Rowena was escorted to The Bounty with her new queensguard in-tow. Her captain, called Orgath, was an imposing mass of stone and moss, wearing a simple tartan of red and green, pinned at the shoulder with its badge of office. He didn’t speak much, though the sounds he did make reminded the girl of falling rocks, so he didn’t provide much in the way of understandable conversation, but he seemed a pleasant person nevertheless.
The other four guards were a motley crew of reserved demifolk. As Orgath cleared their route through the labyrinthine corridors, twin treefolk covered in pink morning glory flowers flanked her, and an ash-skinned fairy took up the rear of their entourage alongside an armored wolf wearing an eyepatch and saber.
When they arrived at The Bounty, the common area was emptied out for the most part, save for a group of dwarfs playing cards over cigars, and Cairne Cora smoking a long-stemmed pipe by a fireplace. She was alone this hour. The ravenhag didn’t seem all that surprised when Rowena approached, stilling her guards to standby at a distance.
Cora’s blue-black feathers shined with cosmetically applied lavender oil, and she was wearing a dress made of twine and shimmering baubles. She was a striking creature. She was more intense than frightening, but with a pipe in her lips, she looked every bit a lady of lazy sophistication.
She nodded her head in greeting and gestured at Rowena to sit next to her before the hearth. The pyremistress asked, “You managed to lose your steward so quickly, Your Unbeastliness?”
“The breith was not feeling well,” Rowena confessed. Then she asked, “How do you do, Pyremistress?”
“I am pleased, considering present company,” Cairne Cora croaked evenly, a curious smile crinkling the corners of her black eyes. “To whom will debt be paid for such a pleasure?”
“Breith, actually,” Rowena said after a moment. When Cora only stared at her expectantly, the maiden asked hesitantly, “I am without counsel at the moment. I was wondering if I could inconvenience you.”
“No inconvenience felt, Young Queen,” Cora insisted without hurry. “What kind of counsel seek you?”
“I must conduct court this afternoon, but I don’t… know much protocol. Does divine royalty conduct themselves like chieftains and chieftesses? Will The Spice King be there? What do I wear? Do I bow in reverence to wild things or do they? Will I call the room to order, or do I have a shouter? Why d--” Rowena suddenly broke off when the ravenhag started cackling with laughter. Blushing, the girl stated, “I have many questions, Cora.”
The pyremistress sucked on her pipe and let a tendril of smoke curl about her face as she said, “It would prove surprising to learn that the maiden knows more than a maiden should. It is not something I hold against you… Ask my counsel, Bastard Queen, and you will have it.”
“I would like to ask your counsel in respect to courtly duties, Cairne Cora.”
The ravenhag nodded primly, took another puff, and said, “Listen well, Young Frue-Spice. Listen well…”
Rowena sat awkwardly on her bed of bluebells and forget-me-nots, and she was entirely too aware that her toes didn’t touch the ground, so much as reach for it. The throne was comfortable, however, and offered a straight-backed position that led her to feel more attentive and regal than she figured she probably looked. She rested her hands on her lap and then on the armrests and then back, trying to decide which pose would offend her audiences less. Eventually she settled for clasping them loosely in her lap, hoping that she wouldn’t end up wringing her new feathered dress with nervousness before court’s end.
Cora stood beside her, assessing her posture. The ravenhag chittered in amusement and said, “Remember, Young Queen, they will defer to you. Whatever mistakes you perceive yourself making could just be the start to a new way of things. Your people will love you.”
“Such an unconditional thing, and I wonder what grounds they have for adoring me,” Rowena said mildly, almost bitterly. “How is it they trust I won’t become a tyrant?”
“That’s the funny thing about trust,” Cora said with a mischievous smile. “With the gracious demifolk, it is easily earned, but it is also easily lost. Show them you are the savior they think you are, and the rest will follow.”
“But... how do I do that?”
Cora shrugged. “Give them what they need.”
“What do they need?”
The pyremistress cackled and said, “That question is exactly why we are here in this courtroom, Maiden of Mine! You have the power of The King behind you. They will obey any command you give them. You are Beast Tamer, after all.” She gave Rowena a wink and said in a conspiratorial croon, “A little bird told me you haven’t given in to our King’s wild habits… which I suspect is why he’s retained such a weakened shape, or am I wrong for assuming so?”
Rowena had a moment of internal panic, where she wasn’t sure if anyone was supposed to know about her and The Spice King’s private things. She also wondered if telling a gossiping ravenhag was the most prudent thing in the world, even if she was Pyremistress. Eventually, the maiden simply said, “I suspect… The King is trying to accomodate my unbeastliness by taking on such a form… so as to not…” She floundered for a moment, recalling the bird lady’s exact phraseology. “What do you mean by wild habits? You mean gatherings or dances?”
