by Kai Kazi
“Danse, get Tovar out of there.” He coughed, world spinning with every dust laden breath, “Carlisle, Thall, with me.”
Of the twelve who had come, there were eight left in fighting shape. Jon swallowed the guilt with his anger, and tried not to think of the women and children who would soon know their loss,
“The rest of you clear the courtyard and gather the horses.”
They spread out and searched the rooms, but they needn’t have. Ravensbrow was cowering under his bed like a child. Jon wrinkled his nose as he dragged the squealing Duke from his hiding place; the man was a grotesque parody of royal splendor and wealth. The clash of colors and fabrics, however, was something that even a ‘farm boy’ like him knew was poor taste. Old money without the style. He tried to fix Jon with an icy stare, but his watery eyes flicked too quickly to the others. To their weapons.
“Don’t speak,” He snarled when Ravensbrow opened his mouth, frowning lips twisted in petulant displeasure. “You have been living off of the hard work of our people for years, and it is only fortunate that our majesty’s treasurer saw your treachery.” He shoved him a little more roughly than he should have, but the churning rage in his belly needed placation. The courtyard was a hellish scene, but Dutchess had returned safely, without so much as a scratch. Jon smiled and reached for her as he passed, “Good girl.” He murmured.
They were men down, with wounded horses to contend with, and the jail wagon they had brought was missing a wheel. A parting gift from the Suri, no doubt. Jon sighed.
“You have two choices, your lordship.” He said, “Ride of your own accord to the Tower, or be dragged there like a common criminal. You may have your dignity if you want it.”
“The Tower?” The Duke said dubiously,
“You would rather go to the Bastille?” He raised his brows,
“No, of course not. I…”
“You thought we were here to execute you.” Jon pinched his brow,
“It had crossed my mind.” The Duke said, looking around sheepishly,
“We are not mercenary filth,” Danse snapped, but Jon raised a hand and drew in a breath. He looked down at the Duke,
“Will you ride, or am I dragging you?” He asked wearily. The Duke sighed,
“I will ride.”
Jon climbed onto Duchess and rolled his shoulders.
“If we make good time you can attend the princess’s celebrations.” Danse said with an attempt at a smile. Jon nodded,
“After a bath, I think, my friend.” He said and spurred Duchess onwards.
CHAPTER III
She paced the spaces she had been given like a caged animal, and for the first time Drakho wondered if she was, indeed, as human as she looked. The men guarding her were afraid, though she was unarmed, and shied away from interacting with her. When he entered the room they all but fled, and now they were alone once more. Dressed she was no less fearful, but when scrubbed clean she was beautiful with a small, well-proportioned face that was almost angelic. The eyes, though, stopped any semblance of innocence before it could take hold.
“You wished to see me?” He said, but she didn’t stop pacing,
“We are running out of time.” She said suddenly and reared back like a horse spooked by a snake, “Do you not want Europia, is that not why you brought me here and had me cooped and dressed like a show dog?” Drakho swallowed and nodded slowly, “Then we must act!” She snarled, throwing her thin arms up,
“In what manner, my lady?” He said, unable to keep the mockery from his tone. She whirled, a tornado of hair and flesh,
“Blood.” She said, “You want your army, my lord?” Her voice dripped with venom. He nodded, “I need blood.” He rolled his eyes and nodded,
“Well, rabbits are hard to catch alive.” He snorted.
Shaitani narrowed her eyes, body solidifying as she glared. Eventually she threw back her head and laughed, shining teeth glinting in the light,
“No, boy, I don’t need rabbits. I need sacred blood. Consecrated, but innocent.” She said,
“Surely that’s the same thing?” He ran a finger around the rim of a clay pot as he passed; the urge to be closer to her was getting stronger by the day.
“No.” She turned to him, sliding up with a gravediggers grin, “No man or woman is innocent. No matter how they may strive to be righteous.”
“Children?” Drakho said, frowning as a sickly quiver wormed into his guts. Shaitani laughed and nodded,
“Thirteen.” She said, “Holy children, I need. What do you care to do about that, sire?” To find holy children was not hard… finding men willing to capture and bring them to the slaughter might be more so. Especially if they were Bledd’s own.
“I have an idea.” He murmured, “Leave it with me, my lady.” He kissed her knuckles, blanching when the cold skin hit his lips.
*****
The rugged, harsh landscape of Bledd gave way, now and then, to fertile, lush valleys and clear, fast running streams. Clear of woods and quarries they were often pockets of quiet and isolation, holding no interest for the Vlad and officials of the kingdom. So they were farms, or priories, or most often both. The sun set early in these valleys, dipping behind the mountains.
The flickering candles and oil lamps could be seen from the protection of the tree line, making the crumbling priory a starry target for the quiet, hard men who slunk from the shadows without ceremony. They pulled brightly colored clothing over their own plain leather and set off down the hill as one, loping unit. Even from a distance the sound of sweet, pure voices could be heard in harmony. They slid to a halt within the fringes of a swaying corn field and watched with hungry eyes as the bushes on the other side of the chapel rustled and the old doors screeched open. The shortest and broadest of the group raised a hand as the monk passed with his processions; they weren’t looking for lurking enemies… why would they? An arrow flew upon his signal, spearing the neck of the monk, sending him sideways into the ditch as the screaming boys were corralled by men who stepped smartly from the trees and fields around them.
