Kingdoms and Chaos (King's Dark Tidings Book 4)

by Kel Kade

  Retaining his smile, he bowed again. “This is Stargazer, flagship of the Royal Navy of the Kingdom of Cael. I am Striker Shezar in service to the King of Cael, True King of Ashai. My liege desires a meeting with Queen Erisial.”

  The woman scanned the deck again. “I have never heard of the Kingdom of Cael. Your king does not seem to travel with the usual flair. Has he no women to speak for him?”

  Shezar continued to smile. “He has many women, Minister. They tend to him now. I will inform Royal Knight Yserria that you wish to speak with her.”

  She looked at him skeptically. “Your king has knighted a woman?”

  “Yes,” Shezar said. “She is worthy.”

  Yserria stalked out of the cabin on cue, also wearing her formal uniform, with the addition of the priceless torque. She stopped in front of Shezar and the minister and looked down her nose at the shorter woman.

  “Of course, I am worthy,” she said. “Was there any doubt?”

  “No, Knight Yserria,” the woman said, shaking her head vigorously. “I was just surprised. I had not heard of a woman being knighted in any of the kingdoms.”

  Yserria turned and saluted Shezar with a fist over her heart and said, “Thank you, Striker Shezar, for allowing me the privilege of this duty.”

  Shezar tilted his head and departed without a backward glance.

  The minister glanced between Yserria and the striker’s retreating form. “He is your superior?”

  “Yes,” said Yserria.

  The woman’s face soured, and she huffed. “Why has he delegated this task to one of lower station?”

  Yserria switched to Leréshi and replied, “Because you desired to speak with a woman.”

  The minister blinked. “You are Leréshi?”

  Yserria slapped a fist over the emblem embroidered onto her tabard and said, “I am Caelian.”

  The woman glance around skeptically and said, “Alright, I will send a message to see if the queen desires a meeting with your king.”

  Striker Shezar stalked out of the cabin flanked by Mage Threll and Reaylin on either side. Reaylin carried her weapons and was dressed in armor, but her tabard looked like modified healers robes. The center was grey with silver lining, while the sides were black with a green lightning bolt stitched onto the breast.

  Looking back at Yserria, the minister said, “The women in your kingdom are encouraged to learn the sword? Even the healers?”

  Yserria grinned. “Cael is a warrior kingdom.”

  “I see,” the other woman said. Her gaze flicked to the striker, and she called, “Striker Shezar, you should dine with me. You may visit my home.” She smiled devilishly and added, “It is located only a few streets from the docks.”

  Shezar turned and bowed. “I am honored by the invitation, Minister, but I cannot accept. I am assigned to the security of the ship.”

  She sauntered over to him and ran a finger along his jaw. “If we were not bound by the rules of the dock, I would not give you the choice. I will make it worth your while.”

  Shezar clasped her hand as he removed it from his face and said, “Tempting, but I am bound by duty.”

  “Pity,” she said. Then, her demeanor changed, and she waved as if tossing the invitation away. “It is no matter. There are plenty of men to be had.” She turned back to Yserria and said, “I will need to inspect the ship.”

  “Our king demands diplomatic immunity for his quarters and those of the strikers and myself, but you may examine the rest.”

  The woman tapped her lip thoughtfully and then spoke to her assistants. “Send a missive to the dock mistress for permission to grant diplomatic immunity.” To Yserria, she said, “I doubt you will receive it.”

  One of the men scribbled a message on his tablet, bowed, and then handed the quill to the minister. After signing the document, the man departed, and she said, “Let us get on with this. Guide the way.”

  Yserria showed the woman around the deck and then took her below to examine the other rooms and cargo. By the time they were finished, the dock mistress had arrived to personally assess the situation. She was an older woman with greying hair tied in an intricate braid atop her head. She wore a stern countenance. Her figure was fit, although her skin was darkened and leathery from too many years spent in the sun.