“No,” Cora said carefully, eying the maiden with a sly expression. The cairne eyed the queensguard posted at the door and then at a servant passing by with a bowl of flowers to be scattered. Then she leaned close toward the girl and said, “I ask this with utmost sensitivity, Queen. You have not bedded The King, have you?”
No, and I don’t intend to if I can help it! Let Him be as Man for a while and amend how He really feels about us! Rowena thought vengefully, but beyond the borders of her mind, she only shook her head and smiled sweetly.
Cora cackled a laugh again. “It’s not like him to wait! Perhaps the last drought left him tempered! Oh, that’s amusing! Well, then, you’ve got your work cut out for you, seducing God no less.”
Seduction is not my problem, Dear Cairne, the girl thought. More, I fear I will prove useless and God will rather lack his balls for all eternity than formally bond with me. I imagine I’m only still alive because I hold the key to His transformations… He all but admitted as much. But she said nothing of this to Cora. Instead, she only smiled and said, “Well… to work then?”
Cora, still grinning, nodded enthusiastically. “I shall call for court. Such a task would normally fall to your steward, alas. Wait here. Do you remember your lines?”
“I do.”
“We’ll see,” the ravenhag said with a smirk and then hopped into her mortar and pestle to zoom out the room. Rowena could hear her squawking in the hall, announcing that the queen’s court was now in session for the first time.
After the doors bloomed open, her guards came to attention and half a dozen folk were admitted into the room. Rowena had been expecting dozens more, so to only see a handful of demifolk made her feel a little less nervous. She stood and outstretched her arms. “Bring me your troubles and your thoughts, Beasts. I will…” She paused to consider her lines, then continued on with, “... attempt to make right wrongs--”
“Your Unbeastliness,” a red-skinned goblin interrupted her as he gave a shallow bow before the throne. Rowena didn’t even have time to sit down and return the gesture before he said, “On half of the Blacksmith’s Guild, I’d like to present an artifact to bless your legend, Bastard Queen.”
Rowena remembered Cairne Cora’s words about receiving gifts from the demifolk: “Take from all, but not from the fair folk. A gift is a gift otherwise. Be blessed by it.”
“Who was the one to craft such an artifact?” Rowena asked politely.
“Your Maidenness, ‘twas the dwarf called Mistress Sciliona.”
Rowena nodded appreciatively and gestured. “I would like to see it.”
“Of course, Unmade One.” The goblin motioned and one of those half a dozen demifolk came forward with a small wooden box about as long as Rowena’s forearm in their grasp. The surely-looking dwarf took a knee next to his goblin counterpart and raised the box up above his head before opening it to reveal its contents.
A dagger with metal as black as a bog greeted Rowena’s eyes. Its pommel and hilt were adorned with clear jewels and delicate silver wires in the facsimile of a constellation. The girl was unfamiliar with the constellation itself, but the work was beautifully rendered. She could see her own reflection in the black of the blade, and she wondered what material could have such a sheen, save for brittle lava glass.
“A garter dirk forged from a fallen star for the maiden,” the dwarf said, answering her unaired inquiries. Then, he added in reverence, “Should the need for one never arise.”
“Thank you,” Rowena said, only just remembering to breathe. “I won’t pretend to know much about smithing, but I’ve never seen its like. I will treasure such an artifact.” Her sincerity generated a wave of positive expressions from all the onlookers, to include those of her own personal guard.
Rowena started to suspect her crash course in protocol was going to go to waste because, before she could even dismiss them, the Guild representatives bowed and disappeared out a side door to drop off her gift with the guards that would inspect it before its use. A lady dwarf came forward then and didn’t bow at all, but took to her knees in the grass before the stone chair and put her hands on the ground. With beseeching eyes, the flaxen haired demifolk asked, “My Queen, I am Mistress Sciliona. I am blessed by your kindness. What will you call the blade? I would like to add your story to my own heraldry so all will know of my homage.”
Rowena looked taken aback, but then took a moment to seriously think. What would she name her first artifact? She hadn’t thought she would be responsible for such a thing. Weren’t legends built in the telling of them? She hadn’t earned the knife. What gave her any right to name it? Still, she considered the question, because this woman wanted to be a part of something bigger than herself, and bigger than the Guild she worked within. How many years did it even take to become a master of such craft? And surely she competed with other dwarfs and mystical metal-working folk as well. Rowena was astounded by such prowess. How did one even make such a thing from a fallen star? The maiden remembered the ravenhag’s advice concerning people and their needs.
Did Mistress Sciliona need this kind of recognition? Rowena remembered being unremarkable up until the day of her death. She felt she certainly didn’t deserve to be queen for it. But this woman made something with her own two hands and all she wanted was to be remembered well. That was enough for the girl.
