by R. J. Price
“I told you who your father was,” Aren said with a shrug.
“You told me that he killed my mother,” Mar snapped.
“And he did,” Aren said calmly.
Url felt a different sort of magic. The boiling shock and hatred of a room full of commoners soaked into the walls, inadvertently feeding the throne with a magic that was stronger than any queen's could have been. Those attending court knew who Mar's father was, they knew who had killed Em.
Yet no one looked between Jer and Mar, as Url had, and made the connection? How?
Url looked up to Jer, who seemed to be fighting with himself. He managed to make eye contact with his cousin, who gritted his teeth, snarling loudly enough to draw Mar's attention.
Jer stood from his seat. “Yes, fine. It's true. Killed her. There was no mercy to the motion. It was done out of spite, anger, and hope for a better future. You would have done the same, had you heard the truth.”
“No, I would never take a life,” Mar said. “Ever.”
Aren spoke slowly, “Not even, if you discovered that you are not a bastard?”
“Once my mother died, I was no longer a bastard. Thank you,”—Mar turned to the seats where the barons were—“Lord Ervam for explaining that to me, because apparently I had it all wrong.”
“I told you yesterday that your mother had been lying to you, your whole life,” Aren said.
“Yes, she lied about what a bastard was, made me carry the burden of her mark,” Mar said.
Aren watched Mar.
“No,” Jer said, shaking his head. “Well, yes, but that's not the lie Aren is talking about, Mar. She means the one where Em told you that you were a bastard in the first place.”
“What do you mean?” Mar asked Jer. “She conceived me while mated to you.”
Jer sighed. “I had hoped to have a discussion with you after court.”
Mar wavered. “But… no, I'm the child of a high lord. Or a blind man.”
Url was out of his seat before Mar hit the floor. He caught the young woman and glared up at Aren. It was the influence of the throne looking back at him, he knew. The throne wanted this little show, the display before the court.
Aren stood and raised her voice above the shock of the court. “I want there to be no question, no contradictions. This throne recognizes the paternal rights of Jer Hue.”
Of course. Most, if not all, the lords and ladies at the palace were in attendance. They would pass word on through letters home and everyone would know that Mar was Jer's daughter. The throne had acted to ensure there was no mistaking the truth, no hiding it.
Mar stirred in Url's arms as he realized why no one else had stepped forward. If they believed Mar a bastard, she had no connections but for her mate, who stood on the edge of the crowd, Av's hand firmly on his shoulder to stop him from running to her side.
Av protecting the mate, because had anyone approached Url in that moment, he would have killed them without thought.
Carrying the young woman to his seat, Url set her into it and walked to the mate. The man rushed to her side as Url slid in beside Av.
“That's your chit?” he asked his cousin.
“Aye,” Av said quietly. “I can't tell what's the throne and what's her. They say you should be able to tell the difference.”
“I can,” Url responded in a whisper. “Let me tell you, Av, I'd take you on for the place by her.”
Av stiffened. “Then why haven't you?”
“The lady made it clear, no one is to touch you.” Url gave Av's arm a pat. “When can we expect the happy announcement?”
“Never,” Av responded as the court proceeded with Para stepping forward to make an appeal on behalf of Merkat. “Her parents won't give permission.”
“So?” Url asked.
Av motioned with his chin to Para. “She's arranged a mating between the southern baron's son and Aren. Politics over love, Url.”
Url looked over the court. “That depends. Tradition, or honour?”
“How does everyone know about traditional queens and honour queens except for me?” Av hissed at Url.
“Unless you see both, you only ever need to know about one,” Url responded. “Tradition or honour?”
“Honour,” Av said.
Url smiled. He glanced at Telm who was glaring at him from the end of the throne room. He gave the old head of house a nod.
“Aye, cousin, best honour her then.”
“What?” Av asked, frowning at Url.
“Is it really honourable to allow her to be mated to a man she would never be happy with?” Url gave his cousin's arm another quick pat and returned to his father, standing behind Er's seat.
Er leaned back slightly and looked up at Url. Bending down, Url whispered to his father. “There's a happy couple and a mating on the horizon, Father. Good thing we came to court.”
“Of course there's a mating,” Merkat, who sat beside Er growled at Url. “My son to the queen.”
Url grinned at his father, who gave the barest of nods. Both looked down to the other end of the throne room, to Telm. Er could have called on Gamen of the east, who owed many favours to the north, and made a different sort of treaty. Er could have offered up one of his blood to mate Aren and then arranged for Av to mate her, but that was not the way of the north. Av had to help himself, in order to deserve Aren.
If Av did not step forward and Aren was forced into mating Merkat's son, the boy would be killed and Av would join him in a shallow grave. Someone else would be given the chance to step up, someone like Url.
Thoughts of that could wait until after court, until Url had a chance to speak with his father in private. How better to unite the north to the palace than by mating the one who sat the throne? Someone who had been born on the coast, by her bloodline, and had lived many years in the south?
As court finished, and they were dismissed, Url pulled his father to a sitting room and locked the door behind them. He smiled, hopeful, as Er watched him.
