by R. J. Price
“I’m sure it’s the best Telm could do on such short notice,” Url said.
He was in the middle of sipping his drink when his father gave him a quick shove. It was a distracted sort of shove, like Url expected from someone who was trying to get his attention but wasn’t aware of how hard they were pushing. That was the only reason Url didn’t respond by breaking the tankard over his father’s head.
Which was exactly what his father had done to him on more than one occasion for doing such a thing.
Wiping drink off his chin, Url glared at his father, then to where his father was looking.
The healer had just walked into the hall.
Being the only rank besides the warriors, every warrior went still. Their eyes were on her as she walked among them, head held high and unafraid.
“You should bed that woman and breed her,” his father said approvingly.
“Mother would be furious with me,” he muttered.
“Only until the little bundle of joy arrived,” was the grumbled response. “Then you’d have to worry about the mother stabbing you, but you can just get her pregnant again and she’ll be content as a kitten.”
“Why is that an option?” he demanded. “I have to mate a queen, recall.”
“The barons need to mate a queen, recall,” Er growled. “As of four days from now, I am no longer baron, meaning you no longer need to mate a queen.”
“Has anyone actually told Aren about that?”
“No. It amuses me, but also makes me wonder what else they’ve forgotten to tell her.”
“You,” the healer said, stopping on the other side of the table and jabbing a finger at Url. “I’ve a bone to pick with you. Pick a fight and then run away like a child? How dare you!”
“You want to fight now?” Url asked, motioning around them. “Do you know what this is?”
“It’s a gathering of warriors. Meaning no one is going to try to stop me from beating your head in.”
“It's a gathering, yes,” Url said. “But any fights that happen here typically end in something besides a head being beat in. Especially when a woman is involved.”
“If you win, fine.”
His father started laughing in an almost silent fashion. Er was trying to do it silently, behind his tankard, but Url heard each huff of breath as the man tried so very hard not to make a sound the healer might hear.
“Help—don't laugh,” he snarled out the corner of his mouth.
“He needs to finish his drink, otherwise the bartender is going to mount him,” his father said, then started laughing outright as he slapped the table and stood. He laughed all the way to Av and Jer, where he began telling a story through teary eyes.
“That drink?” she demanded, picking up Url's tankard before he could protest.
He watched as the healer chugged his drink back. She slapped the tankard onto the table and jabbed a finger at him once more.
“I don't think that will help you any,” he said.
“Alcohol makes the body loose. Get up and stop making excuses. You started it, I'm going to finish it. Let's go.”
He had never so desperately wanted to get out of a challenge. Url glanced around the healer, to the bartender, but only because he hadn't been the one to finish the drink. The bartender gave him a look as if he were mad and motioned to the healer.
That was when Url realized that a majority of the warriors were still standing still, watching the healer. Only those who had partners were still moving. Every other warrior was watching the healer, wondering if Url would turn her away. Questioning whether they had a chance.
Url slid out from behind the table and stood. He had his feet under him, his stance was good.
The woman took him to the floor and caught his cheekbone. Even as the pain of a break flared, it was gone again. She had beat him, but healed him in order to keep him whole enough to fight.
This could be interesting.
Url grappled with the smaller body. He let her get the upper hand, wondering what might happen, but then found it difficult to get out of. When he finally did, he found himself furious, the drink firing his blood. He struck her as hard as he could and she revelled in it a moment before she bit him.
Hard.
He pinned her, she pinned him, he took the upper hand and delivered another proper strike, and she struggled against him, squirmed out of his hands and slammed him back into the floor. Url relaxed, wondering what she would do if she won.
He tasted blood, but none of his teeth were loose and his tongue wasn't bleeding. Being beaten by a healer had its benefits. Commoners couldn't quite do damage, let alone cause pain. Another warrior could bruise but not break. It enticed him to know the creature atop him could break and bruise him, but chose to heal him all the same. He hurt, but it was a good ache.
She pinned his wrists and tried to use her weight to keep him from moving. The only problem was that she was pushing her body against his, and he had only had enough drink to set his blood afire. Url trembled as she leaned down and grinned toothily at him. Then she stopped, confusion playing over her features. She looked down his belly and between her legs, then back up at him.
“Is that a dagger in your pants?”
“No,” Url squeaked out.
There was a moment of quiet. Then she glared down at him. “Do you know how to use that?”
“I've had lovers in the past and we, in the North, focus on the pleasure of the woman?” he asked, because he wasn't certain exactly what she wanted to hear.
“You will pleasure me, because I bested you.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, his breath catching in his throat. Finally he sighed out.
“Well, I really shouldn't argue with the woman who beat me into the floor.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Aren watched as Van entered, stiffened, and looked over the other queens. Awkwardly the man approached the table they sat at and looked at the drinks before them, which Aren had ordered because she felt it may be necessary. She had been told that Ervam had commanded all alcohol consumption be reported to him. She had simply shrugged in response and asked if the serving staff would prefer angry queens or drunk ones.
