Highest Lord

by R. J. Price

  Aren looked at Mar’s belly and frowned. “You took a tumble in your condition?”

  “I’m fine,” Mar responded.

  “Telm!” Aren’s voice rose as she marched to the hearth. “Mar took a fake tumble while pregnant.”

  “How pregnant?” Telm asked, turning to look at Mar. “Oh, she’s fine. You did do a tumble to the side, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did,” she said, approaching the hearth.

  She took the empty seat, the one that Aren had likely been sitting in, and was grateful for the extra warmth of the fire. The room seemed to have a chill to it, which was unlike the comfortable home Telm had made the queen’s rooms out to be.

  Mar looked up at Telm, noting the tremble to the older queen and how Telm seemed to have aged over the winter. It might have been the lighting, but it appeared the woman’s hair had gone completely white. The lines on her face were deeper than they had once been. She even looked smaller, more fragile, but Mar couldn’t quite figure out why.

  The other queen, who must have been Url’s mother, was in some kind of shock. Pale and red-eyed, the woman met Mar’s eyes, then looked away. She had the same blue eyes as Telm.

  “Oh dear,” Mar said, looking to Aren. “No.”

  “You know Telm,” Aren said, motioning to the head of house. “And you’ve heard of Olea from her mate, no doubt.”

  “But,”—Mar looked between the two women—“there can’t be more than ten years between them. Oh, oh no, Aren…”

  “The village I visited had been guilty of cutting a child out of the belly of a queen,” Aren said, moving to the wall where a simple wooden chair had been placed. She picked it up and carried the chair back as she continued speaking. “Her magic attempted to keep herself and her child alive, but upon leaving the village the queen was still affected by the spell.”

  “Which slowed her aging?” Mar asked, then looked at Olea. “Wait…”

  “Olea was born before this happened,” Aren said as she sat with her back to the fire. “She just ages very well.”

  “The child didn’t survive,” Telm said, sounding hollow and weak.

  “How’s your heart?” Aren asked suddenly. “What did the healers say about your health?”

  “They said I was very healthy for a woman my age,” Telm said. “Why do you ask?”

  Aren sat forward in her seat. “The child did survive, but she’s not a queen.”

  “You mean the woman in the healer hall?” Telm asked. “Danya? She might be related to me by blood, as that was a family name.”

  “Av explained the nature of the spell as we returned to the palace,” Aren said. “It would seem the magic killed all the villagers, an unavoidable loss given the amount of magic that must have been used. They were awash in the magic and couldn’t cross over, creating a bubble in the world of the living, of the dead. Danya was raised by a talkative woman at the village and learned quite a bit from her but they could never touch and this woman spoke to, but didn’t necessarily see, Danya. The others couldn’t necessarily respond to questions or talk really, they could only communicate in the vague ways spirits are said to.

  “I believe those who survived were those who were plotting against the queen. It took more than one warrior to take the child, more than one to keep the villagers at bay when the queen’s magic began its work. In total I believe there were eight warriors caught up in it all. By the time I arrived, all but Rewel had taken their own lives and joined the other villagers to wander for all eternity, or until the spell was broken.

  “Rewel couldn’t die by his own hand, and for a while we thought perhaps it was because he was still trying to save the village, but that couldn’t have been it, really. He must have known after the first of his friends took their lives that it was impossible to bring the villagers back. This is what he told the only woman in the village.

  “Rewel also made comment to me about other queens losing children that were conceived in the winter, because of the cold and the damp of the place where he put me.

  “So why not Danya? She had rank just as Rewel did. He must have known, just as she did, that two ranks are more likely to produce ranks, with healers and warriors being very good at producing a queen as their eldest child.”

  “How do you know that?” Mar asked. “There’s no rumour of that.”

  “It’s in the rank books we now own,” Aren responded. “A queen and a warrior make many ranks, with all of them possibly being queens and warriors. A warrior and a healer more often have one queen, then a few ranks mixed with commoners. And so on and so forth.

