The Fireblade Array: 4-Book Bundle

by H. O. Charles

  call to disturb him, especially if they thought he had climbed under the cloak with her.

  He readied every muscle to pounce on whatever was coming. Another eisiel? Morghiad did not relish the idea of facing one of those now.

  A large shape entered the bay. With everything he had, he threw himself at the figure.

  “Agh! Bloody Achellon, Morghiad, it’s me!” Silar spluttered, catching his balance on a wooden tent support.

  “Oh. Thought you were a monster.”

  Artemi stirred behind him. He turned back to check on her. She had moved to sleep on her good side, but was seemingly unaware of her company.

  “I heard... was it bad?” Silar

  whispered.

  Morghiad compressed his lips in the darkness. “She took a sword to the leg. It’ll heal in a few weeks though.”

  His friend shuffled his feet. “The other men say you will punish her. Have you decided what it’ll be yet?”

  He had not come close to deciding. He wanted to put that off for as long as possible. “No.”

  “Don’t be too harsh on her. I know you want to prove to the others that she’s like them, but you and I both know she’s not.”

  Morghiad did not reply. His head was too clouded to think properly.

  Silar continued, “I’ll watch her for the rest of the night. Why don’t you get some proper sleep?”

  Full sleep would be a good thing. He ached for it. But leave her with this overly affectionate limpet of a man? Surely that was not responsible. Then again, if anyone could be trusted to protect her, it was Silar. The idiot man would probably lay down own his life just to prove it.

  “Don’t do anything... amorous.” The kahr picked up his coat and swords, and left.

  Smooth water slopped over the edge of the wooden bucket and onto the polished stone beneath, causing Artemi to curse quietly. Her strength was waning and she still had another half-hour’s worth of trips to make. This was her punishment for breaking an oath of obedience. Not only was it tiring, but worse, it was also humiliating. Guards lined the entire route she had to trudge buckets of water along: from a tap at one side of the castle, to a drain at the other. It was utterly pointless work. It benefitted no one at all, except perhaps in providing amusement to the other soldiers.

  She’d had to do it every day from sunrise until sunset, or until her spirit was utterly broken. Even more soul-destroying, Silar would make a habit of posting himself on duty somewhere along the route, just so that he

  could gawp at her downfall. Even Morghiad felt the need to occasionally ‘check’ on her adherence to the sentence. Her leg stung from the sweat that now coated her body in a thin sheen. Over three weeks had passed since the injury had been exacted, and it was being rather leisurely in healing itself up. She gritted her teeth and continued, passing by the now too-familiar portrait of King Acher. He was quite an ugly man.

  Who had designed bucket handles to be so uncomfortable, anyway? At least the outdoor air was closer now. The chill of it touched her skin and she was grateful for its cool caresses. She inhaled the new air deeply. It smelled of oak fires and roasted boar someone would eat well tonight. Artemi’s stomach growled as she passed another guard

  in the black and green. They had all returned heroes of Cadra from the battle; huge crowds had turned out to welcome them home, and Artemi was bitterly disappointed she could not stand among her brothers to bathe in a little adoration. Perhaps it was fair. They, after all, had gone into battle while she had only pottered around at the back and then gotten herself injured. Artemi walked faster as she approached the archway that led to the courtyard. Could it be?

  She examined the dark skies coming into view. The sun had set! She had completed her suffering for another day! She set down her buckets and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling as her muscles re-worked themselves into sensible positions once more. Artemi opened her eyes, reprised the full buckets and

  emptied them into a drain in the courtyard. It was time to see the captain.

  She very nearly bounded up the stairs that led to his rooms out of joy at reclaiming her freedom from those buckets. The scabbard of the sword clipped against her calves beneath her skirts. The pocket designed for it was a feat of engineering; only the tip of the hilt was visible, and even that had been covered with blue cloth.

  So great was her elation that she pushed open the door to the kahr’s rooms without knocking. Morghiad clearly had not expected her company, for the beautiful noblewoman who had kicked her had the kahr pressed against the marble fireplace. Artemi was dumbfounded.

  “Impudent, obnoxious little girl!” the

  chestnut-haired woman cried, “Have you no manners? Leave us!”

  Morghiad’s expression betrayed nothing, and Artemi did not envy the noblewoman. Making love to a stone could not be much fun for anyone. She curtseyed and left the room swiftly. Her cheeks reddened as she leant against the wall outside his rooms, gathering her thoughts. At least they had still been dressed. Abruptly, the handsome woman stalked out of his rooms and made her way down the hallway with a notable air of indignation.

  “Artemi,” came Morghiad’s voice from inside the room.

  She trailed in slowly, afraid she would receive another tirade from him for her insolent behaviour, but he remained quiet. Her eye was

  drawn to his open shirt, which revealed a torso worthy of some appreciation. Morghiad caught her line of sight and quickly covered himselfup. Artemi failed to stifle a smirk at it, though he did not react. “How is your leg today?”

