~ TASHA ~
Tash sat on the front steps, stewing despite the day. What did it matter how nice the weather was? She’d embarrassed herself. The Ladies wouldn’t talk to her. They wouldn’t even give her the time of day. “They think they’re better than me,” she said to Sesi. The umber-haired ladiesmaid was sat beside her, holding a miniature parasol to keep the sun at bay. “Their families have always been rich. And somehow that gives them the right to look down at me.”
“They don’t know you, Lady,” Sesi purred.
“And how do they ever expect to? I saw the way they looked at me. Like I was dirt, the same as every other pauper here. I heard how they were whispering about me as I walked away. They might as well have called me Goodwife—at least then I’d know where I stood.”
Sesi shook her head. “You shouldn’t think these things, Lady. It will only make you upset.”
Why shouldn’t she be upset? Sesi couldn’t possibly understand. She wasn’t rich. She was just a ladiesmaid. Tash was the wife of one of the Foundational Council. She was the lady of a reeve’s household. It was her child that was going to be the first born on this world. Frankly, she deserved better than to be looked down on by insipid whores whose parents had money, and who’d prostituted themselves before wealthy men so they could keep up their lifestyles of luxury. They were nothing compared to her.
And yet they’d dragged her down, those wantons, the one with the big nose and the one with the mole on her cheek and the rest of their vile harem. It hadn’t even taken words. They just looked silently at one another and chuckled as they turned away from her and walked off arm in arm. And now she was sat outside the front of her house with only a maid for company, and they’d probably forgotten she even existed. She’d let them win.
Next time, she would be the one who won.
The Peulion bitch was the worst of the lot. To think Tash had thought she might have found a friend. Somebody wouldn’t be getting any favours when Tash was on top.
“Lady, perhaps a drink would make you feel better. This heat, it’s not good for the mind. I could fetch Mam Argent.”
Tasha nodded absently. “Yes, yes, that’ll be good.” And she regretted it as soon as Sesi stood up. Without the parasol there, the sun was shining directly in her eyes. She thought it was quite rude of the sun. Couldn’t it see that she was trying to be upset?
And for that matter, what possessed Sesi to think she could just up and leave? Her job was to keep Tash company, to hold the parasol. Mam Argent was quite capable of coming out the front herself to see if Tash wanted anything. Or she could send one of her servants. But no, Sesi had taken it upon herself to fetch the cook. And left Tash alone in the process. She hadn’t even thought to yell for Emmy or Eva. One of them was usually in earshot, and more than eager enough to come running to help.
Still, she thought, she wasn’t entirely alone. The captain of the household guard, Lieutenant Sharp, was stood on guard at the gate. She could see nothing but the back of his head, but she guessed he was as bored as she was. He’d been stood there for a few hours now.
There were a few loose pebbles on the ground around the house. She pulled one from the dirt’s weak grip, turned it in her hand a few times, then threw it across the yard. It came to a grinding halt a few metres short of the fence. She grabbed another. As she held it, she could see the faces of those ladies in her mind’s eye. How sweet it would be to knock that mole right off its perch. She launched the stone, imagining that it might somehow find the big nose. And break it.
It hit the fence post with a loud crash, and the spell in her mind was broken. Ahead of her, Sharp turned around in response to the sound of the stone. He stepped to one side. “Sorry, my Lady,” he said, smiling. “I believe I’m in your way.”
She felt she should probably apologise for hurling stones his way. But it would be an embarrassment to her, to admit fault. She smiled back at him and tried to nod in a dignified manner. No doubt her actual gesture was far from dignified.
Why was she so shit at being proper?
The day had begun with high spirits. Mam Argent had prepared an excellent breakfast, four sorts of egg toasted brown and served with a helping of salt sausage, which she’d eaten outside in the sunlight while reading a story to her son. He didn’t have ears yet, but she did, and he was still a part of her, so she figured he’d heard it by the transitive property.
Later on, with the taste of that breakfast still filling her mouth, she’d wandered to the grove where Felicity Peulion said she should go, across the Clearwater and south past the Eia. No sooner had she crossed the river than the wafting aroma of stewed apples caught her, and led her to the place. One of the ladies had brought her cook, and as a result a great barrel of these apples sat ready to be eaten from. The smell was inescapable.
