The Pearl Savage (2 page)

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.