by R. J. Price
“He never told me,” Mar said.
“It's not the place of a man to burden a child with his past,” Ervam responded, watching her. “Just as it's not the place of a woman to burden a child with her curse. Bastard is a title to be carried until the time of death of the man or woman who cheated while mated and conceived the child. It is meant to be shameful to the parent, not the child.”
“Doesn't change the fact that children wouldn't play with me,” she said.
He sighed. “It does. Typically bastards have more friends, the parents thrust their children at the bastard in order to counter the title, to show the bastard the world is a great and wonderful place. While the parent has little to no companions because the adults only come to remind the parent of their indiscretion, not to gossip.
“It is the place of the throne to protect all those labelled bastard. You and two others are currently registered. The other two are being treated properly. Jer keeps tabs on them and as mate to the throne was able to interfere on their behalf. But the mere mention of you would throw your mother into a rage.”
“What else did she lie about?” Mar asked. “I trusted her, she was my mother! If you can't trust your mother, who can you trust?”
Except for Aren. The woman was a great deal of things, but a liar she was not. She had looked after Mar without question, working around or outright ignoring the ridiculous rules Em had attempted to apply to them.
“Ask Aren,” Ervam said. “You think you've got it bad? She does as well. The difference between the two of you is that her mother did something that broke the trust so entirely that Aren hasn't trusted Para since she was young. She didn't have a head of house looking out for her, and between you and me? She's only ever had one friend.”
“She never mentioned a friend to me,” she said.
“Well, two now, I suppose,” Ervam said, looking Mar over. “When Aren was young, eleven or so, she had a friend in a village on the coast. Her mother had the girl burned as a witch.”
“What?” Mar shouted.
He smiled. “The past is the past, though it doesn't change the fact that we don't trust Aren's parents. We don't want anything to do with them. What comes from them is dangerous and only to further their own cause. Until she came to court, Aren lived in a world as restricted as yours. She couldn't be angry, though, because she feared her mother would literally kill her. She wasn't allowed to speak out of turn or learn what she wanted. She didn't have the pretty clothing your mother sent you because no daughter of Em's was allowed to look like a frumpy country girl.
“You both grew up being told you weren't good enough. You because you had been born; Aren because she was too stupid, too fat, too different, not ladylike, outspoken. Knowing what I know about Para, Aren was probably chastised for learning too much, but also for not paying enough attention to her tutors, for dressing like a country girl, for learning to stitch her own clothing, for cutting down and re-purposing a dress.
“Each of these things, to Para, was the end of her reputation. She would react as if the world were ending because Aren picked up the wrong utensil at the dinner table.”
“She was just a child,” Mar said.
“As were you,” Ervam said. “From my understanding, each time your mother thought you became too attached to a toy, she had it stolen. When you were ten, a lord made comment of the rumour he heard of your hair. Your mother had your hair cut off in the middle of the night, because she knew you were a heavy sleeper.”
“No, the nanny did that,” Mar said.
“You called your nanny 'Mother' by accident,” Ervam said quietly.
“How do you know that?”
“Your head of house was a trusted man, but I didn't trust your mother. He wrote me, I've kept the letters. Waiting the day the throne passed to another. Not because I had high hopes for the one who took the throne, though I did have hopes, but because with your mother dead, no one would dare stand toe-to-toe with me when I demanded retribution. If the one who sat the throne defied me on the topic, I'd simply remove them and anyone who got in my way.”
Mar was quiet a moment, and then she turned to Ervam. “What if I had taken the throne?”
“According to my mate, you wouldn't. When the throne took Mirmae, she knew it didn't want her, that there was one of your rank it did want, that it craved, but she was too young, to the east of the palace. You were at the palace at the time of Mirmae's ascension.”
“Do you know who my father is?” Mar asked, surprised as the words came out of her mouth.
“Yes, I do,” Ervam said.
For a moment it looked as if the trainer might divulge the information. Mar could almost pinpoint the moment when Ervam recalled who sat the throne. He was tempted to tell her despite Aren? Why?
Mar could tick off several reasons why a man might tell a secret he was ordered to keep. Just such a secret would require calling strongly to the one who asked the question. Or because the one who had asked the question was long-lost blood.
There was no way for her to be related to the Mariltons, however. They had strong northern blood, whereas she was clearly the slighter palace-born lines. She was far too slight compared to the more curved northern shape.
“Why will no one tell me who he is?” Mar asked.
“We are in a difficult position,” Ervam murmured in response. “Telling you risks the anger of Aren. I've seen her angry momentarily, but besides her parents, I've yet to see her carry her rage. We aren't even certain how she will react, now that she's on the throne, to her mother saying something stupid. The throne amplifies the anger of a queen in its first days attached to her. Her anger vanishes quickly, can be controlled quickly and then released, but never like this.”
“You're afraid. Of Aren?” Mar asked with a desperate laugh. “This is ridiculous. All I've ever wanted was to know who my father is. Now he's at court and won't speak to me. No one will help. I respect your fear of her, I'm afraid of angering her because I feel it would be a terrible mistake, but what about me?”
