by Mark Eller
Chapter 6— Queen’s Knight
Calto Morlon’s second in command watched as his superior paced back and forth in his office. The older priest scowled.
“Sir, I assure you your cousin is not trustworthy. She might be playing at redemption now, but before long she will betray you. Besides, it’s not right to take another to your bed.”
Stopping his pacing, Calto addressed his inferior. “Simta will not betray me, Dargot, not in this. She owes Larson’s memory a great debt and finds me a tempting treat despite our past differences.” Calto’s gaze hardened. “I dare say there are few others within the temple I can trust with this task, and none who would not be noticed by either our enemies or Anithia. Since Larson’s death, Ani has hated anyone affiliated with Anothosia. She will not accept our protection. Besides, how would I explain putting a royal guard on a commoner without jeopardizing everything we have worked for— everything my brother died for? Furthermore, there is nothing wrong with me courting my cousin. She is of a noble house and not closely related to me by blood
“It is not right to sully yourself with this charade,” Dargot said. “There must be another way.”
Calto threw his hands about him in exasperation. The strain of so many things going wrong were evident in his lack of control. When Dargot opened his mouth to protest, Calto signaled him to silence with a violent hand slash. He stared intently at the priest. “For the sake of Anothosia and my brother, I will do whatever it takes to protect them, even if it means whoring my way through half the population of Yylse.”
Calto meant exactly what he said. He had too much riding on his brother’s lowborn family. Several mornings past he had deliberately allowed Simta to see him disrobed, wearing only his leggings, shirt, and vest. He wanted the harlot to have the most tempting eyeful of him possible without him having to strip down to bare skin. Knowing Simta’s blood ran hot and how she hated Charmaine, he had thrown in a long, sensuous kiss. A bag of gold rugdles and a flagon of wine would not have gotten a better response from the woman. After his disgusting display, he did not doubt she would do anything he asked of her.
Dargot grimaced. “Lord Sir, I meant no offense. I would certainly make the same sacrifice— for our goddess, of course.”
Calto snorted and resumed pacing. Of course Dargot would be willing to make that sacrifice. He was a terrible womanizer. If it were not for Dargot’s high position within Calto’s personal retinue, the under-priest’s wife would have asked for a divorce long ago. For his part, despite the reputation he had gained with Sulya, Calto did not find the idea of bedding Simta such an attractive option. He was Anothosia’s High Priest. As such, he regarded allowing the similian into his bed as a period of weakness to his vows, barely acceptable only because she was not human. Their personal relationship had ended after Larson’s ghostly visit. Because of that visit Calto suspected there was more to Sulya’s story of Larson’s death than what she had related. He was not entirely sure it was not her fault Larson died. He could not prove it, and so he kept her by his side to maintain a close eye on her.
“However, Lord Sir,” Dargot continued, “if you are so worried about your only heir, maybe sending the woman and her daughter to your Grace estate would be best.”
Calto shook his head. “No, I have told you Anithia would not fit into my lifestyle there. She is lowborn, not fit to associate with the gentry.” Not to mention with Larson gone and the king increasingly becoming religiously strange, Calto was forced to spend most of his time in Yylse, leaving his queen to fend for herself.
This did not set well with Calto. As High Priest, part of his duties was to be Queen Elise’s confessor and personal knight. It was impossible for him to fulfill those roles from Yylse, but because Hell’s strongest known infection was here, he had no choice but to remain in this city as much as possible, far away from a king who seemed to be more and more comfortable with the idea of hellkind walking on mortal soil. Of late, his visits to Grace were becoming infrequent.
“I understand, Lord Sir, but if she is so unacceptable, why did Larson marry outside his station? Did the woman mislead him? Did she claim false pregnancy?”
Calto’s jaw tightened. The reason had to do with none of those things. The two brothers had been directed by their goddess, Anothosia, to find Anithia and impregnate her. It was an unseemly task easily accomplished, but Larson had fallen in love with the wench the moment she opened her mouth. Larson instantly decided he would make the strumpet his wife even though the goddess hadn’t said shit about marrying the woman. Oh no, that folly had been Larson’s own stupidity. Fortunately, Calto had been able to talk his brother into agreeing the marriage should be kept quiet so his lowborn wife would not enter the public eye. Obtaining Larson’s agreement had been a major battle.
