The War Queen

by Jane Merkley

  She collapsed into the flooded grass and wallowed in it, thirsty for the rain piercing her eyelids. The violinist left without a word. She only knew because she realized there was no music. Her body ached, her blood sludged through her, but she could not kill the possible seed Byrone had planted in her heart. The only thing stopping her from feeding it was why he did it.

  She slopped into her room, dumping her shorns on the floor by her bed with a metallic crash. Of course she spotted Byrone’s necklace again.

  She woke in the morning and knew it was another good day to battle dance when Byrone was the first thing on her mind.

  The sodden night lifted into a glorious morning and the damp chill refreshed her anew. Slipping a sleeveless blouse on, she grabbed her rust spotted shorns and a determination to discover all these answers and found her spot again on the training field. Her dance yesterday, and the unsettling good sleep afterward, revealed to her, not answers, but finally knowing who the enemy was.

  Herself.

  The pail of white paint was still beside her target. The lid was off and it had filled completely with rain water. She tipped the water out and dunked the sodden brush into it, smearing the watery paint across the chest of the target, over the rain-washed name of Jessom, spelling her own across the heart.

  She dropped the brush and stepped back. Her name bled in slow streaks down the chest of the target, and she proceeded to strike.

  She struck because she lacked the courage to stand up to a warlord, she struck because she was fickle enough to kiss that same warlord in a ravaged fit of loneliness, because she couldn’t tell anymore what was real and what was fake. Because she cared too much and saved a man from dying whom had done her so much wrong.

  Her name was obliterated by the time she was done. The now gutted chest of the target mirrored the inside of her own. The difference is the target was not still bleeding.

  But her fervor was not exhausted. She transitioned straight into the battle dance without music. She’d only been at it for a minute when she spun with her titanium wings and met another pair of steel blades with a startling crash.

  Jasper smiled dolefully and stepped back and set up for another parry. “I’ve never known you to battle dance so early in the morning unless it was to kill the grief over losing a man.”

  Altarn jumped forward with a double slice and Jasper met hers with a parallel right spin, throwing her to the side.

  “I suppose the battle made me blood thirsty.” She jumped and feigned a downward scream but brought her right wing upward instead. Jasper saw it and stepped back, his blades formed in front of him for a shield.

  “No good lying. Kyree told me.”

  Altarn suddenly hated her. A lot. “I’ll duel her next.” Altarn jumped with vigor at him, and by the speed and closeness of her flurry, Jasper had to dance backward to gain enough distance to get his swords in front of him again to prevent being decapitated.

  “I fail to see why my house is suddenly taking a deep interest in my personal life.”

  “Because you kissed the Lord of Ruidenthall in a room full of everybody. And he was seen coming out of your room.”

  Altarn was ready to decapitate him for real. “I’m certain you’d rather not end up looking like that target behind me.”

  He merely smiled. He’d known her too long. She jumped and sliced and Jasper stepped to the left to catch her on her unprotected right side, which she caught just in time.

  “Why did you kiss him anyway? Really, I guess it makes sense. Just surprised you would do something that bold, especially given your past dealings with men.”

  “What do you mean –” that it makes sense? But of course. Jasper had only seen Byrone’s generosity. Altarn supposed that once the unsavory of Byrone was scraped away, there would only be unselfish kindness left.

  He watched her for a heavy moment. “Unlike Kyree, I think I know you well enough that you would not simply invite a man into your bedroom. I’m open to listen, if you like.”

  And just like that, Altarn poured her heart out to him, in a rushed, raw manner that she was sure surprised him, telling him the vastness of her loneliness and why Byrone was the one chosen to fill it, explained how he entered her room, why she had entered his in Ruidenthall. She told him as much as she could without giving away his plans for taking Blindvar. Her stories were disjointed because of it, but Jasper accepted it like he always did. She realized then that it wasn’t because he had blind faith in her, but that she had the right to keep secret certain things, and he would respect that. She didn’t tell him mostly because it was her burden as Head of State to bear and Jasper did not fall into the chain of command for some things, but also she was curious what Jasper’s opinion of Byrone would be without such details. To try and discover the truth of why he left his necklace. She didn’t tell Jasper that part.

