Author: Lina J. Potter
Date: 2021-10-04T18:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Publisher: LitHunters ltd.

A Medieval Tale

Book Ten

The Masks of Strangers

By Lina J. Potter

Translated by LitHunters

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A Medieval Tale: The Masks of Strangers

Contents:

Welcome

A Medieval Tale: The Masks of Strangers

Contents:

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

From the Author

Book Recommendations

About Lina J. Potter

A Medieval Tale: The Masks of Strangers

The Coast of Avester. Enemies are everywhere—even the land itself is a foe. Here, letting down your guard is not an option.

A serial killer is at large in Laveri. A nobleman, he moves in the same circles as Miri and might be even talking to her. But when Anthory, Baron Lofrayne, also shows up in the capital of Ativerna, Lilian has to admit—she hates him much more than she might ever hate the killer.

In the end, she is kidnapped, her carriage stopped on the way to Castle Taral, her guards killed, and the countess herself locked on a ship headed for Avester.

How does one escape a vessel on the high seas, really?

You have to move, crawl on all fours, sail with every wind, use any chance you might get...and then, sooner or later, life will offer you its hand. And when it happens, go for it.

When the ship is attacked by pirates, Lilian, helped by a chance acquaintance hoping to get his own revenge on her, manages to escape in a rowboat and reach the shore. Alas, she is accompanied by the accursed Baron. Lofrayne is a far cry from a Prince Charming as which he seems to fancy himself—but then, Lily's no a damsel in distress, either.

It's not like she would want his or anyone's rescue, anyway. It's time to take her destiny into her own hands.

***

Lilian's adventures in the Middle Ages continue in book 10 of A Medieval Tale.

A bestselling Amazon series by Lina J. Potter starts with a new page to prove that Lilian is strong enough to fight for her place in the world and her happiness no matter what. A #1 Amazon bestseller series in multiple categories continues with a new twist.

Prologue

The sea.

The sun.

The sand.

Looking at all of that, you’d be forgiven if you thought about a tourist resort and a beach.

You’d also be wrong. On the coast of Avester, enemies were everywhere—even the land itself was a foe. There, letting down your guard was not an option.

Frustrated, Lily threw a rock into the water.

It sunk down obediently, but that didn’t relieve her anger. In fact, it made it even worse.

Why was everything going off-the-rails?

The problems had started as soon as His Majesty Edward passed away.

A serial killer turning up in Laveri became the first of them. Well, fine, he had shown up even before the king’s death, but in Lilian’s eyes, that absolved neither the killer nor Edward.

The worst thing, however, was the threat hanging over Miranda. That crazy bastard had killed her friend and, from the looks of it, was a noble himself. He was somewhere close to her daughter, moving around in the same circles—he might even be talking to her. And to think that Aldonai still hadn’t struck him with a lightning bolt! How irresponsible of him!

What if Miranda became his next victim? That very idea made Lily shudder.

Mirrie, her girl, was just within the killer’s reach, and her mother was far away and unable to take care of her.

Crazy!

Could she hope that Jess would look out for their daughter? More like the girl herself would keep an eye on her Papa, seeing as how sensible she was. She wouldn’t take the bait easily. But if the killer was someone she knew?

Someone she was friends with? Someone she never expected to set her up, to backstab her?

That thought was scary.

The second problem was the arrival of one Anthony Lofrayne, Baron Lofrayne, and in all honesty, Lily had to admit: she hated him much more than she might ever hate the killer.

After all, the killer could be caught, imprisoned, drawn and quartered… maybe all of that at the same time. But what about Lofrayne?

That was out of the question.

He was an Avesterian, and the relationship between Avester and Ativerna was poor as it was, complicated and troubled. That pretty much sucked for Lily, as it forced her to grin and bear it, especially when that moron supposedly decided to buy Mariella’s production.

Her stewards took care of merchants, but Lily met nobles in person. Aristocrats weren’t supposed to dabble in trade, anyway, even if they tended to ignore that, and they definitely weren’t supposed to negotiate with various riffraff.

Well, at least, that applied to most nobles.

That’s why sometimes, Lily had to talk to her clients.

She and Lofrayne had a talk; she sold him a batch of stuff, and then…

The Baron, who she was vehemently hoping would lose his hair and get covered in scabs, started courting her. He didn’t seem to understand her protests, either.

Lily’s message was clear, Back off, I love my husband. But words didn’t help.

A slap in the face didn’t help. Even Miranda chiming in didn’t help. In the end, Lofrayne abducted Lily.

Yes, just like that. Imagine riding to Castle Taral in the morning in a carriage and being stopped, kidnapped, having your guards killed, and getting locked on a ship headed for Avester.

The worst thing, however, is that you can’t really fight back. You’re pregnant. It might be the first month, but miscarrying has never made anyone healthier. At least she had managed to tell her husband about that. Were she to return home on her ninth month or with a baby in her arms, there would be no gossip. Her husband would understand.

But first, she would have to get home.

How would one escape a vessel on the high seas, really?

Lily made no pretense: she had help. Lily had no idea how, in Aldonai’s name, an agent of Altres Lort had ended up on the Prancing Mermaid. That twist left her all but shocked.

Was it a coincidence?

Yes, an amazing and improbable coincidence, one of those that really made one believe in providence.

On the other hand, what was that saying? A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Lily wasn’t sure who and when had said that, but she could relate. She needed to move, crawl on all fours, sail with every wind, use any chance she might get… and then, sooner or later, life would offer her its hand. And when it happened, she would go for it.

And that’s what she did.

She was happy to accept the offer of Ellis Rois. It worked out all right, too. Pirates attacked their ship. The crew defeated them and took a few rowboats as spoils, among other things.

Ellis used one of those boats and put Lilian there.

Well, he pretty much loaded her inside: the noble countess couldn’t swim. She feared water.

Really, it’s not like she was a superwoman! She couldn’t know and do everything; nobody could.

And even if she could…

What devil led Anthony Lofrayne on deck? At that rate, Lily was about to start believing in Maldonaya, too. You know, the bad guy of the local Scripture.

Lofrayne managed to tag along with Lily and Ellis. Fortunately, he failed to raise the alarm, as they were already in the water. Still, he got into the boat.

If they drowned him on the spot, Ellis would have stayed alive.

Aliya’s parents had always encouraged her to learn.

Learn everything and everywhere, as you never know when it might come in handy. If only she could swim…

Lilian herself sincerely believed that she couldn’t. Covering several miles was one thing, but you really call staying afloat for a couple of minutes swimming?

That was truly shameful.

What had prevented her from going to the swimming pool? Serious, that would have been so easy!

But there was no use crying over spilled milk.

She had to accept: it was her fault Ellis died. If she could swim well, they would have drowned the baron, and a good man would have been still alive…

Busy saving Lily, Ellis couldn’t waste time on the baron. If the boat turned over, Lily would have surely drowned, and in a fight, she would have been a hindrance, especially at sea.

And at sea, Ellis still stood a chance.

Ashore, however…

Ashore, a battle broke out, and Ellis lost. Raw strength and, apparently, experience were on Lofrayne’s side. Lily didn’t understand their fight especially well, but it seemed that Lofrayne was trained better than his opponent.

In the end, she was left ashore, thinking sad thoughts.

That said, was there a point in thinking? She needed to stand up and go look for people. It’s not like she could sit there and wait for rescue. That would be stupid—and Lily was no damsel in distress, either.

She wasn’t counting on a Prince Charming to come after her. They had left the port of Viriom and sailed along the coast of Avester, meaning that they were probably close to Loris, the home of pirates and assorted lowlifes. Would she want to fall into their hands?

No way.

Avester had an agreement with them, of course—one that the kings of Avester fiercely denied. Still, at sea, agreements were rarely anything more than guidelines, working only when you risked getting a whipping for violating them. At sea, the sharks were the judge, the jury, and the executioner. Would you file a complaint from the bottom of the sea?

Exactly.

Who said that those people would take Lily to her destination alive? Unharmed? Not raped?

It’s not like she tended to throw a fit at the sight of men, but catching an STD with zero antibiotics available didn’t sound like a nice prospect.

She probably couldn’t even succeed in making streptocide. OK, sulfanilamide. She knew how to synthesize it but not with local equipment. That would be punching well above her weight.

Thus, Lily was going to do her best to keep faithful to her husband, even if Entor himself would proclaim his love for her.

Although… Come to think of that, she’d love to arrange a night of loving for Entor specifically… in BDSM style, that is. She, with a big whip… or rather a stick… or, even better, a club in her hand, and His Majesty, bound to a bed nice and tight. That mating dance would be a trauma surgeon’s dream!

In the morning, she would pick up his remains and mercifully bury them somewhere deep.

The king should have thought better than to order her abduction. Asshat.

But no need to think sad thoughts. She would go over her plans for Entor later. Oh yes, she would. Such backstabbing should never go unpunished.

Never! And seeing as the best sanctions were economic, she would have to devise a way to kick Avester and its king in their purse. That was bound to hurt.

But that would come later, at home.

She could talk to the Eveers, her father, His Majesty… Together, they could think of many things, invent anything.

In the worst-case scenario, she could create the Communist Party of Avester. Let Entor deal with a revolution!

But what was she supposed to do until then?

Walk. With her feet. Lily didn’t see any other way.

Rowing across the sea? That wasn’t an option. The pirates, her inability to swim… Well, see above.

Sit pretty? Was she a Robinson Crusoe and the baron her Man Friday? How would it end? Also with pirates, she bet.

And thus, they would have to get her rear in gear and cross the forest. It would be a long trip, but in a month or two, they would reach civilization, and that’s without hurrying. Thankfully, it was the middle of summer. There was enough food in the woods with berries and mushrooms. They couldn’t hunt yet, but that depended on the prey.

She would have to check their weapons situation—their menu would depend on it. In any case, Lily knew how to stay alive.

The most important thing was to reach other people before fall, when it started raining and getting cold.

And her pregnancy…

The first trimester would be fine. Later, however? It still might be all right, but it would be better to avoid straining herself.

Author’s Note: personal experience shows that five months pregnant, I could walk six miles into the woods and six miles back, gathering berries. The baby didn’t mind.

They needed to move while they had time. Review their supplies and foodstuffs.

The overall goal: get home. Let’s split it into several stages.

Goal A: cross the forest and reach civilization. Goal B: get rid of the baron. Goal C: get right with the law.

After that, she would wait and see. There was no point in planning beyond that; she couldn’t foresee everything.

Lily sent another pebble into the water and stood up, shaking the dust from her hands and clothes.

Onwards, then, Your Grace! Never look back.

A journey of a thousand miles began with a single step.

Chapter 1

Sabre: one, shoddily made.

Knives: six, just as shoddy.

Two water flasks, not especially big but quite easy to carry. Some dry rations and salted meat, but not much.

A crossbow?

Apparently, Ellis hadn’t managed to steal it.

Kitchenware?

One tin bowl. One!

And one spoon, too. Couldn’t he steal two? Or…

Had Ellis provided only for one person?

As Lily reviewed their paltry belongings, her expression turned sour. From the looks of it, Ellis had been planning on traveling alone. He didn’t bring any spare clothes for two—those weren’t valuable at all, and he could have found some easily—or weapons. There was only one knapsack, too, although splitting weight between two would have been much easier.

Yet all items were intended for one person only.

Then why would he take her with him?

That thought made Lily desperate enough to turn her eyes to Anthony, who was doing his best to help. He couldn’t do much but still managed to keep his mouth shut. Maybe he had realized how nervous she was. That was rather commendable of him.

Usually, he didn’t care a bit about others, especially women. Still, in the rare instances when he bothered to listen and think, he proved himself a surprisingly good psychologist. After all, sex alone wasn’t enough to make you into a good lover; you needed to understand what women wanted.

Lilian, for instance, wanted silence.

Or, rather, she had wanted silence some time ago; at the moment, she wanted to figure out what was going on.

“I guess Ellis wasn’t going to bring me along.”

Anthony nodded. He was under the same impression.

“But he did take you from the ship.”

“Why?”

Anthony was wondering that as well.

“Let’s think… You didn’t visit the mess room…”

Lily lowered her eyes.

She shouldn’t have lashed out at the baron back then; that was quite unprofessional. She could have attended the dinners and talked to people, but…

She had snapped.

Those who have never been pregnant shouldn’t be casting stones at her. She was a woman of flesh and blood; she wasn’t made of iron. A hormonal release could easily spoil all of her hard work.

“No. Did they talk about him?”

“Ellis Rois… Rois…”

“Yes. Wellster, leir…”

“That’s it!”

Tony even clapped his hand, happy with his memory.

“Exactly! I remember the captain talking about him. Rois had taken part in Albitta’s mutiny and barely escaped with his life.”

Lily gasped.

“H-how?”

“Indeed. The mutiny failed, and Rois was forced to flee. He was a flunkey of some baron called Fir… Fer…”

“Fremont,” Lily corrected him, her voice dull.

“Right.”

The countess sat on her rear and pulled up her knees, then wrapped them with her arms and put her chin on top. A string of curses followed, the prepositions being the only words in her rant that weren’t obscene. The baron let out a whistle, but Lily ignored him.

That was a real close call.

Thanks, Aldonai. I guess I’m in your debt…

If Ellis had helped her to get revenge, if he planned on settling an old score by getting her away from the ship… He would have gotten his way with her and had a grand old time, and she had never anticipated a betrayal. She would have turned her back to him and…

She and her baby would have never survived.

Ugh. A long and painful death isn’t something one should contemplate at an early stage of pregnancy, absolutely.

“Couldn’t he have killed me on the ship? That would have been easier!”

Anthony snorted. His thoughts had traveled down a similar path.

“He couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because there were cabins nearby. Mine, the captain’s, the navigator’s… It’s not that simple. The slightest sound would have woken us up.”

“That wouldn’t have saved me. And even with the noise, he could have slipped away unnoticed.”

“Nothing would have saved Alex after that, either. I would have gone to the ends of the world to find him.”

“What do you want more? To live or to take revenge?”

“Something like that. I would have searched for the murderer and found him, sooner or later.”

Lily’s expression became even grimmer. Unconsciously, she kept fiddling with her emerald ring, a present from Jerisson. Lily was nervous and took solace in one of the few fragments of home she had left.

“Do you think that he helped me escape to kill me later?”

“I think it all checks out. He hated you, wanted you to die… and one more thing.”

The baron’s finger pointed at her emerald bracelet.

Lily cursed.

For her, the bracelet was a sign of her status. But what about other people?

How much gold was there? Seven troy ounces? Eight?

Each emerald was the size of her nail, too. That would be enough to start a new life. The ring, the earrings, the bracelet… Lily rarely wore a lot of jewelry, but showing off her status was her duty. Those accessories had become a part of her, and she completely forgot about their market price.

The time when ladies wore high-quality imitations and kept the original jewels in their safes hadn’t come yet. Everything she had on her was genuine—and damnably expensive!

“Right.”

“He couldn’t have done it aboard. Killing someone without any sound, then looting the body…”

That was true. What if someone had an urge to visit the latrine? As a prisoner, Lilian was the only one with a personal chamber pot; the others had to walk to the privy, even across the entire ship.

“It’s easier if the body escapes with you. That would give you lots of time and opportunities to search it.”

“I think, Lilian, that you owe me for saving your life.”

Lily narrowed her eyes at the baron, and Anthony immediately regretted his joke.

“And what do I owe you for abducting me, Baron?”

“I was obeying His Majesty Entor’s order. Don’t hit me,” Anthony said, playfully raising his hands.

Lily wouldn’t have done it anyway.

Fighting in her state? Ridiculous.

“In my eyes, it’s not an excuse. Consider saving my life as repaying a part of your debt. It’s because of you I’m facing such risks, so you’re the one who has to deal with them.”

“I can see that you’ve been doing a lot of trading.”

“I take lessons from the Eveers, too.”

Tony’s attempt to insult Lily went off the mark: she even took it as a compliment.

Taken aback, Tony decided to disregard it. He had to continue working and packing their stuff.

Virma. The lands of Clan Hardring.

Olav Hardring was reading a letter.

It took some time—he was a warrior rather than a scribe—but he didn’t have any problems. After all, he was the chief of his clan, and soon, gods willing, the ruler of the entire Virma.

Bran Gardren was brief but specific. There were no niceties or well-wishes. The message was short and precise. A member of the Ativernan king’s family had been abducted: his brother’s wife.

Yes, the true connection between Jerisson and Richard hadn’t remained a mystery to Bran, and he wasn’t going to buy into the “distant relation” excuse.

It could have worked with Angelina, true—they did look a bit similar. But Jessamine wasn’t Richard’s mother, yet Richard and Jerrison still resembled each other.

True, Jerisson was black-haired and blue-eyed, also manifesting some of the Eartons’ familial traits.

But when Richard and Jerisson stood next to each other… The way they moved, talked, laughed at each other’s jokes…

Bran was genuinely shocked that nobody ever noticed that. The answer, of course, was obvious: everyone had gotten used to it.

They had seen them all their lives; such thoughts never even occurred to them. Things like that happened.

And so, Bran noticed but decided to stay silent. Who cared about such secrets? Maybe someone would if the adulterers were still alive, but they were dead. True, he could blackmail the king with the knowledge that he had a brother.

But what if he already knew?

Blackmail never ended well, either. Bran was smart enough to realize that some things shouldn’t be done, ever, as long as you wanted a long and happy life.

Still, that decision was up to him.

He wrote to Olav the official version.

Jess was the king’s sworn brother, not a blood sibling but someone whom he held dear. Lilian was Jess’ wife.

Richard loved both of them.

Bran was in her debt, too. If Olav wanted to ingratiate himself with Ativerna, he had to order his people to search for Lilian Earton.

They would have to comb through the ports of Avester, Elvana, and Ativerna and question the jackals of Loris.

If the Virmans managed to find her, Richard’s gratitude was bound to be great. And Lilian herself was a friend of the Virmans, too. Clan Erquig could testify to that.

Olav didn’t have to spend a lot of time thinking. If everything was as Bran had written, they all owed the Eartons—all Virmans. The promise of profit was nice, too.

The next morning, Olav spread the word.

In winter, sailors usually stayed ashore, but it wasn’t winter yet, and Virma had more than its share of hotheads. Let them know.

Let everyone know. Lilian Earton. Blonde hair, green eyes, and a couple of questions to make sure that they found the right woman—Hans had given a few hints. Her nanny’s name was Bertha. Her weird nickname was pink cow.

That was odd, of course, but who knew Ativernan customs? Maybe that was a term of endearment.

Olav thought some more and decided that one could never have too much of a good thing.

The Avestrians, you say?

Those bastards had long since been supporting Loris—the bane of Virmans.

Opportunity came knocking.

Olav was going to unleash his hounds and open the hunting season. His vessels would roam the seas in search of Lilian Earton, and if they managed to find some other prey…

Good for them. Good and right.

Let them look.

Somewhere on the coast of Avester.

A well-packed knapsack was a really big deal.

In the era of frame backpacks and perfectly tailored gear, nobody ever reflects on how people had lived before the advent of hiking equipment.

Yet they did. They walked the land, they traveled and even crossed great distances. Incidentally, Lily had mastered that skill, back in her old life as Aliya. She could pack and unpack, go hiking with her friends…

Thankfully, she never lost that knack. She knew how to make coat rolls, too. A wonderful thing! Do you know how to do it?

Let’s say you have an army greatcoat. Wearing it all the time during a trip will make you too hot.

Instead, the coat is rolled up in a special way, tying its ends and slinging it over the shoulder, the left one.

You can carry it everywhere like that: it won’t be heavy or snag on the trees.

Lilian didn’t exactly have an overcoat, but she did have clothes. At the moment, she was busy making a roll out of her dress and her riding suit. She would have to traverse the forest in men’s clothes: a shirt, a cloak, pants… She would have loved to exchange the cloak for a jacket, but there was none in sight.

She thought again and took the vest from her riding suit. It still fit her, at least.

Fortunately, Lilian had never been a fan of tight-fitting clothes—it all depended on the fabric.

Say, silk. It draped amazing but not if stretched on top of belly rolls. Her riding suit was made of quality broadcloth, and back on the ship, Lily had remodeled it a bit looser.

It worked out pretty well.

An expert would have recognized the alterations, but the baron, like most men, discerned no difference between a flounce, a scallop, and a frill, only caring about how the costume showcased the woman’s beauty.

In her makeshift trousers and an elegant vest, Lily looked quite comical, but Lofrayne wasn’t looking at the vest
but at the fleshy parts sheathed by the pants.

“This is how you’re going to walk through the forest?!”

“What about it?”

“It’s indecent!”

Lily burst out laughing, cracking up.

“Milord, so you think that abducting women is decent and wearing pants where nobody can see you isn’t?”

“I can see you,” the baron mumbled, realizing that Lilian was right.

“You’ll have to grin and bear it, then. We have a long journey ahead of us. I’ll never make it in a skirt. It’s bound to get torn apart, gather all barbs and prickles, and make me break my legs.”

That was true.

Still, the baron couldn’t help but huff and puff.

Those pants… they were hugging her so tight… both her hips and her legs, too… and her—

That was completely improper!

But there was no point in trying to impress that upon Lilian Earton.

For her, even if indecent, they were cheap, reliable, and practical.

Ativerna. Laveri.

While Lilian and Anthony were preparing for their forest hike, Jerisson was greeting a nice lady at a ball.

“Lady Verisa. My pleasure.”

“Milord Count… We haven’t seen you for so long.”

It had been five days, true.

With Lilian gone, Jerisson had started to spend more time with the children and visit Mariella and Castle Taral.

He couldn’t be everywhere at once!

That left him with much less time for high society life; it was pretty much his first time in a week visiting the palace. Naturally, he immediately got caught by that vicious harpy.

“How is your wife? Your children? We haven’t seen sweet Lilian for so long either…”

That was a nice opening. Great.

“Lady Verisa, I’ll let you in on a secret…”

“Yes?”

“My wife and I… Well…”

The lady got the hint instantly. Professional gossips like her detected such nuances not even instinctively but subconsciously. Or did they have some kind of astral tentacles to probe for them?

Then they would lunge at you like a kraken.

“Could it be that your wife is preparing to bless you once again?”

“Yes.”

Jerisson demonstrated the most stupid smile he could imagine. A picture-perfect father.

Apparently, he was convincing enough, as the lady started beaming.

She looked like a hyena who hadn’t been fed for a while.

“Dear count, this is wonderful news!”

“Yes. Unfortunately, Lilian didn’t want to stay in the capital. She decided to leave for the Earton Estate. It’s quiet and peaceful, and the air there is better for the baby…”

“Oh, Count! And you’re still here?”

“My duty keeps me in the capital, but I’ll absolutely go to my wife before she gives birth. I can’t leave her alone at a moment like that.”

There was enough sadness in Jerisson’s voice to dress all salads in the palace, if not the soups as well.

But what was he to do? He couldn’t exactly ignore His Majesty’s advice. It wasn’t even advice but a request. That’s where the problem lay.

If Jerisson didn’t know what motives drove Richard, he would have ignored everything and raced to save his wife.

If Richard didn’t know Jerisson’s circumstances, he would have shrugged and let him go.

That was politics for you. A horrible thing, to be honest.

If Jerisson sailed to Ativerna, a war might break out—Entor was itching for an excuse—and Ativerna would have a hard time. Richard had only just ascended the throne, and the next year would be an interim period.

Even if he had ruled the country together with his father for a long time—in place of his father, in fact—the transition was a difficult time.

Here’s an old army riddle. When is there no sentry at the post?

Never? Wrong. There’s one moment when one man has already been relieved while the second hasn’t taken over yet. That’s when there’s no sentry.

When does a country have no leader?

Never? Wrong again.

When the old ruler is gone and the second hasn’t taken the throne yet. That’s when the state has no head.

The puppet master hadn’t wound all threads around his fingers and hadn’t grabbed all reins. Not all groups, cliques, and fellowships accept the king. Trouble and rioting still might happen…

Later, Richard would assume power and find a carrot and a stick for everyone. But until then…

How easy is it to rule a man who still remembers you in your swaddles? Who saw you steal apples in the orchard and jam in the kitchen (Richard really couldn’t help himself)?

You tell him no, and he says, “Come on, boy.”

He doesn’t care that you’re the king. For him, you’re still a child.

It’s not even high treason; just a delayed response.

Richard couldn’t afford a falling out with Avester. He simply couldn’t.

Thank Aldonai, Wellster was at peace. There shouldn’t be any problems coming from there—they might even help.

Altres Lort, who had recently been in Richard’s shoes, had no desire to rock the boat.

Oh, don’t think he was too noble and high-minded for that.

An honorable politician had been an oxymoron even in the Mesozoic era. They might not have known the term, but they definitely didn’t trust such people. The thing is, if you set your neighbor’s house on fire, you have to be ready for the flames to jump over the fence. Lort already had his hands full.

Richard, at least, ruled himself, but what was it like, being a regent for a child king?

That was no walk in the park.

And so, Richard and Jerisson had worked together to concoct a cover story, also known as a false narrative or a complete pile of crap.

Lilian was pregnant and left for Earton. That wasn’t surprising in the least; many women did that.

Jerisson went to his wife.

That wasn’t surprising either—it was par for the course. That would also make explaining things easier.

If Lilian had disappeared somewhere only to reappear with a babe in her arms—neither man accepted any other outcome—rumors were bound to spread.

But if she had gone to the country to give birth and returned together with her husband and a new child?

Nothing unusual about that.

Richard never told it to Jerisson, but he had also considered another option.

If Lilian never returned, the official version would be death at childbirth. She’d be burned in Earton, and that’s it.

If Jerisson never returned, he would be declared mad and isolated at his estate, or maybe dead as well.

It was a remote place in the middle of nowhere; nobody would learn the truth.

Of course, something would come out. Hans had many employees, and then there were the Virmans…

One word here, another word there. Still, without an official confirmation, none of that would ever become anything more than gossip.

Jerisson received the proper amount of congratulations and extricated himself from the lady’s clutches.

The rumor gained a life of its own and started spreading across the court.

Somewhere on the coast of Avester.

Anthony was grimly munching on hardtack.

He had soaked it in water and nibbled it around the edges.

They needed to eat before marching out.

Lilian Earton was sitting across from him on a large stone cushioned with her cloak. She was also eating after grumbling a little that they had to use their supplies sparingly. Food could be found in the woods.

The baron was lost for words.

He had expected many things, but not that.

What was a proper lady supposed to do in a situation like that?

Faint and pass out.

Then she’d wake up and collapse again, maybe a dozen times or so.

After that, she would throw a fit, leave everything to the man, and wait for rescue, preferably with her being carried to the closest settlement in his arms.

Now that would have been proper: sensible, appropriate… well, normal!

But what was Lilian Earton doing instead? Helping to bury a dead man. Expertly packing a knapsack. Preparing to travel across the woods. It truly seemed that for her, that kind of thing was normal and expected, like doing her hair. Just a fact of life.

Holy Aldonai on a cracker, what’s going on here?

Baron Lofrayne was profoundly freaking out. That was no sweet, soft, timid, or fragile lady. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to bring Lilian Earton to court anymore.

She seemed scary.

How could he know what she would do to him after he brought her there? Nothing good, probably. She clearly had enough resolve, as well as skill, time, and energy.

If he had known that beforehand, he would have never gotten involved with her.

That woman was a nightmare.

Yet despite all that, Tony couldn’t help but admit that it was better that way.

What would he have done with a proper lady?

He’d have hung himself on the closest pine tree or maybe drowned—there were options.

He had no time for hysterics, screams, or sobbing and no strength. They needed to act.

That said…

It was Lilian Earton’s own fault! If she hadn’t decided to escape, they would have never ended up stranded.

Still, Lofrayne never said it aloud. He knew what response it would elicit.

If you didn’t abduct me…

“Do I have dirt on my nose, Baron?”

“Um?” Anthony asked, waking up from his thoughts.

“You’ve been scrutinizing my face. Do I have dirt on my nose?”

“No, Countess. How can you say that?”

“Good, then.”

Lily turned over and reached out for the water flask. In that pose, her shirt really emphasized her breasts and her pants her hips. Anthony almost groaned.

That was sheer torture! How could she not understand that?

But Lillian’s expression was calm and innocent. She really had no idea.

Why would she? The Virmans treated women in pants the same way as in a dress. Jerisson often yielded to her seduction, but she was going out of her way to do that. Otherwise, she tended to observe the local dress code.

It’s not like she hadn’t made her share of blunders. If not for Alicia, with her wonderful nickname of Old Viper and a wonderful disposition, she would have been pecked to death at court.

She wasn’t like the rest of them, and that’s why she couldn’t permit herself to slip up.

The baron’s thoughts, however, never occurred to Lily. She had something else on her mind.

“Baron, when you were searching Ellis, did you find any fishhooks?”

“N-no.”

Lily sighed.

“Too bad.”

It really was a pity.

They could have stocked up on fish… Fish wasn’t anything to be scoffed at! It could be cured and used as trail rations, boiled, roasted…

Lily could do any of that with ease.

Of course, saltwater fish was a different thing.

Lily was only used to catching freshwater ones, having gone fishing in her childhood. She knew how to throw chum, reel, scale the haul, cook chowder…

All of that was familiar territory.

Fishing at sea wasn’t, and it probably required a special approach.

Lily would have tried, of course, but there was no guarantee.

She didn’t have a net, either. She could try weaving a weir, but what would she use?

There might not be any materials around, and she might never catch anything. She also had no hooks, no line… Fishing was out of the question.

Crabs? Bird eggs?

She had heard that it was possible to catch or gather them to be cooked, but she never tried it, and if so, there was no point in wasting time.

A fish fork was another option, but that skill was completely foreign to Lily.

No, better ignore all those ideas. It would be better to march out into the woods and hope that the road would lead them somewhere.

Lily once again thanked herself for being smart enough to sew pants and a few plain shirts and preferring to wear simple and comfortable shoes.

She did like high heels occasionally, but she was pregnant. Pregnancy and high heels were incompatible. With a different center of gravity, you could easily lose balance, and heels were bad for vessels, too… That’s why her boots were light and fit for walking. Just what the doctor ordered, really. Flat soles, slightly wide collars to prevent legs from swelling and bloating… They would do well in the forest—except for one thing.

With a practiced movement, Lily tore off several strips of fabric from her dress and tied them up around her soles in several places. Sneakers and ribbed soles were still centuries away, and that way, she could at least prevent slipping.

Tony shrugged and ignored her. Whatever. They still had to walk somehow.

Open sea, not far from Avester.

“F…!”

Jock Arran expressed his feelings as concisely as possible.

Still, after a pause, he repeated his exclamation in more detail, then added some more and repeated everything again.

Unfortunately, it did nothing to improve the situation.

Baron Lofrayne wasn’t onboard. Countess Earton wasn’t onboard. One of the rowboats was missing.

If that didn’t suck balls, he didn’t know what did.

However, the captain didn’t waste too much time cursing. His thinking was rather sound. If the nobles had run away from the ship… By the way, why would they do it?

Lofrayne had paid in advance. They weren’t going to give him up or sell him to the pirates. The baron wasn’t exactly new at sea, but he was far from an expert sailor.

He was a passenger, even cargo: not quite ballast, but not a seaman, either. That profession required a specific disposition, and the sea didn’t accept just anyone. Fools never became captains.

You could buy a ship, but you could never buy luck or skill. You’d either get eaten by pirates, customs officers, or someone even worse than them.

The sea…

Sometimes, Jock got the impression that the Virmans were right, and the sea had its own deity. Then he would chase that thought away, of course. That was pure heresy. He wouldn’t stoop to that. Aldonai and only Aldonai, that was it!

In any case, that wasn’t worth thinking about. The question was, where were the nobles? Why would they steal a rowboat and sail away?

The captain quickly and expertly rummaged through the baron’s cabin, then Lilian’s. His face turned dark.

The countess had clearly packed for a long trip. He couldn’t find a single article of clothing; she took everything she could carry. She even drew something on the wall…

Art had also become a victim of Lilian Earton.

Drawing a person was one thing: she could definitely do that—the muscles, the skeleton… She had performed that more than once at college, and her hands still remembered copying various images.

But when Her Grace had decided to draw a middle finger with ink…

Well, what was done was done. Too bad it hadn’t occurred to Lily that local customs were different. The captain stared at the picture, confused. The only conclusion he could make was that the countess had left by her own volition.

But what about the baron?

The baron hadn’t, and there was a solid argument for that. Money.

The baron wasn’t stupid. He could have abandoned clothes, weapons, but a heavy pouch with gold?

Jock was positive: he would never do something like that.

Well, he wouldn’t have.

So what had happened? Did the countess kidnap the baron?

Was it her revenge? Ha-ha!

All right, so let’s humor this idea: under cover of darkness, she had broken the bolt on his door… Oh, the bolt was intact. Fine, whatever. So, the countess walked to the baron’s cabin, somehow pushing the bolt aside, hit him on the head, tied him up, gagged him, loaded him into the boat…

Did it sound even remotely realistic?

Not for Jock.

That was a load of sharkwash.

The roles, theoretically, could have been reversed, but in that case, the baron wouldn’t have left his money and belongings. He wouldn’t have the countess pack up and draw on the walls.

So, what else could have transpired?

Only one thing. The countess had help.

A simple roll call revealed that one Ellis Rois was missing.

The lookouts managed to remember a brief commotion that night—too brief to pay it any attention, really, or they definitely would have checked it out.

At night?

But it was already breakfast time.

It was far too late to turn around and look for anyone. And thus, a war council had gathered in the mess room.

As the captain, Jock Arran led the meeting.

Sen Relar and Gaston Revier were present, as was Shert Laren, the boatswain who hadn’t been allowed to attend the dinner parties with Lilian due to being too rough around the edges: a commoner like him could accidentally offend the delicate countess. His manners left a lot to be desired, too.

Shert wasn’t happy, but the customer was always right, so he agreed to wait. They were getting paid, after all.

Whatever. He could eat with the crew or even in the galley.

Still, the others made a point of inviting him to the meeting. The boatswain was just as smart as some nobles, the captain thought, and they could use good advice.

Jock became the first to speak up.

“Gentlemen, we have a problem.”

Well, in truth, he didn’t word it exactly that way but translated from sailor speech to respectable language, that was the gist of it.

The gentlemen exchanged significant looks and voiced their opinions.

The boatswain inferred that he would like to put those nobles in a position particularly uncomfortable for them and interact with them.

The navigator expressed his surprise at the countess’ actions, while the doctorus pursed his lips and informed them that that was to be expected, especially from the countess. A woman wanting to be a doctorus? Where was the world coming to? That was clearly Maldonaya’s doing, and with Maldonaya, you had to be prepared for anything.

The boatswain immediately dismissed the version about Maldonaya and her shildas.

“Ellis Rois is also missing.”

Jock frowned, trying to recall the sailor’s biography, and the boatswain gave him its short and colorful version.

A leir on the run from Wellster… Bah, another nobleman!

He had clearly packed as well, also stealing a couple of knives, a shirt, and a little money—it’s not like the other sailors had a lot. All in all, three persons were gone.

Two had obviously escaped, and the third… Had they abducted him?

Jock really should have known better than to get involved with nobles! Those people were nothing but trouble!

“Why would they need the baron?” Shert asked, shrugging. “And he’s no wimp, either. Dragging him away would be a chore…”

Shert knew what he was talking about. Anthony loved honing his sword skills on the deck, and the boatswain had often kept him company. Tony didn’t mind; training with an opponent was always more fun.

The men exchanged glances.

“Well, maybe,” Gaston voiced his thoughts, “the baron could have noticed them when they were taking the boat?”

“And he didn’t raise the alarm?”

“If they knocked him out and threw him overboard, he couldn’t do it.”

The men clouded up.

Now that seemed quite possible. Nobody was immune to being backstabbed—even a legendary hero.

Could the countess have conspired with Rois?

Of course, she could, especially since Wellster and Ativerna were currently best friends forever. And even if they weren’t… Ugh, damn those aristocrats and their issues!

She could have arranged an escape with his help.

Could Lofrayne have heard a commotion and peeked out from his cabin?

Absolutely. He could have overheard them, left his room, and stumbled into the runaways on the deck. And that was it. They must have conked him on the head and thrown him into the sea, maybe even stabbed him with a knife… Which, incidentally, would explain the lack of noise.

All of that sounded possible.

That meant serious problems for the crew.

The ship had been chartered by Baron Lofrayne. Count Horatio Alden in Ativerna knew that, and the people in Avester would eventually learn about that as well.

So, what were Jock and his men supposed to do? They had no baron and no countess. Who would become the scapegoat in that affair?

Those present at the meeting had no doubt that it would be them. Who else was there left to blame? They’d be named guilty and hanged, no matter how loud they screamed of their innocence—unless they had something to show as proof.

Arguing would be pointless.

But what proof did they have?

They had nothing. Going to Avester wasn’t an option. What was, then?

Jock discussed everything with his crew. They had four suggestions, and he didn’t like any of them.

The first and most obvious one was Loris. The pirates were free folk, but Avester and Loris had an arrangement of some sort. They even had their own council of captains, and the others obeyed their decisions.

And those who didn’t want to submit, well…

Go feed the fish, then, or sail away in a very specific direction—downward.

The second option was Avester. It was no better than the first one.

Being turned over from Loris wasn’t a given, at least, but they definitely should stay away from Avester. What would they tell if asked at the port about the baron’s whereabouts?

“He came ashore”?

“I don’t know”?

That wasn’t very convincing.

Jock would have never bought that answer, opting for an all-out interrogation with torturers, whips, pliers, and so on, and so would His Majesty Entor. That was politics; it was serious business. No, he hadn’t signed up for that.

Really, if not for his pressing problems, he would have never agreed to that rotten deal. Well, there was one problem, actually—the lack of money. The baron had paid a lot: enough for Jock to stay away from the sea for at least a year.

Ugh, Maldonaya damn those chartering problems, that storm, and that weasel of a merchant…

Ah, there wasn’t much point in regrets. In for a penny, in for a pound.

And then there was Ativerna.

Jock wanted to go there even less than to Avester. He was no fool and knew that the Ativernans were bound to learn the truth, sooner or later. Still, if everything worked out well, he could have sold the Mermaid, bought a bigger ship, maybe even sailed to the Khanganat…

If wishes were fishes.

Wellster was off the menu for the same reason. They would turn him over to the Ativernans without a hitch, and then… Well, he preferred not to think what the Ativernans might do to him.

Ivernea?

“I don’t suggest it,” Sen Relar spoke up, staring at his polished nails. Polished! At sea! That’s what women do to us!

“Why?” Jock asked.

He didn’t have anything against Ivernea, but if the navigator knew something…

Especially since Sen, despite his proclivity for women, was far from stupid and generally gave sensible advice.

And as for women, instead of falling head over heels, like many other men did, Sen often managed to wring information out of them.

“Because the Ivernean princess just got married.”

“And?”

“To Wellster.”

“Even if it was the Khanganat, why should we care?” Shert asked, confused.

“I don’t exactly know what happened in Wellster,” Sen said, trying to explain the situation to the boatswain. He wasn’t arrogant in the least, knowing that missing a tooth wouldn’t make him any prettier. “Still, Rois told me a few things. He kept cursing the Eartons all the time.”

“Really?”

“I’ll tell you about it later… but the point is, Rois said that the Eartons had done a lot there. The countess, I think, delivered Her Majesty’s baby and was the first to take the prince into her arms.”

“Whoa!” the doctorus blurted out.

“Why didn’t I know that?” Jock asked, perplexed.

Sen shrugged.

“It never came up. I didn’t risk questioning the countess with the baron close…”

Jock hid his smile.

True, the baron had been glaring daggers at Relar. He never actually said anything, but he definitely tried to limit Her Grace’s interaction with the navigator, probably considering him the weak link in the chain.

Really, what if Relar succumbed to the countess’ urging and helped her escape the ship?

That was foolish, of course.

Sen loved money much more than women, but there was no convincing the baron of that.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sen shrugged once again.

“It only just occurred to me… Back when I talked to Rois, it didn’t surprise me.”

“That’s right,” the doctorus chimed in. “Delivering babies is a woman’s job. What’s so exciting about that?”

“Ellis hated both Eartons, the husband and the wife.”

The men exchanged glances.

Right.

They hadn’t expected a woman to have such guile, such cunning, such baseness, even.

How could they?

She was a countess, a noble lady. She was supposed to switch between fainting spells and hysterical fits, not escape a ship, especially in such a brazen manner!

“She also drew something on the wall…”

Sen chuckled.

“A middle finger. It’s a middle finger.”

“W-what?” Jock asked, his mouth agape.

Sen shrugged.

“Her Grace told me.”

“When did you find the time for that?” Jock exclaimed, clutching his head in shock.

“It’s not what I meant,” Sen replied, almost offended. “She used to stroll around the deck, back before she gave the baron that tongue-lashing…”

“That’s true.”

“And I walked there too.”

Jock groaned.

Right, just walked…because he loved walking that much.

Sen didn’t mind. He really had been walking—and trying to make a pass at the countess, naturally. The baron wasn’t by her side all the time, after all!

The food served on the ship tended to cause distress even to those who were accustomed to it. And those who weren’t, well…

The baron had been visiting the latrine ten times a day, leaving the countess alone and allowing Sen to keep her company. Of course, he wouldn’t have been Sen if he didn’t try to use the opportunity and court her.

Lily watched that show once, twice, and finally figured out her admirer’s true nature. That man fancied himself a lady-killer, but the only thing he would kill would be her time. He might want to get a woman into bed, but he’d never go against his own interests for her. And so, she gave him the cold shoulder: politely, all noble-like.

She showed him a middle finger and asked Sen if he knew what it meant. Sen didn’t. Lily graciously informed him that she was a lady and couldn’t speak such words out loud, but in short, his advances weren’t going to be successful in the least. She was very courteous, but it still stung.

“So basically, she told us off,” Jock concluded. “Leaving was definitely her decision.”

“It was,” Sen agreed. “Ellis isn’t a fool. Looking for them is pointless. Oh, where was I? Right, about Wellster. The Eartons are well-liked there. They say that Her Grace knows the princess and the widowed queen… It would be better to stay away.”

Jock concurred.

Another option was the Khanganat. Apparently, you could make a living there, too, even if you might not want to.

Darkom? No, Jock would never agree to live in a land-locked country. And really, what else did he know except sailing? No, Darkom wouldn’t do.

Elvana? It was far too close to Wellster. Better to play it safe.

The Khanganat was the only remaining option. However, reaching it without supplies didn’t seem possible.

“We’ll have to drop by Loris,” Jock finally announced. “And then, the Khanganat.”

Everyone present endorsed that decision. They had a good idea of what might happen to them and really wanted to live.

The woods close to the coast of Avester.

“So, Lofrayne, are you ready to head out?”

Lily checked everything once again, jumped up and down in place, and stomped her feet.

“Right, head out…”

“The sooner we leave, the sooner we reach civilization.”

“Are you seriously going to cross the forest?”

“Did I look like I was joking when I packed the bag and sorted out the food?”

Lofrayne eyed Lilian suspiciously.

“Well…You… You are… I don’t know!”

Words escaped him.

“I am. So what?

“A noblewoman shouldn’t do these things.”

Lily snorted and recalled her college life. Ah, those times…

“Do you think that women in difficult situations are supposed to behave like damsels? I’m going to let you in on a secret. We are as tough as any beast.”

“Lilian?” Lofrayne asked, dumbfounded.

Lily rolled her eyes.

“Aldonai, what have I done to deserve it? Couldn’t you have given me a smarter man for a companion?”

“Smarter?” Anthony flared up. “Smarter?!”

“Yes. And more pliant, too.”

“You… You…”

“Me. What did you expect me to do? Drop unconscious?”

“Umm…”

Lofrayne hesitated. That was exactly what he expected.

“Give me your hands.”

“What?”

“Your hands. Give them to me.”

Lofrayne obediently stretched out his arms, only for the full weight of Countess Earton to sink into them. She wasn’t exactly ethereal, either. Still, he managed to hold her, to his credit.

“I fainted. Now save me.”

“But…”

“Right now! Better yet, yesterday! Chop these woods down to Maldonaya’s buttocks and carry me through them, or at least get a carriage here.”

“Err…”

“You can’t?”

“I—"

“Just as I thought.”

Lily quickly jumped down from his arms and adjusted her pants, leaving Tony to stand there like a fool. And were he to try discussing that subject with Jerisson Earton…

Yes, exactly!

Once upon a time, Jerisson had also felt like an idiot when talking to his own wife. Everything seemed fine, but he couldn’t shake the impression that he had been deviously mocked and ridiculed.

Later, they found common ground, but back then…

A pink cow!

“So? Are you going to rescue me, or are we heading out?”

“We’re heading out,” Anthony grumbled and walked ahead, feeling like a fool.

How did women manage to do that? Or was it just that one specific woman? Yes, probably that.

Anthony didn’t even realize how much he was pulled toward Lilian Earton. After all, what’s the most interesting thing about a woman?

Not a heaving bosom or a slim waistline; not even a large bank account—and of what use would that be in the woods, anyway?

The most interesting thing about a woman was mystery, and Lilian Earton was a quintessential mystery.

Alas, any hopes Lofrayne might have had were futile.

Lilian Earton had no use for Stockholm Syndrome.

***

The forest of Avester somewhat resembled the woods around the place where Aliya had grown up.

Tall pines loomed far ahead, aspens murmured with their rustling leaves, birches flashed their spotted bark, maple gracefully swayed their delicate foliage, and oak trees kept blinking with the cups of their acorns.

“Koo-kooo! Koo-kooo…”

A cuckoo was singing, a sound nostalgic enough to almost make Lily tear up.

“Hey cuckoo, how many years have I got left to live?”

The cuckoo was silent.

“Lilian?”

Anthony listened closely, then looked at the countess.

Lily adopted a nonchalant look and smiled.

“Have you never played that, Lofrayne?”

“Played what?”

“Asked a cuckoo how many years you have left to live.”

Going by the baron’s face, he suspected that the countess herself had gone cuckoo.

Lily shook her head.

“This is a game for children. When they hear a cuckoo, they ask how many years they have left to live. You’ll live for as many years as the bird cuckoos.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Koo-kooo,” the cuckoo piped in as if on a cue.

“Cuckoo, how many years do I have left?” Lofrayne obediently asked.

“Koo,” the feathered pest replied and fell silent.

“Why so few?” Lilian asked venomously, then stopped, realizing that the baron didn’t get the joke, and smiled. “Don’t worry, Lofrayne. This is just a silly game.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Let’s go, then.”

***

An abduction? That was only half the trouble. Can you even imagine walking through the forest with the honorable baron?

You can’t? Good for you.

Less than two hours after the start of their trip, Lilian was already at her wit’s end.

She decided to go ahead, snapping a twig to keep the mosquitoes at bay, push away the brushwood, and sweep spiderwebs.

Yes, there were mosquitoes. In the middle of summer, their numbers weren’t that high but still significant. However, they didn’t seem to care about Lilian. The reason was unclear.

Maybe her pregnancy had changed her hormone levels and smell, or it might have been something else… Although mosquitoes had never bothered her much, anyway. Usually, they got a few practice bites and kept sticking in her hair and getting on her nerves.

The baron, however, was being stung all over, and Lilian didn’t even feel bad for him. Why would she? A good person would be sitting at home or dancing somewhere at a ball. That… man… had kidnapped her and tried to prevent her escape. Let him suffer. She didn’t have an ounce of sympathy for him.

So, how is it to traverse a forest?

Not that hard, as long as you follow simple rules.

A map or a compass is wonderful but not always available, but Lily knew the basic directions. As for the rest…

There was no choice. They just had to walk forward, as long as they had time.

Navigate by the sun: it rises in the east and sets in the west, goes through the south, and reaches zenith at noon. That’s enough to orient yourself. To avoid getting lost and going around in circles, as it often happens in the woods, pick three trees standing in a line and walk to the last of them, then another three trees, and so on and so forth…

That method allows you to prevent bearing to the right—or the left, for left-handed people—and extending your journey.

Anthony had no idea about such things.

The baron had been taught to fight (whom?), hunt (what?), care about a horse (no horses in sight), dance, do basic accounting…

In short, his list of skills didn’t have anything useful.

Hunting? His idea of a hunt wasn’t the vulgar business with traps and snares but chasing a boar with a spear or a deer with a crossbow or pike.

No horse, no deer, and no crossbow? Exactly.

Navigating? Even the most hare-brained nobleman wouldn’t get lost in the king’s grove. The entire forest would be full of beaters and foresters, the sounds of horns, people calling each other out, clatter and chatter, horses stomping, dogs barking…

Of course, there was always a chance of falling behind and straying into a far corner of the forest.

Still, even in that case, the hunter would have his weapons and a horse, and hunting parties never took place in the wilderness. He would get out in a few days max. Things like that sometimes happened.

The woods of Avester didn’t seem to have any game, so far.

Yet as soon as Lily thought that, their very first quarry came into her view. That was pretty quickly—less than three hours.

A viper!

“Lofrayne, freeze!”

Anthony dutifully stopped.

A viper was lying on a tree stump: big, black, and plump, chubby, even. It slightly raised its head but didn’t seem poised for an attack—yet neither was it in any hurry to slither away.

It was waiting.

Lily wasn’t flinching.

The most important thing when encountering a snake is to keep calm. Once, she had found a viper right in a bush when picking blueberries.

She simply put on a brave face, let go of the bush, and stepped back a few feet, stomping loudly.

The viper turned out to be pretty smart—two minutes later, it was gone. That behavior was normal for snakes.

Why would it get into a fight? Waste its venom, time, strength…

It was far easier just to crawl away. After all, it’s not like it had lost anything, like getting its tail squashed. They had both ruined each other’s mood. For two hours afterward, Lily made a point of checking each bush she approached with a stick before finally going on.

“Are you afraid of a snake?”

Lily glanced at the baron.

He really seemed to believe that he had guessed right.

“I’m not. What about you?”

“No. Let me scare it off!”

“What are you talking about?” Lilian asked, aghast. “We need to kill it!”

The baron’s face was the picture of surprise, if not stupefaction. The only thing he could muster to say was a short question.

“Why?”

“We’ll eat it!”

Lofrayne’s expression was priceless.

“E-eat?!”

Lily rolled her eyes. She breathed in, breathed out, and decided to educate the idiot.

“Squirrels, snakes, frogs… I don’t think I could handle eating insects, but it depends on the situation, I suppose. If I really have to, I won’t scoff at munching on a worm!”

Anthony seemed nauseous.

Lily snorted. If only the poor man had seen some choice Chinese and Korean delicacies! Silkworms, or rather their larvae, centipedes, scorpions, bat soup, chicken eggs with embryos…

To be completely honest, Aliya had felt sick when she heard about that at first.

Let’s just say that if she really had no choice, she would have eaten a scorpion, but treating it as a delicacy and enjoying it? Ugh.

“Are you out of your mind, Countess?”

Lily sighed again.

“Give me a blade.”

The viper turned out to be pretty smart and quietly disappeared from the sight of hungry nobles.

“Bleh…” Lilian said, genuinely disappointed. “We could have cooked it into a soup or at least roasted it. A soup would have been better, though. Tastier.”

Tony grabbed Lilian by her shoulders, gave her a slight shake, and looked her right in the eyes, probably looking for signs of insanity. Alas, he didn’t find any.

Lily was still calm and deadly serious.

“You were really going to eat a snake?”

“Anthony, Baron Lofrayne, do I look like I’m joking?”

She didn’t, but he couldn’t believe her words anyway.

Lately, Anthony had been in a permanent state of shock. By a twist of fate, he and Lilian Earton ended up stranded in a forest.

What would have a normal noblewoman done in her place?

She would have fainted in his arms and demanded he rescue her, immediately, preferably as soon as yesterday and with all due comfort.

That said, he didn’t like that scenario. They had already tested it.

What was Lilian Earton doing?

Cheerfully rescuing herself. She even seemed determined to get to civilization and drag him with her, never caring what exactly she would have to do.

Eat a viper?

She’d eat it.

Kill a man?

She’d kill him.

Not even blinking an eye all the way.

“You… What kind of person are you even?!” the baron all but groaned.

