by R. J. Price
“I feel like I've wasted my life,” Jer said.
“You are young, still. Just because you have a daughter old enough to be mated does not mean that you are old, or that your life is over. Look at Mie.”
“When Em passes, what do I do with myself?”
“That depends on who takes the throne, what she needs, what her mate needs, what the palace needs, and what you want.”
“But what I want comes last,” Jer grumbled.
His father turned to him, looking surprised. “Do you know what you want?”
“No,” Jer said. “I wish I did, but no.”
“Then everything else comes first. Once the throne is settled, only then may you wander off to search for yourself, not before. Otherwise there's no point in leaving. Doing so is going to cause instability across the lands, which causes war. We do not need a war.”
“I suppose,” Jer said glumly.
“By the way, what exactly is a spirit cave? Av mentioned it, it's not something I've heard of before.”
“Lord Worl called it that,” Jer said, looking up to meet his father’s eyes. “Said the young men go in to test their courage against the spirits, who can be heard whispering in the darkness.”
Ervam went a funny sort of colour. “Voices in the cave?”
“Yes, his father tried to sell the land to the throne, said it had once been palace land, but gifted away during dark times,” Jer said. “Claimed there used to be an estate on the land, overlooking the lake. We only found the remains of a very humble cottage, one room.”
With a shudder, Ervam asked, “Was Worl of the Hinform line?”
“Yes, he was inheritor. His father's brother has taken the land now that Worl's been executed. Why do you ask?” Jer said. “Father, what's wrong?”
“Those were not spirits whispering in the darkness. Those were queens.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Aren set the last plate on the worn dining table as the door closed, her back to the sound. She did not bother looking up as Av stepped up behind her. The heat that wafted off of the man startled Aren. He had not been so warm before, surely she would have recalled that.
Av reached around Aren and picked up the plate she had just put down. “What are you doing?”
“Setting the table,” Aren responded, motioning to the other plates, the utensils, and mugs. “Just because I am a visitor does not mean I will be idle at all times.”
“There are four of us, not five,” Av said, giving the plate in his hand a little shake. “I need you to stop doing this.”
“Doing what?” Aren asked, frowning at Av.
“What you're doing is upsetting Jer. He keeps seeing you and making comparisons,” Av murmured, walking to the cooking area. “Em didn't walk without complaint, she did not set the table, help with food, talk with father like a man, instead of like a commoner. Em didn't do this, and Em did that and, damn it, Aren, you're making him feel like he's a horrible person for being around Em, for choosing her.”
“I cannot help that my mother raised me with manners,” Aren said, straightening to glare at Av.
“If only I could get him to see your temper, he might not feel so badly,” Av said, setting the plate down and leaning on the counter, glaring back at Aren. “What you do is you push yourself into a situation where everyone can feel better about themselves because you're doing everything for them.”
“How is that wrong?”
“It is manipulation. Not through fear, but through love.”
“I pull my own weight.”
“Which is something a good many women have said in the past, then made the same efforts you have, but they were all manipulating, and that is what you are doing. Twisting events to suit you. Stop it.”
“I twist nothing,” Aren crossed the distance, stood on the other side of the counter and scowled at Av for a moment before she shook her head and imitated his stance, set her weight on her hands on the counter. “I was told that I needed a man to pay my way or to earn my keep. I made a choice. One does not earn their keep by lazing about or not pulling their own weight.”
“And the training? You only came back for training because I told you no.”
“No, I came back to training because I will be able to protect myself,” Aren said. “I need no man to stand for me.”
“You allowed yourself to be stabbed by the kitchen master!”
“What was my other option?” Aren asked. “Stop him?”
“Yes?”
“How!” Aren shouted. “How could I have stopped him in a way that did not draw attention to myself?”
Av flinched away from the counter, stepping back as his eyes roved over Aren. “There are ways to stop an attack that do not draw attention to you.”
“Such as what?” Aren asked. “Taking a frying pan to the head of the queen's relative? I don't need Em to look any closer to me than she already has, thank you.”
“She already knows you are a queen, like she is—she already sees you as a threat,” Av said. “What could she possibly see beyond that?”
Aren let loose her control, relaxed what she could. She watched Av shrink away from her, fear dancing across his features as she allowed him a glimpse of her strength. Then it was gone, reflexively locked away once more.
“What's going on?” Jer asked from the doorway, his voice a little higher than usual.
Av's mouth was open. He looked between Aren and Jer, not understanding how Jer had not felt what he had just seen. Aren turned to the door where Jer stood, his hand on the shoulder of a young boy who stared up at Aren. Face blank, the boy wavered just slightly.
“You must be Lady Aren,” the boy said with all the formality of a well-trained lord.
“I am,” she responded, suspecting who he was but not daring to make an assumption.
“I am Mie,” he said with a grin, showing off his teeth as he did so. “These are my brothers.”
“They are,” Aren said cautiously.
“Father says sometimes they're stupid,” Mie said expertly, walking to the counter. He stood on tiptoe to pull down the plate that Av had removed from the table. “But they mean well.”
