Hello! I hope everyone is doing well. My chemo is being a bit more challenging than it was back in 2020, but it’s still going well. I finished chemo #2 of 6 last Friday and #3 is coming up on 8/7/24. August sounds so far away, but it’s really only a couple of days. Where is the summer going? It’s been hot and I think it will stay hot for another week. Then it will get just warm. How has the weather been for you?

Here is Chapter 4 of the Storm King:

Chapter Four

“Yes, Valdis.” His face didn’t change. No smile. No happiness. He looked over her head, maybe at the guards. “Why are these women here? Why is my wife among the criminals?”

There was a shuffling behind her. “Majesty, we were instructed to detain any woman we saw with brown hair.”

Jerriel’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing more about that. He pointed his sword at the baker’s wife. “You should sacrifice in thanksgiving. I do not make war on women, so you may go.” He pointed the sword at Ilsa and the other woman in turn. “And you, and you, may leave. Leave the city before it burns. I give you your lives.”

Ashley watched them scramble away, half-wishing she could go with them. Except this was Jerriel, the tender prince who had told her—No, not her, Valdis—that he would come back for her one day. And she needed him to find Maya.

He extended a hand to her. “Get up, wife. You are not a slave to crouch on the floor like a dog.”

Wife? Is he talking to me? There was nothing loving in his voice or his face. “Wait,” she began. “I’m not …” Her voice got stuck, apparently undecided over which thing to address first: the word wife or the name Valdis. “I’m not your wife.”

His eyes, as cold as black ice, narrowed. He reached down, grabbed her by the arm—her good arm, thank goodness—and hauled her up. “Have you married another man?”

She swallowed hard. “No.”

“Good.” It was something between a snarl and growl. “Stand at my side.” He sat back down in his throne and laid his naked sword across his knees.

The older man inclined his head to her and moved to the other side of the throne, displacing the teenager. He indicated the spot he had stood in. Ashley hesitated, looking at the other four Erabiri who stood in a semi-circle behind the throne. They ranged in age from mid-thirties to early twenties. None of them had any expression on their faces, but she got the impression that one of them, who wore two rows of heavy gold chains around his neck, didn’t like her.

“Jerriel, I—”

“Be silent, wife.”

Ashley nearly cowered at his harsh tone. But Maya was out there somewhere. “This is important,” she bravely insisted. “Really, really important.”

The king turned his head and looked up at her with a cold, set face. “Not now. We will have time to talk later when my business here is done.” A tiny sliver of warmth came into those icy black eyes and his voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “We have much to discuss. But that will be later when we can be private, wife.”

Why does he keep calling me ‘wife’? Ashley swallowed and nodded. “As soon as possible, please.”

He gave her one curt nod in return and gestured to the guards, who hurried down to bring another prisoner to him.

Ashley had a clear view of the older man on Jerriel’s other side, since they were both half a step back from the throne. Who was he? Not Jerriel’s father or Jerriel wouldn’t be king. The approach of another prisoner caught her attention. This man wore very expensive clothes, but he looked like a rat with his long pointy nose and buck teeth. He was trembling but trying to hide it with arrogance. Ashley’s heart stuttered. She remembered Lord Ulsak’s arrogance and his head thudding on the marble floor. As the guards forced the man to his knees she swallowed.

“Your name,” Jerriel demanded coldly.

“Lorn Galseth.”

“In what way are you connected to the slave trade?”

The rat faced man tilted his head up and sniffed. “In no way.”

Jerriel leaned forward. “Liar,” he said in conversational tones. “You are the head of the slave guild.”

Galseth’s eyes darted from side to side, probably looking for an escape. “It’s a respectable trade. Many people in financial difficulties—”

Jerriel stood. “It is a filthy trade. You’ve made a fortune out of other people’s misery. I find you guilty.”

“Of what?”

“Whatever I choose.”

Galseth demanded shrilly, “And who are you to decide that?”

“I am Rodir of Erabir, your judge and executioner.”

