Blizzard (Black Ice Trilogy Book 2) Page 6

  “Hush now, Eliza,” Janice cooed to her daughter. “We will never be so far away we cannot reach you.” She continued to comfort her daughter as she petted her hair and wiped away her tears. “You were raised as a lady of the house of Charan, and you are the strongest of us all, my darling.” Janice pressed a firm kiss to her daughter’s forehead as a bell tolled from the heart of the estate. Effren had arrived.

  “I’m afraid!” Eliza’s voice hitched, and a frenzy settled into her bones as she gripped her mother’s arms tightly.

  Janice took a deep steadying breath as she turned Eliza’s face up to her own, blowing a quick puff of air into Eliza’s face that startled her as it once had when she was a babe. “Silence, peace, still the heart, all is not lost and fallen apart.”

  Eliza blinked at the words. “Wha…?”

  “Mend the pain with time on its chain.” With that Janice wiped her thumb across Eliza’s forehead, forming a straight line with a snaking S around its frame to each side; a peace fell across Eliza that immediately stopped her body from shuddering with the rising sobs. Slowly, the tears ceased their fall, allowing Janice to clean her daughter’s face for the last time. She marked the same symbol across her own forehead, calming her own nerves.

  “You did this?” Eliza knew the truth, but she felt confused and hurt, though she could not express that. The calm feeling was overwhelming, almost muting her feelings in whole.

  “Yes, it would not do to appear weak to any of those who you are to remain with. And weak they would take you for, and take advantage without fail.” Janice stood and extended her hand to Eliza, helping her fragile daughter rise. Still such a child, Janice’s heart ached out the whisper, “We must both be strong.” She smiled.

  With those final words, mother and daughter mounted their horses and returned to find Effren waiting, impatiently, at the front. The horses and carriage had not been put away, but waited, fully loaded with all of Janice’s belongings.

  Janice glanced warily between Reegan and Effren, both men seeming firm and resolute in their discussion before taking notice of Janice and Eliza’s return.

  “Janice, we must be going.” Effren’s eyes were cold, distant. Not right, Janice felt.

  “This moment? You have just ridden such a long journey. Certainly you, if not the horses and men, need at least one night’s rest!” Janice was working on not sounding as alarmed as she felt, but her intuition told her it was well deserved.

  “This moment, we have no time to rest now. The horses have been swapped. Lord Reegan has graciously allowed us to borrow his horses instead to ensure our safe return home.” Effren nearly ripped Janice off her horse as Eliza stared down, dumbfounded, at her father and his sudden brusque nature.

  “Father,” Eliza called out to Effren.

  He froze with his back to Eliza, door open for Janice before resuming guiding her into the carriage. He quickly kissed her hand as he guided her in and turned to find Eliza standing directly behind him. His jaw clenched seeing the tiny, frail daughter he was leaving behind. He embraced her, slowly and firmly pulling her into his warmth with a gentle squeeze as he bent his head down to her ear.

  “I love you, my most precious daughter. Do not forget what I have taught you. We will see you again, soon enough!” His words were whispered but heard clearly as she returned the warm embrace. Pulling away, he bowed to Lord Reegan and Zachariah, who stood stiff as stone next to Reegan, and climbed into the carriage. A moment was all that was spared for Janice to reach out and grab Eliza’s hand and kiss it with firm resolution and underpinned fear.

  “I love you, Eliza. Be good and studious in all your lessons!” A quick tap to the ceiling from Effren caused the carriage to lurch forward, and Eliza to lose her grip on her mother’s hand. A gasp escaped Eliza’s lips as she watched, somewhat horrified, as her parents left her behind to the new life she had been shackled to. The desire to run after the carriage, beg them to take her with them, not to leave her behind, bubbled up beneath the spell her mother had cast but did not overwhelm it. Instead, the horrid spell settled her back down into complacency, peace and calm rather than outrage, hurt, and fear. It caused anger to also well up, but that too was quashed. Instead, she straightened and turned to find Reegan and Zachariah waiting patiently. She could see both expecting her to burst into tears, to fall apart before their very eyes in her sapphire-colored gown and the charcoal cloak.