  “I hear we have an errant king aboard,” said the dock mistress as Yserria and the minister approached. “It seems this one has been making waves across the Souelian. I have heard of this new king, but I will see him before I make my decision.”

  The minister’s eyes widened as Dark Tidings appeared behind the dock mistress. The older woman turned and jumped as he looked down at her. She was petite beside the towering wraith, and she was wary despite her sour visage.

  “I am the one you seek,” said the unsettling voice.

  The woman lifted her chin and said, “Is that so?”

  Yserria moved to Rezkin’s side. Her voice was sharp as she addressed the dock mistress. “This is the King of Cael, True King of Ashai. You will show him proper respect.”

  The woman appeared uncertain but ultimately decided to adhere to diplomatic formalities. She crossed her arms in front of her, palms facing outward, and then touched her forehead to her wrists. The minister followed the dock mistress’s example.

  “I do not wish to be kept waiting,” said Dark Tidings.

  The woman pursed her lips. “Word has been sent to the palace of your arrival. You are not in your kingdom,” she said. “You will be apprised of the pertinent laws and customs while we wait.”

  “That is not necessary,” Dark Tidings said. “I am familiar with your laws. My entourage is entirely female, except for the journeyman mage and the priest of the Maker.”

  He nodded toward Minder Finwy and Wesson, who was doing his best to appear puny and insignificant. The woman scowled and sniffed disdainfully.

  “Are you sure he is not a girl?” she said.

  Dark Tidings tilted his head as he made a show of examining the mage. He replied, “No, I am not.”

  The dock mistress dismissed Wesson and said, “If you are granted a visit with the queen, I will approve your diplomatic immunity. If not, you will be subject to the same search as every other vessel, or you will leave port.”

  “Dock Mistress, how long have you held your position?” said Dark Tidings.

  “I acquired my position after my predecessor’s downfall five years ago.”

  He said, “How many foreign rulers have called to this port in that time?”

  “Well, none that I recall.”

  “No, and I am certain you would remember such an encounter. You need to revisit your lessons in etiquette lest you meet your predecessor’s fate.”

  The minister who stood a step behind the dock mistress eyed her superior hungrily, as if considering how she might make that happen.

  The dock mistress granted him an insincere smile and said, “I will take your suggestion under advisement. You should expect to receive word within the hour. I will return if you are approved.”

  The woman bowed slightly and then strode from the deck down the gangplank, followed by her remaining assistant and the minister. The minister marched imperiously past Shezar, not even glancing his way.

  Once they were gone, Shezar turned to Rezkin and said, “The Leréshi do not take rejection kindly.”

  Rezkin nodded. “It is something to keep in mind.”

  They finished gathering their belongings while they waited. Frisha approached Rezkin when he was finally alone in his cabin, although she had to enlist Xa’s assistance in circumventing Malcius to get to him.

  “What are you looking at?” she asked. “Surely you have read all of your papers a million times by now.”

  “I took these off the dock mistress,” he said absently as he read.

  “But I never saw you get close to her, and I was watching from the doorway the entire time.”

  “You were supposed to be in your cabin.”

  Fris
ha cleared her throat to get his attention and said, “I think I should go.”

  Without the slightest hesitation, he said, “No.”

  “But Reaylin is going—”

  With the look he gave her, she did not bother to finish the thought. She bit her bottom lip and then started, “The Adana’Ro …”

  He glanced up, his gaze sharpening as he waited for her to finish.

  “They … um … they offered to teach me. They said I could join them.”

  “No,” he said again.

  With an embittered expression, she crossed her arms and huffed. “Why not? You said I can choose what I want to be. You don’t even discuss it. You just say No.”

  “You are not a warrior, Frisha. You have said as much.”

  “I could be. I am not weak, you know.” She lifted her chin. “I can be just as strong as Yserria.”

  Rezkin rounded the desk and leaned against it as he gave her his full attention. “No one said you are not strong. You do not have to be a warrior to be strong.”

