Page 32 of Thorns and Echoes

Anais flexed her fingers, claws scratching the air as she eyed the terrified male. He looked a bit like Castien. Dark, short hair. Similar height and build, muscles that trembled beneath his tight-fitting shirt.

Castien never trembled.

“Go away, toy,” she commanded.

The courtesan fled.

Leaving the two women filling the air with tense hate.

The Queen stared straight ahead. “Walk with me.”

Duchess Satryani wasn't petty. Every action was carefully considered. The male hadn't simply been mockery. Even presenting him in the military wing had its purpose. She could have hauled him out in the Great Hall in a day or two, but she chose now and here.

Why?

Trailed by guards, they stepped outside into the practice yards. A pity the duchess wasn't a fighter. Settling their disputes with a quick bout would have made things so much simpler. The nobles had stopped challenging her a year after Anais took the throne. She'd defeated every one of them, then humiliated them and their families. The Queen was untouchable. One of her mother's first lessons.

Jana had hardly ever drawn a weapon in court. Jerome had. Vern had. The rose guards had carried out her punishments, often without even a word from her. They were her weapons.

Anais preferred to mete out her own punishments. If someone should bleed by her command, she should be the one to wield the blade. She didn't regret that decision often, though right this moment, she wished for a chair.

Her guards cleared a space away from most of the soldiers. Combat noises would cover their conversation. Which was good, because Satryani didn't bother to lower her voice.

“Do you bed all your guards? It would explain their obsession with you. Your captain, I understand – he is… formidable. The others seem superfluous. Rumors say you've made your way through the entire army.”

Anais' eyes widened a fraction. Ill health or not, alone or not, no courtier dared speak to her in such a manner. Her wrist twisted, and her whip loosened. “Duchess, I'd hate to see a repeat of my captain’s display with the soldier.” She really wouldn't. “Explain yourself.”

Lady Satryani smiled slightly. Her own whip unraveled and flung out – backward, around the wrist of the single-bracered girl, dragging her forward.

The young woman was vaguely familiar. Anais inhaled a deep breath of the warm late-summer air as her eyes scanned the girl's face. A guard had mentioned her, one of Castien's. The bracer, he had given it to her.

Jesamin.

The duchess mused, “This unremarkable courtesan claims her bracer was provided by Escort Castien. She said he never wet his cock in her, never asked her for anything. It doesn't add up. Why give this girl a bracer? She's not especially pretty. No skills to speak of. No family of any consequence.” She drew a claw down the girl's face, tracing her jawline. “My only conclusion is that he has a soft heart. Why would you want a soft-hearted Consort, my Queen?”

The subtle shift of the Queen's feet as she spread her stance could have been the bored shuffling of an unconcerned woman. Satryani wouldn't know the difference between a fighter’s ready posture and idle, restless movement. Yet the duchess could beassured of her safety. Tempting as it was to slit her throat, the aftermath wasn't worth it.

But the game was done.

Anais curled the end of her whip around a claw, spinning it like thread. She spoke casually, calmly. “My mother didn't hate you like I do. She thought hating you was a waste of her time. You weren't worth her emotion. She just threw you in with the other nobles, dealt with you as she did them.”

The duchess lifted her chin, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction and victory. Yes, her great-aunt had won this battle.

Satryani flicked her wrist and sent the courtesan away. The girl stumbled as she scurried past the guards. “Jana was weak, made you weak, too. I'm not surprised. She raised you, she coddled you in that safe little hole she dug for herself. Her mother – my sister – would have beaten a proper spine into you.”

It hadn't worked on Jana.

The length of the whip swirled around another claw, and another. “That's just the thing, dear auntie Sanni. Jana outgrew her mother. She was stronger than all of you.”

Dropping her hand, the Queen let the leather spin down and out, then sliced a line into the ground at the duchess' feet.

“And you took her from me,” Anais hissed.

The duchess flinched, and her smile faded slightly. “You think I killed your mother? That's absurd. She was family. Weak or not, she–”

“Was a branch you cut for the health of the tree. We're not lying anymore, Aunt. You hated her, and you ended her. Are you regretting that choice yet?”

Wariness gave way to disdain. “You can’t prove anything. If you attempt to make me walk the coals, if you lift even a finger against me, half the court will defect.”