The wealthy ladies were all there, just as Peulion had said they would be, taking shade amongst the trees and talking about nothing in particular. Each had an elaborate brocade caul on her head. This should perhaps have been Tasha’s first warning. Peulion hadn’t mentioned a caul. Tash had turned up with her hair fancily done and uncovered. A few of them had stared at her when she’d arrived, but they all seemed happy to tolerate her.
And then she’d had to speak.
It was Cassandra Fiouhart who’d asked the question. Fiouhart was a siren in a dark samite gown, with the cheekbones of a goddess and a sultry voice. Hers was a caul with a bush of ripe plums sewn into it, concealing hair like black velvet, so thick it threatened to spill out of its confines. “I must know, Mistress Wrack,” she’d said—and hearing that from one of the faces of high society made her whole body tingle—”what is it that your father did for money?”
Honesty, that was what Peulion had counselled. “He struggled,” she said, to lighten the tone. Fiouhart remained stony-faced. “He used to hew coal, down in Galford pit, two days weekly. The rest of the time he was a clerk for the Unity.”
Fiouhart raised her painted eyebrows. “Coal? I had no idea that was still a point of concern.”
“Is that not awfully dirty work?” The first time Peulion had piped up was a warning, in hindsight.
Tash had shrugged. “He’d come home covered in soot, but it was nothing a good bath couldn’t solve.”
The way Peulion had gone on about Cassandra Fiouhart, Tash had been expecting her to be singularly unimpressed. She was the alpha amongst the alphas, after all—the ultimate arbiter of who was in and who was out. Yet Fiouhart had seemed invested in the story, nodding gently, and... was that a smile creasing the corners of her mouth?
“Where did your money come from, then?” There was Peulion with her second unwelcome interruption. “Are you saying you married your husband for his money?”
She’d tried to explain that no, that wasn’t true at all. Oliver wasn’t rich, or in any case he hadn’t been when she fell in love with him. And even if he was, her family had history, pedigree. The annals of history were flecked with the Caerlin name. But she couldn’t find the words to say this without talking Oliver down. Nor could she honestly say she’d been born rich. The family fortune had been gone for centuries before she came along. In the end, she’d nodded a mute agreement. Perhaps she’d hoped they’d drop the subject then, and move on to something else. She’d have been a fool if she had.
It hadn’t taken long after that for Peulion to turn them all. If any had been happy to welcome Tash before, they’d changed their minds. The picture Peulion had painted of her was one of the greedy, unreasonable pauper sticking her grubby paws where they didn’t belong.
And Fiouhart had confirmed that was the case. “This is a haven for the noble ladies of society, Mistress Wrack. It would be best if you left us.” Fiouhart, at least, had sounded vaguely sympathetic.
Tash hadn’t even had the guts to stand her ground.
They’d all whispered as she walked away, snide comments that rang just a little too true. Pereneth Aster and her daughter took up the mutters as though they were in a position to judge, with that sea-green hair of theirs that they insisted was a natural pigment. Taya Morningay laughed out loud, then shoved a hand to her face. The further she walked, the less they bothered with whispering. Before she’d left the grove they were talking openly about her. What a giggle they were having. What a fucking giggle.
It wasn’t even like they were all so perfectly pure themselves. None of them held it against Pereneth Aster that her eldest daughter had sold her body on the streets of Dichian like a common whore. Eleonore Roberwood’s son was a bastard born out of wedlock—and indeed, the boy’s father was known to nobody. It didn’t prevent Roberwood being welcomed amongst the ladies. Even Peulion herself, married to a second cousin who just happened to be the High Commissioner’s son, was sallied by her past. Yet it was Tasha who’d been given shit, for no other reason than that Peulion had decided she didn’t belong with them.
“Tasha. You’re upset.” That could only be Oliver’s voice. She hadn’t noticed him coming. He wasn’t due back until the late evening. He had work to do. But he was here. There was no mistaking him.
“It’s nothing.”
He sat down on the step beside her. “It’s never nothing. Tell me what’s wrong.”
