~ TASHA ~

At some point in the night, the day’s summer heat broke into a storm. The ground was damp when Tash woke up, and clouds of dull grey spat light rain. This continued throughout the early morning, bringing with it a growing cold, and at Sesi’s instance she put on her new overcoat. It was a darling thing, lavender knit with embroidered wildflowers. A gift from Oliver. He’d had Madame Dravis make it especially, to cheer Tasha up.

“It won’t keep the rain off,” Sesi said, “but it’ll keep you warm and get you looking regal.” And once she had her caul on, her hair would be dry anyway.

She couldn’t have survived without Sesi. Her storybooks had made the life of a Lady seem easy. But there were a thousand and one obscure rules and social graces to remember, and many of them had lost any basis in logic that they might once have had. Guessing wasn’t an option.

By midday the rain had given way to dry sun, and she took off the overcoat gratefully. Sesi insisted that she take it with her all the same; if the rain came again, it would be no excuse that it was sunny when she left home. A true queen was supposed to be descended from the Gods, after all, and a child of the Emerald Blood would never be surprised by changing weather. So she gave the coat to Eva, who trotted behind her still struggling to fold it neatly away.

They’d spent two hours on her hair this morning, and a further hour on her face. She was determined to impress. Barbara Flower was her oldest friend, her oldest and dearest. The two had been girls together at home and at school, and they’d roomed together at Raconesta for a term. Tash had dropped out when she fell in love with Oliver, and she and Bab had barely seen each other since. But as luck would have it they were both on Essegena.

There’d been no more sign of Tasha’s would-be assassin, but Oliver was taking no chances. There was a guard stationed outside her bedchambers day and night, and if ever she left the premises she had to have two with her. Today’s escort was Dallyatt and Kirkham. They kept quiet and held back out of the way.

The businesses of the plaza weren’t suffering from the morning’s rain. They were thriving. The grass was neatly trimmed, and the jettied buildings resplendent. Last time Tash had been here, many months ago now, most of them were only foundations. Now it was a motley selection. Madame Dravis’ emporium was recognisable from its lavishly painted signage. Dom Beswick’s hunting shop on the shipside corner sold both the equipment for hunts and the product of them. Game birds hung upside down on one side of the door, dripping blood into a wooden trough.

Next door was the Tavern, the plaza’s only eatery. The place had no other name. Above the door, a crude sketch of a griffin hung—a great identifier if only it were possible for a layperson to realise it was supposed to be a griffin. It looked more like a melted chair. And there was Barbara, leaning against the Tavern’s wall.

“Tasha!” Barbara waved at her excitedly. She hadn’t changed a bit. Her hair was just the way she’d worn it since she was thirteen years old; it was long, but folded back on itself and clipped on the top of her head so it was impossible to tell exactly how long. Two thin prongs hung down over each ear, separated from the rest by little blue bands. The style had suited the child Barbara used to be, and even the young professional learning her trade in medical school. But now, she was in her thirties, her skin slightly waxy and her eyelids faintly wrinkled. On the woman stood in the shade of the Tavern, that hair was infantile.

She complimented it all the same. That was the right thing to do. “There’s no mistaking little Bab,” she said.

“Nor Natasha Caerlin.”

Tash chose not to acknowledge Bab’s use of her full name. She knew Tash hated it, but then she’d taken Tema’s side in the hospital, when Tema had decided to be a bitch and not let Tash have a scan. Bab had almost certainly called her ‘Natasha’ on purpose. Tash wouldn’t rise to it. She’d be the better woman. “It’s Wrack, now.”

“Of course. I can’t believe I forgot you were married.” Barbara pinched Tash’s cheek gently. “You used to tell me that would never be you. Used to insist on it.”

Tash’s smile was a thin one. “Times change. Perhaps if you’d accepted my invitation, you’d have remembered.”

“I wish I’d been there,” Bab said, her tone pure ice. “You could have done with someone to smack some sense into you. Although I suppose it’s bad luck to strike a bride on her wedding day. Even if she is being a bitch.”

“You slapped me once, do you remember? When I told Mac Siner he could find better girls than you in a whorehouse. Didn’t hurt then. Wouldn’t hurt now, either.”

“You betting on that?”