A swift pang of anger ran through his body at the memory of Larson standing up to him. Calto hated being challenged, especially by an idiot brother who should have known enough to get the job done and walk away.
Still pacing, he controlled his features. In life as well as at dinner, presentation was everything. “Larson fell in love with her. He married the tramp for love, or so he told me. I could have stricken him from the family ancestry for such an act, but he is— was— my only sibling.”
Calto stopped pacing and faced Dargot once again. He needed to change the subject before Dargot asked more questions about Anithia and his niece. Too much scrutiny was not what Anithia and Missa needed. It was not what he needed. Calto had kept the secret of Missa’s birth for eight long years. He intended to keep it even unto death.
“Discover what dress size Simta wears and send her something appropriate. Also, give her this as well.” Walking to his desk, Calto opened a side drawer and withdrew a flat, square box, five inches by five, holding a velvet choker with a heart shaped emerald centerpiece, proof of Calto’s assumed intentions. “Make sure your lips do not utter a word of this to anyone.” Calto thrust the box into Dargot’s hand. “I do not need another scandal regarding my private actions. The queen is already somewhat displeased with me. I see no reason to make her more unhappy.” Actually, Elise would be within her rights to request his dismissal if yet one more scandal scarred his name.
“Yes, Lord Sir.” Dargot bowed and walked to the door. “Just one last question, Lord Morlon.”
Calto frowned. “Yes?”
“What of Charmaine and his courtship of Lady Morthanhi. They already have a date set for the wedding.”
Calto’s left eye twitched. That particular charlatan was a pain in his ass, driving people from Anothosia’s temple in an effort to save them for the one true god, Trelsar. What a pile of crap. The fool was nothing but a crazy cultist who denied the existence of the other gods. If Calto were not so focused on the war between the Seven and Two, he would have long ago thrashed Charmaine publicly for his blasphemy. Unfortunately, in the current political climate, if Charmaine was to be dealt with it would have to be quietly, a subtle disappearance. With a bit of effort Calto could arrange it, but he wasn’t sure it was worth his while. Given time, Charmaine was sure to self-destruct.
“Why should I worry about his half-baked claims to the woman?” he demanded of Dargot. “I do believe he is, far, far beneath the house of Morlon. Not even noble, a fact he is trying to change.”
Dargot winced, apparently realizing his misstep. Bowing reverently to Calto, he left without another word.
Once the door closed, Calto paced again. His mind whirled in a flurry of chaos. His early morning meeting with Simta had gone well. He had her cooperation, but the price she thought him willing to pay for her assistance made him tense, stressed. If she did exactly as he had asked, honored her end of their agreement, she would expect him to keep his unspoken word, expect him to make Simta an honest woman. That meant a ring upon Simta’s finger and a place in his home. An appalling thought.
Calto stopped pacing and contemplated the woman being mistress of his household. Would she remain honorable if he actually did this or would she lapse in
to her old ways and embarrass the house of Morlon?
The thought of what Simta could do to the reputation of his House if he actually intended to honor her expectations brought on a shudder. Calto walked to his desk, pulled out a bottle of Evertrue Whiskey, and held it up so he could study the dark amber liquid. Fear of Simta somehow bringing disgrace to his household curled around his bowels like frozen ice. According to the archives, his family name had been pure for more than three-hundred years. Could he risk his family’s virtue and honor on a woman with the morals of an alley cat?
Calto uncorked the whiskey. Like a commoner, he stuck the bottle’s mouth between his lips, tilted it back, and let the liquor burn its way down his throat. Calto did not care if the time was barely eight bells. He needed something to ease his nerves.
Lowering the bottle, Calto wiped his lips with the back of a hand, corked the bottle, and replaced the whiskey in its drawer. He went to the window and looked out, seeing the morning sun lighting the garden in soft pastels. Gentle scents drifted on the breeze. Often, this view brought him peaceful comfort, but not today. Studying the panorama, Calto tried to focus his thoughts, calm his inner demons, but after several minutes of deep breathing, he gave up. He shook his head as its beauty failed to soothe him.
