by R. J. Price
While Av was thinking this, people flowed into the throne room, filling the aisle that visitors and speakers used. Dressed in serving grey, dark brown of healer, and formal red of the guard, these were people who inhabited the palace for years while lords and ladies came and went.
Lords around Av muttered to one another about the odd choice. Av noted that they did not make disgusted sounds or talk about lack of respect. They simply said Aren’s choice was odd.
“It is my choice to keep or dismiss the heads of house.” Aren stopped, frowned to herself and said, “Sorry, I meant the masters. I have had little to do with most of you, but it is my understanding you work well together, you play nicely with one another, and with the lords and ladies.”
“If it pleases the lady, I will make the command official,” the steward said.
“Except for you,” Aren said, pointing a finger at the steward. “I want you gone.”
“What have I done?” the man asked, startled.
“I don’t like you.”
Which was all the reason Aren needed to dismiss any position at court. The steward had been given his position by Em only a few days before. Em had planned the position to be filled while Av and Jer were away from court, and neither of them had time to vet the man.
“I protest, as is my right,” the steward said. “This court needs a steward. Who would you have in my place? Lord Av?”
“Av will not be steward,” Aren responded.
A murmur went through the lords. By dropping the title, Aren could be seen either as insulting or claiming Av before the court. Given their relatively new relationship the court would, hopefully, assume the latter.
“Lord Jer,” Aren called out.
Jer stepped out of the gathered lords, approached the throne, then between it and the steward. Meeting the steward’s eyes, Jer set his feet and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Lord Jer here has some experience at court,” Aren said to the steward. “He is a man I can trust, one who knows that if he fails, he will not need to look for another position, because he will join his mate on the pyre. It saves me a good deal of trouble. Lord Jer, will you take the position?”
“I will,” Jer said.
“Good,” Aren said, looking over the masters. She stopped at one and motioned to him. “Who are you? I don't recognize you.”
“The kitchen master, Lady Aren,” the man responded. “I was hired five months ago by Lady Em.”
Aren stiffened, frowning down at the man. “What happened to your predecessor?”
“I was never told, Lady Aren,” the man said. “Did you like him?”
“No, I want him dead, but I will settle for banished from court,” Aren said before she looked over those gathered. “Unless anyone has an item to bring before the throne, court is dismissed.”
Jer raised his right hand to indicate that he wanted to talk about the throne and said, “I have an issue to bring up.”
“That is?” Aren asked, still standing.
Jer motioned to the seat beside Aren. “My lady, a male must sit beside the throne. Either your blood or a warrior, once you mate. Your parents owns a vineyard, it could be weeks before they come to court. We need to wrap up the session for winter. These lords and ladies would like to return to their estates, no doubt.”
“I can make no rulings without a man at my side?” Aren asked.
“No commands can be given, not really,” Jer said to Aren before turning to the court. “Though I’m sure the court is in agreement that you’ve a right to decide who comes and who goes for the masters of the palace, no?”
“Aye,” called a majority of those present.
All of the servants, healers, and guards called out their agreement. Startled, Av turned with the lords to those gathered in the aisle. He had never thought about the servants having a vote, but at the same time it didn’t make any sense to exclude them from decisions. Anyone in the palace had a right to voice their opinion at court, even if they were only visiting to petition the throne.
“As steward I bring forward an adoption plea,” Jer said, raising his voice above the protests from lords and ladies. “Lady Aren needs a relative to sit by her side; I appeal to adopt her as my sister. As brother to the one who sits the throne, it is well within my ability to sit at her side and rule with her no matter who she mates. Commoner or warrior.”
“Very well,” Aren said. “What does the court say to Lord Jer’s appeal?”
“Aye.”
The call might have been a majority, but barely so. Av stepped out of the lords, motioned to the masters.
“As master of palace grounds, I claim right to change a split vote to majority,” Av said, knowing that he relied on the masters to vote unanimously with him.
“Aye,” each said, one after the other.
“Thank you,” Jer said to the masters, ignoring Av. “As this is an appeal for adoption, I feel it is necessary to point out the traditions in sibling adoptions. Due to the adoption, Aren is to be recorded as added to my family and only added to my family. She may be said to be aunt to my children, but not sister or daughter to the rest of my blood. I am not her guardian—Lady Aren is eighteen and has a right to her own life. Her parents are still summoned to court, but I can sit at her side and, upon the arrival of her parents, the court may rule on who should sit and represent the male side as Aren decides on a mate.”
Silence came over the throne room.
“Are there any other pressing items to discuss?” Aren asked the court. When no one responded she said, “Very well, the court is dismissed.”
People filed out. Lords, ladies, servants, and finally the masters left. Av, Jer, and Aren were the only ones left in the throne room. Aren frowned at Av, then turned to Jer.
“That was a bit pointed,” Aren said to Jer.
