by Ann Lawrence
He stood up and stretched. He needed a long run and a workout. What might a castle hold that he could use as free weights?
Pointy-nose (who had a name Lien couldn’t begin to pronounce) tugged on his sleeve. “Lien, where are you going?”
The guests of honor were on the move. “Later,” he said and pulled his arm away.
Cidre smiled at him when he sidled near the privileged few. “Lien, are you leaving my feast? We have had but one course.”
Whoops. “Uh, no, I just wanted to thank you for including me.”
One by one, the men and women took their leave, then returned in a few minutes. He hung around the table, making small talk. Ardra dutifully took Deleh with her when she excused herself. Lien was glad Ollach trailed her, for Samoht watched her every move.
Lien thought about inventing the flush toilet. A shower would be nice, too.
One of Cidre’s guards, a man who had a damned fine set of overdeveloped biceps and a leather jerkin cut to show them off, brought Cidre a bowl of water in which she washed her fingers. She offered it to Lien, then directed everyone to shift down so that he might sit at her side.
It was an honor Lien knew he must accept, no matter how much his neck prickled.
Samoht never made eye contact, but Lien felt the animosity hopping right over Cidre in his direction.
The next course arrived by draped cart. A huge pig sat on it, apples and other fruit spilling out of its mouth.
“Ralen,” Lien said while he watched how each guest carved his own portion of pork as the cart passed. “I want to make a request.”
“You are not eating?” Ralen asked.
“I’m skipping the meat.”
“What is it you want? Apple? Pear?” Ralen stabbed one of the pears as the cart moved away and held it out to him.
Lien took the pear, though it didn’t look much like the ones from home. “My request concerns Ardra.”
“Aye?”
“I’ve noticed that your men, or maybe they’re Tol’s men, are growing disrespectful to Ardra. I don’t like it, and I’m hoping you’re going to stop it.”
Ralen speared a slice of pork and ate it right off his blade. He chewed a moment, then propped his elbows on the table.
“Let me understand you, Lien. You believe my men are not giving Ardra the proper respect, am I correct?”
“That’s it. From what I’ve heard, she did a lot of good for the Selaw people. For that she is owed respect. She was also your brother’s lifemate, and for that, you owe her.”
Ralen nodded. “I agree. Look about. Can you point out any specific men I might speak with first?”
Lien scanned the lower table. “Yeah. The tall one at the very end. The man next to him, too.”
“Done.” Ralen lifted his goblet and signaled for more wine. “I will not do it because you ask it. I will do it because I should have from the start. If Ardra finds the vial, she will return to her fortress, and Tol’s men will probably accompany her. I allowed my belief in the futility of her task to sway me and set the men to other tasks. It was wrong.”
“You think she’ll find the vial?”
Ralen shook his head. “I still believe the task impossible, but her determination is admirable. She has courage. Rare in a woman. Her son will be strong.”
“What’s her son’s name?”
“Vad. He was named after a great man.”
Vad. “Who was that?” But Lien knew who Vad was. Gwen’s Vad was one man he could never live up to.
“Vad was a much-lauded Tolemac warrior who disappeared. ‘Tis said he perished on the ice fields.”
Lien watched Ardra. Her every move was elegant. Had she and Vad hooked up? Was Ardra’s child Vad’s son?
“How old is the boy?” he asked.
Ralen contemplated Ardra. The warrior was not as handsome as the notorious Vad, but Lien didn’t know any women who’d kick him out of bed. He had tied his thick, blond hair at his nape much like Vad wore his.
“I am not sure,” Ralen said. “Ask Ardra when her mating ceremony took place. The boy was conceived at that time.”
So the child wasn’t Vad’s. Somehow Lien’s relief was as troublesome as his jealousy.
Ralen interrupted Lien’s musings. “She is beautiful, is she not?”
“Ardra?”
Ralen threw back his head and laughed. “Of course, Ardra.”
“Are you interested in Ardra?”
Ralen tapped the tip of his dagger on the table. “I have greater ambitions, my friend.”
