The Blacksmith Queen

by Aiken G. A.

  Caid turned away, attempting to stop his laughter by rubbing his nose with his fist.

  “Come on,” he choked out. “I’ll take you to my father.”

  * * *

  Keeley followed Caid through the camps. It was easy to tell the difference between the more peace-loving centaurs and the ones who were bred to be warriors. The soldier centaurs had antlers or horns and lots of scars from past battles. They were always strapped with weapons and their eyes were the eyes of predators, not prey.

  But they lived easily among their kin because they didn’t use their power and strength against their own. Instead, they were there to put the others at ease. To make everyone feel safe. Something that, to Keeley’s mind anyway, was what power was for. To protect those who weren’t meant to carry a sword or kill on command. Not everyone had the desire and very few were good at it. So why force them when it wasn’t their skill?

  They reached an open field with a herd of horses racing around it. The gray mare was in their midst and the sight made Keeley smile. Seeing the horse doing what she did best. Run free.

  Caid put two fingers to his mouth and whistled. One of the horses split off from the herd and raced toward them. As it neared, Keeley realized that it wasn’t a horse; it was a centaur. He hadn’t shifted either. He’d simply blended into the herd, and it wasn’t until he was on his own that one could see what he was.

  How he managed to hide those antlers, though . . . ? She’d never know. They were enormous. Bigger than Caid’s. They must get bigger the older a centaur lives, Keeley thought, which she found fascinating.

  He came to a stop in front of Caid and Keeley.

  “Father, this is Queen Keeley of the Hill Lands.”

  Keeley blinked, shocked to hear herself given such a title.

  “Keeley, this is my father, Hearn, chief of our clan.”

  Hearn nodded at her but that was all.

  But when Keeley didn’t say anything—she was still staring at his antlers. Did he sleep with those? Were they uncomfortable to sleep in? Did he hit low-hanging things often with those things?—Caid said, “Keeley would like to speak with you, Father.”

  With a scowl as fierce as his son’s, Hearn looked down at Keeley. “Yes?” he asked, sounding mostly annoyed.

  Keeley cleared her throat and began, “Many years ago, you saved a young soldier you found in the lower mountains. That young soldier was my father and I just wanted to say thank you.”

  Then Keeley did what her father had always told her to do if she was ever lucky enough to meet the centaur who’d saved his life . . . she wrapped her arms around his lower waist—the last bit of him that was humanlike when he was in his natural form—and hugged him.

  * * *

  Caid watched his father’s confused expression turn downright panicked; his hands flailed a bit as he tried to figure out where to put them. Caid could almost guess the stallion’s questions: Should he hug her back? Should he push her away? Should he wipe her from the face of the earth?

  So many questions right there on his father’s face.

  Caid’s father usually knew exactly what to do in any given situation. That’s how he’d lived as long as he had. By being smart and determined. But Keeley had a way of confusing even the most confident of males.

  “Uh . . . uh . . . you’re welcome . . . ?”

  Oh, good. He’d settled on not wiping her from the face of the earth. Caid was sure that had been hard for his father to go with.

  Smiling, Keeley stepped back. “My father also wanted me to send his best. He’s never forgotten what you did for him.”

  What happened that day, so many seasons ago, was not something their father discussed much. The other protector clans had thought it was stupid for Hearn to bring a human to their camp and have him nursed back to health. A soldier of the Old King, no less. Not some lost child. The clan leaders at the time had all felt the soldier should have been put down where he lay among the rocks he’d fallen into with six human-made arrows still in his neck, chest, and hip. But Hearn hadn’t agreed for some reason. He’d gone against everything he’d been taught and brought the soldier to safety.

  The move had secured Hearn’s place in Gaira’s heart, though. He’d already had a son from the future leader of the centaur clans but there had been other stallions sniffing around Gaira, and she had seemed uncertain about claiming Hearn as a long-life mate. That would mean in times of incredible danger, Hearn would lead the centaur and mountain tribe armies into war. She’d worried that the scowling, mostly cranky, snarling male would hunger for war and the death of humans, and Gaira was not one to go to war because she was bored or had an axe to grind.

