by R. J. Price
The chuckle died as Aren continued to look at Av. Jer cleared his throat, drawing her eyes back to him.
“We should also head back today to bring out your ten thousand in credit before Em convinces someone to be steward, and your payment vanishes,” Jer said. “As soon as we arrive at the palace I will begin asking around about a cottage for you.”
Aren approached them her suspicion deepening as she pulled to a stop just out of arm's reach. “Why? Why would you do that?”
“It's what you want,” Jer said.
“It's not what you want,” Aren countered.
“What does it matter what I want?” Jer asked.
“I could say the same in response,” Aren said, looking between Jer and Av, confusion replacing the suspicion.
“He means that you and Lady Em fight, and will likely continue to fight,” Av said. “If we look for a cottage we can do two things: find you what you want, and placate Em. If she knows you're trying to leave she may even speed up the process by hunting down someone who has just what you're looking for.”
“Or she could just kill me. She sits the throne, after all. I'm not going back to the palace. I decided this last night,” Aren said with a nod.
“You didn't tell us,” Jer said.
“I don't recall giving you a choice,” Av said. “You are still mine.”
Aren arched an eyebrow at Av. “Fine.”
She walked off, past them, and to the trail that led back to the main road. Jer watched Aren, confused as she disappeared down the trail.
“Is she...” Jer said.
“I think so,” Av said, reaching for a pack.
“Good thing she likes you,” their father said. “I'm guessing the lady is capable at defending herself.”
Av hesitated, pack over one shoulder and not the other. “What do you mean? She's half my size.”
“Magic, boy, does more than turn on lights and run the water,” their father said sternly.
“Of course it has real-world applications.”
“No,” Jer shook his head at Av, picking up the second pack. “Father means Aren wasn't joking about making Em explode in a fireball.”
“She can do that?” Av squeaked out.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Em paced, eyes flickering over the reports her new steward had delivered to her. Her arms were crossed, hands gripping them tight, hard, until she hurt. Of all the people at court two besides herself were queens.
Telm, her head of house, the one in charge of not only the servants, but also the cleaning staff, making her house-master, was a weak queen the throne had passed over several times during her service to the palace. Telm wore an amulet her mother gave her, claimed it kept her from being chosen by the throne. Em had heard of such things before. She suffered the woman to remain because she did good work, because Em believed the amulet was real.
The other was Aren, discovered only recently hiding among the wards for almost a year. Em had never known, had never suspected that the young woman she had placed in charge of her daughter's welfare had been a queen. That was not, however, enough to irritate Em.
She had been distracted. Since Aren had come to court, Em had only seen the young woman a few times, and never in the throne room. Em had been concerned about Mar and Jer and the roses and border rebellions. Searching for a hidden queen had been far from her mind, after years of forcing queens out of court she had never suspected that one would sneak into the palace.
The reports. The reports!
Em stopped, snapping one off the desk. She read it and her anger flared, feeding the throne even as she tore the report to pieces and marched to the hearth, throwing the pieces into the flames. Returning to the desk, Em snatched up the others, one after another, after another. She crumpled them all and threw them into the fire as one.
If she had been younger, if this had happened only a year earlier, she would have been able to put an end to Aren, destroy the girl where she stood.
“What would you like done?” the steward asked, standing by the desk. Silent until he was required to speak, Em liked the man, and appreciated the loyalty.
“We cannot,” Em turned from the fire, smoothing out her dress as she tried to calm her mind, “possibly rid ourselves of that many servants. Dismissing Telm is out of the question, she has served the palace well. To return that service with dismissal would draw the ire of that trainer Jer calls his father.”
“The head of house has served through many queens,” the steward said pointedly. “She has been neutral through them all, but quick to put down those who would cause trouble, however trouble has been started. Rebellion has been incited among your own servants. Perhaps, and this is only as a suggestion, but perhaps Telm is growing old and finds it difficult to keep the servants in line. We could demote her to house-master and promote someone else to head of house. We can tell her that if she wishes to retire over the demotion the throne, not you but the throne itself, will pay a pension and buy her land, or a house, wherever she pleases as long as it is land under palace control.”
“No, there are too many secrets only Telm knows.”
“Do you believe she would use this information against the throne?” the steward asked. “If necessary, I know a man who could take care of more complicated problems.”
“No.” Em shook her head. “No, Telm knows how to turn the lights on. She can explain it to the next queen. She knows the only way to access the water. It has to be checked, on occasion. If a stronger queen comes, Telm knows of the heating system in the palace. It takes years to pass on that sort of information properly, for it to be remembered between generations. I started training under her.” She threw her hands in the air. “I cannot for the life of me remember the switch for the lights, and that was the first thing she taught me.”
“What about insisting on an apprentice? Once the apprentice is trained, then Telm can be removed.”
“Yes. Yes, do that. Say—” Em stopped and thought. “Tell her I worry about her and about the safety of future queens.”
