Wednesday, November 19, 2003My word count is now 27,360. :D We're rolling, now, eh? And I have eleven whole more says to go!
Yeah. I'm so not going to make it.
I've decided to include an except, telling how Drachen and Sorenna met. I didn't read it over, I just spell checked it, so...um...it might not be the greatest thing in the world, ok? But it'll give you an idea of what I'm doing....
The Water’s Edge
book 1 - At the water’s edge
She knelt in the center of the crowded anteroom and waited for her fate. The stone of the floor, smooth as it was, hurt her knees. Parts of her were going numb to match the numbness in her head and heart. She did not move to avoid the trickle of blood that was making its way to her. She did not look to her left, at the man they had just executed, the silly, foppish court nobleman who had once been called the king’s best friend.
She did not say, for the thousandth time, that she had not taken a lover, that she had not betrayed her fiancee.
Her fiancee, the king, sat on his throne, his fat, lumpish face trying to look betrayed, not triumphant. In the shadows behind his throne, Minafea would be hiding, gloating behind her cold facade.
“Sorenna“
She looked up, now. He commanded her to. For over ten years she had lived at this court, transplanted from her home and loved ones to this strange, vile land, waiting to marry this disgusting toad in order to seal the bargain made between their countries. She was trained to obey him, even though he had ignored her, even though he had let his mistress plot and scheme a way to legally put aside the betrothal, and get her own back on a man who, too pretty for his own good, had refused her advances. “Ulrich has paid the price for betraying his king.” He began. Her eyes shifted away, caught by a glitter of perfect coin like gold on the floor. A curl of hair, sliced off because it Ulrich had worn his gorgeous hair long, so it had been below the collar and in the way of the sword. “Because of the treaty we hold so dearly with your people, we will not execute you. Instead, I present those gathered here with your choice of fates. You and your possessions will be loaded on a small boat and put to sea, there the heavens will choose your fate...or, in honor of your own people’s old laws, we will allow one man to come forward and claim you as wife. He will expiate your sins by promising to keep your...nature under control. What say you? What man will take responsibility for this foolish, silly child?”
Sorenna wanted to laugh. Plain, powerless and an accused whore to boot. No one would take her. It was the boat -- the tiny, half heartedly supplied boat and the ocean -- for her. There she would either starve e to death, or die from the sun. Or on her own, sharp knife. If she wasn’t good enough for the king, who would dare take her? No one. He knew it. But the chancellors would send word back to her people, and no one could complain...whether they believed in her or not.
The king, enjoying himself almost openly now, made a show of looking around the room. “Anyone? Not one man?”
There was a long silence. She felt her eyes drawn to Ulrich. Ulrich with his strange, crooked brand of honor. She’d almost liked him, would have truly liked him if she hadn’t been forced to stay away from the court, and had time to get to know him. His large, cornflower blue eyes were wide open, vacant. He looked faintly surprised. She ached for him...he didn’t deserve this, either.
“What a pity.” The king said, settling back into his chair.
There was a shuffling in the crowd behind her.
“I am sorry, sire, to keep you waiting.” It was a deep voice, it resonated like the huge, thick church bells that hung from mountain temples. “The crowd is quite tightly pressed.” She has been staring again at the marble floor, and now she looked sideways, afraid to look up. Under the deep gray green wool of a cloat she saw the black shine of boots. The boots walked past her, stepped lightly over the pool of blood, then stopped, facing her. Their owner knelt. He wore the high collared, huge cloak like coats of the out warders, green gray that would melt into forest and fog. Everything he wore was of quality, meant to last, but not the latest style. His black hair was long and dead straight, tied back from his face, loose it would accentuate the perfect widows peak, the pale wide brow, the high cheekbones and hawk like nose. His eyes were luminous, gray green like his cloak, and as changeable as fog and forest.
He inspected her, too, for a long time, then turned to his king.
“I will take her.” he said.
