by Greg Curtis
“Husband.” Iros looked up to see Sophelia standing there at the doors to the courtyard, looking somewhat bemused. “Why are you dancing in the courtyard?”
Dancing! As if! The word irked him. And yet he knew that she had the right of it. Combat was a dance. A dance of blood and steel. And those who could master the steps with grace and speed, would be the ones to walk away from the battlefield.
“Because I am a soldier.” And that was the fact of it. He might have been an envoy for a time. He might once have been a spoilt little child. He might even be a lord. But first he had to be a soldier. A man willing to place his well being on the chopping block to protect the people.
“You have plenty of soldiers of your own, and they seem well enough versed in the deadly arts. One more will not help them, and you are still very weak.” Was it that she hated the thought of who he might have to fight? Or that she was actually concerned for him? He still wasn’t completely clear on that, though he was happy that she shared his bed each night. Nothing might have happened between them, yet, despite what the servants whispered. But just to have her there, to have someone to talk to, to hold in the dark of night, and to keep the bed warm, that was a joy. A joy that he had thought he would never know again.
“I am a lord. Lord of Drake, Lord of Greenlands, and one day I may be forced to lead my men into battle. I may have to ask them to kill and die at my word. The least they can expect of me is that I will stand beside them on those dark days. That when I give the commands of death, I know what I am doing. That it is for the best.”
“For glory?”
“There is no glory in war. No glory in killing or dying. On the field of battle there is only survival. Bards sing of glory. Soldiers celebrate surviving.” It was one of those things that people who weren’t soldiers never understood, which was why there was always a bond between soldiers not found among others. His words didn’t meet with his wife’s approval however.
“Too many of my people have not survived.” Of course she was upset. She had seen the remains of the huge bonfires where the bodies of her people had been burnt. She had seen the piles of blackened armour lying in the streets, stripped from the bodies of the fallen and simply tossed away. It would not burn and was of little use to anyone other than an elf. But he had sent people to collect it and carry it to the smiths. Maybe they could use the steel.
“I know.” He went to her, and though it seemed somehow inappropriate even then, held her in his arms.
“Too many of all our people have died, and the one responsible for all their deaths still sits snug on the Heartwood Throne.” Sophelia didn’t like hearing that it was her own high lord that had started the war, her own cousin, but for once she didn’t pull away at the words. And it was nice to feel her in his arms. She was warm and soft where his world had become so cold and hard of late. He still didn’t truly understand her, but he understood that.
“How can you be so simple and yet so wise?” She murmured the question into his chest but still he heard it.
“Stern teachers and a crippling lack of ale.” For some reason his answer made her laugh a little and he was glad of it. Sophelia was surely more alone here than even he had been in the high lord’s dungeon. There at least he had heard the cries of the other prisoners and known that they too shared his suffering.
They stood there for what seemed like ages, simply enjoying the moment.
“What’s on your mind?” He hated breaking the silence, but he felt he had to. Sophelia wouldn’t have come to him without reason. And he still didn’t understand the reason that she came to him each night, that she shared his bed. It made things difficult. Awkward. The more so because he knew that she wanted more. And because he wanted more.
At first it had been his injuries and the endless bandages that had kept them apart. But his injuries were healing at pace and the bandages he wore fewer and fewer. The tea it seemed was a blessing from the Divines themselves. But for a while it had been mainly his doubt that had held him back.
Lying with her as a husband and wife changed things for them both. It crossed a line between the formal but distant marriage they had and something far more intimate. Something that came with complications like children.
He wasn’t ready for children. Nor even for a family. And Greenlands wasn’t ready either. Children would forever change the line of succession and one day the people would have to bend their knees to a half elven lord.
Of course his cousin would be overjoyed by the news. Still on the trail, his last pigeon had spoken of his spending some time in Tendarin before completing his journey. The moment he heard that Iros had started recovering, Heriot would be gone. Iros was certain of that. He had wealth and a life of ease in a comfortable city. He could spend his days reading or painting, passing time with other nobles, and being served. All without ever having to lift a finger. The last thing Heriot wanted was to return to a simple farming realm and have to do some work.
“That you have not yet made me your wife as you should.” Iros winced as the accusation hit home, and he didn’t know quite what to say. Sophelia had been sharing his bed now for more than three weeks, and his health was improving daily. It was hard to keep her at arms length when he was a man and she his wife. It was already bad enough that some among the servants had started a rumour after that first night she had shared his bed that she was with child. A rumour that had spread further through the town with each passing day.
“I do not wish to dishonour you.”
“I am your wife!” She stood up to her full height, which was barely above that of his shoulder, and stamped her foot. By the divines he had to admit that she looked good when she did it. And things swayed that were supposed to sway on a woman. Every day that passed seemed to add to her appeal. “You dishonour me by leaving me untouched.”