The boy walked back to the table and set the plate where Aren had first placed it, at the head of the table. He then climbed into the seat and blinked at the adults as Ervam walked in, closing the door behind him.
“What's this then?” Ervam sighed, looking over the room.
“Aren did something to brother,” Jer said, taking his seat quickly. He made a motion for Aren to sit.
She found a seat, frowning at Jer as Ervam sighed again, loudly. Mie fiddled with his plate, frowning at it, then at Jer, finally at Aren. The young boy seemed to judge Aren with a look that she had never seen before. It was almost contemplation mixed with amused annoyance.
“I'm hungry,” Mie announced loudly, putting on a pout that was just a little too young for his actual age.
The men grumbled in response, nodding along as food was served. Aren ate her portion, listening to the small talk that was made around the table. She wondered why no one announced, or asked, why Mie was there instead of with his mother. Where was his mother? Had the little boy walked from his home to his father's home, all by himself? And if so, how was such a move acceptable to the adults?
As dinner finished, Aren made to stand only to have Av, who sat beside her, set a hand on her leg under the table and give her a scathing look. Aren returned the look, finding satisfaction when Av blanched, and stood anyhow, collecting the plates at the table.
“Mie, why don't you go start a fire?” Ervam said quietly.
The boy hopped off the chair, leaving without so much as a glance back. Aren watched him go, and then looked to the table, where three men were suddenly focused on her.
“What?” Aren asked.
“How much magic do you have?” Av asked her.
“Why would you even ask that?” Ervam said to his son. “Asking a queen how much magic she has is like aski
ng a scribe how many words are inside his head. The better question is more of, how much can you do with your magic?”
Aren returned to the table, setting her hands on the back of the chair she had been sitting in. “Why does it matter, what I can do with my magic?”
“It sets the example for others around you, as to how strong you are,” Ervam said to Aren. “Em can use a good deal of magic, and do a great deal of harm, but only when enraged. Not much control on her. Control also is another indicator.”
“Indicator of what?” Aren asked.
“In this day and age?” Jer muttered. “It's a good indication of how long you'd live, if the throne chose you.”
“I don't know,” Aren shrugged, not willing to offer any sort of information. Especially to three men who all watched her for any sign of magic. It was too engrained in her to not show others, and she had only attempted to show Av to stop his damned questions.
Av cleared his throat. “I for one—”
“Your opinion doesn't count,” Ervam said to Av quickly. “Man looks at a queen that he's decided is his and he thinks she's the most powerful he's ever laid eyes on. No matter her actual strength. Can you show us a little, maybe?”
“No.” Aren shook her head. “Magic is not to be wasted on shows. That is not what it is for. I am not here—I was not born what I am—to serve your purposes, or to show you that magic and spirits do exist. I'm not even here to make your lives better.”
“What makes you think that we think that?” Jer asked.
Ervam watched Aren watch him. The man squinted for a moment, then relaxed. “Tell me what your parents thought of ranks.”
Aren took the seat once more. “In the village, I made a friend. She knew what I was, because she was the same. Servant girl, only fourteen or so, but she was so mature. She led, she said, all those in the area. She couldn't tell me how she knew, just like she couldn't tell me why she knew I wasn't a challenge to her. She didn't have a lot of magic. She was like Telm, everyone just naturally made way for her.”
“I've never heard of one of your rank from the coasts,” Ervam said quietly, his tone relaying the question that Aren didn't want to answer.
“She showed me how to do what I do, hide what I am. The others in the village didn't realize.”
“No commoner could tell, with the way you've hidden yourself,” Av muttered in an annoyed tone.
“The other queens didn't know.”
“How many were there in this village of yours?” Ervam asked.
“Nearly one to a family,” Aren said. “We didn't realize how many ranks were in the village until...” She caught herself, pulled back to the present. “My mother caught me with the servant, the girl had been showing me something, and my mother simply saw magic. She realized the rank and claimed the girl was trying to force me to serve her, that she was wiping my memories.
“Mother took us both before Father, ignoring the fact that if this servant could destroy my being, she could have escaped easily enough. She shouted and went on and stomped her feet. Father agreed with Mother readily, said that the ranks were a blight, but for those who would serve the commoners for the greater good. He asked if the girl served him and his house. She said no.”
“Why not lie?” Ervam said.
“She said she would not serve him or his estate, that she might humble herself before his bloodline, and she looked to me. At the time I was too young to understand, you see,” Aren closed her eyes, feeling the cold guilt starting to grip her. “Maybe I could have done something, but I was frightened.”
“You couldn't have been more than a child,” Jer said.
“I am a queen, I should be frightened of nothing.”
“Ranked children are still children,” Ervam said. “Trust me, I raised several. They still scrape their knees, they're afraid of shadows in the night, keep secrets, and run away from home when things get tough. What happened to the girl?”