“You aren't angry about it,” Ervam said with a shake of his head. “If you were angry about this, things would be different. Face it, you're exactly like he is, afraid. He could be a cripple, for all you know, or he could be a madman, a drunk, a gambler, a womanizer. You don't know.”
She considered. “I suppose with my mother, the best I can hope for is a blind man.”
Ervam chuckled in response.
“That's funny?” she asked. “Why is that funny?”
“You'll find out when you present yourself to court and Aren recognizes you as an independent young woman,” he said.
“I'm not going to just ask her to recognize me,” she said. “Av told me this rule, where I can demand the throne tell me who my father is. That's what I'm going to do.”
“Which is what an angry woman of rank would do,” Ervam said. “Unleashing your anger in the throne room means forfeiting the magic—you know that, don't you? The throne will absorb any of the magic that is unleashed. Protects the one who sits it and adds to its own strength at the same time. That's why all announcements are supposed to happen in there. Commoners on their own don't register as a spark, but you get them all together and angry or shocked, any number of other things, they explode in magic. The throne absorbs that as well, uses it in long distance changes.”
“I didn't realize that, no,” Mar said. “Aren will not tell me in private, thus I will force her to in public. Then he'll have to recognize me.”
“Your father does recognize you, he wants to be a part of your life, Mar, but he suffered under your mother just as you did. He's afraid that after all these years, he won't be good enough, or you'll think less of him once you know.”
“I don't think less of him. But I'm still going to do it. I'm fed up with everyone else dictating my life. It's time I took control and sought out what I want. Rather than begging for it from a corner. How can I claim to be my rank if I can't even bring myself to ask about my father?�
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Chapter Sixteen
When Para heard that Av had walked Aren through the court, she had been furious. She had carefully laid out plans to mate Aren to the south, but if Av set his mind on Aren things would become difficult. After her discussion with him, she realized even a well-planned alliance would not sway Av.
Instead of arguing with him further, Para went in search of Aren. She told herself leaving Av had nothing to do with the fact she was afraid he might throw her into the pyre out of anger. She told herself it was her own choice to leave.
All ranks were the same, threatening commoners who questioned them too much.
Para stepped into the palace and ducked down a hallway when she saw her 'guardian' coming to find her. She and Cerlot had stepped into their rooms claiming to want to be alone. Para had then snuck out through the courtyard that their rooms opened onto. Obviously the guardian became wise to what Para had done.
She moved through the palace and finally found the room assigned to Aren. The assignments were denoted with numbers, which were difficult to find. These numbers were hidden in plain sight because lords and ladies didn't like the idea of others being able to find their rooms. The serving staff knew how to find the numbers, so that they knew whose rooms needed to be cleaned.
Para entered the room without knocking. She cursed her luck when she found Jer sitting across from Aren at the hearth.
“Why are you alone with this man?” Para demanded.
“My brother?” Aren asked. “Why am I alone with my brother? Or are you asking why I am alone with the aide to the throne?”
“You had best watch your tone with me,” Para snarled at Aren.
Aren stood, marching towards Para. “I am not a child any longer, Mother, and I am not some commoner for you to discard at your earliest convenience. Nor am I a rank to be used, abused, and burned as you see fit!”
“Aren!” Jer snapped, out of his seat a moment later. “That is enough!”
“Thank you, Jer,” Para said to the man, grudgingly admitting that he might have a purpose.
“For what?” Jer asked Para. “For controlling the moods those who sit the throne have in their early days? Don't thank me, Para. I'm just stopping her from hurting you. Something she'll regret once she calms down. What do you want, where is your guardian? How dare you enter Lady Aren's rooms without knocking, asking permission, and being here when you thought us absent?”
“I've come to inform her of an arranged mating,” Para said. “We sent word to the southern baron before we left, meaning to save Aren from Em.”
“Meaning to save yourselves,” Jer said quickly. “Not that I would blame you. The last couple Em brought to court? Well... It didn't go well for them. Or their village.”
“He is willing to unify with the palace, erasing the lines, the baron's status and taxes, to become one with the throne, entirely, but only if the one who sits the throne mates his son,” Para said. “I will leave it to you, to explain to her how important such a move is. She will say no on the basis that I was the one to suggest it.”
Jer took the news in stride, with a good deal more grace than Av had done. He nodded to Para slowly.
“A marvellous plan,” he said without any hint of being snide. “We will speak at length with the baron when he arrives, and until he does, I will explain to Aren the advantages of such a union.”
“But Av—” Aren started.
“Av is only interested in you because he slept with me,” Para snapped at Aren. “No other reason. He is chasing what he could not have.”
The heat that filled the room was cut a moment later by freezing cold as the palace tried to alter the temperature to keep Aren from lighting the very air on fire. Para breathed out a cloud and looked to Jer. The man looked genuinely afraid as he motioned for the door.
Para strode out of the room and tried not to appear to be fleeing.
