by R. K. Thorne
“Oh—uh, no—I have everything I need.”
Elise was settled on a nearby bench, staring into space, when she perked up at that comment. “You can ask for anything you need from Fayton, Miara.” She paused, searching Miara’s face. “It’s not an imposition. You’re our guest. We have vast stores here; Estun can be self-sufficient for several months—”
“I read as much in my research,” Miara replied.
Elise gave her a crooked smile. “You have an uncanny way of reminding me that you were until recently my greatest enemy in the world.”
Miara swallowed, eyes wide. She’d asked for that. “Don’t forget high treason. I should really have worse accommodations. Perhaps the dungeon?”
Elise snorted. “Anyone actually interested in committing the wrongs you mention would have followed through on them more effectively instead of politely escorting their target back home. Now, please. Give Fayton something to do. He gets bored, and visitors bring all the unusual tasks and breaks from the mundane.”
Fayton looked far from offended at this and only grinned.
Miara hesitated a moment longer. “Well, a change of clothes would help. I guess I don’t need to wear the same riding leathers every single day.”
Fayton looked to Elise with a knowing expression, and the queen nodded. What knowledge were they exchanging? “Perhaps water for a bath too?” Elise offered.
Miara’s eyes widened. Oh gods, did she smell? Great. She’d be remembered by all the Akarian Assembly and the queen as that dirty mage slave who smelled.
Well. No. Slave no longer. Who cared if she were dirty or smelly or a mage or a garden snake?
She was free.
“I’ll have the water sent up.” And with that, Fayton was gone.
Silence settled over the sitting room, and Miara pretended to stroll around and explore and admire the room, but mostly she did not know what to do next. Being stranded alone with Aven’s mother so quickly after arriving in Estun was… not what she’d expected. And she had no idea what to do or say next.
“Come, have a seat with me, Miara. I’m sure Aven will join us before the tea even arrives.”
With no reason to object and no non-embarrassing excuse to flee screaming in fear, she sat down next to the queen by the fire. Elise’s golden curls danced in the firelight. Miara’s own hair was probably wayward and falling out of its bun. A thin silver necklace draped across the queen’s sculpted collarbones, dangling an emerald that sparkled and taunted Miara with its effortless grace.
Miara glanced down at herself. Her Masters-issued leathers were a brownish-black, a combination of their original dye and the dirt of wear. Her boots were still caked with mud from the roads to Estun. Her most beautiful adornment, in her opinion, was her dagger. She’d never worn dresses or jewelry the likes of what Elise probably had. Why would she have? She’d had no reason to, nor the means to acquire them if she’d desired them.
But would Akarians be happy with a leather-clad, muddy queen with a dagger in her boot? Would they want a queen who wore boots at all?
She had no idea. But she felt worlds apart from Elise just then. The queen’s shoulders and neck were bare and elegant in the dress, the skin of a woman two decades her superior—at least—lined and softened with age but all the more distinguished for it.
Miara couldn’t imagine herself looking that regal or elegant at any age. She would always have the scar from the brand on her shoulder. She was unsure if it had fully healed, or if it ever would. She could perhaps heal it, although she wondered if the magic that had created it would change the rules somehow. No matter, she had no desire to heal it, really. Like the scar on her cheek, smoothing it away felt false. She didn’t want to erase her past, nor could she.
“He risked everything for you,” Elise said, cutting through her thoughts matter-of-factly.
Miara froze, more unsure than ever. It was not a feeling she liked.
“All of this,” Elise said, gesturing up and around them.
“I tried to convince him otherwise.”
“As did I,” Elise said. Her voice was slow, steady. Miara suspected the queen wanted to watch her squirm a little. But for what purpose?
“The risk he took was not lost on me. And seeing this doesn’t make it any easier.”
“He’s quite in love with you, you know.”
Miara dodged Elise’s gaze by staring into the fire.
“Of course, it seems we were wrong to discourage him, and he was right.”
What could Miara possibly say to that? She struggled but thought of nothing.
“I’d like to know your intentions toward him, if any,” Elise said simply.
“My what?”
“Your intentions.”
“I have no right to any intent—”
“This is not Kavanar,” Elise said, waving away the idea like an annoying insect. “I am not concerned if you have a ‘right.’ As far as I’m concerned, you do. I have heard my son’s words, seen his determination. His feelings for you are strong. What I am concerned with are your feelings toward him.”
How could Miara possibly respond to this? She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
“Do you return his sentiments?” Elise said, her voice gentler.
Miara stared at her boots. Why was Elise asking her this? Why was this so hard to discuss? Did she simply want to see Miara’s face as she answered the question?
Yes, that must be it. The queen wanted to judge Miara’s sincerity for herself.
“Very much so, yes.” She tried to keep her breath above a whisper but only barely succeeded.
Elise nodded curtly, the gesture ambiguous. “Forgive me for being so direct. We have very little time. How these people come to know you will be established only once. We must carefully manage the situation if you are to be queen.”
“Queen?” My, this woman was frank. Perhaps that was where Aven got it from. Miara finally met Elise’s intense stare.
“You know Aven’s wife could be nothing else.”
