by Kai Kazi
“You are so sure, child?” Pallas said. Shaitani raised her chin, eyes narrowed, “You were but young when Chimanda brought you here, not like us women who lived before the service. The love of a child is a deep thing, dark and so strong it scares you,” Pallas said, eyes becoming misty, “it’s a part of what womanhood is. It might be that you need to pry the child from her.”
“Then I will!” Shaitani said, and stood, “I will… as you did.” Pallas nodded and bowed her head.
Her bags were light, the steed fast; she needed no more than her body and his pity to set the chain about his neck. The doors behind her had been bleached by sun and sand and were as white as the wasted lands before her. A lizard scuttled across the ground before her mount, looked left and right, and then scuttled into the vast emptiness before them. North to the port of Bafiara, and then east to the Great Plains… back to the cold.
CHAPTER VI
The forest had come from one of her fairy tales; dense, and dark, and overgrown, it smelled of earth and damp and mildew long before she entered. The horse huffed and panted beneath her, breath suddenly misting in the colder air found beneath the canopy; it was reluctant to move forward. As the forest closed behind them she began to question whether Fiona had truly led her here; had it been a dream. Was it a dream?
If so, Avondale reasoned, there was no harm in pushing forward.
She hadn’t ridden in a long time, and then it had been side-saddle… her thighs chafed, her rear ached, and the small swell of her belly rested on the front of the moulded saddle. The riding breeches, designed to look like a dress, fought off the bulk of the morning chill, but they couldn’t fight the aching weariness that infected every inch of her body. In fact, they seemed to heighten it. Only a few dozen feet into the undergrowth the path petered into nothingness; Avondale turned the horse to leave, ready to end the folly Fiona had led her to, but the path behind her was gone. The trees behind her were so dense that not even light could permeate the wall they had created.
“Forward, then.” She said, patting the horses neck gently, taking in the gentle hum of its breath. The path was clear, now, wide and well-worn as if hundreds had come before her and Avondale had no choice but to do the same. First there was the scent of wood-smoke, and then the gentle kiss of the sun on her face; the small stone house that appeared was so overgrown by ivy, and so bent by time that it seemed only the foliage was holding it together.
“You’ve come.” The voice was smooth as satin, and deep and rich like syrup, but the woman was small an unassuming. Her face was smooth, yet ancient, her hair silver yet shiny and fine. She was ageless and awe-inspiring,
“Eramys?” Avondale said, pulling the reigns tight. The woman nodded, “is this your true form?”
“Would it matter if it was not?” Eramys said,
“I’ve been lied to enough for one lifetime.” Avondale said, placing a hand on her stomach. Eramys nodded,
“As close to one as I have,” she said eventually, “it is the form you need to see.”
Avondale dismounted, not without trouble, and rubbed her stomach,
“My father bade me come see you.” She said,
“About the child, I know.” Eramys said,
“You do?” Avondale sat on the rough bench beside her as she reached forward to slice mushrooms into the pot. Eramys nodded,
“I see you in the pool often now, child,” she said, “I see you when I can’t see her.”
“Shaitani,” Avondale said, “she lives, then?” Eramys laughed,
“Oh yes, it will take a much greater wound than the one Greendale inflicted to kill that creature.” She said. Avondale bowed her head and rubbed her temples,
“My father has left me a kingdom, my guardian is dead, my husband blames me for the child forced on me, and now the witch lives,” She pressed her fingers to her eyes and sobbed, “I cannot do this.”
“You must,” Eramys said with a shrug, and then sighed, ladling the contents of a smaller pot into a cup, “drink this.”
“It will deal with the child?” Avondale asked, hand faltering as she reached, eyes stinging. Eramys shook her head,
“No. The child must stay.” She said. Avondale gaped,
“How… my father said you could-”
“I can,” Eramys said, “but that child is more to you and this land than you know. He will be your salvation, child, trust me.” Avondale hugged her stomach tight and shook her head,
“No.”