“Given your relationship with my brother, it was necessary to explain the tradition,” Jer responded. “There’s been more than once in history when a male relative was needed, but one couldn’t be found. Often the brother of the man she was interested in would take the place beside her while the mating was sorted out.”
“I won’t be mating,” Aren responded, walking back to the throne. “This is a terribly uncomfortable seat.”
“It’s supposed to be, and you will be mating,” Av said. “No one has held the throne for more than six years without a mate and then only because she was underage at the time of her ascension.”
Aren poked the cushion on the throne. “This is removable.”
“If you become pregnant the cushion can be replaced with something softer,” Jer said. “Or if the cushion wears out.”
The young woman picked up the cushion and tossed it to the side. Turning to Jer and Av, Aren sat on the throne and leaned back. Her nose wrinkled, she stood again and walked around the throne, touching the back of it before the back cushion slid down. This, too, Aren tossed to the side before she sat once more.
“That’s better, much more comfortable,” Aren said, wiggling in the seat.
“The cushions are there to make sitting easier,” Jer said.
“Sitting the throne isn’t supposed to be easy,” Av responded to his brother, climbing the steps to the throne. He walked around the seats, eyeing them critically.
The throne was wood, carved to be solid in all but the back, where a slot had been cut out with little horizontal pieces cut away. Each of the smaller slots was just wide enough to accommodate a blade. Reaching through the slot, Av poked Aren in the back, making her squeak and leap up from her seat. Spinning on Av, she jabbed a finger at him as the air crackled with dangerous magic.
Av held his hands up in surrender. “I was just wondering what these are for.”
He walked to the other seat. No cushions on this one, carved out of what looked like a solid piece of wood. Where had a tree so thick been found? No slots had been cut into the wood of the second seat.
“Until you’re mated, Aren, you come in through the same way as ever
yone else,” Jer said, motioning to the doors of the throne room. “Once you are mated you’ll come in from behind. There’s a door there, hard to see from this side. You walk in and sit, then your mate, or a warrior of your choosing, comes in after and sits beside you.”
The second seat was meant for the mate, who entered after the queen was seated. Av glanced at the door, then at the slit in the throne. In a frightening moment he realized what the slits were for. There were even scratches in a few of them, and was that blood along the one?
“I thought that seat was for the mate to the throne,” Aren said, motioning to the seat in question.
“Typically your rank mates my rank, especially those who are sitting the throne. It’s easier to trust a mate than, say, a good friend,” Jer said. “However, our people have a long history. Surely in the past there was a rank who liked her own and still needed a man to sit by her side. Traditionally a warrior has always sat beside a queen, therefore that’s the way of things now. If you mate a commoner, then you would choose a warrior to sit beside you. If you mate your own, same thing.”
“I will not mate,” Aren muttered under her breath.
“I suggest you don’t say that,” Jer said. “The court will insist on a mating and if they hear you have no intention of mating they could arrange one for you, one that only furthers alliances. Then it would be a mating of title only, without the expected duties, but the man would likely make your life as miserable as possible.”
“We can discuss that later,” Aren said, putting a hand to her head. “Lord Jer, would you give us the room?”
“Of course.” Jer gave Aren a little bow, adhering to formality because she had used a title, and took his leave.
Av walked around the seats and faced Aren. The queen who sat the throne touched her seat, then turned to Av.
“You son of a bitch.”
“What did I do?” Av said.
“You said that once I came to the throne room you and I would have a talk.”
Av recalled saying that she could speak her mind, at whichever volume she chose, and with as many curse words as she pleased. He set his weight and nodded once.
“So I did. By all means, continue. I won’t interrupt until you feel you are finished.”
Chapter Six
Jer sat in the steward’s study, dazed and confused.
Part of his duties as steward was to be an intermediary between lords and ladies who owed each other debt. The palace did not outlaw the loaning of money or even gambling, but instead took a small tax from each debt owed, from the one owing. If a lord became too notorious for owing debt the steward could switch the tax from the one owing to the one who lent the money, which typically put an end to the debt because no one who loaned money wanted to lose it to the borrower.
All debts had to be declared; if one was found owing or holding a debt that was not declared then a fine was levied against both parties in the form of the total sum of the original debt. The debt was then registered and had to be repaid as per normal.
As steward, Jer had the ability to waive the tax in certain circumstances. Such as when one lord owed another lord who owed a lady, who it turned out owed the first lord all the same amount of money. Jer had offered to waive all but one of the taxes, allowing the two lords to retain their full owing yet when he had brought the three in to try to bring them to settling the debt, they had immediately turned on one another.
It turned out that the first lord had slept with the lady’s daughter who was actually engaged to the second lord’s son. The lady believed she needn’t pay because the first lord had taken the sum from her daughter, which made it prostitution. The second lord believed he had no need to pay back the lady because the woman he had been promised obviously had commitment issues and could hardly be expected to hold up her end of the mating.
