Sit Pretty

by R. J. Price

  “What has put this thorn into you?” Jer asked. “What specifically was said?”

  “Uncle Er threw Aunt Olea's arranged mate out Castle Grey's ballroom window,” Av said. “I can't do that because things are too, 'fluffy,' he says. That annoys me.”

  Jer was quiet for a long moment. “All right, I'll do it.”

  “Good,” Av said. “Oh, keep that one out of my way. She makes one more comment about how I'm only interested in Aren because I'm lusting after her, and I'll throw her out the closest window. Tradition be damned.”

  Para sputtered in anger as Av left. How dare he speak about her as if she weren't in the room?

  “Stay out of Lord Av's way, Para,” Jer said sternly, standing as he collected some papers from his desk. “Now if you'd kindly leave my study, I have a chore to see to.”

  “Why, because he commanded you to?” Para asked. “You can use your own mind, can you not?”

  “My mind says Aren mates Av,” Jer snarled in response. “Para, you don't want me to do what else it says. Get out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Shhhh,” Aren hissed at Mar as they tiptoed past Telm, who was snoring lightly.

  Out the door they snuck, dressed in training clothing to avoid the stares of lords. The clothing made a person invisible to lords, which worked in Aren's favour when she wanted to go for a walk undisturbed. Lords and ladies thought those dressed in older clothing to be beneath them and useless.

  She closed the door as quietly as she could, wincing when it clicked shut. Turning to Mar, she looked over her friend.

  “Are you still mad at me?” Aren asked.

  “Mad? No, but I'm not certain how I really feel. He's been avoiding me and making excuses,” Mar responded. “You promised something no one else has seen before. Something that would distract me. Where are we going?”

  “I don't know,” Aren said, walking down the hall, deeper into the palace. “Telm keeps mentioning the heart of the palace and says that I have to go down there and see everything.”

  “What are we whispering about?” Telm hissed behind them.

  Aren and Mar shrieked, scrabbling to hide behind one another as the older woman straightened and watched the pair of them. Mar ended up behind Aren, using her as a shield.

  Telm had given them a strict command to go to sleep, saying that if the ladies insisted on spending the night together, they were going to get a good night's sleep and return to their lords well rested.

  “We just-—” Aren started.

  “...Thought we'd go for a walk,” Mar said quickly when Aren trailed off.

  When Aren had been Mar's guardian they went for many walks in just the same fashion. Em had been focused on clothing, not faces, and had even barked orders at them on a few of their adventures without realizing who they were. The pair wandered everywhere from the upper library, down to the cellars, and all of the public ways. Aren almost had the servant hallways memorized.

  There were still a few places she hadn't managed to visit yet, such as the queen's rooms, the heart of the palace, and the archivist.

  “Since the two of you are having such a hard time sleeping and the palace has begun to sleep, neither of you will be needed,” Telm muttered. “Dressed like that, no one will see the pair of you. Where exactly were you planning on going?”

  “I was going to let my feet lead us,” Aren said.

  “Ah,” Telm responded, moving around Aren and Mar. “Come along then. I'll give you the tour I've given those who sat the throne before you. It's long overdue. No secrets that another of our rank cannot know, either.”

  Mar and Aren fell in behind Telm. The older woman walked for some time, taking hallways that led them deeper and deeper into the palace. Outside a large set of doors, Telm stopped and turned to them.

  “Beyond these doors are the queen's rooms,” Telm said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Inside, Aren, is a living area, a bedroom off the main room meant for young children, a bathing room, a library, and a solarium.”

  “What's a solarium?” Aren asked.

  “It's a room of all windows,” Mar said to Aren.

  “The queen's rooms don't back onto a garden or courtyard, so the solarium was built with a glass ceiling,” Telm said “The glass is magically enforced and cannot be broken from the outside. Protects you while giving you light, should you not be able to leave the rooms for whatever reason.”

