by Nicole Field
Letycja smiled at the girls. "You're a good friend to her, Murdie."
"No," Murdag said, swishing her tail back and forth. "We're sisters!"
"Is that right?" Letycja said, watching as Murdag slowly removed her hands.
Shae nodded, having heard despite Murdag covering her ears. "I chose her."
"Because you can choose family!" Murdag said, bouncing. "That's what Shae said."
Dain'la leaned forward and patted Murdag and then Shae on their heads with her good hand. "That's right."
Klimeau chuckled. "So we have a borrowed daughter as well, huh?"
"Daughter…" Helva said, a smile twitching at the corner of xer mouth. Xie entwined xer fingers with Letycja's and put xer other arm around Klimeau's shoulders. "Looks like it's official. We're parents."
Tears brimmed Letycja's eyes, but happiness welled inside her. In the end, it was easier to accept this than she'd ever thought it could be. "You choose us as your parents?" she asked, quelling her fear of the future.
Shae rolled her eyes, an expression she likely learned from Murdag. "I have two mamas, a papa, and a mapa. We don't have to match; Murdie said."
Mayor Phana came over, her impressive silhouette towering over the family. Everyone fell silent and looked up at her. She glanced over at Eudora, who was lying in a corner, then back at everyone. Phana did not look happy.
"We clearly are stretched too thin with you living outside our walls. We would like to invite you inside our village," she said. "There is a vacant home we've been holding onto." Phana looked at Klimeau and nodded. "It is meant for journeying catfolk looking for a place to settle. It's yours."
The adults relaxed. "I thought you were going to kick us off your land!" Helva said with a laugh.
Mayor Phana snorted and crossed her thick arms. "Our response time today was deplorable. Wards are fine, but if the guards can't figure out where the threat is, they cause a village wide panic." Phana pointed at Dain'la. "I want you working with the guards on a refined system. And make sure the guards know how to track the origin of what set it off."
"Putting me to work already?" Dain'la said with a wry quirk of her mouth. "I suppose I can make do with my non-dominant hand."
Phana nodded to the dark elf. "We need more guards, especially while Eudora is healing and I'm away. The two of you will report to the barracks tomorrow morning for rudimentary training," she said, inclining her head toward Helva and Klimeau. The Mayor's eyes slid to Letycja and Shae. "I do hope you'll continue farming your land. I've forgotten how welcome fresh produce is."
Klimeau sat up, wincing a little as his broken tail shifted. "You mean we can stay in your walls? Even though we're outsiders?"
A smile quirked one side of Mayor Phana's mouth as she turned on her heels. "Of course. The only outsiders I see here are chained up."
The Consort
ANNABELLE KITCH
A thousand candles shone like stars inside the great hall, as though the night sky had been brought indoors for the honor of the princess. Well-bred ladies and lords fluttered around each other in circles, clapping to the beat of the music. A dozen sorts of sweetmeats were displayed in ornate trees at the head of the room, their sweet scents mingling with the flowers strung about the tables.
And, in the center of it all, with dark eyes sparkling brighter than jewels, danced Trina. Princess of Tamren.
Gold shone out from her dark hair—a pilfered diadem from a cave by the sea, an old relic from a dragon's cave, polished until it looked gleaming and new. That was the bride price Pidge had paid and it had been enough to win Trina's hand in marriage. Before that, the king had been ready to trade Trina off to the richest nobleman they had in return for the funds to save the crown from destitution. That had begun Pidge's long journey to uncover lost treasure and the burns of a sea dragon. And if it was a scandal that the princess was set to marry the tall, pale, northern girl she'd found in the stable when they were both eight? Well, it made for better gossip.
Pidge, the Fighter Fair, Dame Mercenary, had freed the princess from a truly wretched engagement and won her hand. Along with everything else that came with a royal betrothal. Such as the engagement celebration that everyone was here to celebrate tonight.
But Pidge didn't feel as though she was being celebrated.
