Chapter Six

 

 

Telm poured Para into the coach and closed the door firmly behind the woman. Drunk as could be, even after three days. Cerlot was sober and looking annoyed, but the man had been remarkably quiet during his visit to the palace.

Cerlot was not the quiet, stupid man he had been pretending to be at court. Yet Telm was likely the only one who recalled how Cerlot and Para had behaved during their last stay at the palace. Para had been a spoiled brat, loud about what she wanted and how she wanted it done.

Her mate had been quieter, certainly, but still got what he wanted, one way or another. Cerlot had caused all sorts of problems during his last visit. Blackmailing, bribing, and at times, bleeding those who crossed him.

This time Cerlot had behaved.

He filled out reports and settled several debts between lords, allowing the throne to collect on the taxes incurred during each debt. The man’s only fault had been his insistence that Aren mate Laeder, and his conflict of interest when it came to anything surrounding his mate.

Av and Aren would not mate until late spring at the earliest, allowing for the barons to return to the palace for the ceremony. This meant that Cerlot and Para would both return in their roles as steward and head of house for a short while. During that time, Telm would watch Cerlot and decide what to do about the man then.

It could very well be that, upon recognizing what his daughter was, Cerlot had developed a genuine interest in protecting his eldest child. Her living a long life meant success for the vineyard, if only because Bilgern was now an estate linked to the throne. Perhaps his paternal instincts were finally coming out, eighteen years too late.

To be certain that the pair were gone, Telm watched the coach leave through the merchant’s gate. Relief swept through her. Those two brought nothing but misery. Or, at least, Para did. If the woman insisted on sticking around after the mating ceremony, Telm would have to take matters into her own hands.

It had been almost forty years since she had shown the violent side of her rank. Forty years since the commoners had cringed at the idea of questioning a queen. Perhaps it was time. The older generation no longer recalled, or chose to call it rumour, and the newer generation was completely unaware.

Too many political shifts. Not enough stability.

Telm fingered her mother’s amulet, now around her neck, where it would remain for the winter months while she ran what was left of the court.

“Lady Telm?” Mar stepped in front of Telm, eyes focusing for only a moment on the amulet, before shifting to Telm’s face. “I came to bid you goodbye. Perlon and I are heading back to his estate. The messengers say the snow doesn’t reach much farther south than a day’s ride and the roads are clear. We will return in the spring.”

Telm nodded, feeling absent from the present. “Good for you, child.”

“Are you all right?” Mar asked. “I can stay the winter if you’d like.”

“No, I’m fine,” Telm offered, trying to pull herself back to the time she was in now. “Worried over Aren, is all.”

“You said the throne would protect her,” Mar growled in response, her anger rising suddenly.

The two were linked, Aren and Mar. Queens had not linked together since Telm was a little girl. Not enough of them to become friendly, another queen was competition for land and warriors. With queens coming and going so quickly, the one who sat the throne couldn’t settle enough to link with another. The link between Mar and Aren had likely occurred during Aren’s months as Mar’s guardian. Before Aren had been taken by the throne.

Mar’s anger could fuel the throne through her connection with Aren.

“I said the throne would keep her alive,” Telm responded. “That does not mean she will not find herself in some sort of trouble, only that at the end of her adventure, she will return to the palace. I haven’t a clue what condition she will be in.”

“When a queen is mad, so too are her people,” Mar murmured, guessing Telm’s concern with frightening ease. “Any idea where she headed?”

Telm’s grip on the stone tightened.

“Northwest,” she said, the answer coming far too quickly.

Mar’s head bent just slightly in acknowledgement. “Would you happen to know why she would be headed in that direction? There’s nothing north of here but for the wastes. Unless she’s headed somewhere in the north itself. In which case, I hope you warned Baron Er.”

“Uncle Er. He is your blood. Aren took quite a risk to bring you out publicly, that your blood might claim you. Your father could have been killed then and there, his execution demanded. Do not throw away what has been arranged out of some idea of stubbornness.”

Mar took in a long breath. “I can tell my time at court next year will be educational.”

