The Queen and the Dagger

The Queen and the Dagger - Chapter Four

The one thing keeping them from abandoning all decorum at the feast table was the presence of the stranger. Indigo noticed him as soon as they entered—he was the only unfamiliar face sitting opposite her mother's sister, Kalmara, and Indigo's father.

Though the spring brought many travelers of different stripes through the steppes, no one could remember seeing a muskrat before. This one was wiry, with a shock of hair that was more mane than fur. His gnarled paws betrayed an age his eyes didn't share, and though he tended to fat he also carried scars that spoke of battle: a puckered ridge under his ear that was unmistakably made by a blade, and sinewy forearms that didn't fit those of a mere traveling storyteller. He had an aura of mystery, of contradictions.

Which was why he had been invited to dine with the queens at their annual Run Feast. The guest had not only brought news of the outside world but also an appetite befitting a muskox rather than a muskrat: bowls of wild-onion stew and patties of spiced rhubarb had little chance to cool on the dining carpet before disappearing.

Sitting next to him, Indigo had the closest view of his manners, or lack thereof. His gluttony was oddly fascinating, but not as fascinating as the short blade that winked from his belt every time his jacket slid back. From the glimpses she caught, the scabbard looked like hide. Had he killed a beast to make the blade's home? The thought made her shiver.

The muskrat polished off a flagon of barley beer before shoving the empty vessel towards the nearest attendant for refilling.

"You have impeccable timing." Her aunt Kalmara eyed the guest with distaste. "Our spring rites mean we have food for all."

The muskrat helped himself to another round of barley dumplings. "Travel is hard work, as your folk must know."

Queen Delamar smiled. "Our nomadic traditions have honed us. Besides, it helps us evade the two-legged ones."

The muskrat nodded, still chewing. "Wise of you. Though it won't work."

Kalmara frowned. "Why not?"

The muskrat eyed her, amused. "Have you no concept of the Urzoks?"

Kalmara flushed at the muskrat's condescending tone before the queen jumped in to diffuse the tension. "My sister, the royal advisor, means that we feel the queendom is safe as long as we keep moving. The Urzoks have taken many lands to the south, but they now have more than enough to support their kind."

The muskrat swallowed a mouthful of dumpling and looked at the faces around him. Indigo snuck another glance at the short blade. It was most definitely encased in hide. Buffalo? Horse, maybe. And the hilt was inlaid with a gold pattern. "They want more than to just support their kind. Much more. You're doomed if you don't see that."

"It's unlucky to speak of death at the spring rites," Azel said.

The muskrat turned as if seeing her for the first time. "Forgive my callousness, Princess, I'll rephrase: if you believe that, you're blind as dead moles in a tar pit."

"You came from the south, then? Where the wars are fiercest?" Lukkas poured the muskrat more beer and tried to change the subject.

"South as you can go." The muskrat watched the refilling and grunted in reproach when Lukkas stopped before the brim.

"You mean as far as the sea?" Indigo tore herself away from secretly eyeing the guest's blade. From what she'd heard, no one could cross and re-cross Urzok lands so unscathed. Though she'd only seen an Urzok once, she knew their reputation. Two-legged, furless animals that called themselves Man. They didn't believe in the rituals or sanctity of Aktu, and rumor spoke of the farms they built: prisons where they caged and bred captives for food and clothing, the way some in the south farmed corn or wheat. Alvareth, Indigo knew, had always advocated a policy of avoidance. Push north and east, deeper into the steppes and away from the Urzoks, who seemed more interested in the rich pastureland to the south anyhow, as that was more fertile ground for their farms.