Sesi appeared between them in a flash of russet and green. “Lady, perhaps we should go into the Tavern. Whilst there’s still a table free.”

The guards were decent enough to wait outside. Kirkham promised Tash they’d be there when she was done, though she didn’t really care if they were or not.

Inside, they were greeted by a canary-haired waitress. She led them to the very back of the Tavern, to a booth tucked out of the way, and bustled off after setting down a menu. A great hearth nearby would have kept them toasty, but it hadn’t been lit. Tash took the innermost seat, and Bab sat herself catercorner, the maids squeezing in wherever they could fit.

“How has it taken us so long to meet?” Tash said.

“We did meet that one time. In the hospital.”

“Oh yes. When you pretended not to have any room for me? I remember it well.”

Barbara shook her head. “It wasn’t like that, Tasha. I’ve got to stand by Tema. She’s my friend, just as much as you are.”

“So be the diplomat,” said Tash, her voice rising.

Sesi squeezed her arm. “Lady,” she cautioned. She had a point. Tash was getting cross. She could feel her temper flaring, and that never ended well.

“It’s been months since then,” she said. “We should have got together at least seven or eight times by now.”

“They keep us busy, in the hospital,” said Bab. “Long shifts doing nothing, and then I’m too tired afterwards to do anything other than sleep. But as luck would have it, I was off shift when your sister quarantined the place, so I can’t get to work. There’s always got to be one of us at Peseltane in case somebody needs help, but I think we’ve had maybe six patients since the hospital locked down. The rest of the time’s been my own. Godsouls, I haven’t had time off like this since I got my license.”

Tash laughed. “There’s nothing better than time off.”

“Enjoy it while you can.” Bab gestured at her belly. “Once that thing pops you won’t have a day for years. My cousin Greta reckons she learned to function on two hours’ sleep, and that if she was lucky.”

“I’m under no illusions,” Tash said.

“You have us to assist you,” Sesi purred. “It won’t be any burden, truly.”

“Well, there we go. The perks of high society, Bab. You should have tried it while you could.”

“That’s not the life I wanted,” said Bab. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying the chance to rest a bit, but I think I’d go crazy if this was my every day. As it is, it feels a bit like a reward for service.”

Eva’s eyes bulged. “Don’t you get paid a wage?”

“That too,” Bab laughed.

The waitress came close by their table, leading a group of women to adjacent seats. Each of the women had the same mustard-yellow powder on their cheeks, and each wore skimpy overcoats and scowls. Tash recognised them all—Fiouhart and Peulion, Morningay and Aster, all the usual crowd. No amount of yellow powder could hide Fiouhart’s mole. Tash willed the waitress to walk on, and sit the ladies far away, where Tash couldn’t see them and they couldn’t see her. But the waitress indicated a table directly across from hers. She looked away as Fiouhart sat across from her with a smirk.

“Would you like any drinks?” asked the waitress. Her voice was soft and gentle, the sort of voice made for reading bedtime stories to small children. Tash made a note to speak to Oliver. He might be able to pull some strings and get the waitress brought into their service in time for little Jem’s arrival. They ordered, though the options were limited—spring water or a selection of ales and ciders, and she dared not risk harming her baby with alcohol. At least water came cheap. Barbara and the maids would be glad of that.

When the waitress turned away, Tash locked eyes with moley Fiouhart. The bitch nudged the lady next to her, and the two shared a laugh. Tash blinked away a tear that had the gall to form in her eye, and turned to Barbara. “When was the last time we ate a meal together?”

“Too long ago,” Barbara said. “It feels like another lifetime.”

“I used to think we’d always have each other. I thought our lives would run parallel. What would have happened if I’d never left the academy? Would we still have drifted apart?”

“It happens to us all in the end. I don’t think I’m in touch with anybody from the academy anymore, save for the ones who are working with me here. Do you remember Hannah Thorne?”

Tash snorted. “Hannah Thorne? How could I forget Hannah Thorne? She had such a high opinion of herself—once, she actually told me she was going to be High Commissioner by the time she turned thirty.”

“She’s not too bad, once you get to know her. Lazy, though. Somehow it’s always her turn to man the reception desk. I’m sure she’s got her eye on one of the orderlies, but I can’t work out which one.”