“His majesty requests your company,” the short soldier said, but his hand never strayed from his sword hilt. They whimpered and shivered, but one looked at them with a sliver of bravery,
“You’re not from Aledale.” He said suddenly, pointing to the shield of a nearby man. The men froze,
“What makes you think that, boy?” The leader asked with narrowing eyes,
“You’re one of the Vlads advisors,” he said, “I saw you at the Keep when we sang for the feast. And we’re not even close to the border.” His voice began to break as the men closed in on him. The leader raised a hand and patted his cheek hard enough to make him flinch,
“You’re a smart boy.” He whispered hoarsely, “But that won’t matter for long. You’re all going to the same place. He drew in a breath, “Burn the chapel… and leave a shield.”
As they loaded the boys, bound and gagged, onto a cart, a girl from a nearby brothel happened to see flames licking the edge of the night. She stepped into the road, wrapping her shawl tight around her thin shoulders. The glow beyond the trees could only be the chapel. A thin cry preceded a cart around the corner; she stepped back into the door way and peered around the corner. A cart covered with the livery of the Aledale royal guard rounded the bend with squirming cargo. The girl stepped farther into the doorway, concealing herself behind the heavy red drapes. She watched it roll off into the night with wide eyes and a hammering heart.
***
Drakho sat on the vast, greying throne left to him by his father and brothers, and stared into his cup; the wine was blood red, spiced and churned with every twitch of his shaking hands. He looked at the swollen knuckles, and curled fingers, felt the ache of violence and war on the flesh there and closed his eyes before finishing the cup.
“Well?” He asked eventually. He could feel her now; she was always on his mind, but now was worming her way inside. He could feel her. Taste her. Smell the metalli
c tang of her aura.
“They were successful,” she said as she slid into view, “and discreet. You need only tell those you truly trust.”
“My Vlad!” A guardsman burst into the hall, “One of the priories of the most holy Prophet has been raided. They took the choirboys.” He gasped, “Burned it to the ground.”
When Drakho stood it was as the Vlad; an invisible cloak had fallen on him, making him more than he was.
“Call the council.” He said, “Immediately, and tell them to meet me in the war room.”
“They are already there,” the guard said, “the whole city is talking about it.” Drakho looked to Shaitani, but she was gone.
“I will be there presently.” He said and dismissed the man with a wave of his hand.
They were roaring amongst themselves already when he arrived, like old mountain lions set a flurry by rival predators. Silence fell when he slammed the door,
“Duke Rothsay.” He said, “This was your land, under your protection.” He said, glowering at the thin, spider-like Duke, “What happened?”
“Now listen to me Drakho,” he snapped, “I knew your father well, and he would never-”
“Silence.” He hissed, “You knew nothing of my father. He was weak, he was sentimental, and he let you and your council cronies run his affairs for too long. I am your Vlad, you answer to me.”
“True, my lord.” The Duke of the North Marches said, his cold face impassive, “But we are the Dukes of the realm, and you also answer to us. The Duke Rothsay was protecting his lands with the money and resources you allowed him. Mayhap they were insufficient?” Drakho seethed. Jumped up, arrogant courtiers too used to the kowtowing of his father. This land had functioned for a millennia without a council, and it would again.
“How did this happen?” He asked once more, “Who is responsible.”
“A whore nearby swears she saw Aledale men leaving.” Duke Bendoch said. Drakho smiled; the man had been called the Lion of Bendoch, once, but had run to fat in his dotage. He was, nonetheless, a warrior at heart. Nothing much else, in fact; too dense and violent to question, too slow and cruel to care. “This is an act of aggression. Clearly they wanted the marble quarries in the area. Grasping, thieving rats. We should meet them with the force we can muster and teach them humility.” His great jowls were trembling in outrage.
The Vlad smiled. “Thank you, Duke Bendoch,” he said pleasantly, his smile growing when the other members of his assembled nobility voiced their assent. “That is, in fact, exactly what I had in mind.”
“Then I am with you, my Vlad.” He said, “And so are my men.”
“And mine.” Rothsay piped in suddenly, surprising the Vlad. The others reluctantly began to cave, but when his eyes met the Marchers he knew there was one who would abstain,
“If you’ll forgive me, my lord.” He said with such courtesy that Drakho wanted desperately to throttle him, “I will retain my own men so that they may protect the kingdom whilst the others are avenging this atrocity.” His words were reasonable, too reasonable, and the others agreed heartily. But the eyes. They were cold and knowing even as they flicked over his head, “Your Sorceress wishes your attention, majesty.” He said finally and stood. The others followed reluctantly, edging around Shaitani as they left.
“Our men will be sent to the Keep barracks for your attention, my lord.” The old Lion said as he limped out.
Drakho waited for the door to close,
“They are here?” He croaked,
“And in perfect working order.” She said, licking blood from her fingers. She laughed at his worried look, “Just a taste, boy, a lick.” She said, “He’s still in one piece.” Drakho nodded, “When your men arrive,” she said, “Pick the very best. Twenty-six of them,” she ran a hand up his chest, “and I will give you warriors worth a hundred each of your others.”