“But -.” There was no but as she spoke over the top of him.
“It is true that this is a marriage that neither of us would have chosen. But it does not matter. It is our marriage, witnessed by the Mother. You are my husband. I am your wife. Some things are expected of a husband and wife.”
She reached up to kiss him, and when his arms instinctively wrapped themselves around her waist, she put her hands on his, pushed them down and the swords with them. They fell to the ground with a clatter, all so that she could wrap herself around him. And by the Divines she felt good when she did.
“Those are not the swords that a husband should hold against his wife.” She whispered the cheeky words into his ear and sent shivers down his spine. He would have denied it but the sword she was speaking of was already standing ready and she surely knew it.
“I’m still weak.”
“If you’re strong enough to dance in the courtyard with your swords, you’re strong enough to dance in the bedchamber with your wife.” She was determined he realised as she suddenly grabbed his hands in hers and then started pulling him back inside the castle, and he had no idea how to say no to her.
“I could get you with child.”
“Is that not the Mother’s purpose in creating men and women?”
Soon she was all but dragging him through the kitchen and the hallways as if her life depended on it and giving the servants short words if they foolishly asked a question about what she was doing with their lord. Very soon she had him at the door to their bedchamber and was pushing him inside.
“The people will talk.” It was a desperate tactic and they both knew it.
“They already do.” She slammed the door shut behind them. Sophelia was right of course. They had been gossiping since the first night she had shared his bedchamber and half the town already had her with child. “Besides, it would be nice if they actually gossiped the truth for once.”
“Are you -.”
“You are the only man I will ever know. I am the only woman you will know as well. Surely we should at least know one another or ours will be a very long, very boring marriage.” And her hands were at the strings to hi
s cuirass, untying them, hastily. He gave up resisting her then, and settled for kissing her instead. There seemed little else to do and she hungrily returned his passion. But she didn’t stop undressing him, and his armour soon clattered on the stone floor. His vest followed quickly before she rushed over to the bed demanding that he hurry.
He looked up as his leggings finally hit the floor to see Sophelia already completely naked and on her hands and knees on the bed, waiting for him.
“Why are you like that?” By the Divines it wasn’t what he wanted to say, she looked so very good, and far more rounded than he had expected.
“Is this not right?” She stared at him, her big blue eyes open so very wide as if worried that she’d done something wrong, and he knew he didn’t want her to ever think that.
“Not for our first time.” He went to her, sat down on the bed beside her, and wrapped an arm around her waist, amazed at how soft and warm her skin was. It had been a very long time.
“Come.” He pulled her to him, and gently kissed her on the lips. Soon she was lying on the bed beside him, her body melting into his, and he was letting his free hand explore her, surprised at how good she felt. He let his lips gently follow the curve of her neck. And when his hand found her perfectly round buttocks she gasped and slid her leg over his.
“You are so very beautiful.” Iros murmured it into her ear and was rewarded with a smile.
“Are you sure?” She had asked it so many times already, for some reason doubting her beauty, and yet she still had to ask again.
“Very.”
“Then you are a very lucky man.”
Chapter Fifty Six.
Banging at the door was never a good sign. Iros had learned that the hard way. But at least this was a polite knocking at the door to his bedchamber waking him up and not someone trying to break down the front door with a mace.
“Yes.” He called out, a little grumpy at being woken so early. Except that, as he slowly realised, it wasn’t so early. He could see the sun rising in the sky through the open window. It was mid morning at least.
“It’s Myrta my lord. The cooks want to know if you will be down for breakfast.” He recognised the voice of the young girl who cleaned his bedchamber, and the hesitancy in it. And when Sophelia was lying completely naked beside him, half curled up around him, and he remembered the previous night, he understood it. They hadn’t come down for dinner after all, and Myrta had knocked then as well. And when they hadn’t come down she’d knocked again, left a tray by the door and run away. It was unfair but she had probably been given the duty because she was the youngest and no one else wanted to do it.
“In a little bit.”
“Or not.” Sophelia was awake too he discovered, and smiling for some reason as she whispered cheekily in to his ear. Then she nibbled it. He could guess the reason. The previous night might have been her first time, but it seemed that she was already determined it wouldn’t be her last.
“I will tell them my lord.” He heard her walk away from the door and breathed a small sigh of relief. One awkward moment ended, though he should probably apologise to Myrta for embarrassing her.
“And you, you’re … happy?” Truthfully he didn’t quite know how to ask her, but she seemed happy. More than happy from the crooked grin spreading across her face. And the way her hands were already straying.
