Sit Pretty

by R. J. Price

  “They haven't the magic to hold out.”

  “Aye,” his brothers responded.

  “And they've no right mating some un-ranked pup to our queen!”

  “Aye,” Van said.

  “Wait, since when is she our queen?” Gamen asked.

  Er handed Gamen the last letter, the one from Mirmae to Merkat written a decade before. “When she takes the name Marilton, she becomes our queen. She holds the name of the north, will birth my nephew's sons and daughters. My only regret, Gamen, is that Mirmae was so far removed from you as to hardly be considered related. She carried your name and, I swear it, your blood.”

  “The west is nowhere to be mentioned in this,” Van growled. “Once again, we are left out despite our strength. My castle floats above a marsh, Er. It's not a black chunk sitting comfortably above a cliff, it floats, thanks to my magic. Thanks to the magic of a dozen others who hold my rank.”

  “Calm yourself,” Er said. “There is only one Lady Argnern to be mated off, and you try telling her you would prefer your son to Av. See if you live.”

  “There is another,” Laeder said from his place on the floor.

  “I beg your pardon?” Er asked.

  “Lady Aren has a sister named Anue. Little Anue is turning eleven in a few weeks,” Laeder said calmly. He stood, walking to where the barons could easily see him. “However, like Lady Aren, she would not be easily mated off. Lady Aren will gut anyone who tries such a thing. I'm surprised Aren hasn't demanded her parents bring Anue to court.”

  Er watched Van's mind race. The man's son would be old enough to take a mate in another year. By the time Anue was of maturity, the son might be ready to settle down and take the title of baron from Van.

  “Does she have rank?” Van asked Laeder.

  “Aren says no.” Laeder held his hands away from his sides. “The court along with Aren's parents did not realize she had rank until she took the throne. Only Av saw through her tricks, only he saw her for what she was and didn't immediately begin plotting to use her to suit his purposes.”

  “Bring her to court,” Van said to Er. “The longer I stay here, the more easily I can return home. The frost will harden the roads.”

  “I cannot send for the girl,” Er said carefully. “I can speak to Aren on your behalf, if she mates Av. If she does not mate Av, if she ends up with Laeder here—no offence boy—I will do nothing to help you again, Van. And you? Gamen? I will call in all debt you owe the north.”

  “Very well,” Gamen said hesitantly. “How exactly do we go about this?”

  “We need Aren to claim Av publicly and to have Av submit to her entirely,” Er said to the others. “A warrior and queen must be moved into place, to stop any who might interfere. Jer will step in without insistence, I believe. He understands the old tales, may even know what is going on. It is a queen, an actual rank, who must be found to stand for Aren, one who would do so without anyone speaking to her beforehand.”

  “Lady Mar will,” Van said. “Lady Mar Hue, I believe she is now registered as. Daughter of Jer Hue and Em. The other day in the hallway, they exchanged the private vows for the safety of future children. Mar stepped in, she would have to see it through.”

  “They already did that?” Gamen asked, sighing loudly. “And I missed the blessed, confused look on his face as he found himself cornered by three annoyed ranks.”

  “How do you convince a woman,” Van muttered, “to do something without having to explain to her why you need her to do it?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Av watched Aren go through the moves he had taught her, wondering if it would be enough. She was determined to train with the guards, but he didn't think it wise.

  “She's training?” Perlon asked Av, surprise colouring his voice. “I'm surprised her mother allows it.”

  “Para doesn't allow Aren to train, has expressly forbid her from doing as much because a lady doesn't fight alongside common men,” Av muttered in response. “If Aren wasn't set on training before, she's determined now.”

  “Why does she have a stick?” Perlon turned on Av. “They were training with swords when I was here last.”

  Av sighed, having just finished this argument with Aren. “Mar was here to train with Aren, with the sword. The guards would be far too rowdy. I don't need her getting hurt.”