  “Rewel would have known these things, and known that he needed a queen. He knew how he could get one, so why not Danya? Why did he keep away from her? Why did he try to keep her from the queens? Especially from the ones who became violent and began to go mad?”

  “Because Danya was Rewel’s daughter,” Olea said. “No matter how mad a warrior becomes, they’ve never been marked for doing such a thing to their own daughters.”

  Aren nodded. “Rewel was out of his mind by the time I arrived. He had to have been to not see what others have said is clear as day. The throne rode me out there, it was plain in everything I did, yet he couldn’t tell because he was so desperate to link someone to the village.

  “He wasn’t doing it to save the village any longer. He kept himself alive not out of selfishness, but because he was still, at his core, a warrior. He was protecting his daughter. He thought at his death she would be alone, and then how could she survive? What would happen to her?”

  “Did you tell her this?” Telm asked.

  “No, this was a discussion Av and I had when she was not near. There is far too much new in this world to dump this sort of thing onto her.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that my mother was carrying a strong queen, not a weak healer,” Olea protested. “Rank cannot be changed once it is set.”

  “Perhaps it is something Laeder could answer,” Aren said soothingly. “The palace lost a great deal of history when it was rebuilt, and most of that history was sent south to the archives, which he worked in. Knowledge of the ranks has also been lost, as should be obvious to us all. Palace lands have been suffering a great deal—just look at what the throne was willing to do in order to keep someone sitting on it.”

  “Why aren’t they hugging and kissing?” Mar asked, motioning between the two older women. “Why did you drag them in here?”

  “Olea was under the impression that her mother was dead,” Aren said. “And they did not have a happy relationship.”

  “There’s no evil in Telm,” Mar protested.

  “I did it so that the throne would not take her,” Telm said sternly. “A fact that I hardly expect her to believe.”

  “She also changed her name. Telm is a man’s name,” Olea snapped at Telm. “A male queen name, by the way. I outed Van to Aren thinking she already had a male queen at court, which would have meant Van was safe.”

  “Telm is a name for both genders!” Aren shouted at Olea.

  “Telm is a man’s name,” Telm said with a nod. “Two consonants together mean a man’s name, particularly one of rank. Url, now that was a good and proper warrior name. Olea knew Telm was a man’s name because she used to beg to hear the stories over and over again. Telm, a male queen, founded our village. He and his mate, what was that fellow’s name…”

  “He belonged to an old line, one which bred into the village bloodlines,” Olea said. “Telm was so powerful that he could create things out of nothing, just as his father before him. His father was a trainer, no less. His father’s father was a commoner, but all his siblings were ranked and all his children were ranked. My mother used to tell me stories of that time.

  “She began with the stories of that darkest period and how the last true warrior destroyed an evil queen who sat the throne and attempted to force all the lands to submit to her will. Once she ran out of that story, and I was still asking for more, she told me about the twin
warriors who came years later. One of them mated the trainer and got Telm on a woman. On and on this story went for years and I thought it just a story until she came back from the village, near death, I might add.”

  “I left thinking the whole thing gone, all but the book that was transcribed from the one Telm wrote about founding the village,” Telm said quietly. “After Olea left, I went on an extended holiday and returned with a new look and a new name. Without her, the throne didn’t nag at me to remove the one sitting the throne. With her in the North, with her father where she should have been for years before, I was finally able to relax. I knew she’d be safe there, that the North would look after her.”

  “But Olea is strong blood, born to palace lines,” Aren said, frowning. “Why wouldn’t you want her on the throne?”

  “Why would I want to see my daughter on the throne?” Telm demanded. “It kills everything it touches! I don't want you on it, now that I know you better. There was no damned way I was allowing the throne to take her, or for her to get it into her head that taking the throne was some sort of heroic act on her part, that it was her duty. As she believed, thanks to her father.”

