Chapter Twenty-Four

 

 

Jer walked into the room and stopped. Whatever had happened in that room, he had just enough time to get the feeling back in his legs before his father dragged him to his feet and made him down a bit of drink to take the edge off. He could see, from the state of the room, that the steward was required.

But he was confused as to what he was supposed to do.

“Long and short, Aren doesn't feel the way she should and—” Av started.

“Caused this?” Jer demanded.

“This was Van,” Er said helpfully.

“Let me guess,” Jer said. “You morons decided to come together and talk about that and brought a queen in on the conversation?”

“I didn't know he would react like this,” Lerd said. “I've met him before, I thought he was more stable than this.”

“You are a moron!” Jer shouted. “Check with me before you pull people in for a conversation! Idiots, morons, imbeciles, and fools. The only people who should know that Aren doesn't feel properly are warriors and trainers. You,” he said, jabbing a finger at Av, “go see Danya and see if she learned anything over her winter with Aren. You,” he said, jabbing the same finger at Er and Gamen, “are not part of palace lands, so get back to your own rooms! And you,” he said with a snarl to Lerd, “I'll deal with you when I've rested and the alcohol is out of my system, but I'm going to put your head through something, I swear it.”

When no one moved to obey, his father stepped up beside him. “Move it.”

The warriors scrambled to get out of the room.

Jer waited until they were gone before he dared look at the room. He couldn't sort Aren's anger out of Van's, though he didn't feel Aren's magic in the room at all.

“You can tell the difference between the emotions of different queens,” Ervam said, walking deeper into the room. “Most of the time, it's really only how they were raised. It's never been a great secret that how you raise a queen will determine how she ends up feeling her emotions. It's how we know that beating a child, commoner or rank, will lead to bad things.”

“Is that why warriors typically put an end to that?”

“It's why you believe it dishonourable to look the other way when you know a child is suffering, yes,” Ervam said and motioned around the room. “Aren and Van's anger is only separated by a tempered edge to Van's emotion.”

“No, that's Aren's anger.”

“Pretty certain Van would be tempered by time, not Aren,” Ervam said.

“But the tempered anger is from a woman,” Jer countered. “Laeder's been angry a few times, I’ve felt his magic at work. I've obviously been around queens as well, so I can tell the difference.”

“There's no difference between man and woman when it comes to magic.”

“That would be like saying there's no difference between the feelings of two queens,” Jer countered, walking to the bookshelves that ran along the outer wall of the room.

The books, despite being the most delicate items in the room, appeared to be the only things untouched. He reached out and grazed the binding of one.

“Books weren't touched,” Jer said, moving away and to the hearth. The wood shelf above the hearth had fallen to splinters, along with the frame of the painting that hung over the hearth. The painting itself was in perfect condition. “I've never seen an anger like this.”

“Like what?” Ervam asked.

“It destroyed the bedspread and mattress, the chairs, the shelving, and rug. It even charred the walls, but only on this side of the room and nothing that could not absolutely be replaced has been destroyed. When queens rage, they break everything. They don't hold back from the books and art. Or from the other side of the room.”

Ervam looked over the room, making a small sound at the back of his throat as he turned to the bed. Walking over to it, the trainer reached out and touched the bed frame. It crumbled under his fingers.

Jer moved to the bed and looked at the caved in portion of the bed frame. Frowning, he looked to his father for an answer.

“On palace lands you don't see this sort of thing. Short-lived queens, weak queens, don't have the ability to be selective, it just explodes like a glass cup thrown against a wall. Growing up in the North, I saw a few times when my sisters would rage and it would be very similar to this. The items of the one who upset them would be destroyed, while everything else would either remain untouched or at least be salvageable.”

“That's a lot of rage to put into a bed,” Jer said quietly.

“A punishment my father tried to bring in just before his death was tying a queen who had offended one face-down on their bed and then beating them.”

“So that the queen would have to sleep in that emotion?” Jer asked. “Is that possible?”

“The stronger the queen, the more their emotions can alter the furniture and rooms that they inhabit. Especially if their father or mother, or mate as it may be, is the one to cause the emotion. Once they leave, or die, the emotion fades, eventually.”

