Birth Stone Page 5

  Lyra tugged her knitted shawl tighter to her body and looked away from the curious one, hurrying closely behind her knights. They emerged into a bustling town, more white limestone buildings rising two stories high, balconies on each one. The road was cobblestone and well kept-up. Beautiful women in colorful dresses walked arm in arm with strong men, plainly dressed servants following, and sometimes children running in their wake or babies in pouches around their bodies. There were merchants selling fish and shark and crab, fruit and vegetables, fresh bread. There was bright beaded and gemmed jewelry hanging on wooden racks, and people admiring them passively. The noise was loud but melodic. There was a sense of peace and order; there wasn’t anything uncivilized about this town, about these people. They were soft, rich, privileged people. The realization made her feel out of place. She followed the Knights closely, noticing how the masses largely ignored the men in shining armor.

  Of course, they are used to Knights. They must see the King often as well.

  The thought intrigued her greatly. She almost thought to stop and ask what he looked like. But she supposed she would know that soon enough. They came upon a large dark cherry closed carriage, red velvet curtains hiding the interior. A robust, white horse was harnessed to the front and a thin, white-haired man atop the coachman’s seat, waiting to be directed. He glanced their way and nodded. A knight turned to Lyra, piercing her with his hooded hazel eyes.

  “You will go alone the rest of the way to the castle. Guards are ready and waiting there to escort you in. The driver will not be stopping.” He hesitated with the next part, but eventually said, “Jumping from the carriage will result in severe injury--possibly death. It’s a fast ride.” Lyra’s jaw went slack, and before she could respond, the Knight pushed her back toward the carriage. She had no choice but to step up and settle into the fine space. Her bottom bounced up slightly on a plump, velvet covered seat. Empty seats stared at her from across the expansive vehicle. The heavy curtains hung in place of doors and blocked out the harsh autumn sunlight. She leaned her head back and breathed deeply. Truthfully, this was the most comfortable she had been in four days. The hard cot on the ship had wreaked havoc on her back, and she had barely slept. The furrow between her brows eased and a sigh escaped her lips as she settled even more into the seat.

  ✽✽✽

  The carriage jolted in a final toss and light flooded the space. Lyra sat upright, realizing she had been lying down on the soft bench and must have fallen asleep. A dark figure stood in place of the curtain, and her eyes adjusted to see that it was another one of those blasted armored Knights. She rubbed her groggy eyes and wiped drool from the corner of her lip.

  Swallowing, she inched her way out of the carriage, bent over and grabbed hold of the Knight’s hand. Too embarrassed to ask how long the ride had been, she straightened her spine and stood with as much dignity as she could muster for someone who had essentially been kidnapped and probably headed toward execution or imprisonment.

  Blinking against the blinding white sun, she realized they were standing directly in front of a pair of the largest heavy oak doors she’d ever seen. They stood three men tall, and had to be opened by pulling chains that were attached to heavy brass loops midway up the doors. Two burly knights pulled and the doors creaked open until the knights tied the chains to secures buried in the cobbled walkway.

  Lyra took the time to take in the scope of the castle. Limestone with gold laced through like script, the castle was more beautiful than anything she could have imagined. Many black-coated towers tipped toward the sky, so high she couldn’t look for more than a second because the sun stung her eyes.

  Intricately stained glass windows with the full spectrum of colors from the rainbow took up large expanses of wall. Upon closer inspection, she noticed that the window closest to the massive doors depicted some sort of story or lore. It was divided into six square panels, with characters fashioned onto them in various displays of action. She noticed two men, one lean and one large and muscular, and two women, one young and one older; both beautiful with long flowing hair. In the first panel, the young woman was shattering into minute pieces of gems that rose into the air and disappeared. In the last, the same happened to the lean man, though his body broke up into what looked like billows of smoke. The old woman was lying down and the large man was cradling her body, first raised to heaven. This depiction sent a chill down her spine but before she could ponder the meaning, she was grabbed roughly by the upper arm and whisked into the castle’s spacious dining hall. She scowled at the Knight roughly dragging her along.

