Sit Pretty

by R. J. Price

  Url shook his head. “Myth, they aren't real. That's like saying a warrior queen is a real rank, it will never happen.”

  “It happened once before,” the archivist said. “What has happened once might happen again. When Mirmae first came to the palace she brought the boy to me, suspicious of his rank. He knew too much, he insisted on being trained from the moment he could talk, and had difficulty with letters and numbers. Bred to breed more of himself, these warriors are seen in upswings, when the ranks have died to almost nothing but are coming back.”

  “We haven't died to almost nothing,” Url said.

  “We are not following the cycle we should be following,” the archivist said. “There has been a spattering of ranks with no cataclysmic event to either unite or divide us ever since the commoners and the other ranks attempted to destroy the queens. The era of the short-lived queens did not truly begin until the palace was renovated, and all the strong lines had been destroyed by that point in history.”

  “Wait,” Aren said, holding up a hand to stop the archivist. “Cycle? Explain.”

  The archivist actually smiled. The man cleared his throat and adjusted in his seat, far too pleased with himself. “A cycle is what our world goes through, strong queens until a peak. From there on the queens are replaced by those weaker than themselves, or none at all. They are the first rank to succumb and die off. Without queens to lead them, the warriors flounder. No need to make more of themselves, fewer are born. Without the need to see to both ranks, healers die off. Never has the world seen a generation without a healer, but it has seen a generation without any other rank.”

  “Does the world cycle?” Aren asked. “Or just the ranks?”

  “Ehm…” the archivist struggled with his own memories. “The strong queens tend to rise out of darkness and riot, sickness even. In the time of the strongest, there are few problems, either illness or natural. In some cycles the light or dark is more than usual. To those periods of great light, we give the name enlightenment periods. To those of great darkness, we try not to speak.”

  “True warrior,” Aren said. “Explain.”

  “One of the warrior rank who shall only birth ranks. Above all else, he will birth more of his own rank. The last in recorded history, and we only keep documentation on the last, found himself in a predicament of existing during a long darkness. The past was forgotten, cycles forgotten. He thought himself the last of his rank. Bred on two women and conceived two queens, four warriors, a healer, a trainer and one of the un-ranked ones.”

  “Un-ranked?” Aren growled out.

  “This time does not recognize the rank and therefore I do not mention it further,” the archivist barked back at Aren.

  Making a face, Aren responded with, “Warrior queen. Explain.”

  “One who chose to train amongst the warriors, she learned well and led her armies to victory. These names, honour, traditional, warrior? Mean nothing. You are, all of you, queens. The honour queens upset the traditional queens and told them about the cage that contained them. Demanded freedom and when it was denied of them, simply took it. You are queen. What training do you have leading this land?”

  “None,” Aren said.

  “What training have you had leading an estate?” the archivist asked.

  “None,” Aren responded.

  “Yet, no one complains,” the archivist responded, motioning to Url. “How much training have you had, boy, leading this land?”

  “This land? Not as much as I've had leading my land.”

  “And how much training have you had leading an estate?”

  “I can run numbers, treaties, orders, and all the rest,” Url responded calmly.

  The archivist made a sound, then focused on Aren. “The girls we put on the throne are barely capable of tying their boots, most of the time. You are a log to the fire unless you learn and be sensible.”

  “How is this mating to the south sensible?” Aren asked. “For me, not for the politics of the land.”

  A shaking finger pointed to Aren, then touched the side of the archivist's nose. “The throne allows those who sit it certain insight. Yet in the end, my dear, that is the only question you should ask. How is this sensible?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “I appeal to the court for the date of my daughter’s engagement ball,” Para said, standing between the lords and ladies, halfway down the throne room. She faced the ladies, then turned to the lords. They watched Para in silence. “The queen's rooms are ready, the kitchen has proven competent enough to entertain not only the court, but also the barons.”

  A baron stood, Para struggled to recognize the man. The baron of the west, Van Tolter, looked annoyed as he addressed the court. He and the other barons had yet to be invited by Aren to join in discussion, so he was ignoring proper manners.

  “What difference does it make, whether your kitchens can cook well enough for us?” Van demanded. “We have been fed drivel for days without a concern as to our tastes. Why is an engagement ball different?”

  Aren stood. “He's correct. We are entertaining them, how difficult is it to give them good food?”

  Para's face flushed. Baron Er came to her rescue, chortling from his seat. “Good food? Anything that's not reindeer or bear is marvellous. I have no complaints about the food and had I any, I would bring them up during the meal, not days afterwards.”

  “Each land has a different sweet option for engagement balls,” Para said, taking control once more as Aren sat. “To honour the treaty that shall soon be signed between the palace lands and the south, I have requested the southern honey cookie, but opted to include the south eastern coastal fruits, which are sweet and delicious. I have also arranged for each of the barons to be offered the sweets of theirs and the other barons' lands. I wanted to be certain the kitchen was capable of creating your sweets with the same perfection you experience from your own cooks.”

  “Have musicians been chosen?” Mar asked from her place among the ladies.

