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  She nodded, her stomach grumbling in affirmation. At least out here, no would-be poisoner could possibly predict where they would stop.

  Chapter Six

  She followed Lucias as he wove through streets both wide and narrow. The crowd thinned as they left the castle’s looming presence. With Lucias leading the way and the pony content to follow the destrier, she was free to relax a little into the saddle and take in the city.

  Bright stalls with their fancy awnings came and went. Meagre signs and a few modest crates to hold their wares swiftly took their place. The sight was almost soothing and familiar enough to home for her to forget she rode an animal with a mind of its own.

  Even so, she craned her neck around every new corner, hoping to see something that she wouldn’t come across on the streets of Everdark. Every time, she was disappointed to see more of the same. Truly, beyond the Pillars peeking over the rooftops every so often, Endlight felt so very… ordinary.

  They rode through several market squares. Like the rest of the city, the stalls and people filling the areas seemed no different to those she’d once walked by back home. If a little more opulent than the last few they’d bypassed, the stalls here being somewhat less rickety. A number being extensions of shop fronts with big, intricately painted signs.

  The people were no different. The further they got from the castle, the less the crowd seemed to care about their presence. Most walked with their heads down, their minds clearly occupied with their daily tasks. A few were so inwardly intent that they almost collided with Lucias’ destrier before noticing the snorting beast. Lucias seemed to take all this in stride.

  Still, every now and then, they would round a corner that put them in view of the city watch. And every time, he would abruptly lead her away until the oblivious watchmen were once again out of sight.

  Upon the seventh time of him avoiding them, Clara couldn’t stop herself from laughing. It seemed ridiculous, but it almost looked as if he was playing a massive game of ‘keep away’ without the other players knowing and with her as the item in question. “You’re deliberately keeping me from everyone, aren’t you?” That was why he’d been at her door so early, why he’d insisted on the pony and had dismissed several worthy places to grab breakfast.

  Lucias chuckled, confirming her suspicions. “I haven’t seen you in months,” he said, his words nearly lost to the creak and clatter of a passing cart. “Thalia would see you tied up in social niceties, whilst the rest of the court would have me bogged down with documents and disputes.” Shaking his head, he slowed his mount to a shuffling pace. “My father left quite the mess behind.”

  “Then maybe we should return if it’s that bad.” Her stomach grumbled. The sun was steadily creeping higher, enough to chase away much of the shadows in the square, and she’d still not had anything to eat. A quick sweep of the crowd revealed no watch, for the moment at least, and the castle towers were some distance away. Perhaps she could convince Lucias to make a stop for food. She eyed the shops as their mounts sauntered by, spying several that looked promising.

  “No.” Lucias kneed his destrier on and Sable matched the bigger horse’s pace. They quickly left the shops behind. “Some have waited months to resolve their difference of opinions, they can wait another day.” He flashed her a lopsided grin. “They will just have to forgive me for preferring to be the sole focus of my dear lady’s attention for more than a few minutes rather than weathering their demands.”

  We’ll be by ourselves soon enough. The thought darted across her mind like a sparrow along the eaves. She tipped her head to the sky, her cheeks heating something fierce. Neutral thoughts. She would either have to keep her mind off the idea of their wedding night or manage to get her blushing under control. “You honestly think Thalia would seek to keep us apart?”

  Lucias nodded. “She is quite the traditionalist. If she had her way, we wouldn’t be allowed near each other. Or at least not without an escort. They still practice that along the eastern border, you know.”

  She hadn’t the faintest notion that Thalia put such stock in tradition, although that did answer why the woman had been swayed by her betrothed, Thad, to follow the Endlight wedding customs. Still… “You’re her lord. You could ask her to not interfere.”

  Lucias threw back his head and laughed. “You don’t think I haven’t? I’ve known her so long that I’m certain she sees me as a little brother. There’s only so much I could do without resorting to an actual command, which would require my men to enforce and—disregarding my unwillingness to dissuade anyone from thinking of my, or your, wellbeing—doing so will bring more of those rumours you dislike hearing. Besides…” He flashed her a rather boyish grin. “It’s more fun this way.”

