A Brother's Price

by Wen Spencer

  She was unnerved enough to wait, as the farmers asked, for Queens Justice to arrive and act as trusted go-betweens. In the course of a few hours, the stolen cannons had moved from all-important to trivial, losing priority to Odelia's safe return. Cannons could be replaced; her sister could not. What surprised Ren was that the captain of her guard. Raven Tern, had not fought the delay.

  She said as much to her captain. “I'm amazed you agreed to this. We could be waiting on the Queens Justice for hours. I thought you would want to push your way in, get Odelia, and get on with finding the cannons.”

  Raven made a fist and tapped the sword tattoo on the back of her hand. “Didn't you notice the Order of the Sword mark on the girl, Ren? Crib father initials under the pommel, and on either side of the hilt, makes three generations of career soldiers. A family of line soldiers earning stud services from the military cribs wouldn't be able to afford this farm: it probably was a land grant for valiant service. A reward for loyalty proved by fire. Short of the local garrison, this is probably the safest place for Odelia to hole up in.”

  “Why not bully them into turning Odelia over?”

  “The girl we parleyed with was, what—seventeen?—and scared silly. If she's the oldest one in the house, then those twenty rifles are in the hands of frightened children. Frankly. I'd rather not have to execute an eight-year-old because she shot you by accident.”

  “The family might have been soldiers. Raven, but they're farmers now.”

  Raven shook her head. “We're talking third-generation soldiers. They're like a different species by that stage, and all they know is training their daughters to fight alongside of them. Every girl in that house probably got a toy gun as a teething present, and a real gun at the age of eight. Every window is shuttered and barred. The doors are reinforced and barred. The house probably has food enough to last a siege, and access to fresh water. You could throw a hundred soldiers against those twenty children and lose.”

  Ren eyed the house in question. Mostly stone, with a slate roof, it looked like a fortress. Flowers grew around the footing, softening the impression, but she noticed for the first time the lack of bushes near the house. The trees were in full summer foliage, yet the house remained unscreened, allowing a view for miles in three directions. West of the house were barns and outbuildings, checking winter winds. None of the buildings touched the house directly—they could be set fire to and not take the house with them. A cupola, she noticed now, on the highest peak of the house, looked over the barn roofs to the west. A dark line of a rifle barrel showed that even the cupola was guarded.

  In this remarkable house, instead of lying dead in woods, her charmed younger sister found refuge.

  It figured.

  Ren laughed aloud as it occurred to her how typical the event was of Odelia's life. “Odelia always had the luck of a cat. A countryside full of sheep-witted farmers, and she finds a veritable fortress to land in.”

  “I see you've stopped worrying about her.”

  “Currently she seems safer than me. That is, if these farmers weren't part of stealing the cannons.”

  “Doubt it,” Raven said after considering it for a while. “Locals might have run the barge aground—sandbars change overnight—but they wouldn't have left it there for us to find. The barge was left because it couldn't be moved. What with the draft horses in the barn and twenty little sisters, this family could have pulled the barge free. Whoever is riding herd on those cannons, they're scrambling right now.”

  “The attack on Odelia was a distraction.”

  “Most certainly,” Raven said. “A handful split off to keep us busy so the rest could deal with the cannons and small arms.”

  Ren cursed softly; they had been so close to catching the thieves. “Damn Odelia. Why'd she have to go off alone?”

  “She wouldn't be Odelia if she had a lick of common sense.”

  “Riders!” came a call from a sentry. They turned and watched the troop of Queens Justice ride up. The leader was a graying, trim woman with a crooked nose. She blinked in surprise at the royal presence, then flashed a snaggletoothed grin at the princess and her captain.

  “Lieutenant Bounder, at your service, Highness. Heria Whistler came to fetch us, saying that a soldier had been left to drown in their creek. One of yours, I take it?”

  “My sister Princess Odelia.”

  Bounder blanched. “Mothers above, is she all right?”

  “She's in there.” Ren waved toward the imposing farmhouse. “They wouldn't let us in until you arrived.”

