The Viper

Standing near the crest of the hill, Janelle basked in the day's warmth as sunlight flushed her cheeks. She could hear seabirds wheeling overhead, screaming as they looked for food. A raven, her favorite bird, called in the distance.

A breeze, fresh from the sea, cold and acrid, brisk and salted, swept the hair from her shoulders and stung her cheeks. The tendrils whipped in the air like a hundred black vipers striking at their prey. She reveled in it, knowing she looked like a Medusa.

Her leather jerkin creaked as Janelle turned toward her father. Sitting on his throne, he looked grave, but then, he always did. The gray of his beard did little to hide the sorrow of a man who had lost everything he loved. Now, there was only Janelle and this barren landscape.

The wind stung her face with grains of sand. Like walking through a fire, she felt cleansed.

It was unusual that Daddy would want to meet her here. Why not in his chambers? But no, he'd demanded she present herself here, in the outdoors, in this receiving area. There were no fawning courtiers, no simpering ladies in waiting. They were surrounded by a dozen knights in ceremonial finery. They were as still as statues. They could have been chiseled from the hillside.

The throne's stone frame held a man with a stony countenance. Rocks and the sea, these were his world. He was stern and unhappy. Inwardly, Janelle sneered.

She listened to her father rumble. She didn’t catch the words. They didn’t really matter. They were like the bass drone of a bagpipe, long-winded and meaningless. A constant hum underlying her life.

Janelle’s mind wandered. She was pleased with herself. Her muscles ached from the sparring practice this morning, but it was a good ache. She shrugged her shoulder to ease the tension of her sword arm. The captain of her guard would be off-duty until his wounds healed from their practice.

The morning had been full. A ride on the dusty Esker, overlooking the sea, her guards racing to keep pace with her. Paperwork with her seneschal to arrange for the tithe of grain from her estate serfs. And sparring practice. It was even better than the archery targets. Bales of hay don’t cry out when struck. She had beaten three of her guardsmen during the sparring practice. She knew she could beat most of the men in her guard. And she knew she could kill a beast with her own hands. Or a man. And she had.

Daddy was still talking.

Janelle half-smiled as she recalled her latest exploit. Her heart beat faster as she replayed last week’s conquest on the sands of the arena.

He was doomed from the start. She had hired him from the market. Her pet. Her slave. His name was Erik. Janelle had spiked his water, poisoned it and weakened his body. How else could she be sure to survive the encounter? Her nostrils flared as she remembered the acrid scent of his sweat as he fought her so valiantly.

She remembered the scent of his death. Scent is the most powerful memory, longest held, and most closely tied to strong emotion. Her mind caressed the memories like most women caress their lovers. She recalled the powerful, metallic scent of his blood as she held his still-beating heart in her hand; the septic scent of his bowels as they oozed from his body and seeped into the sands of the arena. His eyes were surprised as she disemboweled him, then intelligence faded and he collapsed at her feet like a good slave, apparently kissing her boot even in death.

Daddy didn’t like it.

The lad had been a warrior, he said. One minor infraction had booted him from the cadre of soldiers. To make a living, he sold his body as a guard, where she had found him and then bought him. He thought to amuse himself with her. How could he, a simple, straightforward warrior, compete with the evil that was Janelle?

She laughed aloud at the memory. Hearing the sound echo against the distant walls of her father’s audience chamber. She recalled where she was; three steps below her father’s throne. The laughter died, leaving only a hint of amusement in her eyes.

What did Daddy want from her this time? She was his only daughter, his only child. Yes, he had spoiled her. She had everything she had ever wanted. Coin was minted with her visage. Men threw themselves at her feet. Women feared her. Perhaps the men feared her, too. The smart ones did.

She half-listened to her father’s incessant droning. Words fell on her like raindrops. Excesses … complaints… gone too far. With the same amount of sincerity she has always had, she responded to his lecture. “Yes, Daddy. I’m so sorry, Daddy. I will cut my spending. I will be good.”

She waved a hand of dismissal to the collective troops. “Shoo, I need some quality time with Daddy,” she crooned. But for the first time, the men stood their ground.

Janelle realized something was amiss. She paused, evaluating the scene. Her head canted slightly as she replayed in her head what her father had said.

“Janelle, I’ve had it. Your constant excesses have put my position in the city in jeopardy. You have put the entire city in jeopardy! There are constant complaints. The lower classes are rioting. Janelle, they want your head. If I don’t give you to them, they could well have mine. You’ve gone too far this time. That contest with Erik? No one believed it was a fair fight. He was well-liked, and you killed him. You’ve gone too far. You set out to kill a man, and you did. I should have you hung for this. Or killed as a traitor. I hate what you have become, oh daughter of mine. I don’t want to kill my own flesh and blood, so I am sending you into exile.”

Janelle drew herself to her full height, looking at her father with all the deadly poison of a nest of cobras. Exile? How DARE he? But then she calmed her look with a cold calculation. “But Daddy, you can’t send me away, I looooove you. Who will be your sweet pea, your adorable little girl?” She tried her best to ingratiate herself back into his good graces.

“You’ve done this before, Janelle, and I’m not having it. You are going. Today. You have the rest of the day to pack your things. When the sun touches the horizon, you will be outside the city gates. I am sending you to the North. For good. And don’t come back Janelle, or I will have you killed, child of mine or not.”

Janelle was speechless. She drew herself up, prepared to pull out her daggers, but the warriors were ready for her. Suddenly, two were behind her, pulling her elbows together behind her back. Two more started removing her daggers from her boot, pulling up her skirts to remove the set she kept at her thigh, and pulling down her bodice to roughly remove the one in her cleavage.

They even found the stiletto snaked into her leather belt and the poison pins in her hair. They knew them all. Her private maids must have told them! She growled, struggling, but they laughed roughly, knowing that for once, she had no power over them.

Arms tied roughly behind her back, she was forced from the room. She looked one more time over her shoulder, but her father’s face was turned from her.

Janelle spat on the floor as she was dragged away. I’ll be back, she thought.