by R. J. Price
“I’m perfectly healthy. The healers said as much, and they check often enough,” she muttered. “I think you just feel displaced from what you saw of me before, and what you’re seeing now, because the two images are entirely different things and that you just need to accept that this is who I really am.”
“Have you been talking to—”
“No, I learned that over the winter,” she said quickly. “I came to see you for a reason, Lord Url.”
“What sort of reason?” Url asked, shifting so that his side was towards her, giving her a smaller target.
“I suppose I should start with asking if I should call you high lord?” Aren said. “No one has told me the proper way of it.”
“No, lord is fine, but in my case it’s usually best to let me know that this is that sort of discussion because I am heir to the North as well as high lord.”
“Is that really legal?” she asked.
“Goodness, no!” Url said. “But when my grandfather died two years ago, Lady Em was distracted or didn’t actually look at the command she sent, which you have to do for each heir, saying that I would succeed my grandfather because Heaven forbid a woman take the title. And that’s what she said. In a letter to my mother. I was a little surprised my mother didn’t come down and do the deed herself.”
“The position of high lord...What does that mean to me, specifically?”
“I am your ambassador—wait, you may not know that word.” Url thought for a moment. “You are aware that the high lords are an open invitation for the lands to return to palace lands? That each was founded by those who ruled in the throne’s stead in those areas, yes?”
“I was made aware of that, yes.”
Url motioned, meaning to lead Aren on a walk. She turned and followed his lead, leaving the library to wander the hallways of the palace. Wena, waiting by the library door after returning a book, joined them silently.
“A high lord is in your best interest, also in our own. When a land rejoins, I become the ruler, which is why my being both high lord and possible baron is technically illegal, but no one has protested yet. As you know, my position is quite unstable as it is.”
“You are, of course, referring to your grandfather’s bastard,” she said.
“Yes, were the lad to discover his heritage, we would—both you and I—be in a great deal of trouble. The North would likely rejoin, I might even come away from it alive, but there would likely be demands. It is difficult to tell when this sort of thing comes up, just what the reaction will be.”
“Is it the best interest of the other lords as well?” she asked.
“Of the West and South it is. I’ve written letters to both, and they seem loyal enough,” Url said. “The East, however, has mated his children to that of the baron's on and off for generations. Every four or so, I believe, and there’s another possible mating between the two shortly. I’ve even heard word that Gamen’s eldest son, no more than fifteen, is said to be bound in a first-year mating with the high lord’s second eldest.”
“But that would mean the high lord’s second eldest is a queen, unless Gamen’s eldest is not to inherit?”
“They breed true, those coastal ranks,” Url said. “Though the boy’s younger brother’s children would inherit.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Aren asked.
“The… the high lord’s second eldest is a boy of sixteen.”
Aren felt her face heat up. She lowered her eyes and tried not to think of what that meant.
“There, at least, is a warrior who knows what to do with the male of your rank,” Url grumbled. “They’re just… confusing to me. All prickle and no softness.”
“I suppose I should also ask about trade,” she said, deciding to change the subject.
“Trade is good, it's good,” Url said with a nod. “Marilton wool, which is how my bloodline makes a majority of the coin that pays for our income, is doing quite well, trading with the South even, for it is remarkably soft but is warm and yet cool when necessary. The South spins it into thin fibres and it takes dye well, though I suppose all wool takes dye about the same. I learned what a baron would need and just enough to understand when I was being taken advantage of when it came to wool.”
“But the North is poor,” she said. “My... Lady Para, she mentioned something to me once about how the North was poor, with very little in the way of coin.”
“That is true, but only because we rarely deal with coin,” he said gravely. “The rest of the world assumes we are poor because we cannot buy your trinkets, but we have trinkets of our own and they cost us no more than an egg or another trinket. We barter, rather than purchase. It is a system that has worked for generations and is difficult to counterfeit.”
“Is there anything else I should know?” she asked, pulling to a stop in front of the queen's rooms.
“A hundred things,” Url said, then caught himself. “When it comes to the high lords, while they tend to be honourable, they are just the same as any other lord. They can be petty and hateful. Some might have complaint against myself and my position, but, once it is writ, a high lord takes his position for life. Just as the one who takes the throne is for life. In order to make them content for a moment you would have to take my life.”
“And you have no complaints about them?”
Url shrugged. “The high lord of the South has said he will slap me if ever we were to meet. From my understanding of his reputation, he will. He decided that repercussions must be felt for Lady Em's mistake of writing the command that made me high lord. It is my understanding that he is a warrior also, but I feel I can hold my own.
“While I question the high lord of the East's loyalty, there is no doubting his honour. He is a commoner raised among the ranks of the coast. He's lived the hard life on the fishing boats and, from what he spoke to me in letters, has visited other lands. That makes him a well-travelled man, but I do not know how learned he is. He could be quite clever. I do know Gamen trusts the man with his life.
