Blackwood Marauders

by K. S. Villoso

  She wasn’t sure what did it. The high priest’s words sounded hollow, made-up. But perhaps something about the way he said it, intensified by the aura of King Elrend’s throne room, that seemed to stop everyone in their tracks. They all found themselves clapping and crowding around her, and by the end of the day Duke Iorwin, her father, had found himself swimming in a pile of invitations—all addressed to her. They didn’t even really acknowledge that she existed before.

  Ridiculous, if you think about it. How one man’s words were enough to change the air around her. Roena particularly didn’t like the bound to an honourable man part. It meant, predictably, that every eligible bachelor around would be off doing various deeds to woo her affections, like the knights of old. Like the Hafed would even know what honour meant. How was the head of two deer, “—killed right where the mountains meet the woods under a moonlit sky,” supposed to impress her? And it was all made worse when her father announced this particular gathering to coincide with his ridiculous call for mercenaries. It had been five long years since the high priest had offered a view of her fate. Duke Iorwin’s daughter Roena wasn’t getting any younger. She needed a husband and she needed one soon.

  Roena made a sound into her wine glass, one which caught the attention of the man standing directly across her. “Long day?” he asked with a smile.

  She frowned. “If that’s supposed to be funny, you’re clearly losing your touch.”

  The man stepped close to pick up a glass of wine next to her. “Come, now. I thought the one with the dead bear had the right idea. What was that word he used? A menace to your father’s name? I all but quivered in my seat when he regaled us with his tale of swordsmanship and beast-slaying.”

  “You merchants must find these so amusing.”

  The man tipped the wine towards her. “It’s why I’m here.”

  “And I suppose doing business with my father is just a thinly disguised excuse so you could watch me squirm.”

  “It is a delightful squirm.”

  “Don’t make me vomit in my mouth, Ylir.”

  Hertra Ylir yn Ferral—whom she had also heard call himself Ylir yn Garr, as a sign of affectation to his employer—only smiled wider. She sighed, biting back the longing to strike the smug grin off his face. Ylir was a man of contrasts, an enigma that had only recently appearing in court representing one of the owners of Yn Garr Industries, a powerful company whose projects had begun to show up all throughout the Kag. He had dark skin and brown hair, and was strangely quiet about his origins—he was Gorenten, some people say. Gasparian, others offered. And he carried his names, with all its yns and the Hertra prefix that only the Agartes-found city-states to the east were capable of conjuring, with an almost unnatural pride. She wasn’t even sure Ylir was his real name—she’d heard of a Hertra Ferral who lived in Baidh a few years back. Another merchant, too. But it couldn’t be the same person—this Ylir was far, far too young.

  She started growing dizzy and took another sip of wine to settle her stomach. She hadn’t eaten. The kitchen staff had worked their fingers to the bone for this wonderful feast—roast pheasant stuffed with walnut-studded bread, wild boar slow cooked with apples for twelve hours on a spit, onion and gravy pies, and minced duck braised with lemon, pepper, and butter, served in little saucers for dipping crusty bread in. But nothing could tempt her away from the unease that had been building up inside of her ever since her father had announced this event.

  “A few more years and they’ll start calling you an old maid,” was what he had actually said. “I’m tired of waiting around for you to make up your mind. I need you married off before I can entertain suitors for your sisters. We both know what you really think about this whole thing, but my hands are tied and you’ve had more than enough chances the past few years to have made this decision in your own time. Pick one of them, Roena. Any one of them. I don’t care.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then I’ll pick one for you, and so Agartes help me, you’re not going to back out of it, not even if you lock yourself up in your room in protest. I’ll make them marry you through the door if I have to.”

  She swallowed now, staring at the group of young men crowded around her father in the distance. Only one or two had actually gone up to greet her; most neglected her in favour of speaking with her father. Duke Iorwin’s stance as protector of the city of Blackwood may be notable, but his daughter’s reputation was just as powerful. Roena guessed that at least half, if not more, had been coerced by their own families and would probably rather be anywhere but there.

  “I mean, if you had to choose,” Ylir broke in.

  “Don’t start.”

  “If you really had to,” he continued, seemingly unaware of her bubbling temper. “Who would it be? How about that chap with the crooked tooth? Or I think the one with the fringes around his ears—”

  “You’re really getting on my nerves.”

  “Your father is going to pick one tonight, whether you like it or not. He told me so himself.”

  “Did he, now?” she drawled.

  “Said he’d pick the one you hated the most if you continued being unpleasant about it, too. And before you bring it up—why, I did ask him if he’d consider me for a son-in-law.”

  She realized she was holding her breath in. “Well?” she snapped.

  He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Why do you want to know? Are you tempted—”

  “Never mind,” Roena sniffed, turning around to pour more wine.

  “I didn’t realize you felt that—”

  “Don’t make me throw wine at you. The stains won’t come off easily from those fancy clothes.”

  He laughed. “How did you think he’d react? He wanted to know if I was joking, because if I wasn’t, he might have me arrested. The nerve of a mere merchant to ask for a nobleman’s daughter. You Hafed are startlingly touchy about your bloodlines.”

