Avondale V (4 page)

Chapter 6

Olyva

She had spent the whole afternoon with a tailor and had been fitted with an elegant white gown. It wasn’t tight, but the silk fabric flowed down her tall, narrow body, accentuating each curve and ending in a spray of lace that flowed out from her knees like the billowing mist at the bottom of a waterfall.

Desyra was her maid of honor and had helped ensure everything was ready. Olyva’s favorite part of Avondale was the garden inside the palace grounds. The grass was lush but trimmed neatly, the thick hedges always perfectly groomed, and the flowers that bloomed all through the garden gave the space a wonderful fresh scent.

The wedding would be a very small affair. A priest had been summoned from the temple, and a soldier would take Tiberius’ place as Rafe’s best man. Olyva was sure that the palace was buzzing with the news of the hastily prepared wedding, so she guessed that her mother already knew what was happening, but Olyva wanted to tell her personally. The tailor and several of the earl’s own servants were seeing to Olyva’s gown and would help her get dressed, but as the sun began to set, Olyva went up to the rooms where her mother was staying.

Countess Mauryn hadn’t been seen since she had sided with Brutas. Olyva didn’t know if the earl had reprimanded her or if she was simply ashamed. Either way, Olyva was certain her mother was plotting a way to manipulate her way back into the earl’s good graces. Olyva knocked lightly on the door, and after a short pause, a palace servant opened the door. The servant was young and looked worried.

“I would like to see the countess,” Olyva said.

“Of course, Lady Olyva. Come in, please.”

The servant opened the door and stepped back. The suite that had been given over to Olyva’s mother and sisters was opulent. Bright sunlight flooded through the high windows, and the light colored plaster on the walls gave the rooms an airy feel. There were several magnificent paintings in gold frames, as well as tapestries decorating the walls. A thick rug covered most of the floor in the large central room. A fire was burning in the hearth, which Olyva avoided. Her mother was sitting in a high-backed chair facing the fire.

“Mother?” Olyva said. “May we speak?”

“Perhaps you should tell me. You’re the great lady now.”

“I don’t want to fight,” Olyva said, trying to speak in a soothing voice.

“No, I suppose you don’t. Tell me why you are here, Olyva. Has the earl sent you to proclaim my punishment?”

“Mother, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do,” the countess said. “The old fool is surely gloating after your friends somehow saved his miserable life and restored his power. He will make me suffer for siding against him, but he will not make me beg to be forgiven, no matter what horrid punishment he dreams up.”

“The earl didn’t send me,” Olyva said. “I came to tell you that Rafe and I are getting married. You are welcome to come, if you’d like. Cassandra and Frezya, as well. Desyra will be my maid of honor.”

“So, you’ll marry the help,” the countess said bitterly. “Oh, how far we’ve fallen.”

“Mother, please,” Olyva said, choking back her temper. “Rafe is not the help. He is a hero, and I love him.”

“What does love have to do with anything?” the countess said angrily. She rose so quickly the heavy chair rocked back on its thick legs. “We do not marry for love, you silly girl. If you want romance and intrigue, then take a lover—take a hundred for all I care, but do not drag our family down to your common station. We are the nobility, and you should be wed to an earl, not some soldier’s whelp.”

Olyva staggered back, tears suddenly filling her eyes. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but her mother looked at her with complete and utter loathing. Olyva wasn’t sure if it was because they had been forced to flee Hamill Keep or if it was because Olyva was changed by the Hosscum in the blighted lands, but she was sure that her mother suddenly hated her intensely.

“Never mind,” Olyva said, turning to leave the suite.

“Hurry away, darling daughter. Run back to your insipid soldier and what I’m sure will be a delightful wedding.”

The sarcasm in her mother’s voice made Olyva stop suddenly before she reached the door. The servant was standing near the door, her head down, trying to remain invisible. Olyva had lived with her mother’s constant fussing and complaining over her daughters her entire life, until she had been betrothed to Brutas and sent to Avondale. But until that moment she had always assumed that her mother was trying to forge a better life for her daughters. Now Olyva realized that her mother only cared about what her daughters could do for her.

