by R. J. Price
“That a suspected witch must be brought before the throne, not before the one who sits the throne,” Jer said. “A queen simply needs to be present to give the verdict. Em's had conflict of interest more than once and each time she has had Telm sit in, that's how I know the way around the law.”
“But Em would still have to be informed,” Av said.
“She'll be informed, after,” Jer said, standing. “Go fetch your lady and bring her before the throne.”
“Jer, please.”
“I will not suffer a witch to live, Av. They sap the magic of the queens, use it to their own ends, to manipulate commoners into believing that they are queens, to take the throne, to throw us into civil wars for their own petty amusements,” Jer said, smiling all the while. “If Aren is a witch. I promise you that she will not suffer long, it will never be made public.”
“But she'll still be dead,” Av said.
“If we knew of a way to lock a witch up, to keep her from accessing the magic of the queens, we would.”
“A real witch has never been brought before the throne: it's all myth and rumour,” Av protested.
“Then there shouldn't be any problem, should there?” Jer asked Av.
“I worry she may be deviant in another way,” Av said. “As you said, queens can't tell the future. What if she is something else? Something that we've never seen before?”
“Bring her to the throne,” Jer said. “That's an order. Go.”
Av gritted his teeth but left to do as he was commanded. He felt numb, walking into his home, seeing Aren sitting at the table looking so annoyed, crabby. Aren was a woman who had been rubbed the wrong way. She stood and marched up to him, ready to give him a tongue-lashing he wasn't soon to forget.
“I'm to bring you before the throne,” Av said before Aren could speak.
She pulled to a sudden stop, paled and then turned grey as Av watched her. “Why?”
“Queens cannot tell the future.”
“But, it's only happened once,” Aren protested.
“You said today was like the other day,” Av countered.
“I meant that I knew—I didn't see today happening like this, else I would have given you warning well ahead of time. You think I like putting myself in danger just to...” Aren trailed off.
“Just to what?” Av pushed.
“Just to stay hidden,” Aren muttered with a sigh. “I've no defence. Em will kill me, you know that.”
“It's not before Em, it's the throne and Telm.”
“I've never been in the same room as the throne.”
“Aren, please,” Av said, sounding hollow. “Don't make me force you. The whole palace would know, then where would we be? No one's ever been called a witch, especially by Telm. They're just monsters we tell children about to keep them in at night.”
“Then why are you worried?” Aren asked.
“Because witch is also a term applied to deviants, those who...” Av struggled. “Ones who aren't supposed to be, who can use magic without magic, who control elements instead of magic. It's always been the duty, and ruling, of the mate to the throne to destroy these deviants before they can have children and pass it on.”
“And you worry I might be one of those?”
Av could only shrug. “Aren, I've seen glimpses. Jer has accepted you as a queen by my word alone. Fooling one man is more than within the talents of any woman. Please.”
Stubborn as always, Aren resisted for a moment and then gave in. “Fine, but when it's proved that I am not a witch or a deviant, you and I need to have a talk.”
“You can give me a tongue-lashing that I will not soon forget,” Av said to her as she walked past him, to the door. “You can even shout at the top of your lungs, curse words included, and I will allow you.”
Av followed the suddenly quiet Aren. She did not falter until they walked into the palace, hesitating as she looked around her. It took a moment for Av to realize the hesitation. Aren had no idea where the throne actually was. He motioned to her and led the way, wondering how anyone could live at the palace for as long as Aren had and never have attended court.
Mar had attended court while Aren had been her guardian, yet Av never recalled seeing Aren with Mar.
Outside the throne room, Aren hesitated again, glaring at the door, then into the room. Av watched Aren expectantly and she glowered at him but stepped into the throne room. Telm and Jer were already there, standing before the throne.
Inside the room, Aren seemed to change. She relaxed, on purpose. Defeated and yet still stubborn, Aren stood with her back straight and head held high. Av set a hand on the small of Aren's back and directed her forward. She marched before Telm and Jer, glaring at both of them.
“When you said witch, I had hopes that you meant Em,” Telm said. “Jer, this girl is a queen. I know it, the staff knows it. This is not a secret, nor is she even close to a witch, just a well-hidden queen—a trick that all queens should be taught, I should tell you. It would make travelling and holidaying a good deal easier.”
“I see a commoner,” Jer said. “Not even Av can see it but for a few glimpses, which can be faked, most especially by someone who is capable of hiding in plain sight, as Lady Aren is.”
