Queen of the North (Book 3) (Songs of the Scorpion) Read Free Page A

hilt of the short sword gifted to her by Nesaea. It was a pretty thing, fitted to her stature, the pommel set with a large oval sapphire, the crossguards fashioned of engraved silver, and the blade sharp as a midwinter wind. She barely knew how to use long steel—concealable knives suited orphaned village girls better than swords—but the way she touched it widened the eyes of her audience. The tall bald emissary retreated a few dainty steps, his fine slippers squelching in the mud.
    “My lords,” Erryn said, putting on a winning smile, “I prefer to keep my current title and my gold, which is far more than King Nabar could ever give me. As for manses and palaces … as you can see, I already possess an entire fortress full of soldiers. And, as you surely know from the map I sent your good king, I’ve claimed the lands between the Shadow Road and the Gyntor Mountains east to Pryth, and west to Qairennor. Anything less from your liege is simply unacceptable.”
    The emissaries looked at her with bulging stares and purpling faces, as if she had ordered their manhoods seared with hot irons. She took their silence as an invitation to proceed.
    “Be that as it may, I’m open to trading with your king, and I’m willing to pay the highest price for all southern goods.” Feeling generous, she dropped a saucy wink. “Perhaps even better than top price … say, as much as a third better over the next five years?” That seemed more than generous.
    Purpled faces gave way to bewildered blinks and slack lips all around. Before they gave her an answer, she slapped them with her conditions.
    “Of course, King Nabar and his court must openly acknowledge that I am Queen of the North, and yield up the lands that I’ve claimed for myself and my people.”
    That snapped them out of their shock. “ Your people!” they said as one.
    The spindly one stepped forward again, his bald head gone to an alarming shade of plum. “You filthy, dog-rutting whore,” he hissed. “If you jest, it is best to say so now, for I can assure you, the very serious game that will commence upon our departure is nothing you and this pack of inbred, lack-witted rabble can hope to win.”
    Erryn’s Queensguard shifted. A few even chuckled. One thing a Prythian admired more than sharp steel was a sharp tongue. Of course, they also had a penchant for cutting out such tongues, and few were averse to wearing those bloodied bits of meat on leather strings around their necks.
    It was a close thing for Erryn to resist drawing her sword and teaching the bald bastard some respect, but insults didn’t bother her overmuch. While he had lived, that bastard Mitros and his men had taken turns raping her when she dared speak against his harsh dealings with the village folk. So, in a way, suggesting she had lain with dogs was not far from the truth. As much as she ever would, she had overcome the shame and disgust of that abuse. So what was it to have this whining abuser of boys soil her good name?
    “I wouldn’t stand for that,” Aedran whispered in her ear. Of all her men, he seemed the most troubled by the insult.
    “What would you have me do?” Erryn whispered back.
    Aedran’s gaze flickered to her sword in answer.
    Still resistant, Erryn thought about Aedran’s words. She decided that the most galling thing was the emissary naming her a whore. Other than those who had ravished her, she had never been with a man for coin or for love. Naming her a whore belittled her suffering and more to the point, was an affront to her her station. What king or queen would ever tolerate such flagrant insults? Not a one of them would, Erryn was certain.
    In a blink and a slash, her sword ended the emissary’s insults. Almost . Her steel sank deep, but halted when it met the bones of the emissary’s neck. He loosed a gurgling squawk and wrapped his hands around the blade. The razor edges cut deeply into his fingers, adding to the blood pumping like a wellspring from the side