Three
Cass sat at her wedding breakfast within the great hall of Firehame Palace, still slightly dazed. Her new husband hadn't spoken a word to her in the short carriage ride back to the palace. Indeed, he had appeared to be furious with her… but surely she must have been mistaken, for the general would have to possess feelings for her to arouse them so.
When they'd arrived at the palace, he'd turned back into the man with whom she'd become familiar. Cold, disinterested, and aloof. He sat across from her at table, next to a beautiful woman with hair pale enough to require only the lightest touches of powder. He completely ignored his new wife in favor of the blue-eyed creature.
Mor'ded sat at the head of the table and leaned to his right to speak to Cassandra. "That's my son's mistress, Lady Agnes."
Cass dropped her spoon and it clanged atop the china. The rose on her wedding ring twisted into a tight bud. General Raikes finally turned to look at her. How dare he bring his mistress to their wedding breakfast? Is this how the court behaved? Well, she didn't give a fig what the others considered acceptable. She glared at her husband and his beautiful companion.
Again, a twitch of the lip. So she continued to amuse him, did she?
The elven lord laughed. "Don't worry, my dear. You will have your husband's full attention until he gets you with child. He knows what's expected of him… as should you."
She heard the threat and squashed down her anger. She reminded herself that her marriage to the champion was nothing but a falsehood, a way to get close to the elven lord. She must appear to be as cold and unconcerned as he. Cassandra kept her voice steady. "I look forward to giving you a grandson, my lord."
Mor'ded scowled, the expression not diminishing his beauty one whit, and leaned back in his chair. "The devil to that. I want a new champion."
If Cass had any doubts as to her new role, the elven lord had just made it clear. If she didn't already have the task of killing her new father-in-law, she'd surely wish to do so now.
Mor'ded tapped the triangular-shaped head of his magical scepter against his cheek, watching her with narrowed eyes. She didn't know what expression might be on her face and quickly bowed her head. She watched the room through her lashes, practicing the skill she'd nearly perfected over the years. Despite her position at the head table, she almost succeeded in making herself unnoticeable.
But she felt the Imperial Lord's gaze fall on her time and again throughout the meal.
"Lord Blevin," said Mor'ded, "I grow bored. I daresay I can count on you to liven up the meal."
The lord in question sported a wig with such a long fall of silver-white hair that he'd curled it in his lap. In an attempt to imitate the flawless pale complexion of the elven, he'd covered his face with too much powder, and it cracked as he beamed at being singled out. "Indeed, Imperial Lord, I have just perfected a new spell."
Titters flowed up and down the crystal-laden table.
Lord Blevin puffed up his chest beneath his bright yellow waistcoat. "Although some may laugh at my lack of fire magic, I assure you my smoke can be just as powerful."
Mor'ded nodded, but Cass detected a slight stiffening in his posture. Surely the elven lord couldn't be concerned about the magical powers of his courtiers? Not when he held trials thrice a year to test the children born with the elven gifts.
Lord Blevin had scrunched up his face and now held out his hands before him. Smoke did indeed form between his palms, and his hands shook while he shaped it into the figure of a tiny person. He then added wings, and Cass thought he meant to create a smoke angel, but she should have known better. The wings took the shape of a bat and white smoke formed pointy, long teeth hanging from the mouth. The small bat-person hissed and flew at Lady Agnes, who shrieked a laugh and begged the general to protect her. The man looked quite unmoved by her plight.
Lord Blevin created another much more quickly than he had formed the first, and the ones that followed with even more speed. Soon the entire table lay covered in the beings of smoke, their wings flapping in the faces of ladies and their teeth snapping at the gentlemen who tried to defend them.
One of the nasty beasts lunged at Cassandra, and she waved her hand through it. The smoke parted and then resumed its previous shape. She sighed and then ducked her head, determined to ignore the nuisance but the creature hugged her face, making her cough. She waved her hand again, her eyes burning and causing tears to run down her face.
