Authors: Dara Joy
At the magic words "warm" and "coop," Kibbee expanded her vents and with an inhaled gust of intake significantly increased her speed.
Green smiled, shaking her head. There was nothing Kibbee liked more than a warm bed of soft tilla leaves. Coops usually provided nice tilla beds for the Slice's Kloos and Klees.
Green galloped into the courtyard a short time later just as a second arc flashed across the sky. She was already sodden to the skin. It wouldn't be long before the storm was directly overhead and the only safe place to be when that happened was inside shelter.
Arcs were attracted to ore-rocks. If one could stay clear of the ore-rocks, one would be fine. Unfortunately, the black stones littered the natural landscape. When building a structure of any kind, the first thing one did on Forus was clear the area of ore-rock. It had not taken the original settlers long to figure that out, although many lives have been lost to the vicious storms.
A coop-keeper ran out to meet her, taking Kibbee's reins and leading her off to her tilla bed.
Green pulled open the door to the tavern, gratefully stepping into the dry interior. The inside was dark and musty. Not even the large flamepit that roared at the back of the room could dispel the gloom.
A few patrons sat sipping brew and passing secrets. Her saturated cape dripped across the floor as she made her way to a rear table in the far corner.
A barboy immediately came over to place a warmed brew in front of her.
"Thought you'd be wanting this right off." He winked at her, taking the opportunity to flirt. He had an adorable expression that softened some of his coarse edges, but Green knew that in another five years that adorable quality would be entirely destroyed by the life that had been chosen for him.
She glanced over at the bar and noticed an older man cleaning the counter. He bore a strong likeness to the barboy. A heavyset woman, presumably the older man's name-giver, came from the direction of the kitchens. She snapped at him to go help the cook. Wearily, he trudged back there.
"That's perfect, thank you." Green smile warmly at the barboy, feeling unaccountably sorry for him.
He was smitten; his eyes almost popped out of his head. Green was an uncommonly pretty woman. "If you need anything, just ask!" He grinned sweetly at her and trotted off to join his father in the kitchens.
Green was about to throw the cowl of her hood back when the front doors burst open and four sterling examples of new-breeds reeled drunkenly into the room,
immediately demanding to be served. They were all thoroughly intoxicated.
Green did not recognize two of them, but she did know Claudine D'anbere and Angela Farthenwright. Angela was Claudine's little pet. The lower She-Baron followed Claudine about, trying her best to imitate the She-Count's debauched ways. This was a perfect example of like attracting like. Green rued.
She quickly pulled her cloak closer about her face, hiding herself in its voluminous depths. She had no desire to talk to that reeling group. They were sure to cause trouble. Thankfully, the dark corner hid her from view. They didn't even notice she was there.
The barboy rushed out with a tray of warm drinks, squeaking when Claudine pinched him roughly on his thigh. "He's a comely one, eh, Farthenwright?"
"If you don't mind the stench of brew on him." Angela belched loudly.
The barboy tried to extricate himself quickly from the group but they all got a good feel before he was able to. Green shook her head and went back to her drink, trying to shut out their obnoxious ruckus.
And she was able to do just that—until she overheard a certain name.
"To Jorlan Reynard!" Claudine raised her tankard high in the air to make a toast.
Green covertly glanced up.
Why was Claudine toasting the Duchene's grandson?
Angela asked the very same question. "D'anbere, why should we drink to that high-held veil? He's not about to give anyone a taste."
"Ah, there's where you're wrong, my lovely. By this time tomorrow, Jorlan Reynard will be offering it to me on a solid platter."
Green snorted at the ridiculous statement. The brew had gone to Claudine's head! The woman was obviously hocked.
"Rut-bid," Angela scoffed, guzzling her brew, again reflecting Green's viewpoint.
"I have to agree with Farthenwright on that. No one has been able to get near that rare prize!" the Lordene on her right stated. "What makes you think you bagged the brilliant lad?"
"Very simple," she gloated. "I have spoken to the Duchene. Let us just say that I have pled my suit most admirably to her. She will sign the fasten contract tomorrow morning." She clinked her glass with Angela's.
"You sly glove," Angela smirked. "Whatever do you have on the old girl, hmm?"
Claudine snickered. "Just enough, it seems."
They all laughed raucously and started a long round of toasting and drinking. The woman who owned the tavern pushed the barboy toward them, chastening him to make sure their tankards were kept filled. Presumably, he was to fill whatever else the Tops wanted as well.
Hidden in her corner. Green was horrified.
Could it be true?
Was the Duchene going to give Jorlan to Claudine? It had to be true; Claudine would not be bragging to her friends like this.
What would make Any a do such a thing?
The Duchene was not fond of the She-Count. Green could not imagine the elderly woman giving her beloved grandson to
that
... !
D'anbere must have coerced her!
Green closed her eyes, feeling a pain clutch at her heart just at the idea of such a unique, gifted man under the controlling hands of that woman. Why, her last three name-bearers had died!
Inexplicably.
She swallowed and broke into a cold sweat.
She couldn't let this happen! Not to Jorlan.
She thought of the way his eyes wrinkled at the corners when he laughed, how intense he became when he had his first taste of her lips. She remembered the soft sound he made at the back of his throat when she ran her fingers in his hair.
Could she let that beauty be destroyed? No.
She would not let this happen!
Pivoting about on her bench, she noticed a small doorway behind her to her left.
As soon as she could get the barboy's attention, she signaled him discreetly. He rushed over to her, glad to be away from Claudine's set. "What is it, my Lordene? Another tankard?"
