Women of Wasps and War
Page 1
License Notes
Copyright © 2019 Madeleine D'Este
Cover Art by Deranged Doctor Design
Formatting by Deranged Doctor Design
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-0-9946042-6-2
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events in this book are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
License Notes
Chapter One
PART ONE
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
PART TWO
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
PART THREE
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Chapter Fifty-seven
Chapter Fifty-eight
Chapter Fifty-nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-one
Chapter Sixty-two
Epilogue
Author's Note
About the Author
Chapter One
'Wasp Woman.'
A glob of spit thwacked her cheek. Her eyes flashed but she clamped her jaw shut as the guards dragged her into the Great Hall of the Eel, past the throng of townsmen.
'Sinner.'
They hacked and snarled at her, their disgust striking her face like rain. She held her chin high but with her hands secured behind her back, she couldn't wipe her face clean.
'Murderess.'
Foul-smelling fishermen, goat-herders in hessian, callous-handed blacksmiths and even merchants dressed in silk shoved and jostled her as she struggled through the crowd.
'Filth.'
Hands grabbed her hair. Strange fingers tore at her grubby clothes and groped her breasts. She gasped through clenched teeth, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
But she said nothing.
Soon she would speak and they would be forced to listen.
'Traitor.'
The guards shoved her into a chair in the centre of the room beside the others. She grunted as her elbow struck the hard wood. The Masters of the Shield and the Scion sat in front of her. Behind them was the low dais where the High Table sat and the forest green, gold and terracotta tapestry woven with the eel sigil of Ambrovna covered the wall.
The side door opened, hushing the mob and the Duke entered, his golden brooch glinting against his terracotta-red surcoat. The guards thumped their swords against their shields to announce his arrival, a deafening metallic din rising up to the vaulted ceiling. The pushing stopped and the townsmen bowed their heads.
Her belly clenched like a fist.
As he sat on the carved wooden throne, the blank-faced Duke nodded to the Master of the Shield. Lord Kalin lifted a dark eyebrow and began.
'Men of Ambrovna. According to the laws of the Kingdom of the Four Rivers and the Duchy of Ambrovna, Gerthorn Nyvard, the thirty-fourth Duke of Ambrovna is present in this Great Hall to hear the accusations made against these women. In this realm, the Duke's decision is final and justice will be served today.'
She rolled back her shoulders and lifted her chin. She was ready.
PART ONE
THE RETURN
Chapter Two
Seven days earlier.
'They're here! They're here!' Children's voices carried down the doglegged Alleys and through the open door of Rabel's dirt-floored wooden shack. Horns blasted and the Temple bell pealed as merrily as at the Festival of the Father.
'Come on, Ma.' Rabel's eldest boy grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the door, grinning. Her sandy-headed four-year-old twins pulled at the hem of her hessian tunic, too young to understand but caught up in their older brother's excitement. She wiped her brow to hide a grimace.
'He's home. Hurry, Ma,' Teo said, the nine-year-old's eyes were big and grey-green like his father's.
With the floors swept, the blankets neatly folded away, the table dusted, the water jug full, the chipped bowls and dented pot rinsed and drying, she could not delay this moment any longer.
Tying her kerchief around her head, Rabel shooed her other two children out of the shack door. And all the while, her stomach churned.
***
'A perfect day for a homecoming,' the Duke said, admiring the last gasp of summer, as green turned to amber under a cloudless blue sky.
On horseback, in a terracotta-red surcoat, he led the procession of men, smiling and joking as they wound their way through the rocky red hills towards Ambrovna and the sea. Their pace was brisk despite the bleary eyes from last night's stop in Bolsk where the cider flowed freely. They were war heroes after all and they were almost home after nearly two long years.
A freckle-faced boy scuttled out from between the rust-coloured boulders onto the dirt road, followed by his flock of three shaggy goats, bells clanging around their necks. The boy's eyes glistened as he studied each man marching by. 'Pa?'
A man with a jagged raw scar across his forehead broke away from the pack and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. 'Tavoy,' he said, shaking his head.
The boy ignored him. 'Pa?' he said again, his voice fading but his eyes still scouring the waves of passing men, not even recognising the Duke in his search for his father.
'I'm sorry, Tavoy,' the scarred man said. 'He was brave. He's in the Land Beyond the Sunset now. His fightin' made the Father proud.'
Tavoy's face crumbled.
'Chin up. You're the man of your house now. You need to be strong. Protect your Ma and sisters.' The man patted him on the back and the boy, no older than seven, gulped. 'Don't disappoint the Father. You must follow in the footsteps of your Pa and show courage.'
