by R. J. Price
The guards turned as Mar came to stand beside Aren. Each shrugged and made nonsensical sounds before turning back to what they had been doing. Aren motioned from Mar, to Av, and then back again, giving her time to think of some reasoning, some excuse.
“This is my ward, I've been put in charge of her and she is a daughter of a high lord,” Aren managed to get out. It sounded all wrong, yet not a single person tried to call her on it. “She's not been to training yet, thus I brought her. Seems someone neglected to tell her that everyone needs to learn self-defence.”
“She's going to get you killed,” Av said. “You know that, right? This one here will let anyone stick anything into her, and not say a word about it.”
“Are you calling my guardian a whore, Lord Av?” Mar asked, blinking innocently at the master.
“What do you mean?” Av asked.
“Well, you did just very clearly say that anyone could stick anything into Lady Aren, which draws the attention to the very obvious double meaning behind such words,” Mar said, watching with absolute curiosity as Av went bright red, his jaw clenching hard, hand pressing into his chest as if trying to steady himself. “Or one might surmise that you care for Lady Aren, and she did something stupid, didn't give you the time to protect her, which wounded your pride. Which is it?”
“Sticks,” Av managed, jabbing a hand a little too quickly in the direction of the practise weapons. “There.”
“Thank you, Lord Av.” Mar did a little curtsey, apparently forgetting that she wasn't wearing a skirt, before she linked arms with Aren and drew her to the practise weapons. “And that is how you bait a man.”
“That wasn't nice,” Aren said to Mar.
“But if I hadn't done it,” Mar said quietly back, reaching for a wooden sword, “and there is a single man loyal to my mother present, then word would reach her that you are a whore. It is not a good thing to have that word banded about right now. Especially about you. Especially coming from him.”
“What's that mean?” Aren asked, taking the wooden sword Mar offered. “We're supposed to use sticks.”
“I don't want sticks, I want swords,” Mar said, walking back to Av carrying the second practise weapon.
“But we train with sticks,” Aren said, following her back.
Av watched the two of them approaching, seemingly calmer now than he had been a few moments before. His grey eyes narrowed to pinpoints as they flickered between Mar and Aren. Settling finally on Aren, Av grinned wolfishly.
“I like her,” Av said to Aren. “She flusters you the way you fluster other people.”
Aren felt a dreaded cold, worried that Av might take that a step further and make some other sort of link between the two of them. Instead Av turned that grin to Mar expectantly.
“Oh please,” Mar said. “I'm a queen, I'm allowed to question anyone I want.”
“That's your mother's idea.”
“That's my idea,” Mar retorted.
“What's gotten into your pants, Mar?” Av asked, his smile faltering just slightly. The name was spoken low, barely above a whisper.
“Mother,” Mar responded, hefting her practise sword. “Sorry, it probably won't happen again. I told you my ideas already, Lord Av.”
“That you did,” Av nodded, motioning to the two of them. “You want to use those then you go see that trio in the corner there, tell them I sent you. They'll show you how to use those. Tomorrow report an hour earlier than this and you can join the guards training. Mar, if you need to stop halfway through, say as much. You though,” Av jabbed a finger at Aren, shaking it at her, “keep going. If you stop I'll take that sword of yours and bruise your backside. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly, as long as you understand that if you try such a thing, I will bruise you back,” Aren said. “There was a reason I did not report what happened in the kitchens. There would be no reason to allow you to give me a smacked bottom besides to please your ego.”
“Really, Av,” Mar said sweetly. “If you want Aren's pants down you should court her, not threaten her.”
“You know, he's already threatened to lift my skirts once before,” Aren said, turning to Mar. “Should I be concerned for my safety?”
Mar made a show of thinking about this new information. “I think in his case you should only be concerned if he didn't try to lift your skirts.”
Av threw his hands into the air. “The two of you should have never met!” he said loudly before he turned and stormed off, leaving Mar and Aren in a fit of giggles.
Chapter Twelve
He looked across the field and caught Aren watching him. Her cheeks flushed as she turned her eyes quickly to Mar, smiling at the younger woman. Av wondered what he was going to do with Aren.
Dealing with Mar was another problem. Mar was typically quiet, reserved, and respectful. She thought of Av as an uncle and treated him as such, yet she had been merciless. She made it clear that she knew Av paid attention to Aren, and she seemed to suggest that Aren had attention for Av.
Between the two of them, they flustered, annoyed, and came close to angering Av simply by appearing on his training ground. If Aren brought Mar out of her shell, if Aren could do so and keep respectful at the same time, then and only then could Av think about dismissing this behaviour. Mar was a queen, she should have been stepping on toes and snarling, challenging those who tried to be rude to her. If a queen didn't do that she would be abused by those who were supposed to protect her.
Mar didn't have to stand up to everyone just to someone—anyone. Av worried that Mar would end up as nothing more than a toy, fuel for someone's ambition, with no heart of her own, no dreams of her own. Em was bent on breaking the girl's spirit, Av was bent on bringing it out, but he never imagined Mar might turn that snarl to him. At the same time that was the best idea, to be gruff with Av, which allowed Av to teach Mar how their ranks were supposed to interact, give Mar a taste of challenge that was controlled before the two, Aren and Mar, reached eighteen.
