The Shining Orb Series

Drying her eyes and brushing her pants, she stared at the River Montla while wrapped in a woolen coat. Winter air from the mountains was cold but it wasn’t what chilled her. Goldfield was full of lords and ladies who had come from afar to pledge their oaths to the new de’Tro king. Ultiir would be getting ready. Dressing in the ancestral robes of his house. The town was shining from the high noon sun and the snowy peaks of the Asara in the distance were blinding to look at. Where the rebellion is taking place. Destroying the mountains and everything around it. The fields that surrounded her were full of winter wheat and tended by hundreds of slaves. The masters carried whips and watched them close. Sophie didn’t have time for any of it.

She didn’t want to believe her body. It was long past her time to bleed this month. By autumn she would be the mother to Ultiir’s child, his seed not poisoned like his brother’s. The Montla was the life source of man and it called for her. Not to bring life. Instead, her death. The leader of her household guard, Sir Achen, stood near her. She could feel him getting closer with every step she took toward the water, not wanting to fail her, seeing the tears welling up in her eyes.

“I should’ve told my parents no.” Sophie said. The knight said nothing but handed her a handkerchief. As she blotted her eyes she said, “What would they have done? Disowned me? Send me to become a daken? The only land I would own when they died is Aele anyhow. No chance of me becoming the queen. I should’ve said no.”

“If I may, Your Grace,” Achen said, “you had to have known this would happen eventually. The king is not his brother.”

Sophie looked at a mass of clouds gathering as she dried her eyes. “Not so soon after our marriage. I wanted time. Needed it. Ultiir is so much like Hurvir that I hoped they shared another thing in common.” Her boot touched the water and Sir Achen’s gloved arm went around hers. “I won’t do it you know,” she kicked the water, “I can’t let Hurvir win, nor Ultiir. My parents wished for me to have a son to unite the kingdoms and that’s what I plan to do.” Maybe, she thought, but my parents don’t always get what they want or deserve. I’ve no reason to listen to them. Not from this far away. And Ultiir might not even win the war. Then where would I be? Devro would execute me for bearing the child of his uncle and the child too to stop another succession crisis.

Sophie gave the handkerchief back and started up the hill to Goldfield. The ancestral home of the de’Tro family grew atop the many bluffs on the north bank of the Montla, ancient domaton dug into the dirt could still be found along the river where the people would pray to the Four and the Many. The new domaton was built in the center of the city, gold adorned the corners, opulence was common for the de’Tros. The great de’Tro manor was down the cobbled road from the domaton. Currently occupied by the queen mother, almost as ancient as the domaton mounds. The roads into the city were all paved for miles. It was always a surprise for Sophie as even the roads outside Udello were dirt. The wheat in summer gave the city its name. Golden fields stretching into the hinterlands. The largest number of slaves outside of Vigur in the whole realm.

Goldfield was rarely talked about by her husbands unless it accompanied curses. She didn’t know what their childhood was like and she never asked knowing they wouldn’t talk about it. Sir Achen led her across the winding paths through the fields. Slaves eyed her. Her guard always worried they would kill her, but she was more worried about the people inside the manor. The queen mother was never nice, seeming to have come from the depths of Veltoora itself. And the lords and ladies pledging their oaths always schemed. Even Ultiir worried her. How a man could kill his own brother and go to war with his young nephew she never knew, but it seemed common in the history of the world.

The sounds of cracking whips made her wince every time. The screams of slaves, men and women and children, made it worse. The whipping post was atop a stone for all to see in the fields. Now there was a young man with more scars and blood than skin on his back, the master laughing with every hit, the slaves glaring from below. The slave screamed out and his face fell to the rock, the master calling for him to “Get up or you’ll be fed to the dogs.”

Achen shook his head no, but he couldn’t control her. She was the queen. Sophie hopped off the path and pushed wheat to the side as she made her way to the rock. Sweating slaves, even in winter, followed her every movement with their eyes. She walked up the steps to the rock, the masters’ guards obviously confused and she grabbed the whip. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You bitch I—” the master saw the queen and fell to his knees, his dry lips kissing her hand, “Forgive me, Your Grace, I didn’t mean it.”

“Your name? And answer the question.” Sophie shoved him away.

“Master Ayter, my Queen.” The master bowed, his golden robes blowing in the breeze. “And this slave was caught stealing bread from the kitchens. Bread meant for the queen mother.”

“So you decided death by dogs was the best course of action?”

“Theft is punishable by death, Your Grace, but I was never going to feed him to the dogs, his meat would be toxic to them I’m sure. We usually just whip them. Would you like to try?”

The slave on the rock closed his eyes at the sight of the whip in Sophie’s hand. “If anyone were to be whipped it would be you.” Ayter’s eyes darted. “Clean this mess up and fetch some daken for this poor boy.”

Ayter chuckled. “No daken would help a slave.”