For one second, she was going to spin a story. But then she realised that this was Oliver she was talking to. He’d listen. He’d care. She collapsed into his shoulder and told him the tale of the day. He smelled like her father often did, of sweat and mud and the musk of scented shaving balm. She used to cry into her father’s shoulder as a little girl, cry her little heart out. Father never cared. He sent her to her mother, or scolded her for being a pathetic child. And that was unfair, because she was a child.
Oliver cared, though. She could tell he did. He sat still while she relayed her story, with a consoling hand on her back. And when she was done, he looked into her eyes and kissed her long and hard. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re more a Lady than all of them put together,” he said. “Now, how can we make you happy again?”
“You could have Peulion killed. Or arrested, I don’t mind.”
“There’s no need to be silly, Tash,” said Oliver. “The High Commissioner would want to know exactly why his daughter-by-marriage was behind bars. I’ve never taken him for the type to be satisfied with ‘she was a little rude to my wife’.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“She was more than a little rude,” Tash fumed. “She set me up for failure.”
“Not a crime, I’m afraid, sweetling,” said Oliver. “Now, why don’t you go with Sesala and change into some more sensible clothes? I know just the thing to cheer you up.”
She’d dressed up in her finest to meet with the Ladies, in an elaborate layered gown with a tulle skirt and a flared bodice. It was one of her favourite pieces, so why should she have to take it off?
Oliver didn’t press the matter. A quick hour later, Tasha found herself crossing the bridge over the Clearwater for the second time that day. The smell of apples was a lot fainter now, but distinct nonetheless. She pulled a face and held her breath. But Oliver wasn’t leading her towards the grove. Instead, they carried on west, right to the edge of the valley. The trees grew thick here, and in their midst moss-coated rocks upon which little chestnut animals scampered. There was barely even a path here, and Oliver made a point of stepping away from what little of a trail did exist. Into the undergrowth he led her, until she could see nothing but the bush.
“You have a funny way of trying to cheer me up.” Tash rolled up the hem of her skirt to pull a thorn from her leg. That was the third.
“I told you to change,” said Oliver. “You wouldn’t hear of it.”
“I’m a Lady. I shouldn’t have to change.”
“You should to go hunting,” said Oliver.
They were a party of five. Lieutenant Sharp was leading the way, navigating the winding undergrowth like he’d grown up in it. Another one of the guards Oliver hired, Millington, brought up the rear. Millington was young, barely an adult to look at him, with a boyish face that reminded Tash of Oliver in his younger days. And then there was Sesi, pliantly carrying all of Tasha’s essentials in a little canvas bag. Sesi had changed into a long jacket, purple with a cream frontage.
To be honest, she wasn’t especially thrilled with the idea of hunting. It was a dirty thing, the preserve of grubby men with rhotic accents. Her grandfather, on her mother’s side, had dabbled in it, but that was when he couldn’t afford to feed his family. Survival and sport were different things.
But Oliver insisted. He was good at insisting. It was perhaps that his tone was agreeable. Things that she didn’t understand at all seemed suddenly to make sense when they were laid out in his voice. It was really quite uncanny. And anyway, Sesi had agreed with him. “It’ll do you good, Lady,” she’d said. “It’ll distract you.”
Distract her from what? No animal was going to die at her hand. Not unless it came at her first.
“Where exactly are we going? My feet are hurting.”
Oliver shook his head. “That’s on you for wearing heeled shoes. I told you not to.”
“I have to wear heels,” she said. “If I don’t, I’m a dwarf.”
“The beasts we’re hunting today are far smaller than you, my Lady,” said Lieutenant Sharp, falling in with them. “Heels or no, they will see a giant.”
“The poor things must be terrified.” She tried not to imagine their perspective. Run away, she thought, willing her latent animal-telepathy powers to emerge—now, please. Hide, and stay hidden until this is all over. She wondered if, somewhere in space, there were behemoths who saw humankind as game. Would such creatures have any qualms about killing men for their own amusement? She felt a bit queasy. “I think I want to turn back.”
“Tasha, sweetling, you must at least let me try to cheer you up,” said Oliver.
“Going back would cheer me up. I don’t want to kill anything.”
“I’ve compromised for you,” said Oliver. He was almost pleading with her. “So often you’ve wanted to do something, and even though I hated it I did it with you. Because I love you. And it made you happy. Please, just do this one thing for me. And if it doesn’t make you happy, I’ll admit that I have terrible taste in recreation. I’ll never force anything on you again.”
