The War Queen

by Jane Merkley

  Was her sourness so bitter that those in Greatmar tasted it? Was she really that unpleasant? Then she got a visual of a bucket of white paint beside her target and her question to Jasper; Does my whole house know my business? And his response, Can we get away from it? She cringed at hearing someone flesh out Lady Altarn in such a personal light. But she was glad that they had moved beyond the awkward subject about her lacking a man in her life.

  “Seriously.” He leaned toward her. Altarn tightened her grip on the robe. “When was the last time anyone courted you?”

  Never mind.

  “I... don’t like talking about it.” She wondered if that would only intensify his prying curiosity.

  “Well, Kyree.” He leaned away from her, intentionally flexing his shoulders back to accentuate his chest muscles. Altarn busied herself by combing her long hair with her fingers so she wouldn’t see whatever it was that was growing on his face. “Please consider this a courtship with me.”

  Because it was ridiculous, a chortle burst out of her.

  “Let me finish,” he pleaded as she waved a hand dismissively in front of her. “I don’t want any man thinking you are undesirable because you haven’t had a courtier in a long time. Then you can tell them about this and they will get jealous and want you that much more.” He finished with a wink that made her cringe.

  Grinding her disgust into the gravel at her feet, she forced yet another smile. “That is really not necessary. I’m okay, really.” Really.

  “I insist. It will be good for your health, too.”

  “Hmm? In what way?”

  He tapped his skull. “Good for your mental health.”

  “So, you’re saying I am not mentally healthy unless I have a man hovering around me?” Her voice was flat, driving home her first argument to him that she didn’t need a man to hold her hand.

  “That’s not –” he stopped abruptly, apparently waiting for her to interrupt, but she didn’t, so he continued. “That’s not what I mean. I’ve been lonely before. For a while now. A loneliness that only the opposite gender can sooth. I could say the same about the mental health of men needing a woman hovering around us. I just – just think about it. You don’t have to agree out loud to this. I just thought we’ll be on the road for a few days so we might as well.”

  Seeing him shirtless was terribly distracting. “I advise we don’t,” she said, carefully measuring the right tone in her voice. “With my Lady getting anxious toward Greatmar, it would cause a conflict of interest between us. Especially you being a soldier to Byrone and me being the very Lady’s servant.” There. She brought the door to Byrone back open.

  It was hard to see his thoughts. He pursed his lips and looked at the water. Was Byrone really making ilk with Blindvar or did Torren feel that it was unfortunate Altarn felt that way toward Greatmar?

  “If you change your mind,” he said, still managing a smile, “I’ll be with you for the next few days anyway.” And the door slammed shut again. “But you must tell me some dirt about Altarn for refusing my offer of courtship.”

  Caught off guard, she hadn’t considered an exchange to learn more about Byrone would cost her to sacrifice some things about herself, too. “Talk dirt?”

  “Certainly. You tell me how terrible your Lady is and I’ll tell you about how terrible Lord Byrone is.”

  She was unwilling to spill anything about herself, but if that was all the information to know more about Byrone would cost…

  “Altarn sleeps with a stuffed purple pony,” she offered first. “And every morning I have to arrange it on the pillows for her.” It was truly a secret only Kyree and Jasper knew of, so it was harmless to spill it to a stranger whom she would never see again.

  Torren’s laugh came from deep within his chest. “And she’s twenty seven years old?”

  She looked up as if she couldn’t remember. “Twenty six, I believe. But I also hear Byrone is fat,” she chanced. At least, she hoped he was fat. Fatness made one look incompetent and easily defeated.

  “Fat?” Torren looked upward briefly. “Very fat. He has to have four servants carry his couch down the stairs because if he tripped, he would roll all the way down!”

  Altarn laughed in nervous relief. This made her feel better about all the scathing letters he had sent her. Just a fat guy knowing he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  “Byrone must wear a necklace with a pink belldew flower pendant every time he is in armor,” Torren confessed. “His mother gave it to him and gives him hell whenever she catches him without it.”

