The Gypsy Queen

Catherine H. Shaffer

“It’s a shame,” Lorayne said as she nudged the gold-lamé-draped corpse of the evil sorceress Amygdala. “That fabulous outfit is ruined.”

Coedric knelt down and pulled the amulet from around Amygdala’s neck. Coedric (sedrick) of the Coelacanth (seelacanth) Clan was a powerful young man, a hand shorter than Lorayne, but mighty-thewed—a grimly efficient fighter from the wild and frigid north. His helm bore the likeness of his clan’s totem fish, and he wore the coelacanth tattooed on his smooth bicep as well. He made a neat complement to Lorayne’s lean, aristocratic figure, with her dusky skin, black eyes, and killer fashion sense.

“I’ll take that, if you don’t mind,” said a smooth voice behind them.

Ordinarily, this was Lorayne’s favorite part of the fight—the witty repartee. Lord Guano was a flamboyant ham of an evil overlord, and never missed an opportunity to say campy things like Seize them! and Foiled again! It was actually more fun than working for the law-and-order side, which tended to be priggish paper pushers. Of course, at least working for the good guys, she could count on a paycheck. Guano’s credit with the mercenary guild was terrible. And this time, there was more at stake than a paycheck.

Lorayne turned to find Lord Guano framed by the tacky gold-gilt carvings. “You’ll have it when you deliver my sister to me outside the city walls, with horses, rations, and water—as you promised.”

Guano made a moue at them. “Oh, dear,” he said. “I completely forgot about that.” He put a hand to his cheek, then said, “No, I don’t think so. Guards.” With a gesture of his hand, a phalanx (Guano had a huge phalanx) of guards appeared and took hold of Lorayne and Coedric. Guano grabbed the amulet out of Coedric’s hand.

“You filthy bastard,” Coedric growled.

“Language, Coedric,” muttered Lorayne. Louder, she said, “Really, Guano, darling, double-crossing is a nice touch, but we’re playing it straight today. Give me my sister or die.”

Guano frowned, and turned to Coedric. “What’s she talking about?”

Coedric translated. “You filthy bastard!”

“Ah, yes, thank you,” Guano answered. And to Lorayne, he said, “I’m sorry, my dear, but Esmerelda is too great a prize. I find I cannot part with her. I have no more use for you now. Take them to the dungeon.”

The guards moved in on Lorayne and Coedric. “Wait!” Lorayne cried out. She thrust forward one long, lean, smooth leg, bare under a mail skirt, as per union bellatrix contract clause 739. “Take me instead,” she invited, giving Guano her most seductive smile. Lorayne had always been the pretty sister. She was taller, thinner, with more dramatic coloring and tighter buns. Esmerelda tended to bookishness and heavy thighs.

Lord Guano laughed. “Not this time, my dear.” He paused, looking confused. “No, somehow you’re just not my type.”

As the guards dragged them out of the room, Lorayne unwillingly delivered the standard tag line: “You won’t get away with this.”

Lorayne had lived within Amygdala’s citadel for three months, disguised as a traveling dancer—aptly suited to her Romany background. Her time had been well spent, mapping every nook and cranny of the fortress. “Coedric,” said Lorayne under her breath. “Ten, fourteen, twenty-nine, five, on three.”

Coedric glanced sidelong at her and nodded. They walked along a curving hallway, and just ahead, it opened into a rotunda.

“One,” said Lorayne.

“Shut up,” said one of her guards.

“Two,” said Lorayne.

“I said, ‘Shut up,’” said the guard.

Lorayne turned and smiled at him, without breaking her graceful stride, which, she noticed with some satisfaction, the guard had trouble keeping up with. “Three,” she said to him softly, then shoved him against the wall and brought her knee up hard between his legs. Anticipating an attack from the left side, Lorayne raised a fist, back-punching her other guard. She heard a scream that she knew was one of Coedric’s guards falling over the rotunda railing, and landing with a thud two stories below. Coedric and Lorayne looked at each other, as the last guard stood between them, his weapon raised.

“Mine,” said Coedric.

“Okay.” Lorayne rolled her eyes. “Be that way.”

Even at two in the afternoon, the Mincing Pony was dim and crowded. A shirtless serving boy moved between tables, weighed down by half a dozen tankards of ale. A hand snaked out from one of the long wooden tables to pinch his buttocks. The boy’s eyes widened, but he didn’t spill a drop.