  He is certainly of a different character than the other two knights stationed in Breckton. Perhaps being closer to the King makes you more like him. Her stomach twisted in knots; she had no time to take in the richly crafted and decorated dining hall, as she suddenly realized they were taking her to see his majesty.

  Right this minute.

  They passed through another set of heavy oak doors which were already opened wide, servants sharply dressed in royal livery of crimson and gold standing erect on each side. They quickly glanced her way before reverting their gazes outward. This next room was devoid of any persons, and it was more like a wide, long hall. The floor was covered in rich red velvet, their footsteps barely making a sound. The walls were solid gold and they were headed for another pair of heavy oak doors fitted with two heavy knobs the shape of the royal crest. They were barreling toward those doors now, Lyra certain bruises were forming under the brutal grasp of the knight. She yanked her arm away and because the Knight was not expecting it, he let her go as she stumbled back from his grasp. The Knight spun around with angry ice blue eyes.

  “I have to use the latrine!” Lyra cried suddenly, the shrill sound echoing off the walls and ceiling. It was all she could think of. It wasn’t untrue, anyhow.

  The Knight opened his mouth as if to speak but then thought better of it. He sighed, nodded, and clapped his hands. A tall slender, middle-aged man stepped out of an adjacent door along the hall, judging brown eyes landing on her. He was dressed in a black robes tied with a thick, satin ruby sash. His brown hair was neatly brushed behind his ears. The Knight mumbled something to the man and the man nodded and turned away from the doors of doom, beckoning for Lyra to follow.

  She sighed in utter relief and followed until they came to a long stone spiral staircase, with silver railings. He began climbing and she continued following, breath growing steadier the farther they got from those blasted doors and that rough Knight.

  When they reached the top, they followed a long path to the right, small candelabras lit up the narrow hallway. Pictures of past royalty and monarchs lined the walls. They passed a door every once in awhile. Finally they came upon a modest door of dark cherry with a gold knob.

  The man finally spoke, “These are your quarters until you meet His Majesty. Inside you will find a wash tub, basin, and private latrine suited with running water. I will be standing by until you…” He eyed her unkempt appearance and sniffed, “freshen up, as they say.”

  Lyra nodded and proceeded into room, wondering what running water was. Like the rest of the palace, it was unlike anything she had seen in her life. The floor was covered in crushed blue velvet, the color of sapphires. Atop this was a couple of luxurious white furs. She wondered what animal they belonged to.

  Off to the right of the room stood a wash tub, large enough for two adults and pure lustrous copper. The shiny metal was smooth and shone like a furnace. Hot tendrils of steam rose in the air above the water. Seeing the bed, she forgot about the bath for a moment as she stared at the giant four-poster frame with rich purple silk canopied from a hooks in the ceiling.

  She drug her eyes back to the bath tub, and sat down on a roomy cushioned chair that was next to the door, tearing her boots off and wiggling her stockinged toes. She practically salivated as she thought of how blissful sinking into that bathtub would be at that moment, but a suspicious noise outside the door, which sounded like the clear
ing of a throat, stopped her thoughts of pleasure. It would have to wait. Maybe she would be lucky enough to return to it.

  A small door behind and to the right of the wash tub caught her attention and she walked to it and opened the door. Inside was the copper toilet, a medium sized basin near to the smooth, pebbled floor, and the wash basin, a bowl filled with warm water of the same size atop a stand. She had never seen a cleaner, more sophisticated wash room.

  After she had taken care of her business, she was amazed to discover the waste drained down within a hole in the bowl. It was very peculiar indeed.

  After washing her hands, she almost left the room but a haggard looking woman standing near the door startled her. She yelped and jumped back, and the woman did the same. Scowling and letting out a huff, she approached the full size mirror she had mistaken for another woman. Her reflection was frightening, indeed. She almost laughed but her anger overtook any hilarity she almost felt.