"No." She kept her voice low. "Does that doorway behind me lead outside?"
"Yes, but surely you do not wish to leave? The storm is raging and will probably go on for most of the night. There are a few rooms here... " He paused. "Upstairs." His offer was plain.
"That is quite all right. I must go, but I don't wish to be noticed leaving—do you understand?" She reached into her waist pouch and extracted a plat-coin, flipping it over to him.
The barboy swallowed, obviously never having seen one before. "I will get you some change, my Lordene."
"That won't be necessary. Just make sure that their attention is focused on you for the rime that it takes me to leave. They are so hocked, they won't even realize it. Can you do it?"
The barboy grinned as he pocketed the plat-coin. "I can do it."
Green nodded. "Good. And a bit of advice: Do not go with them later or you will sorely regret it. They are not the kind that will leave you smiling in the morning and they might not even pay you for the torture."
The barboy paled. "Thank you for telling me, my Lordene. I think I will get lost in the coop tonight after you leave."
She nodded to him.
The barboy did not waste any time in doing as she had asked. Soon, all their attention was focused on him as he outrageously flirted while serving them brew. Green slipped out the back door and dashed across the yard, the darkness of night and the rain aiding her. Her luck held when no arc traversed the night to illuminate her path.
She quickly entered the coop, finding Kibbee right away by the Kloo's delighted snores of happiness.
To say that Kibbee squawked at being awakened to go out into the storm was an understatement. It took all of Green's persuasive powers to convince the recalcitrant Kloo to let her saddle her.
accomplished, they galloped out into the arc-laden night, heading for her estate. She needed to retrieve the lineage scrolls kept locked in her study before she rode over to the Reynard estate.
An arc zigzagged through the sky, connecting with an ore-rock on the other side of the road. The hum of unstable current vibrated along her skin. It was close. Kibbee glared at her over her shoulder, curling the edge of one thick lip in sheer disgust at the foolhardy venture. Green firmly told her to keep going.
The Kloo obeyed, but only after she had spit a huge wad of saliva into the wind as commentary.
Green wrinkled her nose. It was going to be a long, dangerous ride.
Even if she survived the storm, she was still going to have to convince the Duchene to go along with her plans.
Knowing Claudine's threats, it was going to take all of Green's persuasive abilities. On top of that, Claudine had hinted that the Duchene had already given her consent. Anya never retracted her word. Never.
Green steeled herself for the confrontation she knew she must win.
And she would win.
She was not known in the House of She-Lords as a brilliant orator for nothing.
Green pounded on the door of the Reynard estate. It was well past the middle of the night. Miraculously, she had made it through the arc storm. How, she had no idea. Three times she had almost been fried to a crisp. The edge of her cape was singed in two places and still smoking slightly. Poor Kibbee's plumage had stood straight up in the electrified air. They would probably both reek of smoke for a week. But the faithful, steady Kloo had not bolted. She had stayed by her. They were rightly called woman's best friend, and Green had already made sure she was well taken care of for her valiant efforts.
A sleepy
"Marquelle Tamryn! What has happened, to you? Did you get caught in the arc storm? Oh, dear me! Come in! Come in!" She all but dragged Green into the foyer.
"Go and awaken the Duchene at once. I must see her!"
's jaw dropped. "But—but I cannot awaken the Duchene at this hour! She will have my head!"
"Tell her Marquelle Tamryn is here and that it is of the utmost urgency. I will await her in her study—go!" Green was already striding off to the study down the corridor.
As she waited for the Duchene, she poured herself a tumbler of hameeri liquor, both as a fortifier and a warmer. She was almost at the point of exhaustion. She had been tired at the start of her journey from town, but after riding through the storm for hours, constantly staying alert for the arcs, she was near collapse.
Thankfully, she had been able to get what she needed from her study without awakening her household. It had not been easy to go back out into the stormy night again to ride here. Now she needed to draw in her real strength—to convince the Duchene she must take back her promise.
The large doors opened and a pale Anya Reynard entered. She closed the doors softly behind her. By her haggard look, Green was not sure the older woman had been sleeping at all. And she knew why. This entanglement with Claudine must be killing her. Anya loved Jor-lan dearly; she would never want him to be so despoiled.
"Green, wh-what are you doing here? Is there an emergency called by the Septibunal? My goodness, look at you!
Did you ride through an arc storm to get here?
Please, sit down immediately! You look near to collapse, my dear girl." Always considerate, she drew Green to a chair in front of her desk.
Anya took the seat behind the desk. "Is it the tribes to the south? I warned them about—"
"No, Anya, One Nation is fine. The reason I've come is of a more personal nature."
Anya poured herself a glass of water from the carafe on her desk. Green noticed that her hand shook slightly and she seemed to have aged several years overnight.
" 'Personal nature'? What might that be?"
Green sighed. "I know about Claudine's bid for Jorlan. By the sheerest stroke of fortune I overheard her in
a tavern on my way back from
Upstairs in a far bedroom, Jorlan lie sleeping. Suddenly, his aqua eyes opened. Deep in a dream, he stared at his own vision.
"How could you do this, Anya? You know what she is like!"
Anya Reynard covered her face with her hands. "I cannot tell you why. It is done, Green."
Green took a deep breath. She reached across the table to place her hand on the older woman's arm. "You cannot. You have promised him you would not—not without his consent."
Anya wiped her eyes and stared at Green. "He told you that?"