He popped up off the ground and
swung around to charge when President Bowen yelled, “Clara! Leave
the circle.”

Clara needed no urging, she lifted
her skirts and skimming the ground she ran the five feet to the edge,
both men chasing her down. She did not turn but kept running.

They were upon her in no time, one
grabbing each arm. And she looked at them both, fear choking her.

Suddenly, Philip was there and spoke
directly to Bracus, “My brother, have a care, would you tear her
asunder?”

They all stood there quietly,
Matthew's chest heaving, his grip on Clara almost bruising in its
intensity.

Clara watched sanity gradually begin
to seep into eyes that but a moment ago had been wild.

Bracus loosened his hold and his
hand dropped from her arm. Matthew loosened his crushing grip but did
not drop his hand.

President Bowen strode over and
bowed. “I cannot apologize enough for this, Queen Clara. We have
not had a rite in many years.”

Bowen was visibly tense but it was
Clara that spoke, the royal guard at her elbow and surrounding
Philip, Bracus and Matthew, “I gave my word that I would cooperate
in this, and I did. I have not suffered injury.”

However, it was the oddest thing she
had ever partaken in.

She could feel Matthew's warm
presence at her back and Bracus' eyes never left her. She would have
quite a path to hoe with these men.

Bowen said, “We have seen what has
happened here,” the clans people murmured amongst themselves but he
continued and the conversations died away and he held up his hand,
“There will be two that will court Queen Clara. We will put this to
a vote. As we are all aware, a secure union between our peoples is
very important, a select guarantees offspring and other benefits.”

What
were those? Clara
wondered. She
felt a trifle insulted, as if she were a special oyster in the field
that they would cross breed for a rare color, she spoke, “President
Bowen,” all heads turned to her. “There were four of the Band
that had an unusual reaction to my person. In that group, two were
most profound. A vote is acceptable but it does not predetermine who
I shall choose.”

There was a great silent heartbeat
and then Bowen, with grudging admiration said, “As the Queen says,
so shall it be.”

The tension in the gathering area
was suddenly much less and Matthew released her.

The crowd was loud, many voices
discussing all of it. Finally, Bowen called for silence and a show of
hands were required.

The names were read:

Joseph:
there was a smattering of hands but nothing significant.

Philip:
twice the hands of Joseph.

Bracus:
half the hands were raised.

Matthew:
the remainder lifted their hands until every hand was in the air like
tree limbs of flesh.

Bracus and Matthew would travel back
with she and the guard, and a courtship would begin. Clara had a
brutal choice ahead of her: two of the Band and her childhood friend.
Her heart and her duty on opposing sides.

****

Clara was at the portal to receive
her guests of the clan, thrilled to see Anna and Lillian, as she was
sure that Matthew and Bracus were more than ready to see their
kinsman, Jack.

The guards slid the heavy door aside
and the group entered, Lillian coming to Clara and folding her in a
fierce hug, the taller woman engulfing her. It had been a month since
the rite and Lillian was showing, her precious bundle but a small
bump beneath her skirt, Jack hovering about her, fussing over how
tired she must be. It was interesting to see the fierce warrior so
soft with his mate.

It
was good.

Anna
and,
there he was!
Joseph had come as well. Clara looked at Anna, she smiled and Clara
knew that all would be well.

They made their way back to the
Royal Manse, the long walk made pleasurable by the company and
Lillian said, “Clara, I must say you do not look like a Queen!”

Clara laughed. “I do not dress as
such except for ceremonial events. It is not who I am.”

Clarence walked beside her. “Some
do not need royal garb to be royal, my Queen.”

She smiled at him for he was always
formal. “Thank you, Clarence.”

“I agree. It is bearing, not
wardrobe, that make one seem royal.”

Lillian looked at her mate amused.
“And how many royals do you know?”

Jack blushed and gave her a quick
kiss on the mouth. “Wench, you will learn your manners!” he said
playfully and all laughed at his teasing.

