Mordecai

  Ned stared at his feet somewhat sheepishly, but Harold wasn’t done. “If he were really angry, he could easily roast the flesh from your bones, or just rip your spines out of your backs with a thought, and none of that armor you’re wearing would hinder him in the slightest. In fact, during the war with the shiggreth I watched him…”

  The men’s faces went white as the blood drained from them. Hastily, I interrupted, “Harold! There’s no need to talk like that.” I held my hands out in a gesture of peace as I addressed the guards, “I would never do something like that. Trust me.”

  Harold gave me a look of mock sincerity, “I speak only the truth, milord.” Turning to his men he added, “Back to your posts. I’ll regale you with tales of the Count’s bloody deeds later.”

  They left, needing no further encouragement.

  “That was a dirty trick,” I grumbled to Harold.

  “If you dislike my tales, feel free to prove my point by roasting me alive here and now.” He gave me a bow that was probably one of the least respectful acts of courtesy I had ever witnessed.

  “I used to like you, Harold.”

  The burly knight grinned, “If you didn’t want to inspire fear, why’d you show up wearing those clothes?”

  Everyone was a fashion critic. “If you must know, I had to visit Dunbar today,” I told him. “This visit was a spur of the moment idea, one I now regret.”

  “Don’t be so glum,” said Harold amiably. I had lowered my outer shield, so he moved closer and smacked me between the shoulder blades in what was probably meant to be a friendly manner. “Let’s go to my office.”

  “I just came to see Ariadne,” I responded.

  He waggled his finger at me, “Ah, ah, ah, you’re under arrest, milord. Come have an ale with me. Benchley can let the queen know you’ve been put in irons.”

  The Queen’s manservant was still standing by patiently, about six feet away. I called to him, “Did you hear that, Benchley? I’ve been arrested. I hope you’re happy. Please let the Queen know her cousin has been locked up and would love to see her at her earliest convenience.”

  I could almost have sworn I saw a faint smile flicker across his still features, but it was probably my imagination. “Certainly, milord,” he answered, and then he left. I followed Sir Harold.

  The knight led me back to the small room that served as his office and rummaged around in a cabinet until he found two small wooden cups of questionable cleanliness. Then he filled them both with ale from a pitcher on a side table. The ale tasted as though it had once been quite good, but now it was lamentably flat and stale. Pulling up a chair I sat down and decided not to complain.

  “That bit about roasting them alive was not necessary,” I grumped.

  Harold laughed, “I’ll get a lot of good service from the story.”

  “How so?”

  “Soldiers are a bit like children,” he explained. “It helps to have a monster under the bed to keep them in line.”

  I frowned, “That makes no sense.”

  “Sure it does,” he replied. “They’ll respect me more, since I was the one brave enough to take you away, and later, if any of them cause trouble, I can always threaten them with messenger duty to Castle Cameron.”

  “I’ve been ill-used,” I groaned.

  He took another deep swallow from his cup before setting it down. “Haven’t we all?”

  Nodding, I finished mine and poured another for myself. It was good to see Harold again, despite his poor choice in jokes, it was a reminder of days gone by. They hadn’t all been bad.

  “Perhaps I should visit the barracks and regale your men with tales of your valor,” I suggested. “I could tell them about your first valiant charge against the shiggreth in that cave near Lancaster.”

  His eyes went wide, “You wouldn’t!”

  Smug, I reiterated my threat, “I just might. It would do them good to hear it I think.” Back when Harold had been a newly minted Knight of Stone, he had not yet grown accustomed to his strength when I asked him to charge a ballista controlled by a group of undead monsters. Nervous and pumped full of adrenaline, he had done so, but his first leap from cover had sent him headlong into the overhanging stone ceiling. He had nearly knocked himself senseless.

  He stared at me for a moment, then made the offer, “Truce?”

  “As long as you promise not to tell them evil-wizard bedtime stories.”

  “Deal then!” He reached for the pitcher of ale but found it empty. It had been only partially full to begin with, since we had only had a cup and a half each. “Let me get some more.”