Olyva whirled around and walked swiftly back to her mother, who seemed suddenly very unsure of herself.

“Take that back,” Olyva said quietly.

“I shall not,” the countess said.

Olyva’s hand swung around hard, slapping her mother hard across the face. Countess Mauryn was a thin woman but not weak, yet she was knocked backward by the blow. Olyva heard the sound of her sisters’ feet on the polished stone floor. She had guessed that Cassandra and Frezya would be eavesdropping, and now they were rushing to their mother’s aid. Olyva waited patiently as Frezya hurried to their mother, stooping over her and pretending to be concerned.

Cassandra came directly behind Olyva, who heard her younger sister grunt with exertion and knew that her sibling was swinging something heavy at her. Olyva ducked low and let the obstacle swing over her head. Then she kicked out with one foot, hitting Cassandra hard in the stomach and knocking the wind out of her lungs. Cassandra’s face was already red, her eyes swollen from crying. She fell hard, dropping the heavy brass candlestick when she fell.

“What are you doing?” Frezya screamed. “Guards! Guards! We’re being attacked.”

“Shut up!” Olyva said. “No one is coming to your defense. You are guests here, and only for as long as the earl allows it. You’re a fool, Mother, if you think I’ll stand by and let you insult the man I love.”

“I don’t know who you are,” the countess said in a shaky voice.

“Then let me tell you,” Olyva snarled angrily. “I’m not the spoiled little girl you used to boss around and complain about. I’m a woman with strength of my own, and if it becomes necessary, I’ll be the person leading you and the rest of Avondale to safety. I’m the daughter of a good man, and in a few hours, I’ll be married to another good man. I’m not your trophy, and I will never be your stepping stone.”

“Your father would be ashamed of you.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Olyva said. “My father, Earl Marcus of Hamill Keep, would be proud of the woman I’ve become. Your poison no longer works on me, Mother.”

“You killed our father. How dare you speak his name?” Frezya shouted.

“I dare, because I’m not afraid to,” Olyva said, then she spun on her heel and stalked out of the room.

The servant had already pulled the door open when Olyva got to it, and even though the girl’s head was bowed low, Olyva saw a smile on the younger girl’s face.

Waves of conflicting emotions crashed over Olyva as she walked slowly down the wide hallway. She felt guilty for hitting her mother and vindicated at the same time. She felt ashamed at her mother’s attitude, and yet she felt sorry for her, too. Countess Mauryn had lost everything she really cared about, first when King Leonosis had killed the earl and then taken over his body. Her loss was only compounded when she sided with Brutas, who was shown to be a usurper. But ultimately, it was her greed and vanity that caused her downfall, a fact that was not lost on Olyva, even though it made her feel tainted somehow.

She was almost to her old rooms where the tailor was waiting to help her with the dress when Desyra came running around a corner. She was so excited her face was bright red and her eyes were shining with excitement.

“Olyva! The garden is so beautiful,” she nearly shouted. “You have to see it. It’s just perfect.”

“Okay, okay,” Olyva said, giggling. “Show me everything.”

The younger girl pulled Olyva along the corridor. When they reached the gardens, Desyra stood quietly while Olyva took everything in. Fresh flowers from all around the gardens had been clipped and inserted into the dark green hedges. Long ribbons hung in curling strips from the large willow tree that was the focal point. Tall torches had been thrust into the ground, ready to fill the garden with soft firelight, and several rows of benches had been set up for spectators.

“Did you do all this?” Olyva asked her sister.

“No, I only helped. The earl’s daughters did most of it.”

Olyva heard footsteps behind her. The sound was much too quiet for a normal person to hear, but Olyva’s enhanced hearing picked up the soft sounds. She turned to find four young girls; most were closer to Desyra’s age than Olyva’s. The earl’s daughters were not given free run of the palace as Olyva had been in Hamill Keep. In fact, Olyva had only seen the girls a handful of times, and always in formal gatherings. She had never spoken to any of them.

