by Dawn Peers
Quinn didn’t know how Sammah was able to tell her what the emotions she encountered were meant to feel like. There was a great deal about their father she didn’t know, she supposed. With his important role in the court of the King; he held the fate of the relationship between two warring kingdoms on the whisper of his every word. If Sammah told Everfell that Sha’sek were readying for war, tens of thousands of men would be called to arms in an instant. Sammah was in no danger. Dignitaries such as him were granted immunity from the passion and violence of war. Quinn knew she’d wither under that kind of scrutiny. Not Sammah. He thrived, and leveraged a great deal of influence, despite being a youngest son and effectively exiled to the Everfell court.
All of her life, Sammah had been able to explain to her what the senses meant; that dehydration was somebody lying; that close, humid heat meant lust; that headaches cleaving her skull in two meant anger. There were fine lines between it all that she could only learn with age and by using her gift. Gift. She had used that word once, and Sammah had scoffed at her. Do not think you are blessed, Quinn. No one has what you have. You are unique. There are many people in this world that will hate you for what you are. There are even more that would steal you, abuse you for your empathic skills. I am the only thing in this world protecting you from them. You can never let anyone else know what you are. You can never trust anyone but me.
Her eyes stung with tears. Maertn misunderstood why they were there, and rushed to the head of the bed to sit next to her. She tried to sit up, and he pushed her back down gently, placing a cool palm on her forehead. His hands were smooth, not like the calloused palm of the soldier that had grabbed onto her earlier. They were gentle, adding to the calm he gave her even without knowing or trying. “You haven’t rested enough. You need some rest.”
“You know he’s right, Quinn. Why are you up already? Did you disturb her, Maertn?”
“No sir.”
Maertn stood away from the bed, shifting so he was only slightly away from Quinn, keeping her well within his reach. He straightened his posture, inclining his head towards their father. Maertn was tall, built straight from shoulder to hip, with a mass of curly brown hair that he was never able to tame. His pale skin was in contrast to Quinn’s olive tone, offset by her green eyes and jet black hair, sleek and straight, like a lance of darkness through a shaft of light. Neither of them resembled Sammah in the slightest, though it was never something that was commented on in court, or anywhere else. It was common knowledge that Sammah supported dozens of orphans across the kingdom. What it didn’t bring any of them was favour. Sammah did not support them, for them to lead out lives of idle privilege, like some of the court youngster that came through Everfell’s halls. Like Briar’s father, Sammah expected them to work; to learn skills and gain a trade. She and Maertn were his only two charges in Everfell. Everyone assumed that Quinn was hard to place because of her…difficulties, hence her night duties and careful relationship with both Sammah and Ross, the Chamberlain. He had three orphans in Broadwater, two of whom were joining the household guard. The other was a healer, like Maertn, but not as skilled. There was also a tailor, a very silver-tongued young merchant, and a young man who was going to become a professional messenger, because of his skill with horses. Sammah didn’t talk to them about his others, though. When he was at court, it seemed like he wanted to give you all of his focus, and he spent most of his time these days in Everfell.
His constant demands were was starting to become a source of irritation to Quinn, who was not used to being summoned so often. She wasn’t getting to spend much time with Maertn. But she did have so much to be thankful for, and it was so clear that Sammah had her best interests at heart, that she shoved those feelings to one side.
“She doesn’t look like she’s been resting, Maertn.”
