Blizzard (Black Ice Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  “Such a waste of talent,” Jerisen whispered in true disapproval as Xavier sidestepped the corpse of a man.

  “Truly?” Xavier inquired. The young man was few in words, but he generally made them count, and his father always knew the implication.

  Jerisen turned upon the struggling snores that escaped the man who had ended up on the ground, propped against the tavern’s wall. In one fluid motion Jerisen turned, leaning forward and low, and cleanly slit the drunken lordship’s throat. “Truly.” Considering Braison, Jerisen continued the hushed conversation and led his son away. “That last man, Braison, had he not been intoxicated, I believe he could have been trouble.”

  Jerisen felt his son’s inquisitive stare with no more words being spared and knew he had to elaborate as they escaped. “He was older than all but the one identified as Hensen, he commanded the remaining, and even with what he had consumed, he still stood prepared and poised in proper form for the attack.”

  Xavier considered his father’s words before speaking one last time on their mission. “Then how did he fail?”

  Jerisen smiled down at his son through the mask, eyes shining. “He let worldly pleasures cloud his mind, his body was hindered, too slow. Never fall victim to such whims, Xavier, they will be your downfall.” The two easily scaled a nearby building and traversed their path back home across the rooftops.

  Hensen exited the tavern to find his men, and his one objective, dead. A crowd had already gathered from the patrons spilling out of the tavern. Screams had erupted from outside just minutes after he had stripped off his coat, sash, and belted longsword, readying himself for a night of pleasure with the tavern’s best whore.

  “Who did this?” Hensen bellowed at the crowd, but only silence followed. “Did no one see what happened here?” Again, only silence, causing Hensen to once again curse aloud, then nervously under his breath. He would have to answer for this failure, and he knew it would most likely mean being stripped of his full rank, if not his life.

  May 5, 1868 (P.V.)

  “Janice.”

  The woman shook at her name being called in such a harsh manner; it was not his way she knew, but she had been purposefully ignoring the man before her.

  “Yes, Effren?” Her deep green eyes, mysterious as the crystals that decorated the caverns they mined, watched from beneath neatly trimmed dark eyebrows offset by the white-blonde color of her hair.

  The man named Effren was striving not to snap at his beautiful wife any further, but he knew she would need to be strong in this endeavor. Effren placed his large, warm hand atop her hands, noticing not for the first time their petite nature, even when clasped as they were in that moment. He almost recoiled as they felt of ice, as though trying to match the very demeanor she had been attempting to impress upon him. He noticed his own olive complexion was a stark contrast as he looked down to see the visible shaking matching the tremors she was sending through their contacted skin. Their wedding bands of yellow gold touched, the metals kissing one another, as he pulled her hands from her lap. He massaged one hand gently as he made progress of unbinding their kinks. Once the knots were freed, he stroked the center of the soft underside of her forearm in smooth lines, each renewed line steadily inching farther up her arm to the fold of her elbow where he pressed and applied pressure, a brief pause to feel her pulse, and stroking his fingers back down to the center of her palms, pulling down the length of her fingers. Her pulse provided evidence for his suspicion that she was panicking, no doubt dreaming up ways to stop the advance they made towards their future son-in-law’s castle.

  He pulled her free hand to his mouth, kissing it as he breathed her in, the smell of roses and ginger intoxicating his every sense. “This must be done, my love. Trust in me that this is for the best.” He could feel her muscles drop, not a voluntary reaction to relaxation but a forfeiture of emotional resistance.

  “She is but twelve years old, Effren! This is not right. Do not ask me to approve of you removing half of my heart.” Such heartache filled her voice.

  Effren turned his focused gaze from the details of her décolletage, the feminine lines that riled the blood in his veins, to her full, red lips, then to her pleading eyes. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld; time had been most generous. The finest of lines crested her lips, the expressions of happiness he had helped put in place, and those around her eyes barely perceptible that accompanied the facial interactions. For a moment, he recalled the warmth of sun that had enveloped her skin that first time he had seen her, and he almost faltered in following through with the agreement from just that memory. His own reflection was captured in her sorrow-filled eyes, showing his blond hair, touched with the proof of wisdom, and his clear, blue eyes staring back. He had promised to give her everything she ever desired, but then nothing ever turned out as planned.

  Janice retracted her arm from his grip. Never before had he hurt her, never had he betrayed the woman he loved more than his own life. Yet here they rode in the carriage to deliver their most beloved daughter to the Lord Reegan, ten years their daughter’s senior, in betrothal. Effren sat back and looked out the carriage window, knowing this had been the only possible outcome. Refusal was not an option, that much had been made clear. Though no words had passed of war, no threats overtly expressed, Effren knew had he not accepted, the other kingdoms that had been building, even those allied, would descend upon his small fiefdom. That outcome meant most likely assured death to Effren and all those who lived upon his grounds and fought back, his wife taken for some other man’s pleasures. Just as likely, even his daughter, if she were not immediately married off, or worse, sold off to slavery.

  A sob hitched within Janice’s heart and chest. “I can…never forgive this.”