“Lorayne!” squealed the Pony’s owner, Barbara Faw. Mistress Faw was Romany herself, and she greeted Lorayne like a sister. An imposing woman, Barbara dispersed a group of teenaged footpads from a table and cleared it off for Lorayne and Coedric. Exhausted from the flight from Amygdala’s citadel, Lorayne accepted gratefully. Of all the places in the world, the Mincing Pony was the closest thing to a home that she had.

All of her life, Lorayne had dreamed of being a swordmaiden. From earliest childhood, she had fenced with her shadow, with her cousins, with anyone who would hold a stick. She grew tall, strong, graceful, and yet her dream seemed only to slip further and further out of her grasp, for, lo, Lorayne was a boy, and her mother insisted on calling her Loris.

Here’s a perfectly fine shirt of mail, Loris, her mother would say. And, Try this nice leather jerkin. But nothing would avail. It was Esmerelda’s silks and dancing skirts she craved. And for fighting, she favored a stiff leather bodice that laced up in back, stuffed in front with stout woolen socks, and a pair of skin-tight pants, capris in the summer, with tiny slits just below the knee. When she came of age, she took up the profession of mercenary, and it wasn’t long before she became known as the Gypsy Queen.

Coedric had already been drawn into a rowdy conversation with a group of barbarian body builders. “You see,” Coedric said, rolling up his sleeve to display the totem fish tattooed on his arm, “the Coelacanth is wily, but he’s not weak. Back in fifty-two, our clan had a dispute with Muskellunge clan that broke out into fighting. The Muskellunge bastards outnumbered us Coelacanths two to one—”

“Shhh! Coedric!” Lorayne gestured toward the other end of the tavern where a pair of Muskellunge clansmen sat glowering at them. Coedric ignored her.

Lorayne pouted. Her feelings about her longtime fighting partner were, to say the least, conflicted. She would almost have thought she was in love with him. And, on occasion, she thought he returned those feelings. Certainly he saved her life often enough. But that wasn’t the confusing part. The heart that beat inside Lorayne was all woman, but she found that in matters of love, her inclinations leaned toward women also. Crossing swords was very well by day, but under the covers this was a prospect that made her squeamish. She cursed the fate that had made her such a freak. Life would be so much easier if she were a normal transgendered barbarian swordswoman, but, no, she had to be a lesbian, as well. And that was what she couldn’t understand about her feelings for Coedric.

As for Coedric, he refused to speak of his past. Lorayne had always felt that he had secrets from her, that he had a lover back home. At least if he would admit it, she would know whom to be jealous of.

She pouted some more while he tried to impress the barbarian body builders. Then the minstrel walked by, all dressed in green silk with her Adam’s apple sticking out, and she hadn’t even bothered to shave her arms. Coedric pinched her behind, and Lorayne couldn’t watch anymore.

Barbara Faw plopped a pitcher of ale on the table along with a plate of roast duck and some hard rolls. Lorayne wrenched her thoughts to the problem at hand—how to save Esmerelda from Lord Guano.

The minstrel took up position in a corner of the room and began to sing, accompanying herself on the lute. Her voice was a dusky tenor, as she breathed out the first lines of her ballad, “I made it through the wilderness, you know I made it through-ooh-ooh.”

Suddenly, Mistress Faw was at her elbow, whispering urgently. “The back door, Lorayne, hurry!” Lorayne looked up to see a half dozen guards in Lord Guano’s colors, scarlet and gold, pouring through the Pony’s front door. Mistress Faw intercepted them with an enthusiastic greeting, and two half-naked serving boys sidled up, smiling. The Pony’s patronage was nothing if not loyal. Even the displaced footpads closed ranks around them, blocking the guards’ view.

Lorayne grabbed Coedric’s arm and made for the back entrance. But chaos broke out in front of them. One of the guards shoved a barbarian body builder, and the minstrel dropped her lute and smashed a clay pitcher over the guard’s head. Another guard yanked her by the arm, and then all of the barbarian body builders jumped into the fight. In the midst of the melee, two of Guano’s guards spotted Lorayne and Coedric making for the back door and ran to intercept them. Lorayne and Coedric elbowed through the crowd and turned to face the guards, their swords hissing out of their scabbards.

Two guards would have been no match for Coedric the Coelacanth and the legendary Gypsy Queen, but as fate would have it the two Muskellunge clansmen sulking at the far end of the tavern jumped up at that moment.

