Fort Mavour was impressive in its size and structure. Thankfully Sir Donimede took these as compliments for Judd struggled to come up with other positive virtues. As a fortified construct designed to fend off monster attacks, there was no doubt it did its job. There were two trebuchets on the wall whereas Fort Omra only boasted one and the top of the fort was higher than the wall, an expanse of rooftop providing plenty of space to sight any monster advance well before it reached the range of the trebuchets. Beneath the roof was a soldier barracks where Fort Mavour’s troops were rotated from wall top duty. Judd noticed that there were more rooms, barracks, stables and armouries dedicated to monster hunting than there was to residence and general living. While this focus towards militarisation made sense in one of the most sieged forts in all of Terra, it meant that there was little aesthetic or cultural beauty to be seen. Any statues that dotted the slab sided and rigid landscape of the fort were warriors in fearsome poses killing all manner of beasts.

  Judd noted the one dedicated to burning witches and vowed to make sure Aalis never saw it.

  The view from the top of the fort was damning. The mount of Maul could not be unseen. It dominated the left side of the panorama and when Judd turned to enjoy the view of the north, he could almost feel its burning gaze searing the back of his head. In the expanse to the right of the mount, was endless broken, dead earth.

  “Other forts in Terra might boast that they are the mightiest with the strongest fighting force,” Sir Donimede chortled with his hands on his hips, “but Fort Mavour could best all of them…save for Fort Verion.”

  “Sir Rylan’s fort.” Judd nodded.

  “Naturally,” Donimede gestured for Judd to follow and they descended into the fort, out of the icy winds and biting air, “and this is only because of all the funds Rylan received upon marrying Genovieve. King Rocheveron poured much gold into Fort Verion. Who can compete with that kind of money?”

  “It certainly helps.” Judd recalled his rather empty purse. “Sir Donimede, Sir Rylan’s quest is the reason that I am here.”

  “Ah yes, I thought it must be.” Cantor Donimede showed Judd into his sitting room which was spartan and military. Judd didn’t mind his chair but he did think it could have been greatly improved simply with the addition of a cushion. Donimede rang a bell then sat down opposite Judd and the young warrior was suddenly aware of the mounted minotaur’s head on the wall behind him. It was larger than any natural bull he’d ever seen with curved horns that could impale two men with ease. Its lifeless eyes should have been reassuring but Judd found its presence disturbing. “You’ve come to Fort Mavour because of something you are missing from your quest list?”

  “A minotaur,” Judd nodded, leaning forward, tearing his attention away from the beady black eyes that glared endlessly at him, “I heard there might be an opportunity for me to kill one here…”

  “Fereak has a big mouth.” Donimede remarked and Judd let the misinformation slide. He didn’t want to tell Donimede that he heard about Fort Mavour’s Arena from Suvau. “But he is right, this is the one place in all of Terra you can fight a minotaur.”

  “How is that possible?” Judd asked then was distracted as the door to the sitting room opened and Willower appeared with a tray in her hand bearing a large bronze jug and two goblets. She set it down on the table and flicked her braid over her shoulder. Judd immediately stood to his feet and cleared his throat. “Willower…I wasn’t expecting…” He cleared his throat again and forced himself to be calm. “How lovely you look today.”

  “Thank you.” She said with a warm smile and curtseyed before him. “Shall I pour you some wine?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Judd watched as she did so, handing one goblet to her father then turned and gave him his with a subtle wink. He couldn’t suppress the smile before Sir Donimede caught sight of it, Willower leaving quietly.

  “Your daughter is quite lovely.” Judd blurted, sure he was meant to say something.

  “And if she doesn’t strike your fancy, I have five others, though only Willower, Endolin and Candela are of child bearing age…I think…honestly I can’t keep track of them all.” Donimede snorted, picking up his goblet. “Thank the stars my wife finally bore a boy!” Judd clunked his goblet against Donimede’s and gulped at his wine, hiding his revulsion. “Perhaps, in lieu of being escorted by myself, Willower might show you around the interior of the fort this afternoon?”

  Judd was relieved that Donimede had more creativity than he in trying to work out how to ‘woo’ Willower.

  “If she does not mind a few hours of my company, I would be delighted.”

  Aalis sat on one of two opulent chairs in front of the fire than blazed in the large hearth while Jocasa faced her on the other. She had forgone her fa?ade of ‘illness’ after childbirth, leaving her bed and donning a velvet robe lined with fur around her body. The wetnurse had retreated to the servant’s chamber with the first baby while Aalis held the second whose skin was not as dark as Suvau’s but far darker than a child of a knight’s spouse ought to be yet with Jocasa’s green eyes.

  Endolin had organised tea for them both then escaped the chamber, sensing the topic of conversation would not be for her ears.

  Jocasa poured the tea, busying herself with the preparation. Aalis watched her, wrestling with scorn and judgement. The little boy babe in her arms was content, having filled his belly well and was asleep, his lips pursing as though recalling the taste of milk.

  “The longer you take to speak, the harder it will be.” Aalis warned.