“You did this for me?” she asked.

“Rafe’s father was like family,” said the oldest girl. “He and Tiberius were always close. It was the least we could do.”

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”

“It was our pleasure,” said another of the girls. “We don’t have weddings in the palace very often.”

“It was really just supposed to be an informal ceremony,” Olyva said as tears filled her eyes. “But I can’t imagine anything more beautiful.”

“You like it?” Desyra asked.

“I love it,” Olyva said. “It’s perfect.”

“Well, we better get you ready,” Desyra said. “It’s almost sunset already.”

“Thank you all so much,” Olyva told the earl’s daughters.

They bowed but didn’t speak, and Desyra led Olyva away once again. Back in the small rooms Olyva had shared with her maidservant Hellen before the banishment, Olyva couldn’t believe all the activity. The tailor was finishing some last-minute adjustments to her dress, and there were easily half a dozen servants waiting to help her with everything.

Her hair was brushed and combed up. Pins were used to hold it in place. It took five people to help her into the dress without messing up her hair or smudging the makeup they were carefully applying to her face. Then came the long veil. Olyva stood in front of a tall mirror admiring the way she looked as the twilight faded and Desyra announced that it was time.

“We’ll have to go slow,” Olyva said. “This dress wasn’t made for walking.”

The gown was narrow to just below the knee, forcing Olyva to take small steps. The servants hurried on ahead, and Olyva was left just with her youngest sister.

“Desyra, why are you helping me?” Olyva asked.

When she thought back to growing up in Hamill Keep, she had never given Desyra much attention. She had always seen her youngest sister as an annoying child. Desyra was still young, only fourteen years old, but that wasn’t what Olyva noticed most about her. Growing up with their mother and sisters had made Olyva a self-centered, almost paranoid person, but Desyra was different. She was optimistic, romantic, and almost selfless in her fervor for helping Olyva.

“You’re getting married,” Desyra said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“No one else is coming, you know,” Olyva said.

“The whole palace is coming,” Desyra argued.

“I mean from our family,” Olyva said. “Mother, Cassandra, Frezya—they won’t be there.”

“Father would have come,” Desyra said with a note of melancholy in her voice. “He loved you so much.”

Olyva felt tears stinging her eyes but she didn’t mind. They might smear the carefully applied makeup, but just the mention of her father made Olyva long for him intensely.

“He always told me he regretted matching you with Brutas,” Desyra said. “He was forced to do it. The city was starving. He was going to make similar matches for Cassandra and Frezya.”

“But not you,” Olyva said with a tearful smile.

“He would have liked to let me marry for love,” Desyra said. “But I wouldn’t have let him.”

“You are a strong person. And who knows? I’m marrying the man I love. Maybe you will, too.”

Desyra smiled then, and as they came around the corner, they heard music coming from the gardens. Desyra was so excited she was almost jumping up and down.

“It’s time, it’s time!” she cried.

“Wait.” Olyva took a deep breath and steadied herself.

She was ready to see Rafe, to be his wife. The future beyond the night before them was unfathomable, but she knew for certain that she would be Rafe’s wife soon, and that thought gave her great comfort.

“After tonight, I want you to help me,” Olyva told Desyra. “The earl has asked me to prepare the city to evacuate. I’ll need a lot of help, and there is no one I would love to have by my side more than you.”

“Really?” Desyra asked, her eyes wide with excitement. “You want me to help?”

“Yes,” Olyva said. “You’ve already helped me so much. Now, stay close to me. I don’t think I can take another step without you.”

“Are you afraid?” Desyra asked.

“No,” Olyva said. “Part of me wants to run to Rafe, but part of me misses Father so much I feel like breaking down. Can you take his place?”

“I’ll try,” Desyra said.

“That’s all I ask,” Olyva said, smiling through fresh tears.

Then they were walking again, stepping from the gloomy corridor of the palace into the soft, warm light of the gardens where Rafe was waiting for them.