The sword flashed, and the rat face disappeared as the head turned before slowly toppling. Ashley slapped her hands to her mouth, trying desperately to gulp in a breath. Seeing the executions from fifty yards away had been bad. Seeing them from only ten feet away was horrifying. She felt herself sway and leaned one hip against the throne to keep from falling over. She couldn’t seem to breathe properly.

Jerriel wiped his sword clean and sat while some other men carried the body out and disposed of the head in a bulging bag. From what she could see of his face, he didn’t seem pleased or angry or anything at all. The boy she’d invented had been full of rage against the people who had enslaved him but impotent to do anything about it. What had she written? The boy prince had told Valdis that one day he would get back to his people and when he did, he would have revenge on the Thessians who had debased the heir of the King of Erabir. He would stamp out the slave trade and punish those who had hurt him. But never, he’d promised quickly, would she be hurt. He would protect her always. He would bring her back to Erabir where she would be loaded with honors and made his wife.

And here he was. The imaginary friend she had invented to make her time in hospitals and treatment rooms pass more quickly was real and fulfilling his promise to have his revenge. He called her ‘wife’. He thought she was Valdis, but Valdis was another made-up character.

How could any of this be happening?           

A new voice brought her back to the present. Another prisoner knelt below the throne. The side view of Jerriel’s face showed her an actual emotion. Fierce hate and satisfaction. He leaned forward to speak to the man.

“Do you know me?” he purred.

“No, Your Majesty,” the man managed to say though his lips were trembling, and tears filled his eyes.

“I know you, Emris Baker,” Jerriel said. “Look more closely. Are you sure you do not know me?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Emris Baker cried. “How could I?”

If Jerriel had beheaded men who’d had almost no direct impact on his slavery, Ashley didn’t want to imagine what he would do to his former master. In her story Valdis had often seen Jerriel’s bony back bloody from a whip. She had carefully cleaned his wounds so they wouldn’t get infected, and each time Jerriel had sworn vengeance on his master. The very thought made Ashley moan.

“You idiot,” she said. “You—”

Jerriel’s voice cut like the lash of a whip. “Be silent, wife!”

Ashley shut her mouth.

“I suppose,” Jerriel went on in a cool voice to the baker kneeling below him, “you never thought of me.”

Emris Baker’s lips shook when he wet them. “I, that is, no. Why would I? You are a king, and I am no one.”

“No one. Nobody.” Jerriel leaned back in his seat. “So you thought me, once.”

Jerriel’s former master looked so confused that Ashley almost felt sorry for him. He raised his clasped hands toward Jerriel with pleading. “Please, Majesty, let me go. I am no one of importance.”

“You are important to me, Emris Baker.”

Ashley couldn’t suppress a shudder at the frighteningly gentle tone Jerriel used.

“For ten years I have planned for this moment. I mobilized my army and destroyed cities just for this moment.” The gentleness morphed into razor-edged venom. “All I have done for the last ten years was just so I could have justice from you.”

“Me?” moaned the baker. “Your Majesty, I don’t know you! I swear, I have done nothing!””

Oh, the fool, the fool. Ashley now saw what the prisoners had had in common. They were all connected with the slave trade. Some, like the secretary, had been set free. Others, like Galseth, had been executed. Did Baker honestly not guess that Jerriel was the skinny Erabiri boy he’d bought and abused?

“Let me refresh your memory. You called me Nobody. Sometimes Boy or Filth. You beat me when I failed whatever task you set me, and you beat me when I succeeded.” One of Jerriel’s shoulders twitched as if remembering the lash. Ashley saw his knuckles go white from the grip he had on the sword across his knees.

Emris Baker burst into tears and blubbering pleas for mercy. “Please, my lord. Please!” he begged. “Don’t k-k-kill me.”

Now Jerriel leaned forward. “You ask me to spare your life?”

Ashley shuddered at Jerriel’s tone. He had cold-bloodedly executed men more wealthy, more influential, and far less directly responsible for his enslavement. Emris would be lucky if he died as quickly as those men had.

“Yes, please, I beg you! Let me live. I am nobody!”

