Scars were funny things. Constant visible reminders of past events, lessons learned or failed, and people lost. Moving over to the armoire, Alia dropped the cotton wrap, pulling out a long flowing nightgown, white, simple, nothing fancy for her, given her height and the fact she might be yanked from her bed at a moment’s notice. Her reflection in the mirror catching her eye for a moment. As if by its own accord, her left hand reached up to trace the thick pink ridged scar deeply gouged into her skin. Starting at her right upper arm, arching up high across Alia’s chest, dipping higher still for a moment across her throat before dropping off abruptly to score across her left clavicle, ending finally some six inches later. It was a nasty jagged raised scar, looking like someone or something had attempted to cleave Alia’s shoulders and head from her body.
Huffing out a resigned breath, Alia tied the strings of the nightgown’s neckline tightly. Only the scar cutting across her throat visible now. Hah, visible or invisible, she reminded herself as she did almost every day, everyone had scars they were burdened with.
But it was whether you allowed those scars to burrow deeper still that was the important point. Filling your heart with rage, regret, or never ending grief. It would inevitably end up poisoning you. As was the case for Perri, who lived half a life; tending Alia and working in the Lair infirmary. Hiding behind her veils. Hardening her heart. Unwilling to move on. Forever longing and loathing the idea that in the next moment she might hear word of… him.
Then she would know, one way or the other, Perri would know finally whether he still walked this earthly plane or had gone on to the mountains of the Gods.
Heaving out a sigh, Alia punched her pillow twice and turned over, willing her restless thoughts to calm and her poor tired body to relax. Morning was coming fast. And the Beast of Gloomenthrall had a hunt to lead. It would be chaotic. The impoverished gentlemen, even those who thought they had some experience, would be greatly out of their depth in the wild woods.
There would be blood, possibly death.
But generally, not as a result of the creatures they hunted. No, the most dangerous element of the betrothal hunt were the amateur hunters. Their heads full of imagined riches. They would be fired up and scared in equal parts. Making rash decisions and gobsmackingly stupid mistakes.
If there was one thing Alia had learned from suitor hunts in the past, she, nor any of her riders, could foretell who would survive the hunt, let alone win the day. That’s why they cheated, sneaked, tricked and sabotaged every single moment from the start to the finish line.
For some reason the face of the gentleman who’d been standing in the shadows of the great hall came to mind. He’d been tall, and sturdy with it. Muscular, a man with training. Brimming with arrogance and self-confidence. His carelessly cut mane of hair burnished chestnut in colour. His face square, straight nose, and a penetrating gaze that made you feel like he knew your deepest darkest secrets. Idly, Alia wondered what colour his eyes were, it had been too dark to tell. Ruggedly handsome. A military man, given his stance and the way he observed everyone else in the great hall as if he were seeking out threats. Definitely an interesting man.
Interesting?
What a silly thought. If he was at the Keep, he was no doubt impoverished and romancing one of her half-sisters or cousins. No different from any other fortune hunter. Still, Alia couldn’t help but wonder which list his name would appear on. Would he be one of the men deemed acceptable by her Aunts, and the Great-Aunts? Or would he be on the second list? Amongst those that needed to be taught a lesson so they would leave and never darken Gloomenthrall again with their presence. Deemed unfit by her older kin or Alia’s spies.
Slumber finally beckoned, but even as Alia succumbed, that stray thought rose one more time, niggling at her. Just what colour of eyes would suit such a man? One who for some strange reason reminded her of the majestic sunlions that prowled the hills at the far west of the woods. They were arrestingly fast and deadly predators, beautiful in their own way, if one appreciated fangs and claws… which Alia did. But then she was the Beast of Gloomenthrall, she had fangs and claws of her own.
* * *
“Then his mother said that they couldn’t afford to feed four extra mouths. And with Geric only buried the day before.”
Swallowing a mouthful of warm fruit bread, Talac made a sound of what he considered to be clear disinterest. Yet that didn’t stop Petal Lerdon from continuing with her tale.
“Mother Lerdon personally supervised the packing of the girls things. Refusing them any toys. I heard her tell one of the servants to give them to her other grandchildren. And she kept anything Geric had gifted me that she deemed valuable, even taking his family ring back.” Petal glanced down at her bare hand unconsciously for a brief moment.
Taking another big bite Talac finished off the fruit bread and started in on the beef rolls. The banquet breakfast spread was impressive, though Talac noted that not many of the suitors indulged heartily, most picking at the contents of their plates. Idiots. Hunting required stamina and fuel. Even Brandth was aware of that, Talac noting his friend shovelling down mouthfuls of egg casserole. “Why are you telling me all this?”
Petal’s pretty blue eyes widened. “Because Lord De’Luca mentioned how much he valued your opinion and how he thought my story displayed… fortitude and bravery, and that I was to share it with you at the soonest possible interval.”
Nodding, Talac kept eating, shooting his friend a hard look of promised retribution as Petal took up her tale once more, chronicling the trials of travelling across the Vallas Realm along with her three daughters, all under the age of five at the time. No belongings. With only a meagre stipend that barely covered their travel costs and didn’t extend to food or lodgings. Petal’s voice dropping to a mortified whisper as she confided that she’d been forced to steal leftovers from the refuse bins at the coach stops to feed her children.
“Lerdon? The shipping merchants?”
“Yes. That’s them. It was kept very hush hush, but about a decade ago the family lost three ships to pirates and two were so badly damaged by storms they had to be drydocked. They were desperate for money to fund repairs and purchase new ships. Enough so that they requested Geric, their fifth son, to travel here and win a Gloomenthrall bride and the accompanying dowry.”
“Which he did.” Talac, despite himself, was interested now.
“Yes. He wasn’t the tallest, the strongest, or the bravest. But he was smart and surprisingly kind. We got to talking and… grew to be friends. No one was more astonished than Geric when he was amongst a group that blooded and killed a stag. He always claimed he was just in the right place at the right time.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“He’s been gone two years, it’s time to move on, for the sake of my girls if nothing else. We can’t remain dependent upon my father forever.”
“What about the annual widow’s dividend?”
Petal scoffed and then laughed merrily but not with any real amusement behind it. “Please.”
“They refuse to pay it? Perhaps they’re still suffering impoverished straits and did not wish to drag you down into their misery.”
“The Lerdons used my dowry to buy themselves four new ships. Reviving their business from near ruin. I connected them with a cousin, whose husband produces spices in the White Isles. And another sister’s husband who is located in the Halcyon Realm and owns thousands of acres of orange orchards. Within a year, both were in business with the Lerdons, profits from which enabled them to purchase five more ships over the next four years.”
“Their dismissal of you and your daughters, and failure to provide you with an annual widow’s dividend seems overly harsh then.” Talac was forced to concede. “Did you report the lack of dividend?”
