Chapter XVII

Just two days until the royal wedding. Aryn was both anxious for and dreading the day. There was so much to worry about; decorations, food and drink for her guests, entertainment for the reception, and, most importantly, security. People from all over the kingdom, and even from Uvino, were flooding into the capital city for the big day, and this attracted merchants looking for an opportunity to sell their wares. With so many people around tempers were high and opportunities for pickpocketing and thievery abounded. There had already been seven major tavern brawls, twelve horse races in the streets, and countless reports of citizens “misplacing” their coin purses.

The presence of several of the noble houses and their bodyguards did not help the situation. Word on the street was that many of the local gangs of thieves were daring each other to rob the nobility in front of their bodyguards, making good sport of it.

Prince Paolo wasn't making the security problems any easier. Since there were so many entertainers in town; jugglers, jesters, actors, and musicians, he was insisting on being out and about in the city every day, in spite of the danger. If Aryn had seen a full grown man doing this she would have assumed that his fearlessness came from courage, but in this case she assumed it was because he simply didn't perceive danger the way a full-grown man would. Much to his protest, she made sure that Tamas wasn't his only protector, that members of the city guard were specifically assigned to watch over the boy.

She wasn't about to set foot in the city without a full entourage of guards, that was for sure, and even that would be rare. Last thing she needed was to give all the thieves and cut-throats a target. She had full confidence that her bodyguards could protect her, and that, if all else failed, her magic would come in handy, but she worried how many people might get injured trying to stop potential kidnappers or assassins.

As she stood in one of the castle towers, overlooking the capital city, she spotted a curious sight amidst the masses. The crowds were parting, making way for what appeared to be a large company of soldiers carrying a brown, tattered flag. She didn't recognize the banner, it didn't seem to belong to any particular noble house, and none of the soldiers wore tabbards, most were clad in cheap armor, not the sort of armor knights typically wore. They marched through the city with no particular formation, not even remotely in step with one another, and those in the front appeared to be pushing along a man in chains.

Once she realized that this apparent company of mercenaries was marching to the front gates of the castle, she rushed downstairs to see what this was all about, with Shamira following.

Down at the front gate, Milo and several of the soldiers spoke to the head of the mercenary company through the gaps of the portcullis. “What's this all about, now? What business have you at the castle?”

“This is Marquis Husam,” said Mahla, kicking her chained prisoner into the portcullis. He moved his hands to catch himself, but the chains prevented him from doing so, and so his forehead clanged against the steel bars. “Her majesty sent soldiers to arrest him not long ago; he murdered them, so my friends and I decided to bring him in.”

Aryn hadn't seen the Marquis in years, but in an instant, even with the bruises on his face, she knew it was him. Still, she wasn't about to allow a full company of armed mercenaries into the castle. “You may enter, sirrah, but your friends must remain outside,” she said to Mahla.

“Fair enough,” Mahla said with a smile and an attempt at a curtsey. She turned her attention to the mercenaries behind her, “Why don't you all go have some fun. Visit the brothels, or the taverns, take in a show at the theaters. I'll be a little while.”

Once the rest of the company had dispersed the guards inside the castle opened the portcullis and allowed Mahla and her prisoner in. Aryn looked the Marquis in the eye, “You've raided the people in Sabura, you murdered my soldiers, and you kidnapped children. Do you deny any of these allegations?”

“No point in denying it, is there?” the Marquis said, making sure he was loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “No matter how little evidence is brought against me you'll have me stoned anyway, isn't that right? Got to get more land in your pocket, after all.”

“Lock him up,” Aryn said to the castle guards, who promptly escorted the Marquis to the dungeons. “As for you, sirrah,” she said to Mahla, “You've done the kingdom a great service. Come, let's talk about your reward.”

Aryn, Mahla, and Shamira all sat down in chairs gathered around the fireplace inside the keep. There was no fire in it, it was far too warm for that, but it was a common and comfortable place for people to meet.

“Lovely home,” Mahla said. “In my years as a sell-sword I've seen my fair share of castles, but never anything this beautiful.” Mahla looked around at the portraits and tapestries on the walls, wondering which portrait was one of King Amasi, her father. Or had he even been king long enough for them to paint a portrait of him? She spotted one portrait which was obviously meant to be King Hadar. If it was even close to the truth he must have been one of the most handsome men who ever lived. Then, just to the right of that, he saw the portrait of Queen Aryn. While Aryn was certainly pretty, the portrait was more than an exaggeration of her looks; a small improvement on her bust-size and the removal of a mole on her cheek, which gave Mahla a fair assessment of how accurate these pictures really were.