  “He wanted someone on the throne to link the North back to palace lands,” Olea protested.

  “Sentencing his own daughter to death in the process!” Telm shouted.

  If left the way it was, the conversation would escalate into a fight. Mar couldn’t help in the fight, Telm wasn’t exactly her usual self, and she didn’t know how Aren really was after the winter.

  Mar reached out and picked up the cold teacup that had likely been Aren's. She sipped the bitter, cold tea, then set both down with a thump, drawing all eyes to her.

  “I know something we could talk about without a fight starting,” Mar said, wanting to change the subject so entirely that the fight would be naturally diverted because it was no longer thought of. “Perlon did something over the winter and I wonder if it is normal. My mother never spoke to me of such things, but here I have a woman... what, twice my age? Which would make Telm three times my age.”

  “Olea is in her fifties, believe it or not,” Aren said. “And Telm in her seventies at least.”

  Mar stared at Aren, then gaped at Olea who did not look that old at all. “Telm looking young I understand, but you don't look much older than my mother.”

  “You flatter me.”

  “She really doesn't,” Telm muttered. “You do look young for your age, even for the slow aging your father's bloodline is known for.”

  “Anyhow,” Mar stressed. “It was an actual problem and I need your help.”

  “What sort of help?” Aren asked.

  “Not your help, Aren. You know about as much about the subject as I do,” Mar said sternly.

  “Oh dear,” Olea sighed out. “Best send for warm tea, or a stiff drink for the three of us and warm tea for her. I get the feeling this is going to be interesting.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Av sat across from Danya as the woman rubbed her fingers over a book. He was quiet as he watched her move down the page, then cleared his throat gently when she turned that page. She cocked her head towards him, but continued to feel down the page.

  “The ink of this book is laced with magic,” she said. “I can feel the words as if I were reading them. It is quite fascinating. So much of the palace is laced with magic. But only the older portions of it—the things you wouldn't notice. Yet it all feels displaced, as if something is missing, or the items have been moved.”

  “I'm Av,” he said. “Come to visit you.”

  “I know, I can tell by the smell of you and your markings,” Danya said, pulling her hand away from the page and turning towards the sound of his voice. “You feel like Url, because of Aren's mark on you, but it is a different sort of marking. You and he share blood, do you not? Ah, I see it, cousin through the father. Fascinating. Everything is so fascinating these days. I'm seeing more than I ever did with my eyes.”

  “I came to check on the guards and they said Aren has yet to visit you.”

  “It has been two days, but she is busy, and have you met Aren?” Danya asked.

  “I haven't had a chance to ask her the questions you suggested that I ask her, no,” he said calmly. “You receiving no guests is what is concerning to me, Danya. Normally when a stranger is brought to court, the lords and ladies are clamouring to meet her, yet they avoid you. It worries me. Are you lonely?”

  “No, of course not, I have plenty of visitors,” the woman said with a smile. “The healers and the elders amongst them most especially. Those that come to visit the guard see to me as well. I have spoken to seven servants, all serving the healer hall. I went on a walk this morning through the gardens with a woman. It was pleasant. She described many things to me.

  “Did you know there is magic in the flowers that are growing? I stopped to smell a bud and was asked whatever it was that I was doing. When I explained how I see the world, the servant flushed with embarrassment and attempted to block her mind. It seems she is spending her nights with a mated lord and thought I might pry.”

  “I'm sorry,” Av said, his voice rising slightly. “Can you read minds?”

  “No, but I can see who you have touched,” she said with a new smile. “You've touched almost no one since you've come back, Lord Av—it is Lord, isn't it? Warrior at the very least. You should be fighting others, and their marks should be on your body. Why are you not sparring and keeping up on yourself?”

  “You see far too much.”

  “And you do not see enough. Why did you come to visit me, Lord Av? More mysterious information, perhaps?”