  Perlon motioned to a few of the new guards pointedly. Av followed the motion. He turned back to his friend and glared at the man.

  “What are you trying to imply?” Av asked.

  “Those boys, hardly old enough to be considered young men, are about to be bruised, attacked, smacked, walloped, and, what was it your father was fond of calling it?”

  “Broken in,” Av grumbled.

  “By men older, stronger, and more experienced than they are,” Perlon said. “What's the difference between them and Aren?”

  “Aren sits the throne,” Av said.

  “As such, she is a woman,” Perlon said. “Women are such delicate creatures.”

  “No, as such, she has little time to train,” Av said. “The training the ladies receive is vastly different from that of the guards for good reason. The guards train for hours at a time because they have to be able to fight for hours at a time. Ladies only need to fight off an opponent long enough for a guard to get there.”

  Aren's stick hit him square in the chest. The woman stood, feet spread, hands empty. While Av had spoken with Perlon, she had overheard and marched to them to investigate. She put her nose in the air as she motioned to the stick on the ground.

  “I told you I don't want to be trained to protect myself only until a man arrives,” Aren said.

  “You don't have the time to train with them,” Av protested. “If you did, then I would.”

  “Then I will make the time,” Aren said.

  She folded her arms and shifted her weight. Waiting for Av to make an excuse. Av stumbled over his own thoughts, trying to come up with a legitimate reason why Aren couldn't train with the guards.

  “You won't have the time,” Av said simply, motioning to the fighting men who were, one by one, pulling to a stop to listen to the discussion. “Sitting the throne takes a great deal away from everyday life. You simply will not have the time.”

  “If you want to be mate to the throne, your time would also be jeopardized,” Aren said, jabbing a finger at him. “Are you telling me you would stop training with the guards?”

  “No, of course not, don't be ridiculous,” Av said. “I'm already trained. It's more of keeping the blade well honed, rather than teaching it new tricks. Not to mention the fact that I can hold my own and I'm not going to go crying to the healers the first time I get a bruise.”

  Aren spoke slowly. “Oh, so this is because I have breasts, is it?”

  “What?” Av said. “No, women are more than welcome to join the guard.”

  Aren turned her eyes to the men who had come to a stop. Suddenly they all had something to do, whether it was inspecting their weapon or turning away completely, as if they hadn't been listening in the first place. When Aren turned back to him, she shook her head.

  “There's not a woman among them,” she said.

  “I said they're more than welcome, not volunteering,” he sneered in response. “No woman, in her right mind, is going to volunteer to have a blade swung at her head.”

  “I'm volunteering,” Aren said stoutly.

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked.

  “I volunteer for guard,” she said. “It's apparently the only way to receive the same training when I have breasts. Therefore I will train, carry out my allotted contract, and then be on my way.”

  “The one who sits the throne cannot also be a member of the palace guard,” he protested.

  “Why not?” Aren asked. “I'm here all year round. I have an intimate knowledge of the throne. I will develop an intimate knowledge of the palace grounds and the peoples, so why can I not be a guard as well as the one who sits the throne?”

&
nbsp; “The palace guard is here to defend you,” Av stressed. “I am here to defend you, Aren. You are the last person who is supposed to engage in a fight. We are here to protect you and to protect the throne. If you die, if you're maimed? Who knows what could happen then?”

  “Another would be selected and placed on the throne,” she retorted. “It's not a complicated process, Av. A woman dies, another is linked to a magical throne with or without her consent.”

  “I don't want another on the throne,” Av said.

  “Then train me to defend myself properly, because if enemies get past you, how am I to live if my only defence is a floppy stick?” she demanded. “Your father said your mother knew how to fight.”

  “She was born and raised in the north. Up north the women demand equality and if it's not given to them, they take it,” he said. “On palace lands ladies have every right to be equal to men, you can own businesses, you can even volunteer to fight, but I'm telling you that I won't train you.”

