by R. J. Price
He would not react. He would not say anything or betray how he was feeling. She was his—that was what he believed and what he felt in every part of him. Even if she attempted to deny him, there was nothing she could do to stop him from chasing her.
“I understand,” Av said.
There was a knock on the door. Aren looked towards the door and held up her hand as if to say no, then turned back to Av. Frowning at Aren, Av turned to the door, only then noticing a young woman standing there. He almost recognized her. The woman had a blank look on her face, as if blocking out everything she heard.
“Has Jer come to court as well as your father?” Aren asked. “I have a need of him to sit by my side. No one else can sit beside me, aside from a mate. I can't very well greet the barons with no one at my side, now can I?”
“It is my understanding that he is, yes,” Av said. “It was also my understanding that Jer would stand as warrior to your mate.”
Who else could he have stand at his side? Who else would he entrust with the lives of his mate and his children?
“As you wish,” Aren said.
“How can a man offer you up and yet stand as warrior at the same time?” Av asked, daring to broach the subject Aren seemed to be dancing around.
“A warrior's place is to protect a mate,” Aren said. “I see no reason why a man cannot offer up one and stand as warrior for the other.”
Which was not the kind of answer he was hoping for. It was still closer than he had been moments before. Av took in a breath and ventured to poke Aren.
“And what else might a mate of yours expect, Lady Aren?” he asked.
“From me?” Aren asked, meeting Av's gaze. “Well, a mate of mine might expect papers and commands and throne business.”
“I meant as a mate,” Av ventured.
“Nothing. I'm not mating with anyone at any point,” Aren said.
“Damn, because I could offer up a few ways to put that mouth to good use,” Av grumbled.
Aren paled considerably. “Never use those words together again.”
“I have an even better way I could put my mouth to use,” Av said, watching Aren turn a funny sort of red. “By telling bad jokes.”
He was going to stab every male of Aren's bloodline until he discovered which one gave her a reason to blanch at such an innocent set of words. His attempt to calm the awkwardness of their conversation brought out a stiff smile from Aren, but that was all.
“What's your point, Av?” Aren asked.
“No point,” he said.
“I'm a queen, you're a warrior. Why can't we just leave it at that?” Aren asked.
Av sighed, then said, “I rode out on a white horse, though it wasn't my choice. I saved you and I got nothing.”
“You didn't save me,” Aren said. “The only reason I walked away was because of me. Not because of you. You rode out and retrieved me.”
“I waited all winter—I waited, when I wanted to go out immediately, because people kept telling me I'd die going and then where would you be?” Av said. “I showed up, and I didn't kill your friend, I only killed the bad person.”
“And you think that entitles you to sex?” Aren asked.
“No! Not sex. At least a pat on the head. Preferably a damnable kiss.”
“You came to me covered in blood and bits of body,” Aren said sternly.
“And you were dirty and covered in weeks of sweat and bodily items, but you didn't hear me complaining, now did you?” Av said.
“It's my body, I've a right to say no,” Aren said.
Taken aback, Av stared at Aren for too long before he managed to speak. “Of course you do. And I understand that things change and you might change your mind. But I don't know where I stand.”
“Suddenly you want everything laid out in terms that everyone can understand?” Aren asked with a small smile. “It is getting late, and I have one final audience tonight. I think it's time you get going, before the lords and ladies begin gossiping of the illicit things we've been doing.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Aren watched Av leave, wondering if he understood the message at all. She wanted to touch him—she did—but it wasn't the right time. Even if she had reached out for him, Av would have seen the tremble in her hands. He would have come close enough to see the fear in her eyes.
Speaking with Para had not gone as planned. Aren had laid it all out in her mind. She was going to subtly call Para a Bilgern and then if the woman tried to correct her, Aren was going to remind Para that the one who sat the throne was Argnern, not Bilgern.
She had made a right mess of that.
The only reason she had made it through that conversation was because Av arrived. If it hadn't been for him, Para might have won that argument. He didn't even understand how crucial it had been that he side with her, had simply done it because he believed it was right.
As Av left, Wena let Telm into the room. The head of house looked haggard, but not ill. It appeared as if Telm were exhausted, but certainly not sick. Taking the seat that Av had just been sitting in, Telm let out a shuddering breath. For a moment, she appeared weakened, and then the moment passed and Telm was tired once more.
“You called?” Telm asked.
“Yes, I've given Lord Av a command,” Aren said. “No man is to be by himself with me until I am mated. Wena will help see to this, as will Av, but I may be in need of more handmaids. Please provide me with a list of people who would be well-suited.”
“Women,” Telm said. “You had just said a male cannot be alone with you. While having a man wait on you is a good idea, he may end up alone at some point.”
“Then until I am mated, I will only have female servants,” Aren said.
“I hate to ask, but he seemed rather upset,” Telm said, motioning to the door. “Whom will you be mating?”
“Lord Av, but I'm not certain he understands that just yet,” Aren said. “You must make certain no one tells him who is mating me. Lord Av desires to run the court on shadows and lies. I've little time for that and want to give him a taste of his own medicine.”
“Easily doable, as neither of the pair is ever involved in planning the ceremony,” Telm said. “Especially when one sits the throne. I will draw on Mar and Av's family to help with the decisions.”
“The barons and their mates are coming as an open invitation to the palace to open treaties,” Aren said, watching Telm's features. Nothing gave away what the woman was thinking about. “This means three queens and the baron of the south, unless he's mated over the winter. The barons know and can play by our rules, but their mates are creatures apart. I need whatever books you have that are true documentation of the mates of the barons.”
“They vary as much as women do,” Telm said. “Ervam's mother, for instance, is a meek woman but a powerful queen. I've been told that Er's mate is nothing like his mother.”
“I've been told she's a great deal like you,” Aren said.