  Para turned to Mar to be polite. “Yes, the same band that performed at your own engagement ceremony has agreed to perform once more. From the tales I am told, everyone enjoyed their music. They are capable, experienced, and while they were not my first choice of band, they fit within my daughter's demanded budget for the ball. They will do.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that my requiring you not spend beyond the budget of the treasury is somehow hindering your abilities as head of house?” Aren asked.

  “No, you are hindering my ability to provide a proper engagement ball, one good enough for the throne,” Para responded. “You are not simply a lady, Aren, you are the one who sits the throne. The court needs this, they need the chance to celebrate, and you are stealing that from them by restricting the available funds.”

  “Unless the lords and ladies of this court are willing to pay for the mating ceremony they are, apparently, so desperate to have, the answer is no. The treasury is weak as it is, the people of palace lands are suffering. Why should I celebrate lavishly with their coin, while they starve?”

  “It is the right of the throne, tradition for your mating ceremony to be lavish,” Para protested.

  Jer sighed. “It is still her mating ceremony. If Lady Aren does not want rich and lavish, it is your duty to create the ceremony she does want. She will, after all, only mate once. Does the court not agree?”

  There was a murmur through the lords and ladies. It was an upset murmur. They wanted the celebration, the decor and food and entertainment.

  “Obviously the court needs to discuss this,” Jer said. “So please, everyone, let us vote on a date for the engagement ball and talk, between now and then, about the ceremony and feast.”

  “When would be best?” Aren asked. “Three days from now? Is that enough time?”

  Jer looked to Er. “Would that provide enough time for you to return to your lands before the winter snows blocked the way to Castle Grey?”

  “Absolutely,” Er responded
with a smile and a nod. “Thank you for considering my voyage home before setting a date for the engagement ball.”

  “You're most welcome,” Jer said.

  “The longer I'm here, the better the road will be,” Van said grumpily.

  “I am aware of that,” Jer said. “Which is why I did not ask you.”

  Silence predominated for a moment too long. Para looked over the uncomfortable faces of those gathered at court. Raising her voice to ensure everyone heard, she addressed them.

  “An appeal to hold the engagement ball three days from today,” Para said. “Who is for?” The 'ayes' were most definitely in the majority. “All against?” A spattering of 'nay' including Lord Av, who was looking more irritated and frustrated as the days passed. “The ayes have it. We shall have an engagement ball for Lady Aren Argnern in three days' time to celebrate her arranged mating to Lord Laeder Emmeret. Lords and ladies, please dress your best and attend sober. Drinks, food, and music will be provided. I thank the court for its time.”

  “Unless anyone has another appeal,” Jer said as he stood, “I do believe we have a matter to contemplate and an engagement ball to ready for. Dismissed.”

  Para left the throne room, finding the first servant she could to take to the ball room. When not in use for balls, the room was used as a lecture hall for youngsters. Cleaning the hall took several days and at least ten servants. Para assigned the cleaning to the servant and told her to pick nine others to help her. If they did well, they would be awarded with ten gold each.

  Leaving the girl there, she went to the treasury to request coin for decorations. It was too late in the year to use flowers from the garden. The treasurer shook his head.

  “Then get the master of coin,” Para said, her annoyance rising.

  “I am the master of coin. I am also the only person who works the treasury. The others were dismissed to save on spending, with this economy only one of us is needed. There will be no more spending on Lady Aren's engagement ball, Lady Para, you have already spent your budget.”

  “But the hall must be decorated!” Para said. “I watched my budget very closely. My mate is paying for her dress.”

  “Your mate is broke,” the master of coin growled. “His credit is no good. Not here, not anywhere. If it weren't for Thirdborne being supplied for free, I would send word to foreclose your estate, and hold it in trust of your eldest child.”

  “He will not be of the age of majority for quite some time,” Para said.

  “I said oldest child, not eldest son,” the man responded. “Aren, until the time of her death or her wilfully giving up her rights, is the inheritor to your estate and will take over the Bilgern Vineyard. Unless the throne commands otherwise, and she sits the throne.”

  “She cannot rule a vineyard and the throne at the same time,” Para said.

  “Many of those who have sat the throne also owned estates, and ran them successfully. Only a fool would believe that the one who is linked to the throne must sit upon it. Aren, like most of her rank, is perfectly capable of providing magic to the throne no matter where in palace lands she might be. Several have run successful courts while rarely visiting palace grounds.” The man picked up a book and held it out to Para. “If you insist on being a nuisance, at least learn your history, and what your daughter is. Aren is being referred to as an honour queen, traditionally her rank sits the throne and rules from here. Those who are raised a certain way, or born that way, how am I to know? But those who appear, who are like Aren, do not often sit the throne to rule and when they do sit, my dear, you should be certain that you are not at court.”

  “Why?” Para said, taking the book. “I am her mother.”

  “You are the woman who is forcing her to mate a man she has no desire for, who has no desire for her.” The master of coin turned his attention to someone behind Para. “Ah, Telm, what can I do for you?”