  Her hair was almost standing straight up, a mane of ratty, teased stands made her look like a wild animal. Her face was smudged with dirt, and her red eyes were cradled by puffy, dark circles. Her simple white blouse was also smudged with dirt and stew from the ship. Both her shirt and green skirt were rumpled terribly. Returning to the wash basin, she grabbed the washing cloth and dipped it into the warm water, then shoved it underneath her blouse and began scrubbing her underarms rapidly. When she was sure she didn’t smell to high heavens anymore, she returned the cloth, then began searching for a hair brush to tame her locks. She ran out into the bedroom and frantically searched about, feeling her time running out. Finding none, she ran back to the mirror and began taming it with her fingers.

  A loud rap at the door made her jump, and the knot in her stomach jumped to attention. Bile rose in her throat. Her stomach was empty, which made the sting of acid even worse. She spun and went to the door, greeting the man with a nod of the head. The man’s sniffed loudly, and he eyed her hair. He nodded, seeming to find it improved.

  “He won’t care what you look like, anyhow. You're a peasant. He has no illusions about the lot of you. Of course, I hear petitions more than his Majesty, but he still has seen a fair amount of peasants from the Mainland.” Bitterness crept into his voice. Before Lyra could ask him why he hears more petitions than the King, Silo silenced her with a sharp glance.

  “You were supposed to arrive at Throne two hours ago.”

  Lyra knew he meant the King, and her tongue swelled thick and dry. She pressed her lips together and breathed deeply in in an attempt to steady herself as she followed numbly along. The man let out a shrill wheeze of a laugh. “He won’t be pleased...” His shrill sing-song echoed off the long corridor walls.

  Lyra wanted to box the man’s tiny ears. She glared at the back of his pin-shaped head as they rounded the hallway and descended the stairs. He was practically galloping and she was breathing hard to keep up. She thought about diving into a side door and hiding, but what was the point? They’ll find me. They’ll always find me.

  Finally they had entered the golden wide hall again, and approached the giant oak doors. The doors were pulled back without hesitation by two guards and Silo rushed her in, grabbing her upper arm.

  She stumbled into a room more narrow than she had imagined. It reminded her of a small cathedral--high vaulted ceilings, long and narrow with arching stained glass windows taking up most of the walls. The effect was ethereal--sunlight filtered a myriad of colors into the room, painting the stone floor and ceiling with the hues of the stained glass. At the end of the long blue carpet sat an impossibly large golden throne with gemstones the size of her palms set along the top of the chair. Smaller gemstones decorated the edges of the seat while Sapphire, Emerald, Ruby, and Diamond crested the top center, just above his head.

  His head.

  A man sat upon the throne, his body casual but his eyes intent on his target—that target being Lyra.

  This was the King.

  She openly gaped at him, the picture in front of her not making sense.

  Chapter 6

  He was enormous, had to have been at least six foot five. Large hands covered the arms of his throne and Lyra thought he was holding tight to it because his knuckles were white. He wore a black shirt that billowed around his middle and tucked into black breeches that fit snug to thickly muscled thighs. A long, heavy cloak of ruby satin was corded around his shoulders and tied below the base of his throat. No crown adorned his head.

  Odd.

  His hair was black—obsidian black, and an unruly mess around his face, haphazardly tucked behind his ears, falling down straight and curling slightly before reaching his shoulders. He was younger than she imagined—she guessed thirty five. His skin was a smooth, deep tan with olive undertones. He spent a lot of time in the sun.

  Also odd.

  His nose followed a bold straight line down to a wide mouth that was set in a grim line. His strong jaw was covered in a week’s worth of stubble. She could still tell his jaw was clenched from grinding his teeth. And his eyes were alarming--a multidimensional slate gray—the color she could see even from here, like clay at the bottom of a fresh spring, or the sky right before a torrential downfall. His lashes were dark, thick and lined his eyes, making them stand out like harbingers of doom.