“Of course, they can be faked,” Telm responded stepping away from Jer. “You might have noticed, we tend not to touch one another.”
Aren pulled away from Telm as Telm reached out. The older woman took hold of Aren's wrist anyway, yanking her forward. Telm's foot darted out and knocked Aren's feet out from under the lady, causing her to collapse to the floor. Av was furious, but had no idea if he could step in without Jer stepping in as well.
Yet in that moment, as Aren collected herself, pushed off the floor to her hands and knees, Telm took Aren by the back of the neck. The whole world lit up, as if the stars had come down from the sky and danced in the throne room itself. Av gasped at the magic that swirled around him, at the anger that made those little stars explode into ten, a hundred, a thousand more stars.
Telm snapped her hand away from Aren's neck. “No harm meant, girlie, but it helps when the men around you can see what you are—gives them more than sputtering and grumbles when it comes to protecting you.”
Av looked from Aren, to Jer, who no longer looked giddy. He looked down at Aren with a pitiful sadness.
“I will tell Em,” Jer said.
“Tell her what?” Av countered.
“That Aren is queen,” Jer said, not looking to Av.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Aren panted on hand and knee, trying to collect her defences as Jer left the throne room. Telm knelt beside her, hand on her back which was a good deal less threatening than when those strong fingers had gripped her neck tightly. Aren looked up at Telm through strands of hair.
She had known that her defences could be laid bare if she touched someone else. What Aren hadn't realized was that other queens could strip it away, if they could see through the mask. Telm had shown Av and Jer what she saw each time she looked at Aren and, in doing so, had shattered what had taken years to create.
“There are more embarrassing ways of proving such a verdict,” Telm said to Aren.
Sitting back on her knees, Aren sighed out, her breath coming a little slowly.
“Such as what?” she asked. “What is more embarrassing?”
“When I was a girl a woman was brought into the throne room and had,” Telm said, hesitating just slightly. “By a warrior. In front of the one who sat the throne and her mate. During such an encounter you don't guard. Strong pain can do it as well or being unconscious and no longer here, such as when you are very ill.”
“You've known that long?” Aren asked.
She had still hoped that Telm's cryptic words that day had been another kind of warning.
“Yes, I thought I had it well hidden, thought the staff would not know,” Telm said. “You've gotten stronger, girl, only a few bloodlines do that, but normally only after taking the throne.”
“Queen's stone,” Av said absently. “When Em comes, she will be furious, Telm. Whatever happens, stay out of the way, I don't want you being hurt because of this.”
“Queen's stone?” Telm asked. “What queen's stone?”
“Blues?” Aren said. “It was in the spirit cave.”
“The stuff that causes consumption?” Telm said. “That stuff makes one go mad, if they don't die during the infectious days shortly after being in the mines.”
“You know about the infection?” Av asked.
Aren had never heard of one going mad after surviving consumption. The illness had taken others in the past, it would take more in the future. Surely madness as a symptom would have been remarked on by someone.
“Of course I do. Three queens were infected. They were the only ones who could venture into the mines that might survive. Your mother chose those who had survived consumption before, said that if the stone caused consumption, then it would be as those who care for those with consumption. The queens lived and filled in the mines.”
“And then?” Aren asked Telm.
“And then nothing,” Telm said. “They bonded with one another and left court.”
“Craftsmen filled in the mines,” Av said.
“After the queens did the initial fill,” Telm said pointedly. “No one but your mother, myself, and the queens know. Knew, I suppose. Your mother said it was our duty to take on the burden. She refused to tell even your father what she had done. Swore the queens to secrecy.”
“Are they still alive?” Aren asked, her mind racing. “Maybe they know what's going on, maybe they can help me.”
“No, they cannot,” Telm said. “They would try, absolutely. But it's almost impossible to tell what they mean.”
“They can't be any worse than Em's aunts,” Av grumbled.
Telm stared up at Av.
“They are the aunts?” Av squeaked out.
“Those women?” Aren asked. “Mar spoke with them, but I didn't think they were queens. Why would Em allow them into court?”
“She thinks they are like me, and they are, for the most part,” Telm said. “Not strong, but capable. You ask them a question and they give you three different answers.”
“Except only one of them is right, and it's never the same one,” Av muttered.