  All these years, Caid had assumed his father’s decision to help the human soldier had been a calculated one. Hearn knew that Gaira had a soft spot for all living things, including humans and, in his own way, he had loved Gaira for a very long time. Caid didn’t actually approve of such a calculating move, but he understood it. And he was grateful that Laila was his sister, if nothing else.

  But now, watching his father as he had to deal with one of the soldier’s grateful offspring, Caid realized his original belief might have been wrong. Very wrong.

  “How is your father?” Hearn asked Keeley.

  “Fine, I hope. I had to leave him and the family at my uncle Archie’s.”

  “Crazy Archie?” He smirked. “You sure that was wise?”

  “We were out of choices, but I made him promise to behave himself.”

  “Especially with your mother.”

  “Yes! Still clinging, he is.”

  “Your father’s love of the Blacksmith Maiden is legendary. He’ll give her up to no one, but especially not his brother.”

  “The Blacksmith Maiden?”

  “That’s what your father called her. He kept telling me he needed to get back to his Blacksmith Maiden. Even when he was suffering the worst fever from his wounds, he talked about her. He already had plans for his farm and the raising of his . . . three children, I think.”

  Keeley laughed. “Three?”

  “She’s had ten thousand,” Caid said.

  “She has not had ten thousand,” Keeley quickly corrected. “There are twelve of us.”

  “With another nine thousand on the way.”

  Keeley dismissed Caid with a flick of her hand that almost hit him in the nose.

  “Now,” Keeley began, “I wanted to give you this.” She pulled a beautiful battle dagger from the sheath attached to the belt around her waist.

  “That’s not nec—”

  “I know.” She placed the weapon in his hand. “But my mother would want you to have this. To thank you.”

  She hugged Hearn again and, to Caid’s eternal shock, Hearn hugged her back.

  Keeley pulled away first, walking back to camp before Hearn could see the tears in her eyes. Caid started to follow, but his father yanked him back by his hair.

  “Ow! I wish you wouldn’t do that!” Caid snapped.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” his father told him.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Keep your kilt down and forelimbs on the ground. Understand me?”

  “Sadly, yes,” Caid sighed as he moved away from his father so the mean bastard couldn’t grab Caid’s hair again.

  * * *

  Hearn watched his son and the future queen walk back into camp. When they disappeared behind tents, he looked down at the blade he held in his hands. He was amazed at the workmanship. It was not the work of some average blacksmith one could find in any town, but of someone with real love in their heart for the art of it.

  He remembered the sword the young soldier had possessed. It had been forged by the soldier’s “Blacksmith Maiden.” Hearn still had it and often used it when necessary. He and the young soldier had exchanged swords before Angus had headed out of the mountains and back to his battalion. Hearn had become friends with that young soldier, despite
their being so different in every way. And, unbeknownst to many, they’d kept in contact over the decades. Sending each other books and letters. Keeley Smythe was exactly as her father had described her. Beautiful, bold, and caring. She looked more like her mum, based on the way Hearn’s friend had described the Blacksmith Maiden, but his War Monk daughter resembled him. Especially around the eyes.

  Hearn had to admit, he’d been worrying about his old friends since Laila and the others had arrived with Keeley. He doubted that Angus knew what had happened to his eldest daughter and what his middle child had done. The betrayal. And the true danger he and his entire family were currently in. Angus wanted to believe the best of everyone but that’s what had nearly got him killed all those years ago.

  “Are you all right?” his mate asked, nuzzling the back of his neck.

  “I . . . I think I need to take a platoon of our best and go get my friend. Take him and his family someplace truly safe. Here. Among us.”

  She put her arms around his neck and rested her head against his jaw. “You’ll hear about it,” she warned. “From the other tribal chiefs.”