  “Lyra Addisonia of Black Village of the Mainland, welcome to Gem.” His voice was steel wrapped in silk, the underlying tones revealing far more about his emotional state than the politeness he was trying to force. She lowered her eyes when he spoke, wondering for a moment if she should fall to her knees. She was way in over her head, and had been in the dark for so long, she was afraid to know the truth. She bowed her head lower.

  “Look up.” His gruff demand forced her to obey, meeting his eyes for a fraction of a moment. The eye contact elicited shocks of electricity into her limbs and she lowered her gaze quickly to his chest. His stare was too hard, too intense. Her breath quickened.

  “Leave us,” he said next, the sound turned away from her. She assumed he wasn’t speaking to her. His stare piercing through her skull causing her insides to quiver. The guards at his sides and Silo bowed low and then turned to vacate the room.

  What was happening? Lyra heard the doors creak and thud close, the final click changing the air in the room. The prickles came back to her skin. It was silent. A pure, unnatural kind. So silent she could hear her heart rushing in her ears. She waited for him on pins and needles to continue speaking.

  “Come closer,” he said, his voice deeper than before. Warning bells went off in her head. He was angry. There was an underlying desperation to his tone. She braced herself and walked stiffly forward, closing the seven feet of distance between them to three feet. She avoided his gaze, afraid to provoke the monster she was sure inside of him.

  “I call you here for a very specific reason,” he began, “It is of utmost importance that you listen to what I am about to tell you. I want you to absorb this information before you respond. I don’t want fear to cloud your reply.” He spoke to her as if she were a doe in danger of being frightened off if he made one sudden movement. She met his eyes then, her curiosity burning. She hadn’t expected him to notice or mention what she was feeling. But his words did elicit fear.

  Alec. Is Alec okay? His mouth grew even more somber as his stern gaze swept her face briefly. He eyed her hair and clothes, eyes running down the length of her before settling again on her eyes. Her face heated. She knew she looked like a wild animal.

  This was his fault. Where is my brother?

  “Sit,” he implored, rising from his throne and making his way down the steps to the floor. She had no choice but to follow him.

  They reached an area near the east wall with two chairs sitting on opposite sides of a square glass table. The King pulled her chair out for her, gesturing roughly for her to take it. She did, sitting as if on thorns, and he took his chair opposite her. She placed her hands in her lap and sat in silence, waiting.

  She thought s
he would go mad at the waiting. Daring to raise her eyes to his again, the shock that claimed her limbs earlier struck her again but she forced her gaze to stay. She watched the King steep his hands and place his chin atop. He was looking at her hands but wasn’t seeing them, deep in thought. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

  Something dark began unfurling inside her.

  How dare he make me wait. This is the King who ordered my kidnapping and barbaric travel across a dangerous sea for four days with no change of clothes or decent living quarters and no explanation as to why. This is the man who has stolen my brother from me these past ten years as a slave. And, again, without a word as to why. And here I am, finally sitting in front of him, looking like something caught in a fisher’s net and nearly starving, and he is making me wait again.

  A white hot spark of anger sizzled in her and before she could stop it, she slammed her hands on the glass table, the pang reverberating off the walls.

  “Why am I here and what is going on? Where is Alec?” Her shout was loud, guttural, and demanding. It shocked her to her soul that she had let that out. Never in her life had she raised her voice at someone, not even to Alec. And she had just done so to the King.

  She was as good as dead.

  Gasping, she clasped a hand over her mouth, averting her tear-stung eyes.

  A dry chuckle turned her stomach. She glanced up at him. Despite his intense eyes, a smirk twisted his mouth and white teeth flashed. Her stomach flip-flopped.

  “Your brother is missing.” The brusque remark was like a slap in the face. The King nodded solemnly and continued, “He has been..helping me find someone very dear to me. And three weeks ago we lost him.”

  Lyra’s jaw dropped, ice filling her lungs. “Lost him?”

  “He is missing. We can’t find him.”

  “Where was he when he went missing?”

  “On the edge of a precipice on Thane Mountains.”