Several ladies had started to scream right along with Lady Agnes, and the sound of chairs being pushed back hurriedly from the table added to the cacophony.
Imperial Lord Mor'ded laughed. "Well done, Blevin."
"Ho, ho, it's just smoke," declared another gentleman. "Watch what I can do." And he pointed at one of the smoke creatures; a loud pop of displaced air sounded, and the thing exploded into tiny bits of gray wisps.
"Devil a bit," said a portly courtier. "I can top that, man!" And with a flourish of his arms, the wine in every glass and decanter poured up, burgundy waves of color, dousing several smoke creatures and more than one lady. The screams escalated.
Lady Cassandra glanced at her father, who had sat on her other side as still as a stone throughout the entire meal. His hazel eyes had widened in stunned disbelief at the chaos around him.
"This is my wedding breakfast," she said to him.
He turned and gave her a look of apology, glanced at the elven lord, and patted her hand. "Best get used to the whims of the court, girl."
Sudden rage drove Cass to her feet. Mor'ded had collapsed into whoops of laughter. General Raikes watched the antics of the nobles with disdainful interest, like a man studying a group of monkeys at play. She slapped her hands on the table, rattling the china, finally gaining the notice of her husband. "This is my wedding breakfast," she repeated, but this time with such force that the courtiers froze, turning to stare at her as if she'd just sprouted horns.
Mor'ded stilled. The guests breathed in a collective breath.
"You've got spunk," said the Imperial Lord into the silence. "I'll give you that. But I find spunk amusing only in small doses, girl."
She felt his power throb like the beat of a heart. It made her knees weak, and she collapsed back into her chair. Slowly the other nobles regained their seats, wiped faces streaming with port, and dabbed handkerchiefs at spotted silk.
Dominic Raikes continued to stare coldly at her, as if she'd turned into one of the monkeys. Cass gave him a look of entreaty.
Mor'ded snorted. "Don't expect support from that direction. If anything, my son's heart is colder than my own."
He said it with pride. Her husband's chin lifted with pride. Cass prayed for guidance.
Mor'ded turned his attention to Cassandra's father. "You there, Chandos. Elven blood runs in your veins. Since your daughter has deprived me of entertainment, perhaps you can show us your own power."
Father tried not to squirm. Tried not to look around at the other nobles. "You forget I have no power other than the gift of my charm, Your Most High."
Humphs of disgust from the gentlemen. Titters of scorn from the ladies.
"Yet I'm sure I remember that your daughter has the gift of dance." Those glittering black eyes narrowed. "She'd best have enough of the blood to breed true." His gaze pierced Cass yet again. "So girl, it looks like it's up to you to entertain me." He rose, a flutter of velvet and lace and deadly magic. He clasped her shoulder and nearly dragged her from her chair, through the hall into the great ballroom. Cass shied away from his scepter, afraid it would accidentally brush against her skin. Rumor had it that no one could touch it but a true elven lord, and she wouldn't relish finding out the truth of it.
Lady Cassandra could hear the excited whispers of the court as they followed.
Startled slaves quickly dropped their tasks and vanished behind stately columns and cleverly hidden doors. The long tables at the end of the ballroom appeared half-full. Weak light filtered in from double doors and the candles hadn't been lit yet, so the room lay shrouded in gloom. Mor'ded uttered a word and the ceiling lit with a blazing light, causing several of the musicians to break their strings while in the middle of their rehearsal.
Mor'ded hauled her into the middle of the floor. "Play," he commanded them.
They quickly organized themselves and struck up a tune while the lords and ladies spread around the room, vying for the best view.
Cass swallowed. She'd made a complete muck of things and now he sought to punish her. Instead of impressing the elven lord with her innocence and demure nature, she'd incited his anger… something she guessed few rarely did. But perhaps. Perhaps she could turn this to her advantage. She could get close enough to the lord for a killing blow once her strength was enhanced by the music.
"Will you partner me then, dearest father-in-law?"
