The Blacksmith Queen

by Aiken G. A.

  He didn’t move, his eyes wide in near panic. Poor thing. He’d been so abused by Marius and his kin that Agathon didn’t realize when there was a hand being held out with a treat.

  “Come, Agathon.”

  He let out a breath and took several steps in.

  “Close the door behind you.”

  He did. “My lady, I think your time to—”

  “I know. Don’t worry. I’ll be there to take my place beside my husband and declare my never-ending love.” Beatrix gestured to the chair across the table from her. “Sit.”

  He did.

  “Do you enjoy what you do for the Dowager Queen?” Beatrix asked, removing her spectacles so she could clean the fragile glass with a soft cloth.

  “Of course, my lady. She is kind and fair and—”

  “Dear gods, man, you don’t have to lie to me.” She carefully put the spectacles back on. “It does nothing but irritate me and set my teeth on edge and you’re very bad at it.”

  Agathon fell silent, gazing down at the table.

  “I understand that choices are hard. Especially when you’ve been given so few. But you must understand that there are those who will take you far into the future and those who will do nothing but drag you down until they dispose of you. When you are no longer useful. I’ve watched you—I see great potential.”

  “My lady, I say this with great deference, but . . . you do not know the strength of will of Prince Marius and his mother. I say this to you as a warning and a—”

  Beatrix held up her hand to halt his words and rested her arms on the table. She leaned in and said, “Look into my eyes, Agathon. Look deep. And you tell me, using the instincts that have allowed you to survive this long . . . what do you see?”

  When Agathon hesitated to meet her eyes, she urged, “It’s all right. Look. And tell me what you see.”

  He finally did, meeting her gaze, staring. And, the longer he stared, the whiter he became. All the blood left his worn, much-too-young-to-look-so-old face, his tongue swiping his suddenly dry lips, the lump in the front of his throat bobbing as he attempted to swallow.

  That’s when Beatrix allowed herself a smile.

  “Now you see, don’t you, Agathon? Now you see.”

  Beatrix pushed back from the table and stood. “They’ll be coming for me soon,” she said, stepping around the table. “To take me to my future husband. Such a grand wedding created in such a short amount of time. Maila really should be proud.” She placed her hand on his shoulder, enjoying the way it tensed at her touch. “You and I could do great work together, Agathon. If you would just . . . trust me.”

  “Do I have a choice, my lady?”

  “Sadly . . . no. But neither do I.” She patted his shoulder and walked toward the door. “Keep in mind, though, Agathon . . . I have no time for petty cruelties and random acts of abuse. I have grand ambitions. Wouldn’t you enjoy being part of something like that? Rather than groveling to a former whore and her bastard son?”

  Agathon wisely didn’t answer that specific question, and she didn’t blame him. She wouldn’t have answered it either.

  But, as Beatrix put her hand on the door handle, he said, “There is a rumor, my lady . . .”

  “A rumor?”

  He nodded. Barely. “That your sister, the blacksmith . . . she’s not dead.”

  Beatrix looked back at Agathon. “What?”

  “There are rumors coming from those who live near the Amichai Mountains that she lives. Prince Marius does not know this . . . but the Dowager Queen does.”

  Beatrix made a fist with her left hand, letting her small nails bite into the skin of her palm. She did it to clear her mind. This information had surprised her more than she would have expected.

  “Thank you, Agathon,” she finally got out.

  “Yes, my la—” He cleared his throat. “My queen.”

  Pushing the thought of her eldest sister out of her mind, determined to deal with this news at a later time, she opened the door but stopped. Realized she couldn’t just ignore the fact of her sister still being alive.

  “Agathon?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty?”

  “Can you get a message”—she faced Agathon again—“to Straton the Devourer?”

  “I’m sure I can. I’m assuming you don’t want it to be from you.”

  “Exactly. Not from me.”

  “What kind of message?”

  “The location of my family.”

  Agathon frowned. “My lady?”

