THROUGH A DARK GLASS
by
Barb Hendee
Genre: Historical Fantasy
Pub
Date: 1/9/2018
On her seventeenth birthday, Megan of
Chaumont discovers she’ll be sold as a bride to the brutish
Volodane family—within hours. Her father grants only that she may
choose which one of the ruthless, grasping lord's three sons she
weds:
Rolf, the eldest: stern, ambitious, and
loyal?
Sebastian, the second son: sympathetic,
sly, and rebellious?
Or Kai, the youngest: bitter, brooding,
and proud?
As shy, horrified Megan flees the
welcome dinner for her in-laws-to-be, she finds an enchanted mirror
that will display how her life unrolls with each man, as if she were
living it out in a breath. But there is no smooth “happily ever
after” in her choices.
Deaths and honors, joys and agonies,
intrigues and escapes await her in a remote, ramshackle keep, where
these rough but complex men reveal one side and then another of their
jagged characters—and bring forth new aspects of Megan, too. But
the decisions of one teenaged marriage-pawn reverberate much farther
than any of them have guessed . . .
I
looked nothing like myself. Miriam had arranged my hair even more elaborately
and used a small round iron on the curls around my face. Then she’d put touches
of black kohl at the corners of my eyes. I wore an amber silk gown with a low,
square-cut neckline that showed the tops of my breasts. I don’t know where
she’d found the gown. It wasn’t mine, and it was much too small to have fit
Helena. I supposed my mother must have had it made at some point while
anticipating its need.
However, at the
sight of me, my father beamed. I couldn’t meet his eyes. Seating at dinner was
equally awkward with my father at the head of the table, my mother and I seated
on one side, and all four of the Volodanes seated on the other—so I had no
choice but to look at one of them when I raised my eyes from my plate of
roasted pheasant.
None of them had changed for
dinner, and with the exception of Sebastian, they all wore armor and swords.
Jarrod hadn’t bothered to shave his face and sported a dark
stubble. I could almost feel my mother’s discomfort, but she smiled and made
attempts at polite conversation.
Only Sebastian responded to her
questions about weather and wild flowers in the northern provinces. Rolf spoke
only to his father or mine. Occasionally, he glanced at me as if I already
belonged to him. I wasn’t listening to any of them. My heart pounded too loudly
in my ears. But then I did hear Rolf say something about heading back north as soon
as he and I were married.
A long pause followed, and for
the first time, I paid attention.
“It is not settled yet that she
will marry you,” my father finally responded. “Per our agreement, Megan will
choose for herself.”
Rolf’s face clouded. “I never
agreed to that. I am the eldest. She will join with me.”
Jarrod turned in his chair.
“You’ll do as I tell you! Nothing less and nothing more!”
Mother, Father, and I all
flinched at his tone and his unthinkable manner at the table. Rolf’s face went
red, and Sebastian leaned back his chair, smiling. Something about him was beginning
to strike me as sly. He clearly enjoyed his older brother’s chastisement and
discomfort.
“Now, now,” he said, dryly. “We
mustn’t seem uncouth.”
Kai ignored all this. He ignored
everything but his surroundings. His eyes were light brown like mine, and they
moved from the opulent tapestries on our walls to the peach roses in silver
vases on the table to the porcelain plates and pewter goblets.
Then for the first time, he looked directly at
me.
“I fear you’ll
find the furnishings at Volodane Hall somewhat lacking,” he said.
His voice dripped with
resentment, and I knew I’d not been wrong in my first assessment. He was angry.
His tone was not lost on my
mother, who answered him with a strained smile. “Of course, we’ll be sending
some household things with her, and Megan will give your hall a woman’s touch.”
These words made me wonder what
had happened to Kai’s mother. I’d never asked and no one had mentioned this,
but it seemed I would be the lady of their house. The very thought ensured I would
not manage to eat another bite of dinner.
Kai studied my mother evenly and
breathed out through his teeth. “Our hall won’t be good enough for her. Nothing
of us or ours will be good enough.”
Then I realized the source of his
anger. He resented the need for this bargain as much as we did. He knew that
we—and most of the noble houses—looked down upon the Volodanes, and the last
thing he probably wanted was a permanent reminder in his home of their lowly
state in comparison to ours.