Finally inside and introductions
made to Peter, he closed the doors of the Royal Manse, sliding the
bolt in place.

“Masters Charles, Bracus and
Matthew will be here to receive momentarily, my Queen.”

Clara inclined her head toward
Peter. “Thank you.”

The group milled about in the huge
foyer looking at all the strange appointments scattered about. Clara
was sure it looked as unique to them as their dwellings had to her.

It was Anna though that startled
Clara with a gasp, her hand going to her mouth. Turning, Clara saw
that she was staring at the stained glass rendering of the mermaid,
Clara's birth mother.

“Who is this?” Anna asked
through her fingers.

Clara was not yet ready to admit her
discovery so she responded rather vaguely, “It is a rendering after
an actual person. I do not know who.”

Anna stared at it then said, “I
have seen this woman, I know of her people.”

Clara stopped breathing- Anna had
just recognized her mother, she may know her whereabouts.

Clara forced herself to remain
falsely calm and Jack and Joseph looked at her strangely. They were
sensing something. She tried harder to calm herself. “Where does
she hail from?” she asked carefully.

“Her people are of the sea.”

“Do you say they live by the sea?”

She shook her head, looking at
Clara. “Do you not see the throat slits?” she asked pointing at
what looked like seaweed.

They approached the window, Joseph
and Jack beside her, as curious as she. Clara could not see it...

“There!” Jack said. “Do you
not see how the seaweed curls at the neck, changing color into gold
striations?”

Joseph nodded his head, excited.
“This would explain much.”

Clara was lost and then Charles,
Bracus and Matthew appeared.

Jack explained everything to them.

Charles
broke in, “This means, that this woman,”
and he looked directly at Clara who had a wave of fear strike her.
Dear Guardian, say
nothing,
she thought.

“Exists in the ocean?” he
finished.

Thank Guardian.

Anna
was shaking her head. “No, that is not what I meant. They do not
have a tail and fins,
as
fish. They
can breath on land and
in
the sea. That is what we know.” Then she looked at the males of the
Band. “They look as you do, but can breathe in the waters.”

They
were silent, digesting this. But Clara was ahead of them. Summarizing
what it meant to her.
If her father had loved such a creature, her mother,
Clara self-corrected, it may explain why she was a select.
Born
without gills, but an affinity for the water,
attractive
to males of the Band, as she was attracted to them. She had some
biological lock that they had the
key for. And at the center of it all was the Guardians. Somehow, they
had known about
the inevitability of it all.

Charles and she looked at each
other.

She was of both worlds; one in which
they had never known about. They looked up at the window, clearly
seeing how the artist had used “seaweed,” to twine gills
delicately like silver and gold lace against a lovely, pale throat.
It was cleverly done, but if one knew what they were looking for, it
was quite obvious.

Bracus
and Matthew approached her and Charles stood his ground. It had been
a trying month with the three men determined to be her future king.
She admired them all and was glad that she had the excuse of royal
duties and oyster fields to tend so things progressed slowly. But the
males of the Band were impatient for her to choose, and she realized
that it may be
some time before she did. She needed to discover who she was, where
she came from.
She would find her birth people; these strange creatures of sea and
earth.

****

She sat at the round table, the
rectangular table long put away, as Clara did not liken to having
anyone at the head of a table. With Bracus at her right and Matthew
at her left, she was left facing Charles dead ahead. Their eyes met
and Clara knew that travel was in her future, as did he. Looking at
Bracus, his hazel eyes softening as he looked upon her and then
turning into Matthew's intense blue stare, she knew that these men
would be a part of it.

Gazing around her, she recognized
she was the happiest she had ever been, her “mother”, the drunken
Queen, was no more. Her kingdom was ruled with fairness and democracy
as her father would have wanted and an important alliance had been
formed. The Prince had not been seen these past months and it was
safe to assume that he had succumbed to the wilderness. A suitor on
each side, what worry could she have?

