White: Emala's Story (Ragoru Beginnings Book 1)

  White

  A Dystopian World Alien Romance

  S.J. Sanders

  ©2019 by Samantha Sanders

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without explicit permission granted in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction intended for adult audiences only.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Epilogue 2

  Author’s Note

  Other Works by S.J. Sanders

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Sometimes, Emala thought her mother hated her. It was in the hard way her mother’s eyes would focus on her in the frenzy of grief. Emala was not the child she wanted. She was conceived in a hateful union forced on her mother, and in moments like these Jaryna would never let her forget it. Not when she was lost in the shadows of her past, speaking to the specters of those whom she’d loved.

  “Gone...” her mother rasped. “My loves. Tarel, Mek, Verol, why did you leave me alone in this terrible world? I would rather have gone into the shadows of the Hall of the Fathers at your side with our rog in my arms than bear him being snatched from my womb and replaced with the seed of another male. Why?” she moaned.

  Emala blinked back tears. Crying never helped. Jaryna would wake from her episode and not remember any of this. Her grief would only increase her mother’s anguish. No matter what she said in her bouts of madness, she loved her.

  “At it again, is she?” a hard voice questioned from behind her. Emala fought back the urge to shiver. She didn’t even have to look to know that her stepfather had entered the room. Still, she turned to properly greet him as he required of her.

  Swallowing back her nausea, she brushed a kiss against his creased cheek and stepped back. “Good morning, Erik,” she mumbled.

  Her stepfather beamed at her as always, and yet the smile never seemed to reach his cold eyes. They were hard as they roamed over her, as if calculating her worth. He made an intimidating sight, standing well over six feet tall and as broad-chested as any seasoned huntsman. He’d accumulated his wealth through that profession until he’d been able to retire and ascend to the council. Shortly afterward, he’d acquired her mother.

  To Emala, it had seemed like a blessing at the time. Her mother had murdered Emala’s father when she could no longer withstand his abuse. Some might not have agreed that it was justified. The people of the Citadel saw Lord Marshal as benevolent when he offered to wed her after the slaying of Jaryna’s forbidden Ragoru mates, but they did not see the darkness. Perhaps it was thanks to the mercy of the gods that no other children had been born, but her mother’s inability to provide a son after Emala’s birth had driven the lord to crueler acts as he ignored his daughter as a useless inconvenience. People attributed his indifference to Emala as reasonable disappointment because she wasn’t considered a suitable heir.

  Lord Marshal, seen as a fair and generous councilman, had been well-loved within the Citadel. It was no wonder that the citizens had rallied against her mother after his death. Emala still remembered the crowd on that day. Still a child, she watched in horror as women—and those few men who decided to attend—screamed for Jaryna’s blood. She’d been terrified of the mob, and yet they’d all respectfully stood aside when Erik entered the courtroom.

  He’d stepped into the room with the presence of a respected huntsman, despite his retirement and graduation to Master status. She’d been in awe of the absolute power he seemed to command so effortlessly. To Emala, he’d been a savior. His eyes had swept over Jaryna and Emala, thoughtful and piercing, before announcing that he would take them under his care. There had been a loud burst of dissent but not one person moved to stop him as he swept them under his cape and escorted them to his manor.

  Emala had worshipped the man as a hero for years, despite her mother’s cautionary tales of huntsmen and their tendency toward great evil. Emala told herself that he was a rare huntsman, noble rather than cruel, for never had he so much as raised a hand to either of them. She imagined that his chilly nature was simply stoic grandeur not unlike brave knights from fairy tales of long ago. He was never sentimental or warm toward her and her mother, but he also never failed to provide for them, and his remoteness inspired her youthful imagination even more.

  Then something changed. It happened that, as she entered the cusp of womanhood, she started to notice that his actions were calculated and served his own purposes rather than genuine displays of kindness. To her dismay, when she began to bloom into her maturity, his eyes began to linger on her longer and more frequently with a sense of purpose. All at once, his impatience with his wife seemed to increase as the days passed.

  He turned to her mother, now cowering silently from where she was crouched on the floor, a curl of disgust on his lips. He waived over a nurse to distribute a tonic that Emala knew would make her mother sleep. He always had Jaryna dosed whenever her memories overtook her, preferring his wife to sleep rather than to grieve. Once, Emala had admired it and had seen it as mercy, but now she only saw it as a cold-hearted dismissal.

  “Help your mother into her bed. Once she is settled, come see me,” he said, his hand gripping Emala’s jaw as he swept his thumb over her bottom lip. “Today is a very special day. You are no longer a child by the laws of the Citadel. A very special day, indeed.” He dropped his hand. “We have much to discuss about your future. You are a beautiful young woman now, and in need of protection. Come to my office as soon as you are finished here.”

  With another dismissive glance at her mother, Erik spun around and exited as silently as he had entered. The elderly nurse picked up her small bag and trailed behind him like an obedient dog. Emala watched until the door shut behind them.

