Infuriated beyond reason, he advanced toward Crausin and shouted, “That aspect of our lives is over. You will never touch her!” In that moment, he destroyed all hope of enlisting Crausin’s aid, but it was also in that moment that he realized Crausin would never have given it.
The look of shock and confusion on Crausin’s face was very telling, as if he completely expected Comron to offer Vaush to him willingly. Slowly, the disillusionment faded away to be replaced by something dark and sinister.
“Where is she, Comron?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice.
Here it comes, Comron thought and braced himself.
“You’re too clever to hide her somewhere myself or Larrs would think to look. But eventually she will be found. If Thalonius or Recaban find her, she’s as good as dead, but if Larrs finds her, Nethic is fucked.”
Comron shook his head.
“So you’re going to redeem your treasonous acts and cowardice by telling me where the girl is.”
“I can’t! Don’t you understand?” Comron pleaded.
“Understand what?” he barked.
“That I’d rather die than betray her.”
Crausin grabbed him and shoved him against the wall. “Do you have any idea what Thalonius will do to Nethic if he suspects a connection between the two of you? We’ll be the scheming upstarts trying to steal the throne from him, he’ll obliterate Nethic!”
Comron broke his grip and pushed him off. “Damn it, stop pissing your pants and do something daring for Nethic.”
“We can’t hold the fucking throne!” Crausin screamed. “Even with the imperial army at our command, we still wouldn’t command a force strong enough to fend off the threat of Nostrom, Warbrenger, or Dredfort. The girl’s advisors will counsel her to form a marriage alliance with one of the Great Houses to establish her military dominance in the empire. In their eyes, House Van Laven would be nothing more than an ambitious insect in need of a good swatting. You know all this.” He glared at Comron. “Stop thinking with your cock and see the truth of what I’m saying.”
Comron moved away from him and raked his fingers through his raven hair. He refused to concede defeat to Crausin. House Bastionli’s army was no more impressive than theirs, and yet Larrs seemed undaunted by the threat. But then Larrs had decades to plan his strategy and grease the skids, forming invaluable alliances. House Van Laven would have only a matter of weeks or even days.
“You have only one chance to save Nethic,” Crausin said through gritted teeth. “Hand the girl over to Thalonius.”
Comron’s head throbbed as he saw his plans disintegrating before him. But as long as there was Vaush, there was still a glimmer of hope that they …
“Guards!” Crausin shouted.
Comron glanced at the double doors just as the castle guards poured in. “Crausin ….”
“Take him to the south wing cellar and hang him from the rafters according to my earlier instructions.”
Comron backed away from the guards. “Crausin, don’t do this.”
“You will tell me where the girl is even if I have to beat it out of you!” He cut his eyes at the captain of his guard. “What are you waiting for? Seize him!”
As the men approached, Comron moved with a surprising burst of speed, tackling the captain and knocking him into the others. When he broke away, he raised the blast gun he’d lifted from the captain. “Back the hell off!” Comron said, knowing the guards wouldn’t fire on the duke’s son.
“Gods gates, Comron,” Crausin said, advancing toward him. “You won’t get past that bloody door.”
Fully anticipating this, Comron waved the piece at the guards blocking the door. If he could get back to his apartments, he could don the castle guard uniform he had stashed in his room. The helmet with a full faceguard might give him a chance to blend in long enough to escape in the midst of the chaos.
“I won’t let Nethic fall, I swear it,” Comron said as he turned the handle and started out the door. The blast shot hit him in the back of the thigh, jolting pain arched through him, ripping up his spine. He spilled to the floor unable to feel his leg or think through the blinding pain.
He saw Crausin’s face move into his line of vision, saw the blast gun in his hand still flashing green from having been fired. Crausin spoke but Comron heard no words over the paralyzing pain. His body was going into shock, shutting down his system along with all his hopes of ever seeing her alive again.
Vaush!
