by R. J. Price
“If you mean you are a queen and therefore I must bow to your every command, you are sorely mistaken,” Perlon growled back.
“She is my friend, sitting on the throne, and I am a queen,” Mar said. “It's lonely, being one.”
“I thought your kind preferred solitude?” Perlon said.
“Tell me more about what my kind prefers,” Mar muttered. “How I'm wrong.”
Perlon paled as Mar watched him, frightened by her tone or perhaps realizing he had gone too far.
“I—no, I didn't mean that.” He drew Mar against him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “You know I didn't mean that. But I was always told, you put two queens in a room together and it's like sticking two wet cats in a sack. Someone's going to get hurt.”
“I don't know if that's true,” Mar said. “I can tell you that it is lonely. I'm lonely, Perlon, and I hardly expect you to understand.”
Mar came to the relationship with no coin, no clothing—nothing but her name. And even that, she had only her given name. Being a bastard meant she had no ability to take her mother's name. Her mother's bloodline was vigorous, though, there was no fear of it dying off because Em's only child did not carry on the name.
Perlon came to the relationship with title, coin, land, clothing, and income. His word, and his alone, would determine whether or not Mar could return to the palace.
“How soon would we have to return?”
“As soon as possible,” Mar said.
“No, I meant, how soon would we have to arrive back at the palace?” Perlon asked. “How long do we have?”
“Aren's blood lives at the Bilgern Vineyard. A messenger headed there would take a day, maybe more, then arrangements would need to be made and her parents could be at the palace within six days,” Mar said.
“Five days, you mean, then. We have five days until trouble arrives at court?” Perlon asked.
“She never spoke of her parents, I'm not certain they would be trouble.”
“A young woman never mentions their parents; it's trouble,” Perlon responded, nodding. “I will send word at once. We will take two horses in the morning, headed for the palace. You had said you wanted to learn to ride.”
“I did, but a carriage ride is six days and takes several days to arrange,” Mar said, confused.
“We'll ride the horses, take nothing more than we need,” Perlon said. “We can make it in about the same time as a messenger. Two, three days at most. The only thing faster would be magic, and that sort of magic was lost a long time ago.”
He stepped around Mar and opened the door, leaving their home. A few moments later he returned with a picnic basket, a bottle of wine, and a sheepish look. Perlon set the basket on the dining table and went about lighting the hearth without explaining.
Mar watched patiently as the hearth was lit, waiting for an answer as to the basket's appearance. When none came, she cleared her throat, waiting for Perlon to turn to her.
“What's this?” she asked, motioning to the dining table.
“I had,” Perlon said, pausing after each word, “made plans.”
“Plans for what?” Mar asked, curious as to why plans would cause such an embarrassed reaction.
“Uh, well…” Perlon skittered around Mar, suddenly afraid to come too close. “You and I never had time to court. While your mother insisted we be mated for life, I don't see why we have to ‘hop into bed,’ as I believe they say at court. I thought we could start from the beginning. Eat a little, drink a little. Talk a good deal.”
“That is an awfully large bottle of wine,” Mar said, drifting to the cooking area to check the cupboards.
Finding the wine glasses, Mar walked to the table and set one in front of Perlon. Her mate smiled at her and began peeling the wax away from the wine bottle's neck.
“I suppose we should see if we can drink it all. Wouldn't want it to go bad.”
“I'm celebrating,” Mar announced happily, holding her glass out for Perlon to pour her wine.
“Oh?” Perlon asked.
“The witch is dead,” Mar said with a smile.
“Not quite the wording I would use,” Perlon said, pouring himself some wine. “Though I suppose, if we're starting at the beginning, I should ask you what your link is to the b-”—he caught himself—“to Lady Em?”
“She's my mother,” Mar said.
“Really?” Perlon asked, playing as if they had never met before. “I know her because she tried to seduce me, back when she was courting Jer.”
Mar felt cold. “Did you ever?”
“No—spirits no,” Perlon said, shaking his head.
“I never realized,” Mar said, draining her glass in one long swallow, then holding it out for a refill.
“Realized what?” Perlon asked, eyeing the glass as if it might bite him.
“You're older than my father,” Mar grumbled. “No—mother. You're older than my mother.”
“That's rather normal for arranged matings,” Perlon said, tipping the bottle to pour Mar more wine. “Though typically a young woman is mated through arrangement to an older man for a year. Especially if, say, she has trouble finding herself a partner to show her around the bedroom.”
“Older man who happens to be a friend of Daddy's,” Mar muttered.
“Well in that situation the friend of Daddy's is also a man who would have been around most of her life,” Perlon said. “She should be able to trust him, and her father trusts him not to do something dishonourable. My father made such an arrangement for my younger sister and wanted to be certain everyone knew that if his friend hurt my sister, my father would kill him.”
“Oh,” Mar said, playing with her glass.
“Yes,” Perlon said, sipping his wine. “Jer talked me into returning to court. Av tried, something about an attractive young woman in need of a rescue. Jer, though, he knows me better on that accord. He sent me a message with three words and then a command to return.”
“What did he say?”
