by R. J. Price
“Even the north wouldn’t believe Av had the disrespect to call someone a traitor while they visited palace grounds,” Telm chided. “And the last example is not honour, just emotion. The differences between tradition and honour are vast, but it comes down to two very simple statements.
“Tradition says obey. Honour asks, why?”
He felt a chill run up his spine. “Honour also means that any rank can kill anyone else at the drop of a hat. For no reason at all, as long as they can bullshit their way through some speech about honour.”
“Only if honour fails,” she said with a small smile. “If it fails, I strongly suspect Aren will simply light the entire palace on fire and start again at another location.”
This was not helping his stress level. Jer sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.
“What did you do?” he demanded.
“I stabbed a lord in the leg with my letter opener. Even has my initial on the end so there’s no mistaking who did it. The writ command to the healers explains who is carrying the command, what was done to her, by whom, what I was about to do and the command. If any of them healed him, besides to prevent death, I would murder them all and then raze their villages to the ground. Not one healer, but all of them.”
He reminded himself that most of the healers were women. Most would not have needed the command to not heal a man who stumbled in, stabbed, after a woman came to them with a complaint of that sort of abuse.
“You didn’t do it to stop them from healing him,” he squeaked out, the other possibility dawning on him as Telm’s smile grew. “You did it to stop them from killing him.”
“No healer has given the court a reason to fear their rank in a very long time,” Telm said quietly. “I would like to keep it like that. At least until they truly need to step forward.”
“And the woman?” Jer managed to get out of his constricted throat.
“Wena is not quite eighteen.” Telm paused as Jer’s fist slammed into his desk. “The events that transpired were that the lord got her very drunk while not drinking himself. She recalls what happens, perhaps that will save her. She does not, yet, apply that term to herself. All she believes is he took advantage of her and now she is very sore.”
“Rape is rape.”
“Yes, it is,” Telm said. “If you think for a moment that a lord getting a girl drunk to take her clothing off is not rape then you and I need to have a very detailed conversation about whether or not you will live to see the new spring.”
“Why is he still alive?” Jer shouted.
“Because by honour he has to tell everyone why I stabbed him.”
That made him pause, his mind doing a tumble as he tried to recall what that meant.
“It’s an honour lesson for the whole court,” Jer said. “By making him live, he is a constant reminder of the rules of court and that we will, without question, enforce them.”
“Exactly,” Telm said. “And she was telling the truth.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that she was telling the truth, I trust your instincts more than my own,” he sighed out. He struggled to regain control of his anger. “Is there anything else I should know about?”
“Only that there is gossip in the court, started by a particular lady through her servant. I warned the servant that continued gossip would result in the loss of her position and her lady being sent home in shame. I made it very clear that if this continued the servant would be blacklisted. Typically that will put an end to all of that.”
“Good, not too much trouble the first day,” he said. “That’s always a good sign. Next time something comes up like that, Telm, if you don’t come fetch myself and my brother, no matter what we are up to at that time, we will be having a lengthy conversation as to whether or not you are still capable of serving.”
Chapter Seven
Aren waited until Telm left, then climbed out of bed and sat before the fire. Her head ached terribly, but she knew sleep would be a long time coming. She preferred sitting and thinking to being in bed and moping about her misfortune. As Aren drew her legs up to curl under her, the door opened.
Grimacing, she looked to the door.
Av closed it as quietly as he could and tiptoed to the bed, unaware that she was by the fire. Startled by the empty bed, he looked over the room and finally spotted her, crossing the distance between them.
“You should be in bed,” he said quietly, taking the other seat.
“Not tired,” Aren said, staring into the flames.
“But you sound weary,” Av countered.
“Not tired,” Aren said, trying to put an edge to her words.
It wasn’t that she felt her emotions drained, but that being angry took more concentration than she could muster right then. The cotton feeling in her head hadn’t gone away and instead, Aren swore, had gotten worse during court.
“Let me get food, at the very least,” Av said.
Aren nodded her consent, watching Av leave. He wasn't gone long, certainly not long enough to make it to the kitchen and back. Upon his return she ate what he presented to her, but only because she knew she had to. Av chatted quietly during the meal, then cleared away the dishes when they were done. The moment he left with the dishes a woman walked into Aren’s rooms as if she were the one who sat the throne.
“Lady Aren!” The lady proceeded to sit in Av’s seat without introducing herself. “The head of house just threatened my servant and myself. We've done nothing wrong!”
“Are you making a joke?” she asked.
She knew Av would be back shortly. She also knew that if this woman attempted to attack her, the throne would help or she could use her training to protect herself.
“Of course not,” the lady protested angrily.
Aren let out a curse. She didn’t have the time, or the energy, for uppity ladies.
“Exactly my point,” the lady said in response to Aren’s cursing. “This sort of behaviour from the help is completely unacceptable.”
