by R. J. Price
“How did she pass?” Av asked, adding a growl to the question.
“I didn't do it!” the uncle shouted at them.
“Then who did?” both Jer and Av asked at the same time.
“She was seeing someone. I think he did,” the uncle sputtered out.
Av looked at Jer, who looked back at him passively. Pressing his lips together, Av raised an eyebrow to Jer, who simply stared back at him.
He turned to the uncle. “Jer will look into it. Be certain, good brother of Mie's mother, if your sister was murdered, Jer will execute them as the law states.”
The uncle paled considerably as Jer said, “Slowly,” and then sipped his tea loudly.
Chapter Thirty-One
Aren awoke, bleary. Av sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.
“What?” she asked him.
“Mie's uncle came by,” Av said, sounding as if he didn't believe what he was saying.
“Mm?” Aren said, stretching on the bed.
“You don't remember?”
“Remember what?” Aren asked.
Av stared at Aren, shock playing over his face before the emotion settled down. “Aren, what's the last thing you remember?”
“The fire last night,” Aren said, frowning at Av. A memory tugged at her. “I had the strangest dreams though. I dreamed that I lived through the same day twice, and then on the third day, when what I did changed nothing, I ordered you about. You thought me mad. Made me drink something to sleep. What time is it?”
“Just after noon,” Av responded. “How are you feeling?”
“Bleary, but rested,” Aren said, sliding to the edge of the bed. “I feel better. Maybe a little hungry. Is there food?”
“No,” Av responded.
“As you say,” Aren grumbled. She slid out of bed and pulled on clothing, leaving the bedroom as Av continued to stare at the floor. She glowered at Jer in the living area, sitting with a glass—an actual glass—of amber coloured liquid before him. “Your brother is in a mood.”
“It's difficult to keep up,” Jer muttered.
“With what?” Aren snapped at Jer, marching to the door.
“Women,” was what Aren swore she heard before she slammed the door behind her. She marched down the porch steps and stopped, turning to Mie who sat looking a bit dejected on the step. “What is going on?”
“I'm not allowed to talk about what I know,” Mie grumbled in annoyance.
“Young man,” was all Aren said.
“You did something that made them drink real early, and I did something that upset Av, and everyone who is breathing did something to make Em, the one who is sitting the throne, upset.” Mie growled at nothing in particular.
“What has that to do with...” Aren motioned to the house, then to herself and Mie.
“I don't know,” Mie exclaimed. “Adults are confusing. Why can't I just say that you're a queen and I'm a warrior, and that's the way it is?”
“Ranks interact in odd ways,” Aren said.
Mie considered this, then nodded. “Ranks interact in the way that traditions dictate.”
“I don't know those traditions, I wasn't raised on them,” Aren responded to Mie.
“Oh,” Mie said, dragging out the sound, “that makes much more sense. You like Av.”
“I do not!” Aren said, her face flushing. She had no idea how Mie had moved from traditions to that, of all things.
“He's attractive,” Mie offered.
Aren faltered. “Well, yes. And?”
“He claimed you, and most women would absolutely want that and he's ranked, so his way of showing that he wants something is shoving a girl into the dirt, and standing over her, saying mean things,” Mie said. “I don't think he realizes either.”
“Realizes what?” Aren asked Mie.
“He wants you as much as you want him,” Mie said pointedly. “You've probably been ignoring him, and when you finally acknowledged his appearance you challenged him. Yes?”
“For being so young, you know an awful lot,” Aren said.
Mie shrugged. “I don't think much of girls, but the girls I do like are the ones who, when I push them, give me a stout kick or shove me back. Most of the girls—”
“Ladies,” Aren corrected.
“—that Av talks about are the ones who bat their eyelashes at him and giggle like stupid people,” Mie said pointedly. “He knows they only want him because his mother sat the throne and he is what he is.”
“Thus, seeing someone ignore him,” Aren muttered.
“He's attractive, you said so,” Mie said.
“And?”
“You're stubborn as a rock,” Mie said, wrinkling his nose.
“Mie.”
“You like him.”
Aren felt her face heat up. “Even if I did—”
“Do you?”
“Maybe,” Aren said after a long moment. “And what then?”
Mie motioned to the house. “He's right there.”
“No, Mie. How does he equal what I want? This,”—she motioned to the lake—“a cottage on a lake... quiet... freedom. No one damned well bothering me.”
“If you told him that this was what you wanted, he would kill the one who sat the throne to get it for you,” Mie said, hopping off the step to follow Aren towards the lake. “You like him.”
“Mie,” she said to the young boy.
“Could you,” Mie paused, tapping his foot into the lake itself. “Could you stop him, if you really didn't want it?”
Aren considered for a moment, then lifted Mie into the air, an inch or more above the ground, before she set him back down.
“I can protect myself,” she said to reassure Mie.
“Is it nice?” Mie asked.
“Is what nice?”
“Having him corner you and put a hand up your skirts?” Mie asked.
“Mie,” Aren said carefully.
