Embers in the Snow: A Vampire Fantasy Romance
Anna Carven
1
FINLEY
Something must be afoot, because I’ve been summoned.
The dining room of Ruen Castle is a study in contrasts.
The tall, arched windows are filled with colorful stained glass mosaics depicting the ancestors, perpetually frozen in the midst of heroic deeds. Once the deepest shade of peacock blue, the heavy drapes are now faded like the winter sky outside.
Dust gathers in the corners. Cobwebs adorn the ceilings.
Lunch is served in the most elegant ware; the plates and bowls adorned with gilded rims, the cutlery wrought of sterling silver, the glasses made from the finest etched crystal.
It’s too bad the food doesn’t quite match the grandeur of the setting.
We’re served hard rolls of bread and a stew of ham and winter vegetables. The sauce is flavored with dried herbs and stretched with flour; more soup than meaty stew. Beside it is a concoction made from root vegetables and onions fried in lard and spoiled red wine, seasoned with copious amounts of pepper.
I can’t blame the cooks. They try their best with what they’ve been given.
My father, Baron Lucar Eravus Solisar the Third, sits at the head of the table. My stepmother, Lady Dorava Solisar, is at the other end, quietly sipping wine from a long-stemmed glass.
I’m in the middle, uncomfortable in my stiff formal gown.
My brothers are absent; they’re probably eating lunch down in the mess-hall with the knights.
I envy them. Compared to me, they have so much freedom.
Dorava wears a fur-trimmed gown of pale, greyish-blue, the hue matching her eyes. Her gaze is trained upon my father; eyes taut at the edges, mouth pressed into a thin line, expectantly waiting for him to speak.
Not once does she acknowledge me.
She’s more avoidant than usual.
Something’s definitely afoot.
I taste a spoonful of my lukewarm stew, which has the consistency of warm glue.
At least it’s somewhat tasty. The poor cooks must be sorcerers to be able to conjure this kind of food with the few ingredients they have.
Father lays down his fork with an impatient clink. “How are your deportment lessons progressing, Finley?”
“Fine,” I say carefully, not liking where this is going. The truth is, the lessons are terribly boring. I find them ridiculous and unnecessary. But apparently, I must learn to conduct myself like a lady so I can attract the attention of a worthy suitor. Someone higher in rank than my father, with all the benefits that entails. That’s what he’s hoping for. It doesn’t matter how old or decrepit my prospective husband might be. “This afternoon, I will be revising the correct etiquette for when one is in the company of the Imperial Family.”
“Lady Majurie gives me a somewhat different impression,” father says drily, idly running one finger over the edge of his mustache—an annoying habit of his. “That you lack perseverance and are easily distracted by trivial things. As is always the case.” He lets out a thin sigh, as if I’m somehow the cause of all his woes. “I should have paid more attention to those frivolous activities of yours when you were a child.” He smiles thinly; ominously. “But it matters not, because I have managed to secure an arrangement that will change everything.”
He looks terribly pleased with himself.
I don’t like that.
Not at all.
I look him in the eye. “Father, what are you talking about?”
This time, even my directness isn’t enough to spoil his good mood.
“You are betrothed, Finley.”
“E-excuse me?” I force myself to slow down; to take another spoonful of stew and not give my father the satisfaction of seeing my distress.
His expression is infuriatingly smug. “When I was in the capital, I managed to gain an audience with the Emperor. I did mention to him that I have a daughter, comely in looks, healthy of body and mind, and fortunately, still of child-bearing years. A maiden, at that. I mentioned it specifically because Emperor Duthriss is a consummate politician, and has been known to influence strategic matches between the children of Rahava’s most powerful families. Cunning old wolf. Perchance that he might know of a lord in need of heirs; one that has done him favors, whom he could reward with a suitable noble woman of good breeding and decent looks.”
I’m overcome with the sudden urge to pick up my glass of water and splash it in his face.
I don’t, of course.
I don’t want to be beaten to within an inch of my life. Inwardly, I can’t help but feel bitterly smug.
I’m not a bloody maiden, but father doesn’t know that.
My stepmother is silent. Of course. She’s always quiet when father speaks.
Father is looking more and more pleased with himself.
Dread pools in the pit of my stomach.
“He made a suggestion.” My father’s tone is insufferably smug. “No, it was more than a suggestion. It was a proposal. Of course, I deliberated upon it, and after giving it careful thought, I accepted on your behalf.”
No! My heart feels like it’s about to explode out of my ribcage. I can’t believe this is happening!
But I always knew this day would come. Father has been waiting for such an opportunity. He’d been planning that trip to the capital for months.
I take a deep, shuddering breath. Close my eyes for a moment. Curse my stepmother for being incapable of saying a single word, but then again, why would she, when she herself was married off in exactly the same fashion?
Poor Lady Dorava.
“Who is he?” I barely recognize the sound of my own voice. It sounds like death warmed up.
My father doesn’t answer straight away. He allows the silence to stretch out, enjoying my fraught anticipation. “Finley Solisar, you must be grateful that I am a good negotiator, because the man you will marry is far above your station. Most would consider him far too good for someone of your rank and temperament, but considering his approval of the match, Emperor Duthriss seems to look favorably upon our family.”
“Who, father?” My impatience spills through the brittle cracks in my composure.
“After lunch, you will arrange for the maidservants to pack your belongings. Make sure you take your thickest coats, because I hear the winters in Tyron are brutal. Although I’m sure the Archduke will have plenty of resources at his disposal to ensure that you are outfitted with garments befitting of his station, it is best to be prepared.”
My insufferable father pauses, savoring my shocked silence.
Tyron.
I blink.
The silver fork handle digs into my palm as my grip tightens.
Tyron.
That inhospitable, mountainous region to the south.
The biggest of Rahava’s territories.
It widely considered untamable… that is, until the Archduke took over the Mountain Fortress.
No. This isn’t possible.
I stare at my father, my anger momentarily swept away by sheer disbelief. “I… I am to be betrothed to Corvan Duthriss?”
My future husband is not some old geezer, as I’d feared.
In many ways, this is worse.
I’ve heard the rumors; the stories. They talk about him in the village square, in the halls of the castle, in the kitchens and the stables. My own family speaks of him at the dinner table.
The Emperor’s firstborn, Corvan, was once regarded as the obvious heir to the Rahavan Throne.