“Whoever it is, I hope he’s ready for a swift rise up the ranks.” Tash held her hand out, thumb and forefinger barely an inch apart. “She’s this close to becoming a big shot.”

“Just needs a fair crack at the whip,” Barbara laughed. “Anyway, why are we wasting time talking about Hannah Thorne? We’ve got a big shot here. I understand you’re a queen now. Should I kneel before you?”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“It’s not a proper title,” said Tash, acting bashful. “My Jem’s to be the king, when he’s a bit older. I’ve just got to keep his seat warm for him.”

“Good Mother, I never thought I’d live to see a queen. And especially not my friend Tash,” Barbara cooed. “You’ll give me great bounties, won’t you?”

“Lady Tasha won’t have any powers,” said Eva, butting in.

Sesi pulled Eva back, and Tash chastised her. “Thank-you, Eva, but I don’t need your help to talk to my friends.” She raised a hand to scratch her nose, and lowered it when she noticed one of the society ladies coming over to their table. If Felicity Peulion wasn’t born with money, she’d have lived a lonely life. Mountaineers had lost their lives tackling less formidable ridges than Peulion’s nose.

“Mistress Wrack,” Peulion said. “Did you enjoy your swim? It did look refreshing. Please, you must introduce me to these friends of yours.” She looked at Sesi in her dress of forest-green, and Eva in hers of black. “Oh, are these your maids? Apologies. I’ve never seen a queen sitting with her staff before. They have at least stopped sniffling now.”

Eva reddened, and Sesi scowled at Peulion.

Bab pivoted in her chair, and stood to kiss Peulion on the cheek in formal greeting. Lady Nose sidestepped the kiss, and Bab sat down again red-faced.

“You are ever the charitable one, Mistress Wrack.” Peulion’s barbed tongue was dripping with mockery. “For someone so clearly important to dine in the company of not only maids but the lesser people too.”

“Who are you calling ‘lesser people’?” Bab spat. Peulion regarded her with disinterest for a second, then batted her away with the back of a hand.

“Class can’t be painted on, Mistress Wrack. You paint your cheeks yellow instead of pink, and you wear fine clothes, but you don’t fool a single person. And the Governor calls you queen? He must be blind. You’re as far as it gets from being a queen. You wear the mask of society, and it’s repulsive on you. Come and find me when you realise how ridiculous you look.” Behind her, the rest of her ladies were in raptures. Peulion returned to her seat, and Tash fumed.

The waitress returned with their drinks then, and Tash drank half of her water stewing in silence.

“They’re not worth your time,” said Bab. “Who cares what people like that think?”

“‘People like that’? Bab, those ladies have power. Half of them are married to the people who make the decisions here.”

“You’re the Queen of the Valley, Tash.”

“Which means exactly nothing,” said Tash. “It’s just a target for them to lock on to.”

Bab drank deeply from her cup. She’d opted for an ale, and had a glass full of sticky brown liquid. She swallowed, and then followed that up with a belch that prompted tutting from Fiouhart and Peulion and the other ladies. “They don’t seem like nice people, Tash. Why should it matter what power they have?”

It was a valid question. Why should it matter? But that wasn’t Tasha’s debate to have. The fact was that they had power, and it did matter. The Governor’s whole plan was predicated on optics. Tasha was the figurehead because she looked the part. She was beautiful and elegant, with a noble name and a fertile body. She was to be Essegena’s first mother, just as if she was the rebirth of the Mother. If people started to get the idea that she was somehow unworthy of her status, somehow inferior, that whole house would collapse in on itself. The Governor would cut ties before it brought his plan to its knees. She’d be out in the cold, and Oliver would be too.

Which was why she had to prove that she was better than the ladies of society. Better than Peulion and Fiouhart. Because she was, and if they opened their eyes maybe they’d see.

Sesi spoke quietly at Tash’s shoulder. “They think you unworthy. That can’t stand, Lady. You have to show them that you belong.”

“What else can I do, Sesi? I’m dressed the part.”

“They’re small-minded, Lady. Act like them, and they’ll forget you’re not.”

“I say you find better company than that, Tash,” said Bab. “And the darkness can consume them if they bother you.”

Tash gripped her half-cup of water tightly. “Peulion’s right, though. How can I be like them if I associate with lesser people?” She wasn’t sure why she did it, but she found herself standing, holding the cup over Bab’s head. And she poured. Bab and her precious hair were soaked.