  Clara twisted in the saddle, trying to spy any sign of the city watch. No one seemed at all concerned with their passage. They were far from the castle, perhaps far enough for people not to realise they’d come from within its walls. “So who knows we’re out here?”

  His upper lip quivered into a sneer. “Everyone by now, I would think. And I’ll likely get an earful from Thad later because I chose to come out here without an armed escort.” He issued a dramatic sigh. “Such is the life of a Great Lord.”

  She smiled up at him. “You poor thing. It must be so trying.”

  He chuckled. “You may jest, my dear, but you’re also right. If I lean too far one way or the other, then I’m either incompetent or a tyrant. Worst case? I’m both. It’s not easy maintaining such balance. My grandfather learnt that the hard way.”

  They entered another square. This one bustling with people and their clashing cries as sellers hawked their wares. A large, bronze statue of the Goddess stood in the centre of the square. Clara peered around it, looking for a place to suggest for breakfast, but there was something about the statue that had her gaze continually drawn to it.

  She frowned at the figure as they circled the square. The Goddess’ delicate features were framed by long curls of hair that flowed about much of her naked body. Not the first such depiction she’d seen in her short journey here, although more common the closer she got to the border. And this one was—

  Oh! Blushing, she turned her face. The sculptor had been very precise in what the hair did not cover. And extremely detailed. That’s new. As were the children milling about the statue’s base. A number of the smaller ones had clambered up the sculpted features to sit atop the Goddess’ shoulders or stand amidst the great folds of her hair. She wouldn’t have dared such an act in Everdark. Yet, no one here seemed to mind.

  Lucias aimed for the statue where the street traffic was thinner, their passing catching the eye of several children. They pointed and talked amongst themselves, likely drawn to the gleaming image of the black destrier.

  They halted at the foot of the statue where Lucias dismounted. “I’ll grab us something to eat.” He patted his horse’s thick neck. “Wait here for me.” With that, he took off in the direction of a man wandering through the crowd with a small pushcart.

  “I will,” Clara replied, although she wasn’t quite certain if his departing words were for her or the horse. She took the opportunity to shuffle in the saddle and work feeling into her backside. It had grown tender during their ride, then a little numb. She’d vastly prefer to dismount and stretch her legs. It had to be safe enough. Why else would Lucias have chosen to stop here?

  A quick look at her immediate surroundings revealed no place to rest, just the bronze depiction of the Goddess sitting atop its plinth. Apart from the children, few people lingered near the statue beyond an elderly couple intent on each other and a lone woman who looked to be praying.

  Clara slithered off Sable’s back, gasping as her legs returned to their usual position beneath her. Why hadn’t anyone warned her that her thighs would ache this much?

  She managed a few tottering steps to lean against the low wall surrounding the plinth. A small, long-forgotten, garden had been laid out between wall and plinth. What remained
of those distant intentions was naught but compacted dirt almost as hard as stone.

  Struggling with the bulk of her skirts and keeping a firm hand on the reins, Clara managed to perch herself on the wall to wait. It put her no higher than the crowd. She peered into the throng nevertheless, idly kicking her legs and scratching Sable’s ears as the pony lipped at her skirts.

  What if Lucias got himself into trouble? She carefully unsheathed her dagger. Would she be able to make her way back to the castle without his guidance? They’d taken a lot of corners that looked so similar. Hurry back.

  Her stomach grumbled in anticipation, clearly not bearing the same concerns.

  Lucias’ destrier stood on her other side, patiently waiting for his master to return. The black beast effectively kept the majority of the people around them from venturing any closer. No doubt her toying with the dagger kept the rest from lingering. Surely the horse knew the way back to his stables.

  Clara had returned the blade to its sheath and was in the middle of weighing the merits of clambering to her feet atop the wall, and possibly climbing the statue itself, when Lucias appeared through the crowd.

  He shuffled between people, his arms held high as if brandishing a prized kill instead of two small parcels.

