To Whatever End (Echoes of Imara Book 1) (6 page)

Daro ran his fingers along her temple and down to her neck. She met his eyes and smiled. “You need to wipe that grin off your face,” she said and gave him a playful nudge. “Edson will be looking for you soon and you can’t go out looking like that.”

“Looking like what?” He brushed his hair back from his face. Giving her another lazy smile, he traced his finger across her collarbone again. A knock at the door made Cecily start and she felt her face flush.

Daro narrowed his eyes at her. “What?” he asked with a laugh. “Your aristocratic sensibilities come out at the funniest times. We’re married, love. We have been for a while now and I’m pretty sure everyone knows it.” He gave her a knowing look.

She tried to brush him off as he went to answer the door. “I know. The knock just startled me a little.”

He raised his eyebrows and smiled before he opened the door. Edson was waiting on the other side and his eyes went wide when he caught sight of Cecily. He stared at her openly for a moment before Daro gave an exaggerated cough.

Edson blinked before he regained his composure. He walked in the room, nodding to Daro, and approached Cecily. He took her hand in his and bowed forward, gently brushing her fingers with his lips. Releasing her hand, he paused with just the slightest hesitation, his eyes flicking up to the ceiling. “Lady Imaran, it pleases me greatly to make your acquaintance this morning,” he said finally.

“Well done, Edson. That was very proper.”

Daro gave Cecily a wicked smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Cecily looked far too tempting in that dress.” He winked at Edson, then looked back at Cecily, sizing her up like a predator would his prey.

Her mouth dropped open. “Daro!” she said and felt her face flush anew. These things were simply not for open conversation, and she didn’t care if he thought it was her stuffy aristocratic manners showing.

Daro laughed and patted a rather uncomfortable-looking Edson on the back. Turning back to Cecily, he asked, “Do you want us to see you to the bridge?”

She glared at him for a few more seconds before answering. “No, I arranged for a carriage.”

He walked back to stand in front of her and gently ran his hands up and down her arms. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he asked.

She met his eyes and smiled with resignation. “No, I’ll be fine.”

He nodded and kissed her before leading Edson out the door, on their way to attend to their first day of business in the city.

Cecily took a deep breath and steeled herself for her first task of the day, then made her way outside to await her carriage, secretly hoping her family might be out of the city when she called.

***

The carriage ride wasn’t long and as it slowed to a stop, Cecily felt her heartbeat quicken. Her stomach was tight and she chided herself for being so agitated. This had been her home; it shouldn’t send her into such spasms of anxiety. With all she’d faced in the war, it seemed ridiculous that a simple visit to her own family would be cause for such trembling.

She took another deep breath as a footman opened the carriage door. He took her hand and helped her down the step onto the walk in front of her family estate.

Although situated in the heart of Halthas, her childhood home gave the impression of a country manor. A large, imposing building bordered by trees and large shrubbery on all sides, it was isolated from the surrounding cityscape. Stone steps led up to the oversized double wooden doors. Cecily had bounded up and down those steps countless times in her youth, greeting friends and relatives who came to call.

She had sent word early that morning so that her parents would be expecting her but wouldn’t have time to prepare much of a spectacle. She thought back to the earliest days of her marriage, when she hadn’t been welcome here at all. It had been a bit of a relief to know she simply needn’t see them. There were no decisions to be made or guilt for not visiting. But after the war, when her name had spread amongst the ranks of the heroes, her family had rescinded their disownment and publicly boasted of their famous daughter. She knew her parents saw her as a means to furthering their own cause, and it dug deep.

She gave instructions to the footman to bring Daro’s chest inside. It was exquisitely crafted, the dark wood inlaid with light in a pattern of curved lines weaving in and out of each other. She chose it because it was so distinctly Daro’s design. Any one of her family’s acquaintances who were familiar with his work would recognize the craftsmanship. Plus, it was large and worth a hefty price. Her mother would be unable to refuse such an extravagant gift without seriously violating the rules of propriety.

