by R. J. Price
“How do you know that?” Jer asked. “Em didn't have moods.”
“From what I understand, everything Em did was a giant mood,” Leader retorted. Catching himself, he smiled weakly at Jer. “Sorry, when my father first mentioned the possibility of mating the one who sat the throne, I went through the repository of old texts.”
“What repository?” Jer asked.
“The one in the south. Most is on paper, but there are a few books made of sheets of metal, written in blue stone. Must have been quite expensive to make.” Laeder paused to consider. “They are the most useful books I've ever seen. Written at a time when the queens were splitting. Half wanted to destroy the throne, half to keep it. They debated whether or not the throne was the cause of queen's stone, or the saviour. Some thought without the throne, there'd be no stone, because before the throne was created, there was no stone.”
Jer frowned at Laeder. “That information is only meant for the one who sits the throne and the one who sits beside her.”
“Which was how they made their choice,” Laeder said, excited. “The queens voted, but it was a split vote. They called in their men, ranked and commoners, and had the men vote. The men refused and debated and finally came up with a different sort of ruling. Said the information should be kept in the library and only shared by the one who sat the throne, if she so chose. Anyone else spreading the information would be tried for treason.
“All they knew was the throne, for certain, kept the stone at bay. With the throne, our world cycles. Without it, they were afraid that we would all die horrible deaths. Without the cycle, would we ever have a good era? Would beauty ever come back to the world? Or would we live in darkness forever?”
“Why would they think we would live in darkness forever?” Jer asked.
“Because they had just come out of a dark time. The queens started fighting because the throne hadn't been sat on, because they were being killed by commoners for being born. It's called the darkest period in history.” Laeder paused to grin. “Most smash the two together, the dark period and the queens fighting, but they fought after the dark period, when their numbers were slowly climbing and they had no idea how to deal with themselves, or the throne. The first to sit the throne in fifty years was forced to and all the others took sides, purging their numbers after over a century of commoners attempting to kill off the rank entirely.
“In order to keep the queens from fighting the next time their numbers began to climb, the books were created to catalogue what was really important, since the entirety of the palace library was being shipped south as the stones from the palace were being stripped and readied for destruction.”
Jer motioned to Laeder. “This is probably why being a scribe is seen as dishonourable. It's frightening, how much pleasure you take in explaining that to me.”
“Sorry, I got off track,” Laeder said. “The books explain all that, to explain the reason why they were created. There were too few of the rank to pass on their knowledge to the new generation. The books say in absolutely clear terms how the throne interacts with them. Though not why, unfortunately.”
“And you think this will help you deal with Aren?” Jer asked.
“I think this will help Aren,” Laeder said. “The books say wild queens are dangerous only because they aren't taught not to do things. Aren was never taught about her connection to the world, or why she craves to be near living water, why her body and magic changed so much as she became a woman. She seemed to be under the impression that her moods were permanent. They only last a few months after linking to the throne.”
Jer huffed out a breath. “Yes, for a regular queen, the moods would stop in a few months, but Aren might be infected.” At which point Laeder let out a gasp and started speaking over Jer.
“She's infected! That's astounding! It's been a hundred years since there was a documented case of infection,” Laeder said, then his giddiness faltered. “Oh…” He slid out of bed and marched past Jer, apparently not caring about his state of undress as he dug into the wardrobe.
“Oh what?” Jer asked. “You know about this as well?”
“The books, Jer, the books were only possible because the one who wrote them was a scribe who was infected.” Laeder pulled out a battered book bound in leather. He returned to Jer with the book and opened it, handing it to Jer. “The stone does something to magic users, makes them more powerful. This is an account of the last queen who was infected in the south. She never sat the throne, but was notable because of her infection.”
“You just happened to be carrying this with you?” Jer asked.
“My…” Laeder hesitated, “master wanted to destroy the book. He believes infection is a myth. After all, how can stone be living, how can it infect people, make them sick, or alter their very being? I had to save it. I hoped to slip it into the library's collection, but as it turns out, that's a lot more difficult than I thought it would be.”
