Sami the Arisen was captured at noon, which annoyed her chiefly because she had planned to be captured later.
She had climbed into the high ruins in pursuit of a rumor involving treasure, a cyclops, and possibly a magical ring. As usual, the rumor had neglected to mention that the castle belonged to several dozen armed women with crossbows, excellent cheekbones, and a collective dislike of uninvited visitors.
“Drop the sword,” commanded one of them.
Sami looked down at her sword.
Then at the bandits.
Then at the very steep cliff behind her.
“Could we negotiate a fourth option?”
They could not.
Thus did the Arisen enter the famous stronghold of the Women Bandits of the High Ruins: disarmed, indignant, and being prodded uphill by the flat of her own sword.
Their fortress had once been the seat of some forgotten duke, until time, war, and structural neglect had reduced it to three towers, half a chapel, and a dining hall whose roof admitted both rain and dramatic moonlight. The bandits had improved it considerably with rugs, weapon racks, drying laundry, and a sign over the gate reading:
NO MEN. NO TAX COLLECTORS. NO MINSTRELS AFTER SUNSET.
Sami was marched through the great hall, where every conversation stopped.
The women stared.
Sami smiled.
Several stared harder.
Sami assumed they had recognized the Arisen.
They had, in fact, recognized her legs.
At the end of the hall, upon a throne built from the duke’s old dining chair and several pieces of stolen church furniture, lounged Velucia, Queen of the High Ruins.
Velucia wore black leather, red silk, and the expression of a woman who had never once been told to lower her voice. Her dark hair fell over one shoulder. A jeweled dagger rested against one thigh. Her boots rested upon a velvet footstool that had almost certainly once belonged to a bishop.
At her right stood Sena, broad-hipped, rosy-cheeked, and gloriously bosomed, a former peasant lass who had been captured while driving a cart of turnips through the wrong valley.
At her left stood Morella, narrow-eyed and elegant, the runaway daughter of a wealthy family who still spoke of mud as though it were a personal insult.
Both women wore fine gowns, expensive jewelry, and the complacent expressions of people who had discovered that captivity came in radically different grades.
Velucia leaned forward.
“Well,” she said. “What have we here?”
“Sami,” said Sami.
Velucia waited.
“The Arisen,” Sami added helpfully.
“I know who you are.”
“Oh. Good.”
Velucia slowly crossed one long leg over the other.
Sena coughed into her hand.
Morella looked toward the ceiling as though asking the gods for patience.
Velucia said, “They say the Arisen fears neither beast nor death.”
“Mostly true.”
“And that she has faced dragons.”
“Yes.”
“And ogres.”
“Several.”
“And creatures so foul that ordinary women would faint merely to behold them.”
Sami shuddered.
“Goblins,” she said darkly.
There was an uncomfortable pause.
Velucia, sensing hidden history, chose not to inquire.
Instead, she descended from her throne and began to circle Sami.
Sami remained perfectly still.
Velucia’s fingertips brushed the torn edge of Sami’s cloak.
Sami assumed she was checking the stitching.
Velucia leaned close enough for Sami to smell spiced wine and rose oil.
Sami assumed the queen had poor depth perception.
Velucia whispered, “You are very pretty for a trespasser.”
“Thank you. You have a very defensible castle.”
Morella shut her eyes.
Sena bit the inside of her cheek.
Velucia stepped back.
“Put her in the cell under the great tower.”
Sami blinked. “Was it something I said?”
“Yes,” said three women at once.
The cell under the tower was not especially unpleasant. It contained a bed, a blanket, a washbasin, and a tiny window overlooking the mountain road.
Sami had slept in worse places.
She had also slept in better places, though not always voluntarily.
For three days, meals arrived on proper plates. Fresh fruit accompanied breakfast. Someone sent down wine. On the second evening, a bandit delivered a small vase of wildflowers.
Sami studied them carefully.
“Poison,” she concluded.
She fed one to a passing rat.
The rat ate it and appeared delighted.
“Slow poison,” Sami amended.
On the fourth day, Velucia came to visit.
She stood outside the bars in a fitted velvet coat, one hand resting upon her hip.
“Are you comfortable?”
“As comfortable as a prisoner can be.”
“I could make you much more comfortable.”
Sami nodded seriously.
“A second pillow would help.”
Velucia stared at her.