“Are the dogs hungry?” Sophie asked and the master nodded. “Then you better convince them or you and the daken who refuse will be their dinner.” The dogs barked in the distance. “Go on.” She waved him away. Stumbling, the master left and went into town. Sophie knelt by the slave, blood staining her knees. “What’s your name?”

“Clava … Your … Majesty.” His body shook and he tried to bow his head, but could hardly move.

“It’s alright Clava. Help is coming. How long have you been here?”

“Born … here.”

Sophie dabbed her eyes. Sir Achen was calming the masters’ guards below. The master and daken still not in sight. “Well you have a beautiful home. I hope you enjoy the view every once in a while. I grew up in Vallnioc in Terrop, near the mountains. Having a view of the Asara is a gift from the gods.”

Clava gave a pained laugh. “It is … beautiful … isn’t it?”

“In Vallnioc we do not own slaves. It’s unfortunate you weren’t born there. Maybe you should visit. I have old friends there who would see to your needs well.”

The slave squinted. “I cannot … leave …” he motioned to the slaves in the field who were still watching. “And if I did … it would be for Nuqtia. That is my parents’ place of … of birth.”

“I’m sure it’s beautiful too.”

“Brave or stupid?” The old Lord Tedbalt Masson said from the steps. “Guess we’ll find out when the queen mother hears about this.”

Sophie patted the slave’s head and stood. “I do not fear her,” she lied. “And she has to remember her husband died decades ago, mine is still alive and the king.” Hopefully she hears none of this.

Lord Masson held out his arm for Sophie to take. The old man had recently chopped his gray hair and now it sat only atop his head. He wore a gold cloak instead of his usual white one. No longer the chief daken. He was the king’s chief consultant on all matters of state. Lord de’Marisco would surely be upset when he returned. “I know Terrop is different, but helping slaves isn’t a good look in Viguran.”

Aytar and a few daken were coming from town with bandages and water. Sophie smiled, “well maybe that should change.”

“I own many slaves on my lands. Some of them just do not want to do the work and find joy in stealing. You can’t help them all.” Tedbalt shrugged.

“Did you need something?” Sophie said as they began their walk into town, Sir Achen always following. “If not then I would really like to lie down.”

“Have you been crying? Your eyes are red.” Lord Masson’s liver spotted hand rested on hers. “You know you can tell me anything. Remember your wedding?”

Lord Masson had made it as clear as he could without it becoming treasonous that he was an ally of hers. Something she still had to get used to. “Forgive me if I have a lack of trust in someone who plotted for months with the council to have a very important person killed.” She said quietly, and not wanting to say the word ‘king.’ She didn’t need any spies of the queen mother to hear her.

“At least Ultiir doesn’t beat you.” He looked at her once swollen cheeks. “Perhaps he is a better husband.”

Sophie took a deep breath and was ready to be in a wool bed with a warm drink in her hands as she watched a fire. Not wanting to talk with an old man. “Unfortunately you can not help me. It has to do with Meret’s gift.”

Tedbalt nodded knowingly. “I was chief daken for many years, and no I was not a daken, but running the school and taking care of the daken in Viguran has caused me to learn some things, especially issues that arise with women once a month.” Lord Masson stopped walking near a stone wall that separated the fields from the town. “Allies, Your Grace, are important.”

What’s the worst that happens? He tells the council? Ultiir? Everything can change within the year. “Well if you must know,” she took a deep breath before lowering her voice, “I am with child.”

“An heir.” Tedbalt smirked. “I’m sure you’re excited.”

“Thrilled,” she said through gritted teeth. They stopped talking as merchants carted goods nearby. Achen had to push them away after they tried selling to her. “My parents will also be glad. I do worry about the rebellion though.”

“If the bastard were to win you mean? Well we can’t see the future, but tradition does not favor you or your child’s lives if that were to happen.”

Sophie rubbed her eyes. “Devro and I always got along. For it to meet such a tragic end.” She hadn’t realized she was biting her cheek. I survived Hurvir’s abuse and the council’s plan only to be killed by Devro of all people … “I hope I can count on your discretion. The king, the council, the queen mother; none can know.”

“I swear it on the Four, Your Grace,” he touched four fingers to his heart. “Speaking of the queen mother,” Tedbalt looked to the de’Tro manor that dwarfed the other homes. “The reason I came to get you was for her. A page was going to do it but I decided to take charge. She wants a private meeting.”

Sophie curtsied to the lord and said, “I guess I have no choice.”

The manor loomed over her as she went through the wooden doors. Inside was the great hall, jewels along the pillars, feathers from far away lands on the walls. Rila de’Tro would hold court for no reason other than to pretend she had power. Goldfield was the king’s property and given to the heir to lounge around. Rila held court because Ultiir was always in Vigur, but she could not technically administer justice. Now, the hall was empty. Ultiir had yet to name an heir. If anything were to happen to her new husband Rila de’Tro would rule as regent until a distant cousin was found, or Sophie had her baby.

