Chapter Nineteen

 

 

Av walked into his father’s house a good deal more humble than when he had left. The healer had held her own. Against a fully trained warrior. She hadn’t fought like an angry woman; she had put him on the defence and kept him there as she picked at him at her leisure.

“You’ve been training the local village?” Av asked his father.

“Just as a hobby, something for me to do to keep the boredom at bay,” Ervam responded, glancing once at Av before he turned back to the hearth where dinner was bubbling away. “You were supposed to lead with the explanation. You always have to lead with the explanation with healers.”

Ervam’s back might have been turned, but Av could still hear the laughter.

“You taught her to take down a warrior,” Av said, not daring to raise his voice because Mie and Anue had wanted to play with their new toys and Av knew the balls couldn’t come into the house. “Why did you teach her to take down a warrior?”

“The village is a twenty-minute walk away, Av.” Ervam turned from the hearth, spoon in hand. “By the time the messenger arrives here from there, the attack’s already been going on for twenty minutes, if not longer, and by the time I arrive, everyone is dead. Training the commoners to take down a rank is something you need to start young at and choose carefully.”

“What do you mean?” Av asked, confused. “Choose carefully?”

“Those families could not sustain the sort of kindness towards ranks that one who is trained to take down a rank would need. No need to spawn a darkness. You train a commoner to take down a rank and he decides halfway through his life that he doesn’t need, nor want, ranks. What then?”

Av felt a little cold. “Meaning you trained the healer to take down ranks so that the commoners couldn’t take her down.”

Ervam nodded and turned back to dinner. Av’s ring sat heavy on his finger. A sudden reminder of a greater burden.

“There was a time when commoners and ranks alike were taught to fight together, to fight one another,” Av said.

He watched his father stiffen, watched the spoon hesitate just slightly in the stirring.

“Is that what you want?” Ervam asked.

“Yes,” Av said.

“Only”—Ervam glanced back at Av and smiled— “if Jer and I could get you drunk.”

“Why?” Av asked.

He took a seat at the table and watched as Jer slunk into the living area and took the seat across from him. His brother frowned at the bruising on his face, the cracked lip.

“What did you do?” Jer asked.

“The healer, Nae, is upset and needed some resettling. Short of bedding and claiming her, I had to find another outlet, and making a woman cry could damage her,” Av said.

“Making a commoner angry could damage them,” Jer said pointedly. “It’s only ranks who can get pissed off, beat something into the ground and feel better about themselves.”

“True,” Ervam said, pulling dinner from the hearth.

“She needs a man,” Av said.

“We have the winter to consider that,” Jer said. “More importantly, what did she say about our guest?”

“Long-term physical abuse, but not the sort we feared. They had a conversation and the healer sent Anue along with some items, made her carry them as a reminder that it’s a woman’s burden to carry and men don’t need to be brought into it,” Av said.

“That could be good or bad,” Ervam muttered.

“Her point, I thought, was don’t expect special treatment. The ladies at court want to be pampered when their time has come. The servants don’t. Those that need extra help, simply get it, but it’s the exception, not the rule,” Av said.

“Women are in pain,” Jer countered.

“Spoken like someone who was beaten by a woman who wanted special treatment,” Av said. “It is the exception, not the rule. You want pampering, you find yourself with child and then I’ll pamper you.”

“Aren won’t take pampering when pregnant,” Ervam growled out.

Jer stood to help set the table, leaving Av sitting alone, twisting the ring on his finger.

The children came into the house, their new balls in their hands. The toys and the outerwear were hung up before they helped Jer finish setting the table. Dinner was served as Av sat in thought. Dinner was almost finished when Av caught a thought, something mentioned earlier.

“Why do you want to get me drunk?” Av asked.

Ervam looked up, startled. “I beg your pardon?”

“You said you and Jer want to get me drunk,” Av said.

“You have a link to the throne, the only one we’ve got at this point,” Jer said.

Av frowned, looking between the two men. “And you want to get me drunk to see if the throne will speak through me?”

“No,” Ervam said carefully. “We want to get you drunk to keep you from overthinking things. Your mother used to do it when she wanted to make a decision, but thought her own feelings were getting in the way.”