“Avondale.”
“No!” She stood and threw the cup, scream echoing around the glade, “it is not fair,” she turned on Eramys, “I did not ask for this, this life, this child, this burden – it is not mine to carry.”
“It is.” Eramys said, face smooth as ever as she filled another cup,
“No.” Avondale turned and strode to her horse, “No.” The witch did not follow her as she rode from the glade, and then from the forest. She urged the horse harder, leaning forward onto the saddle until her stomach ached. Let the little beast drop, a voice that came from her, but did not sound like her, hissed into her ear, what is it to us? She slowed to a walk and covered her mouth, sobbing into her palm as the morning dew settled around her. She forged on to the castle and took the servants halls to Sonja’s room. She was sitting on the sill of her window, reading.
“Avondale?” She stood,
“Oh Sonja,” she gasped, “I want to die.” They met in the middle of the room, and she crumpled, sobbing,
“Avondale, what’s wrong?” Sonja said, arms squeezing her tight,
“She will not take it from me,” Avondale said, snot and tears mingling on her upper lip, “the witch says she will not take it. I have to keep him.”
“Him? The child?” Sonja said, sighing when she nodded, “oh my friend, oh love, I’m so sorry,” She hugged her,
“I want to die.” She said,
“Don’t say that,” Sonja said, shaking her a little, “never say that.” Avondale covered her mouth and howled like a wounded animal until the madness subsided, and she could face Sonja.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “forgive me.” Sonja shook her head,
“No need,” she said, “but Eramys is right, Avondale. I know it doesn’t seem so… but the child, something good will come of him. I feel it.” Avondale closed her eyes and let the tears trickle down her face,
“Do you really believe that?” She said, and Sonja rubbed her back,
“I do. I really do,” Sonja said, “as I believe that you can lead this kingdom.”
Avondale allowed Sonja to lead her to Fiona’s room, and let them prepare her for the day, through a haze of numbing sickness, and feed her, and soothe her like a child.
“The council are waiting for you.” Fiona said eventually, taking away a plate which was still full. Avondale nodded and stood, reaching for them,
“Stay with me?” She said, and they nodded,
“We will.” Fiona said, hugging her stomach. Sonja nodded and pulled on her arm guard,
“Always.” She said with a lopsided grin, and they walked as one to the council chamber. Aiden was already seated at the head of the table, and it was that, nothing else, which snapped her from her reverie,
“Prince Aiden, you are in my seat.” Avondale said with a voice so steady she might actually have believed she was in control, if her heart hadn’t been hammering a rhythm on her ribs. Aiden froze, the room fell still, “I’m sure you have performed admirably in my mourning, but I am the Queen, or at least I will be after the coronation.”
“And I will be king.” He said,
“You will be King Consort of Avondale, and Crown Prince of Archibald.” She said, stepping forward, “Now move to the left.” She motioned to the vacant seat reserved for the consort of the monarch. “Sonja.” She said, motioning to the right-hand seat, the commander of the Royal Forces. A discontented murmur slithered through the gathered men.
“This is irregular, Avondale,” Wilelm, Royal Treasurer, said, �
��the kingdom has always been ruled by a King.”
“And now it will be ruled by a Queen,” she said, “as my father wished, and though I respect and value you all... I will not tolerate being pushed aside or undermined. You are all replaceable.”
“Like the Lord Gully.” Habd, the trade Minister, said, motioning to Sonja.
“Lord Gully died in battle, Minister,” Avondale said, “and our first order of business will be his commemoration and the compensation of his family. His son will take his place once summoned, until then the Lady Sonja will fill the seat. She has the experience.”
“Avondale, the first order was our coronation.” Aiden said,
“My Coronation will be dealt with as I say.” Avondale said and stood, leaning her fingertips on the desk. The assembled men fell silent, “Lord Ronald,” she looked to the Spy Master, “I have it on good authority that the witch who aided the Vlad is still alive. Speak to Eramys to learn more and find out everything you can.” He nodded, a small smile on his lips, and stood, bowing low,
“My Queen, it would be a pleasure.” He said and slipped from the room.