  He didn't know what to do with himself, was the problem. Rather than dancing around the point or trying to lie, he decided honesty was the right way to go.

  “I have no use at court and Aren has no use for me.”

  “She has great use for you,” Danya countered. “Over the winter I asked her questions, because I... suppose it'd be no surprise to you that I've never known a man in any fashion. She spoke highly of your capabilities.”

  “I do seem to make her purr with pleasure, but I thought you didn't like being open about that,” Av said.

  “It is the way of the palace to be open and, while you make her purr, I do believe you've missed the perfect spot. Men take that personally, don't they, when they don't hit that spot?”

  “No, she's been delighted.”

  Danya seemed to stare at Av for a moment before her eyes moved down just slightly. “Trust me, when you hit the spot, the entire palace will know it.”

  “No, they won't,” Av said in his own defence. “It's not...” He thought of when his mother sat the throne and the palace guard had gone running to the queen's rooms shortly after she had ascended. He recalled the awkward, embarrassed way the guard had returned to their posts. The memory made him swear.

  “She enjoys your attentions despite you not hitting the spot.”

  “I've pleased plenty of women,” he growled.

  “Tell me, how do you know a woman has enjoyed herself?”

  “The way she moves and her—” Av stopped, feeling his face flush. “Women can fake it.”

  Danya smiled yet again. “You know a woman has enjoyed herself when she tells you as much, then crawls into your lap for more.”

  “How do you know that?” he demanded. “If you've never done anything, how do you know that?”

  “I am surrounded by women who are as open as you claim you are,” Danya said. “They tell me these things. I asked of the men who almost hit the mark and they dismiss it, not wanting to talk about that man.”

  “And yet Aren does and you believe that means I'm good?” he asked. “I'm the only one she's ever been with.”

  “That is true,” Danya said. “So when I tell you that she is mooning over your sexual conquest of her, but is giving others the chance to step up, in order to tell what is best for her, try not to rage.”

  “She's mine!” he shouted.
/>   “You also claimed your mother, did you not?” Danya asked.

  “Yes,” he said, hesitant because he knew he was walking into a trap.

  “Are you aware that trainers can claim a body just as strongly as a warrior might?” she asked.

  “No, I wasn't aware.”

  “Even a commoner can, though it is rarer for them. Trainers can claim but usually only do so once they've mated and their mate has carried a child to term. So you claimed your mother, but your father did as well.”

  “This isn't about sharing. I'm not sharing Aren's bed. If someone wants to damned well claim her, then they can do it like Url has and keep out of sight and out of mind. Her bed is mine.”

  “Her bed goes to whomever she chooses to share it with. She is not mated, Lord Av. You do not own her, in this world. In this land a woman has every right to her own body, despite what tradition and the lords have been trying to say, from what I've been told at court. If she wants to sleep with Url, then so be it. You've no right to get in the way.”

  “I wouldn't get in the way of Url sleeping with her,” Av said quietly.

  “Why not?” Danya asked.

  “Because he knows if he hurt her, I'd tear his heart from his chest,” Av snarled. “But I will not sit to the side as the high lords come and bat their damned eyelashes at her and try to mate her or sleep with her, because they aren't doing it for her benefit.”

  “If she wants to experiment—”

  “She can do so with Url!”

  “If she goes to bed with Url, she will mate him. Do you think his claim on her is any less than yours?” Danya shouted at him, causing Av to shrink in his seat, afraid of her anger. “Idiot.”

  “So I just let her go to bed with a lord?”

  “You let her do whatever it is she's doing.”

  “But I want her,” Av whined.

  “Show it, then,” Danya said. “I am visited by women of all sorts and do you know what they say? That you claimed Aren. Not that you wooed her, not that you are nice to her, not that you are good for her. You claimed her, as if she's some piece of meat for you to fight for. You didn't even chase her, as warriors were once said to do of queens with good blood. You stomped your foot and got your way.”'