A Brother's Price

sisters?”
    Corelle clenched her jaw, not wanting to answer, but the truth was too obvious to deny. If there were any older women in the house, they would be out talking to the strangers. “Our mothers and elder sisters are not here. They will be back shortly.”
    One of the riders in the back, wearing a broad-brimmed hat, pushed forward. The young woman stopped even with the captain, and swept off her hat. The setting sun glittered on her flame red hair, red as the soldier’s hair.
    “Do you know who you’ve saved today?” the woman asked.
    Corelle shook her head. “The woman hasn’t spoken yet, hasn’t given her name.”
    “She is Princess Odelia, third oldest daughter of the Queens.”
    Corelle took a step back. “I suppose,” she said faintly, “that makes you a princess?”
    “Yes. it does. I’m Princess Rennsellaer.”
----
    Chapter 2

     
    Princess Rennsellaer, current Eldest of the Queens’ daughters, sat in the shade of the apple orchard, secretly glad for the chance to relax her nerves. She had been growing more and more sure that she’d find her sister Odelia dead, and that she would have to return home and tell her mothers that not only had the long-awaited cast-iron cannons been stolen, but another of their daughters had been killed.
    The worst came when the peaceful-looking farmhouse suddenly bristled with rifle barrels, and it seemed that she and her guard had ridden into a trap. Their fears had quickly been allayed by the shouted challenge—the house held nothing more than frightened farmers defending their own—but the close call rattled her.
    She was unnerved enough to wait, as the farmers asked, for Queens Justice to arrive and act as trusted go-betweens. In the course of a few hours, the stolen cannons had moved from all-important to trivial, losing priority to Odelia’s safe return. Cannons could be replaced; her sister could not. What surprised Ren was that the captain of her guard. Raven Tern, had not fought the delay.
    She said as much to her captain. “I’m amazed you agreed to this. We could be waiting on the Queens Justice for hours. I thought you would want to push your way in, get Odelia, and get on with finding the cannons.”
    Raven made a fist and tapped the sword tattoo on the back of her hand. “Didn’t you notice the Order of the Sword mark on the girl, Ren? Crib father initials under the pommel, and on either side of the hilt, makes three generations of career soldiers. A family of line soldiers earning stud services from the military cribs wouldn’t be able to afford this farm: it probably was a land grant for valiant service. A reward for loyalty proved by fire. Short of the local garrison, this is probably the safest place for Odelia to hole up in.”
    “Why not bully them into turning Odelia over?”
    “The girl we parleyed with was, what—seventeen?— and scared silly. If she’s the oldest one in the house, then those twenty rifles are in the hands of frightened children. Frankly. I’d rather not have to execute an eight-year-old because she shot you by accident.”
    “The family might have been soldiers. Raven, but they’re farmers now.”
    Raven shook her head. “We’re talking third-generation soldiers. They’re like a different species by that stage, and all they know is training their daughters to fight alongside of them. Every girl in that house probably got a toy gun as a teething present, and a real gun at the age of eight. Every window is shuttered and barred. The doors are reinforced and barred. The house probably has food enough to last a siege, and access to fresh water. You could throw a hundred soldiers against those twenty children and lose.”
    Ren eyed the house in question. Mostly stone, with a slate roof, it looked like a fortress. Flowers grew around the footing, softening the impression, but she noticed for the first time the lack of bushes near the house. The trees were in full summer foliage, yet the house remained unscreened, allowing a view for miles in three directions. West of the house were barns and outbuildings, checking winter winds. None of the buildings touched the house directly—they could be set fire to and not take the house with them. A cupola, she noticed now, on the highest peak of the house, looked over the barn roofs to the west. A dark line of a rifle barrel showed that even the cupola was guarded.
    In this remarkable house, instead of lying dead in woods, her charmed younger sister found