“Have Lord Gully name and likeness added to the Hall of Heros and see his wife receives the rest of his years salary as well as a pension that she may keep her children on, Lord Treasurer, and then speak with Lady Fiona about Coronation arrangements. I leave it all in her hands.” Avondale paused, hearing Fiona take in a breath. “And be rid of this table,” she said, “I may be Queen, but if I receive your respect I will give it. I wish a round table so that we may all speak easily.”
“Round?” Aiden said, and Avondale stared at him, wondering when his dear face had come to inspire such frustrated rage in her,
“That is what I said,” She said and sighed, “we are done here. You may all go,” she said and sat, raising her hand, “Shannon where is Guardian Bran?” She said, and he looked cleared his throat,
“He passed, Highness,” Shannon said, “while you were in Archibald. His wounds never truly healed.” Avondale closed her eyes,
“By the Prophet,” she said, “forgive me. His wife and children have been seen to?” Shannon nodded, “Who has replaced him?”
“As of yet no-one, my lady,” Shannon said, “the casualties were many. Those who are left are young and have little experience leading.” Avondale nodded, pressing a hand to her forehead,
“You will take his place until you prove yourself worthy or otherwise.” She said. Shannon bowed,
“My Queen, it would be an honor.” He said and stepped back to his place against the wall as the lords of the council shuffled out. She could feel Aiden’s eyes on the side of her head, but she couldn’t summon the energy to look at him.
“My Queen.” He said eventually, voice laden with anger and sarcasm, and bowed before leaving.
“Leave me, please.” She said to Fiona and Sonja, covering her eyes until she was certain they were gone. She let the tears flow, shoulders shaking without restraint. The softest sound, a shuffle really, alerted her to Shannon’s presence, “I didn’t realize you were still here.” She said, trying to regain her composure,
“I… did not want to leave you unprotected, majesty,” He said, “I am sorry to intrude.”
“No. No,” she shook her head, “I am sorry. I’ve made a spectacle of myself more than once since returning home,” she said, wiping her face with her hands. Shannon stepped forward and pressed a small handkerchief into her hand,
“I reckon you have a right to, majesty,” he said quietly, “it’s more than most could bear. A few tantrums won’t hurt anyone.” Avondale looked up at him with a grateful smile.
“Thank you,” She said, “I suppose they won’t. Help me to the gardens? I haven’t a mind to see anyone just yet.” He helped her to her feet, and then stepped back, taking up position behind her. She wondered if everyone in her life would be thus; close, but far. Familiar, yet strangers.
CHAPTER VII
“Temejun, enough,” Batu said, “we will not treat with foreigners.”
“Batu-”
“I am the King.” Batu said, lowering his head looking at his brother from under his brows. Temejun glowered, jaws clenching and unclenching; Shaitani smiled and looked away… this would be easier that Pallas or Chei could have known. She replaced the cloth of the tent and waited for the voices to subside. When the interior was silent she peered through the tear once more and smiled; he was alone.
Shaitani slipped to the front of the tent, stopping when the guards unsheathed wicked looking swords,
“I am expected.” She said, and the guards faltered,
“You’re the whore ordered?” One said eventually; she smiled. They eyed her suspiciously but stepped aside. Inside the tent the air was warmer, smelling of horses and musk and leather; his back was turned, but his muttered curses reached her well-enough.
“You are under appreciated, great lord.” She said, and like a snake he moved with lighting precision to pin her against the central beam. Dark eyes flitted across her face while an arm like iron held her fast, pressed tight enough to her throat that each breath whistled.
“Who are you?” He said,
“The one you need,” she said, “I am the one who can make everyone see the man you are.” The eyes flickered, the arm faltered, and a long breath shuddered through him. Temejun stepped back with narrowed eyes,
“Is that so?”