  “Why is there no courtyard?” Aren asked.

  “To prevent attempts on your life while in your rooms,” Telm said.

  Telm opened the door and motioned them in. Once inside, she closed the door behind them and slid the lock into place.

  “Goodness, the woman has actually done a good job in here,” Telm said, raising her voice slightly.

  “It's empty,” Mar said.

  The walls and floor had been scrubbed, furniture removed entirely. The fireplace looked almost brand new with the ash gone. Aren stood on the marble flooring and looked up at the high ceiling, at the small glass ball sculpture, which lit up slowly as she looked at it. One by one, each of the little balls took on a colour different than the others.

  “Do you like the rooms, Aren?” Telm asked.

  “I would feel better if air could come in,” Aren said.

  A breeze picked up. Telm stepped up beside Aren and smiled slightly.

  “Air can flow in from the solarium, but thanks to your magic, instead of just a breeze,”—Telm held up her hands as the breeze drifted off—“it's as if all the windows are thrown open. This set of rooms took three generations to create. Nearly every generation since have added to the magic in the walls, on the floor. The furniture you will be allowed to select from are those that previous women have used and added their magic to.”

  “Why?” Aren asked, turning slowly.

  “Have you ever wished the floor of your rooms were heated?” Telm asked, pointing to the floor. “Place a hand on the floor.”

  Aren knelt and did as she was asked. With a gasp, she felt heat bloom under her hand.

  “Ones like Jer and Av are meant to keep you distracted. Ones like yourself looked around and thought selfishly, just about one tiny little detail. One small thing. If only, they'd think, and the throne would manifest it for them, keeping that selfish thought around for the next because, well, you sit the throne, you deal with stupid. This, I think is a small price for the throne to pay for you to last longer, and it will help you last longer. If you stress over everything and nothing can ease your tension, you will burn out quickly.”

  Aren stood. “But that means magic that should be fuelling the throne is going into this.”

  “This is mainly fuelled by dying wishes, the frightening insanity right before the mate takes her life. It's the largest surge of magic she will ever give off and it doesn't go to the throne, it goes here. To run this a little longer. The throne adjusts everything, Aren. This, though, this almost always has magic. Your survival is more important than whether or not the lords have light to see by.”

  “I see three doors,” Mar said, pointing. “Solarium, bedroom, bathing room. Where's the library?”

  “There,” Telm said, motioning to the hearth.

  “The hearth?” Aren asked, walking to it. Either side of the hearth was a panel of wall, separated from the rest of the room by pillars built into the wall itself.

  She reached out and touched one, watching the panel swing open.

  “That one leads to the heart, the other leads to the library and only you, and your mate if you grant him permission, can open the door,” Telm called out, crossing the distance to the hearth.

  “What exactly is in the heart?” Aren asked.

  “Let me explain this as I do for everyone else,” Telm said. She looked about and sighed in annoyance. “She even removed the portable lights, probably thought them to be Em's personal items. Well, hopefully you're strong enough to light the heart and the palace at the same time, otherwise everyone will know something is hap
pening. This way, girls.”

  Aren followed Telm into the darkness, Mar followed right behind them. On the other side of the door were a set of stairs that spiralled down. When they stepped into the complete darkness, a bar of light appeared to the right, seeping ever downward as they moved.

  “This palace, as you know, is relatively new,” Telm said over her shoulder to them. “As you've no doubt heard many say before, our people have a long history. We have lived on this world for a very long time, and the palace has been here much of that time.

  “Who, when, and why, the palace was created has been lost to history. The old palace stood for a very long time. Thousands of years of ranks sitting the throne caused it to absorb too much. It was decided the palace would be rebuilt.

  Telm stepped off the stairs and stopped in front of an oil painting of a castle “The palace once looked more like the castles of the north.” She motioned to the painting. “Nothing overly pretty about it. But it stood the test of time and, myth has it, was created when our people had barely discovered the wheel.”