“I was cursing at you,” Aren responded. “Lady Telm has served the throne for decades longer than you’ve been alive. She sees only to the interest of the throne. If she has made a threat on your life, then you must have done something to upset her or to break rules, laws, commands, or tradition.”
“Or honour,” Av said from the doorway, having returned already.
He strode to the fire and set his hands on his hips. “I just spoke with Jer. Apparently we’re going by honour.”
“Why?” Aren asked. “And what’s the difference between honour and tradition?”
“A man has to keep his word, if he has any honour,” Av tried explaining. “Tradition just says keep your word, basically keep your honour. I’m not exactly clear on it, but Jer assures me that you’ll appreciate honour a good deal more than tradition.”
“What’s that got to do with Lady Telm threatening me?” the lady snapped at Av.
“Tradition dictates that if a servant is spreading vicious gossip only the one who is above the servant, the one who employed her, can say anything,” Av said. “Honour says that if one servant hears another spreading vicious rumours then the first servant should protect the honour of their employer. Honour also says ladies don’t just walk into the rooms of other ladies without announcing themselves ahead of time.”
“What’s tradition say?” Aren asked. “For comparison’s sake.”
“Nothing, there are no traditions about knocking before entering, or anything else of that sort,” Av said to Aren. “At least, I don’t think there are. There is, however, a long standing tradition of a warrior gutting people he finds in his queen’s rooms. Honour practically demands I at least skin a woman who intrudes on one I’ve claimed.”
“I like it already,” Aren muttered, looking to the lady. “I will speak with Telm, but that does not mean I will discipline her. I doubt she’s done anything wrong. Or anything that you haven’t done worse yourself. You’re dismissed.”
“But I—“
“When a rank tells a commoner that they are dismissed,” Av interjected, “they are bound by honour to take the dismissal. Otherwise you have no honour and if you have no honour the throne will have no dealings with you, or your blood. Tell me, how would your father feel about being cut off suddenly because of your actions at court?”
The lady stood, furious still, but she curtsied. “I will take my leave.”
Aren watched the lady go, frowning after her.
“What?” Av said, taking his seat once more.
“I feel like bashing her over the head,” Aren responded, her mind clearing suddenly. “I don’t know why.”
Av made a momentary, surprised face. “Do you usually have a reason?”
Aren nodded. Normally she only wanted to hit someone when they really upset her, insulted her, poked her too often. She would never act on that urge. When they attacked her, she wanted to, and would, hit back, but not because they were rude. Poor manners could be dealt with through words.
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Aren stood, walking to the door as something nagged at her.
“Aren?” Av called.
She left her rooms, cocked her head, and listened. Av came out behind her, protesting when she walked away. Aren allowed her feet to lead her.
“Aren, what is going on?” Av said, grabbing hold of her when she paused at an intersection of two halls. “You’re in your nightdress.”
“Something, something,” Aren grumbled, marching across the hall as people scattered out of her way. “Someone is getting hit.”
“What?” Av asked.
The clothes of the people around her changed to serving grey. The servants pressed against the walls to get out of Aren’s way, muttering as she passed. The hallways became narrower, and fewer of the light fixtures were working. Aren scowled at a darkened light and was rewarded when the hallway lit up suddenly. She marched around the corner to find a group of frightened young women outside a door.
“What?” Av demanded of them as Aren set a hand on the door.
All the young women began speaking at once. Aren tried the door, finding it locked. Glaring at the door, she closed her eyes and wondered what type of lock it was, just a bar over the door? A proper lock?
If a door in the palace was locked, did she need a key?
The door swung open, creaking as it did so.
“I told you women to—” a man shouted, cut short when he laid eyes on Aren, standing in the doorway in nothing more than her nightdress. “Well, aren’t you a pretty one?”
Aren loosened her control on purpose and watched the three men change from leering to horrified. She stepped into the room and kicked the door shut on a startled Av. The lock slid back into place as Aren moved to the closest man, she smiling at him sweetly.
“Here is what’s going to happen.” Aren looked from the man before her, to the next, and then to the third. “You are going to turn yourselves in. No fighting. You are going to confess to everything you have done and, if someone’s hired you, you will tell the guard who.”
“And if we refuse?” asked the man deepest in the room, standing over the huddled, trembling form.
“Boys, please.” Aren let her magic loose in the confined space, elation filling her as she watched the men stumble over what they were seeing, just as Av had when he had first seen it. “I would love to test the limits of my magic. You have until the count of ten to leave this room.”
She didn’t manage to start counting. The men were past her that fast, and out the room, babbling to Av all at once. Aren turned to Av, who stared back at her, questioning what she had done with a look. Shrugging, she turned to the form on the floor.
“It’s all right now,” she said, crouching down. “Let’s get you to a healer, no?”
Telm looked up at Aren, hands trembling.
“Telm?” Aren choked out. “Why were you—” She stopped, gritting her teeth. “Did you threaten a lady earlier tonight?”