  Instead, Eliza stood a bit taller, chin slightly lifted and mind determined. “Do we begin my training now, then?”

  The two men looked to one another, somewhat surprised, which neither tried to hide, with Reegan letting a burst of laughter escape him. “Zachariah, I leave her to your capable lead.”

  Clapping Zachariah’s shoulder, Reegan turned to leave, but paused and whispered into his cousin’s ear before making his way back inside. Zachariah stood staring at the ground where Reegan had just been standing, as though he would return and change his orders. Eliza stepped forward, instead, waiting patiently directly before Zachariah. The cold look he cast upon her, mixed with an edge of distaste almost caused her to shrink back, but she refused to be treated as such. While her power might only be in title, she would need to own that title and solidify her situation.

  When Zachariah found she would not relent her position under his scrutinizing gaze, he accepted his role, reluctantly. “You will need to change. Mrs. Deboan can assist you with proper attire. Meet me at the stables in half an hour.” Reegan’s words rang in his ears: “Don’t be too rough on my young bride, cousin, but don’t be sparing in helping her learn a lesson, either.” It had been permission, Zachariah knew, to be somewhat rough with the girl, to make her fearful of her placement.

  To Zachariah’s surprise, Eliza arrived at the stables ten minutes earlier than he had required, seemingly eager to begin the fated training. As he finished assisting in saddling the silvered mare Reegan had gifted her, Zachariah found her curious eyes watching his every movement. He ignored her obvious stare and offered his hand to her, finally taking notice of her petite frame in a simple, fitted white shirt with long tufted sleeves and fitted brown pants and black boots. She held the same charcoal cloak she had worn earlier over her arm.

  “Here, let me.” Zachariah took the cloak from her unsuspecting arm and brusquely twirled the cloak around her, finishing by buttoning the front at the neck. For a moment he felt the warmth of her small frame close, her life seeming to pulse outward into his own. He stepped back half a step and looked down at her, remembering what she was, or was to become. Only those crystal-clear blue eyes under the halo of curling white-blonde hair and dark eyebrows looked up, no physical signs of unspoken power manifesting otherwise. He cleared his throat and offered her help onto her horse before mounting his own black stallion.

  “Where are we going to train that we should need to ride?” Eliza dared to ask, her childlike voice carrying an almost chime as she spoke.

  “Somewhere we won’t be interrupted,” Zachariah answered before spurring his horse on, forcing her to follow. They rode almost an hour away before stopping. Mountains were easily visible from where they stopped, a large lake between them and the mountains, forestry spotting all around, and the castle behind them, barely visible. It was only the two of them, with Zachariah carrying both swords and their basic necessities for lunch.

  “This is beautiful.” Indeed, Eliza was captivated by the scenery. She had always known the ocean front, the caverns and cliffs, and the forests just beyond the entrance to their own kingdom, but this was something vastly different. Eliza wanted to swim within that lake. It seemed to beckon her with the sun’s blinding light dancing upon its surface; a slight breeze was causing light waves to ripple across its expanse, and the field they stood in was a beautiful contrast of golds, pinks, yellows, and oranges of wildflowers to the deep blue of the water. The air was clean, crisp, inviting whereas back at the castle she could feel a suffocating presence ever reminding her she would never return home; this was her home.


  “Come here.” Zachariah had already belted on his sword in its scabbard, intricately detailed with leather, metal, and a few precious gems. He came carrying what was to be Eliza’s sword sheathed in its scabbard, elaborately decorated, and she marveled at its beauty. Where Zachariah’s was leather appearing golden and accented with the silver sheen of the iron clasp along its tip and clasping along the sides, the sword and scabbard he belted around Eliza’s waist was exquisite by her view. The metal lining the sides appeared strictly gold, encasing a silvered cover of scrolling design. Scabbard and sword alike, once free from Zachariah’s grasp, left her in wonder at its light weight, so much so she almost feared it was a farce, that no blade actually awaited within. Stepping back and reviewing his handy work, Zachariah nodded his approval and turned, taking three steps away before turning back to face her directly.

  “Draw your sword.”