Sami stared back.
Somewhere above them, a raven began laughing.
Velucia left without another word.
That evening, the second pillow arrived.
By the sixth day, Queen Velucia had exhausted subtlety.
She had sent wine.
Flowers.
Perfume.
A silver comb.
A book of scandalous poetry, which Sami had used to steady the uneven table.
She had personally visited the cell wearing three increasingly daring outfits.
Sami had complimented the tailoring of every one.
At last Velucia summoned Sena and Morella.
“She does not understand,” said the queen.
Sena folded her arms beneath her impressive natural advantages. “Perhaps she’s shy.”
“She fought six of us on the drawbridge.”
“Battle shy is different from bedroom shy.”
Morella inspected one polished fingernail. “She may simply be stupid.”
“She is the Arisen.”
“Those things are not mutually exclusive.”
Velucia paced before the hearth.
“I have never been ignored.”
“You are not being ignored,” said Sena. “She watches you very closely.”
“She watches my weapons.”
“Well,” said Morella, “you do wear the dagger rather provocatively.”
Velucia stopped pacing.
“Clean her up.”
Sena smiled.
Morella sighed.
“Dress her properly,” Velucia continued. “Bring her to my chambers after sunset.”
“In what?” asked Sena.
“The white negligee.”
Morella raised one eyebrow. “The transparent one?”
Velucia’s expression became imperial.
“The moonlight one.”
“Transparent,” Morella translated.
Sami was collected from her cell shortly before dusk.
Sena unlocked the door.
Morella stood behind her holding a folded garment between two fingers.
“You are to bathe,” Morella announced.
“I bathed yesterday.”
“That was not bathing. That was splashing water upon yourself and declaring victory.”
“I used soap.”
“You used saddle soap.”
“It removes dirt.”
“It also removes hope.”
Sena took Sami gently by the shoulders and steered her down the corridor toward a steaming bath.
“Come along, love.”
Sami peered suspiciously into the water.
“Is this an interrogation?”
“With lavender?” asked Sena.
“I’ve seen stranger methods.”
The two women washed her hair, scrubbed the dust from her shoulders, and attempted to explain her situation.
“Velucia likes you,” said Sena.
“I like her too.”
Morella leaned against a pillar. “No. She likes you.”
“Yes. I heard.”
“She desires you.”
“She desires my cooperation?”
“She desires,” Morella said through clenched teeth, “to have you in her bed.”
Sami considered this.
“To discuss an alliance?”
Morella looked ready to drown herself in the bath.
Sena tried a different approach.
“She thinks you’re beautiful.”
“That’s kind of her.”
“She has been imagining you without your armor.”
“She may borrow it if she needs measurements.”
Sena stared at Sami for several seconds, then began laughing so hard she had to sit down.
Morella pinched the bridge of her nose.
“You cannot possibly be this oblivious.”
Sami looked wounded. “I notice many things.”
“Name one.”
“The castle’s west wall is collapsing.”
Morella pointed toward the negligee.
“Put this on.”
Sami unfolded it.
There was very little to unfold.
“This appears unfinished.”
“It is finished.”
“It has less fabric than my sword belt.”
“That,” said Sena cheerfully, “is its principal virtue.”
Sami held the garment to the light.
“I can see through it.”
“Yes,” said both women.
“Does Velucia know?”
Morella walked out of the room.
Sena remained long enough to help Sami into the negligee, arrange her damp hair over one shoulder, and dab rose oil at her throat.
When she finished, she stepped back and gave an appreciative whistle.
“Oh, the queen is doomed.”
Sami looked down at herself.
“To pneumonia?”
Velucia’s bedchamber occupied the uppermost surviving room of the great tower.
Candles burned in every niche. A fire glowed in the hearth. Wine waited beside the enormous canopied bed. The entire chamber had been arranged with the strategic precision of a military ambush.
Sami entered barefoot.
Velucia forgot the sentence she had prepared.
Sena nudged Sami forward.
Morella announced, “Your Majesty, the prisoner has been washed, perfumed, dressed, instructed, and—against all reason—remains confused.”
Then the two concubines withdrew, closing the door behind them.
Sami stood in the center of the chamber.
Velucia reclined against the pillows in a black silk robe.
There followed a silence of such density that it could have been used in masonry.