She had been given all the drink she requested along with foodstuffs of the comforting sort.
“Am I being tried?” the man asked.
“I called our rank with the appropriate title,” she responded. “I recognize that you hold our rank and after I say why we are here, if you'd rather leave, you may.”
“That sounds fair,” Van said, taking the last seat. He picked up his glass, sniffed it, then looked at Iln. “You said you were late.”
“My time came,” Iln said quietly.
The man frowned, then looked at Aren. “She only gets like that for one reason.”
“The messenger from the South has returned—he was attacked,” Aren said quickly. “The mate to the baron's heir is a healer. She stopped the bleeding and, upon being found, stopped his heart. I've since heard this causes complications.”
“The healer who started really does need to finish,” Olea said quietly. “More than one healer and things become confused. Unfortunately, linking as queens do, pooling their magic, cannot overcome the obstacles of another healer's magic.”
“He will live, but while he will be whole again, it will take almost as long as if he were to heal normally and somehow survived the wound.”
“They want war,” Iln said, tearing up.
“And the alcohol and her tone of voice explained in one,” Van said. “Darling, have a drink.”
Iln broke down into tears as she picked up her drink. Aren watched, not quite comprehending why war with the South made the mate of the East cry in such a fashion.
“Her two eldest boys would go to war, along with her mate,” Olea said sternly to Aren.
“Your mate and ... all... of your children would go to war,” Aren said. “Url promised the North would be to our backs, that I understand. The East is bar
ely there.”
“We owe the North thousands!” Iln said through sobs.
“They'd have to go or repay the debt. if they didn't repay, we'd take them by force,” Olea said. “I have no say in it. Er has threatened as much. Which means that if Gamen doesn't follow through, Er has to, lest someone else think him weak and attack our smaller villages.”
“That's what they said!” Aren exclaimed. “Pretty much, anyhow. I tried to get out of it, but they counsel me to do it, and if I don't then Mar will die and Ervam, and if Ervam doesn't die, he's coming to kill me.”
The others at the table swore as one.
“But why would your sons go to war?” she asked Iln.
The queen sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “Being baron means that you lead by example, which means that if we go to war, Gamen goes to war. He would take any of our sons who are old enough to have begun the change. The youngest is only fourteen. He's almost as tall as a man, but he's my baby.”
“At least your mate would return from war,” Olea said.
“But my sons,” Iln said in a squeaky voice.
“Wouldn't serve on the front lines,” Van said sternly. “The boys act as messengers and yes, if necessary, they take up arms. Iln, please. Your boys are strong warriors, trained by Gamen himself. The only better trainer is the trainer himself. They will return to you alive and well.”
Iln cried louder, causing Aren to wince and look to Olea.
“When you have children, you will understand,” Olea said quietly. “I cried when there was rumour of us going to war with palace lands. Nothing came of that, but still I cried. And when we went to war to the Northern border? I birthed early, I was so worried that Er wouldn't return to me.”
“I don't want to go to war,” Aren said.
“No queen wants to go to war. It's your mate and my mate, and her mate going to war and this...”—Olea swore and motioned to Van—“Sitting all comfortable in his marsh.”
“We all lose our men while the man who complains about being left out of everything, enjoys being left out?” Aren demanded, turning to Van.
“Only warriors are invited to the war council,” Van said, raising a finger, then a second one. “And frankly, why would I put my people at risk?”
“They are marching to war because I didn't mate his son,” Aren said. “If I had mated him, Telm tells me anyhow, Av would have killed Laeder, which would have upset Merkat just the same and a war would have resulted no matter what I had done. So excuse me for asking you to find your balls and help.”
“Since when are balls needed to be dominant?” asked three queens at once.
“I'm talking to a man, therefore it counts,” she protested.
“I'll throw my lot in if you mate your sister to my son.”
“Were you not listening to me? Are your ears stopped up with marsh water?” Aren asked. “An arranged mating got us into this mess.”
“And an arranged mating could get you out of it.”
“No.”
“I have a thousand warriors ready to march.”
“No,” Aren said with a shake of her head. She picked up her drink and sipped it just to have something to do as Van sputtered at her. “My sister will mate for love or breeding, or whatever she wants to mate for. The point being that she will mate for whatever she desires, and not what I desire.”
“Palace lands versus her mating some fool. My son is educated and trained and—”
“If necessary, Lord Van, I will go to the South and put an end to this war myself, but I will not sacrifice my sister's future to save a bunch of morons who can't even agree long enough to stop an army of commoners.”
Aren and Van both picked up their drinks. The man gulped his down. Aren sipped hers and thumped the glass back down.
“Good girl,” Olea said with a small smile.
“What does that mean?” Aren demanded.