“Thank you,” said Aryn. “For the compliment, and for bringing in the Marquis. I don't know what he was thinking, raiding the Saburans like he did. He could have started a war! Do you know what he was up to? Why he was taking the children?”

“My guess is they were being captured as laborers,” Mahla shrugged. “He hasn't exactly been talkative since we dragged him out of his bed. Men, eh? They just don't want to talk about their feelings.”

Aryn smirked at Mahla's joke and Shamira gave a snicker. “Now, I hadn't put out a bounty on Husam, I had expected him to come quietly. Apparently he wasn't as smart as I thought. That being said, I'm unfamiliar with how much a bounty like this typically would be.” This wasn't entirely true. Sarahi had put out bounties for dangerous criminals many many times before, and Aryn had learned well what a fair price was, but she wanted to see how honest this mercenary was, if she would try to con her into giving more money than was typical.

“Actually, I don't care too much about reward, your majesty,” Mahla said, to Aryn and Shamira's surprise.

“Excuse me?”

“Don't worry about it, keep your gold. Consider it a favor to a family member.”

“A family...what are you talking about?”

Mahla smiled widely, giving the “I know something you don't know” look. “Oh, did I not already mention it? Forgive me, your higness.” Mahla produced a rolled piece of paper from her coat pocket. “We're cousins.”

Aryn took the letter and read it, then re-read it to make sure she understood what she'd just read. Was this young woman really Amasi's daughter, her older cousin? Looking at Mahla she did resemble most of the portraits of her uncle that she'd seen, and she certainly stood as tall as members of the royal family typically did. Slowly, a smile began to creep across her face, “We're family...that's great!” Aryn said, standing and hugging Mahla.

Clearly Aryn hadn't realized some of the implications of Mahla being the older cousin, the daughter of Hadar's older brother, otherwise she'd not be so affectionate. Or perhaps she had, and she was trying to remind Mahla that they were family and thus shouldn't fight. Mahla hadn't expected Aryn to just step down and give her the crown or anything, but neither did she want this to just be a sentimental meeting.

“Everyone needs to know about this!” Aryn said. “You know what this means? You're a duchess!”

Clearly Aryn was avoiding the term “princess,” because of all that implied concerning succession. A duke or duchess was a member of the royal family who was not expected to inherit, a cousin of the king or queen, usually descended from a previous king's younger children.

“The title means very little, really. I'm the head of a mercenary company,” Mahla said.

“Well that can be remedied,” Aryn said. “How does this sound, I'll call for all of the noble houses in the city to meet in front of the castle today and publicly recognize you as my cousin. Then I'll grant you the County of Laherig.”

“A county?”

“Yes. The countess ruling Laherig recently died with no heir, so I've been looking for someone to take over. Your timing couldn't have been better!”

Mahla actually meant “A county and not a duchy?” for a county was but a small spit of land compared to what a duchess should be ruling over, but she knew she wasn't in much of a position to argue with the Queen. Truthfully, Aryn wished she could give her cousin everything she deserved, but there wasn't enough free land available.

“Will I be allowed to knight the others?” Mahla asked.

“The others?”

“The rest of my mercenary company,” Mahla said. “They helped capture the Marquis, and I trust them much more than I'd trust some strangers in Laherig.”

“Oh. Of course you may knight them! Actually, let's make that part of the announcement. Just after I tell everyone who you are I'll knight them all.”

To Mahla it really seemed like Queen Aryn was trying to steal her glory and deny her birthright at every turn. She had declared her a duchess rather than a princess, then granted her a county rather than a duchy, and finally decided that she would be the one knighting Mahla's friends. They'd owe their knighthood, and, to a certain degree, their gratitude to Queen Aryn rather than to her.

Queen Aryn was excited about this. Since Mahla had lived most of her life as a commoner she'd be sympathetic to the common people, just like Aryn was herself. What's more, Aryn was just generally excited about discovering a new family member, one she felt she could relate to, and wanted to do everything she could to show her how much she appreciated having her. Knighting everyone in her mercenary company would be a great gesture of good will, a way of truly legitimizing all of them in the eyes of any noble houses who might otherwise question the legitimacy of their knighthood.