  “It is still not healed, but better than last week.” Telling him it was no concern of his did nothing to satisfy his curiosity, less so if she said it was no trouble at all.

  He nodded silently, looking at the floor. “I do not think we need to practise wielding today. Sit down and let’s see if I can beat you at this blazed game.” He had been improving with every game they played, making each match tougher than the last. One game had taken three days to complete.

  Artemi withdrew her sword and lowered herself into the soft leather of the

  armchair. It felt far more comfortable than she remembered. Morghiad came to sit next to her in his usual way, and placed the board between them. He named the chancellor as his first piece, but Artemi did not remember anything beyond that.

  Her first sensation was of lying upon a huge pile of feathers; it was so comfortable and so soft she could have lain there forever. She opened her eyes and was confronted with a blank screen of white. Was she dead, or blinded? Artemi raised her head above the whiteness to find her captain, sat in a chair, staring at her. Blazes alight! She was in his bed! How had she ended up in the bed of the kahr? She checked quickly; her dress was still on. That was something.

  “You fell asleep, Artemi.”

  She pushed herselfup on her hands. “Forgive me-”

  “Perhaps I have been pushing you too hard. You are still not quite recovered, after all. Today will be your last day carrying water.”

  She looked to the window. The first rays of morning light were already peeking through. “I must get to it, then.” She almost flopped out of the bed, which truly must have been the most comfortable sleeping place in the world!

  Morghiad stood to see her out once she had gathered her sword and straightened her appearance. He was always polite in certain aspects of his etiquette - very strange given that she was a servant, a soldier and especially given that he thought her such an annoyance.

  The door closed behind her softly. It had a curious squeak that Morghiad seemed ignorant of, or at least unwilling to fix, but she strode into the enormous hallway without mentioning it and ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tidy the strands. Her hand dropped; there was someone in the corridor ahead. The identity of the figure became plain when Artemi rounded the corner, and she curtseyed before the dark-haired noblewoman.

  “You! You little whore!” The woman moved forward with surprising speed and pushed Artemi into the wall. “I
know you spent all night in his room. Do you think this is acceptable? Do you think he would love a barrel scraping like you?”

  Artemi suppressed an urge to draw her hidden sword. “No, my lady.”

  The noblewoman shoved her into the wall again. “I didn’t give you permission to speak, harlot! I will see to it that you are made to do the very worst duties that exist in this castle. See if he is so ardent when you smell of the latrines! What is your name? Speak!”

  Artemi blurted out the first name that came to her head: “Mirel.”

  “Mirel, eh? No... forget latrines. I know just the place for you, lass.” Lady di Certa took her roughly by the arm and pulled her down the hall.

  Artemi did not know how to fight back. She could not just decapitate the woman for being jealous. Perhaps Morghiad or Silar would be able to sort out whatever difficulties this woman had in store for her. She would just have to bear it out.

  Aval led her through twisted corridor after shadowed corridor and up a broad flight of green marble steps until they reached an area of the castle she’d not visited before. A pair of large, bronze doors loomed. The two guards looked nervously at Artemi, and she was not sure what message they were trying to convey to her.

  “I wish an audience with the king,” Aval said. “Is he here?”

  Artemi’s heart raced. She had to escape before he saw her, she had to run – those were her orders! She twisted her arm from Lady di Certa’s grip.

  “The king is out on an errand, my lady,” one of the guards said.

  Artemi needed to get out of there anyway. “I cannot stay here. I have duties to

  attend to, and I must get to them right away.” She began trotting down the hall, leaving a dumbfounded Lady di Certa behind her. Artemi hastened down the hallway, at a run this time. She turned a corner at the greenstone steps and was confronted by a broad, bearded man in a silk coat. A coterie of women dressed in red surrounded him. She immediately dropped her head and curtseyed as low as she dared.

  The king moved toward her and spoke. “Raise your head, child.”

  She did as requested, slowly lifting her chin. Her whole body began to shake. Cautiously, she met his light-brown eyes.

  He reached to her jaw with a gloved hand and held it there for a moment, turning her head to each side to inspect it. “Have you ever

  seen such refinement, such symmetry in a woman?”

  Artemi was not sure if she was supposed to answer him.

  King Acher stood back to assess her figure. “You may raise yourself from that curtsey, girl.”

  She straightened, watching him as he rubbed at his beard.

  “You are very young, yes? Nineteen I’d guess.”

  “Eighteen, sire.”

  He started to walk around her. “Eighteen. I don’t even remember being in double digits anymore. So young. So pure.”

  Artemi felt sick with nerves. Rapid footsteps approached from behind her.

  “...and if you think you can walk away from me, huss -” Lady di Certa had evidently seen the king.

  Acher wheeled around to greet her. “Ah, Lady di Certa. Good to see you are still living under my roof. I was just admiring this young woman here. Isn’t she divine?”