Chapter 7

Rafe

He had been looking forward to the wedding but he had not expected so many people to be in attendance. The servants had set benches, which were crowded. The hedges were lined with people watching, and the palace balconies were overflowing. The city wall that overlooked the palace gardens were thronged with soldiers, and the earl’s personal guard were in their finest armor forming an honor guard for Rafe.

On the one hand, Rafe felt honored that so many people would show their support of him. On the other hand, it hadn’t been that long ago that the entire city was celebrating his banishment and screaming their derision at him from the top of their lungs. It was all very confusing and more than a little intimidating. He would have preferred a smaller, more intimate gathering. He knew that many of the spectators were there just for the entertainment value of the event, not because they cared about him or Olyva, but he still felt much more pressure now that so many were present to observe the ceremony.

It was also disturbing that none of Olyva’s family were present. He guessed that perhaps her mother and sisters might be with Olyva, but their absence from the crowd only made Rafe’s father’s absence that much more poignant. Grentz would have stood with his son. He would have been happy that Rafe and Olyva could be married. The pain of his father’s death was still so fresh, and he wanted to grieve, but there was simply no time. He had to tuck the loss away, pushing it down deep inside him. He knew it wasn’t a healthy option, but it was the only option he had. He didn’t want his father’s death to cast a shadow on the wedding. Rafe knew that this might be the last night of happiness he and Olyva would have.

A trio of musicians began playing, and the crowd hushed. Rafe was standing in front of the rows of benches just beneath the long, supple boughs of the willow tree, which had been tied back, forming a small, intimate archway. The priest was in grand robes, just inside the canopy created by the willow, and there were small candles burning with brightly colored paper shades that gave the tree a magical luminosity. Rafe had expected a priest and perhaps Olyva’s family. He would have been happy to have been married by a superior officer, but he was the highest ranking commander in the earl’s war band now and he guessed that made him more of a spectacle.

Earl Ageus arrived and took a seat of honor at the front. He was escorted by his daughters, and even though he was dressed in his finest clothes, Rafe noticed the look of worry in the earl’s eyes. Rafe felt that same sense of dread, although he fought to push it down, as well. The wait for Olyva seemed to last forever, and Rafe couldn’t help but fear that she might not show up at all. He wouldn’t have been shocked to discover that Olyva had a change of heart. There was certainly no benefit to marrying Rafe. Olyva didn’t even want to remain in the city. She was part of the blighted lands now and would have left Avondale with Tiberius if the earl hadn’t asked for her help.

Doubts were buzzing in Rafe’s head like an angry swarm of bees when Olyva finally appeared. His breath caught in his throat when he saw her, and a silly grin appeared on his face. Olyva looked like a queen, or at least a princess. She was tall, her hair pinned high to accentuate her long, graceful neck and high cheekbones, which Rafe could see even through the veil. The gown she wore was modest, yet it seemed to amplify the curves of her tall, athletic body. The bottom of the gown moved and rippled almost like water, dragging the ground and hiding Olyva’s root-like toes. Rafe would have been happy if Olyva were wearing a potato sack, but he was in awe of his bride in what he thought was the most beautiful gown he had ever seen.

Desyra looked happy to be walking with her sister, but Rafe didn’t see anyone else following. He guessed that Olyva’s mother and sisters didn’t approve of the marriage. He understood that, too. He knew that nobility counted for little after having lived in the blighted lands and experienced the treachery of court, but he understood that others didn’t. In fact, it was the nobility that held tightest to that elevated sense of self-importance and perpetuated the separation of classes. Rafe might be the commander of the earl’s war band, but he was not noble-born and he guessed that mattered to the countess and her other two daughters.

Olyva joined Rafe, and they made their vows, led by the priest. Then Earl Ageus gave them his blessing, making a public announcement of Rafe’s new position, the rescinding of the banishment made by Leonosis, and the renown of Rafe and Olyva’s travels through the blighted lands.