“As to the high lord of the West, well, the man is not loyal to Van, so I doubt he would be to the palace either. He serves only himself and rarely speaks with the rest of us. His focus and concern is not aligning the West with palace lands, but keeping himself stable enough to get through to finding a mate and conceiving a child.
“The other high lords have been about as successful at bringing the lands back to the throne as one might be in drawing blood from a stone. Which is to say not at all. In the West he has actually managed to drive the wedge deeper, or at least his bloodline has. To the East, well, their loyalty lies in the baron. Why align what they already enjoy? The South was hesitant to leave in the first place. Replacing the high lord almost a decade ago drove them further from the throne.
“Of all the lands, the South is the biggest threat. You are soon to be mated and their lord has yet to arrive. Their baron is not here either. There’s been no word from him, when I know for a fact that my father begged him to arrive with the others, to stand as one with them. He sent an open invitation to a commoner to stand with warriors and the man simply refused to answer. That, Lady Aren, is an insult bordering on declaration of war. It is a slight that, if you do not see to, will mean war because I'll be damned if I let some commoner act as if he is better than the ranks who have carried him on their backs his entire life.”
“I believe that last bit was going a bit too far,” Aren said. “If the South declares war on the North, it is none of our concern. You are a land apart, after all.”
“And if the North were to submit to you?” Url asked, shuddering slightly.
“If the mere suggestion of submitting makes you shudder, how can you expect to actually surrender?” she asked.
“That was not a bad shudder,” he said, pressing a hand into his stomach. “But the question remains unanswered, Lady Aren. If the North were to submit to you and the South then declared war? Or, alternatively, if the South were to declare war and then the North surrendered?”
&nbs
p; “I suppose I should say that if you end up in a war and then submit, it's your own problem,” she said with a smile. “After all, what would be the purpose of joining us sooner unless you were in trouble?
“But in reality, I do believe I would only have to look at the roads to find my answer, wouldn't I? Lord Merkat uses the road outside of Bilgern Vineyard to come to the palace. That road goes by various names, but it leads straight to the North, doesn't it?”
“It does, yes.”
“Now, I am no warrior, but does an army not march through the most direct route?”
“That would be the best way about it, as there would be fewer days march, which takes less resources, which is less costly.”
“But how would the South march through palace lands without permission?” she asked. “Surely something stops your lands from overrunning us. That means he would either have to barter with me, or attempt to make me submit.”
Url bared his teeth and growled.
“It gladdens me that you dislike that idea,” she said with a smile. “But in the end, Lord Url, we are left with the real, but slightly different question. If the South marches to war on palace lands, whatever shall the North do to stop it? One of your blood will sit beside me. Would that be the deciding factor? Or would it be Mirmae? For the lady is a decade passed now and yet her name echoes on the lips of ranks still.”
“If the South takes palace lands, they will not stop there. The North would stand.”
“Can you guarantee it?”
“With my life, Lady Aren,” Url said. “As much as the other lands snivel and whine about palace lands being a bully, were you to actually invite us to participate in your war, there are a great many of us who would answer your call. If only for the chance to bleed for a queen. We are warriors, after all, and this past generation has seen very little in the way of fighting. None alive recall the last skirmishes.”
“Except for Telm—she recalls a few.”
“But... she's Ervam's age.”
“Lord Url, I do believe you need to have a talk with your mother.”
Chapter Eighteen
Av wandered the hallways, unable to focus on any one thing. He had gone out to the training yard to check on Aren’s progress, but she ignored him. Even Wena, who was usually aware of every lord and servant who came close to them, had been engrossed in her lesson. After watching them for quite some time, he had morosely returned to the palace, unable to continue watching someone who was unaware he existed.
Surely the training was over by then. Enough time had passed. All he had to do was go and ask for an audience, no—a sitting, no…
What was it called when one wanted to have a social conversation with the one who sat the throne?
He hadn’t been brought up to play nicely at court. His mother had never intended that he should be linked to the throne. If she had, then surely he would have received the same training Jer had on etiquette at court. Instead he had received a less formal sort of training on how to handle queens, just as any warrior received.
Though other warriors simply seemed to know what to do around Aren, while Av was suddenly stumbling. Things were simple before she took the throne. He had known where he stood and she, well, she hadn’t known where she stood but at least the pair of them were able to communicate instead of being shunned to the shadows and unable to even be alone together. And why?
Why, he asked himself.
Because he was standing in the middle of a hallway ranting silently to himself like a madman.
Av drew in a breath and tried to calm his mind. Hole or not, Aren could feel strong emotions from across the palace. Near as any of them could tell, she hadn’t reacted to any of the moods that had swung through the commoners. No one had been in a rage or a fit yet, and no one dared let their emotions get the best of them.
Em had once chastised those who felt strongly while at court, while encouraging those she claimed as her ladies. No one really knew where Aren would stand on the matter.
Another breath and he felt a little more stable. In a month, at most, he and Aren would be mated and the whole thing would be behind them.
But has she said who she’s mating yet?