He looked down his nose at her with disdain. "Dominic," he called. And he thrust Cass into the arms of her new husband, then strode across the polished floor to settle himself on his golden throne.
The music rose in volume and she felt it creep into her bones. Without further ado, General Raikes swept her into a dance, one that swirled her silk skirts across the floor, made the silver in her dress sparkle like the sun's reflection on water.
Despite her annoyance at herself for inciting the elven lord's wrath, she couldn't regret that her husband finally held her in his arms. He had strong, warm arms.
"I shall endeavor to behave better in the future," she said to him.
He didn't blink. Didn't shrug. Just danced her around the room like an angel of grace. His elven blood made his movements smooth and lithe, but she could tell he did not embrace the music. Did not become one with the magic of it, as she could.
She feared he had no feelings—but if he did, he surely regretted the choice of bride that had been thrust upon him. She had asked God to allow her to make him happy, but since he seemed to lack that emotion, she must seek to impress her husband, at the least. She must bridge this gap between them in some way.
So Cass let the music swell through her. Her feet caught the rhythm and moved of their own accord. Her body swayed with the beat of the drums; her arms fluttered with the soulful sound of the strings. She felt Dominic's intake of breath, and the dance between them subtly shifted. He still led—she doubted if it could have been otherwise—but his body molded to hers, and soon they did more than the practiced steps of the minuet. Motions that came from the music itself shaped their dance until what they performed no longer resembled any of the movements defined by man.
Cass had danced only with Thomas and her father. Neither of them possessed the elven grace the way her new husband did. She felt almost as if he became one with her, and she danced as she'd never done before, twirling around him to be caught again in his grasp, sliding across the floor by turns of their heels. He seemed to sense her next move and stayed with her, so she didn't fear that when she leaned back in an arch, he would not be there to catch her. That when she trailed her arm down his own and twirled at the tips of his fingers, he would not be ready to pull her back into his arms. She knew not what to call this dance they devised, but she felt sure it would shock the court.
She noticed her rose ring had blossomed again. Elven magic, indeed. Did it predict so accurately her mood, then?
When the music finally ended and they swayed to a stop, not a sound could be heard within the vast room. Her husband looked at her then. Truly looked at her as if for the first time. But she could tell nothing of his thoughts from the cold glitter of his black eyes.
"That's a very old elven dance," said Mor'ded. Cass turned and saw the flicker of a smile on the Imperial Lord's face. "I never thought to see it performed as if I watched my own people at a fete in Elfhame. You do indeed dance, Lady Cassandra."
She suspected that would be the highest praise she would receive and bowed, turned to see if she'd also managed to please her new husband, and realized she stood alone.
Indeed, she stayed alone throughout the entire day, except for the company of her father, who kept a silent vigil by her side. Once, he managed to whisper to her, "Perhaps I have made a mistake in giving you over to this man." But Cassandra quickly shushed him, assuring him all would be well. That her husband's heart would eventually warm to her, and he would seek her company.
Lady Agnes pranced by at that moment in Dominic's arms, her laughter denouncing Cass a liar. Lady Cassandra didn't need to look at her ring to know it had tightened into a small bud again.
She plucked a glass off a footman's tray and downed the contents. It burned; she coughed but immediately felt better. She knew her marriage was nothing but a charade, that her new husband didn't have a heart. But she'd had enough humiliation for one day. And if she continued to attend a ball where her husband flaunted his mistress in her face, she would hate him. And that would not serve the Rebellion's cause one whit.
So she kissed her father and quietly left the ball, hesitating outside the grand room. She had no idea which direction to take. Up, most likely, and then perhaps she could ask a chambermaid for the directions to the general's rooms.
From the corner of her eye she caught a furtive movement, quite like her own stealthy habit of slipping around door frames. Without thinking she reached out, snagging the shoulder of the boy's shirt. He struggled for a moment, gave a sigh of defeat, and looked up at her with the largest hazel eyes Cass had ever seen. Faceted, elven eyes.
"Don't be frightened," said Cass. "I just need some directions."
