by Kel Kade
Rezkin stopped and looked at the man who was several inches shorter than he was. “Guardsman, have you ever been in a battle?”
The man proudly said, “Yes, I have been in a number of confrontations between the echelons. I was also captain of the city guard before being given the honor of serving in the palace.”
Rezkin said, “Did all of those confrontations occur on a dry day?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then we should practice in the rain,” Rezkin said as he continued in his brisk walk.
“We, Your Majesty?”
“You are to guard me, yes? In the event that I should decide to cause trouble, it is your duty to subdue me?”
“Well, yes, I suppose, but I am also assigned to protect you.”
Rezkin said, “Then you and I had best see where we stand.”
By the time Rezkin was finished with him, the guardsman could barely stand at all. They had entered the practice yard unnoticed at first. Rezkin had drawn a drab brown cloak over his head, as had most of the people scurrying around in the rain, and his plain brown traveling pants and beige tunic were unremarkable. One of the other guards recognized Rezkin’s escort, though.
“Hey, Mik, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on duty?” said the guard. He looked to be a few years older than Rezkin’s escort. The man stood from a bench at the side of the practice yard and slogged through the mud to join them. Two others who had been chatting beneath the awning of a supply room came to join them.
“I am on duty,” Mik said, with a glance at Rezkin.
The first man nodded toward him. “Who’s this, then? One of the foreign king’s guards? Don’t remember him bringing a man. Too bad it ain’t the woman, eh? She’s a looker.”
Rezkin kept his gaze on the men practicing in the yard as an excuse to hide his face. He said, “She would destroy you.”
All the men but Mik laughed. The older man said, “I don’t think I’d mind being destroyed by that one. I might even let her win if I thought she’d use me to celebrate.”
“She does often use her fallen opponents to celebrate,” Rezkin said, and the men all nodded appreciatively. “She places their heads on a pike and parades them through the streets like a victory banner.”
The other men guffawed and slapped the first on the back. One of them said, “Your head would look good on a pike, Ger.”
Then another said, “It would look better there than on your body.”
Ger replied, “I already got a head on a pike, and I’ll be using it to do the stabbing.” The men laughed again, and Ger said, “What are you two doing down here, then?
“Mik is going to show me what he will do to me if I cause trouble,” said Rezkin.
Mik shook his head. “You know, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Queen Erisial will be angry if you are injured.”
Rezkin removed his cloak and said, “If you manage injure me, perhaps she will claim you instead.”
The practice had been a weak warmup, and Rezkin was not satisfied. It was all he had time for, though, given that he was supposed to meet the queen for the midday meal. Several of the guards would be missing their shifts, and they all agreed to leave him alone if he caused trouble. The consensus was to let the mages handle it. Even so, he had restrained himself from seriously injuring anyone.
Yserria was standing at the edge of the practice yard when Rezkin finished. She smirked and said, “Did you leave any for me?”
“I warmed them up a bit. You can finish them off.”
Both of their gazes slid to the men, who were unconvincingly trying to appear tough while hobbling around nursing their wounds.
“What are you doing here?” Rezkin said as he wiped his face with a drying cloth provided by one of the guards. Although the rain had stopped, he was soaked and covered in mud.
Yserria said, “I figured you would be stirring things up, so I listened for the loudest noise. It does not surprise me that you are also filthy, although I might have expected it to be blood and gore.” She nodded toward the small crowd that was gathering in a courtyard beside the practice field. “What’s happening over there?”
“Shall we see?” Rezkin replied.
Mik limped up to them as Rezkin dumped a pail of water over his head to wash away the mud. The guardsman was accompanied by Bruthes, the captain of the royal guard, who was also limping but on the other leg. Rezkin introduced Yserria and then inquired about the gathering.
Bruthes said, “It is a scheduled challenge between House Mierette and House Jesqueli. Mierette says that First Consort of Jesqueli tried to seduce one of their house members. Jesqueli denies the claim and challenged for the First Consort’s honor. The champions are both first consorts and palace guards, so they decided to have the duel down here.”
