by S E Meliers
‘Hmm,’ she smiled a little as she withdrew.
He eased himself into the gathering around the table, taking note of which gazes held hostility and which held speculation. ‘Have you an insight to the information the scout has imparted?’ Charity enquired mildly.
‘I have, though I will need to speak to him again, so we need to ensure his continued survival,’ Cedar practised self-discipline, and did not look at Service. He looked at the maps on the table, and frowned. ‘Are these are the best you have?’ he asked.
‘These are the best we have,’ Service confirmed with displeasure. ‘We paid good money for these maps.’
Cedar glanced up at him. ‘You got ripped off by a second rate cartographer. These are truly heinous. Does anyone else have any maps of the mountains? Ask around and find out or we will run into trouble.’ He spread a map of Amori out before him. ‘Amori is everything,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Without Amori, he cannot re-supply, unless he goes through the EAeryian Mountains. Would he go through the mountains? Does he have any EAeryian contacts? Dragons, he has dragons… But they would not agree to ferry supplies. They are more likely to change allegiances.’
‘What are you thinking?’ Charity, sober for the time being, leaned against the table edge, and frowned down him. ‘I am all for the re-taking of Amori, but we have to go through the territories of either Lyendar or Truen to get there. Logic would dictate that we try to capture one of the two first, as otherwise we will effectively be in enemy territory with no re-supply route.’
‘Yes, logically, that would be true, and so that is what they would expect. We need to do the unexpected - which means, we need to re-take Amori, cut off his supply route, and whilst he is in a weak position, re-take Truen and Lyendar.’
‘And how do you propose to re-take Amori?’ Charity enquired, eyebrow raised.
‘From within. From within,’ Cedar grinned with sudden levity. Sometimes it was good to have the Prophet on his side, he realised. She had armed him for the task ahead, in her own peculiar way. ‘We have three weapons that Cinder does not know of, my Lord, and we need to make good use of them.’
‘And they are?’ Charity signalled a page boy to bring him wine.
‘My lads,’ Cedar took the wine from the page. Now, more than ever, it was important for Charity to keep his head; Cedar’s life may hinge on the Lord’s reputation. ‘Bring the Lord of the Amori some water,’ he frowned at Charity who sneered. ‘No one ever notices street brats. My lads should be able to enter Amori without raising query. The second weapon, my Lord, is you. Cinder believes you dead. No one knows Amori’s vulnerabilities as well as you, my Lord. If you would divulge those weaknesses, hopefully there will be a couple my lads can take advantage of, weakening Amori’s defences to our attack at a critical time, and thus turning the battle in our favour.’
‘And the third weapon?’ Charity asked.
‘Myself, my Lord,’ Cedar straightened. ‘Cinder does not know I live, let alone that I am in your company.’
‘Some would query whether your loyalty remains with us,’ Charity held his gaze. ‘Knowing what you do.’
Cedar met his eyes evenly, and with admiration for the Lord’s cunning; Charity raised here, in public, the question that all present were asking in private, so as to present Cedar the opportunity to answer where it could be heard by all. ‘I turned my back on my people and my loyalties a long time ago,’ he spoke so that his voice carried to the far edges of the chamber. ‘My loyalties lie with the Prophet. She bade me to walk your path, and thus my loyalty remains with you, my Lord,’ he inclined his head respectfully.
‘My path was supposed to take me West,’ Charity reminded him, with a hint of amusement at his delicate walk along the line of humility and pride.
‘But you have chosen to stay here and join the Guarnian army; therefore my path must also change. I stay at your side, and as I was charged, I walk your path with you. To me, that means I do the best I can to further your cause and keep you alive, my Lord.’
Charity turned the subject back to the maps. As conversations picked up and provided cover, Cedar added: ‘Which means,’ he glanced around them to ensure they would not be overheard and spoke quietly, for Charity’s ears only, ‘I will be curtailing your drinking effective immediately.’
Charity chuckled without humour. ‘Good luck with that,’ he snapped, but kept his voice equally as low. ‘I am the Lord here, Cedar, remember that.’