Lily snorted. She wanted to answer him in simple terms but then changed her mind. It would be better to give the poor guy an explanation, or he’d cause no end of problems.

“Anthony, my father is the first Baron Broklend. The first, get it? We had peasants, townsfolk, shipwrights, merchants in our family… But no nobles yet. My father and I were the first. Why are you so surprised that I’m well-accustomed to living on the ground? I’m a survivor!”

The baron chuckled.

“Or do you think that your farmers don’t eat frogs and snakes during blights?” Lilian continued attacking.

“I don’t know. Do yours?”

“Mine don’t. The first thing I did was provide my lands with food.” Lily snickered when recalling her first visit to the fair, meeting the Virmans, the village elders trying to trick her into charity…

That was a wonderful time!

She’d return there without a second thought! Maybe she’d go to Virma to be left alone…

But no. She had Jerisson, Miranda, and the other children.

If that was the price she would have to pay, she would do that. After all, God never gave anything freely. Who said that Aldonai loved freeloaders? Nobody loved them anywhere!

Anthony sniffled. Apparently, that had never occurred to him. Providing for anyone, thinking about other people… Those were commoners, serfs, rabble! It was peasants who were supposed to feed their lord; it was an honor to serve him! He was their master!

However, even the simple mind of a brainless shepherd could understand a few basic principles. Don’t starve the sheep, and it would bring you more wool; more sheep means more money; if there are not enough pastures, cultivate new ones…

Nothing extraordinary about that, really.

No divine revelations, just common sense: the logic of the future but not the past. But how would she explain that to a man whose thinking was centuries behind hers?

Lily waved her hand and went ahead.

“Let me walk in front of you,” Anthony said, touching her shoulder.

Lily shook her head.

“Let’s do it this way: I’ll go ahead first, and when I get tired, I’ll let you take the lead. I’m still not ready to trust you.”

“You think I’ll get you somewhere unsafe?”

“You might not mean to do it. It’s just… Things happen.”

And how was he supposed to talk to that woman?

In truth, however, Anthony wasn’t exactly sure of himself. He was out of his depth, away from his comfort zone, and he needed an unconventional approach. Something told him that survival was not a given.

Chapter 2

Lily hunkered down and carefully pulled a cute-looking firm mushroom out of mycelium.

“Lilian?”

Anthony, who was still walking behind her, stopped.

“It’s a mushroom,” Lily said matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” Lofrayne said, nodding. “A mushroom.”

Unlike what you might expect, mushrooms were a widespread source of food. The meat of the woodlands, so to speak, or the fields.

Lily remembered picking whole buckets of field honey fungus. They grew in the forest, too. In her childhood, they often marinated them in barrels with garlic, blackcurrant leaves, or horseradish. It was a real feast, especially with baby potatoes, dill, maybe even some barbecued meat… or at least canned. She imagined picking up that nice firm mushroom with a fork and putting it into her mouth, followed by some potatoes mashed with dill and another one…

Lily had gone mushroom picking many times. She could tell edibles from inedibles but was snobbish enough to prefer penny buns and chanterelles, although she could stoop as low as honey fungi.

Lofrayne, however…

He definitely ate mushrooms, true. Picking them, however? He was a nobleman! That was exceedingly inappropriate! Where was she getting such wild ideas of mushroom picking? A baron with a basket?

That was just barbaric.

Lofrayne knew that mushrooms were delicious, but he could never tell them apart in nature.

Lily gently pulled the mushroom apart and licked the stipe. It wasn’t the best way to figure out its edibility, but…

A birch bolete? No?

It wasn’t bitter at all. Fine… Lily waved her hand and nodded to Lofrayne.

“Get me a bag.”

“Why?”

“We’ll be picking mushrooms along the way.”

“Are you going to eat them?”

“I am. I’ll collect them and eat them, too.”

“Do you know a lot about them?”

Lily shrugged.

Anyone would have known a lot about mushrooms if they grew up in the same era as she had. Times were hard. Half the population was forced to feed themselves on homegrown produce, and gathering played a big role. Meat was expensive, and in the summer, mushrooms were everywhere. They could be pickled, dried, roasted—and were just as nutrient-rich as sausage made from paper and starch that was everywhere.

They were definitely healthier, too.

A girl from a garrison town had no chance of staying on the sidelines.

Knowing mushrooms?

If she cooked them right, Lofrayne would have gobbled up the pan! Pierogi stuffed with mushrooms and potatoes. Mushroom pasta. Mushrooms in sour cream sauce… But that was a long time ago in a world unlike the one in which she found herself.

There, Lily had never really picked any mushrooms, although she did eat them occasionally. What excuse could she find, anyway?

Her Grace going out to the woods to forage for food?

The servants would be the first to get confused, followed by the Virmans, the soldiers, her husband, her daughter, their friends…

Countesses didn’t collect mushrooms. They just didn’t.

No matter how much they might want to.

And so, Lilian promptly pulled out a pot, deftly tied straps of fabric around it as a makeshift shoulder belt, and gave the lightened knapsack back to Lofrayne.

“I’ll carry the mushrooms. They’ll get crushed into a medley in the bag. The pot will help. I’ll pick them myself, too.”

“Lilian, are you sure you’re an expert on mushrooms?” Lofrayne asked, worried. He probably wanted to survive eating them.

Lily knew that mushrooms weren’t the best food for a pregnant woman, but did she really have a choice?

She needed to get to safety, and without food, she wouldn’t be able to walk. It was either eat mushrooms or stay in the forest.

Could mushrooms affect the baby?

They could, theoretically, at least if she ate toadstools. Of course, the mother probably wouldn’t survive that either. If she was sure about the type and didn’t eat too much, it might even be useful. Those woods were untouched by civilization; the mushrooms there were probably much healthier than back in her world.

There was no acid rain, no waste dumps, no toxic emissions. The people there were still manufacturing everything manually and passed clothes down across generations.

Fashion?

Buying new shoes each season and throwing out the old?

The locals would have cursed you for that. Only the richest could afford that; mass production wasn’t a thing yet.

Lily shook her head, driving away stray thoughts.

“I know a lot about mushrooms. Don’t worry, Baron, I won’t poison you by accident.”

Only on purpose.

Lofrayne figured out the implication and frowned.

“Lilian, I know that you’re upset with me…”

Lily snorted.

“Lofrayne, if not for this unexpected trip, I would have definitely poisoned you. But for now, live. It’s easier to travel in a group.”

“Much obliged,” Anthony retorted, sarcastic, and marched on.

Lily chuckled, took another mushroom, and slowly walked in the same direction.

It’s not like she was in a hurry.

Make haste slowly, as a wise man had once said.

Ativerna, Laveri.

Anika Reval breezed through the palace, ran out into the garden, and flew into a gazebo, finally allowing herself to burst into tears, her heart broken.

Why was life so unfair? What had she done to deserve that?

She knew why her parents had brought her to the court and didn’t mind getting married, but not to Baron Toveri! He was ugly, fat, old, and bald. His grandchildren were older than Anika! Of course, he was rich, and Anika’s family had spent a lot of money to keep her at court and install her as a lady-in-waiting, but still…

Why? Couldn’t they find anyone else? Someone… more presentable?

Anika let out another sob.

But they couldn’t. Alden had tried wooing her but was refused. Anika’s father even screamed at his daughter for finding penniless and landless riffraff. So what if he was a leir? It was only a title! He was destined to spend his life in the royal guard, only scrounging enough to buy himself a uniform… and how, by the way?

It’s not like the guards got a lot of money. Was he gambling?

Anika didn’t know.

Yes, she had seen Alden at a card table a few times, but she had visited the gambling hall, too. What was so bad about that?

At court, everyone gambled.

Of course, His Majesty Edward had banned high stakes; the court gamblers could only play for special royal tags.

Anika didn’t know who had come up with that idea.

The tags were metal fragments folded in a specific way and sealed with the royal seal. Taking them away from the palace was forbidden.

Once per month, the tags were unsealed, and one of them contained a permit for an audience with the king.

You could be a leir, a duke, a lowly guard, or a lady-in-waiting, but if you had the tag, the king would receive you.

He would hear you out, too.

How hard was it to grant one audience in a month?

A trifle.

Earning that audience, however…

For people like Anika, that was all but impossible. Maybe she could try to throw herself at His Majesty’s feet and beg for mercy. But what if she failed?

She’d have to do it in front of everyone. It would be a scandal! Her parents would immediately drag her away and kick her out instead of marrying her off!

That thought was scary.

But if she had one of those tags, she’d ask the king away from prying eyes. Nobody would know anything.

Gambling for money, however, was a different matter.

Their Majesties frowned on that practice. You still could do it in the city: lots of places offered gambling, both legal and not.

Anyway, if Alden gambled, why was that a problem? Was that really that awful?

Why did she have to give up on her love and marry that old bastard?

Anika imagined the baron, his fat fingers covered in red hair, his large belly, his bald head, his mouth full of rotten teeth, and felt nauseated. With an effort, she pushed back the lump that rose in her throat.

She had done nothing to deserved that.

If she got married, she would be forced to obey her husband. She’d have to leave the court, too, as only unmarried women could be ladies-in-waiting unless you got special permission from the king.

Like Countess Earton, for instance, despite being married, she was officially a lady-in-waiting. Her daughter, too… Although what was the point of thinking about the Eartons? They were related to the king, even if not by blood. Still, everybody knew Queen Jessamine’s story…

It was nice to be an Earton. But Anika? Nobody was going to stick up for her.

And she cried even harder.

***

A warm hand touched the girl's shoulder.

"What's wrong, child?"

Anika raised her head and looked at the man who had somehow shown up in the same gazebo as her.

"I... I..."

"You're sobbing so hard that I won't be surprised to see a new salt lake flood the garden. They'll have to name it after you, you know."

"I... I was..."

"Forced to leave your beloved?"

Anika burst into tears again, and the soft hand touched her hair.

"Tell me everything, child. Tell me, and together, we'll think what we can do."

How could she refuse an offer like that?

Anika sobbed again and started telling her story, jumbling words and spraying tears on the man's clothes.

The woods close to the coast of Avester.

They stopped for the night early.

"We don't have a lot of water left," Lofrayne said with a sigh.

Lily snorted.

She had already wrested water from her companion at least ten times.

Men like the baron were clearly not made for long hikes. He had never heard about animals licking salt, soldiers given salt pills, and human bodies requiring a delicate balance between salt and water.

Lily had given him a piece of meat jerky, which had loads of salt, but water was a problem.

The forest they were crossing was coniferous and pretty dry. Digging a pit would have been pointless. There were no birches in sight, either, so obtaining sap was out of the question.

Cellophane? If the world Lily was in developed at the pace of Earth, it would be invented in five hundred years or so.

So how was she going to solve that issue?

She'd use a good old method. Scrape out some soil, put some bark on the bottom of the hole, cover it with burdock—that stuff was abundant across the woods, its barbs all over Lily's clothes—and pile some rocks over the resulting hollow. Then she'd wait until morning.

Anthony shook his head.

"That won't be enough."

"We'll look for water tomorrow," Lilian reassured him. "That will last us until then."

Lofrayne sighed.

"Aldonai knows what this is."

Lily snorted.

Aldonai!

The man who had taught her that trick was no deity but an author of survival manuals. His books told little Aliya about surviving in the wild, no matter the situation. It had been easier for Robinson Crusoe. Daniel Defoe had prudently provided his character with everything he might have needed up to a personal servant. At least he never hooked him up with a gorgeous female native.

What was it called? A contrived coincidence? A real shower of them.

But what if you barely had anything at all and found yourself in a forest? What would you do?

Lilian knew how to survive—and survive well. The baron was directed toward sparse leafy underbrush.

We need a couple of spears. Go and cut a few saplings about this size...

If you find them, pick yew, elm, hazelwood, ash, or larch.

If you don't, take anything. We'll find what we need later in the woods.

Why am I ordering you around?

Because I know exactly what we need. If wolves or a bear attack us, are you going to fend them off with a sword? Challenge them to a duel?

Oh, you won't?

Then get moving!

***

Unsurprisingly, Lily was in charge of the dinner.

She roasted the mushrooms on sticks, braised them in the pot, added a few pieces of meat jerky instead of salt and spices, and got a dish that, while not necessarily delicious, was quite nourishing.

At first, they ate a spoonful or two, then waited a few hours and finished the rest. Lily trusted her stomach. It reacted immediately to any toxin, no matter in what world she was.

Gathering a few branches to use as bedding wouldn't be hard, and neither would be setting up a bed.

That aside, the day had been a hard one, so neither of them had any desire to talk or discuss anything.

Lily ordered around, and Anthony obeyed. She was happy that he didn't seem keen on talking. Stupid questions like "What's that for?", "Are you sure you want to do it?", and the epitome of idiocy, "Where have you learned this?" would have made her bristle like a porcupine.

Where? What do YOU think?

Lily wasn't overestimating herself. Had they ended up in a desert, she would have had a much harder time…or savanna, jungles, a tropical island, or in a permafrost area...

Yes, she had read about those conditions and knew the theory. People told her about them and shared their experiences, but she never visited a savanna or traveled to, say, Africa.

All she knew was a good old temperate forest with pines, aspens, oaks, and maples. The one around them wasn't much different. Some trees looked unfamiliar, but Lily was no botanist—the only part of it she had studied was medicinal plants. Trees were harder.

That one, with grey bark and reddish leaves, was an aspen. The fancy-shaped leaves indicated a maple, and kernels hanging off the branches pointed to a hazel. Too bad, it was too early in the summer; unripe nuts weren't easy to handle. She knew lots of remedies involving them, but that might not be worth the trouble, and cooking them would take so long they'd get ripe on their own!

Alas, that year, she wouldn't be able to store up anything for the winter. Maybe Tahir could help or Jamie. Even if he had become Baron Donter, he still had a good pair of hands on him. He would gather herbs and dry them, buy more, start making potions... Whether with Lilian or without Lilian, the people would keep getting sick. How would they manage?

On the other hand, it would be a good test. If anything happened to her, and they were left alone without her supervision, would it all go to hell? She didn't want that. That way, she would see if she had committed the worst mistake ever—made everything revolve around her, becoming the center of the universe that would crumble as soon as she was taken away. That wasn't a nice prospect.

Lily threw the baron an almost hateful look.

You rascal! Why did the devil bring you upon me?!

The baron sensed her animosity and worked his saber even faster as he cut the branches.

***

Grumbling that his sword would surely go blunt, made of crappy iron as it was, Anthony nonetheless hacked spruces without fail under Lilian's watchful eye, then packed them the right way, wrapping them in straps of fabric.

"How are we going to sleep, Lilian? Will we have our arms around each other?"

Lily glared at him as if he were an idiot.

"We'll be keeping watch."

"Watch?"

Lily shook her head.

"Milord, what if a wild beast stumbles into our camp? I don't relish the idea of waking up without my ears or my nose."

"Animals shouldn't lack for food at this time of year..."

"Too bad they might not know that," Lilian retorted. "We'll take shifts."

The animals might be sated, and they might never come upon their encampment, but you never know.

Sleeping outside was nothing like staying in a cozy tent easily zipped up from the inside. It was nothing like getting into a nice sleeping bag, blissfully free of any creepy crawlies.

The forest was alien and strange, too. In the twenty-first century, animals were smart and scared easily. That place was different.

If a pack of wolves or something even worse showed up, they would have no chance against them. The smell of food was spreading across the forest, too—those mushrooms had turned out pretty well, all in all.

No, she wasn't going to take risks.

"Lie down, Tony." Lily fluffed the pile of spruce branches once again and put the resulting bundle under her head. Just like that... and now fold the cloak, and it's done!

"Are you sure, Lilian?"

"One of us will sleep while the other keeps watch. It makes sense."

"But I'm a man..."

"And what good will you be if you're tired? Get some rest, Anthony. I'll wake you up in the middle of the night."

Anthony knew that it was fair. They really needed to keep watch. The forest was full of wolves, bears, and Aldonai only knew what kind of creatures. Losing your guard meant getting eaten. But a noblewoman...

How could she keep watch like a common soldier?

Impossible!

In the meantime, Lily sat down by the fire and wrapped herself in a cloak, then pulled out a small thin aspen tree he had cut down on her request and started whittling its tip.

"We'll scorch it in the coals. That's how they do it in villages when there's no money for a metal one. Or we'll splint it and stick and fix a sharp stone into the gap... Depends on what we find, I guess."

Anthony made himself comfortable on a pile of branches.

"Can you fight with a spear?"

Lily burst into laughter while still working on her project.

"Fight? For pity's sake, Tony, I won't last even a minute against you!"

The baron chuckled, admitting that she was right, and never noticed Lily hide a sly smile.

She wouldn't last against him in a fight, true. But who said she was ever going to fight him directly?

Are you kidding me? Fight a clearly stronger opponent with a weapon she had used maybe five times in her life? And even then, it had been Alex who had taught her.

Aliya had been familiar with a spear. She knew how to use it—in theory—and where to aim, but that was it.

Fighting with a spear? No thanks. It would be much easier to poison the baron. She had even picked a few mezereum berries, wrapping them in burdock to avoid spilling and crushing.

Would that be cruel?

Well, she wasn't the one who had abducted him or carried him away from home. She was the victim there; was she supposed to take mercy on every single bastard? Ridiculous.

Lily was going to use the baron to help her cross the forest—after all, traveling together was easier. But when they found other people, he would either let her go willingly and never pursue her or...

Or there wouldn’t be anyone to pursue her. Her conscience would keep silent about that.

Lily lightly touched her stomach and once again felt happy that her body worked like a clock.

Good thing she had realized her condition straight away, after the very first month. A missed period, swelling in her breasts, the same sensations as during her first pregnancy... That was lucky.

At that moment, she was about two or three months pregnant, which also was fortuitous. She still didn't have a big belly and felt pretty good. If she paced herself, she could walk as much as she wanted, even run.

But women had given birth in worse circumstances: during wars, in the field, in concentration camps—even in caves. Was there a maternity leave in the Stone Age?

If you just gave birth, great—and now feed your offspring and drag the mammoth into the cave, woman! And be silent! Maybe that's why polygamy had been invented. Women just needed other women to help out with children and chores, and if they had to share a man, so be it. Really, Lilian was up to her neck in work.

That's why she had made camp early.

Anthony might be walking through the forest and gaping in awe at everything around him, but Lily was busy listening to her own body.

Was she sure everything was fine below her waist? Was she sure she had no cramps?

But she was. There was no pain yet. It was just a medium-sized kidney bean, and walking was recommended even for pregnant women.

Not for twelve hours a day, you say?

Well, she wasn't straining herself, anyway—just enjoying a stroll. So what if she got tired? She'd just sit down and get some rest, then move ahead.

The most important thing was to keep her condition secret from Anthony. Still, by Lilian's account, men were rarely observant, especially when it came to such things. You'd have to rub their nose into that for them to notice. Jess usually ignored any signs.

Last time, she hadn't figured it out herself—a missed period didn't mean anything by itself—until Alicia rubbed it in.

As always, the cobbler's children had no shoes.

Naturally, Jess was even more clueless. It wasn't like in harlequin novels when the man declared that he knew his woman's body. Well, maybe he did, but not as an OB-GYN but as a practicing Casanova. An amateur. Jerrison's face when she told him the news was something else.

How worried was he with her gone, though?

That was a real horror, his wife and unborn child missing...

Don't fret, honey. We'll be back to you in no time, whether you like it or not!

Lily shaved off a bit more wood and examined the result of her labor.

The tip looked good and sharp, and the tree seemed a good fit for carving. She'd have to make a forked stick out of it later.

One spear, one stick... Or maybe she could sharpen it on one end and make the other one forked? That was worth a try. It might be useful for hunting snakes.

One man would use the forked end to press the snake's head to the ground while another cut it off. Yes, that seemed like the best idea. Milord baron would have to learn hunting snakes; it couldn't be helped. Birds, snakes, squirrels—whatever they stumbled upon, as long as nobody stronger stumbled upon them.

"Tony, can you handle the graveyard shift?"

There was no answer.

Lily turned around.

The baron was sleeping, wheezing a little, and his face was calm and peaceful. Another woman might have been moved by that sight.

Lily shook her head, pursed her lips, and returned to her work. She wasn't going to be moved. He should be thankful she hadn't killed him yet.

***

By the middle of the night, the spear was ready, and so was the second one. All that was left to do was to scorch their tips in the fire to make them harder. Lily shook the baron awake.

"Yes?"

"Tony, you're in charge of the campfire and the watch. Don't wander away. I promise you I'm not going to spy on your communion with nature. I'm not a pervert."

The baron didn't get her meaning straight away and then snorted, indignant.

"Well, Lilian, you know—"

"I know. I've seen those already, and they're nothing special."

"You have? Oh, right..."

"Imagine that," Lilian replied, brushing him off. "I'm going to sleep. Can you handle the tips? Do you know what to do?"

"I do."

Lily nodded, wrapped herself in the cloak, and fell asleep.

She woke up when it was around ten in the morning. The baron was sleeping with his back against a tree. The fire was almost out; thankfully, the spears were unscathed.

Lily couldn't hold it in anymore. The anger inside her was itching to spill out. She had trusted that arrogant idiot with the most precious things she had: her own life and the life of her child, and he was asleep! And it had clearly been a while, two hours at least, seeing the fire was all but dead!

Come in, beasts, feel yourself at home!

Lilian had no desire to wake up in the belly of a bear or the jaws of a boar. This is why she repeated the favorite trick of the children in her summer camp.

Of course, she wasn't going to do it at close range, like they had.

She took one of the spears, pointed the dull end at Anthony, and gave him a hard whack in the gut.

In camp, they had also spilled icy water on such wannabe sentries and threw cloaks on them, but wasting water was out of the question.

Anthony jumped up, but not too high. Then he bent over, coughed, and clutched at his stomach.

"Lilian! Have you lost your mind?"

Fine. He didn't use those exact words, and the only appropriate ones were her name and the prepositions.

Lily threw the spear aside and spat.

"You deserve worse than death, dimwit!"

That is also a loose translation.

The baron gasped in shock when he heard the countess speak like a drunk boatswain who got an anchor dropped on his foot.

"What?!"

"Baron," she said, visibly struggling to pull herself together. "What punishment befits a sentry who fell asleep at his post?"

"D-death... Umm..."

Finally, it dawned on Anthony, all the how's and the why's. He turned red, then white, then coughed again... although the last part wasn't caused by embarrassment. He still hadn't gotten a chance to catch his breath, and Her Grace was a heavy hitter...

That was a real smackdown she had given him, worthy of her stature.

"I... Err... I also..."

Lily looked at him like he was her number one enemy.

"You also did that? Oh well, it happens. My sympathies. Ouch!"

Oh, goddamn it!

She almost blurted that out when the adrenaline subsided. True, an adrenaline rush could help one move heaven and earth, but...

Exactly. "But." Lily had spent the day before walking and a few days before that doing hard physical labor. That was bound to take a toll.

Her muscles began to hurt all at once, as if on purpose. Horrified, Lily concentrated, then breathed out in relief and wiped the sweat off her forehead. The most important part of her body wasn't in pain. Her uterus was calm and gave no unpleasant sensations. Her child was all right.

Her legs, however, burned like crazy. The scratches on her arms stung. Her shoulders throbbed, unused to heavy loads. Of course, Lofrayne carried most of the weight, but for Lilian, even the remaining part was too much. That wasn't good at all.

But what could she do?

Exercise. Otherwise, they might never leave that place.

"Lilian?"

Anthony decided to show concern, stepped toward her, and winced just like the countess.

"Ugh!"

"Sore muscles, huh?" Lily asked.

He nodded. He was definitely feeling the burn.

The baron was in good shape, excellent, even. He could ride really well and swing his sword almost tirelessly, but that wasn't quite the same thing, just like a porter and a strongman.

For the first one, it was work, hard labor that forced your muscles to bulk up. For the second, it was also work but nowhere as monotonous and exhausting; he'd burn out doing that. A porter, however, could easily keep hauling crates after lifting weights.

Anthony wasn't prepared for crossing long stretches on foot, and neither was Lilian—not in the countess' body, at least. In that body...

Lily's cheeks turned red with embarrassment. She could hear her father's voice as if he were standing next to her. "When hiking, after you set camp, make sure to massage your arms and legs. Without that, you won't get far the next morning..."

And what had she done?

What an idiot!

It had completely slipped her mind. So what if she was pregnant? Hormones were no excuse for idiocy!

She had only one option: stretch her muscles and not make any big plans for the day. There was no choice.

She would also need to take care of the baron; there was no getting around that. He would hardly know how to exercise the right way after such stress. Just look at him, barely holding his head, his neck numb...

She had to take charge and return their small squad into fighting shape.

Thankfully, she had also taken Physiotherapy at college. It wasn't her major, but how could Aliya miss an opportunity to learn something new?

She would have stayed day and night in the study room if she could! The textbooks were full of exciting stuff, and the professor never let students take them home. And so, Aliya sat there, reading.

All right, so it's PT, Physiotherapy.

Lily sighed.

"Baron, try moving just like me. All together..."

"Why?"

"We need to stretch our muscles," Lily reluctantly explained. "Or else they'll keep hurting, and we'll trudge along like two crones."

"Do you know how to do it?"

"Tahir taught me," Lily said, once again relegating her skills to her "mentor." Yeah, right, mentor... But who was going to check that? "You do know that Khangan caravans cross the desert, don't you?"

The baron nodded.

Of course, he knew that; he wasn't a simpleton.

"Exactly. Walking there is hard, and they need to exercise to prevent their arms and legs from getting sore."

"Hmm?"

"What will you lose by trying, Lofrayne? Repeat after me. And if you won't, I'm not going to wait for you or pity you," Lilian said brusquely.

Then she started her workout.

Head, neck, shoulders, arms...

Slowly, she went through each muscle.

When she reached shoulders, Lofrayne joined in. She showed him every move, every exercise, step by step.

The only muscles she spared were abs and obliques.

No need.

Her baby was too close.

Pregnant women could still train, as long as they avoided certain exercises, and Lily knew them well. Good thing her parents had always urged her to never stop learning.

Where would she have ended up without that counsel? Dead, most likely.

Author's Note: I visited the gym until four months pregnant, only stopping when I didn't have enough time. However, ALL training was done supervised by a trainer with a medical background.

***

Anthony obediently swung his feet in the air, following Lilian Earton's example.

Once again, he felt like a fool—a helpless fool, even.

He was weaker than his female companion.

That frustrated him, annoyed him, threw him off-balance...

But that was the truth. He had fallen asleep at the post. How embarrassing!

He ought to have been killed for that!

His stomach was still hurting, but Lilian had the right to punish him. Tony himself would have cut a sleeping sentry down without even looking.

Right at that moment, Lilian turned, and her baggy shirt tightened on her voluptuous breasts, almost eliciting a yelp from Tony.

Really, of all muscles in his body, that one didn't need to be wide awake!

But the joke was on him.

He was hurting all over except for one specific part, which was almost ripping a hole through his clothes.

However, the countess didn't seem to notice anything. Tony understood it.

She wasn't flirting, playing hard to get, or feigning ignorance—he had seen all of that before and didn't think much about the women who did that. No, Lilian simply wasn't looking at him.

She didn't care what the baron had below his waist. She was uninterested.

Chagrin set in.

Another thing kept nagging at him, this time unrelated to the aforementioned body part. Lilian had been walking through the forest for as long as he had. She gathered mushrooms, cooked dinner, and kept watch for half the night.

But what about him?

What did he do in that time?

Did he keep watch? No, he fell asleep.

Did he cook breakfast? No, he overslept.

All he was doing was repeating after Her Grace, exercising together with her. Her husband must be a really special man, too. Anthony was starting to understand why Jerisson Earton had treated Lofrayne the way he had.

Seducing a woman like her?

He could try. Failure was the only option.

As an experienced lady killer, Tony could sense the most important thing.

Lilian could only be with a man she thought equal or stronger. He, Baron Lofrayne, turned out to be weaker and ill-adjusted to life.

Weaker than a woman!

A countess!

He was lost for words.

And yet...

Could he ever stand toe-to-toe with her? He wasn't completely useless; Tony knew that. But how was he to prove that to Her Grace?

Fine.

First, he would work out. And then, he would wait and see.

***

After the warm-up, Lily sunk down on the spruce branches. She lay there spread-eagled, slowing her heartbeat and lazily stretching her legs—right, then left—and her arms—right, then left...

Lofrayne lowered himself on the needles, not trying to claim Lilian's place. That's right; let him do without comfort.

"Lilian?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"I sure hope so," she replied curtly. After the warm-up, being mad at him was hard.

"I don't understand how it happened..."

"Pretty silently, I'd wager. You were simply tired. Lofrayne, in the future, please try to avoid falling asleep at the post. My life matters to me."

"Forgive me, Lilian."

"Aldonai's the one who forgives."

"And... could you just call me Tony? Just to save time."

Lily snorted.

"I'll think about it, Baron. Fine. We need to get up."

"Is it time to go?"

"Absolutely. How is our water doing?"

Only a couple of fistfuls had collected overnight, but the travelers were happy with that.

Lily deftly pulled out the bark without spilling any drops and shared the water with Anthony.

She got a bit more, but she didn't mind. That wasn't the time to discuss gender equality... or was it? She was drinking for two, after all. In truth, she should be asking for two-thirds.

Then she issued them two hardtacks as breakfast—thankfully, they could be munched along the way—and started packing.

Anthony put his biscuit into his pocket and proceeded to help Her Grace. He wasn't quite good at that yet, but Lily herself had forgotten a lot, too. Her hands remembered, but...

It was just like with the massaging. Really, she had absolutely known that.

She had! But it completely slipped her mind, as she hadn't gone hiking for ages. Nobody would have understood a countess doing that, probably calling her a madwoman.

Whatever; when she got home, she would come up with an excuse. At least she had managed to assert her right to exercise—the countess was simply "eccentric." Still, even eccentricity had its limits.

Worse, she had spent almost a month sitting like a duck on that damnable ship. Building muscle is hard, but you can let yourself go in no sweat: just stop training, and you'll soon turn into a blob.

But where could she train in a cabin not even large enough to walk? Two steps, and you hit a table; three steps, and it's the corner... But those were all just excuses. In the end, the results were unfortunate.

No matter.

She would make up for it later.

Soon, their stuff was packed and the fire stamped out and extinguished by Anthony with the old "turn around, girls, it's time for boys to do their work" trick. Once again, the companions continued their journey through the forest.

Avester, the royal palace.

His Majesty Entor slowly picked up the scroll delivered by a pigeon. It was a message from Ativerna.

Letters like that he handled personally, unfolding and deciphering them. If that information leaked out... Well, it might not result in a war, but Richard would never stop undermining Avester.

Of course, he might do it anyway.

Still, it was one thing if the rest of the world considered you to be in the right and you, poor little thing, were bullied by bad people, and quite another if you got into your neighbor's garden and stole his cabbage, prompting him to chase after you with a shovel. A well-deserved retaliation, they would say, wouldn't they? The Khangans, the Virmans, even Wellster and Ivernea...

No, some things had to be between the pigeon and the king, and you could always twist the former's neck.

The cipher wasn't hard to solve; Entor had done that enough times.

R. is suspicious. L.'s declared pregnant. The wolves are at sea.

Just a few words, but so much information.

So, Richard suspected the Avesterians' involvement.

They also weren't going to look for Lilian Earton... Wait, scratch that.

They were going to look for her but quietly, on the sly, never making her abduction public and using people whose professions shouldn't be named. Keeping the countess next to the capital wasn't an option. He'd have to find a safe haven somewhere in the wilderness and bring his captive there.

He'd also have to find her reliable jailors. Lofrayne might become one of them, too. He wasn't particularly smart, but women swooned over him, and why would a woman need anything else? Countess Earton might just become Countess Lofrayne.

There was one more thing, too. If he got his hands on Lilian Earton, everything would be his. Healers. Manufacturing. The secrets of craft revealed to Ativerna that no Avesterian knew. And money, money, money... That's what mattered the most.

Entor sat on his throne smiling, anticipating his future wealth. As for what Lilian Earton herself thought about that... He wasn't going to ask.

The woods close to the coast of Avester.

Lily was counting her steps.

Each time she reached a thousand with each foot, she reset the count, starting from scratch. How many would she walk?

Did it really matter, though? It's not like she had a map or knew the distance. She just needed to keep her brains busy.

The forest was... well, different like all forests were. Still, navigating there wasn't hard.

No need to rely on ants or lichen—they might not know that anthills were supposed to be built on the southern side of trees and moss had to grow on the northern. They were illiterate and hadn't read any books.

The sun was her reference point.

So they were headed east?

Forward, then.

After figuring out the direction, she just needed to walk forward.

Mosquitoes could be dealt with by wiping mud all over your body. Not the most pleasant of sensations, but neither was getting bitten.

Spiders and their webs were easily defeated by waving a branch around. She also made a point of tying a headscarf around her head and watching her step, especially the latter.

Feet were of paramount importance.

Lily harbored no illusions: a broken leg meant death for either of them, literally. She would have to either finish the baron off or ask him to kill her. Lily was far from a twig; he couldn't carry her through the woods, and walking with a broken leg was impossible.

That said...

She felt another heart beating just below hers.

For a second, she put her hand to her stomach and breathed out.

We'll make it, kid. I'll never let any harm come to you. I'll get through this, and so will you...

She was going to come home to her husband, and it didn't matter what had to be done to achieve that. Crossing the forest?

No problem! After all, it was an ordinary temperate forest, not a taiga, even if the undergrowth annoyed her to no end, always forcing her to make detours.

Reaching Avester?

First, she had to get to civilization, and the rest could be dealt with later. Her current plan was to leave the country before His Majesty learned about her visit.

The baron?

Now that wasn't something Lily was worried about, not even for a minute.

If only he hadn't started everything and stayed home in his fluffy slippers! Instead...

What an... unagreeable fellow! Obnoxious, even!

In Lilian's eyes, the baron's good looks were an aggravating factor: you'd look at him, get deceived, and get hurt even worse. Who had dared to put such a pretty cover on such rotten substance? Gee, Mister Aldonai, what a bang-up job!

And the baron, well... for all his attempts, he was a failure. He had tried to wriggle himself into her family and failed: with her, with Jerisson, even with Miranda. He tried to kidnap Lilian... and, well, didn't fail but didn't exactly succeed, either. Nanook had escaped, and Lily genuinely hoped that her loyal mutt was alive and well.

The abduction turned out half-baked, anyway. Really, what prevented him from kidnapping her with all due comfort, allowing them to easily reach their destination and giving her a chance to escape to boot?

What was she supposed to do in the forest? Where could she escape to?

Well, technically, she could escape anywhere. The question was, why would she do it?

Lily knew that she could tell the baron she was going to use the bushes and disappear. He would never find her.

However, traveling together was safer.

It wasn't just a hiking trip, one of many Aliya used to take in her childhood—it's not like kids in garrison towns had much in the way of entertainment. Study groups, clubs, various activities... Hiking was one of the latter—they walked through the woods, cooked barbecues, and even made survival trips for several days.

It wasn't hard to imagine her current situation as one of them.

She had no other resources than the ones in her bag and needed to survive and hold out...even if that wasn't a given.

At the beginning of summer, mushrooms weren't abundant yet. Cattail and bulrush were edible, but a plant-based diet could only feed moose and deer. Lily herself was an omnivore, and turning vegan in such circumstances wasn't exactly her dream.

Oh, and speaking of animals... Hopefully, she and the baron weren't going to stumble into a moose or a boar!

Moose weren't known for their intelligence. If scared, they might charge at you so fast they'd never scrape your brains from the trees.

Boars were even worse, though. They were damnably smart and cunning.

In Lily's personal danger tier list, she'd put bears above everyone, followed by boars and wolverines.

Wolves?

That wouldn't be a pleasant encounter, either, especially a pack. Lily and Lofrayne might have to sit it out in a tree, and the wolves could easily outlast them. A sword, two spears, and six knives were nowhere enough to handle an entire pack.

Arrows? For wolves, those might serve as toothpicks. Wolves were vicious, quick-witted, and spry. They learned fast and renounced all authority. Kipling had been right to praise them in his writing, and they had been rightly feared before the advent of firearms.

Lily remembered why people had started to distrust wolves. During the plague, when Europe was swept by an epidemic, wolves ate the dead and developed a liking for human meat. And after tasting it once...

Yes, she would have to be wary of them. There probably weren't any wolfdogs around, but even a simple pack of wolves would be a pain in her rear. Lily bit her lip, thought a bit, and started talking to the baron. That was the obvious solution.

What can scare off a wild beast? Noise. Simple noise. Generally, the ways of the forest were sensible and wise, and if humans didn't attack first, they would often get ignored. In Lilian's childhood, a boar had stumbled upon her and her friends once. They were picking blueberries, too focused to chat, and a branch cracked. None of the children yelled, instead choosing to look around and find the person—it must be a person, right?—who had come.

As it turned out, it was a boar, not tall enough to be seen through the bushes, especially if you were looking for a human. When they saw it, they froze in horror. Fortunately enough, nobody flinched, ran away, or screamed. The boar glanced over the children, grunted, and was gone.

Author's Note: believe it or not, this story comes from personal experience.

Therefore, Lily wasn't that scared. It didn't mean she wasn't going to be careful, though. It was high time to make a slingshot.

She had collected pebbles back on the shore. Not quite numerous, but they were good and round—she had used them the night before to build a pyramid and picked them back up in the morning. Those would definitely come in handy.

She also needed to remember the map of the world. Alas, it existed in a very approximate form. Longitudes? Latitudes? Fat chance! Give or take a boot!

Lily gave the baron a predatory look.

"Lofrayne?"

"Yes, Lilian?"

"You never reached the Baleful Strait, did you?"

"No."

Her question was necessary. After all, Lilian had been sitting in her cabin, barely talking to anyone, and Ellis didn't get the chance to tell her anything.

The reason for the strait's name wasn't the currents or the reefs. It was a story in itself.

Ivernea's economy was based on trade, but it barely had any port towns, forcing the Iverneans to send their caravans overland or along rivers. Such was the geography, and it shaped the country's history. The coast of Ivernea was a sailor's worst nightmare. Reefs, shoals, whirlpools—and all of them, either due to the terrain, soil, or currents, kept changing their location. There was even quicksand!

Only a few settlements close to Ativerna could serve as ports, even if small ones, and Bernand had turned them into such. The Avesterian border was different. That coast was all but unapproachable and overgrown with thick forests, too. Maybe the fishing villages could work for such purposes...but probably not.

Imagine living in a place that could be attacked by pirates any second. What kind of people would survive there? Kind and friendly? Lily seriously doubted that, which is why she wasn't going to travel along the coast.

Fine, let's ignore the abominable, to put it mildly, terrain. Instead of walking, they could sail...or maybe not, considering how good she and the baron were at sailing. High tide, low tide, the current—and they'd have to repeat the labors of Alain Bombard. Lily didn't think she had enough strength for that. Yes, he was a hero who had proved that a man could survive in the open ocean alone in a boat without food and water…but did you know that he ended up in an insane asylum? Lily was sure that the same would happen to her. It was a scary thought—very scary.

On land, she felt much more confident, but at sea... The sea wasn't her friend. Even if they reached a fishing village, who said that they would be welcome there? Lily wouldn't bet a coin on that, a copper one.

Just think about it: you're the masters of the village. You know the sea and the land around it like the back of your hand. All of a sudden, two strangers walk in. They have clearly been traveling on foot and have money, but there's nobody to protect them. What do you think would happen?

Lily was no Heracles to defeat an entire village, and going by the baron's face, neither was he.

Ivernea or Avester. Avester or Ivernea...

For Lilian, Ivernea was clearly the better option, but getting there would be much harder. A good part of the coast and a big part of both countries were covered with woods, but those woods were not the same. Ivernea was mostly lowlands and bog forests full of mires and swamps. Avester, on the other hand, was located at an elevation as the terrain rose from Ivernea to Avester, smoothly and without hills or mountains. Its woods were temperate and full of pines. Actually, ship timber was one of Avester's main exports, so they cared about their forests. Only specific people were permitted to cut down trees, and timber sites were clearly marked.

Reaching one such site, though, would take a long while: a hundred miles, by Lilian's estimation, if not more.

Not a problem, you say? What does it mean, a hundred miles in the age of steam and metal? Three hours by car, well, maybe four.

What about on foot? On foot, it would be a real challenge. Even while wearing quality sneakers and walking a good road, how long could a person travel in a day? Not a trained tac team fighter but an ordinary homo sapiens, a common white-collar worker?

Lily knew that the average walking speed was about three miles per hour. In perfect conditions, that is. Not in a forest. There, she'd be happy if they managed to trek six to twelve miles over an entire day. Fine, six. Seriously, she was pregnant. Walking too fast could hurt the baby, and it's not like she could do it, anyway. It was a forest! It was full of deadfalls, bogs, creeks, and various other surprises. Nobody would try crossing a forest in a straight line unless it was a completely roadless terrain: there, just staying the course would be a miracle. She would have to check the sun two or three times per day and adjust their direction.

In an unbroken forest, walking was slow. She would climb over the felled trees or go around them instead of jumping, all the while watching her step. Camp had to be set in advance. How else could it be done? Everything needed to be prepared, and it's not like Lily had any tourist gear. No tent, no canned food... Actually, getting food would be another problem to deal with. All in all, six miles a day was an extremely optimistic estimate.

On top of that, Anthony and she slept only half a night each, meaning that they needed to turn in early, no later than seven o'clock, for each of them to get at least six hours of sleep. Reaching a settlement would take at least a month at the very least.

"We still had about four days' travel to the Baleful Strait," Tony said, thinking.

"I see."

That gave Lily a better idea of their whereabouts, but it didn't make it any easier.

The Baleful Strait wasn't named that for its currents, oh no. The reason for that moniker was pirates. The strait was teeming with those rascals from Loris! Crossing it without running across them was practically impossible.

"Baron, how were you going to cross the strait?"

Anthony chuckled, then realized that it wasn't going to cut it and shrugged.

"His Majesty gave me a paper..."

"Why didn't you show it to the pirates who attacked us?"

"They didn't give me the chance," Tony curtly replied. "If they wanted to talk, I would have tried... Also, His Majesty sent a few ships to the strait."

Lily snickered.

"I see I'm held in high regard."

"Why, by the way?" Anthony blurted out, unable to contain his curiosity. "Countess, I've been to Ativerna, and it's pretty obvious that you get special treatment there."

"Unprecedented treatment."

"What? Ah! Yes! Exactly! Why are they fussing over you so much?"

"Because I'm a student of a legendary doctorus from the Khanganat who saved His Majesty?"

"What about Mariella?"

Lily snorted but still told him her story—the exact same version she had established with Hans Tremain.

"Do you know my biography? The short version, I mean."

"Yes. His Majesty told me."

"After our wedding, Jess sent me to Earton."

"Right..."

"I lost my baby there."

"I'm sorry."

He didn't seem particularly sympathetic.

Lily shook her head.

"No, you aren't. No need, anyway. It was a long time ago, and that girl wasn't really me."

"She wasn't?"

"Remember yourself at seventeen," Lily snapped, annoyed. What a Freudian slip!

Tony chuckled.

"True. I was a different person..."

"And so was I. When I miscarried, to avoid going crazy, I went to the library. Who had dragged a chest full of old records there? I still don't know. The parchment fell apart at a touch, but that's where I saw the first designs for lace. A drawing, a short description... I tried it, then something else, and it worked."

Anthony chuckled once again, incredulous.

"Seriously?'

"What was I supposed to do, Baron? Go mad from pain and grief?"

The question hit like a ton of bricks. The baron paused.

"Well, I'm not sure. So, you started weaving..."

"Yes. I made a few things, and then, it was almost winter, and a couple of items were in short supply. I went to a fair, and there, it was one thing after another..."

Lily threw her arms up, demonstrating that it wasn't her fault in the least. She was just a homebody who had gotten swept up by the events, a poor girl who accidentally left her house and stumbled into shenanigans.

Her attempt failed miserably. Lofrayne wasn't buying it, but Lily didn't give a damn. He could disbelieve her as much as he wanted as long as he didn't get in her way.

"I see you had a lot of old scrolls lying around."

Lily snorted with all of the sarcasm she could muster.

"Me?"

"Err... Who else?"

"Lofrayne, I have hundreds of people working for me! Do you think that none of them can come up with anything new? Seriously?"

"That rabble?"

"You're a tool," Lily replied brusquely and switched to a more useful activity. She needed a slingshot.

If you have any idea about that, you must know how valuable and important this weapon can be. It's easy to make and to handle. Even a child could easily master it!

Mostly, of course, kids used simple slings that could hardly kill anyone. Slingshots, though... Her friends had gotten a lot of flak for her antics. So. Much. Flak. Then their parents realized that kids couldn't be stopped and decided to teach them. After all, slingshots were actual weapons. A certain shepherd named David had once used it to kill Goliath. To prevent their offspring from hurting each other, parents arranged a prep course. They put up targets, even announced a competition with cool prizes.

Back in the day, Lily was a great shot. What happened later, though?

They moved. Her father was transferred to another place, and she forgot that skill. Why would she need it, anyway? She had no need of it at home. Would she use a sling to shoot apples from trees? Hunt crows? It was the same in college, too. A slingshot was a ranged weapon rather than a melee, and guns were so much better. Killing someone with a sling was hard, too; you needed to hit the head...

Lily fiddled with the strap she had made the night before. She needed a test.

Oh!

A squirrel. Lily stopped and raised her hand. The baron, who hadn't expected that, bumped into her, cursed, then stumbled...

The squirrel chirped and disappeared in the branches.

"Blast it!" Lily blurted out.

"What?"

"Couldn't you stay silent?"

"Why?"

"There was a squirrel there!" Lily snapped, exasperated. "I would have killed it for food!"

"A squirrel?!"

The baron's eyes were large and full of genuine shock, just like an anime character's, even if it was still centuries before the invention of anime.

"What about it? We won't last long on forage," Lily grumbled. "Do you want to travel all these miles while eating mushrooms? There aren't enough of them around here!"

"But a squirrel?"

"They can be eaten," Lily snapped. "Do you want to decorate your hat with a squirrel tail?"

The baron didn't want that, and he didn't want to eat a squirrel, either. Alas, he didn't have a choice.

A month. They didn't have anywhere near enough supplies for an entire month. Ellis had planned on traveling alone and knew the area, maybe even wanted to sail along the coast. Those supplies might have been enough for him but not for two.

"Can you shoot?" Anthony asked, looking at the weapon in the countess' hands.

"I can," Lily said with a nod.

As proof, she fired a rock at a nearby pine. She hit, of course. The dent in the trunk of the tree was quite impressive. The baron gave a whistle.

"Countess, you surprise me..."

Lily shook her head. She surprised him, huh? She'd rather just kill him and be done with that!

Too bad, she couldn't. Not yet, at least.

She put the rock back into her pocket and wrapped the sling around her wrist, so she could easily draw it.

The only way to move was forward.

Chapter 3

They had to make a stop to eat.

Along the way, Lilian spied a small swamp. One good thing about swamps was cattail growing around them—an all-you-can-eat buffet, so to speak. They needed reserves.

What was another good thing? Snakes and frogs. Water, too. Yes, water was quintessential. But stagnant water?

The baron was eyeing her warily. He wasn't too concerned, but still—water like this was usually consumed only with wine. Unfortunately, they had very little wine, barely more than a few drops. That wouldn't last them long, and it would probably be proper to offer it to the lady...

The lady solved the problem herself by starting a fire. She poured the water into the pot and started boiling it.

"Will it help?"

She could forgive the baron his mistrust.

"Baron, the scrolls I found... Some of them told about medicine."

"Really?"

"I don't know who brought them there and how long it's been. A long time, I wager. But...there was a curious paragraph."

"What about?"

The baron's expression was incredulous. Thankfully, he already knew that the countess wouldn't do him any harm and stayed out of her way, waiting for an explanation.

"The author wrote that people who drink raw water get sick more often."

"Right..."

"He also said that he had dissected such people and found worms in their bellies."

Lily was talking about helminths. The baron must have had some experience with them—in that age, everyone came into contact with them one way or another. A filth-borne disease—that says it all.

"So?"

"The author noticed that when people drank water mixed with wine, they got sick less often."

"Because the worms can't stand wine?"

"Exactly!" Lily clapped her hands. "You can check it for yourself if you catch a worm."

"All right. But what does boiling have to do with that?"

"What will happen to a worm if we drop it into boiling water?"

"It will die. But we won't be drinking boiling water..."

"The author thought that tiny worms live in the water and then grow to full size inside our bellies."

"Eww!" The baron winced.

Lily shrugged.

How else could she explain microbes to him? Leeuwenhoek and the invention of the microscope were a distant prospect.

If only she could make it...

But those lenses were far beyond her and the medieval optics. She was glad she had at least succeeded with a spyglass—Lilian wasn't much of a physicist, to put it mildly.

She was also thankful that the baron wasn't throwing fits and trying to interrogate her. He could have, easily.

Of course, Lily would have told him to get lost, but they would have really made things hard for each other.

Fortunately, Anthony had also realized that they needed to leave the forest and reach civilization, and the rest would be a different story. And seeing as Lilian seemed to know the woods better than him...

The baron would have tried that even alone, but traveling with a partner was much easier. But did he really think of Lilian as a partner?

Lily wasn't sure, but she was trying to maintain that illusion.

"Worms will die, and we'll safely drink the water after it cools down or pour it somewhere."

Anthony nodded, and Lily turned her mind to hunting.

Frogs? Well, it didn't go all that well with frogs. She managed to get just four, even if they were large and robust. She had really lost her touch. She didn't have a dip net, either.

In her childhood, boys hit frogs with sticks and then pulled them out of the water with a butterfly net. Lily simply tried knocking them out with a stick...and didn't always hit her target.

Her childhood was really over.

The baron grimaced, but Lily simply shrugged. So he didn't want a croaker? She'd be happy to eat it herself. She needed a nutritious diet—proteins, fats, carbohydrates...all right, she'd hardly find the latter in a frog, but at least she'd get the rest.

Cattails, however, went down like hot cakes. The baron devoured at least thirty baked rootstalks. How did they even fit inside him? He should have burst! But Lily didn't mind.

Realizing that he had eaten everything she had picked, the baron felt ashamed and made a point of personally gathering more cattails while Lily lay on her cloak and rested.

They stayed there for the night. Why leave the swamp? Why mess with success? Better to collect as many supplies as they could.

Oh yes, supplies...

***

So how do you cook a frog?

The French, with their haute cuisine, cooked only legs, those snobs. Lily knew perfectly well that the entire frog was edible.

So what should you do?

Rip off the head and skin the frog. Remove the entrails, of course. Who'd eat a frog with them, anyway?

What's the point of skinning, you ask?

Lily was going to cook the frogs into a soup, and skin made the broth bitter.

Roasting?

What was there to roast, really? Boiling was easier. It would also provide her with broth and remove the meat from the bones. She'd find some herbs—Lily had already spied some ramsons—and add them to the mix.

The baron kept frowning and wincing but still killed two more frogs and brought them to her.

Her breadwinner!

But Lily avoided any snide remarks. She thanked him, expressed her joy, and put his trophies into the broth. Ellis had done a really good job preparing that pot; it would have been so much harder to survive without it.

The broth took a while to get ready. Lily used that time to sponge herself down. She waved to the baron so he wouldn't spy on her, undressed, picked the cleanest spot in the swamp, and entered the water ankle-deep, wiping herself with a patch of fabric from her skirt. She wouldn't touch any mucous membranes, but skin was the natural barrier between the person and nature, and cleaning it was important.

Let it breathe. That would lessen the amount of accumulated dirt.

For obvious reasons, Lily didn't want to bathe in the sea. Saltwater irritated her skin, and getting the salt off would be a problem. It was easier to wipe herself with freshwater than risking going into the sea. It would also protect her eyes from stinging. No, Lilian really didn't like the sea.

The broth was finally ready, and Lily proceeded to set the table. They didn't have plates—only one spoon and one cup—and she quickly settled the issue by pouring the broth into her cup, putting the meat on burdock leaves, and pushing the pot with the remains of the broth toward the baron and giving him the spoon.

"Bon appetit, Lofrayne."

"Lilian, are you seriously going to eat it?"

