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Arrah; Federation Year 4535
Dawn was the most freeing time.
Then again, Sulim was used to getting up with the sun.
She had grown up on a family-run farm, after all, and her entire circadian rhythm was dictated by the seasons and what stage of growth the crops commanded.
Wasn’t it strange, then, that she now plied her trade in livestock, but was the only one in the family who got up with the sun?
The entire manor house was silent, aside from the morning birds chirping outside her bedroom window. Sulim tossed her legs over the side of the bed, rubbing her nose and running her hand through her hair. She had slept restlessly, but it was enough to get up for the day.
After two years of living on Arrah, she had her routine, and the rest of the family respected it as long as she was available for spontaneous events throughout the day.
They never expected a woman willing to get her hands dirty.
But despite her quasi-noble upbringing, Sulim was always ready to get her hands dirty.
And despite the biological functions from hell a horse could display, she often preferred the herd of equines she now helped raise to the sarrah fields she helped sow and harvest for as long as she could remember.
She was still the only one up when she went downstairs—aside from Heary, a maid who got up half an hour before everyone else to prep the kitchen and check to ensure that nothing strange happened overnight.
Security was tight on Gardiah Estate, especially after a botched assassination attempt several years ago, but Sulim had never seen anything out of sorts since she took up residence upstairs in the family quarters.
Mornings were perfect. Especially foggy spring mornings like the one that greeted her when the sun peeked through the evergreen trees behind the house.
Sulim eschewed breakfast, like she did most mornings.
Eating that early only made her hungrier before lunch.
Instead, she donned her work jacket and boots by the front door before checking that she had her keys and communicator.
Heary poked her head out from the dining room, straight at the back of the grand foyer.
She and Sulim acknowledged one another before the latter went out into the mist.
Only a few yards away from the main entrance were the family stables.
Right up front, as if she took a place of honor, was Emi, Sulim’s brown mare.
She greeted Emi with a scratch to her muzzle before saying good morning to the other light horses that were primarily used for traversing the Gardiahs’ grand, rural estate and riding into the nearest town.
One of Sulim’s early morning chores, in exchange for having the mornings to herself, was to check on the inhabitants of this stable.
That went for Emi, of course, but also the personal equines for everyone else in the family.
A total of five horses currently occupied the six stalls, most of them mares, aside from the big, speckled stallion in the back.
That one belonged to Lord Vern, the man who currently ruled over Gardiah Estate and controlled much of Sulim’s fate.
She checked on him, too. When satisfied that all five horses were happy for another morning, Sulim led Emi out of her stall, a routine that her mare was familiar with by now.
They rode over the well-worn paths leading away from the main house, past the paddocks for the injured, infirm, and dams, and beyond the pastures that kept most of the roaming herds of horses the Gardiah family called theirs.
For hundreds of years, this proud Arrahite family had been breeding and trading some of the most coveted equines in the Intergalactic Federation, something that wasn’t to be scoffed at despite electric travel dominating most of the landscape—and starscape.
Even now, as Sulim rode along the fenceline separating a dirt road from a pasture, she caught a large passenger cruiser entering Arrah’s atmosphere.
When she first came to this countryside estate, she ignorantly assumed those cruisers were landing only a few towns over.
Now, she knew better. Most were bound for the Arrahite capital of Dassil, several hours away.
She cut through the woods, traversing an old path that wasn’t quite as old as the trees growing around her.
Emi knew the path well enough that Sulim didn’t have to direct her where the path momentarily disappeared.
And a good thing, too, since this was usually the time Sulim spaced out and let the morning fog kiss her cheeks with her eyes closed.
The path dumped them out at a refurbished barn in a small clearing.
Once, as Sulim understood it, this had been a supply cache and emergency infirmary for the nearby pasture.
In the past century, however, horses were relocated to another field, and the trees were allowed to encircle the barn.
When Sulim was first shown this hideaway in the woods, she had been taken by the way the sun streaked through both the trees and the east-facing loft.
After being caught coming out there more times than was reasonable, the family let her bring it back up to code.
Now, it was an emergency cache once more. Downstairs, anyway.
Up in the loft? That was all Sulim’s.
She tied Emi up to her post outside, where the mare immediately began drinking from a trough.
