Trouble

by R. J. Price

  “This has nothing to do with her stick and everything to do with the girl being slaughtered for Em's entertainment,” Jer snapped. “Send her away, or by this time tomorrow she will be rotting in the dungeons.”

  “I can't even get a cold drink,” Av grumbled, downing the last of it. “Never mind. My stomach's soured. I'm headed home. Maybe the dark solitude will ease me.”

  “Av,” Jer said in exasperation.

  “Don't call to me as if I'm a child,” Av said. “I want her on the throne because she can hold it, but that does not mean I like the woman, nor do I want to be around her. I do not agree with her policies or her dislike of her own kind. Most especially I do not like how she interferes with something as simple, and mundane, as having a cold drink, something we could have any time we wanted when mother was alive, and not because mother was chilling our drinks.”

  “She thinks she's with child,” Jer stressed, “—my child.”

  “Since when do you share her bed?”

  “During the outbreak,” Jer said. “She knew with Mar almost immediately. I'm asking you, Av.”

  Av gritted his teeth. “For you, a child would do you good.”

  It was highly suspicious that Em was pregnant just in time to birth when her ten-year mating agreement with Jer ran out. Just as she had been pregnant as the one year term came up. Av was concerned for his brother, but there was little he could do besides play along. Em wouldn't risk a bastard the second time; she would allow Jer to claim paternity whether it was his or not. A child would be good for Jer.

  Which was why Av walked up to the bar and leaned on it as the barmaid leaned in towards him with a grin. “Yes, Lord Av?”

  “You need to go home to your mother,” Av said to her.

  “But,” she glanced to Jer, then to Av, “I was doing good, wasn't I?”

  “Very good, excellent even,” Av murmured soothingly. “You had the entire tavern believing you'd sleep with me. More than the others have managed.”

  “Can we talk somewhere private?” she asked, motioning to the owner of the tavern.

  The owner put up with Av's experiments because it drew in customers and the ones Av brought in to work the tavern worked for free. If they could set up permanently, Av would find them a home and the owner would give them an income.

  Av followed her to a back room, watched as the innocence melted away and an annoyed woman spun on him. Lips pressed tightly together, she clenched her hands. Av didn't know if she wanted to cry, or to hit him. He doubted even she knew what she wanted to do.

  “You said that if I came out here, you would show me to my father.”

  “And I did,” Av said.

  She marched up to him and backhanded him. It was not the slap of a lady; it was the anger of someone who was used to being in control. “Knowing that you had me court you in public?”

  “Ow,” Av said, rubbing his jaw. “Of course. I can't have one of you here and looking at me like a family member.”

  “What, we're all your daughters?”

  “Back up.” Av pushed her away from him. “You're the only relation and you aren't my daughter. You're Jer's daughter.”

  After Em had left Jer, Av had taken his brother out for a night of drinking to get his mind off his troubles. Jer tumbled into bed with a woman. Av hadn't known until a few years previous what the result of the tumble had been.

  She leaned around him to look to the closed door, then leaned back and met his eyes. “I thought the Lady Em would kill any children of his that she found.”

  “And any ranked females she finds,” Av said. “Look, Em's not going to live forever and there's been no one to take the throne but for Mar. If one of you can be here, and get past Jer, then you can get past Em, and I can get you into court.”

  “And then what? Wait for her to die of natural causes?” was the snarled response.

  “I have weapons and know how to use them. Barring that, I have a set of hands and know how to use them,” Av said. “I want to be able to have a cold drink, to not have the ranks living in fear of their lives. That can't happen with Em on the throne, but anyone who is going to sit the throne successfully needs the support of those at court, and you can't do that if you just take the throne.”

  “Does he know?” she asked.

  “No, and if I tell him, he'll tell Em out of guilt.”

  “I meant about me.”

  “I figured that was what you meant,” Av said. “I tell him the plan and he laughs until he starts crying; he would think it an impossible idea.”

  Chapter Seven

  A month after starting work in the kitchen, Aren met the kitchen master and decided she did not like the man. He marched in, complained about everything that was out of place, and if he could find nothing wrong he would dump whatever was being created. His lectures were threatening in nature and made no sense, but Aren kept her head down when he spoke to her.

  He made several servants cry and demanded three leave immediately, throwing things at the one who insisted she had done nothing wrong. She threw things back, almost catching him upside the head with a pot, before she declared that she would go to the master about his behaviour.

  As if that would stop the kitchen master. Nothing ever came of the servant's words, though Lord Av was in a terrible mood when Aren showed up for training. His snarling continued on for several days after, but rumour had it a new lady was at court. Everyone was on edge. There was something different about this lady, something about her and the queen, that made the court whisper things. The servants repeated these things as they went through the motions of their chores.

  The new lady spoke to no one, and she did not participate in training because Lady Em issued the lady a command. The master went to Lady Em and demanded the laws he enforced be upheld by the throne. The two, Lady Em and Lord Av, fought over it, in the throne room. Everyone talked about the fight, about how Lady Em cheated to win, how Lord Jer and Lord Av came to blows about it later on.

  Brothers fighting brothers, the servants asked—what had the court come to?