“Oh no, I don't want to put a hand up a girl's skirt when she said no,” Mie responded quickly. “Father says if she says no, that's it, that's the end. Spoken word is the end. He also said a man needs to learn to read women. Because sometimes they won't say no, but it means no, and sometimes they won't say no and they'll fight you, but they really mean yes. It's a little confusing.”
“It depends on the woman and the situation,” Aren said carefully. “I suppose. Maybe. Sometimes a woman needs to keep herself separated because she believes that is the only way to keep herself safe, and she's used to keeping herself safe. But at the same time the only way to get through to such a woman is corner her and force her to see that you would keep her safe. Not force her, mind you—not like that.”
“I will likely not need to chase a woman I like,” Mie responded.
“Likely not.”
Mie was quiet a long time. “What if I wanted her to run from me?”
“Play hard to get?” Aren asked.
“No, like for her to run from me,” Mie stressed, turning red as he did so. “Is that strange of me?”
Aren considered. “If you want your woman to run from you, so long as she is willing to lead you on such a run, I see no reason for you not to.”
Mie chewed his bottom lip.
“What?” Aren pushed.
“Well, what if I knew,” Mie glance to the house.
“Mie, I don't understand how you know so much?” Aren asked.
Aren lifted several inches above the ground and dropped suddenly. She regained her balance and frowned as she looked around for the one who had used magic. Focusing on Mie, Aren decided that he was the only possible source. The young boy glared across the lake, then turned to Aren.
“Am I broken?”
“No. No, Mie,” Aren bent down to meet Mie at eye level. “Of course not. You are not broken. There is nothing wrong with you. Just... The world is not used to a boy your age knowing what you know. But I thought that you were like Av.”
“I am,” Mie grumbled.
“But you have m
agic,” Aren responded.
“Does that make me broken?”
“No, just odd. Have you told your father? You should tell your father.”
Mie glowered at Aren. “Does your father know?”
“My father despises rank, yours is of rank,” Aren said sternly to Mie. “Not to mention, he has two sons like you.”
“They don't use magic,” Mie said to the lake.
“There was once a time, it's called the enlightened age,” Aren said, not to Mie but to the lake. “When even most commoners had some measure of magic. At the moment we are not of a dark time, but we are of a random time. A time where queens come and go, and few commoners can use magic.”
“Why is it called the Enlightened Age?” Mie asked.
“Because all the lights were on, naturally,” Aren grumbled in response.
“No,” Jer said, stepping up to them. “It was called the Enlightened Age because people had more time to think. They were enlightened by all this thought, rather than us folk who attempt to survive and end up killing one another instead. Mie, Father is somewhat conscious, go pour more alcohol into him, least he asks where the day went to and starts hunting Av with the new axe I just purchased him.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The next day was a rest day. Jer taught Aren how to fish, taking her out in the canoe that was always tied to the dock at the lookout, while Av helped chop wood. Each of them had some time alone with the trainer to voice their opinions, and their problems. Returning with the fish, Jer had found Av and their father huddled close, over the fire pit, in heated discussion that ended the moment they spotted Jer.
He cleaned the fish, readied them for dinner, and helped his father roast them in a pan over the fire. The fish fell to pieces, but made a satisfying meal. Added to that were fresh potatoes, pulled from the vegetable garden by Aren and Ervam. The four of them sat around the fire long into the night, telling stories at first, and then simply sitting in silence. Occasionally one or the other would stand and add a log to the fire, then sit again and watch the flames catch hold of the wood.
Each found their way to bed, eventually.
Av and Jer were awake at dawn, tiptoeing around the house to keep from waking Aren. Leaving the cottage in search of their father, the two were surprised to see that he was already outside, with their packs at his feet.
“You two sleep like the dead,” he said, crossing his arms with an annoyed look. “What if someone had come into my home to slit your throats?”
“Hopefully,” Av said with all the arrogance of the master, “they slit your throat first.”
Ervam shook his head sadly. “You'll be headed out, once the lady awakens. Obviously she is not going to succumb to illness. Maybe the consumption left a mark on her that keeps her safe. Maybe she wasn't touched by the stone at all—that much we can hope for, hope that the day before yesterday was simply another purge.”
“Hopefully,” Av said.
“When have we ever been that lucky?” Jer asked his father.
“True,” the man said with a grumble. “We've never been that lucky. Our lives have been difficult ones with much sorrow and long periods of calm, before more sorrow followed, but that is the life of any man. We are faced with challenges that we must keep to ourselves, in our hearts, and away from the eyes of the commoners. If you fall you do not cry, for then you have no respect. You cannot be anything but strong, else you are always weak. This is the burden of your rank, of my rank.”
“Yes, Father,” they said quietly.
“You cannot be muddied. While common men might drink when fear grips them, you must still your heart, ready your weapon, and face the enemy head-on. In these coming months the enemy will be foggy, unclear. I prayed I would never have to say this to you boys, but if you want to know your enemy you need only look to one another. You are brothers, but you are on separate sides of a war that will ravage the palace grounds unless it is ended quickly. Neither of you are likely to be on the winning side. Do you understand this?”