‘Yes, my Lord,’ Cedar smiled tightly. ‘But I have the means to do any number of terrible things to any beverage you drink. If you touch alcohol from this day forth, wonder before you bring it to your lips, if perhaps one of Lovel’s potions may have made its way into your drink, or whether one of my lads may have added something of his own to your beverage. Do I need to be clearer?’
Charity grimaced. ‘That is incredibly crude and distasteful, Cedar. I should have you whipped for any mischief you cause to my drinks. Such sabotage could be considered treason, you know.’
‘But you will not,’ Cedar maintained eye contact in direct challenge, ‘as you know I act for your own good.’
Charity’s lips blanched due to the force of his displeasure, however under Cedar’s gaze he wilted. ‘Very well,’ he gritted out. ‘I will curtail my drinking.’
Cedar wondered if this conversation qualified as ‘the talk’ Lovel was continuously pressuring him into having with the Lord as to the source of his drinking. He smiled a little, deciding that it did and that he would be able to honestly reply that he had spoken with Charity about his drinking the next time Lovel asked. ‘Very good, my Lord,’ Cedar bowed his head respectfully and did not press him further.
Patience
Charity framed her body with his own, the front of his thighs pressed up against the back of hers, his stomach warm against the small of her back, his arm draped over her waist. She could feel the warmth of his skin against hers, the prickle of his stubble against her neck, the throb and press of his erection against her buttocks. She was comfortable, and safe, and fiercely aroused.
His lips found the spot behind her earlobe that she liked, and his hand smoothed her skin, stroking up until his fingertips brushed against the underside of her breasts. He knew her body as well as he knew his own, knew how she liked to be touched, and how she did not. He slid his hand up the curve of her breast, brushing over her nipple, rubbing around in a circle before stroking down. She did not like her breasts kneaded, her nipples pinched or rolled between fingertips, but she did like the feel of his calloused palm on her sensitive flesh, the transfer and intimacy of the heat of skin against skin, and he knew this.
He stroked down, following her ribs to her hip, avoiding the ticklish flesh of her stomach, to her outer thigh, and back up again to her breasts. She moaned, arching back into him, pushing her buttocks against him, welcoming his touch. I have missed you, she thought, and the thought puzzled her. Before she could puzzle it out, his hand drifted over to the more sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, and she opened for him. His fingers slipped through her folds, to her core, and back, drifting a slow circle around her clitoris, stroking the sensitive sides of that flesh so she groaned and rolled onto her back to allow him better access. His index finger teased her entrance, slipping just past her clenching muscles before withdrawing, and back in. ‘Oh, Goddess,’ she started to say but managed to withhold it. She must not pray to the Goddess anymore, it was dangerous... the thought was like a grain of sand in her mind, irritating her – why? Why must she not pray to the Goddess…
His lips, warm and so soft, caressed each of her closed eyelids, down the bridge of her nose, across her lips and chin, and down the column of her throat. He kissed his way down her sternum, paying tribute to the sensitive underside of each breast, before continuing down to her belly button. He kissed from her left hip to her right, right along the line of pubic hair. She threaded her fingers through the hair near her temple, restraining her own hands in her tangled locks. ‘Oh,’ she pant
ed as he parted her thighs.
His tongue tasted her flesh as if she were a delicacy, as if not a bit of her was to be wasted. She was helpless with passion, hips bucking, so close… but, it was not right, she thought. Charity had never… No, it was… Cinder. Cinder who touched her this way… Cinder… And Charity was dead.
She woke with a start and a groan of frustration. ‘Damn it,’ she swore into her pillow. Her first thought was: why did she always awake before her orgasm? Her second was embarrassment over her erotic and confused dream. ‘It is being pregnant,’ she reminded herself. Her dreams had always been vivid and… adventurous, in pregnancy. This pregnancy was no different than her previous pregnancies. ‘Except in the most important way,’ she closed her eyes in resignation.
