will see what I can make of it.”
Maewen loped off to the front of the party as a hill steeper than most rose before them. The half-elf led them to the east of it along a small creek that proceeded from a still forest pool. As they stopped to water the horses, the Chalaine noticed Athan saying something to Chertanne, who looked at her and then rode to her side. She exhaled roughly. Since leaving Elde Luri Mora the Chalaine had counted herself blessed for never finding herself in her husband’s company.
“Lady Khairn,” he greeted her nervously. The Chalaine wondered if he had ever had a meaningful conversation with a woman in his life.
“Lord Khairn,” she returned politely.
“What were you and Maewen speaking about earlier?”
“Nothing of consequence. She was just checking on the condition of my wrist.”
“Oh.” He patted his horse and looked around.
This is the part where you ask me about my wrist, too, you dolt, she thought.
He raised his head and regarded her briefly. “ I shall have the horse put down for throwing you once we return. So, how were you brought up?”
The Chalaine almost laughed at the ham-handed question—Athan at work. “Well, I lived mostly confined in my Chambers. I was tutored in reading and history by the best available scholars, and every day I was asked to recite the prophecy and listen as a wide variety of Churchmen outlined my duty to remind me of the frightful consequences that must occur as a result of any deviation from an absolutely moral life. I only left the Chambers or the castle complex to heal people in the city. And you? I imagine your lifestyle and instruction were quite different from mine.”
Chertanne nodded. “At first they confined me to Ironkeep, but when I grew older, the Churchmen, scholars, and Warlords had a weeklong debate about whether I should be allowed out more often. The Churchmen wanted to keep me safe, the Warlords wanted me visible, and the scholars were divided. I was so tired of being cooped up by that time that I informed them I would leave when I pleased, and the argument ended.
“The Churchmen tried to force me to recite the prophecy every day, as well, but I refused one day. The Prelate, Coriander, I believe, was so angry with me. Oh, at first he tried gentle entreaties to get me to recite it, then humor, and finally a stern lecture. When I still refused, he grew enraged and started yelling at me and threatening me with all manner of ridiculous punishments. After I had him killed for his disrespect, the Church seemed more willing to let me set my own direction.”
“How old were you then?” the Chalaine pressed, horrified.
“Thirteen.”
“And at thirteen they let you dispense with such justice?”
“Yes. All my tutors felt I should learn to act independently as soon as possible.”
“And how old were you when you took your first concubine?”
“Fifteen.”
“And who was the first?”
“I don’t remember. The five principal Warlords of Aughmere gifted me their eldest daughters on my birthday. So I received five at once. Such a gifting of women is not unusual for a Shadan or for one who will likely win that position.”
“I see,” the Chalaine said as calmly as she could. “But normally such a ‘gifting’ would occur after the first wife is taken, correct?”
“Yes.”
“So was the Church furious at your break from tradition? They reject the practice of wives and concubines.”
“Honestly,” Chertanne returned, “I didn’t hear one word about it. I suppose one might call it the ‘Coriander Effect.’” He laughed loudly enough to draw attention to himself. “No, the Warlords taught me early that the Church would try to convert me from an Aughmerian into something more palatable to other nations. I, of course, thwarted such efforts as quickly as possible. After all, Eldaloth had me born Aughmerian for a reason.”
To the Chalaine’s relief, Maewen signaled them forward. As if reading from a script,
Learning to Kill: Stories