  By the end she felt free of most of the poison, and Jasper was nodding.

  “I’m… I’m sorry Jasper.” She hung her head. “I didn’t mean to burden you with any of that. I’m my own worst enemy.”

  “Have you thought of visiting Ruidenthall?”

  No. She didn’t. But her curiosity was finally peaked at what the statue would look like of her carrying Byrone across her shoulders, if Byrone was telling the truth.

  “If you visit Ruidenthall as friends with Lord Byrone instead of enemies, you’ll likely find clarity for you answers. You can’t enter a meal already full. If you want my opinion, I think Lord Byrone has offered you something and you should at least try it. It’s a rare man who enters a woman’s room uninvited and does not have more sinister things in mind.”

  With that, Jasper rested both blades across his shoulders and walked off the field. He had a wife and two daughters. He knew just exactly when to give a woman space.

  And he was right. Why is everyone except me right all the time? She bemoaned. She hadn’t even thought of his last statement until just now. Byrone didn’t even so much as hint or gesture toward such things while in her room.

  She entered her bedroom, and her eyes fell on the necklace on the table. What if…

  Gingerly, as if it might burn her, she picked it up, her heart hammering. What would it feel like? She brought it against her neck and clasped it, and the feel of it slammed her with cold loneliness. She clutched it in her hand and looked at the ceiling, and pretended for a moment that the warlord did want her, that he did not want her land, that he had given her that necklace so she could bring him back to life again if he died, like she had done once already.

  She closed her eyes. What would it be like if it was real? She thought of what she knew of Byrone in his letters and what she thought of him now, and try as she might they were not the same person. Had she changed her mind about him? Could it be possible he had changed his mind about her as well?

  Altarn sat at her desk and wrote:

  Lord Byrone,

  I am coming to your state for a visit. I will be there in six days.

  Lady Altarn

  Greatmar’s Statue

  The notice was short, but the eleven individuals she had selected to go with her to Greatmar were ready within the day. Icnar she would leave behind. It would not do good to take every member of her court with her, just in case some travesty befell Blindvar in her absence… again. And from what she had seen from Icnar sitting in the command tent the day before battle, armed and excited to fight, she would feel confident he could handle an army for at least a short while until she returned.

  Jasper was a given, and she couldn’t find Kyree to extend the invitation to her. Altarn had made herself numb toward her friend’s abandonment. She supposed every friend had to go through a test, and if they passed then they would be friends forever.

  The sun rose and Altarn slowly crawled out of bed and prepared to pack. She had disposed of most her dresses in favor of pants and blouses, even some short sleeved ones in the Ruid style she realized she rather liked. She scanned the room briefly for anything else, and open
ed the door.

  Kyree was standing there, startled slightly when the door opened, as if debating whether or not to actually enter.

  Altarn startled too. “Kyree?” Altarn’s breath had been stolen out of her, and her name came out quiet and strained.

  Kyree lowered her eyes. “Jasper told me.”

  Altarn stuffed fists into her eyes. “Good angels! You two are like two little kids telling each other forbidden secrets in the dark corners of a school room.”

  Kyree was silent, standing mollified in front of her. “I… I should never have doubted you –”

  “Ssh.” Altarn looked down either side of the hall. “Come inside.”

  Kyree did so. Altarn closed the door and locked it. Locking it had been a habit she developed seven days ago.

  Kyree stood awkwardly, until Altarn motioned for her to sit. She did so. Finally, she looked Altarn in the face.

  “I should never have doubted you,” she said again. “In my blind rage, I just couldn’t – didn’t – want to see any different. So I’ve come back to you as a friend… if you’ll have me as a friend.” She dropped her eyes again.