She carefully picked up her skirt as she walked up the steps, and another footman opened the door. She felt herself falling back into her noble posture with ease, her left elbow bent as if waiting for an escort to take her arm, her right hand clutching her skirt with the tips of her fingers. Part of her wanted to rebel, to come calling in her normal clothes, her hair undone. She’d done just that, in her first visits after the war. She hadn’t the strength or patience to pretend to be Cecily Graymere anymore. But she’d learned over the last few years how to make her visits more cordial, and therefore more tolerable. Dressing up and putting on aristocratic manners seemed to improve her mother’s mood.

“Milady,” the footman said as he led her into the sitting room. “Lady Graymere will receive you shortly.” A few refreshments sat on a gleaming silver tray. The room was pleasantly warm and Cecily had to suppress a chuckle. Her parents had installed a hearthstone in their fireplace. Similar to the glowstones everyone used for light, hearthstones were an Imaran wonder, something even the most skilled Halthian Wielders at the Lyceum had been unable to duplicate. They were smooth stones, fairly large and heavier than they appeared. Their mix of pale green and cream color was not particularly eye-catching, but what made them remarkable was their ability to regulate the temperature of a room. If it was cold, they emanated heat. On a warm day, they cooled the space, keeping the room at a comfortable temperature. They had been popular in Halthas for years and Cecily was sure the Imaran traders made a substantial sum for them.

Two figures appeared in the doorway and Cecily turned to greet them. Her younger sister, Liliana, bounced into the room and grasped Cecily with a squeal. She was slightly taller than Cecily, with the same dark brown hair and alabaster skin. Her cream blouse was cinched with a lavender corset, her voluminous yellow skirt arcing wide around her hips, embroidered with small birds and flowers in shades of lavender and blue. Her hair was swept up on top of her head in current Halthian fashion, held up with sparkling clips and pins topped with small pearls.

“Cecily!” she exclaimed as she gripped Cecily’s hands in her own. “It is so marvelous to see you! I wish you wouldn’t stay away so long. What a lovely dress! The colors are a little dull though, don’t you think? How long have you been in the city?”

“Liliana, please contain yourself,” the other figure in the doorway said, cutting off Liliana’s unbroken stream of chatter. Lady Martessa Graymere was a stately, imposing woman, dressed immaculately in a long burgundy-and-gold brocade overdress, with gold laces up the front and a collar of lace spilling out the top for modesty. Her gray hair was pinned back, every piece smooth and precisely in place.

Liliana stepped dutifully aside as their mother glided into the room. Cecily dipped into a low curtsy as her mother approached. Martessa reached out to grasp Cecily’s hands as she straightened, and gave her a forced smile. There had never been much warmth between Cecily and her mother. Martessa’s cold eyes glinted as she regarded her daughter, and her gaze swept the room behind them.
She’s probably making sure Daro isn’t here.

“My daughter, how lovely of you to think of us on your visit.” She squeezed her daughter’s hands and dropped them a little too abruptly.

Cecily bit back a sharp remark and smiled. “I am pleased to see you again, Mother.”

Lady Martessa swept past, lowered herself deliberately onto the edge of a chair and picked up a cup of steaming tea. She did not invite Cecily to sit. Liliana took a seat on the other side of the refreshment table. As a resident of the house, Liliana was permitted to sit without invitation. Cecily had to wait. Struggling for patience, she clasped her hands in front of her and resolved not to speak first.

Liliana seemed oblivious to the standoff in front of her. “Will Father and Royce be joining us, Mother?” she asked. “I know they’re terribly busy, but I was so hoping they would come see Cecily.”

Lady Martessa turned her chin toward her younger daughter and took a careful sip from her delicate porcelain cup. “No, Liliana, your father and brother will not be joining us this morning.”

Liliana sighed with obvious dismay. “Mother, really, they must have time for this. We’re just having a bit of tea.”

Martessa’s jaw clenched. “That will be enough, Liliana.”

Cecily rarely saw her father and older brother. Her Lord Ellis Graymere had been largely absent even when she was still in the family’s good graces, frequently engaged with the family’s business dealings. Her brother Royce had never forgiven her for marrying Daro and leaving the Lyceum. He treated her with cold indifference whenever he saw her.