“Gossiping,” Telm said, sitting up. Her face was bruised, blood ran from her nose yet the head of house hardly seemed fazed. “I will have control of my house, Aren.”
“Naturally, but the lady came to me to complain,” Aren said with a sigh. “I told her nothing would come of it. Obviously she sent you a gift before coming to see me. Come spend the night in my rooms. You’ll be safe there.”
“I will be fine here, if I don’t open the door,” Telm muttered. “Are you all right? They said you had been hurt.”
“Fine, Telm,” she responded. “I’d be better if you'd spend the night in my rooms, where I can keep an eye on you. Or in the healer hall.”
The older woman gave her head a shake. “No, no healer is touching me. Never been touched by a healer, never will.”
“But your face, and your nose,” Aren winced at the sight of it. “Telm, you look like you got beat up by three men.”
“Probably because I was,” Telm said. “That’s what the court needs to see.”
Aren scowled at Telm. “Does this have something to do with honour?”
“Somewhat, yes,” Telm said, reaching under the bed. The head of house pulled out a pouch, clutching it to her chest. “I will spend the night in your rooms. If you drop the healer hall.”
She considered Telm carefully, wondering how damaged the older woman truly was. Telm swayed only slightly and while the bruising looked bad, Aren doubted any of it was serious. The beating had been meant to make a point, not to kill her.
“I can do that,” Aren said, offering Telm a hand up.
Telm took the hand and Aren led the older woman out of the room, closing the door behind her. They stepped out just as Av finished lecturing the servants on what to do if anyone in the palace was ever attacked.
“And if you do happen to kill an attacker, I demand to hear about it because that is a good thing,” Av said, shaking a finger at the group of young women. “How many more attacks do you think there’d be if everyone knew you’d gut them where they stood for thinking such a thing?”
“But Lady Em said we can’t touch lords,” one said to her feet.
“Lady Em is dead,” Av said. “Lady Aren sits the throne.”
“Where did those men go?” Aren asked.
“The guard was following us,” Av said. “Apparently it’s a standing order, if you see the one who sits the throne running through the palace, you follow. The men are in custody. What did you do to them?”
Aren shrugged. “I just showed them what I showed you at your father’s.”
“That only frightened me because I wasn’t expecting it,” Av said.
“I’ll keep that in mind the next time you upset me,” Aren responded. “I’ll use magic instead. Maybe melt a little flesh off your bones to teach you a lifelong lesson.”
Av went a grey colour.
“Lord Av, would you please escort myself and Lady Aren back to her rooms?” Telm said politely. “I will be spending the night with her.”
Chapter Eight
After much debate they called court to deal with the lady. Aren wanted to deal with her in private, Av and Jer argued to do it publicly so that no one might mistake the reasons behind the discipline. In the future they could perform discipline in private, but the court had to be made aware that the rules were changing.
Once the decision had been made they quickly came to an agreement on who should attend court. There was plenty of room, if the lords and ladies stood next to one another instead of giving each other a wide berth. They were commanded to stand on one side of the throne room while the other was left open to any of the serving staff, healers, or guards who wished to attend.
Both were invited in order to prevent confusion. Whether in a serving capacity or as one who held title, all would be subjected to the same laws.
It was not going well. The lady was protesting and Aren's patience wearing thin. Without a mate to the throne there was no real way to intervene. An aide was only there to prevent an uprising
in the lords and to keep the queen alive long enough to mate. It was on Aren to put an end to this.
Just as things were reaching the point where Jer was going to toss aside the rules and step in, the throne room doors opened.
In walked his father.
Ervam pulled to an obviously startled stop with Mie at his side. He looked over those gathered to witness the court, over Aren and then to the lady.
The court, in turn, focused entirely on Ervam. Jer heard the whispered mutter from each side, older folk informing the younger ones who and what Ervam was. The whispering ended quickly, a shocked silence falling over the room.
“Don’t look at him,” Aren said in her quiet voice. She had been practising casting her voice, had been taking lessons on speaking from Telm. The queen paused until the lady before her turned from Ervam, back to her. “You look at me when you blabber about how you attacked my,” Aren’s voice rose as her anger filled the throne room, “head of house and expected to get away with it!”
“She threatened me! How is a servant allowed to threaten a lady without retribution? What has this world come to?”
Ervam dropped his bag at Mie’s feet. Jer knew from experience that the trainer expected his son to stand and wait for his return. Walking down the aisle, Ervam stopped beside the lady, looked to Telm, who stood at the base of the steps and to one side. The place where complainants were permitted to stand and face their attacker.
“Excuse me?” Ervam asked the lady.
“Who are you?” she snapped back at him.
“Ervam,” he responded, pointing up to Aren. Jer watched his father look up at the throne, over Aren and then over him. He was more than capable of making the leap without being told. “That is my son’s sister you’re talking to. But more importantly I was once master of palace grounds and I don’t take kindly to ladies thinking they are above common servants.”
“I am above her.”