Lora of Two Worlds

Lyle pushed Leon along the gallery. By now, male voices drifted faintly from ahead. The football pitch wasn't far. The young lords must have come over to watch. The distant sounds of sport and laughter carried Leon back to the Great Palace in Augustburg. The old King had reigned fifteen years. His father had lived in the Crown Prince's quarters all that time, for his father, a torment. But for Leon, it had given him a calm, simple childhood. Then the old King died. In six short years, the throne had passed to his father, his my older brother, and his Gareth. Faces changed too fast, you forgot which one was the Empire's true face. Leon changed his mind: "Turn around. I don't want crowds. When we came in, didn't you see a hill covered in pines? With a little pavilion on top? Let's see if you two can carry the chair up." "Easy." Lyle grinned. They turned back through the gallery. But Lyle spotted movement behind a flower wall, women's voices, whispering. They'd already passed when Leon heard someone say "Felix Sher " He raised a hand. Linn backed the wheelchair behind a tree. Lyle crept forward to listen. "Stupid! Don't use names outside!" A richly dressed woman hissed. The maid beside her hung her head. "Go on." The maid continued, low: "The man believed me, he's already gone to the Raindrop Terrace. But the other woman, the Su one, she won't go. She says she's playing quoits... no time..." "Won't go? Impossible, wasn't she always trailing after her cousin?" "Changed her mind, I suppose." "Then the whole show falls apart." "Disaster! We've already dosed the love-philtre, won't that be wasted on the wrong woman?" "Sister, we've to think of something, lure that fool away from the quoits field. Then the fun can start." A chubby girl, piled-high hair barely bringing her to the others' height, fretted. Lyle didn't wait for more. He slipped back to the tree. When he'd whispered the gist, Leon's heart sank: "Felix Sher ", could only be Felix Fairfax, the Sheriff. The second woman, surnamed Su and "a fool", and the first might well be the Dunbar girl, the "wrong woman." He'd guarded against Felix and Dorothy at every turn. And now someone had slipped them a love potion. "Linn, Lyle, get to the Raindrop Terrace. If it's Felix, stop him. If he won't come clear-headed, knock him out and carry him." "But then you'll have no protection " "Go!" The two bolted for the old steward by the pavilion. Leon looked around. From the flower wall, only one path led out, between two gallery wings, facing the pavilion. He pushed himself toward that junction. The wheelchair was really just a chair on a cart. Fine when someone pushed. On his own, gripping the wheels, he could move, slowly. Crucially: without someone behind to brake, a downhill slope was uncontrollable. Leon kept his face calm, eyes on the junction, and gritted his way there. He'd barely stopped when the rustling came, the women emerging from behind the flower wall. "What's the palace coming to, letting anyone in." The chubby girl in front scowled: "Move! A cripple blocking the path, can't you see the young lady needs to pass?" The tall, richly dressed one in the middle hesitated, then dismissed the thought: Her brother had said the Duke of Zayne had tried to rebel, the King broke his legs, and exiled him to Lohenheim. This man looked noble enough, but his hands and sleeves were filthy, and he had no servant. He couldn't possibly be the Baron. Leon had been in Lohenheim a month. Apart from that night at the The Gilded Lily, he hadn't shown his face in public. He'd smudged ash on his face without noticing, no trace of princely bearing. But his voice carried a cold authority: "I stop where I please." "Hey! Good dogs don't block the road. Whose dog are you? Daring to block Lady Linnea's path, tired of living?" A red-clad woman beside Linnea, waving a handkerchief, shrieked. Dog? Leon's temper flared. His hand flicked, the fan snapped open and flew. A scream. The fan's edge, sharp as a blade, sliced across the red-clad woman's cheek. A red line appeared, and blood began to seep. The women froze. This cripple had teeth. Linnea frowned: "The show is what matters. Let's go around. If he's brave enough, he'll stay. I'll have my brother deal with him later." "Sister! My face, you'll let him ruin it? No! I'll skin him alive!" The red-clad woman, weeping and shrieking, shoved her maid at Leon. Leon had never fought women. He had no desire to let them touch him. He gripped the wheels and backed up. That retreat opened a gap at the junction. The chubby girl shouldered past, circled behind the wheelchair, and shoved with all her might, trying to push him down the slope. Beyond the flower wall junction, a smooth lawn stretched down to the lake. "Push him! The cripple slides down, into the lake, drown him!" the chubby girl screamed. Leon clamped the wheels: "How dare you! Whoever lays a hand on me, your whole family answers for it!" Linnea hesitated again. His identity was unclear. She didn't want trouble. The show was starting, she'd arranged for Mistress Luce to lead the party, but not being there herself felt wrong. "Leave him " But her words couldn't stop the vengeance-crazed sisters. They swarmed. One bent down and bit Leon's hand where it gripped the wheel. Shameless women, in a frenzy, hit like a tidal wave. Leon fended them off with one hand, held the wheels with the other. The chair crept backward, the chubby girl and the red-clad woman pushing with all their weight. Just as Leon was about to abandon all restraint and strike  A figure stepped in front of the wheelchair. A voice he knew: "Stop! Are you insane? He's my cousin, let's see who dares touch him!" She planted one foot on the wheel base, bracing the chair with her leg. Her other hand seized the biter by the hair, dragged her head back until she was looking at the sky, and threw her to the ground. Leon was stunned: So this is how women fight! "Lora Odenheim, you bring a cripple in here and don't even watch him! He hurt my sister. Fine, don't hit him. Then we'll carve up your face instead!" The chubby girl planted her fists on her hips, her moon-face thrust forward. Before, they'd been wary of Lora. But now the Lord Regent was here, his rank above the Count. Her sister said Legard and the Count were rivals. If they beat up Lora and her cripple cousin, they wouldn't be scolded at home. That thought emboldened them. Lora tilted her head, studying their faces: "Hurt where? I don't see anything." "You're blind! Look, still bleeding!" The red-clad woman tore her hand from her face. The scratch showed, already dried. Leon had only meant to frighten her. Not much force. The scratch had clotted. Poor gentleman of the Augustburg palace, he'd never imagined that Lohenheim young ladies would fight like street brawlers, scratching and biting. Lora cocked her head, pressed her lips in a smile: "Liar. Where's the blood? And my cousin didn't scratch you. He's a master of arms, if he'd really hit you, he wouldn't slice your face. He'd slice your throat." It was an empty threat. Leon heard it, and felt a warm glow. The red-clad woman charged: "Lora Odenheim, you think pretending to be blind will save you? Your Odenheim family " Before she finished, Lora flicked the Rose Needle tip upward, sweeping across the woman's face: One scar is ugly. Two scars are revolting. Not much difference either way. Another scream. The other women didn't know what had happened, they stumbled backward. Lora put one fist on her hip, the other pointing at them: "So what if my cousin hit you? I said there's no blood. You insist there's. So let me show you what bleeding really looks like. And you called me blind? Believe me, I can show you what it's like to be blind." She had no knife. Could fingernails really carve a gash that deep? Their minds filled with images of witches and man-eating demons. Terrifying! The women shrank back a full pace. Linnea strode forward, frowning: "Linnea Spring, shut your mouth and go find a physician. We're leaving." The red-clad woman, Linnea Spring, looked at the fresh blood on her fingers and burst into howling sobs. Linnea walked a few paces, stopped, and turned back with a cold smile: "Lora Odenheim, don't gloat. This cousin of yours is nothing. You'd better go find your other cousin, Felix. Hmph!"

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!