“No,” Telm said slowly. “They're all right. They prefer living apart because when they come to court, they see too much. All they wanted was a cottage out on a lake somewhere and once the mines were filled your mother was going to honour that, along with a pension for them. Only she passed and Em refused to make good on her word.”
It seemed that was all any rank wanted—a cottage on a lake. Aren wondered if that was why the palace was located where it was, among so many lakes.
“And no one knew,” Aren said.
“And no one else knew,” Telm said. “Since then the economy has been terrible. Lords have been losing coins, crops, and daughters.”
“But they don't sit the throne,” Av said.
“And?” Telm responded. “If only one queen was needed at a time, only one would be alive at a time. Instead many are born and each village could have one. Each land used to have one, mated to the lord of the land, bearing his children, and producing more of themselves. We are taught not to cross queens. Why do you think that is, if only the one on the throne matters?”
“Because you all talk,” Av said simply.
“Because we're all dangerous,” Telm said. “What did your father tell you, before he left the palace?”
“Uh, wash behind your ears, do me proud,” Av shrugged. “Don't upset Telm.”
“Wonder why he'd say a thing like that,” Telm responded.
“You're master of the house, head of servants,” Av said. “It's never a good idea to upset the person in control of the servants.”
“I wasn't when he left,” Telm said pointedly.
Aren felt lightheaded suddenly. She lowered her head and pushed her hands against her face, groaning. The world wanted to spin and she tried to keep it still.
“What's wrong?” Av said.
“The world is moving,” Aren said into her hands. She moved her hands to the floor, trying to stop the world from moving. Lowering herself to the floor, she found that it stopped, at least for the moment.
“She should be past the time of sickness,” Av said, dropping to Aren's side.
“This is not the stone,” Telm responded, her cool hands setting on Aren's forehead and cheek. “She's not hot.”
The world took a sickening spin. “I don't feel good.”
“I'll get a healer,” Av said.
“Don't bother,” Telm said. “Healers can do nothing for her. If she is sick, all they could do is ease her symptoms, but I don't think it is illness.”
“Then what is it?” Av snapped.
Telm was silent. Aren forced her eyes open and looked up at Telm, who was looking to the throne. Aren struggled to move, looking to the throne expecting to see Em there, but the seat was unoccupied. Telm didn't mean Em, she meant the throne.
“What?” Av said quickly.
“It's stopping her from running,” Telm said, hands sliding over Aren's arms.
“How do you say no?” Aren demanded, a tremor racking her body.
“You're too far gone to say no, girlie.”
“What do you mean too far gone? My father said you were all but on the throne,” Av shouted at Telm, “and you stepped back, said no, that's why my mother was chosen!”
“I could say no, I had that option,” Telm said sternly to Av. “Most have the option.”
“Why not all?”
“Because there are some that the throne chooses—it thinks, the throne does. You think Em makes random choices for all those pairings that produce ranks? The throne tells her who to pair up. I recall Aren's parents—they were paired in just that way. It made her. She exists because of it, and it is calling its due,” Telm said sternly, her voice beginning to echo, as if Aren heard it from a long way off.
“She's the only rank of her siblings,” Av said.
“Really? They're all mature, are they?” Telm asked.
“She—she has a sister who is younger than her,” Av said slowly.
“Then don't stand there telling me her siblings are all commoner,” Telm drew Aren up, holding her close. “You don't have long, Aren. Em's heart will not last much longer. Relax or it'll kill you.”
“Kill her?”
“Bleed out of her very skin. It's not a pretty, nor a quick, death,” Telm said.
“She's not dead yet,” Aren gasped out. “Her heart is breaking, not dying.”
“And why do you think it's breaking?” Telm asked quietly. “It's a terrible sight to behold and their fear is always so high, when their mate decides it is time. For those last few moments the throne gives them a clear mind and after so much madness they feel robbed, confused.”
“What?” Av said. “Jer, I have to stop him.”
“It's too late,” Telm said as Aren let out a screech. “It was too late the moment Jer left.”
Aren screamed and screamed, her world shattering as the throne latched onto her. Pain engulfed her and then sweet, blessed nothingness. Aren ascended to the throne.
###
R.J. Price
RJ Price lives in Canada where she works and writes full time. When not doing either of those things she attempts to navigate social media and resists the urge to return to writing. She has published novels in the fantasy genre and insists she is also a science fiction author, but has been too caught up in her Seat of Magic series to actually complete a science fiction novel for publishing.
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