Yet...
Clara felt there was more, had to be more. She would journey to this
sea and there she
would uncover the remainder of her destiny, with whomever shared it
with her.

The
End

Read on for
the exciting first chapter of book 2,

The
Savage Blood

The
Savage Blood

Book
Two of the Savage Series

by Tamara Rose
Blodgett

The Savage Blood

Book Two of the Savage Series

by
Tamara Rose Blodgett

Copyright
© 2011 Tamara Rose
Blodgett

http://tamararoseblodgett.blogspot.com

This
ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may
not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to
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this author.

All
rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of
1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or
retrieval system without the prior written permission of the
publisher.

This
book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and
incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used
fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to
persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is
entirely coincidental.

All rights are
reserved.

Edited by Stephanie T. Lott

For The Girls:

Aaron, Becky, Evie, Memrie and Shana Benedict

CHAPTER 1

East

Clara discreetly wiped the beads of
sweat that had formed on her brow. The sun hung overhead, its
merciless heat beating down on the group. A trickle of sweat crawled
down the back of her neck and she was all at once through with the
entire day.

Bracus approached with the flask of
water and Clara gave a tired smile, accepting it from his large hand
gratefully.

“Queen Clara,” he looked down at
her upturned face, “take respite.” Bracus shielded his eyes from
the sun's brightness, gauging the day's time. “We have traveled
without rest for six hours. It is one hour until dusk. Let us break
for camp.”

Clara looked around at her weary
contingent. They had been traveling for days now and still they
seemed to cover no distance. They had only one map, an amateurish
affair that gave iconic points as an afterthought. No one, save Anna,
had traveled this route.

How had she thought this an idyllic
journey of adventure? What it was was a bug infested, heat laden,
tiresome affair. Normally in good spirits, she found herself frazzled
and not coping well.

She nodded to Bracus, correcting
absently, “Just Clara, Bracus.”

He nodded, giving her a tender smile
she did not deserve and began to bark orders to the rest of the Band.

Matthew's eyes met hers intensely
and she turned away, undone by the simple look. In all fairness, she
had allowed a courtship to ensue that was like a noose about her
neck, slowly tightening until breath was a luxury.

The forest lay to their left (North,
she corrected) and her Royal Guard, Charles, Clarence and the men of
the Band hauled their travel accompaniments the entirety of the steep
incline. Dragging it behind horses, their belongings bundled atop
leather skins tethered to wooden poles, they made their way.

Charles found her and helped her
pull up the rear, two of the Guard flanking her.

She was Queen, after all. A moniker
she was still not comfortable with. It had been nearly a year since
the disastrous events involving Queen Ada, the battle with the
fragment and her position of alliance with the Clan of Ohio.

She had discovered she was part of a
tiny human female group called the select. Apparently they
were a perfect match for males of the Band. But what does one do when
you are the best match for two of the Band?

That, Clara had determined, was
something she was yet to answer.

As the time drew near for her to
choose, she was alarmingly undecided and the two Band members were
becoming increasingly hostile toward each other. For the sake of
harmony between her sphere and the clan she must choose.

Soon.

“Clara,” Charles said her name,
so deep in her musings she had forgotten he was there and had
inadvertently slowed her pace to a crawl. Increasing her stride she
moved as fast as he.

“I do apologize. I was one hundred
spheres away,” she answered, exasperated.

Charles looked down at Clara and
thought there was too much on her young shoulders. He had thought
this many times over the past year. Her courtship with the two of the
Band, Matthew and Bracus, should have cooled his feelings for her. On
the contrary. It had increased his desire to rule by her side. She
did not feel as he. Instead, she had been consumed by this worthless
quest to find her kin.

Her supposed kin.

They reached the crest of the hill
and he took her elbow. Clara looked up at him. “Do not begin
to preach about this, Charles.” She snatched her arm away.