“My father called the guard, captained by his good friend who he had brought with him.” Aren said. “Accused the girl of witchcraft, which on the coast is still punishable by fire. My mother made the whole estate watch. She told me then, and repeated often since, that such a rank should all be burned, for they are selfish and untrustworthy, that they are never anything for anybody but themselves and will drive men to war, steal men from good women and keep their magic for themselves rather than share with the commoners who are in dire need.”
“You said there were more ranks than you had thought,” Jer said, pushing for information.
Aren lowered her eyes. “She was the only one on the estate. The next day her man came to me. I didn't realize she had one. Now that I am older, I think he was like you two. He was a good deal older. All he said as introduction was that she was his. He wanted to know what happened, I told him, and he asked if she was a witch. I said no. He asked if I thought my parents good folk. I said no. He begged me to reveal myself, said that he could place me with any number of young men who would protect me. I said no, I couldn't do that.
“He left and that night a notice arrived, inviting my father to inherit the vineyard. I was there when it arrived and I related the notice to the man. He asked why I would bring this to him. I told him that he had a want to rid his land of us and I had a want to leave. Everything felt wrong. The next morning a mob collected. Nearly one in every family and some had more. My rank, your rank, healers and two who I haven't found words for yet. They stood before my father and told him that the two odd ones said he had been invited south and that, in order to avoid bloodshed, he should take his family and head south. Run away like a coward.”
“Why did he take the offer?” Ervam asked.
“He laughed. This little old lady stepped out of the crowd and pointed a finger at the captain of the guard. She was stooped over, trembled as she tried to stand. So old that I'm surprised she hadn't turned to dust. All she did was point a finger. The man boiled in his own flesh. She said that if we did not leave, that was the fate we would all suffer, only the healers had agreed to keep us alive until the ranks bored of torturing us.”
“You left,” Jer said quietly, putting his head in his hands. “I need the name of that village, Aren.”
“It's hardly important now. My father did wrong, the ranks corrected it.”
“One to each family?” Jer cried into his hands. “To each family?” He looked up, tears dancing in his eyes. “Do you realize what that means, Aren? It is the only place in all the lands of the palace where we are likely to find a queen who can sit the throne until the end of her days, her natural-born days. No bartering with the Wastes to the north, no more fighting. Peace could come over the lands. One to each family? Dear spirits how could we have missed that?”
“They hide,” Ervam and Av said as one.
“A fourteen-year-old servant taught me how to hide myself in a village full of ranks,” Aren said to Jer. “They don't want to be found, they don't want your throne, or your land, or your magic. They want to be left alone. Just as I want to be left alone.”
“The throne—” Jer started.
“Damn the throne!” Aren shouted at him, her chair toppling back as she stood quickly. “Damn the throne, and damn you, Jer, for suggesting that anyone should be linked to that thing. It is nothing more than a throwback to the world of the ancients and serves no purpose any longer. Someone should destroy it, not sit upon it.”
Glaring about the startled faces, Aren turned and marched out, too angry to find more words.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“That could have been worse,” Ervam said, moving to a chest by the door.
He dug through the chest, looking for a very specific item as Av grasped at the information that had just been dumped on him. Jer seemed to be struggling to make sense of it, to find stable ground. Their struggle gave Ervam enough time to find the pouch, at the bottom of the box.
Ervam set the stone ring in the centre of the table, rapping his knuckles on the wood to drawing Av
’s full attention to him.
“How?” Av asked. “Her parents—”
“Strong ranks tend to rankle commoners,” Ervam said to Av. “Especially strong commoners. A rank is a threat to a strong commoner, so mix a strong, growing rank and a strong commoner, and you end up with bloodshed—it's not uncommon.”
“I thought ‘strong commoner’ meant more stubborn?” Jer asked.
“A…” Ervam struggled for a moment. “A strong commoner is one more likely to birth ranks. Usually they're raised against ranks, and then don't realize what their children are. I'm not saying forgive the motion, we are in control of our instincts, but it's happened many times. It could have been worse however, she could have suffered great abuse at the hands of her parents. Instead it is simply fear of being discovered. If you thought you'd be burned if someone discovered your rank, what would you do?”
“Stab someone,” Av said idly.
“And if you were a young woman?” Jer asked Av.
“Stab someone,” Av said again.
“Stabbing doesn't solve everything,” Ervam said sternly to Av as he motioned to the ring. “Did either of you go into this spirit cave that Aren hid from Lord Worl in?”
“No,” Av said, shaking his head.
“No,” Jer responded. “We thought about it but the guards who investigated said that no animal would go near the place, and they were surprised Aren went in.”
Ervam nodded slowly, rubbing a hand over his mouth. First Av, then Jer, picked up and inspected the ring. Almost the colouring of an opal, the ring was carved from one piece of stone and consisted of all the shades of blue that there were in the world. Seeing the ring made the words float up in Av’s mind, a reminder of a time his mother had attempted to teach him the history of his blood.
“What is it?” Jer asked finally, setting the ring onto the table. “We don't have to destroy the ring, or something, do we?”
“No,” Ervam said, and then more sternly. “No, this is an heirloom. But this is made of the stone that you would find in a spirit cave, as you called it.”