  Effren turned his eyes to his love and watched as her grief silently slipped out and down her cheeks. For a moment, she looked far older than her thirty years of age. The stress that had been mounting finally bore itself upon her visage as she turned and stroked their sleeping daughter’s hair. That same white-blonde hair and pale skin as Janice, but her eyes were the crystal blue of Effren’s. She would exceed her mother in beauty and her father in his sharp wit, and at twelve years of age, she was already a force to move nations. Still, her face and frame held the signs of youth. Her cheeks were still full in the way of a child, her figure straight and gaunt with no curves to provide definition. She still kept her doll from her earliest youth as a most precious keepsake with her mind and heart filled with childhood fantasies. However, she was not entirely devoid of the responsibilities of her title and adulthood. This twist in fate alone had proven that. She had remained quiet, stoic even, upon accepting the news that she was betrothed to Lord Reegan. Such grace at such a young age filled Effren with pride.

  The situation they found themselves in presently had been a result of her developing beauty. As the parents had discovered, it was a terrible curse to be placed upon their lives. As Janice had been revered as the most beautiful woman in her time, the rumors had spread, as a fire devouring a forest unquenched for months, that her daughter had already begun displaying her succession. While Effren knew their beauty was the least impressive of their shared traits, it was understood her title and beauty made her a desirous target from all corners of their kingdom. Effren’s kingdom sat in the most advantageous position, and his relation, though somewhat distant, to the king both blessed and doomed their fates.

  Knowing what he had to do, Effren hardened his heart again, any show of emotion would break him before her, and he could not falter. “You will see the wisdom in this, eventually.” Straightening his posture, he turned his cold gaze out the window as Janice took in his profile. Strong, proud jawline, muscular build from the work and effort he equally put into their fiefdom, same as any man in the field. His sharp eyes surveyed the passing land, avoiding her gaze. White hair had begun to reveal itself in his sideburns, a regal look that matched his comportment. He was always poised in a manner that spoke of
higher breeding, a royal line distant to the current king of their country. Third or fourth cousins, fourth if she recalled correctly, though he and the king had been close as any brothers.

  Truly, Janice understood the precarious situation they faced, but she could not bear to give away their own child. Their precious daughter who slept peacefully, unwittingly beside her, dreaming of endless futures as she often did. They had been three days on the road with their guard accompanying them. Drivers included, they were a party of twenty. Janice would have preferred an army, as she did not trust Lord Reegan. Stories had preceded the young man, nearly ten years her junior, of being a calculating man. Callous, though he could provide charm on a whim, making him dangerous enough.

  The worst, she knew, was his fortunate appearance. Women of courting age were a constant buzz of gossip about his good looks and fortune. The wealth only proved to benefit the handsome façade, or was it the other way around? No matter the case, Janice felt dread for her daughter. She felt it for her own and Effren’s futures, as well. Nothing of the given situation boded well, and her instinct was never wrong. When Effren had revealed the plan to her, she had been struck with the knowing of its terrible implications, its foreboding, but there appeared no alternatives and Effren had already accepted. Her being told was only a courtesy, as husband to wife, parent to parent. It was meant to reduce the shock but had only served to wind her up entirely. She had spent the first two months after being told not speaking to Effren, the following three trying to find an answer that did not involve sending away their only child, and the very last month begging and pleading for a retraction on the agreement. She knew Effren would refuse to do such a thing, but she had pushed forward with threats of all manners, pleading and reasoning on all levels to no avail.

  As they passed through a copse of trees and a gated entry, Janice whipped her face around the moment the shade and light intermingled, revealing the sprawling land that lay beyond, with trees dotting the estate.

  “Best wake her now, Janice. She must be prepared to meet her future husband.” Effren remained in rigid repose before Janice.

  The reality finally stripped away the bandages that held her heart together. She could feel her heart bleeding out internally, the shock and panic that rooted itself around the opening pulled it farther apart; there was no saving their futures now. She could only pray God would guide and protect her daughter.

  “Dry your tears, Janice. Causing her fear will do no good.” Effren pulled a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his gray coat, the sunlight flashing from its silvered buttons. He passed it across the small expanse between them, the memory of the moment permanently fixing itself in each other’s minds. The smell of summer sneaking in between minuscule cracks, the warmth of the day already a burden within the cabin, and the navy blue that lined the inside seats, walls patterned in the same color with white design. As they came closer to the castle, workers were revealed in the open fields. Janice quickly dried her face and around her eyes, carefully avoiding her makeup before returning the kerchief.

  “It’s time to wake up, darling.” Janice gently shook the young girl, her innocence soon to be lost in its premature departure. “We have arrived, Eliza.”

  Reegan heaved a sigh in reviewing the documents in hand, his forthcoming meeting not the least on his mind as his man watched him from across the table. Doors could be heard down the hallway giving allowance to an incoming messenger.

  “So the time is upon us.” The man sitting across from Reegan flicked his one brown eye upon the door and then to Reegan’s refined face. His calm expression did not expose the brooding manner within. “Are you sure of this path, m’lord?”