“Shamira, why don't you go tell the messengers to gather all of the nobility here in the city together,” Aryn said. “I want to get this done right away.”

“Your majesty...” Shamira said, uneasily, glancing back and forth between Aryn and Mahla.

“I'll be fine, Shamira. This is my cousin, we're blood!”

Nothing about that statement made Shamira feel better about leaving her alone with an armed mercenary. Really, if it was true, it just meant that Mahla had more to gain by attacking her. But in the end she knew that she had to follow the queen's orders, and so she did.

As soon as Shamira had left, Aryn stood from her chair and poured two glasses of wine, holding one out to Mahla. Mahla cautiously accepted the glass, but did not drink until she had seen Aryn drink of her own cup. She realized just after taking her first sip that poison, if Aryn had meant to poison her, could have been in the glass rather than the wine, but by then it was probably too late anyway.

“Tell me about yourself...start with your name. Now that I think of it I never got your name.”

“My name is Mahla.”

“Mahla. Pretty name. Alright, Mahla, tell me what life's been like for you.”

“I was raised by a man named Tyson, he was the head of the Dunn Banner Mercenary Company,” Mahla said. “He taught me how to fight. How to wield a sword, how to fire a crossbow, and all about strategy. He taught me how to lead an army too. I've been fighting in battles since I was eleven.”

“Since you were eleven?” Aryn cringed at the thought of a little girl, one whom she imagined as an adorable young thing in blonde pigtails, running into battle with a sword in her hand and killing men far larger than her.

“Yes, since I was eleven. Tyson was furious when he found out.” Mahla looked off into the distance, reminiscing about how Tyson had scolded her when he discovered, after the battle, that she'd come along. She never thought she'd miss his reprimands, the sound of him shouting at her that she was far too reckless, even the way he'd slapped her on occasion in order to try to knock some sense into her.

“Must have been a hard life.”

“It was life. Wild. Dangerous. Exciting!” Mahla said. “What about you, your Majesty, what's it been like for you? All tea parties and dull balls? Boring studying until all hours of the night?”

“Well, there was plenty of that,” Aryn said, nodding. “But that wasn't everything. I spent every summer in peasant villages, in disguise, learning how the lowest subjects of the realm live.” Aryn showed Mahla the insides of her hands, which were surprisingly calloused for a queen, a stark contrast with her soft and elaborate dress. “I've known my fair share of hard work.”

“We're not so different after all,” said Mahla.

“I suppose not. Well, we are family, after all. It's to be expected.”

For every moment that Mahla found herself easily drawing negative conclusions from Aryn's words and actions there was a moment of redemption, something to make Mahla like her again. As far as Mahla was concerned Aryn was the only thing standing between her and her rightful inheritance. By the laws of succession it should be she who was Queen, not Aryn. She hadn't expected to walk into the capital, announce her heritage, and Aryn would immediately step aside and let her assume the throne, but as she spoke to Aryn more and more she found herself wanting that less and less. Oh, she still wanted what was hers, she just found herself less sure about how she wanted to go about getting it.

“I hear you're marrying someone...rather young, your majesty,” said Mahla.

“Ah, yes, Paolo.” Aryn sighed. “I needed to choose a suitor quickly, and Paolo seemed to be the best candidate, the best for the realm.”

“So you're not...?”

“Not what?”

Mahla smirked, “You know.”

“I'm not sure I do.”

“Are you anxious for him to plow your field?”

“What? NO!” Aryn shuddered at the thought.

“So the marriage to this boy is strictly business?” Mahla asked.

“Of course it is!”

“Does he know that?”

“I've told him as much.”

“Aye. But does he know that?”

Aryn stammered for a moment, her face red and her hands shaking.

Mahla patted Aryn's hands reassuringly, “If you ever need to know how to break his heart gently you let me know. I have experience getting men to understand that I'm not interested.”

“I'm sure that won't be entirely necessary,” said Aryn.

Breaking the awkward moment, Shamira entered the room again, “Your majesty, the nobles are gathering before the castle, if you wished to address them...”

“Yes, let's get going then,” Aryn said. “Come, cousin, let's introduce you to the elites of Arx.”