Maertn opened his mouth to respond, but Quinn filled the space for him. “I just woke, sir. Maertn has done plenty for me. As always.” She added, wanting to make sure that Sammah knew Maertn was always there looking after her, even if he didn’t always know what he was looking after. Sammah fixed a bland smile on his face, sitting down next to Quinn, denting the mattress somewhat more than Maertn’s lean frame had, and scooping up one of her hands in both of his. They were smooth and slick, and sometimes Quinn felt like she wanted to recoil back. She didn’t; she knew better than that. She also knew there was no point reaching out to Sammah, like she did with Maertn. She couldn’t accidentally find out what Sammah was thinking, either. This was the other reason she felt like she owed Sammah; he was able to understand her more than anyone else. He was the only person in her world who, to her, was blank. She thought about it objectively sometimes. Sammah was to her, like everyone was to someone like Maertn. Sometimes she ached for that; to know what normal felt like. Then Sammah told her that he had a task for her, and that only she could help him. Then, she felt special. With the way Sammah had his back to Maertn now, and with how concerned he was for her wellbeing, she sensed now was one of those times.
That Sammah needed her. That Quinn had a purpose.
She closed her eyes, feeling slightly dizzy again. She was still tired, and definitely needed more rest. “I can’t think straight,” she said, honestly. “I think I need to be left alone for a while.”
Quinn couldn’t judge the emotion she saw behind Sammah’s eyes. She thought that he didn’t look happy. He pursed his lips slightly, unconsciously tightening his grip around her hand ever so slightly. “Of course, Quinn. Do you have everything you need?”
“I need to bring her a restorative, sir. It won’t take me long to prepare one. I have all the herbs in my room.”
Sammah nodded without turning to look at Maertn. “Go. This will help.”
Maertn shuffled out of the room, all height and awkward limbs, leaving her alone with Sammah. Despite herself, Quinn gulped. Thankfully, her throat was actually dry, and Sammah mistook this for thirst.
“He won’t be long child. And nor will I. I do not need you tonight, but I will need you soon. Tomorrow evening, at the latest. I need you to rest all night. I will tell the Chamberlain you are excused from duties for the next few days. He will understand, after what happened tonight.”
“Did many people see it, sir?”
Sammah patted her hand, making his eyes look full of regret. “I’m sorry, Quinn. I did try to warn you, but I don’t want to hold you back. I don’t want to be the type of father that restricts his children unduly. You have to learn from your mistakes the hard way, if you will not listen to the advice of others. Yes. Most of the court saw it. The same gossip will ensue. You already know how to deal with it, though?”
He quirked an eyebrow, and she just nodded, ignoring the bright tears that sprang to her eyes and not trusting herself to talk through the sudden lump in her throat. She refused to let the tears drop in front of Sammah. He liked his children to be strong, and Quinn suspected that, of them all, she was the weakest. That was why he spent so much time at court, now. Quinn was weak, and could not be trusted.
“Will it be in the castle, sir?”
He patted her hand again and gave her a sickly smile, which she supposed was meant to be sympathetic. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to be having you out in the city during a market day. It wasn’t going to be, but under the circumstances, I will make special arrangements for you.”
“Thank you.”
An awkward silence settled down between them. Quinn chose to close her eyes, trying to listen for the flicker of the candles. Trying to find the world outside of her eyes always brought her calm. After that, she reached out with her mind. This was something Sammah had been teaching her for the last couple of years, and she was becoming better at it, she thought. Knowing the layout nearby helped, because she was able to judge where people might be. The hallway outside her room was empty. Not far down the corridor, which would be dark at this time of night, was Maertn’s room. She sensed his familiar tight coil of emotions. As a healer, he was in an almost pe
rmanent state of concern. He was concentrating, too.
“You need to stay awake, Quinn. Not much longer, and Maertn will give you something that will make you sleep long and well.”
Quinn didn’t doubt it, though she did doubt Sammah’s motives. She didn’t spend any more time letting herself drift through the corridors. A door opened, its rusty hinges creaking in the quiet of the night. Quinn wrinkled her nose as Maertn came back through the door, imagining she could already smell the foul broth before he ever came back into the room. Maertn chuckled, sensing how uneasy she was before getting the concoction anywhere near her.
“Pinch your nose. That normally does the trick,” Maertn said quietly.