  Bounder laughed. “Sounds like them, making royalty stew like a neighboring farmer. Glad to see you had sense to wait for us. You have to cat-foot around the Whistlers.”

  “They're trouble?” Raven asked.

  “Oh, not trouble, just dangerous to corner,” Bounder said. “At the local fairs, the Whistlers don't start the trouble, but they always end it. No nonsense, just pow, and lay the other girls out flat. You'd think the farmers around here would learn, but every year it seems one of them has to be taught what it's like to cross someone trained to fight.”

  “I didn't know farmers were so quarrelsome.” Raven murmured.

  “It's all on account of the men,” Bounder said.

  “Pardon?” Ren was sure she misheard. Men fighting?

  “The Whistlers' menfolk.” Bounder grinned and clucked her tongue suggestively. “The Whistlers trot them out at social events and women fall over themselves to get near them. But the Whistlers don't share them out, and sooner or later someone won't take no as an answer.”

  Raven glanced uphill, eyes narrowed in speculation. “Their mothers are away and they've got men to protect.”

  Bounder nodded. “Like I said. I'm glad you waited.”

  With Queens Justice on hand, the rifles were put up, the windows unshuttered, the doors unlocked, and the visitors invited in to check on the sleeping princess.

  Inside, the house had the same military stamp: clean, neat, uncluttered, and orderly. The smell of roasting goose filled the house. There were only four teenage sisters; the rest were tiny, giggling girls that ducked shyly out of rooms and behind cover whenever looked at directly. Over the mantel, though, was an impressive array of medals. Death for Country. Queens Medal of Honor. Queen Elder Cross of Victory. Queens Order of Knights!

  Raven had paused with Ren to look at the medals, and aahed at the Order of Knights. “Those Whistlers.”

  “You know of them?”

  “Aye. Famous, infamous Whistlers,” Raven murmured quietly, then glanced at a doorway, sending a giggling host of girls into hiding. The sister called Corelle reappeared to lead them upstairs. “I'll explain later.”

  Ren sat on the edge of the bed suddenly frightened for her sister over again. Odelia lay so still and pale on the farmer's narrow bed, oblivious to Ren's presence. When a hand on Odelia's shoulder failed to wake her, fear and despair mounted in Ren's chest. “Odelia?”

  Odelia sighed deeply. “Rats.”

  “Rats?” Ren blinked in surprise and relief.

  “I've been playing sick for hours hoping they'll let him come back.” Odelia opened her eyes and sighed again. “And now you're here.”

  “Him? I'm frightened for your life, and you're ogling farmers' husbands?”

  “Oh, he was too young to be a husband.” Odelia sat up in bed—then looked concerned. Clasping her hand over her mouth, she fought a battle to keep from vomiting, then—carefully—lay back on the pillows Ren propped up behind her. “Okay. I wasn't totally playing,” Odelia admitted quietly. “But he was very, very handsome.”

  “Lieutenant Bounder said the Whistlers had handsome menfolk, but I assumed that was compared to the farming standard.”

  “Look at the sisters, Ren. Then think of a man along those lines with hair all down his back instead of a military crop.”

  Ren recalled the oldest sister. The girl had been striking enough to remember despite the day's flood of stressful events: clear pale skin, bla
ck hair, large blue eyes, and a full mouth. Ren snorted at the woolgathering, dismayed that Odelia managed to lead her so astray from important issues. For the sake of the country, it was good that Odelia was not the oldest. Her charmed life left her seeing things slightly skewed.

  “Odelia, I can't believe you were beaten half to death, left to drown, and all you're concerned about is the handsome son of poor landed gentry.”

  “I'm still alive. The bruises will heal. Why dwell on the past? The future holds the chance to steal a kiss or two from the prettiest man I've seen my whole life.”

  “Because whoever tried to kill you is still out there, you're weak as a kitten, it's an hour's ride to the garrison protected by the Queens Justice, and the cannons are still missing.”

  “So I stay here, while you look for the cannons.” Odelia's face went soft with apparently dreamy thoughts. “Maybe he'll come check on the poor unconscious princess.” She slipped back down in the bed, pushing away the pillows. “Don't tell them I woke up.”