“Die, Coelacanth!” they shouted with rage, when they spotted Coedric, and then their clan battle cry, “Magnificent Mauling Muskellunge!” It took the drunken clansmen several tries to utter it.

Lorayne found herself facing two soldiers as the clansmen focused their attack on Coedric. She was a highly accomplished swordswoman, and was able to parry their first attacks with disdainful finesse, but she knew that before long one of them would slip under her guard.

Out of the chaos, Barbara Faw appeared. She threw a blanket over the guards’ heads. Momentarily free, Lorayne turned on the Muskellunge men and forced them back. “Coedric, come!” she yelled, making for the back door. Reluctantly, Coedric followed.

As they ran down the alley behind the Mincing Pony, Barbara Faw followed. “Take a right!” she hissed. Lorayne and Coedric dodged into an even smaller alley that was not more than a crevice between two buildings, too narrow even for a horse. They heard cries behind them, booted feet pelting down the alleyway, scattering gravel. Barbara opened a door cleverly hidden in the stone wall and shoved them in.

The door closed on perfect darkness just as the pursuing guards ran by. Lorayne heard one call out, only inches away, then the voices faded.

The room was tiny, and crowded with three people in it. Something was stacked along the back wall and from the smell Lorayne surmised it was dried fish. “Oh, goddess,” she said. “I am never going to get this smell out of my leathers.”

Coedric inhaled deeply, and as Lorayne’s eyes adjusted she could see dimly that he had a fierce grin on his face, only inches from her own. “The smell o’ the northlands, love. That’s the smell of home.”

“Gross,” said Lorayne, without much feeling, since she was distracted by being pressed up against Coedric. Maybe it would work, she thought, if I just pretended …

“What do we do now?” said Coedric. “Go back to Amygdala’s coetidel?”

“Stop that!” said Lorayne.

“What?” said Coedric.

“You know very well, what,” said Lorayne.

“I coertainly do not,” said Coedric.

“You did it again!”

“Hush!” said Barbara Faw, as more voices passed by in the alley. When all was quiet again, she spoke. “This Lord Guano has your sister, Lorayne, right? And he intends to marry her?”

“Yes,” Lorayne answered.

“The Serpent God he worships requires forty days of fasting and a sacrificial goat for a wedding. Guano will be unwilling to wait. And he will be too cheap to pay for the goat. Not to mention the portrait-maker, the flowers, and the cake. And his family would never get along with yours.”

Lorayne nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that. Seating arrangements would be impossible.”

“There’s only one place Guano can take her where the rituals will be sufficiently … expedited … for his tastes,” said Barbara.

Lorayne and Coedric exchanged glances in the dark, then said, in unison, “G’morra.”

“Now,” said Barbara, “We’ll need disguises. Lorayne, we’ll dress you as a boy—”

“Forget it,” said Coedric. “She could never pass as a boy.”

“Here’s what we’re going to do …” said Barbara.

The lights of G’morra were visible miles away as Lorayne, Coedric, and Barbara made their way across the Zyndian wastes. Barbara rode in a carriage borrowed from a certain young noble who owed Mistress Faw a debt of gratitude for her discretion. The nature of the Mincing Pony disposed a lot of wealthy people to be helpful to its proprietress. Coedric sat up front, driving the horses, while Lorayne rode a horse, quietly pouting in her plain soldier’s garb: leather jerkin (flat), shirt of mail, bracers, gauntlets, leggings (not capris), rough leather boots, and man’s surcoat. The unfamiliar clothing chafed her. Barbara Faw had even denied her the comfort of foundation garments. She cast a jealous glance at Barbara, draped in scarlet silks inside the carriage.

Barbara caught her look, “For goodness sake, Lorayne. You can be the Queen of Sheba on the way home!”

Lorayne sniffed. “That’s what you said last time!”

Coedric snorted, giving the reins a jiggle. “Stay in character, Loris.” Coedric was disgruntled as well, having been forced to put aside his coelacanth helm, and don the lavender livery of the imaginary nation of Sheba.

Lorayne straightened her shoulders, cleared her throat, and attempted a masculine grunt. Her one comfort was that she had some emergency supplies in one of her saddlebags: a compact, face powder, hoop earrings, a very sharp razor, and some moist towelettes.