How had things gotten to such a state of desperation? Of the six years he had spent as High Priest battling Athos in the streets of Yylse, and now Zorce in Grace, none had been as despairing as this last year. Things had become so bad Calto carried Larson’s sword strapped to his waist at all times, even during blessings and ceremonies. After Larson’s death, Anithia and Missa had lost their house and moved into the Downs, one of the worst parts of the city. A disgrace for Larson’s daughter and Calto’s heir, but he could not allow them to live with him. The time was not right, and if the truth be told, he despised the woman Larson had married. She was beautiful enough, golden hair, large blue eyes, trim figure, but she was still a lowborn. Good enough to fuck on a chill night. She might make a nice mistress, but that was about it. What did it matter if she was God touched? Lowborn was lowborn. She did not belong in the Morlon family tree. But Missa— he would take her if he could and be done with Anithia. Missa carried Larson’s blood.
Feeling helpless, lost, Calto clenched his hands in frustration. By the Gods, he wanted what he wanted, what he deserved, and the fact circumstances denied him his due made him rage. He was High Priest, Lord Calto Morlon, eldest and last male heir to the Morlon family trust given to them by Anothosia herself. He hated it when matters did not go his way.
A soft knocking brought Calto out of his reverie. Turning, he straightened his vest and clasped his hands behind his back. “Enter.”
When the door opened, a woman hesitantly stepped into the room. As soon he saw her Calto stiffened, and his mood sunk even lower.
“Lady Gertunda, how unexpected.” Calto walked over to the noblewoman, his face wearing a blank, forced, expression of indifference. He hoped the gadfly was not here for yet one more request for a divorce from her prat of a husband, Ludwig. The matter was not Calto’s concern. It belonged to her family’s personal priest. Divorces were minor issues, far beneath his station, but her father’s indignation and need for a public spectacle brought her to his office time and time again no matter how often he told her she needed to return to Grace to have the issue properly resolved. For that matter, until this moment he thought she had returned to Grace over two months ago.
The woman, brown eyes tense and shining, took Calto’s hand with a jerk and smashed his ring to her lips. She released his hand so fast she almost threw it from her.
Calto scowled. “Your Ladyship.”
“Sorry–sorry. Please, High Lord, I have a request from her majesty. You are needed back in Grace immediately.”
Calto’s eyes widened, realizing Gertunda was here on an entirely different matter than he had suspected. Why was this woman bringing him news from the queen? Where were the queen’s personal messengers?
“Is she all right?” he instantly asked, knowing the question sounded inane, but news of the queen was always his top priority.
“Queen Elise bids me to tell you things have become worse within the city and the castle. Almost all of her personal attendants have been replaced by those loyal to Belsac and Helace. She has but one reliable attendant left, Wenda, but even she cannot escape the prying eyes of the king’s pair. Last month, when I attended the Summer’s Eve Ball, the queen asked me to come and get you.”
Calto’s breath caught in his throat. The king’s pair. Helace was the king’s mistress and Belsac his newest advisor. Despite the fact he had seldom seen them, or perhaps because of this, Calto trusted neither. Whenever he entered a room, both quickly left. To his mind their absence brought up the question of what they were hiding. He knew, like so many of the other sycophants within the court, they were trying to wrest power and influence from Elise, but that would never happen. Calto and Elise’s father, the emperor of the Altude Empire, would not allow it. She was Calto’s queen, queen of the realm. She would remain so no matter how often the king urged her to grant him a divorce due to her lack of living male children.
“Does she fear for her life?” Calto asked. His voice trembled at the thought. He might not be able to murder the king, but he could damn well arrange unfortunate accidents for the two usurpers. No one threatened his Elise.
Calto caught himself in his thinking. His Elise? The queen would never be his.
Gertunda shrugged. “I have no way of knowing. She had but barely a moment to give me her message.”
