19. Katya
19
S ometimes even I’m shocked at my level of stupidity. Imagine spending all that time searching the city for supplies only to forget one very crucial item: water.
Oh, I have the waterskin. Problem is, it’s empty. I certainly can’t go back, so I just have to hope I find some water along the way. That is, if I’m going in the right direction. I’m not exactly a great navigator here. I know I need to head south, and I understand that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, but beyond that… I haven’t got a clue. And now that it’s starting to hit midday, there is a very distinct possibility I’m going to end up headed the wrong way.
I should have stolen a compass.
Not exactly the perfect escape, but it’s not like I’ve had any practice doing this sort of thing.
Miss Horse seems to be working out well, at least. I’ve been alternating between galloping and walking her all morning and she hasn’t had any issues yet. Of course, I’ve been keeping her on the road, which maybe isn’t smart for a recent escapee to do, but finding my way through the woods when I can hardly see the sun through the canopy made even less sense. Not to mention, with my luck, she’d step in a hole or slip on a rock, break her leg, and I’d be left to walk through the woods alone.
As if riding my thoughts, the pounding of hoofs sounds behind me. Dammit. See, this is why you shouldn’t think, Katya. You’re too stupid. I stoop over, pull my stolen coat more tightly around myself and hang my head so my dark hair dangles over my face. I don’t dare turn around to see how many there are. Instead, I steer Miss Horse over to the very edge of the road and pray to Casmir for his protection. Gods, if I’d only been able to take Mama’s bracelets, I could have used the Nymn charged sythra to change my appearance.
The pounding gets louder and louder as the horses approach, and my heart is pounding along with them. They’re going to catch me, I know it. They’re going to catch me and torture me until I’ll say anything to make it stop, then they’ll hang me alongside Leodin, because why not? We couldn’t stand each other in life, so of course we should spend the afterlife suffering together.
The horses are drawing closer. They aren’t slowing at all, which gives me hope. At the same time, I’m slightly terrified I’m going to get trampled. There have to be at least a dozen riders by the sound of it. Would they really go through all that trouble for me? I get my answer when they barrel past without so much as a second glance my way, spitting dust and gravel into my face. They’re definitely Solstyr’s Bellatorae soldiers by the golden sun crest decorating their uniforms—though these are the more informal blacks of the army, not the fancy guard uniforms I saw at the palace. Soon, I can see nothing but their dust, and I blow out a breath.
That was close.
I have no idea how long I’ve been traveling on this road. Long enough for an even larger contingent of Bellatorae soldiers to pass by. I pray to Mother Nochte they aren’t headed for Dom Duje.
The rain started hours ago, a deluge that darkened the sky and instantly soaked through every scrap of my clothing and boots. My teeth chitter and my fingers clutch numbly onto Miss Horse’s reins. I need to find some place to hole up for the night or Miss Horse and I will freeze to death long before we reach Duje. Unfortunately, whatever magic I conjured at the palace disappeared as quickly as it came, so duping anyone into giving me a place to stay is out of the question. I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to figure it out. Could it be some human magic from my father’s side? Mama rarely talks about him except to say he left with the other humans during the war. Maybe if I tell her what happened, this time, she’ll actually answer my questions instead of telling me to leave the past in the past.
Searching for shelter in this downpour is difficult, to say the least, but I eventually spot a barn set back a little off the road and steer Miss Horse for it .
The barn doors’ hinges are horribly rusted, and it takes all of my little remaining strength to haul them open. One good thing about the rain, at least, is that it muffles sound. I have a feeling the screech emitted by this door would have been heard throughout all of Feridas without it. I lead Miss Horse inside. It’s musky, and the air is so thick with the scent of hay, manure and livestock, I can practically taste it. But it’s dry, if not entirely warm.
We’re greeted by a snorting pig, a cow and a couple of goats as we walk down the center aisle. The very last stall is blessedly empty and clean, so I secure Miss Horse inside, remove her tack and do my best to rub her down with numb fingers. Then I make a little bed out of a few bales of hay, and I’m out the moment I shut my eyes.
I’m floating on calm water. It cradles my body in its warm embrace, the gentle waves rocking me like a babe in its mother’s arms. Above, the sun sparkles in a clear blue sky, and the salty brine of the sea air tickles my nostrils. A breeze sweeps across the surf. It mists my face and swells the waves, and my body rides the undulating tide, rising and falling as it wills. I struggle to stay afloat—treading water the way mama taught me. Mama? Where’s mama? I search around myself, but there’s nothing. No boat. No land. No people. Only water stretching as far as the eye can see in all directions .