Lily snorted and emphatically drank from the cup, trying to avoid burning her lips and tongue.

"So?"

Despite her efforts, the broth was a little bitter and smelled of grass and the swamp. As for its taste...

Just like chicken. Well, maybe a mutant chicken from Chernobyl or a nuclear waste repository.

Lofrayne was silent.

Lily bit off some meat and chewed it. It was far from perfect. There wasn't enough salt and spices. She could have added a bit of meat jerky, but they had to save it for later. No need to waste precious preserves.

"Why are you staring at me like that, Baron?"

Anthony shook his head. He still hadn't touched the broth and the frogs.

Lily looked away. She drank her part of the broth, ate the meat, and lay down. Let him decide for himself. If anything happened, she wasn't going to carry the baron, Aldonai forbid.

To be or not to be? That is the question... But Shakespear had nothing on their predicament. It was a matter of life and death with no soul-searching in sight.

Pines drifted in the blue skies above. The crowns of plants swayed in the wind around her. A fussy ant crawled in their shadow.

Lily closed her eyes.

"I'll get some sleep. Wake me up if you decide to turn in."

Then she dozed off, like a candle going out. She was really tired.

And to hell with Lofrayne! Let him sit and sweat over the innocent frog.

***

Anthony, Baron Lofrayne, wasn't sweating. He was busy solving a serious question: who exactly had gone mad?

He? The world around him? Aldonai? He didn't really want to believe in the first option, but the rest was hard to check. What could he do, really? Lilian Earton was acting like...

Well, have you ever seen a noblewoman guzzling a frog she had caught, skinned, and cooked with her own hands? What kind of nonsense was that?

He shook his head, but the frog didn't disappear. Neither did Lilian. She was still lying fast asleep, her shirt tightened around her breasts, so enticing that his hands were itching to touch them.

His self-preservation instinct kicked in. Anthony wasn't an idiot and knew what would happen if he touched her. If he got lucky, she would reprimand him with words. If he didn't...

A small but formidable-looking stick was lying just within Lilian Earton's reach, close enough for her to grab it and put it to use.

The countess could fight with a stick?

He couldn't get his head around that so much that it was spinning. The world was simply refusing to pay attention to the baron's travails, and Anthony struggled to make sense of everything.

Lilian Earton was a noblewoman. He could see it in her every word, gesture, look... What told a serf apart from a noble? A lackey could get rich and buy himself a title, but always, no matter his clothes, two things would betray him.

His face and his behavior. A serf might be either above you or below—there was no third option. He would either grovel or bully you. A nobleman could be equals with anyone: a duchess, a farmwoman, a beggar, a queen... He would never put himself above or below them.

Anthony wasn't thinking those exact words, of course. He was simply a nobleman who moved in the highest circles.

Lilian Earton didn't fit them.

A farmwoman? She was too intelligent, too free, too calm.

A townswoman? The same things applied.

A noblewoman? She clearly considered herself equal to Lofrayne as a person. Not as a woman... A woman wasn’t equal to a man; she was weaker and more stupid by her nature. Yet somehow, Lilian Earton positioned herself on equal footing with the baron, walking with him, hunting...In truth, she was more useful than he was.

She carried herself like a highborn lady, but for a noblewoman...

Anthony knew that his entire life was regulated by certain rules, and breaking them was dangerous. He could sleep with a farmgirl, but he couldn't introduce her to court. He could trade with a merchant, but becoming friends with him? Marrying his daughter? That was not an option.

Lilian Earton, however, didn't take a back seat to anyone. She had an inner freedom of some kind. Yes, exactly that! She had no shackles on her, but she could command people, push them, solve any problem... But how had she turned out that way? Girls weren't brought up like that. Even if her father raised her as a man, she would have been different. No, that wasn't right...

Anthony tortured himself until the evening, when Lilian opened her eyes.

***

"Why are you staring at me like that, Baron?"

Lily yawned, covering her hand with her mouth, and stretched.

"Ah..."

"Your Grace," Lofrayne finally said. "Do you want to explain yourself?"

"I don't," Lily replied. "Should I?"

"You should," Lofrayne declared with a confidence he didn't feel. "You must."

"I don't remember signing any obligations," Lilian said, brushing him off. "Baron, have you cleaned the pot?"

"Err..."

The frog had turned out to be a nice snack for the soul-searching session. However, his ruminations prevented the baron from cleaning the pot covered with fat—congealed fat, which was twice as unpleasant.

Lily sighed, stood up, and walked toward the edge of the swamp, where she scooped a handful of sludge and started to scrub the metal.

"Your Grace!!!"

The baron was almost pleading. A noblewoman was simply NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT! Fine, the baron somehow knew it was possible to clean yourself with sand. But a noble lady washing dishes?

Lily simply shook her head, continuing to rub the kettle with leaves, silt, and a few choice words. Still, she provided him with an explanation.

"Baron, tell me, is it going to help us if I have a fit?"

"Umm... no."

"Will we leave the forest faster?"

"No."

"Will we reach other people? Find food? Wash the pot?"

Instead of answering, the baron kept shaking his head, and Lily threw up her hands in response, almost drowning their valuable possession in the swamp.

"So what do you want of me? To get hysterical in keeping with the best tradition of court ladies?"

Anthony didn't want that. Seriously, he didn't. He had already figured out that it was so much better to avoid that.

Lily narrowed her eyes. A brazen gust of wind dropped a green tree leaf on her head, and she tossed her braid, trying to shake it off without using her wet, dirty hands. The sun shined in her golden hair, throwing a lacy veil of light and darkness on her face and making her look unspeakably mischievous—and surprisingly young. The baron froze, afraid to move and drive that moment away.

A forest maiden, beautiful, distant, earthly, but astonishingly alien; a creature of sunlight spruce branches. Her green eyes, her golden hair, her smile, her raised eyebrow... That moment was a pure miracle.

Lily didn't let the mirage linger.

"Should I arrange that for you?"

"N-no."

"Then listen carefully, Baron. I'm very pragmatic, practical if you will. When I have time for feelings, I'll cry my heart out. There will be time for anger, pain, tears, and joy, but now, I have to reach my destination and get home."

"Lilian..."

"Yes, I know what you're going to say. You won't let me," Lily said, wincing. "But let's not talk about that yet. We have a common goal: reaching civilization. The rest is secondary. I'm going to do what I can to get to people. I'll eat frog soup; I'll roast a snake if I get my hands on it; I'll dance naked in the moonlight... it doesn't matter! If it must be done here and now, I'll do it. Is this enough for you?"

Tony nodded but couldn't resist adding, "If you weren't in front of me right now, I would have sworn that women like you don't exist."

Lilian's smile was worthy of Mephistopheles himself. Dante would have appreciated it.

"I'm here. I exist. Go to sleep, Lofrayne. I'll keep watch. You'll relieve me in the morning."

"All right, Lilian."

And the baron obediently headed to his makeshift bed of spruce branches.

So she had said she was pragmatic? Practical? Had she taken him for a fool? He imagined Lady Seinel trying to skin a frog. She would have fainted at the very sight of a toad. When the sailors had caught a shark, just its smell made her sick. But Lilian Earton?

Something told him that Lilian would have asked for a cutter, and he was right. Her Grace had never dissected a shark, but it didn't mean she wouldn't like to.

Who could have taught Lilian Earton everything? What secrets lay in her past? He had to find out. Anthony noticed the determination in her voice when she had talked about getting home. She would return. She would do anything to do that. So what did it mean?

It meant that he had to stop her. It was a challenging task, but he still had time. He would figure it out.

He would make it. Despite her many accomplishments and her remarkable intellect, Lilian Earton was a woman, and Lofrayne knew how to handle women. His entire life was a testament to that.

***

The baron didn't see the look on Lilian's face as she watched him go to bed.

Had she betrayed herself? Gave her game away by showing her true face? She might have. But what was she supposed to do? It was either falling into the baron's arms and waiting until her bones turned to rot in the woods or taking matters into her own hands and going home. Worst-case scenario, she would die in peace, knowing that she had done everything she could and more.

Lily gave her stomach a gentle stroke after making sure that Lofrayne wasn't looking.

Don't worry, kid. We'll fight through. We've beaten worse odds than these.

Your mommy will make it. She'll leave the forest as soon as she can and get you home to your daddy, your sister, your brothers... It might be hard, but who said it would be easy?

Lily wasn't a superwoman or anything, but she would do anything to survive.

Eat a toad? She'd swallow it in no time, skin and entrails included! Whip the baron into shape? She would! Still, the baron was a problem.

Lily knew that she didn't fit into the society around her. She was genuinely trying to follow all rules and regulations, trying to become one of them, but the results...

She'd never be one of them. She was a chimera, a creature that borrowed its paws, tail, ears, and body from different beasts. Individually, all parts made sense, but they just didn't fit together. Too bad, really. People like her simply didn't exist yet. A soul from another world, an unnatural creature...or maybe natural?

Lily didn't want to wax philosophical. The problem was, the baron was going to discover a different side of her: not Lilian Earton but Aliya, the medical student. But what could she do? The countess couldn't find a way out of that place; only Aliya could. A stranger in a strange land...

She would get out of there and take her baby with her, and as for the baron...

Lily threw him a cold hard look.

He. Will. Die.

Lily didn't know how she would arrange it. She could poison him, choke him, cut his throat... Anything, as long as the baron wouldn't survive the rest of the journey.

Was it monstrous? Why? She was protecting herself and her baby; that said it all.

Sorry, Lofrayne, but it's your own fault.

Ativerna, Laveri.

"F...!"

Hans Tremain rarely cursed, but that time was clearly an exception.

He was looking at the body of the queen's lady-in-waiting, whom he, incidentally, knew very well. Still, Anika Reval, Her Majesty Maria's handmaid, had never looked like that before.

Holy mackerel...

She was all hacked up, her large blue eyes staring at the sky, her blonde hair smeared in blood and dirt. Her pinky finger was missing. How could he stay silent looking at that scene?

It was that bastard again. But who was it? And how?

Anika was a shy homebody... But it didn't matter. Later, he would discuss that with Her Majesty and the girl's parents.

That scumbag.

A wave of range fell over him, choking his throat, clenching his fists, and making him see red.

I'll get you, you piece of filth, and I swear, you'll hang on your own guts!

***

"Tremain, you're upsetting me."

Hans lowered his eyes.

Yes, His Majesty Richard was disappointed.

So, what could happen to Hans in that case?

Actually, most likely, nothing. Richard wouldn't jeopardize the situation; he valued the rudimental service that Hans was starting to create too highly. Still, he had failed his liege.

How had Baron Holmes managed to succeed every time?

"Your Majesty, I'll find him."

"When?"

"Your Majesty..."

"People are...starting to talk, Tremain. So far, they're quiet, but soon, I won't be able to stop those conversations."

"I understand, Your Majesty."

"Bring me the bastard's head. I don't care if it's a count or a duke."

"I'll do everything, Your Majesty. But...it really is one of..."

Hans dramatically looked up.

Richard waved his hand.

"Go, Tremain. I'm waiting for you to bring me proof."

Hans bowed and left the room.

But who was it? Who?

The woods close to the coast of Avester.

A man and a woman were walking through the forest. Often, they swapped the lead and their knapsack between them, leaning on the staffs carved out of a sturdy hazel tree. They were silent, rarely exchanging words but never fighting. They were saving their breath. Occasionally, they lay down on the moss, picking out a suitable clearing, and rested for an hour or two.

Lily remembered the words of Smoke Bellew: a long journey meant long rest stops.

Alas, obtaining food in Avester was a much bigger problem than in Klondike, but with skill and patience, you could survive anywhere, and Lilian didn't lack for them, like any other medic.

Along the way, Lily picked some russulas, stocked up on cattails on the shores of another swamp, and even managed to pin a viper with her forked stick. Thankfully, Anthony stepped in and cleaved it in two with his sword.

Afterward, Lily cut off its head, coiled up the body, tied it into a cloth, and hung it on a stick. How else would she carry it?

The stick lying on her shoulder, she marched on through the forest. That was the best way to do it, really.

"Cheer up, Baron! Some groups think that snake meat does wonders for male parts. You got lucky! You can raise what should never drop free of charge!"

"It never drops anyway!"

"When we leave the forest, you can test it on the first person to your liking," Lily egged him on. She knew another rule. In a journey, the worst enemy was ennui.

We'll never get out. We won't make it. We'll all die here...

Things like that are bound to cross your mind; they absolutely are. What should you do to fight this defeatist attitude?

It depends. Some people need jokes; some need smack talk; some need love... Everyone has their own carrot and stick. She still had to find them for the baron. She also had to reach her destination.

A viper? She would eat something way worse, as long as it got her back to her family!

***

The thing Lily wanted to do most in the evening was fall down, stretch her legs, and do nothing. Too bad, she couldn't.

She remembered her mistake and stopped when she started to feel tired, not waiting for exhaustion to kick in. After all, they still had to set up a campsite, prepare dinner, and keep watch at night.

The latter was of paramount importance.

It wasn't Europe with its well-tended hedgerows where even mushrooms grew in specific places. That forest had as much in common with civilization as...as the baron had with Alex.

God, how long had it been since she remembered the man she once loved?

His image appeared before her eyes. She recalled them going hiking together and singing while one of their friends played guitar... Fine, it was Alex who sang; Lily didn't want to subject others to the "pleasure" of hearing her voice. They shared a tent, dreamed, and built plans for the future.

And then the crash ruined everything.

Lilian Earton wasn't blaming the unknown driver, but a glimmer of hope still flickered in her mind. If she had gotten so lucky... maybe somewhere, in another world, her parents were going on with their own lives. Maybe there was no death, just moving on from one world to another, and your soul simply rarely remembered its previous life. She just happened to beat the odds.

All right. Philosophy was all well and good, but they really needed to get some rest.

She told the baron to light a fire—he could do that, at least—and gather some firewood. Lily's own task was cooking.

Cattail roots, called rhizomes, were quite edible. If baked, they tasted no worse than potatoes. The snakes—two more vipers had met an unfortunate fate along the way—needed to be disemboweled and cooked before they could be eaten, but the mushrooms didn't need any preparation before being roasted to take the edge off hunger. They also had to chop some spruce branches—another one of the baron's tasks—and set up beds, which was hers.

But before that, she would take off her boots, check her feet, and give them a massage. Her own feet came first; eventually, she would get around to the baron's.

Feet were everything. Lily knew very well how a bunion could ruin a trip.

Chafing is nothing, you say? Well, maybe when you're hurrying to a date in your new shoes. You'd simply get home, clean everything, and stick a band-air on top, spending a few days in comfortable footwear.

But in the wilderness, with dirt everywhere and possible inflammation...

Lily wasn't prepared to take such risks. For her, feet meant life.

***

More than two hours had passed before a small campfire was set up and burned to coals. The snakes met the frogs' fate in the kettle, the mushrooms had already been eaten, and Lily firmly seated the baron on the pile of branches.

"Sit down, Tony. Take off your boots."

"I—"

"Come on, don't be shy. What's there that I haven't seen yet? Bare feet?"

The baron shrugged, implying that she had asked for it herself, and pulled off his boots. Lily immediately regretted that.

"Ugh! Pshaw! Dammit! Baron, do you ever change your stockings? Or do you only exchange them for ale?"

Would she have to teach the noble baron to make footwraps? He wouldn't travel far in those stockings, that was clear.

Lily pushed her squeamishness away and got down to business.

Massage. She should have done that the night before, but she never got around to it. That day, however, she had enough energy to take care of herself and her companion.

Laugh all you want, but in a long-distance hike, massage was essential. Lily decided to put off massaging herself for later, as it was pretty uncomfortable, but she was confident she could handle it. Her mother had been right to force little Aliya to learn everything she could.

What if she found herself in a sticky situation? At least she'd already know what to do.

Aliya studied massage right at her college, where it was taught as a supplementary course.

After all, that was physiotherapy, too. It was supposed to help her patients in their recovery.

Of course, she didn't learn erotic or Thai massage—those were taught in other places—but the basic regimen—loosening muscles, rubbing feet and ankles...

The baron was silent. Only when Lily wiped her hands off on the grass, splashed water on them, and started carefully cleaning them with a burdock, he finally spoke up.

"Where did you learn that, Your Grace?"

"Tahir Djiaman din Dashar taught me." Lily didn't even blush. So what if that was a lie? She wasn't doing it just for kicks! "They do it in the Khanganat to aid in recovery. It's shameful to be a cripple there, did you know that?"

"A cripple can't lead his family. Yes, I know that."

"Exactly. This can get a person on their feet faster and help them move better. How are your legs?'

"I'll check," the baron said, grabbing his stockings.

Lily yanked the gross things out of his hands, deciding to wash them in the nearest swamp, and confidently tore off two strips of fabric from her skirt. Thank God skirts were so long in that era; it would last her a long time!

"This is what you should do."

"All right..."

He made the first footwrap together with Lilian, while the second was rolled under her close watch. Stockings and socks are good, as long as you wear combat, hiking, or any other tall boots. But loose knee-high boots made from soft leather?

Lily didn't worry about her own footwear; her boots had easily survived a swim in the sea, and they would survive their long walk, too.

In her childhood, her family couldn't afford much, so her mother had bought only quality things that would withstand weather fair and foul and last a decade. They might not be pretty, but it's not like buying a new article each year was an option!

Fashion? To hell with fashion when you barely have enough money for dinner! In Lily's opinion, footwear had to be sturdy and comfortable, and she never broke her rule in Ativerna. A good last, a collar, hard leather insets...

The baron, however, was a problem. His boots looked nice but nowhere near as practical.

"Oh well."

Fine; they would cross that bridge when they came to that. Alas, Lily couldn't make bast shoes; there was a science to it. She had never had an occasion to learn it. Lime trees did grow around that place, and she could tear some bast, but what next? That was so much harder than macrame.

Having read Louis Boussenard in her childhood, Lilian had a couple of other ideas, but... Where was she supposed to get a bison?

No dice.

She sighed and moved on to her own feet. It's not like they would get far with her limping around...

Ouch! It hurts!

Milord Baron, why are you staring at me? Have you ever seen a woman's feet? Turn around and get down to work!

Aldonai, why is it so painful?!

***

The next night was less eventful. Lily took the first watch, and the baron did his best not to fall asleep. He walked around, sat at the fire, and fought the urge to doze off—which wasn't that hard, seeing as he had gotten enough rest already.

His feet almost didn't hurt. After the first day, everything had been in pain: his feet, his calves... He didn't know what the countess felt but avoided complaining. After all, he was with Lilian Earton; whining was too embarrassing.

A noblewoman doing more than him, not crying, not demanding anything... Even thinking about that boggled the mind! And the massage?

Anthony recalled Lilian's hands. They were beautiful: not the thin fingers of a court lady, so fragile he was afraid of crushing them with a kiss, but the real fingers of a real woman. Well-proportioned palms, long, strong fingers, handsome wrists... The hands of a doctorus, not a noblewoman. Powerful, sensitive, singed and scarred, with short-trimmed and filed nails, they had nothing highbrow about them. Those were the hands of a person who was no stranger to treating sick patients, riding on horseback, walking on foot, rocking a baby to sleep, or having her man's back—and no enemy would get close while she was alive.

Anthony shook his head, pushing away those sudden thoughts. What was happening to him?

Lily was asleep, burrowed into the branches, her cloak wrapped around her, and her face was calm and peaceful. Her golden braid was coiled around like a snake, slipping out of the spruce twigs and into the grass. What if ants crawled into her hair? Or it got soaked in the morning dew?

Anthony carefully took the braid into his hand and adjusted it. His fingers didn't want to let go of the thick golden rope. He wondered how Lilian Earton looked with loose hair... Without clothes...

The very idea made him sweat, a certain part of his body demonstrating that it was as ready for action as ever. The baron imagined how it might happen.

Your Grace, I'm a man, and you're a woman. We're all alone out here... Could we maybe make our long journey a little bit more bearable?

But no. A short glance at the staff Lilian had used to catch the vipers and the pot considerably lessened his enthusiasm. Anthony was quite sure that her reply would be far from sweet, and that's even if she deigned to talk to him instead of hitting him with something heavy.

He had been lucky that Lilian didn't get involved in his fight with Ellis, very lucky. Why hadn’t she, by the way? He'd ask her the next day. Lilian didn't look like a woman who would sit idly by.

Yet she did. Yes, he definitely had to ask...

And Tony resumed his pacing around the clearing, suppressing inappropriate thoughts. For the time being, it was better to consider Lilian not a woman but a comrade-in-arms.

That would be simpler.

***

Their breakfast consisted of baked cattail roots.

"If we had time, I would have dried the rootstalks and ground them into flour. It's really tasty when brewed with boiled water," Lily said with a dreamy look. However, she settled for small things.

She threw the leaves she had gathered along the way—strawberry, raspberry, willowherb, St. John's Wort, and viburnum—into a jug and poured in some hot water from the pot.

"If only we had sugar... Eh, I'll make some if we come across bulrush."

"Sugar?" Tony was surprised.

"Yes... Take some bulrush stalks, chop them into pieces, pour water in a one-to-one ratio, and boil them for an hour, then filter and boil until thick. That's how you get sugar. It won't be exactly pure, but still... Or we might find some bees, too, wild ones. Do you know how to collect honey, Tony?"

"No."

"Neither do I."

"Odd. I thought there wasn’t anything you couldn't do," Anthony said snidely, feeling like an idiot.

"That's just an impression," Lilian said with a sad nod. "I don't like swimming in the sea...and I don't particularly like bees, either. They sting..."

Tony nodded.

"True. I think people smoke them out somehow..."

"With our luck, we'll set the forest on fire," Lily said, shrugging. "I don't want to hide from that. That's scary..."

Lofrayne slowly nodded. Yes, a forest fire was a horrible thing. It wasn't much better inside a house, either. Once, he had barely escaped it by jumping out of the window. Even thinking about it was unpleasant, and experiencing it again...

No, thank you.

"Then we'll make do without honey. By the way, Lilian, why didn't you help Ellis when he and I fought?"

Lily shrugged.

"I never got the chance."

"Really?"

How could she answer that truthfully?

Yes, she had been afraid that they would graze her and hurt her baby. That turned out to be the right call, too. Lily chose another version—also the truth but with a different emphasis.

"First, I couldn't grab a weapon in time. Second, an unarmed woman trying to get into a fight between two men? I'd get hurt! Third, Ellis started the fight too early."

"What do you mean?"

"If he gave me time... Honestly, Lofrayne, I would have suggested poisoning you."

Anthony shivered.

"Damn..."

"What did you expect? For me to take pity on my abductor? I would have done it, too, and Ellis and I would have traveled together. I doubt we would have gotten far, but...who knows?"

Lofrayne flinched.

"Are you still going to poison me?"

The roots took on a nasty taste, just like chewing on wood.

Lily waved her hand.

"Not yet. For now, live."

"For now?"

"We'll see."

They finished the meal in complete silence.

Ativerna, Laveri.

Miranda was walking through the palace.

How sick of it she was! So what if people kept fawning over it? The royal palace! Gasp! They were trying to get inside, live there, establish themselves...

For Miranda, being there was a birthright—which she hated with all her heart. She couldn't sneak out to get some morning exercise, she couldn't chat with the Virmans, she had to keep her dogs in her personal chambers so they wouldn't get sent to the kennels, and then there was having to travel to Taral every day...

Argh!

The girl's mood was at an all-time low. She had received no news about her mother, either. Sodding Lofrayne... If only he'd get eaten by crocodiles! Slowly!

Why crocodiles, you ask? Well, those animals were used to rotten meat!

Anger helped her to stave off despair. Anger kept Miranda afloat—her anger and her fighting spirit.

Once, she had asked her mother what the latter felt when Donter had kidnapped Miranda. It must have been scary having your child being stolen. You loved me back then, didn't you?

Lilian's reply was as honest as ever.

Yes, I did. And I was going mad with fear. But I swore to myself if a single hair fell from your head, I'd chop Donter into pieces! With a penknife!

Having her mother stolen was scary, too—very scary.

Every morning, Miranda made a promise to herself. If Lilian never returned... If something happened to her...

Soon, just in a few years, she would marry Amir. As a wedding gift, she would ask her husband for the heads of the Lofrayne family—all of them. She would eliminate that bloodline, wipe them off the face of the earth, and then, she could finally breathe easier. Not easy; just a tiny bit easier.

Mama, Mommy, where are you?

"Viscountess..."

A courtier dressed in a shining blue outfit bowed to Mirrie, and she smiled back. She didn't remember his name, but his face seemed familiar...

"Leir?"

"Viscount Lerois."

"Good day, Viscount. Forgive me; I'm terrible with faces," she said, deciding to tell him the truth.

She really was bad with faces. So Lerois was Joliette's husband, and that one must be his son or grandson... She couldn't remember any of them! She had only seen them once or twice!

Of course, she could have tried to memorize those people, but what was the point? She was going to leave for the Khanganat in a few years, anyway.

"You wound me, Viscountess."

"You look quite healthy."

"Oh no, you stabbed in the heart. I'm dying...and only you can save me, Viscountess."

"Oh really?"

Miranda was already sick of that conversation, but the viscount was walking in the same direction as she. There was no getting away from him.

Curse this palace and these long corridors! Can't they end already?

“Yes!"

Suddenly, the man lunged forward and appeared right in front of Miranda, bending his head to her.

"Won't you spare just a tiny kiss to a warrior injured by your beauty? It will be chaste, I swear!"

That's when Miranda regretted leaving Lou-Lou and Nanook in her quarters. They would have given the bastard a real good kiss, enough to make him swear off kissing!

But no. She couldn't take her dogs with her, and she couldn't kill people, either. Fighting was also not a good idea—the man was twice as heavy as she was and twice as big. What should she do?

The viscount's lips were already close to Miranda's face.

"Viscount, kissing girls in public is a major faux pas," Miranda purred, her eyes focused behind his back.

The viscount hadn't anticipated such base tricks and turned around.

He paid for that. Miranda didn't want to go for his vitals. Instead, she kicked the bastard in his knee.

The attack turned out to be quite effective. She had hit his supporting leg, so on top of collapsing on the floor, the viscount howled in pain. Meanwhile, Miranda swooped up her skirts and deftly slipped away before the man could catch her.

"Let your hands wander too much, and they might end up pushing daisies!" she exclaimed before the sound of her steps faded away.

The man managed to scramble to his feet, but pursuing her was out of the question. Dancing would have to wait, too.

That bitch!

***

Miranda finally caught her breath in her chambers.

All right... What was it Mother had told her?

She put a pouch of bitter pepper into her pocket—ground, of course. Next time, the sleazebag would get a handful thrown into his face.

A pair of knuckles followed. Yawara, her mother had called them. If used correctly, it could make a lot of trouble for anyone, even if it did look like a delicately engraved wooden stick.

Who could have thought that something like that could happen inside the palace?

She couldn't complain, either. Somehow, in such situations, women always took the blame. She didn't know why, but that really hurt.

That son of a loose woman!

The woods close to the coast of Avester.

They had been walking through the forest already several days. Eight, to be precise—Lily was marking it down on a piece of parchment. She didn't want to lose track of time.

By her estimation, they crossed three or four miles per day, more or less. She could walk faster and cross more distance, but why risk the baby and demonstrate to the baron her true capabilities? There was no need to. Better to take her time. Maybe then, they'd stop looking for them.

So far, the weather favored them, but on that day, Lily kept looking around. Something was bothering her. The sky was clear, the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, but something was off. She felt heavy as if someone had put a hand on her shoulders and pushed her toward the ground. The air was stuffy and tasted awful. Her eyes felt full of sand, and the pressure...

Lily realized she could lie down and fall asleep any minute. She knew what it was: weather sensitivity. Her pregnancy must be the reason. Age could be another, but pregnancy could make people like that. Your body became more sensitive than a barometer, detecting even the tiniest fluctuations in the atmosphere and reacting to them.

It was going to rain. She was sure of that. Of course, they had no umbrellas, no Wellingtons, and no raincoats. Why didn't that world know rubber yet? She'd love that!

Lily even remembered the method used by the first inventors: boiling rubber with sulfur. There was only one problem:

finding Hevea, a rubber tree. And gathering dandelion sap? That really didn't seem possible at the moment.

The only thing left to do was to search for shelter. Lily spun her head around, giving the same task to Lofrayne, but they only got lucky thirty minutes before the storm came.

***

A storm in the woods... Scary? No. Terrifying was the word.

In a second, slate gray clouds filled the sky, day turning into night as heavy timeless twilight hung in the air and the trees growled menacingly, You shall not escape.

Warmth and stuffy heat made way for damp chill, freezing her bones and making her dream of a fur coat. Bushes clutched at her clothes, and her body sensed the coming danger with every single cell.

Lily was no stranger to that feeling. She knew that if they didn't find shelter, they would get soaked, which could result in pneumonia—meaning certain death.

Anthony understood it, too. Together, they kept looking around and found their target at the same time. It was a tree: large, several spans in girth, and fortunately already fallen, a real sleeping giant. Its roots were sticking out like hands asking for help, while a cart-sized chunk of soil lay next to it, wrenched from the ground.

Tony wanted to jump into the pit but wised up and thrust his staff inside first. He poked and prodded it for a while, checking for unwelcome neighbors. There were none: no snakes and no mice, and even if there had been, they had already scuttled away. Good for them, really.

"Will we try it?"

"Absolutely."

Thunder rolled in the distance, and the travelers picked up their pace. Tony gathered more spruce branches, and Lily lowered their belongings into the pit and went there herself.

She looked around.

Not bad.

It was almost an earth lodge. The trunk of the tree served as a good roof. They were protected from three sides, and as for the fourth, they would figure out a way to prevent the water from falling inside—maybe hang a cloak. Something was bound to leak in, but it wasn't going to be much. It's not like the entire storm would be trying to drench them...

The rumble grew closer.

"Tony?"

"Just a minute!"

More branches fell into the pit, followed by the baron, who quickly proceeded to help her set up their temporary dwelling. He piled the branches next to a wall. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough space for a fire. Well, they'd have to make do.

The first drops of rain pelted the wood, few and far between thus far. Lily shivered and wrapped herself in the cloak. Lately, she had been freezing all the time but tried to avoid telling the baron that. Such things happened during pregnancy. Some got morning sickness, some felt dizzy, and she was cold. She always slept by the fire, once almost singing her hair, and waking up was becoming harder.

Alas, she had no choice. She'd love to get home into her cozy bed with her favorite pillows filled with buckwheat hulls, Jess by her side...

Lily sighed. The rain brought sad thoughts, pattering more and more often as the storm approached, and the rumbling grew louder. Lily tried to estimate its distance.

Lightning struck. It meant that she had to count seconds.

One, two, three...twenty-two! A thunderclap...

Twenty-two divided by five meant a bit more than four miles.

"What are you doing?" Tony asked.

She had to explain it to him using simpler terms like "shooting distance" and "march distance." Tony grew quiet and started counting.

More lightning struck.

"One, two, three... Eleven!"

"Two miles. Two miles and a thousand feet."

More and more lightning bolts flashed in the sky.

"One, two, three!"

The storm was getting closer.

"One!"

The loud bang almost deafened Lily. Once again, she saw a lightning bolt followed by a rumbling just next to it.

The elements forced the two people hiding in the pit together: the proud Lily snuggled to the baron while he stroked her hair, trying to calm her down and shield her from the nightmare outside. A primal instinct, ancient and subconscious, from the times when storms had raged around primitive people who huddled by the fire in their caves.

Lightning flashed again, and another thunderbolt hit right next to them.

Lily automatically memorized the direction. She would check it out later. Another lightning bolt followed, then another...

Suddenly, Lily realized that the storm was departing, gradually moving in the same direction they were headed and leaving soggy grass, toppled drees, and lightning bolts in its wake.

Speaking of which...

Lily was unable to resist the urge. When the rain subsided, she climbed out of the shelter, looked around, and headed to the spot where the lightning had struck.

She didn't have to search long; the clearing was within easy distance. Just a hundred steps, and there it was. Broken down trees, a scorched circle in the grass...

"Lily?"

Lily raised her hand.

"A minute, Lofrayne!"

They were in a coniferous forest with sandy soil. Good. Loam would have been much worse, but sand absorbed water pretty fast. In loamy soil, their shelter would have already become a puddle, but sand sponged it all up for trees to drink later...

Oh, what do we have here?

Lily picked up a stick and wrapped a rag around its end. She didn't remember much about physics—definitely not the section about conductivity—but suspected that if the lightning had gone into the soil, it wasn't dangerous anymore.

It was grey and ugly-looking, somewhat resembling a short root with wormlike sprouts. It was also her childhood dream. Lily had wanted to find fulgurite for a long time, but she never succeeded. It wasn't a toy; it wasn't even amber that, while rare, was much more common.

Fulgurite, fossilized lightning...

"What is it, Lily?"

Lily raised it with stretched hands.

"This is lightning."

Tony looked at her, surprised, and Lily couldn't hold it in anymore.

She told him everything about thunderbolts and how they struck the ground. Tony listened on their way back to the shelter, studying the fulgurite, fiddling with it, and obediently putting it into their knapsack. Then, he finally asked.

"Lily, how do you know all that?"

***

Thankfully, Lilian's old excuse still worked as well as ever. Well, as well as the last time she had used it, at least.

"Don't you know how my marriage started out?"

"No. What does it have to do with it?"

"When I got married, I was different. Completely different. Jess didn't want to see me."

Tony's face was the picture of incredulity. Lily laughed.

"Honestly, Jess sent me to Earton and visited once per year, giving me a child and abandoning me in the castle. I was bored, and I started reading."

"Reading?"

"What else could I do? Even embroidery gets old after doing it every day. The scrolls...there were a lot of them, and they didn't just have schematics and recipes. There were even fairy tales... I guess one of Jess' ancestors brought them to the library and never got around to sorting them out, or maybe never realized how valuable they were. That's where I learned about fulgurite."

"Ah, the scrolls. I remember."

"It wouldn't surprise me if an Earton was in a military expedition and raked up all of the scrolls from some library."

Tony started thinking. That seemed possible. But whose library had been robbed?

"I cannot believe that you never tried finding out the truth."

Lily shrugged.

"I did, but I failed. Alas."

Lofrayne's expression was full of suspicion.

Lily gave him a sweet smile.

As if I'm going to reveal my secret to you! Just keep looking at my fulgurite!

*Author's Note: the dream of my childhood. Unfortunately, my parents were against my quest.

"A stone lightning..."

"Yes. Pretty, isn't it?"

"Yes."

In the end, Lily fell asleep with the fulgurite in her hands like a toddler with a teddy bear. Tony kept watch, staring at her.

She was so...so... What was she?

The answer was simple. She was just a real woman.

Chapter 4

The sea close to Avester.

Halvar Helgdan looked over the sea.

It was sunny and windy; you'd never tell that storm season was fast approaching. The weather was great, and the ship flew forward like a bird. Salty waterdrops fell on his lips, gleaming in the sunlight like diamonds.

The sea...

It was a Virman's life and happiness.

"A sail! We have a sail ahead!"

The lookout screamed as if something had bitten him in the rear end. Halvar didn't give out any commands—everyone already knew what to do.

They would pursue. Avester wasn't far, and there weren't many options there.

The rabble from Loris? Great! Avesterians? Not bad, either! For the Virmans, every target would do.

Their longship raised sails and rushed forward. The enemy vessel started spinning, trying to catch the wind and escape, but it didn't stand a chance. Nobody escaped Virmans in the open sea. A chase started.

An hour passed, two, three... At last, the Virmans caught up with the ship.

The Prancing Mermaid!

"Olive is watching us!" Halvar yelled. "Board them!"

***

Jock could only grit his teeth. The Virmans!

Where in Maldonaya's name had those seadogs come from? Sharks take them! They noticed the Mermaid and were quickly gaining on it. Jock knew that he'd never lose those guys, never shake them off.

Even if he managed to escape, they would turn up in a few hours like out of the blue, as if Maldonaya herself worked her magic.

But surrendering to them after Ativerna? It would be easier to jump overboard. At least that way, it would end quickly.

Still, he wanted to live.

Sen Relar did every possible and impossible thing to gain distance, but the Virmans were confidently catching up on the Mermaid. Shert Laren walked up to Jock.

"What are we going to do, Cap?"

"What can we do?" Jock snapped. "They're going to get us."

"That goes without saying. Are we going to fight?"

"They'll cut us to shreds," Jock said. He was under no illusion about his crew's fighting skills. Trade, small-time off-the-book cargo, maybe smuggling... The only way they could pillage was by raiding weakened opponents, tearing off a piece, and running away.

Fighting the Virmans, however? A jackal could stand against a wolf, but who would win with those odds? Not the jackal.

None of them was in a hurry to die, especially without a real cause. What was the point of fighting? The baron wasn't onboard anymore, and neither was the countess.

"We could try negotiating," Jock said, wincing at the prospect of humiliating himself.

"You think it could work?"

"It's not like it could get worse."

The boatswain couldn't argue that.

"Raise the black flag, then."

A black flag or a black shield indicated a willingness to talk.

Red meant a battle to the death with no conversations.

Jock went to the cabin and retrieved some black fabric, attaching it to the flagpole, and the banner shot up into the skies to the sound of the captain gnashing his teeth.

***

"They want to talk."

"What are we going to do, Captain?"

Loyce, the boatswain, was waiting for his decision, and so were the others.

Halvar made up his mind.

"Raise the black shield."

"But maybe—"

"Killing them won't be a problem, but we need more than just loot. Their ship is garbage, too, and we won't get much for the crew in the Khanganat."

That was true. If Jock had money, he would have never risked his life. He would have simply opened a shop and traded to his heart's content.

The black shield slowly slid up the mast.

They'll talk.

Olav Hardring's order was to search, and so, the Virmans combed the sea for information rather than prey. That day, Halvar got lucky.

***

Jock was happy to see a black shield appear on the mast. It meant they wouldn't die that day. However, when a Virman man jumped on the Mermaid's deck, his mood quickly changed.

Jock had a certain hang-up. He'd never confess that, but being five feet three inches tall with a bald patch and a belly made him a bit nervous. Jealous, too.

A hulk two heads taller was standing in front of him with muscles that could easily break the mast in half and an axe that Jock probably couldn't even lift. He was looking down on Jock, of course. Why did some people get everything while he got nothing? He was probably beating girls off with a stick. Nobody looked down on him, and his back didn't hurt from all the extra weight...

Why was it so unfair? Aldonai!

Why did that swine look like every girl's dream, even with a broken nose and a scar on his forehead, while Jock, no matter how much he tried to, could never achieve that? Whether in gold-embroidered clothes, a leather cloak, or heavy armor, he looked ridiculous. It didn't even matter that he was an expert swordsman—he hadn't become captain for good looks...

It hurt. Still, he had to swallow his pain and bow. Halvar didn't care about ceremonies, though.

"I'm going to tell you a name," the Virman boomed. "And if you don't answer..."

"What can I tell you, sir?" Jock decided to avoid arguments.

"Lilian Earton."

The Virman closely watched the reaction of the crew as he said that name, and he was right to.

Jock could control his feelings, but his sailors were a different matter.

It doesn't work like that: everyone heard the words and kept themselves in check. It just wasn't realistic. Halvar was no fool, either.

"Where is she?"

The Virman didn't raise his voice, didn't scold him, didn't make any threats, but Jock felt chills run down his spine. Somehow, he instantly realized that he had to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. Axes were known to serve as persuasive arguments, and a huge bonehead leaning on one of them was all the more so.

"Um... we could go to the cabin and talk there."

The axe crashed against the deck with a loud crackle, making the boatswain wince.

"I'm listening. Right here."

Jock swallowed. The axe looked quite impressive, and the Virman man holding it seemed resolved. He fessed up.

"We...we were hired to take Baron Lofrayne to Avester. It was an ordinary freight. And when the baron went aboard with a lady... Well, things happen. Maybe she was his lover."

The Virman man looked at Jock with the unblinking stare of a viper. He didn't seem to believe him, not in the least.

"When she said that she was Countess Earton and she got abducted..."

"You didn't believe her either?"

"Have mercy, sir! Who'd ever believe a broad? The baron told us she was his crazy sister. He was taking her home after Count Earton scre... um... took advantage of her. That's why she imagined herself as the countess!"

The Virman man nodded and asked the main question.

"Where is Her Grace?"

Jock's face turned sad. Unfortunately, he didn't have a good answer to that.

"Sh-she's missing."

"What?!"

Only one word, but it spoke volumes. Jock hiccupped, farted in horror, and talked twice as fast. He told everything about Ellis the bastard, their escape, even the drawings on the wall of Lilian's cabin. The Virman man listened and nodded to his people.

The search of the Prancing Mermaid was quick and rigorous. They didn't find Lofrayne or the countess, but some of her—if that was her—belongings remained. The countess had prudently taken all clothes, leaving only various drafts and sketches. Halvar didn't know the countess' handwriting, so he made the most profitable decision.

"I'll leave a boarding crew here. You'll follow us."

"W-where?"

"To Virma."

Jock shook his head.

"No! We'll...we'll get killed there!"

"What about here?" Halvar asked him sweetly. Then he patted his axe.

Jock wasn't the epitome of bravery, but he would stick up for himself.

"What does it matter? Here, we'll at least die quickly instead of being tortured. No!"

Halvar considered his words and finally deigned to speak up.

"You have my word. Your lives will be spared."

"What about the ship?"

"Depends on what you tell us. Just remember: from this day forward, you owe us your lives."

Honestly, Jock completely agreed. Had the Virmans raised the red shield, there was no doubt that they would have put them all down. But they hadn't. He was still alive, and he sure would like to keep on living, preferably as the captain of his own ship.

"We'll submit," Jock said, gritting his teeth.

However, if he wanted to trick the Virmans and escape, he was in for a rude awakening. The Virmans had been scourging the seas for a long time and knew their trade well. Jock's crew was deftly allocated to two cargo holds, leaving only a couple of men who were deemed docile. That group went to the Virman ship, while the boarding crew moved to the Mermaid.

The two ships slowly sailed along the coast. The Virmans were keeping their eyes peeled.

What if they found something? Or someone? If the countess had escaped... Of course, she wasn't the kind of person who'd be openly waiting on the shore, but she might recognize the Virman ships and come out.

Halvar didn't know Her Grace in person and had never seen her in his life, but Virma owed a debt to her, which meant that he would help her. The countess was bound to know that. Maybe she would show up.

But the coast was empty and quiet with no signs of living people. There was no reason it wouldn't be, though. Tony and Lilian had hidden the boat ashore and buried Ellis, never setting any campfires in the open.

What else could there be? Nothing! The countess was gone, disappeared into thin air.

***

The cargo hold was dark, crowded, and reeking of rotten fish. Jock sat quietly, not reacting to anything. He was contemplating if he had done the right thing by surrendering. Maybe it would have been easier to die in battle? Spare himself the agony and go to Aldonai?

But he didn't really want that. Jock liked life well enough. He had a dream, too: build a tavern in his twilight years, get married, raise children...

With the latest twists, all of that was up in the air. But if he hadn't surrendered...

The sailors might be rough, but they were no fools. They had noticed the Virman's axe, and none of them wanted to get to know it intimately. Therefore, even if Jock was sitting alone, they weren't too angry with him.

Also, the ship was the captain's. It was easier for the crew. So you got kicked out? Go and find another vessel in the docks! And they would find one, too. A good sailor was worth his price in gold, as long as he knew his craft, didn't drink too much, didn't have any nasty sicknesses, and could wield a weapon and handle himself in the fight.

That was only the beginning of a long list. Jock's team might not have been the best, but they were far from the bottom of the barrel. They were also quite amicable.

The navigator sat down next to Jock.

"So, is it the end, Cap?"

"Maybe we'll flounder yet."

"Where are they taking us?"

"To Virma."

"And then?"

"Who knows? But they promised to let us live."

"Do you believe them, Captain?"

Jock glared at him.

"Believe... Is it a temple here? Am I a pastor? If I didn't agree to go with them, they would have cut us all down. Have you seen that Virman?"

Everyone had seen the Virmans, so nobody argued. They all wanted to survive.

"So they'll hang us all in Virma?"

"For what?" Jock snapped. "Have we done anything wrong?"

"Well, the countess—"

"We were hired! We didn't know why! They told us now, but it's too late..."

"That’s right. But they're Virmans. They might not care," the navigator replied, dead-set on his version.

Jock waved his hand.

"Maybe they won't. But they would have killed us all in battle, and this way, maybe at least the sailors can survive. It's a chance. You must know that."

"Yes. A chance," the man echoed, his tone strange.

There was nothing else to do in the hold than talk.

Ativerna, Laveri.

"Your Grace, I was asked to give you a message."

Miranda raised her head, pulling away from reading documents.

On that day, she was visiting Mariella. There was no getting away from work. She might be a viscountess, but she was her mother's daughter, and she would never leave her creation unattended. When Mama returned, she would sort out the salon, but for the time being, Miranda could handle it.

But really, those numbers were a nightmare. Accounting was clearly not the girl's calling.

"Who asked you?"

"Some boy."

"Give it to me." Miranda reached out to the secretary.

It was a piece of paper: clean and smelling of perfume, with a smooth wax seal that easily succumbed to her fingers.

If you want news about your mother, I'm waiting for you in a blue carriage outside. Tell nobody, or I will leave.

The letters blurred before her eyes.

Mama?!

Miranda jumped up and ran to the exit.

"Viscountess! No!"

Her bodyguard stopped her. Yes, Jerisson had insisted that at least one Virman should accompany his daughter at all times, or, better yet, two. Miranda didn't mind, especially after Lilian's abduction. Better to play it safe.

"What?!"

"Your face!"

"Oh..."

During her battle against the treacherous numbers, Miranda had been gnawing on her quill. The viscountess' face was covered with colorful blotches.

"Oops."

She had to spend two minutes rubbing them off with fragrant water and a handkerchief, and her bodyguard used the opportunity to read the note.

"You won't go alone!"

"Gael!"

"Yes. And I'm telling you no."

"What if Mama's there?"

"Why would she be?"

Miranda flinched, but she knew that it was pointless. Courtiers might not know what to expect from her, but her bodyguards had learned everything about the girl a long time ago. She'd never escape them.

"What are you suggesting, then?"

"Don't go near the carriage. Give us at least three minutes."

Miranda nodded, and Gael rushed out of the office.

Three minutes passed slowly, as if she were being tortured. She was scared.

What if it was her mother, after all? What if it was a lie? What if...

Suspense hurt more than hot iron. After pacing around the room, Miranda finally gave up and went downstairs.

There it was, the street outside. The carriage was still there. Miranda made a step, then another...

A gloved hand stuck out of the window and beckoned to her.

"No," Miranda said, shaking her head.

"Do you want to see Her Grace?"

"Yes." Miranda made another step.

The carriage door swung open. A man jumped outside—and immediately slammed his fist in the girl's jaw.

***

Had Miranda been alone, the abduction might have succeeded, but she had guards. Lou-Lou and Nanook immediately leaped out the doors and started barking, scaring the horses. Gael fired an arrow from the roof, hitting the driver. Ivar grabbed the bridles.

How did the Virmans manage to do all of that so quickly?

Yet they did. They were victorious.

"I'll kill her!" the man from the carriage screamed.

"And then we'll kill you," Gael said, opening the door. "Shall we make a blood eagle from you? Tear your ribs? No problem!"

His idea wasn't met with enthusiasm.

"I'll—"

"Leave the viscountess and go. We won't stop you."

"Yes," Ivar said, nodding.

"Bullshit!" The abductor clearly wasn't a nobleman, just a common bandit of medium proportions. Heavy-faced, sturdy built... He could have easily dragged the girl away without any problems.

However, against the Virmans, he was out of his depth, and he knew that. He kept glaring at them but didn't seem to be spoiling for a fight.

"I swear," Gael said, crossing his fingers and spitting on the ground.

"Yeah, as soon as I leave—"

The negotiations closed unexpectedly for the abductor. The door of the carriage—the opposite one, not the one he was using to talk—was suddenly torn away, and a blond shadow slipped inside. Olav fell upon the bastard, crushing him with his fists like a lump of clay. Ivar dove after him and pulled out the viscountess. Alive.

"She'll get a bruise," he diagnosed her.

Gael, who was still on the roof, relaxed and lowered his bow. It was heavy and made for fighting.

They got lucky with intercepting the note and convincing the viscountess to wait. But who had sent that dirtbag?

An interrogation was imperative.

The Virman drew a knife. Their work was only beginning.

***

The girls brought Miranda to her senses, effing and blinding as they cursed the kidnapper.

The bruise was pretty nasty; Miranda's jaw must be hurting like hell.

In the meantime, Gael was busy conducting a snap interrogation. It was a great method.

You're asked a question. No reply? You get one finger off. You lied? One more finger off. A man had twenty of them, and if worse comes to worst, more bits to lop off. The kidnapper started talking pretty quickly, but alas, he barely knew anything.

His name was Ratty Siel. A cloaked man had hired him to kidnap a certain "arrogant bitch." He gave him a carriage and horses, suggested a plan, and gave a letter. The driver was Siel's buddy; he had contacted him of his own volition.

So, where was he supposed to take the girl?

"Dunno. Told me to leave her in the carriage and come to Milk and Wine tavern. They'd come to me."

Gael wasn't counting on that. The scoundrel would get away!

Hans Tremain, who had rushed in to respond to the summons, agreed with Gael. He promised to watch the tavern,
even if there was a good chance that it was useless.

The kidnapper wasn't a fool; in his place, Hans would have kept an eye on the abduction. He wondered if they should search the nearby houses, but it wouldn't help, either. There were four taverns facing Mariella; anybody could be inside.

Trying was pointless.

***

Jerisson was enraged, and Miranda was angry, but what could they do?

Still, neither of them had any idea who could want to abduct her.

The serial killer? She didn't fit the profile; the maniac clearly preferred blondes.

Richard was blaming Hans, Miranda was nervous and promised never to leave her bodyguards' sight, Jess was gloomy from the lack of news, and time passed.

***

"It's a wolf."

Lily turned pale as a sheet.

Yes, she was frightened. Who wouldn't be? The wolf was clearly rabid. Its eyes, its bare fangs, the foam dripping from its mouth...

Just one bite meant death. Even if its saliva came in contact with the mucus membrane, it would be enough. The beast was still standing, but how long until it attacked them?

Seconds.

"Lily, climb a tree," Anthony snapped.

Yeah, right! She saw no trees that could hold her weight. Running away wasn't an option, either. That wolf had clearly gone rabid and left its pack.

Lily dropped everything except her forked stick and adjusted her grip, propping it against the ground.

If the wolf leaped at her, she could try thrusting it into its mouth...

Would it work?

She had to try.

"The saber," she hissed, happy that Ellis had brought at least one weapon and the baron carried it. That was lucky. A knife wouldn't help much in a situation like that.

"I—"

And then, the wolf jumped right from its spot, aiming at her head and her throat, like they usually did.

Her reflexes got ahead of her brain. Lily spun around, placing her stick under the wolf while it was in mid-air. A textbook maneuver, short and precise. She would never be able to hold the beast off, but she could slow it down with her weapon, as long as Tony didn't let her down...

The force of the attack pushed Lily back and knocked her down on her ass. However, the forked stick proved to be a good distraction. For a second, the wolf stopped moving, and Anthony swung his saber.

Alas, instead of the neck, he hit the wolf in the middle, cutting its spine, and a howl—no, a scream!—spread through the clearing.

Lily covered her ears. All she could do was to watch the baron furiously hack at the wolf with his blade, cursing like a sailor non-stop.

It lasted five minutes before the baron discovered that the wolf was dead. He looked around.

"Lilian?"

Lily stuck her hands out...and fainted, just like the noblewomen the baron told her about so many times.

***

Her Grace woke up from the cold water splashed at her nose.

"Phew!"

"Lily, are you all right?'

The baron was bare-chested. They were next to a swamp they had passed around ninety minutes before.

That place was a nice find. Anthony had scrubbed himself clean and poured water over Lily. As for the creatures inhabiting that swamp, Lily preferred not to think of them.

E. coli? Even vibrio cholera! She'd eat everything!

She remembered the wolf and started shaking. They had stared death in the eye: foamy death trickling down from the fangs. But had they?