Av jerked around, looking for the person who dared to sneak up on him. There was no one there, but the whispering continued, just a little too low for him to hear the words. He followed the sound, hoping to get close enough to hear what was being said. Around the corner, he came stalk still and face-to-face with Rewel.
The other man stared back at him, then smiled slowly and raised a bloody dagger.
“Wasn’t hard to slit her throat.”
Av bellowed and slammed Rewel into a wall. He heard his name shouted from down the hallway but ignored it. Rewel laughed at him.
The bastard actually laughed!
He was ripped away from his target and all but tossed to the floor. A body stepped between him and Rewel. Av bared his teeth and growled.
Blue eyes narrowed to pinpricks, looking him up and down. A calm in the storm of emotions filling the hall. Anger, hatred, fear, sorrow. Av groaned and put a hand to his head.
“Do you often go about attacking servants in the hallways?” the stranger asked.
The emotions faded, but Av couldn’t shake the feeling that those had not been his emotions, and that had not been his skill at work. He didn’t have magic, had never accessed the magic of the throne. He had no knowledge of working such a feat.
“Never mind that, I know where to get the answer.” A strong hand dragged Av to his feet and towards the wall. There was a female yelp. “I will drag you there, girl. One way or another this needs to be dealt with now. Come along.”
He was dragged to the queen’s rooms, which were not as far off as he thought they were. A startled Wena was just letting the tailor out of the room as the stranger shoved Av in and pulled the servant in behind him.
Aren was warming herself by the fire. She turned at Wena’s protest, looking over all three before she shuddered to a stop on the man. There was a deathly silence in the room as the two stared at one another.
“You must be the high lord of the South,” Aren said quietly.
The high lord of the South was Lerd Savel, a good friend of Ervam's. Av had practically grown up in Lerd's shadow. The older warrior was considered the pinnacle of his bloodline. Broad, tall, with the bright blond hair and deep blue eyes that were only ever found in his bloodline.
Telm's eyes were icy blue, but Lerd's had often been described as the blue of a summer sky shortly before a storm.
Women trembled before him; men decided to try their own for him.
And Av had just inadvertently introduced the man to Aren.
“And you must be the chit who sits the throne,” the high lord purred with approval. “I found Av here attacking a servant. Now the Av I knew from my time at court wouldn’t attack a woman, let alone a servant, so I’ve come bearing a question. Has he done this before?”
Aren was quiet a moment as Av begged her silently not to answer. Lerd was the type of warrior who, once upon a time, picked fights with Ervam for a laugh. The trainer had even permitted the warrior to attack him and encouraged it. There were ten years between Av and Lerd, which put Lerd at that awkward age between both Ervam and Av where the warrior could have been friend to either of them.
Everything Lerd did made Av feel inadequate. When Em had all but banished him to the South Av had actually been relieved.
“He struck me once, but I struck him first,” Aren said finally.
“Which means this behaviour is not usual,” Lerd said, turning to the door.
Av turned to watch the empty door. A moment later Jer strode in and pulled to a sudden stop when his eyes laid on Lerd. For the barest second, Jer looked like he was going to run, which was the wrong thing to do to a warrior of Lerd’s temperament.
Even Av knew that.
“Lerd.”
“Jer.”
“It would seem Av attacked a servant,”
Aren said.
“Why?” Jer asked, looking baffled, turning to Av for an answer.
He couldn’t give one, not without making Aren think him mad. She’d never mate a madman. He’d be committed to the healer hall permanently and then where would he be? Caged, unable to feel the sun on his face? He wasn’t mad, anyhow. Just a little out of his mind.
“He’s been acting off since Rewel,” Aren said to Jer over Av. “Had he ever killed a man before that?”
“Well, yes, but not like that,” Jer said, then turned to Lerd. “We can discuss that later, obviously. Well, this is your find, Lerd. What do you want?”
“I want warrior’s justice. He attacked a servant.”
Jer looked around Lerd, to Aren. Av turned to her and she frowned back at him before focusing on Jer.
“What is warrior’s justice? I’ve never heard of this before.”
“The night Av and I went out to the forest, right before you met our father, was warrior’s justice. It’s when warriors come together to make a judgement based on the needs of many versus the one, or to discipline a warrior who is out of line.”
“Why has no one mentioned this to me before?” Aren asked with an edge to her voice.
“Because warriors keep it to themselves,” Jer said, shifting uncomfortably. “Sometimes the justice that is doled out is the cost of an innocent life for the good of the many.”
“Oh,” Aren said, becoming stiff. The life seemed to drain from her face as she looked at Jer. “I am aware of that portion, though a name was not put to it. You might see my concern.”
“I can make no promises. That is why it is called warrior’s justice. It is up to, and on, a warrior to decide. The only one who might interfere with this is a trainer, but on our honour, we are bound to do as is just. You know how we want honour brought into court, Aren. Sometimes that means that a punishment seems unfair, or too harsh, but it’s not the commoners we answer to when we do this, it is the spirits.”
“Is there another way?” Aren asked.
“According to palace law he would pay blood coin to the servant for her suffering.”