True, but she was not sure how she felt about the situation. Her feelings for Aven were not something she could push away or pretend didn’t exist. That hadn’t worked very well the first time anyway, had it? Not that she wanted to push them away now either. But… she had never imagined herself as anything like a queen. She was a horse healer, by the gods. Still, if Aven asked her to be his companion in this, as in all things, she also couldn’t imagine saying no to him.
This was all too much to share with his mother just yet. Perhaps ever. She wasn’t even sure how to share it with Aven. “You have no… personal objections?” she said instead.
Elise paused. “I know my son,” she said eventually. “He is an excellent judge of character. That is one thing I would never doubt in him. I also want him to be happy. What objections would I have? You are no noble, that’s true, but you are intelligent, strong, defiant even. You showed me honesty at times when lies would have been much more convenient. And you are no fragile bird in a gilded cage. You know the suffering of the people. You know the impact a ruler’s decisions can have.”
“Then why did you take so long to answer?”
“So that you didn’t think I took this lightly.”
A smile crept onto Miara’s face. Elise smiled back, a smile of small secrets, the kind between two people recognizing something of themselves in each other. They were both the kind of people that managed what others thought of them, deliberately, with elaborate planning if necessary.
“A capable and reliable partner has always been one of the things Aven most wanted in a wife. And he’s wise for that. And I think you will offer more than one unexpected advantage of your own. No, you needn’t be concerned about me. What I am concerned about—and you should be too—is everyone else. The king… has not seen or heard as much of you as I have. And there are those who might care less for Aven’s personal happiness or the caretaking of this kingdom and quite a bit more for their own agendas and prejudices.�
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Miara opened her mouth to ask what advantage, and what did she mean by that, and who exactly might she be referring to? But a knock sounded at the door, announcing the arrival of the tea.
“Ah, Camil,” Elise called. “Come in. Miara, I’m sure you’re famished from your journey. We have apple dumplings, Corovan cheese, and some excellent Pyoramwan tea.”
The king’s meeting chamber emptied of people all too slowly. Exhaustion hit Aven, hard and sudden, now that the drama was mostly over. For now. He hoped. He didn’t yet know what visitor his father referred to, so perhaps more trouble was in store. Also, what were his mother and Miara doing? What room had Fayton assigned her? Not knowing exactly where she was yet again did not sit well with him, especially twice so quickly after arriving in Estun. Had they even been there an hour yet?
The last few stragglers hesitated and were shooed away by two of his father’s scribes.
“Do you think she’ll try to kill her?” Aven mused.
“Your friend kill the queen? I should—”
“No, no, Mother. Mother kill my… friend.”
His father grinned at his hesitation. “Your mother has watched you, mostly helplessly, traipse across half the continent with this woman and then risk your very life to save her. I’m not surprised she’s interested in a conversation or two.”
“I just hope that’s all she’s interested in.”
“Your mother has never had a violent streak. I swear some of the lords wish she had more of one. And your ‘friend’ is a competent mage. Probably more competent than your mother, don’t you think?”
“Don’t tell Mother that.”
“I’m sure you’ll have nothing to worry about even if they do come to blows.”
“Probably more like claws or talons, from what I’ve seen.”
“That does sound a bit more your mother’s style. At any rate, now that we’re alone, there is one bit of news you won’t relish.” Aven inclined his head in question. “Another suitor arrived for you yesterday.”
“I don’t need a suitor, I have—”
“I understand that. But your mother and I had thought you might want to take a little time before you crown your new mage as queen.”
Aven frowned. “Well, obviously Mother is queen—”
“You know what I mean.”
His blood ran cold. “What’s the hesitation?”
“Miara is an outsider. Not to mention technically someone who recently committed high treason.”
“That’s hardly a fair way to describe what happened.”
His father held up a palm. “Let’s deal with this suitor first. I simply request you receive her in a polite, diplomatic greeting. You can leave right away, since you’ve just returned, but the Code calls for—”
“I know what it calls for,” Aven growled. He sighed. If his principles were easy to live by, they probably weren’t doing him much good. “Where does she hail from?”
As they walked, his father gave him background on the woman, a minor noble from Esengard. She had been deliberately kept in the dark about his return to the castle. Enough turmoil without that. They found her in the library, reclined and reading a book.
Did Miara like to read? At least this one was literate. He stifled an inward groan at the thought. Why was he evaluating her? He had Miara.
The woman rose with slow, regal grace as they approached. His father spoke first. “My son, may I present to you Renala Lorava, Dvora of the southern lands of Esengard.”
“King Samul, Prince Aven. I’m flattered to see you so soon upon your return.” As she spoke, she swept into a low curtsy. Aven bowed in return. He realized too late that he hadn’t reached for her hand to kiss as he usually did. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to have expected it. Just as well—too romantic of a greeting anyway. He had to take every opportunity to come across as taken, something he unfortunately had zero practice at conveying.
She straightened. Oaken hair, the color of straw but slightly darker, fell down her back, and a lavender dress hugged her every curve perfectly with carefully orchestrated rows of laces to ensure an ideal fit. How did women get such things on? He should ask Miara.