Finally, Martessa motioned for Cecily to sit. Cecily nodded to her mother, determined to remain the picture of decorum, and sat down on the edge of a chair, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

“Well, then,” her mother continued, appearing to have decided some conversation was in order. “How is your health?”

My health?
“I’m well, thank you for asking,” she answered, not quite sure how else to answer the question. Liliana took a cup of tea and sipped it, peeking out over the top of the porcelain.

Martessa motioned for her servant to hand Cecily a cup of tea and continued. “Good. And you are still living out in”—she paused and waved one hand around idly—”wherever it is you live?”

“Near Norgrost Keep,” she answered.

“Yes, yes,” she said with a dismissive flit of her hand. “Did you hear that Calden Dover recently completed his training at the Lyceum?”

Cecily tried to look interested but wondered how her mother thought she would hear about the minutiae of the Halthian court. The Dovers were another noble family and had always been close allies of the Graymeres, but she couldn’t recall Calden specifically.

“I don’t suppose you remember him,” Martessa continued. “It has been quite some time since you left the Lyceum so rashly. I don’t know how you ever expected that scandal to subside. You had everyone talking about it for months.”

Cecily willed herself not to roll her eyes. “Yes, Mother, I realize that. We’ve spoken of this before, I’m sure you recall.”

“We saw the Dovers recently and Calden spoke very highly of his experience at the Lyceum,” Martessa said.

“I’m pleased to hear that.”

“Unlike yours, I suppose,” Martessa said. “As if you were too good for the Lyceum. You were their star student in your day. I still can’t fathom how you could throw that all away to run off and marry that Imaran.”

Cecily let out a small sigh. Her mother complained about her leaving the Lyceum and ranted about her choice of husband on almost every visit.

Martessa continued. “Your father is arranging a match between Liliana and Calden. He is set to inherit his father’s title and has very strong prospects.”

Liliana nearly bounced in her seat, her eyes bright with excitement. Cecily smiled at her sister. “Lily, that is wonderful news.”

“Yes, well, fortunately your sister has enough sense to agree to a suitable marriage. We had hoped to improve the family’s fortunes with a match for you, but apparently the prince was not good enough.”

Cecily’s neck tightened. “That was a long time ago.”

Martessa’s eyes narrowed. “It may have been years ago, but a marriage to a prince is not something one can simply throw away.”

She sighed, some of her frustration leaking into her voice. “Prince Pathius is dead, as is his father. Rogan is king now. What do you think would have become of me if I had married him?”

Martessa pressed her lips into a thin line. “Perhaps things could have turned out differently.”

Cecily fumbled with her cup and nearly dropped her tea in her lap. “Mother, Prince Pathius went missing during the war. He probably died in battle. I doubt his lack of a marriage to me had anything to do with it.”

“Didn’t it? How different would things have been if you hadn’t been involved?”

Cecily’s voice hardened. “We have been over this too many times to count. I didn’t start the war. Hadran did. You have no idea what he was really like. All you saw were the parties and processions, the face he showed the world. Hadran was awful, Mother, and Pathius was probably just as bad. I got involved in the war against him because I had to do what I felt was right. Even that didn’t make up for the things I did before, all in Hadran’s name.” Her voice trailed off and she turned away. She didn’t want to think about that.

Martessa clicked her tongue. “Such dramatics. I only meant a prince is a good choice for a husband. Pity Rogan has no sons. He certainly has a long line of women waiting for the chance to be his wife. He isn’t too old yet, you know. Are you still on friendly terms with the king? You should urge him to settle on a wife. A single man as king is unseemly.”

Cecily sighed and let the matter drop. She had argued with her mother too many times about the Lyceum and the war. Once she had even tried to tell her mother the truth. Cecily had been handpicked by the former King Hadran to enter the Lyceum of Power, a secretive wing of the institution. They had helped her hone her Wielding abilities, but Hadran had expected her to use them for his own dark ends. Eventually, Cecily had been unable to stomach the tasks she was given, and she’d left the Lyceum completely. Her mother had brushed off her explanation, choosing to believe Cecily had only left to marry Daro.

She blinked as she realized her mother was watching her. “I brought you something,” she said in an effort to change the subject. Her mother’s eyes lit up in surprise. “I had the footmen bring it in when I arrived.”