"Tony, are you unscathed?"

"Y-yes."

Lily didn't deem that answer satisfactory. She leaped up, and the baron was attacked by a Fury personified who inspected his hands and his face, touching every scar and all but licking them.

But everything seemed fine.

"Are you afraid I got scratched?" Anthony guessed.

"YES!"

Lily really was. But from the looks of it, he was all right. She found no open wounds on his hands and face. His clothes were torn, but there was no skin contact.

She was sure: a rabid animal's saliva had to touch an open wound or the mucus membrane. Tony had been hacking the wolf around its center. That placed her at risk, but she had already been sent flying. The baby?

Lily focused on her own body and immediately calmed down. She'd never miss bleeding, pain, or spasms.

What about blood?

Yes, Anthony's clothes did have some blood, but not much. He had tried washing it in the swamp, leaving it to soak.

Lily sighed.

Fine. She would remember the not-so-good old days of her childhood and scrub the clothes with sand, or, even better, pour even more sand and stomp it with her feet so it would get clean.

"Alive..."

Tony looked at the green eyes that were an inch away from his own. To hell with everything.

Adrenaline filled his blood, and he did what his instincts told him, grabbing Lilian's chin and firmly pressing his lips to hers.

For a second, Lily froze. Then she drew forward and answered his kiss.

***

Two people fell upon each other, having seen the face of death and survived to tell the tale.

Eyes to eyes, lips to lips, skin to skin. Lily scratched and bit, screaming and forgetting everything, scaring birds away from the treetops. She pushed forward and drew back only to press even closer to him, her green eyes burning with witch fire, and there was nothing conscious about their passion. Anthony squeezed her tight as if trying to imprint her with his brand, leaving bruises on her skin, but what did it matter?

It wasn't affection or tenderness, nor love and trust. It was the celebration of life, the only thing that could prove to them that they had survived, that they defeated death as it passed them by, touching them with its icy cloak.

The man and the woman were burning away that cold with the fire of their coupling, getting drunk with nary a drop of wine from the simple realization. Alive! They were alive!

They intertwined their arms and legs, drinking each other and never feeling sated.

Life continued in all its splendor.

Two triumphant screams of release rose up into the skies, merging into one.

***

Lily was washing herself.

Swamp water? Whatever, it was better than being dirty. Of course, by the evening, she'd get all filthy and sweaty again, but... What had happened to her?

Although that was already obvious. Her father had told her—and his father had told him—that things like that happened during the war. After a battle when people almost died, they sometimes felt incredibly attracted to each other. Things happened.

That's why, in ancient times, when cities got taken, they were often given to soldiers to rape and to rob. The reason was the same. When blood boiled, echoes of battle still singing in your ears, when death had taken its harvest...but not you. Not that day.

A primal reaction, an animal instinct, but what would you do? Scrape off the gilt, and you'll find iron; scrape off the civilization, and you'll find a wild beast instead of a man.

And so, Her Grace was sitting on a rock by the water, staring at the swamp, and feeling...odd. Wrong.

She didn't want to go to Anthony. She wanted to clear the air: calmly, quietly, and in silence. So what was a woman who had just cheated on her husband supposed to feel?

Hell if she knew. She had never done anything like that.

In the old world, she had Alex, the best man in the world, and they had been together since her childhood. She could never imagine anybody else in his place. How could you switch your own arm for another? That arm wouldn't be yours; it would be someone else's.

Nature took its toll, and the young couple found themselves in one bed, feeling great and never wanting to part ways.

They would have gotten married. They would have been happy.

But fate stepped in. Aliya became Lilian Earton, and Lilian Earton was married. She had a lawful husband, even somewhat nice-looking, and she had to mend fences with him—they had a daughter and a household and...

What was it, really? Love? Devotion? Necessity? But all of them came together to create happiness.

Lily had no complaints about her husband. She loved him as much as she could, and she was happy with him. Honestly, Jess was a catch. He was smart, willing to learn (an assassination attempt can be a real wake-up call, can't it?) reasonably cheerful and reasonably serious, and prepared to accept Lily with all her quirks. Without Jerisson, her life would have been much poorer.

If Aldonai himself appeared before her and asked if he should leave Jerisson or teleport Alex to her, Lily wasn't sure what she'd choose. She simply wasn't.

Would she hurt her husband? She had never even entertained that thought. Her marriage worked. They had grown to love and tolerate each other, and it was good, wasn't it?

Would that night change that?

She didn't even feel guilty for adultery. Did she love Lofrayne? She hated him! If not for that bastard, she'd still be at home.

The wolf? If he didn't want to fight off wolves, he shouldn't drag girls into the woods, seriously! Yet somehow, that incident had drawn them to each other, and...it felt really good. Good enough to make her starry-eyed and screaming. At moments like that, even a prayer being read by your side wouldn't matter; some things were more powerful than propriety or shame.

But all right. Let's sort it out point by point.

Had they done it? They had.

Did she want to repeat it? Physically, yes. The sex was amazing—worthy of a romance novel, really. It's not like she hadn't enjoyed herself with Jerisson, too, but it was never that good.

On the other hand, she had never been with her husband in a situation like that. Well, except for that one time when bandits had attacked. Oh, and Wellster. And... Had her life ever been peaceful?

But no. She wasn't going to contemplate that issue. Adrenaline or not, it had been great, but it would never happen again. Not because of morality but biology. Her baby...

One time wouldn't do any harm, seeing as her pregnancy seemed to be going well, but she would probably have to take a break and chill for a day or so. It's not like they were in a hurry. There was still enough time until the fall, and she was sure they would leave the woods before that. Her health came first, especially in her condition.

Hopefully, Lofrayne hadn't figured it out yet. She'd need to test the waters to find out.

Yes, adultery is...complicated. On the one hand, Lily felt no guilt. Now, if she had purposefully hunted a man and dragged him to bed to reach her goal...

That's not what she did, though. They were simply pulled to each other after surviving mortal danger. Things like that were known to happen. You just felt a thirst after a fight, and you'd do anything to quench it.

All right; it was all well and good, but what was she supposed to do next?

There were two options: pretend that nothing had happened and continue being cool and indifferent to Tony or accept everything and make their nights more bearable. The pleasure she had felt was a good argument for the latter. Often, pretty boys made for poor lovers, being too convinced of being God's gift to womanhood to bother. Why would they?

They deigned to let the wench get intimate with them! She should lie down and bask in their presence! After all, if gifted with Michaelangelo's David, one wouldn't complain about it being too large and dusty, no. A masterpiece was supposed to be admired and praised.

It was all too common. Aliya's girlfriends had often bemoaned that. Most students at her college had rather lax morals, and the dorm would have easily passed for a brothel. Just switch the sign at the entrance, and you'd enjoy life without any restrictions! Studs with a lot of options usually behaved like swine.

Tony, however, was an attentive and passionate lover who knew how to please his partner.

Tender? Fine; there was nothing tender about that night, but women were good at recognizing such things: Lily knew she would have a good time with him.

That was the only pro. The rest was cons.

First, she'd be cheating on her husband, knowingly and deliberately. Second, she was pregnant. Pregnant women, of course, could have sex, as well as visit saunas and exercise, but they had to be careful. She had to keep the baby in mind, always. Was Lily prepared to risk her child, even if it was still more than half a year from being born?

She wasn't. If anything happened, they were in the woods, away from civilization. Bleeding, a miscarriage... Who would rescue her from that? It's not like a 911 emergency response team could open a portal into another world. No. She didn't need such risks.

And lastly... That just felt wrong. They might have saved each other's lives and had to stay together to survive, but how had it all started? If Tony never kidnapped her, he wouldn't need to save her. She'd still be at Castle Taral, living a happy life. Nope. No pass.

He was to blame for her being there and had no credit for helping her. It's Tony who should be thanking her, actually. If she were an ordinary medieval countess, he would be sitting on the seashore until the cows came home or maybe stumbled out of the forest in winter. Alone.

The verdict was clear. No intimacy and definitely no sex.

Her mind made up, Lily left the swamp.

***

Tony was staring at the campfire, but what he saw there didn't look like flames. He was gazing into green lust-fogged eyes, feeling the taste of a woman's lips on his.

How many women had he had in his life? Many, a great many, but not one of them was like her. She was a legendary warrior queen, a woman who could stand by your side on a castle's wall, her spear in her hand, and no enemy would get past while she was alive—a comrade-in-arms, a real woman for a real man. Being with her would be a trial for any knight. An ingenue might be easy and fun to have around, but she'd be boring. But how would one keep up to someone like Lilian Earton? That would be an exciting challenge!

Tony sincerely envied Earton. That son of a bitch had gotten himself a real treasure and didn't even appreciate it... No, he didn't! Otherwise, he'd have kept a better eye on it! Were Lilian Tony's wife, he would have never let her leave his estate...

His...what?! Yes. His wife.

Tony realized what he was thinking about and almost cursed out loud. That was true. When had he become infatuated with her? Or was it even worse? Was he in love?

There was no answer. As always, the heavens kept their mocking silence, and even Maldonaya didn't reply, even if that feeling was within her domain.

Tony had never planned on falling in love, and he had a very different idea of his future wife. Maybe in a decade, when he'd be in his thirties, having sown his wild oats, he'd find himself a girl. Young, maybe sixteen or so, and from a good family. Maybe not especially pretty—he didn't need that—but well-behaved and obedient. He'd move her into his estate and visit her to make babies. That would be good and right.

But Lilian Earton? Lilian Elizabeth Mariella Earton turned all his pre-conceived notions of a good wife upside down. She was too smart, too independent, too...much. But she existed, and he couldn't ignore that. So what was he supposed to do with that?

Tony bit his lips. He had no idea what to decide. Would he tell her about his feelings? What were those feelings, exactly? What was going on in his head? Love? Was he prepared to endanger his future, his family, the entire Lofrayne estate for that love? He wasn't. But what could he offer Lilian Earton, then?

Tony didn't know. His brain was a mess.

Should he let her go? Send her home? Have her stay with him? Throw himself at Entor's feet? After all, the king would marry Lilian off anyway, so why not to Tony?

All his thoughts crashed against a single thing. Tony imagined Lilian's face, her eyebrows raised in contempt, and could almost hear her calm throaty voice.

So you decided to bless me with your person, Baron? I must decline.

Tony was sure about her answer. But what else could he do? What should he say when Lilian returned from the swamp? Or...maybe he should just wait for her words?

Maybe that would be for the better.

Tony waited. Soon, Lilian returned and sat by the fire, running her fingers over her golden hair and braiding it. She looked at him...and her expression was nothing like those he was used to seeing on the faces of women.

No passion. No interest. Just indifference. The same indifference he had seen on her face when he invited her to dance at that ball on the day they met.

He felt like he was stabbed in his heart; that wasn't how she had looked at her husband. The realization hurt.

"Lily..."

"Baron?"

A raised eyebrow, a soft smile.

"What happened—"

"Something happened between us? I doubt that."

Tony almost cursed out loud.

That...shrew! How many times had he done the very same thing, telling women those exact words and pushing them away, just as merciless and cold?

But what did he want? Love? Confessions? Promises?

Tony knew that yes, he did want them, but could he ever get them from Lilian Earton? It felt impossible.

"So, it was all just a dream?"

Lily snickered.

"Milord, the pent-up emotions we relieved in that manner had nothing to do with passion, love, or even ordinary intercourse. You would have been perfectly fine with any other woman in my place, and I would have been fine with any other man. The madness of the fight required a release. I hope you aren't going to kneel and confess your undying love to me."

"Should I?" Tony snapped, her words striking a painful chord.

"No. Just in case, I'll note that I'm no innocent maiden suffering from unrequited love. I'm not going to kill myself in shame and disgrace."

"I don't doubt it."

Lily responded with a sarcastic grin. So what? Ony men could mock others? Why couldn't she?

"So, what am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing," Tony replied with a nod. "I hope you understand, Countess, that I'll deliver you to His Majesty in any case."

"To Richard, I hope."

"Entor," Tony said, putting emphasis on that word.

Lily shrugged.

"The worse for your monarch."

Tony decided against getting into a verbal altercation.

"How about we cook dinner?"

Lily nodded and started unpacking the knapsack.

That was good and right. Everyone had their place and things to do with no stupid drama.

Oh, my love, I'm so noble and tormented... Oh, my darling, now I'm forever yours... We shagged, fell in love, and never woke up from that...

No. This was not a paperback harlequin novel like those her college roommates had read. There, the villain always fell in love with the female protagonist, and she couldn't choose between him and the hero while the others observed that triumph of stupidity and suffered either from idiotism or from constipation, but often, both at the same time.

In real life, everything was easier and harder at the same time. There were friends, and there were enemies, and mixing them together was dangerous because the latter would never become the former, even if, at some point, their interests coincided with yours.

That situation was no different. Lofrayne was her enemy.

With that thought, Lily began heating a roasted snake over the fire.

Chapter 5

Ativerna, Laveri.

Bran was returning home. He smiled as he rode—a rare occasion for a priest of Holosh. His lips curled in a dreamy smile.

His family... Not his clan. His family. He had never had a family before, only his clan. He had had a wife and children. He was proud of them, and he loved his daughter, but it wasn't a family. There were alliances made for profit and agreements that were carefully observed but not love. Never love.

He would have lived out his life, not even realizing how flawed and imperfect it was, if not for one thing: Angelina.

If she hadn't made the first step... If those assassins hadn't come...

Bran forgave them a long time ago. He would have even killed them quickly, without any torture, as without those conspirators, Angelina would have never met him—and fallen in love with him.

Why did she, though? He still didn't have the answer to that. A soul was too elusive a material to be considered. But she did love him; that was a fact.

When Bran looked into his wife's gray eyes, he couldn't see any hint of lying. He was loved, truly and selflessly, with his hunched back, his vicious instincts, his cloak of a priest of Holosh, all of his secrets and mysteries...

And Bran would do anything to protect his home and his family. Angelina... His children...

He imagined arriving home and Ian jumping him with a happy yelp, Hilda following suit, and Angelina smiling at him, never falling into his arms but simply watching. That's the royal upbringing for you. Another woman would have hugged him, but Angelina couldn't push herself to show her feelings in public. But she loved him.

Bran smiled, but even the thoughts about his beloved didn't make him careless.

A strange movement on the roof of a nearby house drew his attention. For some reason, it felt off. Bran sharply pulled his horse aside. A crossbow bolt swooshed through the air, piercing his cloak but not the rider.

Impossible, you'd say?

But to fire, the shooter needed to move: nock the crossbow, aim, pull the trigger. Keeping it loaded all the time was not an option; otherwise, it might not fire. That was known to happen.

Time? Just a few seconds, but that was enough for Bran.

He slid down from the horse and hid behind it, blending into shadows—thankfully, it was already getting dark. He wondered if the shooter would slip away or try to finish the job.

So, who was angry enough with the humble servant of Holosh to try to kill him? Interesting... The favor had to be returned, though. A dagger should be enough; no need to involve the crossbow.

Bran's first question received an answer soon enough when another bolt flew past him, and the horse let out a pitiful neigh, slumping on the ground. But Bran wasn't there anymore.

Throwing himself on the ground, crawling into the shadow of the house, and hiding didn't take long: just a fraction of a second.

Four men stepped out of the alley. That development upset Bran. They were clearly disrespecting him. Only four men? Or had the shooter stayed on the roof? But no, one of the assassins was holding a crossbow. Really, that hurt. They could have sent at least a dozen...

"Where is he?"

"Hell if I know!"

"The cripple couldn't have gone far."

Being told about his disability was something that Bran really didn't like. Yes, he was a hunchback and a cripple. So what? Why should that ruin his life? He was doing all right...and he was definitely going to outlive those smartasses!

He sprang to action. Dual throwing knives whizzed through the air. Two assassins immediately collapsed. The other two lunged forward, aiming to kill him before it was their turn.

Bran met them with whatever came to hand: his whip. He was good with blades, too, but he wanted to take at least one of them alive, or preferably even two—one might not know anything. His nerves weren't made of steel, either. He had to release his anger before going home.

The whip sang, coiling around the legs of the third assassin and making him crash into the cobbled pavement. He stopped moving.

Bran wasn't paying him much attention, though, throwing himself under the feet of the fourth man. Unprepared for that turn of events, the assassin tripped and tumbled down. Bran sped up his flight for good measure and saw the poor guy collide with a wall. The wall proved to be quite sturdy and firm. It survived the encounter.

Bran scrambled to his feet and went to check on his victims. Two didn't need anything anymore—he simply pulled out his knives. He couldn't leave them there, could he? A good throwing knife was like a limb. Would you leave it to vultures? Never!

He quickly looted the bodies.

Hmm. Curious.

Each of them had a purse with one...two... Ten gold? Someone was really throwing money around. Such a sum meant that Bran was a high-value target. Time to have a conversation with the men's mysterious employer.

He didn't find anything else. The assassins were your usual run-of-the-mill mercenaries. Each tavern had dozens of them.

Bran regretted not taking a servant or an escort with him. In Virma, he had gotten used to traveling alone. He didn't need anyone back there. Too bad; other people could have brought him a horse, helped to load the bodies, and called the guards. Maybe even the bodies could be identified.

Bran deftly tied up the other two mercenaries, who were still out, and searched them. Twenty more gold.

So, what should I do?

But what could he do?

Bran looked around. The back alley seemed dead. He walked up to the closest house and started banging on the door.

"Open up, right now!"

Silence.

"I'll set fire to your hovel from all sides, and I'll get away with it, too!"

Silence again. Thinking that he would have to follow through on his threat, Bran reached inside his pocket for a tinderbox, but then, the door opened. A woman in her forties was standing on the doorstep. She immediately fell on her knees at the sight of a dirty Virman covered in blood.

"Don't kill me, mister! For Aldonai's sake, have mercy!"

"Shut up, wench," Bran said, wincing. "Are you alone?"

"With the little ones... Don't kill us, mister! My children are so young!"

Bran raised his hand, interrupting her verbal spew.

"Do you want money?"

Where had her fear gone?

"Mister?"

"A gold coin for one of your little ones calling a guard here."

The woman paused. She did want the money, but...

"They won't come here, mister! Just look at the state of this place..."

Bran knew what she meant. They were in the slums, the waterside quarter. Still, that was the shortest path into the port; by taking it, he would have halved his traveling time. Picking out only respectable districts meant riding twice as long. That wouldn't do.

"Two gold. Who of your children will go?"

"Shervi, mister."

"Send him out."

He didn't have to wait for the ratboy long. The coin flickered gold in his fingers.

"Do what you want but have the guards come here. Then you'll get two of these coins."

Shervi's eyes flashed, his face sly.

"What about an advance, mister?"

He was stopped short by a blade pressed against his lower eyelid.

"An advanc-c-ce, you s-s-say?"

Shervi froze like a bird in front of a snake.

"Advanc-c-ce?"

The boy's answer was a loud hiccup. Good; his customer was ready. Bran smiled, although it was hard to see it in the darkness, and his grin would have made all Hollywood directors line up to hire him. Its "kindness" and "tenderness" even impressed the boy from the slums.

"If you get an idea to bring your mates or anything else... I'll be waiting in this hovel. You love your family, don't you?"

"Y-yes..."

"Then don't make me cut them down to the last man."

Bran's voice was calm and soft but quite convincing. Shervi was awestruck, unable to move and even breathe.

Slowly, the blade pulled away from his eye. A coin fell into his hand.

"A silver will be enough. Hurry!"

The last word was needless. Shervi was scared enough to outrun a racing horse.

So the guards didn't want to come to their quarter? He would beg them on his knees! He'd drag anybody there, do anything! As long as that monster left their slum for good.

Shervi was no mama's boy. In his lifetime, he had seen knife fights, murders, corpses, and public executions; he stole and was arrested, but that man...

He was no plucker, pigcutter, or fowler.

*Author's Note: robbers and thieves, murderers, and human traffickers, respectively.

It wasn't a shark that had swum into their quiet harbor but a sea wyrm, and it was baring its fangs at them, hoping to taste human flesh.

Shervi remembered Bran's expression, sobbed, and picked up steam. He couldn't run any faster, you'd say? You just haven't looked death in the eye. If you were there, even an arrow wouldn't have caught up with you!

***

Bran didn't have to wait long. Less than thirty minutes later, the boots of the city guards clattered along the cobblestones. Their swearing was colorful enough to teach even a Virman man a few words.

Shervi had known he would never convince the guards. Instead, he sneaked up to one of them, grabbed his purse—openly and dramatically—and broke into a run. Pickpockets never did that, of course: guards were vengeful and spiteful, certain to find you and give you a beating. However, he couldn't find another way.

The purse fell into Bran's palm, and the guards all but stumbled into a wall. A combat dog appeared before mongrels, robust and horrifying.

They flinched back.

Bran threw the purse up and caught it.

"Whose is it?"

"Mine, sir."

The guard stepped forward and got his belongings back—together with instructions.

"Don't touch the boy. He was following my orders. If I learn that you hurt him, I'll deal with you personally. Take it."

Three—THREE!—gold coins fell into Shervi's hand. A real fortune by his standards.

All of a sudden, a street rat transformed into an ordinary boy who rushed to his mother.

"Mama, look!"

The woman hugged the boy, shut the door, and broke into tears behind the thin wall. She had had quite a fright.

Well, at least he compensated her well for that experience and rewarded the boy, too. Time to speak to the guards.

"I am Lord Gardren, His Majesty's brother-in-law. Have you heard about me?"

"Who hasn't, sir?"

True; Bran was easily recognizable even without knowing his coat of arms. Platinum hair, hunched back... And who else could pull off a stunt like that? Another man would have been flogged!

"These four men tried to kill me. Two are dead. Load them up and take them to the mortuary. Put them aside, mark them, and show them only to those who'll come with a paper from Tremain. The others are alive, this one and that one. Take them to Count Earton's house. Stay here. The second man can fetch a cart."

"Yes, sir." The guard gave him a respectful nod and disappeared.

The second guard looked at him in awe.

"And you were alone, sir? Against all of them?"

"Yes.

"Right..."

There was so much envy in his look that Bran smiled.

At first, he had thought about taking the assassins home and questioning them there, but then he changed his mind. After all, returning there with two killers in tow felt just wrong. What would he tell his wife? Angelina would surely come out to greet him. So what would she see? A bloody Bran with two assassins?

And then the interrogation, too! It's not like Bran felt any pity for them, but why did his family need to hear that? His wife would also get nervous, and she was nursing. Her milk might disappear...

But when Bran figured out the man who had put a hit on him, found him, and cleaned his guts out like a fish, then he would fess up to Angelina. Casually, as if by accident, he'd come to her and say, Honey, there's been an accident with our good friend... Such a shame!

Bran was sure that it was someone who knew them. Not many people knew about his habits—after all, Bran had trampled on many feet in Virma and was twice as careful in Ativerna.

He was afraid both for his family and himself. No, not because he was afraid of dying per se. Without him, who would take care of his family? Richard? Jerisson? They were wonderful people, but they simply weren't ruthless enough. Maybe with time, Richard could change—he had seen more grief in his life—but Jerisson was a boy. Angelina and her children needed protection, a wall, a shield to hide from danger. That is why Bran was so cautious.

Yet someone, somehow, had found him.

He would deal with it. If someone wanted to meet Holosh... Oh, right. In Ativerna, they believed in Aldonai.

Well, Bran was no savage. He'd send them to Aldonai!

***

Just as Bran had expected, the Eartons' house had only his own people—the Virmans. To be on the safe side, Jerisson had moved his entire family to the palace. Bran had also received that offer but genuinely believed that it was too early for that. Or was it?

If someone was targeting him, there must be a reason. Bran wasn't overestimating himself; it was his enemies who were underestimating him. Let them, then. There was one thing everyone knew about him, though. Want to hurt Angelina? Then you'd have to go through Bran. That was far from easy: Bran would rip you apart, slowly and cruelly. They must have realized that and switched to him.

So, who was in danger? His loved ones.

Bran was going to squeeze everything out of the mercenaries, follow the thread, unravel it, reach the employer, and eliminate him, giving a lesson to his other ill-wishers.

The Virmans met his plan with complete agreement.

So, Gardren had come? Great. With two tied-up mercenaries in a cart? No problem!

Leif Erquig walked up, greeted Bran, and asked one thing.

"To the basement? Or are you going to talk in the house first?"

"Basement," Bran decided. The house was good as an opener, but why drag them around? It would be way more comfortable to contain flaying to the basement, and his interrogation was going to be merciless.

If Bran had ever heard about third-degree interrogation, he would have definitely used that term, but he hadn't.

He might have mastered the skill, but terminology was not his forte. But the former was enough for him.

***

Jerisson Earton. A real sweetheart, a philanderer (former), a roisterer (former), and a real family man. He loved his wife and children and doted on them, all but carrying them in his arms—well, not the wife, as she had nipped that in the bud by refusing to treat his thrown-out back—loyally served the king, and generally was charm personified.

So, why did that man keep a torture chamber in his basement?

Lilian Earton had never discovered it—she simply had no idea. Bran, however, managed to find his way there.

He approved. A good rack, a strappado, a wooden horse, and a good set of torture implements, all of them sharp and well-oiled but...unused. Too bad, really.

The layer of dust was obvious, if not especially thick: the servants had been slacking off. After all, that room was far from the master bedroom: waving a cloth rag around once a month was enough.

The count's father must have used it extensively. Jyce Earton—that was his name, Bran recalled. Jerisson Earton, however, had completely halted those activities. Soon, all tools would become rusty.

What a shame!

After hearing out the old servant, Bran patted his shoulder—don't worry, I won't let such valuables rot away—and proceeded to make arrangements.

The Virmans obeyed. Nobody argued with priests of Holosh if they wanted to live.

Soon, one of the mercenaries was tied to a cross and the second loaded on the wooden horse. The coals were burning in the brazier, heating the tools, and Bran stretched his fingers.

Considering the psychological preparation accomplished, he walked up to one of the men and pulled out the gag.

"For starters, let's talk."

***

Six hours and two dead bodies later, Bran was glad that he had sent a messenger to his wife, warning her that he needed to talk to Jerisson and would return a bit later—but no later than the morning. He wasn't even lying.

Jerisson had been told almost immediately and arrived as soon as he could. Bran was in the midst of dissecting one of the mercenaries. The count asked if his friend had ventured too far, doing something like that in Earton's own home, received the explanation, and agreed that keeping Angelina calm was important. He even offered his assistance.

Bran refused. Maybe if the count was a professional, but he was far from one. He wouldn't faint or vomit, but he definitely wouldn't be of much help.

He could, however, discuss the results of the interrogation later while drinking wine... Apple juice? That made sense. So, Jerisson had decided that he wouldn't drink any alcohol until he got his wife back. He had to take care of his home, his children, the production line... That left no place or time for drinking.

Bran decided to join him. After a hard night, he still needed to go home and spend a day with his family. He didn't want to risk intoxication. He wasn't seventeen anymore, alas...

Bran didn't feel any remorse. Yes, he had killed four men: defeated two in battle and tortured two more to death. So what?

He didn't give a damn, as long as it gave him information.

"I got lucky. The two I killed first were simple hirelings, but one of the captives had talked to their employer."

"Is it the one without the eyes or the fingers?"

"The eyes."

"He didn't lie?"

"To me?" Bran was slightly offended.

Jerisson raised his hands, demonstrating repentance.

"All right, stupid question."

Bran gave him an apologetic smile.

"The Firebloom is where this rabble meets up. It's a mercenary tavern, one of the dirty ones."

Jerisson didn't need an explanation.

If there were mercenaries, there were places where they could be hired. More often than not, their leaders looked for employment in taverns. An employer would come in, sit around, pick someone out, and hire them. However, there were different lines of work, clean and dirty, and so were the taverns.

In that case, the mercenaries agreed to take on a dirty job—an assassination.

"Why mercenaries, though?"

"They wanted to hire pigcutters but decided on mercenaries. The latter wondered about that, too. They were warned that the target was a hard one."

"Clearly not enough."

"They don't know me that well here. It's not Virma," Bran snapped.

"It might not be Virma, but my men obeyed you."

Bran chuckled, then shook his head.

"Actually, no."

"No?"

"They knew that my actions wouldn't harm you or your family. As for the rest... In Virma, people know better than to cross a priest of Holosh or a clan chief. I might not be a chief anymore, but I'm still a priest."

"So that's how it is..."

"Exactly."

Jerisson nodded thoughtfully.

"And what if—"

"Erquig would have died on the doorstep, but he wouldn't let me in."

"That's nice to know."

Bran shrugged.

"A masked man came into the tavern. He hired four and paid half in advance. He promised to pay the rest after the deal was done, but I don't think we'll catch him there now."

"Did you have to mutilate them? We could have tried sending them out as bait..."

"It wouldn't have worked," a familiar voice said from behind Jerisson's shoulder. "My pleasure, Your—"

"Seriously, Tremain? Sit with us," Jerisson said.

"Thank you."

Without a fuss, Hans Tremain sat down at the table and pulled up a plate of meat.

"You've given me a whole lot of work, Chief of Gardren!"

"Really?"

"Indeed. I was informed about the bodies and went to investigate. Well, I gave them a good study..."

"So, what's your verdict, milord royal envoy?"

"The owner of the tavern had to know who would come to him."

"Why are you so sure?"

"I know those mercenaries. Will you show me yours, just to be certain?"

"Their appearance is...unorthodox," Jerisson warned.

Bran offered to escort the envoy to the basement, and Tremain nodded in agreement. When he returned, he took a sip of juice and winced.

"Is there any wine?"

"I'll tell the servants if you need it," Jerisson said. "Should I?"

"No need. All right. These mercenaries belong to the Wasp. It's a mercenary group. The Wasp is the leader's nickname. He stings hard but plays it safe. No wars or conflicts, but small-time hits like that are his style."

"And?"

"They wouldn't have survived long if they didn't have connections."

"Who is it?"

"Her Highness Joliette's husband."

The men exchanged glances.

"Duke Lerois?"

"The Wasp is a nobleman. I'm not sure what he is exactly... Either his father was an illegitimate son of Lerois' father, or his mother slept with the current Lerois. In any case, the duke is covering for him."

"I wonder how I might have crossed Lerois," Bran said.

"You could have?"

Bran shrugged.

"We don't have a quarrel. Well, other than Joliette."

"What about Her Highness?" Hans asked.

"Everything's fine. She started arguing with my wife, and I warned her that I wouldn't permit that in my house," Bran replied curtly.

"That's it?"

"Yes."

"That's not good enough. What else could it be?"

"I don't have anything else."

"Strange," Jerisson chimed in.

"Definitely. The Wasp must have conferred with the duke. Lerois is His Majesty's brother-in-law, but so is Gardren. So is Bran." Tremain made Gardren a symbolic bow. "Let's say he doesn't know what Bran can do, but...why get involved?"

"I would have intervened. And Lilian. And the Virmans. Richard wouldn't have liked that, either," Jess said, nodding.

"Right."

"Could the Wasp's men have taken a side job without his knowledge?"

"No."

"But in the tavern..."

"Someone's always there, no matter what. If the group isn't hired out, they're waiting for a buyer," Tremain said brusquely. "The Wasp knows."

"And Lerois?" Bran narrowed his eyes.

"Undoubtedly."

"Let's say I was killed. What next?"

"Angelina would have mourned for a year. Then she'd be married off...probably."

Bran chuckled. They didn't know his Angie, oh no, they didn't.

Married off? Well, they might have tried that, up until she got another year of mourning...for her next husband. He didn't doubt his wife.

Did Lerois know about that? Did Joliette?

Bran considered that and decided that they didn't. His Majesty Richard was a different person after his visit to Virma, and so was Angelina. They might still look the same, but inside...

"Did Lerois decide to expand his family's influence?"

"Maybe. He does have a few unmarried men among his relatives. One of them might marry the princess."

Bran breathed out and decided to contain his anger. Later, Lerois would answer for that—seeing as Bran's children clearly didn't fit that plan.

The problem with children was how fragile they were. Until a certain age, they were easily dispatched.

"So, what if I were killed? Would you look for the murderers?"

"We would."

"Let's say someone wants to frame Lerois. What should I do now?"

"Challenge him to a duel," Tremain chuckled.

"A duel?" Bran echoed, surprised.

It was one thing to kill him, but a duel? Now that was just ridiculous!

"No matter which of you kills the other, the throne will grow weaker."

"Kill? I'm a savage Virman man!" Bran said with a venomous smirk. "I can't duel anyone."

"What about a murder?"

"That I can do," Gardren readily agreed. Nobody would have even suspected a murder. The duke would have simply had a heart attack...or a liver problem...

"Either it's Lerois, or someone decided to put you at odds," Tremain concluded.

"Can we know for certain?"

"What did the mercenary say?"

"A masked man hired them in a tavern—there, it's par for the course. He came in a carriage, the coat of arms was boarded up..."

"The coat of arms?"

"They were clearly hired by a nobleman."

Bran spent a few seconds thinking.

"Could we try luring the fox out of the hole?"

"In theory."

"Why did they choose the Wasp specifically? Lots of other mercenaries unconnected to Lerois could easily agree to assassinate me."

"Yes, we were bound to figure that out... So it's not the duke."

"I suggest pitting us against each other anyway and seeing who'll react. What will people do?"

Bran gave Hans a vicious grin.

"How do you suggest we do it?"

Gardren's scowl became utterly terrifying.

"It depends on Duke Lerois. But it won't be us who'll talk to him."

"His Majesty," Jerisson said with a nod. "The old man won't listen to anybody else."

"Then we'll go," Hans summed it up. "Everything has to be done quickly. Very quickly."

He finished the apple juice in a gulp, and the men took off.

The woods close to the coast of Avester.

As she saw the first signs of human life, Lilian felt genuinely happy. Chopped trees, well-worn paths...

At last! They made it!

She was sick of the woods.

First, living there made grooming exceedingly hard. The two nobles mostly resembled hoodlums. The only consolation was that the majority of locals probably looked the same: unwashed and ragged. Well, at least the beggars did. They wouldn't stand out.

Second, she was tired of foraging. In summer or early autumn, one wouldn't starve to death in a forest, but Lily wanted bread. She wanted a bath. She wanted...

She wanted civilization! Even its medieval version was so much better than nothing!

Third, Lofrayne. That night of passion had never happened again. Both Lily and Anthony did their best to pretend it was a dream. Nothing had happened. Nothing would. Still, Lofrayne...bothered her. She couldn't force herself to hate him as she had before. So, what was she supposed to do? What if she had to choose between her freedom and the baron's life? Lofrayne would run through a brick wall to make her stay in Avester.

Would she have to poison him? Did she have the heart for that? Lily seriously doubted that. Even before that... she simply couldn't. She was incapable of that! She wasn't a sociopath!

And to think that she had criticized the heroines of romance novels. Just poison the bastard, you idiot, and live a long and happy life!

But that was easier said than done.

Look him in the eye and realize that you're a murderer... Yes, things had happened. Some of her patients died, and Lilian killed people. But those were enemies. Was that the case with the baron?

Lily was agonizing over that issue and met Anthony's offer to talk without any enthusiasm. The edge of the forest loomed right ahead when he suggested stopping to rest. He set the fire, gathered the branches, sat next to Lilian, and carefully took her hand.

"Your Grace..."

"Yes, Baron?"

Anthony's face was both serious and surprisingly sad.

"Soon, we'll reach other people, Lilian."

"Yes," Lily said with a nod.

She didn't finish. We'll reach other people, and I'll try to escape. You know that, and I know that. Anthony was sad and composed.

"I must get you to the king, Lilian."

"I understand."

"I can't go back on my word. But... I can protect you with my name."

"Really?"

"I have an offer for you..."

Lilian braced herself, but she never got the chance to hear his offer or answer. A derisive remark interrupted them.

"Look at the birdies who flew into our net!"

The clearing filled with people. Two men, four...ten.

Lily cursed. Even eleven! Oh, goddamn it! Nope, not quite right. GODDAMN IT!

That was too many for the two of them to handle. Once, she and Jerisson had fought off a bandit attack, but Jess was armed, she was armed, and they managed to catch the bandits off-balance...

So, those were the local Robin Hoods. Lily had never felt any respect for the famous thief, no matter how romanticized his deeds were. What was so good about robbery? Take from the rich, give to the poor... That idea could never result in anything but filth.

But how would that encounter turn out for Lily and Lofrayne?

That was pretty obvious. Not well. Not well at all.

The Robin Hoods were closing in, discussing Lilian's charms in obscene terms and imagining the positions they were going to put her in. That notion was far from enticing. Lily didn't try to talk. They were going to fight; there was no getting around that. She dropped the bags from her back and reached into her pocket.

It was the forest, and it was the beginning of autumn. She always had her slingshot and a few rocks at hand, never knowing what animal might turn up. It was time to test the truth of the Scripture.

David, you say? Goliath?

"When I start fighting, run away," Tony whispered, standing next to her.

The saber flashed in one hand, the knife in another.

Lily cursed again and tore the strings of her knapsack. One knife was within her easy reach, but...it was only one!

The other four were in the backpack—she had never needed them all... Idiot!

But there was no time. The men were advancing on them, and Lily decided not to wait. Her slingshot cracked. One of the men looked down at his own nose and collapsed. So the Bible didn't lie! Of course, he was hit in the forehead, not the temple, but still.

"Get the bitch!"

While the men were charging from all directions, Lily managed to "fire" once again. Two down. Two more were running at her, and she fell on her knees, shrieking loudly enough to shake the trees around her.

"Don't hit me, good sirs!"

A moment's hesitation was enough. Her knife gleamed in the sunlight and pierced the closest man's...well, the only part she could reach. Kneeling, Lily was about as tall as his waist, so why would she aim at the throat? She had pointed her blade at his stomach, but hit the region just below, and judging by the river of blood, chopped it at the trunk or somewhere in its vicinity.

Apparently, the man treasured his family jewels. He howled, clutched at his belly, and curled up on the ground, seemingly uninterested in the fight anymore.

Startled, the fourth man tripped over the third and hit the ground, finding himself right next to the countess' feet. Without further ado, Lily stepped on his carotid artery. That didn't require much strength or speed, not to mention time. In less than thirty seconds, a lethal outcome was guaranteed.

Four down.

Lily grabbed a porkchop from the hands of the fallen attacker and quickly slit his throat. So what? Why shouldn't she hit a man who was down? What if he got up and resumed his attack?

No. She'd rather he died before he could.

The knife, foolishly yanked out by the second bandit, who didn't seem to care that he would bleed to death, flashed in the corner of her eye. Lily snatched it into her other hand.

Then she turned around to Tony—and right on time. Lofrayne wasn't doing well. He had put down two attackers, but the other five were ganging up on him, two of them wielding forked sticks just like Lilian's.

Lily reached into her pocket once again. Help me out, sling.

One more bandit fell. Tony hurled himself forward in a long lung, reaching another brigand's throat with the tip of his saber, but on that, his luck ran out. The grass, slippery with blood, betrayed him.

Like in a bad dream, Lily saw his ankle twist, his knee giving out. With a terrifying sound, a forked stick pierced his belly.

Those slimebuckets...

The men sneered. They were already celebrating their triumph. Tony was down; nobody could fight with a wound like that. The girl? They'd shag her silly before she could say knife.

Lily wasn't going to say knife when she could use it. She charged forward with the speed that she had never thought she had.

Only three of them remained. Her blade gleamed like a silvery star as it pierced the unprotected throat of one of the bastards right under his beard. She slashed the second one across his stomach. The man winced, trying to catch the innards falling out of him, slimy and blue.

The last one standing was the largest of them. He stepped forward, grinning.

How had Tony risen to his feet? How did he manage to overcome that pain?

Yet he did. His saber swooshed through the air and impaled the bandit, its bloody blade sticking out of his chest. The man staggered forward and slumped to Lilian's feet. Tony collapsed right after him, barely managing to croak,

"Finish them!"

Lily swore so dirty that the heavens itself blushed. Then she gripped the porkchop in her hand.

Finish them? She would. She had to do it quickly, too, before the adrenaline ran out and she started to shake and vomit...

Her baby? It was all right; she knew that.

Lily stepped to the first bandit and cut his throat. She was a medic. She could heal, but she also could kill.

The final blow, the insurance shot, coup de grace... It had many names, but the point was the same. Kill off the wounded opponent. Sometimes, it was done out of chivalry, and sometimes, to prevent the target from killing you later.

Eleven swings. Eleven bodies. Some were already dead, and others were just dying. Lily didn't give a damn. Mindlessly, like a soulless robot, she slit the throats of everyone lying in the clearing, drenching the faded autumn grass in fresh blood.

No big deal. Grass grows better with blood.

Then she fell on the ground, her legs curled up to her chest, but never allowed herself to break down.

It would have felt so good to scream, thrash, and writhe, letting out a howl piercing enough to make Aldonai himself look out from heaven...

Too bad, she couldn't.

Hold on, Aliya. Hold on! Stay strong! You have your baby to take care of. And Earton. And...

Even Lofrayne, who needs your help! No time to sit idly, idiot!

Lily cursed again and headed to Tony. She should examine his wound while he was unconscious.

***

Half an hour later, the scenery in the woods changed. The bodies were on one side of the clearing, while Tony was on the other, Lily somehow managing to drag him there on her cloak. They wouldn't want to stay next to those bandits, would they? Even alive, they had stunk to high heaven; dead, they were worse than a pack of rabid skunks. She needed to start a fire, unpack...

All in all, Lily was still a doctor, a medic through and through, and she knew the prognosis.

Anthony was doomed. An abdominal wound was a death sentence in their world.

How long did he have left? She would have bet on a few days, and even then, she didn't want to imagine the torture the poor guy would have to go through. His stomach had been ripped. A forked stick was a nasty, deadly weapon; even in the twenty-first century, she wasn't sure she could save him.

Cut him up, remove the splinters, wash the wound, sew it up, inject antibiotics... But no surgeon would have guaranteed survival.

In that world, though? When the contents of the bowels spilled out into the abdomen without any tools at hand? She had a knife instead of a scalpel, and the only threads she could get would have to be plucked out of her undershirt. Still, it wouldn't help. Lily could see that Anthony was dying. That was a no-win situation. No antiseptics, no antibiotics...they had nothing! No matter what she did, the end would be the same.

Rage swept over Lily.

Those sons of bitches! Those degenerates! I hope you die!

But they had.

That wasn't like her, but pain, grief, fury, and hate changed people. She needed to take out her despair, so why not on the bastards who had attacked them? Those vile scumbags who stole the life of a mostly good guy. The baron could have lived a long life...

Fine, Lily might have wanted to kill him herself, but that was before! That was a long time ago!

So, what had changed? When? She couldn't point it out. Maybe it had happened when they slept next to each other under an uprooted tree, the storm raging outside, and the baron embraced her to give her heat. Or was it when they fought off the wolf? When they made love, hungry and deliriously? When they walked through the forest in search of other people?

Or was it just a short while ago when Tony gave his own life to save hers?

Lily didn't know the answer, but she knew that Anthony had taken a place in her heart, and she was robbed of the chance to deal with him. One strike, and that was it. Darkness and void.

At least Tony believes in Aldonai...

Lily stroked Tony's hair.

"That's it; I finished them off. What's next?"

"Good girl."

Anthony opened his eyes.

***

Her Grace bent over Anthony at such speed that something cracked in her spine.

"Tony!"

"Lily, are you all right?"

His hand gently touched Lilian's face, leaving bloody streaks on her white skin, but Anthony didn't seem to care.

That was nothing. He didn't have long enough to pay attention to that.

"Yes. I'm fine."

"Did you get all of them?"

"Yes."

"Well done, sunshine. I'm afraid you'll have to travel alone from now on."

"Tony..."

Lily choked back tears.

Oh, goddamn it! Heavens drop you on Earth, Aldonai, because it's unfair! WHY?!

Lilian could easily imagine the answer, but it did nothing to reduce her indignation.

"It's all right. I never planned on living forever, although I did hope to postpone this adventure for a few more decades."

And he was still cracking jokes and comforting her...

Lily sniffled. Tears flooded her eyes. Twenty minutes later, Lily realized that she was sobbing on the shoulder of a dying man, who, while wincing, wasn't even trying to pull back.

"Lily..."

"I'm sorry. I know it hurts."

"You don't have anything to relieve pain. That's too bad."

"I'll check their pockets," Lilian said firmly.

"It will wait. They aren't going anywhere. Lily, you're a doctorus. How long do I have left?"

"A day, maybe two or three," Lilian told him the truth.

Tony looked at his stomach.

"Strange. I barely feel any pain."

Lily bit her lip.

"Do you feel cold?"

"Yes."

Damaged spine? Blood loss? Definitely.

"I think one of your major vessels is ruptured."

"Is that bad?"

"In your condition?" Lily permitted herself a bitter smile. "It doesn't matter. You might die earlier..."

"It's a pity. I regret that it all turned out this way. I really do... Forgive me, please."

"For dying? Don't hold your breath."

"For abducting you. For dying, too, even if it's not my will. I'd love to stay, but it's not like I'm allowed to."

Lily touched Anthony's lips with her finger.

"Nonsense. You know, I'm even glad I got to know you."

"I'm happy too... Lily, so what I wanted to tell you... If that rabble didn't stop us, I would have proposed to you."

"WHAT?"

What else could Lilian say?

"I love you. I never loved anyone, but I love you. If only you knew how I anguished, how jealous I was of your husband, how I wanted to kill him... He found you first and let a diamond slip from his grasp! He should have taken you to a castle and guarded you! And he...the fool. But he was lucky, so lucky, and I wasn't. Fate didn't deal me the right cards."

Lily bit her lip again. A crazy idea slowly took shape in her head. Why not try?

Let the gods, if they existed, punish her for that lie, but she had the chance to alleviate the man's suffering, and she was going to do that.

"Tony, fate gave you another card."

"Oh? Which one?"

Lily touched her stomach.

"You still haven't realized that? A child is growing inside me. Your child."

It wasn't the time to ponder over morals and ethics. Lily wasn't thinking about anything or anyone—except for the green-eyed Adonis in front of her, who was so unfairly fading away in his prime. He hadn't done anything yet: leave a child, make a woman happy... He would never leave a mark on the world, and for people there, it mattered. Lily was giving him all she could: hope for the continuation of his line.

She was lying, yes, but whatever Aldonai might think of her, she felt she was doing the right thing. Tony's eyes that lit up with a fire that seemed almost infernal reaffirmed her conviction.

"Lily?"

"Yes. The last time I had the bloods was on the ship. After the wolf.. they stopped. They stopped for good, do you understand that? There are other symptoms, too."

Lily lied, and she would have lied again and again... Just to see the happiness in his green eyes once more.

"My child. My...son?"

"Yes."

Tony reached out and touched her stomach.

"My. Son."

Those words... Hearing them, Lily realized that she would swear and lie about anything. It might be a sin or not. If she ever faced the trial of Aldonai, she would ask him to judge her not for her deeds but with his mercy. Let him look into her heart, and he would understand everything. There was no other way.

If Aldonai were merciful, Tony would never know about her lie. He would die believing that he had left his mark on the world, and there—if there were anything there at all—he would keep believing that. That would be just.

And was it that big of a lie, really? Tony had saved her and her baby's life several times. He had the right to be called a father...a godfather, at least. Didn't he?

They were looking at each other, and tears slowly ran down his cheeks.

"My. Son. Son... Praise you, Aldonai!"

Lily put her hand on top of Tony's.

"Tony, I swear to you, I will keep this baby. I'll claim it's Jerisson's son, I'll lie, and he will stay with me. I won't send him away, and I won't give him up. He will grow up in a loving family, maybe as an Earton, but I... I hope to return to my husband. Do you understand me?"

"Yes. And I hope you return to him, too," Anthony replied, thinking about something. "If I can't protect you, this idiot will have to do. But I beg you, be careful."

"I promise you, I will. I'll be careful for the two of us."

Anthony slowly nodded.

"Lily, my dear, search the bodies. I need paper or something like parchment..."

Lily touched his cheek.

"I will. Don't move. Don't make it worse."

Tony obediently lowered his eyelids.

"I won't."

As he watched her loot the bodies, he kept repeating the same thing in his head.

Thank you, Aldonai. Thank you from all my heart. Thank you.

He was leaving the world, but a part of him remained. His—and Lilian's. Wasn't that enough?

It was a lot. He could never imagine that. His son, conceived by him and his beloved—he could finally admit the latter. The woman he loved with all his heart. When had it changed from infatuation to love? Tony didn't know, but it did. He could have never given Lilian to the king. He simply couldn't. He would have stolen her away, locked her in a tower, kept her away from the world so she would only be his... He and she. Their children, too... Well then. At least he got lucky with Lilian.

Tony believed everything she had told him. She would keep the baby and look after him. She'd lie, steal, kill, and do anything to see that no harm came to his son. She would survive, and so would he.

His son. It was going to be a boy; he just knew that.

Lily finished searching the bodies and returned to Anthony.

"This is the best I could find... I hope it will be enough."

Her own paper had long since been used as kindling. That one was a prayer book, a small one—in quarto. Where had a bandit found it? That was anyone's guess. Maybe the bastard had planned to use it for lighting fires or wanted to sell or gift it... It didn't matter. The point was, it was there.

Tony gave her a pained smile.

"Lily, dear, help me. I need to sit up."

"You shouldn't move."

"I don't have much time left. At least I'm conscious. While I'm still in my right mind, I need to write a will."

"A will?"

That hadn't occurred to Lily. At all.

Tony smiled when he saw her confused face.

"Why not, sunshine? My son has the right to get everything I have."

Lily shook her head.

"How would that go, exactly?"

"Life is fickle, my love." The baron realized that he had nothing to write with and firmly smeared his finger with blood.

Was it his own? Someone else's? Whatever. Parchment would preserve blood, and the writing would be clear enough. There was a lot of blood, too, more than enough to write what he wanted.

Lily rubbed her forehead.

"I can't imagine going to your king and demanding our son's inheritance."

"Who knows how life turns out?" Tony replied, carefully tracing words and trying to make them readable. "I don't want to compel you, but what if you need to flee? What if Ativerna won't be safe for you?"

Lily sighed and shrugged.

"What if your husband doubts his paternity? And he will..."

"I'll record the baby as older than he is," Lily chuckled. "Pastors love money, too."

"You've already thought of that, haven't you?"

"I wanted to escape and return to my husband in Ativerna." Lily wasn't even trying to make excuses. "But the baby is innocent."

Tony slowly closed his eyes. He couldn't feel the lower half of his body. That was bad but also good; he wouldn't want to writhe and scream. He had never loved pain.

Aldonai was merciful. Tony was departing the world after protecting his woman and his child, fully conscious and capable of making his last arrangements.

Was that enough? Many didn't get even that.

"That this."

A baron's sapphire ring, a wedding bracelet...

"You won't wear them, but at least give them to our son."

Lily sighed. Would she carry it all the way?

Of course, she would. She would carry it, keep it, and one day, write down that story for her children. Let them know the truth...in thirty or forty years.

"Very well."

"Read this, please."

Lily looked at the book.

On the margins, Anthony, Baron Lofrayne, wrote about leaving his property, his title, and his estate to the child born by Lilian Earton, whether a boy or girl. The boy would get everything: the title and the property. The girl would have to keep everything for her second or third son, so that Lofrayne's line wouldn't break.

Lily felt a bit ashamed. Not for long, just for a minute or two. She wasn't going to make that will public. Nobody would ever learn about the prayer book, and definitely not her son or her daughter.

Why would they need that? It might all be well and good, but the worm of doubt would gnaw on her children anyway. They would suspect that one of them had a different father, that their mother had cheated on her husband... She didn't want that. A good mother always took care of her children, even if she had to lie to them.

"That’s right, Tony."

"If it's a girl, call her Melinda."

"And if it's a boy?"

"Hans."

Lily smiled.

"All right, Tony. I promise."

It wasn't hard for her to do that. Those names were just as good as any other. She'd name them, and she wouldn't even have to lie to her husband. Hans Tremain was their good friend. Actually, she wouldn't have to lie at all.

Miranda and Jerisson knew about her pregnancy. Nobody would suspect anything or even gossip; her family would protect her. And Lilian herself wouldn't let anyone slander her, either.

Hans? Let it be Hans. Hans Earton was a good name.