Finally Sami said, “You wanted to see me?”
Velucia took a long drink of wine.
“Yes.”
“About the west wall?”
“No.”
“The cyclops rumor?”
“No.”
“The magical ring?”
“No.”
Velucia set down the goblet.
“Come here.”
Sami approached the bed.
“Closer.”
Sami came closer.
“Closer.”
Sami climbed onto the mattress.
Velucia touched her cheek.
Sami’s eyes widened slightly.
At last, the great machinery of comprehension began to move.
The queen drew her down.
What followed was not a discussion of alliances.
Nor was it an examination of masonry.
It was, however, highly educational.
Velucia was patient at first, which was fortunate, because Sami approached the situation with the same earnest concentration she brought to deciphering ancient tablets. But the queen was also experienced, confident, and thoroughly accustomed to command.
She guided.
She demonstrated.
She issued several instructions in a tone usually reserved for armed raids.
Sami obeyed.
Then, somewhere between the candles burning low and Velucia murmuring something scandalous into her ear, revelation struck the Arisen with greater force than any dragon’s tail.
“Oh,” Sami breathed.
Velucia paused. “What?”
“This is what everyone meant.”
The queen stared at her.
Sami’s face transformed with wonder.
“You have been flirting with me.”
Velucia let her forehead fall against Sami’s shoulder.
“For a week.”
“I thought you were inspecting my clothing.”
“I sent you perfume.”
“I thought the dungeon smelled damp.”
“I wore a gown cut to my waist.”
“I thought you were hot.”
“I was hot!”
“Yes,” Sami said, beginning to grin. “I understand that now.”
And with understanding came enthusiasm.
Sami had always been a quick learner.
A very quick learner.
An alarmingly quick learner.
Velucia’s original plan had been to overwhelm the Arisen with the full force of royal charm, enjoy a night of magnificent conquest, and then perhaps keep her as a favored companion until either boredom or a dragon intervened.
The plan survived approximately another quarter hour.
Sami, having discovered an activity she liked considerably more than goblin captivity, began asking questions.
Then she began experimenting.
Then she stopped asking questions.
By midnight, Velucia had lost one earring, all sense of time, and a portion of her authority.
By one in the morning, she had issued an order that sounded suspiciously like a plea.
By two, she had discovered that the title “Queen of the High Ruins” carried absolutely no legal power beneath her own blankets.
At three, Sami asked, with cheerful concern, whether Velucia needed rest.
Velucia, who would rather perish than admit weakness, declared that queens did not need rest.
This was a strategic error.
At dawn, Sena and Morella waited outside the chamber with breakfast.
They heard the bed creak.
Then Velucia cried out something that did not sound regal.
Sena’s eyebrows rose.
Morella slowly lowered the tray.
Another sound came from within.
Sena smiled with enormous satisfaction.
“Our queen appears happy.”
“Our queen,” said Morella, “appears to be losing a war.”
The door opened shortly after sunrise.
Sami emerged glowing, tousled, and immensely pleased with herself.
“Good morning.”
Sena looked past her.
Velucia lay face-down amid the pillows, one arm hanging over the side of the bed. Her hair had become a political crisis. Her robe was missing entirely.
Morella’s eyes narrowed.
“Is she alive?”
Velucia lifted one hand weakly and made a dismissive gesture.
Sena beamed.
“She likes you.”
“I know,” said Sami proudly. “I finally noticed.”
For the next two days, the High Ruins entered a period of constitutional instability.
Velucia continued to summon Sami to her chambers.
Sami continued to arrive.
The queen intended each encounter to restore the natural order.
Instead, the natural order became increasingly unnatural.
At meals, Velucia sat upon her throne with a cushion beneath her and a haunted expression in her eyes.
Sena poured her wine.
Morella watched with the clinical interest of a scholar observing the collapse of an empire.
On the second evening, Velucia dropped her dagger.
Sami bent to retrieve it.
The queen made a tiny sound.
Every bandit at the table stopped chewing.
Velucia straightened.
“I have a cough.”
Morella sipped her wine.
“A remarkably specific cough.”
The queen glared at her.
Sami handed back the dagger.
Their fingers touched.
Velucia’s commanding expression flickered.
Sena saw it.
Morella saw it.
Half the band saw it.
Rumors began immediately.
Was the queen becoming gentle?
