Cara's Twelve (2 page)

“I'll miss you too,” he said, holding her close. “But you'll have Reyn with you. If you need anything, he will be there for you.”

The Queen's Council had chosen Reyn the previous year, as the Crowthornian champion and consort. It was an honored position to be named as one of the sacred Twelve, and she had celebrated with him when he had first learned of his new title.

She loved Reyn as a brother, but he wasn't Callion. “I wish it were you that was chosen for the Twelve.”

“If it were my choice, I would be, but there are some choices——”

“That aren't our own. I know.” She frowned and saw her own loss mirrored in his eyes.

She didn't argue as he released her. What good would it do to contemplate what they could not have?

He nodded and turned, making his way back towards the horses.

For a brief moment, she glanced back at the harbor. A salty breeze blew in her face, tugging at her hair.

Cara, Cara, Cara. Daughter, do not be afraid.

She froze as she heard the words whispered in the moaning of the wind. The sun was warm but she felt an icy chill seep through her.

I am with you. Always.

Cara cast a swift look around.

They were alone on the cliff.

Her mind was playing tricks on her. She was exhausted, hungry, and emotionally drained.

“Are you all right?” Callion asked, handing her the reins. “You look like you've just seen a ghost.”

“I'm just tired,” she said, her voice not quite steady.

Following Callion's lead, she urged her horse into a canter and never looked back.

“But, Mother——”

“Not another word.” Birkita raised her hand to cut off Maeve's protest. Anger burned in her green eyes. Lips tight, jaw set, her voice was dangerously soft as she spoke. “You will do as I say. You are my daughter, and I will not allow my sister's bastard to usurp your position. You will stay with her. Gain her trust. It will be your words she speaks, and when she bears a daughter, 
you
 will be its mother.”

Maeve's eyes widened in alarm. “You can't be serious?”

“
You
 are my heir. I will not allow some hackneyed Crowthornian brat to come here and ruin everything I've spent my life working for.”

Pushing her chair back, Birkita stood and moved towards the window that overlooked the royal gardens.

Maeve's skin prickled as she watched her mother apprehensively. Whatever evil the woman had contrived, Maeve knew it did not bode well for her cousin.

Poor girl. She has no idea the dangers that await her here.

The storm of Birkita's displeasure raged around her, and it was all Maeve could do not to draw back in fear as her mother once again turned her fierce gaze upon her.

“A messenger arrived this morning. The girl will be here within a week's time. You will have a month to befriend her before the dedication ceremony. She will be alone, scared, and in a strange place. It shouldn't be difficult, even for you, to gain her trust.” The Queen's smile was vicious. “Where she goes you will go. You will teach her the ways of the court, and when Twelve are dedicated at the month's end, you will stand with her on Annul's altar, and they will see 
your
face when they swear their allegiance to the goddess, throne, and country.”

Maeve gapped. “The council will never allow it——”

“The council will do as I say.” Her mother's shrill voice made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

Maeve had no doubt that her mother could persuade the council to do just about anything, but what she proposed went against the basic principles of their faith.

Waves of fear washed over her. To do what her mother suggested wasn't just morally wrong, it was blasphemy.

Maeve bit the inside of her cheek, and tasted blood. It was a small discomfort compared to what she would face if she dared speak against her mother's plans, but even so, she couldn't stop herself from shaking her head.

“Do you question me?”

Anger, repulsion, bitterness: she saw all these things in her mother's expression. Her mouth went dry and her body tensed. Braced for scorn Maeve whispered, “No mother.”

Birkita considered her coldly before she continued. “The girl has been reared under the same roof as the consort of Crowthorne. Most likely part of her father's scheme from the beginning to place the crown on a Crow's head. You will sway her attentions away from him and towards your cousin Edmund of Hellstrom.”

“Edmund?” Maeve grimaced. Edmund was a cruel choice. While he was as handsome as any nobleman in the kingdom, his reputation for immorality and malfeasance was well known throughout Elbia.

Birkita's eyes flashed in annoyance. “It is imperative that she choose him. His connection as your father's nephew will enhance your status once the throne is yours.”

Maeve balled her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. “Forgive me mother, but I don't understand.” Fearful that she understood her meaning all too well.

“With your persuasion she will choose Edmund as her husband. Once the little wretch bears him a daughter, she will be put away and you and Edmund will be wed. The child by legal rights will be queen, but you will act as regent until the child is of age. With your lineage and the former King Consort's nephew as your husband, no one will question your rights to the throne.”