They all wandered over to watch the spectacle and chose a vantage point under the shade of a tree. Now that the sun was shining, the air was becoming humid and the insects were biting. Rezkin wrapped his soggy cloak around him and implored Yserria to do the same before anyone recognized her.
Bruthes pointed to a blonde man with short, wavy hair and said, “He is Dorovick, champion for Jesqueli.” He nodded to the other contender and said, “That is Hyenth.”
Hyenth had a close-cropped beard and short brown hair; and, like Dorovick, he wore one long braid at the temple, woven with a red ribbon.
Dorovick abruptly ducked behind a group of friends and house members, glancing around to see if anyone was looking. He then walked to a tree with a subtle limp and rubbed his thigh.
Bruthes shook his head. “That is not good. His old injury is acting up again.”
“He will win,” Rezkin said. “And he is likely guilty.”
The captain narrowed his eyes and looked at Dorovick again. “Why would you say that? On a good day, Dorovick will win against Hyenth maybe two or three times out of four, but Dorovick is injured.”
Rezkin said, “He is feigning injury to gain the advantage. He limps only when he has made a show of looking around to check for observers, except that he never looks in Hyenth’s direction, which means that he wants Hyenth to witness his actions. Considering that he is willing to use such an underhanded tactic in a duel against a fellow guardsman, it is likely he is also willing to cheat on his matria and seduce another woman.”
Bruthes frowned but nodded as he witnessed the deception for himself. “I see what you are saying about the limp, but I do not think you can conclude that a poor sportsman is also a cheat.”
“Dorovick’s matria is not here,” Rezkin said.
“No, she is visiting her mothers’ estate.”
Rezkin nodded to an eager young lady who was anxiously gripping and wringing her shawl while trying to blend with the crowd. He said, “I would guess that is the young lady from House Mierette. She looks terribly concerned for Dorovick’s well-being.”
“This is not justice,” Yserria said. “Honor should not depend on the strength of a man’s arm.”
Bruthes sighed. “I had best warn Hyenth of the deception. This matter will not end here if Dorovick wins and continues his escapades with the young woman. Dorovick’s matria may return and blame the Mierette girl for the affair. The last thing I need is a house feud among my guards.”
“Yserria will fight as champion for House Mierette,” said Rezkin.
“What?” she exclaimed.
He said, “You claim that honor should not depend on the strength of a man’s arm. Let it depend on a woman’s.”
“That is not what I meant. Besides, we have not seen him fight. He could be better—”
“He is not,” Rezkin said with confidence.
Bruthes glanced between them and then looked to Yserria for confirmation. Yserria watched the girl who was pining for another woman’s consort and then looked at the man who rubbed his phantom wound.
She nodded to Bruthes and said, “I will fight as champion if Mierette accepts the offer.”
Rezkin rem
ained under the tree as Yserria and Bruthes walked over to speak with the Mierette matria and her champion. Rezkin was observing the exchange from afar when Serunius stepped up beside him.
“You never stop,” Serunius said. “You are always moving the pieces, plotting, manipulating—even now, in an insignificant challenge between middling houses. What could you possibly gain from this? It will have no effect on Erisial’s decision—or do you simply enjoy the blood?”
Rezkin did not take his eyes from the scene as he answered. “I have acquainted myself with Bruthes, your captain of the royal guard. He is a straightforward man. He is also strongly entrenched in Leréshi ideals of honoring women. By showing my support for Mierette and placing my undaunted faith in Knight Yserria, I have gained his respect beyond that due my position.”
“Gaining Bruthes’s respect will not prevent him from performing his duties.”
“That was not my intent, but we shall come back to that.” Rezkin nodded toward Hyenth. “He made it a point to speak several times with one of the court musicians who performed last night, First Consort of Matrianera Nayala Tekahl. They appeared to be friends. It is reasonable to assume House Mierette is a supporter of Tekahl. Nayala was ambitious enough to introduce herself to my companions, while most others remained cautiously aloof or blatantly forward. She takes calculated risks but is satisfied for her house to remain on lower, stable ground. She sought only to benefit from the association while making it apparent that she was open to more possibilities.