The lad looked at her face, then down to a meat pie he held—which he'd obviously stolen from the banquet table—and quickly stuffed it into a ragged tear in his shirt. Cass ignored the pilfered item. A child needed to eat.
"What's your name?"
"Do ye need to know that?"
Cass smiled. Cheeky little thing. "I suppose not, but I would like the pleasure of knowing whom I am addressing."
The formality of her request appeared to make an impression. Cass released her hold and the boy squared his shoulders, smoothed back the silver-white hair tangled about his face, and curtsied. "My name is Gwendolyn, but everybody calls me Gwen."
Cass started. Well, at that age, and with the amount of dirt covering the child, she shouldn't be surprised she'd mistaken the gender.
"Did I do it wrong? I never curtsied before, but I've watched lots of times when the ladies do it."
"Ah no. You curtsied quite well. How clever of you to teach yourself."
The child beamed. Cass tried to suppress her discomfort. They employed servants in her home and at her school. The gentry considered it a show of their status that they could afford paid servants, and if they kept slaves, they were assigned the most menial tasks… and were hidden from view. So she didn't have much experience with slaves. The child looked ragged enough to have come from the workhouses of the East End of London. And even there they didn't put little girls in boy's breeches.
"Well, Gwen, my name is Lady Cassandra, but you may call me Lady Cass. And I'm looking for General Raikes's bedchamber. Can you direct me?"
"Yer his new wife, ain't ye? Why ye leaving yer party so early? Did ye see all the food they laid out fer ye?"
"I'm quite full, you see."
The child nodded in relief, as if glad Cass hadn't neglected the feast. "Ye don't want to go to his old place, do ye? They gave him a new set of rooms, ye see."
"Indeed. You can direct me to the new rooms."
"Ye might get lost. I could take ye there, but I'm not really supposed to be up in them. I might get in trouble."
Cass reached in the slit of her skirt and pulled out a coin from her bag. "If anyone should stop us, I shall say you are my guide. And this will be for your trouble."
The coin disappeared as quickly as the meat pie had, and in the same place. "That's all right, then." The child skipped off. Cass lifted her skirts and rushed to follow. "I'm supposed to stay in the kitchens, see. But I know me ways around. There's secret passages behind the walls, did ye know?"
Cassandra shook her head and tried to look suitably impressed.
"The general showed me. He used to work in the kitchens too, when he was little."
So Cass had heard, but she'd hardly credited it. "Did he?"
The child stopped at a winding staircase, the mahogany handrails polished to a brilliant shine, the treads carpeted in plush red. "I don't use these. The servants' stairs are back there." And she pointed to a closed door. "But I suppose it's all right since I'm with ye."
Cass nodded, lifted her silk skirts a bit more, and started up the stairs, the child right on her heels. "So you know the general, Gwen?"
"Oh aye. We likes to call him champion, ye know. But only when he ain't around, 'cause he don't like it."
Cass waited, hoping the girl wouldn't need any further prodding.
"He don't pay us no mind either. But he likes to snatch food from Cook, says it's a habit he can't break." They had reached the landing, and Gwen pointed down a long hall. "This here floor is for guests. Yer one more up."
Cass nodded and started up again.
"He don't like us none. He don't like anyone."
"I hope he'll like me, Gwen."
"Maybe. But he don't seem to like the women he sleeps with neither. At least, that's what Cook says."
Cassandra thought she might take a little trip to the kitchens on the morrow and meet this Cook. She couldn't imagine that the churlish general went to the kitchens for nostalgia. What might be his true purpose?
"Don't worry about not knowing him, Lady Cass. Nobody does, that's what Cook says. Now me, I think the dragon knows him. He spends a lot of time up there in the tower."
"With Mor'ded's dragon-steed?" What would he want with such a dread beast?
"Aye, his name's Ador, and I'm scared of him. But I don't think the general's scared of nothing."
"Indeed."
"But I only have finding magic. If I had the champion's fire magic, maybe I wouldn't be scared neither."