Maeve gaped at her as she processed the depravity of her mother's plan. Icy cold dread rushed through her body. “You would kill your own niece?”

Birkita moved so fast that Maeve barely had time to prepare for the blow. She tried not to stumble, but her mother's strength doubled her own, and she fell hard. Her vision clouded and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

Birkita grabbed her hair and twisted until Maeve could do nothing but stare up at her. “Wretched, ungrateful little brat,” Birkita spat, pinching Maeve's face hard with her free hand. “You dare question me? Do you think you're not as disposable as she is?”

Maeve wouldn't give her the satisfaction of crying out. Instead she gazed stoically at the woman whose only kind deed to her had been to give her life. Even in that kindness there were days, like today, when her life felt more like a punishment than a blessing.

When the physicians declared Maeve barren, she had been relieved. For the first time in her life she was hopeful. She would finally be released from the bondage of her mother's vile puppeteering.

Now she knew the truth.

She would never be free.

“Forgive me, Mother.”

The Queen's moods blew hot and cold, and as quickly as her temper had ignited, the woman's feverish expression softened. Maeve tried not to flinch as her mother's claw-like grip turned to a caress.

“Everything I do, I do for you, and the future of Elbia. You understand why it has to be this way?”

Grinding her teeth, Maeve wanted to curse at her. Fear held her tongue, and all she could do was nod sullenly in agreement.

“That's my girl.” Birkita released her and stood up abruptly. “Guards.” The door opened and footsteps approached. “The princess has had one of her spells. Call the physician to see to her, and make sure she doesn't leave her chambers without my consent.”

With her head still throbbing, Maeve groaned as strong male hands gently lifted her and carried her through the halls of the castle.

She breathed a sigh of relief the minute the door of her bedroom was sealed shut, and she was finally alone.

Like everything else in her life, she would suffer this in silence.

* * *

After weeks of travelling across the Crowthornian border, and through the provinces of Meall and Lydd, Cara ached terribly, her muscles spindly from the absence of use.

A few days into their journey, Cara begged the Minister to allow her to saddle a horse and ride alongside her escorts, but he berated her for the suggestion. He also refused to allow Reyn to ride in her carriage, insisting that he ride in his own coach or by horseback. The man was vexing with his pompous demeanor and copious rules.

Stiff, sore, and beyond bored, she despaired that they would never reach their destination.

When the Minister rode next to her carriage and announced that they had finally entered the borders of the Holy City, Cara breathed a sigh of relief, and for a moment she almost forgot her resentment.

The Minister tried to explain the simple logistics of how the Queen's palace, Temple of Annul, and city functioned. “Unlike the twelve surrounding provinces which are abundant in land and contain many villages and towns, the City of Annul is a singular entity in the heart of Elbia. Without land or resources, it relies solely on the provincial tariffs levied by the Queen to support itself.”

“So the Queen is subject to the provinces?” Cara stated, baffled by the absurdity of the system. “Without their taxes the Holy City would cease to exist!”

“By the grace of Annul, pray that never happens,” the Minister muttered, narrowing his eyes. “It is a thin thread that holds the twelve provinces together. The tariffs are a small price to pay for peace.”

“Says the man who eats from the table of those who starve,” Cara mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

The Minister shook his head and stared down his nose at her. “So says the child who has never experienced war.”

Cara shrugged and looked away.

The sun was setting as their caravan rode through the gates of the city. If she wasn't so exhausted, she would have been overwhelmed by the enormity of it, but all she could think of was a hot bath, soft bed and a jigger of the Crowthornian liquor she knew Reyn kept stowed in his haversack.

The door of her carriage opened, and a silver-haired footman held out a gloved hand for her.

Exhaling deeply, she pushed a dark strand of hair behind her ears and prayed that her legs wouldn't give out on her.

“Welcome, my lady,” he said, in the same polished accent of the Minister.

As her feet hit solid ground, Cara froze. She wasn't sure what she expected, but not once had she imagined she would be unceremoniously deposited on the steps of the servant's quarters.

The rest of her caravan was nowhere to be seen.

Cara let out a deep breath and waited for her heart to slow.

“Wynnafor will show you to your chambers, my lady,” the man said politely, nodding towards a middle-aged woman who waited expectantly at the doorway.

“Where is Lord Reyn of Crowthorne and the rest of my caravan?” Cara demanded, her tone icy.