Quinn did as she was told. Even if the rest of the drink had been made of the precious cocoa that King Vance imported from the distant forest folk, she would have still been able to taste the rank tang of valerian, which always made her heave. They both smiled at her encouragingly as she quaffed it down, though she did her best to look away from them both. Their scrutiny was unnerving her. She up-ended the wooden mug.
“All gone,” she croaked, coughing as the stench of the noxious last dregs wafted through her nostrils. “Can I please go to sleep now?”
They both left her then, though Maertn trailed for longer than Sammah, not completely sure that his work here was done. Quinn waved an arm at him and he left, but not before darting back in the room and blowing out her candles.
Only the light of the stars filtered into her window now. Left alone with her thoughts, Quinn thought she would spend the night staring at her empty ceiling, reliving yet another horrifying moment of embarrassment in her short life. She was wrong; Maertn’s sedative did its work. She was asleep within minutes, and she did not dream.
2
“How long will she take to recover, Maertn?”
Sammah had waited until they were outside the young healer’s room before taking him by the shoulder and twisting Maertn towards him. He tried to sound composed. It was important that he was always seen as calm and in control. Sammah’s reputation was nothing without control, and his control over his children was nothing without their trust and, more importantly, their obedience.
“You know Quinn, sir. She’ll be angry at herself for days, and she’ll be wanting to work tomorrow. I won’t recommend it—neither of us will—but she won’t be held back.”
Sammah patted Maertn on the shoulder. “I do worry about her. Can you make sure that, whatever she needs over the next few days, make sure she gets it. If you have to source anything from the city, take the coin from Sirah. Anything you need.”
Maertn dipped his head gratefully. “Thank you sir, I will make sure she’s safe.”
Sammah didn’t doubt that for a second, and let Maertn retreat to his rooms. There was no point pressing the situation. Sammah had his own matters to deal with right now.
The corridors back to his quarters were empty. Everyone else was back in the Great Hall for the evening meal. Quinn had collapsed after barely any time at all. Sammah had thought that perhaps she would have lasted slightly longer than she did, though he didn’t bank on her being presented to a table full of drunken louts. He would find out from Brenner who allocated her to that, and Sammah would arrange for his guards to have a quiet conversation with both of them. Quinn shouldn’t have been so pig-headed to insist on doing something other than his instructions, though Sammah knew Quinn better than she knew herself. He’d been studying her for her entire life. This way, she had made the decision. He hadn’t held her back; he’d simply been proved right.
As he opened the door to his chambers, to be presented with the sour face of the Lord Shiver of Sevenspells, Sammah cursed inwardly. This man shouldn’t be here now. If only all people were as easy to manipulate as his children.
3
“Lord Shiver. I’d say I was pleased to see you, but we both know that would be a lie. You’re early for the meet. What are you doing here?”
Shiver stood, pulling off his riding gloves and throwing them onto the seat of the high-backed chair he’d been occupying, waiting for Sammah to arrive. Shiver gave Sammah a terse smile. “Frank as always, baron. And I’d been so looking forward to our reunion.”
Shiver was due in the city—like the Lords Broc and Calvin, from Broadwater and Port Kahnel—for their quarterly meet to discuss the truce between Everfell and Sha’sek. The three lords had been instrumental in defending the realm, and their lands shared the border of the Severed Desert to the south, the only passable land, unless you chose to try and traverse the western mountains, or attempt a sea route, also governed by Port Kahnel. As Sha’sek was a collection of islands, the collected navy of the kingdom of Everfell was pathetic compared to their sea-seasoned rivals. Sammah had received updates from the council, and knew that there was no change in their political situation. The meeting had been a formality for the last couple of years, though when the truce was first declared some fifteen years before, that had certainly not been the case. Sammah had been instrumental in negotiating amendments to the treaty that made sure peace still remained favourable to them all. Sammah was a studious man, and patient. He did not want there to be a peace between the two kingdoms, but he was more than aware that conflict, so soon after the devastating period both kingdoms had just experienced, would be shattering. No, Sammah would bide his time until he had all of the tools in his armoury forged and sharpened.