Sulim stole inside the barn, heading straight for the steep stairs leading up to the loft.
There, she opened the shutters to let in the morning light, which streamed across a raised bed on the hay-covered floor.
Lining the walls that jutted toward the sloped ceiling were built-in bookshelves holding tomes she had brought from her natal home and collected from those around her who didn’t want theirs anymore.
Anything truly precious was kept back in the climate-controlled manor, but here?
Nobody watched Sulim read. They didn’t hover over her as she sat at the table at the foot of the bed and wrote letters, journaled, and did puzzles for the fun of it.
There was no electricity in the barn. Outside of a couple of oil lamps and candles, Sulim was beholden to the sunlight.
This also meant the only way to contact her was to buzz her communicator, which only received so much reception that far away from the house.
But they knew she was here. They knew how to get there. If it were important enough, someone would find her.
They rarely do.
Despite what she thought of the rest of the Gardiahs, she couldn’t be too upset with them if they allowed her this space.
Right now, Sulim’s responsibilities were low in the family.
She was a floater between the house and the pastures, where she doubled as a domestic laborer and a proper ranch hand who assisted with infirm equines.
Eventually, she would be expected to take on more domestic responsibilities, but right now.
Lady Jacelah gave Sulim a lengthy leash in exchange for her discretion when out and about.
At least there was that level of trust between Sulim and the woman who had direct access to her self-esteem.
This was all better than where Sulim had come from, after all.
Back on her home planet of Qahrain, in a hamlet near the isolated sea town of Yarensport, the most privacy Sulim had was in an uninsulated wing of an old two-story farmhouse.
Her aunt, Lady Caramine, was always in her business, and being the oldest, Sulim was often responsible for her cousins, who ranged from “old enough to know better” to “literally in diapers.”
She was often up with the sun to help her uncle Lord Narrif and male cousin Fel with the chores.
For while the Montraels were a minor noble family, all that meant out there was that they owned their farm outright and employed some seasonal workers in the hamlet.
And Sulim hadn’t even been the daughter of Lord Narrif, the man bound to the land by blood.
Instead, she was his niece through his wife, a local commoner who had married up.
So this loft? In this remodeled barn? In the woods? On a planet known for its lush forests, clean air, sparkling water, and high standard of living? She would take it. Sulim never regretted moving in with the Gardiahs when offered.
Even though this was a tenuous peace. Eventually, Lady Jacelah would sink her claws into Sulim’s shoulders, pulling her away from this freedom and deeper into the domestic sphere that Sulim only knew so much about… especially when ordering around maids and cooks.
She pulled a random book off a shelf near the bed.
Sulim avoided the direct sunlight by flopping onto the pillows, her communicator tossed onto the table so she could roll onto her side and flip open to a page she had read a dozen times before.
Sometimes, when the wind blew in that direction and carried the sounds of ranch hands, she played music.
But today was peaceful. It wasn’t yet autumn when the ranch hands were most likely to drive the herds closer to home for the winter.
The most Sulim heard were the birds in the trees and the rustling of leaves in the morning breeze.
The fog was already burning off. She had a feeling it would return.
This time of year, the fog comes and goes until lunchtime.
It was one of the coziest things about rural Arrah.
Well, that and this loft, which allowed her to read the kind of books that made her blush.
“Rollih gazed into Iri’s eyes, wishing she knew what terrible outcome awaited them should they follow through with their love…”
Sulim’s imagination floated away as she daydreamed about another woman climbing those stairs and sharing a forbidden kiss with her.
The Epic of Rollih and Iri was a bestseller among people who yearned for the kind of same-sex attraction one could not find in the rural Federation.
Even Sulim had to move to the city of Yarensport to discover her first relationship with a fellow female. And others, I guess.
This was book two, which included the first kiss between the fabled women who would go through insurmountable ups and downs on their road to ever after. While it wasn’t Sulim’s favorite tale due to the sheer amount of drama, she didn’t mind reading love scenes like these.
“You’re due to marry the governor’s son,” Rollih said to the beautiful woman who continued to steal her heart. “If we seal this infatuation, we risk losing everything. For you. I don’t know if I could live with myself if your family didn’t eat because you broke your betrothal.”