“Than Ardra? The Fortress of Ravens?”
“My ambitions will not take me to the ice fields.”
Cidre touched Lien’s hand. “You are neglecting me. Please, tell me a bit about the land beyond the ice fields. I will wager they have naught so grand as this.” She swept out her hands to encompass the feast.
Her fingertips were like nettles dragged across his skin. “You’re right there,” he said, glancing at the hearth behind her.
“What about your family? Have you any brothers as strong as you?” She ran her fingers up his biceps, and he stifled a groan.
She picked up her wine cup, and he took a shuddering breath of relief. Her eyes, almost sapphire blue in the torchlight, looked like cold, hard marbles.
“None. I have no family.”
“I am so sorry.” She licked her lips. When Ardra did it, his insides went haywire. Cidre caused not even a blip on the old radar screen.
Her hair, a strange mix of silvery white and gold, reached almost to her feet and right now was lying in a pool behind the bench like a bridal veil. If her figure was as good as it looked in the drapy green robe she was wearing, he would have latched onto her in an instant back home. But here, each sweep of her fingers over his arm sent waves of irritation in its wake. Why?
“I appreciate your concern,” he managed to say despite his discomfort.
Samoht said something at Cidre’s ear, and she laughed and looked away. The loss of her attention was like cool water on Lien’s skin. He took the opportunity to turn back to Ralen and slide a few inches down the bench away from the goddess.
“Look, Ralen, what’s with you and Einalem?”
Ralen smiled. “Does there have to be something between us?”
Lien wondered how personal he could get. A few grueling miles on horseback didn’t exactly make them friends. “No, I suppose not.”
“Lien, you are far more interested in whether there is something between Ardra and me.” He tore off a hunk of savory bread from a loaf and offered it, which Lien noticed he did each time he started in on something new to eat. Lien took the bread. It was coarse but excellent, warm and fragrant with herbs. No sleeping ones, he hoped.
“Okay. Let’s suppose I want to know what’s between you and Ardra. Would you tell me?”
Ralen nodded. “I have nothing to hide. When Tol became ill, he often wrote to me on Ardra’s behalf. It was his wish that I lifemate with her to protect her from Samoht.”
“Will you?” Lien looked Ralen over. Both he and Samoht were Nordic mini-gods in their little world, but when you got to know the two, you understood that Sam was slime. Ralen was icy, but he had honor.
“It will not be permitted,” Ralen said.
“That’s it? Someone won’t permit it, so you won’t?”
Ralen smiled. “Oh, if I wanted her, I would fight the council, but in truth, she is not the woman for me. She is Selaw.”
Prejudice ran deep here.
Ralen’s smile became a frown. “Tol believed that if he set an example by mating with a Selaw woman, more would do so. The more ties between our people, the fewer hostilities. My brother was a dreamer. And two-faced.”
“Really?”
“Aye. In truth, Ardra was never a lifemate in anything but the law’s eyes. He mated with her for policy and peace. Their son will suffer for it if a strong warrior does not stand at Ardra’s side.”
“You could be that strong warrior.” Saying th
e words was like speaking past a huge stone in his throat.
“Not I. I have other plans,” Ralen continued.
“Which don’t include a Selaw mate.” Lien found the bread dry in his mouth. Just what would become of Ardra after the eight days were up?
“Tol thought Ardra needed a man her age, but it will not be me.”
“Or Samoht. He is already mated, isn’t he?”
“Aye. To a Selaw chief’s daughter.” Ralen eyed the young woman who brought a dish of greens swimming in some fatty broth.
“So Selaw has chiefs too?”
The girl leaned her breast on Ralen’s arm as she spooned some of the greens into a bowl for him.
“Aye. Too many. Unlike Tolemac, which has been organized for many conjunctions into the council of eight, each chief in Selaw is a petty tyrant who will not agree to anything with anyone. Ardra’s father was one such. He ruled the Fortress of Ravens and caused all manner of ills for his people.”
Lien sipped at the broth and greens. It reminded him of a thin spinach soup. It was smoky and delicious.