“He will be received in the great hall, along with the other nobles that have recently arrived from the provinces.” Clearing his throat, he gave her an apologetic smile. “The Lord Minister thought it best that you be taken to your chambers, my lady. To give you time to relax and recover from your journey.”

“How thoughtful of him,” she muttered derisively.

“I will have your trunks brought to your quarters. Wynnafor will make sure all your needs are provided.”

Too exhausted to argue, Cara nodded sullenly at the man and turned to follow the severe looking woman through the servants' corridors.

Cara sighed audibly when she saw the large feather bed with plush pillows and silk sheets that predominated the room. Wanting nothing more than to sleep for a week straight, she had to stop herself from running and jumping straight beneath the richly embroidered sheets.

Wynnafor cleared her throat loudly, “Perhaps my lady would care for a bath before she retires for the evening?”

The woman looked so relieved when she nodded her assent that Cara almost laughed out loud. In her exhaustion and gratitude for an actual bed, she had forgotten about her own filth. “Thank you, Wynnafor. I would greatly appreciate your service in the matter.”

“I will have a tub filled immediately.”

An hour later, she was fed, bathed, and exhausted. Dressed in a clean white bed gown and smelling of the sweetest summer lilies, Cara gratefully laid her heavy head on the soft goose feather pillows. Wynnafor had proved to be full of resources, and to Cara's gratitude, had brought her a rich cream-based soup and an assortment of cheeses and breads. When the bath and food had been removed, Wynnafor left her final courtesy- a large, silver goblet filled with a spicy red wine that Cara had drained swiftly and without apology.

For the first time since she had met him, Cara was actually grateful for the Minister's ordinances.

Sinking deep into the soft cushions, Cara wrapped the sheets around her shoulders and closed her eyes. She had no idea what tomorrow would bring, but at least for this night she would enjoy the luxuries that the palace provided.

* * *

Cara awoke to Wynnafor's apologetic voice. “Her Majesty and the royal princess have requested an audience, my lady.”

Pulling the sheets over her head she moaned, “When?”

“Right now, my lady. They're waiting outside your chambers.”

She cursed under her breath and threw back the sheets. She cringed as Wynnafor pulled the heavy drapes away from the windows and allowed the early morning sun to light up the room.

Her trunks had been brought to her chambers the night before, but she hadn't have the opportunity to organize them. “Wynnafor, help me sort through these trunks to find a suitable dress.”

“Forgive me, miss, but the Queen isn't to be left waiting. She has requested to see you now.”

Cara sighed. Of course she wouldn't wait. She wanted to curse the maid for not waking her sooner.

“Send her in then,” she said, throwing her arms up in defeat. What better way to make a first impression then in her bedclothes.

Wynnafor nodded and opened the door.

Cara inhaled sharply as the two women entered. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn that it was her mother who stood before her now. Cara had been young when the plague took her, and the memory of her face was distorted, but as she looked fixedly at the Queen, Cara was overwhelmed by the similarities. They had the same coloring, the same delicate features, and the same jade green eyes. Traits that Cara hadn't inherited.

Forgotten memories of her mother came unbidden as she stared at her aunt and cousin. Even the princess shared many of her mother's features. Both women were tall and delicately built, with dark red hair and perfect unblemished skin, except for a fading bruise that marred her cousin's left cheek. Their features contrasted with her own dull brown hair, dark eyes, and tawny skin.

Her mother had never looked at her the way these women were now. The Queen glared at her with such open disdain that it made Cara want to crawl back under the covers and disappear.

“Welcome to our home, Caralynne,” the Queen stated stoically.

“Thank you, your majesty.”

The Queen raked her with a derisive look. “You favor your father in appearance.”

“I do.”

“Pity. Your mother was a beautiful woman.”

She heard Maeve gasp at her mother's comment. Cara smiled in reply and refused to let the woman's cruelty get under her skin. She certainly hadn't expected a warm welcome and was prepared for their scorn.

“We hope you will be happy here,” Maeve intoned, breaking the strained silence.

Sure she did
, Cara thought.

“I have assigned Maeve to help you adjust here. Her chambers are next to yours, and she will gladly be at your service should you need anything. She will come to your chambers daily to tutor you on your duties and responsibilities.” Cara glanced at her cousin, who looked as excited about the idea as she was. “She will also travel with you on your tour of the provinces. The consecration ceremony will be held as customary on the summer solstice. You will remain in seclusion until then.”

Cara shifted uncomfortably. The summer solstice was a little over a month away. “I was hoping to visit briefly with Reyn of Crowthorne. He is a friend of mine and——”