Jer frowned at Laeder, looking down at the book he read out loud: “Today she stubbed her toe on a vein of ore, previously undiscovered. On her way to breakfast a man tried to kill her, for having his brother executed for the rape of three young girls, and she dispatched him with a teapot, splattering myself and six others with blood before she sat and very calmly ate. After breakfast the messenger came from the palace to announce—” and then the words trailed off with a frustrated scribble, several curse words and the finish of: “If she wants people of future generations to know her story, she can damned well record her own damned doings. I quit.”
Looking up at Laeder, Jer felt a little faint. The other man smiled hesitantly at him.
“If she's infected, that sort of thing should start happening any day now.”
“Dispatched him with a teapot?” Jer asked.
“Yes, you take the teapot, bash it over the man's head until it breaks, then use the bits to cut him open,” Laeder said in a matter of fact way.
Taking a step back, Jer wondered if this was how commoners felt when he growled. “I'm sorry. Do you often sit about contemplating ways to kill people?”
“Yes, I was told it's a good exercise in understanding your own rank,” Laeder said.
Jer opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. The running murmur, underneath his everyday voice, knew how to use every object within sight to kill Laeder. As youths Av and Jer competed to come up with the most creative ways to kill a man. They thought it good amounts of fun, until their father made them sit down and explained just how each method they had come up with would not work.
It was part of being what they were. In a war such thoughts might even come in handy. If Jer were attacked in the throne room, he knew how he could defend himself with the seats. He had even contemplated murdering specific lords while he was in court and after listening to them prattle on.
“And I find it a good way to pass my time,” Laeder added suddenly.
“Don't say anything like that to Aren,” Jer said.
“The more often she talks about stabbing people, the less likely she is to actually do it,” Laeder said. “Her rank lets off steam by expressing themselves in violent ways, but never act on it because if she did your rank would get upset because she did your job, and if you can't do your job you feel useless. When you feel useless you actually stab someone who had nothing to do with the problem in the first place.”
Jer frowned at Laeder. “If you don't mate Aren, I think you should stay at court.”
“You think we'll come up with some way to get out of this?” Laeder asked.
“I don't know,” Jer muttered. “We didn't know you were interested in your own when we agreed to the arrangement. I'll speak with my father, see if he has any ideas.”
“I have several brothers who are looking to mate,” Laeder said. “My father chose me because I am the one he would miss the least and he didn't like the fact that I was making a name for myself at the repository. It's fine for a commoner without title to be a well-known scribe, but t
he son of a baron? This is punishment, but I plan to make the best of it.”
Closing the book, Jer held it out for Laeder to take. He had several concerns, one being the obvious problem that Laeder couldn't mate Aren, it wouldn't be appropriate. The other was the book and its contents.
“Aren is going to need a scribe,” Jer said. “The steward typically makes the notations, but I was never one for detailed note-taking.”
“Are you offering me the position?” Laeder asked, then frowned. “Can you offer me that position?”
“Her parents won't be here forever, probably not much longer. Once they're gone, I will be steward and I think you should be scribe. You could record the historically significant things she does, you can collect books that she might find interesting, interact with the archivist to compare history to what is going on now. It would be a great aid to my position, without my having to spend hours going over books that I can't make sense of anyhow.”
Laeder nodded. “All right, I would accept the position. If you become steward and offer it to me again.”
“Why if?” Jer asked.
“Because there's only one way I know of for Aren and me to not mate. That's if one of us is dead and,”—Laeder held his arms away from his sides—“what have I got that would make my life worth more than that of the woman who sits the throne?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mie sat with his father, watching as the adults bantered back and forth. Hopping off his seat, he left them arguing over something he didn't understand. In the hallway, he looked one way, then the other. He headed towards the kitchens and dodged Jer, who was carrying a book under one arm, dragging a babbling lord with the other.