CHAPTER 38
The northern gale howled across the moors as the rain persisted into the early evening. Down below the angry waves battered the beleaguered shore. Within Ketherton Manor, Vaush remained vigilant at the window, feeling the chill creeping along her skin despite the roaring fire tended by an old gnome of a man. Growing weary of darkening gray landscape, she sat back in her chair and stared up at the cracked, plastered ceiling and wondered how in the seven hells she’d gotten herself into this mess.
Most assuredly, by now, all of Ti-Laros must know of her betrayal, of her treasonous love for a Nethicaen. Laney, she sighed, what must you think of me? Again, she regretted having promised Comron that she wouldn’t leave or even attempt to contact anyone until he returned. But what else could she do? When she had tried to leave their bedroom, he’d flown into such a horrific manic state, followed by an alarming emotional breakdown. And before she could sort the matter out he’d initiated a frightfully intense lovemaking session that had left her reeling.
She touched her bruised lip, remembering his passionate bite and how her cry had ignited something fiery in him….
“A shawl, m’Lady?”
Startled, Vaush turned to find a rather plain-faced young woman with straw-colored hair and bland gray eyes staring back at her. “Yes, thank you,” she replied as she let the girl place the shawl around her shoulders. “Frieda, isn’t it?”
“Yes, m’Lady.” She smiled as if pleased Vaush should trouble herself to remember her name. “Would you care to take your tea by the fire?” Her hair was pulled back, a few strands escaped the band framing a face that hadn’t seen the sun in ages. Her grey eyes appeared eager now, as if she truly hoped to be of service to her rather exotic-looking mistress.
Vaush rose from her chair. “Yes, I do believe I would.” She nodded toward the window. “Is this weather typical for this time of year?”
“Oh no, m’Lady,” Frieda answered readily. “It’s not nearly as pleasant as it is at present. The fates must be smilin’ on your arrival.”
Vaush stifled her amusement when she realized there was no sarcasm in Frieda’s answer. “How fortunate for me,” she replied as she moved near the hearth and warmed her hands.
“Is the weather so different from where you come from, m’Lady?”
Realizing the girl was likely quite curious about her, and that she herself, was desirous of a break from morose thoughts, Vaush decided to humor the servant girl. “Well, typically around this time of year, the weather is warmer and sunnier.”
“Ah,” Frieda nodded with understanding as she poured the tea. “That would explain m’Lady’s complexion, like golden honey it is. So pretty.”
Vaush smiled at her frankness and didn’t bother explaining that she was born with this sun-kissed complexion. “Thank you, Frieda.”
“Lemon and two lumps of sugar?” Frieda asked with a solicitous look.
Had Comron seen to all the details of her comfort, she wondered as she sank into a soft chair. “Yes, thank you.”
“Monne Biechmore baked fresh biscuits,” she said, gesturing at the plate. “Would you care for one? There are cinnamon, chocolate morsel, and apple crumb.”
Though Vaush had no appetite, she noticed Frieda eying them as if they were a great delight. “No, not at the moment. But please, won’t you sit down and have some?”
Frieda’s large grey eyes searched the room. “Ach, Monne Biechmore would have my hide. She says I need to scrub all the pots. They’re not dirty, mind you. She just wants ev
erything properly shinin’ now that the master and mistress have come.”
Vaush leaned in. “Tell her that I insisted and let me know if she gives you any grief about it.”
Frieda glanced up at the kitchen then back to Vaush. “If you insist, m’Lady,” she said as she sat in the chair across from Vaush and selected the cinnamon biscuit. “My favorite,” she said, hoisting the biscuit with a toothy grin that suggested she hadn’t made regular use of a toothbrush throughout her life.
“Are you from the local village?” Vaush asked, suddenly curious.
Frieda nodded, wiping crumbs from her mouth with her sleeve, before remembering to use the napkin. “Yes, born and educated here,” she said before taking another generous bite.
“Do you enjoy living here?”
She shrugged, “It’s all I know. Wouldn’t know where else to live, except Gergman about fifty kilometers south of here. But I never much cared for the big city.”
