by R. J. Price
As if Em had time to waste with a child, especially one as foolish and useless as Mar.
There came a knock on the door. The steward of the court entered without waiting for a response, a habit he only exercised around Mar. The man was far too familiar with her daughter, but Em knew him to be capable, and he was the only one at court she could trust to run the day-to-day affairs she could not possibly keep track of.
Behind him came a young woman, who couldn't have been much older than Mar. The young woman's eyes flickered across the room, over everything before settling on Em with impudence.
Realizing who she was looking at, the young woman flushed, her eyes falling to the floor.
Em stood from her seat, approaching the steward. “Who is this?”
“Lady Aren Argnern,” the steward said, motioning before stepping well out of the way as Em judged the girl. “I thought perhaps a ward of the throne might be good to guard your daughter rather than another stranger. They are near in age, certainly but Lady Aren has shown a remarkable maturity and deep understanding of most social situations. She is a proven hard worker and loyal to the throne.”
“I do not believe we have been introduced, Aren,” Em said, dropping the unnecessary title. No matter the title, no one was the same as her, no one had more power, more control than Em did, not in the entire world.
Aren's face changed slightly, though her eyes stayed on the floor. “I believe we were, when I first came to court. I hardly expect I made an impression on you, Lady Em.”
“And how old are you, Aren?” Em asked, knowing the use of the name would anchor the girl in her mind, make it easier for Em to recall later who was watching her daughter. The name seemed to upset Aren, anger rising in her face, yet all other indicators of emotion seemed absent.
“I will be eighteen in four months, Lady Em,” Aren responded.
Perhaps Aren was from a place where the repeated use of one's name was an insult. No matter, though, as Aren was at court, where the only rules that mattered were Em's. Aren should have understood this after being at court for two—no, four months.
Em recalled for just a moment meeting Aren previously. There was a glimmer of recognition as Em focused on the blue dress, that blue dress, the one her ladies complained about bitterly because the dye-masters who once could create such a dark blue hadn't been seen in two generations. Why, Em recalled her great-aunt wearing a dress almost that shade. Even the cut of the dress was old fashioned, out of date by a decade at least, yet Aren seemed not to notice. A waste of such lovely material, thanks to both the cut and the face that wore it.
“Mar will be eighteen in six months,” Em said, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders. “Until that time she needs a guardian to ensure she is not wandering about, wasting time and resources on servants. She must be unscathed for her mating ceremony. Do I make myself clear?”
Aren frowned.
Virginity was not something usually desired in a mate. Men liked women who knew what they wanted in bed, but Em wanted no timely mistakes. She did not want Mar falling in love or becoming pregnant at an inopportune time, before Em could mate her off to a lord far, far away.
Em continued, “It is not her place to be wandering the halls and flirting with servant boys. Can you assure these items, Aren?”
“Yes, Lady Em,” Aren said distantly. Present physically, but absent emotionally, Aren was withholding herself from Em on purpose. “What of her education?”
“Education?” Em said with a huff. “My daughter has no need of education. Not as a lord's mate. You will not waste your time showing her numbers or letters, am I clear?” She waited just long enough to see the words register in Aren's mind before she continued. “You will need a stern hand with this one Aren. She may be a queen, but she is not to be treated as such—that is most important.”
Aren frowned, confused, and looked up finally, brown eyes locking with Em's. “Yes. I will treat her like any other.”
Quiet, almost mirthful. Em did not like this girl at all, but felt that she would be a good pair for Mar, would keep Mar from doing anything foolish. Perhaps Em could finally relax. Aren would do her duties, and keep Mar in line. That was what Em needed. Once Mar was mated off, Em could worry herself with who Lady Aren Argnern actually was. Until then, Em simply had to ignore the oddities.
“Do you know what a queen is?” Em asked. “Most know of the rank but have never met one before.”
“I do, yes, but besides yourself I have not met another,” Aren said.
Prideful girl. Aren must have met Telm at some point. The head of house took great pleasure in explaining to all the new wards that she was a queen who had denied the throne several times. Thought herself special because she was the only living queen capable of doing such a thing.
“Tell me what a queen is,” Em said to Aren. “The last one had it all wrong.”
Had thought them precious gifts, that each one should be allowed as much freedom of movement as possible.
“Queens...” Aren struggled as one who never had to explain the obvious before, “are magic. They serve commoners as magic, are the only ones who can lend or give their magic to others. They are the only ones who can link to the throne and provide the magic necessary for the lights to come on, for the water to run. The strength of the queen dictates how far her magic reaches, with no queen in the last century being capable of lighting the whole palace, as you can, and no queen in the last two centuries able to provide running water across the palace.”
Startled, Em watched Aren as the girl seemed to shift her attention to Mar. Pity and sadness played over the features before those brown eyes flickered back to Em, daring her to speak out.
Em opened her mouth to call Aren on her rudeness, but ended up closing it when no sound would come out. The throne held her back from lashing out at Aren, at least in attacking verbally, for that moment. Stories, rumours, spoke of what the throne could do, but no one had ever warned Em about how much control she could lose around those the throne wanted to carry on, to pass on their blood. Despite what she wanted, Lady Aren was not to be harmed.