  Gaira ruled over all the clans—especially during times of strife—which was why she had the title Chieftain. But each centaur clan had its own chief and each of those leaders had a say in how day-to-day things worked.

  “Until he talks with Keeley, Angus will never know the real danger he and his family are in. But we can’t wait for her to go get him. We need to move now. And she needs her allies.”

  She kissed his cheek. “I think you’re right. That woman loves her kin. If something happens to them . . . it may break her. We can’t afford that right now.”

  Gaira took the blade from his hand, nodding in appreciation at its quality. “Take what you need. Kill our enemies. Come back to me.”

  He nodded at her orders before kissing her throat.

  “As you command,” he murmured against her skin.

  CHAPTER 19

  Keeley woke up, buried under fur, with a centaur standing over her, glaring.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  Caid didn’t answer, just waited for her to realize that she was in bed with two of the demon wolves.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” she argued, trying to sit up, but neither animal seemed to be in the mood to move yet.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It was cold last night and the fur covering wasn’t doing much.” She pushed against the wolves again. But when they still didn’t move, she ordered, “Off! Now!”

  They scrambled from the bed and Keeley quickly slipped out as well.

  “Notice they were on top of the fur covering . . . just keeping me warm. Like good friends.”

  “This is a disturbing conversation,” Caid said. “I’m walking away now.”

  And he did.

  “We’re almost ready to go, Your Majesty,” he sarcastically tossed at her before walking out.

  “You almost got me in trouble!” she whisper-yelled at the wolves. “Not everyone understands our relationship!”

  The wolves responded by rolling around on their backs or digging into her travel bag for something to eat or playing tug with one of her leather sheaths.

  Keeley found a new set of clothes waiting for her, but they were just like her old clothes. A sleeveless leather tunic, leather leggings, and leather boots. There were also bindings for her ample breasts, short braies, and warm socks. Under all that was a leather breastplate with matching pauldrons.

  Creating leather armor wasn’t her strength as much as chainmail and plate armor, but Keeley knew good work when she saw it. Especially when she held it.

  Grinning, she put everything on and took a quick look in the mirror. What she loved? More than anything? Her crest. A black hammer and anvil burned into the brown leather.

  Love, love, love!

  Slipping her hammer into a leather holster that allowed her to strap it to her back for travel, she headed outside and was delighted to see the gray mare waiting for her. Keeley had assumed that the horse would stay with the herd she’d been running with last night, but no. She still wanted her revenge and Keeley was fine with that. She wanted her revenge too.

  Keeley saddled up the mare and took the additional travel bags handed to her by helpful centaurs. Bags filled with bread, hard cheese, and dried meats. As well as containers for water and another for ale.

  “Morning,” Gemma grumbled as she watched Samuel saddle up her stallion.

  “Sister.”

  Laila and Caid, in their natural forms, arrived with their mother.

  “Such a beautiful day!” Gaira cheered, reaching down and patting Keeley’s shoulder.

  “Thank you for the armor and holster for my hammer. I adore them all!”

  “They look very good on you. We took a chance on the crest. Figured you could change it when you’re ready.”

  “Why would I change it?” she asked. “It’s perfect!”

  Gaira faced her children. “Be careful. And take care of each other.” She kissed each on their cheeks and was about to move away when she saw something behind Keeley and her eyes grew wide.

  Keeley turned and immediately reached over her shoulder for the handle of her hammer, watching Quinn stalk toward her as human, pulling his long sword as he did.

  Without saying a word, Gemma stepped in front of Keeley, her own two short swords out. Laila and Caid moved quickly toward their brother, but before they could reach him, he abruptly dropped to one knee and slammed the tip of his sword into the ground.

  “Oy!” Keeley barked, cringing. “That’s no way to treat such a fine weapon! And when will I be near a hot enough fire so I can fix it for ya? Eh? Tell me that!”