A hulking guard stood up and sang while folks took another break. Lien figured the meal was going to last all night.
The singer was concert quality, although the song had a strange cadence. It reminded him of something by the later Russian composers. He missed music. He had really enjoyed driving Gwen up a wall with classical music. She was a C&W kind of gal.
The song came to an end. The warriors banged their dagger hilts on the long tables in approval. The next song was a bit ribald and involved full breasts and soft thighs. Ardra, who was in deep conversation with Nilrem, didn’t seem to notice.
A string of young women, all pretty enough to vie for Miss Ocean City, brought out trays of pastries. Ralen cut one open with his dagger and revealed apples and berries baked in what looked like a yellow pudding.
Lien decided it looked safe. While everyone forked up the dessert, wine was poured. Then Samoht clanged his dagger blade on his metal goblet, and everyone fell silent.
He lifted his cup. “I propose a tribute.” The guests leaped to their feet, cups high. “To my lifernate,” Samoht said. “It is my pleasure to announce she has proven herself by birthing a healthy daughter.”
Claps, cheers, and whistles filled the hall. Lien thought Samoht might also be a bit drunk. His eyes looked mean and bleary as he proposed another toast to prosperity and peace on the border.
Of course, it was his army on the border threatening the peace, but no one remarked on that.
Ralen knocked the dull side of his blade on his goblet and leaned near Lien. “It has taken him five days to finally make the announcement. I suspect the news was behind his ill humor these last few days.”
“Really?”
“The child is a female. And he failed to impregnate his mate at the mating ceremony. Always a matter of importance to a man.”
“So only a son will do?”
“Aye. Tol loved to boast that he got Ardra with child at the ceremony and she birthed a son.”
The young woman with the large breasts and soup came by again, and this time Ralen hooked her into his lap. That ended all hope Lien had of knowing what went on at a mating ceremony.
He steeled himself to speak to Cidre, who was staring at Samoht with wide eyes as if the jerk were saying something important. Old Sam was rambling on about peace and ice.
“Cidre? Everything was great.” Lien indicated the remnants of the meal.
“There is more.” She patted his hand, and his wrist flashed hot.
“Really?” He lifted his goblet of water so she would remove her hand.
“Here it comes.”
The cart was back. This time it held wheels of cheese. Some of it was bright blue.
“I overheard you and Ralen discussing Ardra’s mating ceremony.” Cidre offered Lien a slice of the blue cheese. He took a bite and it reminded him of plain old cheddar.
“We don’t have mating ceremonies where I’m from, so I was curious about how it works.”
She laughed. “It is not work, Lien. In fact, some find it quite…stimulating. I will be happy to tell you about it, if you wish.”
“Please.” She did the lip-licking thing again. It was way behind Ardra’s hair thing.
“‘Tis simple. A great person’s mating is of concern to many. The child, if a male, will gain much and will be raised to rule. Such a consummation cannot be left to chance.”
“Oh no?” He glanced at Ardra. She was sitting between Ollach and Einalem now and looked none too happy about it.
“The consummation will not take place until the perfect moment, the moment most likely to conceive a son.”
“How’s that determined?”
She pointed to the windows overhead. One of the moons was just visible, on the rise. “It is a matter of the stars and moons and the turning wheel of nature.”
Read, old wives’ tales, Lien thought.
“It is considered great good luck for both father and son if the babe is conceived at the first consummation. The stars are consulted, the old women. It is a very precise matter.”
“I see. So you get told, tonight’s the night.”
Cidre giggled like a small child. “Precisely. Of course, we here in the Tangled Wood care little for sons. It is a daughter to whom we pass our wisdom.”
“So you don’t go through this process?”
“Oh, aye. We do, but we have our own ritual here in the Wood. Any consummation of importance is not a private thing. In Tolemac and Selaw, all who are concerned in the choosing of the moment attend, and representatives from each chiefdom if they hold an interest in the alliance. The chamber may be as crowded as this hall is at this moment.”