Their small delegation was welcomed through the gates, into the city of G’morra, where a festival was held every day of the year. They drove up the main thoroughfare, towards the center of the city. G’morra, known as Vaygas among the Southerners, was laid out in concentric circles, penetrated by spokes. Around the inner circle were arrayed villas owned by all of the wealthy nobles of the realm. Since G’morra was liberal in its allowance of entertainments, many of the grandest balls, tournaments, and feasts were held here. The second circle hosted G’morra’s permanent courtesans, courtiers, minstrels, elvish impersonators, and others who provided services to the nobility. In their leisure time, the courtesans, courtiers and their ilk visited the third circle, which was occupied by the bakers, butchers, armorers, grocers, common prostitutes, and inns with a triple-A diamond rating of three or less. The butchers, bakers, and common prostitutes could often be found in the fourth ring of the city, associating with the loan sharks, pickpockets, con artists, street musicians and lowly whores, purchasing tobacco and lottery tickets at the hop-in. And so the cycle was perpetuated, unto the eighth ring, where, it was said, there was no finer place on earth to go to drink yourself to death—if, that is, you could evade the cutthroats long enough to do it.

The main road into the center, though, was the most magnificent, and most decadent part of G’morra. Here dozens of taverns had sprung up, devoted to gambling and gaming in all its variations. Each one was more spectacular than the last, brightly lit all night and day, loud and boisterous, with prettily dressed young men and women standing in front, inviting visitors inside with the promise of wealth. Lorayne, Coedric and Barbara made their way up the strip, with travelers pressing in close on either side, coming and going.

Mistress Faw led them toward a certain second-circle inn where she had a connection. Their path took them through the heart of the city, a grand open courtyard wherein peasants dressed in gypsy costumes danced around a maypole. Lorayne suppressed a grimace at the quality of the dancing.

Liveried guardsmen in colors even more garish than the lavender of Sheba (If there’s no such place as Sheba, Coedric had growled, why can’t we wear a sensible tartan?) lounged about in front of their lords’ villas. One of them whistled at Lorayne, who nodded back politely.

As they rode, Coedric tipped his head toward Lorayne and said, “In the northlands, this city is called Coencoenatti.”

Lorayne answered back, “There’s so much wrong with that, I don’t even know where to start.”

They emerged into the second circle on the far side of the city, and parked the carriage in front of The Headless Horse. A flurry of servants greeted them, taking charge of the horses and disappearing with their baggage. It seemed only minutes before they were seated comfortably at a table in the inn’s common room with a pitcher of ale and a bowl of rabbit stew.

The innkeeper appeared, a wiry man of indeterminate age. “Babsie!” he squeaked, sliding into a chair at the table.

“Shhh!” said Barbara Faw. “It’s ‘Your Highness’ if you please.”

“Right!” said the innkeeper, putting a hand over his mouth. “So sorry! What brings you to G’morra, Highness?”

“I come bearing a wedding gift for the Lord Guano,” Barbara said.

“Lord Guano!” the innkeeper’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Why just yesterday a rider came with a reservation for Lord Guano for the bridal suite at Sir Gallahad’s Folly!”

“I knew it!” said Lorayne.

The innkeeper glanced up at Lorayne, and looked back and forth in confusion.

“Charles, these are my bodyguards, young Loris and Coedric.”

“The pleasure is mine,” said Charles. Lorayne nodded and Coedric grunted.

A serving girl arrived with more ale, and stopped to give Lorayne a lingering smile. Lorayne smiled back. Coedric scowled. “No one deserves to be that pretty,” he complained. “Everywhere we go she has men and women falling all over her.”

Lorayne blushed. Did this mean that Coedric found her pretty, or just that he was jealous?

“Charles, my wedding gift must be delivered at the occasion of the wedding, not later. Have you heard where that might be held? Lord Guano worships the snake god Lothar.”

“Lothar!” said Charles. “Why then it would have to be the Little White Wedding Temple. Unless he went to the fourth circle. Guano’s not cheap, is he?”

“Just try cashing one of his checks,” said Lorayne, under her breath.

“Thank you so much, Charles,” said Barbara. “We must away, then. No time to lose. We can’t be late delivering Lord Guano’s wedding gift, can we now?”

Coedric grinned and ran a thumb down the edge of the knife he was using to trim his nails.

The Little White Wedding Temple shared space in a cozy-looking ziggurat with several other wedding temples. Lorayne, Coedric, and Barbara entered through the mouth of a giant skull and found themselves in a small, but well-appointed Lothar worship space. A giant, stone carving of the seven-headed snake god himself loomed over the room. There was a blood-stained altar at the front, and a low rail surrounded the requisite pit of live poisonous snakes. There were only three rows of pews to accommodate witnesses. Two hulking men wearing nothing but skirts and black body paint lurked in a corner.