“You owe me,” Perlon muttered. “I was certain you were going to be fat, with a lazy eye, and dull as a brick.”
“Why, and should not all women be loved equally?” Mar asked.
Perlon leaned forward, looking Mar over pointedly. “I love all women, but I lust for few.”
“And how is it that you came to owe Jer enough that you would return to court to mate a lady you had never laid eyes on?”
“I… may... have introduced Em and him,” Perlon said, reaching for the basket to pull out foodstuffs. “I think it's fair a man calls a favour from the one who introduced him to the scourge of his existence. I only did it to prove a point, though. I had both of them chasing me and I figured if they both wanted me, then they had similar tastes and might enjoy one another.”
“Both of them were chasing you?” Mar asked, hardly believing what she was hearing.
“I've tumbled one person of that mated pair, and it was not your mother,” Perlon said.
“I don't...” Mar trailed off, losing track of her own thoughts. She took a moment to focus and tried a different approach. “But Lord Jer was mated to my mother.”
“Yes, he was,” Perlon muttered. “Shouldn't be though. Damn waste, him mating your mother. Never thought it would go that far, or I'd not have introduced them.”
Chapter Three
Jer watched as Telm walked into the throne room and looked over the three holes gathered. Two were from her serving staff. She walked around them and indicated to each before making a motion for the doors. The two were quick to flee, before she changed her mind and questioned why they were there.
The third man was Av, master of the palace grounds, and Jer’s brother. He was a man who could cause all sorts of trouble. His being a hole was hardly surprising, as Jer did recall Em being furious with Av when she had first taken the throne. He also recalled a hissing, whispering discussion that had been had between Em and Telm that ended with Em dropping the matter.
“Why’d you d
o that?” Jer asked.
“Those two have no idea what a hole is,” Telm said. “If they did, they would cause trouble. Lady Aren is in no condition to be dealing with them. She has much to take in, and a short period to do it within. The throne has plans, she has plans, and her parents have plans. Her parents must be notified, gentlemen.”
“What if we don’t?” Av asked.
“They must be notified. It is tradition,” Telm said sternly.
The two considered each other for a long moment before Av asked, “How long can we put that off for? Aren and her parents have a complicated history, from what little she has told us so far.”
“He abandoned her at court and her mother’s no better,” Telm said. “There's nothing complicated about it.”
Telm was silent for a time.
They knew Aren had been abandoned at court, that she had no contact with any of her blood since her sister sent a chest of items to the palace in late spring. Av and Jer had spent a few days with her out at their father’s home. If ever a man could get to the bottom of someone who had secrets, it was Ervam.
Tradition dictated the one who sat the throne either be mated or have her parents present at court to protect her. Most parents were more than willing to protect their daughter and look out for her best interests, but Aren’s parents?
Telm gave a small shrug, apparently having no desire to inform the pair. Usually the moment the throne changed she was visiting the scribes herself, dictating just the right wording. The throne was in no rush to notify the Bilgern Vineyard of Aren's ascension, but why?
They could delay the missive, but only for so long.
“It’s fall,” Telm said. “Her parents own a vineyard. They will be concentrating on the harvesting of grapes and creation of wine. This means that if you send the message now, it would be two or three weeks before they could finish their harvest, then another week or so for them to make plans to look after their estate and their children while they are gone. Send the missive in a week.”
Av frowned. “They'll arrive early winter, then will be here all winter. I was hoping to go to Father's for the winter this year.”
“The wording is key,” Telm said, looking to Jer. “You say something like, ‘As to your daughter Aren, it has come to our attention that a discussion is long overdue,’ after that, they will stop reading. We can say we sent the letter, they can say they received the letter. It will buy us time.”
“Buy us how much time?” Jer asked.
“And how does that buy us time?” Av asked. “Wouldn’t they just throw away the letter?”
“They no doubt have a steward, or head of house, who would be in charge of recording all missives sent from the palace, especially those which deal with the future of the eldest daughter,” Telm said. “Once he reads the missive, they will be informed. If he’s slow, they might never realize. If he does his job properly it will only buy us another week or so. Hopefully snow will have fallen by then, trapping them on their vineyard.”
“What about the notification to the high lords?” he asked.
“Since when is her father a high lord?” Telm demanded. “There are four high lords, to the coast, to the northern wastes, to the southern desert, and to the western marsh. There is no high lord of palace lands.”
“But the messenger headed south has to stop in the vineyard,” he said. “He would gossip with the staff there, like messengers tend to.”
“Hire a mute,” she muttered. “There are several in the messenger service to the palace for just that reason. The lords do not need to be notified until a mating ceremony comes about and they are requested to be present. By then Aren’s parents will no longer be needed.”
“Fantastic,” Av said. “I will go instruct the scribes to send the notifications.”
“Not you,” Telm said. “You are a hole. Until Aren passes judgement, you are to have no involvement with court affairs. Once Aren is up and court is called, you come to court and if she doesn’t demand your execution, you may rejoin the effort.”
“What is a hole?” Av asked. “This time answer the question and don't just say it's complicated and walk off.”
“Holes typically don’t live long enough to tell others what they are,” Jer said. “Some have none, some have a great many.”