Shiver, however, was a warmonger. His decisions as general had been instrumental in the final battle between the armies of Sha’sek and the men of Everfell, with countless gallons of blood spilled on the stones of the edges of the Severed Desert in the kingdom of Sevenspells. Shiver wouldn’t let anyone forget that fact; nor would he ever abandon his theory that, had he been allowed to chase down the retreating Sha’sek forces, Everfell could have obliterated the opposing military and taken control of the Sha’sek Council. Instead Vance, King of Everfell, had overruled Shiver, ordering their forces to stand fast. That clemency had been core for the forging of a peace treaty. Shiver still believed that a peace treaty hadn’t been necessary in the first place.
Shiver was one of Sammah’s weapons, but the lord was temperamental and unpredictable, two qualities loathed by the systematically calm Sammah.
“There aren’t enough whores at court this late in the year for you to enjoy yourself, my lord. Why are you here?”
Shiver waved in the air, looking up at the ceiling. “I brought my sons with me. They are growing up; it is time they started how men conduct themselves in court, rather than playing around their mother’s skirts.”
“Isn’t your youngest the captain of the guard? I would hardly call that playing.”
“No, but neither is it full soldiery. There is much more for Eden to learn.”
Sammah cocked an eyebrow. “Then why did you make him captain?”
“He is skilled with a sword. The men like him. Besides, what good else is there for a youngest son? He will be spending his time with the Royal Guard. Rowan and River will be accompanying me in court.”
Sammah smirked. “That must be a boost to the lad. Why bring him at all?”
Shiver sniffed. “He might be able to teach Vance’s layabouts something. I won’t leave my sons to be idle. What matter is it to you?”
“Because you agreed that you would be here on the day of court. Not before. Not late, like you were last year. How can I make plans if you won’t adhere to the simplest orders?”
Shiver bristled, his hand going to the sword hilt at his side. Sammah casually lifted his arm and Elias squared his shoulders, forcing Shiver to relax. A fight with one of Sammah’s personal guards was an event to be avoided, and something very few men tended to survive. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. “I shouldn’t have to remind you, baron, that I am the Lord of Sevenspells. The only man I answer to, is the king. I certainly don’t need to bow to your every whim.”
The bravado was hollow, and Sammah knew it. Shiver had tried to lo
ok assertive, and his eyes showed strength and defiance; his voice had broken though, and Shiver’s throat bounced nervously as he waited for Sammah to respond. It didn’t matter what Shiver had achieved in the past. If he wanted to be anything in the future, he needed Sammah’s help. Sammah knew for a fact, that Shiver wanted to be king.
Sammah smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the candlelight. Shiver took a step back involuntarily, finding his back against the wall, rubbing against an expensive and—thanks to the wars—rare Sha’sekian tapestry. “The conversations we’ve had over the years may have slipped your mind, Shiver. Let me remind you of the situation. I am the man in charge, in Everfell. Vance may sit on the throne, but he takes his directions from me. The man is weak and guileless. He lacks any real desire to rule. He is nothing compared to his brother, and this is why you know that one day you will have that throne. But without my support, you will have absolutely nothing. When the time comes, the man that I support will take that crown. No, Lord Shiver, you owe me no fealty. But if you want to have a future of any kind, then I politely remind you that you owe me your allegiance.” Sammah rolled his neck, trying to ease out the tension he felt. “Are your sons here yet?”
“They arrive tomorrow.”
“Then I suggest you retire to your quarters, and stay in them until your family arrives. If I see you before the court adjourns in three days, I will personally introduce myself to Rowan, and you may find yourself needing to prepare Eden for more than city warfare.”
“You wouldn’t dare…”
“Me, your grace? You doubt the actions I would take, to do what must be done? I have my convictions and beliefs, Shiver, and I do not lack in the desire to enforce them. Remember whose side you are on, and we can both forget this little…incident ever happened.”