Shaitani slipped past him to peer at the map on the table,
“A great host like this must settle eventually,” she said, “and in order to do so it will need the goods that only northern nations can provide in bulk. Stone, crude ore from the mountains…”
“My brother will not treat with foreigners.” He said,
“But you know that it is the smart choice, the educated man’s path,” she said smoothly, “because you are an educated man of vision,” he smiled.
“Don’t flatter me, whore,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head “I know what I am, and I know what I ordered. Do what you’re meant for and leave matters of politics to men.” Shaitani raised her brows,
“I’m no whore, horse lord,” she said, unsheathing a dagger from her belt as he approached. Temejun laughed,
“Then why are you here?” He said,
“To offer you more than a fuck,” Shaitani said with a grin, “though you may get that if you please me.” He reached for her again with brutal swiftness, but she was gone, slipping through his fingers like water. Temejun swallowed,
“Witch.” He hissed,
“No.” Shaitani laughed, “Better.”
They eyed each other over the table for countless moments until Temejun sat.
“Then tell me what you want,” he said,
“It’s not about what I want-”
“Don’t lie to me.” Temejun shook his head. Shaitani narrowed her eyes,
“I want revenge,” she said, “and I offer power.” The honesty seemed to sway him; Temejun rubbed the hair on his face,
“What kind of power?” He asked,
“The kind that will allow you to own so much more than these grasslands, horse lord,” Shaitani said, “the kind of power no man can grant,” she leaned forward, pressing her breasts to the table, and smiled with his eyes flicked to them, “and all I ask is the use of your army to bring a down a single woman.”
“A woman?” Temejun said with a chuckled, “I’ll give you ten men and they’ll have it done in hours.”
“This woman is a Queen,” Shaitani said, “with a great kingdom. Lands, forests, quarries…” his eyes brightened, “and powerful war machinery. Bring me the woman and her child, you may have the rest for yourself.”
Temejun stood and walked to the fire, throwing fuel onto it, and stood amongst the smoke with his hands on his hips. When he turned once more his chest was wet with sweat, the crackling flames devoured the silence, but the tension couldn’t be drained. Shaitani stared up at him with the sudden knowledge that her life was teetering on an edge;
to look away was to bare her neck to a hungry wolf.
When his hand closed around her neck it was so sudden that she could only gape; he dragged her back and threw her down,
“You know nothing,” He said and kicked her sharply in the ribs before kneeling beside her. She fought, kicked and clawed and bit, but he was strong, “and this is all you are worth-”
“-silly girl.” Chimanda clucked and raised the switch, “what did you do?”
“Nothing!” She screamed, “I did nothing!” The first strike made her gasp, and the women around her chuckled, by the fifth she was screaming. Sheron said nothing during it, but when she crouched to look her in the eye she seemed sorry; her eyes were wide and wet, “I cannot protect you from this,” she whispered, “you’ve done it now.”
The man that stepped forward, the one they had given the key to her room to; his face had healed slightly,
“You will do as told.” Pallas said,
“I don’t want to!” She said, squirming in the bonds, her breasts chafing against the stone floor,
“It is not about what you want,” Chei said, “the pure cannot serve Xarces. You will be with child by the months end. All your choices boil down to how much pain this involves.”
The man pressed a hand to her back and forced himself inside her though she pulled against the ropes, pressing a hand over her mouth. She kicked and screamed, the pain almost blinding, but they were heedless. More men entered the room, but there was a woman in the corner. Pale blonde,
“Help me.” She said through the hand muffling her. The woman looked sad, horrified, and familiar. Four men took their places around her and as one stepped forward the hand was removed. She took a deep breath-
“No!” She threw out her hand, forcing the pain into the very tips of her fingers. When they touched his chest he screamed and pulled away, flesh bubbling where they had touched. She surged forward and pushed the future, the past, the pain, pushed it all into his mind, “I am more,” She hissed as the guards burst in, “worth more than all the men in this camp.” The first guard raised his sword, but Temejun raised his hand,