Sir Achen led her down a narrow corridor to the back of the manor. Ultiir and Sophie slept on the top floor with a balcony overlooking the expanse of wheat, Rila de’Tro’s bedchamber was on the ground floor to keep her from going up the stairs.

An old knight, not as old as the queen mother, stood in front of her door and bowed when Sophie stopped. “Welcome, Your Grace.” He knocked and opened the door.

Rila de’Tro wore red from head to toe. Still dressed in mourning for Hurvir, and probably all her other dead children and her husband. She sat at a small table near a stained window showering her chamber in reds and yellows. Her veil was sheer showing her wrinkled skin and sunken eyes. “Leave us.” She told the guards, waving gloved hands.

“My lady.” Sophie bowed.

“I think I should be the one bowing,” the queen mother shook her head, “but I can hardly stand anyway.”

Sophie clasped her hands together and stood as straight as she could. She didn’t need Rila de’Tro admonishing her for something so small. “No reason for it, I understand. You requested an audience?”

“No need to act so formal, girl.” The queen mother waved her hand as annoyance washed over her face. “This isn’t an interrogation and nothing you say leaves this room, not even to Ultiir.”

“Yes, my lady.” Sophie nodded with a meek smile. Wondering why today was the first time Rila had requested a meeting. They had been in Goldfield a little over a week. Nothing good can come of this.

“So which is better?” The queen mother said, the wrinkles on her brow moving with every word. “Hurvir or Ultiir? The last time I saw you the welts on your face had just healed so I’d wager to guess you like my miracle child a bit more.”

“Ultiir is kind, but I do miss my late husband very much.”

Rila de’Tro waved a shaky hand. “Don’t lie to me girl, you’re not good at it.” Her voice was stern. “I’m sure any tears shed over my son were tears of joy. Finally rid of that monster. When his body arrived in Goldfield I didn’t even cry, just another member of my family I have outlived. Shame you couldn’t give him a babe and now we’re stuck in this mess with that bastard.”

“Devro was a sweet child the few times I saw him. I’m sure it’s hard to see your son and grandson fighting.”

“That bastard,” she spat, “is no grandson of mine. An evil spawn from Veltoora wreaking havoc across our realm. The worst thing Hurvir did was fuck that whore in Maertan. My father would be ashamed,” she shook her head and her face twisted with disgust. “I was the last de’Tro until my husband took my name and we bore children, and what does Hurvir do but sully it. Ultiir is no better. He’s only getting older and just now married. Hopefully you fuck him right so he can have an heir and the bastard can be dealt with and my family name can continue in perpetuity. Don’t make that face girl. I’m old. No reason to mince words.”

Sophie felt like a child again getting reprimanded by her mother or nurses. “I will do my best to make sure I deliver an heir,” she squeaked.

The old lady stood, her skin tight around her face. “Do not pass up this opportunity. I did not think any of my heirs would have my name. I was going to bring shame onto this kingdom and most importantly my father and his grandfather all the way back to Marson de’Tro, but a banished prince found me.” Sophie had heard the stories a hundred times of Prince Ferrick being banished from Rowan and finding his way in Viguran. She had to force her eyes to stop from rolling. “Your parents already have two sons to carry on the Margia name. So don’t disappoint me. Let the second empire rise again like your parents and I have spoken about.”

Sophie touched her belly, hoping the queen mother didn’t notice. “You speak to my parents? I hardly get them to answer my letters.”

“We’ve written back and forth quite extensively since you married Hurvir, and they begged for Ultiir to take your hand in marriage which I relayed to him. There are much bigger plans for our two families than you realize.”

“I gathered as much when I spoke to them, my lady. Is this why you called me here? To talk about my husbands?”

Rila’s wobbly steps took her to her bed. “I just wanted to make sure you had my son’s interest at heart. He is my last child and I don’t want you to hurt him. You would not only upset me but also your parents and all of your subjects.”

“Analere is still out there.”

The queen mother laughed as she carefully placed herself onto her wool blankets. “She forsake me and her vows when she became a daken. Always an unruly child. My favorite daughter was Philla but she had to go get herself killed by some mite. Did you know we threw him to the slaves for a good raping before he died?” Rila held her chest from bursts of laughter. “The mites deserve far worse than that, but Hurvir did send a few floating down the Jorbstah so I can’t complain.” Her beady eyes scanned Sophie and settled on her face. The queen mother’s stare was that of hundreds of years of tradition. “Do not hurt my child, Sophie. The consequences of you not delivering an heir or taking the side of that bastard will be far worse than the mite got, and most of the slaves would love nothing more than to rape the wife of their enslaver.”

“Of course, my lady.” Sophie bowed again, not finding the door fast enough. She didn’t wait for Achen before walking down the hall, her fast steps echoing. “How much longer are we in this fucking city?”