“Very my lord.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him like a cheap barmaid. “But I don’t think you’re going to make breakfast.”
“I’m spent.” And he was, but he already knew she wasn’t about to accept his excuse. She hadn’t accepted any of them all night long. It seemed that behind her demure façade there dwelt the beating heart of a wild animal.
“You feel refreshed.” And when her hands were already holding the proof it wasn’t as if he could deny it.
“Hell’s teeth woman.” He groaned at her a little, but in sooth resigned to his fate. “I suppose I always did prefer lunch!”
Chapter Fifty Seven.
The Royal Chamber was almost empty when Herodan arrived, something that caught him by surprise. It seemed odd since the high lord had sent for him. But then just being sent for had been unexpected. Ever since returning from Tendarin and giving his report of his assignment, he had been unpopular with Finell. Apparently even now the high lord was unwilling to accept that his armies had invaded the human realm long before he had declared war.
But if that was painful for Finell to hear, than the thought that within a few more months he would have to travel to Tendarin and prostrate himself before King Herrick in apology must have been torture. And it was much less than four months now.
Both times when Herodan had been summoned to attend him, he had been asked to find some diplomatic excuse, some reason that Herrick would accept to excuse him. There was none of course. The king was somewhere beyond angry at what had happened, and he would send his armies to collect him if he didn’t come willingly. Both times when he’d said as much to Finell, Herodan had been screamed out of the Royal Chamber.
He hadn’t been called back since.
Herodan suspected this was going to be another such occasion. After all weeks had passed and the time of Finell’s humiliation drew ever closer. He was desperate. But at least this time there would be no one to watch his being screamed out of the Royal Chamber again as he was sure would happen. King Herrick would not change his mind no matter how much Finell might hope he would, and Herodan wasn’t about to pretend otherwise.
Still, no matter how bad it would be, there were matters he had to raise with the high lord. Important matters that had yet to be addressed. First among them his replacement in Tendarin. When the message had finally come ordering him back to Leafshade, several days after the message sent to King Herrick, he had left his assistant in charge until his replacement arrived. But thus far there had been no replacement, and Luree was ill-prepared to run the mission. She was only an assistant after all, and Tendarin her first post.
Then there were house matters to speak of. The place of House Vora in the realm as Finell inexplicably kept stripping them of their titles and positions. Herodan had returned to Leafshade to find that his father was no longer on the Council of Elders. His uncle Chria in Whitefern had lost his position as the city’s protector at a time when they were just beginning to rebuild it. All of their warehouses across Elaris had been seized by the throne as the realm was slowly rebuilt. Restrictions had been placed on the routes their traders could ply. And the most lucrative routes had been given away to the other houses.
Naturally, just in case they might complain, all of them had been banned from attending the court. It was one way he suspected, that Finell could explain their absence from the court without shaming himself. And to make sure of Finell’s safety, Tenir was also under house arrest. It seemed that Finell had no intention of letting his uncle and the First of the house anywhere near him again.
In fact this meeting was probably the first time in months that any member of House Vora had been in the Royal Chamber.
Under normal circumstances the other houses would have been crowing as House Vora was slowly losing its status. But these weren’t normal circumstances. They too were being slowly stripped of their positions and titles, and those taking their place were often not of the important houses. In fact many of them were soldiers, watchmen under the direct command of Y’aris. That troubled him. Not only was Y’aris now the high lord’s only advisor, he controlled half the realm. Soon he worried, he might control all of it with Finell only a figurehead.
Worse though were the arrests, and if there was one thing that House Vora had been spared it was having their kin spirited away in the middle of the night by Y’aris’ watchmen. A few trade routes, property, titles and positions, even some gold and moon silver, were nothing against that. Especially when the accursed prison had to be overflowing with high born, and the dark rumours of what happened to them in there flowed through the city like ale.
It was ma
dness. Finell had been breathing deeply of the mist of the moon maiden. But how was he to say that to his own crazed cousin? That he had started early down the same road that his grandfather had travelled? Or that he listened too closely to that black blooded advisor of his? There was no way that he could. His family, the entire house in fact had come to that conclusion weeks before. And in fact they had decided that there was some advantage to stepping away from Finell. To letting him destroy centuries of achievement but not the entire house.
Finell would not go before Herrick, that much was obvious. And so the humans would send their armies for him. That too was plain. He was destined to fall, to sink all the way down to the demon ridden hells of the humans, and maybe it was best that he didn’t take them all with him. Best to be quiet and stand as far away from him as they could.
“High Lord.”
Herodan walked straight to the throne and bowed low before his cousin, uncomfortably aware that there were watchmen all around. So many of them. Far more than just a couple of ceremonial guards. His father had said it was so, but still he hadn’t quite expected it.