His eyes narrowed on her. She did
not safeguard herself. It was Charles' burden to insist on her
protection for she would not protect herself. He opened his mouth to
speak and she held up her hand.

“Let us agree to disagree
Charles,” she said, her eyes pleading to let the subject rest. They
had argued endlessly this winter. She would not see reason. She
wished to find this elusive mother. This woman that had gills as the
Band. Charles thought it folly.

He took both her arms again and
pulled her close to him, his eyes roving the vicinity for witnesses.
They had entirely too little privacy and he loathed it.

“Stop it,” she wiggled in his
grasp and his hands tightened on her just shy of painful.

“You do not need to do this Clara.
Let us turn back. You have a kingdom to rule,” he shook her
slightly and her eyes widened. “Do you forget your duty?”

“I have never forgotten, Charles,”
she hissed back at him, tears burning the back of her eyelids. What
had happened to their friendship?

Matthew appeared out of nowhere, his
eyes lighting on the hands which held Clara.

“Take your hands off of her before
I break them at the wrists, sphere-dweller,” Matthew said
with quiet menace.

Charles' eyes flicked to Matthew's
and Clara said, “We were having an exchange.”

“He may speak with you and need
not use his hands,” Matthew said as Charles' hands fell away from
Clara's forearms.

She fought not to rub her hands over
where they had been.

Matthew saw her expression and
reading it correctly his gills expanded, the pink innards like
ribbons against his throat as he came forward, his hands balling into
fists.

Charles moved forward to meet him.

Clara scurried between them, placing
a hand on Matthew's chest, covered by a lightweight tunic. The bronze
skin of his throat was a testimony to their month of travel Outside.

“Stop it, both of you,” she
commanded in a low voice.

“What is happening here?” Thomas
asked, his hand hovering over the dirk he wore at his hip, the deep
violet vest he wore lifting in the breeze.

Matthew did not turn but kept his
eyes on Charles'. “Your Queen's adviser,”
Matthew spit the word out like errant phlegm, “has seen fit to lay
hands upon her.”

Thomas
released his dirk, the sound of it escaping the leather a harsh
memory to Clara's ears. She reacted quickly so things would not
escalate. “It is fine, Thomas. Charles and I... we have a
difference of goals.”

Thomas
looked from one to the other. Finally, his eyes rested on Charles.
“You do understand, Sir, that you may never touch our monarch
without express consent?” His hand held the dirk naked in his
grasp.

“Of
course, Thomas. It is not I that needs supervision,” Charles said
with clear accusation dripping from every syllable.

Matthew
drew Clara into his body and Charles' eyes narrowed.

“Somehow
it is acceptable that the brute of the Clan touch her?” he threw
his hand out at the two of them bound so tightly together.

Clara had
but a moment's peace in the arms of Matthew, a place she did not
allow herself to dwell, then stepped away. With the cocoon of his
warmth now gone, a melancholy began to steal its way inside of her.

Sarah
approached from the bosom of the forest.

“For
Guardian's sake, what say you?” she huffed, her hands on her hips.

Clara
gave a weak smile in her direction. Sarah would thrash her logic
about and the men would be left gasping as fish without water.

“Charles
and I were discussing...” Clara began.

“Arguing,
more like,” Sarah corrected with a narrow look at Charles and Clara
sighed.

Charles
glared at Sarah and she saw his look. “You are behaving like a
jackass!” she stated, affronted.

Thomas
sucked in his breath and Matthew hid his mirth badly, a smile forming
around his full lips, his blue eyes blazing out of a sun-kissed face.

“Stay
away from this Sarah,” Charles warned.

“I will
not,” Sarah stomped her foot in the dry prairie grass and it
rustled in protest. “It does no good to volunteer to agree to
journey with us then protest said journey at every opportunity. Must
it always be your way, Charles? Does our Queen not deserve a peace?
Does she not deserve to find a true relation?”