  Hesitating only a moment, Eliza grasped the handle with its knuckle guard and cross guards catching and reflecting the sunlight. She took a moment to appreciate the trio of pearls embedded within its pommel, simple but beautiful. In whole, the sword was slight with a light curvature, its weight insignificant compared to the heavier swords her father had ensured she trained with. Eliza’s face edged with concern that it might just snap in half, but she wondered at the light blue tint the blade held.

  “That was my mother’s sword, the last belonging I have of hers.”

  Zachariah’s words brought a light tremble to Eliza; something so precious was not to be broken, and she feared it might not withstand their practice.

  “Do not fear that blade; it is made of adamantite and will not break.” He smiled in a way that left Eliza uncomfortable. “Now come at me; show me how you think fighting goes!”

  Eliza hesitated a moment, uncertain of whether or not she should attack him as her father had taught her and reveal the truth to Zachariah. She did not trust him; he was too close to his cousin, it seemed. She was offered no choice, though, as Zachariah grew impatient and was upon her instantly with just enough time for her to parry his first blow, directly overhead. Eliza deftly maneuvered her new blade so his heavy-handed blow slid off the side with ease, as though greased, while surprising him in her quick work and leaving him open for her to bury the pommel of his mother’s beautiful sword into his cheek. Sidestepping his fall, she watched Zachariah catch himself before landing on his face with one free hand and flipping himself up and over. Eliza watched in amazement at his physical ability before putting herself into the stance her father had taught her. Zachariah stood in profile before her, checking his jaw and spitting out blood.

  “No training, was it?” His eyes were filled with vigor rather than the dead-eyed expression he had been impressing upon her, and Eliza could only smile somewhat nervously in response. She watched as Zachariah circled halfway around her before taking his own stance and properly engaged her.

  A full year and five months passed in this manner, always returning to the same spot to train three hours a day, and the hardship Zachariah had borne towards Eliza faded. Over that year, Reegan become more violent in his responses not only to Zachariah, but within the last three months to Eliza as well. Reegan tasked Zachariah to be her teacher and bodyguard, always to be by her side and protect her.

  Pearl and Eliza’s friendship was slow to blossom, but Eliza began to cherish and rely upon it.

  “I wish I could train with Zachariah,” Pearl complained for the hundredth time; Eliza was certain it was that many.

  “No, be thankful you will never experience the training he provides, Pearl.” Eliza, freshly fourteen, sat soaking her hands in a bowl of hot water, laced with peppermint and salts that Mrs. Deboan guaranteed would heal Eliza’s wounds and ease the pain. As much of a crone as she appeared, Mrs. Deboan was not entirely without empathy, and her concern for Eliza had grown over time. Eliza had proven a most apt pupil in all her studies, lacking nothing, which pleased Mrs. Deboan and kept her on the pleasant side. She had only ever once shown her dark nature when Eliza had fallen ill, and Mrs. Deboan had not recognized the signs of the illness. The winter before Eliza finally collapsed, fever burning her from the inside out after Mrs. Deboan had freshly scolded Eliza and switched her palms. At the time Eliza had not considered if such actions by the woman were even permitted, and she refused to inquire after waking from the illness as Mrs. Deboan was tending to Eliza with tears in her eyes.

  While word had spread of Lord Reegan bearing down on the old woman so severely—all the staff were certain she would die of a heart attack then and there—she had survived and since that time never raised her hand to Eliza again. Now, the tables were turning, and Reegan had been unleashing violent episodes against Eliza. Never directly striking her, he always tore apart her room or whatever room he could find her in. The one salvation she found was in her late night visits to the lake she had been sneaking out to enjoy, the very same place she and Zachariah trained daily. She had taken to swimming in the lake in the darkest of night, being reminded of her home and swimming in the waters off the shore.

  Always certain she had not been followed, it was the only time she found freedom. Constantly she wrote to her mother and father, but the letters in return had become fewer, the most recent having been opened before reaching her hand. The trespasser had not even bothered to conceal it, leaving her feeling violated. Though she knew she should not be surprised by the violation of what little privacy she had, she did not speak on the matter. Tonight she knew she would escape as usual, ride Harriet, her beloved silvered mare, and free her heart for what little time she could risk.