  “Should you be drinking on duty?” I asked.

  “Never!” he responded. “I wasn’t on duty. But you caused such a ruckus I came running anyway.”

  That seemed a reasonable statement, so I let him go. After a few minutes he returned with a full pitcher, and this one was noticeably better. It had been freshly drawn from the keg. I took an appreciative sip from my cup. “That’s more like it.”

  Harold smiled, “When I first met you, I wasn’t even old enough to drink. They’d only let me have small beer, and then only at supper.”

  Small beer was a very weak beer served at most meals, even children drank it, since it was often safer than water. I laughed. “When I first saw you, you didn’t even have your first chin hairs yet, just this fuzzy down that you refused to shave because you thought it made you look manlier. I thought Dorian was crazy when he told me he thought you’d make a good knight.”

  He raised his cup, “To Dorian!”

  “To Dorian!” I agreed readily. My mood had improved greatly, whether from the flying or the three cups of ale, it was hard to tell. We swapped stories and reminiscences for the better part of an hour, finishing the pitcher and starting on another, when a rapping came at the door.

  “Come in!” yelled Harold.

  It was Benchley. He entered and gave us both disapproving looks. “The Queen sent me to inform you that she will see you now, Your Excellency.”

  It wasn’t until I stood that I realized I had had too much. The world swam around me, swaying, or perhaps that was me. Harold stood as well and braced me with his shoulder, before nearly falling over himself. “Ooo!” he grunted. “Benchy, give us a hand if you would.”

  Benchley didn’t comment on the abuse of his name, but he did help steady us. After that he escorted me through the palace, his hand firmly on my arm in case I swayed a little too far to one side or the other. Since Harold wasn’t called for, he stayed behind. He offered to come, but I told him to rest. No sense in him getting in trouble as well.

  Rather than the throne room, or one of the larger council rooms where dignitaries met, Benchley led me in the direction of the old keep. Once inside we went to the royal apartments, stopping at the door to a small sitting room. “Are you ready, milord?” he asked me in what I thought might be a solicitous tone. Perhaps he cared after all.

  “I think so, Benchley,” I told him. “Thank you. Sorry about earlier.” I was still unsteady, but I was able to walk a mostly straight line now.

  “Think nothing of it, milord,” he replied.

  “You’re a good man, Benchley, no matter what I used to think,” I blurted out.

  His face grew puzzled, “Milord?”

  “I was a teenager then, Benchley, but I’ve come to respect you greatly since,” I said, unsure whether I was making my remark better or worse.

  “Those were interesting times, milord,” he agreed in a neutral tone. “Best not to keep Her Majesty waiting.” He motioned toward the door.

  “Too right.” I opened the door and plunged in.

  Ariadne, Queen of Lothion, sat across the room in a comfortable chair. Gone was her formal raiment, replaced by a more comfortable and simple gown of soft linen with fur trim. Her hair was loose, and she was in the process of brushing it out.

  “Your Majesty,” I greeted her. My bow was less than graceful, though, as I quickly discovered that balancing while bendi
ng forward was completely different than balancing while standing straight up. Somehow, I managed to get myself back upright with only a small wobble.

  “No need for formality, Mort,” she said, “not here.” Her eyes studied me as she spoke. “Have a seat,” she added, waving her hand toward a comfortable looking padded divan.

  “Happily, I will,” I answered, and then I plopped heavily onto the designated piece of furniture.

  “I didn’t mean to leave you waiting so long,” she continued, “but after finishing my business for the day I really wanted to get out of those clothes.”

  Being allowed into the Queen’s presence while she unwound, wearing simple attire, and being entirely unattended was not something that would have been conscionable, if I had been almost anyone else, but I was family. Technically, we were first cousins once removed, though I hadn’t known that for the first fifteen or sixteen years of my life. What made the difference was that I had grown up best friends with her brother, and consequently we had also been friends since childhood.