  Irritation bubbled at Altarn’s surface. She had all but cut the only thread left of their friendship to deaden the pain of having lost her. But Kyree deserved a second chance. Just like Altarn was hoping to get. Just like Byrone had asked for.

  Altarn simply started accepting her apology with a story of the night she left the house to go to Luthsinia. She laid everything bare; left nothing out – Kyree knew most of the story anyway. What she didn’t know was that Altarn traveled with a man to Athenya, who was then revealed as Byrone just before her capture. She ended with finding the necklace on the table, which was still there.

  Kyree’s eyes were wide and quiet.

  “So,” Altarn released a breath before taking another one, “as a friend, it was terribly inconsiderate of you to abandon me in my greatest time of need.”

  Kyree looked like she was about to cry until Altarn smiled.

  “However.” Altarn raised a finger. “I will only forgive you if you finish law school.”

  Kyree rolled her eyes and changed the subject. “So you are going to Greatmar to see if Byrone meant what he really meant by leaving that necklace?”

  “I suppose that is the only way to know for sure. I haven’t slept well since he left it because I can’t figure it out.”

  “He is the only man who has ever made you lose sleep. You slept like a baby after you left Jessom.”

  Altarn rolled her shoulders and stood. “Beside the point. And I would ask that you come with me.”

  “I will decline this time around. My fault for not being available to have gotten the invitation in time to do something with my children. But I will see you upon your return.”

  Altarn paused, then slowly reached forward for a hug, which Kyree accepted, and for the first time in seven days, Altarn felt at peace.

  She kept the necklace hidden under her cloak. The members of her court and guard didn’t need any more reasons to look at her suspiciously. But conversation toward her during the five day travel was halting and hesitant at best. But at least they pretended it was none of their business, which was still more than what Altarn had hoped for.

  She didn’t know what she would do or find once she reached Greatmar. Her nerves wouldn’t let her think clearly. She traveled under the guise that she was coming to visit just like Byrone had done. And she wanted to see the statue they built for her. So she likewise had more than one reason for coming.

  Blindvar’s massive exodus out of Ruidenthall had dug a permanent road connecting the two state capitols, driving pin straight across Luthsinia. The king had the gall to write Altarn about it, and Altarn was just in the right mood to return his bird with a note that read: your support toward the war efforts to defend Endendre are appreciated. Please take this gift of a road we made through your state as a reminder that we saved your royal ass from annihilation. Sincerely, the People of Blindvar. Byrone would be proud of her.

  So they were on this road now. At times it weaved awkwardly through the trees, but it made traveling a little quicker with no forest debris underfoot.

  They were four days into the trip when a furious stomp of horse hooves were heard ahead and Altarn and half her company drew weapons as a horse and a sleeveless rider pounded away from them. The sleeveless shirt was clearly Ruid and before he vanished Altarn caught sight of his tattoo. He was the messenger to tell the people how close Altarn was.

  Her gut clenched with nerves. She hated being the center of so much attention, but like everything else unpleasant, she had no choice but to drive on until it was over.

  It was nightfall before they reached the city, though the city fires were so massive they saw them before they saw the castle’s four towers. As they came closer, a steady beat of drums grew in thunder and Altarn began to see people under the roaring light of the fires burning inside massive copper bowls.

  Her company came into the reach of the firelight and the hundreds of people gathered burst into a roaring applause sounding like a beast free of its cage.

  She reined in her horse, not sure what to do. Adulation radiated from all their faces and several people came toward her company and took hold of the horses’ reins and pulled them forward into the crowd.

  At the very entrance of the city, at the head of the main cobblestone road, Altarn saw it. It stood eight feet tall on a round pedestal of stone, made entirely of copper. A copper plaque affixed to the stone was stamped to read: THE WAR QUEEN.