  “Here we are!” Grinning, he deposited one of the small cloth-encased bundles into her hands. Warmth soaked through the cloth and the smell of baked goods wafted up from the parcel.

  Peeling back the cloth unleashed the full aroma of pastry-encased meat. “Pasties?” Clara squeaked before taking a large bite. Soft chunks of meat and thick jellified vegetables danced along her tongue. Moaning, she chewed the mouthful and chomped down another. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had one of these?”

  He chuckled, hopping onto the wall to sit beside her. “Judging by the way you’re devouring it, I would say some time.” He leant back, propping himself on the plinth and tipping his head back on the outward curve of a bronze curl of hair from the statue. “If you enjoy them so much, you could’ve arranged for Gettie to make them standard fare for you.”

  She grimaced around the pasty. The thought of asking for anything beyond the simple meals the kitchen already prepared for her had never crossed her mind. It wouldn’t really be much different to the pies and roasts they already made.

  Lucias mumbled unintelligibly around a mouthful of pasty before swallowing to continue. “What do you think of fair Endlight so far?”

  “It’s so…” Her gaze slid across the market as she sought for the right word. This place was as much of a home to Lucias as the Citadel had been, if not more so.

  “Imposing?” he pressed. “Magnificent?”

  “Ordinary,” she confessed. “The streets look no different to the ones I walked back home. But it’s all so big.” She spread her arms wide. “You could fit Everdark inside these walls and lose it.”

  Lucias smiled. “Wait until you see Port Dank. You won’t be able to mistake her streets for that of another village.”

  Clara paused in the act of taking another bite. “We’d be going to Port Dank?”

  “Eventually. I plan on…” Lucias fell silent as the crowd pressed around the horses. A little shuffling of the destrier’s rump kept away all but the boldest. “I need to travel through the kingdom anyway, repair any defences or ties that might’ve degraded during my father’s reign. I was hoping you’d want to come with me rather than being left behind. We could perhaps…” He waved a hand about. “I don’t know. Spend a little more time in touring the kingdom than is really necessary?”

  Tour the kingdom? Throughout her childhood, she would hear of the old Great Lord’s passing as he went to and from the great Citadel, sometimes leaving the fortress for months. Rumour always put him on the front line of a battle with this or that enemy. “But isn’t the Citadel where the Great Lord lives?”

  “Most of the time,” he agreed with a nod. “Not always. And if you came along, I could show you, if not the world beyond our kingdom’s border, then the one within.”

  Our kingdom. How she loved the ease in which he spoke such words. No hesitation whatsoever in sharing what was his. “And visit all the places you spoke of?”

  “Yes!” His hand swept over the square. “Places even better than this. You could see the merchant fleets at Port Dank with your own eyes.”

  “I don’t know…” He’d done his best to explain places like Port Dank, but the idea of ships the size of houses seemed mere fantasy.

  Lucias dug into the pouch at his hip and withdrew a small bottle—a canister fit for a guard, judging by the battered look of it. “Talk to Thalia and you’d think it was never a good idea for a lady to travel on horseback, especially not an expectant one, but there are ways around that.” He took a swig from the bottle before handing it to her. “I’d love nothing more than to show my Great Lady around her kingdom.”

  She drank from the bottle, slightly disappointed to find only lukewarm water. “And, of course, you would also be showing the kingdom their Great Lady Clarabelle?” She snickered as the name passed her lips. What a mouthful.

  “Dark,” Lucias said, picking something from his pasty and flicking it to the sparrows flitting about the statue. “Come our wedding, you will be the Great Lady Clarabelle Dark.”

  Clara snorted and went to take another bite of her pasty. The seriousness of his expression stopped her. “Really?” she blurted. “That’s your family’s name?”

  He frowned at her. “What did you think it was?”

  “I—” She faltered. The Great Lords had always just been the Great Lords as far as anyone at Everdark was ever concerned. Only now that the full extent of his name was said did she realise she’d no prior knowledge of it. “I’ve never given it much thought, really.” The more she did think about it, the more she chastised herself for not thinking otherwise. Or even guessing. “Just not… that.”