Staring after the pair, Mie recognized the lord as Aren's intended, Lord Laeder. Shaking his head, he wondered what sort of trouble his brother had gotten himself into.
Headed to the kitchens once more, Mie had to pass the tradesmen room and he stepped in for a visit. They told the most fascinating stories and sometimes gave him sweets. He helped the tailor unroll a bit of fabric dark and purple in colour, soft to the touch. Then he helped the leather maker with a pair of shoes, learning a little about cobbling. The jeweller ignored him, having far too much work to do.
Which was too bad, because Mie thought he told the best stories of all.
Just as his stomach growled, Av marched into the room and growled loudly. Looking at the tailor, Av asked, as calmly as he could manage, where the fabric had come from.
“Why, Lady Em ordered it made some months ago, from the dye masters,” the tailor said with a shake of his head. “They've only now delivered it. Already paid for. Lady Em meant to create a ball gown the likes of which the palace has not seen in a very long time. For Lady Aren's purposes this could make two dresses. I think that is what I shall do.”
Av's growl came again, and a frown creased his features. Looking around the room, the warrior snarled. “Then what happened to the pearl coloured fabric that was delivered this morning? It marched right past me.”
“Perhaps Lady Para has hired her own tailor,” the man responded. “For pearl colour is beyond the skill of palace dye masters. Must be a satin or silk from the south. Likely delivered to make Lady Aren an engagement dress on the poor lord's coin.”
“Aren wouldn't wear it, suppose I should give her a warning,” Av said before turning on the jeweller.
The man perpetually misplaced his glasses and had several pair, all of which were absent as he clutched at the hair on either side of his head. He shook himself quite violently.
“It's falling apart, it's all falling apart!” he shouted at no one in particular as Av leaned in for a closer look.
“Is this the same tree you were working on when I came by last?” Av asked the man.
“Yes!” the jeweller harrumphed and sat back in his chair. “It is, and it seems that every time I touch it, more leaves fall off. And they've begun to go missing. Someone must be stealing.”
“But these leaves were bright green last I saw, now they're almost orange,” Av said, jabbing a finger at the tree as if to accuse it of wrong doing.
Time to make his exit before Av started looking around for a culprit. Mie slid off his seat and walked calmly around Av and out of the room. His brother was used to everyone being rooted in place, he rarely stopped to question the one body moving with purpose.
Out of the tradesmen room, Mie dodged a courier bound for the inner palace. As he turned about to head to the kitchens he spotted his father trailing after Lady Telm, who was in an awful hurry to get away. Lady Telm walked quickly, she did not run, but it was quite plain she wanted to escape.
“We have to talk about this eventually, Telm!” his father shouted, drawing the people in the hallway, including Telm, to a halt.
The lady turned, stared up at his father as if he had just licked her face. “I beg your pardon? Talk about this? The time to talk is past, Ervam. The throne has no problem with her state, why should you?”
His father waved the book that Jer had been carrying. “Because, this. Have you any idea what we are in for, if this is true? It's worse than Mirmae's father said. They are the only ones who might know what is about to happen. I'm not saying call them to court, I'm saying write them a letter.”
“No, because they saw her as well, if you dared recall, and they passed her,” Telm said, stepping close to Mie's father.
Mie saw the glint as Telm pressed something into his father's stomach, something that made his father stiffen. The two ranks met eyes and the lady, smaller than Aren even, bared her teeth at the taller, more able man.
“And if you think you can threaten me, because I am weak, because I am not the one who sits the throne, I beg you to consider who trained me for ten years before his woman took the throne,” Telm snarled at Mie's father, then stepped back. “Oh, was it supposed to be a secret? The papers came, Lord Ervam. I was the one who found them, and burned them. If you bring this up again, I will sit your boys down and explain every last detail to them.”
Lady Telm marched off, blade still in hand. Mie's father stood in the middle of the hall, stunned.