"Take my hand, please."

Lily squeezed his icy fingers and thought that it wasn't that bad. Tony would die soon, and that was horrible, but at least he wouldn't suffer for days and rot alive. That was a terrifying choice.

Lily bent over and touched the lips of a dying man with hers.

"I'll never forget you, Tony."

"It will be hard for you to do it."

"One day, maybe in a decade or two, I don't know, I'll tell our child about you. I promise."

Another lie, or was it? For that look on his face, she would have lied about anything. Lily didn't regret a thing.

***

Tony died before dawn.

In the evening, he became delirious, then started rambling. In the small hours before dawn, when it was the darkness, he passed away.

Lily was sitting next to him all that time, squeezing his thin cold fingers, trying to make them warm, and talking. She was telling Anthony the things he would want to hear.

Children. How they were, how they were born, how they grew up, how his son would be raised, how she would feed and bathe him, how she had mothered her firstborn, not giving him up to nannies, and how she would take care of the second.

And then, he would grow up with other children. They had many.

He would have four siblings—Jyce, Miranda, and Jerisson's two nephews—and lots of Virman children. Angelina had also given birth recently, and their babies could play together; a princess' child was suitable company.

She never noticed the tears running down her cheeks. It's not like there were many of them, though. One couldn't stay hysterical for long; there was an expiration date to any tantrum. Her body needed moisture and couldn't expend tears for more than a couple of minutes per hour.

Tony was listening.

When delirium kicked in, Lily was still talking. She only stopped for a minute to start a fire.

She didn't have enough strength left to drag Anthony away from the body-filled clearing, at least not while pregnant; lifting weights was strictly forbidden in her condition. It meant that she had to build a good fire to scare off predators—and avoid falling asleep.

Lily was talking, sometimes nodding off just like doctors during shifts or young mothers watching their baby's cradle.

It was almost like sleep, but any sound or any whisper would drive it away. Lily spent the entire night in that state.

Before morning came, Tony was gone. It happened quietly. With a soft sigh, he ceased to be.

Lily slowly closed his eyes and allowed herself to cry for as long as five minutes.

Goodbye, Tony.

***

Alas, she couldn't cry forever.

Lily would have loved to, but she couldn't. For starters, she had to dig a grave.

Lofrayne's saber was of big help in that complicated matter. Cut out a rectangular layer of turf, pull out pieces of soil... At least it was a pine forest; it was easy to dig through sand. She could even rake it out with her bare hands, which is exactly what Lily did.

A few hours later, a three-foot-deep pit was ready. Lily cut a few spruce boughs, put them on the bottom of the grave, and rolled Lofrayne's body there. Her medical instincts got the better of her, too, and she examined the body.

All right, broken spine... His spleen was ruptured, his colon ripped. If Tony could have felt at least something, he would have screamed his head off.

And yes, blood loss—the true cause of his death. Too many vessels had been damaged. Internal bleeding wasn't something you could ignore. It couldn't be stopped, and she had no glucose to drip or blood packs to transfuse. There was no chance.

She had no strength left to drag Tony, and she didn't want to kick him into the pit. She had to kneel and roll him, acting like a dung beetle. Of course, rolling balls of dung was easier, but where would she find that?

Somehow, Lily managed to get Tony's body to the pit and carefully, holding him by the arms, lowered him onto the branches.

His position wasn't exactly smooth, but climbing down and straightening him up?

No, thank you. One time was enough. Without a word, Lily made the sign of the cross over the grave, then repeated all local signs that she knew and prayed. She didn't know Christian prayers anyway, and what would Tony care about Jesus? He had never appeared in that world and probably never would. They had their own faith.

Lily threw more spruce branches on the body and added some sage. She wasn't sure if it would scare off carrion eaters, but what if it could? At least it had a bitter smell.

Then she started throwing dirt on top.

In a word, it sucked. Everything did. She was exhausted. She needed to rest and grab a bite, not having eaten since the night before. Soon, her stomach would digest itself, what's with her eating for two.

The time for grieving was short. It was time to work.

Chapter 6

Ativerna, Laveri.

Duke Lerois entered the royal office. He hadn't visited it since Edward's death. That was nature's way; old men gave way to young. A new king came with new advisors. He wasn't young himself, either.

No, Lerois didn't feel old. He often visited his young wife and even hoped for a child. However, at his age, he didn't have to grovel or lick the king's boots. Being elderly conveyed a number of advantages. Still, he would have traded them all for youth.

Richard was sitting at the table and giving him an odd look. Very odd.

"Hello, Duke. Come in."

"Your Majesty."

"We're family. You can call me Richard when we're in private. And I will call you Antoine," Richard politely offered—or requested.

Lerois appreciated that. To return the favor, he decided to avoid wasting the king's time. And on what did His Majesty spend most of his time? Etiquette and formalities! As a relative, he, at least, had the right to forego them.

"Richard, is something wrong?"

"Yes, Antoine. Last night, Bran Gardren was attacked."

The duke winced as if biting on a lemon but didn't say anything.

"Antoine, you know a mercenary called the Wasp." Richard wasn't asking but stating facts.

"He's a son of my wetnurse. The youngest one," Lerois said. "Has something happened to him?"

"At the moment, he's having a conversation with the torturers." Richard was cold and collected. "It was his people who attacked Gardren."

Lerois gritted his teeth. He wasn't screaming, cursing, or making any grand gestures—he was too old for that.

"I will—"

"You won't do anything to him. The torturers will."

"Your Majesty... Richard... I swear I have nothing to do with it..."

Richard waved his hand.

"Antoine, if I believed that you were complicit, we would be talking somewhere else. Gardren's death wouldn't benefit or hurt you. Were he to disappear..."

"I wouldn't gain anything."

"You could arrange a marriage between one of your sons and Her Highness Angelina."

Lerois scowled.

"Richard, what will that give me? I've already reached my limit, and I understand that. My children, however... I know that blood has to be diluted. Maybe your son or daughter will choose to marry a Lerois, and my grandchildren would be friends to princes and princesses... But no, in my situation, it's best to consolidate my position, reap the benefits, and build connections. Her Highness Angelina won't contribute to my plans. No offense, of course—she's a beautiful woman—but why?"

Richard nodded. He appreciated the duke's candor. His Majesty wasn't exactly an expert at reading people's faces, but he wasn't the only one watching Lerois. The royal study's design had some peculiarities...

Personally, Richard thought that the duke was telling the truth. At that moment, waiting and reinforcing his position benefitted him the most. He would never get the chance to fight for the crown, anyway... Or would he?

No. Maria had been crowned, and with the help of Jerisson and the rest of them, she could even feign being pregnant. That wouldn't be the first time in the royal line. But thankfully, Edward had thinned out the ranks of potential rebels, and Richard was doing his best to finish them off.

"Then think, Lerois. I don't know what the plan was, but it was clearly aimed at you. If your mercenaries killed Bran, sooner or later, it would have gotten out. They were hired in a tavern; people were bound to overhear the conversation."

"I see..."

"If Bran killed your mercenaries, it would hurt you as well."

"Your...brother-in-law is challenging me to a duel, Your Majesty?"

"Richard. No, Antoine. Bran would have never done that."

"He would have simply killed me?" Lerois allowed himself a smile.

Richard answered with the same knowing smile.

"Yes, Antoine. Not immediately, but he would have. Definitely."

"So, I lose in any case. What are you suggesting, Richard?"

"You're smart, Antoine. Please, wait a minute. I'm going to invite the people directly involved in this story."

Richard stood up and left, leaving Antoine alone to contemplate the meaning of existence.

***

Bran, Hans, and Jerisson were waiting behind a wall. A fake wall, to be precise. Yes, the royal study was the place used to shape the future of the country. Thus, it had several secret rooms with peepholes attached to it, their walls covered with wooden panels to prevent eavesdropping.

"So, your verdict?"

Bran was glued to the peephole. In the study, Lerois was tapping the armrests of his chair, a distant look on his face.

"I don't think he lied," Jerisson finally spoke up.

"I agree," Hans chimed in.

"He's suspecting something or has a few ideas. But he'll stay quiet until he figures it out himself," Bran said after pulling back from the hole. With his build, spying wasn't particularly comfortable, but he had long since gotten used to it, even if his back ached from the awkward position.

"Maybe," Richard nodded. "So shall we continue our game?"

The men exchanged glances.

However, that wasn't a question. That was an order.

***

When four men entered the room, Lerois stood up. After all, His Majesty led the way.

At the sight of Bran, the duke frowned.

"You..."

Was that a curse? A show of indignation?

"Me," Bran calmly agreed. "Your killer, Your Excellence."

Lerois raised an eyebrow but didn't manifest any more signs of surprise.

"Today, Bran will kill you," Richard phlegmatically informed him. "You're already in the palace. Bran will race here, meet you on the doorstep of my study, and challenge you to a duel. You should have this on your person—let's put it under your doublet."

It was a vessel of chicken blood. Not exactly fresh, but who would pay attention?

"I'll reprimand Bran and place him under house arrest. Your body will stay in the palace away from your heartbroken widow and children and then get buried. Do you mind?"

"I'd like to know for how long this...enterprise will continue."

"Ten days or so."

"And then?"

"We'll announce that was a conspiracy, and you agreed to help the crown. You'll even get a reward," Richard promised.

Lerois shook his head.

"I don't need an incentive to help you, Your Majesty. No need for a reward."

"You suspect someone," Bran said, stepping in front of the king in breach of etiquette. He stood right before the duke and looked him in the eye. "Who is it?"

Lerois didn't flinch. He was a part of the old guard. A man who had survived several kings couldn't be a wuss.

"Allow me to keep my speculations to myself. I wouldn't want to accuse an innocent person..."

"Or a person close to you?"

"Or that."

Bran nodded. He wasn't the one for flowery speeches, either. He was going to take care of the bastard who had tried to send him to Holosh before Bran's time. That man would be buried in a closed casket or even a small box: that's how little would be left of him...

But there was no need for warnings or threats. One who acts doesn't waste words.

Avester, the edge of the forest.

Lily was sitting in the clearing and staring into space.

She would remember that place until the end of her life. The mound would disappear, and time and wind would erode the cross, but the memory would remain. The memory of the green-eyed man who had given his life for hers and never regretted it for a minute.

He had entered her life as an enemy but left it as a friend. Still, she wouldn't call her son Anthony, ever. She didn't want him to have the same fate.

One question remained: what was she to do next?

All right, the facts. She was alone. In another country. Pregnant. In addition to all of that, she was wanted. Nothing good would happen if she were found. Lily seriously doubted the magnanimity of His Majesty Entor: chivalrous men never sent people to abduct women. And if he wasn't chivalrous, well... Her prospects weren't good at all.

The assumption was if she were found, she wouldn't get home. Therefore, she couldn't reveal herself or her abilities. What could she do, then? Actually, what prospects did she have?

How was she going to get home? By sea? No, she wouldn't risk doing that pregnant. And there were other dangers, too. She was alone in an unfamiliar country. If anything happened...and it would. Murphy's law said that if anything could go wrong, it would go wrong. She simply couldn't trust anyone.

Maybe in stories, people left the woods and immediately stumbled into friends, money, and help. Nobody got that lucky in real life. In real life, for starters, you were never guaranteed to actually leave the forest—were you even good at ground navigation?

Second, if you actually left it, you'd look like death warmed up.

Third, you had a good chance of getting whacked by the very first stranger who liked the look of your shoes or your jacket, resulting in an eternal rest beneath the nearest bush.

Actually, the latter was the best-case scenario. You could get sold into slavery or, even worse, work your butt off for someone or, if you happened to be a woman, attend to every man who came your way in any position he liked. A lone traveler on the road was a coveted prize, and a woman was doubly so, especially if she was relatively young, pretty, and had money.

Maybe she could hire guards? That wouldn't change anything. Come on! Do you really think that mercenaries are angels who will keep their word forever? Don't be so naive. They won't. They can pass you around and sell you to slavers afterward. In Ativerna, slavery was frowned upon, even illegal. Avester, on the other hand, was closer to the Khanganat; local customs were different. Nobody in a harem would care if you screamed that you were a free woman. Well, some might, but it's not like it would matter.

Could she declare herself Baroness Lofrayne? Try traveling by land to Ativerna? Damn if she knew what was better. If only she had a map or at least...

Hmm. That was an idea.

Lily bit at the tip of her braid. That wasn't a bad idea, actually. She simply had to reach a port and wait for Virmans. She had enough connections to avoid being sent underwater. Of course, Virmans didn't like Avester. Loris, with its legalized piracy, wasn't far; she would have to wait long, and nobody said that she'd get whom she wanted instead of random riffraff. But it was a chance, and that was a lot.

All right, first, she needed a big port. Second, she had to blend into the local crowd. Third, she had to wait.

Could she send a letter to her family? Not a bad idea, but how would she sign it? Whom could she trust? However, there were options. She could write to August Brocklend about a possible partnership and add something that only he could know. It was well worth a try.

But first things first. Get to a town and settle in. Good thing she had some money, a bracelet, a necklace, and several of the baron's trinkets. The accessories could be turned into cash, but she had to be careful. They could be easily traced to her.

Still, she didn't want to sell anything. Those things were mementos. On top of them, she also had to carry her stuff. Really, was she a beast of burden?

There was one consolation: civilization wasn't far away. Brigands never frequented forests: there was nobody to rob there. She would return to that civilization, and she would try to reach Ativerna.

Fine. That was the long-term goal. What was her short-term plan?

Reach the nearest settlement and tag along with the travelers bound for a seaport, maybe rent a seat in a stagecoach. So, why would she want to go into a port town?

Well, she had time to invent a story. Let's say she was Lily, a farmwoman. Or, better yet, Aliya, a farmwoman. The way she looked after the woods, nobody would ever suspect her of being a countess. A tanned face, flaking skin, scary-looking arms—sleeping under open sky never made anyone's skin whiter or done wonders for their nails... The rest was in the same vein.

She was also dressed in men's clothes. Now that was a problem. She had to be dressed like a woman if she wanted to avoid problems. Lily still had her skirt, but...fine; she could say her mistress had gifted it to her. Nothing unusual about that.

Her shirt was coarse, but that was good. The cloak looked pretty nasty after all those nights in the woods, and her footwear...

Her footwear had to be disguised. Peasant women weren't supposed to wear high-quality leather boots. She would have to wrap them in rags and maybe smear some dirt on top. They were already worn enough to avoid any suspicions, especially under a long skirt.

She would have to travel under the radar, too.

Once, a lifetime ago, in college, Aliya had needed to pass a Latin exam. A part of it was learning five hundred Latin sayings by heart: proverbs, idioms, aphorisms...

Homo homini lupus est. "Man is a wolf to man." And also a friend, a companion, and a meal, a tasty one. If Her Grace didn't want to become a morsel, she needed to paddle her own canoe and not trust anyone, pay attention to her every word and gesture, and keep a low profile. She would send a letter to her family—several, just to be safe—and wait. Give birth to her baby, raise it to at least six months old, and only then start trying to get home.

The world around her was so different compared to the one she was from. Those born in the age of trains, planes, and steamboats can hardly understand what a blessing it is to fly around the planet in a few days. But what would you do if the fastest means of transport around you is a horse, nowhere as fast and comfortable as even a bicycle?

Horses were complicated. Yes, they were elegant, charming, smart, loyal to humans, and deserving of praise, but no matter how you cut it, a bicycle would still be more practical, at least in her situation.

Lily adored Lidarh, but the Avarian was a fragile and delicate animal. Humans were hardy creatures compared to horses; the latter required food—and not just any food—and water, not to mention cleaning, shoeing, care... That was nowhere as simple and fun as it might sound.

A horse was also a temptation. Imagine a pretty blonde in a luxury car traveling alone across a backwater area in a third-world country. How many people would salivate at the sight of both the woman and her vehicle?

No, a horse was a risk. Her feet would have to do.

The average walking speed for a person was around three miles per hour, provided no obstacles and an actual road instead of broken terrain. Across the latter, it would probably be a third as much.

You could increase your pace up to five miles per hour, but seriously, a pregnant woman walking at such speed? That wasn’t even funny. Thank God she had crossed the forest without any health issues, didn't lose her baby, and felt fine.

It meant that her pregnancy was going well. Good.

Lily put her hand on her belly.

"Well, kid, we're in a bit of a predicament. Still, we'll deal with any problem. I'll handle everything and get you home to Papa. I promise."

The kid plopped inside her like a fish in an aquarium. Lily could have sworn that she felt a heartbeat, soft and reassuring.

The small heart of a person who depended on her was fluttering beneath her palm. She would make it. She would find a hole to hide in, give birth, and get her baby home. And she would find a way to deal with the king of Avester yet. You think it's unrealistic?

Don't laugh. Don't even chuckle.

Lily wasn't going to forgive and forget. Entor had abducted her, caused no end of trouble for her, her family, and her loved ones, and it wasn't over yet. Something like that deserved more than death! In any case, she doubted that she could kill him, anyway, but what about causing Avester a few unpleasant minutes?

That she could try.

Lily wasn't evil by nature, but she could be spiteful. In her place, anyone would have gotten angry. Famously, any person's most vulnerable spot was their purse. She would have to find a way to strike His Majesty Entor where it hurt.

Lily wasn't under any illusions regarding her own skills. She was no Jeanne D'Arc, not even worthy of standing next to her.

Seriously, could Countess Earton hold a candle to the Maid of Orleans? There was no comparing them.

No, force wasn't a solution: only money was. Maybe if she stayed in Avester long enough, she could learn something. Then she would decide where to strike, how, and with what. Medics never cut their patients willy-nilly; they made an incision only where it was needed. And so would she.

Fine; that was a matter for the future. She had other problems to solve before then. It was time to fix herself up and take to the high road. Lily gave a sad smile to the cross under a pine.

"Farewell, Anthony."

Clumsily, having forgotten the gesture, she made the sign of the cross. A prayer? She couldn't remember any of them.

"Judge not by our deeds but with your mercy, oh Lord."

Then she looked around and quickly walked away without looking back. Tears ran down her delicate features, transforming her face into a mask of grief.

Forgive me, Anthony.

Ativerna, Laveri.

"Richard!!!"

Joliette was having a fit, and no wonder.

How could it be? In the morning, she had been a happy wife only to become a widow by noon. That really came out of the blue.

"Calm down, Jolie."

As he wiped his sister's snot from her nose, Richard thought that the girls had really grown up. He had always loved them, unlike Edmund. But no, it was better to forget about his brother. Yes, he had been hateful, but his death had wiped the board clean. Richard, however, loved both his half-sisters and his stepmother. Jessie was beautiful and kind, and falling for his father wasn't her fault. Just like falling in love with Richard wasn't Tira’s. Edward had simply gotten lucky, unlike his son.

"Don't cry, Jolie. It will be all right..."

"My husband! My poor husband! Why, Richard? WHY?!"

"Bran had grounds for that."

"And I? Richard, I beg you, punish the murderer!"

"I promise you, I will." Saying that came easy to Richard. After all, he never specified which killer he was going to punish.

The tears in Joliette's eyes dried, and she clutched at her brother's doublet.

"I want to see his execution! I demand that!"

"For starters, there'll be an investigation, Jolie."

"What?! He killed my husband in front of everyone!"

"It was a duel, and your husband could have refused it."

"My poor Toine... He was so particular about his honor! If only you knew, brother. Even the slightest doubt was like a slap for him."

"Believe me, Gardren was also insulted."

"How can a Virman man be insulted? I hope he's in chains."

"He's under house arrest," Richard confessed.

In truth, they had contemplated expanding their play and detaining Bran in the palace—not in the dungeon, of course, but in the same chambers where Lerois was kept—but he was up in arms against that. Who would keep an eye on his family while he was away?

Richard's reassurances didn't help. With Bran gone, it would be high time to strike at Angelina and the children. A mistake there, a mix-up here... And what would happen? His loved ones might get hurt.

Sorry, Your Majesty, but I'll never agree to that. Put me on house arrest and make sure everyone knows that Gardren is together with his family. Maybe they wouldn't dare to show up. Would you want to worry Angelina when she hears of all this?

Never!

Curiously, Antoine didn't mind the plan and wasn't railing against it, not even demanding to explain anything to his wife. Well, his family was his business.

"Under. House. Arrest?" Joliette stressed every word. "My husband's killer?!"

"Jolie...'

"How could you, Richard?!"

That fit was long and full of tears. Half an hour later, Joliette ran out of steam and stopped demanding Gardren's immediate execution, agreeing to say goodbye to her husband and come to court and promising to avoid disturbing Angelina.

That had been another one of Bran's terms. His family was going to stay out of it; he would tell them everything himself. Richard shrugged and agreed. Nobody else argued.

Yet still, the question lingered. Who was the culprit?

Ativerna, Castle Taral.

"Wonderful! Whose work is it?"

The shawl was a masterpiece—there was no other word for it. White lilies floated against a blue background, their green leaves sprouting in the water, and even the tiny frog seemed alive. Yes, it was simple lace but woven with enough taste and skill to be worthy of a royal—say, Her Majesty Maria.

"It was Yda's, Viscountess."

"Yda?"

Miranda looked at the little girl with a measure of interest.

"You're amazing, Yda. Have you designed this pattern yourself?"

"I had help, Your Grace..."

The girl was embarrassed but stared at Miranda in clear awe.

"You're a natural! Take this. It's a gift."

Miranda gave the girl a gold coin.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"Thank you. Where did we find this young woman?"

"Leir Hans brought her," Ingrid said, on top of things as usual. "I mean, Milord Tremain."

"Great work! A talent like this has to be nurtured!"

"Absolutely!"

Miranda didn't need to think long.

"Ingrid, let me talk to Leir Hans. If he permits me, I'll be borrowing Yda from time to time. I'll show her Laveri; we'll visit the palace... If Yda doesn't mind, that is."

Yda shook her head.

"I don't... I mean... I agree, Your Grace!"

Mirrie smiled.

"Then I'll talk to Leir Hans. The girl is going to need a few nicer dresses, too. You can't go to the palace wearing this, can you? How about something with the Earton coat of arms?"

Ingrid gave Mirrie a knowing nod. True; the girl had demonstrated a real knack for lacework, creating incredible things as early as at eight? Nine? What could she do when she grew up? That boggled the mind.

Miranda was smart in attracting talented people to her family, binding them with ties of gratitude, appreciation, debt...

"We absolutely will. White with green embroidery will do."

Miranda nodded, content.

"Perfect."

Avester, the edge of the forest.

Lily was sitting on a tree stump and thinking, her head propped on her hands. She was also trying to bite on the nail of her thumb, but that wasn't exactly comfortable in a pose like that. She had to switch to her pinkie.

She needed to get home. To get home, she needed money. Where would she get some?

Sell everything she had? Emerald earrings, bracelet, and ring. Sapphire bracelet and ring. Now that would be a sight: a woman wearing and smelling of trash coming into a jeweler's shop and saying, I have a few trinkets for sale.

What would be the first question? Exactly. In which mine have you dug them up, honey?

The second question? Actually, it wouldn't be a question rather than a call. "Guaaaaards!" And so, Her Grace would end up in prison instead of home.

That was the best-case scenario, of course. She might easily be knocked out and buried somewhere in a basement, maybe after a few hours of torture to learn about her accomplices and hiding spots.

Could she dress like a lady and arrive in a carriage? That did sound better, but...

She'd need to hire a carriage and men. Who said that those men would be honorable and law-abiding?

If Lily were on her own, she would have risked that—actually, she would have risked a lot more. Why wouldn't she? She could run fast and kick hard; she might even kill a man...no, not as a murderer, but as self-defense. She had already done that, after all.

But pregnant? How far along was she, three months? Four? Four, most likely. It was the beginning of the second trimester—the nastiest period, incidentally. Why is it the nastiest?

A miscarriage in the first trimester isn't as dangerous for the mother. In the third, it isn't a miscarriage anymore rather than a premature delivery with a chance for the baby to survive. The second trimester, however, was neither here nor there. The baby would die, and the mother could easily bleed to death. No, she couldn't risk it. Absolutely not.

It would be best to stay somewhere until the birth, recuperate, and then return with the baby to her husband and children.

The nail on her pinkie finger finally succumbed to her strong teeth. Lily spat it out and moved on to another finger.

Let's say she would sell everything she had and freight a ship. Could she sail back home? It was early autumn. The storm season was at hand, and seafaring wasn't exactly active in winter, either. The earliest options were next spring or early summer, especially since the coast of Avester was notoriously teeming with reefs and shoals. No, she didn't want to brave those risks.

Hiring a ship wasn't done on a whim; that might result in being sold into slavery or thrown overboard. She had to do her research, which, once again, entailed living in a port town.

That meant she needed to legalize herself and find a place to stay. Well, at least legalization wasn't such a problem, considering the era she was in. No need for documents—just tell whatever you want and avoid giving yourself away. But what exactly could she tell? She wasn't a young girl, after all.

Let's say she had served as a tutor for a noble count...no need for a name. It didn't matter. Then the count decided to use the tutor for a purpose other than intended—and succeeded, of course. He was a count, after all. It's not like she could order him around.

Pregnant, Lily was kicked out of the count's castle, but her own family refused to take her in. Maybe her sister-in-law hated her? Things like that happened; Lily had heard of them.

And so, she traveled to the town to look for a way to make money. That could explain much. So what had she been teaching as a tutor? Oh, writing and numbers, what else could it be? That was something she could easily do!

Etiquette? If only. Lilian Earton had never been known for good manners—or any manners, to be honest. All right. Next.

Who would hire a pregnant teacher?

In her own world, Lily had known a woman who kept working until nine months in her pregnancy, but she was an exception rather than the rule. Usually, late in their term, most women wanted to sleep, rest, and spend time outdoors.

Lily remembered her first pregnancy. Back then, she had been running around like crazy, but the circumstances had changed a lot since that time. Having energy while being on your own and while working for someone else were two different things. No, that wouldn't do.

What could she do, then? How could she make a living for herself and her child?

Being a healer was out of the question; that was a given—well, except maybe helping out by accident. Opening a practice would reveal her as Lilian Earton; she'd be found in an instant.

Would they look for her?

Definitely. Entor would. The Mermaid must have already reached Avester, and what would they find there? No countess, no baron... Where had they disappeared? Nobody knew. A search was inevitable.

No, she couldn't take any patients.

Teaching? Nobody would hire her.

Work with her hands? That would open up another can of worms. Lily could do lots of things: sew, stitch, launder, iron, bead, weave lace. However, she had to keep half of those skills secret—they needed to stay in Ativerna. The other half...

Are you surprised? Really? Any garrison brat knew needlework since childhood. That was common practice! A small town somewhere in the woods or even tundra, where the nearest grocery store was many miles away and barely offered anything more than a dead mouse... Where would you get any clothes?

Yet your husband had been deployed there, and you had to go with him. You needed to make your house comfortable and dress your child, and each woman did her best to excel. They taught each other to make felt, sew clothes, crochet lace, and even mold from clay—so many things that it didn't seem possible. But she couldn't show that to anyone, either. The first unusual article was a signal. Hello, Lilian Earton here! Not to mention that she didn't want Avester to have any of that at all.

What else could it be? What skills did she possess?

Lily kicked the soil with the tip of her boot. An ant scuttling around its business flinched aside and ran somewhere away from the arrogant two-legged creature.

"Jeez, I'm not going to eat you," Lily said, snorting.

Then she froze. Eat it? How about...

So, what else could any garrison girl do?

Cook. She could cook lots of dishes and make them delicious and nutritious. She could feed a crowd of hungry men, as any girl had a father, siblings, and friends. She could cook fast because she didn't always have a lot of time, and her mother could be busy. Garrison life didn't allow for any lazybones. They never got the chance.

So, what exactly could she cook? Lily gave it some thought.

As Countess Earton, she had never cooked anything. She didn't really like that, to be honest. She cooked well but loving it was different. She got distracted, and those things that didn't get burned boiled over, and those that didn't boil over remained raw.

True, her mother had taught her cooking, and Lily would have never starved to death or let her husband do that. Still, she simply didn't like that.

However, cooking was a valuable skill. Actually, she could even try inventing new dishes.

Pizza? It was a nice idea; people didn't bake such stuff in that world. It was cheap, tasty, and fast.

What else could she come up with? Lily picked over her options, frowning. Caesar salad? No, no, that... What else could she make that could quickly feed a group of hungry men?

Something with dough, she bet. How about meat dumplings? Specifically, the meat version so popular in her native Russia? Minced meat in dough wrappers could be cooked in advance and stored in a cellar or an ice box.

The rolling pin, the universal tool for rolling dough, could be made out of any wood in a few minutes.

There were special molds, too, like a metal round board with holes that was covered with a layer of dough and pressed to create "pockets" for the meat. Another layer of dough was put on top, and the result was cut to create dumplings. That was so much faster and easier than shaping them by hand.

Yes, she could do that. It wasn't a problem. Something else was: where would she open a restaurant?

That said... No. That was a stupid question. In the docks, of course. She needed to get to Ativerna, and the docks were the best place to take a better look at the captains. They would get to know her, too.

Lily spat out her second nail on the ground and stood up from the stump, checking her disguise once again.

She was slouching, leaning on an overly short stick—her back would hurt, but it didn't matter, she could handle it, her blonde hair was smeared with dirt and hidden under a makeshift shawl similar to those worn by pilgrims, which covered a half of either cheek and was tied under her chin. Her face was dirty as well, and her clothes...

After the journey through the forest, they were a good fit for a beggar. People would probably give her alms—but hopefully, not a whack in the head.

Lily sighed once again and took off.

***

The forest had been so much better, Lily thought after jumping into a ditch for the fourth time and climbing out of it.

The ditches were located on both sides of the road, and their contents bore little resemblance to floral water. She had to jump there as soon as she heard the clatter of a horse's hoofs.

Before, Lily had never noticed that.

Her first time, she had gotten lucky. The driver didn't smack her. He was a kind man, simply threatening the "crone" with his whip and yelling, "Get yourself off the road, old hag, or else!"

That looked pretty convincing. Lily rolled down into a roadside ditch, and the whip snapped just above her head. The cart drove past her, ignoring the woman.

Lily waited for the dust to settle and climbed back out. A thick layer of ooze covered her feet. She tried to avoid thinking about its contents.

The smell? Head-spinning! Although everyone who walked on foot in that world reeked to high heavens.

"Bastards," Countess Earton remarked. "Scamps and scumbags!"

That sounded pretty sincere. Unfortunately, she was unable to shake off the filth. Well, at least the mud inside the ditch was only knee-high. It could have been much worse.

Yes, not being a countess basically sucked.

Another cart went past her, then another, followed by two riders and finally, a carriage with a pretty girl who momentarily peeked from behind the curtain.

Nobody cared about Lilian Earton. Well, that wasn't bad.

Lily slowly trudged ahead.

***

Sleeping in the middle of a field was far from a problem. After the forest, the field felt even nostalgic. With a practiced motion, Lily struck fire and fanned the flames, sitting down and putting a kettle full of water to boil.

Soon, the fire died out, but she didn't see that. She was asleep. Any student could nod off while sitting, even with their eyes open. Anything—as long as falling down wasn't too painful.

A bale of hay? Movies often showed people sleeping in hay or making love there. Well, if you didn't have a choice, you could do it, but if you had?

An open field was so much better!

Lily held no love for hay. It stung, was full of dust and bits of straw, and worst of all, it had mice. Mice!

Countess Earton wasn't exactly scared of mice, but she definitely wasn't a fan. Those rodents, however, really did live in hay and felt great there. During the war, mice had even scored a victory over Hitler's valiant army.

Lily remembered a story her father had told her about her grandfather. The year was 1942. The Nazi soldiers hid their vehicles in trenches and covered them with straw to protect them from the cold...

Yeah. Out of one hundred and four tanks, only thirty-nine survived, and eight more died along the way.

Cute, gray rodents had decided to make the straw their winter home and ate some wiring. As one of the German officers had succinctly put it, Even the mice here are Russian. They were patriots!

Lily wasn't sure if Avesterian mice were patriots as well, but...she wasn't going to spend the night either with Avesterian or Ativernan mice. Actually, even if Russian mice somehow found their way to her, Lily would prefer solitude. She'd rather avoid picking their gray wriggling bodies out of her clothes and hair.

And they bit, too! If just one of them was infected... Fine, not even with rabies! Just yersiniosis, rabbit disease, hemorrhagic fever... Oh, you don't think that's enough? That's not even the beginning of the list—just a lead-in! No thanks!

The field was the best option.

Ativerna, Laveri.

Hans Tremain loved his job. No matter how odd they were, the stories about Baron Holmes were just up his alley. When he was trying to untangle a plot, find the threads and tie them together...

Maybe deep down, the royal envoy was a hunter. Still, why chase after animals? They only had fangs and claws; they were practically defenseless before humans. That wasn't hunting; that was murder.

But a criminal? A criminal was a strong, cunning, and intelligent quarry, dangerous and full of venom. A hunt like that was bound to test you to your limit. You could lose and even die. And then, there was one more thing.

What was the point of a royal hunt? Nothing! Nobody gave a damn about those animals. Their only uses were skins and stuffed specimens. That wasn't fun at all.

Instead, he was doing something vitally important. And his prey? Not some small game, but a dreaded predator!

Too bad, he didn't know who it was yet.

Track down the enemy, drive him into a corner, and close your teeth on his throat—could you imagine anything as exciting as that? Hans was living his life to the fullest, and it made him happy.

But at that moment, Baron Tremain was cleaning the fireplace chimneys. Yes, even barons had to stoop down to such work. Of course, he wasn't alone—he had two assistants. There were many fireplaces, and all chimneys needed cleaning. Yes, even in a duke's house. Naturally, such things weren't done during the day when the owners strutted around. They didn't need to see the process.

The fireplaces in the main bedrooms had already been cleaned, but there were other bedrooms, as well as parlors and halls... The ballroom had as many as four! And then there was the kitchen...

And so, Hans was busy doing menial labor. With him, he had a real chimney sweeper, who was indebted to the baron, and two of the latter's sons.

Still, Hans wasn't sloughing off. And later, when the servants went to bed and night fell over Duke Lerois' estate, he started his investigation. One bedroom, then another...

Of course, Hans wasn't just stumbling about. A house such as that was bound to have a secret passage that allowed one to spy on the guests and the residents. It wasn't connected to all rooms, and the duke probably hadn't told Hans all of his secrets, but that was something, at least.

Hans was making his way to the chambers of Antonel, the duke's eldest son. Logically, he was the first to profit from his father's death. Why would he need an old man who held the family's assets—and his own sons—in an iron fist and would probably be doing that for a long time? He had lived enough! It was time for the others to have their spotlight!

Lerois had admitted that it was possible. His own family had to be checked first so that they wouldn't regret it later. And if so...

Antonel. Mikael. Stoine. Three sons, three suspects...

There it was, Antonel's chamber. It was quiet. Soft candles lit the room and the sleeping body on the bed. If anyone in the house felt guilty, he wasn't there.

Antonel's wife's bedroom. A young woman was down on her knees. Hans listened.

She was praying for her father-in-law's soul. However...she didn't seem especially sincere, simply repeating the words she had learned in her childhood. Should he keep listening?

Hans did.

All right...

The second prayer was for her son's recovery, and that one was genuine. Hans recalled that Lerois' eldest grandson was sick with something, withering away... They should show him to Countess Earton as soon as she returned. Hans believed in Lilian. A woman who had survived Earton in the conditions he had seen was capable of anything. Nobody and nothing could hold her for long; Hans was sure of that. She would be back. The only question was when.

But those chambers didn't give him any food for thought. It was time to move on.

Nobody would have shown Hans all the secret passages. To get to the next one, he had to step out into the corridor, enter the blue chambers, walk up to the fireplace wall, and rotate the candlestick.

A door creaked. Hans pressed his back to the wall. Her Highness?

Yes, it was Joliette. She was wearing a dark cloak and light slippers. When she moved, Hans spied a thin nightgown under the wide cloak.

Hmm... Where was she going dressed like that?

Tremain wouldn't have been Tremain if he didn't follow Joliette.

A step, another one... Turn left, down the corridor, then turn again...

Two shadows became one.

"My love!"

“Finally!"

If his eyes weren't playing tricks on Tremain, it was Stoine, the duke's youngest son—with Joliette.

However, the young couple wasn't going to waste time talking. After a few kisses, they embraced, and Hans heard a moan—and hurried to escape. In the heat of the moment, they hadn't noticed him yet, but that wasn't going to last forever. No, he shouldn't take risks.

On his way back, Tremain was thinking. It was an interesting situation.

Why had the princess demanded Gardren's execution if she didn't care about her husband? And she clearly didn't, judging by what he had just seen.

Why was she so outraged? For the sake of propriety?

Hans bit his lip. He had watched the conversation between Richard and his sister, and he could have sworn that Joliette was serious when she begged him to execute Bran. Why would she do that?

To avoid suspicion?

Hmm... That was worthy of consideration. And if so...

He should search the chambers belonging to the young man and the princess while they were unoccupied. Hans spent a few seconds deciding between the two.

Joliette or Stoine? Stoine or Joliette?

Then he brushed it off and stopped on the young man’s. Of course, Hans didn't have enough time to conduct a thorough search, but at least that was something.

There they were, Stoine's quarters. The living room... Hans quickly looked over all potential hiding places and was rewarded with five pounds of dust. Wondering what lazy bugger was in charge of cleaning there, he moved on to the bathroom.

It wasn't large—Stoine was only the third son, after all. As far as Hans knew, he was a gambler, a womanizer, and a wastrel. He wasn't married yet and didn't seem especially ambitious. Lerois' other sons were married, had children, and appeared to be serious about their duties. The eldest was poised to become the duke after his father's passing, and the second would get a small estate. He was also actively assisting his brother.

The youngest one would inherit money. Not a large sum, but respectable enough, and two ships to boot. For anyone else, that would last a lifetime, but for a gambler? After a year, maybe two, he would need more money. Gamblers never got lucky. Such was their lot.

But the bathroom was also a disappointment. The study was next. A desk with untouched drawers. The cloakroom...

Interesting.

A nice surprise was waiting for Hans inside the cloakroom. It was a small chest, tightly locked. He wondered why.

The answer was obvious: to protect it from the servants' curious eyes. Could Tremain open it?

No. Alas, Hans wasn't a professional lock picker. He would waste a lot of time, leave marks, and probably never lock the chest back—the mechanism was complicated. He'd also scare his prey off.

No, that just wouldn't do. Hans sketched out a plan and carefully exited the bedroom.

What about Joliette? Maybe he should visit her chambers as well. There was a problem, though: her maid. A maid was always supposed to accompany the duchess. And if the duchess was away...

Still, there were exceptions. A maid was also supposed to sleep in a countess' bedroom, but Lilian Earton rejected that practice. She said that people should sleep at night and not wait at their masters' beck and call. Now, if she were sick, that would be a different story, but why do it without a reason?

Hans cracked open the door and heard a quiet snore.

The maid. Was she an accomplice?

That was easy to check. Hans scanned his surroundings and found something he could use: a small flower vase. He took the flowers out and threw them right inside the bedroom—quite loudly, too—and shut the door to win a few seconds before quickly slipping into a wall niche. The corridors were dark; nobody would notice him there.

Silence.

Hans waited for five minutes, then opened the door again and confidently stepped inside. The maid was lying on a couch and sleeping. No, not napping—she was sound asleep.

Hans bent over her lips and smelled them. That's right, a sedative, going by the distinct smell of mildew. Wine, too—it was good for dissolving that dreck. She wouldn't have noticed the taste...

Had it been Joliette's work? Definitely.

Hans picked up the flowers and left the room. He didn't risk searching Her Highness' chambers, no. He had learned enough for that day.

Joliette was cheating on her husband with his son, drugging her maid and leaving her room at night. That was all very interesting.

He resolved to keep digging.

Avester. The road.

After a good night's sleep, Lily resumed her journey. She slowly walked forward, looking around.

In the afternoon, she came upon another woman who was strolling along the side of the road, constantly stopping to wipe the sweat off her face.

"Aldonai help you," Lily softly greeted her.

The woman turned around.

She recoiled, as if Lily had lashed her, but quickly calmed down, realizing that there was nothing to fear.

"Good day to you, too."

"I'm Aliya," Lily said, saying her real name for the first time under the skies of that world. It sounded off; she had forgotten how it felt. Lily, Lilian... When had the mask of the countess become her own? Why did it glue to her skin? Even her own name felt wrong.

"I'm Larie."

"Good afternoon, Larie."

Lily cocked her head, studying her fellow traveler.

She was pretty, or least used to be pretty once: dark-haired, moon-faced, curvaceous... She also had a giant bruise on her face, greenish-yellow—it had been a while—but still large enough to make it clear: someone had almost killed her.

"Good afternoon to you, too... grandma."

"Where are you wending your way?"

Lily had no idea why she had used that phrase; maybe it was her subconscious picking out old-fashioned words.

"To Turon, gran."

"Turon," Lily said, thinking. "A port, is it?"

Larie shrugged. She wasn't surprised. The old woman might not have heard about Turon or simply forgotten.

Nothing unusual about that.

"It is, gran."

"Help an old woman out, will you? Better to walk in company!"

Larie didn't think long.

She shivered as if cold, and nodded.

"All right, gran. But you're slow on your feet..."

"I might be getting on in years," Lily said dramatically, "but my legs can carry me fine enough. We'll see who's the slow one here."

And the two women started walking toward Turon.

***

Lilian's looks played into her hand. She knew what she was doing by disguising herself as an old woman.

It was quite possible even without professional make-up. A pinch of soot, a bit of chalk... fine, she didn't have any chalk, but she had coal left over from the fire and some road dust. She also had some ceruse. Why had she taken it from the ship?

Ceruse was white lead, a wonderful and extremely useful thing! If only she could make some cinnabar lipstick as well... All poisoners of the world were probably ecstatic to have such progressive organic make-up. There was no need to fiddle around with snake venom—their victims would kill themselves with their own hands, all in the name of beauty.

Of course, the ceruse was soaked in seawater—she couldn't apply it as a smooth layer if her life depended on it—but Lily didn't exactly need it.

Some dust, an ember, ceruse... Lily even rinsed her mouth with an oak bark tincture to play it safe. It colored everything black, creating an illusion of rotting and missing teeth.

It's not like she planned on kissing anyone, anyway. At least her teeth would be healthy.

In any case, Larie didn't seem to be afraid of her, even holding Lily's hand to help her cross especially nasty puddles or climb over ditches. Lily was a bit embarrassed, but hey! She might not be old, but she was pregnant, wasn't she? Pregnant women needed help, too!

Larie wasn't especially talkative or cheerful, but after three hours of walking, Lily gradually fished out her life story—and realized that in some ways, their two worlds were awfully similar.

For instance, both had their share of assholes and hardships.

Larie had been married off when she wasn't even fifteen. She had a large family with lots of mouths to feed and a rich neighbor. Why not give the girl to him?

So what if that neighbor had already buried two wives and had eight children, the eldest of them, Larie's age? Small potatoes! The stupid girl should be grateful! A rich house and old husband…if she pleased her husband, she'd be rolling in dough!

Oh, he was fat and ugly with rotten teeth and bad breath? Well, she could turn around to catch her breath!

Oh, she was in love with a boy next door? Shut up, stupid! Stop with this drivel! Did she want to get sense smacked into her? In love! Did she want to eat frogs during a famine or bury her children who'd die of hunger? The only dowry she had were clothes on her back, and the boy wasn't any richer!

Love was for nobles. The common folk had it simpler. A couple of lashings would remind her who was in charge of the household!

And so, Larie ended up married.

Does it really need saying that marital bliss eluded her? Her stepchildren kept talking back to her, and she couldn't stand the sight of her husband... There was only one consolation. Larie wasn't getting pregnant.

Why? Who could tell? Her husband loved saying that she was rotten inside—only in private, of course, as he seemed to be content with it in public. He already had eight offspring to feed and raise!

Yes, her husband was well-off, but it wasn't of much help to Larie. It was she who had to take care of household chores, and that wasn't fun at all.

She would have lived out her life, quiet and unhappy, if not for one thing.

A sickness came into their village. Crimson rash.

Half of the villagers fell ill, including Larie's husband and all of his children. Why was Larie spared? She had no idea, but she was running her feet off helping the sick.

That story piqued Lily's interest. She started asking questions and quickly figured out that Larie's village had had an outbreak of common chicken pox.

On the other hand, if untreated, it could be deadly. There were no painkillers or antibiotics around; the disease had free rein.

So, why didn't Larie fall sick? She might have gone through it before—even without any rash, as some chicken pox variants didn't produce them. She could have even gotten it in her childhood and become immune.

The chicken pox raged for about a month and suddenly went away, claiming the lives of forty-three people, including Larie's husband and three of his children: two daughters and a son. The rest were quickly recovering, but Larie didn't get the chance to praise Aldonai for her freedom.

Her husband's eldest son was almost the same age as the new widow. And what was the first thing on his mind? Inheritance! Inheritance, sir! Her husband had a house, land, and money. By the law, the widow was supposed to get one-third of everything. Did he really want to give that to her?

Naturally, he didn't.

Larie's stepson found a simpler solution to the problem. He ambushed her in the woods while she was gathering firewood and hit her in the head. Thinking that she was dead, he left her body in the woods under the firewood she had gathered and left.

Killing a person isn't easy if you don't know how to do it. You might get lucky, of course, but in that case, luck was on Larie's side. The blow that was supposed to fracture her thin temporal bone went sideways, creating a large abrasion under her hair, causing copious bleeding, and leaving a bruise half the size of her face, although the stepson never saw the latter.

After hiding the body, he disappeared. Larie woke up late at night, scared half to death. If she could have gotten out right there, she would have run back to the village, screaming. However, while digging herself out, she considered her situation and suddenly realized: she was free.

Free from everything: her marriage, her widowhood, her stepchildren, her parents who had given her away to a man she hated...

She had no money? She never had any!

She only had the clothes on her back? So what? Did she really need much? She had her arms and her legs; she could earn her living!

What was waiting for her at home? Nothing good. She was childless; she would have to return to her parents, give them her widow's share, and work until the end of her life. Did she really want that? No.

The second option was to keep living with her stepchildren. That wasn't exactly a promising prospect; she had had enough of them already. She also wanted to survive, which, considering the circumstances, wasn't a given.

The third option: show up in the village, run around screaming to attract attention, tell the people about the murder attempt...

Larie contemplated it but eventually brushed it off. It was her word against his; the bastard would talk his way out. And even if he didn't, who would be left to take care of his siblings? She'd have to bear that burden and marry them all off...

Did she want that? They weren't her children nor her responsibility!

And so, Larie went for the fourth option. She turned around, spat at the village, and walked away. Rumor had it, you could make money in a port town. She was quick on her toes, good at hard work, and didn't fear anything, even a brothel. She'd prefer to avoid that, of course, but after her husband, it didn't seem so scary.

Lily listened, nodded, and asked questions.

So, there wasn't going to be a pursuit, but she could find a use for Larie. The girl didn't seem to be lying—Lily was experienced enough to know that. The abrasion was big enough to work as proof, too: bruises healed quickly, but lesions like that would take a while. It would have been nice to sew it up, but without basic disinfectant, Lily would only make it worse.

And so, the two women walked toward Turon and talked. Lily absorbed information about Avester, listened to Larie, and memorized her speech pattern. Maybe they would part ways—who could tell?

Larie said "thankee" instead of "thank you," "hubby" instead of "husband." That didn't seem pejorative rather than the local dialect. Lily would need to adopt those words; she wasn't sure how things might turn out.

Surreptitiously, Lily inquired about Larie's village, the elder, the local mill, the inn half a day's travel away from there, the local landlord, the taxes...

The girl told her everything she knew. Like many women, used to being ignored and harassed, she was happy to talk about herself and could do it for hours.

Lily listened. Still, she was in no hurry to start trusting her and stayed alert. As night approached, for once, she didn't have to spend the night in the fields: a small village loomed ahead.

Chapter 7

Ativerna, Laveri.

Stoine Lerois was twenty-six years old, unmarried, and quite handsome. Actually, he was a real dreamboat: blond curls, large blue eyes, clear and bright, a high forehead, exquisite features, and medium build that could be easily made to look delicate with the help of a good outfit. He was the very picture of a passionate poet, fragile but inspired.

You'd never guess that he was such a sleazebag.

Hans spent an entire day making inquiries about the man and gathering information. That evening, he decided to share it with someone who could hardly be surprised and who, incidentally, could give him some real help: Bran Gardren.

"Our stud has been pretty shady lately."

"As a 'jealous bastard,' I hate good-looking men," the Virman said, scowling. He was deftly putting wine, meat, and bread on the table, cutting the cheese in large slices. Hans felt a bit out of his element, but he didn't ask Bran to call the servants. He knew that servants had eyes and ears, too. Their conversation didn't need any witnesses.

"Who called you that?"

"Joliette came here. She tried to force her way to her sister."

"Did she succeed?"

Bran chuckled.

"I was there. Of course, she didn't."

"Did your wife hear that?"

Bran snorted. Their house was big enough. Not as big as the Lerois estate but too large for screams to travel across it. As soon as Joliette had arrived, the servants informed him, and Bran met his sister-in-law in the doorway.

She tried to get past him and was refused, then tried to slap Bran...which was a mistake. Gardren caught her hand, pushed the girl back, and explained in no uncertain terms that she shouldn't act like that. Joliette promised that she would return with guards, and as for the bastard who had killed her poor husband...

Bran stopped listening after that. He shoved the annoying princess into a carriage and nodded to the coachman, who took off. That was the end of it.

"She didn't. So what about our pretty boy?"

"It's weird. Until some time ago, six months or so, he was a regular at local gambling halls."

"And then?"

"Then he either lost interest or..."

"Or?"

"Found another one."

Bran paused to think.

"If a man is a gambler, a womanizer, or a drunk, he doesn't stop overnight. You can get rid of one addiction only if you turn to another."

"Joliette?"

Bran shook his head.

"I don't think so."

"She's a beautiful woman..."

"Yes, but it's not enough. It's never going to be enough. Men like Stoine need constant risk, danger, to skate close to the edge..."

"What if his father finds out?"

"So what?" Gardren winced. "I've seen the duke—he's about as dangerous as a frozen carp. The brat won't get anything more than a scolding."

"Really?"

"I've done my research, too. Consider this: the father provides for the son, pays his debts, sorts out his problems..."

"Oh?"

"Like the scandal with Letitia Orwan a year ago."

"I've heard about that... but I don't know the details. Was Stoine involved?"

"Exactly. The lady got pregnant by the young man. Her husband, who was too old to be a father, kicked up a fuss, resulting in him having a stroke. The merry widow tried to get Stoine to marry her, but his father didn't permit that."

"Why, I wonder?"

"Because Lerois wants only the best for his son." Bran took a slab of meat from his plate and sunk his sharp wolfish teeth into it. "It's underdone."

The meat was really bloody, making his mouth look somewhat creepy. Bran chuckled as if reading Hans' thoughts.

"Scary?"

"A little bit."

"No need to fear me. I won't touch anyone if they don't touch my family."

Hans nodded.

"And I'm not your enemy, so long as you're not the king's."

"I know. So let's get back to our heroes. Cheating on her husband is an adventure for Joliette. As for the boy... I don't think it was anything serious."

"But what if it could be?"

"I doubt that."

Hans considered his words.

"I need to take a look at him to decide."

Bran agreed but kept pushing his point.

"The boy wouldn't have stayed interested long. He'd get bored in a month or two, tops. Those like him always need a new thrill."

"Then why do they keep meeting?"

Bran paused to think.

"Joliette? For her, it makes sense."

"What about Stoine?"

"I don't know. You're right. We need to take a look at him."

"I'll take care of that tomorrow at the funeral."

"Too bad, I can't attend."

"What about your wife?"

Bran's expression darkened. He still had to talk to Angelina tomorrow morning.

"If you'd like, I could corroborate everything you say," Hans added, giving him a sympathetic look. Intrigues, calculations, ruminations... How was he supposed to explain everything to his wife? Even the best of women sometimes couldn't understand men at all; Hans was sure of that.

"I'll figure it out."

