Gypsy Queen

Disclaimer: This disclaimer is valid for this entire story. Everything but the plot and some of the characters belong to Sherwood Smith.

Chapter 1: Summons

Midsummer had just passed, and the heat that accompanied the new season bore down on the thirty acres of vineyard and on the ten men and one woman that worked the fields. Crickets fiddled in the shade of the grapevines, and cicadas played in orchestra in the trees that served as occasional wind-breakers, and shading for the big house. Finches flew in the sky above the plot of land that had been affectionately named by the family of ex-pirates that lived there, The Port. Or, to Ezranya Fyn, former captain of the Valiant, The Last Port.

The crew got up before daybreak and had finally learned to make their own meals without scorching them. By the time the sun had hit the tree line, they were out among the rows of vine that curled and draped over long fences and trellises that they had spent the winter building, and the early spring of their first year setting up. They had planted the seedlings of grapevines and watched them grow and twist around the oak posts. They had traded for food and dry goods in the late summer and fall, and had barely survived their first winter as honest citizens of Remalna even with the money that each of the men had been given when they were pardoned for piracy. They never went back to ask for more. They might be broken, but they still had their pride that wouldn't let them ask for more help from those people ever again.

Spring had come a second time, and the vines had come back, bearing new growth. Grapes were harvested early in the season and— for the trouble that they had caused—the vines had produced a respectable crop. They had crushed the fruit and made their first barrels that now fermented in the cool shade of the dug-out distillery next to the barn where they kept the two mules, four cows, one horse, and the chicken yard just outside.

The summer work was mostly composed of weeding and making sure that the locusts kept off the vines. When the men had the time, they split into two groups to take turns walking to the sea port, a half-day's trek away. They would stay the night at a tavern, getting drunk and reminiscing about the good old days. Ezra never went with them.

On that hot day in early summer, the small contingent of messengers arrived. The sun had just started to slip behind the trees—not that it decreased the pressure of humidity in the air. The steady pound of horses hooves came over the hill to the vineyard first, and then jingle of harnesses and reins. There were about ten men and women in all, dressed in casual military uniform. They weren't expecting a battle, and they weren't going to get one.

"We are here to find Ezranya Fyn," the woman in the lead called out.

The tall, tanned man who came to meet her first put his hand up to shade his eyes from the setting sun behind the riding. "Why? Who's it that wants her?"

"She has been summoned to Remalna-city by Their Majesties, King Vidanric and Queen Meliara. We were sent to inform her of the summons and to be her escort to the capitol."

Ezra stepped out from the house, barefoot and in thin, tattered, and re-patched breeches. She only wore a shirt, its sleeves were rolled up nearly to her elbows, and untucked. It was hot, and there was no one here that she wanted to impress, so she had taken to dressing pretty much like she had on the Fearless for most of her life.

"What do they want now?" she called to the leader of the little squad that had come to collect her. "I've done my duty, and I haven't done anything so wrong that they'd need to call me back. I don't need to be reminded to mind my manners on land. So, what is it?"

The woman was startled at the impertinence of the younger female before her. She cleared her throat and looked over her shoulder to give someone a signal to come forward. The man that rode to the front was young and decked out in the same uniform as the rest. He had a helmet that covered his hair, and when he took it off the brown curls sprung up in wayward spikes. "Sheesh, Ezra, can't you ever just do what you're asked for once?"

"Costran?"

The young man grinned and dismounted. Ezra beamed at him. He certainly didn't look much like the foolish young Costran she had known a year and a half ago. He had grown up, filled out, and looked every bit the part of the soldier, but he still had the crooked, teasing grin of the man she had always regarded as a little brother.

"Nice seeing you again, Ezra," he said and held his arms open for her greeting hug. She slapped him twice on the back before she let the younger man go. "So…" he looked down at her quizzically, "are you coming to Athanarel, or not? The royals asked specifically for you, ya know!"

Ezra backed away and crossed her arms under her breasts. "I don't see why they'd need me. They probably have hundreds of captains for their ships and all of them better trained than I ever was. Besides, I can't do it again. I can't go out on the water just to be snatched back."