“Queen is a term which should only be applied to the one who sits the throne. The rest should be called something else to emphasize the fact they are not special. Only I am special,” Em said finally to Aren, telling the throne that the words were for Mar, not to chastise Aren, then added. “If Mar makes an attempt to usurp me, you will be the one to suffer the consequences.”
“Mar will make no such attempt,” Aren responded.
“You cannot make such a promise when you do not even know my daughter,” Em said to Aren, surprised she was able to find her voice now of all times.
Aren smiled just slightly. “No, Lady, but I will not allow her to usurp you. You are the most stable queen we've had in centuries. Why risk the peace in order to further her ambitions?”
This answer satisfied Em; it lacked truth and yet eased her mind.
Em found herself speaking before she realized what she was doing. “Pay is ten thousand upon delivery of Mar to her mating ceremony, six months from now. It is on the condition that her status be unchanged. You will be paid in paper credit until such a time as you make a purchase or leave for another land. At which point the treasury will send your papers of credit ahead of you that you might have coin to spend in your new home.”
“I find that to be more than acceptable,” Aren said.
“Good,” Em said with a nod. “This will require you to live with Mar, as she has a habit of wandering the halls at night. I will have the servants bring your items up from your rooms. There is a maid room here, which has a light, and its own facilities with running water. You will be responsible for cleaning your own room, including the toiletries. Do you understand?”
Aren's eyes were wide.
“Running water?” she squeaked out.
Em smiled. “Aren, you are standing in the inner palace. It has had running water since I took the throne. Hot and cold. Do not wast
e water. It is here for the use of lords and ladies. Their servants have it because there is no way to close off the pipes to some of the rooms.”
“I understand, Lady Em,” Aren said with a curtsey.
“Good. Steward,” Em turned to the man, “you and I must discuss the kitchens.”
“Of course.” The steward opened the door and held it open for Em as she left.
“Av and Jer went questioning down there, to find for themselves what happened to my step-brother. None of the servants will admit to having witnessed the event. I asked my mate, and his brother, to drop the matter.” Em paused in the hall as the steward closed the door and turned to her. “They refused and continued the questioning. I was informed this morning of their questions. They are quite disturbing. Do you know what the brothers were asking of the kitchen staff?”
“Concerning a floating sweet bun, if I recall correctly,” the steward said gravely. “My lady, we did not wish to bother you with this information. Some commoners use magic without thought, when they are cornered, or feel their lives are in danger. We supposed it may have been the half-wit who passed that day.”
“Why ever would it have been the half-wit?” Em asked, walking deeper into the palace, headed for her rooms. “He was a half-wit for a reason. Only good for lifting things and putting them where the cook wished him to place them. The fool ran into a wall so quickly he took his own life, for crying out loud. How could he have used magic?”
“With due respect, he died because your step-brother took a pan to his head,” the steward said.
Em gave the man credit for daring to bring up such a thing with her. “My brother said that was a rumour, nothing more. Did their investigation turn up the whore who has taken hold of my court?”
“My lady?” the steward asked, stopping when Em pulled to a stop.
“The whore,” Em said. “There is a whore at court, she means to take my throne, she means to kill me. Find her, get rid of her. That is what I demand. She seduces the servants, the kitchen staff, the brothers, to her will and way. Could it be Telm finally aiming for the throne?”
“No, Telm is too old,” the steward said gravely. “The throne never chooses one her age, unless it absolutely has to. As for the brothers, well... Warriors, my lady, are ranks just as you are. They've a right to investigate where and when they please.”
“Says who, exactly? Ranks have magic. Warriors have none.”
Anger boiled into the hallway, and barely restraining himself, the steward said through gritted teeth, “I shall inform the brothers that they should pay more respect to rank.”
Em eyed the steward, wondering why she had given him the position. Jer, surely, was the one to suggest the head of Mar's household for steward, because the man had a reputation for running things perfectly. He had been steward once before, to Jer's mother, which was how he received the position in Mar's house. Somewhere to tuck him away and someone Em knew she could trust to watch Mar grow without taking advantage or turning the girl against the throne.
She never realized he was like Jer and Av. Older, more mild, the steward had little aggression to him. He was as Telm was, hardly ranked at all, yet to call his kind un-ranked had insulted him enough to bring him to anger.
“Do that, and tell them to stay away from the kitchens,” Em said. “Half the staff has quit, for fear of what would be done to them, the other half have asked to be reassigned. Fix my kitchen, steward—it is your duty to ensure that these things run properly.”
“I can fix the kitchen if you give me free reign to do as must be done, no matter who I must dismiss,” the steward said.
“Do it. I will send the written command by tomorrow morning,” Em said. “I cannot afford to look weak, steward. Do you understand this?”
“Quite well. No one on the throne can afford to look weak.”
“Excellent, you may leave me,” Em dismissed him with a wave of her hand.
Watching the man march off, Em wondered how she could rid herself of him. How long would it take to find a proper replacement, how long could she put up with his snide disrespect?