Calto nodded. “Go back to Grace and tell her I am coming. No. Wait. I will leave today and provide you an escort.”
After all, despite her annoying personality, Lady Gertunda had put herself at some small risk to deliver the queen’s message. Goddess only knew whether the king’s pair had someone watching the woman. The least he could do was reward her bravery with an armed escort.
Lady Gertunda curtsied so low Calto received more than just a pleasant view of her breasts. They nearly fell out of their confines, allowing him a brief sight of pale nipples. Quickly stepping forward, Calto helped the petite woman stand, wondering where in the name of the goddess did such revealing fashions spring from? If this trend continued the next fashion might well result in women baring their legs in public.
“Now, now, needn’t bow so low. Not for me. Despite my worldly station I am, at heart, only a lowly servant of the goddess. Would you please send in Brother Dargot on your way out?”
“Of course, High Lord.” Gertunda did not move.
“Is there something else, My Lady?” He eyed her impatiently.
“My blessing, High Priest.”
Straightening, Calto gave her a stiff bow. “My apologies, Lady Gertunda.”
Reaching out his left hand, Calto reluctantly touched Gertunda’s forehead with the tips of his fingers. Her pale skin felt almost feverish.
With a slight harrumph, Calto cleared his throat and closed his eyes. He focused his mind on Anothosia’s presence. Since Larson’s death his goddess had been harder to call. She had not yet failed to answer, but sometimes he feared she would not.
Goddess, fill me with your truth— your justice.
Deep within his being Her Presence stirred, slow and sluggish as if She were waking from a long sleep. She grew larger within him, stronger, filling his soul with warmth and love.
Focusing Her Presence through the touch of his fingers on Gertunda’s head, he spoke. “May the Goddess bring Her blessing to your heart and your home and give you guidance. And may she stay with you on your journey back to Grace and see you safely to your hearth.”
Lady Gertunda sighed as Anothosia’s peace entered her body. Calto opened his eyes to see bliss and a soft glow spread across her face. The High Priest exhaled a breath he did not know he held. Thanks be to the goddess. The blessing had worked. It had never not worked, but there had been times when Anothosia’s presence had been so faint he feared
she had abandoned him.
“Thank you, Lord High Priest. Thank you.” Sounding breathy, Gertunda looked more than a little lightheaded.
“Are you fit, My Lady?”
Pausing, Gertunda drew a deep breath and then slowly released it. “Yes, of course. Your blessings are just— well— stronger than our family’s priest. I will send in your attendant, Lord Calto.” She stepped lightly to the door and left. Moments later Dargot entered.
“My Lord?” Dargot bowed. The top of his bald head caught the morning light, appearing to almost be a pale pink moon. His white robes looked mussed, as if he had been in a state of undress. Frowning, Calto wondered exactly what Dargot had been doing and with whom.
“I’m leaving for Grace. Tell Goron to pack my things for a fast, light trip. I want to leave within the hour. Also, Lady Gertunda is returning. Brigands have been about so I’ve offered her an escort and my coach. Arrange it. When those tasks are finished, come back and deliver a message to Simta for me. Oh, I want to ride my own war horse to Grace, and be sure I have two extra remounts. It is important I get to the queen quickly.”
Dargot’s face appeared shocked. “Is her majesty ill?”
Calto did not want to disclose any information unnecessarily, especially when he did not have all the particulars himself. Dargot was his second, yes, but it did not mean he trusted the man. Of late, some indefinable uneasiness made him shy from confiding in him. A feeling, a doubt, which wiggled its way around in Calto’s brain, made him keep the under-priest at arm’s length.
“I have been summoned to her side. I am unsure what she wishes of me, but I am not in good standing of late with the queen or her husband, so my haste would be prudent.”
Nodding, Dargot left. While watching the older priest’s exit, Calto felt a sudden unease creep into his gut. He stood a moment longer, searching for the cause of his qualm but gave up in frustration when he realized an answer was not coming.
Damn. So many things were wrong and not enough was right with the kingdom. The queen’s repeated miscarriages of her male children, his brother’s death, hellborn entering the kingdom, and now this? What was next?