Blood Worth plot background

Freymundur, the second-born son of the last female heir of the Unworthy Enderby Stronghold, had never been in the Obsidian Bluff throne room. In the ten years since he’d left his family’s keep, he’d supported himself selling his body -- as both a prostitute and a mercenary -- so he’d never had occasion to be in any throne room in Votum.

Despite his inexperience in a place such as this, he sensed an unnatural emptiness in the chambers. The tapestries and statuary were bountiful, the carpet leading to the stage plush but tasteful, the sunlight filtering in through the curtains providing maximum brilliance to the crown jewels so that Frey’s attention was unflinchingly locked upon them. The chamber itself was filled resplendently.

But only three people stood within, and Frey felt a discomfort awful with the eyes of both the Queen and her brother upon him.

Her brother, his grandfather, but paternal lineage was meaningless.

As was the Queen’s request. He had no fealty to Obsidian Bluff.

“Your Majesty,” he said not out of deference but protocol, “I am not, nor have I ever been, a bounty hunter. If you’re going to seek my services, seek one I offer.”

She grinned, but there was nothing friendly in the flash of white teeth beneath golden lips. “My husband pleasures me quite well and there’s no Unworthy can match the skills of a Blackworth killer.”

He couldn’t argue that. He’d be far better at both jobs if he could manipulate time. “Fair play. Why don’t I point you in the direction of an actual bounty hunter, then, and I’ll be on my way?”

“Because I have a better motivator for you than anything I could offer a bounty hunter.” Queen Eliza paused in expectation of a response from Frey, which he refused to give her. When he bore down on a bit of grime tucked beneath his fingernail, she said, “I will forgive your family’s debt to the Blackworth.”

To this, Frey did nothing but narrow his eyes slightly. The debt was a lie, a loan forgiven as dowry when the attending prince had married the Lady of Enderby. Even if Enderby Stronghold dealt with traditional currency, it would never repay an already-paid debt.

“It occurs to me,” the Queen said next in a voice that hinted at no revelation, “that there are a great deal of residents at Enderby, and not a single heir.”

“Fair play,” Frey agreed through tightened lips.

“Dear brother,” she said, although her eyes stayed upon Frey. “Your departed wife, what of her sisters?”

“She had none,” Stephen II murmured.

“Her mother, then? Sisters there?”

“No, dear sister.”

“Dear me,” she said with a far more pleasant smile, for she was obviously pleased with torturing Frey in this little exchange. “Then that means Enderby is currently a territory of, well, myself, isn’t it?”

Frey nodded once.

“And if neither you nor your brothers produces a female heir, it will default to Obsidian Bluff on your passing.”

Frey shifted his weight. Blackmail was far less comfortable on the receiving end, he was discovering.

“‘Tis pity Unworthy have such short lives,” Queen Eliza drawled. “Your step-sister’s done so much to bring pride to Enderby, and it will likely be gone before her great-grandchildren are born. Of course, I’ve no interest in that land. I would have no qualms giving leave for it to pass into Valeriya’s lineage, for the price of a single girl.”

Frey closed his eyes. It was so simple. Find this girl, this Rebecca who answered to Bex and had already run from her Obsidian Bluff chambers a dozen times -- but be at ease because she’d never once struggled upon her capture -- and Frey would be the hero of Enderby Stronghold.

He wouldn’t even have to force a woman through the perils of childbirth.

Simple.

He opened his eyes and said, “How do I recognize this Bex I seek?”

Queen Eliza flashed a whole lot of teeth this time. “Dear brother?”

Prince Stephen II stepped between Eliza and Frey. It was rare that Frey was thankful that the Bloodmade genes of his father were so dominant that he and his brothers were nearly identical to him in the face, but not recognizing anything of his kin in his grandfather’s face was a relief.

And then the prince reached forward and Frey flinched.

There was no stopping this, though. Stephen may have been some 80 years old, but he was of the purest Blackworth line. Frey would be lucky to be as hale as the prince when he reached his fortieth birthday. So he stood as still as he could and let the prince lay hands upon his own face.

“She is Unworthy, just as you are,” the prince said, and Frey was nearly as alarmed by this as he was the sense of...peace the man’s voice stirred within him. “She is comely and vibrant, and perfectly average. You’ll recognize her immediately.”

And that was that. He would find her, and he would recognize her immediately.

~..~

Prince Stephen II stood tall until his grandson departed the throne room on slightly unsteady legs, the sort of gait left behind by worth flooding an Unworthy body, and the door to the hall closed.

He sank then, his knees bending, his spine curling, his head tucking in toward his chest.

He’d felt his daughter’s, and his wife’s, spirits so deeply within Frey. All that had ever held value for Stephen, and the boy -- man? He must have been nearly 30 now, or was that the eldest brother? -- despised him.

“Thank you, dear brother,” Eliza said.

“Dear Queen,” Stephen growled, “I humbly request you not seek my presence in the near future. Perhaps the distant, as well.”

Eliza’s golden eyes were wide when they snapped to Stephen. “Haven’t you pined on a frequent to meet the sons of your daughter? He is a rather excellent specimen of the Unworthy. You should be proud.”

“Dear Queen,” Stephen growled once again, this time without any of the patience that he’d held the previous one in with. “You’ll not speak of him again...I humbly request.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “I just don’t see why you’re so upset.”

“Upset? I just veiled the man who might be the last possible hope for my wife’s lineage so that he will see a harmless Unworthy when he catches his bounty: a Bloodworth! He will have a feral wolf on a puppy’s leash, and you question my upset? Do not seek my presence for a very long time, dear Queen.”