“You and Aren are close, so it would be foolish not to tutor you in proper behaviour,” Telm said, then pressed her lips into a thin line as she considered. “You may be the only one who can teach Aren how one should behave at court as a rank. The only one she might listen to, I should say.”

“What if I want to strip off all my clothing and run about bare as the day I was born?” Mar asked.

“Then you can do that. As long as your behaviour is correct, I couldn’t care less what your state of dress is.”

She had spoken as Perlon stepped up to them, coming to an abrupt and embarrassed stop. The man looked between her and Mar. He decided quite quickly to ignore the conversation he had walked in on.

“The horses are ready, my lady. Shall we be off?” Perlon asked.

“Of course,” Mar said with a smile. “We will see you in the spring, Telm.”

“Send me missives,” Telm said. “We’ve a mating ceremony to plan. I doubt either of those two has the first clue how, or any desire to get into the details. We’ll plan something nice, that they and the court will enjoy.”

“Absolutely, I will do that,” Mar said, giving Telm a stiff curtsey.

Mar walked towards the stables. Perlon remained behind a moment, considering Telm. The man had courage, she would give him as much. He wanted to question her, but did not want to draw her attention too much. She knew that he, and his bloodline, was different from most commoners.

Unable to feel the throne, Perlon could not be affected by its manipulative influence. He could still feel magic, still feel a queen’s anger, but nothing to do with the throne. Ones like him had, in times long past, been sought out and executed for fear of them spreading their oddities to their children.

Perlon’s bloodline did not spread outward. Only the heir and his, or her, children inherited the oddity. Ending in their blood, those who left the estate and did not inherit birthed only normal children. Commoners and ranks alike.

Mostly harmless.

Perlon turned and followed his mate off without asking why Mar had been stiff. He wanted to know what had taken place between the two of them, but did not want to risk himself to do so.

Telm reached for her amulet, only to find her hand still wrapped around it. Clutching the stone tightly, she wondered.

Heading back into the palace, Telm found her way to Jer’s study and walked in without knocking. The man was standing behind his desk, filing away reports and letters. He would take several items with him to his father’s and respond to missives from there over the winter.

“Can I help you?” Jer asked without looking up. “Telm?”

His eyes focused on her chest.

Telm released the amulet and forced her hand to drop to her side. Jer’s eyes remained on the amulet for a moment longer before the warrior met her eyes. Dangerous to act in such a way that Jer noticed a difference. He knew far too much, was too bright to not see a change.

“That’s a nice stone,” he said too quietly. “Is it a ruby?”

“No, an old amulet my mother gifted to me on her deathbed.”

“Ah,” was the response, but she knew the warrior was rankled.

If she had been thinking, she would have hidden the stone away before visiting. She would have at least slid the amulet under her tunic, to hide it from his view.

“Aren is in the northwest,” Telm said, adjusting to her typical stance.

Feet slightly apart, a warrior’s stance. Balancing her weight, while reminding those around her that she had received training. Where a warrior would place his hands behind his back, Telm clasped her hands before her. Queens kept their hands where others could see them. Not to show that there was no weapon, but to show the changes, the irritation, the anxious fluttering, every twitch of her hands was a warning to commoners.

“And what is Aren doing in the northwest?” he asked.

Her resolve wavered.

“What?” Jer asked, noticing the hesitance. “Did you do something dangerous and stupid?”

Telm pressed her lips into a firm line. “We were all young and stupid once, Jer, and Em was only one woman, around long after my youth.”

“What did you do, Telm?” Jer asked.

“If I wanted to discuss my past with you, I would have done so by now,” Telm said sternly, allowing her anger to churn in the room between them. “I came to tell you where Aren was, you made the assumption that it had to do with my past. She is in the northwest. She will be back by spring. Tell Av to stay put and keep his nose out of it.”

The last thing she needed was Av heading out that way. Even if he went in search of Aren, he would stumble upon what she needed him to stay away from.

No one at the palace remembered. The lords and ladies old enough to recall were too old to be believed. Labelled as doddering old fools, they babbled when Telm walked past, but their children did not believe.

Who could believe a story like that? About little old her?