  Clara bit her tongue as the urge to giggle bubbled in her chest. Her mind was nowhere near as gracious. Great Lord Lucias Dark, the Dark Lord, her traitorous thoughts sang over and over. She shielded her lips with a hand and nibbled on the pasty in an effort to stifle her laughter. “It is rather… unfortunate,” she mumbled.

  “It’s not funny, you know.”

  I beg to differ. Laughter snorted out her nose. She tried to muffle it with her hand and found herself unable to contain her mirth any longer. “I’m sorry,” she wheezed. “It’s just that it sounds so—”

  His frown returned, but deeper. “I am aware of how it sounds. Would it help if I said it didn’t start that way? That our enemies began referring to us as the Dark Lords well before my ancestors embraced the name?”

  “What was your family known as before then?” she asked around a mouthful of pasty.

  Lucias sighed. “We took our name from the village, like many of the surrounding nobility of the age. Great Lord Kerwin was originally the Count of Everdark before he got it into his head to—”

  “—attack the neighbouring lands?” she finished for him. “Absorbing people’s souls as he went?” The thought came so naturally to her now. Strange how a few months learning Lucias’ family line had done to accepting certain magics as being second nature.

  He pursed his lips. “Quite. The title of Dark Lord was a moniker the neighbouring kingdoms used around the fourth Great Lord and was adopted by his son soon after his succession.”

  Clara chewed thoughtfully, trying to recall what had happened during the fourth Great Lord’s reign that would be so horrible in comparison to the previous Great Lords.

  Kerwin the Vanquisher had fallen to his son’s blade after trying to take the man’s soul. His son went mad early on, all but drowning the land in its own blood before falling in battle around his fiftieth year.

  The third Great Lord had fared better, holding off the madness plaguing those who commanded the souls of the army. Yet he had very nearly died heirless, his wife conceiving on their wedding night. And the fourth… The fourth Great Lord was
also the last one to marry the mother of his heir. She knew he’d killed his wife, she assumed it had been in a fit of insanity like the first two suffered from. But one death rather paled alongside the slaughters done in the past.

  “Couldn’t you change your name back?” How difficult could it be? She’d be willing to bet most people were unaware of their Great Lord’s full title. Just as I’d been. Likely only those in high standing would need informing. “You shouldn’t be lumped with your ancestors.” He wasn’t like the men who’d forged the surrounding lands into a kingdom, attacking all who opposed them and stealing the souls of the innocent.

  Lucias shook his head. “I am the Dark Lord. To deny that is to deny a part of history, a part of me. You heard the court go on last night. They’d lift me up to the Goddess’ side if they thought I’d allow it. They’ve already done so in the past.”

  Clara all but choked on her food. She doubled over, coughing up bits of flaky pastry.

  Lucias shuffled along the wall, gently patting her back until she’d regained her breath. He offered her the bottle.

  She snatched it from his grasp and greedily sucked down the water. “They have?” she rasped, giving one brief cough to clear her throat. “Why haven’t I heard of this before?”

  He snorted. “Not with me.” His nose wrinkled, clearly not amused at the prospect. “I’d be a poor god. Could you imagine?”

  She could. Quite easily. With the abilities he’d inherited from both parents, he was already halfway there. “An absolute terror, your Holiness.”

  Shock took his face, there for the trilling squawk of an aggressive blackbird overhead, then gone. The gentle huff of his laughter brushed her cheeks. “What wicked profanity you speak, love. Whenever did I say I was anywhere near holy?”

  Clara stuck out her tongue.

  He shook his head, the sun-etched wrinkles around his eyes deepening. “At any rate. The fifth Great Lord waged war with the people who make up the eastern part of the kingdom. They weren’t prepared for an invasion such as he gave. He trounced any opposition so thoroughly, took the souls of everyone who dared to stand against him, that the people became convinced they fought a god. They kept on believing so until he fell, and by then the lands were ours.”