Young Writers Society

A/N: Last chapter, Lucretia explained to Myra why she trusts Golzar. In this chapter, the conversation continues.

Myra was a lucky woman, everyone in the palace staff said so. She had the ear of Queen Lucretia, had been by her side nearly all her life.

Now she sat before her Grace, who looked chillingly striking in purple, and a black-and-gold mantle thrown about her shoulders to shield her from the cooler spring breezes. A pair of icy silver earrings dropped elegantly from either side of her head, framing her otherwise round and youthful face.

Myra watched as her Grace finally pulled the pen from her other pocket and began to scribble something in her notebook.

When Lucretia spoke, Myra searched her eyes, trying to comprehend just what she saw in this Dame Golzar.

“She is a powerful ally. Not right now, perhaps. But eventually.” Lucretia’s gaze was distant, but not in the sense of physical space. With the morning light making everything hazy, she seemed to be looking inward at something, perhaps a memory, that Myra had no access to. Myra found herself leaning forward unconsciously, trying to get closer to whatever it was that Lucretia saw.

“I . . . It would be beneficial. Maybe even decisive, for me. To have her on my side .”

Myra sat back up straight, shaking herself from that momentary illusion. This was strategy, after all, she assured herself. It had to be. Lucretia’s face gave no sign of sentiment. Her lips were flat, her eyes cast downward and thoughtful, as they often were. But Myra had a sneaking suspicion creeping up on her. Outside, through the window, a breeze fluttered through the leaves of the trees.

“The bottom line is,” Lucretia continued, feigning a casual tone. “Golzar is a capable Commander. She has a position of power in the Heroes’ Guild, and many men even outside of her Company would follow her. Have you ever heard the stories about the Vanguard Racer, Myra?”

She had. There were a plethora of them. Mostly passed around as entertainment in taverns, perhaps of dubious origin, but Myra was a native Woodlandian, and new well enough that tales tended to hold substance here.

“They said . . . They said she once defeated a troop of Korvus’ soldiers by leading them into a landslide.” Myra said. Then a thought occurred to her, and she blushed. “And that another time, she distracted the guards of a fort by sending a recon unit to put laxatives in their meals and . . . “

Myra looked up in surprise when Lucretia let out a snide snigger. “Oh yes. I remember that. I was in the next town over.”

Finally, Lucretia set down her pen, blew dry the ink on her notebook and then placed both back into her pockets. “Now let’s get going,” she said, her expression once again steely and business-like.

“Yes, your Grace.” Myra stood up and pushed her chair back inside the table. Lucretia did the same with hers, before Myra could walk over and do it for her.

As they walked out of the new throne room, with the crisp breeze before them, Myra wondered what exactly this Dame Golzar was like, to have made such an impression on her Grace.

~~

A light shower had descended on the Halls of the Grey Hound Company. It was a pattering, and the sky was only the palest of greys. Gerhard squinted upwards, looking at the shape of the clouds, still illuminated in patches by a reluctantly receding morning sun. In his hand, he was holding the mail for the day, just barely saved from the water.

With a sigh, he turned around, pushing the door open with his shoulder as his other hand was occupied gripping his walking stick.

“Hey Gerry.” Alexis said. They were leaning against the wall, sharpening a knife. On the opposite side of the hallway, Bryn stood. They nodded at him. “Old Shrew.”

When Gerhard’s forehead scrunched at the nickname, Bryn’s face broke into a smirk.

Bryn beckoned for him to follow them into the common room, and so he did.

The wide expanse of stone floor was warmed by a sturdy firepit in the centre of the hall. At night, they would all sleep here, huddled up against each other with thick furs. Now the firepit was burning mostly for light and a bit of warmth. Some of them had taken their furs out to sit on, but for the most part, the Miscreants were awake and relaxing after the morning drill they had taken before the rain started.

Gerhard felt a pull in his heart and a stinging in his eyes. He rapidly blinked it away. It was just an old memory, sparked by the familiar scene.

He had the sudden image of the hut he had grown up in, and the three cows they had kept inside. They had slept with two children to a cow, and the last cow always reserved for Mary, one of their sisters, and their parents. He remembered the axes and hatchets hanging from the wall, the way a night breeze smelt of leaves from the nearby forests.

“You said . . . you had the guest list, right?” Bryn was scrutinising him. They knew something was off.

Gerhard snapped back to reality. “Yes, that’s right.”

Golzar was sitting cross-legged near the fire, watching them. Gerhard kicked aside some of the rushes – they were flammable, for goodness sake – clearing enough room to safely put down his bundle of mail. Golzar pulled a nearby chair, but Gerhard insisted on sitting on the floor like the rest of them.

Golzar and Bryn exchanged a glance as Gerhard lowered himself to the floor. He scowled back. He knew they only wanted him not to bruise himself, but he had not done that once since leaving the infirmary. And, what more: he was the one meant to be worrying about them, wasn’t he?

“A Woodlandian dinner,” he started, opening the list and flipping it around so the two of them could read it. “We’ll need to host mealtime prayers with it. With the mask mounted on the wall . . . “ he looked at Golzar sheepishly.

Golzar shrugged. “Someone remind me not to put it on, and we’re all good.”

“I could remind you!” Tanya said. She had turned around from where she had been watching Robert sort out some axels, surprising the three of them.

“Shoo, Tanya, the adults are talking.” Golzar intoned. Bryn nodded after her. Well, Gerhard thought. She had surprised him, at least.