“Big city? What is the population?”
Frieda shook her head and blew air out between her lips. “Land sakes, it’s enormous, nearly three thousand people at last count.”
Vaush’s faint smile was the only hint of her amusement. “And Ketherton Sound?”
“With the birth of Monne Biechmore’s granddaughter, we’ve just passed the seven hundred mark,” she said proudly. “Seven hundred and three with you and his lordship joining us.”
“Imagine our joy,” Vaush said dryly and immediately regretted her insensitivity. This isn’t like me, she chastised herself.
The girl hesitated a moment before taking another bite of the biscuit. “Do you run off from him much?”
“Pardon me?”
“Your husband, m’Lady. Is that why he’s locked us all in?”
Vaush glanced over at the heavy wooden door. Comron made it clear that she was not to leave, but did he really go to such lengths?
“We’re locked in?”
Frieda gave her a pitiful look as if she suspected Vaush might be a bit daft. “Until his lordship returns, we are all locked in the manor. No one is to leave … including you, mum.”
Vaush tried to hide her bewilderment. “Perhaps, you misunderstood. My husband is quite concerned about our privacy. He simply wishes to maintain our seclusion.”
“By keeping us locked away here,” Frieda said, taking another bite of her biscuit.
Suddenly Vaush felt that the girl before her wasn’t as innocent and naïve as she suspected.
“No one is locked away,” Vaush said curtly. “He simply doesn’t wish for anyone to learn of our presence here.”
Frieda hitched her thumb at the door. “Try opening it, m’Lady. Unless you have a magic key tucked away in that pretty dress of yours, yer locked in here with the rest of us.”
When Vaush remained motionless and silent, Frieda saw her error.
“You really didn’t know, mum,” Frieda said, slowly placing down the last bit of biscuit. “Beg your pardon. I was curious is all, but I wasn’t aware you didn’t know.”
Vaush rose abruptly from her chair as she began pacing the room. It was enough that Comron had forbidden her to contact her family, now he would make her a prisoner in this manor? And how humiliating to learn of it through the staff! She didn’t care if it was for her safety, she hated the feeling of being manipulated and controlled.
She turned to Frieda. “Where is the communications room?”
Frieda’s gray-eyed blank stare was her only reply.
Vaush spoke slowly, “What do you do when you wish to send a message to someone outside of the manor?”
Frieda frowned and seemed to carefully choose her words. “We … walk down the road … to their house and deliver the message.”
Vaush forced a smile to put the girl at ease. “And if you need to communicate with someone further away, like in Gergman?”
“Gergman?” Frieda’s mouth turned down in repugnance. “Why would anyone wish to send word there?”
Vaush closed her eyes. “Frieda … please answer the question.”
“We would go to the Higgins pantry and use his hand-com unit, I suppose,” she said, still dumbfounded by the question.
“This hand-com unit, are there wires connected to it that run to the wall?”
“Like a land unit? Oh, no. It’s some newfangled gadget. He thinks he’s quite something for it, what with him being the only one in town with one.”
“Do you think that he would let me use it?”
Frieda nodded with that unsettling toothy smile. “He’d be glad to, I imagine.”
“Will you contact him and ask him to bring it?”
Frieda’s eyes narrowed. “You’d be forgettin’ the whole part about us being locked in, mum,” she said, inclining her head at the door.
Frustrated Vaush exclaimed, “What kind of backward—” she caught herself before completing any culturally insensitive remark. “What would we do if this place caught on fire?”
“Ach! You needn’t fear such, but even so, Henrik would use his key and let us out.”
“Henrik the handyman?” Vaush asked, remembering meeting the strapping lad.
“Yes, the handyman, woodcarver, and gardener,” she said, blushing. “Keeps it in his front britches pocket, he does.”
Finally! “Excellent. Where might Henrik be at this time?”
She pointed toward the kitchen. “Helping with dinner, m’Lady, but he’s been given strict orders not to hand it over and you’d have a devil of a time wrestlin’ it from him. He’s Ketherton’s champion two years runnin’,” she said proudly.