“No, you will not mate her,” Er said.
“Only if he fails,” Url said. “I have no intention of standing in the way.”
“If he fails, then we will speak of you mating her,” Er responded gruffly. His father sighed. “Until then, you make like you will. Remember the stories I told you of your grandmother and grandfather?”
“Yes, of course, how could I forget?” Url responded.
“I need you to arrange for that to happen here,” Er said. “I will speak with Jer—he should make it more obvious. As should Mar. They're halfway there, did you notice that?”
Url nodded. “Not until you pointed it out, but I did. No man dares question a warrior with that look in his eyes. Gives him the right to call himself mate before a ceremony, has the ability to break off arranged matings as long as the ceremony has yet to take place.”
“He's claimed her, the court babbles about it,” Er said quietly. “Now she has claimed him at table, though only the barons saw it. All would speak to that. We have always respected honour. Convincing a court that runs on tradition is another matter. Tradition says an arranged mating carries on, that only a mating ceremony can link a man and woman.”
“Av said Aren is about honour, not tradition.”
“Of course she is, she always asks why,” Er said with a huff. “Certainly is not a traditional queen. Dresses differently, acts differently. Listens to the throne and incites commoners to such emotion they create magic strong enough for the throne to absorb. Allows magic to be flashed in the throne room. I've heard myth of that, but never thought it actually possible.”
“Can't I just—”
“You cannot kill her parents to relieve the tension,” Er snarled at Url, advancing on the younger man and causing him to back up. “They need to do this. They need to fix this. They need to survive. If they can't survive her parents, how will they face the rest of the world? They do it themselves, they choose their path.”
“And if they fail?” Url asked meekl
y.
“If they fail, only if, then we will discuss your mating her in his stead. One way or another, strong northern blood will be linked to the throne, as my father intended it to be.”
Chapter Nineteen
“I will not do it,” Aren said to the table.
Jer, Av, Ervam, and her father sat at the table. She knew what her father would say, but she turned to Av and Jer for help. Surely, she thought, Av would back her.
Av averted his eyes. “Politically speaking, Aren, this is a gift on a silver platter. The barons have never agreed on anything to do with the palace. Not one of them protested.”
“Because she didn't invite them to participate,” Jer said to Av, then gave Aren an apologetic look. “He is right, however. Politically, you can't beat an arranged mating like this. Other matings are about a little bit of coin, or a small piece of land being handed to your parents. This is an entire portion of palace lands, it will double palace lands. With the south alone.”
“Not to mention the coin,” Ervam said. “Jer and I visited the treasury. The damage is not as bad as we thought, but it is still pretty bad. The south rejoining palace lands, given their current economy, would pay off the debt.”
“No,” Aren said.
Her father stood, drawing all eyes to him. “At least see the boy, before you say no.”
Ervam frowned at Aren's father. “I think you're dull as my old axe and then you come out with something like that. He's right, Aren. See the boy. Who knows? You might enjoy his company.”
Aren looked to Av for support. His eyes were focused on the table, face still. Angry, Aren glared at her father.
“Fine.”
“There's no need to be angry about this,” her father said. “You need a man.”
The top of the table boiled, its varnish bubbling and cracking as Aren fought for control. She would not unleash herself for something so foolish, she would maintain control.
Jer was right in saying that her parents were a trigger for her anger. Whenever one of them opened their mouths, she wanted to rage. Calming her thoughts, Aren brought herself under control.
“Excuse me,” she said to the men at the table.
They were too busy staring at the table, trying to figure out what had happened, to stop her from leaving.
For the first eighteen years of her life, Aren had hardly used her magic. When she became upset, when angry, her magic would flare and she might be detected as her rank. After linking to the throne, she suddenly found herself unable to restrain the anger. Her magic was doing things she never thought possible, without her wanting it to. Yet instead of attacking the one who caused her anger, the magic destroyed inanimate objects, played with the temperature.
As if her magic filled the air around her and when she pulled it back, rather than re-absorb, it turned its destructive force on something else. What would happen if that rage did re-absorb? If Aren successfully pulled the spare magic, created by her anger, back into herself?
She had yet to find a reason to be truly angry, yet to become emotional over something that, with a clear mind, she might think worth the anger.
Moving through the palace, Aren found Lord Laeder, her intended, in the library. He looked startled to see her, but stood quickly.
“Lady Aren,” Lord Laeder said, motioning to the seat across from him. “Please, join me.”
Aren dropped into the seat. “I'm told we're to mate.”
Laeder twitched, then took his seat calmly. “Our parents believe the political match is, well, unmatched.”
“I don't want to mate you,” Aren said sternly. “You should know that now.”
“I'm fairly certain if we mate, I will be killed before the celebration is over,” Laeder murmured. “My father believes it a good match because I can use magic.”
“What's that like, for a commoner?” Aren asked. “I recently met a young warrior who could use magic. He seemed to imply that he could either read minds or view things that he had no part in.”
Laeder nodded slowly. “It's the first thing I learned to do. I thought I was imagining things. My nanny did as well.” He smiled kindly. “I have a limited magic, I cannot lend it to anyone else, and I can only use so much in one day. Somewhat like…” he considered, “…like how far I could walk in one day, there is a limit to that before I begin to hurt myself. Make sense?”