"Ezra," he placed a hand on her shoulder, "they're asking. Sorta. They need you, and how often do royal types admit to needin' anybody?" He paused, "Who said anything about a captaincy?"

"You mean it isn't a commission?" Ezra asked.

He shrugged. "They didn't say. But it must be mighty important since they sent us down here to getcha."

"I won't go, Costran." She shook her head.

The boy pouted. "But we rode all this way."

"And for that I'm real sorry, but I ain't goin' with ya, so you're just gonna have to turn around and ride back. No offense meant to you, mrr, um…." Ezra regarded the commanding officer. "I'm sorry, what was your name?"

"Sergeant Anora," the woman answered. "Captain, we were not—"

"I'm not a captain anymore," Ezra corrected. "Never really was, for that matter. Played at it for a bit and enjoyed every minute, but I wasn't really in charge. I know that, now. So you people ride on home and tell Their Majesties that I'm done with that part of my life. I'd appreciate it if they respected that."

Costran blew out a noisy sigh and turned back to the Sergeant Anora. He shrugged, unable to do one damned thing once Ezra had made up her mind and remounted his horse. The Sergeant looked stony and displeased.

Ezra cleared her throat and did what she could to make amends. "Again, I'm real sorry you came all this way for nothing. I'd offer you some food but I'm afraid we don't have enough to spare for so many people. Same goes for the wine. Anyway, it's still grape juice at the moment. I'm sorry, Sergeant."

"Don't worry about us, Mistress Fyn," she told Ezra. "There was a town a ways back; my men should be more than comfortable there. I just worry about what will happen when the King and Queen hear that you aren't coming."

"Oh, I think they'll find a way to forgive me," Ezra answered. She had never bent to threats as a pirate, and they still made her angry now.

Sergeant Anora called a quick order to her men, and they turned and rushed back down the road that had just come in on. Costran looked back over his shoulder once to wave, and then they were over the hill and out of sight. The man who had first spoken with the Sergeant came to Ezra's side as she watched the dust settle.

"Why didn't you go with them, girl?"

"Like I told Costran, Jirair, I don't think I could handle being out on the ocean again, just to know that after this mission I couldn't go back."

"And what'd be stoppin' ya?"

Ezra sighed and turned away without answering. Fyn was still alive and well. He was stronger now than he had been when they had left the Palace in Remalna-city and life on the vineyard had agreed with him, even through the first bad winter. Ezra had made her decision to stay with her grandfather until the end and she would do just that.

When Captain Fyn heard about what had happened that night over dinner in the long dining room that they had built into the farmhouse to accommodate everyone who had come along with the Captain to his vineyard, the old man added his say. "Are yer crazy, girl?"

The other men at the table tried to concentrate on their food.

"Grandpa, we've had this discussion before and I'm not about to have it again."

"Oh, is that it?" Fyn asked. "Is that why you still refuse to leave this place, even to have some fun in town for a few days? Because of me? My dear, that excuse is getting as old as this sack o'bones."

"It's not an excuse!" Ezra shouted. When she heard her own voice, she toned it down. He didn't deserve to have her yelling at him. "I just don't want to go away and leave you for a long time. Who knows if you'll still be here when I get back?"

"Ezranya, I don't know if you have noticed, but I am in remarkably good health for someone my age," Fyn pointed out. "And if something did happen to me while you were away, I certainly wouldn't be bereft. There are ten other people here besides you!"

"That isn't the point, Grandpa!"

"Then what is?!" Fyn checked himself. He wasn't going to get through to her by shouting. "Darlin', don't take this the wrong way, but I think you're scared."

Ezra sat up straighter in her chair and glared down the table at her grandpa. "I am not scared."

"Yes you are," Fyn insisted. "Ya scared that you'll go away and not have a home to come back to. Ya scared that I'll be gone and you won't have any family left. Ya scared that you'll want to stay on a ship so badly that ya won't want to come home at all. Ezra, my girl, ya scared. There ain't no shame in that, and no point in lyin' about it, either. What's that old Gypsy saying your grandmother used to tell me? 'To lie is an act of cowardice, and the Roma aren't cowards. If they were, they would not be the players they are.' Was that it? It was something like that, anyway, and you are still part Gypsy, so that applies to you, too. You're no coward…so don't go about acting like one."

