Page 3 of The Kingdom of Flames

“We have put the Forgotten to work in the stocks and houses of leisure.”

“We call them the Silent,” Celestine spoke. She hadn’t meant to, but the fire in her chest demanded it. “They are not Forgotten in our lands, sir.”

Before she could

“You defile sacred women,” Sir Scalehall answered him. To draw his wrath was ire, for none knew warfare and martial prowess more than the Red Banners. “You are sacrilege.”

Whitehall shrugged. “A maiden’s mouth holds no crest. It is the law in our land. The breaking of a crest will have you hanging. But in the mornings and the markets, you can hear the gags of maidens upon men’s flesh. Their cocks shadow around the whimpering girls, or plunge into the useless Forgotten.” As he spoke the terrible name for the women that survived Calendar, he stared at Celestine again.

Gasps went around the table. It was an affirmation of the darkest rumor.

“The crest stays intact. The men are sated and work in the seasons as they change. It is survival.” Whitehall sipped his wine.

“It is heresy and filth!” Lord Scalehall shouted.

Whitehall smirked, his eyes dancing to the lords. “Let us not forget some of your banners I have seen in my lands, great lords. To sate your own needs. I am Lord of Tears that flow from maiden’s eyes as they cough and slop. But I have a boon to offer. I have one hundred maidens with their crests intact. You all need to just pay the price.”

With that, silence reigned. Celestine wondered how such a gathering of women, and the power to protect them, had occurred. But as hope floated inside her, she swallowed the bitterness of the truth. Those poor women were subservient to the whims of men in that banner, their very life tasting of usage.

Celestine looked at her father, his stern bearing, his graying beard and the rod of office gripped tightly in his hand. She had seen that rod knock a man stone dead for an effrontery in his hall, or a hand that dared stray so close to her.

“Your price?” Chief Hivewell, of the Amber Banners broke the cursed silence.

Whitehall smiled. What he offered might turn the tide. It might sate the Seasons at Calendar so their war would cease. “A tithing of flesh, for Whitehall. The first daughter of every home will be sent to us. We will abide by the age of consent, but they will serve when of age, and we will handle the flesh tithing yearly. You all seek to go back to the old ways, when one season followed one another. We must deal in reality. We must appease the Lords of the Seasons. A woman holds no crest in her mouth, nor her rear. The Forgotten are a commodity, not a sacred burden.”

Celestine felt her stomach fall away from her. It was true sickness; the world Whitehall painted. A world where women were staked to tables and stockades. Where your chore work was thrown down and you were to kneel and gag upon men until their seed filled your mouth. It was a world of salt and tears.

But it was a world.

One she saw the men around the table considering it. What was better, a dead daughter or one who wished she was? Men would choose one, women would know there was little difference between either.

Lord Scalehall and Lord Skye of the Red and Blue banners rose and flashed long daggers from each of their belts. Celestine felt the strangest gratitude when they did. Men who believed the world shouldn’t fall to such darkness. That it was better to perish than turn into beasts.

“You confirmation proves you, Whitehall, but your boastfulness condemns you,” Scalehall spat.

Celestine watched Lord Skye’s eyes flash with bitter hatred. The long dagger was gripped in his hand. Blue Banners were a free ranging people who were said to love horseflesh and the sky and their great plains of green grass more than any amount of gold. There was no land ownership beyond a man’s home. All could camp under the stars and wander.

“We do not suffer these men who steal a woman’s crest. In my lands we break the burglar’s tool, and if a man seeks to steal a crest with his cock, we geld him like a stallion.” Skye stared the White Banner down.

“Is that so?” Whitehall grinned. “Your land will be empty soon. Surely Lord Skye, you of all people should know that mares are meant to be ridden. Saddles are for the rider.”

“You’re a creature, not a man, Whitehall.” Lord Skye walked towards Whitehall, his blade glinting with the light of the hearth. “Let me do you the honor of removing that which confuses you so.”

“Enough,” Lord Mirrortower commanded. “We will not permit our species to fall into darkness, nor depravity.” His eyes went to the High Mage of Blackdawn Tower, both sorcerer and holder of his people’s banner. “Your locks, your engravings, have served the realm, Astir. But I will no longer live in a world where daughters and wives are to be locked away because of lawlessness. Nor will I see us answer hardship with depravity, nor slavery.”

Thank you, father. At least we step into extinction with our heads held high.

Whitehall shrugged. “Then humanity ends.”

“Let it end, then,” Mirrortower said gravely. “Better to die than become devils and thieves of joy for all women.”

Celestine walked forward and placed her hand on her father’s shoulder. He continued, “We have but fourteen maidens brought for this Tithing. For the bride hunt of the Seasons.”

“Such a number will draw their ire.” Suncrown shook his head.

“I agree,” Lord Mirrortower said. “Though one woman is enough for one man, these are not men. These are faceless demigods who rule their own plane, yet wreak havoc upon ours like ripples in a pond. They control the wind and the snow, the soil and the sun. I see my daughter Celestine bringing hope to all in your realms. We should take her lead. Does she not chop wood one morning in autumn, and the next day sew seed among your folk? Her hands shear the sheep in spring and read stories to your children in winter two days hence.”

“All know, the brightness and hope your daughter brings our realms,” Lord Scalehall spoke, “and not all of us have to lock away our daughters and wives. She brings peace where she goes.”

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