  “You should’ve pushed it. Some time in the dungeons would improve your temperament.”

  “Women have told me that more than once. I really don’t think so.”

  “This is ridiculous,” she said. “He just wants me out of the way so my sisters can get their pick of the litter. Because they’d bring in better prospects. Because they’re more pleasant, or something. I told him I’d step down. Disown myself. Even bloody announce it to the whole land, you know how the gentry love these things. He won’t have such a disgrace, he said.”

  “It would look odd on your family if you did that.”

  “Nothing they can’t recover from,” she said. “Gods, Ylir, if only that idiotic priest hadn’t brought all that attention in the first place. Making me out to be like some prized pony—like I’d want anything to do with an honourable man in the first place.”

  “Hmm,” he said against his wine glass. “I almost feel like there’s an insult wrapped up behind that, but surely—”

  “Roena!” Iorwin thundered from across the hall.

  She grimaced. “And there comes my funeral trumpets.”

  “The one with the fringes, I’m telling you. I hear his father has a two-story bathhouse.”

  She downed the last of her wine and slowly made her way to her father. His arms were crossed as he regarded her with a disapproving look. “And sometimes she’d rather spend her time cavorting with merchants of ill repute,” Iorwin said, no doubt finishing some other criticism of her. Perhaps she should applaud him, after all—if he was trying to get her married off, he wasn’t doing a very good job.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Father,” she said, giving her best impression of a chastised daughter. “Hertra Ferral is a valued guest of yours, is he not?”

  “And so goes the mistake of many a married man in Tilarthan,” Fringe-faced offered. “Surely you must’ve heard how many he’s cuckolded right in their own households. And at his age! He can’t be that much older than you. Some of those women were twice his age…I’m surprised he hasn’t been murdered yet.”

 
; She sniffed at him. “It says a lot of the state of affairs in Hafod that a man like that is allowed to wander in and out of our society without so much as a slap on the wrist, simply because he has money.”

  “And represents one of the most powerful companies in all the Kag,” Crooked-teeth broke in. “Do you know that they’ve started yet another tunnel north of Cael City? It goes straight to Gaspar, now.”

  “I thought that one was finished years ago,” Fringe-faced replied, frowning.

  “Speaking of Yn Garr Industries…haven’t they gifted Blackwood with those towers, Duke Iorwin?” an older man, likely one of the young men’s fathers, added. Roena couldn’t put a name to his face. “You and the partners must be tight.”

  Iorwin looked flustered. “Yes, well, that’s neither here nor there. Not for me to judge misplaced charity, however much we may appreciate it—”

  “Opening up Gorrhen’s Pass has been good for Blackwood too, as I recall. If you’re such good friends, why didn’t you ask them to supply you with mercenaries? I thought Gorrhen yn Garr owned part of the Boarshind group from Cairntown?”

  “If I did that, we wouldn’t have an opportunity to be amused now, will we?” Iorwin snorted. “Not to mention the Boarshind is ridiculously expensive. They’ll charge such high prices, and then go around and pay their men a fraction. I’d rather deal with them directly.”

  “Speaking of these mercenaries…” another man piped up. “How exactly will this whole thing go?”

  “Simple enough,” Iorwin said, crossing his arms together. “We assign each group a settlement at the edge of the woods. They’re to stay there for as long as it takes to find the culprits and bring them to justice.”

  “What if they find nothing?”

  “Then they’ll get nothing,” Iorwin said with a smile. “And people can forget accusing me of not providing help. If they do find something, then they can come to me for a reward.”

  “I must say, my lord,” Fringe-face offered. “Duping these mercenaries into providing their services for free—”

  Iorwin snorted. “Well, should they come back with something, I’ll be more than happy to reward their efforts and give them valid commendation among you gentlemen. In any case, I can’t take all the credit for the idea. Lord Draigar came up with it in the first place.”

  “Still, it’s brilliant,” Crooked-teeth gasped. “No offense to Lord Draigar, of course, though we all know he’d have been more than happy to let you have the honours. Where is he, anyway? I haven’t seen him anywhere today.”

  “He wanted a last-minute ride around the city,” Iorwin said. “You understand that safety of our guests is paramount, especially in these troubling times.”

  “You really are a man ahead of the times, Duke Iorwin.”

  You’d think so, Roena thought. She started to drift away from the conversation, but her father reached out to grab her by the wrist.

  “You need to talk to these gentlemen, my dear,” he said, his cold voice a stark contrast to the words. “They did come here for you.”

  The men glanced up sheepishly, exchanging knowing glances and grins.

  “I can’t see what I have to offer by way of conversation,” Roena said, pretending to fan herself. “Such droll talk of soldiers and killing. And beasts? Have we not seen enough flung about the castle this afternoon? How long until the servants get bear blood out of your carpets, Father?”

  “Your insolence will be the death of me, Roena.”

  “These beasts, my lady,” Fringe-face said. “They’re not mere bears or wolves. Your father was wise to call these mercenaries in before the problem grew bigger. I don’t know if I should speak more about them…”

  “Because my womanly ears can’t take it?”

  “Now, I didn’t say—”

  Roena gave a smile. “I live in Blackwood, in case you haven’t noticed, sir…?”