She sighed. “Fine. But you’re going to be the one shooting.” It wouldn’t be on her conscience if she was only a bystander, would it?
Sesi smiled at her. “Magnanimous as always, Lady. You could be a diplomat.”
“That sounds like hard work, Sesi.”
They walked on for some time, climbing slowly until they were no longer in the valley, and continuing interminably on. There was no end to the trees, nor to the bushes and ferns that carpeted the ground. The chirping of birds got louder as they went further. Some of these noises sounded unlike anything she’d heard before.
At last, when it felt like her feet were going to give way at any second, they came upon a clearing. It wasn’t large—maybe a dozen square feet, lit by a splinter of bright sun pouring through the tiniest gap in the canopy. A gentle brook gurgled along the edge of the clearing. Moss grew fat on the water’s rocky lip. Lieutenant Sharp raised a hand high in the air. The signal to stop.
“A good spot, Lieutenant,” said Oliver, while Sesi busied herself unpacking Tasha’s bag. Millington stepped in to help her put up the chair, but before Tash could sit in it Oliver pulled it away.
“This isn’t a picnic,” he said. “You’ll need to be on your toes if you’re going to kill anything.”
She kissed him on the ear, the way he liked it. “Oliver, you’re the one doing the shooting. Remember?”
“That doesn’t seem like an arrangement I’d make,” he said. “What would be the point in me bringing you along to sit and watch?”
“What would be the point in making me shoot something?”
“It’s a life skill.” He held her hands tight. “It’s the sort of thing you need to know. What will you do if you have to fend for yourself?”
“You’ll be there to fend for me.”
“Not all the time. I can’t promise to protect you no matter what. But what I can do is teach you enough that you don’t need me to protect you.”
“I like needing you.”
He handed her the gun, a polished weapon with a long stock. She took it, reluctantly. It was heavier than she was expecting it to be—but not too heavy to carry. In fact, once she’d adjusted it to a better grip, it was quite a good weight. Comfortable. “It’s all loaded up,” Oliver whispered. “You just need to turn off the safety catch.”
“Makes sense.” He put his hand on hers, and guided it to the right place. They froze touching the catch. In that instant, she was lost in his eyes, and all that mattered in the world was the two of them. And the rifle. A clicking of metal told her that the catch was off.
“Keep it pointed away from people,” said Lieutenant Sharp. “Even if it doesn’t kill, a bullet can maim. I knew a young lad when I was starting out—smart boy, he knew all the history. He was going to change the world. Become Unity High Commissioner and all of that. One day he thought it would be fun to play around with a gun from the armoury.”
“Did he die?”
“No. He didn’t die. But tell me, have you ever heard of a High Commissioner with no arms?”
She shook her head.
“He lives on the kindness of his brother. He can’t support himself, can’t earn a wage. Because he got in the way of a gun. Only point that thing at what you mean to kill.”
Millington yelled out. “There’s one. By the water.”
A little brown marsupial was there, at the very shoreline. Timorous and tentative, it dipped a minute toe into the water, then jerked it out again. It must have been cold. Tash knew the feeling of paddling in unexpectedly chilly waters well. That could have been her, had she been born a... “What is it?” she asked.
“They don’t have a proper name,” said Oliver. “Folks have taken to calling them mettysnatchers.”
“At this stage, the name’s just about caught on,” said Lieutenant Sharp.
Tasha watched the mettysnatcher. It had a huge nut between its paws, enough to last it all winter. It would probably feed a whole family of them, in truth. She could see it clearly as she swung the rifle round to point at it. Its little eyes were black beads, and the whiskers on its lilliput face were twitching up and down. It kept dipping the nut into the brook, moistening it, then lifting it out and shaking it dry.
How could she shoot something like that?
She wouldn’t do it. The mettysnatcher probably had a little mettysnatcher wife hiding away in a nest somewhere, in the branches of a tree or burrowed under dead leaves and topsoil, and loads of mettysnatcher children. What would they do for food if she killed their breadwinner?
“Go on, Tash. One shot.” Oliver stood close behind her. She could feel his breath.
Hurry, little creature. Run away. It looked at her, eyes quizzical behind its nut. There was no understanding there. Not of her, not of the situation. It was just an innocent.