“Tasha!” Bab had a shrill cry. It was almost amusing.

When the cup was empty, Tash cast it aside. It bounced along the table, and Eva caught it before it rolled onto the floor.

Perhaps if she’d stopped then, the situation could have been salvaged, but she was functioning on autopilot. While Bab was spluttering and dripping, Tash picked up the cup of ale, and upturned it over her friend. Bab sat drenched, rivulets of amber trickling down her face and onto her clothes. She was biting back tears. Her voice quavered. “Why would you do that?”

If I apologise now, we can move past this. “Lady Peulion’s right. I’m the queen. I should find company befitting my status. You’re unworthy. Dirty. It’s what you deserve.” She seemed to have no control over the words that left her mouth. Bab was keeping her eyes fixed on her feet. Eva’s eyes were wide. But at least the society ladies knew she was like them.

She looked over at Fiouhart and Peulion and the rest, hoping at least one of them had seen what she did. It was clear from their faces that they had. Fiouhart rolled her eyes, and all of them were shaking their heads. One of them spat in Tash’s direction.

Bab’s chair scraped loudly on the floor as she got to her feet, ale still running in beads of sienna off her hair. Tash reached to grab her arm, but Bab shook her off.

“Bab—”

“You’ve changed, Tash. I thought I’d just caught you on a bad day, at the hospital, but clearly I was a fool.” There was a clear quaver to Bab’s voice. “I hope you like who you are. I really do.” She left the Tavern to the sound of silence, and the creak of the door as it swung shut behind her was agony. Sesi and Eva followed after Bab, to ‘make things right’, and Tash was alone.

Her appetite was gone.

Kirkham came to find her, eventually, and as good as carried her home. She crawled to her comfy chair in the solar and sat in a silent funk for an hour or six or however long it was before Oliver returned from his day’s business. He was sure to be furious with her. He’d express it as disappointment, and try to pretend that she hadn’t really done anything wrong, but she’d feel guilty all the same. She hated feeling guilty.

The maids picked up on her foul mood, borne partly out of anger at her own idiocy and partly hatred of Barbara for putting her in a position wherein she was forced to make an embarrassment of herself. They stayed clear. Not even Sesi dared poke her head through the door. So Tash was alone with her thoughts, and the more she was alone the worse she felt. By the time Oliver arrived, she was feeling fool enough. She really didn’t need him being disappointed with her.

He wasn’t. He was angry, in a way she’d seldom seen before. “What were you thinking, Tasha? Have you lost your mind entirely?” If he shouted any louder, the beams supporting the ceiling were like to collapse. She cowered away, unwilling to face him. “Well? Do you have an answer for yourself?”

She looked doggedly away. “No.” Her voice was barely a squeak.

“Pardon?”

“I’ve got no explanation,” she said, speaking properly this time. “I was an idiot.”

“Yes you were,” said Oliver. “An idiot. An idiot who just made a spectacle out of herself in the most public way possible. Have you no eye for the optics? The Council could well decide that they don’t want you being their queen after all, and I wouldn’t be inclined to disagree with them.”

“Oliver, you don’t mean that.” He knew this was her dream. He’d always sworn to support her in her dreams, as best he could, no matter what may happen.

But he nodded. “Yes, I do. Barbara Flower is your friend. Was your friend—I very much doubt she’ll want anything to do with you in future. More than that, she’s a nurse. Do you not know everything that’s going on? The hospital are heroes in the eyes of the people. What could she have possibly said that would provoke you to humiliate her like that? Eva tells me you called her ‘dirty’. I’ve met Barbara. She’s not dirty. What she is is upset. Sesala had to sit with her for well over an hour just to get her to calm down.”

“I didn’t think she’d be so weepy,” said Tasha.

“I wouldn’t call it weepy,” said Oliver. “If she’d done to you even half of what you did to her, you’d be moaning about it for the rest of the month. The difference is that you’re not afraid to let your anger show. Barbara cries to let off steam instead, and there’s nothing wrong with that. If anything, it’s healthier.”

Tasha pulled away from him. “I don’t know why you’re acting like I’m some sort of irrational block of rage that’s permanently about to go off.”