A hooded, black-robed priest swept out from behind the snake god. His eyes and lips were lined with black. He greeted the visitors with a smile. “Welcome! Welcome to the Little White Wedding Temple. And who is getting married today? The young man and the shieldmaiden?”

“Ha!” said Coedric as Lorayne glowered.

Barbara Faw cleared her throat. “Actually, we’re here for the wedding of a … friend. I’ve come to surprise him with a gift.”

“Hmmm …” said the priest. “We’ve had no advance reservations, but we get walk-ins all the time. Would you like a tour while you wait? Perhaps you’ll choose us for your special day?”

Lorayne, Coedric, and Barbara looked at each other, then shrugged. “Sure,” said Barbara.

“Right,” said the priest. “We marry anyone, any age, sex or creed, no questions asked. The ceremony lasts just fifteen minutes and it’s fully sanctioned, of course, by the snake god Lothar. We sacrifice a live chicken for you. If you want a goat it’s extra. Minions of Lothar are included in your package, and Threlgor, here, will drag your victim to the edge of the snake pit and threaten to throw him or her in.” One of the large, painted men smiled and waved. “Mithgar plays the drums. We can give you any atmosphere you want, from portentous to sinister. All weddings are strictly non-consensual. For a love match, you have to go next door to the Little Temple of Love.”

“Oh,” said Lorayne, “I thought this whole ziggurat was dedicated to Lothar.”

“It is,” said the priest. “Same god. Different manifestation. Next door, instead of the snake pit, you get champagne, and Threlgor plays the violin.” Conspiratorially, he leaned in and whispered, “The minions are harmless as long as you tip them.”

Threlgor smiled and waved again.

“Thank you, Father,” said Barbara. “This has been most edifying. We wish to hold vigil, now, until our friend arrives for his wedding, and offer our prayers to the snake god for his … felicitations.”

The priest beamed. “As you wish. Would you care for some drumming, or incense?”

“Oh, dear, don’t go to any trouble on our account,” Barbara answered, settling herself into a pew in a worshipful pose.

“Well, then, I’ll be next door. We’ve got a big ceremony over there today. Must prepare.” With that, the priest and his minions disappeared.

Hours passed, and the priest reappeared several times, shuffling candles around, throwing food into the snake pit, muttering to himself. When he disappeared again, Lorayne whispered to Barbara and Coedric. “Noon approaches, the most propitious time of day for a wedding under Lothar. Where is he?”

“Perhaps he wishes to marry tomorrow,” said Barbara.

“But the bridal suite at Sir Gallahad’s Folly … ?” Lorayne answered.

“I say we hunt him down. I’ve had enough of waiting,” said Coedric.

“Shhh!” Lorayne hissed. Strains of violin music filtered in from the wedding next door.

They all gasped in horror. “That music! It can’t be!”

“Pachelbel’s Coemphony?” said Coedric.

“That’s Canon in D, you uncoevilized clod!” Lorayne said, then slapped a hand over her mouth.

Barbara sucked in a breath. “I’ve just had a terrible thought,” she said. “What if Esmerelda is getting married next door.”

“No!” said Coedric.

“It can’t be,” said Lorayne. “That’s some other Lothar worshipper. A happy couple. All non-consensual marriages are conducted here.” But even as she said the words, she knew. Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. “I’ll kill her!” shouted Lorayne as she jumped up from the pew.

Rather than going out the way they came, and running around outside the building, Lorayne led the way back behind the snake god and through the narrow, stone-walled hallways to the adjacent Little Temple of Love, following the hypnotic strains of Canon.

Bursting out from behind another giant carving of the seven-headed snake god, albeit one gilt with gold and looking friendlier than the previous manifestation, they came upon Lord Guano and Lorayne’s sister Esmerelda holding hands in front of a flower strewn alter, with Threlgor playing yet another movement of Canon on the violin and accompanied by Mithgar on a pipe organ.

At Lorayne’s sudden appearance, Esmerelda squealed. Lord Guano whirled, his tacky silver robes swirling about him. “What is the meaning of this?” he said, on cue.

“What are you doing?” Lorayne demanded. “How can you marry this scumball?”

“What are you doing?” Esmerelda shot back. “You weren’t invited!”

“You love this man? He double-crossed us! I could have died trying to save you.”