Ashley was half a step behind the throne so she couldn’t see the whole of Jerriel’s face, but what she could see of the smile that curved his lips made her knees knock.

“You are Nobody,” he agreed. “You will be my slave for the rest of your life. You will live for as long as I choose for you to live. Begging me to kill you will not end your suffering.”

Ashley swallowed heavily. This Jerriel was not the sweet slave boy from her story. She tried to breathe calmly, like Maya would have told her to do, but her breath went faster and faster until she felt light-headed. I’m hyperventilating, she thought dimly. This is not the right time or place to have hysterics. But no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t get herself under control.

Jerriel turned his head slightly to the older man on his left. “Uncle, will you and your son take my wife back to camp?”

The older man bowed. “Our honor.”

Jerriel’s head turned in Ashley’s direction. “You are overwrought, wife. This has no doubt been a difficult time for you. Go, eat and rest. I will join you as soon as I am able.”

“Okay,” Ashley managed to say, though it came out as four or five syllables instead of two. She tried to steady her voice. “We’re still going to talk, right?”

Jerriel inclined his head.

She hissed in a pained breath when the older man touched her elbow. Quick concern flashed on his face. “Lady, you are injured.”

“A little,” she said shakily.

Jerriel stood up and faced them. There was a tiny hint of concern in the line between his brows. His gaze slid over her, pausing on her obviously swollen elbow. He looked past her at the men behind her on the stage. Something vicious shone in his black eyes for a split second before he looked back at her. He touched his fingertips to her cheek for a fleeting moment. His eyes changed to something so tender that Ashley stopped breathing. Miraculously, her breathing started up again, and when it did it was smoother.

“Call a healer for her as soon as you are in camp, uncle,” he said. Apparently dismissing them, he stepped away and sat again.

“Come, lady,” Jerriel’s uncle said. “Son, run ahead and prepare the horses.”

The youngest of the men behind the throne bobbed his head and hopped off the side of the stage. After a quick bow in Jerriel’s direction, he swung wide around Emris Baker still kneeling in front of Jerriel and ran out the main doors. Jerriel’s uncle stepped off the stage also on the side and held his hands up to Ashley.

“Allow me to help you down.”

Going down the steps in front would be easier, but Emris Baker was there. Ashley wasn’t too keen to get between him and Jerriel. “Thank you.”

He picked her up by the waist and easily lowered her to the floor. He bowed to the throne, so Ashley bobbed an awkward curtsey. She’d never curtseyed before, and she probably did it wrong, but Jerriel didn’t even look their way. His attention was once more on Emris Baker. She followed Jerriel’s uncle out of the building. An agonized shriek rose from behind them, and Ashley wondered shakily what Jerriel had done to Emris. No, she did not want to know.

The young warrior was approaching, leading three horses with tall saddles. There was no saddle horn, and no smooth rise like on an English saddle. These had high backs and fronts. I guess I get to ride on my own, Ashley thought. She hadn’t been on a horse since the last time she’d stayed with her grandparents on their farm in Indiana. She’d been thirteen then, a couple of years before her ALL diagnosis. The young man was probably not much older than thirteen. He gave her a shy smile and blushed as he cupped his hands for her to step into so he could help her into the saddle. He probably looked a lot like Jerriel had at that age, only more muscular since he’d had nutritious meals all his life while Jerriel had been half starved by the Bakers, and his black hair hung in a ponytail to his waist instead of being shaved to his scalp.

The saddle was actually comfortable. The back and front supported her so she didn’t feel like she would fall off. As they rode through the city, more warriors joined them. Guards to prevent me escaping? Or to protect me? They were stern-faced and silent, riding beside and behind her. Jerriel’s uncle was in the lead and the kid was with him. The stone wall that encircled the city was battered, and the gate was broken. It made Ashley think of her senior thesis on siege warfare. But that thought was fleeting because just as they passed through the gates of the city, she saw a cluster of blond people a few hundred yards away on the road.