  “I wish he would just notice me, then.” Pearl puckered her face, appearing sad but too childish for her age.

  “Why would you want that? He’s cold and apparently takes a liking to no woman.”

  Pearl scoffed her indignation. “I am not just any woman! I am from a noble family, and why shouldn’t he?”

  Eliza gave her a consoling glance. Pearl was not plain by any means with large brown eyes, thick black hair, and a figure Eliza was beginning to wonder if she would ever have herself. Yet, with all that, Pearl was immature for her age, self-centered, her nose a little too upturned, and her face a bit too small to accommodate her beautiful eyes, seeming a surreal image. However, Eliza did know Pearl was also prone to moments of true selflessness, but she kept that to herself and Eliza. She would often help others without acceptance of any recognition, specifically the girls suffering in the surrounding towns. Eliza wondered at the refusal to accept any praise for such actions, but Pearl always responded, “What value do such deeds have if I constantly seek praise?” True enough, Eliza had accepted.

  “In whatever his reasoning, it is his loss if he misses out on the wonderful Pearl I know!” Eliza smiled warmly at her friend.

  “Yes, it is his loss!” Pearl stood abruptly from her chair. “I have reached my womanhood as of a year ago. Offers have been coming in, and he should know that everything my family and myself have to offer will not be available for much longer.” Pearl stated her facts firmly, fearlessly, before turning to exit.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” Eliza called after the other girl, not wanting to leave the healing waters.

  “I’m going to go tell that…that cod to his face!”

  Eliza felt herself visibly pale. Zachariah had learned in the past year and a half to maintain better manners, yet he had mentioned on more than one occasion his great dislike for Pearl. He hated her being near, asking Eliza many times why she kept the brat near.

  “Pearl that would be most unwise, and very unladylike!” Eliza blurted out the words, stopping Pearl in her attempted swift exit.

  Turning slowly, her complexion fit for her name, she cocked her head ever so slightly to reinforce her determination. “I will say what I must with all the qualities a lady of a noble family has ever shown, Eliza.” Then she turned and strode out of the room, with as much grace as the clumsy, angry girl of fifteen could muster.


  “Ugh.” Eliza dreaded what was to come but still pulled her aching hands from the water and dried them quickly, rushing to catch Pearl before the impending meltdown that was to ensue. She didn’t have to go far before discovering she was too late. With Reegan gone to review losses from a recent pillage on the borders of their land, many of the servants had been lax in their duties, thus leaving the hallways mostly empty.

  “…there have already been three offers of marriage.” Whatever bravado Pearl had possessed in her swift departure, it had just as quickly dissipated when faced with Zachariah and his unreadable expression.

  “Then I must congratulate you on such excellent fortune, Miss Pearl.” He always called her that, and it had always irked her.

  Eliza pulled herself back, afraid to intervene as she watched Pearl’s cheeks turn a deep red.

  “I have not accepted any of the offers, mind you. I have been hoping for at least one more to be made…” Her voice was on the brink of cracking as she refused to look Zachariah in the eyes, and Eliza felt her own heart break for Pearl.

  “Oh? Who else? The names you provided are of all the eligible men I can recall nearby. Are you expecting someone from outside Lord Reegan’s land? I don’t imagine your parents—”

  Pearl thrust her chin and eyes up, anger brimming as a storm behind that deep brown. “I mean you, Zachariah!”

  She must have caught Zachariah most unaware, as he faltered to answer her declaration. Tears were beginning to well up at their barrier lines as she waited for his answer, any answer.

  “Miss Pearl—” he began, before being cut off.

  “Pearl, I am simply Pearl, please.” Her voice held a pleading that was, as she knew, unladylike.

  Zachariah grimaced. “Miss Pearl, I have no plans of such actions. You will undoubtedly make a fine wife and lady of whatever home you choose, but I cannot be such a one.”

  The façade Pearl had been desperately clinging to crumbled under his rejection. “Why not?” A sniffle escaped, and Eliza thanked whatever God was watching for keeping the halls as empty as they had remained.