While he agreed with the second lord, and was concerned at the first’s utter lack of concern, Jer had to seriously question the motives of the lady. She had prostituted her own daughter.
This was another thing that was not technically illegal on palace lands, but did require a tax be paid to the palace for the use of a woman’s body. That money was placed back into the training of healers. Those from all across the lands came to the palace to learn, then returned to their homes to help their families at no cost to themselves or their village.
The first lord would have had to pay the prostitution tax along with the lady, who had prostituted her own daughter. If the daughter sought clients on her own and of her own accord, there would be no tax on her, but instead only on her clients.
And somehow that conversation had ended with all three of them storming out at once, leaving Jer with his head in his hands, wondering if this night could get any worse.
A moment later Telm walked in with the scent of blood around her.
Jer didn’t react to the blood, barely reacted to the entrance of a body. He needed that moment of staring at his desk to comprehend the fact that if Telm smelled of blood, then someone had done something spectacularly stupid and his day had just gotten a great deal worse.
“You look confused,” Telm said, bringing her hands before her and relaxing ever so slightly. It was the stance of a trained person, but where guards typically placed their hands behind their backs, Telm kept hers where everyone might see them.
Ignoring the dots of blood on Telm’s sleeve, Jer looked up at the woman. He took another moment to contemplate how much trouble the head of house could start on her own, then buried his fear. As steward he could not give her ground, no matter how dangerous she was.
“One lord owes another lord, who owes a lady who, as it turns out, owes the first lord,” he said, deciding at the last minute to leave off the rest of the explanation. “All the same amount, but all refuse to pay forward the debt and believe the final sum should belong to them.”
Telm shrugged. “Tell them to sort it out quickly, or you will claim the debt from all of them as penance for greed. It’s what others have done in the past when in your position. If one claims to have repaid the coin in another way, ask for the contract, which must be written for each debt that is repaid in anything but coin.”
“Does the throne tax the other payments?” Jer asked.
“Not if the contract was written and the method of payment wouldn’t be taxed on its own,” Telm said. “Such as paying with artefacts or prostitution. Most likely the latter, given this court.”
There was no tone to Telm’s voice, but Jer had the distinct impression that she was steering towards a specific topic. Drawing in a breath, he gathered his courage and dared to broach the subject first.
“What did you need, Telm?” he asked.
The head of house fidgeted, as if she were someone a quarter of her age and caught with her hand in a cookie jar. Slowly she approached the seat across from him and sat.
“I stabbed a lord,” she said. “My girls come to me, as you know, just as dinner is happening to have talks with me about their concerns. I’ve reassigned one girl—she called off her relationship and feels she cannot continue working with the one she had just been in love with. Another has had her duties altered. Marya is having a difficult time conceiving and the type of work she has been doing could be affecting that.”
Telm casually let the name slip, though normally she would keep such information to herself. He knew from years of working with the woman that Marya’s name was not the one he had to pay attention to. If the woman needed special attention because she was especially stubborn and insistent on pulling her weight, Telm would have simply come out and said as much.
“And the last?” Jer asked, praying there was only one more.
“I sent her to the healers with a writ command,” Telm said.
“Only the throne can give commands,” he protested.
“Only the throne, or a rank with enough right,” she countered. “I believe I’ve the right. A lord raped one of my girls. I can only pray that Wena is strong enough to not crumble unde
r this.”
His irritation rose. If a rapist was found, he should have been told as steward and as one of the only warriors on palace grounds. Av should have been informed; his brother should have simply sniffed the lord out. Goodness knew Av had broken enough legs ‘by accident’ only to discover later on that the victim had actually been an assailant.
“Why didn’t you fetch myself and my brother?” he asked, grasping at the control that was slipping through his fingers.
“For starters, you would do it by tradition,” Telm said. “Lord Av is currently visiting Aren, but I am pretending I do not know he is, because I told him that if he did visit with her after I put her to bed, there would be dire consequences.”
“Was she actually in bed?”
“Goodness, no, she sleeps light as could be. Even if she were asleep, she awoke when I closed the door to her rooms.”
“Why are you testing my brother’s honour?” he growled.
“Lord Av has never been tested,” Telm said. The woman hesitated for a moment, eyeing Jer critically. They both had training, but Telm could tap into the throne if she needed help. If anyone did attack her the one who sat the throne would be alerted immediately, though if Aren would know the meaning of the feeling was another matter.
“You think Aren is an honour queen,” he finished for her. “Instead of tradition? You had best send a set of those books to my rooms and another to Av. No, don’t send Av a set of books on second thought. It’ll take him an entire lifetime to get through them. I’ll read them and tell him what I learn.”
“Honour is far too confusing to teach another in such a manner,” Telm said.
“What’s the other option? Let him stumble headlong into a mess which could result in him inadvertently mating a woman without ever speaking a word? Or let him start a war with the north because he misheard Lord Banuar’s name and tries to correct his uncle, only to call him a Banor?”