  “Why?” Aren asked through gritted teeth.

  “Because I won't train you to fight like a man.”

  Her response was swift, precise, and painful. Av dropped to his knees, hands flying to his groin as he went down. On the ground, he struggled to breathe through the pain. Perlon knelt beside him, set a hand on his shoulder. Heaving in a breath, Av looked up to see where Aren had gone.

  “She's left for the palace,” Perlon said with a chuckle. “I think you upset her.”

  Straightening slightly, Av drew in a smaller breath. “What was the point of that, exactly?”

  “Besides showing she's serious?” Perlon asked.

  “No, I meant of you bringing that up,” Av demanded. “If you had just kept quiet, Aren wouldn't have heard and brought up the topic. Now she's angry with me.”

  “That's not anger,” Perlon said, motioning to the palace. “There was no anger in her at all. Just cold determination. I think she might even be amused with herself.”

  Av ventured a look around him.

  When the one who sat the throne was angry, the guard reacted immediately. Either in emotion, or by taking up arms. Those who were still gathered were watching Av, chuckling to themselves over the foolish lord who tried a stubborn woman.

  Struggling to his feet, Av leaned heavily on Perlon. “She has no place learning to fight like a guard, less serving as one!”

  The master of the guard ventured forward, clearing his throat loudly. Av glared at the man, who paused, seemingly thinking as to what he meant to say as he gave Av a tight-lipped smile.

  “You ever tell a body they can't join the guard again,” the captain said quietly, “I'll report you to the throne for abuse of power.”

  “He's not even master, recall,” Perlon said to the guard.

  “Why are you helping her?” Av asked the two of them. “What is it that makes her the exception to the rules? The one who sits the throne doesn't train with the guard.”

  “She wants to,” the captain said.

  “I don't understand why you don't want her to,” Perlon countered.

  “The one who sits the throne cannot serve on her own guard,” Av said. “Recall how much time it takes to train a guard, to train a man, let alone a woman.”

  “That's bias based on gender,” Perlon said with a shake of his head. “Set a good example, Av.”

  “I am setting an example. This isn't the north, our women don't train alongside the men. Their sensibilities are far too delicate for such a thing,” he said. “She will not be trained as a guard and that is the end of that.”

  “Queen's guard hasn't existed since the last long-reigning queen about six hundred years ago,” the captain said quietly. “When they started coming and going so quickly, there was no time to form a queen's guard. Aren can't serve as her own guard, but if she comes to me looking to train as a guard for the palace, which is technically what the one who sits the throne is, then I will review her as I do any other supplicant.”

  “Why?” Av asked.

  “She wants to learn,” the captain said. “Now, you want your woman to be submissive, that's a conversation you have with her, in private. As I recall, however, you strongly encouraged your last lover to train with the guard.”

  “Sent her to me, once Em banished her,” Perlon grumbled. “She's now captain of my brother's guard. So it's not women you have a problem training, it's Aren.”

  “The amount of trouble she got into, just in the last few months, is enough to be concerning,” Av said. “You put onto that the fact she's trained to fight? The throne isn't going to throw anything at Aren she can't handle and the housecleaning, purge, thing, whatever it is they call it, wouldn't put her in such a position that her life is in danger. If I don't train her, she ends up with stubbed toes and stumbling onto rapists, not fighting warlords and bandits.”

  Perlon considered Av's words. Slowly he nodded his head. “That... actually makes sense, but you realize she's not going to stop until she finds someone to train her. If not you, then your father?”

  “The throne doesn't give a damn whether or not a woman is trained,” the captain said to Av, then glared at Perlon. “Don't encourage him, boy.” Turning the glare back to Av, the captain crossed his arms. “Your mother never trained in the north. She started training because of her housecleaning. The day she almost died when a commoner tried to kidnap you and your brother was the day your father demanded you both be trained.”

  “I don't recall that,” Av said with a shake of his head.