“Oh, good Void,” Sulim muttered with a dreamy sigh. “Just kiss, already.”
She was on her stomach, knuckles beneath her chin and boots swaying through the air, when a loud whistle echoed outside the loft window.
Book closed, Sulim crawled to the window, which she opened to find a man on a horse.
“Good morning, Ms. Sulim!” It was Marco di’Flare, the estate’s primary manager and Lord Vern’s right-hand man. He removed his hat in greeting before plopping it back on his brown-haired head. “Thought I might find you up there!”
Sulim folded her arms on the windowsill, sticking out more of her head. Her bangs, which were longer than the rest of her hair, blew into her face as the fog began to roll in again. “Good morning. Need something from the supply cache?”
His horse, a black stallion, turned with him still saddled atop it.
Emi whinnied in her unappreciation for this interruption.
“Just letting you know that a group of us is heading for the herd in the easternmost field. We’ve had reports of a broken leg and need to take a look. So, someone might be by later for some supplies depending on how that goes.”
She nodded. “Need any more help? I’m already dressed for whatever.”
“From what I understand, Lady Jacelah has plans for you today. Otherwise, you know I’ll always take the extra help.” Marco shrugged. “Everything all right out here?”
“I haven’t seen anything out of sorts.”
“Right, then.” He waved, his stallion fully turning to head back down the wooded dirt path. “See you around lunch, perhaps!”
Marco spurred his horse to gallop down the path. Sulim remained on the windowsill, breathing in the crisp, dewy air. Eventually, she disappeared back inside, leaving the window open as she picked up the romance saga and drank fresh water from her canteen.
“Finally, the good shit.” Sulim fell back down against the bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows, as she read Rollih and Iri not just kissing, but getting down and dirty in the middle of a meadow.
It was the first true love scene in the series, and Sulim pretended that one of the pages wasn’t dog-eared as she thought back to the first time another woman got on top of her and did away with her virginity in a dingy SRO by the Yarensport docks.
You really don’t think about the stench of dead fish and unwashed sailors when a naked girl your own age is riding your thigh.
Just to torture her, another whistle echoed up toward her.
“For the love of…” This time, Sulim shut the book for good, ignoring the ripple of anticipation surging through her as she tepidly clung to the memory of merry lovemaking.
With the book on her table, she shoved her head back out the window, fully intending to tell Marco to go find the damn horse on his own.
“Just help yourself inside if you need something…!”
Except that was not Marco on a black stallion calling to her from the small clearing in front of the barn. Instead, the younger man with black hair and a charcoal gray riding cloak gazed up at her with mild amusement brushing his cheeks.
“Oh.” Sulim sagged against the windowsill. “Thought you were Marco.”
“I rode past him on the way here,” the man on a light gray mare said. One of the same ones Sulim had attended in the family stable that morning. “Did he tell you we’re going out…”
She finished his thought. “Eastern field. Broken leg. Raid the cache while you’re at it.”
He cocked his head. “Reading this morning, are we? Anything good?”
“You’re interrupting me, so yes.”
“Wish I had time to join you.”
Did I invite you? Sulim quickly chastised herself for that thought. Sonall, the man before her, knew better than to help himself into the loft he helped her renovate a year ago. If nothing else, the man understood boundaries. Almost infuriatingly so.
“Don’t worry,” she said while her thoughts were filled with women, both fictional and real. “I’ve got plenty of my own work later today. I hear your mother has ‘plans’ for me.”
Sonall offered her a sympathetic look. “Don’t let her boss you around too much.”
“I never do.”
He turned his mouth up into a grin. “Must be going. Otherwise, Marco will tease me until dinner. He’ll think I’m flirting with you.”
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”
“I was using ‘flirting’ as a polite euphemism.”
“Ugh.” Sulim almost backed away into her loft. “It’s way too early for that.”
With a click of his tongue, Sonall followed Marco’s earlier example by turning his mare in the same direction as the black stallion. “See you later! Don’t fall asleep up there!”
He rode off. Sulim watched after him, waiting until the second man in ten minutes gave her some space. Except this time, it was her husband quipping at her that early in the morning.
My damned husband. Because of course she had one.