"Finding magic?"
"Oh aye. I can find lost stuff. If ye ever need anything found, lady, just let me know."
They had reached the second landing, and the child skipped in front of Cassandra, taking the lead down the vast hall. Urns filled with blue fire lit the passage and gave it an eerie glow. Treasures littered the cabinets and niches in the walls, and Cass vowed to explore them in the light of day. But for now her guide hurried her along.
Gwen stopped at two large double doors covered in gilt. "This is where yer new rooms are. I haven't been inside yet; they just finished with them."
Cass nodded and reached for the gold handle.
Gwen tugged at Cassandra's skirt. "Down there," she whispered, pointing a grubby finger at the end of the corridor, "is the Imperial Lord's rooms. Nobody's ever been in there, 'cept maybe the general. Don't go there, Lady Cass. There's things in there that'll eat ye if Mor'ded don't flame ye first."
Cassandra frowned, wondering if Mor'ded had started the rumor to ensure his privacy. If it was indeed a rumor.
"But don't ye worry about the champion hurting ye. He don't flame women or children."
For some reason Cass didn't feel reassured by that statement. "Would you like to come inside with me, Gwen?"
Those hazel eyes widened even farther. "Oh aye, my lady." Then she hastily added, "Cook says my curiosity will get me flogged one day."
"They flog you?"
"Oh aye. Ye can do anything ye want with a slave. Ain't got no rights, ye see. Ye don't seem to know much, lady. Where ye come from?"
Cass smiled. "A private school."
"Not a very good 'un, then." She sucked in a sharp breath and added, "No offense, my lady. Cook says I talk too much. Probably get flogged for that someday too."
"Not if I have any say about it," muttered Cass as she pushed open the door. She walked into what might have been a parlor if it had held more than two chairs by the fireplace and a footstool. She went into the adjacent room, which looked to be a private dining room by the bare table sitting in the middle of it. Another door led into a small sitting room, which held another door that led into an empty bedchamber with two bare bedsteads. Beyond the sitting room lay the master bedchamber, boasting a large box bed with black drapery, a wardrobe, and her own trunks. A small door led to a washroom, with a wooden seat above the chamber pot and a washstand. She hadn't been sure what to expect after the glorious richness within the rest of the palace, but the austerity of the apartments rivaled that of her boarding rooms. At least there, furnishings from home had surrounded her.
The only light came from the fireplaces, so Cass lit a candle and viewed her rooms again. They did not improve with illumination.
"The general don't like frippery," piped Gwen. "He says it makes ye soft."
"I see. Does he not like servants as well?"
"He makes do for himself, 'cause he says—"
"It makes him soft; yes, Gwen, I begin to understand." Cass walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it with a bounce. Hard, of course. "Well, at least he allows servants to make the bed and lay the fire. I daresay I'm glad you came with me. I shall have someone to undo my buttons."
Gwen frowned. "I don't have much practice with those, my lady, but I'm a fast learner."
Cassandra eyed Gwen, a sudden brilliant idea forming in her head. "I believe you are. I find I'm in need of servants, Gwen. How would you like to work for me?"
The child rocked back on her heels. "Oh, my lady. Ye can't go hiring slaves. The servants won't stand for it."
Cass swept her head about the room. "I don't see any here to complain."
"But, but… the Imperial Lord won't like it."
And Cassandra certainly couldn't afford to anger him any further. "Well then. I shan't officially pay you. But if you are to attend me, I shall have to buy you new clothes and fatten you up a bit, for a lady cannot have you waiting on her looking as you do now."
Gwen screwed up her face. "I suppose not."
"That's settled, then. In fact, I believe I shall visit the kitchens tomorrow, for surely I will need more than one helper."
"If… if yer sure, my lady."
"Quite. Now, for your first instruction." Cass squatted, held down her hoops, and showed her back. "Take one side of the cloth and push the button through while gently tugging on the other side."