Sarah
placed her hands on her hips, her blond hair blending with the
wheat-colored grass that surrounded the group, moving about her as
the wind picked up.

“You
cannot be for this. She takes her suitors on this journey, leaves the
kingdom to my father and we travel to Guardian knows where to find a
mysterious relation. It is by far the worst thing. Oh! and let me
expound: the fragment
and rival clans lay scattered about and could kill us all before we
reach the fabled Cape Cod,” Charles challenged.

“I
should not have brought you,” Clara said with sadness. “I knew
that things had changed in our understanding, but I wished for it to
be as it had been before.” Clara looked at Charles with such
sadness, a longing for the easy friendship they had shared.

Charles
beheld her expression and could not understand why she didn't see
reason. He was the
choice for her. The Band? The Band be damned! It did not matter a fig
that she was some select?
What of it? He fumed.

Matthew
said, “We have not seen fragment
these thirty days,” he shrugged a bare shoulder.

Charles
turned on him and Clara saw Thomas tense. “What say you? You are so
busy chasing her skirt that you let your duties for her protection
wane to your voluptuous appetite.”

Clara
turned in one fluid motion and slapped Charles' face, his head rocked
back and she instantly regretted it.

Her wrist
felt broken, for one.

A red
imprint of her small hand lay upon his face. His nostrils flared and
he turned without a word and stalked off into the woods.

Matthew
took the hand that she cradled against her chest and turning it, he
laid a feather's kiss on the inside of the wrist. He looked deeply
into her eyes and she cast hers to the ground, her soft walking
moccasins buried in the pale flesh of the grass.

Other
shoes appeared beside hers and she looked into Sarah's cornflower
blue eyes. “He has lost all sense. Can you not see? He does not
'advise' any longer; he rants,” Sarah said as she put a piece of
copper hair behind Clara's ear.

Clara
knew this. She could no longer shake the memory of what they had been
together. Her best friend, her most loyal cohort in all things. The
one that sought her relentlessly through the Outside to save her from
an uncertain fate.

But he
was no longer that person.

Charles
could not accept a friendship that did not also include romance.

Matthew
stood quietly beside her, as was his way. His hair danced along the
tops of his shoulders, his eyes intent on her.

She
sighed again. “My Lady,” Thomas began, the one guard in the royal
contingent that had been left behind when her mother made her
devastating journey Outside. “What would you have of me?”

Clara was
mortified. She had lost her temper in a most repugnant fashion in
front of her first officer of the Royal Guard. She was remiss.
“Thomas, I am truly sorry you had to witness...” Clara
floundered.

But
Thomas broke in before she could continue, “We of the guard
understand the position you are in with Charles Pierce. We think he
is an excellent man of worth.”

The but
stood in the air.

Sarah
said what only she could, “He will have to serve in another
capacity, Clara. He is too near to you emotionally to offer sound
advice, of anything.” She shrugged.

Clara
looked at Matthew and Thomas. “Please, gentlemen, leave Sarah and I
to finish this conversation in private.”

Matthew
shook his head. “There must be someone standing watch at all times,
Queen Clara.”

“Clara,”
she corrected him and he gave the barest incline of his head.

“Fine,”
she said, vexed. Clara began to pace back and forth and Sarah tracked
her frenetic rhythm.

“Matthew,
Thomas, give us but a moment alone together so we may converse. She
needs to be attended by a woman presently.” Sarah stared at
Matthew.

He
relented reluctantly. “I will stand right there,” he pointed to a
stand of evergreens that heralded a natural break of entry into the
forest. “I will be observing, very closely.” He moved forward and
pressed a kiss to Clara's forehead and met Sarah's eyes over the top
of her head, his filled with clear warning.

Clara
felt the electric tingle that spiraled from the point of contact, his
lips departing a thin thread that ran from the warmth of his mouth
pressed against her skin to other areas. She blushed, feeling the
heat of her embarrassment acutely, visible for all to see on her fair
skin.