Chapter Eleven
Aren waited until the door was closed, then counted to thirty. Reaching thirty, Aren approached Mar and sat where Em had been seated, when she had first walked into the room. Mar's head was down, hands over her face, crying. Aren could almost feel the desperate frustration.
“Stop that,” Aren said. “Do you have older clothing?”
Mar sniffed, wiping at her eyes as she spoke. “I have a set of clothing I used to garden in.”
“Put them on,” Aren said.
“Mother says—”
“Your mother be damned,” Aren said.
“Stop, stop that!” Mar raised her hands as if to stop Aren. “If she feels your anger she'll say it's mine. I'll be in trouble again. I've already been lectured by Lord Av about watching my moods around my mother, and she's furious with me as well.”
“Then get the clothing on and I won't have to get upset, now will I?” Aren asked.
“You would blackmail me?” Mar said in response.
“No,” Aren said, shaking her head. Then she winced. “All right, just this one time. But crying isn't going to change anything. If you feel something, you should do something about it. In this case you can't do something about what is going on but you can get out and do something.”
“Which is what?” Mar asked, even as she moved to the wardrobe to pull out the clothing, and change behind the changing screen.
“Training,” Aren said. “There is something to be said about taking a stick and attempting to smack another person with it. Such a release for the everyday tension that the court puts on us.”
“On us?” Mar asked, peeking around the changing screen.
“Young ladies at court,” Aren said. “What did you think I meant?”
“Nothing.” Mar ducked back behind the screen, her dress appearing over top to sit over the screen while she dressed in the gardening clothing.
Aren watched Mar come out from the changing screen looking more like a servant, and a good deal less like a lady. She stood and motioned for Mar to follow her.
“You seem awfully eager to break your mother's rules,” Aren said.
“Just because my mother makes me cry, does not mean that I believe what she says, or that I want to obey her rules,” Mar said in response. “Lord Av wants me trained, I want to do what his rules say. If there isn't supposed to be a difference between me and the other ladies at court, why am I excluded from training?”
“Oh,” Aren almost pulled to a stop in the hallway, but kept walking as a group of lords glowered at the two of them, obviously thinking them servants based on clothing alone. She also just then recalled why she had gone to the steward's study in the first place. “I've been forbidden from training. This could be a bit more difficult than I originally thought but Av should be happy to see you attending.”
“Av?” Mar said, surprise and humour colouring her voice. “How long has he been Av?”
“Whatever do you mean?” Aren asked Mar. “That is his name.”
“It wasn't what you said, it was how you said it,” Mar said with a grin. “You like him, don't you?”
“What? No. Mar,” Aren pulled them to a stop. “I cannot have a relationship.”
“Please, that's like mother saying I can't have a relationship,” Mar said.
“I'm being serious.” Aren had thought perhaps Mar knew, after their discussion at the ball. “Relationships mean they are close enough to touch you, and being close enough to touch is dangerous.”
“How so?” Mar asked.
Aren took Mar's hand. The younger woman paled considerably and trembled all over before she snatched her hand away from Aren. Not as if it had been burned, but in the annoyed fashion of someone who had been touched without permission. Mar continued walking with Aren following close behind.
“You can tell no one,” Aren said to Mar.
“Oh, I knew
,” Mar said, glaring at Aren for a moment before she continued on, huffing out a breath. “But I didn't know, you know? Who could know with all those walls you've got up? Does everyone who touches you see that?”
“Not always,” Aren muttered, stepping up beside Mar to give the impression of two servants walking through the palace, rather than a lady and her servant. “It has to be skin to skin, and so far them touching me does not do that. I don't touch other people but you can bet in a relationship there would be touching.”
Mar made a sound of agreement and yet pulled to a stop again, jabbing a finger at Aren. “That doesn't answer my question.”
“What question?” Aren asked.
“Do you like him?” Mar said.
Aren blushed. She felt the heat creep into her face, then spread to her whole body. Standing there, she tried to find her voice, but could only shake her head and make a sound like a teakettle boiling. She turned on her heel and marched off. Mar giggled behind her, footsteps rushing to catch up with Aren.
“I think he likes you too,” Mar said, linking arms with Aren.
“Please, he's furious with me,” Aren said as they left the palace. “He almost laid hands on me this morning when I went for training.”
“The angrier a man is, the more he cares,” Mar said. “That's what I was taught. It's true, the more they care, the more they stomp their feet, rant, rave, and curse at you when you go and do something that they think is stupid but clearly made sense at the time of said falling down the well to save a duckling.”
“Oh dear, you will have to tell me that story,” Aren said.
“One night, I might,” Mar said. “There he is, with the palace guard.”
Mar slowed, Aren did not. Marching up to Av, Aren set her feet and glared at him, daring him to question why she was there. Av quirked an eyebrow up at Aren, grey eyes focusing on her for only a moment before they slid past her, to Mar. Recognition played over Av's features, and there was no doubting that Av knew exactly who Mar was.
“Who's that?” Av asked no one in particular.