  “You're hopeless.” Ren had been stifling the urge to take up a pillow and hit her sister. In moving about, though, the sleeves of Odelia's nightshirt slipped up past her elbows. Ren found herself staring at the large black bruises marking Odelia's forearms where she had apparently fended off killing blows.

  Odelia's attackers almost killed her, would have surely if they had not thought the water would finish their work. If they had stopped to administer a sounder beating, used a sword instead of a truncheon, used a pistol—

  Ren shuddered at the thought. To owe her sister's life to the sloppiness of cruel strangers and the lucky clear thinking of the daughters of farmers! So instead of hitting Odelia with pillows, Ren tucked her sister into the borrowed bed.

  Raven leaned against the wall in the hall. “I heard you two talking. She's awake? How is she?”

  Ren shut the door quietly. “Scheming to steal kisses from the farmers' beautiful son.”

  Raven shook her head. “That sounds like Odelia.”

  “She won't be able to ride to the garrison. It would make her happy to stay here. It would allow her to continue her schemes.”

  “It would make me happy to stay here,” Raven stated. “With the Queens Justice looking for the cannons and Odelia's attackers, this place is safer than the local garrison. Apparently the lieutenant's predecessor allowed the town to grow up to the walls of the garrison, replaced a stone wall with a wood one—to cut cost—and so forth. All in all, it would be like guarding lambs in a brush lot.”

  “And the famous, infamous Whistlers? Are they safe?”

  “They seem to have smoothed around the edges from the last I'd heard of them.”

  “And what have you heard of them?”

  Raven smiled at Ren's impatient tone. “The grandmother Elder, or maybe the great-grandmother Elder of this lot, did something that got herself executed, her sisters cashiered, and their daughters blacklisted. To keep the family alive, the Eldest bullied the Sisterhood of the Night to take her and her sisters in.”

  “The thieves' guild? Bullied?”

  “Aye, had the family switched into training as thieves. They were better than most, being already trained to work together under fire and fight well enough to break free if caught. Well, the War of the False Eldest started, and things were going badly. The False Eldest knew our defenses and we knew nothing of Tastledae. We sent in scouts, but they were all caught and executed. Then, somehow, Wellsbury picked up the Whistler girls.”

  “Soldiers trained as thieves, or thieves trained as soldiers.”

  Raven nodded. “They were a motley crew, all born to the Order of the Sword, so each had a different father, and different grandfather more often than not. They fought like wildcats with everyone and everything. They lied, they stole, they ignored orders, and they won the war. Wellsbury started them with spying, but expanded that to wreaking general mayhem behind enemy lines. There had been thirty of them to start, only about ten survived the war, and they cashed out after being knighted.”

  Ren looked at the well-ordered home. “Their grandfather and father must have had strong character to turn a motley crew of spies into this well-run army.”

  Raven nodded in agreement. “I've heard so many women go on about wanting a biddable husband, but I'd rather have a strong-willed man who can keep your children in line. Weak husbands make spoiled children.”

  Ren leaned against the wall, rubbing at the bridge of her nose, weighing the few options available. “Okay, Odelia stays. I want to send a report downriver to let our mothers know she's safe and that we might miss the opening of Summer Court. Trini will have to preside as Elder Judge. See what the Whistlers have in the way of riding horses. After I'm done with my report, I want to head out.”

  Raven shook her head. “It's dusk, Ren, we're dead tired, in a strange land, and they've had one go at a royal princess today already. Let Bounder search for the cannons. Or do you really want Odelia to be Eldest?”

  The last made Ren laugh, but she conceded the point. “Okay. Okay. Halley, though, is two months older than Odelia.”

  “No one has seen Halley for four months,” Raven said quietly.

  Ren sighed, closing her eyes against the pain that truth triggered. “There is that.”

  Jerin and the boys moved to his bedroom to ride out the royal storming of the house. Heria brought him progress reports, as well as complaints of hunger growing among their younger sisters.