  “Erwen,” the man offered. “Of…the holdings south of Port Bluetree.”

  “Lord Erwen,” she said. “My nursemaid has told me these stories from since before I could remember. Of long-limbed monsters who walk from the shadow of the woods to steal children and pregnant women, with their crooked grins and erect cocks the size of their arms…”

  “Roena!” Iorwin snapped.

  She cocked her head innocently. “You told me to socialize.”

  Her father didn’t—couldn’t—say anything, not in front of the other lords, but she caught the taut line of his jaw and knew she had won. She smiled. “May I be excused?”

  “Go,” Iorwin snarled. He turned away, picking things up from before she had broken in. Her father was remarkably infuriating most days, but she had to admit that his ability to save face was exemplary.

  Along the way, she gave a quick glance at Ylir, who drained his glass and turned to follow her.

  ~~~

  “You’re not even trying to hide this now, are you?” Ylir asked at the door.

  “Shush,” Roena said as she locked the door. She turned around, caught him by the arm, and led him to her bed, where he promptly began to toy with the laces of her shirt. “Not like the entire castle doesn’t know about this already,” she murmured, watching as his fingers worked her shirt loose. She gave a small sound of protest when he stopped partway and pulled her to him.

  His mouth grazed her jaw before it returned to its characteristic smirk. “And that excites you, is that it? Or do you like the idea that they’re gossiping about you right now?” His thumb made a small circle around her nipple before he reached down to kiss her neck.

  She felt goosebumps flitting across her skin. “Is this how you talk to all your women?”

  “You know you’re the only one.”

  “Like I’d believe that shit.” She drew his hand away, only for it to go down and reach up her skirt. She gritted her teeth as she felt his fingers brush up along her slit.

  He smiled at her reaction. “You are always so—”

  “What?” she started, and then gasped when he started to stroke her. She could feel her body caving in to the desire, and she hated it—hated that she responded, at least. She reached up to straddle him, pushing him back against the bed. He pulled his fingers away, cupped her face with his hands, and kissed her.

  It was not a soft kiss. She could sense him trying to overpower her, his tongue reaching in to taste her, relishing in the feel without really caring whether it brought her pleasure or not. She wondered if he was aware of it himself. He was a notorious braggart, and the things the women said about his nightly activities were the sort of things that could set both cheeks and ears aflame. She had dragged him up here the first time just to test them out—a situation where curiosity overpowered all sense, which was the sort of thing Roena was aware she indulged in far too often…

  Ylir dipped his head down, trailing past her jaw and down her neck. She fumbled at his trousers and nearly gave her own version of his smirk when she found him erect. Her hands reached down to touch him.

  “—stiff,” he finished with a grin.

  She glared at him. “Me? Or you?”

  He took her hand away from him before reaching up to bare her shoulder a little more. “I know what you’re doing,” he crooned. “You want to ruin yourself so that they’d leave you alone. Make yourself less of a prize—an unsuitable wife, the worst choice out there. You hate this life, don’t you? You hate all the preening and the false pretences, the dancing and the boot-licking…” He worked her other breast out of her shirt and reached up for a moment to lick it, his tongue grazing up to her collarbone. “So you pick the most notorious man to be involved with, right when you know the entire kingdom’s eyes are on you.”

  She pushed him against the chest, harder this time—hard enough to make him fall back on the mattress. “You’ve only met me last week, and suddenly you’re an expert?” She pulled her skirt up and positioned herself over him. She slid down, slowly.

  His hands reached up to grab her hips. “One week, and we’ve slept t
ogether at least three times already. Fourth, now.”

  “Slept together? What are you, a maiden?”

  “Fucked is such a crude word.”

  She rocked over him, watched as his face barely flickered. “That still doesn’t give you authority over what you think I’m doing.”

  “Oh,” he murmured. “I know what you think you’re doing. And you’re not very good at it.”

  “You arrogant son-of-a-bitch.”

  His eyes hardened for a moment and then, even before she could ground her hips deeper against him, he got up and pulled her to the side. He crawled over her, reaching up to nibble at her cheek before he entered her once more. “Maybe so,” he said as his hands reached up to her shoulders, his fingers digging into her skin. “But you’re missing one key component in all of this. The fact that I could defile you over and over again—”

  She gasped.

  “—and your father still wouldn’t care. You’re a Blackwood, Roena. This is your life, whether you want it or not. And the best thing about it is that the worse you make yourself look, the more likely that honourable man you so detest will rise out of the woodwork and—”

  He thrusted into her, hard.

  “—save you,” he whispered against her ear, shuddering into her.

  She felt her own release, in spite of herself. She allowed herself that, for a moment, before she extracted herself from his arms. “Get dressed,” she hissed.

  “Speak for yourself,” Ylir laughed. “Don’t tell me you still intend to go back to the party?”

  She didn’t reply as she worked herself back into her gown. There was a slight rip under her armpit, though she supposed no one would notice. Did she want them to? Was he right about the things he’d said, after all? It wasn’t like it was something she’d consciously planned. She heard him stir on the mattress behind her.

  “Have I upset you?” he asked. He placed a hand over her neck.