Bran didn't want to say that Richard himself could stand up for him. Still, the king had two sisters, not one. Yes, their adventures in Virma had made him closer to Angelina and not Joliette. Sometimes, Richard would visit her and Bran, sitting by the fire and sipping wine, not saying anything. Bran would sit with Angie and him, knowing whom the poor king was missing.

Tira. He would love Maria and cradle their children, but that longing for the might-have-been...

Someone else would have hated Angelina. She was happy and loved while he was miserable. Richard, however, was above that. He felt no envy, instead being truly happy for his sister, and that made Bran respect him all the more.

There was no shame in obeying some kings. He knew that.

Hans nodded.

"I'll be at the funeral. I promise to keep an eye on both of them."

"Will Jerisson go?"

"Of course."

"Have him take Miranda."

"Mirrie?" Hans asked, surprised. "But..."

"She's a smart girl. Women are often more perceptive than men."

"Very well."

Making that promise wasn't hard, and neither was living up to it. It was an official event, and Miranda was supposed to attend it anyway.

Bran lowered his eyes. He had a hard conversation ahead of him, but there was no getting around it, no matter how he might wish to.

So how would it turn out?

***

Angelina was used to trusting her husband. She wasn't worried when he entered her room, sat on the bed, and looked at her with eyes full of guilt.

"Bran?"

"Please forgive me, Angie."

"You're scaring me, Bran."

She shivered. She knew what Bran was capable of. For him to look like that... What could have happened?

And that's what she asked him.

"Angie, there's been an assassination attempt on my person. The culprit tried to frame Duke Lerois for that. We decided on a plan. I challenged the duke to a duel and killed him."

"Someone tried to kill you?"

Bran once again looked his wife in the eye and realized how lucky he had gotten. A fortune like that could come only once in a lifetime. Angelina didn't care about anything else.

Someone had tried to kill her husband. She disregarded the rest.

Their plan? She would have condemned a dozen dukes, even wielding the sword herself. The rest didn't matter.

"I'm all right, my love. I'm all right..."

Angelina hugged her husband, feeling the beat of his heart and drawing in his scent, and calmed down a bit.

"Who was it, Bran? WHO?!"

"I don't know. We agreed to pretend that I killed Lerois in the duel. The funeral is today."

It didn't take Angelina long to process that.

"Does Richard know?"

"Yes. It was his idea."

"Joliette is probably mad."

"She doesn't know."

Bran didn't want to tell her that, but...

Angelina's eyes grew so wide they seemed to be taking up half of her face. For a minute, she didn't say anything.

"Have you lost your mind? Bran! I would have gone crazy with worry! Jolie...she's..."

"Angie, my love, don't be angry. We had to do it."

"Why? Bran!"

Bran clasped his wife's hands and kissed first one and then the other, then paused and repeated the gesture in reverse.

"Angie, do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then trust me until the end. Your sister mustn't know anything. You have my word."

Angie cast her eyes downward.

"I believe you. But... I couldn't have done that. Bran, please, never do anything like that to me! Never!"

"I swear I won't."

Angelina pulled close to her husband and gave him a strong kiss.

Both of them thought about the same thing. Joliette didn't love her husband as much as Angelina did. She would probably cry more if he stayed alive. Joliette could let the truth slip. Not on purpose, more like on accident, but that would be enough to ruin their plan.

Joliette would never forgive them. Angelina wouldn't have, in her place, and Joliette wouldn't forgive her sister as well.

Was that a mean thing to do?

Yes, Angelina realized that was low of her.

But someone had tried to kill Bran. Someone had tried to kill her husband. Everything else paled before that terrifying thought.

Other people might love her, hate her, or gossip about her, but as long as she had her family, she would tear them apart. Her husband, her children, her people, her home... If it had to be done, she would keep her silence.

"The fake funeral is today."

"Fake?"

"Everything else will be real, aside from the corpse."

"Oh."

"They found a vagabond, washed him, and disguised him. Hans has connections."

Angelina shivered again.

"Yech."

"I don't want you to go."

"Joliette?" Angelina guessed.

"Among others, yes. I mean, I'm supposed to be the one who killed Lerois."

Angelina chuckled.

"I can imagine what she's going to say."

"I wouldn't want you to hear this."

"Very well."

"You...agree?"

Angelina shrugged.

"I suppose that a fight with my sister won't make the funeral any brighter."

"A fight?"

"Joliette will hardly keep her silence, and I don't think I can let it slide if she says a word against you."

Bran smiled with the corners of his mouth.

"True. I didn't think about it. You probably shouldn't go, then."

"I won't. Tell me... Did Joliette come here?"

Bran gave her a wider smile. His wife was smart. She understood everything. Really, could he have married a stupid woman?

He could have.

But Angelina was a miracle.

"She did."

"And you didn't tell me."

"Little thieves are hanged, but great ones escape."

"You really have no shame," Angelina said, tousling her husband's hair. In truth, she was aiming for his ears, but Gardren felt it improper. Really, pull a Virman chief and an Ativernan nobleman by the ears? He definitely objected!

His objections ended up in a predictable manner, so Bran was sure: he and his wife had a grand time, definitely better than the funeral.

But what would Hans tell him the next day?

Avester, Brooklet village.

Larie was intimidated. That was clear as day, and after some thinking, Lily scratched at the door of the closest house.

"Whaddaya need?" A man twice the size of Larie came out into the garden, a real brute. "I'm not giving no alms!"

"Oh dearie, we aren't asking for no alms," Lily croaked. "Now, if you have work to do, sonny, we'd be glad to be of help. Fix something up, run some chores..."

"Right, as if I'd let some beggar broads inside!"

But the owner's expression softened, even if he wasn't going to let them in. Lily didn't want that, anyway; feeding the local bedbugs was the last thing she wanted.

"That's not what we're asking for, dearie. But if you show us a place we'd stay overnight under the open skies, we'd be much obliged!"

"Stay overnight..."

A glint of interest appeared in the man's eyes: not toward Lily but Larie. The girl shuddered under his appraising look.

"Spend the night, you say? Mebbe I would. From whence are you traveling?"

Larie never got the chance to open her mouth.

"From Saint Masana's spring," Lily croaked, leaning on her staff with her entire weight. "They say, dearie, that the saint cured women's maladies, so my niece went on a pilgrimage. I came along so nobody'd hurt the poor girl..."

"Women's maladies?" the man asked, worried.

Lily gave him a sweet smile. Apparently, it was heartfelt enough to make the man flinch back.

"See, Larie's hubby... Well, he died of a nasty malady, and she decided to go pray for him, you know? Pray for the holy one to grant her healing..."

The interest in the man's eyes disappeared in an instant.

"Fine," the man said through his teeth, clearly regretting his magnanimity. "Spend the night in the hayloft but make yourself scarce by the morrow!"

"Oh, sonny, Masana bless your loins to be fruitful, so your wife would praise her husband every night..."

Lily was a true professional at sweet-talking, as long as she had a topic. Doctors usually were like that, being used to handling patients of all kinds, some of which weren't easily approachable.

The man lightened up a bit and waved at a plain-looking building, toward which Lily immediately took off. Larie rode her coattails, sighing. She only opened her mouth when they settled in for the night, stretching their legs and unpacking a piece of bread each.

"Thankee."

"You're welcome."

"I got scared that I might have to..."

"Was it so bad with your husband?" Lily asked, giving her a close look.

Going by the way the girl recoiled, it had been even worse. In her head, Lily wished her late spouse the hottest kettle in hell. What a scumbag! Even if he got himself a young wife, he could at least do his best to please her and make her happy. But...not in that time, not with those people. Honestly, Lily was shocked that Larie had been brave enough to flee. Other women would have stayed to die in her place...

"I'm older than you, you know. With a different man, it won't be that bad. Could even be good."

Lily didn't mention nights of passion and skies filled with diamonds. That would have been stupid.

Even in her time, sex therapists had had a hard time curing the repercussions of male idiocy and selfishness, not to mention the world where pastors were the best and only psychologists around.

Some things couldn't be helped.

"Larie, what do you want from your life?"

"Well, I did say I was headed to Turon..."

Lily shook her head.

"That's not what I'm asking about, Larie. So you go to Turon and find work. What next? Are you going to work until you can’t? No family, no children, no home..."

Larie blinked, her eyes wide. They were pretty, with long eyelashes. If only she got a real chance to brush up and find herself...

"I didn't think..."

There had been no time to think; she had to run. Her head hurt after the blow, and she wanted to live. But after the escape, it was time to start looking forward.

That's what Lily told her, using the simplest expressions possible—only to get a blank stare. The girl wasn't stupid, no. She was even smart, in a way. But her view of the world was limited.

Life had told her to think a step ahead, but what would come after that? She had no idea.

Lily slowly studied her chance companion.

Should she trust Larie? Should she let her in?

Time would tell. Until then, she needed some sleep.

***

It was Lily's first night indoors in two months. Was she happy to spend it there?

Not exactly. The hay was prickly and full of nasty dust, and mice kept scraping under the floorboards. Lily tossed and turned throughout the night, but at least there were no bedbugs. In the morning, they continued their journey. Lily gave the farmer a sound blessing and promised to pray for his health in every temple they saw, and the two women once again walked the road.

Turon was still a week away.

Ativerna, Laveri.

As Hans Tremain attended the funeral, he contemplated the triumph of human hypocrisy.

Oh, look at their suffering! Look at the spectacle! Green dresses, green veils, green mourning lace...

Men wore dark green and women light.

In a mint dress, Joliette looked sickly and was seemingly more concerned with that than her husband's demise.

The late duke's eldest son...didn't look especially bereft, mostly making an appropriate show of grief. His wife was rubbing her eyes with a handkerchief—and glancing at Joliette. Apparently, the woman had suffered a lot at the princess' hands; her looks were full of schadenfreude.

The middle son... He really did seem upset. His expression was odd. Had he loved his father or his lavish lifestyle? Who could tell? Yet, he was grieving. His wife was by his side. In contrast, she didn't seem to care about Joliette in the slightest, holding her husband by his elbow and whispering something in his ear. She even found the time to look after their children.

The grandchildren weren't sad. Apparently, the duke hadn't been popular with them. Jerisson had sent Miranda to them, Yda shadowing her every step. That girl had clearly found an idol in Mirrie. Well, that wasn't bad. Let her learn from Miranda, imitate her, behave like her, and with time, she could achieve a lot.

Finally, the youngest son, Stoine Lerois…what was it on his face?

Boredom. Mind-numbing tedium.

Paying his filial duty? Such thoughts never occurred to him! Stoine was clearly yawning into his sleeve, having clearly had an exciting night. And the hickey on his neck... Had it been Joliette who did it?

Hans was watching those two like a hawk, and by Aldonai! Joliette was clearly keeping an eye on her lover and vice versa.

But...they didn't seem like lovers at all. Hans could have sworn that there was something between them, but he was also sure that it wasn't love, not by a long shot. There was no heat.

Simple passion? Even in that case, there must have been looks, glances, gestures, touches... Something!

But there was nothing. Even when Stoine, as the only unmarried member of the family, propped Joliette's elbow, there was no spark between them, not like the spark between Jerisson and Lilian, Ingrid and Leif, or Bran and Angelina. There was only cold.

But he had seen them the night before. What was going on?

Was it all a sham? But body language couldn't lie, not so completely, and Joliette... She might possess perfect control over herself, but not to such extent. It was simply impossible.

Hans was utterly confused.

***

Miranda smoothed out the lace on her mantilla. It looked pretty.

She and her mother had crafted it together, Lily showing her how to weave golden embroidery into the lacework. White birds were flying across the wide cloth, white swans floating against the green background.

The rays of the sun bathed the scene in golden light.

"It's so beautiful."

The voice belonged to a short girl, clearly Lerois' granddaughter. Something about them betrayed a resemblance... drawn faces, long noses; fair; a bit sparse hair; dark, thoughtful eyes...

"My mother did that."

"Your mother is Lilian Earton?"

"I am Viscountess Earton," Miranda said, dodging the direct question. "And you are?"

"Anna Lerois."

"Nice to meet you."

The girl was a year younger than Miranda, and her smile seemed friendly enough.

"So am I."

"You aren't coming out yet, are you?"

"No. Father said next year, and now, after Grandfather's death, he'll probably postpone it..."

Miranda wasn't going to say that her own father could live at court indefinitely and Mirrie herself used to play with princesses. Instead, she smoothed out the lace once again.

"It would look good on you too, just pink instead of green. Your face would look fresher and your eyes brighter."

"Really?"

Miranda nodded.

It's not like she was an expert in cosmetology, but most girls knew the basics. Pink eyeshadow could make one look sick, while a pearlescent one should be applied to the inner corner of the eye and under the eyebrow rather than across the entire eyelid.

"I tried to convince Father to take me to Mariella... Mother too, but she thinks that a girl's best adornment is her soul and nice personality."

Miranda chuckled. Soul, personality...and a young girl just wanted some cute clothes.

So that's why her prude of a mother was glaring daggers at Joliette: it must be hard, being twice as old as your stepmother-in-law and looking like a scarecrow next to her. And knowing Joliette, the princess wouldn't shy away from stating it out loud.

"A beautiful soul is amazing, but at court, everybody pays a lot of attention to clothes," Miranda finally articulated. "My mother says it's like judging a book by the cover."

Clothes didn't make the man, but it was the first impression that counted, absolutely.

At that moment, the girl was wearing a light green broadcloth dress, expensive but with a plain design; you could easily imagine a merchant's wife in that. A trimming, light embroidery, white cuffs, no lace or decorations...

What about the mother herself, then? Hmm...

Miranda couldn't say that she was dressed to the nines while keeping her daughter in a nun's habit. She was sticking to a similar austere style: hair tied in a plain bun, making her bony face look even longer and thinner, a high-necked dress with a ruby bracelet on her wrist as her only accessory...

"Your mother must be very pious."

"Yes! She goes to the temple every day."

"And you probably go with her?"

"Yes."

"My mother likes to teach me," Miranda said, carefully avoiding risky subjects. "I can run the household, treat people, weave lace..."

"Treat people?"

"Mother says everyone should know how to provide first aid or learn why your child is sick. That's why she's teaching me. And when we lived in Earton, a doctorus almost killed her."

"Oh!"

"Yes, he was completely clueless! Can you believe it? He never washed his hands or removed his boots, marching into the bedroom in his dirty boots! Such savages probably killed so many people..."

"Yes... Like when my grandmother died..."

"Was that long ago?"

"About five years. She was good, nice, kind... I loved her very much," Anna suddenly confessed.

"I'm sure that Mama could have helped her," Miranda said confidently. She had the greatest faith in Lilian. "But Joliette's nice, too. I've known her since I was a child..."

Anna shivered.

"She... Grandfather shouldn't have married her."

"Why?"

Anna froze, but Miranda took her hand, comforting the girl.

"You know, Joliette isn't bad. It's just hard for her. In the palace, she was taught to hide her true feelings. She might want to laugh or cry, but she can't. She just doesn't know how to do it."

"Sometimes, I feel like she doesn't want to laugh or cry. She's...it's like she isn't alive."

Anna finally decided to confide in her new friend. Even adults need to get things off their chest sometimes, and she was just a teenager with hormones and mood swings and nobody to talk to.

Really, where would she go? To her mother? Her father?

Miranda once again realized how lucky she was to have Lily. She was her best friend, her mother, her sister—everything all in one. Anna wasn't as lucky. She used to have her grandmother, but she had gone to Aldonai, leaving the girl alone with her family. At first, she was happy to meet Joliette: she was a real princess, so pretty, fashionable, and wonderful...

But then, she took a good look at her and decided to stay away. Joliette frightened Anna. There was just something not quite right about her. Anna couldn't put it into words, but it was hard for her to talk to the princess, spend time with her, or simply sit at the same table.

Her uncle Stoine was different, though. He and the princess were friendly, laughing with each other, going for rides, and everything.

Anna's parents didn't like Joliette either, and neither did her uncle Mikael. He had said to his father that she was a bad egg...or something. They even fought about it, and uncle almost never visited their house afterward.

After the wedding, her grandfather changed a lot—or maybe their house did? Yes, it was probably the house.

Anna felt uncomfortable there, but her parents didn't want to travel to the country. When her grandmother was alive, she had lived in Lerois with her. The woods there were really something!

Miranda nodded as she watched Joliette and Stoine. Were they lovers? To Mirrie, they didn't look that. However, if it had been so easy to unmask, they would have been separated a long time ago, both Joliette and Stoine getting a dressing-down.

Miranda wasn't going to pay much heed to their behavior. What would she do, then?

Gradually ingratiate herself with those who were always ignored. The children. She gave a candy to one, then another. A word here, a smile there...

So, Aunt Jolie often went out with Uncle Stoine. They smiled, they laughed... One girl—tss, it's a secret—had even noticed them riding away one evening. She even told that to her mother, but the latter didn't care. Why would she? That didn't matter to her.

So, they really did seem to be lovers. But why would Joliette need that? That said... It made all kinds of sense. Miranda couldn't help but admit: she and Stoine were a gorgeous couple. Tall, blond, attractive...

But why would Joliette attack Bran so viciously? To divert suspicion from herself?

Miranda could only shrug.

Yda followed her like a shadow. They had decided that the viscountess needed a companion who doubled as a maid. Yda could learn from her, too. Let her watch the nobles as they mingled, talked, moved... Who knew how her life might turn out? Maybe she wouldn’t have to become a servant.

And really, Yda was curious.

Just a short while before, she had been living in the slums. To think that she was looking at a princess, dukes, even the king—Richard attended the funeral of his faithful subject. The queen was there too, even if she wasn't much older than Yda herself. They were all so pretty!

Yda was all eyes. When she finally saw that face, she couldn't believe it at first, and then...

It was scary, scary and bewildering. However, she didn't get the chance to talk to Miranda. In front of everyone, Joliette threw herself at Richard's feet, her arms around his boots.

"My brother, I beg you to help me!"

Richard was speechless.

"Jolie... Your Highness?"

"Before the eyes of the people, I beg you on my knees to punish my poor husband's murderer!"

"Jolie..."

Do you think it's easy to pick up a woman in the middle of a hysterical fit?

Not in the least!

Especially when she's clutching at your feet, sobbing, and screaming loudly enough to knock down the local crows with a sonic wave.

"Blood demands blood! My brother, I beseech you! Nourish the soil on my husband's grave with the blood of his killer!"

Richard probably wouldn't have been taken aback, but with Maria and the rest of the people staring at him, he couldn't exactly slap his own sister. That would be bad form.

But how else could he calm her down? He didn't know any other way.Tahir Djimaan din Dashar came to his rescue. Naturally, the Khangan healer attended the funeral. Seeing as His Majesty didn't know what to do, he used a trick well-known to doctoruses.

What else would you do to a sick person?

Tahir knelt by the princess, deftly held her head, and poured some kind of drops into her mouth, followed by giving her a flask.

"Gulp it down, Your Highness."

He was no stranger to such occasions, calming down hysterical ladies—well, not always hysterical and not always ladies...

Joliette swallowed the liquid and sunk to the ground. Opium was a wonderful and fast-acting sedative.

"I beg you, Your Majesty, please forgive your humble servant—"

"Thank you, Doctorus Din Dashar," Richard said, interrupting him. Tahir was extremely useful, but the king hated the flowery speech beloved by the Khangans. "I'll have Her Highness sent to the palace. Can you keep an eye on her?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. Your will is the law for anyone who walks your land..."

Richard smiled.

"Thank you, Doctorus. Your help is invaluable."

"Your praise warms my heart like the sun warms a flower," Tahir said, stopping as he saw Richard's frown and departing after the guards who carried the princess.

She had to be taken to the palace, where Tahir and Lilian, with Richard's approval, had set up several small hospital wards, almost a small clinic. After all, they did need to treat patients somewhere.

Richard looked over the people present, his gaze cold and hard.

"My sister is losing her mind with grief. She loved her husband so much... Today, we suffered a tragic loss..."

His words were pretty, his speech smooth. Miranda, however, was looking at Stoine Lerois and wondering why he was so unhappy. His expression had changed just a short while before, too. When Joliette was kneeling before Richard, he seemed content, as if everything was going the right way, allowing himself to relax when all eyes were fixed on the princess. But later, when Tahir intervened...

His face betrayed his displeasure. His eyebrows were furrowed, his lips curled... For Miranda, that was a clear sign.

That was odd. The rest had reacted predictably: they didn't like that ignominious meltdown and rejoiced when Tahir calmed down Joliette. Stoine was the opposite. Why?

An icy hand touched Miranda's.

"Yda?"

"I... Can we go..."

Miranda took a closer look at the girl. She was pale as a sheet. Even her lips were like chalk.

"Let's go right now!"

Seizing Yda's hand, Miranda pulled her to the carriage.

***

Inside, Mirrie grabbed the flask that Jerisson always kept in the carriage, unscrewed the cap, and poured half a glass of strong wine into Yda's mouth, sitting down next to her and helping her drink it.

"Here you are... What's wrong with you?"

"I... Me..."

Yda was slowly coming around.

Miranda pressed a candy into her palm.

"Here, eat it."

Yda obediently took the sticky snack, bit a piece of it, and suddenly burst into tears.

"I'm scared!"

Mirrie didn't rush her. She was a patient and needed to get it out of her system. The doctorus simply had to wait, pat her on the head, pour some more wine—just a little bit to avoid her getting drunk, falling asleep, or, worse yet, feeling sick. Mirrie didn't want her vomiting inside the carriage!

"I think I saw..."

"Something scary? Don't worry; I'm here with you. Come on, eat another candy."

It wasn't chocolate, of course, just a Khangan delight, but it was still tasty, especially for Yda, who had never eaten anything sweeter than a carrot.

"I think I saw that man..."

"What man?"

"With the girl in a garland..."

It didn't mean anything to Miranda.

"Whom should I tell that?"

"Uncle Hans..."

Miranda gave the girl an appraising look.

No, that wouldn't work. She needed to calm down first. And looking for Hans would take too long, too—Yda would drive herself to a fit while Miranda did that.

They would talk later. And until then...

"Let's go home, all right?"

"All right. What about Uncle Hans?"

"He'll stay here for now. We'll tell him everything in the evening."

"Really?"

"I promise. So, who was that man?"

Mirrie knocked at the driver's seat, confident that her decision was correct. How long would the ceremony last, anyway?

At least an hour: the body had just been carried out. It would take a while for everyone to say their words, talk, and bid farewell to the deceased: enough time for the coach to return. And even if it weren't, her father wouldn't be mad; he was understanding enough.

And on their way home, Mirrie could finally question Yda about the odd man and the girl with a garland...

***

That evening, Hans was clutching his head, indignant.

"Mirrie! What have you done?!"

"I took Yda away."

"She could have identified the culprit!"

"And you were placing the witness in danger," Miranda retorted. She had read more than her share of Baron Holmes' tales and heard even more.

"Don't push it," Hans said, wagging his finger at her.

"But I'm right. Yda might have felt sick, even fainted. There'd be no identification for you."

"And how am I going to show that man to her now?"

"I gave her a sedative and sent her to bed. She's sleeping."

"Have you questioned her?"

A sly glint appeared in Mirrie's eyes.

"I can't say I haven't. Uncle Hans, I'm curious!"

"What have you learned?"

"About the garland girl? Everything. Was she one of...them?"

"Yes."

"Yda said that the man looked familiar. Not his face—she wouldn't have recognized that. But from the back, when the sun outlined his silhouette... There was a streetlamp back then, and that's what she remembers."

Hans let out a slow nod.

"So, who was it? You asked her, didn't you?"

Miranda nodded again.

"Stoine. She thought it was Stoine Lerois."

"Holy Aldonai!"

Now that was something Hans had never suspected.

Lerois!

"Mirrie, are you sure?"

"I think we should show that man to Yda again, in different circumstances. She gave a description, but is that enough?"

Hans nodded. True; reading the Baron Holmes stories had paid off for Miranda.

"Mirrie, you see..."

"I should keep quiet? I promise you, I will."

"Good girl."

Miranda beamed.

"Uncle Hans, can I..."

"Can you imagine what your father will do to me?"

"I can. It doesn't matter."

Hans groaned.

"Miranda Catherine Earton! You—"

"And I'll promise not to tell anyone. Not my father, not Leif, not Eric, not..."

"This is blackmail."

"But I promise not to tell!"

Hans shook his head. As a man who still remembered the viscountess a gap-toothed brat with funny bows in her braids, he could have boxed off her ears. Still...

"Mirrie, I can't place you in danger."

"What about Yda?"

"I can't do that to Yda, either."

"Right. As my maid and companion, she can go anywhere, even go with me to express my condolences to Joliette."

"Your father will flog my hide."

"You'll come with us, won't you? And he will, too. You won't let anything bad happen to us."

Hans could only shake his head.

How was he supposed to convince children that they were mortal? That they could be killed? That they were up against a cruel and cold-blooded killer?

But children...children never believed in danger.

***

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

The noble count hadn't cursed like that for a long time. But really, what would you have done if someone tried to send your daughter to the serial killer's lair? Well, possible killer. What would you have said in his place?

Actually, Jerisson even showed admirable restraint by not punching Hans in the face.

Tremain stoically endured the scolding.

"Jess, I will never put Mirrie in danger."

"Oh really?"

"I didn't have to tell you anything."

Jess puffed.

"I would have learned anyway, and I would have broken your legs!"

"Such language, Your Grace," Hans retorted, saw the count shake his fist at him, and decided against tempting fate. "Jess, please understand—I don't know another way to send Yda there. I can't just take her with me. If Lilian were here, she would have done that easily. But with Her Highness Angelina..."

"I'm just threatening you, but Bran would have killed you on the spot," Jess said, chuckling.

"He won't kill me, but it would be better for Her Highness to avoid visiting her sister too. A scandal would break out..."

"I have no doubt."

"But Miranda can stop by to talk, and if she accidentally comes across Stoine Lerois... What would be so bad about it?"

"Nothing. But what if he becomes suspicious?"

"Someone already tried to abduct Miranda."

As usual, Jess tensed up. Yes, they had. Fortunately, the Virmans weren't simply watchful—they reacted even to flies that buzzed too loud. The abductor had been left with nothing, but Jess was still agonizing over that incident.

She was his child. His daughter! If he had any idea about that person's identity, the fish would have gotten a tasty meal a long time ago!

"And you still don't know who it was."

"No. But it wasn't Avesterians."

Jess grinned.

After what Gardren had done to the ambassador, that man was terrified of simply going to pee at night, scared of his own shadow!

"Who could it be, then?"

"Our current clients, for one."

"Stoine?"

"I questioned Mirrie, by the way."

"And?"

"She said that Stoine tried to make a pass at her."

"Oh?" Jerisson's voice was booming.

"It was a chance encounter at the palace..."

"Details?"

"Your word."

"What?"

"I need your word that you won't do anything stupid. He can be killed, but I need to know WHO was it!"

Jerisson let out a sad sigh.

"Fine. So what happened and how?"

"Miranda stumbled into him, and he said he was a relative of Her Highness Joliette, then offered to escort her... The rest is how it usually goes. You're charming; I'm attractive. Why waste time?"

"What about Miranda?"

"Do you doubt your daughter?"

"I don't. So, what did she do?"

"He shouldn't have tried to grope her. Miranda knocked down a suit of armor, and it clattered to the floor. Stoine turned around to look and got a painful kick. Your daughter explained that she had been promised to someone else and left the battlefield."

"Good girl," Jess said with a smile. "Couldn't she have dealt with him immediately?"

"She didn't expect that. Your daughter isn't used to male attention. It was a surprise for her."

Jess slowly nodded.

"All right, I won't pull his legs out of his body yet. Still, I think you should sort it all out quickly."

"I promise. It's in my best interest, anyway."

Avester, around Turon.

"And who are you, Aliya?"

Lily raised her eyebrows and glanced at Larie. Having already settled in for the night and eaten the simple rations they had brought along, they were lying on their backs and talking.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not old. I can see that."

"What am I, then?"

"You're older than me but not by much," Larie said confidently. "You forget to slouch sometimes. I can see that. Your legs, too... Your skin isn't old. No veins, no knots..."

"Aldonai..." Lily cursed inwardly.

She hadn't considered that issue, as she wasn't going to show her legs to anyone. Larie, however, had seen them.

"You're not common, either."

Lily narrowed her eyes.

"Suppose you're right. So what?"

"Who are you?"

Larie stared at her point-blank, demanding an answer, and Lily had to give her that, too. If she didn't, who knew what the girl might pull off?

"Our stories are similar. I'm just wealthier than you were, and so was my husband. I'm from Wellster, you see," Lily finally said. Instead of telling the truth, she decided just to show a glimpse of her real face, so to speak. "When my husband died, my stepson decided to marry me to get all the money and reaffirm the agreement. And then I realized that I was with child."

"Oh!"

Larie pressed her hand to her mouth.

"You think my baby had long to live if he succeeded?"

Larie shook her head.

"If he's the heir..."

"I was married off to join two businesses. My husband had his own, and so did my father, but without our money, my husband would have never gotten the chance to go big. And my stepson...he wouldn't have gotten much. My son would."

"The baby...he would have killed it..."

Larie pressed her hand to her lips again. That sounded like a horror story to her. Stripped of the chance to become a mother, she was happy for others, at least.

"And maybe myself as well. That's why I fled. I'll reach Turon and give birth there, then find a ship and try going home—to my father in Wellster."

"I see," Larie said, pausing, and nodded. That story was far from unique; in her home village, such things often happened, even if on a different scale. Instead of a business, they usually fought over a house and a plot of land. "Is your name really Aliya?"

Lily nodded.

"It's my nickname. My husband nor the rest of the family ever called me that, but I'm used to it and will react if anyone addresses me."

"Your stepson will look for you."

"He will. Let him try."

"What if he finds you?"

Lily had been wondering that too. What would happen if Entor found her?

Nothing good. That thought must have displayed clearly enough on her face to make Larie shiver.

"Yech."

"Exactly," Lily agreed. "Nothing good will happen to me."

"Um... Can we keep traveling together?"

"We already are," Lily replied, intently studying the girl.

"To Wellster...can we?"

Lily snickered.

"How will that work? Who are you going to be for me?"

"A maid? I learn quickly."

"I don't have money," Lily confessed.

She did have some from Ellis, but it wasn't much. She had looted the bandits, yes, but either they had been losers, or it was an off-season, as their purses were all but empty with less than a few gold coins in total. Those men were the disgrace of bandithood! An inheritance like that wouldn't buy her even a small house, let alone travel to Ativerna.

"I don't believe you."

"All that I have is a pittance," Lily replied. "That money will run out quickly. Money always does if you spend it instead of earning."

"Well, can't we—"

"If we want to make money, we'll have to think," Lily said. "But I definitely don't have enough to pay a maid."

"I can help without money. I just feel like you won't hurt me."

Lily snickered.

What was it about her that made people want to mooch off her? Was it a sign, Free hugs, free pies, free bailout?

Too bad...

"I'll think about it."

***

Lily was forced to think before she would have liked it to happen.

The next village they came across got it all straightened out.

As usual, Lily walked up to the first house that seemed moderately well-off.

We're two poor pilgrims... Good people gave us alms... Can't you sell us a piece of bread for a copper?

They did sell them bread, but why did Lilian's danger sense start tingling? Why did she feel the urge to flee? The instincts of a cornered beast screamed at her, run! Lily didn't want to fight them. As soon as she got the food, she pulled Larie aside.

Let's go. Quick.

Alas, Lily couldn't exactly run. Even walking at a good pace gave her a weird feeling in the pit of her stomach, and her heart beat like a drum.

That was par for the course. Her baby was growing, and so was her uterus, displacing her other organs...but the timing couldn't be worse!

"What's wrong?" Larie asked, touching her arm.

Wrong? Lily would have used another word.

As if by their own accord, her hands reached to the cut in her skirt, moving her slingshot and knives closer.

"Larie, can you hit a man?"

"Y-yes."

"With a knife?"

"Oh!"

Lily waved her hand and pushed a knife into the girl's hand. If worse came to worst, at least she wouldn't die gawking.

Help us, Aldonai.I don't want to die and lose my child...

Lily realized what had set her off: the glare of the mistress of the house who went outside with the basket of bread.

It was cold, hard, and appraising. So, what will we get from this fat goose? Is it even fat at all?

Feathers? Meat? Eggs?

Lily considered the issue and quickly figured out that they had no chance of traveling far before the sunset. They needed to set up camp for the night, but they had to be smart, too.

She picked a small hazel grove. They gathered some firewood, lit a fire, ate food...

All that time, Lily was on her guard, quickly infecting Larie with her unease and making the girl look around in worry.

Good thing she did.

They came after the sun had already set, emerging from the darkness: two men, strong and well-built, the owner of the house who had sold them bread and his son. They grinned as they saw the women, their faces twisting in predatory scowls.

"All right, girlie, get your clothes off and lie down," the eldest commanded, glaring at Larie. "Make us happy, and we might let ye live. Peel of yer skirts, crone. Let's see what ye're hiding in those rags. Pilgrims always have money to burn, what with stealing everything not nailed down..."

Larie flinched, but Lily barked at her with an intensity that even a watchdog could envy.

"Sit!" Then she turned to the men. "Come here, you stinkrat! So, you're brave enough to attack women, huh? You're scavengers, vermin!"

That stung. The youngest man snarled and stepped forward, then again.

He shouldn't have.

So why had Lily picked hazel trees? In truth, they weren't trees rather than shrubs. Their branches were firm and hard-hitting. She had bent down a few and used a rock to press them to the ground. All that was left was to give that rock a hearty kick.

The hazel shrub straightened and slashed the bastard right in the jaw. He clutched his face and howled, blood gushing through his fingers. Alas, he was still alive, although Lily hoped that he had lost an eye, at least one.

The eldest wasted no time growling. Without a word, he charged.

Larie, however, screamed as she threw herself under his feet—only to get a kick in the ribs powerful enough to knock her aside. Still, the man fell down as well.

That was enough for Lily. Her staff jumped into her hand as if by its own volition. A blow, another, then another...

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Larie roll aside, pick a rock, and hit the second attacker, who was still busy with his face.

The way the man slumped down on the ground, his knees weak, Lily knew that he was dead, but her hands had a mind of their own, raising the stick and lowering it time and time again until the body in front of her stopped twitching. And then, exhaustion overwhelmed her.

"Aliya!"

Larie pressed a cup of water to her lips. Lily made a few sips and ran to the bushes, feeling an urge to throw up.

Was it shock? In truth, she thought it was just stress. Too much adrenaline in her blood, and then the pregnancy... That's physiology for you.

As for ethics and morality... Those bastards had it coming. Her conscience would survive much worse things than that.

***

Lily stopped vomiting quickly enough. Less than thirty minutes later, having recovered, she finally focused on her body.

Other than the nasty spasms in her stomach, everything seemed fine. She felt no pain, no nagging ache in her belly, and no dizziness. The spasms would disappear, too, with time. Lily touched Larie's hand.

"Thank you...friend."

"I was saving myself, too," Larie confessed.

"We need to return to the clearing."

"Why?"

They were still in the bushes, Larie having stayed with Lily either to help or to avoid going back.

"To clean up," Lily replied with a sigh.

If she had her way, she would have abandoned those scumbags there, and that would have been the last she ever saw of them. But what would come next?

She knew exactly what would happen. The wife and the mother of the deceased would wait until the morning before raising a ruckus. Well, maybe wives and mothers, she wasn't sure about their family ties.

It would emerge that while passing through the village, the pilgrim women had stolen something valuable from her: say, a gold coin, maybe even silver. The men had discovered that and went to chase the thieves...and the conniving women killed the poor dears!

Such horror!

After the villagers learned about that, a few idiots—no more than two or three, most likely—would decide to track down Lily and Larie.

Why so few? Normal people had things to do. They would tell their relatives off, and rightly so. Otherwise, they'd have to share the spoils.

By noon, at the earliest, the hunters would reach the clearing. They might have dogs, too, although probably not at first. Hunting dogs...well, that was a paradox in itself.

The better half of Avester was covered with forests, but hunting was a complicated affair. People set snares and used slingshots: leghold traps, hunting dogs, and pitfalls weren't exactly popular. The land belonged to the liege, and who would he permit to hunt in his woods?

Definitely not an everyman. One, maybe two men out of an entire village got that right. Tony had told her that's how it was in his barony.

Pitfall traps?

Can you even imagine what the liege would do to the hunter who had set it if he fell into one or one of his men did?

Hanging would be a mercy. In the worst-case scenario, the entire family would die for such an affront.

Thus, villagers used snares, slingshots, bows...but no dogs. They simply didn't have them.

Service dogs? That wasn't the time or the place for them. Such animals required breeding and training; local mutts were only suitable for guarding houses. They couldn't be ordered to search for prey; they couldn't handle it.

No, at first, the villagers would look for Lily and Larie on their own. Later, if they failed, they might get dogs, but that would take a lot of time. The elder would have to organize the search, ask the liege for his huntsmen... Nobody guaranteed that the latter would give men instead of lashes, either.

Anyway, a search was a complicated enterprise. They would need to find a spot where the women had left the road and then the crime scene itself. How would they do it?

It's not like there were any footprints left on the road. Without a dog, there was no chance of tracking them down, and dogs would arrive too late to pick up any scent. There was a good chance of that, at least.

So, what would Lily gain from all that?

Time. They would get too far for the villagers to catch them. Otherwise, they didn't stand a chance.

Nobody would bother to investigate whether they really had robbed anyone or not. They would be hanged or stoned to death.

That's what Lily told her new friend. Larie listened and nodded.

"Yes... We need to go..."

Lily saw that she hated the idea to the point of tears, but there was no choice.

They entered the clearing.

"Oh."

Lily could only sigh. The fight, while short, had been furious enough: the grass was trampled and covered with hazel tree branches, pieces of soil strewn all over.

The first order of business was dealing with the enemies. Lily scolded herself for being unprofessional and then felt even angrier. She was a doctor, not a murderer! But not anymore. At that moment, she had to kill people, then bury them.

Bastards! Why couldn't you sit at home? Why did you decide to rob me? Couldn't you find a different victim?

Lily bent over the first attacker. Was he breathing? No, she didn't have to worry about that one. A medic's hand never missed the mark, even in combat. Lily wasn't sure which one of her blows had become fatal—she wasn't a pathologist—but she bashed his head with enough force to smash half of his skull. His brains were all over the clearing.

Blech.

Lily winced and walked to the second man.

Oh, crap! Aldonai and all of his Maldonayas! He was still alive.

Lily cursed through her teeth and started to examine him. Yes, he was alive...but not for long. Larie's knock on the head had been surprisingly effective. Lily pulled up one of his eyelids and didn't see a pupil. His eyes had rolled back.

Would he make it? Considering his injuries, that was doubtful. But what was she supposed to do? Kill him?

Lily bit her lip. She couldn't do that. Not like that. In the thick of a fight, she wouldn't stay her hand; she wouldn't hesitate to strike to defend herself, either. But finish off a wounded, helpless enemy?

"That's why good guys finish last," she muttered under her breath. "We never finish off the fallen..."

She should have, though. Too bad, she didn't have enough resolve.

Lily bit her lip again and decided to leave the bastard alone. In that state, he would either die on his own...or wouldn't. The latter, at least, wouldn't leave a stain on Larie's conscience.

"Did I..." Speak of the Devil.

"He's alive," Lily replied.

"Alive?"

Was her voice happy or sad?

"He is," Lily confirmed. "Come here."

"Why?"

"Pack our things."

"All right. We won't stay?"

"Do you want to spend the night here? No, Larie. By morning, we need to be as far from here as possible. Pack up."

As for Lily herself, she started doing one of the most despicable and shameful war crimes: looting. You could call it "gathering war trophies," of course, but it didn't matter. Like a common ruffian, Her Grace rummaged through the pockets of her victims.

The haul was far from spectacular. That made sense, of course—why would they bring along any valuables? They had been planning on taking rather than giving and barely had anything with them.

Various tokens depicting Aldonai, eight copper coins, two large knives almost as long as Lilian's arm, and four smaller blades, one boot knife, a spool of rope, some sunflower seeds, a chunk of cheese... That was it, really.

Oh, and two sacks plus the clothes on their backs.

"Now that's embarrassing," Lily said, reprimanding the men. "You came to rob us and didn't bring anything along. Shame!"

Larie let out a hysterical chuckle. Lily shrugged. It's not like being a cold-hearted bitch appealed to her, but it was easier that way. It calmed her nerves and silenced her conscience. They might be packing their bags, but damned if she was going on a guilt trip!

No, Lilian's conscience never budged. She had dealt with people who had come to kill her. Why take mercy on them? They wouldn't have taken any mercy on her or Larie.

The problem was something else. The locals knew every tree and shrub in those woods, especially the children. They couldn't hide those bodies for long. Still...they had walked fast enough and were pretty far from the village.

Lily deftly undressed both men and expertly packed their clothes into the sacks.

"Let's take it. It might be of use."

"And they..."

"They won't need it anymore. We can cover them with tree branches," Lily said. She shoved a resinous pine branch into the fire and, using a makeshift torch, went to look around.

It was a forest: a sparse one but a forest nonetheless. In a place like that, you could hide much...even people. Given time, Lily would have simply dragged the bodies to the treetops. Really, why not? A lever could do that.

Still, it would take time and effort, and they had to be tied up, too. In her condition, climbing was also a problem.

Bury them? It wouldn't last long, meaning that it wasn't worth the effort. No, Lily was looking for a body of water, a pit, or something in that vein.

It didn't take long. It was an uprooted tree, a pine felled by the wind, its roots pulling out a large chunk of dirt and forming a pit. Lily estimated its size, picked at the soil on the roots, and decided it was her best option. Let it be, then.

Two bodies, one dead and one tenuously alive, were sentenced to be sent there. Lily cut down a large spruce bough and, with Larie's help, built an improvised travois. They loaded up the bodies and dragged them forward, slowly and carefully—Lily was afraid for the baby. However, her belly felt fine, and the grass was damp, making movement easier.

One body went into the pit, then another, Larie trying to take more of the weight upon herself. They used the boughs to cover everything up.

Lily knew that she was leaving a man to die in that pit. Killing him would have been a mercy; that was a cruel fate. Yet, she had no choice. She couldn't force herself to finish him off. Let the forest judge those men. She was sure that they hadn't always finished all of their own victims off, either.

Reap what you sow, indeed.

Their next stop was the clearing. Another batch of spruce branches came into play. The women were literally covering up their tracks, trampling down the soil, even using fire to sear some spots. Still, it was quite obvious that there had been a fight, and bodies were dragged around.

"If only it would rain," Lily said in a bleak voice. "Thunder, hailstorm..."

Larie glanced at the sky.

"The moon is reddish. We might get lucky."

"Maybe by the evening," Lily replied; she also knew the signs. "What about our things?"

Larie was the true child of a medieval era. Even shocked and awed, she had packed up every single thing, forgetting none.

The women loaded up and slowly took off toward the road. They had the whole night ahead.

***

Traveling at night turned out to be even easier than during the day.

Dark? Nonsense! The moon and the stars provided more than enough light. The road was empty; nobody walked or rode past them. The air was cool, and no mosquitoes or flies bothered them.

True, they hadn't gotten enough sleep, but there was no getting around that. Sleep would have to wait.

"Aliya, what are we going to do with their stuff?"

"Sell it to a ragpicker," Lily said. "Or give it away."

"Will...will there be a search for them?"

"There will. But better them than us."

Larie nodded. She definitely concurred.

Adrenaline drove the women forward. Lily knew that by noon, they would be footsore, but she did have an idea.

For the time being, though, they had to keep moving, away from the inhospitable village.

Chapter 8

By ten the next morning, Lily was tired. Twice, they had stopped to take a break, but she still felt dizzy and weak in the knees. Hopefully, she wouldn't slump down...

The road was slowly filling with people. Lily carefully studied their faces and clothes and finally approached one she deemed the safest option: a middle-aged man driving a cart full of sacks. His horse trotted along the path while the driver sat on the high bench, eating a slice of bread.

He didn't look arrogant or presumptuous.

Lily and Larie exchanged looks.

"Help me up if need be," she asked, and spoke up as soon as the cart came up to them.

"Aldonai help you, sonny."

"And you, gran," the man replied. "Where are you bound for?"

Apparently, she had made the right choice in a victim. The man was bored and wanted to chat.

"To Wilmoor," Lily said, inventing the name off the top of her head.

"Where is it, then?"

"Three more days along the road, then toward the sunrise, then a few more days. We journeyed to a temple to beseech Aldonai to heal my girl..."

"Heal?"

Lily rolled her eyes, trying to look like a prude.

"Aldonai commanded us to endure... My girl's hubby is a good man and all, strong and hard-working, but you, men, always have trouble keeping it in your pants..."

The man got the implication and straightened his back.

Yes, that's what we are, heartbreakers and smooth-talkers, cruisers and debauchers!

"So he brought home a seaman's malady. Me and the girl had to travel to a holy place to pray for healing..."

"Together?"

"Think I'd let my girl go alone? I might not be a mother to her, but she's still my blood!"

"So, was she healed?"

Lily shrugged.

"How could I know? It's for her hubby to find out..."

And so, little by little, they walked forward. Lily asked questions, the man blabbered on, and Larie nodded along. Then he offered to let Lily lie in the cart, and she didn't refuse. Inside, she fell asleep for a few hours, completely ignoring the lack of cushioning and bumps in the road. After her, it was Larie's turn.

That evening, all three stopped for the night, and the women started unpacking their food. They didn't mind treating a nice man.

Farn Dith—which was the farmer's name—was traveling to Turon. It was a port town, after all. Just the place to buy some dried fish to get his family through the winter or a barrel of sour sea cabbage. Of course, buying food at the docks was always a risk, but what could he do?

Usually, Farn would bring one of his sons along, but the eldest boy's wife was about to give birth, and he couldn't leave her alone, while the youngest was sick. He kept coughing non-stop, and nobody knew what to do! The cough was dry, too, and he never hawked up. Maybe Farn could grab some medicine in the town, too?

Lily suggested rubbing badger fat over the son's back and chest and give him black radish juice. Making it wasn't hard: just get some black radish, cut it into halves, scrape some of the insides out, and replace it with honey. No honey? Carrot juice would do just as well; carrots grew everywhere.

When the juice was ready, they would need to administer one teaspoon every hour. Gargling the throat would also be good; beetroot juice with vinegar worked well for that. It was hard to tell more without an examination, but it was a tried-and-true recipe. It definitely wouldn't hurt.

Some lichens could be boiled, such as parmelia, which contained up to sixty percent of usnic acid—an organic antibiotic. Just take it and use it, if you know what you're doing!

Farn carefully listened to her advice, clearly paying attention. He repeated the recipes a few times, nodding along. Radish wasn't expensive, carrots were everywhere, and so was lichen. Even catching a badger wasn't impossible, and in the worst-case scenario, he could simply buy some fat. Did only badger fat work, though?

Lily said that bear fat was a possible replacement. Actually, all animals that went into hibernation would do. Still, she thought that badgers were the best option. He could also use lard from goats or sheep, but it was nowhere as effective.

Farn agreed and promised to look for fat.

He seemed slightly distrustful of the women but was confident that he could handle them if something happened. After all, they were women! Some broads! Should he really expect any danger from them?

He shouldn't have, of course. All Lily wanted was to get as far away from there as possible. Well, and distract the possible pursuit.

Instead of two women walking the high road, there was a man driving a cart with his wife and his mother. Something completely different, right?

That night, Lily didn't sleep soundly. She and Larie had agreed to take shifts, one asleep and the other awake. Still, at least they had put a good distance between them and the village.

That was good.

***

The incident with the attackers came back to haunt them a day later at a roadside inn that they visited to get supplies.

"They say there are bandits on the road. Be careful," the innkeeper warned them.

"Oh, dear!" Lily gasped. "How? Where?"

Bandits were the last thing she needed.

"A merchant bound for a fair in Turon has just stopped by. He says a guard told him that some women are luring folks into the woods for men to jump them with knives!"

"Where is it happening?" Farn asked, wary.

Lily wanted to grit her teeth. If that set him off...well, she would get it, but where would she find another option like Farn?

"It's in a two days' journey," the innkeeper said, pointing in the direction from which they had come.

Lily started questioning him. Her guess had been right: that story finally bit them in the ass.

Still, it had transformed almost unrecognizably. Supposedly, two hoydens had passed through the village, and while one fluttered her eyelashes at the men, the second grabbed a goose from the courtyard and stole a good bedsheet to boot. The father and the son decided to catch the thieves and take their stuff back but got ambushed.

It must have been at least four men—otherwise, they would have never gotten the best of them. They killed the father and left the son to bleed out... No, he didn't survive. Their poor families were orphaned!

Those bastards had looted the poor guys, undressed them, and apparently, even desecrated their bodies, almost tearing them to pieces.

Larie listened with a grimace of horror on her face.

Lily concluded that nobody would connect them to that description or the result. Good for them.

"What about the villagers?"

"They sent a messenger to the baron, and he dispatched men and dogs, but it all took a while..."

Lily nodded, smiling inwardly. They had succeeded! They got away!

Their next goal was reaching Turon, and that's where it was going to get complicated.

Well, at least it would appear that Larie could be trusted. Not completely, not even halfway, but at least somewhat. It would be much easier to settle down with a friend rather than on your own, and Lily really needed to settle down.

Autumn was coming, followed by winter. She would give birth, raise her child...

Aldonai, she wanted home so much it hurt!

On the other hand, Turon was a port. Maybe the Virmans would come there, even if Avester and Virma had little love lost between them. Still, something told Lily that people were looking for her. She just had to be patient.

And live. Preferably, live comfortably, and damn her if she wasn't going to arrange that for herself.

Ativerna, Laveri.

The Earton carriage drove up to the Lerois estate in the afternoon, expecting Stoine to be home and awake after sleeping it off. That's what their agents had told them, at least.

The goal was simple: let Yda take a good look at Stoine and find out if he was the murderer. What if she had mistaken someone else for him?

Yda was shaking like a leaf, but Lou-Lou and Nanook calmed her down, surrounding her and licking her with their huge tongues. Then the dogs decided they wanted to be petted, sticking their noses out, and the poor girl all but disappeared inside their fur. Miranda didn't mind.

Her dogs were smart and knew when people were scared. They knew it wasn't them she feared. Yda was afraid of meeting her own dark past.

In those days, her life had been devoid of hope and joy, but things had changed. Still, flashing back to that time, even for a moment, was terrifying. That darkness, that cold, that night, uncaring people all around...

Miranda realized that, which is why she didn't stop her dogs and kept smiling at the girl. She kept telling her to cheer up, promising her that they would go to Taral as soon as the conversation was over.

Yda nodded. She felt safe in the castle. There were people who loved and cherished her, her own small room and a bed with a white sheepskin blanket, her toys...and her work, too. Something she had grown to like.

She would never have to live on the street. She knew a craft, a profession! She had hope. Who would even recognize that urchin, dirty, ragged, and starving?

The girl in a light brown dress with two neatly tied braids, a cute bonnet, and a thin silver chain on her neck—Miranda's gift—looked like an expensive doll. She had smooth pale skin, large eyes, and a pretty mouth.

The estate loomed ahead.

Miranda jumped out of the carriage, followed by Lou-Lou, Nanook, and finally, Yda.

"Follow me and try to keep up. If anything happens, call the dogs, they deal with anyone, even a boar. A human won't take more than a minute!"

That seemed reassuring.

Her Highness Joliette was sitting in the living room, her needlework in her lap. She was wearing a green dress, a veil, and a ruby bracelet on her wrist, green ribbons braided in her blonde hair. She seemed sad.

"Mirrie!"

"Your—"

"Shame on you, Mirrie!"

Joliette smiled as she stood up from her chair, and Miranda felt slightly embarrassed. Why couldn't she trust Jolie? She would have helped... probably.

Still, something odd was going on between Stoine and her. But maybe Jolie had been careless once, and he was blackmailing her? That bastard! That wouldn't surprise Miranda in the least!

"Times are changing, Jolie."

"But I still remember the girl whose hair I braided once. How is Lilian? Any news?"

"Nothing yet," Miranda said with a sigh, her shoulders sinking. Then she straightened her back. "I'm sorry. Your loss is harder."

"Both of us lost family." Jolie wiped the corner of her eye with an embroidered handkerchief.