  Reegan turned a quick glance back to the man. “Francis, you know as well as I this is the best prospect to ensure my truest goals.”

  “You will have gained the upper hand—”

  A knock came, the messenger finally having made his way through the maze of corridors.

  “Come in.” Reegan returned to his documents as his voice commanded the entrance.

  “Sire.” A young boy of sixteen entered, slim of stature, sandy haired with deep set green eyes. “The Lord and Lady Charan have been sighted and are expected to arrive within the half hour.”

  “Thank you, you may go.” Reegan still did not turn his attention from the documents as he dismissed the young page, whose departure allowed the two men to return to their affairs.

  “You must take care with the Charans, Reegan.” Francis was many years Reegan’s senior, his graveled voice matching his visual presentation. “They may have agreed to these terms, but they are strong. Not prone to taking anything lying down, m’lord. Especially with their only child as your bride, so young.”

  At this, Reegan set down the documents he had been closely surveying and took Francis in fully. Dressed plainly, this man could blend in and go unnoticed most places, perfect for all the heinous deeds Reegan required. His long silver and grayed hair had been tied back with a single, brown ribbon, his face showed more than his age with hardened lines. Though Francis was truly only in his early 50s, he could have passed for a man in the later part of those years. One eye always remained closed, with a long scar traveling from his bushed eyebrow to weak chin. His lips, thin and turning inward, offered him no salvation, and when he smiled, a slightly yellowed row of teeth presented themselves. Years of smoking and drinking had taken their toll upon the dangerous little man, yet Reegan knew not to be fooled by his appearance. Reegan had hired Francis because of his renown in the less than savory circles to gather information and his ability to silence even the loudest and most well-known targets. The man had been born for such work.

  Had Reegan been standing before a mirror to compare the two in height, he knew Francis would be nearly half a foot shorter, and their contrast would only serve to impress the natural, physical beauty Reegan possessed. For a moment, he mused over these facts. “The Charans hold the best position in the kingdom to grow my advancement. With their own fiefdom in the south, embedded in the coastline and mountains, they provide access to the ocean and hold riches within the mines. Their daughter is simply a means to an end. One day she will no longer be the child of twelve she is now, and I will make certain she produces me an heir, further tying her family and their strength to my own. I am quite aware, Francis, of the attachment they hold to their daughter. What I offer them is nothing less than security for their daughter and support of their own people. While they may be ideally situated, the king has been making erratic movements that threaten all those related to him, no matter how distant. I appreciate your concern, but I warn you to heed my advice and not broach this subject in such a manner with me again.” Reegan’s eyes were hard on the man’s equally hardened face. They were polar opposites in their exterior, but inside, each man was twisted and rotten, capable of violence and destruction that threatened to destroy them from within. “At least not without something to support your blanket statements.”

  “I only do as you bid, m’lord, and certainly you know me wiser than to comment on any such topics without having checked my sources first.” His one eye seemed to shine brighter in his approaching revelation, causing Reegan some frustration at the delay that caused the muscle at the left corner of his lip to begin twitching uncontrollably. “His Lord Effren Charan has made moves that are boldly devious for such a man known to be good natured, moves against the king himself.”

  Reegan was intrigued. “You have verified this?” He could hardly believe the accusation. “If bold, how have I not heard of any movements?”

  “He’s done his deeds in secret, he has.” Francis leaned closer, the smell of rotting oranges permeating Reegan’s senses. “He hired a rogue band, some folk beyond our shores, and set them to work in intervening against the king’s shipments across the land. He’s the one who coordinated the pillaging of the money and goods; he’s the one who returned said goods and money to the people.” Francis clicked his tongue at the thought. “It’s said he h
as another group working in the shadows and plots to have the king killed off.”

  Reegan sat back after initially sitting forward in his excitement, regardless of the toxic odors that rolled away from Francis. Reegan stood and walked over to the windows that lined the walls of the room; sunlight had created a blinding cast into the area. His thoughts stirred. “Francis, go take a bath.”

  “What?”

  Without turning around, Reegan could imagine the man’s disgruntled face. Commanding him to bathe was equivalent to telling him God was coming for a visit and expected the Devil to join as well.

  “My future family will arrive shortly, and I want you by my side during this exchange. I have work for you, but you need to be presentable. Clothes will be provided, and any other instructions I have will be forthcoming.” Reegan turned his own devious smile upon the man. His smile outshone the sunlight. “Tis time to play your role.”

  JANICE RECOILED AT the sight of the castle. Their time had arrived and she knew no escape remained. No angels would sweep down from Heaven and take them away from the place she saw as the end of their future, and no words would sway her husband to any possible alternatives. She longed for the sheltered cove near their own castle, the constant breeze blowing in from the sea that soothed her nerves, to hear her daughter’s laughter one last time before she was forever swept away. Eliza would be drowned with the undertow that was Reegan and the encroaching war. None would be saved from the ravages of a war, Janice knew. Her husband, loving and strong as he was, knew this all too well. Janice recognized his panicked attempt to protect and fortify their position, but her heart and soul fought him every step of the way. The cost should never have needed to be their beloved daughter.