Av had filled Aren in on all the details. She knew why she had been there and what had happened. It was better knowing rather than having so many questions.
Telm trembled and said, “You know.”
“Of course I know,” Aren said. “The warrior of that tale—do you know his name?”
“Rewel. His name was Rewel,” Telm said.
“He aged very oddly then,” Aren murmured. “He was older than Av, but Danya said she remembers him as a child.”
“Who is Danya?” Telm asked. “That spell consumed every living person besides the warrior involved.”
“Warriors—plural, Rewel had friends whom he plotted with,” Aren said, watching the woman's face twist and change with a tumultuous range of emotions. “There were seven others, Danya said.”
“But who is Danya?” Telm asked again.
“A healer. She was a babe when it happened,” Aren said with a frown. “Rewel and the others raised her. Though now that I say that, it seems off that children would have cared for a babe, let alo
ne known how to.”
“The spell must have made them all younger,” Telm grumbled. “Didn't make the user younger, just kept her from aging normally.”
“Do you know who Danya is? Was she in the village before the event?”
“Not that I know off,” Telm said with a shake of her head. “There hadn't been a ranked healer in the village for generations. Skilled herbologists and one trained to teach a healer, were one to ever arise. If there had been a woman pregnant with a rank, they wouldn't have bothered with the queen.”
“Because the unborn rank might still be a queen?” Aren asked. “How did they know if a rank was about to be born?”
“They had their ways, but they had no way to tell what rank it was,” Telm said. “While some women can feel what they are carrying and when, no one from the village really could.”
“Like a queen who came from a queen,” Aren said.
“Yes,” Telm said with a nod. “The queen’s mother was killed some years earlier, leaving no queen in the village. The queen was the one who would tell those who were pregnant what they were carrying. It was my understanding that no rank had been born in the village since the queen had been removed. Again, that was why they pulled her back in.”
“But she was carrying a queen,” Aren said.
That was the only thing that Aren didn't understand. A little queen had been stolen, yet there seemed to be no record of her. Everyone else in that village had been consumed in the spell besides those involved, and Danya.
“How old is she?” Telm asked.
“Danya? She doesn't really remember. Over thirty, but Av said she looks far too young to be that old. She's in the healer's hall at the moment. She’s having difficulty with her eyes, perhaps because the magic here is different than the magic there, but I don't know. It's difficult to say, really, because the same sun shines and the only real difference is the magic.”
Telm took in a breath and covered her mouth. “If she was born into the magic, she probably doesn't know how to see the world without it.”
“Like coming into the sun after months of being kept in the dark?” Aren asked.
“I don't know, I've never done that. I do know some can see magic depending on how they see the world. I should go and see her, see if the healers can tell what is wrong. That poor woman.”
Aren watched Telm stand, and waited. She let the head of household reach the door, where Wena hesitated before opening the door.
“Oh, Telm,” she said, causing the woman to turn back to her, “while you are there, you will submit yourself to the ministrations of the healers.”
“I have a right to my body,” Telm said.
“And I cannot have a woman serve as head of house who does not set a perfect example for the servants,” Aren said, standing. “You were ill and refused the services of the healers. Doing so while the magic was active would have made sense. There would be no way to explain your connection to the dark blot on the land. However, the magic is no longer here and from what I understand, your body, right before the magic sprang, was ripped into. Your magic has kept you alive all these years, but that magic is now gone.
“If you do not march yourself down to the healing hall and get seen to immediately, I will let it be known, among your own girls, that you think yourself above your own rules.”
“As if that is a threat,” Telm said.
“And when your daughter arrives with her mate, I will tell her not only where to find you but the entire story and then I'll tell her that you would rather die than swallow your pride and be able to stand before her,” Aren snapped.
“I'm not going to die,” Telm protested.
“You were cut into and a child was ripped from your belly. Unless you are a healer, you've absolutely no right to claim what the state of your body is in.”
“I'm fine!” Telm shouted back at her.
“I could break both her legs?” Wena offered from the door. “Then simply drag her down there screaming.”
Telm went a funny sort of colour, apparently having forgotten that Wena was there. The queen clenched her hands and gritted her teeth as she glared at Aren.
“Because you wouldn't be able to kick and scream,” Aren said to Telm. “What with your legs being broken and all.”
“I understood what the girl meant,” Telm growled.
“Your choice, Telm.”
Aren watched Telm leave, then watched Wena close and lock the door behind her. She sighed out, too tired to figure out what to do next.
“You need sleep,” Wena said, moving across the room to her. “At least two of them are going to cause problems tomorrow and one is going to be running in circles.”
“Court isn't back for a few more days at least,” Aren muttered, shuffling to the bed.
She felt as if she had just left. It would have been good to have some sort of relaxation over the winter. That was what the season was meant for.
Wena helped loosen the ties on the dress. After changing into a nightgown, she climbed into bed and drew the covers up, meaning to sleep. As she was drifting off, something occurred to her. Confused, Aren sat up and groaned.
“Wena?” she asked the darkened room.
“Yes, Aren?” came the quiet response.
“Did Av seem to imply that Anue was a queen?” Aren asked.
“She is. I saw her shortly after she arrived,” Wena said. “You didn't know that? That your own sister was a queen?”
“No, I didn't. There seems to be a great deal I didn't know.”
“Best not worry about it now. Tomorrow is the time for troubles and worries. Today is the time for living. Or in your case, sleeping.”
Aren groaned and lay down once more. She had seen enough trouble to last a lifetime. One life could only have so much trouble, and surely she had seen the end of hers. Content, feeling safe, Aren drifted off to sleep, certain that life would go on.
###
About R.J. Price
R.J. 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 is in the process of publishing her first science fiction book, Five Years Dead, of the Haven Series.
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