To Rafe it was all a blur. He was simply happy, and though he took part in the ceremony, all he could really think of was how beautiful Olyva looked. He preferred her in less makeup; since her change her natural appearance seemed to radiate a beauty that other women could only dream of. Still, he liked that she had been made up for the wedding. He had donned the official uniform of the Earl’s Commander. It had been his father’s, and Rafe was pleasantly surprised that it was a good fit for him now. Going through his father’s belongings would have to wait, Rafe knew that much. He wouldn’t be able to hold back the rising tide of grief when he explored what his father had left behind. The uniform had been kept in the commander’s office, which now belonged to Rafe. The possessions there were few; most of the items were military in nature and belonged to the commander of the war band, which meant they were Rafe’s now.

The palace steward had informed Rafe that a room was being prepared for them, so for one night at least, everything would be taken care of. It was a relief for Rafe, who knew the next few days and weeks would be extremely difficult. There would be no rest after this night, no time to relax in Olyva’s arms or hold her body close to his so that only their breathing would move them. Soon everything would change, Rafe knew—he just didn’t know how soon.

Rafe had just kissed Olyva, and the priest was announcing them to the crowd, who stood and cheered, none louder than the soldiers on the city walls, when the sound of a rumble made the crowd grow quiet. It was like a long roll of thunder, but it didn’t crash or abate—it only grew louder.

“What is that?” Olyva asked.

“I don’t know,” Rafe said.

Then the ground began to trembled and shake. People in the palace garden screamed, and the shaking only grew worse. Rafe grabbed Olyva tightly with one hand and Desyra with the other. They nearly ran over the priest as they backed into the shelter of the willow tree’s swaying boughs. The earl’s guards appeared from the shadows and practically carried him back into the palace.

“I’m scared!” Desyra shouted, trying to be heard over the rumble.

“Everything will be okay—just stay with me,” Rafe said, trying to reassure her.

“Addoni help us,” the priest said in a voice pitched high with fear.

“It’s the mountain,” Olyva said. “Something’s happening. I can feel it.”

“What?” Rafe asked.

“There’s movement, deep inside the mountain.”

“Movement?” Rafe asked. “How is that possible?”

“The volcano,” Olyva said. “It’s waking up.”

There was a massive hissing sound, and the rumble subsided. The shaking stopped, but the sounds of panic didn’t.

“Should we help?” Olyva asked.

“I don’t think there is anything to be done,” Rafe said. “Are we safe?”

“I think so,” Olyva said. “I can feel tremors in the ground, but they don’t seem to be dangerous.”

“Is it over?” Desyra asked.

Olyva hugged her sister. Rafe noticed that the priest looked terrified.

“We should get to the palace,” Rafe said. “You need to tell the earl what you felt.”

“If you think that’s a good idea,” Olyva said.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Rafe asked.

“I don’t know—I guess I don’t like being the bearer of bad news.”

“At least it didn’t disrupt the wedding. We’re married now.”

Olyva smiled and put a hand on Rafe’s shoulder. There was a look in her eye that Rafe liked. The sounds of panic were dying down, and the hissing noise had stopped. As they stepped out of the willow tree’s canopy, they failed to notice that many of the bright stars overhead were blotted out. Instead they hurried across the beautiful garden and into the palace.

“Not so fast,” Olyva warned Rafe. “This dress wasn’t made for running.”

“You look beautiful,” Rafe said.

“Like a princess,” Desyra said happily.

“You should go to Mother—she’ll be worried about you,” Olyva told her youngest sister.

“All right, but I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Of course. You’re going to help me, remember? Let’s meet in the feasting hall as soon as you’ve had some breakfast.”

Desyra gave her sister a big hug and then hurried away. Olyva gave Rafe another look, but this time it wasn’t romantic. He could sense the warning in her eyes.

“Is it bad?” he asked.

“This city is in danger,” Olyva said. “And there’s nothing we can do to save it.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying this mountain is going to erupt again, and when it does, there will be no more Avondale.”