A bolt of lightning splits the sky, followed by a clap of thunder so monstrous, it bows my eardrums and rattles my chest. The sky grows darker, the waves larger. I am swept upon the current, the tide tossing me about like a rag doll. Arms and legs flailing, I go under. Panic twists my belly and dulls my wits. There is no light, no noise, no way to distinguish up from down. The water has turned thick and viscous, and no matter how much I pump my arms and legs, I go nowhere. I let out a scream and with it all the air in my lungs. Unable to hold my breath for a moment longer, I inhale. The taste of copper fills my mouth, and suddenly, the water is gone.
I’m kneeling on a rough stone floor, pebbles digging into my kneecaps. I open my mouth to breathe, but a torrent of red liquids spills out. It’s blood. The guard’s blood I ingested along with chunks of tissue and thick clots that just keep pouring out of me. Tears rain down my face. Cramps grip my belly. Gods, please make it stop, I pray.
Finally, the tide begins to ebb, then halt altogether. I suck in air thick with the taste of metal and collapse onto the now dry floor. There, sprawled across the ground, hand gripping his bloody neck, is the guard I killed. He stares at me with sightless eyes, but his lips are moving. The words are so soft at first, I can’t make out anything more than a murmur. Then he speaks again, louder this time. “Who are you?” he asks, his voice heavy with accusation.
“I… I…” I begin.
“Who are you?” he asks again.
Then again, “Who the fuck are you?”
I wake with a start to find a fae lady with golden hair and shrewd hazel eyes standing over me. Her arms are crossed, and a furious expression sours her pretty face.
With shaking hands, I rub the sleep from my eyes. I’m so strung out from the nightmare, I’m struggling to process where I am or why there’s a lady dressed in a male’s shirt and trousers, shouting at me. “I… I’m sorry?” I ask.
“I said, ‘Who. The fuck. Are you?’” she repeats.
I sit up and look around. The barn. This is the barn I snuck into last night. And this lady is probably the owner. “I’m Katya,” I say, my voice raw. Had I been screaming? I shake my head against the thought. “I—I mean, we”—I gesture toward Miss Horse—“got stuck in the rain and just needed a dry place to rest. We’re not trying to cause any trouble.”
The lady looks me up and down, glances at Miss Horse, then back to me. “You look like a drowned rat.”
I let out a huff. “I feel like a drowned rat.”
Just then, my empty belly decides to grumble loudly.
“A hungry rat,” she says with a sigh. “Come along, then. I’m not going to leave you out here to die of starvation.” She spins around and waves a hand for me to follow.
Now, I am fully aware this lady could be a raving lunatic who’s luring me back to her house so she can dice me up and serve me to the pigs, but I’m so hungry right now, I’m willing to take that chance. I rush after her, out of the barn and down a muddy path between fields of wheat. I don’t see her home until the path opens into a clearing where a stout little stone house sits, smoke rising from the chimney.
“I’m Peg, by the way,” she says, opening the door for me .
“Nice to meet you,” I reply, though it seems an odd thing to say to someone who just found me hiding out in their barn. By the way, Peg’s brows pinch together, I’d say she thinks it’s a bit odd too.
The house seems even smaller on the inside, but what it lacks in size, it makes up for in coziness. It’s amazingly warm and dry, with colorful paintings of flowers on the walls and quilts laid out everywhere. There’s a bed set in the far corner of the room and a table and chairs in the other. On the other end, sits a fireplace so large it takes up the entire wall. More importantly, it has a pot of something that smells delicious bubbling above the fire.
“You can sit down,” Peg says, pointing to a wingback chair covered in a quilt that’s set in front of the fire.
You don’t have to tell me twice. I sink into the soft seat and rest my head against the back. I’m so exhausted, I could fall back asleep again, though if it means I’ll get another nightmare, I’d rather stay awake. The heat kisses my skin and for the first time since the rain started yesterday, my muscles begin to relax.
A loud thump startles me, and I glance over the back of the chair to find Peg riffling through a massive trunk tucked against the end of her bed. I really hope that isn’t where she keeps her hatchet or ax or whatever tools murderesses use to kill their victims.
“Here we go,” she says. Straightening, she plucks a pretty blue dress from the trunk and holds it out. “This should fit you. Let’s get you cleaned up and out of those damp clothes.”
“Oh, really, that’s not—”
“Don’t give me that, it’ll be fine business,” she says, cutting me off. “I send you back out in that soaked dress, and you’ll freeze to death. I’ll not have that on my conscience. Now, get that filthy rag off and put this on. I never wear dresses anyway so it’s of little use to me.”