Frowning, Mie shook his head, not understanding. He walked away, leaving his father there in the middle of the hallway. Mie hesitated as a door snapped open. He peered in at Lady Para, who threw something at the retreating, sobbing serving girl. Inside the room was a dress form with an elaborate ball gown the likes of which Mie had never seen.
Though, he had never been to an actual ball.
“She'll wear it even if I have to burn every other article of clothing she owns!” Lady Para shouted at the door before it snapped shut.
Mie stared at the door for a moment. He thought about burning the dress Lady Para was having made and then gave his head a shake, thinking better of it. He carried on to the kitchens where he climbed up onto a stool that sat beside the cook.
“Today is not the day, little lord,” the cook muttered, wiping her hands on her apron, “much ado about absolutely nothing. Lady Para demands we create a mock-up feast for the engagement ball. Thankfully the serving staff will be allowed to enjoy the fruits of our labour, but so will Lady Para.”
“But I'm hungry,” Mie said, giving the cook the largest eyes he could.
The cook sighed, looked at Mie, and then shook her head. “Fine, there by the spit, only a slice, mind you. Lunch is being served soon.”
Mie nodded and hopped off the stool, walking to the servant working the spit. “May I please have a slice of meat?” he asked her politely.
“Little lord,” she said. “Did your father forget to feed you again?”
“I think he's just busy,” Mie said to her.
“Normally I'd report it to the steward.” The servant sighed and shook her head. “Well, at least you've the mind to come looking for food when none is offered you. Here you go, take a bun too.”
Mie took both, thanked the servant, and left the kitchens eating his bounty. His father remembered to feed him at night
, but not from neglect. If Mie wasn't fed, he would go looking for food, his father knew that. Mie hadn't left the cottage the first couple of days and his father had proceeded to 'forget' food, which forced Mie out.
Wandering the halls, Mie learned much, especially about the lords and ladies who were too important to notice a child wandering about.
Mie passed a lord and lady bickering. The lord was older than the lady, made Mie feel queasy almost, and she was crying.
“She said it's my right, I'm allowed to!” the lady protested.
“No woman of mine is going to go snivelling to the throne. You're mated to me, girl, and you'll stay mated to me. You really think she cares whether or not I'm the one who—”
Mie walked away, wide eyed at what the lord proceeded to say. He couldn't believe lords could speak like that in the hallways and get away with it!
The only ladies Mie hadn't seen that morning were Mar and Aren. Knowing this, he went in search of them, to where he had found Aren before. The throne room was empty, but for Aren and Mar. Aren stood by the throne, speaking as she paced. Mar sat by the door, guarding it and listening to Aren.
As Mie entered, both ladies turned to him, startled.
“Oh, Mie, it's only you,” Aren sighed.
“What are you doing?” Mie called back to her, walking down the aisle.
“Practising,” Aren said.
“Again? Mie asked, wrinkling his nose.
“What are you doing away from your studies, young man?” Mar asked, coming up behind Mie.
Turning to the taller lady, Mie stared up at the grey eyes that all his blood seemed to have. Mar was his niece, he was her uncle, but she was more than twice his age. Mie blinked at Mar, then turned to Aren.
“I'm supposed to have studies?” he asked Aren.
“Yes, every boy and every girl must learn certain things, especially those at court,” Aren said. “Where is your father, anyhow? Does he know you're wandering the halls?”
“I'm not certain he remembers I'm here,” Mie grumbled, going up the three steps, then taking the seat Jer usually occupied. “And everyone seems to be running around like silly people. Jer had Lord Laeder and dragged him and a book to my father and then my father went after Telm with the book. And Av noticed a delivery so he went to see the tailor, who is making you a dress and said your mother's doing the same. Your mother is, too. She's making a very large dress. I don't think you're going to like it, and she said that you're going to wear it, even if she has to burn every other article of clothing that you own. She's making the kitchen cook a practise meal for the engagement ball so she can try it and make certain they do it properly, but the servants will be eating this meal, instead of the lords and ladies.