Tavoy stared blankly at the ground. The man slapped his narrow back once more and joined the rest of the returning warriors, leaving him to stand alone by the side of the road, his head bowed. His goats wandered over the boulders and out of sight as the first tears trickled dow
n his freckled cheek.
The Duke rubbed his goatee and sighed. The day would not be sweet for all.
***
'They are coming, m'Lady,' her stout maid said from the window.
Agata smoothed her terracotta-coloured tunic, adjusted her gold tasselled belt and danced over to join her maid. The view from her bower in the castle keep stretched over the red hills, beyond Ambrovna and into the surrounding lands of the Vorosy Clan. A caravan of horses and men on foot streamed past the grass-thatched brick cottages of the goat-herders at the far outskirts of town.
'He is almost here.' Agata twirled around, patting her black braided hair coiled on top of her head. 'How do I look?'
'Lovely, m'Lady,' Sira said, with a smile but the warmth did not extend to her eyes. Her birthmark splashed diagonally over her left eye and cheekbone, the violet stain making her blue eyes seem all the icier. 'The Duke will be very glad to see you.'
'And I to see him.'
Agata squinted into the golden autumn sun, searching for her husband among the small figures but they were still too far away. She grinned and fidgeted. She couldn't wait to drink in his warm familiar scent and tell him everything of the past year.
'It will be good to have the men back, m'Lady. In the eyes of the Father. Life can return to normal. It will be a weight off your shoulders.'
Agata chewed on her lip for a moment. 'The dais is ready? The pennants are all up and the wine?'
'Yes, m'Lady. Everything is in place.'
'Fetch my cloak, Sira. I must be there waiting for him when he arrives in the Square.' Agata picked up her skirts, dashing out of her bower door and along the brick corridor, her stomach fluttering.
***
'Welcome home, brave men!' hollered a toothless old man at the gates of the Brickworks, dropping to his knees before the mounted Duke. "And you, m'Lord."
The red soil of Ambrovna was perfect for bricks but since the death of King Rados and the inevitable declaration of Civil War, the bustling brick-makers had fallen silent. Thick spider webs covered upturned wheelbarrows and the furnaces were stone cold.
'Thanks to the Father for bringin' you home,' said his flint-haired wife, her eyes lowered as she traced the circular sign of the Father on her forehead.
'Tomorrow, once your heads have cleared,' the old man yelled, hobbling alongside them, 'come back and I'll give you work. All of you.'
The men cheered.
'No one is complaining about blisters now,' said Lord Kalin with a smirk, the Duke's life-long friend on horseback beside him.
The Duke beamed.
The dirt road became paved red brick and the cottages gave way to carpentry workshops, potters' kilns and tin smiths, all built from the same bricks. Their doors and windows were firmly shuttered, closed for business like the Brickworks.
At the roadside, a barefoot tawny-headed girl handed out fist-sized purple plums to the passing parade of soldiers. The Duke stopped his horse beside her and she curtseyed deeply.
'M'Lord,' she stuttered, holding the basket above her head. 'Welcome home.'
He nodded as he reached for a plum. 'Thank you, girl. How I've missed our fruit.'
Sneaking a glance at the Duke, the little girl gasped. She fumbled to cover her mouth and almost tipped over her basket.
The Duke smiled weakly.
'Does it hurt?' she blurted.
Kalin flung out a gloved hand but the girl ducked in time. 'How dare you speak to your Duke.' His eyes were cold and grey. 'Learn your place, girl.'
'Kalin. She is only curious,' the Duke said, frowning. He smiled down at the girl. 'It did hurt. Very much. But with the Father's blessing, I am healed and strong once again.'
The girl nodded, averting her eyes. She curtseyed once more before bolting away.
The Duke sighed.
'What cheek. And you were too lenient,' Kalin grunted. 'If this is any indication, the rest of the town will be in a fine mess after a year under your woman.'
'I will have to get used to it,' the Duke's voice trailed away as he flicked the reins. He swallowed hard, picturing Agata's face when she finally laid eyes on him, or what was left of him.
***
'You missed a spot, Irina. Get up there and scrub it right now,' Froma said. 'Your master will give you a thrashing when he comes home and sees this filth.'
'Yes, Mistress.' Irina scuttled up the ladder, the wooden bucket swinging from her skinny arm.
Froma squeezed her generous nostrils closed. 'And wash yourself once you are finished. You reek.' She paced up and down the street in front of her merchant store, running her fingers along the lead-lined window panes, tutting. 'Do I have to do everything myself?'
Two middle-aged women in jewel-toned silk tunics and matching headscarves walked by, arm in arm. Froma wiped the dust from her finger, adjusted her own headscarf under her chin and plastered on a smile. 'Lady Reyna. What a pleasure. Isn't it a lovely day?'
