Page 13 of Oath of Betrayal
Maiden’s Day was a kingdom holiday that existed thanks to the dragon riders’ annual selection of maidens. Owing to the fact that the wild magic needed to bond with dragons was passed on only to male offspring, the warriors were exclusively men, leading to a need to recruit women to live at the outpost.
Each year, they descended on a different town to celebrate Maiden's Day and, as per the king’s orders, chose women who had to follow them to the fortress or risk a year in prison. So they followed without complaint, especially since those who returned after a year of service were significantly richer and always spoke highly of their treatment during their time away.
No one mentioned the fact that most of them returned with bellies swollen with child, especially since those children inevitably went to live with their fathers’ families, leaving the women free to choose husbands with dowries hefty enough to make everyone forget the past year.
The riders selected those of the unmated women they were attracted to during a ceremony to get to know better at the subsequent party, giving both sides the opportunity to weigh the other and determine their respective willingness to enter the contract. However, if there were no volunteers—which had happened only once since the tradition had begun—the dragon riders were allowed to simply pick whomever they wanted, as long as she was unmated.
Regardless, no sane man would ever take an unwilling mage, especially not one over thirty years old who spent the long winter nights sampling the local male population. For all the gods’ sake, some of those samples were standing in front of me rightnow.
There was a reason why the riders’ welcoming committee had always been young, unwed maidens—often blushing virgins. They were a perfectly naïve and receptive buffet for the horny men who spent too much time with only themselves and their dragons for company. Those girls wouldn’t even think to protestwhen confronted by handsome warriors willing to lay the world at their feet.
That’s why I was so confused at the magistrate suddenly knocking on my door.
The idiot wouldn’t stop smiling, and with the flowery wreath hanging crookedly off the side of my head, I gaped at the gathered men. Then, without another word, I stepped back and slammed the door in their faces.
‘Ani! Please, you can’t refuse, and you know it. I know it’s a little unusual, but the chancellor’s order came a week ago. He commandedallunmarried women to join the selection, even mages. Please, Ani. We can’t afford to lose the protection of the outpost. If the commander learns we didn’t do as we were told, that is exactly what will happen. I will have to inform the council of your refusal. You don’t want us to take you to jail, do you?’
‘I’d like to see you try,’ I muttered, more disturbed by him threatening to alert the council than his trying to take me to jail. The obstinate man just kept thumping on the door.
‘You know what dwells on the other side of the mountains. We need them, Ani, please. We both know you’re too old to be chosen, so just show up, stand around for a while, and then go to the tavern for a free meal. We’ll even give you a horse for your trouble.’
The magistrate wasn’t an evil man; he was simply out of his depth. I’d had him in my bed once, and once was enough to convince me never to repeat the experience … though his “little problem” hadn’t affected our friendship. Until now, of course. Now, he was pleading at my door whilst simultaneously offending me with his reassuring platitudes.
‘Really?!Too old? I’m not too old, you dimwit. I’m just … unavailable. I wasn’t too old when you stuck your … Never mind, you know what? Fine, I’ll go, but I want more than a horse. I want a new bench for my workshop, and that meal had bestbe accompanied by that special brandy you’ve been hoarding,’ I shouted, willing to extort more from the little shit for calling me old.
Grumbling, I looked in the mirror. I lookedgoodfor my age. If I made a little effort, there weren’t many who didn’t turn back for a second, more appreciative look as I walked by.
My chestnut hair accentuated the hazel-flecked green eyes that always seemed to capture people’s attention, and my body was trim from all the trekking I did on the mountain, even if life had added a little extra padding to my curves.
Just because I rarely did more than braid my hair down my back or in a peasant’s crown, and preferred male clothes or a kirtle over delicate dresses, didn’t mean I wasn’t attractive. The hairstyles were practical, and it was easier to wash blood and soot from leather and linen, but something about his comment prickled my female pride.
Did I really let myself go so much that even a former lover sees me as ‘old’? And damn it, why do I give a shit? Fuck it, I’ll prove them wrong.
I knew that with a little effort, I could lure any man to my bed, especially in a small town like this. Put me in front of the isolated dragon riders, and I doubted any would turn me down. I just didn’t want to try.
Yet something in the magistrate’s words bothered me immensely.
It appeared that I still had a shred of female vanity left. In fact, the foolish man had unintentionally touched on two things that could lure me out of the cottage: my pride, and my fear that if I refused, the repercussions might reach the Council of Mages, revealing my existence.
Once I’d promised to be in the town square by noon, the magistrate left me in peace—though he’d also left some men behind to ensure I wouldn’t forget our arrangement. Anotherinsult, considering I’d never gone back on my word in all my years of living here.
After several moments of tugging and swearing, the wreath finally gave up its hold on my hair, and I threw it onto the nearest table. I didn’t care how important the tradition was—I refused to wear such an ugly monstrosity; it would have to be enough that I’d dress up for them.
Once I’d decided to show them the class and style of a crown mage, I found it was easier said than done.
Digging into my wardrobe, I realised that for the last ten years, I hadn’t purchased a single dress suitable for such a show. After taking a moment to rethink my choices, I opened the trunk holding the mementoes of my previous life, pulling out my old ceremonial battle mage uniform from its depths.
Looks like it’ll still fit.
The thought made me smile, and, with more enthusiasm, I put the dress on. It was a simple design, as—despite the decoration—it was tailored for fighting. The mossy green velvet was cut close to avoid catching on one’s surroundings—or a stray weapon—and the stiff collar was designed to ward off the teeth and claws of ghouls and creatures of the night. Even the gold braiding was there to deflect an attacker’s edged weapons.
Out of habit, I strapped two daggers to my thighs and added a cincher that squeezed my already narrow waist and enhancedthe fullness of my hips and bosom. After a moment’s hesitation, I pinned a small ornament, a circle with three stars joined in the middle, to the collar.
If any mage saw it, they would instantly realise that I was a conduit mage with Anchors; and even if that were no longer true, with my Anchors’ marks still on my skin, it felt right to wear it.
I braided my hair on the sides of my temples, letting the rest of my unruly tresses fall down my back before I sauntered to the market square. Deliberately taking the long way around, I allowed the citizens of Zalesie the pleasure of the once-in-a-lifetime sight of their Ani dressed as a battle mage.
‘Too old,’ my arse, I thought, enjoying the covert andnot-so-covert stares until I came to the floodplains.