  “What happened to all the stones?” Aren asked. “They look huge. Is this an accurate image?”

  “It is, and the stones no longer exist,” Telm said. “At least, not that I'm aware of. The north claims Castle Grey is made up of palace stones, lugged from here by their ranked members, and rebuilt into something new and better. They also say that was when, and why, they separated from palace lands.

  “All that remains of the old palace is the throne room, here at the heart.”

  “But the throne room is up,” Aren said.

  “The throne room was, somehow, sunk into the ground. Perhaps it was built into the ground in the first place, the records are not clear,” Tem said, stepping away from the painting.

  A hallway branched off. To the right, Aren smelled fresh water, a bit of air came up and tugged at her hair.

  “Is that the way to the spring you mentioned to me?” Aren asked Telm.

  “No, that's the way to the water,” Telm said with a motion to Aren and Mar. “It does need to be checked from time to time. We'll get to that. Magic from birth to death, does little. Over generations it does something else entirely depending on how, or why, the magic is used. In the throne room queens come and die, they rage and attempt to destroy their enemies, hid when the palace was under attack.”

  Aren stepped around Telm and walked down the hallway as the light began creeping down. With Aren ahead of Telm, the light raced down the hall, bouncing up and down, weaving patterns into it. Aren stopped and frowned at the light, then stepped closer and set her hand against the bar.

  Blues, all the colours she could name and more.

  “Is this alive?” she said, spinning to Telm. “Is this living stone?”

  “No, no, that was put there before the palace was rebuilt,” Telm said. “Queen's stone has never been on palace grounds before, not living.”

  Aren told her heart to still. The fear lingered, despite what she tried to tell herself.

  She walked down the hallway, following the light. It took a sudden turn and Aren followed, pulling to a stop as the walls lit up with symbols. The room was long and wide, almost the size of the throne room where court convened.

  Walking across the room, Aren stopped at the mound on the other side. She looked at the mound, frowning.

  Telm stepped up on one side of her, Mar on the other.

  “What… is it?” Aren asked. “Looks like a chunk of ore of some kind.”

  “This is what remains of the throne,” Telm said. “The magic of queens more powerful than you,”— she motioned to the rest of the room—“did that. It carved queen's stone into the walls even though the stone shouldn't have been able to do that. It altered the very substance of the stone, which was stone before but now is a type of metal. I usually have a blade with me to tap it and show you it is metal, but you will have to trust me for now.”

  “It's metal?” Mar asked, looking around her. “How and… how?”

  “Take a stone, ply it with magic, work the magic into the stone as you do butter into a pastry,” Telm said, turning to Aren. “You've worked in the kitchen so that might make sense to you. As you work the magic into the stone, it alters, darkens and hardens, purifies almost, into a black metal which can only be worked by the one who created it.”

  “How do you know that?” Aren asked.

  “There are artefacts in the treasury made of the stuff, which have been carefully documented as to how they were created,” Telm hesitated. “I think it's close enough. By being linked to the throne, your magic is altered to a type that no other uses. It's how I can tell your anger from Mar's.”

  “I'd like to see the artefacts,” Aren said to Telm.

  “You should see the archivist as well,” Telm responded.

  “Only if I can take Laeder with me, he's a scribe of some sort.”

  “I suppose.”

  Silence followed as Aren looked over the mound. Underneath the silence was a whispering which grew louder and louder. Many voices speaking at once. She stiffened and looked around, at the pulsing blues on the walls.

  “Aren?” Mar asked quietly.

  “Welcome to my grave,” cackled a mad voice, breaking off into laughter.

  Tense, Aren turned to Telm. “Are there bones here?”

  “Yes,” Telm said with a nod, motioning to the mound. “The one who caused this was consumed by the mound. There's no way to retrieve her bones.”

  “Why do you show them this?” Mar asked Telm.