  The Princess Ren was pleased at finding her sister alive and well. When Princess Odelia had gone missing, she had feared the worst. Seeing that the younger princess was not fit to ride, it was decided that the royal party would spend the night. Knowing their mothers would have a fit if Princess Ren was housed in the barn, Corelle offered up both the youngest and the older sisters' bedrooms. They were graciously accepted.

  Nothing had been said, Heria complained, about dinner, and all the baby sisters were starting to whine and cry. Knowing full well that his sisters couldn't organize dinner to save their lives, Jerin came down from his bedroom to take control of the kitchen.

  Heria had only one pot on the stove, just breaking into a boil. It contained peeled and sliced potatoes. The youngest were divided between raiding the pantry and peering in at the goose, trying to decide if it was done.

  “Is that enough potatoes?” Heria asked, chasing girls out of the pantry.

  Jerin dodged the little girls to consider what they had on hand for dinner. “How many are in Princess Rennsellaer's party?”

  “Fifteen. Ten privates, two lieutenants, a captain, and the two princesses,” Heria reported. “All of the guard are fathered out of the military cribs—Order of the Sword tattoos range from second generation to sixth. One of the privates is sister to the younger lieutenant; otherwise, there are no other sibling pairs. All but Princess Odelia are currently armed with a pistol, a brace of knives, and a saber. They also have standard-issue rifles and bayonets, but those are geared with their personal items upstairs.”

  “They each have a hundred rounds of rifle ammunition, and only fifty rounds of pistol ammo.” Blush's tone indicated she thought it was a paltry supply. “They have no food supplies nor grain. Each woman has a personal purse, totaling sixty-seven crowns, eighty-six gils, and fifteen quince between them, but they're not carrying a cashbox.”

  “Blush!” Jerin hissed in surprise. “You didn't search their gear?”

  Blush looked at him with surprise and hurt. “They won't be able to tell.”

  Leia, who was younger than Blush by an hour, and twin-close as a result, added in, “Princess Rennsellaer has a royal seal in her traveling desk, and Captain Tern has hers secured against spies.”

  It was difficult to tell which desk created the most interest. Immediately plans were laid for a series of reconnaissance missions to see said desks by the rest of the youngest siblings, Doric included.

  “No!” Jerin stated firmly. “You will not invade the princesses' privacy or that of their guards an
y further. They're guests in this house, and they will be treated with respect.”

  “Oh, pooh,” Heria risked grumbling, but the rest held their tongues in the face of his glower.

  “And that's plenty of potatoes,” Jerin told Heria.

  Fifteen hungry women. There would be no leftover goose for lunch tomorrow. The potatoes would make things stretch, but one could eat only so many before getting bored. “Get a bushel of sweet yams scrubbed up, and we'll put them in the oven after the goose comes out.” He handed out gathering baskets. “The rest of you, out to the garden. Pick a full basket of peas, and cut a quarter row of asparagus—make the stems long as possible.”

  Summer hurried into the kitchen just as he set the goose out. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him. “What are you doing?” she whispered fiercely, throwing a look toward the front of the house, where the royal party gathered in the parlor.

  “I am cooking dinner.” Jerin picked up the tray of now scrubbed and pierced sweet yams and slid them into the empty oven. “Roasted goose, sage dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, blanched asparagus, boiled peas, sliced winter apples, cheese, fresh bread, butter, and yams.”

  “They're going to see you and the boys!” Summer cried.

  “Not if they don't come into the kitchen,” Jerin said. “And you middle sisters handle the serving in the dining room.”

  If Summer's hair had been longer than the military crop, it seemed she would be pulling it out by now. “How are we going to keep the royal guard out of the kitchen? They're probably going to check the food for poison.”

  Jerin got out their largest platter and dual meat forks. “Like we keep poison on hand to kill off visiting princesses.”

  “Jerin!” Summer wailed.

  He closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Summer, the goose was going to burn if I didn't get it out, and the youngest are hungry, and we have guests—royal guests. If Corelle did the cooking, truly we would be poisoning the princesses.”