Ezra had looked away from her grandfather at the beginning of his speech. He was right, storm it. She was afraid. By the time Fyn had gotten through, Ezra couldn't lift her eyes from her plate. For long minutes, the only sound in the room was of the other men scraping the last bites of beans, eggs and wild hare off of their dishes, and cups of water being lightly thunked back onto the wooden table.

Ezra scrapped her chair back and picked up her plate. "I'm not hungry anymore." She took her plate to the door and scraped the last of the food outside to decompose, or to be eaten up by scavengers. After she dropped it into the bucket of water that awaited the person whose turn it was to do the dishwashing that night, Ezra headed to her room at the back of the house. As the only female, she got her own room. "Good night."

Once inside, with the door closed, Ezra headed toward the one small window in the far wall. It was just big enough for her to fit through, and it opened from both the inside and outside. She had found this by accident, but employed the knowledge often when she needed to be away from her family and think. She slipped through the box and padded, still barefoot, across the yard, down the last row of vines on the port side—west side, that was—and finally up a tall tree that Ezra could almost imagine as being a mast in another life. She liked to go up there when it was dark and quiet, and she imagined that she could just catch a whiff of the salt air off the ocean. Just a day's walk away…

There was a little crook in the tree where one of the lower branches met the trunk. It created the perfect perch for Ezra to sit and lean back. She stayed there for a long time that night with thoughts circling back upon themselves. By the time she had gotten so tired that she was about to fall out of the tree, Ezra had still made no decision. She wanted to go, but she wasn't sure that she could let herself.

The subject was dropped. Everyone at The Port went on as if nothing had ever happened: no riding of royal messengers, no offer from the monarchs, no argument, and no choices to be made. Life was simple and it stayed simple for another month.

Late summer was worse than midsummer for heat and insects. The pleasant chorus of cicadas had become a ceaseless drone, and something was eating all the leaves off the grapevines. When the sun went down it wasn't much better. Humidity lingered in the air and the mosquitoes came out.

Supper had just been placed on the long table in the dining room when the knock came at the door. Ezra was the closest, so she went to see who it was way out here. The door opened to show a middle-aged man in a simple livery of some noble house or other. He seemed friendly enough, smiling when he saw who was before him.

"And would you be Ezranya Fyn?"

"Yes?" she answered. "What do you want?"

"I was sent by the Marquise of Merindar to invite you to dine with her and her family at the Little Flower Inn."

"The Marquise…Oh!" The face suddenly matched up with the title. The Marquise Elestra was the Prince's sister. Nice woman, very friendly. "What's she doing way out here?"

"Their Graces were attending a conference in the city of Dyngab. The Marquise had one of her plays showing there. Now they are traveling north to Remalna-city to stay at the palace for a few weeks before continuing on home."

"Oh. That's nice. So, why does she want to see me?"

The messenger shrugged. "I wasn't told a reason but if I know my lady, she probably remembered that you were here and wanted to say hello."

Ezra bit her lower lip in thought. She could feel the men staring at her back, willing her to go. She didn't see much point in staying here for dinner, not if they were all going to glower at her all night, so she nodded. "Alright, just let me go saddle up Peaches and I'll be right with you."

The messenger smiled wider and nodded. "I'll await you by the road." He gave her a bow and went back to his horse.

"Thank goodness for that!" Fyn called from behind her. "You need a night away from this place. I don't want to see your face before noon tomorrow, do you hear me, Ezra?"

She sighed, and rolled her eyes. "Yes, Grandpa. Have a nice night."

"You, too."

The men added their sentiments, and Ezra went to get their one horse ready for a ride into town. Peaches was a cantankerous old animal who had been misused sometime in the past. She was a pretty animal, but as mean as they come and it had taken a long time for Ezra to earn the horse's respect - and an even longer while before she had let anyone ride her without giving them a blistered bum. Only she and two other men on the vineyard could ride Peaches while a select few could come near her stall without her kicking up a fuss. Whether it was the Roma skill with horses, or just coincidence, the three who could ride Peaches were all part Gypsy.