She sat in the back of the ballroom, her calloused fingers curled around a crystal glass as the pretty, perfumed nobles danced around her. Each and every one of them knew every step, exactly when to clap. The ladies spoke to each other using their fans. Their dark hair had been twisted into elaborate patterns. Trina's maid had done her best to prepare Pidge for tonight, but there was little to be done with Pidge's short, blonde bob beyond pinning a few jewels to it to distract from the length. The gentlemen bowed, graceful as swans. And every one of them, at some point or another, glanced at her with some undecipherable emotion without ever pausing to speak to her.
Twenty years she had lived alongside Trina in this court, and still Pidge didn't quite belong. Easy enough to understand why, what with shoulders so large the seamstress hadn't initially believed the measurements, her silk slippers sliding away again and again from feet unaccustomed to anything but boots. And all of that beyond the odd northern complexion.
Trina tossed her dark hair over her shoulder, her lips curled into a coy smile. She extended her arm, gesturing for Pidge to join her. Something warm bloomed in Pidge's chest. What did it matter whether or not she fit within this society? Trina still loved her.
If only that was enough to chase away the disdain of the court.
When at last the song ended, Pidge took a deep breath. She'd promised Trina a dance tonight. One dance, and she would show the whole court her place as Trina's bride-to-be. The kingdom would soon see their princess married to a mercenary. It was time they got used to it.
Pidge rose, shaking out her skirts. The light silks fell strangely around her legs, like a satin blanket on a draft horse. More than a few of the courtiers glanced her way before the ladies hid behind their fans. What she must look like to them; this towering commoner playing make-believe in fine silks and wearing golden chains as though she truly believed she deserved the honor of wedding royalty. Their stares beat harder than the midday sun in summer.
Pidge clenched her jaw and forced herself to straighten, as she'd been taught to do. Shoulders back. Chin up. Eyes half-lidded. It was a shadow of the grace of a noble, but it was the best that Pidge could manage. She rubbed her fingers together, ignoring the itching urge to bunch her hands in her skirt as she strode through the crowd.
"Milady," she called out, her heart in her throat. She didn't belong here. The sweet perfumes and fine gems looked deadlier in this moment than blades.
Trina turned toward her. Pidge reached out but, before their fingers touched, a sprightly jig started up. The old steward tottered forward, catching the princess's hand. Trina smiled politely, even as her eyes turned flinty and Pidge knew her to be annoyed. But Trina was bound by her good manners and breeding to oblige the old man as he creaked his way through the dance.
Pidge's heart fell. Even on tonight of all nights, their very engagement celebration, she couldn't keep Trina to herself. And soon that wouldn't be an option at all. Not when the issue of an heir hung over the whole arrangement.
Pidge grabbed at her skirts and turned to leave when a hand caught her elbow.
"Where do you think you're going? This is a dance, isn't it?"
Pidge jerked away, her heart hammering as she stared down at a short, willowy man in a splendid brocade coat. His dark eyes sparkled rather like Trina's, lips quirked in a crooked grin. The sort that had probably melted many a heart. Pidge had seen more than a few such smiles over the years, always coupled with the greatest wit a rich dullard could manage.
Are you sure you're a woman?
I hear the princess found you in a stable.
When the crown wants for money, they need only put the likes of you up at a freak show.
"I'm not terribly familiar with Tamren jigs," the handsome man purred. "Would you guide me through the steps?"
So, this one would play at niceties, Pidge thought. From experience, she knew they were often the very worst sort.
"I'm not much of a dancer," Pidge grunted, shoulders hunching.
"Then why venture out among the revelers?"
Her eyes darted back to Trina, who moved gingerly around the old steward, her full lips set in a thin line as he hobbled through the steps.
"Hm." The man's brows raised, understanding coming over his features even as Pidge said nothing. "I see. So, you are indeed the mercenary we've all heard so much about."
Pidge's cheeks burned. Well, that would be the last of the niceties. She crossed her arms, shoulders stiffening.
