Free By the Light of the Moon by Laila Blake

onto the wood — Lynne from the ocean in the west to the mountains in the east.
    Old Brock was hobbling around it, moving figurines that stood for opposing armies around the borders and the different fiefs, never stopping in his narrative. He had been teaching her for years but it was exactly lessons like these that always failed to completely grasp her attention; they were so long and always the same. It was difficult to try and care about why some nobleman far away and once upon a time had felt slighted in his pride and declared war upon his neighbor. Or why two brothers who had broken apart their father’s land had ended up killing each other in a duel, following a decade of vicious wars.
    “And that was when the king proclaimed that land and title should henceforth never be divided between brothers,” Brock continued in his crackly voice. Moira rested her face on her hands and quite without meaning to, pushed out her bottom lip.
    “Land and title would always fall to the first-born son, unless he was cast out. In that case, the second born son would step up in the line of succession. Where a lord or monarch did not sire natural-born sons, his younger brother has the best claim, but he may also adopt or chose a daughter’s husband for the task. This is where the law grows unclear again and even the war of 930 of the New Reckoning … ”
    He was moving the pieces again and Moira couldn’t suppress the yawn that fought its way into her lungs. It earned her a stern glance and she looked up at her old tutor with that sweet apology she reserved for few. Brock had always been around her, all her life. He’d always been old and wise and kind to her and she usually preferred his lessons by far over the ones the governess imparted on her. But that day, she was distracted and tired and the legal justification for her predicament made her grouchy and disinterested.
    “But women can’t inherit … ” she said with the quiet and subdued sound of indignation. She knew why of course, her father had reiterated it too many times to count, but it didn’t seem right. Not really.
    “No, my lady,” Brock said quite gently. He was normally the only person outside of her family who called her by her given name; however, there were times when he chose the formal title. It felt strange to her.
    “Women have their place in government and any wise ruler will seek his wife’s or mother’s advice in matters of family and education. But women have no head for war … ” he smiled, a knowing smile that rearranged the myriads of wrinkles on his face in a quite pleasant way as he looked at the army figurines. Moira made a face.
    “A woman can rule in an emergency, such as the death of her husband — but only if she has passed her thirty-fifth birthday and is believed mature enough for such a task. It is also almost always temporary until a son is old enough or the line of succession can be established.”
    Looking at the map again, Moira stood up. Her long dress swished against the stone floor as she regarded the figurines closely.
    “Peliam,” she said pointing at a northern fief. “Ruled by a Lady Elena Peliam for fifteen years.”
    “Until her son came of age.” Brock agreed. “Lord Justo Peliam, a good ruler by all accounts. As was his mother.”
    Moira’s hand continued to trail over the old leather. It was soft and beautiful, a perfect piece of craftsmanship. As she moved to the right, her fingers traced the blue line of the river Vime until it reached the lake and a ghostly smile appeared on her lips at the familiar names.
    “Tell me about the Fae wars again … ” she asked.
    Brock looked up in mild surprise and his lip curled in a crooked smile.
    “I told you, women have no mind for wars. I never have to repeat mathematics or the knowledge of plants and the body.”
    Moira glared but then she exhaled a defeated sigh through her nose and gave him the sweet smile of a dedicated student. It was true; she did find war