Celyn shook his head. “Éibhear and I don’t know what that means.”
Izzy patted Celyn’s shoulder. “That’s because you’re not female.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good enough excuse.”
Before the discussion could continue, Frederik returned, but he was carrying a stone-faced Unnvar by the shoulders.
Izzy frowned in concern when Frederik stood the young boy on a chair.
“Shouldn’t he be in bed?”
“I don’t sleep,” the boy replied. “Not much. Too much to learn.”
“If you’re not tired, why did you need to be carried out here like a statue?”
“Because when I asked him to come talk to you,” Frederik replied, “he said he didn’t have time for ridiculous conversations with his ridiculous kin about ridiculous issues. Not when he had a kingdom to help his mother manage.” When they all just stared, Frederik added, “Aunt Dagmar assures me he’s only ten . . . but I still question.”
“What is it?” Var pushed. “I have things to do and all of you are wasting my time.”
“Oookay,” Izzy said before asking. “What can you tell us about the people of the Steppes?”
Celyn and the others patiently waited for an answer . . . and they kept waiting.
Finally, Brannie snapped, “Are you going to answer us?”
“You actually expect information for free?”
Celyn leaned toward Éibhear and muttered, “I see that his mother has taught him well.”
“Here.” Izzy reached across the table and pulled a plate of pastries left over from the dinner close to the group. “Tell us and you get a treat.”
“Because now I’m a pet?”
Celyn exchanged wide-eyed glances with his sister. When they were only ten winters, they used to bet their older siblings that they could be the first to tear down their father’s castle by ramming their heads into the stone walls. They would eventually have to stop, though, when their father finally complained about the “gods-damn noise.” Of course they were both ten winters at different times, with Celyn being older, but according to their mother, all her offspring went through the same “destroying your father’s home with your head” phase at ten winters.
It seemed, however, that little Var wasn’t much like his Cadwaladr kin.
“Then what do you want?” Izzy snapped.
Not waiting for a reply, Éibhear took a coin pouch from his sword belt and removed a gold piece from it, holding it up for the boy to see. “If you answer our questions, I’ll give you this nice, shiny—”
Sighing, Var crouched down and snatched the coin purse from his uncle. He hefted it in his hand and nodded. “This should do. Now what was it you wanted to know?”
Celyn laughed but stopped when Éibhear coldly eyed him.
“The Steppes, tiny boy,” Izzy snarled.
“Ahhh, yes. Fascinating people. They are called the Daughters of the Steppes and they rule most of the Outerplains from the Conchobar Mountains to the Quintilian Provinces.”
“Wait,” Éibhear interrupted. “I thought the Outerplains cut through the Northland and Annaig Valley territories.”
“They do. But the Daughters of the Steppes’ territories go far past both until they reach around to the end of the Annaig Valley territories and slam right into the Quintilian Provinces.”
Izzy and Brannie chuckled and said together, “Reach around.”
“What’s their culture like?” Celyn asked.
“They are matriarchal. Women rule the Steppes and the women rule the men who live on the Steppes. When the first Anne Atli tore power from the original marauders, most of the men were killed. So when they go on raids, they often steal the older boys and young men.”
“They take slaves?” Brannie asked. “Annwyl’s not going to like that one damn bit.”
“Except the Riders do not consider their spoils of war slaves because once the boys are old enough, they take them as husbands.”
“Husbands?”
“The stronger and more mighty the warrior, the more husbands she can have. And some of them have many husbands.”
“Wait, does this Rider have many husbands?” Celyn asked.
“Awww, jealous?” Éibhear joked.
“No. I just don’t like to be used. I do have my boundaries.”
Brannie patted his knee. “Of course you do, brother.”
“Elina Shestakova of the Black Bear Riders of the Midnight Mountains of—”
“Do not repeat that entire name, Unnvar,” Celyn snapped.
“Anyway,” the boy went on, “she told me at dinner tonight that she has no husbands. No offspring. Until she proves to her tribe leader her worthiness, she will not be able to have a husband. Although she’s chosen not to at this time, she can have as many offspring as she wants since the Daughters do not believe in controlling a woman’s right to breed—”
“You mean they just control the men by forcing them into marriage?”
“Basically,” the boy replied with a shrug. “I’ll admit, it’s not what I would call a perfect system. But it has worked for the Riders for at least five thousand years. I doubt they’ll be willing to change just to accommodate Auntie Annwyl’s sense of right and wrong. Especially when they have little respect for Southland ideals in general. They consider us vapid wastrels unworthy of attention.”