  Beatrix shrugged. “A sacrifice, I know. But if I can’t kill my sister. . . I definitely need to distract her. Don’t you think?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “And I’m assuming the death of her entire family will do just that. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes. I’m sure that tragedy will . . . distract her.”

  “Exactly. So see me after we say our vows and all that. I’ll want the message to go out immediately. Understand?”

  “Yes . . . Your Majesty.”

  “Excellent. Now, tell me honestly, Agathon . . .” She grabbed the skirt of her gown and held it out, away from her body. “What do you think of my dress? Maila picked it out herself. It’s not really to my taste.”

  Agathon’s mouth briefly dropped open but he recovered quickly. “You look amazing in it, Your Majesty.”

  “Hhmmh. I guess.” She took another look down at the gown. “The color white is fine, but I’ve never been a true fan of lace.”

  CHAPTER 20

  It was when Keran brought out the ale that things got bad. The way the Smythe sisters had been bickering all day, Caid had assumed he’d have to separate them at some point during the night, but it was Gemma and Keran who got into it. It probably had to do with the fact that Gemma’s order had a vow of sobriety while Keran had never made and, according to her, never would make that vow.

  Keran drank heartily and expected everyone to join her. Quinn had a few sips but as soon as his eyes watered, Caid and Laila waved the offer away.

  Keeley hadn’t bothered. Instead, she sketched with a piece of coal on parchment she kept in her travel bag. After they ate and began to get ready to sleep, Caid noticed what she was doing.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “A hammer-axe combination weapon. It’ll be all steel. Nice, isn’t it?”

  He had no idea how to tell her that the days of her being a full-time blacksmith were probably over. He’d assumed she already knew this but now . . . he wasn’t sure she’d ever get it. As a queen, she’d have much more important things to do with her time than work a forge, but he didn’t want to get into that at the moment. He might not even be the one she should “get into that” with.

  Then Gemma had declined the offer of ale from her cousin. But she hadn’t simply waved the offer away like Caid and Laila. She’d been a bit judgey about it all. With pursed lips and a disappointed frown, she’d asked Keran, “How much do you drink a day anyway, Cousin?”

  It was downhill from there.

  Before Caid could suggest that they all get some sleep, the first punch was thrown.

  At Quinn.

  For once, though, his brother hadn’t started anything; he’d simply made the mistake of physically placing himself between the arguing cousins. Quinn would never do that if mares were involved, but he didn’t have as much experience around humans. He especially didn’t have much experience around the Smythe clan.

  Unfortunately for Quinn, it was Keran’s fist that rammed into his cheek. As a former fighter, she had power behind that move that perhaps the War Monk lacked. Quinn went down hard and, for several long minutes, did not get back up. He wasn’t even conscious.

  “You idiot!” Gemma screamed after a few shakes didn’t wake Caid’s brother. “You killed him!”

  “Oh, he’s fine!” Keran snapped back. “And is it my fault he has a face made of glass?”

  “Are you going to help your brother?” Keeley asked Caid.

  “You heard Keran
. . . he’ll be fine.”

  She snorted and went back to her sketch.

  When Gemma and Keran began pushing each other, Caid became worried the argument would escalate. He nudged Keeley with his elbow.

  “Hhmhh?”

  “You may want to stop them,” he suggested.

  Keeley glanced up at her kin. “Oy! You two! Stop it.”

  “Shut up, Keeley!” Gemma snarled back.

  Keeley shrugged and went back to her work. “I tried.”

  Laila leaned around Caid. “Seriously?”

  “What?” Keeley asked, oblivious.

  “You’re going to let them get away with talking to you like that?”

  Keeley frowned. “Like what?”

  They both stared at her, waiting for her to understand on her own. She needed to learn this sort of thing and they might as well start now.

  And . . . it did take a bit. Longer than Caid would have hoped, but when she got it, her grin was wide as she handed him her sketch.

  “What’s that?” Laila asked, gazing at the drawing.