Maya! Ashley awkwardly pulled her horse around and kicked him into a run. Well, she tried to get him to run, but the warriors smoothly cut her off. She glared at them. “Get out of the way!”

Jerriel’s uncle caught her reins. “Lady, our camp is to the south.”

“Yeah, I get it. I just want to see if my friend is with them. It’ll just take a minute.”

“No, lady. You must see a healer and then rest.”

“I will,” she agreed impatiently. “I just need to find Maya.”

His face set in stubborn lines. “The king commanded that I bring you to our camp where you can be cared for. Please do not make me use force.”

Ashley’s mouth fell open. I guess that answers the question of why the other warriors joined us. She raised her voice to a scream. “Maya? Maya! Are you there?”

Blond heads turned back toward her, but the group didn’t stop. In fact, they hurried faster down the road in a bid to get away from us. “Maya!” she screamed once more, but even as she yelled, she knew Maya wasn’t part of that group. She would have stopped and come toward her if she had been there. Disappointment drove tears to Ashley’s eyes, but she sniffed them back.

“Okay,” she grumbled. “Let’s go.”

“Thank you, lady.”

Ashley’s group went the opposite direction, away from the blond people. Instead of riding ahead, Jerriel’s uncle waved a couple of the other men forward and stayed at her side. The guy really did seem to be relieved. He must really not want to use force on his nephew’s wife. If that was really what she was. Maybe Jerriel picked a wife from every city he conquered. Maybe he had a harem. If Ashley had been walking, the horror sliding down her spine would have frozen her in mid-step. The horse just kept going. From her history studies she knew it was common for conquerors to take local wives from the cities they won. It formed an alliance that helped subdue the local population.

But that couldn’t be what Jerriel was doing. He still wore the pearl pendant she—that is, Valdis had given him. She let out a long breath.

Jerriel’s uncle peered at her with concern. “Lady, are you well?”

“Yeah. I’m good. Just wondering. How many wives does Jerriel have?”

Shock wiped his face blank. “Only one, lady. You.”

Ashley rearranged her grip on the reins. “But I don’t understand how I can be married to him. I haven’t seen him since we were kids.”

Or, you know, like, ever.

“You offered him the bridal pledge then. He accepted it.”

Ashley looked away from the horse’s ears and blinked at Jerriel’s uncle. “What bridal … You mean the necklace?”

“Yes, that is the traditional pledge.”

Yikes. Her fictional heroine had given a make-believe necklace to a fictional hero, and wham bam thank you ma’am, she was married to him. Or was that Ashley? Ashley was married to him. Her gaping mouth clacked shut as her horse shied slightly. Once upon a time, her life had been completely out of her hands. Leukemia had decided just about everything, from her appetite to her hairstyle to whether or not she would wake up the next morning. Writing stories that she was in charge of made her feel like she was in control of something. It looked like that was all make-believe too. Ashley wanted to lay her forehead on the high cantle of the saddle and weep.

“Lady, if I may make a suggestion?”

She swallowed and nodded at the older man.

“You should not publicly address your husband as Jerriel. When you are alone with him, or speaking with those close to him, you may call him Jerriel. But that is a personal name, not meant for public usage.”

Seriously? Ashley glanced up at him, wondering what his name was, but she’d never heard it, and now she wondered if she ever would. Jerriel called him ‘uncle’. He called his son ‘son’. He called her ‘lady’ as Jerriel had called her ‘wife’ almost exclusively. There must be some taboo about using names. Another thought struck her.

“I heard the king was named Rodir. Is that a ‘public’ name?”

“Yes, exactly. Those in the Erabiri royal family are given two names at birth, one to be used by family and close friends when private, and one for others.”

There had been a time when Americans had been more formal, addressing others as Mr. Cox or Mrs. Hayes until they knew each other well. She supposed this was like that. She perked up a little. She had two names also: Ashley and Valdis.

Except she wasn’t Valdis. She had to convince Jerriel of that and find Maya and somehow get home. No, not Jerriel. King Rodir. Oh, boy. Too bad she didn’t have the vaguest idea how to do any of those things.