The sun was unusually sweltering in the village. Maud remembered it being bigger, the short buildings crowded together, some with bridges hanging over the road.

  That wasn’t the village she rode Vigora into that day. Some of the old buildings still stood, but most of it had been washed away by the flood that filled the lake. Other, newer buildings had been built away from the bridge. Houses, mostly. Many newcomers had flocked to the village since Draka’s title was revealed. The stench of migrants was diluting the stench of would-be murderers and Maud was glad for it.

  Balthazar’s shop doorway was draped with thick furs and hanging leather pieces. A belt here, a vest there. Maud winced at the thought of going in there. She invited Vigora to look back at her with a pat on her neck. Vigora showed her big teeth with a lift of her long lips.

  “Stay by me,” Maud muttered to her as she slid from the saddle. Vigora stayed on her heels, looking this way and that at the villagers milling about the road, every so often lifting her leg as a warning should any feel so bold as to approach.

  Maud was surprised at how many villagers there were now. She was used to there being an extra ten or twenty field hands and their families in the harvest months, but that wasn’t for another few weeks. Certainly not the crowd of merchants and dirt-spattered peddlers and panderers. There must be hundreds here now, she thought.

  “Flower for the pretty lady?” a young girl and mother with baskets of plucked flowers pressed in front of her.

  Maud shook her head and side-stepped them. Another came with dead rabbits, another with turnips, another…Maud was dizzy trying to dodge through them to Balthazar’s store. Each one came closer than the one before. She stumbled sideways, swimming. There were so many of them. One after another. She curled against Vigora’s chest.

  They called to her. “My Lady!” A hundred voices pleading to her. Crying for her to see them and buy from them. She kept her nose tucked against Vigora’s fur. All she had to do was reach the saddle and she could go back. Maybe Draka can summon Balthazar instead?

  “Move along,” Watchmen with chain shirts and halberds pushed the crowd away. Maud thanked them with a nod. They only bowed and continued to clear people from around Vigora.

  “The High Lady Maud finally comes to grace us with her presence,” Balthazar bowed theatrically when Maud finally made it into the shop. Fur pelts of all shapes and sizes covered the walls. There were meat husks littered among them and salt cubes stacked along the floor. “How may I serve your majesty?”

  Maud glared. He returned it with a wink. She pointed at a husk of meat he had hanging from the wall in netting.

  “What, you don’t know how to use words anymore?”

  Maud stomped her foot and pointed.

  He reached for the husk. “Thirty-five, my only offer.”

  Maud stepped toward him. The top of her head barely reached his bearded chin. No matter. She glared at him with a fierceness that made him gulp loudly.

  She pointed. He followed her finger to the salt cubes. She raised it to the unlit hearth behind him. He followed it as she returned to indicate the husk.

  “I know you can talk,” Balthazar leaned toward her so that his spittle misted her face with each word, “So why don’t you use your words?”

  She shoved him from her, but it was like shoving a wall. All she accomplished was causing herself to step back from him with a growl. He tipped his head back and laughed.

  “You know, it must be your mother you take after,” Balthazar loomed over her with a sneer, “Your father was more a coward.”

  Maud gaped. Her heart was violently thrashing in her chest while her head became stuck. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stare at his malicious smile. He knew he had gutted her.

  “Get out of my store,” Bathazar turned from her with a dismissive wave. “I don’t serve whores and ‘Lady mistresses.’ Or cowards’ daughters.” He stopped to look over his shoulder at her with amusement, “Most people aren’t able to accomplish all three. Your whore mother must be proud.”

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare let him see you cry. Maud swallowed it down. She stomped her foot and pointed again.

  “I said,” Balthazar slammed his fist. “Get out or I’ll throw you out!”

  It was the shame that did it. The shame that she wasn’t strong enough to keep tears from dripping from the ends of her eyes. Her lips trembled, her body shook, and it all came back. All of it, in a single instance, like a tide from the canals, struck her and carried her while she stood still. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move but to stare and move her eyes to follow Balthazar as he made his way around his counter. Her knees shook. She expected them to collapse at any moment. They carried her back to Vigora instead.

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  Vigora must have known, must have felt the blood raging through her veins, must have understood what Maud wanted, felt, needed. She carried Maud from the village, across the bridge, and onto the ferry. And she leapt across the rest of the lake once the ferry brought her close enough. Maud knew the villagers, the ferryman, passersby, were talking to her. It was the sound of Vigora’s hoofbeats that filled her ears. The sound of dirt being trod, of leaves being brushed off of branches as they flew past them. Blurs of color in front of her were all she could see of where Vigora was taking her.