"I'm aware of who I am and what people say about me. So, if I may excuse—"
"You misunderstand." The man laughed, holding up his hands. "I had hoped to meet you tonight. By now everybody has heard the tale of your heroics."
Oh no. Pidge groaned inwardly as he went on.
"It's said you defeated a great sea monster to liberate princess Trina from a terrible engagement."
And goodness knew it had taken her long enough to recover from the burns. Still, the recovery itself had been a pleasant affair. How many could claim a princess for a nurse? And at least this was someone with something nice to say about it.
Still, Pidge's cheeks burned.
"Well… yes. I suppose." She shifted, bunching one hand in her thick skirt. "If you ask the stable master, I'm sure he'd be willing to show you the, ah… wedding gift I brought back for her."
The man's eyes widened big and round as shields.
"So, it's true. You brought back a real, live dragon. There really are dragons in Tamren, aren't there?"
"Just a baby," Pidge coughed, but there was no stopping the pleased little smirk that wormed its way onto her face. "If I'm honest, I think Trina liked the dragon better than the gold that refilled the coffers." Why was she telling him this? Why was she humoring him? Pidge's gut squirmed.
The man brightened. "And y-you keep it in the stable? That is positively the greatest thing I've ever heard. We haven't any sort of creatures like that in Ithsveld."
"Well, I—"
A sudden blast of trumpets cut her off. Pidge stiffened, her eyes darting to the great doors at the head of the hall. Oh no. Time for the dreadful part of the evening. Prince Aram, Trina's other betrothed, would walk through those halls any second now. Her skin crawled at the very idea of coming face to face with him, tonight of all nights.
"I'm sorry, I have to go," she murmured, turning back, but the man was gone. Just as well. She didn't particularly relish a witness to her own hasty retreat.
A hand brushed against the small of her back. A familiar hand, that Pidge almost relaxed into.
Almost.
"It's nearly over," Trina whispered in her ear.
Pidge turned to face her, eyes wide, heart hammering as Trina strode up to the doors, her silken skirts swaying behind her. Straight-backed. Chin high. Eyes half lidded. An elegant and dutiful princess.
She bit the inside of her cheek. None of these revelers who watched her so expectantly knew the real Trina. They couldn't. They'd never seen the gangly adolescent who stayed up all night learning how to sew so she could hide the rip in her new party dress from her governess. They didn't know the young woman who stayed up all night, sick with worry before her first public address. Or the little girl who'd found a stray child in the stables and invited her into the luxury of the palace to live forever.
Pidge knew the real Trina. And now she would have to share with a man who would be just as oblivious.
The doors creaked open. Banners of bright red and blue washed into the ballroom, and at the center of it all…
Pidge's heart froze.
At the center of it all was a willowy man in a brocade coat.
"Introducing Prince Aram, third of his name, fourth son of King Bertram of Ithsveld."
*~*~*
"He knew who I was," Pidge groused as she wrestled with her nightshirt. "And who he was. And what that meant. And he didn't say a word!"
Trina sighed, climbing under the heavy quilts of her… well. Now their bed.
"I'm not sure what to tell you, Pidge. Perhaps he was just as nervous as we were."
Pidge paused, letting the cloth folds of her nightshirt tumble listlessly to her ankles. She knew what she wanted to tell Trina. About him. About this. About the whole bloody situation. But it wouldn't do any good. She knew what Trina would say.
Trina sighed and slumped back against the overstuffed pillows. "We're not calling it off."
Apparently, Trina was going to say it anyway.
"I don't think we can trust him," Pidge murmured. “He lied tonight. By omission, but it was still a lie.”
Trina took a deep breath, her bow lips pursing as she stared up at the ceiling. "Pidge. We've been over this. I need to produce an heir for Tamren. You said you understood that."
"I do," Pidge sighed, crawling into the bed.
Even now, so many years after the first time Trina had invited her under these plush covers to enjoy the same luxury as a princess, it still sent a thrill down her spine to the very tips of her toes. She, Pidge, a mercenary with no family and no history, would have such an honor. She needed to treat it as such.