Rowena smiled and announced, “I shall call the blade, Wolfsbane! Let all who hear it know of its purpose. It will be my protection… and, perhaps one day, it will bring me justice.”
Mistress Sciliona beamed and nodded energetically before springing to her feet and making haste towards the exit with little more than a nod in salutation. Rowena pursed her lips. For all Cora’s rules, it didn’t seem like anyone else adhered to them… but that was Rowena’s supposition before a single fairy came before her and formally bowed by placing his forehead on the ground and waiting for her to allow him to rise.
His golden skin was juxtaposed with his violet colored eyes and hair. He was a thin fairy, much like Jarl Toor, but was more on the man-sized side, rather than tall and willowy. Stalks of lavender sprang into Rowena’s mind. The fairy introduced himself as Lete-Jarl Gera, a representative of the Gera family, but not its patriarch. “I come before your throne, Bastard Queen, to humbly ask your assistance in resolving a rather delicate dispute. I would have waited for Kingscourt, but… my father would be upset if such a small thing were brought before God.” He nodded his head in deference and a blue butterfly, which Rowena had thought was a hair ornament, flitted restlessly from one side of the fairy’s head to the other. “Despite that, it is not as small a thing as he thinks.”
“On what matter would you have me advise?” Rowena asked.
“Previous to your arrival, the strength of all demifolk had waned these past eighteen years. There was much fighting amongst ourselves during that time. Some could not crossover to the mortal realm at feast holidays to replenish their magics. Many…” The lete-jarl suddenly took a jarring breath of emotion before continuing, as if steeling himself to speak the words as levelly as he could. “Many did not return with the rebirth of The Spice King. Included among the lost number are my four older brothers and sisters. I am alone now, the only heir to the Gera council seat, and therein lies the problem. I am without a lete-frue. My father will not step down until I am wed with a suitable bride, but he refuses to even acknowledge me in court. I fear that even if I present him with a bride, he will refuse to bless the union. He is resigned to let our bloodline die out.”
The fairy took a slow breath and then waved a slender hand. “So, you understand where my emotions lie. I am frustrated, but moreso, I fear for the longevity of my family. When my father dies, my titles will dissolve, along with all the privileges that come with it… unless I am married.”
Rowena looked across the room toward Cairne Cora and the ravenhag gave her a troubled expression, but then flapped her feathered arms at her to hasten her reply and stop staring.
The maiden decided for a tactical approach. “You cannot marry without your father’s consent?”
“That is true.”
“Under what law?”
The Lete-Jarl Gera made a confused expression. “Marriage is a queen’s matter.”
It was Rowena’s turn to furrow brow. “I wrote this into law, myself?”
“No, but another in your station many years ago.”
“It is in my power to change such things then,” she said experimentally and Cora nodded from across the room, but still appeared troubled.
“Y-Yes,” the fairy sputtered anxiously.
“Then this matter is a simple one after all, Lete-Jarl,” Rowena said, coming to her own conclusions about his situation. “Marry who you will. I will bless the marriage if I see fit.” As the lete-jarl openly smiled in joy, the red-haired maiden waxed, “It seems to me that the continuation of your bloodline is far more important than humoring the hesitations of your father. I’m sorry that your family has suffered so… Perhaps your father’s denial of your station is how he copes with the loss of your elders. Go in peace.”
“May the wild things in His star bless you yet, Bastard Queen,” Lete-Jarl Gera said respectfully and he walked backwards until his bare feet touched the wooden floors at the center of her courtroom where he turned and practically glided out the entrance.
Rowena waited patiently for another of the demifolk to come forward, but Cairne Cora herself approached the throne and bowed all the way to the ground. The maiden had her rise and asked, “Pyremistress, what do you bring before me?”
“I made a request a day ago regarding the position of your handmaidens. I was curious if you had given the request a thought, Young Queen.” The ravenhag smiled and swept out her arms toward the wings of the room. “If you decide to refuse my ravens, I have garnered the words of others suited to the position as well… although, I’m not as certain as to their motives.”
“And if you lack motive, what skills do your ravens have over any other handmaiden demifolk?” Rowena challenged openly. She liked Cairne Cora because the pyremistress was straightforward… but she had a feeling that the ravenhag wasn’t always honest with her. She had a creeping sensation, fueled by Fionn’s warnings, that if she decided to take Cairne Cora up on her pushy offer, the gift would extort something far greater from her--least of all, her privacy as she knew it now.