"Easy, girl," Ezra crooned to the horse as she made her way into the stall. "You and me are going on a little trip. It won't be for long, and we'll be back before you know it."

Peaches snorted and stamped, but she let Ezra put the worn saddle and bridle on her. Ezra led the horse out of the barn and down to the road. She had a little trouble with Peaches and the messenger's horse, but Ezra kept her animal mostly under control.

"Peaches! Mind your manners!"

"Oh, it's fine," the messenger said. "I've seen worse. I've ridden worse. We'll be all right."

And once they were off, Peaches calmed down. She was always calmer when she was going somewhere. In less than a candle, they were at the Little Flower Inn, and the messenger offered to take Ezra's horse into the stables with his own so that she could go on in to join the Marquis and Marquise for dinner. She thanked him and told Peaches that if she misbehaved Ezra would sell her to the tanner and use the money to buy a different horse before she left town in the morning. Peaches hrmphed at her, but at least they had an understanding.

The inn was one of the best places in town. It had white-washed walls, and flowers planted in boxes under the windows. Inside the heavy front door of bluewood, the main room was richly furnished with carpeted floors. There were even spokes on the walls for where the wool tapestries would be hung to keep out the winter cold. They were a little useless now, but they would eventually need the warmth to combat the snows that would fall outside the door.

The scent of soup cooking over a fire wafted out from the kitchen made Ezra's stomach tighten, and she turned her face toward where the aroma was coming from. She closed her eyes for a moment to savor the smell of meat and vegetables. When she opened her eyes again, one of the inn workers was in front of her. He was short and dumpy, but his face was kind and he wore a smile of welcome.

"Is there something I can help you with, Mistress?"

"Oh!" Ezra started and pulled off her hat, finally realizing how very rude she must seem. "Yes. I'm looking for the Marquis and Marquise of Merindar. They sent word that they wanted to see me…" She knew how strange this must sound to the man. Why would such lofty nobles want to see a common girl who wore dirty, patched breeches?

"Are you Ezranya Fyn, then?" the man asked.

"I…yes, I am," Ezra answered.

"Their Graces said they were expecting you." He nodded. "Their rooms are just up those stairs," he pointed, "and down to the right. Have a good evening, Mistress Fyn."

"Thank you," she said. The Merindars must be paying an awful lot for their stay, Ezra thought, for the help to be so kind to commoners.

The stairs didn't even creak as she climbed—a true sign of the prosperity of the inn and the clientele it usually serviced. At the top, Ezra turned to the right and headed down a short hallway and toward the rooms at the end. The closer she got, the more she could hear the noise of a small child refusing to eat his vegetables, and his mother doing her best to coax him. Ezra paused outside of the tapestry she heard the voices coming from behind, bit her bottom lip and then thrust ahead, rapping on the tapestry's wooden frame.

"Come in," a masculine voice called out.

Ezra pushed aside the tapestry and stepped into the brightly lit room. The Marquise sat behind the table in the center of the room, her son beside her. Although Ezra had only seen the boy once, she was still surprised to see how much he had changed in two years. Very little 'baby' was left in him, and his bright red curls were now almost shoulder-length. He was straining away from his mother, who stoutly refused to let the little boy best her.

The Marquis sat beside his wife with one knee drawn up, an amused expression on his face as he watched the unfolding scene. On his other leg perched a little girl, a handkerchief tucked into the collar of her dress to keep it clean while she tried her hand at the solid food her father offered her. She had thick golden blonde hair which complimented a beautiful peaches and cream complexion, and clear honey brown eyes. She was going to break hearts one day, but at the moment she had drool running down her chin, and what looked like a piece of chicken in her mouth.

The adults looked up when Ezra cleared her throat, gaining their attention. The Marquise smiled up at her, and her husband at least looked interested in the fact that she had arrived safely. The boy looked up to see what had caused his mother to leave off with trying to force him to eat a carrot.

"Ezranya!" Elestra greeted her, rising to her feet. "How good to see you again! I'm glad you got our invitation and decided to come."

