by R. J. Price
“No,” Av shook his head. “He would report either to the steward or head of house, depending on who was running court that day. If Em runs court, he goes to the steward, who takes necessary problems to Em. If the steward runs court, he goes to the head of house, Telm, and she takes anything necessary to Em.”
“Then what are you master of?”
“Others,” Av said, stumbling over the question. No one had ever asked before because no one needed to, they simply knew. “Others like myself.”
Av was eyed critically. The healer made a sound at the back of her throat and took her seat. She pulled out several papers, beginning the process of writing up the incident.
“Am I right in assuming the two of you did not witness the incident?” the healer asked.
“Correct.” Jer sighed, walking back to the desk. “This may be a delicate question for you.”
“I am single, but do not enjoy the company of mated men,” the healer said, her pen pausing as she looked at Jer.
“No, no.” Jer shook his head. “I mean you're attractive, but that was not my question. Healers for the palace tend to have certain skills. Skills which would not require Lady Aren to be in bed for a few days.”
“Healers are not permitted to use such skills on those who do not report the injury immediately. Unless it is absolutely necessary in order to prevent death,” the healer said. “As per the master's laws.”
Jer looked to Av, who could only shake his head. He could not make an exception to his laws. It set the wrong example for others. Turning his attention to the healer, Av decided to distract Jer from his sudden interest in Aren's well-being.
“But you do have said skills, correct?” Av asked.
“Yes, but I am in training,” the healer said pointedly. “My speciality is midwifery. Beyond checking for infection, my knowledge of healing stab wounds, in the way you are asking after, is limited to poking it with my finger and making sounds.”
Jer looked at Av questioningly. Av gave a shrug as the healer returned to writing up the report. She was just setting the report aside when the palace guard walked in with a man limp between them. The guard carried the man into one of the rooms with the healer following close behind, then they returned to Jer and Av.
“Someone attacked the kitchen master,” one of the guards said.
“Lady Aren did. He was reportedly attacking a half-wit,” Av said.
“With all due respect, Lord Av, the kitchen staff refuse to say any which way. We did find this”—the guard withdrew a sweet bun, holding it out to Jer—“floating three inches above the floor.”
“Everyone in the kitchen has been passed,” Jer said, turning the sweet bun over in his hands before he bit it experimentally. “This is the most delicious evidence anyone has ever brought me. Maybe the half-wit has some capabilities. You'd be surprised how often they seem dim, but they're actually just half here, half somewhere else.”
“The half-wit is dead,” the guard murmured, so quietly that Av thought he had heard wrong. “Took a blow to the head, by the look of it, he was dead before he hit the floor. Quick and painless at least.”
“Can we charge the kitchen master with murder?” Av asked Jer.
“Not without a witness, besides Aren,” Jer said. “The fact that she wouldn't see a healer after being injured completely destroys her reliability as a witness. We can't even relieve him of his duties. If we seek retribution of any sort he could bring us to the steward for harassment. Something Em takes very seriously.”
Jer offered Av the sweet bun. Taking the bun, Av took a small bite, chewing thoughtfully as the flavour seemed to melt on his tongue. There was an odd, but distinct, tingling under his tongue as if he had sipped champagne. Pressing his lips together, running his tongue over his teeth, Av considered the oddities.
“This isn't a regular sweet bun,” Av said. “Normally they're too sweet for me and I don't taste honey at all.”
“Might have been changed by whoever made it float,” Jer said.
“We'll have to interview the kitchen. We have to find who did this,” Av held up the sweet bun, “and get rid of them before they have a confrontation with Em. Telm is still complaining about the last time Em had a run-in.”
“As am I,” Jer said. “Two shelving units of books were destroyed. Some of those books were rare. And expensive.”
Chapter Nine
For four days Aren was allowed to go no farther than the bathing room and only that far because she threatened to break any bedpan that was brought to her. There was a burning pain in her leg, but it held her weight. She did not enjoy being bedridden for the sake of the healers making a point to Av and Jer.
While confined to the healer hall, Aren was unaware of what was going on across the palace. The healers who saw to her, besides muttering about how foolish she had been, did speak of the fury of the two lords. After a long argument the brothers had decided Aren would not be held to the law.
This time.
When Aren was finally freed she went directly to her rooms to find a chest sent from her sister. Inside were the few possessions Aren had around her room, all items her sister gifted to her. Aren left these items in the chest, deciding to find homes for each one at a later time. From the bottom of the chest, Aren pulled a dress box. Opening the box, Aren grazed a hand over the white fabric, so pure not even freshly fallen snow could compare.
Her mother had mated in a white dress, spending most of her family's fortune to obtain the fabric. After the mating ceremony, the dress had been placed in a chest and pushed to the back of first one home, then another. Aren had found the dress, once described as fit for the throne, and cut away the moth-eaten parts, the wine stains, and snags. Thanks to a long trail there had been enough fabric to create a mating dress of her own. One which she, and then her sister, hid carefully from their mother and father.
“Either mother's dress or burlap sacks,” Aren muttered to herself. “And Father kept far too close an eye on the burlap sacks.”