When a ward reached eighteen they were on their own in the world—either to find a mate, which could be done through the steward given Aren's titles, or to earn their keep. Aren was obviously intent on earning her keep. She had a clear image of the future she wanted for herself, the life she wanted to live. Av chewed his bottom lip, considering. As master he had the right to alter that future, to find her a mate that would be the only option presented to her by the steward. He could block her from purchasing land by simply purchasing it himself, or having a stern conversation with whoever was planning on selling to her.
There was not a man that Av could name who would tame Aren. For the lady that Aren pretended to be at court he would have been able to name a dozen men who could have made a good companion for her. Men who could have returned her to her father a good, honest, woman with a modest income to aid the vineyard through difficult times. Aren, the young woman that Av was seeing more and more of, wanted none of that. She was not earning money for a ticket home, she had yet to mention her home to anyone besides the steward.
'A very private woman,' was how the steward had described Aren. Very private indeed.
Did Mar know?
Av frowned and looked to his niece. She was staring back at him with those eyes. His mother's eyes, he was certain for a moment before he dismissed the idea. As a queen she saw things that others would miss, but nothing that Av would not be able to see himself.
He approached Mar as Aren chatted with the guards, friendly but pointedly friendly. She was distracting them from Mar, keeping the eyes of the men on her instead of on her ward. Av was certain that at the end of the session the men would be talking about Lady Aren and would have little to no recollection of the quiet young woman who had accompanied her.
“Did you want to say something before?” Av asked Mar as master, meaning to drive the truth about Aren's possible affections out of the girl.
Mar's eyes lowered, and she turned her face away from him slightly, “I told her you'd l
et her train before you had spoken your mind.”
“She no doubt counted on the fact that I want you trained,” Av said. “Even if it means allowing her to train. The children of high lords don't typically train with everyone else and if they do, it's with their own servant, or guardian, as partner. To prevent injury.”
“She...” Mar pressed her lips into a thin line, hesitating as Aren's conversation had a lull. As soon as the conversation picked up again, Mar resumed. “She seems to say one thing, but mean another.”
“You're a queen,” Av said, meaning not only should Mar be able to see through Aren's lies, but that he didn't doubt she did. Mar was hiding information from Av that he needed to know.
“I know that,” Mar snapped at him, angry suddenly.
“And why does that make you angry?” Av asked.
“Just because I am a queen does not mean that I mean anything to anyone, that I deserve to be anything more than a servant to others,” Mar said in counter.
Av's blood ran cold. “Who would tell you such a thing?”
“It's true, isn't it?” Mar asked without explanation. “The only control the queens have, they've forced you to give them, manipulated you into making them rulers, but they are still nothing more than slaves in silk cages. I will not be your lap dog. Nor the prisoner of my mother, or my father, whomever he may be.”
“I don't think you have to worry about your father's plans for you. A man not claiming a daughter who is a queen means the man is no longer around,” Av said pointedly, pride swelling at this new found courage of Mar's.
To challenge the rules of the court was the first step in coming to her own, especially the foolish rules of Em's court.
“I will not sit the throne,” Mar said suddenly, pointedly, and again without explanation. “If you try to put me on it, I will take my own life.”
Mar walked off to Aren. She had found her voice, though it had been in a way that Av had hoped to steer her from. Queens were fuel, but few of them ever knew that fact. The people pampered and cared for queens, gave them anything they could ever ask for, if only the lights would work. A queen who sat the throne typically came to the conclusion that she was nothing more than fuel, but only in bitterness.
It was the duty of those like Av and Jer to keep a queen from seeing this reality. Distraction, happiness, life, and love was what they were to offer because when it came right down to it, it was not the queen who ruled, but those like Av and Jer. No matter Em's orders, Av could disobey them and do as he pleased with no one to stop his actions. Disobeying Em did not break the throne, though it did irritate Jer, who would find Av and make his point quite clear.
Em had likely said something that sent Mar's mind down this path. The only other person who would have been able to speak to Mar was Aren. Av looked at Aren and found the woman was watching him. There was something dangerous in her eyes before she laughed at what a guard said and turned her attention to Mar to elaborate on the topic.
Av walked away from the training group. Deep in thought, he wandered towards the palace, taking no direct path but simply wandering between the buildings. He and Jer had questioned everyone on the kitchen staff. All had claimed to have some hand in creating the sweet buns. The cook had informed them that she believed in spreading out the work, and it was not abnormal for many people to work on one dish. If one person took ill there would be another competent body to take up the slack.
None of the staff seemed to recall what had happened to the half-wit, or how Aren had become involved. Many claimed that Aren had not even been in the kitchen. While Jer and Av had known the staff was lying, they had no way of proving such a thing. Even the kitchen master, when he had finally awakened, could not recall what had happened. He had been cut with a blade, yet had been unconscious for several days, his mind not quite there.