Esmerelda crossed her arms and pouted. She wore a fluffy white confection of a dress with ruffles and bows all over it that pinched rather unflatteringly at the waist. “What do you think it’s like when your brother is prettier than you are? You were always the darling of the family. Guano is the only man who ever loved me best.”

“What?” said Guano. “She … is a he?”

Lorayne winked at Guano.

“Lord Guano is a … filthy bastard,” said Coedric. “Marry him and his bill collectors will be chasing you the rest of your life.”

“Coedric!” said Esmerelda. “You have a lot of nerve! You’re the worst of the lot, chasing … her”—Esmerelda pointed at Lorayne—”around like a lovestruck puppy.”

Lorayne expected an angry retort from Coedric, but when she looked at him, his face was flushed red.

Sensibly, Barbara Faw took up the argument, sparing Lorayne and Coedric the need to speak further. “My dear, you’re young. Why tie your future to this man when a whole life awaits you?”

Lord Guano shouted, “Seize them!”

“Stop!” cried the priest, who was waiting impatiently behind the altar. “There can be no blood shed in the Little Temple of Love. If you must fight, please go next door.”

The guards, Lorayne, and Coedric shrugged, and started to turn.

“Wait!” shouted Esmerelda, and the assemblage stood still. “This is my choice. I’m here to marry the man I love, and that’s Lord Guano. Loris, you can kill all of our guards and carry me off, back home to Mother, but the first chance I get I’m going to run away, and come back to my wuzzy bear.” She smiled at Lord Guano, who blushed and smiled back. “You can stay, and help us bless this marriage, or you can be gone, but you can’t keep us apart.”

Lorayne hesitated. Guano was a terrible match for Esmerelda, and the family would never accept him. She could just see them sitting around the dinner table. Could someone please pass the rolls, Dad would say, and Esmerelda would fume and Guano would smile and pass the rolls with a compliment to the cook, and Mom would say Did I hear someone say something? I thought I heard someone talking, but it sounded like an Evil Overlord, and I’d never have one of those at my table. Of course, Lorayne had to admit, things would improve once the grandchildren started coming. They always did. And Guano would probably hook them up with some nice quality fenced furnishings and draperies and such. She sighed, and said, “Esmerelda, if this is truly what you want, then you have my blessing.”

Minutes later, Lorayne stood at Esmerelda’s side, her appearance altered with some scarves borrowed from Barbara, one wrapped around her head, and the rest stuffed down the front of her jerkin. Her arms were full of flowers. Coedric stood up for Lord Guano, his coelacanth helm (fetched from the carriage) proud atop his brow, although the groom wasn’t entirely comfortable turning his back on the fierce clansman. Mistress Faw sat in the front row, weeping into a handkerchief. The priest of Lothar wrapped the couples’ hands with an oily black cord, pronounced them man and wife, and presented them to the congregation. Mithgar appeared with a chilled bottle of champagne. “You two are just the sweetest couple,” he said.

As Lord Guano and his new Lady disappeared down the aisle, Barbara Faw muttered, “I give them six months.”

Moments later, the priest returned, looking vaguely embarrassed. “There is the small matter of the bill, which I’m afraid Lord Guano forgot to pay in his haste …”

Lorayne took out her purse and counted the money into his hand. Mithgar and Threlgor stood nearby, smiling obsequiously. Lorayne dropped a coin into each of their outstretched, black-tattooed palms.

Lorayne sighed and turned to Coedric, who was starting at her intently. “What?” she said.

To her mortification, Coedric dropped to one knee. “Will you marry me, Lorayne?” he said, “Or do I have to drag you next door?”

Lorayne covered her mouth. She didn’t know what to say. Coedric half drew his sword, glowering at her.

“Coedric,” she said, “you’re my dearest friend, and I admit I’ve had moments where I thought we could be more, but, but …”

“But what?” said Coedric.

“I like women,” Lorayne admitted, bursting into tears. She buried her face in a scarf.

Coedric stood up, and took her in his arms, pulling her close. “Oh, Lorayne,” he said, “There’s something I’ve been afraid to tell you. My true name is not Coedric,” he said, taking a deep breath. “It’s Coeleste. I, too, am a transgendered barbarian swordswoman.”

Lorayne laughed through her tears and kissed Coedric as Threlgor began playing the wedding recessional behind them. “Fabulous,” she said, finally, breaking away. “Coemply fabulous!”