  Telm stepped up beside Para, looked her up and down, and then turned to the master of coin. “All is paid for but decorations, correct?”

  “That is true.” The master of coin bowed his head slightly. “The father has no right to credit in any land, the throne has had to pay for the ball gown for the ceremony.”

  “Open the stores in the artefact section,” Telm said sternly. “The braided chains. Take the centrepieces that cannot be moved once they are set on the tables. You know the ones. Atop those, we shall put the ornamental trees.”

  “The trees have been put out to the jeweller,” the master of coin protested. “All the leaves fell off, vanished overnight. From a secured room, no less. Secured with magic.”

  “They do that every fifty years or so,” Telm sighed, giving her head a shake. “I forgot to mention it to you because... Whatever excuse you can think to make for me that doesn't sound like, when you took this job, I thought you were stealing from the treasury and planned to murder you in your sleep.”

  “Very well, you forgot because you were taken aback by my eyes,” the master of coin responded. “The trees are still no use.”

  “If they are completely bare, they will have small buds in three days,” Telm said quietly. “It will be subtle, but gorgeous. I think it would be just the type of thing that Aren would appreciate.”

  “And if they do not bud in time?” the master of coin asked.

  “You have ornamental trees that you keep in the treasury?” Para asked the man.

  “They are magic, created a long time ago,” the man said sternly to her before looking to Telm. “If, Lady Telm, the trees do not bud, what do we do then?”

  Telm turned to Para. “I need three of my girls and any spare satin, lace, or silk you have on hand.”

  “What do you plan to do with the items?” Para asked.

  “My girls can fold nearly any fabric into any shape,” Telm said. “If the trees do not provide buds, we will do it for them.”

  “And do what, tie each leaf on?” Para demanded.

  “Yes, if necessary,” Telm said, then motioned to the door. “Or I could ask a queen who knows how to use her magic, to help us.”

  Para turned to the door where Mar leaned against the frame, looking quite amused with herself. “I have accidentally stripped the jewels off a nanny's ball gown and then held them in place for the duration of the ball. I'm certain a few leaves are well within my capabilities.”

  “Why would you do this?” Para asked. “Don't you want to watch me fail?”

  “If you think that I would sacrifice Aren's happiness to prove you have no place at court, then you are sorely mistaken,” Telm said, annoyed. “She shall have what she wants, one way or another. I will not allow you to make her look incompetent because you haven't the first clue as to how to run a simple event.”

  “We need to look after the future,” Mar said. “The barons, along with Aren, are the future. If the barons attend the engagement ball and find it to be drab and boring, they will believe Aren is just that. They might even think her weak, for being unable to control you. Can't have that, might lead to war with how Lord Van has been growling.”

  “Av and Jer would quite enjoy a war,” Telm said. “I, however, would not like to test your daughter's mettle against that of the well-trained barons.”

  Para was silent a long moment, then she said. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Jer took a seat across from Aren, wondering why she had called him to his own study. Aren sat behind the desk in the chair Jer usually occupied. She made no comment as they waited, didn't explain what they were waiting for.

  When Av entered, Jer felt a chill run down his arms. Obviously this was a private meeting with the one who sat the throne. Which could only mean that one or both of them was in trouble. Jer ran through his mind everything he had done in the past few days that might have irritated Aren. None of his actions warranted discipline, that he was aware of, leaving Av as the one in trouble. When one was asked to sit in on disciplinary matters it was common courtesy to tell them what was going on ahead of
time.

  Av took the seat beside Jer and remained quiet. Unlike his usual self, Av did not demand to be told why they had been called. Patiently they waited. Aren looked between the two of them as if daring them to be the first to speak up.

  "A lord came to my rooms," Aren said finally. "He wants his mating investigated. I have agreed to do as much. You will look into it, the two of you together. As to the mating this morning, I will ask the master to look into the matter, not either of you. Your sole focus should be on Lord Deret."

  "Why Deret?" Av asked. "He's a bit clumsy, but hardly a threat to his mate. I have to ask if, perhaps, you are over-thinking this mating issue."

  "Lord Deret asked for his mating to be investigated on the grounds that his mate, Lerana I think is her name, is physically abusive and has been for quite some time."

  "What?" Jer asked, not believing what he was hearing.

  Aren reached out and pushed a report across the desk to Jer. "Only an initial report, you understand, but the healer fully supports Lord Deret. The scars are in places impossible for him to reach and, if they had been inflicted to falsify a report, they would have been a good deal shallower and the stitching done would not have been by the lord's own hand. As Lord Deret ages his condition will worsen. The cuts were deep enough that over time they will all but cripple him."

  Another wave of chill passed over Jer. He read the report, hardly believing what he saw. Lord Deret had been at court on and off over the years. There had been a few times when Jer smelled blood on the man, but Deret always had a fresh nick on his face from shaving.

  He looked up at Aren and found the throne glaring back at him.

  "Tell me, do the pair of you make a habit of being biased based on gender?" she asked, turning her anger from Jer, to Av. "Or do you simply hate Lord Deret for some imagined slight and decided to leave him to his abusive mate?"