Whoa.

That wasn't how she would cry. Miranda had seen Joliette in tears: her nose would immediately swell up, and so would her eyes. Even a minute was enough, as both Angelina and she had the same blonde hair and extremely sensitive skin that would immediately come out in red spots. That always looked pretty ugly.

Instead, however, she shed a single tear that immediately disappeared with the help of the handkerchief; nothing more than that. Grieving her beloved husband? Right.

Mirrie comforted the princess by putting her hand on Jolie's wrist.

"Be patient, Jolie, and stay strong. Losing your loved ones is so hard, and whatever people say, it sounds like stupid mockery. When your heart bursts into pieces, and someone tries to talk about understanding... What understanding can there be? How can they even imagine what it's like?"

"You're right, Miranda..."

"I won't talk about understanding. But be strong. What else can we do?"

"I can't. I'm weak. I'm sorry. And Angie didn't come..."

"She's scared she'll lose milk from stress."

"She's married to a murderer! Those men..."

Miranda tried to carefully evade the topic of Angelina.

"I had to bring my two dogs here. With Lily gone, they don't want to stay home... You get it, don’t you?"

"Yes."

"Nanook never lets me go anywhere on my own, even the bathroom!"

"Oh! With that muzzle next to you!"

"He's so great, though. He's guarding me. We're thinking of breeding him and Lou-Lou soon. I'm already wondering about the pups..."

"My husband and I talked about children. He wanted another son—or two!"

"But he already..." Miranda realized that mentioning grandsons would be improper and quickly corrected herself. "He already had three sons! Wasn't that enough for him?"

"My husband said that they hadn't lived up to his hopes. The eldest never did anything without his approval, the middle without his wife's approval, and the youngest isn't even married yet."

"I see... Yes, it's hard."

"It is. And now our dream will never be fulfilled."

Nobody had mentioned Yda. The girl was simply standing around and keeping the dogs' leashes. Miranda didn't need anything and didn't give her any commands or requests, so Yda just watched. The sitting dogs were almost as tall as her.

"Viscountess..."

Antonel briskly entered, sized up the room, and kissed Miranda's hand, resembling a heron. Then he turned to Joliette.

"Mother."

There was so much poison in his voice that Miranda automatically glanced at the floor, afraid of the hardwood being ruined.

"Son," Joliette replied in a matching tone.

"Please accept my condolences for your great loss," Miranda said, following the protocol.

"You have my thanks, Viscountess. Grief is lighter when shared," he said ceremoniously. "If you'll excuse me..."

And he left.

Joliette winced.

"He's a fool and a prude."

Mirrie didn't get the chance to reply as the door of the room flung open once again. That time around, however, the fish took the bait.

Stoine Lerois! He wore a pale green doublet that matched his blond hair incredibly well and a charming smile. As he entered, he also bent down to Joliette's hand.

"Mother..."

Green looked much better on the viscount compared to Joliette. Miranda herself hadn't been a fan of the color until Lilian taught her about combinations and trimmed all her dresses with white, silver, and gold. At that moment, the girl was wearing a green dress with white lace trimming, which came off wonderfully.

The viscount shifted his gaze to Miranda.

"Viscountess."

But Miranda had already heard what she needed to hear: the irony in his voice. So they were lovers; that much was clear. But...why would they show it to Miranda? Had they decided to stop hiding?

Mirrie decided to pore over that later and simply memorize everything. She fluttered her eyelashes.

"Viscount..."

Only the eldest son of a duke became a marquis. As the youngest, all Stoine got was a consolation prize. He was simply a viscount, and heir without an estate, without anything—except for debt.

And arrogance. He glanced at Mirrie, clearly undressing her with his eyes. If Amir had seen that, he would have executed the bastard on the spot! Miranda decided to answer him in the same vein, throwing the viscount an appraising look and snidely curling her lips as if he wasn't worthy of her attention.

The man narrowed his eyes, but the dogs were good at knocking people down a peg. She wasn't a defenseless girl that he could paw in the palace's corridors anymore!

"Accept my condolences, Viscount. You lost a kind and generous... I mean loving father," Miranda said, unable to resist making a dig at him.

Stoine glared at her.

"I've heard there's been a loss in your family, Viscountess."

"I wish I knew what you mean, Viscount," Miranda retorted.

"Your stepmother... They say she was abducted?"

"Nonsense! Lily... Fine, let me tell you this in confidence, but everyone will know this soon enough, anyway. I'm going to have a new brother or a sister. Lily went to Earton to rest. It's not like she can do it here, as everyone in the capital seemed to need her all the time! People were literally tearing her apart... I mean, Mariella alone is a handful!"

"Indeed. I've heard you have new arrivals there."

"Be our guest, Viscount, and learn for yourself," Miranda said, shrugging.

As Stoine moved across the room, Yda watched him. Was that enough for her, or should Miranda stall for a while?

Fine; she would give Yda a few more minutes.

"Just between you and me, we have undergarments for men, too, although they're pretty expensive. I think Lily said something about special moments in life or something..."

"Curious. You don't happen to know the details, Viscountess, do you?"

"I'm not supposed to, at least until marriage," Mirrie stiffly replied.

"Ah, your desert lion..."

"Who'll rip apart anyone for his lioness."

Stoine didn't like the implication.

"As long as you're a lioness, Viscountess, and not a doe."

"Viscount, haven't you realized it yet? In our family, we raise women to be strong, so they can give birth to worthy men. Amir knows this."

"Mirrie, please don't argue with my son," Joliette spoke up, unfairly forgotten by everyone. "He's got a wicked tongue, but trust me, he doesn't wish ill to anyone."

Translated from the diplomatic tongue, it meant Calm down or get out.

Well then, it was time. Mirrie chose the second option and bowed to Joliette.

"With your permission, I'll head home."

"I hoped you'd stay for dinner," the princess said, her tone sad. Was she truly upset? She seemed sincere.

"After Lily's departure, I had to take charge of Mariella, alas."

"Oh, Mirrie! It must be so hard!"

"Which is why, if you'll excuse me, I won't stay for dinner."

She knew what such dinners were like: at least three hours long with all due ceremonies and formalities... Honestly, she'd prefer to eat in a roadside inn. You might get food poisoning, but at least it wouldn't take so much time.

Miranda bowed out and left, Yda leading the dogs behind her. Nobody had paid the girl any attention, the two furry elephants hiding her from the rest of the world. She, however, could watch as much as she wanted—and hopefully, make conclusions.

Inside the carriage, Mirrie pushed her dogs to the adjacent seat and sat down next to Yda.

"So?!"

"I think it's him. He moves just like that man..."

"Who's the second one, I wonder..."

Yda didn't care. She shivered as if freezing. Once again, forgetting all etiquette, Miranda scooped the girl in a hug.

"It's over, sweetie. You did it. You're a strong girl. You did fine! Uncle Hans will be so proud of you!"

"Really?"

"If only you knew how much you helped him!"

Yda had an inkling. She cheered up.

Suddenly, a terrifying thought occurred to Mirrie. She was...growing up…becoming an adult. That's how it happened: first, you did something important, then felt responsibility for those younger and weaker than you, and then...

Then... What was it like? What did one lose when growing up?

She'd love to ask her mother, but she was nowhere to be found. Ah, Maldonaya curse Avester! Or, better yet, sit on the entire country and cover it with...well, you know what! Bastards!

Miranda patted Yda on her head and once again whispered words of comfort into her ear. If she were correct... Could it really be Stoine? Would girls stop dying if they apprehended him? Would Mirrie's friend be avenged? And really, not crushing that scumbag would be a shame.

The carriage was driving toward Laveri.

***

"Is it him?" Hans blurted out as he met them at the doorstep of the Earton mansion.

"Yes," Yda replied, nodding.

Miranda was quiet. It was Yda's moment of triumph, her turn to shine. How had she even brought herself to do that?

But Hans' reaction was worth the risk. He swooped the girl into his arms and spun her across the courtyard, kissing her cheeks.

"My girl!"

Yda was laughing and happily babbling. Mirrie decided to leave them alone and went to the living room and then the kitchen. She really wanted to eat and didn't need any fancy plates for that.

Hans joined her an hour later. He sat down at the kitchen table and, without further ado, requested a bowl of stew.

"Is Yda asleep?"

"Yes. She's tired and overexcited."

"She's a good girl. Smart, too."

"Yes, she's wonderful. I'd love to have a daughter like her."

"Keep trying," Mirrie quipped.

"I will. Won't you tell me anything, though?"

"About trying? Uncle Hans, talking about something like that would be improper!"

"Mirrie! I'll wax your ears off!"

"Promises, promises..."

That was too much for Hans, and he lightly pulled at Mirrie's earlobe.

"Come on, fess up!"

"Me? Why me?"

"You must have an opinion about what's going on. Tell me."

Mirrie considered the question, trying to analyze everything she had seen at the Lerois estate.

"Uncle Hans, I'd say that their relationship is really weird."

"Weird?"

Hans had noticed that as well, but what was that weirdness? He couldn't put it into words. Passion? Love? What feelings could there be between two people? Between a man and a woman? Or were there none? He couldn't make sense of it.

"Nobody loves Joliette in Lerois, neither the eldest son nor the middle. She's a princess, and they show her all due respect, but love or affection is out of the question."

"Stoine?"

"Stoine is different, yes. There is something between him and Joliette, but it's not love."

"Passion?"

"I don't know."

"But there must be something."

"Uncle Hans, for the life of me, I have no idea! I don't get it..."

Neither did Hans, but something must be happening. What could it be? Holy Aldonai, what?!

Mirrie looked him in the eye, her expression serious.

"You can always count on me…on us."

"Thank you, Miranda."

Hans already knew that, though.

All he could do was to watch Stoine and gather data, and afterward...they would see. Was he grasping at straws? Nobody would care for Yda's testament?

Maybe they wouldn't. Still, he would keep watching, and he would be on his guard.

Avester, around Turon.

They bid farewell to Farn three days after meeting him, then went off the high road and even walked two miles down the branching path.

"Why?" Larie asked softly.

"Just to be safe. It might be dangerous if someone knew who we were and where we came from," Lily explained.

"You think there might be a chase?"

Lily shrugged. She wasn't sure, but she was confident that they shouldn't take any risks.

Sooner or later, the Mermaid would arrive at the port. What would Entor do when he didn’t see Lilian or the baron?

What would she have done in his place? She'd put out a search for Lofrayne and Lilian herself to boot. Maybe not as Her Grace Countess Earton, of course, but as a career bandit, some kind of One-Eyed Mary or Raggy Jane. He'd claim that she had stolen the royal jewels, tried to shock His Majesty's sensibilities, and even eaten his poor dog. Maybe a cat, too. She wouldn't simply get caught—she'd get struck dead along the way to the capital.

No, Lily was under no illusions regarding His Majesty. There was going to be a search. The question was how and when.

***

"Charcoal burners."

Lily narrowed her eyes. Charcoal burners? What kind of beasts were those?

"They burn trees to make coal," Larie explained.

Lily shook her head. She had never met such people in her own lands. So how was that done?

Larie pointed at one of the piles in front of them. It resembled a huge anthill.

"They pile up tree trunks, cover them with soil, and light them on fire so they'd smolder and become charcoal."

"Huh. Live and learn..."

Lily watched the burner settlement and the coal mounds, her eyes wide. The workers themselves were busy hauling large logs and digging while their women cooked and the children ran around.

"Their entire families live here?"

"Yes. Such is their work."

Lily nodded. And to think that she would have never learned that if they had never left the high road! Well, and went down the beaten path to find a pond to wash themselves, too. That was Lily's decision. Larie didn't agree but never argued.

The burners took notice of the two women but never did anything, simply glancing at them and continuing about their business.

Lily and Larie decided to stick to themselves, turning around and going back—but it wasn't meant to be. An hour before or later, everything would have turned out differently. However, as soon as they made a few steps, Lily heard a child screaming.

Who wouldn't have stopped in her place?

Apparently, one of the burner's children, a boy of seven or so, had stumbled and fallen into a fire, feet first.

"Aldonai!" Lily blurted out and ran to help him.

The boy's mother was already rushing to him, wailing, but Lily was first. In moments like that, she was faster than a warp drive, immediately teleporting to her patient. And to think that she had sworn off helping to treat people! But thinking about laying low was impossible with a child screaming for help just next to her.

"Quiet! Bear with me, boy..."

She grabbed him and jumped to the pond, carefully putting him into the cold water and cleaning the burn from the remains of his clothes—no need to risk festering or inflammation.

"What...?!"

The boy's mother fell on her knees next to her, lamenting, and someone pushed her aside.

"What are you doing?"

"He needs to be treated," Lily said sharply. "It won't heal on its own. What do you have? Honey? Eggs?"

"I'll send a boy to the village," one of the men said, nodding. "We don't have anything, and we don't have much money yet, either."

Lily shook her head.

"It will take too long. Still, ask him to buy goose fat. It will come in handy. And until then..."

Cetraria, or Iceland moss, was something Lily could have recognized anywhere. If only you knew how much of it she had pulled back in her day, how many nails she sacrificed!

"Hold the child like that so I can wash the burns," she ordered Larie.

The girl obeyed and deftly grabbed the sniveling boy. Lily nodded and stood up, feeling the tension in her muscles. She had overstrained herself...but how could she stand aside when something like that was happening?

Gathering moss from a tree was a moment's work. She handed it to the men who had addressed her.

"Do you have a kettle?"

"We'll find one."

"Make sure it's clean!"

Lily was ordering them around like she was used to, and everyone obeyed. She was a doctor, enough said. When it came to saving a patient, she didn't care about formalities or laying low. Forward was the only way!

The kettle was located in a few minutes. Lily checked it, snorted, carefully washed it again, put the moss inside, and poured water over it.

"Bring it to a boil and let it simmer, then cool it down."

"How long?"

Lily hesitated. It would take five minutes, but how would she explain it?

"To what number can you count?"

"Fifty," the man said, chuckling.

He was short but portly, resembling a somewhat flattened bear—a wide chest, rippling muscles, firm legs, thick dark red mustache and beard...

A quintessential bear, really.

"Count to fifty six times and remove it. I'll also need clean rags to soak the burns."

Lily turned back to the child.

"Don't worry, boy. Not even a trace of them will remain."

***

While the moss was boiled and the rags were prepared, it was starting to get dark. Lily spent all that time fussing over the boy while Larie stepped aside.

The child was doing better, but for the first few days, he would have it hard. His burns would hurt and itch, but at least there wouldn't be any inflammation.

Lily argued with the local women but finally managed to get them to boil the rags to soak the burns, explaining that they needed to do that every time. If any dirt got inside the wound, the boy would be as good as lost.

The rest of the day passed in the same vein. Thankfully, nobody was especially stubborn. It made sense, in a way. An herbswoman was an important and useful resource. Some people might call them shildas and whisper that they were the spawn of Maldonaya, but where would you get a doctorus when you needed one? Not in a backwater settlement, you didn't. Doctoruses asked for money, and it's not like they were guaranteed to help... An herbswoman had her faults, too, but at least her services were nowhere as expensive. Lily was well-versed in plants and seemed to know what she was doing.

It was already dark when, having made sure that the kid had been fed, had drunk, and was properly bandaged, Lily finally sat down by the riverbank and slowly breathed out. Then she breathed in and out again. Gradually, she was coming around.

"That's where you are. Whatever your name is...Aliya?"

The bearish man sat down next to her.

"That's right," Lily agreed. "I don't know what to call you, though."

"Can't go wrong with calling me Shimon."

"All right."

"Will ya stay with us for the night? Keep an eye on Mishook, too."

Lily shrugged.

"We might if you give us food and shelter."

"What's the take for your help?"

"Nothing." Lily shook her head. "How could I not help a child? Only a rotten scamp would have walked past."

The man liked her answer and nodded with his shaggy mane.

"You're all right, broad. How old are you, Aliya?"

"Old enough to know things," she snapped. "What's your interest?"

"The right sort. We'll always have work for a skilled herbswoman. Our craft is never without trouble. So, do you only know burns or..."

"What do you have?" Lily replied in a resigned tone, realizing that being a medic wasn't just her karma: it was her flesh and blood. She stood up.

Shimon beamed.

"We have a few men. Truth be told, I got my hand jammed by a branch yesterday..."

He showed a dirty bandaged finger.

Lily had no strength left to scold him. Without a word, she pulled out a knife to remove the bandage and free the finger to be cleaned, treated, and redressed. An abscess was the last thing she needed!

The rest of the men weren't faring any better. One fracture—fortunately, not compound, but still splintered, the bone snapped in the center like a twig. Three festering wounds, two furuncles, lots of bumps, bruises, and abrasions.,, Usually, people ignored them, but they couldn't ignore such an opportunity, could they? Cough and sore throat—two cases. And don't even get her started on the eyes! Half of the workers had issues with their sight. At least they were in a forest. Flatwort seeds, chamomile, marjoram, lichen, and arrowwood: you could get everything if you put your mind to it. Of course, each herb grew in its own season, but alas, Lily hadn't been collecting anything during her travels. She couldn't carry them all, could she? But the time had been lost, and no cursing would bring it back. Still, they could find the remaining plants.

Of course, Lily and Larie got food and shelter. In the morning, the workers tried to convince them to stay, but Lily shook her head.

"We need to go to Turon."

Shimon wasn't going to pay evil onto good and try to force the herbswoman to stay. Instead, he offered her a deal.

"Could you wait a little, eh? Spend ten days or so with us until we get packing. We'll need to sell, talk to a man... We'll see you off to the town, too."

Lily gave it some thought.

"If you want, I could teach some of the women to brew potions and make poultices, even gather some herbs with the children. I can't promise much, but it'll be something, at least."

"What do you want in return?"

"You have a reason to travel to Turon, don't you?"

Shimon immediately bristled like a hedgehog. Lily wondered if he was hiding apples and mushrooms on his presumably hairy back, too.

"What about it?"

"Nothing much. Would be nice to spend a couple of nights in Turon with someone we could trust before deciding what to do next."

"So you haven't decided yet? Maybe—"

"No," Lily said, shaking her head. "I have obligations. I'll give you what I can—won't deny that. There's not much I can teach, but I'll drill into your heads how to clean the eyes, gargle the throat, break a fever, or cure coal poisoning. But I can't stay. This path isn't mine to walk."

Shimon sighed and acquiesced.

"Fine. We're bound for Turgh, the innkeeper. We always stay there for a few nights. We'll put in a good word for you and your friend. He'll keep an eye on you and help you stay out of trouble. But you'll have to pay for the upkeep."

The man's gaze was...appraising.

Lily didn't flinch. She wasn't worried about her disguise. Her formerly golden hair hadn't been washed in a while, her face covered with layers of dust, soot, grime, and sweat...

Soon, she would have to peel those layers off rather than wash them. She hoped she wouldn't catch any crawlers. How would she fight lice? She'd sooner go insane, or maybe invent kerosene! In a pinch, you wouldn't just start processing oil—you'd discover a whole new continent!

Lily shook her head.

"We'll figure it out. I don't believe that he has nobody who's sick. I can work it off."

"Fair enough. In a tenday, we'll get another haul. Then we could head out."

Lily nodded.

"Send me the smartest of your bunch tomorrow. I'll talk to my friend. She can help you with chores."

Shimon grinned, spat in his hand, and gave it to Lily.

She didn't let him down, spitting into her own palm—more for show than anything—she pressed it against the charcoal burner's.

"It's a deal!"

Ativerna, Laveri.

The killer was staring at the girl's corpse and felt...despair.

Yes, that was the word.

It was wrong. She was wrong.

Before, those bodies had at least helped to alleviate his pain, a nagging, gnawing, and overwhelming ache that drove him mad. Not anymore.

A momentary relief—not even a catharsis—gave way to a crushing pressure inside his very soul.

He couldn't turn away, couldn't cast off that tiresome burden.

It hurt. It hurt so much!

A quiet voice came from behind him.

"Are you all right?"

He shook his head, desperately realizing that no, he wasn't all right. He probably never would be. He was in pain. But what could he do?

Forlorn, he looked for the other's eyes, realizing that he would find no answer there. Or would he?

"Bear with me. We'll fix it..."

"How?" His question was full of pain. Even the air around them seemed permeated with it... Or was it the dead girl's pain? But nobody cared about that rabble. They should be happy that they were good for something, at least!

"I promise you..."

All that was left to do was to believe. Maybe it would get better yet.

Who could tell?

***

Hans was standing above the body of a girl, the latest in a long line.

She wasn't a farmgirl, no: either a townswoman or a merchant's daughter. Her blue eyes were wide open, her blonde hair smeared with dirt. Once again, her pinkie was missing.

That son of a bitch! He'd love to rip the little shit apart with his own hands! But what about Stoine Lerois?

Asking wasn't a problem.

"The target spent the night in Madam Roseanne's brothel with one of the girls."

"Did he ever leave the room?"

"No."

Hans bit his lip. So it wasn't Stoine?

The brothel was a very particular sort of establishment, especially Roseanne's place that was even rumored to be frequented by the crown prince back in the day. Hans wouldn't get anything there; nobody would let him dig around.

Maybe he could send someone inside? But whom?

Hmm... Hans had an idea, but would Count Earton agree? They needed to talk. After Miranda's abduction, Jerisson was prepared to do anything to get the culprit, and if Hans promised him a couple of minutes alone with the bastard...

Misuse of public position for public gain—that's what Lilian Earton had called that with a suspicious smirk on her face.

Yes. He would have to talk to Jerisson.

Avester, the forest around Turon.

The twelve days Lily spent with the charcoal burners were far from the worst. In the end, they loaded wagons with charcoal and tar, added potash—Lily asked for some and got a bundle—and headed toward the town.

Lilian hadn't wasted her time; the workers appreciated her efforts. All of the sick people were improving, the children learned to gather herbs and properly dry them, and the women participated in the potion-making workshop.

Oh, you think it's easy? Well, it's not like anybody would share their secrets without a good reason! For herbswomen, brewing was a question of life and death. They sold their herbs in pouches, already dried and ground into powder, never telling anybody what it was, where it had been gathered, how it was dried...

Lily, for one, wasn't going to keep silent. She wasn't going to live in Avester anyway, but she felt bad for the children and their parents. Being a charcoal burner was a dangerous profession with a high rate of injuries. One of them had burned out a season before—literally.

When a mound was constructed and surrounded with dirt, the fire was supposed to stay inside. But it broke free... There was no killing or quenching the work of the entire community. All they could do was throw more soil.

And if someone fell inside, into the mound... Even in the twenty-first century, saving him would have been impossible.

Lily was sitting in a cart and thinking that everything was turning out well for her and Larie. Turon awaited them.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay with the burners?" she asked Larie before they left.

"No," the girl replied, shaking her head. "I don't."

"Guys are staring at you, you know."

Larie shuddered. That was the last thing she wanted!

"I'll survive!"

Lily shrugged.

"As you wish. If you change your mind, I can release you any moment."

She would have given her a dowry, too: the girl deserved it, even if Lily's money was tight at the moment.

"I'll go with you."

"All right," Lily said, reaffirming her previous decision.

Hopefully, Larie wouldn't go with her to Ativerna, too. That said, who could tell? Wives of some convicts could follow their husbands to exile; maybe she was like them.

The horses clip-clopped along the road as people road past. Lily focused on her own body. Lately, it had become her second nature.

"How are you, kid? How are you doing?"

Her answer was a quiet pulse, timid and uncertain. Still, Lily knew that it was her baby's heartbeat. That's how one's worldview changed.

When she had found herself in Earton, scared and confused, she was prepared to dive headfirst into any adventure. She was responsible for herself and only herself, not trusting anyone. She charged forward—and she was victorious.

In Avester, she would have to be twice...thrice as careful. Her baby depended on her, all alone against a hostile world. She was the only person it could count on. What about her, though? She was the only one she could count on, anyway.

God, why was living so hard? Why was surviving so complicated?

Eh, whatever. She had survived worse. Did she really think she couldn't outlive Entor?

She was too stubborn not to!

***

Turon turned out to be an ordinary port town in the vein of Altver. The port, the wharf, and the warehouses made up almost one-third of it.

True, the ships were numerous, and so were the sailors. The local color was in line, too: inns, brothels, fences... Barely anyone produced any goods. Mostly, people went there to sell their goods, buy fish, and leave.

There was a fair, albeit a shoddy one—the port was too small. Berma, a larger town, was just a few days away, and trading there was much more lucrative. Turon was just a pit stop for resupply and repairs.

Turgh's inn was just by the wharf. That fit Lilian's plans well enough. Something else bothered her as she looked over the ships, her eyes sharp. Once, they had all seemed the same, but not anymore. She could tell that no Virman vessels were in the docks with their vicious-looking figureheads and peculiar outlines.

Should she ask about that? The burner would hardly know. Still, it was worth a try.

"I wonder if the Virmans ever sail here."

"They're rare guests," Shimon replied. "The locals don't care for them."

"The whole of Avester doesn't," Lily said, shrugging. "Or is there something else?"

"Right. The local mayor's daughter got pregnant by a Virman man. He took her with him... Since then, the mayor loathes the Virmans."

Lily inwardly cursed the unknown Virman. One man couldn't keep it in his pants, and she had to pay for it! The parasite!

The Virmans probably wouldn't find her in Turon. Well, whatever. She'd make do. She had never expected a miraculous rescue, anyway.

Still...seriously? Have you any shame, Aldonai?!

Turgh's inn turned out to be rather worn out, to say the least. Well, "inn" was a strong word. In truth, it was a cheap tavern where all alcohol was guaranteed to be watered down, frozen, and refrozen, and bedbugs and cockroaches were a fact of life.

Lily shivered. Shimon noticed that and grinned.

"Guess you're not used to that."

She shook her head.

"I've seen both better and worse. Does he even have a place to sleep?"

"We're renting a shed."

Lily clenched her teeth. Ugh, a shed... So rats were guaranteed to crawl all around them. She wasn't going to sleep there. Where would she, though?

Shimon sighed.

"Hey, I could go with you wherever you'd like. We arrived too late, anyway. Not like we can do anything but drink and go to sleep."

"And?"

"I can't drink today."

Lily gave him a doubtful look. Shimon shrugged.

"I know myself. I'll lose myself if I start. I should talk to the merchants first, sell our goods, get the money...and then celebrate. The guys will load it all up later."

Lily nodded.

"So, what were you before?"

She had been wondering for a while. Despite his bear-like appearance, Shimon was smart, observant, educated...

He was definitely far from simple, too well-versed for a common charcoal burner. He could also see profit from a mile away.

"A mercenary," Shimon said, his expression darkened.

"And how did you end up as a charcoal burner?"

"I...used to serve Duke Rashter."

If only Lilian had any idea who that was. She stared at Shimon, confused, and he waved his hand.

"Where have you been if you don't know about him?"

"Trust me, I had other things on my mind," Lily confessed. "Will you tell me? Should I even ask?"

Shimon spent a few minutes thinking and finally started his tale.

Duke Rashter was a relative of His Majesty Entor, a close relative at that—his grandfather was married to a king's daughter, the aunt of Imogene, incidentally. It was a happy marriage with as many as four offspring—it would have been even more if three of them hadn't died in childhood.

So what happened next? The same thing as always.

At first, it was all like, Dear relatives, we should see each other more often. Then, it was, You seem to have too much land, money, and power. Finally, Aldonai taught us to share, did 't he? The classic dilemma.

If you were too rich, it meant you had something to share with the king. If you were too poor, it meant that you had saved something up and still could share it with the king. Oh, you had nothing? Too bad for you and your poor head.

And thus, the duke lost his. He was arrested, charged with sorcery, tortured, and executed.

Lily shook her head.

"I'm sorry."

"So are we."

The rest of the story made it clear that the duke was a good man—as much as it was possible for a nobleman.

He never squeezed his subjects dry, never raised taxes, capably managed his estate—and couldn't understand why he was supposed to share his profits, even with the king himself. It's not like he had a surplus.

"Did he have a wife? Children?"

"There was a daughter. When her father was arrested, so was she...I guess. The duke was executed, but she wasn't. She was a nice girl, Sandrine. Blue eyes, black hair, a baby face..."

Lily shook her head, thinking of another girl who looked just like her. Mirrie also had blue eyes and black hair, as all Eartons tended to have... How was she doing, that Sandrine? Dreaming of dying, Lily would wager. And what about Mirrie?

Rage overwhelmed her, gripping her throat, her eyes seeing red. Lily's fists squeezed with enough force to make her nails sink into her palms. Still, she forced herself to come around and unclench her hands, restraining herself.

Aldonai forbid anyone would try to attack her family while she was in Avester. They'd shed tears of blood. They'd hang on their own innards. She would do that, she knew.

But no, she would get home, and everything would be fine, as long as that home still stood. Any risk and any adventure were worth it as long as you had a place to return. And if you didn't... Was there even a point in such life?

But that wasn't worth contemplating. She was in Avester, and she had a tiny ball of life that had to be kept alive and delivered to Ativerna. She had to make it.

Turon... Yes, it was a port. So what if it was small and quiet? That was even better! She could lay low, get used to it, and then leave. She could do it.

***

Whatever her plans, Lily didn't refuse to eat and drink water. Calculating her next move was so much easier after getting some rest and a snack, especially since her baby grew hungrier every day. At that moment, she could gobble up even roasted nails, let alone a meat-and-potatoes stew.

The innkeeper offered a soup, but that was a complicated dish. Could anyone guarantee that it didn't have a rat caught yesterday or rotten cabbage? With some pepper—even if it was expensive—and some spicy herbs, nobody would notice that something was missing or tasted wrong. In that regard, potatoes were more honest; you couldn't replace them easily, and if the one served to you had spoiled, you could just push it away. In the end, Lily did exactly that, picking the prettiest slices and chewing on some seaweed.

So that was a port town for you. No sauerkraut, no pickles, but seaweed with onions was everywhere. Meat dumplings would have become a hit; she was sure of that. But she couldn't sell them in that dump, could she? Nobody would order them at Turgh's...probably.

Larie glanced at her, a questioning look in her eyes.

"Where are we going next, Aliya?"

"I need to think," Lily confessed. "I don't really want to stay here."

"Why?" Shimon asked from behind her.

"It's dirty and uncomfortable. Maybe I could rent a room?" Lily asked, knowing that it wouldn't solve the problem. "Can the owner shelter us for a few days?"

"We'll be here for five days. You can stay with us until we leave."

Lily nodded and thanked Shimon.

So, five days it was. Five days to find work and a place to live, and learn the ropes of Turon. How had d'Artagnan had managed to do that before meeting the Musketeers?

It seemed so simple in the books. "Salut, Paris!" But he was a young guardsman, and she was a pregnant woman. What could she say? Bah!

***

Once again, Lily thought about feet. Taking care of them was the number one priority for anyone who wanted to achieve anything in life.

If you didn't run, you didn't eat: a tethered sheep soon starves. In the end, Lily simply decided to take Larie, and the girls went for a walk around Turon.

Well, "girls" was a big word.

Lily was still disguised as a middle-aged woman, an "auntie," and wasn't going to remove that mask. Later, she would see.

Larie, of course, knew that was fake, and the burners had a good idea, too. Still, they were understanding. A young woman traveling on foot was a potential victim. A "grandma" might survive...well, if she got lucky, that is.

***

Leatherworkers. Washerwives. A "respectable" quarter. Slums again.

The streets flashed before Lily's eyes. A few times, Lily and Larie were almost drowned in swill and scolded. Once, a pickpocket tried filching Lily's purse and got a rap over the fingers, whistling something obscene in revenge. Yeah, she wasn't stupid enough to keep her money in open view in a port town! There was barely a copper inside.

Needlewomen... Seamstresses... Gravekeepers...

When they reached the fish market, Lily felt sick, having smelled something rotten. She would have collapsed into a heap of trash—Larie was nowhere strong enough to hold her—but a confident hand grabbed her from the other side.

"Are you daft? Why push on if you're sick?"

Lily shook her head.

"I have no choice."

"You have no head, I wager! That's why you have no choice!"

The woman reprimanding Lily was a quintessential fishwife: a stocky broad-set woman in her forties, the kind who could weather storms and drag a whale from the sea. Her dress was tight around her hips and bosom, and her bright brown eyes glared from under her bonnet, stiffly starched to look immaculately white, her dark eyebrows frowning.

"I still have my head on my shoulders."

"Oh really?"

Lily shrugged.

"We've arrived just today, and the place where we wanted to stay had bedbugs this big!"

"Maybe they were mice?" the woman said, skeptically studying Lilian's hand, her fingers widely spread.

"Then they would have had four paws instead of six," Lily replied, her tone serious.

The women glanced at each other and snickered.

"Bertha," the fishwife said.

"Aliya," Lilian replied with a nod. "This here's my niece, Larie."

"Nice meeting you. So, what brings you to Turon?"

Lily decided against lying too much and told her the same story as she had told Larie with barely any embellishments. Bertha listened, nodded, and asked,

"How come you went traveling when you're heavy with child?"

Lily sighed. Yes, women were harder to trick.

"I wouldn't have gone, but my husband was the eldest in his family, and his brother is the heir... How long would my baby survive if the brother married me like he wanted to?"

Bertha gave her a knowing nod. That was par for the course.

"At least you'd have a roof above your head. I lost four out of my twenty. It's all Aldonai's will."

"I can accept Aldonai," Lily retorted. "But I never agreed to some slimeball's will."

Bertha laughed.

"Fine. My eldest son wanted to marry this autumn, but it didn't work out."

"I can see you aren't terribly upset," Lily snarked.

"Why would I? He picked a stupid girl who would've made him miserable. Thank Aldonai, she found a richer fool."

"Who knows which one of them got lucky?" Lily said, shrugging.

"Well, anyway. M'boy was all but ready to marry, and we even built him a house.

With the wedding broken off, it's left empty. You can live there for a bit."

Lily nodded.

"Just for a while. One way or another, I'll figure it out."

"Good. Let's go, then."

"Let's go," Lily echoed.

***

Lily liked the fishermen's quarter from the first glance.

Yes, it reeked, full of scales, nets, and cured fish watched by the children while they drove animals away, but she could see order and discipline in everything: the boats dragged ashore, their bottoms greased; the nets hanging out to dry; the women repairing them... Someone had arranged all of that. Good job.

The house turned out to be a solid five-walled building with a stove inside. The roof was covered with lathing, the gaps between the logs were calked and the straps tarred—even in a cold spell, you'd never freeze to death in a house like that.

"It was made with love," Lily said, appreciating the workmanship.

"Odd for a noble to notice that."

"Me?" Lily asked, demonstrating genuine surprise. "Why'd you think so?"

"Aren't you?" Bertha narrowed her eyes.

She was right. But how could she tell?

Apparently, that question was displayed on Lilian's face clearly enough to make Bertha chuckle.

"You don't hold your head like the folks here do. You're not used to slouching and forget it sometimes. When you move, it's clear that you're much younger than sixty. You don't pant, you breathe easily, and your teeth... You colored them black, but it only works against men. Women have a sharper eye."

Lily shook her head. Her disguise wasn't good enough, Aldonai damn it!

"Is it that obvious?"

"I can't say for anyone, but you can't hide from me, oh no."

"I see. So, what are you going to do?"

"Nothing. Barging into the noble folk business won't end well for any of us. You might get a deal, but we—we'll lose our heads."

Lily nodded thoughtfully.

"You're right. Hey, do you know if there's a way for me to travel to Berma?"

She had seen enough of Turon. She didn't like that port, and the Virmans would hardly even sail there. Berma was larger; she would have a better chance there. Of course, it was closer to the capital, but Lily had no desire to go there.

That said... If she had to hide, why not hide just under Entor's nose?

No. Considering her penchant for getting entangled in all kinds of funny business, she shouldn't risk that. Better to find a compromise between a backwater hellhole like Turon and an actual city.

"Aren't you afraid?"

Lily chuckled.

"I can see you're no fool. There are people who can pay for me. And I can pass a message from Berma..."

"Won't it be easier for me to toss you out?"

Lily shrugged.

"Do that, if you'd like. I get it: who'd want that, anyway?"

Bertha fell silent, thinking as she tapped the floor.

"How much will you pay?"

"How much do you want?"

"Three coins! Gold ones!"

Lily laughed in her face.

"Even one would be too much!"

She knew the prices.

"I won't even pick up a paddle for one coin!"

"And for three, I can buy a whole boat!"

"Who'll sail it, then?"

"I’ll figure something out. Sailors are a dime a dozen."

Bertha gritted her teeth.

"Two and a half."

"A gold coin and two silvers. Even that's too much!"

They spent a while haggling, eventually agreeing on one gold and eight silver coins for two women. Lilian wanted to bring Larie along—provided she didn't mind, of course. In Turon, she'd ask Shimon to go to Bertha, show off his muscles, send her a message...

That would make it clear that Lilian wasn't alone and had someone to stick up for her. Hopefully, she wouldn't get stood up and thrown overboard.

Of course, eventually, Bertha would find out that Lily was on her own and had no actual ties to the charcoal burners, but that would be too late. Yes, it was a risk, but it was also an opportunity. Having walked through Turon, Lily knew that she didn't want to stay there. If only Lofrayne were alive...

But no. She shouldn't think about that. Lofrayne wouldn't have left the forest alive in any case; she had intended to kill him herself. A few minutes of heroism hadn't redeemed him. If he never kidnapped her, she would still be home, snug as a bug in a rug.

"Tomorrow night, two boats will leave for Berma," Bertha finally fessed up. "Go with them if you want. Just don't expect any amenities. The boys will sail along the coast—and quick."

"Are they fishermen?" Lily asked.

"...Taxes," Bertha replied as if it meant anything to Lily. Bertha saw her surprised expression and started to explain.

For the most part, Avester was covered with forests. There was the sea, too, but the coast was unfit for seafaring.

Fishing was a different thing, though. A fishing boat was small, mobile, and could easily slip between any shoals and reefs. Fishermen had lived a good life until Entor's ascension to the throne. The old king never really bothered them, only pushing them around from time to time. The new one, however...

Entor imposed a fish tax. Actually, it had already existed, but those were fishermen! They could always unmoor and sail away!

But not that time. Entor did something that the fishermen could never forgive: sicced the pirates of Loris on them.

"Idiot," Lily muttered under her nose. Bertha didn't hear her—or ignored it.

Fish weren't simply taxed; if your haul had any fish longer than an elbow, it would be taken. Thus, all large fish quickly disappeared from the market, only being sold from under the counter. But who'd buy them like that?

Well, someone would, but for a much lower price. In the end, fishmongers cut the fish and sold them in pieces, hiding from guards and tax collectors and mooring away from settlements.

Eels were strictly forbidden from being caught and sold under the penalty of a fine. So what were you supposed to do with them if they got stuck in your net? Throw them away? Not to mention that eel meat was said to be really good for you-know-what...

"Why would Entor need this?" Lily asked, genuinely surprised. "Doesn't he get enough money?"

Bertha shrugged.

"Aldonai's high in the skies, and the king's far in his castle. Who knows?"

"I'll never believe that it didn't occur to you," Lily said, shaking her head. "You must have chewed on that!"

Bertha only sighed. She might have had that thought, but what did it matter?

Entor needed a fleet; that was clear. He built ships—on Berman wharves, among other things. A fleet required money.

So what about fishermen? Everyone was under pressure: fishermen, merchants, farmers...well, not nobles, but they were nobles, not some riffraff!

Entor was tightening the screws. But why? What was his goal?

Bertha had no idea. He must have had a reason, though.

Lily bit her lip. So, was her abduction really simple revenge or something larger? Or...maybe Entor was killing two birds with one stone, solving several problems at once?

Why did women paint their lips? To protect them from chapping, to improve their shape, to make them brighter...

Why had he kidnapped Countess Earton? An arrow sent from a distance would have settled a score just as easily—not even aimed at the countess but at Richard. Edward would have never survived that.

Fine, suppose Leonar had reined in his heir. Suppose Entor decided against killing the king of Ativerna...

Suppose? No, in politics, there was always a clear reason. And seeing as all political processes always stemmed from financial... Aldonai!

For the first time in her life, Lily regretted skipping Economics at college. Back then, she decided that living on a scholarship had taught her everything she needed about handling her money, and it's not like the professor told them anything interesting. Microeconomics, macroeconomics, pyramids of some kind...spherical chickens in a vacuum! Why not give an actual explanation of working processes using real-life examples? Even their own college with its staff, the money, the cash flow...

Anyway. The question was, why did Entor need Lilian Earton?

The answer was obvious: to make money. There were other ways to hurt his enemies, faster and more efficient.

Why did he need money?

Lily tried to recall everything she knew about Avester's history. Edward had mentioned that the country was stable and peaceful during Leonar's reign, and people didn't rebel or starve. What changed? Why was Entor pressuring his subjects? Why did he need so much money so urgently? Did he want to spend it on mistresses? On building his own Versailles? What could it be? The reports had never mentioned anything like that!

He was also cozying up to pirates... What was his goal? That seemed stupid, pitting such scum against his own people, stupid and dumb, and Entor wasn't like that. He was a cunning and sneaky bastard, a real sleazebag, but would he call for wolves to attack his own sheep? It was almost the same as collecting taxes with the help of an extortion racket or gangsters! Even a third of the money wouldn't reach its destination. But what if Entor needed pirates specifically?

Why, though? To counter Virma? That would be silly. It was tantamount to sending coyotes against a pack of wolves; the Virmans would steamroll over them without a pause. Pirates could only defeat Virmans provided overwhelming odds, and even then, it was far from guaranteed. Guarding the coast? No, that wasn't it.

Why would anyone need pirates, anyway? Morgan... Panama... Captain Blood and Cartagena... Lily recalled Morgan's actions in her own world. Could Entor do the same, sending the pirates to fight ahead of his own troops to save their lives? Hypothetically, he could. In practice...whom was he going to attack, then? What if it was Ativerna?

Lily shuddered. What if it was true? She was a daughter of an officer, born in a country that had lost millions of people to World War II. She had talked to people who fought in war conflicts. She saw their eyes. Those who claim that war isn't hell know nothing of war.

If Entor decided to start a war against Ativerna... Lily wasn't sure how and when, but she HAD to stop him. She wasn't an expert on history, but she knew that even kings sometimes got assassinated. Take the Bible, it had Judith—and
she ended up as a hero.

So, what was going on, and what could she do to fight it?

From the looks of it, Lily really needed to get to Berma. If it was a bustling hive of activity with wharves where Entor built his ships, she could gather information there. Knowledge was power. She was bound to learn what was going on. All right, Berma it was.

She needed to give birth somewhere. Why not there?

Poor kid. You really got a madwoman for a mommy...

Images kept flashing before Lily's eyes. Blood on the snow. Jerisson, who kept fighting to his last breath and died with a sword in his hand, defending his home and his family. Miranda, raped to death—she knew what happened to pretty girls during wars. Roman and Jacob, their skulls smashed for a lark. Jyce, his body... No. She didn't even want to imagine the soldiers having their fun. In times like those, impaling children on pikes was par for the course.

They were her family. If she had a chance to prevent that, how could she not risk her own person? Even her unborn baby, Aldonai damn it!

Well, Lofrayne, if I have to, I will drag your bones out of your grave. If I have no other option, I'll shout at every corner that this child is yours.

I will make it.

Lily looked around the humble hut, and Bertha flinched back, frightened by her transformation. A hunchbacked crone had just been standing before her. She might have known that it was only a mask, but a part of her still bought the illusion.

And then, in a fraction of a second, the old woman straightened her back, raised her head, and it's as if Maldonaya herself had come from the underworld. That looked scary. Bertha felt chills run down her spine.

Frankly speaking, she had been considering having her cake and eating it too. Not anymore. Believe it or not, Bertha knew that shildas really did exist—and were walking among them.

Oh, dear... Could she be...

The fishwife trembled.

Only for a little while, of course—Bertha wasn't the sort of a person to stay afraid for long. Still, a cold deep inside her heart remained, and no flames could ever melt it.

Lily narrowed her eyes.

Her eyes are green, just like Maldonaya's cat, Bertha thought, bewildered. Oh dear, Holy Aldonai, protect me, a foolish sinner...

Aldonai ignored her.

"Will the boat come tomorrow?"

"Y-yes."

"I'll come here tomorrow evening with my friend."

Bertha nodded, stifling a nasty thought.

Maybe Aldonai could send a storm after you, unholy shildas, so you'd drown and not befoul the land with your bodies!

***

Larie, who wasn't part of that conversation, was sitting on the seashore and helping herself to grilled fish. She had even grabbed some for Lily.

The countess decided to avoid eating in public, thanked Larie, and went ahead, only stopping to relax behind a hummock, sitting down on a heap of dry seaweed and stretching her legs.

"Larie, are you going to sail with me to Berma?"

"Berma?"

"Yes."

Larie paused.

"Aliya, why can't we stay here?"

Lily shrugged.

"What are we going to do here?"

Larie started thinking.

"We could work as maids..."

"And cater to any random sailor, including in bed? Nobody except them come here. The locals are a rough bunch... You don't want to get married, and what else can they offer you?"

Larie shivered.

"I don't..."

"They won't even ask," Lily shrugged, sinking her teeth into the fishtail. She spat the bones into a burdock leaf next to her. The fish tasted amazing: tender, fatty, well-cooked, and most importantly, fresh, caught that very morning.

A taste like that was one of a kind; you're missing out if you've never tried it. What was it? Sea salt, iodine, something else? Even one day was enough for that special taste to evaporate.

Lily decided that, at the very least, she wouldn't have any thyroid problems. Her baby would get enough iodine. And seaweed also had lots of vitamins and nutrients...

A seafood diet. So chic!

Larie shivered.

"Is there any other way?"

"Not here. What else can we be other than servants? There's already a seamstress here, and it's not like we're experts in fashion. Doctoruses? I'm no doctorus..."

"But you're an herbswoman."

Lily shrugged.

She really was no doctorus; she was a doctor. That was chalk and cheese.

"Maids? I'll give birth soon, and a baby needs constant care. Money, too. I need to earn it, and I can't do it here."

"And in Berma?'

Lily shrugged.

"I have an idea..."

"What is it?"

"First, I need to get to Berma and look around," Lily said, smiling.

Larie thought a bit and finally waved her hand.

"Not like anything's keeping me here, anyway. I'm with you."

"Great. Let’s go, then."

"Where?"

"I want to visit the marketplace today. We'll need a couple of things."

Chapter 9

Many brunettes dream of becoming blondes. What do blondes dream of?

Lily had never wanted to dye her hair. Both in her old body and her new one, she didn't mind her natural coloring. Alas, it was time to change that.

She couldn't keep going around all dirty and grubby; sooner or later, she'd have to wash her hair, her face, everything.

Maybe she should get a haircut?

Her long golden braid kept pulling her head back. With a single motion of a knife, it would be gone...

She didn't have the nerve. Lily knew that it would have been the perfect solution: cut off her hair, dye the remains black, and go around like that. Yet, she couldn't do that.

It was a disguise, yes, but...how long would it take for her hair to grow to its previous state? Jerisson loved it so much, too, as did she. She couldn't bring herself to do it. It just felt wrong. The only way she could do it was if her life was on the line.

Therefore, she would have to color everything. Fortunately, the local marketplace had an abundance of nuts. Lily had already gathered some, but that was nowhere enough for her mane. If only she could get her hands on some basma... Oh! What was that? Henna?

Lily rubbed her hands. Henna was the perfect solution. She started haggling. Really, why did she have to become a brunette? She might be lucky to have dark eyebrows and eyelashes, but her skin was fair, and so was her body hair. She shouldn't underestimate other people.

She could keep tinting her skin, but that would have been quite bothersome. Dying herself red seemed much simpler. Redheads could have light body hair; nobody would suspect anything.

And that's what Lily did. She locked herself upstairs in Turgh's tavern and got Larie to cover her entire head of hair with henna—there was barely enough, too—then waited for a while and washed it off. There was no mirror around; the only way to check was to stare in the blade of a knife. From the looks of it, she made for a rather cute redhead.

Lily generously peppered her skin with freckles, painting dots on her face, chest, and shoulders with the remains of the henna and washing them off later. As for her hands... well, they had already stained during the process.

So what if she looked like a red-headed stepchild? Whatever! Lily had no desire to look attractive—she'd rather she wasn't.

All that remained was to put on her dirty rags, smear her face with soot—over the past month, Lily had gotten the hang of that procedure and did it almost mechanically—wrap her hair in rags, and don a cloak. Larie helped her, never bothering her with questions.

Lily was thinking. Machiavelli had once said that it was better to hang a dozen officials than raise a tax even by a penny. She wasn't sure about the specific wording, but that was the gist.

Really, who needed those bureaucrats? What did they do? If the President decided to shoot the entire Parliament, nobody would give a damn. But if he raised taxes...

It was the same in Avester. If Entor had dealt with several counts or dukes, people wouldn't care. Some might lament the deaths of the few good landlords, but eventually, they would go about their business.

Taxes were a different beast. Farn was grumpy, Bertha was angry, Turgh, the burners...

People were malcontent. There'd be no revolution, no single sparks starting a prairie fire, but there might be a riot or two. Something could be broken or burned—would it be good for Avester? No!

Yet Entor still raised axes and brought officials to heel. Why? What was going on? Why didn't Richard know that? Or did he?

Lily gave it some thought. She had no doubt that everyone had spies, including Richard and the Virmans. They must have. Still, could any of them take a look at the situation in Avester and evaluate it the way she could—not simply without bias but as a person from the twenty-first century? A person who was used to looking for a catch in anything the government did? A person who... Fine! Lily wasn't an avid lover of history. However, she was far from clueless,
and she could draw parallels.

Something rotten was in Avester. Entor was in dire need of money. A rebellion? Either he wasn't afraid of it or...

No, she couldn't figure it out, not yet. She didn't have enough information. Maybe Berma might shed light on things. And if it didn't... If it didn't, she wouldn't get involved. It's not like she was a spy, anyway! It would be her head on a pike.

Lily scolded herself once again and started counting the assets in her possession. The results were discouraging.

Poor Ellis had left some money, but not much.

Lofrayne's jewels: the ring and the bracelet. That wasn't for sale at all unless worse came to worst.

Her own jewels. She'd hate to sell them, but she could.

In short, there was no money. Nowhere enough to open a tavern, buy a building, or live comfortably for a year. Actually, it wasn't enough for anything other than maybe two months on a tight budget. No, that was not a solution. Could she start treating the sick? That wasn't an option.

Ah, whatever. First, she needed to get to Berma. And it's not like she absolutely had to open a tavern, anyway! She could do something a bit different...

Lily started thinking, then nodded to herself, rubbed her hands, and wrapped herself in her rags.

Damn those pregnancy hormones! At least she wasn't nauseated. Still, feeling cold all the time pretty much sucked. She was freezing even when it was hot! A vasospasm? Maybe. Or was it anemia... Oh, she'd love to get some tests. Too bad, there was no lab around! Her first pregnancy had been easier on her. Maybe it was the lack of nutrition...

But she needed to keep going, no matter how hard it was.

Lily sighed, stood up from her chair, and went to look for Shimon.

***

Talk? Oh, that was no problem with him. He'd find that Bertha, talk to her, even show her his fist—that he could spare. It's not like he had to do anything else; had he gotten it right?

Lily assured Shimon that he didn't.

He just needed to give Bertha the impression that Lilian and Larie still had family left in Turon—a family that, if no news came of them from Berma, might come to visit.

The fishwife didn't need that; she had a house, a family, a business... The game wasn't worth the candle!

How much would they get by selling two women to pirates?

A mere pittance! Women were all over the place in Loris, willing and ready for anything to boot. All you needed was to pay!

Could Lily and Larie be sold to the Khanganat?

Now that was the stupidest idea ever.

The Khangans valued only first-class wares: craftswomen or young maidens, not two worn-out broads.

Lily was under no illusions: she was pretty if washed and cleaned, and Larie could be made so with the right clothes and care, but in that world, she was already considered past her prime.

She recalled that in Japan, women were called "Christmas cakes" if they weren't married yet—because, after the 25th, they were no good anymore. And that was the twenty-first century!

Neither the pirates nor the Khanganat was an option. Of course, they could still slit their throats and rob them... But what would be the point, with profits unclear and retribution looming ahead?