“Should this be a chastising-styled conversation?” the steward asked.
“It should,” Em nodded. “I want the apprentice to know why she was taken up. Say something about that,”—she motioned to the fire—“how that happened because of her age.”
“And the others?” the steward asked, pulling out another report which he held for her to take. “The head cook, the healer,” another report. “Who saw to her just before she was placed as guardian of Mar. The steward, the previous one, admitted to knowing that this girl was a queen and never brought it forward.”
Em took each report. She shook her head at them all. “My own people turned against me. What can I do?”
“Set an example. Banish the girl. Mate her off. No, better yet, marry her off.”
“Marriage?” Em said in disdain. “I'd have commoners and ranks alike in an uproar if I married the girl off. Marriage. It's what a man does to the daughter he no longer wants, it's what a family does when they need coin so badly, they are willing to sell off their daughters. Marriage, a male construct to put himself above the women in his life. I will not uphold any laws that dictate a marriage should be arranged, nor will I suffer such a bestial thing to exist while I sit the throne. No, there shall be no marriages.”
“What if her father married her off?” the steward asked. “He did abandon her at court after all. The vineyard is a day away from the border, those ones in the South call mating 'marriage,' although it is exactly the same thing simply under another name. No one but the man and woman ever need know that the union is anything beyond a typical mating. I'm sure we can find a suitable man who can handle a woman like Aren, bring her to heel. Perhaps even turn her into something useful.”
“No. Jer and Av would know in a moment, they would blame me. That would put my life in danger. No marriage.”
The steward was quiet for a moment, then he said, “We could simply kill the girl.”
“Where is
the lesson in that? Do not upset the queen or you will fall down a flight of stairs?” Em huffed out a breath. “Those types of things happened under others but not me, never under me. It is hardly believable.”
Again silence. Em turned to the fire and threw the new report into the flames. As she watched it crumple an idea occurred to her—a terrible, horrible idea.
“What if,” she said, turning back to the steward. “Lord Worl had an accomplice that we have not found yet?”
“The investigation turned up nothing as to an accomplice, if you are worried for your safety...oh!” The steward stopped as the idea occurred to him, as he recognized what she was trying to say. “The investigation did not turn up any definitive evidence that he was working alone. Couples would be taken at times and hung from trees, how could he have done that on his own?”
“He made the women help hoist up their own men,” Em said idly. “It's what I would have done.”
“Mm, yes,” the steward said distantly. “But none of the women survived to tell the tale. The only survivor of Worl's crimes is Aren, and if there was an accomplice she would be the first, possibly the only target, the murderer had in mind. Seek revenge for a friend fallen.”
“Lover,” Em corrected. “Make them lovers. I tire of my mate's bed games, I want those that desire their own to be sullied but without my having a hand in the events. Understood?”
“Rumours whispered in the night. We could find a man willing to play along perfectly for, say, a handsome sum to his family. Debtors are the best group to look for scapegoats in, they will do anything to ensure that their families do not learn of their debt, even if it means being executed,” the stewards said, nodding slowly. “I will look at the ledgers and find a suitable man.”
“In debt to the throne, is that not suspicious?” Em asked.
“If a man is in debt to the throne there is a very good chance that he is in debt to many others,” the steward said in a reassuring tone. “We also need a man who has been at the palace for some years, otherwise it is entirely unbelievable. It should not be difficult, as all but the wards leave for the winter, and no wards ever vanished during the cold months. Suppose it was too much work getting them out there.”
“I suppose it was,” Em murmured distantly.
“Perhaps...” the steward said hesitantly.
Em turned to him. “Out with it.”
“Perhaps the scapegoat should be talkative when Lord Av—for of course it will be Lord Av—captures him.”
“Absolutely, but you bet on Av giving the man enough time to talk before murdering him.”
“You stopped Av from making an example of Worl, given the fact that the master's lover would be dead, it is only fair that the throne allows him his vengeance on the man who committed the act. And this man will commit the act himself, Lords Av and Jer would be able to tell the instant they caught him.”
“That is very true,” Em said, watching the man. “And what would this man be speaking of?”
“The reasons for the murders, of course. The wards all challenged the throne. The reason no one noticed their absence sooner was because they kept themselves apart from the court in order to rebel. Why, Worl and this man were not simply murderers, but thought they were doing good by protecting the throne and by protecting you.”
“And in their madness, killed a young queen whose potential was unknown.”
“But threatened your position because how could they know what Lady Aren would do with her magic? Serve you or turn against you? Better for your protectors to act before Aren had a chance to act herself.”
“Make it so,” Em said as the door to her study opened.
Jer entered, back from his romp in the woods, no doubt. Her mate looked over the steward, then to Em. He made no motion to greet her properly.