As master Av had tried to enforce his control, he had told the staff they either had to tell the truth or leave the kitchens, and half the staff had left. Not just the kitchen but the palace itself, headed to goodness knew where. Walking into the palace, Av wished that his father had stayed at court when Em had taken the throne. While Jer supported Em's ascension their father had not, had said that the throne wanted someone else, someone far away, and was only making do. The conflict had made things uncomfortable for everyone, and Ervam had retired to a family home a few hours away.
Their father would know what to do. He would have looked at Lady Aren and simply known what was going on, put an end to all nonsense before it started. Then he would probably give Av a smack for not seeing the obvious.
There was one way, Av realized suddenly, pulling to a stop in the middle of the hall. There was a way to find out what was going on with Aren. There was a man, only one, who might be able to tumble with the woman, and walk away from such a fight with body and pride in one piece.
He turned back the way he had come and headed to the steward's study. This would be six months in the planning, and he had to act carefully if he was going to do this properly but still take her by surprise. Perhaps even startle her enough that Lady Aren would drop her defences, and Av could see, once and for all, what the lady hid behind those pretty eyes of hers.
Chapter Thirteen
Em stood in the gardens, staring at the rose bushes she had planted in the queen's plot when she had first taken the throne. For ten years the roses had grown and bloomed, such wonderful flowers as to make even the best gardener envious. The small, private, library off of her rooms told Em that the plot was linked to the throne. Plant something, anything at all, and watch it grow. Through it one could tell their fortune and how the year would be.
Small buds meant small harvest, small but gorgeous meant a difficult year, but all would work out. Large buds meant a bountiful year, and if one or two buds seemed to die suddenly there was treason being plotted against her.
Her roses had withered and died. Overnight.
Em's bottom lip trembled, and tears threatened to spill over briefly. Closing her eyes, Em fought the terror, knowing well what would come. She might have five years still in her, but her roses would never grow again. When she had awoke for the third day in a row feeling tired and sick, Em had suspected something like this might have happened. Either that or she was truly pregnant, but she would have known for certain weeks ago. She could not risk another child, not after how much Mar had taken out of her.
Soon she would fake a miscarriage, and Jer would cry, believing himself to be the problem. Never suspecting that Em might have taken matters into her own hands. Not even considering the possibility that Em had manipulated him into believing something that had never existed.
Perhaps the flowers would be a good opportunity to bring up the problem. If she could make it clear to Jer what was going on, perhaps he would simply link the two, and not bring up the child again.
“Em?” Jer asked cautiously.
She had a choice. Em knew that she could ask Jer to end it. To put an end to her before the throne had time to drag the last bit of magic. A moment of darkness across the palace, and a new queen would be found and linked to the throne. The moment Em thought about it, she dismissed the idea. She could not ask Jer to do such a thing, not for her, not to save her suffering after what she had done to him all these years.
“My roses are dead,” she said, trying to sound angry, trying to be angry.
Part of the drain was not being able to feel. Strong emotion could fuel the throne more easily than others. Anger was slow to come to her, yet Mar could feel the emotion easily. Em felt a momentary flicker from Mar, on the training grounds. She felt the palace absorb the extra, felt the damned throne reaching for the young woman. Finally Em's anger flickered to life.
She had said Mar could not be trained, had wanted to test the girl's backbone, but it appeared Mar had none. The guardian, that Lady Aren, had more of a backbone than Mar.
“A shame,” Jer said, stepping up beside Em.
For a moment she saw his rank, then it was gone. O
f the two brothers, Em had liked Av's looks more than Jer's, but Jer was a good man, the type of man who could keep her steady and didn't thrust that warrior nonsense in her face, did not force her to confront the fact that she was not her own woman. Av would have strut about with his master title and made it all too obvious that Em had no control over her own court.
When Jer looked at Em, there was pity in his eyes. “We will plant more roses. You like roses.”
“I do,” Em said. “I like white roses.”
“Then it is decided, we will plant white roses,” Jer said with a nod.
Only Em knew he wouldn't do any such thing while she still breathed. She fought the gripping terror again. The throne was for life, she had known that just as she had known that no other queen in the last century had lasted more than three years on the throne. Entire families, mothers, daughters, cousins, wiped out by the throne's hunger. Yet someone always had to sit the throne, there was no other option.
“Who is Lady Aren?” Em asked Jer, turning back to the palace.
They walked slowly down the garden path, certain that no one would dare listen to their conversation.
“A ward for another four months. She came from what was once a successful vineyard,” Jer said. “Other than that? She is a commoner. Mouthy, yes, arrogant and stubborn, yes, but we were warned of this.”
“By your mother,” Em said.
“Yes,” Jer responded. “With stronger queens come stronger commoners, which makes them mouthy, arrogant, and stubborn. They do, after all, need to be able to stand toe-to-toe with the queens. No one wants an entire court who bows to them for fear of upsetting them.”
“No, it never feels right when they kneel from fear, instead of participating because of respect,” Em said in agreement. “I want Aren mated as soon as Mar is seen to. I want her away from the palace. Not back to her parents, but someone wealthy. Present her with several options, search for candidates she might enjoy, but make it clear she must choose one of them.”