  “If I were a warrior, I would be someone you could … respect.”

  “I do respect you,” he said.

  Frisha huffed again. “The Adana’Ro protect the innocent. It seems like a worthy cause.”

  Rezkin rose quickly and was in front of her before she could blink. He captivated her with his crystal blue gaze. “Do not deceive yourself. The Adana’Ro live in darkness. They do dark things to protect the light. You may choose your path, Frisha. If it is what you wish, I will not stop you.” He traced a finger over her cheek. “I did not understand why outworlders would choose to remain oblivious, vulnerable, but you have shown me something I had never seen—something of value. If you choose this path, the world will be a darker place.”

  Frisha blinked away tears and murmured, “You say such things …”

  Rezkin dropped his hand and went back to his papers. “You should go. It is not appropriate for you to be in here alone with me.” She turned to leave, and he said, “Frisha.”

  “Yes?”

  “Please remain on the ship. We were lucky no one died when the Adana’Ro took you.”

  Frisha inhaled and straightened her spine. She looked him in the eyes and said, “I’m going with you.”

  When he answered, his voice held a hard edge she was not used to hearing directed at her. “If you are taken again, I will slaughter all in my path to retrieve you.”

  The dark certainty in his gaze sent a chill up Frisha’s spine as she was once again reminded that he was Dark Tidings, the Rez, and the Raven. Her mind, fears, and moral fortitude were at war with her heart, but when she remembered him saying that he could never love her, her heart lost.

  Frisha left the cabin and was immediately reprimanded by Malcius who had managed to work his way past Xa without getting stabbed.

  “Every time you speak to him, you end up crying,” Malcius said. “Why do you not tell him you have changed your mind?”

  Frisha stared past the still, grey water near the dock to the darker blue of the ocean afar.

  “Because I have not,” she said. “It cannot be, Malcius. I am sorry.” As she pushed past him, she added, “Perhaps you would be better to push Shiela on him after all. She would not care if he has no feelings.”

  The dock mistress did not return alone. An entire army platoon flanked by royal guards lined the docks, followed by the Ashaiian and Channerían ambassadors and four presumably high-ranking women dressed in palace livery, each sitting atop a glamorous white horse. Horns blared as the women rode side-by-side between the ranks of saluting soldiers. Rezkin turned from his porthole view of the ostentatious fanfare and donned his equally theatrical mask. He then joined his party on the deck. Yserria and Mage Threll led the way down the gangplank as Reaylin, Frisha, the minder, and Wesson followed behind Rezkin.

  The ambassadors, both men, stood back as the four women greeted Rezkin. They remained on their horses as they introduced themselves as members of the queen’s court, Erisial’s most ardent supporters and advisors.

  “We are to escort you to the palace,” the middle-aged blonde on the right said. “You should expect to spend several days in our company.

  “Under which diplomatic status am I to be received?” said Dark Tidings.

  The woman’s painted lips lifted at the corners. “That is to be decided by Queen Erisial.”

  Dark Tidings tilted his head. “Then warn her that it is in her best interest not to test me.”

  The red-head beside her said, “Bold words for a man displaced from his kingdom.”

  “I am often accused of boldness. The claim is not unwarranted. None who have chosen to test me have been disappointed.”

  The two who had spoken glanced toward the woman on the left, who had more grey than brown in her hair. She nodded, and the women drew their mounts to the side so that a carriage could be brought forward.

  Rezkin had no desire to be trapped in an enclosed carriage. “I will ride,” he said.

  The younger women looked to the older woman again, and at her direction, a horse was brought to him. Knowing the Leréshi were fervent for formality, he had already planned accordingly, and their trunks were ready for loading. Rezkin’s companions piled into the carriage, which traveled behind him as he followed the women toward the palace. They rode slowly with the royal guard running beside them as they moved through the city. Each of the guards carried a tall pole topped by a massive, colored flag slapping in the wind. While the flags were part of the fanfare, Rezkin knew they also served another purpose. Since the buildings were so tall and the matrianeras vulnerable in the open, the flags were used to obscure them from onlookers and deflect or entangle projectiles.