Actually, did she know? Had she ever worn such a dress? They did not look practical for either caring for horses or kidnapping men. Perhaps her spying had sometimes been in a courtly context, though? Back to the task at hand. It was his turn to say something.
“I’m flattered by your consideration, my lady.” Ugh, too amorous. He stifled a wince and hoped she hadn’t noticed.
“Have you had a long journey?” She clasped her hands in front, still holding her book.
“Er, yes.” Two weeks was not terribly long, but getting kidnapped, tortured, and nearly enslaved twice did add difficulty to a jaunt. He didn’t think she was interested in hearing stories of torture just now. Or possibly ever. Good thing he had Miara to tell them to. “It was a bit… hastily undertaken, so that didn’t help matters. So please forgive me if I retire shortly.”
“Oh, of course,” she said, suddenly blushing. A delicate rose spread across her features. Afraid she was imposing already? That was sweet. It was hardly her fault, and there was no perceived slight, but he’d been courted by plenty of women who blindly demanded his attention and time without context, as if finding a mate and producing an heir obviously trumped any other task in importance. And perhaps in some circles that was the case, but not for him. A lady that was more respectful of a prince’s other duties was refreshing.
Not that it mattered or changed anything.
She eyed his shoulder. “Forgive my intrusion,” she said quietly, “but were you in battle, my lord? You look… injured.” Her eyes held a mixture of fear and intrigue. My, she was a timid one, but the interest in her eyes said perhaps there was more to her than that surface fear.
“We do not shy away from battle here,” he said, skirting her question. “Perhaps that is part of why you’ve chosen Akaria to visit?”
Her gaze snapped to meet his in surprise, and her face told the truth of his words. “I—uh—I apologize, my lord.”
“What is there to apologize for?” his father said.
“As a lady, I should not express interest in such things.”
“Nonsense. Women draw sword here just as the men do.” His tone was more fatherly than kingly as he smiled at her.
The way she side-eyed the king levelly told Aven she had indeed already known this. “I had heard, but I thought perhaps it was only a rumor.”
Aven shrugged. “We’re a practical people. The more of us that can fight, the better, which is especially true in matters of defense. Of course, not everyone is fit for every weapon or every military position, but that’s true beyond men and women, young and old.”
“Never saw much reason to encourage my wife to cower in fear rather than pick up a bow if I’m the one getting attacked by the sword. And in that case, I’d prefer her aim to be good.” Samul smiled. Aven agreed; he had no idea why other kingdoms hobbled themselves so. Perhaps Renala couldn’t lift a claymore, but there were plenty of weapons he’d be glad she could wield if assassins chose that moment to strike. Assuming she was on his side, of course.
“Devol, our master at arms, would likely give you a lesson during your visit, if desired, my lady,” Aven added.
She gazed off into the bookshelves with a pained expression. “I don’t think my brothers would approve.”
Samul surprised Aven—and Renala, too, it seemed—with a rough clap on her shoulder. “They are not here, I believe. And I don’t know how word would get back to them. Don’t they plan to marry you away from Esengard anyway? So… perhaps their opinion does not matter so much.” Oh, devious man, sowing familial discord. Of course, Aven agreed with him, but still. Aven smiled sideways at the wide saucers of Renala’s eyes. Was that at the shoulder clap or his suggestion? A timid mouse, as many suitors had been, but at least an honest one with her own opinions. “Talk with our head steward, Fayton, he can help y
ou arrange it. And now, if you’ll excuse my son, I don’t want his sense of duty to keep him any longer.”
“Of course!” She curtsied deeply again, so much so that he thought she might just sit down on the bench behind her.
At this point, he would have usually made some romantic gesture, or made plans to seek her out later, or offered some poetic turn of phrase. But gladly, no inspiration came to him. Aven simply bowed again, gave her a small but friendly smile, and scampered out.
Jaena missed the blast with her staff. Her body spun sideways, off-balance, and she cursed as she went down. She’d blocked the last dozen, but one had finally gotten through. Damn.
Face in the dirt. Hell. That would be the last time. She let herself indulge in the soft vibrations of energy emanating from the soil for just a brief moment. Just to recharge. Not that she needed it. She wasn’t tired. She was fine.
She sighed. Her sister would not have fallen. She had rarely made mistakes like these. But then again, Dekana had been a natural at everything. Jaena was not much like her in that respect.
It didn’t matter. She had determination and little else. She would be a great fighter or die trying. Someone would pay for what had happened to Dekana.
She spread her fingers as though readying to push herself up, only slightly nestling them into the calm reassurance of the soil. The bark-colored, packed earth of the training grounds had more clay than most, leaving it not quite as dark as her skin, but close.
Steps approached. She scrambled to her feet but not fast enough. She adjusted her tawny leather vest and the white tunic underneath, brushing off the dust with her fingers. Much as she loved the earth, she didn’t love it on her outfit. Sorin, their teacher, stopped in front of her. Wherever he’d been a few days ago, he’d returned with a fire under his arse. She straightened to her full height and looked down her nose at him. Although he was tall, she was still a good two fingers taller.