“They are beasts made for the darkest hours of our King’s life. She will serve you like an extension of your will. If it is your will to mack on pastries and wine for eternity, she will dribble the crumb and drink into your mouth. If you care to know all that can be heard in our beautiful star, she will have heard it whispered. If you need something or someone done away with in a discreet manner, she will not hesitate to carry out your orders. And, if you desire, Queen, she will satiate your needs whenever they arise… Any great ravenhag knows to be seen, but be unremarkable. She will be your whim within your inner circle.”
“She sounds like an incredible creature,” Rowena commended, but she shook her head. “But I won’t condon the mindless following of orders. If possible, I will only take a handmaiden from your murder if she proves capable not only in discretion and loyalty, but also…” Rowena struggled to remember what exact phrase she wanted to use. The wording had to be precise, else Cairn Cora could have an opportunity to spurn her. Then she remembered the words. “But also ethics. She must be a moral beast who is willing to advise against something I may do that might have unintentional consequences.”
“Would you be willing to take such counsel?” Cora asked, genuinely curious. “I heard that you ignored Breith Fionn’s advice in favor of your own more liberal slants… and rumor has it that you empathized with his ire towards Jarl Toor, who legally took the life of his hind.”
“I'm not certain from which little bird you heard such tales, but it is good that I can change those laws too,” Rowena said, but she hesitated when Cora started laughing and the remaining demifolk glanced awkwardly about. “Besides, I don’t care if my handmaiden follows any laws, as long as she is kind.”
This elicited a stunned silence from everyone in the room, including the ravenhag. Finally Cairne Cora smirked and said, “The Law of Strength is one of the few King’s Laws. Only The Spice King can change or refute that which was read from the entrails of a swan… You would speak such heresy against God?”
Rowena stood from her throne and looked down at the ravenhag, realizing what machinations Fionn had chastised Cora about from the very beginning. She thinks she has me. Then let her. I will prove my worth to her, the doubters, and even The Spice King himself, Rowena pledged to herself.
The maiden waved a hand toward the edges of the room, making Cora flinch. “I would willingly listen to such counsel, Cairne Cora, but it is my right to decide in favor of or in opposition to. I will not be a puppet, even to my Husband.” This, of course, got exactly the kind of shocked reaction she was looking for. Orgath’s jaw dropped and a stone fell off his craggy face. The wolf, with his stately eyepatch, put his mouth on the hilt of his saber, eyeing one demifolk in particular who had started to look more enraged than surprised. Still, Cairne Cora’s smirk widened into a sinister smile. There might have even been a modicum of respect in her eyes.
“Then I have just the handmaiden for you, Queen,” the pyremistress said and, from the rafters, a black bird descended and landed on the ravenhag’s arm. The cairne waved a feathered arm and a cloud of black feathers exploded all about her, leaving a charcoal skinned woman standing at her side. The crow transformed looked every bit like her ravenhag maker, but some of her bird qualities were more muted, and her voice was far more melodious.
The crow bowed low, but did not touch the ground. When she stood, she cocked her head to the side in a curious manner and said, “You may call me Morgan, Bastard Queen.” Then she lifted a necklace of silver feathers from her neck and took a knee to offer the gift. “Whatever you wish, my will is yours… if you will it.” After Rowena nodded to her proffer to take the gift, the crow called Morgan stood and gave her a coquettish smile, as if they were the only ones in the room sharing a secret joke.
Cairne Cora on the other scaley hand had turned aloof and lazy once more. She gave a terse bow to Rowena and said, “Grace and health be to our immortal Queen Rowena of Spice Village. May your reign be long… and prosperous.” Then she took a backwards stroll to the plank flooring and hopped into her mortar and was gone.
Rowena let out a small breath and remained standing to say, “I have heard enough troubles today. If there remain conflicts, please allow them air at the next session. Until then…” She was meant to end on a blessing towards The Spice King, but she refrained. After what she had said about not wanting to be his puppet, she didn’t want to come across as a hypocrite. Which is honestly the least of my worries now, she thought ruefully. Considering I just badmouthed God in court… in front of living people… in His star! If her mother ever found out, the maiden would undoubtedly be spiritually disowned.
After it was just her queensguard and Morgan in the courtroom, Rowena said to the crow, “Could you send a message for me, Morgan?”
“Do I look like a carrier pigeon, Highness?” Morgan smiled.
Rowena shrugged. “I’m certain you’re smarter and faster than one.”
Morgan grinned. Her teeth were sterling and straight. “To whom?”
“Breith Fionn. I want him to know what happened in court today and I want him to know that he’s missed, and should recover his faculties quickly so he can come back to work as soon as possible.”
Morgan’s eyes were almost as black and glossy as Wolfsbane. She blinked rapidly, in the way of a bird trying to glean the meaning of something interesting and alien. Then the crow bowed and said, “Consider it done, Your Unbeastliness. I will meet you shortly in The King’s Gardens. We can luncheon there.”
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