  As they neared the palace, the buildings became spaced farther apart and had fewer levels, but they were just as colorful. The more opulent estates were surrounded by walls or gardens filled with statues and carved fountains, most of which depicted men serving or prostrating themselves before their matria. Some were of men in battle or women teaching other women, and it was not uncommon to see images of men and women engaging in acts of lovemaking.

  Women walked freely and confidently along the walkways, trailed by male and female retainers or family members. The men wore their hair at various lengths, but all had one long braided strand that hung from the temple.

  From her seat inside the carriage, Reaylin leaned over Wesson to watch a group of men walk by unaccompanied by a woman. She said, “Why do they wear their hair like that?”

  Yserria said, “It indicates their status. A blue ribbon means a man belongs to the house of a matrianera but that he is not related to her or claimed as consort. A green ribbon means he is of relation to the matrianera but not a consort. A red one means he has been claimed by a matria as consort. He will combine it with a blue or green one if his matria is not the matrianera. My father’s was silver. You will not see many of those. After he escaped to Ashai with my mother, she claimed him as her husband, which meant she recognized him as her equal in the relationship.

  “The women’s ribbons having similar meanings. If a woman does not wear one, it means she is a matrianera, or the head of her own house. Blue means she belongs to another’s house but is of no relation, and green means she is of relation to her matrianera. Since my mother belonged to her older sister’s house, she wore a green one. After she claimed my father as her husband, she added a silver, and when she established her own house in Ashai, she removed the green.”

  Nanessy said, “If a woman can establish her own house, why would she continue to belong to someone else’s?”

  “So long as a woman belongs to another’s house, she is entitled to physical and political protection and basic financial support from that house. If she declares her own house, she is giving up all the privileges of the other house.”

  Frisha said, “Then it is the same as staying in your family home in Ashai.”

  “Yes,” Yserria said hesitantly. “In Ashai, it is the man who establishes h
is own house, whereas here, it is the woman. A woman is required to serve her matrianera, though, so many choose to leave if they do not want to serve another. Also, a woman cannot claim a man without her matrianera’s permission, so if she wants to claim someone otherwise, she must leave her matrianera’s house.”

  “It sounds very complicated,” Nanessy said.

  Yserria shook her head. “Not really. A woman trades power and wealth for independence. If she is strong, her house will also become successful.”

  Nanessy watched as a young woman who looked like a maid scurried after her matrianera. She said, “Not everyone can be a success, though. I imagine there are many who fail.”

  Yserria pulled her gaze from the same scene and said, “They return to their former matrianera’s house in disgrace. It is up to the matrianera whether she will accept her back and what position the woman will hold. If the matrianera does not accept, she may petition to join another’s house, but she will probably become no more than a servant.”

  “What about mages? Are there different rules?” Nanessy said.

  Yserria shrugged. “I believe it is the same, but someone who has enough talent to become a mage will usually have the wealth and abilities necessary to have her own house.”

  “I do not understand why the men put up with it,” Wesson grumbled.

  Yserria blinked at him in surprise. “This is the culture. The men have helped to define it as much as the women. My father was very dedicated to my mother. He would have served her for the rest of his life, whether she had claimed him as husband or not. It is a matter of personal honor for the men to belong to houses run by strong women, and they are devoted to ensuring their matrianeras and matrias achieve the greatest respect and recognition. The consort of a strong matria may be of higher status than a woman of a much lower house.”

  “So, the men are not just slaves?” Wesson said.

  “No, of course not. Women and men both engage in research, music, and the arts, and they may dedicate themselves to a craft. While the women run the government, houses, and businesses, the men are free to pursue other interests for which they are better suited like hunting, construction, or combat training. Leréshi men are great warriors. Champions are prized among the houses, so a man with strength and skill will be sought by many women.”