"I know how," Gwen said in disgust. "Just don't have much practice." The girl's little fingers started fumbling, and Cass suppressed a giggle because it tickled. "Lor', there must be a hundred of them, lady."
Gwen loosed her giggle. "I'm sure you're up to the task."
"Oh yes. This is much easier than turning a pig roast."
Cassandra continued to laugh while Gwen helped her undress. The lacing of her stays proved too difficult for the child to undo, so Cass just left it on over her chemise. She'd purchased a lovely nightgown to please her new husband, but despite Mor'ded's assurances, she felt sure the general would be spending the night with his mistress so it wouldn't signify anyway.
Cass crawled up on the hard bed and yawned.
"Is there anything else I can do for ye, lady?"
"No, dear, I think it's time you were off to bed yourself. Tomorrow we will see about making up the servants' bedchamber for you, but tonight I'm afraid you'll have to go back to the kitchens."
"Oh, I can sleep anywheres. Sometimes I go to the kennels with the dogs when it's cold."
Cassandra widened her eyes in horror. "Then we shall have to give you a good scrubbing before you return."
Gwen returned her look of horror. "But the water will make me sick."
"I promise it shan't. The nuns at my school taught me better."
Gwen humphed, already having given her opinion of Cass's education, but dragged her feet to the door. "I suppose," she sighed. "It will be hard to work for ye."
"I suppose." Cass yawned again. The stress of the day seemed to have caught up with her. Despite the hardness of the bed, she found herself falling back onto it.
"Yep, likely to be more of a chore 'n scraping carrots." The patter of her bare feet sounded all the way to the double doors leading out to the hall. Cass realized she should see about shoes for the girl as well.
Gwen's voice drifted through the quiet length of rooms. "Ye won't forget to come fetch me, will ye?"
"Of course not, Gwendolyn," called Cass. "Who shall unbutton me tomorrow night?"
And with that assurance, the door closed with a rattle, and alone in a strange room, Cass chided herself. What did she think she was doing? Setting up a household as if she had a right to. Why did she have to keep reminding herself that her marriage was nothing more than a falsehood? That this would never be her home, nor would she ever wish it to be. She had a larger task than improving the lives of a few slaves; indeed, she had the means to free them all. If she succeeded.
But it could be months before she found the right opportunity. Her mind balked at the thought that it could be years, for she couldn't imagine living years with these heathen people in this dreadful place. Besides, she had resigned herself to a short life. And the herbs she used to prevent a child might not be as reliable as she hoped. No, she could not be in this situation for long.
"But still," she whispered to the empty walls, "I will have to have my buttons undone in the meantime."
And with those words she must have dozed off, for a sudden loud noise made her jump up in bed, blink sleepily at the clock over the hearth. Late night or early morning, she could take her pick, but hadn't the time to decide before a large shadow entered the room. Her husband had decided to forgo his mistress tonight after all. Cass's heart started pounding, and all vestiges of sleep fled as General Dominic Raikes's cold gaze surveyed the room and then finally settled on her.
"Take off your clothes."
Good Heavenly Lord. Cass could only stare at him in sheer terror.
"Are you deaf, wife? I said undress." He stood with his hands on his hips, in nothing but his breeches and hose. Had he shed his clothes on the way to their bedchamber, or were they strewn about his mistress's rooms?
The thought managed to pump a bit of anger through Cass. Another humiliation to add to the ones he'd already subjected her to today. "I cannot undo the laces of my stays. And there were no servants to help me."
She thought he scowled, but it might have been her imagination, for the candle she'd lit had burned down, and she had only the light from the dying fire to see him.
"You should learn to do for yourself. Depending on others only makes you weak."
She swallowed a retort that he didn't have backlacing stays or hundreds of buttons where one couldn't reach, because he started for her and fear locked her throat. When he stood close enough to touch, she began to tremble. She'd heard the other girls in school whisper about the act. Nothing she'd heard had prepared her for this moment. Her husband was a horrible monster and would show her no mercy. She didn't know whether to scream or kill him.