  It was Altarn’s turn to laugh. “Ruidenthall’s Lord still does what his mother tells him to do?” She laughed again, harder, until tears blurred her vision. Torren appeared appropriately abashed for spilling such a dangerous secret.

  Through her chortles, Altarn managed, “Do they even make armor big enough for him?”

  Torren rolled his shoulders once. “Well, the breastplate does burst at the seams.”

  Altarn entertained herself briefly with thoughts of Byrone’s page trying to affix armor onto his enormous body. She dared to go bigger. “Altarn believes Byrone is trying to steal her state.”

  Torren made a nonsensical noise with his lips and flapped his hand as if to soften the blow of the accusation. “Forgive my next comment, but it is fact that females over react most times. My Lord seriously just wanted to make the yearly census easier. The two states have always been friends. I mean, why don’t they just join? The only Blindvarns and Ruids that don’t get alone are their State Heads.”

  “Who would rule them?” Under no circumstances would she hand anything over to Byrone, and she was sure he’d feel the same way. If she did give in, then she would truly be viewed as an incompetent female… the first State Head to hand Blindvar to a Lord of another state.

  “I suppose that can be decided over a fist fight.” He shrugged. “It’s just sad that people might die over someone jumping to conclusions.”

  And he was a soldier. He would know if Byrone was trying to take over her land, and that soldier wouldn’t be allowed leave, either.

  For the first time since she had made that conclusion about Byrone taking her land, her determination faltered and she seriously wondered if she was doing the right thing by asking for Luthsinia’s help or if she should just go home.

  But she had told this stranger she was on holiday and it would look suspicious if she just turned around and went home. So she would continue to Athenya and ask for their help just in case so they could still be reached by bird. And maybe, just maybe, Byrone’s plans were so secret, his average soldier still did not know the truth. This tiny hope empowered her again. But one thing she knew, it was close to pointless asking him any more questions about Byrone. He didn’t know anything about troop movement or a time frame of when Byrone was going to try again. This deflated her, but it was a little late to find a different Ruid to glean information from. Oh well. She shouldn’t be surprised that her luck had maltreated her again.

  “You could always join me at the fight house.”

  Altarn had been so deep in thought that she had to think back on where the conversation had left off. But this wasn’t related. He had changed the subject.

  “Certainly,” Altarn chuckled, and she was surprised to find it genuine. Shame how she always had to check if it was real. She was too used to laughing on cue for anything that one should normally laugh at to sound good in front of company. “I’ll strangle them with bed sheets!” She smiled as Torren’s laughter burst out rich and full. The sound seeded its way into her heart and she cleared her throat to kill it. Emotions like that had only gotten her into trouble.

  “You are funny! You can come back with me if you don’t want to return to the Lady’s house.” He smiled playfully and Altarn rolled her eyes. He must be really desperate to cure his loneliness to jump to such suggestions.

  The soak had been wonderful but Altarn could not fight the weary weighing in her bones any longer. Looking
at the sun, it was roughly third afternoon hour. Still a lot of time in the day, but she wouldn’t soon be alive to finish it if she didn’t get some sleep.

  She stood from her boulder, holding her robe tightly around her thighs so it wouldn’t float up.

  “This has been enjoyable. Thank you for the bath. But I don’t think the sulfur is a preferred smell over horses and leather.”

  He shrugged. “Depends on if you prefer animal or earth smells. I like the latter. Are you leaving?”

  “I am very tired and I will soon be asleep in the pool if I don’t get out.” So saying, she waded to the side and deftly climbed over the side without exposing too much leg.

  “Our clothes are not dry yet.” Torren indicated to where they were hanging on the rope under the sun.

  “I’ll wear them wet. I’ll be taking them off to go to bed soon anyway so it doesn’t matter.”