Oliver still egged her on. “You can do it, Tash.”
“Quickly now,” Sharp cautioned. “Or it’ll run off.”
Let it. She swung the rifle away from the little critter, and fired a shot straight into a tree trunk across on the far side of the clearing. The wood splintered, and the animal scarpered.
Sharp beat his fist on his thigh. “Darkness take it!”
“Not to matter,” said Oliver. “Plenty more about.” He handed her a bullet. “Have another go.” Once again, his hand guided hers, as together they unhinged the breechblock and the butt. She placed the bullet into the chamber, and clicked shut the weapon. “Let’s aim for something a little larger this time,” he said.
That meant waiting for something a little larger to show up. At Oliver’s instruction, Tash reengaged the safety catch, though Sharp still insisted that she keep the gun pointed away from them all. Sesi, the lifesaver that she was, had found room in the bag for a box full of cakes and biscuits, all fresh that morning from the ovens of Mam Argent. Tash had twice her share. But then, she was eating for two. She was allowed to have an extra helping.
The weather held for the most part. Once or twice it threatened to rain. It was never heavy, and the roof of the woods did its job to keep what fell on them to a minimum. Only the odd drop or two made it as far as Tasha. If she was anything like the others, her hair was probably glistening now from all the tiny droplets that had come to rest there. She ran a hand through her hair, and it came out moist.
In time, the cakes ran out, and Sesi began diligently packing everything away. There was still no sign of anything else. The shot had done its job, scaring away the wildlife. Tash looked to Oliver, hoping he’d be ready to call it for the day and head back home. She might be upset, but she’d be dry, and there’d be something for her to read. But Oliver seemed in no hurry to leave. He was stood with Lieutenant Sharp, the two of them having a fine old conversation about something not for Tasha’s ears. Millington was a little way ahead, keeping a studious eye on the pool.
Tash inched close to Sesi. “There’s no more food, I’m sorry, Lady. I didn’t pack enough.”
“I don’t want food,” said Tash. “I think I’ve eaten my fill for the week.”
Sesi looked at her. “Then what?”
“Let’s talk. I want to know about you. Your past.”
Sesi shook her head. “No, you don’t.”
Tash was insistent. “Your life can’t have been more boring than this,” she said.
“Another time,” said Sesi. “Not now.”
“Fine.” Tasha sighed and settled in for an indefinite wait. Indefinitely long, but definitely boring. She took to beating out a tune on a nearby tree trunk with her fingers. Even this lost its appeal before anything happened. Oliver was still happily engaged in his conversation with Lieutenant Sharp. Tasha didn’t interrupt him to beg to go back. She didn’t want to feel like a spoiled child.
Eventually, Millington spotted something moving. “It’s two feet tall at least,” he said. “Looks a bit like cattle. Only smaller, obviously.” But whether it would come close enough to the clearing to be shot at was another question. Tash prayed that it didn’t.
It did, of course. It wandered right through. The stupid beast even looked at them, and it didn’t run away. Did it not know how dangerous people were?
Oliver reminded her to turn off the safety, which she did, and then she took her aim. This wasn’t cute like the marsupial. This one was an ugly fucker. It had horrible yellowed horns and the face of a brute. And it wasn’t doing anything adorable either. It was like it didn’t want to save itself.
Run. Run, now.
It stayed put. Five more seconds, she thought. Five seconds, and then I’ll shoot.
Oliver crouched down beside her. Five.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he whispered. “Take your time.” Four.
The cow turned its head towards the cover of the trees. All it had to do was return to the undergrowth and it would be safe. Three.
She couldn’t dawdle much more. Oliver would be upset. Two.
Her finger squeezed on the trigger, oh so gently. It fought back. One. She pressed it.
The bang was the only thing. She heard nothing else, saw nothing, felt nothing. Her senses were overwhelmed. Her heart wasn’t even beating.
And then the creature fell. She knew from the moment she saw it land that it was dead. Its torso was stained red, and its eyes didn’t see. It was dead. She killed it. She hadn’t even needed to touch it. She’d been on the opposite side of the stream, hidden from it, and with the simplest push of a trigger she’d ended its life. Just like that.
That sort of power should have been reserved for the Gods.
And it was hers.