  Aren hadn't realized that Lord Jer was brother to Lord Av. She had assumed they were related, as many lords were, but thought it was in a more distant fashion.

  Almost a month after the new lady came to court, the kitchen master returned. Aren was peeling potatoes when he entered and, like everyone else, she put down the utensil, stepping back from her station. The man growled, marching through the kitchen, knocking over dishes as he went, shouting at this one and that one.

  Reaching Aren's station, the kitchen master stopped and looked at the potatoes before he knocked them over, dumping them onto the floor. Aren kept her eyes on the floor as he proceeded to berate her.

  Only she wasn't listening to him. Her eyes were on the potatoes, glaring at them as they floated just above the floor, giving her away even as she tried to drop them. Every time she thought 'down' they wobbled in place as if trying to get higher.

  “Are you even listening to me?” the kitchen master snapped at her.

  That caused Aren to look up, glaring at him instead of the potatoes. “Of course not, I've more important things to do.”

  Like getting those stupid potatoes to hit the damned floor. The thought was punctuated by the audible thumps of each of the potatoes dropping, one by one. The kitchen master stiffened, looked to the potatoes and then back to Aren.

  “Don't look at me, I didn't drop them on the floor,” she said to him, gathering in her anger. After a moment, she lowered her eyes and tried to look calm. “I apologize—” This was all she got out because the kitchen master picked up the small knife she had used to peel the potatoes and stabbed her leg with it.

  “How dare you talk to a lord that way? Do you know who I am?”

  “She apologized!” the cook said from her work desk in the middle of the kitchen. “For spirits' sake, leave the girl alone. She cooks well but has a mouth on her. Why else do you think a face like that is here instead of up serving the foods?”


  “I will not tolerate insubordination,” the kitchen master said and withdrew the knife, throwing it on the ground. “You've lost your wage for three weeks, do you hear me? Three weeks, and if your performance hasn't improved by the time I return, you will be out on your back with the rest of them. Earning your way under a man will be your only option once I have you blacklisted.”

  The kitchen master left, too infuriated to continue with anyone else. As the door slammed behind him on the way out, Aren sneered at it.

  “Do you want the whole palace to know?” the cook asked her, approaching slowly. “Because that's what is about to happen.”

  Aren clamped down on her emotions even as she wanted to shout or throw something. Pain was blooming in her leg, blood running freely, she could feel the slow trickle.

  “That man is a horror. I don't understand why you put up with him,” Aren said to the cook.

  “He is Lady Em's step-brother, and anyone who questions him is bound for trouble.”

  “I need to bind this and go to training,” Aren said with a sigh. “I'll come back right after, but I missed yesterday to prepare the sweet buns for tonight's ball.”

  “There's no training before a ball. Lady Em says it wears everyone out too much.” The cook motioned to the room where the bread-makers slept most of the day before creating the breads at night. “There will be rags in the cupboard in there. Don't worry about waking them; you couldn't if you beat two pots together. Trust me, I've tried. Go on now.”

  Aren went into the room, moving as quietly as she could. Despite the cook's reassurance, she moved about silently as she retrieved a clean rag and tied it around her leg, covering the wound. Besides pain and blood, nothing else was wrong. She knew Lord Av demanded anyone who was hurt go see the healers immediately, but she simply did not have time for such nonsense. A healer would want to know what happened and soon everyone would know her name, that she had challenged the kitchen master.

  Pain made it difficult to put her full weight on the leg, but the motion would be hidden under the skirts of her dress during the ball.

  With the leg tied off, Aren returned to work. Peeling potatoes, cleaning dishes, and, as the day wore on, stirring pots over the hearth that would feed the servants later in the night. Her leg began to throb and burn, stirring the pots gave her the opportunity to sit and work at the same time.

  When the time came for the ball Aren was ready, washed, dressed, and had styled her hair by putting it up. Entering the ball she walked directly to the food tables and helped herself to what she had spent most of the day preparing. Food tasted much better when she had a hand in making it. Once her hunger was sated Aren moved around the edge of the ball, listening to conversation here and there.

  The ball was Lady Mar's formal welcome to court, held by her mother. All the ladies were gossiping about it, of how Lady Em was finally recognizing her own daughter. With Lady Mar came a handful of servants, most of who had left again. The lady had already gone through one guardian and was well on her way to a third. Her head of house had been a middle-aged man with some experience at running a court.

  He replaced the old steward, who passed of the illness Aren brought to the court. The ladies did not name her as the carrier of sickness, but it was rumoured that a lone lady had been the origin.

  “Lady Aren, I presume?” a man said, stepping in front of her.

  “Yes,” she answered cautiously.

  “I am the new steward,” the man said, drawing an 'oh' from Aren. “I have a missive from your sister; she says that she has collected some few coins and what of your belongings she could, and will be sending them with the next load of wine sent to the palace. I have written her back and assured her that any coins sent will be met, coin for coin, by the treasury for your funds.”

  “Why would the treasury do such a thing for me?” Aren asked him.

  The man frowned just slightly. “Truth be told, it was Lady Mar's suggestion to me, and she is typically correct about these things. You do need the coin, do you not?”