CHAPTER IV
Jon groaned as he slipped into the hot, lavender scented waters of his bath while Fiona gracefully knelt to massage the aching muscles of his shoulders; the woman was a goddess and a saint. Beyond anything he could ever have claimed to deserve.
“You are my angel.” He said over his shoulder as she poured hot water down his back,
“I know.” She laughed and scrubbed the skin on the back of his neck. She kissed the tinging, clean skin left in the wake of her cloth and pressed her head to the back of his, “Do you remember when we first met?” She said, “I was bathing the princess.” She said with a laugh, “when she was only a babe.”
“I remember.” He said, “How could I forget. It was the first time I met both of you, before I met the Queen, and I thought you were her.” She laughed and slapped his shoulder, “I had been campaigning in the North of Bledd against that damn monster Durdan when Ridgehand called me back to be a Godfather and Guardian, and I thought… fuck me, that ugly bastards done well for himself.” Fiona laughed and pushed him,
“Such profanity, Master Greendale.” She laughed and flicked his ear. “I thought you were very handsome.”
“Yes?” He asked,
“Oh yes. A fool, but a handsome fool nonetheless.” She teased.
Jon snorted and nodded; he had been so tongue-tied by her that he’d made an idiot of himself, bumbling and tripping over his words.
“I nearly dropped the baby.” He laughed, “She was so small.” Fiona nodded and began to wash his arms, “And now she’s not.” He said as Fiona laced her fingers through his,
“She’s a young lady now.” She said with a sigh, “I can’t believe it either.” He could almost see her running about the rooms of this house, barefoot and laughing as a child. This house that her father had given him and Fiona as a wedding present had been as much a gift to her. She stayed with them when her parents were travelling. When she was sick. When she pleased, really. He stared at the Golden armor in the corner, careworn and tarnished as he was becoming.
“Eighteen years.” He said wearily, “Where did it go, my love? Where did it all go?”
“With the wind.” She murmured and kissed his neck, “But there is more to come, love, don’t be sad.” He nodded and clasped her hand to his chest.
“Will you wear the armor to the party?” She said suddenly cheerful, eyes-welling. He nodded,
“It’s only fitting.” He said, “It’s my last night on the job, after all. Soon she’ll have a husband to care for her and she won’t need me.”
“Nonsense.” Fiona said, “She’s as close to a daughter as we have, my love, and you’re as much as a second father to her. She will always need you.”
“And you.” He said, “You’ve all but been a mother to her after…” he trailed off when Fiona looked down. She had been at the birth. She had seen the suffering and the blood that bought the king his lovely daughter, and them their most precious child. She had lost her closest friend. She nodded,
“Her mother would be proud.” She said and stood suddenly.
Jon grabbed her hand suddenly,
“Come now,” he said, “I’m sorry. Let’s not think on it. It’s a happy day for everyone.” Fiona sighed and slipped back to his side, placing her head on his shoulder,
“I know, darling,” she murmured. “Now, whatever will you do with all that free time you are sure to have?” He glanced at her, hearing the twinkle of mischief in her voice. With a serious face, he said,
“We’ll be kept busy by our own child.” He said, smiling when she gave him a confused look that slowly melted to a look of surprised joy. He grinned, “Earmys had some interesting potions and tinctures for us last I checked.” They hadn’t been blessed in the past, but he’d never had the time to put in the effort, so to speak, either.
“Are you sure, love?” She said hopefully; she had wanted her own for years, but had never pushed. She would make a radiant mother.
Jon nodded and pulled her into the tub in one swift, fluid motion. She squealed and slapped his shoulders, but she was smiling and her arms encircled his neck immediately. He
kissed her passionately, his thumb drawing slow circles around her tightening nipple through the thin cotton summer dress she was wearing. She arced towards him, already aroused as he pushed his hands between her legs.
“We haven’t the time, love,” she said, “and we haven’t a child.” Her legs were opening, however, and she was wet under his touch.
“Oh, don’t we?” He said, and she shook her head, giggling and panting. Jon raised his eye brows, “Well, that a real problem to be sure.” He made a show of thinking about it as he pulled her dress up, “Then we’ll simply have to make one tonight,” he growled, cupping her buttock with one hand as he positioned her over him. He entered her swiftly, her head pitching back as he set up a slow rhythm that grew more urgent as the two made love.
CHAPTER V
The party was mere hours away, but though her namesake kingdom was abuzz, Avondale found herself quiet as she and Aiden walked slowly through the rose gardens. She could only think of the time ahead; this was her night, certainly, but it was also the beginning of the rest of her life. A life full of possibilities, a life where she was no longer under the control of a kind, doting, but protective father, or a stern, unbelievably gentle guardian who’s only thought was to her safety. Neither of whom considered the humming desire for life beneath her skin. This was the beginning, but as she walked with Aiden she found herself wondering if he would simply take their place. His arm around her shoulders was warm, reassuring, but it guided her with gentle, steel-firm contractions of the muscles beneath his tan skin.