“Nayala is under consideration for the Sixth Echelon. The Sixth Echelon produces wool, several food crops, and marshglove clover, a rare plant whose extract is used in many mundane and alchemical tinctures—all of which are products useful to my people. A boost for House Mierette could make the difference in securing the Sixth Echelon for House Tekahl. House Jesqueli, however, combines its crest with that of House Goldren, Fourth Echelon, which has dealings with House Ichthris of Ferélle. House Ichthris has ardently advocated for a campaign to rid Ferélle of the Adana’Ro.
“Erisial has made clear her intention to claim me. The stated intent alone, regardless of the outcome, will have a severe impact on her support structure. This morning, I demonstrated my strength to the palace guards in the practice yard; and, in Bruthes’s eyes, I have placed my champion, a woman, on the side of justice in this duel. Yserria bears power of her own in this court, and she and I have backed Mierette, thereby uplifting Tekahl, which is a strong supporter of Erisial. Yserria’s victory will be a severe hit to House Jesqueli, which will upset Goldren. Goldren may break with Jesqueli for the embarrassment or continue the association. Either way, it may destabilize the house enough for Erisial to attain approval to replace Goldren as Fourth Echelon. This will take pressure off the Adana’Ro, which will please your daughter Oledia and make her transition easier.”
The seemingly insignificant courtyard duel unfolded before their eyes as they spoke. Yserria advanced on Dorovick, who did not appear to take her seriously. The man’s arrogance was punished by a score across his forearm.
Serunius said, “So, Bruthes respects Erisial for her decision to claim you, Yserria gains power, Tekahl is granted Sixth Echelon, you acquire favorable trade, Goldren loses Fourth Echelon, the Adana’Ro are momentarily secure, and Erisial is pleased—and you devised this plan within a few minutes of learning of the duel.”
Rezkin did not reply as he watched Dorovick strike the dirt with his face and then quickly regain his feet as Yserria stood back and waited.
Serunius said, “Why are you interested in pleasing Erisial?”
Rezkin said, “Despite my aversion to her claim, I require Erisial’s cooperation. She is the one with whom I am conducting negotiations, both for Oledia and my kingdom. What is good for Erisial is good for me.”
“I am not convinced of your sincerity,” said Serunius. “I know that I am missing something, but it will come to me. I am not ashamed to admit that Erisial is more intelligent than I am. She is quick, and she has been doing this much longer than you. She will succeed, and you will fail.”
“You think too small, Serunius. I have more pressing matters than Erisial’s claim. Your petty politics mean nothing to me beyond securing Oledia and advancing trade. I otherwise care nothing for Lon Lerésh.”
“Then, once you leave here, you do not intend to recognize the claim?”
“As far as I am concerned, there is no claim.”
Both men watched as Yserria smacked Dorovick in the head with the side of her blade.
“You do not deserve her,” Serunius said.
“Who?”
“Erisial,” the man snapped. “She is cold and calculating but beautiful and passionate. Any man would thank the Maker for the blessing of her slightest attention. I think you protest too much. You resist only for the sake of negotiations.”
Yserria stomped on Dorovick’s hand and kicked his sword away, to the delight of the cheering crowd. The man clutched his injured fingers as he sat up and wiped blood from his chin. His anger was overshadowed by his embarrassment as he rolled to his feet, grabbed his sword, and pushed through the crowd.
Rezkin nodded toward the beaming, victorious red-head and said, “Why would I want Erisial, when I could have her?”
Serunius clenched his teeth as he stared at Yserria for a bit too long. As the invigorated swordswoman joined them, Rezkin clasped arms with her in congratulations and then turned to Serunius with a grin. He said, “What did you think of Lady Yserria’s performance?”