  “Because it happened a year after you arrived,” the captain responded. “She was serving as maid to the one who sat the throne, who had just discovered she was pregnant. When that happens the throne backs off, especially on the weaker ones. Diverts to the ladies available who have the appropriate rank and are linked to the ruler.”

  “My father never told me that story, either,” Av said.

  The captain shook his head slowly. “You boys were already afraid of him, fearing ranks as young ones do, when they realize not everyone is born the same. You didn't need him reminding you of what he did that day. Put the fear into all of us. We've seen ones like you get angry. I've even seen one of your rank kill a man in a rage, but that doesn't prepare you for what a trainer does when his loved ones are in danger.”

  “And my father saved us,” Av said.

  The captain shook his head again. “No, if your mother had been trained, she could have saved herself. It cost her dearly, to hold off.” The man motioned to his stomach, right where Av's mother had a scar, one he hadn't known about until he prepared her for the pyre. “The healer said she'd never have another child and she wept for days. Once her tears were dry, your father dragged her out here kicking, spitting, and screaming, threw her at my feet. I started with a stick, moved on to the axe when I recognized how she liked to chop.”

  “She would have to defend, not—”

  “Your mother, boy, didn't aim for arms or legs and she had a special sort of skill. Never came close to hitting an arm, only ever went for the kill and always seemed to get close enough to achieve it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Aren marched into the palace, past an amused Mar, and directly for the steward's study. Halfway there she recalled why she couldn't see the steward and pulled to a stop. Cursing, Aren spun around, only to find Mar directly behind her. Still looking amused, Mar motioned down the hallway, linking arms with Aren.

  “Two more days to the engagement ball,” Mar said quietly. “Are you getting excited?”

  “No, no, and no,” Aren said. “Let me think on that some more. Uhm, no. I'm not certain how many ways I can say I have no desire to mate Laeder. He's a kind friend, but not a good match.”

  “You two get along admirably,” Mar said, turning suddenly and giving Aren a hard tug down another hallway. “It will get rid of your mother, who annoys me to no end. I want her gone.”

  “As do I, however...” she said, pausing just slightly as she considered Mar's tone.<
br />
  She had just been given a command by Mar, as if Mar sat the throne.

  “Your mother…” Mar said with all the fury of a young woman who had been meddled with. “That woman explained to me about the commands you issued just before I arrived, commands which everyone else has carefully avoided when I am about because I have no care to hear about them. If you do not get rid of her, Lady Aren, I will do it for you. And when I'm done, and Telm is once more head of house, she will make you clean up the bloody mess I leave behind.”

  “Which command, exactly, put such an irritation into you?” she asked.

  Mar pulled to a stop just outside the set of doors that would lead to the ball room. “All arranged matings created under my mother may be voided if one or the other party steps forward and asks for a review.”

  “Why is that a problem?” Aren asked.

  “Because now I'm thinking about it!” Mar shouted at Aren.

  The lights flickered, black etched into the walls as magic filled the hallway. Plaster and paint could not hold against the anger of a rank.

  She watched Mar pant, trying to control her emotions. She considered her options. Deciding, Aren drew herself to her full height, a few inches shorter than Mar, and looked into the other woman’s eyes.

  “I forbid you from asking for a review,” Aren said, trying as hard as she could to sound like the one who sat the throne. “That is a command, Lady Mar. At no point are you permitted to ask for a void on your mating to Perlon.”

  Mar's anger vanished. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because our rank is a stubborn one,” Aren said, motioning between them. “That stubbornness makes us question any man who offers himself up to us, or any man paired with us. In the past this has suited us quite well, saving many a queen from those who would abuse her magic. You are paired with a good man, a good partner for you. The result is, when you have no option, you feel good, but when the option is presented, you rage, stomp your feet, and cry to get away from him.”

  “Says the one who ran from Av,” Mar said. “Who still is. He's a good pair for you, he's a good companion.”