“A hole means you’ve been marked as a danger to her rule,” Telm said. “That is why you didn’t notice her ascending to the throne.”
“You just let those other two go! We have to find them,” Av said, frowning as the words turned over in his mind. “You just said I could see things that the mate of the throne could see.”
“They will only be a problem if they know they could be a problem,” Telm said, meeting Av’s eyes. “And yes, I told you that you were seeing things that a mate to the throne might see, but that is completely different than being a hole. The reason you are a threat to her rule is because you cannot feel her moods. If she goes mad, you will not, but we’ve more important matters to discuss.”
“Such as?” Jer asked.
“Your father needs to be notified,” Telm said. “Lady Mar should also be notified. Not only as a friend of Aren’s, but also as Em’s bastard.”
“She’s not a bastard,” he said with a snarl.
Telm watched Jer for a long moment. She shook her head at him.
“Does she know that?”
“I don’t know,” he grumbled.
“Then she is,” Telm said sternly. “The other matter at hand is the small, but important, topic of who will sit beside Aren until she is mated. It must be a relative. She has no blood that are warrior, but if one of you were to adopt her before the court, you could sit by her side.”
Telm looked to Jer, knowing that of the two he was the only one who might agree to sit beside Aren.
“I can do that,” he said. He did, after all, have a daughter the same age as Aren. “If I adopt her as my daughter.”
“Then Av cannot mate her,” Telm said, motioning to Av. “You would then be her guardian, is what you would be claiming. Adopt the one who sits the throne as brother and you mean only to sit beside her until she is mated, allowing Av to mate her, if he can talk her into it.”
“Damn,” he muttered. “What if we found a warrior to adopt her? Then her parents wouldn’t be needed.”
Telm frowned at him. “You are making things unnecessarily complicated. To adopt the one who sits the throne there must be a warrior to stand as her protection, in case the guardian loses his mind. You need the agreement of not only the queen, but also of a trainer and healer. To ensure it is in her best interests. I only know of one trainer.”
“And he’d say to simply send the missive,” Av sighed out.
“Exactly,” Telm responded. “As soon as I can get Aren out of bed, we will call the court. Jer can adopt her as a sister. Av can present himself to her and see if she attempts to stab him.”
“What about everything else?” he asked.
“Everything else?” Av asked. “Can’t we just take this one problem at a time?”
“No, there is no time,” Telm said. “The water and lights must be seen to, lights flickering all over the place. I can settle Aren in, which may stop the flickering. A handmaid needs to be found for Aren, to ensure that she is cared for by someone we trust. Aren needs to see the heart of the palace, the court needs to be seen to.”
“Head of house and the masters need to be reassigned,” Jer said.
“Wards need to be reviewed,” Telm said with a grimace.
“My favourite ever, the treasury and archivist both need to be visited,” Jer said, making a face.
“I like the archivist,” Telm said.
“You do, he didn’t shake a finger at you and call you what’s-his-name’s brother,” he said, glancing at Av, who frowned back at him.
“Once the court is called we must see to looking for a mate and convincing our wayward queen into accepting said mate,” Telm said. “She told the steward she had no interest in
mating and this is not the life she wanted. Stubborn is good for her survival, but a grievance for us.”
“I’ll just tell her what for,” Av said with a shrug.
Telm and Jer both turned to Av. Frowning, Jer wondered if his brother was really that stupid. Trying to bring a rank to see things a different way was difficult, but Aren? The woman would not bend to the master’s wishes.
Which only reminded Jer that he had to now corral the woman into submitting to the will of the court.
Telm stepped up to Av and said, “If you mate, Lady Aren by force, if she is crying or upset during her mating ceremony, Lord Av, I will make your life a darkness you will never recover from.” When Av shuddered, Telm stepped away. “This court needs a good mating—a celebration to cleanse it of Em’s madness.”
“That, too, needs to be seen to,” he said.
“I will send my trusted staff to see to Em’s body as well as the rooms,” Telm said. “Cleaned and stripped bare of everything that is Em, Aren may even find she enjoys the set of rooms. And as to her funeral?”
“I will do it,” Av said. “I will build the pyre and watch it burn. I will lead the prayers and her ladies in mourning. Someone needs to make it look like we are paying respect to the dead and I don’t think Jer could pull it off.”
“Good riddance,” he said, disgusted. “She lied, manipulated, cheated, stole, and in the end tried to kill her own successor. Not to mention trying to tarnish an entire group of people whose only fault was liking what I like.”
“Grieving mate,” Telm said, shaking a finger at him. “Until she is given her funeral, you are a grieving mate. No need to give anyone reason to doubt the mate to the throne. Especially the one who now sits the throne.”
“I can do that; it’s only a few days,” he said. “How soon can we get her onto the pyre?”
“Two, maybe three days to build the pyre and get her on it,” Av said. “That will give the court enough time to pay their respects and gather for the fire. We’ll set her up in the front gardens by the white rose bushes. They aren’t in bloom but she liked the roses. If we shroud her and keep people at a distance they might not even notice the death changes before we move her to the pyre.”