I'm not going to win this argument, so I reluctantly get out of the chair and cross to where Peg’s standing. She throws the dress into my arms, followed by a chemise, drawers and even a little bonnet, all without looking to see if I caught them—which I do, barely.
“You can put them on back there.” She points to a privacy screen in the corner. “Just watch out for the piss bucket. I haven’t had a chance to change it out yet this morning.”
“Uh… sure. Thanks,” I say, and duck behind the screen. Sure enough, there is a bucket filled with urine, emitting a not-so-pleasant odor, back here. I maneuver around the bucket and am just beginning to tackle the damp mess of fabric clinging to my body when she asks, “So you going to tell me what happened that has you off by yourself with hardly any supplies?”
I’ve been expecting the question and I’m prepared to answer, though I feel a little guilty lying to her, when she’s being so helpful. “I was ambushed on the road. They got my pack horse, but I managed to escape,” I say, raising my voice to be heard through the screen.
“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, but you don’t need to lie,” she replies.
Shoot. How’d she know? I peek around the screen to find her setting utensils out on the table.
“I’m not lying,” I lie.
She just arches a bushy brow and gives me a look that says, “Do you think I’m stupid? ”
I don’t argue further. If she’s not going to push, then I’m happy to let it go. I slip back behind the screen and continue peeling off my wet clothes.
By the time I get the dress on and step back into the room, Peg’s already got the table set with a couple of bowls full of what looks to be some sort of clear broth soup with chunks of carrots and potatoes and a meat I can’t identify
“It’s about time. I was about to start without you.” Peg takes my damp clothes and drapes them over the chair in front of the fire before returning to the table.
“Sorry,” I say, settling into the chair across from her. Steam scented with what I’m guessing is rosemary and thyme wafts from the bowl, making my mouth water. “This looks delicious. I guess I’m lucky you made so much.”
She shrugs. “Got a couple farm hands that come around for lunch and dinner, so I’ve always got something cooking. It’s cheaper than paying them a full wage, and I like the company most of the time.”
“So, that's it? Nobody else lives here?” I do a terrible job of hiding the surprise in my voice, and Peg gives me a withering look. “I’m sorry,” I say. “You’re just so young, I’d have thought you might have a husband or family or…” I should probably stop before my foot gets permanently wedged in my mouth.
Peg just chuckles and blows on a spoonful of soup. “Girl, I’m so old, I’ve lost count. And as for a husband, I did have one once.” Her eyes take on a faraway look. “Gods, I loved that boy.” She stuffs the spoon into her mouth, not bothering to swallow a chunk of mystery meat before starting to speak again. “He could do things to my body that would make my toes curl and my hair stand on end.”
Probably more information than I needed, but alright. I scoop up a spoonful of broth and take a sip. I don’t know if it’s because I’m so hungry or if Peg’s cooking really is that good, but I swear it’s the best damn soup I’ve ever eaten. I immediately set about stuffing my face while Peg keeps up a one-ended conversation.
“He was pretty as a picture, but dumber than dirt. The worst kind of dumb, really.”
I cock my head in question because there’s way too much food in my mouth to speak. Peg leans forward conspiratorially. “He was the kind of dumb that thinks they’re smart,” she says, then sags back into her chair. “Just before declaring war, the crown started spreading a bunch of nonsense about how Ajir soldiers were attacking our cities and stealing from our outposts. The damned fool believed every word of it. I told him it was lies, but he was also stubborn in addition to being stupid, so when the king asked for volunteers, guess who steps up.”
Oh gods.
She pauses her story to gulp down half a glass of watered-down wine. Setting the glass back down on the table with a thump, she goes right back to her story without missing a beat. “Fool got himself killed the first time he walked onto a battlefield.” She shakes her head. “I took our savings and the little bit of pay he’d earned, bought myself this plot of land and the rest is, as they say, history.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “That was a long time ago. You finished?” She gestures to my now empty bowl .
I rub my overfull belly. “It was delicious, and I was really hungry. Thank you.”
“Well then,” she says, hands slapping the table. Standing, she crosses to a tall cabinet set against the wall and pulls out an empty flour sac. “Let’s get you some supplies, and I think I’ve got a little coin I can send you off with.”
I push to my feet. “Oh, you don’t need to—” I begin.
“I don’t do arguing,” she says, waving a half-eaten loaf of bread at me. “Now sit down and hush.”
I sit. “Yes, ma’am.”