Matthew
gave her a rare grin. He was very aware of what reaction a kiss would
elicit from a select so closely affected by one of the Band.

He
gave another look at Sarah. Be careful,
that look said. She nodded and he made his way toward the trees, his
long stride eating up the distance. He arrived and turned, leaning
against the tree and sharpening one of his many blades against a
stone, the ghost of that smile still riding his lips.

*

“Tell
me I am not mad like one of King Otto's relatives,” Clara said.

It was
well-known that people from that sphere were too closely related,
causing minds that were soft or worse.

Sarah
grinned, pressing her forehead against Clara's. “Dear Heart, you
are many things, but mad is not one of them.” She leaned against
Clara and wrapped her in an embrace that was tight and fierce. Clara
let herself relax against her friend.

Finally,
when she thought she could speak once more, “Is this a fool's
errand, Sarah? Is Charles correct?”

Sarah
deliberated. She would tell Clara the truth, that is what friends
did. True friends.

Slowly,
Sarah shook her head. “He has a seed of truth in his argument.”

Clara's
face crumpled and Sarah rushed on, “He does not understand what it
would be to be a royal orphan. And it is somehow worse than that,
Queen Ada was not your true blood.”

Clara
stared at Sarah and whispered, “I should not have struck him. I am
ashamed. After the violence I suffered at the hand of the Queen and
Frederic. I should not have.”

Sarah
laid her hand within Clara's and squeezed the smallness of it once
and Clara winced.

“What?”

“It
hurts!” Clara laughed.

Sarah
grinned. “Ah, from the bludgeoning you laid on Charles?” she said
coyly.

Clara
nodded. “Yes, that.” A small smile began to spread across her
face, her somber self-recrimination floating away for the moment.

Clarence
approached and his eyes were for Sarah first but then fell on Clara.
Her guilt over the interchange came surging back in a tide of
emotion.

“Queen
Clara,” he bowed and she executed a small curtsey. She had
long-since given up coaxing him into calling her Clara. He was too
formal by far to comply.

Sarah
looked up into Clarence's face. “Why hello, Clarence,” she
murmured while batting her eyelashes. Sarah knew full-well her effect
upon him. He blushed a maddening brick red and muttered a greeting.

Sarah was
antagonizing him. They had been friends, as Charles and she had, the
four of them inseparable. But now there was a shift in awareness
happening. The journey east had revealed many things.

He turned
to Clara, ignoring Sarah for the moment and managed to get out,
“Charles is remiss, Queen Clara. Please, would it be too much to
ask that you engage in a reconciliation?” Clarence's eyes pleaded
with her to understand.

Of course
Clara understood. She wanted nothing more than for she and Charles to
come to an understanding.

Sarah
interjected, “She is sovereign here. Charles needs to quit acting
the fool and allow her to rule, Clarence. It is he that needs to
defer to her.”

Clarence
turned with a glare on his face and she stepped uncomfortably close
and his anger eased, his face softening before her closeness. “I
know well your friendship. However,” her hand reached out and ran a
gliding finger down the front of the royal purple vest that he and
the rest of the small guard contingent wore, “you must be cognizant
of how his feelings muddle his intent.”

Clarence
tracked her hand, utterly forgetting Clara's presence, she noted with
amusement. Sarah was playing a very dangerous game. Clara was not
sure of Sarah's true feelings for him. And as she thought it, Philip
came charging up on his horse. His eyes took in the scene of Sarah
with her hand on another man. His brows shot down over his intense
eyes, his steed's hooves dancing in nervousness underneath his
massive body.

Sarah
snatched her hand away from Clarence and he woke as if from a dream,
startling.

“I was
coming to fetch the Queen and Sarah,” he said in way of
explanation.

“Yes, I
see that was so,” Philip said with amusement laced with anger
riding the prominent planes of his face.

Sarah
smoothed her linen skirt and adjusted the neckline on her thin cotton
blouse that needed no adjusting.