“You will be responsible for her?” the king hissed. “You will make her live a more circumspect life, so that this wayward child will not stray from the right path again?” He said it mockingly. Everyone stared at the nameless man, including Sorenna. He was meant to say no. He had to say no, he was sorry, back off. She willed him to. She did not want to kneel in his blood, next. He stepped back, put his long fingered hands in the pockets of his tailored black pants. She studied the laces that trailed up the sides, then looked up, and met his eyes. She shook her head ever so slightly. The amusement this seemed to give him was gone so fast she wondered if it were a trick of light.
“Yes, your Majesty. I will take this woman’s soul upon my conscious.”
“Very well. Sorenna of Veilmyst, meet your new husband, Drachen Windfayre. You are bound to him as his mate and wife until the day you die.” He emphasized the last word, as if emphasizing his disappointment.
“Many thanks, your majesty.” Drachen bowed, then held out his hand. The King had slid from his throne and was now walking away, to where his soon to be wife was waiting for him. “Come Sorenna.” He said, and the way he said her name was like music, not sore-enna, like she’d spent her life getting used to, but So-rehnna, rolling the r’s gently over his tongue, like a slowly savored sigh. “I fear we have displeased our sovereign. Perhaps a speedy exit would be advisable.” She smiled, gratefully, and let him help her up.
“Thank you.” She said with all the feeling she could muster. She felt tears prick her eyes as she melted inside, thinking maybe, just maybe she’d be alright after all. He turned away and began striding for the grand doors.
A guard handed her her satchel, all the possessions she’d been allowed to keep in one, small bag, and she ran after him.
Outside was a large wagon, partially loaded with boxes and bags. Her new husband...husband!...went over to the Chancellor of goods, who stood near the heads of the pair of huge horses, waiting, no doubt, for the carter to sign the papers and go. For the Chancellor of Goods, himself, to be waiting in the misting rain for a carter to sign for his supplies meant he was at least somewhat important. She was not truly surprised when Drachen walked over to him.
“As you can see now, Telsen, I have a wife. Surely the king would want you to live up to the charter and provide extra goods for milady as well?”
“I’ve already ordered them,” the Chancellor snarled. “Though I would not put it past you to slit the stupid girl’s throat and sell the supplies yourself.”
Drachen tilted his head. His expression did not change, but something menacing filled the air. “Have I ever given thee reason to doubt mine honor?” He spoke formally and something about him, about his stance, made the Chancellor shudder and even Sorenna, who by now thought that Drachen had to be some sort of Angel, stepped back a bit.
“My wife will need more than food supplies. She will need a complete outfit of clothing and extra cloth. She will need blankets and bedding, as well, and...”
Sorenna touched his arm, and he turned, lowering his head so that she could speak, ever so softly, to him.
He nodded as he straightened. “The truck you confiscated from her this morning should do, for a start.”
“But...” He sputtered. The Chancellor of Goods, who looked down at his nose at her for years when ever she asked for some thread or soap was sputtering.
“It’ll be faster if you just bring her things and the supplies I asked for.” He said with such deceptive mildness. The Chancellor ran off.
“Should I...should I be afraid of you?” She asked.
“Only if you betray me.” he said, watching the Chancellor giving out panicked orders. The hand she had left resting on his arm lid off to rejoin its mate on the handle of her bag.
They watched as the wagon was loaded with more provision, and she felt a small tiny smile creep into her heart when she saw the scarred side of her trunk.
“Tis mine,” she reassured him when he questioned her, with one raised eyebrow.
“Do not be insulted,” he said, “By the request for extra bedding. The keep is cold, and we’ll need all the warmth we can get.”
The chancellor came back with his quickly amended inventory papers. Drachen signed after studying them, a quick flourish of letters. He pried the case from her fingers and placed it just behind the bench, then handed her up to the wagon seat. She looked up at the dark windows of the castle, at the empty, fog laced courtyard. There would be no one, she thought, and so when he joined her on the bench and clicked the horses forward, when they crossed the stones and went through the huge double portals, she kept her gaze on the road ahead.
“You are not going to look back?” he asked.
“There is no reason to.”
“Wise.” he said, his voice warming slightly, just so slightly, with approval. The heaviness of the coming winter seemed lighter. Maybe she thought, maybe things will be alright.
Permalink Cindy scribed this at 3:30 PM
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