She folded the dress and placed it back into the box carefully, the cedar box lent its smell to the fabric. Aren did not mind the scent, as cedar reminded her of Av—made her think of the lord's strength and speed.
Shaking her head, Aren glared at the dress. She closed the box quickly and set it back on the bottom of the chest. Now was not the time to be having womanly thoughts, Aren chided herself. Her eighteenth year began in only a few months; everything she had worked towards was close at hand and still very possible.
Taking out the last item, Aren opened the little velvet pouch and counted out ten coins. Dropping each coin back into the bag, she smiled at her good fortune. She returned the bag to its place and closed the chest. After attending training she would see the steward about doubling the coin as he had promised, and she would be that much closer to freedom. Not quite thirty coins—not enough to purchase land or a home—but it was a good deal more than she had just a few days before.
Aren left her rooms with little problem. As she stepped onto Av's yard, Aren noticed a slight throb in her leg. Blocking out the pain was such a simple process, once one learned to block anger.
Av hopped off his porch immediately, striding towards Aren with an angry look on his face. Aren blinked at Av, having hoped Av's mood might calm in the days between when he apprehended her, and her return. She had surprised herself, as much as him, when she brought him to his knees. Protecting herself, even though Aren knew her attack only succeeded because she caught him off guard, had fuelled Aren's desire to train. Instead of worrying about the lords, she could protect herself against them with no need for a man, or mate.
“I taught you how to defend yourself,” Av shouted at her with all the anger of a worried man. “And you allowed someone to stab you, and to get away with it. Obviously continuing with your training would be pointless; you won't use the tools I'm giving you.” He jabbed a finger to the palace. “Go take your place among the elderly and the invalid.”
Startled, Are
n stared at Av, her mouth agape. Gaining control of her emotions she said to Av, “But I want to train. Everyone trains!”
Questioning the man would give him reason to look more closely at her. Then again, if she could keep at the training, even that wouldn't matter. Av would not be a threat, Aren would no longer have to worry around him. Perhaps she might even be able to tell him, to no longer hide from everyone.
Aren's heart skittered to a halt, taking her breath from her before it thundered back to life.
“Too bad, get out of my sight,” Av snapped.
Shaking a finger at Av, Aren tried to sound stable as she spoke sternly, “I'll be back.”
“No,” Av said. “You won't.”
Walking back to the palace, Aren tried to think. She had questioned Av and received nothing in return for taking a risk. Av might pay closer attention to her now, or might ignore her entirely. The man was surprisingly sensitive.
There were others in the palace who might train her, and she went to them. Each one taught a different sort of defence, had control over their students the way Av had control over his, yet each shook their heads and said no to her. None were willing to take on Av, despite stating that their way of defence was created to fight those like Av and Jer.
Being told no because Av was scary annoyed Aren in ways she could not describe.
With all that annoyance Aren strode into the steward's study without knocking, glowering at its occupants. The steward watched her placidly, her mood nothing new for a man who was in charge of running the court. A lord sitting across from the steward stared at Aren with all the horror of someone who had been attacked one too many times by women.
“I will keep my ear to the ground, Lord Worl,” the steward said to the man. “I doubt anyone is looking to purchase your last piece of land from you.”
Meaning the steward was forbidding the man from selling his land. If anyone did come forward with an offer, the steward would refuse their papers, even if those papers were held by the treasury.
“Thank you, that is all I ask,” Lord Worl said, bowing to the steward before he turned to Aren.
Rage played over the man's features, a hatred that was quickly masked. Obviously Lord Worl thought he was going to succeed in his bid to the steward, and Aren interrupted, giving the steward a chance to dismiss the lord without being rude. Aren curtseyed to the lord, and stepped out of the way, unaware what rank Lord Worl actually held at court.
“Lady Aren Argnern,” the steward grumbled. “I told you, someone was bleeding.”
Aren swore at him but took the seat Lord Worl had just occupied. “You and I are not friends.”
“How did you know I told Lord Av about the smell?” the steward asked.
“Some of you smell better than others,” Aren responded slowly. “If Av could have smelled the blood, he would have caught me the moment I stepped into the ball.”
“Some of us smell better?” the steward asked, smiling just slightly as he leaned forward in his seat. “Why, Lady Aren, I do believe you are infatuated.”
“I am not infatuated, I do not do infatuation,” Aren said snidely.
“Your words say otherwise. Some of you attempt to lie, but your words tell the truth.”
“Some of me, meaning what, exactly?” Aren asked. “Are you insulting commoners, or ladies?”
“Ladies, of course,” the steward said. “Commoners are much easier to get along with. They don't learn bad habits from those with rank. Tell me, what brings you to my study. Unless it was to unleash your anger on me?”
Aren clamped down on her anger immediately. “No. I came because Lord Av denies me my right to be trained.”