  “I’ll go with you.” He stood, clutching his sagging robe around his waist. Altarn looked away with a half roll of her eyes. He was doing it on purpose.

  She pulled her clothes off the line, followed by Torren, and went into her side of the dressing area of the gazebo. Her clothes were stiff and smelled mildly of sulfur. Army instincts were kicking in and she found she was long passed caring about such things. At least they were clean.

  A small mirror hung inside the changing room on a wire and she manipulated her hair into a hasty braid.

  Torren was waiting for her and they walked together down the red brick path to a three story inn where soft lights glowed in every window. They relocated their horses from the roadhouse next door to the inn’s stables and went inside.

  An old gentleman met them as Torren opened the door. “Two of your best rooms for one night.” Torren dumped a handful of coins into the gentleman’s hand.

  Altarn grabbed his arm. “I can pay for my own room.”

  “I get paid remarkably more than you and I’m going to earn more at the fight house. Save your money for Athenya.”

  Altarn grumbled. It was never wise to let anyone be that courteous, else they could come back and demand payment.

  “May I also leave my name on the traveling ledger?” she asked as the man counted out the coins in his hand.

  The inn keeper nodded and went behind his desk and emerged with a sheet of paper tacked down to a flat piece of wood.

  Altarn wrote her name, Kyree Lotus and the date. Torren was still by the door so he would not see the last name that was at odds with what he saw on her tags. But Jasper would know she was here if he came looking. She paid the man a half copper for the fee of leaving her name and followed him down a red painted hallway flickering with gold light from oil lanterns. Taking a left, they followed him up a flight of stairs. He stopped, indicating the first door on the right.

  “For the lady.”

  “Goodnight, Kyree,” Torren said.

  Altarn looked at Torren briefly as the host unlocked the door and handed her the key. Torren’s smile was kind but it disturbed her. She returned the smile – if still a little unsettled – and disappeared inside.

  She closed the door – locked it – and turned, stopping abruptly as her eyes fell across the room. How much money did this soldier have?

  The first room was carpeted and a stack of wood was piled inside a black stone fireplace. Across from the fire place was a feather stuffed couch and a low wooden table clustered with fruit scented candles.

  The floor of the room beyond was dark polished wood. A bed big enough for her and her horse centered the room, the head board against the blue papered wall. Blue curtains were tied against each of the four posts and at least eight pillows created a fortress at the head.

  The room was much too nice. She removed her boots and walked barefoot across the carpet, walking slowly while she curled her toes into the softness. Another room branched from the bed chamber and the door was wide open. Inside the room she spotted the corner of a white porcelain tub and a piping device with a wide head hovering above it. A small chain dangled from the low ceiling.

  Altarn had seen this before. She didn’t have one in her own house but she had seen it in other dignitaries’ houses when she was required to visit to make motivating political foolishness. Workers stood in waiting at a lower level and when the chain was pulled, it rang a bell and signaled these workers to work a pump to pull water from a nearby well up through the pipe above the tub to spray water out like a rain shower on top of the bather. Due to the labor required to man the pumps and the cost to install the well and piping made it a luxury item not everyone could afford.

  Blocks of soap stacked on the wide corner of the tub in various colors and scents and fresh heads of blue flowers scattered the floor.

  She was certain a soldier was not paid that well to afford two luxury rooms on a whim. But then she was not familiar with Ruidenthall’s economy. In either case, it was very nice of him to treat her to such a nice room, even if it was over done for just one night. However, she would be sure to not let him use this as leverage against her if he ever needed something in return.

  She shrugged out of her clothes and pulled on the chain above the tub. She really didn’t need the wash after the soak in the pools, but it was still paid for. A moment later, water gushed out of the pipe and water splattered down her head and shoulders. The water was very warm, having cooled some on its way to her room from where it was kept boiling in a vat. She picked her braid apart and selected the mauve soap block that smelled of lavender.