  Shivering where she stood, her entire body betrayed her terror now that he was gone. Emala turned to face her mother and found the woman standing beside the bed, trembling as she looked at the mirror. Jaryna waved her over as she leaned into the bed. The medicine was already taking effect.

  Biting her bottom lip, she tried not to cry at how frail her mother looked. How had she not noticed the way the life seemed to slowly seep out of her mother as the years passed? There was little that remained of what she’d been when Emala was young. Even when they came to Erik’s house ten years ago, her mother had still been considered one of the most beautiful women in the Citadel, despite her transgressions.

  Erik had once looked at her mother with at least a glimmer of pride over his possession, even if it had been impossible to gaze upon his wife with affection. The halls had once echoed with the grunting sounds of the only pleasure he took from possessing his wife. That too was in the past. Everyone in the manor—Emala included— knew it had been two years since he visited his wife’s chamber. Her
mother was discarded, and now Emala noticed that the woman was withering before her eyes, a husk of her former self.

  Tenderly, she helped her mother into bed and tucked the cool bedlinens around her. She bent down to place a kiss on her mother’s cheek when a hand like the talons of a raptor encircled her wrist with unusual strength. Startled, Emala recoiled and looked down at her mother. The woman stared up at her, the whites of her eyes large around the glassy green iris. Her thin body shuddered as tears began to pool in her eyes.

  “My poor baby girl, born into the world at the wrong time, sired by the wrong male. You should have been Tarel’s young. How he would have loved you and doted on you, even as I love you so dearly. It’s my fault, you see. I should have been more careful. No one should have known. Our family line is meant for the Ragoru. And now all our Ragoru kin are dead, my mates are gone...”

  “Mama, I love you too. But I don’t understand...”

  Jaryna’s hand tightened. “Emala, you are not meant to be the bride of the huntsmen. Erik will keep you in hope of siring sons of their infernal tribe. What he couldn’t succeed with me, he will force on you. You must run, sweet baby. Run far away from here, over the mountains and into the great woods.”

  “Mama, you know they will catch me. Erik knows everything.”

  “The mirrors,” her mother hissed, her voice never rising above a whisper. “Erik has old technology from the before time in the mirrors. He sees us through them. Avoid the mirrors. Cover them or break them if you need. As long as he cannot see you in the mirrors you will be able to escape.”

  “I cannot leave you. They will kill you.”

  Her mother chuckled sadly. “My darling child, I am already dead. I died the day they killed my mates. I’ve just been waiting for my body to follow.” She sighed wearily. “I am tired, Emala. I miss my mates. I look forward to seeing them again. I can rest peacefully with them knowing that you are safe. You are the only good thing to come from all these years of misery. The gods have a reason for not taking me sooner—it was for you. Now, go find your destiny.”

  The hand loosened and slipped from her wrist and Emala watched as her mother’s eyes closed in slumber. She tucked Jaryna’s hand beneath the blankets and stood.

  “Lord Erik is waiting, Miss,” a soft voice called from the door.

  A round-faced girl, not much older than Emala, hesitated at the edge of the doorway. Emala recognized her; she was her mother’s personal servant. She was also one of several serving girls whose company Erik had been enjoying while Jaryna’s health diminished. Part of her wanted to be angry at the girl for taking her mother’s place, but the larger part of her wanted to thank her for sparing her mother from any more of his attentions and demands. The girl chewed her lip and glanced aside shyly, unable to meet her eyes. No doubt she knew exactly why Erik wanted an audience with her. Servants knew everything. The girl’s eyes strayed to her mother and she saw concern and affection in that gaze.

  Emala stepped beside her as if to pass but then leaned in and gripped the girl’s arm and quietly beseeched her.

  “Please, if you have any love for my mother, tell me—what does Erik have planned?”

  The servant swallowed nervously and nodded so slightly that if Emala hadn’t been standing so close she might have missed it.

  “Lord Erik, he wishes for you in your mother’s place. He is planning a formal ceremony at the end of this holy week.”

  “What of my mother?” she hissed.

  The maid shook her head. “Your mother knows of his plans. He will have her murdered and place the blame on a rogue Ragoru infiltrating Wayfairer Citadel. She plans to outwit him with her own suicide as soon as you are safely free.”

  “I cannot allow that!”

  The maid gripped the hem of her sleeve tightly. “You have to, Miss. It is your mother’s wish. I am loyal to your mother. Do not worry. She will not be alone when she passes from this world.”

  “Why? Why are you willing to do this?”

  “Your mother, Miss, she took care of me when a sickness ravaged the Citadel and my family could not. She, in fact, provided me with my first work here. I care for her as I would my own mother. And she loves you so. She asked me to make sure that you are safely free of our lord the night you turned twenty, the age of majority.”

  “You will help me escape?”