Serunius crossed his arms in front of him and pressed his forehead to his wrists, a sign of the highest respect. Then, he said, “I think perhaps more of our women should take up the sword. We would be an unbeatable force.”
Rezkin knew Serunius’s compliment would have made the woman blush if her face had not already been flushed from the exertion of the duel. He said, “Yserria is an exceptional woman, even by Leréshi standards.”
“Indeed,” Serunius said, and then he glanced up to a balcony that overlooked the courtyard. She was no longer there, but Rezkin knew the queen had been watching the challenge. Serunius excused himself and reminded Rezkin that he was to report to the queen’s chambers.
“As if you needed the reminder,” Yserria muttered once the man had gone.
“It does not matter,” Rezkin said. “I have ensured that we will have Oledia when we leave.”
“Then, they have agreed?” Yserria said.
“They have, although they are not yet aware of it.”
Chapter 11
The guardsman rapped on the queen’s chamber door, and another guard opened it from the other side. When Rezkin had returned to his chambers, he had found a set of clothes awaiting him. A soft, knee-length black tunic and trousers of brushed cotton had been lying on his bed, each embroidered along the edges with jagged, silver and blue scroll that looked like thorned roses entwined with lightning bolts. Beside them was a matching cape lined with royal blue silk.
“You’re supposed to wear that to lunch?” Frisha said, obviously displeased with the queen’s gift.
Rezkin had inspected the material carefully to make sure there were no hidden pins or poisons.
“It is ceremonial garb,” said Yserria.
Frisha had crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at the swordswoman. “For what kind of ceremony?”
With a roll of her eyes, Yserria replied, “You already know.”
Frisha had looked to Rezkin, then, her eyes pleading. She said, “You shouldn’t wear it. If you do, it’ll seem like you’re accepting her claim.”
Fingering the silver and gold scroll and eyeing the blue silk, Rezkin said, “I am to meet the Queen of Lon Lerésh in her private quarters for a meal. It would be rude to reject the gift. Wearing it is not an acceptance of her claim. I am a visiting monarch. I must observe the traditions of acceptable court behavior.”
“But she does not even recognize you as royalty.”
“Which is all the more reason not
to press my luck. I am a man in her queendom. In many ways, I bear fewer rights here than you.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to—” Her words had withered with his icy stare.
“No, Frisha. I would not accept your claim if you tried. You have made your feelings clear.”
Frisha had glanced away, fighting back tears. She said, “If I didn’t know any better, I might think you sounded hurt.” Then, she had escaped to her room, slamming the door behind her.
With echoes of the memory playing in his mind, Rezkin now stood to enter the queen’s chambers. He was uncomfortable with the knowledge that a cunning woman thought she had something strong enough to convince him to accept her claim—and he did not know what it was. The woman was too intelligent to believe she might seduce him into it. She would have something more substantial.
The meal was set at a table on the balcony. Rezkin thought it a poor choice for a monarch who stood to lose her position through the cultural tradition of assassination. He felt the ward that surrounded the structure in a half dome. It had the signature of Serunius, and Rezkin wondered if the man had designed it to allow projectiles through that were targeting him.
Erisial smiled as he joined her at the table. “Those clothes suit you,” she said.
“Yet, I sense that I am not the one you would prefer to see in them.”
Her gaze slid to the side where Serunius stood beside the serving table. Rezkin did not know if the man was standing as guard, providing chaperone, or simply being intrusive.
“Serunius did look delicious on his claiming day,” she mused.
“You have only one consort,” he observed.
“I have never had need of another. Serunius provides for my every need.”
“Until now,” he said with a glance for the consort. The man clenched his jaw but did not express the anger that was simmering in his dark gaze.
The queen said nothing as they ate. Rezkin still preferred not to eat meals prepared by others, but it was the nature of his role that compelled him. Outworlders often formed bonds over food, whether those bonds were of a personal or business nature. He wondered if exposing the vulnerability of hunger was essential to forming trust or showing fearlessness. It seemed an unnecessary risk to him, but it was an unfortunate cultural requirement.