The Sword by Deborah Chester

Author:Deborah Chester [Chester, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy - General
Published: 2010-12-14T05:00:00+00:00

13

Far away in lower Mandria, a ponderous carriage halted on a low rise, and the Duc du Lindier pulled aside the leather curtain buttoned over the window. “Look, my dear,” he said excitedly.

Pheresa’s gloved hands clenched tightly in her lap for a moment, but she allowed none of her discomposure to show in her face. Obediently she leaned forward to gaze out the window. One trailing end of her veil fell from her shoulder and dangled. Ignoring it, she gripped the edge of the carriage window and peered out at her future.

The air was mild and a rainy drizzle misted down, casting the world in shades of hazy gray. She saw that they had halted in a wooded park of pleasing scope. Venerable old chestnut trees, their knotty trunks furred with pale moss, spread broad limbs that nearly touched the ground in places. Autumn-blooming cegnias massed at the base of these trees, their fragrant blossoms vivid pink in hue. A carpet of low-growing blue vineca meandered through the park like a road to enchantment. Perky yellow difelias bloomed in scattered clumps. A stream, lined with rounded stones, rushed and gurgled in a course parallel with the winding road.

“Oh!” she said in delight, forgetting her nervousness. “How lovely. I have never seen a more beautiful vista, yet how natural it looks, as though the gardener’s hand was never here.”

“Ladies and their flowers,” her father said with an indulgent chuckle. “Look beyond, my dear. There is the palace.”

Pheresa lifted her gaze to the horizon. Beyond the trees, looming through the mist, sprawled a gray mass of stone and spire. She drew in a sharp breath. “Savroix!” she whispered.

It was the size of a town, much larger than she’d expected despite all the tales she’d been told.

Pheresa blinked at it, trying to take in its size, trying to convince herself that this was indeed to be her new home. For a moment she felt lost and overwhelmed. After all, for the past nine years of her life, she had been incarcerated in the nuncery at Montreuv, cloistered there with other young maidens of the highest birth to be educated in all that was desirable and ladylike. A week past, her father had come for her. He was nearly a stranger, looking tall and thin and impatient. She wondered when his hair had turned gray. When had he acquired his limp? He’d bowed to her hastily, clearing his throat in a way she did remember, and announced, “The king wants you to come live at Savroix. Get your things ready, for I am to take you there immediately.”

Since then, Pheresa’s orderly life had become one of chaos and flurry. She’d been given scant time to pack her belongings. Whisked home, she’d tried to familiarize herself with the house and grounds, as well as the three younger sisters she’d acquired in her absence, but her mother was wild with excitement and kept her busy with fittings for gowns and all the accouterments necessary for a lady of fashion.

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