  Jocasa stopped stirring the tea and put the spoon down.

  “I…have never…”

  “Forget about dressing yourself in a pitiable light,” Aalis cut her off, “and tell me how it is that you became imbued with a child of Maul then neglected it.” Her tone was hard. She had to soften it or Jocasa might throw her out and goodness knows what would happen to the baby after that.

  Jocasa licked her lips, pale and drawn. “You are aware of Fort Mavour’s…unique pastime?”

  “You speak of the Arena?” Jocasa nodded. “It is the reason we are here.”

  “My husband insists I watch,” Jocasa swallowed, “he says it encourages the men to fight with greater vigour when there is a lovely woman in attendance. So, from the very first day of my arrival in Fort Mavour, I was subjected to that…bloodbath of violence and death. I had…such nightmares…”

  Aalis’ revulsion dimmed a little. “I can imagine…” She whispered.

  “That was only in the beginning,” Jocasa gave a small, sad huff which might have been a laugh or a sigh, “but after Candela was born, the third girl, Cantor decided I was…less useful than he had hoped in being his wife.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “How so?”

  “I failed to give him a son,” Jocasa picked up her tea and stirred it over and over, watching the amber liquid swirl until she put the spoon down and waited for the ripples to soften then end, “and sons are all that matter to Sir Donimede.” Her tone was scathing. “His daughters are lovely and as refined as I can produce in this wasteland of culture…” She breathed in deeply, sucking in her errant emotion. “But it is not enough for him. So I decided to attend the Arena without his invitation, to defy his opinion of me.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “What a foolish notion…as if it meant anything to him.”

  “You must have known as much, at least on some level in your heart.” Aalis gently urged.

  “Yes,” Jocasa put her undrunk tea down, “it was a year ago that I saw a man in the Arena…handsome despite his Maulish appearance and with eyes that burned…when he looked at me…” Jocasa put her hand against her breast. “Cantor’s passion for me faded with every daughter I gave birth to so that now…our unions are perfunctory at best, a means to a hope in vain end.” Aalis sighed softly. “This man’s look…the way he made me feel…I wanted to feel like that again.” Jocasa lifted her chin with a faint hint of her old superiority. “Judge me all you want…”

  “I do not judge you.” Aalis said firmly.

  Jocasa’s resolve trembled and she turned to face the flames of the fire. They crackled and spit, eating through the logs in the hearth.

  “I…came to an arrangement with Urik, the Arena master. He brought this man to my chambers in secret and left us alone.”

  “You were not afraid?”

  “If he killed or harmed me, his death would be agony,” Jocasa explained, “but I promised, if he pleased me…he would be spared from the Arena.” Aalis wanted to ask what men of Maul were doing in the Arena but now was not the time for such inquiries. She put it aside for the sake of the baby in her arms. “I was so careful,” Jocasa insisted, “to make sure there were no consequences of my…indulgence…but after the birth of Donimede’s sixth daughter…after a servant told him I was able to conceive once more he came to me…” Aalis watched as tears rolled down Jocasa’s cheeks, slipping out of her faded hazel eyes. “No better than a bitch in heat…those were his words.” Jocasa’s eyes flashed with a dismissive anger that only just hid her hurt. “The moment he was done with me, I told Urik I wanted my Maul to visit and erase the touch of my foul husband…”

  “Then you discovered you were with child…and could not vouch for certainty the paternity.” Aalis breathed.

  Jocasa nodded. “There was every chance that the child I carried would be Cantor’s but I could not risk it. I sent Endolin to the marketplace to seek out a woman in the guise of needing a new wetnurse. However, she had to find a woman who was already with child and who might be able to give me a babe that somewhat resembled Cantor…son or daughter at that moment was irrelevant for at that moment, it had to have the appropriate skin colour.”

  “But she gave birth to a fair haired son and now you are worried your husband will see through your deception?” Aalis breathed out heavily. “My lady, you are in a conflict of your own making…and I cannot begin to see how you were going to explain a Maul baby at all, regardless if it came from you but to neglect it so…”

  “You must believe me, I never intended harm upon him.” Jocasa blurted, leaning forward in her desperation for Aalis to trust her words. “Shivo had instruction that it was to be tended to just like her own son.”

  “After all the nonsense you purport about Mauls being evil and tainted?” Aalis exclaimed. “Shivo was terrified of feeding him.”

  “And I swear I will make sure that never happens again,” Jocasa promised, “but what am I to do? How can I explain the fair hair of Shivo’s babe? All my daughters were born with locks the same hue as mine!”

  It was a quandary but not one first and foremost in Aalis’ mind. She was wrestling with the notion of perpetuating a lie, involving herself in the deception. Yet the consequences of Jocasa’s adultery would be damning, not just to herself but to the man she had born a child with, not to mention Endolin, Shivo and her babe and, the most vulnerable, the Maul babe itself.

  “Babes are often born fair,” Aalis delved into the extent of her knowledge of babies, “but it can fall out and change colour.”

  “What if it does not?” Jocasa’s fingers wrung together tightly.