  Vigora stopped, deep within the woods, foaming on her lips and out of breath. The river was just beyond the line of trees in front of them. Vigora went for the water while Maud tightened her grip on the reins. And she cried. Like the rushing waters that Vigora dipped her nose in, Maud’s tears spilled from her eyes.

  She hated herself for losing control. For letting him have control over her. She hated herself for how right everything he said felt. How true it felt. It was all false. But it rang true in her ears and that made her bury her head into the saddle and cry harder.

  It took a while for her to stop and compose herself. It was long past midday when she emerged from the forest behind her house riding Vigora. Burning in her eyes reminded her of the tears that still begged to be released. But she was too drained, too empty, to let them out. When Vigora rounded the house to the front, Maud stepped off in defeat. All she had wanted was to know how to preserve the meat for Draka’s march in only a few days. All she got was…defeated.

  For a moment, she regarded the house. The home she had been born in, where she had spent all twenty-two years of her life. And she hated it almost as much as she hated Balthazar. If she had been any other woman, if Draka had been any other man, she would be living in the house up the hill as his wife and never have to set foot in this one again unless she wanted to. That wasn’t her world.

  She went inside after sending Vigora trotting off. She didn’t like when Draka saw her cry. All the strength and power he had melted away in an instant and she felt terrible afterwards. She liked being comforted by him, being protected by him, the warmth of his embrace. But she also knew that it weakened him. It distracted him. No, she would wait and clean up before going to make his dinner that night.

  Draka saw through it the instant he saw her. His stillness surprised her. She expected him to rush her, look her over, maybe grab his sword and shield and rush out to face Balthazar down. But he only watched her the same way she saw him eyeing any owls that come within bow range. He was studying her.

  In case he was unsure how she wanted him to react, she said, “It didn’t go how I expected.”

  Draka barely crinkled his brow.

  She went to check the stew hanging over the hearth fire after a single glance in his direction. She was certain he could see how upset she was. She tried not to fold into him. She was stronger than that. She had been stronger than that for months. Why did it strike her down this time? Why was she letting Balthazar, of all the villagers, bother her so?

  Draka slid a paper for her to see. ‘I told you not to worry about it. I know how to cure meat. You don’t have to do everything for me. I can do things myself. You have plenty to worry about without me.’

  Maud felt it again. The flood. Her lips trembled. She gaped at him, speechless again.

  When the words returned to her, her voice was hoarse with horror, “I know you can do things, Dietrich, but maybe I like doing them instead.” Her voice rose as she began tossing her arms and glances to keep the flood from spilling out of her, “I am worried. I’m plowing scared! And all I want is to make sure that you’re safe the only way I can. By making sure you have warm clothes and a full belly. But I can’t do that if I can’t make the meat last and I...”

  It wasn’t tears that burst from her. It was the need to throw one of his bowls across the room. Thankfully, it landed on his bed instead of shattering on the wall that she had aimed at.

  “I can’t do this anymore! You want to do everything yourself, then go right ahead!”

  Draka crossed his arms in challenge. She returned the gaze haughtily.

  “Well?” She waved expectantly. “Are you going to show me how to preserve the meat or what?”

  He hesitated for a moment before chuckling at her. She laughed and wiped at the tears pouring down her face.

  “And until you find yourself a princess,” Maud retrieved the bowl she had thrown, “You’re stuck with me doing all this for you. Trust me, you’ll never find one if I didn’t.” She began seasoning the boiling broth, “I can only imagine how bad you would smell and thin you’d become. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how terrible a cook you are.” A chill ran down her spine just thinking about it.

  Draka shrugged in acknowledgement.

  “I do wonder, though,” She glanced over her shoulder, “Who are you leaving behind to protect Ma and I?”

  Draka crinkled his brow. She waited. The trembling returned.

  “You are leaving some to protect us, right?”

  Draka’s nod was too hesitant for her. He hadn’t even thought of it. How could he have forgotten? He must see it. They still wanted blood; his, hers, her mother’s. She was certain that every single one of them, maybe even her Uncle Greg, were disappointed her father was killed by a boar and not them. And Draka was the only reason they never got their hands on them.

  “Please tell me you’re leaving men to keep them on the other side of the lake.”

  His nods became faster and more defined. If he hadn’t, she was certain he was now.

  “Good,” she returned to cooking. “For a moment there, I thought you forgot your promise to protect us so that you could win some dumb war.”