“It is not a right, it is a privilege. Lady Em has yet to pass the command, to add training to the rights of child education, exceptions can still be made. Such as Lady Mar being excluded from training on Lady Em's command alone, and Lord Av's ability to turn you away.” The steward hesitated. “However, being master, Lord Av is well within his rights, even if the command is issued by the throne, to turn away those who might bring harm to themselves, or others. Or, alternatively, those who are being little snot bags.”
“What is a snot bag? How dare you suggest that I am one!” Aren responded.
“Snot bags are bratty children with runny noses who refuse to blow them. That is what you are, Lady Aren. A man stabbed you, and you did nothing to defend yourself from this action. You did not report it afterwards, and you did not seek a healer's help as the law dictates. I do not believe that you should attempt to pick and choose the laws you wish to follow, which is exactly what you are doing. Unless there is another reason why you did not report the kitchen master?”
“I needed the job, I needed the coin,” Aren said.
“Why?” the steward asked. “Why not mate a lord? You are not plain Aren, and, from what I've seen, besides being stubborn as a rank, you have all the skills of a lady who has already been finished. Any lord would be happy to mate you.”
“I do not want a mate.”
“A lady, perhaps?”
“I do not want a mate,” Aren repeated, a little louder this time. “I want a cottage on a lake somewhere.” After a moment's hesitation she added. “And a puppy. I also want a puppy.”
The steward considered Aren. “Are you trying to tell me, Lady Aren, that you so desperately wanted this future of yours, that you did not report the kitchen master's actions for fear of being dismissed from your duties and cut off from the only influx of coin that you had? That you felt you had no other choice besides what, in your opinion, would be whoring?”
“I—what?” Aren asked. “Who said anything about whoring?”
“The duties of a mate include seeing to the bedroom desires of one's lord, or lady, thus if you were mated when you have no intention of ever mating, you would be forced into being a whore, as your only other option besides working the kitchens. Is this how you felt?” the steward asked.
“Somewhat,” Aren said hesitantly. “I did feel as if I had no choice to work the kitchen besides mating a lord, and that is entirely against what I want.”
“It's settled then.” The steward stood, motioning to Aren. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” Aren asked, following the steward out of the study.
“As steward, it is my duty to find a job for those who come to me with such information—most especially wards of the throne. I will speak with Lord Av about this. It will be up to him to decide what to do from there, but his anger comes from the fact that you did not protect yourself against the attack. If you had he would protect you no matter the cost to himself, and he would uphold the laws.”
“What you mean is, I still will not be allowed to train,” Aren said.
The steward motioned deeper into the palace, leading the way. “Yes, it does mean you will not be able to train. Such information, were Lord Av pursuing the laws concerning seeing a healer, would put an end to the disciplinary action however.”
“And where are we going?” Aren pushed once more.
“There is a job available which pays well,” the steward said. “And it would be enough to buy you a nice cottage on a lake somewhere. If you purchase correctly there would even be quite a bit leftover to subsist on for years to come. As steward of the court I would be more than happy to assist a ward find, and purchase, a home. There are several larger lakes nearby, as well as a few smaller ones. The land surrounding the palace is well known for its lakes, creeks, and rivers. One of the wettest areas outside of the marshes.”
“Consumption spreads on water, does it not?” Aren asked.
“It does, but there have only ever been outbreaks at the palace. From here it will spread with those who think they have a cough or cold, then return home with the illness, where it spreads more.” The steward paused. “I say this, Lady Aren, to reassure you that if you buy near the palace, which I strongly encourage, consumption would not reach your area unless someone else brings it to you. Though from what I under
stand you've already lived through the illness. That means you would not be able to take ill again.”
“Yes, though were I to make friends...” Aren started.
“Ah, yes, of course.” The steward nodded and continued to walk, taking Aren down a hallway she had never been to, into a part of the palace commoners were not permitted entrance to. “Or if your friends wanted to visit you.”
“I have no friends,” Aren said.
“Family?” the steward asked.
“My father abandoned me at court,” Aren said. “The only contact I have had is what you saw, from my sister, sending me items. She hadn't even the courage to write a letter for fear it would be discovered.”
“How unfortunate,” the steward said, stopping outside a set of closed doors, “and yet appropriate at the same time. Your lack of social connections makes your dreams all the more possible, doesn't it? I suppose it would then be a shame if someone paid too much attention to you.”
“I suppose it would,” Aren said, without offering anything else.
“I also suppose the position you are about to ask for would help keep attention off you, as it is one lords and ladies tend to ignore, as if these folk do not exist,” the steward said quietly. “I even suppose this specific position would suit you quite well, what with it being for someone of rank, whose mere presence seems to shield the eyes of the court from those around her.”
“I suppose you might be right, however, you have yet to explain what this position actually is,” Aren said to the steward.
“Of course, where are my manners? Let me introduce you to your employer.”
Chapter Ten
Em sat across from Mar, fuming with anger as the girl tried not to weep in front of her. How, she wondered yet again, how had her loins produced this weakling, this coward? The last guardian had lasted only a few days, unable to follow Em's simple rules for raising her daughter. The woman had been so arrogant as to suggest that if Em wanted Mar raised a certain way, Em should do it herself.