Had the Arisen bewitched her?
Had Velucia started saying “please”?
A kitchen maid claimed to have heard “please” three times in one night.
This was deemed treasonous gossip, though no one dared ask how the kitchen maid had been close enough to count.
Velucia called an emergency council.
Sena and Morella attended.
Sami was not invited because she was asleep in the royal bed, occupying it diagonally.
“This cannot continue,” Velucia said.
Sena looked sympathetic. “Are you tired?”
“No.”
Morella looked at the cushion.
“Of course not.”
“I am losing face.”
“You still have your face,” Sena said.
“My reputation.”
Morella nodded. “That is in greater danger.”
Velucia paced.
“I am the queen. I command. I dominate. I inspire terror.”
“Yesterday you asked Sami whether she was comfortable.”
“A queen may show concern.”
“You fluffed her pillow,” said Morella.
Velucia stopped.
Sena covered her mouth.
“You also called her ‘my fierce little turnip,’” Morella continued.
“That was private.”
“You shouted it.”
Velucia turned crimson.
Sena lost the battle and began laughing.
The queen pointed toward the door.
“Out.”
Morella did not move.
“You know what must be done.”
Velucia’s shoulders sagged.
“Yes.”
Sami the Arisen would have to leave.
Not because Velucia disliked her.
Quite the opposite.
If Sami stayed another week, Velucia feared she would begin sitting at Sami’s feet during council meetings, wearing a collar, and asking whether the Arisen approved of the day’s raids.
A monarch had limits.
Or at least ought to.
Sami was expelled from the High Ruins the following morning.
She was given her armor, her sword, three bottles of wine, a purse of gold, and the white negligee folded carefully inside her pack.
“This seems generous,” Sami said.
Velucia stood upon the drawbridge with her arms crossed.
“You defeated us in honorable combat.”
“I was in a cell.”
“Metaphorical combat.”
“Oh.”
Sena embraced Sami warmly enough to threaten several ribs.
Morella gave her a small jeweled hairpin.
“For remembering things,” she said.
Sami smiled. “I’ll remember you.”
Morella glanced toward Velucia.
“Some of us will remember you every time we sit down.”
Velucia made a strangled sound.
Sami approached the queen.
For one dangerous moment, neither spoke.
Then Sami kissed her cheek.
Velucia’s knees nearly betrayed the monarchy.
“Farewell, Your Majesty.”
“Go,” Velucia whispered.
Sami turned and walked down the mountain road.
Velucia watched until she disappeared among the pines.
Sena stood beside her.
“You could call her back.”
“No.”
“You could ask nicely.”
Velucia gripped the battlement.
“Never.”
Morella joined them.
“She left the negligee here.”
Velucia spun around.
“What?”
Morella held up the tiny white garment.
A folded note rested atop it.
Velucia snatched the note and read:
For next time. Try not to miss me too badly. —S
The Queen of the High Ruins stared at the message.
Her expression softened.
Then hardened.
Then softened again.
“Burn it,” she ordered.
Sena took the note.
“Certainly.”
She did not burn it.
Sami found Mangar two days later beside a ruined chapel, surrounded by the remains of several unfortunate saurians.
At six feet eleven inches and built like a siege engine, Mangar looked down at her with immense relief.
“Arisen. I searched everywhere.”
“I was captured.”
His eyes narrowed. “Were you harmed?”
Sami considered the question.
“No.”
“Threatened?”
“Not exactly.”
“Interrogated?”
“Eventually.”
Mangar studied her face.
Sami had the look of someone who had recently discovered both religion and advanced mathematics.
“What happened?”
She adjusted the pack on her shoulder.
“I learned several things.”
“About the bandits?”
“About myself.”
Mangar waited.
Sami began walking down the road.
After a moment, he followed.
“Arisen.”
“Yes?”
“Why are you smiling?”
“No reason.”
Behind them, far above the valley, a horn sounded from the High Ruins.
Sami glanced back at the distant tower.
Then she smiled wider.
“Come along, Mangar. We have a dragon to find.”
And thus the Arisen resumed her grand quest—older, wiser, and considerably less likely to mistake transparent nightwear for unfinished tailoring.
The Arisen may conquer dragons, but apparently lesbian subtext requires a week of flowers, perfume, imprisonment, and direct physical demonstration. Magnificent.
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