“Quite,” Aren said. “My rank is like that, though I have not tried to press the limits of my magic. It's only recently that my anger has gotten the better of me.”
“From what I understand commoners with magic can walk around a garden,” Laeder said. “A queen, especially one strong enough to be noticeable, could fly around the world and still be able to do more.”
“Except I could make it so you might fly around the world, whereas you could not do the same. At least you aren't taken by moods.”
“Moods are a symptom of being linked to the throne, especially those taken by it,” Laeder responded, motioning to the books before him. “I've been doing research. In case we are mated. The moods should settle within a month or two, as the throne… settles.”
“Settles?” Aren asked.
“Uhm...” Laeder scratched the back of his head. “This could be wrong, as it was written by a scribe a few hundred years ago, but it was implied that as the throne gets used to your cycle, the moods will calm down.”
“My—?” Aren's face heated. “It does not say that.” She pulled the book to herself and read the page. Embarrassed, Aren closed the book. “It does say that.”
“At least it didn't say you're moody because of your cycle, just that the throne has to adjust. Does your magic cycle, you know, with your cycle?”
“Not that I'm aware of, I can use it just the same,” Aren said. “The only restriction I know of is when pregnant because some magics drain the body and could put the baby in danger.”
Laeder nodded. “We have that in common at least. The magic, I mean. I may be able to teach you a trick or two. Such as seeing things you are not a part of.”
“I'm not sure about that one,” Aren said with a shake of her head. “I once predicted something would happen and was accused of witchcraft because 'queens cannot do that,' which is ridiculous. How do you know what a queen can do? Isn't that what I can do?”
“Queens can't tell the future,” Laeder said with a frown. “Did you really do that?”
“I lived through the same day twice, the third time around I got fed up and decided to do something about it,” Aren said, pushing the book back to Laeder. “Do your books say anything about that?”
“No, but there might be one which does.” The lord looked around the library. “It would take an entire lifetime to search through all these. Even if I narrowed my search down to the histories of the queens.”
“There's an archivist somewhere in this palace,” Aren said. “I've just not seen him yet.”
“Busy with the headaches?” Laeder asked, motioning to his temple. “I saw you touching your head in court, and at breakfast this morning. You did it as a force of habit—how long have you had the headaches?”
“Why do you say it like you've seen it before?” Aren asked.
“My mother was the same rank as you are, and she suffered from them. Anger fuels your magic, but if you hold back too much…” Laeder motioned to his temple again, “pain. She held back because she was too weak to do much besides flare and show my father she was angry.”
Aren considered. “Could my moods be because I'm holding something back?”
“What are you holding back?” Laeder asked. “Most women would kill to get on the throne. Many have.”
“It's not what I wanted,” Aren grumbled.
“Ah, you're an honour queen,” Laeder said with a nod. “Cabin on a lake for you.”
“How did you know?”
“There are different types of each rank,” Laeder said. “Healers can sometimes only do one sort of healing. Some trainers can only train, while others ca
n actually be masters of warriors, as Lord Ervam is, I believe. Queens typically are summed up in two categories. Honour queens, who only want to be in a cabin on a body of water somewhere, a long way from commoners, and everything else, which is called traditional queens.”
“...Who follow tradition,” Aren muttered. “Like Em.”
“No, from my understanding the traditional ones are what all queens once were. Honour queens were those who didn't do their duties as tradition dictated and were considered honorary. They weren't allowed to rule.”
Aren frowned at Laeder.
“Sorry,” Laeder said ducking his head. “I am trained as a scribe and the southern area where my father sent me to train has a repository of texts, old things. The dry air is better than too much moisture, helps keep the texts in readable condition longer. That's where I read about the rank. My father first mentioned this arrangement some months ago and I read whatever I could on the topic there. Many said only the most important papers were kept at the palace. I was quite excited, but there's not much here besides gossip.”
“The archivist?” Aren asked.
“As a commoner, I'm not allowed to see him,” Laeder said, rolling his eyes. “I already asked the librarian. Otherwise too many commoners would be bothering him, or something of that sort.”
“I'm betting I'm allowed to see him,” Aren said.
The lord smiled. “Yes, I'm sure you could. But I couldn't press you for that. I've only done research for the arrangement. Truth be told, I'm not interested in mating you. You're not my type.”
Aren opened her mouth, then closed it. She had told Laeder she didn't want to mate him, but she hadn't insulted him at the same time. There were very good reasons for her to not mate him. Av being one, though she wasn't entirely certain about him at that very moment.
“Oh, no,” Laeder said quickly, turning red as he did so. “No, Lady Aren, it's not—you’re not—I mean... You... It's, uhm, see, I don't like your kind.”
“My rank?” Aren asked.
“No, not that.” Laeder shook his head. “I've... I've never said this to anyone before. It's a little more difficult than I imagined it would be when I practised last night. I, uhm, I'm not interested in you because, well, you see, I'm not interested in...” Laeder made a motion to Aren.