  “Yes, I do,” Aren said.

  “Good, then do not be as stubborn as your rank typically is, and simply accept what the treasury is willing to give you.”

  “I am grateful for any help and as for my rank, well...” Aren held her hands away from her body, wondering how a man at court could not know that rank meant something very specific and was not to be announced publicly. “I was abandoned at court. What rank could I possibly hold besides that of a debtor?”

  “On that note, your sister said she was including your dress with the other belongings. May I assume that, as is the case for others, she was speaking of your mating dress?” the steward asked.

  “It was the dress I was to wear upon returning to my father's estate and mating the man he chose, yes,” Aren responded. “Why do you ask?”

  “If you have a dress, I might be capable of drawing up a list of bachelors who are looking to mate.” the steward said.

  “I am perfectly capable of finding my own mate, thank you,” Aren said, smiling at him before she walked away.

  “Do you smell blood?” the steward called to her.

  Aren stiffened, realizing too late what the steward was.

  Cursing her inability to tell a ranked man from a commoner, Aren shifted her weight to her good leg and turned back to him. “Lord Steward, you should look around you. You are surrounded by women. Perhaps one of them does not know how to care properly for such things.”

  Again, the steward frowned. Aren took the opportunity to walk away, skirting the edge of the ball. She avoided the dance floor and the young men looking for partners, but was still able to listen to the conversations that were taking place.

  There was some talk about Lady Em not having others like her around. She was entering middle age and had held the throne for almost ten years—longer than any other lady in quite a while. As time wore on her behaviour was becoming more erratic. There were many questioning how long she could continue getting away with whatever she pleased.

  Almost completing the loop, Aren was startled to find Lord Av coming the other way. The man stopped, nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air. Knowing that Lord Av, if anyone, would be able to tell the difference, Aren set her weight on both feet and tried to stand normally

  “I smell blood,” Lord Av said to Aren.

  This was the main difference between the master and everyone else like him. The steward might have thought he smelled blood, but he could not walk up to a lady at court and command she lift her skirts to prove she was not the one bleeding. Lord Av was more commanding. He rarely made comments that sounded questioning. Instead, he made statements and demanded answers.

  “There are ladies all around, perhaps one of them—”

  “I can tell the difference,” Lord Av said in a bored tone, scanning those around them.

  Aren did the same, glancing around to see if anyone was listening to the conversation. Across the dance floor she saw the steward talking to palace guard and motioning about. They would be looking for whoever was bleeding, whoever moved in a way which seemed to imply they might be hurt.

  “Oh,” was all Aren could muster. “Well, maybe someone cut their finger on a piece of glass.”

  “Do you, Lady Aren, know what happens if we find someone who is wounded and has not reported it to the healer?” Lord Ave asked her quietly.

  “No, I do not,” Aren said.

  “I find them, drag them out to the training yards, strip them until they're bare before the eyes of the spirits and then beat them until they can no longer move,” Lord Av said. “I can tell, by the look in your eyes, that you know where this smell is coming from. It's good you've made a friend. But if you don't tell your friend to report to the healer by morning, I'm going to set Jer through the halls. Do you know what he does?”

  “No,” Aren said, shaking her head.

  Lord Av grinned at Aren, showing off his teeth. “Jer's a lot more sensitive than I am, he picks up on
things that I typically miss. He'll find your friend and no amount of perfume or—” Lord Av sniffed the air, “meat roasted to perfection is going to hide the scent of blood from Jer.”

  “You believe me to be lying to you?” Aren asked him.

  She took pride in the red that coloured Lord Av's cheeks. A tremble ran through the man's body. “I don't know what to think of you, Aren, but you are increasingly in my view. If no one steps forward I might just skip Jer entirely and make you lift your skirts.”

  “My skirts are not for any man to lift,” Aren said with a coy smile, hoping she could distract this lord with a bit of feminine attention.

  “Your arms are not hurt—those sleeves don't leave room for a bandage, it can't be your back or,” Lord Av made a motion to his chest, “the lacing of that dress would prevent the bandage from staying in place and would cause a good deal of pain. How do you get the lacing done up nice and tight like that?”

  Aren turned as Lord Av attempted to walk around her, to look at her back. “Practice makes perfect.”

  “It is tied perfectly as well,” Lord Av said, his eyes narrowing to pin pricks. “Are you spoken for, Aren?”

  He was using her first name as if they knew each other personally. Aren drew in a short breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she considered the benefits of having a man like Lord Av as a lover. He was good-looking, he and his brother. Good blood.

  The moment passed and Aren recalled how precarious her position at court was.

  “Lord Av,” she said, stressing the words. “Whether I am spoken for or not is the business of no one but myself, the steward, and the man who is interested in me.”

  “I could simply remove anyone who has stepped in,” Lord Av murmured, stepping closer to Aren, hands behind his back. “I could claim you and what man would be so foolish as to question me?”

  “For a commoner like me?” Aren responded, her face flushing.

  “Even commoners can catch the eye of a man like me. After all, not everyone can be a queen,” Lord Av said.