  Not that some distance hadn’t grown between us in the intervening years since she had become queen, most particularly after my public flogging, but most of that was on my part. It had taken me a while to overcome my wounded pride. Things were better now, but we weren’t as close as we had once been.

  “You wouldn’t believe how that crown makes my head itch,” she said, brushing her head once again. “Though I shouldn’t blame the crown I suppose. It’s having my hair braided and coiffed all day that does it.”

  As a count I had a circlet that I wore on formal occasions, but since my hair was short I couldn’t really know what it was like for her, so I didn’t comment. Instead I went for the more exciting news, “Did you hear? I was arrested today.”

  A faint smile passed over her features, “Yes I did, though you seem to have survived the experience unscathed.”

  “Your dungeon was very comfortable, and the jailor was quite accommodating,” I responded with a smile of my own.

  She put down her brush and then scratched her scalp directly with her nails in a most unladylike fashion. “I hadn’t realized my dungeon offered beer to its residents.”

  “A most civilized custom,” I commented. “I’m thinking of building a dungeon of my own, just to entertain friends.”

  She laughed, covering her mouth with one hand. Even relaxed, some habits had been drilled into her since childhood. “How much did you have? I thought you might fall over when you entered.”

  “More than I thought,” I told her. “Harold and I got to reminiscing, and I let my guard down.”

  “If you would come in through the gate, you wouldn’t be harassed and arrested,” she advised.

  “I didn’t think anyone would notice,” I replied. “I forgot about Carwyn.”

  “He’s very protective,” agreed Ariadne. “In case you didn’t know, I instructed the doormen and the gatekeeper to let you in with a minimum of fuss. They wouldn’t have put you through all the pomp and circumstance that most people have to deal with.”

  In fact, I had not known that. “I am educated by your wisdom, My Queen,” I remarked with mock formality. Then a thought struck me, I hadn’t visited in years. After my trial I had avoided the capital for months, only returning to speak for Dorian at the memorial. At the time Ariadne had complained of her isolation, but my pain had still been too fresh for me to respond with much empathy.

  It had been almost ten years since then, and I had only come to the capital twice, and then only for important occasions of state. Neither time had I spoken to her in private. She had made plenty of opportunities, but I had avoided them. I had avoided her.

  And yet, she had given special instructions to the men at the gate to admit me without question, for what? It certainly wasn’t for practicality. My gut told me the answer, it had been a hopeful gesture.

  “Would you get that decanter for me, Mort?” she asked, pointing to a glass container on a sideboard near the wall.

  Rather than risk standing, I used my power, levitating it and sending it to her hand with only a slight wobble. “What is that?”

  “A spirit made in Gododdin,” she answered. “I believe Nicholas told me it is called ‘gin’. They make it with juniper berries. I’ve grown rather fond of it.” Removing the stopper, she poured some into a glass. Her face contorted as she took a sip.

  The ‘Nicholas’ she had mentioned so casually was the monarch of Lothion’s neighbor, Gododdin. “Should you be drinking that?” I wondered openly.

  “Why should you have all the fun?” Ariadne quipped. After watching my face a moment, she added, “Don’t get worried. I almost never drink. There’s no one to drink with when you’re the queen. This is a special occasion.” She choked on her second sip.

  “You’ll make yourself sick,” I warned. “Most people mix that with other things, like fruit juices or wine.”

  Once she had finished gasping for air she replied, “Nonsense, Nicholas told me it was invented as a medicine.”

  A medicine meant to cure sobriety, I thought to myself. My next words came as a surprise even to me. “I’m sorry.”

  The Queen’s brows went up, then she forced another swallow past her lips. After the inevitable coughing she asked, “What for?”

  “For not being here,” I said simply.

  Her cheeks had gained some color, though whether from my apology or from the drink, I couldn’t be sure. She stared at me for a long moment before responding, “Don’t. We’re having fun. This is your first personal visit—ever. Don’t spoil it.”

  “That’s exactly why I’m apologizing,” I explained. “When I came, forever ago, for the memorial service, you told me how isolated you were. But I was too angry to listen. Not angry at you, though. I was angry with Lothion, with the people, but since you were the queen, it wound up being you that I punished. I abandoned you. That’s why I’m sorry.”