“From a rage, we can tell so much about his childhood,” Jer said and sighed. “I wonder what we might learn if we visited Aren's room at the vineyard.”

His father stared at him. Jer watched silently, awaiting the reproachful words.

“How long would it take you to get to the vineyard and back?” Ervam asked.

“Same as a messenger,” Jer said. “Why?”

“Meaning a day or two there. How quickly could you make it back with what we've been told is a dimwit?”

“Is it safe to move one as a stranger?” Jer asked. “Oh, Aren's brother. No, no, I don't think that's a good idea. I can make the trip, but I'd say after the mating. I have to go make accounts of the estate, seeing as how the master of coin is buried to his neck in audit reports just trying to find this lord who owns land, which none of us can even find on a map.”

“Why after the mating?” Ervam asked.

“To make certain this”—Jer motioned around them—“doesn't happen again.”

“Are you two talking about me?” Aren asked, coming into the room.

Ervam and Jer both turned to the woman. She seemed different somehow, definitely hesitant as she stopped just short of them and looked over the room, then at Jer's feet.

“What happened?” Jer asked.

“I hurt Van and threatened to kill him if he does something again,” Aren said weakly. “And I enjoyed it...”

“Have you never purposely used magic?” Jer asked.

“Queen-in-hiding for eighteen years,” Aren snapped, angry enough to glare at Jer. “How much magic do you think I've used on purpose? Only enough to do up some lacing.”

“Causing pain, especially on a queen that was this angry, takes a great deal more magic than lacing,” Ervam said quietly. “You probably don't enjoy causing pain. Most queens are taught to avoid using too much magic through lecturing and discipline for attempting too much. They attempt too much, not because the magic goes to their heads, but because using magic has always been described akin to being pleasured.”

Aren frowned at Ervam. She looked to Jer, obviously questioning what she had just been told. He nodded in response. Queens tended to use magic for absolutely everything, but then whatever they felt while using magic caused them to become numb to other things. They had to be taught to resist the urge, to save magic only for necessary things.

When a queen went numb, she no longer felt emotions strong enough to fuel her magic, which meant that she slowly lost access to that which was inherent in her rank.

“What if Telm's just numb?” Jer asked. “She used to be strong, but now she's really weak and that's what we see in queens who have gone numb.”

“I gave him a drink,” Ervam said quietly to Aren. “After one he tends to jump all over. I'll put him down for a nap. I would suggest you do the same.”

“You suggest I put him down for a nap?”

“I suggest you take a nap, Aren,” Ervam said with a frustrated sigh. “This all would have affected the proper flow of magic through the palace. That magic comes from you. The throne will drain more to settle the lines back down.”

“Oh,” Aren said faintly.

“Dealing discipline to Van also would have drained some of your magic and if you've never used that much on purpose before, you may feel it very shortly.”

“Oh...”

“Aren, go to bed,” Ervam said sternly.

“As you say,” she said, before she turned and shuffled to the door. Wena appeared in the doorway and offered Aren an arm, leading her off towards her rooms.

“When a queen rages like this, the throne typically absorbs the magic,” Jer said with a frown.

“It does, but she's looking unstable and, barring a man to chase her down, it's best to convince her to take a nap. When she wakes, she will feel better no matter what has been bothering her.”

“Naps don't work for everything.”

“You, good sir, are going to be taking a nap as well,” Ervam said sternly. “Telm no doubt has a crew of servants waiting to begin cleaning the room. We can't learn anything else from this mess and the faster it is cleaned, the faster Av can move back into here rather than staying at the master's cabin with me.”

“Wouldn't he just be offered another set of rooms?” Jer asked.

“Do you not recognize the rooms you're standing in?” his father asked. “These are the rooms set aside for the mate to the throne. The only other place for him to stay at the palace is in Aren's rooms and that boy has his head so far into the clouds, he probably doesn't realize that he could be sleeping with Aren considering the fact that she keeps Wena in her rooms at all times.”

“He's not the smartest of us,” Jer grumbled.

“I think that alcohol has really taken hold.”

“And I think I'll take that nap now.”