  A perfect representation of Altarn on the day of battle; her battle dress, her braided war crown, and two of the five gems in her hair were missing appropriately as she had used them before bearing Byrone on her shoulders. And on her statue’s shoulders was a perfect representation of Byrone, minus his armor because she had stripped him of it to make him lighter. She passed under his head and his eyes were closed not in death, but in black life.

  The sight stirred her, and she allowed a few tears to fall to show the people that the memorial had touched her. The members of her court and guard who were not prepared for the sight like Altarn was, gaped, and tried to ask Altarn questions but didn’t know what questions to ask. To be honored so loudly astounded them. Her court had become remarkably better in their respect toward her after the war, and there was no doubt in any of their eyes that they would follow her into battle again.

  A firm hand touched her shoulder. Jasper smiled at her, said nothing, and let go.

  Their horses were led toward the castle courtyard. Altarn took a shuddering breath and donned on an armor of boldness. She was prepared, or at least acted prepared which was half of it, to speak privately – or publicly – to the Lord of Ruidenthall about his meaning of the necklace.

  The horses stopped before the large fountain in the castle courtyard, and Altarn looked about but could not see Byrone. Torren was standing on the fountain’s edge in a dazzling uniform worthy of a ceremony.

  “Welcome Lady of Blindvar!” Torren announced, and the people erupted in cheering again. It was no wonder Byrone left Ruidenthall to visit Blindvar. His people had forgotten he was Lord. She wondered with half humor if they should switch. The statue of her with him on her shoulders at the entrance of the city must chaff him.

  “Lord Byrone sends his regrets at this time that he cannot be present, but pressing state matters do not come when we want, in fact I believe they only come when we absolutely don’t want them to come…” He smiled and the people around chuckled good naturedly. “And he will do his best to join with us before your departure.” It fooled the people, but Torren had the same look that servant had when Altarn refused to see Byrone’s parting. “You are travel weary so refresh yourselves tonight in the Good Lord’s house and our feasts will meet you in the morning.” Torren signaled them to dismount and servants whisked their horses away that had already brightened at the smell of sweet oats and other horses nearby.

  Torren lead th
em inside the large doors of the castle, which opened for them. Altarn remembered Byrone saying that the castle doors always remained open when the Lord was out to signify that the castle would await his return. So he was inside, then.

  Clapping followed them until the door closed.

  “That was a little much,” she voiced quietly to Jasper who nodded.

  They were taken to dinner first; a quiet affair as they began to repair from the road. They all smelled of horses and sweat and were highly inappropriate for dinner, but the servants standing by only smiled. Though, as expected, they sat on wooden chairs.

  Altarn’s company was roomed down the same wing, each with their own room and right next door to each other. Altarn was given the very same room she had occupied the last time she was here. And the chain was still there. She wondered mildly if it was to show her that Byrone’s threats to take Blindvar were still valid, but honestly, she was believing more that he was just being a man and hadn’t bothered to move it. The key was still in the flower pot. She checked.

  And she slept, but not well. The knowledge that Byrone was in the house swarmed over her like a shade from a dark story. She locked the door, and then remembered in dismay that he had the key to every door in the house.

  The following morning greeted her with a breakfast of three slaughtered piglets. She had never seen so much bacon and sausage and it wasn’t until her company was stuffed to exploding that they were notified that lunch was only a few hours away.

  The people spared no expense to feed or entertain Altarn’s company. Breakfast and lunch were put on by the castle but the dinner each night was made by the townsfolk, which was mostly dessert from everyone who believed they had the best recipe.

  Acrobats, sword dancers, and mystery men displayed their shows and Altarn participated in their races to include climbing a tall ladder up and over the castle’s curtain wall, swim across the river without being pushed down stream too far, jumping a horse over obstacles, and crawling through a field of mud. She lost, of course, but did not come in last. She nagged her company to join in and some did, to include Jasper after much eye rolling. Though she was surprised to see Perseth do it eagerly, as if he were waiting to be invited. Maybe she’d been wrong about the man this whole time.