  Ariadne frowned at me, then she stood and drained her glass. She didn’t choke or sputter this time. She placed it on the side table with a loud thud. “I’m not a little girl anymore, Mort. I’m not Marcus’ little sister anymore, following you around the castle. I’m a queen, and I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, so save your pity. I’ve done pretty well over the years, without your help.

  Agitated, she carried the decanter back to the sideboard, then picked it up again and went back to her seat to refill her glass. “Am I supposed to get sad over all the empty years, with no one to turn to for advice? I don’t think so!” She took another brisk swig from her glass.

  I winced at her words. She had become queen the same day she had been orphaned, and yet she had never complained. How could she? There had been no one to complain to. Her younger brother, Roland, stayed in Lancaster, both her parents were gone, and I had treated her as though she carried the plague.

  She had married, though. A handsome young nobleman from Gododdin, Leomund was his name. That had been something of a relief to me at the time, for it assuaged my guilt at avoiding her. There had been no children, however, and she was in her late thirties. I wondered if I should even mention her husband.

  Ariadne’s eyes narrowed as though she had read my mind. “And don’t even mention my husband.”

  I held up my hands, “I hear he’s a likeable fellow.”

  She dropped back into her cushioned chair, “Do you know why I married him?”

  I was definitely in dangerous territory now, possibly almost as perilous as conversations with Penny that started out with a simple, ‘we need to talk’. Struggling for an answer I could only manage, “He’s handsome?”

  She drained her glass and set it down again, “He’s a useless peacock of a man. I married him because he wasn’t from Lothion.”

  Twenty years ago, I wouldn’t have understood, but I had been embroiled in politics long enough to catch her meaning. She was the first reigning queen in Lothion. If she had chosen a nobleman from her own country the question of whether he should
be king might have become a serious problem. None of Lothion’s nobility wanted a foreigner ruling them, though, so Leomund had been made a ‘prince consort’.

  My friend’s little sister was crafty. She had neatly navigated around the most dangerous obstacle of her sovereignty. I was impressed. “I never realized,” I told her, “but that’s brilliant.”

  “Thank you,” she said, bowing her head slightly and waving her hand as though she was accepting applause. “It’s still awful, though. I can’t stand the man. That’s why I keep him at a distance most of the year.”

  Prince Leomund had become well known as an avid hunter, and he spent most of his time away from the capital, but I had always thought that was by his own choice. “Is that why there has been no—issue?” I asked, referring to the fact that she had produced no heirs.

  Now it was her turn to wince. That was one question no nobleman in Lothion would have dared to ask, but it was on all of their minds. The Queen was nearing forty, and the question of succession was beginning to loom. “No,” she admitted at last. “I did my duty, but nothing ever came of it.” Then she said the words that would never have been possible in public, “I’m barren.”

  Leaning forward I made a suggestion, “Are you sure it’s you? It could be Leomund.”

  Ariadne snickered in a most unqueenly fashion, “It’s me. I’ve had several dalliances over the years.”

  Now I was truly shocked. “Just to test the theory?”

  Sad eyes hovered above lifeless lips. “Because I was lonely, but it served that purpose too, I suppose.”

  A dozen different thoughts ran through my head, but the first to reach my lips was, “And Leomund, does he…?”

  She nodded, “Probably, not that it matters. We haven’t been intimate in years, and when we were it was mostly just a functional duty. He manages his own needs while he’s at his lodge.”

  I just sat there for a moment, dumbfounded, and—sad. My own experience with marriage was miles apart from hers. Penny and I weren’t perfect, but we were partners, friends, and yes, in love, despite all the challenges of raising children and ruling over a small piece of the realm. Looking at Ariadne, I saw a mature, self-controlled, disciplined, and powerful monarch; but in my mind’s eye I still saw the young girl who had chased us around Lancaster Castle. She had been a wild sprite back then, and somehow, I had always thought she would find more happiness in life.