'Oh, Mistress Plesec. I did not see you there.' Lady Reyna peered down her nose despite Froma's towering stature. 'The Father must be pleased with our men to put on such a beautiful day for their return.'
'In the eyes of the Father,' Froma said, making a circle on her forehead.
'You are not heading to the celebration?'
'Soon. Everything must be perfect for his return, Lady Reyna. I want to show him how well I have managed his interests while he has been away.'
'Quite. But you will be glad to have Master Plesec returned home safe and well?' Lady Reyna flapped her lace fan.
'Of course,' Froma said, a little too quickly. 'I must say what a splendid tunic, my Lady. The colour is so becoming.'
'I have been saving it especially for today. Although my dressmaker...' Lady Reyna sighed heavily. 'Lazy churl almost failed to finish it in time.'
'How awful. Good help is hard to find.' Froma glanced up at her maid scouring the window sills. 'But the afternoon winds, my Lady? Very chilly this time of year. You would not want to fall ill. Perhaps I could interest you in a cloak. I have a lovely plum one inside lined with squirrel fur, perfectly suited...' Froma gestured to the open door of the store.
Lady Reyna smiled coldly. 'Not today, Mistress Plesec. Today is not a day for trade.'
'Of course,' Froma lowered her eyes.
Cheers erupted in the distance and Lady Reyna turned away.
'Perhaps we shall meet in the Square later, my Lady.'
'Perhaps.' Lady Reyna shrugged and strolled away, her companion giggling behind her fan. 'The gall of that woman,' Lady Reyna said without lowering her voice. 'Trying to sell me a garment, today of all days.'
'Disgusting. What do you expect from a foreigner?' her companion replied.
'Thank the Father the men are back. Put her in her proper place. Along with the Duchess and the others in that Committee.' She shook her head and tutted. 'Carrying on like a man. Shameless.'
Froma narrowed her eyes and glared at the backs of their colourfully covered heads as they disappeared into the crowd. The clomp of marching boots and men in song drifted around the corner. Froma sucked in a breath and ran her finger down the crooked line of her nose. They said war changed a man. Froma hoped this was true.
'Haven't you finished yet?' she yelled up at the maid. 'Useless girl.'
Chapter Three
Agata skipped down the castle keep stairs, over the bricks worn smooth by a thousand years of the Nyvard family. Her feet travelled so fast even Sira struggled to keep up. Finally, after a long year of rattling around the castle on her own, she would see his face and hold him again.
Her belly fluttered and yet she cringed, recalling her behaviour on the day before he left.
While Ambrovna had bustled with war preparations, Agata had hidden away in the solar. The stream of golden sun through the windows and her intricate needlework had not been enough to quell her nerves and a few wayward tears had splashed onto her stitches.
'Here you are, my dear,' the Duke had said, sitting by her side. Sira had c
urtseyed and in her unnerving way, faded like smoke into the background. 'Now now, no need for tears.'
Agata had sniffled, forcing a smile. 'You are the one going to war, my Lord. I should not be the frightened one. Are you all prepared?'
'Almost. There is one more task. A serious matter I must discuss with you.' The Duke gently took the needlework hoop from her and placed it on the green embroidered cushions, leaving her empty fingers squirming in her lap. He clasped her hands in his and her eyes moistened once more.
'I have a problem,' he said, clearing his throat.
'Anything I can do to help you, Husband?' She squeezed his hand.
'This is highly unusual.' He peered at her intently.
Agata swallowed hard.
'But with last month's terrible accident...'
'In the eyes of the Father,' she muttered.
'Someone needs to rule Ambrovna in my absence.'
Agata's lips trembled as she nodded. Could he see her heart thumping through her tunic?
'My dear. It must be you.'
She had slipped her hands out of his grasp and tried to hide the tremors inside her trumpet-shaped sleeves.
'I know your time here has been short but the people have already shown a great fondness for you.'
'Not all of them,' she said with a weak smile.
'I cannot shirk my duty. I must heed Prince Absalom's call to arms. The Vorosy Clan must take the throne.'
'My Lord, there must be someone else?'
'You are the only one.'
'My father is more broad-minded than many. I know my letters and numbers and your language but I am not as educated as--'
'I know you are only a woman but you are the next in line. The House of Nyvard has suffered its unequal share of death. And we have not been blessed with new life in our short time together.
'Why not Lord Sylwin? Your uncle is too old for war and he is so very wise. Isn't he the right person to take on this responsibility?'
The Duke shook his head. 'He is only my mother's uncle. He is not of the House Nyvard. It must be you. This is the duty you accepted when you took your vows. Although I admit I didn't expect to lose Uncle Moinn so soon.'