  She lathered her hair and body, watching the suds swirl around her feet and down the drain. The water would exit somewhere outside where more workers waited to direct the flow of water onto various vegetation in the inn’s garden.

  Scrubbing the last of the suds from her hair, she rang the chain again and the water stopped. Three fresh towels waited for her on a small glass table and just because it was all paid for, she used all three with one for her hair.

  She sat at the dark wood vanity beside the bed, unwinding the towel from her lavender scented hair. She pulled a thick bristled brush out of her bag and her eyes rolled back in ecstasy at the tingling relief on her scalp as she brushed deeply.

  The knife she remembered to pull out of the sheath and dry on the towels, leaving them both apart on the vanity to continue drying over night.

  Between the sulfur soak and the lavender shower and her sleepless night, she couldn’t find anything better to do than crawl on that cotton-stuffed mattress, despite it still being afternoon. She’d regret it when she woke too early and had to play the same game tomorrow, but she regretted a lot of things.

  She didn’t bother to braid her hair which she knew would be a tangled mass of black web in the morning. But the silk sheets were cool and smooth and the mountain of pillows barricaded her on all sides and… she knew nothing else for a long while.

  I am His

  Priest Herten refused an escort, bewildering many who knew the priest was blind and was traveling to Ryre.

  So letting the priest believe he was alone, two city guards followed silently behind him.

  Priest Herten’s horse knew the road well. The rust colored, knobby kneed stud had been in the priest’s service some twenty eight years and had yet to be convinced it was the rider’s decision as to where they would be traveling. Shar only wanted to travel one road, and that was to Ryre where a muddy colored mare spent her days grazing her pasture and sleeping in the warm sand by the creek. Shar’s mistress had her days of travel, but now as old as Shar, she was used solely for her master’s grand children’s entertainment. Shar wouldn’t believe he was too old to travel. One of these days, he would die along the road and Priest Herten would be just irritated enough to grumble about how he’d have to walk the rest of the way.

  It certainly was a good thing that Herten only ever traveled to Ryre, because if he had wanted to travel anywhere else, Shar would have taken him to Ryre.

  Ryre was thirty-two miles from Herten’s front door. Shar used to be able to
ride it just under half a day, but since time had found both rider and horse, the best Shar could now do, even with the temptation of his mistress waiting for him at the end, was plod along and make it to Ryre eventually.

  The two city guards matched his speed, but at a distance. If Herten discovered their company, he’d be upset. There was no reasoning with him. There were thieves and highwaymen along every road and would not be stopped just because one traveling the road was a well respected priest.

  Herten stopped three times to give his horse a short rest. He slept and ate in the saddle. He arrived in Ryre just as the two moons were rising, signifying pure darkness would come within the hour. The guards let Herten go to his accustomed place and directed their horses to Ryre’s barracks where they informed the guards there of Priest Herten’s visit so at the time of his departure, Ryre’s guards could follow him back to Niesh.

  Shar stopped at the entrance to his mistress’s pasture. Herten grabbed his bag and dismounted. The family who lived right next to the pasture appeared outside to welcome the priest. The youngest boy took Shar’s reins and lead the horse to the family’s stable where he would unbridle and unsaddle the animal and would see to its care while the priest was in town. The family accepted this routine, since it was going to happen anyway.

  The father of the house took Herten’s arm and walked the priest down the road, chatting to him gently and asking of events happening in Niesh.

  Soon, the father stopped. “Here are the temple steps, Good Priest.”

  Herten thanked the father, and assisted himself inside.

  He opened the door and voices of music swarmed him like a womb. Priestesses were singing softly the hymns of Gildeon in A cappella, their voices as light as sunbeams, whispering across the walls and ceiling. Herten paused and took in a deep breath as if he could inhale the essence of the sound.

  Small footsteps from bare feet pattered toward him. “Priest Herten,” said a female. “Welcome to Ryre’s temple. I will take you to Priest Chalyn.”