Since the invasion of the Shoethalians, she had been discarding the fripperies worn in the Amori court. Gone were the elaborate hair styles, the multilayered and heavily embroidered gowns with their ruffled and stiffened petti-coats, the sleeves that dragged on the floor as she walked, and the ridiculously high heeled shoes. Her dress now was so simple she could, for the first time in her mature life, dress herself; a long sleeved, ankle length chemise and a simple over gown that laced up at the front, over which she wore a tooled leather half bodice from the EAerys – a style of dress she had adapted after seeing it on the dragon riders. Her hair she braided back from her face and bundled in a snood at her nape, and her shoes were rather sensible, flat, cloth slippers with leather soles.
She was rather proud of herself, and laughed at the idiosyncrasy that she would be congratulating herself for achieving something she was currently teaching Charm.
As was becoming her habit, she headed onto the balustrade walk to dispel the morning sickness that made her belly uneasy and her thoughts slow. She had tried to eat, many times, but only brought up what she consumed. At least if she was sick on the balustrade, it was only seen by a few soldiers manning the towers on watch. Today, though, she found her usual path blocked. The barbican at the main castle gate was crowded with labourers lifting stones and laying tracks. Holes were being bored under the castle walls at the track sites.
‘It would be best to turn back, my Lady,’ the soldier manning the wall barred her way. ‘They are boring beneath this walkway and are not sure if the work will cause the wall to become unstable.’
‘My goodness,’ she was appalled. ‘These walls have stood for hundreds of years. Whatever are they making holes in them for?’
‘They need holes through which to run the chain for the crayfish,’ he replied.
‘I am sorry,’ she blinked. ‘I have no idea what you just said.’
‘The crayfish, my Lady,’ he said with a small smile, ‘are defensive war machines. They have wheels, and are pulled from one side of the barbican to the other as fast as the pulley wheel can be turned. They have spikes, and scimitars at ankle level, and small spinning blades mounted to the wheels, so that when the castle is attacked and the enemy forces are bottle necked by the barbican, the crayfish run between their legs cutting their feet out from under them.’
‘How… horribly efficient,’ she felt ill.
‘Yes,’ he was proud. ‘They are. They are also armed with long-fused exploding devices which contain spikes and other projectiles. It is an invaluable defensive mechanism. Prince Cinder ordered these and other defensive improvements made to Amori.’
‘Oh, how kind of him,’ she swallowed hard. ‘Well, I had best walk back the way I came, then.’ The idea of Amori becoming a fortress mounted with brutal devices for defence disturbed her. Although the castle had been positioned for defence, generations of peace had overcome the battle-ready nature of the holding, and a culture of trade and learning had replaced it. It was Amori where the first suit for men to walk underwater had been designed, made and tested, and where the Merchants Guild had met annually to discuss trade across the known lands. Amori had hosted the King many times, and he had declared it one of his favourite destinations. The great satirist Veracity was born and raised within the city walls, though he now attended the King in Garvia. Amori was cultured, civilised… But that had been under Charity.
What would Amori be when Cinder had finished his modifications? She grieved for the home that changed irrevocably, and for her children who would not remember it as it was.
She walked through the courtyards and back into the castle towards her chambers. Joy and Charm would be up by now, and expecting to see their mother. As she entered the corridor to her rooms, she found the two EAerymen and her Hallow standing near an open window. It was an odd sight, the EAerymen had to bow their heads quite low to participate in the murmured conversation, and there was an intimacy to the way the three stood that struck her. Was her Hallow sleeping with the men from EAery? She was not sure why she was certain it was so, none of them touched, but she was sure, and it suddenly made the Hallow just another woman trying to survive in uncertain times.
She almost withdrew, but the only other way to her children’s rooms was long and she was tired and uneasy. Her hesitation drew their attention. ‘My Lady Patience,’ the Hallow greeted solemnly, bowing her head. The EAerymen bowed deeply and courteously.
‘I was just on my way to see my children,’ Patience explained. ‘I did not mean to interrupt.’
‘You are not interrupting,’ the blond EAeryman smiled charmingly. ‘We were just admiring the view from this window.’ Of course you were, Patience thought wryly, because the view from this particular window was so much more remarkable than the others on this walk.