“Well, aren’t you?” Oliver moved across to be closer to her. “Something made you feel justified in drenching Barbara, insulting her, degrading her.”

“The Ladies were there. Fiouhart and Peulion. They were laughing at me, because I was with Sesi and Eva.”

Oliver covered his face with a hand. “Good Mother, you’re unbelievable. Would you just listen to yourself? You were being mocked, so that made it okay for you to do the same and more to somebody else? You bring me to despair sometimes, Tasha. Really you do.”

Her face was running with tears. She wanted to hate Oliver for yelling at her, but she could only muster up hatred for herself. What a prime idiot she was. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I wish I could take it back.”

Oliver didn’t respond straight away. He stood there before her, his breathing heavy, hands on his hips, watching her. “You’re going to be a queen, Tasha. You need to be better.” He wasn’t shouting anymore. This was a voice of disappointment—no, despair. He was despairing of her.

“I will be better,” she nodded. “I’ll stop getting angry.”

“I hope so.” He sounded like her father, when he talked to her like this. The realisation made her go cold. With a sigh, Oliver sat down beside her on her sofa. He put an arm around her and pulled her in tight, and she pressed her head into his chest. “I don’t like being cross with you, Tash. I shouldn’t be shouting—how can I tell you your behaviour was wrong when I’m being just as childish?”

“No, you’re right to shout. I’m clearly not learning.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Come on, why don’t we get you something nice and hot to drink?”

Tash murmured her assent.

Oliver called out for Eva, who appeared at once, pushing the door open tentatively. “Master Wrack?”

“My wife would like a mug of chocolate, if that’s not too much trouble.”

Eva shook her head. “Not at all. I’ll speak to Nickie.”

“I did have some business with you, too,” said Oliver. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to get cross again. Not unless there’s something you haven’t told me.”

Tash shook her head. “The Tavern was bad enough. I couldn’t have done anything else wrong even I’d wanted to.”

“I’m glad of that,” said Oliver. “Tash, tomorrow there’s to be a grand ceremony at the church on the hill.”

She looked at him. “What church?” She couldn’t ever remember seeing a church on Essegena.

“The church on the hill,” said Oliver. “Up on the north-west side.”

“I don’t know it,” said Tash.

“Well, you’ll see tomorrow. When the time comes, you’ll make a vow there to devote yourself to the interests of Essegena’s people. It’s a necessary step if you’re to become a queen. Tomorrow the church is to be consecrated. They call it the Cleansing ceremony—not sure why, never looked it up. Presumably the Lightness will read a few passages and say some words, and that’ll be that. You’re to be there. It’s a bad look if you don’t go, and we can both agree that you don’t need any more bad looks at the moment.”

“Churches are boring,” she moaned, lifting her head. “Must I be there?”

Oliver nodded. “You must. It’s part of being a queen. You don’t just get to skip out on the boring parts. I’ll be there too, so it’s not as if I’m making you suffer because I’m cross with you. If being a queen is much a dream as you’ve always professed it to be, then I can’t imagine this will be difficult for you at all. It’s just sitting, after all. You won’t even have to speak to people, if you don’t want to.”

Tash sighed. “Fine.”

“Can I rely on you not to cause a scene? Today was bad enough—I spoke to Barbara, and she just wants to forget about what happened, so it should fade away. If you pour a drink over the Lightness, you’ll probably torpedo your dreams of being queen.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” she complained.

“I know you wouldn’t,” said Oliver. “But I need to be sure that you know you shouldn’t too, just in case the temptation hits you.” He laughed.

She flicked his nose. “Careful, or I’ll tip a drink over your head.”

“Please don’t. Cocoa is hot, I’ll be very badly burned.”

As if responding to mention of the word, Eva returned with a piping mug of cocoa, full nearly to the brim, which she held precariously between hands as she minced her way across the room. She set it down on the table beside Tasha and crept out of the solar, keeping her distance as much as she possibly could. Tash watched her go and sighed. “They don’t respect me anymore, do they? The maids?”

“Of course they do. They’ll always respect you, Tash, because you are their Lady. They just might get a bit anxious in your company. I assure you, they have short memories. By this time tomorrow, they’ll have forgotten all about the affair at the Tavern. Trust me.”

Tash smiled at Oliver. “I always trust you.”