Outside the door she found Telm, staring at Para as if she had grown a second head. Para closed the door behind her and met Telm's eyes.
“What are you staring at?” she demanded.
“The heating system just fired,” Telm said, looking confused. “No one has the strength to fuel that system. Not in—”
Para watched Telm struggle. She swallowed, allowing the words to sink in. For a moment she felt swelling pride. Aren would lead a long, prosperous reign. Para could be a part of that reign, but only through strict control.
“Heat and cold, apparently,” Para said. “Aren just tried to light the air in that room on fire, the palace countered and saved me.”
“Not you,” Telm muttered. “Jer is in there as well. But, Lady Para, I've received a missive that was meant to come to you. It's marked head of house.” The woman stepped forward and handed over the scroll. “Force of habit. I apologize, but I opened it. The southern baron is less than a day away and prays the throne hold off mating to hear his appeal.”
“Marvellous,” Para said, opening the missive. She read it over, then re-rolled it. “I will forgive this mistake, Telm. After all, you've only been dismissed a day.”
Para would have to deal with Telm as long as Aren and Telm were both still alive.
Telm swallowed and presented three more scrolls, marked with the seals of the northern, eastern, and western barons. “It would seem he sent word to the others. They are also less than a day away and have sent word begging rooms be prepared. That the palace guard stand down, they come to speak, not to war.”
“Have you done anything else?” Para demanded of Telm.
“Lady Aren warned me off doing anything,” Telm said quietly. “However, in order to avoid a war, I've placed a list of items on your desk which absolutely must be done for each baron.”
Para watched Telm. “What do you mean, absolutely?”
“They are not the high lords, they do not serve the palace. They are the rulers of their lands and must be treated as the one who sits the throne, with all respect due them. We…” Telm struggled, “play nicely with the independent lands. Especially the north and east. Until their conditions run through and their barons are removed, they are not technically part of the palace lands. As I'm sure you know.”
“I know quite well,” Para said.
“Don't get us killed, Para,” Telm said sternly.
“I am perfectly capable.”
“You're a fool and you are going to get someone hurt,” Telm said. “Dealing with one baron is a stress, dealing with all four? The staff would be quitting at the sight of those missives, if I had not commanded them stay. You have a good deal to do, I should leave you to it.”
Para waited until Telm entered Aren's rooms, before she walked casually to her study. Inside she found what Telm quaintly called a list. Four books, a history of the lands in question, with a sheet of paper atop each as to things that would result in instantaneous death.
She called staff and began making assignments. The barons, according to the lists, were to be put up in the rooms reserved for the high lords, the richest rooms in the palace. These rooms were side by side, which concerned Para, but she did as Telm ordered her because she could think of no other place to put any of the barons without insulting one or more of them.
Each of the rooms was virtually identical. Nothing for one to say another had because each would have the same. There would be nothing for the barons to bicker over.
Para found herself moving between the rooms, watching the cleaning and ordering changes as necessary. The staff reacted well when Para made a good decision, but she began to notice their hesitation when she made a decision they thought poor. In some cases Para changed her commands and watched the servants relax. In others she stood firm.
It was late night when she finally finished, only to be drawn to the greeting hall by a servant who stated Lady Telm always wanted to be there in these situations. The servant had not explained what 'these situations' meant, and left Para standing in the front hall looking like a fool.
Until the baron of the north
walked in. Para felt the blood drain from her face as she watched the man. Light brown hair and grey eyes, he was almost a spitting image of Ervam. Making Ervam his blood, making Av and Jer his blood. The man was well past middle age, yet had not a grey hair on his head, unlike Ervam. By his side was a younger version of himself, likely his son.
In the time it took Para to greet the man, she realized why it had been Telm they met when they first arrived. It had been arranged. Telm may have looked as if she had simply stumbled upon them, but that was not the case.
What was Telm's favourite saying?
She would have control in her house.
While Para greeted the baron of the north, the barons of the east and west walked in together, sharing a good laugh. The eastern baron had sun-bleached hair, tanned skin, and the green eyes his bloodline was known for. The baron of the west was younger, with dark hair and brown eyes. An easy smile spread across his face when he laid eyes on the baron of the north.
“Where is our dear cousin?” the baron of the west called cordially.
“Here,” called the deep voice of the southern baron. “And I've brought my son.”
The southern baron was olive skinned with dark hair and large, brown eyes. His son shared his features, though was slimmer with softer features.
“Ah, we've all gathered,” the northern baron grumbled.
Para had already forgotten his name. She felt the cold creeping back. Like any well-trained lady, she knew she should have committed his name to memory immediately. She knew Telm wouldn't have forgotten his name, the queen would have been able to recall facts which were now eluding Para even though she had just read them.
“Too late to call court,” the eastern baron said, stopping to glare at Para. “Who's this? The head of house is a short woman who will bend me over her knee if I attempt to compliment her.”
“A good deal prettier as well,” the western baron muttered. “That's what my high lord said to me. Aged well, I believe were his words. Who are you, lady? And why do you greet us?”