Tanya turned away with a huff, continuing her previous occupation of pointing at each of the axels and trying to guess whose cart they were attached to. Gerhard just caught the last snippet of commentary from her before he refocused on the list:

“. . . that one looks like Old Shrew’s, it’s so old and scuffed, he probably just keeps it for decoration now . . .”

That nickname, Gerhard thought, was going to be the death of him someday. With a fond smile reluctantly creeping up on his face, he shuffled through the papers. “We’ll definitely be going with plates, not truncheons. Most of our guests will be from the south.”

Bryn’s brows drew together for a moment, as they struggled to process the logic. They looked at the list of names as though it was something utterly foreign. “Why?”

“We have to invite all of the Guild’s sponsors. Most of the Guild’s sponsors come from Witchfield and Samton Fields. There are a few in Tome as well, but they’ll follow the southern tradition while they’re here.” Gerhard said wearily. Nobles were nobles no matter where they came from, he thought, and for the next month or so, he would need to be thinking about them and talking to them much more than he ever had during the war. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

Golzar pulled the list closer to her to inspect it. “You ever noticed that nobles always have two-part names? Red-vine, Ton-guard, Sky-root . . . Feels like they’re overcompensating.”

Gerhard smiled.

As Golzar was looking at the list however, she stopped, eyes fixated on something in the pile of mail. She glanced at Gerhard. “Hey . . . is this?”

“Is this what?” The smile dropped off of Gerhard’s face as he hovered, worried over the stack. He suppressed a gasp when he saw the purple seal. “I – I can’t believe I missed that!”

Golzar took the Queen’s letter out of the pile, eyes wide. Gerhard held his breath, Bryn sat up on their knees, leaning forward, as she carefully cracked the seal and opened it. A moment passed. Golzar skimmed the contents of the letter.

Then she raised her fist in the air in triumph. “We’re in!”

From somewhere to their left, Tanya’s head whipped around – “. . . in what?”

“Nothing, Tanya.” Gerhard said quickly.

Bryn remained silent. They leaned over Golzar’s shoulder to read the letter.

When Golzar next spoke, she had lowered her voice. “I will be meeting with the Queen in the House of Periwinkles. The middle of this week, she says.”

“Very well.” Gerhard reached over to take the guest list, where Golzar had dropped it. They had better not lose the thing, after he had spent so long putting it together. Before he could pull away, Golzar’s hand was on his, stopping him from taking the list.

“Hang on, I wasn’t finished with that,” she said, as she closed up the Queen’s letter. She put it aside, turning back to Gerhard. He realised it was in the pile of papers Golzar had been working on prior to Gerhard entering the room. “So you were saying . . . plates and not truncheons.”

Outside, the rain went on pouring. The three of them shifted closer to each other so they could hear over the sound. “Right,” Gerhard said. He was strangely warm, despite the increasing intensity of the rainfall. “We’ll need an appetizer, four-to-five main dishes, dessert . . . “

“We should just feed ‘em all hardtack,” Bryn grumbled, prompting a laugh from Golzar.

~~

It had been a few days since Golzar had last entered her private quarters in the Halls. Most nights, she had gone back to sleeping in the common room, huddled with the others. It was warmer that way, and it was how they were all used to doing it.

She cracked open the door, wincing at the cloud of dust that had already accumulated. Her quarters was facing the one part of the mountain that was both sandy and windy. Covering her nose and mouth with one hand, she suppressed a sneeze.

Gerhard appeared from behind the door, a handkerchief tied around his face. “Well?” he said, handing her the broom.

“I told you, I’ve been busy.” Golzar groaned. She took the broom from him, and then tied her own handkerchief to protect herself from the dust. She saw Bryn lurking in the corridor.

“I thought we were just using this as a cover up to sneak away and talk about our plans. Didn’t know you were actually going to make me clean my room.”

Gerhard scoffed. “I’m not making you clean your room, we’re cleaning it together.”

Golzar rolled her eyes, but true enough, Gerhard accepted a rag from Bryn and begun to wipe down her desk.

“So. What’s the plan?” Bryn asked from outside. They weren’t much of a cleaning person, especially if the stuff to clean wasn’t theirs. Golzar didn’t mind. She wasn’t at all enthusiastic about cleaning herself, and besides, with Gerhard here, this strange side-track to their day would be over in just a moment. He had already finished cleaning the desk.

Golzar could feel Bryn’s curious gaze on her as they continued. “You know the Queen, don’t you? I remember. You talked about ‘er before.”

Of course, Golzar thought, frowning. She did remember. When she had seen Lucretia again at her coronation, it had felt like nothing about the girl – the woman, now – had changed. She remembered the conversation they had shared years ago in the covered wagon.

After that, it had seemed the Queen was around wherever they went. She had to be, as both the figurehead and main benefactor of that war. At the same time, Golzar never came within an arm’s length of her or spoke with her as candidly as they had in that wagon. And now it seemed they were going to see each other again. Golzar wondered what would have changed.

“You nervous?” Gerhard asked, as he wiped out a whole village of dust bunnies from underneath the chair.

“That’s my line,” Bryn remarked.

Golzar shook her head. She was nervous. But there was no need to acknowledge it. Get in, get it done, get out: that was what she planned to do. Besides, she thought to herself. There was no doubt in her mind that the Queen had forgotten her. Bitterly, she thought about the flower incident. How embarrassing.

“You’re just asking that because you want to come with,” she observed.

Bryn folded their arms, and Gerhard sputtered.

A grin spread on Golzar’s face, even as she scraped at a particularly nasty patch of dirt. “She won’t know what’s coming.”

The pressure in the room lightened. Bryn even walked in with one of the mops they had standing outside. All three of them would go together, just as they always had.