Lien shook his head. “No.”
“I would imagine Samoht’s was just as well attended as this, Ardra’s half as much. Her lifemate was not of Samoht’s stature. Samoht would have representatives from all eight chiefdoms. Sometimes lots are drawn because the desire to attend is so great.”
There was no way Lien could imagine maintaining an erection in front of a crowd like this. “You’re telling tales.”
“Not I.” Cidre stroked the shape of her goblet’s stem, up and down. It was a languid, sensuous gesture. It left him cold. “The deed is done, and the woman is separated from her mate, and all other males, until it is determined whether she has conceived. If she has, she is considered a well-chosen mate, and the child lucky, the father lauded for his virility.”
“And if the woman doesn’t? Do they go through this public bedding again?”
Cidre smiled. “Nay. The couple is left in peace to take their own time with the matter. We are not quite so cruel. But the fates have not smiled on the match if such be the case.”
The young girl on Ralen’s lap poured wine for him. Cidre watched them. “She is one of the mating dancers.”
“What?” Lien could not help looking at the carved figures behind him.
“Mating dancers. During the ceremony, should the male find the matter,” she licked her lips, “shall we say intimidating, he is encouraged by the dancers.”
Encouraged.
Cidre leaned forward. Her robe slid open a bit, and he could see clear down to her waist.
“Where’s your consort?” he asked.
She shifted, and the robe slid a bit more to reveal a swollen, dusky nipple. “Venrali is unwell. I had hoped he would join us, but he did not feel up to the noise.”
“Isn’t a consort a mate?” Lien tried not to stare.
She moved, and the robe slid back into place.
“Nay,” she said. “A consort is not a mate, although he goes through a mating ceremony of sorts. He is a specially chosen man who services the goddess in order that a daughter will be born and the wisdom of ages passed on. To be my consort is a great honor.”
“I’m sure it is.” And the poor old soul was about to get the boot for another man. An unwilling one, if that was why Cidre had stolen the Vial of S
eduction.
Samoht shouted for quiet and left his seat. He held his cup high and wandered down the table. As he passed his men, the Red Rose Warriors stood up in a little mini-wave motion, and Lien realized they were sprinkled throughout the hall.
“I wish to propose a few tests of skill, Cidre,” Samoht said as he reached the very foot of the long table and faced the goddess.
The men straightened up, and murmurs rippled down the tables.
“Men and their games,” she said sotto voce.
“I challenge anyone who will take me up on the offer of a test of blades.”
One of Samoht’s warriors climbed away from the table and went to the open area between the long table and the double doors.
“I will accept the challenge,” the man said. He pulled off his tunic and stood there, sweating, bare-chested, his hand on his hilt. He had three silver-hued rings on his right arm.
Ralen leaned near Lien and informed him, “If the man bests Samoht, he will become a lieutenant without having to earn the right in battle.”
“I see.” Samoht also pulled off his tunic. Though Samoht had a lean appearance dressed, he was well muscled. He had to be strong to wield the heavy sword he wore. Anger sizzled through Lien again when he thought of Samoht holding Ardra down.
The two men met in a clash of swords. It looked deadly.
The hall hushed, everyone rising, gathering about the two.
The crowd formed an oval a tad too close to the action for Lien’s taste. He shoved spectators with his stick until he stood next to Ardra.
She glanced over her shoulder. Worry etched her brow. “He has taken too much wine,” she whispered to him. “He only challenges when he is sotted.”
“Then he won’t do that well, will he?”
“He triumphs no matter what condition he is in.”
The two men sparred back and forth for a bit, then Samoht slowly drove the challenger back until he fought right up against the crowd, which never budged.
Bets flew as coins were strewn on the floor—a problem for an unwary boot, but the two fighters seemed not to notice the bounty at their feet.
True to Ardra’s word, Samoht lunged forward in a fluid motion and toppled the challenger into the spectators. He held the tip of his sword to the vanquished man’s throat, then drew back, snatched up his goblet, brought to him by one of his warriors in anticipation of his success, and drank.