Izzy patted Celyn’s shoulder. “That’s because you’re not female.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good enough excuse.”
Before the discussion could continue, Frederik returned, but he was carrying a stone-faced Unnvar by the shoulders.
Izzy frowned in concern when Frederik stood the young boy on a chair.
“Shouldn’t he be in bed?”
“I don’t sleep,” the boy replied. “Not much. Too much to learn.”
“If you’re not tired, why did you need to be carried out here like a statue?”
“Because when I asked him to come talk to you,” Frederik replied, “he said he didn’t have time for ridiculous conversations with his ridiculous kin about ridiculous issues. Not when he had a kingdom to help his mother manage.” When they all just stared, Frederik added, “Aunt Dagmar assures me he’s only ten . . . but I still question.”
“What is it?” Var pushed. “I have things to do and all of you are wasting my time.”
“Oookay,” Izzy said before asking. “What can you tell us about the people of the Steppes?”
Celyn and the others patiently waited for an answer . . . and they kept waiting.
Finally, Brannie snapped, “Are you going to answer us?”
“You actually expect information for free?”
Celyn leaned toward Éibhear and muttered, “I see that his mother has taught him well.”
“Here.” Izzy reached across the table and pulled a plate of pastries left over from the dinner close to the group. “Tell us and you get a treat.”
“Because now I’m a pet?”
Celyn exchanged wide-eyed glances with his sister. When they were only ten winters, they used to bet their older siblings that they could be the first to tear down their father’s castle by ramming their heads into the stone walls. They would eventually have to stop, though, when their father finally complained about the “gods-damn noise.” Of course they were both ten winters at different times, with Celyn being older, but according to their mother, all her offspring went through the same “destroying your father’s home with your head” phase at ten winters.
It seemed, however, that little Var wasn’t much like his Cadwaladr kin.
“Then what do you want?” Izzy snapped.
Not waiting for a reply, Éibhear took a coin pouch from his sword belt and removed a gold piece from it, holding it up for the boy to see. “If you answer our questions, I’ll give you this nice, shiny—”
Sighing, Var crouched down and snatched the coin purse from his uncle. He hefted it in his hand and nodded. “This should do. Now what was it you wanted to know?”
Celyn laughed but stopped when Éibhear coldly eyed him.
“The Steppes, tiny boy,” Izzy snarled.
“Ahhh, yes. Fascinating people. They are called the Daughters of the Steppes and they rule most of the Outerplains from the Conchobar Mountains to the Quintilian Provinces.”
“Wait,” Éibhear interrupted. “I thought the Outerplains cut through the Northland and Annaig Valley territories.”
“They do. But the Daughters of the Steppes’ territories go far past both until they reach around to the end of the Annaig Valley territories and slam right into the Quintilian Provinces.”
Izzy and Brannie chuckled and said together, “Reach around.”
“What’s their culture like?” Celyn asked.
“They are matriarchal. Women rule the Steppes and the women rule the men who live on the Steppes. When the first Anne Atli tore power from the original marauders, most of the men were killed. So when they go on raids, they often steal the older boys and young men.”
“They take slaves?” Brannie asked. “Annwyl’s not going to like that one damn bit.”
“Except the Riders do not consider their spoils of war slaves because once the boys are old enough, they take them as husbands.”
“Husbands?”
“The stronger and more mighty the warrior, the more husbands she can have. And some of them have many husbands.”
“Wait, does this Rider have many husbands?” Celyn asked.
“Awww, jealous?” Éibhear joked.
“No. I just don’t like to be used. I do have my boundaries.”
Brannie patted his knee. “Of course you do, brother.”
“Elina Shestakova of the Black Bear Riders of the Midnight Mountains of—”
“Do not repeat that entire name, Unnvar,” Celyn snapped.
“Anyway,” the boy went on, “she told me at dinner tonight that she has no husbands. No offspring. Until she proves to her tribe leader her worthiness, she will not be able to have a husband. Although she’s chosen not to at this time, she can have as many offspring as she wants since the Daughters do not believe in controlling a woman’s right to breed—”
“You mean they just control the men by forcing them into marriage?”
“Basically,” the boy replied with a shrug. “I’ll admit, it’s not what I would call a perfect system. But it has worked for the Riders for at least five thousand years. I doubt they’ll be willing to change just to accommodate Auntie Annwyl’s sense of right and wrong. Especially when they have little respect for Southland ideals in general. They consider us vapid wastrels unworthy of attention.”