  “Is that really your main concern here?” Gemma asked, her tone typically annoyed.

  “I pledge my sword to you, Blacksmith Queen,” Quinn announced loudly. The statement had Keeley’s and Gemma’s heads snapping around to gaze down at him.

  “You do?” Keeley asked Quinn.

  “You do?” Laila also asked.

  “I do!”

  “Why?” Caid coldly questioned his brother.

  Gaira pushed Caid away and lifted her eldest son’s chin with her hand. “Quinn, are you sure about this?”

  “I don’t do anything I’m not sure about. And I’m sure about this.”

  “Well, I won’t stop you . . .”

  Quinn stood tall; then, with a slight shake of his head, he stood even taller as he shifted. He put his blade back into the sheath strapped across his back.

  He kissed his mother.

  “Safe travels,” she said to them all.

  Keeley mounted her horse and walked it over to Quinn. “Why have you committed your sword to me?”

  “If I want to be leader of the Scarred Earth Clan one day, I need to have more battle experience. And you seem like a mad cow that’ll get us into a war faster than your demon wolves can take down a wild boar and eat it. Add in that you have a War Monk sister at your side who is absolutely chewing at the bit to sink her sword into something warm and blood-filled, and I can’t ask for a better way to secure my future. Can you?”

  He winked and moved away from her, heading out of the camp.

  “What did my brother say to you?” Caid asked, stepping in next to her.

  “Oh . . . nothing.” She glanced over at him. “Do you think I’m a mad cow?”

  “Well . . .” Caid began, but Keeley immediately waved away his answer.

  “Forget I asked.”

  Their group started off, now filled out with another unit of centaur warriors keeping them company. But they’d only gotten a few feet before Keeley called a halt and yelled out, “Keran! Gods-dammit, wake up!”

  * * *

  It took Beatrix little time to realize something very important. Her husband could barely read. She’d discovered that when the Dowager Queen’s Follower of Her Word—his true name was Agathon—handed Marius a parchment with the words he was to speak during the nupt
ials. His reaction was so violent and angry that she knew immediately he could read but a few words.

  It should have appalled her. A king’s son who couldn’t read? But it was beyond perfection. She had closely and silently watched as Marius’s mother quickly jumped in. Not only to protect the Follower of Her Word from getting beaten to death by her son, but also to hide her son’s lack of basic capabilities.

  Maila taught her son the words by reading them to him . . . twice. Under the guise that he didn’t like how it sounded the first time around, so he wanted to “hear the words” again. After the second reading, he could repeat them back perfectly. It meant he was definitely smart, so Beatrix would have to be careful. But she could—and would—use this discovery to her advantage.

  What Beatrix desperately needed now was an ally within the palace walls. The Queen Dowager would never fully trust her. She’d always known that. Especially since Maila trusted no woman fully. The few consorts of the Old King who’d managed to survive the massacre were not simply killed on Maila’s orders immediately upon their return to the castle. They were burned at the stake, which had seemed excessive to Beatrix. What point did it make? And all the screaming . . . ? She’d been trying to read several important dispatches intercepted between Marius’s twin brothers and Cyrus the Honored when she’d been completely distracted by all that damn screaming! And it went on for ages since they burned each woman separately. Another waste of time and done simply for show.

  Beatrix couldn’t wait to get control, so she could stop that sort of excess and waste. It needed to be reined in, used only when a message needed to be sent to all.

  Sitting in her wedding gown, waiting for the time when she would walk down the aisle and lock her life to that of a petulant man-child who couldn’t read and relied too much on his mother, Beatrix looked up from the parchments she was studying.

  The Follower of Her Word . . . er . . . Agathon, walked into Prince Marius’s privy chamber but froze at the entrance. They both knew she shouldn’t be here.

  “My Lady Beatrix?”

  “Agathon.” She lifted her hand and gestured at him with two fingers. “Come in. We should talk.”