“I've just returned from my father's. If you could have your man draw up the credit papers for Aren, I will begin looking at cottages for her, as far from the palace as I can find while still within a day's ride. This will allow Av to see to his duties, as he's claimed her, allow me to visit her, and allow Aren to have an experienced queen nearby who can help her with whatever questions she might have,” Jer said to the air between the two of them before he focused on Em. “You may publicly banish her from court if you so choose, but once moved out of the palace, Aren has no intention of returning.”
“Just allow me to interrupt for one moment, Lady Em, as to the topic we were speaking about?” the steward said. “If you could simply tell me whether I should carry forward with it, I will leave you and your mate alone, to discuss this in private.”
Em watched Jer. If only he had greeted her properly, shown her some warmth. Some acknowledgement of their years together. Telling him that Mar was his daughter had been a terrible mistake, but that didn't mean he had the right to still be angry. Her lies were long in the past, long done for, and nothing could change them now.
“Carry out my instructions to the letter,” Em said to the steward.
“As you wish.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
After handing Jer his pack and leading Aren into his home, Av locked the door. There was a prickling through his scalp that made him lock the back door, then check both the bathing room and pantry before he allowed Aren into the bathing room to relieve herself.
When Aren left the bathing room, Av was waiting for her. He swung her about and kissed her, stripping off the training clothing she had worn for too many days as they stumbled to the bed. Thrusting into her did not make her seem any more real, any more there. Av felt as if Aren was days away and almost out of sight. When they finished, when he collapsed to the side, she drifted off to sleep, a little smile on her face.
She looked pretty, when she smiled.
Av tried to cut the thought short, but he realized too late that he was sliding sideways into sleep.
Waking in the early evening, he found Aren poking the hearth, a frown on her face. All she wore was one of his shirts, pulled from the wardrobe which now stood open. He sat up and made a questioning sound.
Aren stopped, iron poker in her hand and a curious look on her face. “How do you make it start?”
“Make what start?” Av said, finding his pants with bleary eyes. By the time he pulled on some sort of covering the bleariness was gone. He crossed the living area and took the iron poker from her. “You mean the fire? How to start a fire?”
“The coals are cold,” Aren said to him. “Do you have to say a word or clap your hands? How does it begin?”
Av blinked at Aren. He walked to the pantry and returned with flint and a blade. “With flint, a spark, and a bit of skill.”
“No, that's silly,” Aren said. “There's always coal or fire.”
He struck the blade against the flint the way he always had, creating a spark. Aren leapt away from him, putting the table between him and her.
“What is that! Is that magic?”
Av held up the flint. “This is called flint, you strike it to create a spark, the spark hits something dry—say some grandfather's beard, the moss—and it can begin to smoke, this smoke can then be worked to create a flame. You've never had to make your own fire?”
“From coal, even almost dead coal, certainly, but not from a stone,” Aren moved around the table slowly. She reached out and took the flint from Av, turning it over in her hands. “How does this contain fire? The stone is cold against my flesh.”
“It's not magic, it's flint,” Av said, taking the stone from Aren.
She seemed so simple suddenly, so lost, as she watched Av create a spark and work the hearth until he had a little flame going. Adding wood to the flames, bringing out a healthy fire, Av stepped away. Aren watched him sceptically.
“I do not understand.”
Av thought a long time. “Well, do you believe that when it rains, it's magic?”
“The spirits make it rain, they make the trees grow and grapes full,” Aren said.
Av chewed his bottom lip. �
��How about this: how do the spirits make it rain?”
“Magic?” Aren asked.
“How do the spirits have magic?”
Aren made a sound that was almost a snort. “Everyone knows that queens have to serve, even after death.”
“Fair enough,” Av said, moving to the pantry. “Your beliefs are pretty firm.”
“It's not a belief, it's what happens,” Aren said.
“My mother told me that it rained because there was water in the sky, and plants grow when they have sunlight, good soil, water as they need,” Av said.
“Well, yes, of course, but without good spirits, nothing would grow,” Aren responded.
“Do you believe it magic when a nail holds a board?” Av asked.
“No, that is a man-made thing. But a stone is not a man-made thing,” Aren said pointedly.
“True, but it is man who puts it to use, just as man can use water to kill another.” Av walked into the pantry and returned with the last two eggs and a few potatoes. He returned to the living area with the items and set them on the table. “Not magic, just man using nature to do his bidding, yes?”
“I suppose,” Aren said. “But I still say it's magic.”
“To you it is magic, to me it is knowledge.”
Av made food and served Aren, then himself. Sitting down to eat, Av picked at his food while Aren gorged herself. He offered over the extra from his own plate and Aren ate that before she hesitated, looking over the hearth. It only then occurred to her that there was no more food.
He stood to make more.
“Still hungry?” he asked her.
“You didn't eat,” she said.
Hand on the pantry door, Av stopped, turning to Aren.
“What?”
No one had ever bothered noticing whether he had eaten or not.
“You didn't eat,” Aren said, suddenly finding the bossy that her rank was known for.
“I fed you,” Av said. “That was the point of that.”
“But you didn't eat.”