  Aalis considered this. “Are either your parents or Sir Donimede’s, fair?”

  “His father was.”

  “Wash the babe’s hair and present him to his father and if your husband questions the colour of his hair, simply say that he must resemble Sir Donimede’s father.”

  Jocasa’s hazel eyes widened and she stood up. “That…that would be perfect! A descendant that aligns with the Donimede crest…even Cantor could not find fault with that!”

  Aalis was pleased Jocasa was so relieved. She wished she could be equally so yet felt highly uneasy that she was not only perpetuating a lie but now, enforcing it.

  “Lady Jocasa,” Aalis said with a warning in her tone as Jocasa seemed to think all her troubles were gone, “what of this baby?” Jocasa was giddy and Aalis wanted to slap her. “Even with the problem of the fair hair solved, should this baby be discovered, your infidelity with a man of Maul may yet be exposed!”

  Jocasa turned to her, shocked. Aalis was as well, her words as harsh and cold as she could make them.

  “I…plan to smuggle him out of Fort Mavour, naturally.”

  “How?”

  Jocasa sat on the edge of her chair and eyed Aalis. “I was going to leave that up to you.”

  “Me?”

  Lady Jocasa nodded. “I would pay you handsomely, of course, for your help…and you ought to know that I am not to be refused…”

  Aalis’ eyes were sad and she gazed at Jocasa for a long time until the haughtiness in her expression ebbed slightly.

  “There was never a need to bribe or threaten me,” Aalis said sadly and Jocasa looked ashamed, “I would have done anything to protect this baby.”

  Jocasa and Aalis stared at each other, Jocasa looking less like the mature mistress of an illustrious fort and more like a rebuked adolescent that had been caught out. Before she could muster a reply, the door to the chamber opened, Aalis drawing the babe close into her arms, her veil draped over the top to hide it.

  “Mother, I cannot choose between these two gowns…”

  “Willower,” Jocasa’s tone was harsher than she meant in the fright of the confidential conversation becoming exposed, “show some decorum and knock before you enter!”

  Willower, as richly hued as her sister, Endolin, yet with fuller curves contained within her bodice of dark teal, stood with two gowns in her hands. She went to speak, to apologise possibly then caught sight of Aalis and clamped her lips shut.

  “I asked the nomad healer here on a personal matter that the fort physician has been unable to shed light on.” Lady Jocasa blurted. Aalis wondered if Willower would hear the guilt in her mother’s voice but it seemed she was equally as awkward at finding Aalis in the room. “Why come to me with concerns about gowns?”

  Willower licked her lips, her hazel eyes flitting towards Aalis briefly. “I am to give Judd LaMogre a tour of Fort Mavour…”

  “That is promising,” Lady Jocasa perused the dresses, “the yellow would soften your harsher tones but the green would enrich the hue of your hair. Aalis,” Jocasa turned to her, “you know of LaMogre’s sensibilities. Which would you choose?”

  Aalis’ throat was tight and she could feel dread sucking at her feet and legs. She could only see gowns she would never be able to wear. Willower, with her bold colouring, could wear almost anything. Aalis possessed almost no colour and that which she did, was pale, pastel and drifted between blues, greens and lavender. Yellow would look dirty on her and she would disappear in the green.

  “Both gowns would look lovely on you,” she managed to say and not sound half strangled, “however, the yellow does seem more like day wear and the green, something you would wear at a ball.”

  “How remarkably insightful of a nomad to notice…” Lady Jocasa mused then turned to Willower. “I agree with the nomad. The yellow is flattering, even flirtatious without too much intent. Save the deep green for when there is greater understanding.”

  Willower nodded and ducked out of the room. Lady Jocasa turned towards her, Aalis dropping her eyes towards the sleeping baby, avoiding her gaze.

  “Very remarkable insight…perhaps you are not as nomadic as you appear.”

  Aalis lifted her gaze, sensing a paltry attack. “You have more to lose than I.” She retorted.

  Jocasa folded her arms and turned her head. “The vultures that call themselves the nobility of Fort Mavour make it impossible to trust anyone. They pounce on any weakness…”

  “I imagine you must always keep your guard up,” Aalis admitted, “but there is no need to threaten me, Lady Jocasa. I want to save this babe and you wish to preserve your reputation,” Jocasa sighed and nodded, “however, let me make this plain,” Aalis stood up, “if you continue to lie with this man of Maul, you will always run the risk of conceiving another child by him. Adultery aside…”

  “Adultery!” Lady Jocasa scoffed. “What do you know of the demands of the heart? The need to be loved? The desire to be more than just a man’s vile fulfillment? But your virgin blush tells me you know nothing about the ache when the man you loved turns out to be the beast from your nightmares.” Aalis’ eyes were wide and she stared at Jocasa, frightened and shocked. Jocasa sank onto her chair once more and pressed her fingers to her face. “Forgive me…may you never know such a dark day when you discover just how foolish your dreams of love are…”

  Aalis couldn’t respond, looking down at the little boy in her arms. She held him warmly, almost tightly, wishing the cracks in her heart would stop paining her when she least expected it.