“Yes, Father,” they murmured, their heads lowered.
“There are over a hundred queens near enough to the palace for the throne to latch onto. The throne will not simply accept who is closest to it. Your mother was a four day ride away, and there were strong queens—good queens—closer, even on the palace grounds in hopes of taking the throne.
“The two of you need to worry, not about those women you back, but yourselves. End of this, the dust settles, whoever sits the throne is going to need strong men who have seen queens come and go, not those chits you call your flock. Look at me, Av, when I'm speaking to you.”
Av looked up but was unhappy to do as he was told. He and Jer had spent a good deal of time preparing the others like them to step up, but just as there were varying strengths to the queens born to the world, there were differences in the warriors.
“None of them would have the strength to meet a queen in the throne room, let alone sit by her side and stand against the court. Jer well knows the cost of sitting the throne, not only for the queen but for the mate of the throne, the loss of family, friend, and lover.”
Jer looked up and met his father's eyes because he knew it was expected of him. They nodded to one another and then Jer lowered his eyes again.
“I can give you no more advice. What you do with the words I have given you on your personal problems are those of a father and as boys, as my sons, I pray you take those words to heart, but understand that like you, I am a man. Question what I have told you: ask yourself if this is the right path for you.”
“Yes, Father,” they both said.
“On the topic of the Lady Aren...” the trainer sighed. “I have no honest idea what to do with her. She could be a very weak queen, she could be a very strong queen. She could be the one I felt when your mother passed from us, to the spirits, the one the throne wanted, but could not have. But in the same breath we must understand, that queen is likely no closer to the throne now than she was all those years ago.
“Lady Aren is a good, although flawed, woman. She is not by any stretch of the imagination a perfect woman, the temper alone is enough to give me pause. As a queen, well, force her out. Show me how she rules and then I will decide, not before. I will make no statement as to whether she deserves her rank without proof of magic, of leadership. Many a queen has been born with no place in the role of leader. That is why there is one throne and only one. Queens are not raised like you boys were, they are not engrained with the same traditions of honour and righteousness, and this lady you've brought with you, she did not receive the talks of how a queen need watch what she does. She does not respect your position at her side because she does not understand you as anything but an enemy. Do you remember how to lead gently?”
“Yes, Father,” they said.
“Good. Ones like her, back when I was a boy, were called wild ones. The difference between them and the ladies at court are the same difference between a horse bred, born, and trained among men, and a wild mare dragged in and broken.” The trainer hesitate. “Don't break the horse. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father,” Jer said.
“I think so,” Av said, sounding confused.
“Good. As to Em,”—a sigh—“you boys know I never approved of the pairing, let alone her sitting the throne. I told you to keep her from taking the throne, but you did not listen.”
“I arrived too late,” Jer said to his feet.
“Either way, she took it,” their father said steadily. “And now after keeping it these past ten years, she is wasting away to nothing. As happened before, as will happen again, but now we know. As much as I dislike the woman she was brilliant in forcing other queens away, and it gave us almost a decade of peace and quiet, gave us time to begin rebuilding what was destroyed in the confusion of the queens who came and went so quickly.
“For what she has taught us, for what we can teach the next queen if the throne starts picking away at her mind, I command you to make h
er final days as comfortable as possible. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Father,” they said.
“Av, that means making Aren uncomfortable.”
“Let me deal with that, when it comes to it,” Av responded.
“That being said, boys, there is change on the horizon. Relax, open yourselves to it and follow your instincts. Above all else, that will lead you true.”
“Mine led me to Em,” Jer protested.
“Which led to Mar,” his father responded quietly, almost respectfully. “Which led Av to Aren. Your pain was necessary in order for something greater than yourself to bloom. Do you deny this?”
“No,” Jer said, lowering his eyes.
“When Em passes, I will come to the palace and help with arrangements. I will come and see to you both. In the privacy of our rooms we will be father and sons. We will mourn our mates, our children, our choices, and our past, but once we leave that room there is no more grief, only the new queen.”
“Yes, Father,” they said.
“Ah, speak of the lady and she shall rise,” the trainer said, looking to the cottage as the brothers looked up and then to Aren. “A good morning to you Aren. How are you this morning?”
“Suspicious,” she said, stepping off the porch. “It's never a good sign when you step into a room and conversation stops. Means folk are talking about you.”
“Nothing bad, I assure you,” their father said.
Aren's eyes darted over each of them, locking onto Jer. He saw the queen in her, then, furious and frustrated, ready to lash out at the first man stupid enough to open his mouth. Jer watched as Aren struggled to hide away, as the rank slowly disappeared and all that was left was a frightened young woman who knew far too much.
“We're headed back to the palace,” Av said to Aren. “Figure today is the sixth day, you should be safe enough.”
“Are we certain I won't explode in a blazing ball of all consuming fire the moment I lay eyes on Lady Em?”
“Quite certain,” Jer said.
“Are we absolutely certain she won't explode?” Aren asked.
“Em's temper is unstable, but not explosive,” Av said, drawing Aren's eyes as the older brother chuckled to himself.