“Quit!” Jarrod ordered him,
pounding one hand on the table. In obedience, Kai stopped talking and withdrew
back inside himself, ignoring everyone again.
Sebastian looked at me and raised
one eyebrow in amusement. I glanced away.
Somehow—and I never quite knew
how—we made it through the rest of dinner.
By the time my mother rose,
signifying the meal was over, my heart pounded in my ears again. I felt the
edge of my self-control slipping away and knew that I had to gain a few moments
to myself or I might possibly do or say something I’d later regret.
“Please make my excuses,” I said
quietly to Mother. “I will return quickly.” She frowned briefly, but then her
face smoothed in annoyed understanding, and I realized she most likely thought
I needed to relieve myself. I didn’t care what she thought.
Turning, I fled the dining hall
as fast as I could without running. Upon reaching the passage that led toward
the kitchens, I couldn’t stop myself and broke into a run, racing in my heavy
silk skirts until I reached an open archway in one side of the passage, just a
few doors from the entrance to our kitchens.
There, I took refuge in an old,
familiar hiding place.
As a child, I’d come to this
storage room whenever I didn’t wish to be found. It was filled with crates,
casks, and places to hide. No one ever entered except servants from the
kitchens, and none of them ever noticed me secreted away behind a stack of
crates.
I hadn’t come here in years, but
now, I breathed in relief at the respite of solitude and the illusion of
safety.
Slowly, I sank to my knees.
As we were expecting a delivery
of goods any day now, the storage room was nearly half-empty. I didn’t even
attempt to hide behind crates or casks, as I knew I’d have to return to the
hall long before anyone came looking me. A dismal prospect.
What was I going to do? I
couldn’t face the thought of my life married to any of those men. Until this
afternoon, I’d never faced the prospect of marriage at all . . . but to one of
them? I was not a weeper. My parents had never allowed such an indulgence, and
I honestly wasn’t aware I knew how to cry, but tears came to my eyes and one
dripped down my cheek. The water in my eyes made the following moment even more
uncertain than it might have been.
The air in the storage room
appeared to waver. Alarmed, I wiped away my tears, but the motion of the
wavering air grew more rapid, and then...something solid began taking shape.
Jumping up to my feet, I gasped.
There, near the
far wall across the storage room, a great three-paneled mirror now stood where
there had been only empty air an instant before. The thick frames around each
panel were of solid pewter, engraved in the image of climbing ivy vines. The
glass of the panels was smooth and perfect, and yet I didn’t see myself looking
back.
Instead, I found myself staring
into the eyes of a lovely dark-haired woman in a black dress. Her face was pale
and narrow, and she bore no expression at all. But there she was, inside the
right panel gazing out me. Was I going mad? Had my parents driven me mad?
“There is nothing to fear,” the
woman said in a hollow voice.
I doubted that statement. I
feared for my sanity, but as yet, I’d not found my voice to answer her.
“You are at a crossroad,” she
continued, “with three paths.” As she raised her arms, material from her long
black sleeves hung down. “I am bidden to give you a gift.”
Here, sadness leaked into her
voice, especially at the word “bidden,” and my mind began to race. Was this
truly happening?
“You will live out three outcomes
. . . to three different choices,” she said. “Lives with men . . . connected by
blood. Then you will have the knowledge to know . . . to choose.”
I shook my head. “Wait! What are
you saying?”
Lowering both hands to her sides,
she said, “The first choice.”
Before I could speak again, the
storage room vanished. Wild fear coursed through me as the world went black for
the span of a breath, and then suddenly I found myself back in my family’s
dining hall, only everything was different.
Chairs had been set up in rows,
and guests were seated in them. I wore a gown of pale ivory and held my
father’s arm as he walked me past the guests toward the far end of the hall. Flowers
in tall vases graced that same end, and a local magistrate stood there with a
book in his hands.
Beside the magistrate stood Rolf,
wearing his armor and his sword.
Turning, he looked at me in grim
determination.
He was waiting.
Barb Hendee is the New York
Times bestselling author of The Mist-Torn Witches series. She is
the co-author (with husband J.C.) of the Noble Dead Saga. She holds a
master’s degree in composition/rhetoric from the University of
Idaho and currently teaches writing for Umpqua Community College. She
and J.C. live in a quirky two-level townhouse just south of Portland,
Oregon.
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