Sarah was
always nervous in the presence of Philip. Bracus' brother was the
largest of the Band, even more so than Bracus and Matthew. He
dismounted, his head above the shoulder of his horse. The muscles in
his forearms bulged as he slung the reins over the horse's neck and
took it by the bridle, mindful of its mouth.

His gaze
went to Clara and he nodded. “Clara.”

Clara
nodded back. She had an easy alliance with Philip. After he had
stepped down as a contender for her hand, there had been no reason
not to. As this year had passed, she had come to realize he may have
his heart set on Sarah.

But Sarah
would have none of it. She avoided all the Band and seemed determined
to skim the surface of civility with them. It was an infuriating
dilemma. One of the many tasks she had to address.

Philip
caught her gaze and she held his for a defiantly swollen moment then
turned to Clarence. “Our Queen is in apt hands, let us go to the
camp.”

She
turned to look disdainfully at Philip. “I assume you and the others
have readied it?” she cocked a brow in his direction.

His jaw
tightened in response to her subtle rankling of him. “It is done.
That is why I rode here.”

She
smiled up at him. “Good, clansman.” The insult was not lost on
Philip and his fists clenched.

Sometimes
Clara thought for all Sarah's intellect she could not see what was in
front of her face. The Band were not males to be toyed with. But
warriors with an objective of clarity: kill to protect.

Those
violent biological imperatives, part of the very fabric of their
nature were not to be played as a musical instrument.

Sarah
looped her arm through Clarence's and strolled off, giving a backward
smirk to Philip.

And Clara
had thought her amusements with Clarence dangerous!

Philip
regained his composure and addressed her directly, “Clara, as I
mentioned to your friends,” he exhaled forcefully and she
controlled her expression, “the camp is ready for the night.”

Clara
nodded and he helped her mount the horse. When they were upon the
steed's back her eyes found Matthew's. His legs were spread far
apart, his hair floating on the breeze, eyes pressing on Clara like
an erotic weight.

Philip
dug his heels into the horse's sides and they moved forward, toward
the forest.

Toward
the men.

The
Savage Blood, available
now!

A Love Letter to My Readers:

As
of March 31, 2011, it's been a year now since my first book, Death
Whispers, was published. I'd like to take this opportunity to
thank each and every one of you that has supported my writing.
Without my readers, I would not have an audience for my work.
Many of your emails, support via recommendation, encouragement and
critical feedback/reviews have allowed my improvement as a writer and
as a human being. Words are an inadequate thanks for the depth of my
gratitude to you. Please know how much your support has meant, and
will continue to mean in the future to come.

Thank
you, from the bottom of my heart~

*

If
you enjoyed this book, please support the author by posting your
review on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and iBookstore.

Please
also consider recommending or reviewing the book on your blog,
Facebook, Twitter and Goodreads.

Connect with Me Online:

Twitter:
http://twitter.com/#!/troseblodgett

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facebook.com/tamararose.blodgett

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Blog:
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Acknowledgments:

I'd
like to thank, You- my reader, for
reading my stories!

My
glorious husband, who promotes way-better than I ever
will!

And
my Other Mother, whose discerning and well read eye was happy
with what I'd done. Her pride in me is a precious gift.

Books available
now:

Death
Inception (A Death
Prequel)

Death
Whispers
(Death Series, #1)

Death
Speaks
(#2)

Death
Screams (#3)

Death
Weeps (#4)

The
Pearl Savage
(Savage Series, #1)

The
Savage Blood,
(#2)

The
Savage Vengeance
(#3)

Blood
Singers,
(Blood Series, #1)

Blood
Song(#2)

Books publishing
in 2012:

Unrequited
Death
(#5) December 31

Future
Titles 2013:

The Savage
Protector (#4) March 1

Blood
Chosen
(#3) May 31

The
Reflective
(Reflection Series, #1) October 4