  “I will. I swear upon my mother and father of the Underhill Thieves Guild. My family may be thieves, but we take our oaths seriously. Meet me tonight in the hall behind the library. I can take you out of the manor through the servant tunnels. He cannot see us there. I know an underground route through the city and can get you beyond the Citadel walls. Then I will return to your mother once I know you are free from the city.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You must be careful, Miss. Trust no human you meet on your journey. The huntsmen are deceptive and deadly, and the merchants on the wild routes will snatch you up as their prize. You will be lost in the woods among the feral men and the terrible monsters of the forest, but they are nothing compared to the monstrosities of men.”

  “I will remember your words,” Emala said with a nod.

  “Good. Now, go see Erik before he grows suspicious, and leave me to your mother’s care.”

  “Thank you. What is your name?”

  “Mari,” she said as she slipped away to Jaryna’s side.

  Emala watched them for a minute, her heart softening with regret as she watched the girl gently tend to her mother’s prone form as if she were caring for a newborn babe. She should have known Mari’s name long ago. She should have seen the love and devotion, should have known something besides her absorption in her own misery. She could have been like a sister to her.

  Emala felt weighed down by all the should haves and could haves in her life.

  Now it was too late to remedy any of it.

  Whispering her thanks, Emala slipped into the hallway and hurried to the library where Erik was waiting. Mari was right; Erik was not a patient man. If she were to escape tonight, she’d have to satisfy his ego and assuage any suspicion. No matter what it took, she would be free. But her heart tightened at the thought that she wouldn’t have another moment alone with her mother to say goodbye. That moment had passed, but she would always hold her mother’s final words of love close to her heart.

  Chapter 2

  Emala clasped her hands behind her back as she stood in front of Erik’s desk. It was obviously an antique from the early years of the Citadel. It had the grand lines that carpenters seldom seemed able to achieve in their manufacturing anymore. She’d heard servants complain to each other about having to kneel beneath the desk and polish every inch of it by hand. A servant approached from the right with a teapot and a cup on a saucer with an assortment of sweets, which she set beside a smooth round mirror near his elbow. He didn’t even glance at the maid.

  “Leave it, and give us some privacy,” he snapped, sending the woman scurrying for the door. It closed behind her with a quiet snick. “Sit, Emala.”

  Without commenting, she stepped up to one of the chairs in front of the desk and quickly sat in it, putting her at eye level with Erik.

  He set his fountain pen down next to his correspondence and folded his hands together on the desk as he focused on her. It took everything she had not to fidget under the weight of his gaze. The smile that tugged at his lips didn’t go anywhere near reaching his eyes, which made it worse. She would have preferred that he had not bothered to make the attempt. “I see a woman before me who was once a child I took into my care. You have truly grown into a beautiful woman, Emala,” he said in a low voice as one hand disappeared into a drawer of his desk. He set a carved wooden box in front of her. “Happy twentieth birthday.”

  Emala swallowed and glanced questioningly at the box. “Is that for me?”

  “It is a very special gift for a very special young lady on her most important birthday.”

  She laughed in a practiced,
airy manner. “It is no more special than any other birthday. As always, you are truly too good to me to mark the occasion.”

  As expected, Erik’s smile became more indulgent as he nudged the box toward her. “You are twenty now, a woman by the laws of our citadel. Of course it is special. Open your gift, Emala,” he purred.

  There was a force behind his tone that made her recognize the order when she heard it.

  With an uneasy smile, Emala reached out and pulled the box forward. Her stomach lurched as she looked down at it. This was no simple gift to a beloved stepdaughter on her birthday. She hadn’t even opened it yet and knew it was going to be expensive, much more than what was seemly. The top was ornate, hand carved with numerous flowers and butterflies. Her fingers felt almost numb as she steadied the box with one hand and flipped the golden latch with the other. She could feel his eyes on her as she lifted the lid.

  Her breath caught in her throat, coming close to strangling her. On a velvety bed of fabric, an ornate gold pendant of flowering vines hung from a chain. Nestled in the heart of each gold flower sat a flawless diamond. In the center of the pendant, framed by the brilliant vines, a sizeable opal rivaling any she’d seen even among the noblewomen cast rainbows along its pale surface.

  It was worth a fortune. A gift for a... bride.

  “Erik... It is lovely,” she choked out as she forced herself to smile down at it.

  Her stepfather chuckled and she heard the rough sound of his chair legs scraping across the floor as he pushed it back and walked to her side. A tanned hand reached in front of her and plucked the necklace from the box. It dangled in front of her, shimmering in the light of the rare electric lamps in the room. She sat still as he swung it gently around her neck, the heavy, cold pendant sliding between her breasts when he secured the clasp. He caressed the nape of her neck as he lingered and then he stepped back, admiration in his regard.

  “It complements you beautifully, Emala, just as I knew it would. Hair dark as a raven’s wing and complexion as pale as snow, you are a study, my dear, in a contrast of extremes. The opal brings out the color in your vivid green eyes. And these flowers here are from my family’s crest. I knew that no other woman but you would be worthy of it.”