‘I have just come from a walk along the balustrade and would recommend it, the views are quite breathtaking,’ she suggested in an innocently helpful manner. ‘In fact, my walk was cut a little short as I could not walk my normal path due to improvements to the castle defences. Crayfish, I believe they are called.’
‘Ah,’ the Hallow looked proud. ‘Remarkable devices. I must take you to see,’ she said to the EAerymen, ‘you will be impressed by the ingenuity.’
‘Does Cinder fear attack on Amori?’ Patience wondered aloud.
‘Amori will always be a prime target, guarding as it does the only pass to Shoethal,’ the Hallow replied. ‘He takes precautions to ensure your safety, my Lady.’
‘I am flattered,’ she lied. ‘How does he in Lyendar?’
‘They have all but taken the city,’ the Hallow replied. ‘And maybe that by now.’
‘And how does things in Amori?’ Patience could not help but ask. ‘After your…’ she could not find the phrase.
‘Coup?’ the dark haired EAeryman suggested quietly. His gaze was sympathetic and gentle, and Patience found him handsomer than his cool brother.
‘There was an element amongst the Priests who practiced violence for their own gratification,’ the Hallow said smoothly. ‘It was Cinder’s wish these elements be corrected. The Monad is a stern God, but Cinder does not believe he would punish the innocent for their ignorance so severely. Your actions, my Lady, in starting a school to educate the young confirmed a long held belief of his, so, in a way, we have you to thank for the modifications.’
Patience was not sure if she was being assigned the role of scapegoat, or the use of the term modification to describe the slaughter that she heard had occurred. ‘So, there are no more tortures taking place in the dungeons?’ she asked.
‘The dungeons are empty except for the criminals who truly belong there,’ the Hallow assured her, which was a careful phrasing that did not exactly answer her question, Patience noted.
‘The Amorians who occupied the dungeons were steadfast in their beliefs – releasing them surely invites them to incite treachery and strike against Cinder?’ Patience was concerned that her children would be caught up in these plots.
‘Thanks to you again, my Lady, we still hold their children,’ the Hallow replied with a smile that was perhaps a little mocking, ‘which seems to be acting as a deterrent at the current time. These people baffle me,’ she said to the EAerymen. ‘They
are willing for their children to be maimed before their own eyes in the name of heathen gods, but take the children away, feed them, clothe them, treat them with kindness, and suddenly these heretics are desperately concerned about their welfare. Monad forbid we teach them about our beliefs in a gentle environment, much better, they think, for their children to suffer terrible wounds in filth and squalor, with empty bellies and rags on their backs, praying to an indifferent Goddess. They disgust me,’ she shook her head, revulsion on her face.
‘I am glad the school is being well supported by yourself and the Prince,’ Patience said carefully. ‘I am concerned that the heretics may attack my children if they are allowed to remain at Amori. And the manor which I confiscated for the use of the school belongs to one of them – if they go to the property or are free to be in contact with the servants there, then they will quickly locate the children.’
‘The children have been relocated,’ the Hallow replied shocking Patience, ‘for that very reason, to a secure location in Shoethal, along with your staff. You may write them, and I will ensure your letters are received and responded to, if you are concerned about their welfare. As to the safety of yourself and your children, that is paramount of my concerns. The heretics have been released from the dungeons, but not into the city populace. They have been taken to Truen and are kept under guard there to ensure they have no opportunity to cause troubles for the Prince.’
‘And do we expect Cinder’s return at any stage soon?’ she asked.
‘Cinder will most likely wish to see the fall of Lyendar himself however he cannot risk staying so exposed for much longer. Cinder is a man of action and sometimes has problems remembering he is also a Prince,’ she smiled fondly, a soft expression. Before she had seen the Hallow with the EAerymen, Patience would have been astonished by the expression, however it was now confirmation that the Hallow was more than her title, and that was oddly comforting. ‘I will give him a little longer before I remind him,’ she was amused. Patience realised that this Hallow and Cinder had a relationship that went beyond the normal Prince and Hallow interactions, and she wondered at the nature of it. Was she the Prince’s only paramour? And if not, did she see this as a betrayal? She was conflicted.