  “Hammer-axe combination weapon. All steel.”

  “Nice.”

  Keeley pushed her cousin and sister apart. “That’s enough! And you’ll do what I tell you.”

  Keran glanced at Gemma and they both smirked. “We will?”

  “You will. Do you know why?”

  “You’re delusional?” Gemma suggested.

  “No, bitch. It’s because I’m queen. Me. Keeley! I’m queen. And that means you two slags have to do what I say. So when I give you twats an order, you have to listen to me. Understand?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Actually . . .”

  “Samuel!” Keeley barked.

  The boy had been off tending to the humans’ horses, but as soon as he heard Keeley, he ran to her and dropped to one knee before her.

  “Yes, my queen?” he asked, his head bowed.

  Laila quickly covered her mouth with her hand to stop from laughing, but Caid was too impressed to laugh.

  Keeley dramatically pointed at Samuel for the benefit of her sister and cousin before she asked him, “Did you take care of the gray mare?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. She lets me take off her saddle now and didn’t try to kick me this time when I brushed her coat. She didn’t want any of the grain we have for the other horses, though. She’d rather graze.”

  “Excellent. Thank you, Samuel. When we have a more secure situation, I will reward you with something like a title. Would you like to be an . . . earl . . . or whatever?”

  “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

  “Thank you, Samuel. You may go.”

  He got to his feet, bowed to her, and ran back to the horses, where he seemed most comfortable.

  “See?” Keeley asked Gemma and Keran. “The benefit of following my orders?”

  “We’ll get to kneel to you—”

  “—and brush your horse?”

  “Yes! And you’ll be happy to do it. Do you know why?”

  “Because you’re queen?” Gemma asked.

  “Yes! Now, if you’ll excuse me . . . I’ll take first watch.”

  Laila’s head dropped as Keeley proudly marched off.

  “She doesn’t realize she doesn’t have to take first watch?” Laila asked him. “You know . . . because she’s queen.”

  “We’ll have to ease her into this.”

  “You’re right. You’re right.” Laila pointed at Gemma and Keran. “And you two,” she called to them, “at least when we’re around outsiders, attempt to treat her like the queen she literally is. Think you can do that?”

  “We can do it,” Gemma admitted. “We just won’t like it.”

  * * *

  Keeley nocked an arrow and pulled back the bowstring. She wasn’t hunting anything, she just wanted to get used to using Laila’s bow. The centaurs made amazing bows and she wanted to make her own. Woodworking wasn’t one of her specialties but every Smythe knew how to make bows and arrows. It was a good part of her business. But there was always a way to do even better. . . .

  Keeley lowered the weapon, dropped the arrow to the ground, and pressed her free hand to her chest.

  It was like waves crashing over her. The despair. The pain. The memories.

  “It’s gone,” she heard herself whisper, not feeling as if she was actually talking but knowing that she was. “It’s all gone.”

  “Keeley?”

  Caid came toward her. He saw her bent over at the waist and quickly shifted to his human form. He went to her. She felt his hands on her shoulders.

  “Keeley, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s gone,” she repeated. “Everything’s gone.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The town. My business. It’s all—”

  He closed his eyes. “I assumed you just didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “When I woke up, all I thought about was Beatrix. I couldn’t think past her and worrying about my parents and the children . . . and Beatrix. And Gemma only told me what had happened after I’d been stabbed. But it is, isn’t it? The Witch Queen told me. The town. My business. All of it. It’s gone.”

  “I’m so sorry, Keeley.” Caid stroked her back with one hand.

  Keeley held up one finger and pulled away from him. She walked behind a tree and vomited. Everything she’d eaten in the last hour came out of her in one big rush. When she was done, she was sweating and shaking, but her head was a bit clearer.

  She came from around the tree and Caid waited for her with his water flask. Laila now stood beside him.

  “You all right, Keeley?”

  She didn’t want to answer Laila. She wasn’t in the mood to discuss this with her. Or Gemma. Or Keran.