Unbelievable! Vaush collapsed back into the chair. She loved Comron dearly but very soon they were going to have a serious discussion about his monumental control issues. She simply couldn’t live like this.
“M’lady, it’s only for a short time. I’ve seen the way his lordship looks at you. I’d be surprised if he managed to stay away from you for two whole days.” She shrugged. “Regardless, Henrik can give you the key after the two days.”
“Yes, yes, I know that, Frieda,” she snapped but, seeing the girl’s downcast expression, Vaush added, “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, and I’m very tired.”
Casting a sly look, Frieda answered, “Who could blame you after his lordship kept you up all night. It’s a wonder you got any sleep at all.”
“Frieda!”
“Sorry, m’Lady, my quarters are just below yours, so I tend to hear … ah … well, sorry mum.”
Vaush’s cheeks burned and her lips pulled taut. First, the humiliation of learning she was being held prisoner by Henrik the handyman and now this?
Comron had better have a damn good explanation for all of it!
CHAPTER 39
In the south wing cellar, Comron hung from the rafters, his arms stretched above him, his ankles manacled below. Stripped of his dignity, only his under breeches were left to him as he shivered in the icy coldness of the dank, dimly lit cellar. He noted, with a degree of anxiety, that Crausin had made some recent modifications to the ancient cellar. A rugged wooden table to his left was covered with an assortment of vicious looking devices: razor sharp surgical knives, saws for cutting through bone, whips with shards of glass embedded in their straps and a large club. Most notably was one of his prized faust weapons, a heavy, spiked, metal mace designed to break the will if not the bones of his opponents.
He glanced around, counting four guards on watch, waiting for further instructions from their duke. Not one would meet his eyes or risk listening to any bribes Comron offered in exchange for his freedom.
Vaush! Forgive me.
He’d given Sneschem, the elderly manservant at Ketherton Sound, instructions regarding Vaush should he fail to return in two days. Sneschem was to give her a letter, the one Comron had written while she lay asleep in his bed. There, he’d confessed the whole truth about her parentage and apologized profusely for not being there to reveal these difficult things in person and for any perceived deception. He im
plored her to make use of the transport ship he had hidden away to travel to Novoxos and to utilize the small fortune in unregistered credits to secure her voyage.
He gave her the names of the officials she should seek out when she arrived there. He admonished her to trust no one, especially Larrs. And, if she were enthroned, to do what she could to protect Nethic. He ended by expressing how deeply and profoundly she had affected him, touching him in places he never knew existed. How eternally grateful he was that she had come into his life and that he would never be the same for having loved her. He was forever hers.
Damn it! He had hoped she’d never have to read that letter but Crausin would likely leave him down here for days just as he had ten years ago when Comron was only seventeen.
He yanked madly at the restraints, desperate to take Vaush faraway where no one could do them harm. But Crausin would hunt them relentlessly, as would Thalonius. Nothing short of Vaush’s death would satisfy either one of them. Despair consumed Comron and his head hung heavy with grief.
So deep in his gloom, Comron did not hear Crausin descend the cellar stairs, nor did he notice him move among the shadows to take up a whip.
It wasn’t until the snap of the whip cracked the air and the cruel lash set his skin on fire that he was alerted to Crausin’s presence.
“Do I have your attention now?” Crausin asked wryly.
“Yes!” Comron cried out. The tip of the whip had been laced with Kao acid, which ate at the flesh long after the whip had gone.
Crausin’s gaze remained fixed upon Comron as he spoke to the guards. “Leave us.”
The guards obeyed, sparing glances at Comron before ascending the cellar stairs. The second after the door shut, Comron felt the fiery sting of the lash and acid against his back.
“How could you defile yourself by laying with Bastionli filth? Did it matter not that the bitch was Ti-Larosian?”
When Comron failed to answer, Crausin struck him again, letting the shards firmly embed themselves into his skin before he yanked them out eliciting a sharp cry from his son.