  Aval mumbled a, “Yes, my lord,” from her bowed position.

  The king removed his glove and ran a hand over Artemi’s hair. “The Blazes have given you to me. What is your name, girl?”

  “Artemi.” She prayed Lady di Certa would not seek retribution for the lie, and she hoped to Achellon that he would let her go.

  He smiled. “Artemi, of course. Well, Artemi, you are to be the principal rose among my blooms; the sapphire amongst my gold.” He motioned for one of his accompanying guards

  to approach. “Lad, take this beauty down to the benay-gosa chambers. She is to be readied for the ceremony this afternoon -” He leaned closer to her and whispered, “and I will have you this evening.”

  Artemi felt sick, utterly sick.

  Her guard was Orwin, and as soon as they were out of earshot of the king he turned to her, worry creasing his face. “What are you going to do?”

  She fought off the panic that was settling in her. “I can do nothing. Morghiad. Get the message to him. Perhaps he can talk his father round. Or...” She took a breath, “...orI will have to run from here and I will need some help.”

  Orwin nodded. “Once you’re with the benay-gosa attendants I’ll go straight to him.”

  “There’s something else.” She withdrew her sword and scabbard. “Those benay-gosa scarves would do little to hide this and I can’t be found with it.”

  Orwin placed it in his own sword belt and walked her to the chambers. By the time they had reached the apartments, Artemi was beginning to feel the pain in her thigh once more, but she would have far worse problems than that to contend with soon. Upon completing his escort, Orwin sprinted from the rooms and Artemi was hugely grateful that he was a fast runner. Morghiad would get the message soon; it was in his own interest to prevent this from happening.

  The benay-gosa rooms looked as if they had been imported from another country altogether; they bore no resemblance to the

  stark grey of the rest of the castle. Swathes of red, gold and purple silk arced from the ceilings to the floors, masking whatever cold stone lay behind. The main entrance chamber seemed only to hold furniture for lounging on. There was no hint of work or hardship here; the king was all the hardship anyone needed.

  The floors were made of polished black granite which glittered like a starry night. From the main chamber, twenty wooden doors led to what appeared to be the benay-gosa’s private accommodations. Three red-clad attendants approached her as soon as Orwin had left. One was short, blonde and had an air of affected superiority; another was tall and imposing with very dark red hair; the final woman was sweeter-looking, olive-skinned and with deep brown hair.

  “A new woman to replace the latest one to fall from favour,” the blonde attendant chanted.

  “When is your admission ceremony to be, child?” asked the taller woman.

  Artemi compressed her lips. “This afternoon.”

  The blonde woman’s pale eyebrows rose a little. “Well he doesn’t lose much time these days, does he? Come. This will be your room.” She gestured to the door on the far right.

  Artemi followed the diminutive woman through the door and gazed, open-mouthed, at her new quarters. A huge bed took up most of the bedroom, made with cream-coloured sheets of some fabric she did not recognise. More swathes of pale silk decorated the walls

  and ceilings, golden lamp stands stood about the edges of the room and a chaise covered in silver fabric sat at the end of the bed. She went to the window. It looked out onto the fountain courtyard and she could hear the calm sounds of its cascading water. It chimed incongruously with the fear she felt. A bathing room lay off to the right and Artemi could see from the window that it contained a huge bath, big enough for several people to use at once. She cleared the image from her mind. This room would never be something she could enjoy.

  “You must bathe now and be made ready for your admission to the king’s honoured women. Pray, what is your name, girl?” Asked the olive-skinned lady.

  “Artemi D’Avrohan.” She shivered at hearing her father’s name. What would become of him without her? Or if she did end up with the king... and became a murderess?

  “Well met, Artemi. I am Carinnah. The other two are Myina and Tialain.”

  She smiled at the three of them. It probably wasn’t a very convincing smile.

  “We will run a bath for you. Myina will help you undress,” Carinnah said. The kindestlooking woman went to open one of the brass taps above the vast bath and her accomplice set about filling it with oils. Myina approached her, red hair like mahogany, and started pulling at the laces of her bodice. Artemi would have to think of a suitable explanation for her injury... but how often did an ordinary linen girl come into contact with pinh blades? Myina lifted the blue dress over he
r head and placed it onto the chaise. Artemi was running out of time. She had to think of something. The tall woman walked round to her front and began to undo the ties at the front of her shift. Think, Artemi! At last the woman removed her well-worn slip and the despair of the Calidellian army was stood in the middle of a benay-gosa room, naked but for a bandage around her right thigh.

  The inevitable question came. “What happened?”

  “I was cleaning one of the guard’s coats... and he had a short sword hidden in it. Only I didn’t realise. It fell out when I unpacked it from the laundry and it, well, fell into my leg here.” It was almost believable.

  “Oh,” murmured Myina. “We’ll have to find a way of hiding it. Lucky for you it’s quite high up your leg. If you would sit here, I’ll remove the dressing.”