  And those feelings must have been on her face because Caid grabbed Keeley’s hand. “Take first watch,” he ordered his sister, dragging Keeley behind him.

  He took her deeper into the trees until he found an ancient one with an extremely large trunk. He pulled Keeley around it and sat down, tugging her until she sat next to him. He gave her his flask and she poured some water into her mouth without drinking from it. She swished it around and then spit it out. Next she took a long drink.

  “Thank you,” she said when she was done. “How could I forget what the Witch Queen told me? How could I forget any of that?”

  “Your mind handled what it could at the time. Waking up remembering that your sister had attempted to kill you would have been more than most could handle. The rest came when you were ready.”

  “All those people. Everyone in town. Their homes, their businesses, all gone. And it’s all my fault—”

  “It’s not your fault!” Caid snapped, surprising her. He’d never snapped at her before. At least not that she could remember. “It’s Beatrix’s fault. She started this, Keeley. All of it. The only thing you can do now is attempt to fix it, but you can’t keep blaming yourself.”

  “But—”

  “I won’t let you blame yourself. Is that better?”

  Keeley raised her knees and rested her elbows on them. She lowered her head so she could rub her forehead with her fingers.

  “Maybe Gemma’s right,” Keeley wondered. “Maybe I do need to kill Beatrix.”

  “We both know you can’t do that.”

  “I can’t do that.” Keeley smiled, realizing they’d said those sentences at the same time.

  “And I understand it,” Caid continued. “She’s your sister. You love her, even if she doesn’t deserve it. But as queen . . . you won’t have to kill her. You can have her exiled to one of the strict religious orders. Let her become the nun you thought Gemma was.”

  Keeley let her head fall back, resting it against the tree’s giant trunk. She blew out a breath and said, “You’re right.”

  “I know.”

  She smiled again. “Are all centaurs as confident as you?”

  “Yes. We’re centaurs. We’re amazing.”

&nb
sp; They sat silent until Keeley asked, “Do you have to go back to camp yet?”

  “To what?” Caid asked. “To a whining Quinn? Your vicious demon wolves that are, last I looked, brutally ripping apart an ox for their dinner . . . and entertainment? Your bickering cousin and sister? Or perhaps I should get back to the needy Samuel?”

  “Don’t pick on Samuel. He performed just like I needed him to.”

  “Excellent point.”

  Keeley placed her head on his shoulder. She was starting to enjoy this particular move too much. It comforted her as little else did.

  Keeley let out a long breath. “I’m going to rebuild the town,” she promised.

  “I know.” And she heard no doubt in his words. No placating. “You could have Archibald design it.”

  “What?”

  “He can manage the building of it. He’s mad, but he is talented.”

  “That’s such a good idea. Giving him something to focus on actually helps with his crazy. It quiets his mind.”

  “See? All easily fixed.”

  Eventually, after a long, comfortable silence, she felt Caid’s shoulder move beneath her and she thought he was trying to get away or get comfortable . . . but then she felt his arm slip around her shoulders and he pulled her closer into his body.

  Shockingly happy about this new position, Keeley snuggled closer to him. She rested her head on his chainmail-covered chest and he rested his jaw on the top of her head. And they stayed like that until Keeley fell asleep.

  * * *

  Caid woke up to find the face of the War Monk close to his.

  “What are you doing?” Caid asked.

  “You need to get up. We need to get on the road.”

  “You couldn’t tell me that from over there?”

  “Could have. Didn’t.”

  “Anything else?”

  “You need to wake up my sister.”

  Now he was annoyed. “Wake her up yourself.”

  “Okay.” Gemma stretched her arm across Caid and tapped her sister. He hadn’t realized Keeley had been asleep on his chest.

  Her head snapped up. “What?” she demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Gemma replied. “We just need to get moving.” She stood, hands on her hips. “Time to face the day, my friends!”

  Caid glared up at her. “I hate you and your cheery personality.”