  “A warning,” Telm said. “If you don't control your magic, this could happen to you. The new throne room is made of plaster and wood, but the last few centuries have no doubt taken a toll on it. Queens coming and going so quickly. One day this will happen there. Maybe not to you, maybe not to your successor, but it will happen.”

  “Then why?” Aren asked. “Why not destroy the throne?”

  “That is in the library,” Telm said to Aren, shaking her head. “I don't know why, I just know that after reading the book only you are to read, most in your position agree the throne is needed and we cannot destroy it.”

  The madness crackled back to life, laughing at Aren. “Feed it your daughters, feed it your sons, but never shall its hunger be purged.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jer awoke, staring at the ceiling as he wondered what was wrong with him. He sat up and looked at the other body, swearing under his breath. Climbing out of bed, he tiptoed to the bathing room and washed. Once dressed, Jer returned to the outer room and winced again at the sight of the bed.

  He wrote a hasty note, moved to set it on the bedside table, but stopped at the last moment. He couldn't bring himself to do it.

  A good sociable time did not end by hopping into bed with someone. Jer knew, without asking, that this was not what Av had meant.

  Laeder breathed out suddenly and opened his eyes, blinking up at Jer. Smiling slightly, Laeder said, “Morning.”

  Jer straightened, feeling awkward. “Morning.” His face heated up, he knew red would be creeping over his face. “Look, about last night… that…”

  “...Was a mistake,” Laeder said, sitting up. The man looked up at Jer, who suddenly felt insulted. “You just got out of a mating a few days ago. No matter the reason for the ending, or how it went, you can't just hop into a relationship with someone else. We shouldn't have slept together. Even if it felt right at the time.”

  Relaxing, because it was not a personal insult, Jer responded with, “And you're due to be mated to Aren.”

  “And?” The man shrugged. “I think it should be obvious she and I don't share the same interests, if you get my meaning.”

  “But you're due to mate Aren,” Jer stressed.

  “I'm sure she would want a lover,” Laeder said. “I'm not letting her have one unless she does the same for me.”

  Jer sat on the edge of the bed. “I'm sorry, are you saying that you're not…? I thought you were like me?”
>
  “You?” Laeder asked. “I haven't got rank, if that's what you mean.”

  “I meant, I thought you liked both, the way I do,” Jer said, shaking his head. “You only like your own?”

  Laeder nodded. “Aren suggested I see the steward, but as she pointed out, the steward is currently her father. His interest is in seeing her mated to me, and this alliance. He's not going to do anything for me. She said I should bring up forced prostitution—is that a thing?”

  “It is, by palace law no one can be arranged to mate another if they would be forced to perform certain duties they would not be willing to perform. Such as mating at all, as Aren claimed to a previous steward that she would never mate, or in your case the mating with a woman. You're right, her father would do nothing. If I were steward, as Aren wants, then I would. But then the alliance is done for.”

  Jer and Laeder sighed as one.

  “Why did you come find me last night, anyhow?” Laeder asked.

  “Av, my brother, commanded me to show you a good sociable time,” Jer said. “Which is a term applied to a forced play date. He wanted me to show you the court, to make you feel comfortable. Possibly to find out what exactly it was that Aren meant when she said she liked you.”

  “Was she angry before she came to find me?” Laeder asked.

  “Very angry,” Jer said. “Perhaps Av thought she was planning something, because her tune changed so quickly. Aren's done that a few times in the recent days. Could be the throne. Or something else.”

  Ever since they had visited Jer's father. As they were leaving, that was the first time Aren had changed her mind suddenly, without explanation. Jer hadn't questioned her on it, there hadn't seemed much of a point then. Now, though, it was happening more often. The lack of explanation was starting to irritate him.

  “Moods happen in those who sit the throne, they tend to be like a child on a swing, spinning rapidly when the throne takes them,” Laeder said. “Some get thrown off. Some hold on until it stops, but then they stumble about while everything settles down.”