But that didn't mean she had to love everything that came with this life.
Biting her lip, Pidge reached across the mattress to squeeze Trina's hand. "I know it must happen. But we must know you chose a good man. There are too many who would take advantage of you for your position."
Trina arched a brow. "He is not Count Cordo, Pidge. And this isn't a marriage of desperation. The bride price you paid for me ensured I wouldn't have to choose a man for money. I have met Aram. I like him. I believe he will be suitable for us both."
That should have been more of a reassurance, but it did nothing to chase away the uneasy feeling squirming in Pidge's gut.
Trina smiled and pressed up closer to her, wrapping her soft, lithe arms around Pidge's middle.
"Are you sure this isn't because you're afraid of the next step?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Trina pressed a gentle kiss to Pidge's shoulder and pushed herself up onto her elbows. "When I take a husband, it'll also mean time for our wedding. A lot is going to change for you. You'll be the wife of the princess who will soon be the queen."
"And you promised I wouldn't have to live the life of a royal every day," Pidge reminded her.
"Within reason," Trina said tartly. "You'll still be a member of my family, shouldering your share of responsibility. And there'll be somebody new, too. Another royal in this relationship. Can you tell me honestly that you aren't feeling just a little bit frightened of feeling outnumbered by us?"
"I…" Pidge swallowed, her heart in her throat. She tried so hard not to think about it, but the niggling thought was always there, gnawing at her insides.
Trina was a princess. She'd been born to silk sheets and a title of responsibility. Prince Aram would be just the same. Worse. He hadn't grown up with Pidge as Trina had. Despite his apparent interest in her adventures, he would only ever see Pidge for what she was; a foundling from the stables.
"You are enough for this. Enough for me," Trina murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of Pidge's lips. "How about we start small. Promise me you will consider being a part of the public wedding. Stand with the both of us in the ceremony, not as some separate person who I marry in the shadows."
Standing with the prince and princess, towering over them, making pretend she was a royal. Pidge frowned.
"I will promise… to consider it."
"And you will make an effort with Aram."
"Fine," Pidge groused, dousing the candle as she felt the princess's hand settle on her waist.
*~*~*
The next morning, Pidge vowed to keep h
er word. Aram was going to be a part of their lives. Pidge might as well get used to him. Perhaps this wouldn't be entirely awful. Another royal might mean fewer expectations for Pidge.
And yet, perhaps that made him the better match for Trina. Pidge came first in her life, but a suitor like Aram, so like Trina in so many ways, might come to replace a scruffy wanderer in her heart.
The early morning was as Pidge feared it might be. The training arena, usually reserved for the knights, was the only place Pidge could properly spar and practice in top form. Unfortunately, it was still the territory of the knights.
"Perhaps the princess will tire of her northerner now she's got someone as fancy as him under her sheets."
"I dunno. Pidge is manlier than he is. Perhaps she could challenge him to a duel for the princess's honor."
At least now they didn't say it to her face. That was one of the paltry benefits of her new station. But the older knights would be hard pressed to change their habits, and the young squires followed in the stead of their masters. Pidge always had been and always would be a topic around which even the hardest heads could rally in their mutual resentment.
Tamren did not employ lady knights, nor did it commonly elevate peasants to such a role. There was no precedence for what was happening, and the people did not know how to act. Pidge tried to remember that so that she didn't give into the urge to knock heads together. But, the whole time she was in the training arena, it was a reminder of how much an outsider she was now, among the palace's fighters just as much as among its courtiers.
It was not a long sparring session.
She completed the bare minimum for her practice and left. It was pleasant enough to wash away the disdain they cast her way once she was safely hidden again in Trina's chambers. At least she had Trina.
Royals were expected to dine wearing fine clothes and curl their hair into appealing knots. Why, she couldn't fathom. It wasn't as though any of them ate on display. But this engagement brought with it a fresh set of rules, and Pidge wasn't about to let Trina down.