The brothers made eye contact across the table. They both recalled stumbling in on their mother when they had been told to go to bed early. Inebriated, talking to herself about something going on at court. Being children, they had assumed that adults sometimes drank for silly reasons. That some adults became silly when drunk.

That had been before Mirmae had been taken by the throne, before she was linked close enough to actually go through with the decision she came to during those late-night debates.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Av said. “Aren doing that, certainly, but I don’t sit the throne, she does, so she would need to partake in drink for it to come out.”

“The mate to the throne can have the same connection,” Ervam said.

“Especially if he’s truly claimed the one who sits the throne,” Jer said. “The throne will talk to you, to keep Aren safe. Or to produce the pairs it wants to see in order to create stronger ranks.”

“What exactly are you planning on asking the throne, if it’s willing to share?” Av asked.

“Where Aren is,” Ervam said.

“How to extract her safely,” Jer added.

“They’re probably going to do a lot more than that,” Anue said to Av. “You already know where she is and when she is. That tells you what you need to do.”

“She has a point,” Av said, motioning to Anue with his fork. “Aren is to the northwest in a little village that I’m going to raze to the damned ground it sits upon. Only this time it’s going to stay razed.”

“You do realize that you’re starting to sound like a queen?” Ervam asked.

“What?” Av asked.

“The comment there, alone. It’s what a queen would say. Why did you assume the ground the village is sitting on is damned, and that it’s been razed once already?” Jer asked.

“The”—Av motioned to their father— “the conversation we had the day you arrived. About the village. I thought we were working on the principle that the story was why she was headed where she’s headed?”

“At no point did I say that the ground itself is damned,” Ervam snapped at Av.

“Or the size of the village,” Jer said. “It could have been a town nearly, for all we know.”

Av considered for a moment, turning the information over in his mind. “Let’s say I agree to this experiment. How drunk would I have to be, in order to have this conversation?”

“Your mother would be blackout drunk,” Ervam said. “Sometimes I would sit in on the conversations, but there were times when she had to do it by herself and she’d write notes in some kind of code.”

“Meaning I won’t remember any of this,” Av said.

“No, you won’t.”

“What are you going to do with the children?” Av asked.

“We won’t do it tonight,” Ervam said. “That will give me time to talk to the Renauls, our nearest neighbour, and put the children up for a night. Wouldn’t want them to hear any sort of bawdy songs that you like to sing when drunk.”

“Only when Perlon is around,” Av protested.

“Either way,” Jer said. “We’ll make the plans.”

“Drinking to further our own information and make our lives better,” Av muttered. “Sounds terribly dry.”

“Or terribly wet, depending on how you look at it,” Jer offered up.

“We will no longer be drinking when we hear word from Aren or about Aren,” Ervam said. “This would set a bad example for the children, that drinking could solve the problems, or that while in shock drinking is a fantastic remedy. With Aren infected, these events will continue happening.”

Av nodded. “Meaning we would be drunk most of the time. I can see the sense in that. Drink reserved for actually shocking revelations and needing to get straight answers out of the throne. Fair enough. How about in celebration? Can we still drink in celebration?”

Ervam and Jer both considered. They shook their heads at the same time.

“With her being infected, the celebrations could happen as often as the surprises,” Ervam said.

“The culture of drink at the palace is far too inflated,” Jer said. “With this, we have the perfect opportunity to cut it back, control how much drink is had by all. Once I become steward, I can even put a ration on the wine cellar. Drink should be had once in a while, not all the time.”

“Healers do swear by a drink or two every few days,” Ervam said.

“Of wine or ale,” Jer countered. “The lords and ladies aren’t drinking wine or ale, they’re drinking brandy and whiskey by the barrel.”

“What will I be drinking?” Av asked.

“Well, I need to get rid of my cupboard, what with this decision,” Ervam said, motioning to the cupboard where he kept the drinks. “So you have your choice of my entire stock. Except your grandfather’s mating scotch.”

“Why except that?” Av asked.

“For starters, because it’s aged forty years. Secondly, I’ve never heard of anyone actually drinking the mating scotch once it’s been made available for consumption. Folk usually pour it on the cremation pyre, let it soak into the logs while the body rests for grieving,” Ervam said, making a face. “It could taste wonderfully or it could burn your insides out.”