“While he is baron, Van has no ability to stop the ranks from going to war for the palace,” Iln said, wiping at her red—but finally dry—eyes. “The whole reason why the North would go to war is because they are mainly warrior in rank and they will march to the South just to see some blood spilt. And Olea will convince her mate into forcing Gamen's hand. Not that he'd put up much fight.”
“Anything to keep my men alive,” Olea said.
“Oh, Van, you're invited to the war council,” Aren said. “If you'd prefer to bring your mate for a warrior's perspective, that's fine as well.”
“Wait. I'm invited? Why am I invited? I'm not a warrior.”
“You are the Western baron, you are a queen. You will help me speak for these two—”
“Wait, you're going to speak for us?” Iln asked.
“—because of our rank. And frankly you've been left out of a great deal because of various reasons. It would be foolish, with you wanting to be included, to exclude you from that which we now have control of the invitations for.”
“You invite me to war,” Van said. “To war.”
“If you were a warrior, you'd be all over the chance to come to war with me because I want you to and you should because... why not? You'd want to go, to show me how much better than me you are, but no. I have a queen instead and then I'm just stumped as to what to do with you. What could I possibly offer you?”
“Finish your first warrior at Van's home,” Iln said.
“First queen,” Van said.
“First female queen,” Olea chimed in. “You never know which one the throne wants to sit it.”
“Just finishing—no arranged mating and absolutely no other tricks. Just finishing.”
Van was quiet a moment. He looked at Aren, then to Olea.
“Your youngest daughter needs a mate.”
“Damned deal. She was eyeing your ambassador. He's a warrior, yes?”
“Absolutely. Deal and done. Aren finishes her oldest female queen with me and I take Olea's youngest daughter to mate my ambassador unless she decides otherwise, then she can have any man in my lands. But she's mating Western blood.”
“And what do we get in return?” Aren asked.
“I think saying the West will march might lead you to the wrong conclusion,” Van said. “But any rank of mine that wants to march will be given leave to do so. I will speak with Ella, as she speaks for the warriors, and I will go to your council. I will not put my commoners in harm's way.”
“And?” Iln said.
“What do you mean, and?” Aren asked.
“This is the time to get them where it hurts,” Iln said. “Demand Er retire and Url take his place.”
“That means the North comes to palace lands before they are ready to,” Aren said. “I won't do that.”
“Oh, right,” Iln said with a sigh.
“Demand he remain behind,” Van said to the table itself, then he shrugged. “Some warriors who will be able to stand in a decade are almost always asked to stay behind. If we're going to ask warriors to stay behind, why not a baron?”
“Thank you,” Olea said. “But that wouldn't be fair, to have your mates march into war.”
“Yours is the only one who might not return,” Iln said.
“Done—Er stays behind,” Aren said before Olea could protest more. “What else can we come up with? Recall, they are drinking, eating, and generally having fun while we sit here and worry about them.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Av rubbed at his face with the cloth and tried to feel normal for even a moment. He glanced over at Jer and Laeder, who had decided, for whatever reason, to stay by his side until the hangover passed.
He didn’t recall much beyond the second drink, but he had been told that he had far more than the bartender suggested, and it had all been the home brew someone brought, which was said to put a commoner flat on the floor after half a cup.
The agony the first day was too much to bear, but he hadn’t been able to keep anything down that the healer had provided for him. His only relief had been bits of ginger and the cold w
ater Jer had forced into him.
The second day was a little better than the first, but he still spent all day in bed. On the third Jer had told him it was time to stop moping—which he had not been doing—and made him take a bath, then sent him back for a second one because he hadn’t scrubbed enough the first time.
“The war council will wait a few more days, until you can move without trouble,” Jer said. “Are you still feeling raw?”
“I don’t feel bad, but I don’t feel good. I just exist, I suppose. You could say I’m very aware.”
“Of everything but the day,” Laeder muttered into his book.
“He can read and listen at the same time?” Av asked.
“Not everyone struggles with three-letter words,” Laeder said, glancing at Av before he turned his back on the warriors and continued to read.
“You didn’t tell him where you’d be,” Av said sternly to his brother. “I would have thought you’d learn from Aren’s reaction.”
“I didn’t think of it until afterwards, and then I thought it was just the reaction of a woman,” Jer said in his own defence. “Turns out it’s not just a woman’s reaction and Van gave me a blistering lecture of how it doesn’t matter on rank or gender, when a warrior up and vanishes, those in his life assume the worst.
“Here, wear this.”
“Now you’re dressing me?” he asked, taking the shirt from Jer.
He flicked it out and looked at the fine linen. Without argument, he put the shirt on, only to be handed a red vest. He hated vests, they made him feel constricted. Glaring at Jer, he held the vest up questioningly.
“This is formal garb,” Av said.
Laeder walked up beside Jer. “Yes, it is.”
“Wait for it,” Jer murmured.
“Why are you giving me formal garb?”
“Because the messenger returned with Merkat’s response three days ago,” Laeder said.