"Glad to get the invitation," Ezra said in return. When she took in the entire shape of the woman heading toward her, Ezra noted the belly starting to form under the thin summer gown. These two sure do keep busy, I'll give them that! She added a deep nod to the Princess and then directed a second to the Marquis, who smiled slightly. "Besides," she added, "there wasn't much else to do at home."

"Good to note where we are positioned on your itinerary of important appointments," the Marquis observed wryly.

Ezra gave him a small smirk. She could not for the life of her, figure out if she liked him or not. He was intimidating. Not physically—he couldn't take her in a fair fight, for instance—but he always seemed to radiate a feeling of hidden wit and intelligence, not to mention his astonishing good looks, which set her on edge. The Marquis was what her friend Caelron dreamed of being, and possibly imagined he was.

Elestra shot her husband a look, one eyebrow raised. "Trade me children, dear. You try and make Keneric eat, and I'll take Elaina for a while." Then, the Marquise led Ezra to the table and encouraged her to take what she'd like. The children were exchanged while Ezra took up a plate and piled slices of chicken, roast carrots, potatoes, artichokes, fluffy biscuits, and some kind of apple and pear mixture on it. She poured herself a tall tankard of watered wine from the jug that sat on the table. Ezra hadn't had fare this good since she was at the Palace.

"So, Ezra," Elestra began the conversation, "I read in a letter from my mother that you were being offered a position in the navy. Congratulations. Oh! I haven't spoiled the surprise, have I?"

Ezra suddenly lost her appetite. She cleared her throat and used a napkin to wipe her mouth. "No. I already got the offer. I turned it down."

Both nobles eyed her curiously. "But, why?" Elestra asked, a frown of consternation marring her brow.

Ezra really hated having to justify her reasoning to every living person. "Because I promised my grandfather that I'd stay with him until he didn't need me any longer. He's still alive, and the vineyard needs all the help it can get." It sounded weak to every single person in the room.

"Forgive me if I'm mistaken," the Marquis spoke up, "but weren't there several other men that accompanied you and your grandfather to the vineyard at the end of your stay at Athanarel when we last saw you? I could've sworn I saw ten or twelve men with you when you left."

Ezra pulled in a deep breath. "There were. There are."

"And so it would seem that your grandfather has quite a bit of help."

"Flauvic," his wife warned quietly. "We can hardly force Ezra to do something. If she feels that she needs to stay with her grandfather, then she'd best stay."

As much as she hated having to justify herself, she hated having someone else do it for her. Her reasoning sounded so hollow and ridiculous—and worse, cowardly—when it came from someone else's mouth. But she couldn't quite make herself agree to go.

"So it appears Alaraec was correct," Flauvic said softly, keeping a hold of his son, who was trying to leave the table.

Ezra's gaze found itself locked on the Marquis's handsome face, but it was the features of another blond male that drifted through her mind. "What do you mean? What did he say?"

"Flauvic," Elestra said again, with more force this time.

He held up a hand to his wife, indicating that he meant no harm. To Ezra he replied, "Alaraec only said that it was unlikely that you would come to the Palace. He gave no reason, nor did he seem to care one way or the other. But, as it appears, his hypothesis was correct."

Ezra's lips pursed and she found that she could eat a whole cow. She stabbed her fork into a bite of chicken, and speared some vegetables under the meat. After she had chewed and swallowed, she returned her attention to the nobles. "Thinks I won't come….Well, let's just see about that."

Flauvic deliberately turned his face towards his wife and out of Ezra's sight before allowing his lips to curl up in a smile of the victorious.

&&&

A/N: 8 months and the wait is finally over! Thanks to all our readers for your patience. The schedule is pretty much the same. An update every fortnight. No sooner, no later unless something crops up (i.e. Exams, tests, work, holidays overseas, etc.).

We've really put in a lot of effort into the planning and executing of this sequel, and enjoyed every bit of it so far. We hope you all relish reading it as much as we did writing it. We may be off to a slow start but I assure you, things start heating up in the third chapter or so.

Now, you know what to do in repayment for us slogging our guts out, right? Take a minute (or more) to review.

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