That was exactly what Lily wanted to make clear to Bertha. Hopefully, she would succeed.

***

"So... My sister... Gonna take her to Berma, right?"

"The guys will," Bertha nodded.

"Half the coins up front. You'll get the half when Sis lets me know."

"How exactly?"

"She'll find a way," Shimon said, frowning. "Just so you know, we're a big family. Anything happens, and you won't find water enough in the sea to drown the fire that starts here!"

"Don't you go trying to intimidate me. I've seen worse!"

"No worse than me!"

Shimon and Bertha stared at each other, their hands on their hips, and drilled holes into each other's eyes, just like two dogs who met on a narrow path, and it didn't even matter that they were of a different gender.

Lily once again thought that Aldonai saw everything. If Farn hadn't taken them into his cart and they decided against parting ways with that chatterbox of a farmer, they would have never stumbled into the charcoal burners, and Bertha's attitude would have been completely different.

Instead, nine burly men were standing in front of her, stroking their clubs. In the woods, they had bulked up well enough to make all bodybuilders cry tears of envy. And that wasn't for show, either: it was real strength, the result of hard everyday labor, not fooling around with weightlifting.

And all of them were protecting Lilian. At that moment, she was one of them, even if they wouldn't have to lift a finger—and they knew it. Yet still, they backed her up. Lily had done her best to help them, and they were willing to help her back. That's what the world was built on, on good deeds and not the back of a turtle.

Fishermen gathered behind Bertha, noticing the lively conversation, sticks in hand. Still, the fact was that Lily wasn't alone, that someone had her back. They made it clear to Bertha. The woman winced, then shrugged.

"Fine, we'll get the girls to Berma. Nothing's going to happen to them on the way..."

Shimon grinned.

"Never doubted that."

***

"You sure you need to go?"

"I am," Lily said, nodding.

"Well, it's your call. If anything's wrong..."

"You don't answer for me, I know. Well, at least they won't get the money," Lily replied.

She wasn't going to write a real letter—Shimon barely could read and did it only occasionally. A scarf tied in one knot would serve just as well.

Two would mean things were bad, and so would a lack of any knots.

If everything was all right, he would give Bertha half of the money and say goodbye. Ah, life without a phone was such a chore! Such an annoying chore!

Actually, living in a medieval era was hard in all aspects, especially when you wandered across a distant land. It wasn't as bad for a countess; nobles had their status as their protection. But what about ordinary farmwomen or drifters?

Sadly, her life was worth less than her clothes.

"I might not give them the money anyway," Shimon said with a smirk.

Lily shook her head.

"You will. I know you. Fate made you a burner, but if you still served your lord..."

"Don't," Shimon replied curtly. "Just don't."

Lily nodded apologetically and looked at the sky—or rather the soot-covered ceiling of the tavern.

"Aldonai is all-powerful and all-seeing. Trust me, he knows everything and does what's best..."

"Not sure I've noticed that yet..."

"We don't always know his plan. We aren't supposed to."

"Then why did my lord suffer? His daughter, too?"

Lily frowned.

"We don't know everything. Children often pay for the sins of their parents... Do you really think that no man ever cried because of what your lord had done? That he never caused the death of any children?"

Shimon looked away.

"Well..."

"Exactly. We don't know it. Pray for Aldonai to forgive them. Just pray."

"I will."

Lily put her hand on Shimon's.

"I'll pray for them, too. We can't do anything else."

"Aliya, she was so...full of light, like a ray of sunshine. She would look me in the eye and laugh..."

As Shimon drank, he talked more, and Lily realized what was going on in his heart.

He loved that girl. He had no right to, but love never cared about such silly things. It didn't matter that he was a guard, and she was a duke's daughter. Everything would have been fine, and Shimon would have stayed by the side of his beloved. He would have never raised his eyes at her, never said a word, but at least he would have known that she was safe. That was worth the world to him, seeing the woman he loved content.

Between Shimon and Lofrayne, who was truly noble?

One kidnapped women, and the other would do anything to make his beloved happy even if it wasn't with him.

Yet even that small comfort had been denied to him. His soul was in pain. But what could Lily do? Only sit by his side, listen to his bitter story, and promise to pray. But was there any point in that?

It's not like Aldonai would answer.

***

They sailed out in the morning.

Slowly, Lily climbed into the boat, followed by Larie. Both waved goodbye to Shimon, who stood on the coast while suffering from a horrific hangover. He didn't remember half of his confession and forced himself to forget the rest. That was to be expected.

He had bared his chest to a stranger, and who knew what she saw there? How would she use it?

That strange broad was leaving; let her. Shimon wasn't an idiot. He had traveled enough in his lifetime, seen more than his share of people, and often, only his knowledge of psychology—even if that word didn't exist yet—bailed him out of trouble.

He had a dog's nose for people, and at that moment, it was screaming that there was something off about Aliya. Trouble might come in her wake.

Larie was plain and ordinary; girls like her were a dime a dozen in each village. Her hands were rough and calloused—a sure sign of her having worked throughout her life.

Aliya, however... She felt wrong, even if her hands weren't smooth or well-groomed. Usually, a person's hands were the best indicator. Nobleman, warrior, scholar, doctorus, fencer, sailor, shepherd—each trade left a mark, a smell, a way with words.

Aliya didn't fit anywhere. She didn't carry herself like a noblewoman—Shimon had seen enough of them in his life. Yet, she was no commoner, either. She was too free, too independent to belong to any class. She was...too much.

Aliya behaved as if Aldonai himself was standing behind her.

Was she mad? Was she...

Shimon decided against pursuing that thought. No need.

A dangerous woman was traveling through Avester. Let her be. He, for one, would forget her—already forgotten, in fact, and that's what he would tell the others.

***

Lily suffered in silence, bent over the broadside and ruminating over a depressing thought: what was she supposed to do when she had nothing to throw up, but the urge was there? Couldn't she have eaten some bread, at least? Maybe she would have felt better after vomiting it out. Instead, she kept dry heaving.

Grimly, she spat bile overboard and cursed again. She and the sea just didn't go together. Being there put her on edge. It was just infuriating!

Lily didn't want to confess to herself that she was simply afraid. She could barely swim, if she could even call that swimming. If their boat turned upside down, her chances of survival were minimal.

Yet, she wanted to live.

Lily swore to herself that she would absolutely learn to swim. Well, as soon as she gave birth, recovered for a few months...or maybe a year… Jerisson was a good swimmer. She'd ask him.

Thinking of home distracted her from the nasty reality. Her stomach was in horrible pain.

Lily knew what the rest of their voyage would look like. They were going to sail alongshore until noon. That would be enough time to catch some fish—the men were already starting to throw their nets. Then they would come ashore and set camp, resting and sleeping until the evening before climbing aboard once again.

Why so, you ask?

Pirates! Those vile rascals from Loris were always breathing down their necks! In the daytime, even a fishing boat had no chance of escaping them.

They were always on the alert like sharks on the prowl. Their goal wasn't robbing the fishermen—there wasn't much to take, other than the boat and a couple of fish.

No, those weren't worth anything to a pirate. Only the people were.

Slave trade was rampant across the sea, men and women sold to the Khanganat. Lily knew that, but what could she do? The system had to be changed, and she was no revolutionary. Even surviving was hard enough. Maybe Miranda—not herself but the children of her children—could fight against that nightmare.

Slavery... It was the worst thing she could imagine. If slavery wasn't wrong, nothing was wrong.

Even if the pirates didn’t sell their captives, they might simply torture them for fun. Do you think corsairs were noble and righteous adventure seekers?

Like hell they were!

They were thugs and lowlifes who killed men, raped women, threw children overboard, and tortured and killed people simply to amuse themselves.

There was nothing noble about them; the very notion was foreign to those bastards. Like any child of a military officer, Lily was utterly convinced that any criminal deserved to be keelhauled. Too bad, she couldn't do that yet.

Well, give her time. She'd get even!

Lily promised herself to send Virmans to Turon, or at least establish an anti-pirate foundation.

Then she started to bail out water.

What else could she do?

There must be no dead weight in a boat; even if you were a passenger, you should pitch in. It was a large fishing vessel, although Lily didn't know much about their design, a bit less than twenty feet long, wide and deep. Lily had no idea what it was called, but it looked like a dory: high sides, flat bottom, sharp bow, and a few benches for the oarsmen. Lily was in one boat, and Larie in the other.

Neither of them had a sail. Instead, there was a bailer for the water, which, like it or not, kept getting inside and had to be scooped out.

Lily did what she could, trying to be as careful as possible. She wasn't especially successful and gave a mental thanks to Shimon, who had forced Larie and her to dress warm and take some spare clothes.

Ah, how nice it had been in the twenty-first century! Waterproof raincoats, rubber boots—and you didn't give a damn about any splashes.

In that world, though? Nobody had probably even heard the word "waterproof." Boots did exist, but they quickly soaked through and cost a fortune, anyway. Such boots were practically an heirloom, passed from father to son across generations: monumental, oversized, hobnailed, with heavy wooden soles...

If anyone sold them, they'd charge an arm and a leg. Would she pay that much for just one occasion?

Never in her life!

And so, Lily wrapped her feet as well as she could, hoping that they wouldn't get drenched too much and planning on drying them ashore.

She'd also have to drink some alcohol too. Lily didn't love wine and didn't want to drink any, but in a situation like that, it wasn't a whim but a necessity. If she froze too much... She couldn't risk getting sick; she simply couldn't. To prevent that, she had poured some foul-smelling hooch into the flask she bought at the market.

Still, Shimon seemed to survive drinking it just fine, so it probably wouldn't hurt Lily.

She'd never get drunk on two sips, but it would warm her up.

Sorry, kid, but your mother doesn't see any other way. Alas, curing a sickness while pregnant was a big problem. It was easier to stay safe.

There were no antibiotics, no antipyretics, and as for herbs...

The truth was, herbs had just as many side effects as state-of-the-art remedies. Coneflower helped against cough, and senna was an amazing laxative. Still, a pregnant woman should do well to steer clear of them: they might cause a miscarriage at even the slightest uterine tone.

Nettle improved blood clotting? Great, but it might also cause the fetus to get hypoxia. Viscous blood simply wouldn't deliver enough oxygen. And that was only the beginning, a tiny part of the dangers threatening her baby.

Lily let out a sorrowful sigh as she bailed out the latest portion of water and recalled how she and Jamie had compiled the index of herbs.

Home. She wanted to go home so much...

The next scoop of water fell overboard. It didn't matter. She would survive.

A large fish fell into the bottom of the boat: tuna, from the looks of it, or maybe something else that Lily couldn't recognize. She bothered to remember only several types of fish: freshwater, saltwater—that one had fewer bones, fish swimming in the water, and cooked fish on a plate. The latter was the best but also the rarest. The rest didn't matter: she was pragmatic that way.

Lily tried to recall to what genus and family tuna belonged, failed miserably, and poured out another bailer full of water.

It was irrelevant. Latin never made anyone happier.

***

By noon, the boats moored.

Reeling, Lily climbed outside. The fishermen stared at her, not friendly but seemingly appreciative.

Bertha had warned her that the locals preferred to avoid talking while at sea—a tradition or a superstition of some sort,

Lily wasn't sure what. Maybe wind carried sound across the waves?

Aldonai only knew. Lily was all but helpless when it came to physics. She thought that water was a good conductor of sound. There was even an entire branch of science all about it—hydroacoustics.

But what about above water? She had never wondered about that.

The women didn't take part in setting up camp. The fishermen already knew what they needed to do and how, working together like a well-oiled machine. Larie and Lilian would have only hampered the process.

Instead, they were given the fish, two knives, and a nod toward the sea, making them designated scalers.

Lily ground her teeth. Well, he who will reap must sow.

They gutted the fish, scaled them, cut them into pieces, and threw them into the kettle. Thankfully, the men took care of cooking, leaving them time to wash their hands and change their footwraps, unfolding the wet ones and replacing them with clean and dry fabric. Then they rubbed their feet, hiding behind the nearest cliffs.

Lily splashed some spirits from her flask on her hand and massaged Larie's foot, and Larie helped Lily. Then the women bound their feet again and pulled on their shoes.

"I'm still freezing," Larie said, shivering.

"It's the water."

"Ugh."

"Let's eat. Then we'll see if it's ugh or not."

There were no bowls—everyone had large wooden spoons to ladle the stew from the pot. They sat in a circle, slowly scooping the broth and chewing the fish.

Nobody talked. The fishermen already knew each other, and the women... What would they care? They had no desire to question the men; who knew what they might think? And the men kept their mouths shut for the very same reason.

Lily raised her spoon to her mouth and swallowed the soup.

Warmth rolled down her stomach, spreading throughout her body and making her cheeks pink.

No, it wasn't a traditional chowder...or was it? Maybe that's what it used to be in the beginning before the recipe was changed.

One boiling, then another, dousing the wood in the kettle...

Everything was simple: they needed to cook their food, eat it, regain their strength, and keep going.

They baked some of the fish on the coals to be eaten later, finished the chowder, and went to bed.

Lily took a few sips from the flask, noticed the men staring at her, and passed it around. Nobody pushed their luck, never drinking too much before passing it to down the line. The flask was half-empty when it returned to its owner, but she didn't mind. At least their expressions were a little softer than before.

Then the men rolled themselves into heavy cloaks and fell asleep. Still, they chivalrously left the women the spots around the campfire, which were warmer.

Both Larie and Lily had their own cloaks, too.

They hugged each other to get warm, spread one cloak on the ground, used the other as a blanket, and nodded off. There was no point in sleeping in shifts: there were two of them against twelve men. If anything happened, Lily knew that she had no chance of resisting. Ten minutes was her limit before they tied her up and did what they wanted. Why work herself into a tizzy worrying?

She needed sleep and nothing more. Even dying was better after getting some rest.

***

Everything turned out fine.

Nobody made any attempt on the women's lives. Everyone woke up in the evening, ate some baked fish, and started climbing aboard.

The night was young. Was that romantic? Night fishing, the sea, the stars...

Alas, it was not. The first thing you'd notice was the cold. At night, the sea was incredibly, terrifyingly, insanely cold.

Even worse, it was damp. Maybe it was the wrong sea or the wrong season, but it was damp as hell, and even warm cloaks and woolen jackets underneath didn't help.

One of the fishermen saw her shivering, muttered something unintelligible under his nose, produced another cloak from a crate under the bench, and handed it to Lily. She gratefully accepted and wrapped herself in it. It was still cold, but at least there was tiny hope to survive that night.

The men didn't seem bothered. They had gotten accustomed to the temperature and were busy working, rowing so hard that Lily expected their backs to start smoking.

And what was she doing? Sitting, bailing out water, and freezing.

Still, she had no choice. It's not like she could freight a ship.

***

They stopped just before dawn when Lily was already frozen stiff. She took a hearty sip out of her flask to get warm.

Larie wasn't any better off, but they had to scale the fish. How else could it be?

The men also made them eat, almost by force. Lily rubbed her and her friend's feet, back, and chest all on her own, using the last vestiges of her willpower.

Getting sick was the last thing they needed. Pneumonia would be a death sentence for any of them. Stiffly, her teeth clenched almost to the point of crunching, her eyes closing and her entire body in agony, Lily willed herself to do it.

They had one more night like that ahead, too.

Lily didn't groan only because she fell asleep faster than she lay down. When her head touched the cloak, she was already out.

Want to kill me? Be my guest! Just don't wake me up, or you'll be the one who gets killed!

***

Oddly, the second night of their journey ended up easier than the first. Either she had gotten used to it or...

"Aren't you afraid of a storm?" she asked one of the fishermen.

She didn't know their names. The men were in no hurry to introduce themselves or ask the women. Bertha had asked them, and they got paid—that was enough.

"There won't be a storm," the man replied, chewed on the pipe he had been nibbling all along, and added, "We'll have a quiet night. Good."

"Can I find you if I need to go back?" Lilian finally asked.

"In Uncle Putney's inn," the man replied, nodding. "He knows when we come."

"Thank you."

The man nodded again and returned to his business. Lily decided against questioning him further and got down to her own work.

She made a point of checking her body: the second trimester was a dangerous period, the riskiest one both for the mother and the child. Losing the baby in the first trimester might have no consequences on the body unused to pregnancy. In the third trimester, it would be a premature delivery, and the child might not survive—but the mother might handle it.

The second, however, was a different beast. Both could die. Still, in a world like hers, it was quite likely in any trimester.

Yet there was no nagging pain in her stomach and around the area, confirming her mother's favorite theory: a healthy and well-formed fetus couldn't be killed by any medicine or any work. Too bad those theories were useless when it came to her own baby.

Lily touched her belly with her hand, her child's heart beating softly somewhere under the cloak.

We'll make it, kid. We definitely will.

Morning met them already ashore.

***

Berma was much larger than Turon. Its docks were three times as big: more ships, more people...

All of them were moving in precise patterns, too: there was no random scurrying around.

Different sections of the wharf were given to military, trading, and free vessels, and each section, in turn, was divided into parts. The ships were arranged by size, with a special area of the wharf given to boats, including their own.

A customs officer approached them. He didn't have to run, either—thanks to the layout of the docks, bypassing his cabin was simply impossible.

Lily shivered. She felt scared, having been on the run for so long and finally meeting a public official. One of the fishermen glanced at her.

"Scared?"

"I am," Lily confessed. What was the point of lying if fear was written on her face?

"That'll be two more coppers. Can you spare them?"

"What for?"

"You'll see. Here, take a fish."

A basket was pushed into Lily's hands. Without further ado, the fish inside started twitching, adding more dirt and grime to her "makeup."

"After me."

Lily shrugged and followed the man. Like it or not, she had to pass the customs.

***

The customs office was a small cabin with a walk-through room.

Two young men were sitting at the tables inside, their faces full of disgust and contempt. They clearly considered the fishermen to be worth less than dust beneath their feet.

"Where are you coming from?"

Lily was startled by the fisherman's transformation. A second ago, he was a serious-looking self-sufficient man who knew his price and wouldn't bow to anyone, sensible and dignified.

It was as if someone had pulled a switch. A sniveling worm was standing in his place, looking at the officer with a fawning gaze and fumbling his hat in his hands.

"You see... Your Grace..."

"I'm not your grace."

"Your Honor...pardon me, I didn't know..."

It didn't matter what exactly he didn't know.

Could be anything!

But how was the fisherman pulling it off? He was mumbling something unintelligible, walking closer to the official's table and making him wince and scowl.

Lily sniffled, her nose completely stuffed up after the voyage. What was going on?

All of a sudden, it dawned on her. She hadn't realized it at sea, but the fisherman didn't just smell—he stank like the fumes of hell itself! He was pulling up to the officers, groveling before them, and looking at them like a professional spaniel.

What was that stench? Rancid fish? Rotten weed? It was sharp and putrid.

"Name?" the officer barked, covering his nose with a handkerchief but turning pale nonetheless.

"Uh... Hork Noy..."

"And this one?" He nodded at Lilian.

"My aunt... She's the best at smoking fish! Do you wish to partake, Your Honor?"

Partake of that?!

The officer scribbled something in his papers.

"How many men with you?"

"Err... um..."

He demonstrated both hands to the officer, clenched his fist, opened it again, and finally folded three more fingers.

"There!"

The officer wrote something down, pushed the papers into the fisherman's hands, and waved at him.

"Get out!"

Lily all but snorted as she watched the fisherman yank the basket of fish out of her hands and approach the officer, bowing all the way and clearly intending to express his gratitude to the poor bastard.

"Don't! NO NEED!"

The bureaucrat even recoiled!

Spitefully, Lily concluded: that's how you were supposed to make bribes, readily, even enthusiastically. What a horrible fiasco, the officer refusing the offering!

Fortunately, she had enough rags wrapped around her, as the sarcastic smile crept across her lips and didn't want to go away. Serves you right, parasites!

They shot out of the cabin like a cork out of a bottle. Lily shook her head.

"What is it you have there that reeks so hard?"

The fishermen, who didn't seem dull or stupid anymore, curled his lips in a smile.

"Ah... dribs and drabs."

He handed Lilian a flask of some crud.

Lily remembered the punishment she and the other students had received for mishandling various substances, so she smelled the flask the way she was taught to: carefully waving her hand and moving the air from the nozzle toward herself rather than shoving her nose inside. That was the correct decision. The odor was unimaginable: a mix of garlic, rot, and something rancid. She could sympathize with the officer. Actually, that smell was strong enough to make her want to throw up even despite her stuffed nose.

"Eww! This is nasty!"

"But it's handy."

Lily paused.

"Can you teach me to make it?"

With an internationally understood gesture, the fisherman indicated that it would cost her. Lily decided to pay up.

One could never know too much. What if she found herself in a predicament that could be solved with that warm and cozy piece of information? Who could tell?

Maybe she would even end up making a stink bomb...

***

Uncle Putney's inn was small but cozy. Actually, it reminded her of something, and the sign painted above the entrance only served to emphasize it.

Exactly! A caddisfly!

Lily knew those cute-looking insects very well. The inn even bore the name "Clever Caddis." Interesting...

Lily remembered passing a science exam in middle school. Having spent her entire childhood moving from town to town, she had changed at least eight schools and would have never enrolled in a medical college if not for her mother. She had forgotten a lot since that time, but that one school she remembered.

The science teacher's name was Georgy, a wonderful man who preferred to hold his classes outside when the weather was good, telling the children about ecosystems. They even wrote a paper on caddisflies. Actually... No, she would leave that idea for later.

Lily made a mental note of another money-making scheme and nodded. It didn't even require anything special, only time and space. Could she find some?

Time would tell.

The inn really did look like a caddisfly's home: cushy, safe, plain, warm, and sturdy. A building like that would weather any storm.

The interior seemed nice enough.

It smelled of grilled fish and chowder, and most of the visitors were fishermen and sailors.

Fighting? Lily glanced at the owner behind the counter and decided that in his establishment, she wouldn't even risk sneezing too loudly. He was a real boulder of a man, an actual hunk. Lily was no slender twig, but one could pack four of her into a man like that. And it wasn't fat, either. That was simply how he was built, large and heavy. Sure, dinosaurs might have gone extinct, but they had left descendants; she was sure of that.

The maids fluttered across the hall, and the fishermen took one of the tables.

Lily and Larie exchanged looks.

Lily made a note of the well-scraped tables, the floor covered by a thick layer of freshly cut cane reeds, clean plates and mugs, and the clean bowl of stew that was put on their table.

Not bad for the era when people didn't consider washing their own hands necessary, thinking that cleaning yourself could only result in getting sick and dying in your prime.

The stew turned out to be delicious.

As Lily ate, she kept thinking, and finally walked up to the innkeeper.

***

"Nice day to you, good sir."

"You too, if you'd like."

"Tell me, do you have rooms for rent?"

The man's eyes drilled holes in her face.

"I do, but I warn you: no hanky-panky."

Lily chuckled.

"You flatter me."

"Oh no, I don't. I dunno what made you paint yourself like that, but you're way too fast on your feet for an old woman. No hanky-panky, no men."

"Don't you have your own girls here?" Lily asked.

"People come here to eat. Girls are across the road at Mama Boonie's."

Lily asked a few more questions and admired the local arrangement.

Seriously, prostitutes were always in demand. After a man ate and drank, he would usually start feeling randy. But prostitution often involved fights, arguments, calling for guards... He'd still make money, but Uncle Putney wanted to avoid all that drama. He owned an inn, not a brothel!

Still, demand was demand, and he struck a bargain with Mama Boonie.

So, you want food? Eat!

Want a girl? Cross the road, and you'll find someone to suit every taste. And if you decided to treat her, the kitchen's here, both for the inn and the brothel. No getting around it.

"I just need a room. Well, my friend and I do."

"You have a maid?"

Lily shook her head. She didn't think of Larie as a servant. She was a friend: younger, naive, unlucky, but still.

"A friend."

Doubt became a fixture in the innkeeper's eyes. Lily and Larie looked nothing like girlfriends.

Yet fate had made it so.

"For how long?"

Lily shrugged. If only she knew...

"Until we find a permanent place."

"Do you have enough money?"

Lily shrugged once again. Even if they didn't... It's not like they could sleep outside or in the house across the street.

"How much?"

"Three coppers a night for two. Room has two cots. No food."

Lily nodded.

The price was fair, even if expensive—you could eat two good meals for three coppers. But whatever.

Staying there would give her a chance to get a better look at the innkeeper and walk around the city.

First, though, she would get some sleep. She and Larie needed it.

"Here's the money for three days."

Lily put ten coppers on the counter. The innkeeper scooped them up without batting an eye and called one of the maids.

"Sitha! Sitha, unlock the corner room for the women and bring pallets."

Lily thanked him and walked to the staircase. Frankly, in her state, she would have paid no notice to bedbugs and cockroaches, but contrary to her expectations, there were none.

The pallets were stuffed with some kind of algae—unlike straw, it didn't prick. It wasn't feathers or down, of course, but they were still soft, and the blankets were woolen.

From the inside, the door was closed with a large latch. The room was clean and had a table with a jug and a washbasin. The beds were simple frames with pallets on top of them.

Maybe they could clean themselves? But Lily decided against pushing her luck. They were already fortunate enough.

She discarded her boots, took a few sips from her flask, rolled herself in the blanket, fell on the bed, and fell asleep.

Dozing off, she managed to catch Larie bolt the door shut and lower herself on the bed. Then sleep overcame them.

***

When Lily opened her eyes, dawn was already breaking. A new day was beginning.

Slowly, listening to her own body, she stretched on the bed. Her body reacted with a dull ache.

No, not in her stomach. Her muscles were stiff and sore, but that was par for the course. After a hard day of work, every muscle would hurt like hell, but none of them would snap and scream, blaming its clueless owner for carelessness.

Her belly was completely calm, however. Lily touched it with her hand.

"How are you doing, kid?"

A wave rolled down her tummy. Lily was certain: that was the first time her baby had moved.

Oh, if only Jerisson were there! How pleased he would be, how happy! But he would only meet his child in a year—if they were lucky.

Aldonai curse you bald, Your Freaking Majesty Entor! You have your intrigues, your politics, your secrets and lies...but why did you have to go and kidnap me?! You swine! You pest!

After giving the king of Avester a mental scolding, Lily felt a bit better and turned to thinking.

She needed to rest for one more day, she reckoned. Larie should do the same. They would eat, and they would sleep, wash and scrub themselves. She wasn't going to leave Berma anytime soon, and if she decided to do it, transforming herself into a crone wouldn't be hard. Until then, however, it would be better to look like a woman.

Yes, exactly. Sleep, eat, clean, dress... A day should be enough. Or would it be two?

Lily resolved to make that decision depending on her condition and moved.

Larie opened her eyes.

"Oh..."

"Don't get up," Lily said soothingly. "I'll go down and ask for a few jugs of water or, better yet, a barrel so we could wash up."

"A barrel?"

A bath would have been better. Still, Lily knew that few inns could boast such luxury. Maybe some offered it to nobles, but even that was rare.

Would any nobles ever stay at Putney's? Ha!

There might be a bath in the house across the street, but Lily felt no desire to go there. She knew that nobody would enslave her, chain her, and rape her. That was her fear talking. Why would anyone need her in a brothel when there were plenty of younger, prettier, and, more importantly, willing girls? Not pregnant, either!

Still, she didn't feel like setting foot in there, ever.

Anyway, she had to wash and dress herself first.

Lily started rummaging through her bags. She did have some clothes, having grabbed a couple of dresses from the Mermaid, just in case. If worse came to worst, she could cut them into rags.

That scenario had never materialized, and as for hauling all that baggage... Well, it's not like she had to do it herself. Lofrayne handled it, and he carried them almost to the end of the road. The dresses survived, thank God. Something else bothered Lily—her figure had changed. She'd have to remodel them, find some fabric...

That said... She had an idea. She wasn't supposed to wear silks while laying low, and on Larie, those long-sleeved back-laced dresses would look like a square peg in a round hole.

No. Lily had something else in mind.

***

Lilian came downstairs in her old dress.

So what does a tavern hall look like without any customers? Empty? Deserted?

Not with that owner, it didn't. Uncle Putney had been ordering his stuff about since the early morning.

The girls were already slaving away in the kitchen, washing dishes. Lily realized that it wasn't done in the evening: instead, all kitchenware was doused in water and left for the night.

In the morning, while the cook bought food in the market—the freshest and cheapest produce she could find—the servant girls took care of the dishes. After a prolonged soaking, cleaning was much easier, even if the water was cold. By the time the cook returned, everything was ready to use.

That also allowed the staff to avoid working past midnight when everyone was tired.

A boy of twelve years was brushing the floor while another raked out the reeds. Later, they would bring a fresh batch and spread it around once again.

Lily appreciated the thought-out process.

"Good morning, mister."

"And good morning to you, too, if you'd like."

Lily smiled.

"Spare me a few minutes, will you? If you don't mind, that is."

"Let's go."

Uncle Putney didn't want to talk in front of everyone, instead opening a small door behind the counter.

Every inn had a backroom. Usually, it led outside and could be used to talk in private and store alcohol to avoid the risk of the bottles being broken in a scuffle. You could arrange deals, ask someone to wait there...all in all, a convenient place without any needless eyes and ears.

Without a word, Lily laid out a dress on the table, silk and expensive.

Anthony Lofrayne had done his best, really: it was the color of autumn leaves, woven from precious Khangan fabric and covered with golden lacing and bowknots.

Lily almost didn't want to part with it.

"Would you buy it?"

Uncle Putney studied the dress, thinking.

"Is it yours, Milady?"

Lily snickered. No matter how she tried to disguise herself, she stood out.

"Does it matter? It's mine."

"It does. I don't dabble in stolen goods."

With some effort, Lily restrained herself from snickering again.

Yeah, right. An innkeeper not dabbling in stolen goods. Next thing she'd know, there were houses growing on drumsticks, and politicians were honorable. A likely story!

Uncle Putney noticed her reaction and frowned.

"Don't have to believe me if you don't..."

Lily raised her hands, apologetic.

"I do. So will you take it for sale?"

"I will. You might try offering it in the house across the street, too."

Lily shook her head.

"I don't want to go there. I know they won't take me by force or anything, but I still don't."

The innkeeper chuckled.

"How much do you want for the dress?"

Lily narrowed her eyes. She was good at haggling and knew the ballpark price, but she wanted to see his offer.

"How much could you sell it for?"

"Silk, lacing, embroidery—might get ten gold or so. I'll take a quarter as my fee."

"It's a deal, then."

Lily didn't have to think twice. The dress cost more but only in its original condition. Selling it for twenty gold coins or more was impossible in Berma; nobody would buy it. Should she spruce it up and sell it herself? She didn't know anybody around. She could get cheated out of her money or even robbed. It was a reasonable price. Even if the innkeeper was cheating her, it wasn't for more than twenty percent or so, an acceptable loss.

"I'll talk it over today," Uncle Putney promised. "When the girls wake up. It's too early for them. They rouse at noon."

Lily nodded.

"Fair enough. I'd like to buy a few dresses, too."

"Same kind?"

"No. Those are beyond my means," Lily said, shaking her head. "Something plain, like your serving girls wear."

"Could be done. I even have a couple. Want to try them on?"

"Have a look, try them on, and talk it over," Lily replied, nodding.

Putney pulled two dresses from a chest right inside the backroom. They were clearly far from new. The scratchy brown wool wasn't the best quality, either, but it was warm, strong, and long-wearing, even if washed-out.

Lily touched the fabric, examined the stitching, and nodded, content. However, instead of trying it on, she stared at the innkeeper, her eyes narrowed.

"So, what's the price?"

"One gold each."

"Are they lined with gold from the inside, and I never noticed?"

It was time to haggle.

"Aldonai forbid, Milady. They won't wear out for a decade! They are new!"

"They seem a bit too well-worn to be new. It's not like I'm going to wear them for a hundred years, either. I'll die before then."

"No shame in meeting Aldonai in a dress like that!"

"You think he'd turn me back right away to avoid scaring his flock?"

An hour later, the dresses became the property of Lilian Earton, two for the price of one gold coin.

Lily didn't mind. Clothes were expensive in that day. Making fabric was far from easy. You had to grow flax, soak it, process it... Wool was no different. Comb out a sheep, spin yarn...

Synthetic fibers? The world wasn't ready for that. Everything was handmade, and what hard labor that was! Often, dresses were passed down from mother to daughter: noblewomen, at least, did that all the time. Good clothes were a real investment.

Thus, Lily agreed to the deal, asked Putney to send a barrel of hot water to their room, and went back upstairs.

She ordered breakfast as well. Meat porridge? That was good enough!

It wasn't ready yet? Well, they could wait as long as the hot water went first. She desperately needed a bath.

***

Larie wasn't asleep, sitting and waiting for her friend. Lily told her the good news.

"Wash myself? Why would I do that?"

"Larie..."

"But why, Aliya? It's bad for us..."

"Larie, we're not in the countryside anymore. Deal with it. Clean yourself up. If we decide to look for work, nobody will employ two pigs."

"Are we going to look for work?"

Lily shrugged.

"I'm still thinking about that. It's just complicated for us. You can work, but you can't do anything that's in demand, and I can't work... Well, I won't be able to work soon. Still, I have lots of ideas."

"I could be a washerwoman." Larie didn't comprehend half of what Lily was saying but offered a suggestion of her own.

Lily shook her head.

A washerwoman? Do you know about that profession's casualty rate? How many of them caught a cold, got sick, and died, especially in winter? Have you ever tried rinsing clothes in a frozen river, your back hunched over the basket, your fingers growing numb, and God forbid you ever drop any into the water?

Lily had never done it herself, but she remembered her mother's stories. That was how it was done.

It was autumn, and working like that, Larie might never survive until spring. Actually, she might simply slip and drown, caught under the ice.

"Don't. Well, unless it gets really bad."

"But—"

"Relax. I have a plan."

Larie was confused but did what she was told. What choice did she really have?

***

Lily spent ten minutes soaking in a large barrel full of hot water. Then she took the piece of pumice she had picked up during her travels and started rubbing herself.

Dirt came off in flakes, layers, even. It peeled off and floated away. Her skin stung, but Lily kept going. Larie helped her with places she couldn't reach, like her back.

"You're really one of them nobles...Milady."

"We're equals right now. And I'm no noble. My father fought in a war... He was a soldier. My mother's an herbswoman."

It might have been in another world, but what did it matter?

"Oh, I see. And you're like her?"

"I do what my mother taught me," Lily said, brushing her off. "Come on, rub me."

Later, they switched places, Lily cleaning Larie.

If Lily could, she would have flogged Larie's husband alive for what he had done to the poor girl. Her back was covered with whip scars and burns, and there was an old fracture in her back that hadn't healed quite right. It was sure to make Larie a lot of trouble when she got old. Of course, with a husband like that, there was no telling which of them would live longer. Probably him, though: sadists were usually a tough bunch.

Ah, to Maldonaya with him. He was dead and gone.

Breakfast took a while in coming. The women used the time to change their clothes and even adjust their new dresses.

"You'd need to let it out a bit," Larie said as she looked over Lilian's dress.

"I will," Lily agreed.

Her pregnancy was already obvious, her belly bump sticking out.

"So...when are you due?"

Lily paused.

She had gotten pregnant at the end of the spring or the beginning of summer. It was already autumn. Counting the months, she would give birth at the end of winter or the beginning of summer. Until then, she had to settle down and find a job. A stable income, a place to live...

Lilian would have to be the one who worked, though. Menial labor didn't pay much, and Larie wouldn't handle anything else. They would have to share their responsibilities. Lily would be the breadwinner, and Larie would handle the baby.

The girl approved of the plan, but she was still unsure. Who'd ever agree to hire Lilian? Lily, however, had no doubts.

She knew what had to be done—as long as she found someone who agreed to take a risk and trust her. Maybe Uncle Putney could. He seemed like a decent sort. It made sense, too. Maybe in fairy tales, innkeepers were comic relief characters who were always in over their heads and couldn't figure out a boy from a girl.

It was different in real life. Some old coons were so quick that you'd be lucky to get away from them with your pants still on, or they'd sell them right back to you.

Lily decided to spend some time living in the inn and get a better look at Putney before deciding whether she wanted to make him a business offer.

We’ll see.

She already had two money-making ideas; one of them was bound to work out.

Chapter 10

Ativerna, Laveri.

Jerisson pushed the heavy door of the brothel and almost winced. To think that once, that had almost been routine for him...

Was he getting old? No. He simply...had no desire. It clearly wasn't his age, going by the response of certain parts of his body. It’s just that if he ever allowed himself an indiscretion, something would be gone from his relationship with Lilian.

Yes, he was still in a relationship. His wife was still alive, he was sure of that, and she would never forgive him for stepping out. Or, even worse...knowing Lilian, she could forgive but never let him hear the end of it. It was so much easier to toe the line. Jerisson straightened his back and smiled.

"Your Grace! What a wonderful surprise!"

Madam Roseanne hurried to greet him.

"Madam." Jerisson bowed, kissing her plump hand.

One would never take that portly and homely woman, who was getting on in years, for an owner of a brothel. If you met her on the street, you'd think her the wife of a merchant of modest means, maybe even a noblewoman. Yet Madam Roseanna had been heading her brothel for twenty years. She had arrived in the capital a long time ago, even before Jerisson was born. She started out as a kept woman, then started training girls who wanted to follow her in her footsteps, and eventually started a brothel. She was a high-class act. A rumor had it she still sometimes let men into her bed, but only select clientele.

Jerisson wasn't keen on getting there. Actually, he hadn't been keen on ever stepping foot in the brothel, if not for Hans' plea.

"Have you come to alleviate your boredom?" The madam gave him a knowing smile.

It all made sense to her. His wife was heavy with child and away in the country. What was the poor man to do? Find a strumpet, of course! A good one, too, so he wouldn't pass on a "gift" to his wife and force her to retaliate—say, by making him a cuckold in turn.

"Yes," Jerisson replied, returning the smile. "A friend recommended I visit you."

"A friend?"

"Stoine Lerois," Jerisson said, deciding against beating around the bush. "He told me that he usually orders the same girl, and he sang all kinds of praises... She must be something else!"

The madam raised her eyebrows.

She knew all of her clients inside and out, but...

"Your Grace..."

"Tell me like it is, Madam. Did Stoine play a joke on me?"

Jerisson's expression was serene, the epitome of a high society wastrel.

The madam slightly relaxed. Nobles might be having their fun, but in the end, she would be left to face the music. She hated that. Still, what if...

"The viscount does frequent my establishment, but he always picks different girls."

"Hmm," Jerisson said slowly. "Maybe there was a mix-up. Still, seeing as I'm already here... Madam, let's do it this way: give me the girl Stoine visited last, and I'll test her skills."

The madam didn't hesitate.

"It's Antoinette."

"Great. I'll be supremely grateful. Is she busy right now?"

"Not in the least."

"Then..."

"Come upstairs to the blue suite, and I'll send her to you immediately."

"Madam, my gratitude knows no bounds. This is its humble expression. Allow me..."

He slipped a Mariella accessory on her plump hand. It was a part of their latest collection. Lily had made sure to design products both for thin women and those on the heavier side. Delicate rings and chains didn't look nice on larger arms and hands. Something massive was in order, such as a heavy coiled bracelet made of gold linked to two elegant rings for the index and the ring finger by elaborate chainwork, resulting in an exquisite-looking net on the back of the hand.

Naturally, the madam let him do it, gazing at his present with admiration.

"Fascinating... Count, you're delightful."

"Madam, the one who's truly delightful is in front of me. Your charm, your grace, your smile... You deserve this gift like no other."

"You flatter me, Count. If only I were ten years younger..."

"You're wrong, Madam. If only I were ten years younger! Just the right age to worship at the feet of a beautiful and experienced woman."

The madam wagged her finger at the count and then handed him the key to his suite.

"Come upstairs, Count. I know that you didn't come here to talk to this old woman."

"Madam, any woman is just as old as she looks, and all I can see is a gorgeous rose."

After a few more compliments, Jess finally went upstairs, never entering the lounge. So, where was Stoine?

He'd have to ask the girl.

***

The girl picked by Stoine turned to be far from a stunner. She had dark hair, small breasts, a slight build, a long nose, and an overly loud voice.

"Your Grace..."

She bowed and raised her eyes at the count.

"What would you have me do?"

"The night is long," Jerisson said. "For starters, entertain me with a conversation. After that...we'll see."

The prostitute didn't show any surprise. There was nothing unusual about his request, anyway. All types of men visited the brothel. Some brought whips, and some preferred heart-to-heart talks. One client of Laissa's loved catching cockroaches off her back. He would lay her on the bed, let out the insects, and start picking them out.

Girls only serviced him for a triple rate. Cockroaches were nasty.

"What would you have me tell?"

Jerisson handed her a glass of wine.

"Drink. And tell me about Stoine Lerois."

"Lerois... Lerois..."

Jerisson described the viscount.

The girl fell silent and finally nodded.

"Yes, I remember now."

"Tell me what you think of him."

"Your Grace, won't you—"

Gold glinted in Jerisson's hand. For once, those were earrings. Someone, probably Lilian again, had shaped them like golden chains freely falling on the shoulders. It looked nice.

A hungry look appeared in the girl's eyes.

"Is it for me?"

"Only if you tell me what you know. I'm sure that you girls discuss your clients all the time. More wine?"

The girl nodded.

She paced around the room, paused for two minutes, and spoke up.

"I hardly know him. One day he barges in, saying he picked me for the night. We go up to the pink chamber, he strips me, drags me to bed. It's like he's working, you know? Then we lay a bit, he pours me wine...'

"Did he stay overnight?"

The earrings migrated to the prostitute. She hid them in her bodice and sighed.

"Yes, Your Grace. Overnight."

As if by magic, a choker to match the earrings appeared in Jerisson's hand.

"And was it hard to work all that night? Don't be shy, darling, keep talking. You have no idea how it arouses me..."

The girl sighed again, hesitating.

"Not exactly hard, Your Grace..."

"Oh?"

"Well..."

"Go ahead, sweetie, tell me. I'll make it worth your while." The choker found its way into her hands.

"Your Grace, I don't want trinkets," the girl said as if finally speaking her mind. She pulled out the earrings and handed them back to Jerisson.

"Really? What do you want, then?"

"My daughter. She's already seven. Soon, she'll have to start working. That's why I'm here: the madam's kind enough to let me keep my girl. But how long does she have left? A year? Two?"

"So?"

"I don't want my daughter to follow in my footsteps, Your Grace. They say girls can become apprentices in Castle Taral..."

Jess slowly nodded.

"It's true. But you realize that you'll have to work for that, right?"

"I do. Just swear that you'll take my girl and won't let her come to harm..."

Jess nodded, not even stopping to think.

"I swear I won't."

Castle Taral really did accept lowborn children who knew where they had come from and what fate they escaped. They would grow into good workers.

"Your Grace, the rooms here... The blue ones are ordinary, but the pink kind are for those who want to leave unnoticed."

"Really?

"Yes, Your Grace. Rose, Cherry, and Apple suites lead outside into the alley. I barely know what happened with Lerois. I drank the wine and only woke up in the morning. He wasn't in the room, but there was a coin on the bedstand..."

Jerisson didn't hesitate. He knew that she wasn't lying: ladies and girls were a subject he knew well.

"Do you owe Madam? How much?"

"Not much, just twelve gold...and I pay her for my daughter, too."

"Pack up your and your daughter's things. I'll buy you out."

For a few seconds, Antoinette stared dumbly at the count.

"You—"

"You'll go to Taral, both of you. She'll study, and you'll serve in the kitchen. I can't offer you anything else, but you'll have your work cut out for you. You'll get a roof over your heads and some money, and then we'll see. I'll pay your debt."

Antoinette gasped and threw herself at the count's feet.

"Your Gra—"

"Button it! And don't ruin my boots, woman!"

Jerisson deftly dodged the attempts to kiss his feet and pulled her up.

"Your Grace... I will... My life... Just say a word..."

"Grab your daughter, and make it quick! I'll go talk to the madam. By the way, does she know everything?"

Antoinette didn't waste time thinking.

"I think she does. That's how everyone uses such suites. But for what... I doubt that."

Jerisson nodded. He understood.

If Stoine had paid off the madam to avoid sticking her nose in his business, she wouldn't do that. So what if a man needed to take a midnight walk without anybody knowing?

Good for him! That was his own business!

Nobody counted on the girls discussing that with each other and betraying Stoine to the first person who paid the price.

The viscount hadn't expected anyone to check. Too bad for him.

***

"My men botched their job," Tremain said, scowling.

"Well, they just missed it."

"I'll tan their hides."

Jerisson chuckled.

Hans had already talked to Antoinette, and the carriage took the woman and her daughter, both happy as a clam, to Taral. Jess didn't regret his decision and didn't expect any fallout.

In his view, prostitutes came in two types.

Some turned to that career to help their families. It was common enough. Nobles would often get their maids pregnant. Where would you go alone and with child? Some farmgirls left their villages to make money to pay off their parents' debts or provide for their treatment.

Things happened, and women had to sell the one thing that couldn't be taken away from them. But they had a good heart.

The others were whores capable of selling out even their own families. Jerisson held no respect for their kind. Still, he could tell that Antoinette wasn't like that. Why?

Simple. Her seven-year-old daughter was comely enough. Soon, she would become a target for perverts; maybe she already was.

Could Antoinette make money off that?

Absolutely.

She could get a lot of gold that way, enough to make a living. Instead, she worked and got into debt for her daughter, begging him to help. She was even prepared to return the jewelry he had given her.

That was worth respect...or at least a chance for a new beginning.

"Do what you must."

He had told the madam that he was purchasing the woman and her daughter for himself, and he did.

She seemed overjoyed and even invited him to visit her establishment again.

Jerisson promised to keep that in mind.

Hans was both happy and upset at the news. So Stoine was involved, after all.

On the other hand, how was he supposed to catch him?

He had to think.

"Thank you."

"You’re welcome. Remember your promise. If it was he who tried to kidnap Miranda..."

"You won't kill him?"

"No," Jess said, and his grin made Hans feel sorry for Stoine in advance.

"I'll keep my promise. I'm grateful."

Jess nodded. My pleasure. Be my guest.

"Any news about Lilian?"

"A message came from Avester. The Prancing Mermaid reached Avester but disappeared halfway to the capital."

"Loris?"

"It's unclear. We'll see."

Hans nodded.

"I'm sure she's alive."

For a second, Jess sagged his shoulders and closed his face with his hands. Still, that was only a fleeting moment. When he straightened his back, his blue Earton eyes flashed.

"I'm certain of that!"

"How about a drink?"

"To Lilian Earton's health!"

"And her luck!"

The men suspected that she would need both.

Avester, Berma.

When Putney saw his guests in plain brown dresses, he whistled and gave Lilian an interested look.

Larie was far too young and scrawny for him. Lilian, however...

Lily kept her expression calm. She knew that there was no need for an express rejection. All she had to do was to avoid flirting from the very start. Most men sensed when they were being treated as just friends and wouldn't look at you as a woman.

They might give you a hand to help you out of the car or carry a heavy bag for you, but there would be no spark that transformed even the most insignificant of things into a full-blown love affair. It had no kindling. A spark needed flint and tinder, and a relationship needed two people as well. It wasn't always a guarantee, but Lily knew that Uncle Putney would never coerce her. He wouldn't force himself on her, drag her into his bed, or blackmail her.

She had a good feeling about him. He seemed reasonable and serious-minded.

"You really do come from noble stock, Milady."

Lily shook her head.

"Not really. My father's a soldier; my mother's an herbswoman."

"And you grew up next to a noble family." The innkeeper nodded. "Am I right?"

Lily snickered.

A noble family?

She could say that. Was there a nobler calling than protecting your land, your home, your family?

Her father had thought that any military man could give a chevalier a run for his money. But that's how the latter had started out, too.

Their grandsons might have spent most of their time drinking and carousing, but all aristocratic bloodlines originated from some d'Artagnan from Artagnan, who had only a rapier and a horse to his name and made his living by fighting. Those were the men who had gotten themselves lands and titles.

"You could say that."

"So—"

"Before you ask, my child is my husband's whom I love. It was begotten in a lawful marriage. However...my husband has relatives who have no need of our child—or myself."

Well, speaking of d'Artagnan... Why not remember Milady de Winter's backstory?

Something odd was going on with her in Dumas' book. So she had been married to Lord de Winter's older brother and had a son with him. Why didn't that son become the heir? Why did the widow have to flee England instead of staying home?

Oh, she poisoned her husband, you say? Then why did she miss such a dangerous brother of his? If Milady really were such a consummate villainess, she would have killed both de Winters and thrived. No need to flee or become a spy... The Three Musketeers was really full of implications.

In any case, Lily could tell that the innkeeper believed her. That story was painfully common.

A girl had grown up together with the nobles' daughter and learned to behave. She got married, her husband went away on a trip, and his family seized the opportunity. She had to escape, choosing to keep traveling alive rather than stay home dead, maybe with her baby as well.

Do you know how many women died in childbirth in that era? Countless. Even in the twenty-first century, doctors sometimes couldn't save women in labor, let alone in that time.

It was better to avoid risks.

"So what are you going to do now, Milady?" Uncle Putney asked as they ate breakfast.

Lily waved her hand.

" Milady? What kind of lady am I? Just call me Aliya."

"As you wish, Aliya. So, what are you going to do?"

Lily shrugged.

"I don't have much in the way of money. I need to find a job."

For some reason, the innkeeper looked doubtful.

"And how much can you do?"

Lily shrugged once again.

"Not that much. I can cook, wash, and clean..."

"What good does it make for half a year at best? You'll need to look after the child, too."

Lily tossed her hair back.

"Give me a few days to look around, and we'll see."

The innkeeper shrugged, but his entire look radiated contempt.

***

Lily took her time.

She and Larie spent two days walking around Berma. Lily visited a woodworker and ordered a rolling pin and a dumpling mold, asking him to hurry up. They examined the docks, and Lily even had a few conversations—tentative ones, so far. She also visited the market and found a few interesting items, buying some of them.

After watching the innkeeper, she made an upsetting conclusion: they could never work together.

The reasons were as follows…

First, the inn was located on the docks. Uncle Putney specialized in fish of all kinds. Grilled, braised, chowder... It was cheap, delicious, and fresh, brought by a few fishermen every morning. He had a good thing going on.

But fish dumplings? Whatever various Asian cuisines might say, in Lilian Earton's view, that just felt wrong. She had grown up on meat pot stickers. Pork, beef, spices... And if you added a spoonful of sour cream or mayo to the broth...

That's it! Mayo!

Ketchup wasn't an option, alas. Tomatoes didn't grow around Avester, just like they hadn't grown around Europe before the seventeenth century or so. But she didn't need tomatoes or pepper for mayo. Vinegar was plentiful. She'd have to keep that idea in mind.

The second reason was Uncle Putney himself. With a boss like him, she'd have to toe the line, dance to his tune, keep her mouth shut...and, unfortunately, share his bed. Guests were one thing—he cared about money above all else—but he had long since brought his girls to their knees both literally and metaphorically. Lily sometimes saw serving girls sneak into the backroom and leave a bit disheveled.

To his credit, the women he picked didn't mind those extracurricular activities, but they still depended on him, and he slept with them. Lily didn't like that. Now, if he had chosen someone from across the road, she wouldn't have said a word. That would be par for the course.

No, Lilian wasn't prudish. She simply thought that work and personal stuff didn't mix, and a superior making himself a harem was just improper.

She also kept noticing his looks. She had clearly caught his eye. On the one hand, it flattered her. Being admired was always nice. However, if she worked with him, she wouldn't be able to keep him at arm's length for long. What would happen when she turned him down? Any business relationship would be ruined. It was better to avoid starting something than to redo it later.

The third reason partially coincided with the first. It was a dockside inn with a matching clientele. The upstanding public wouldn't be caught dead setting foot in there—they were too scared of the locals. Lilian wanted a certain ambiance for her food. In her eyes, eating was supposed to be a ritual.

Just imagine sitting at the table, the waitress bringing you a pot of dumplings covered with freshly baked flatbread smelling like heaven itself. A small bowl of mayo would be standing next to the pot. You'd take the flatbread off, steam rising from the dumplings...

That would be mouth-watering, finger-licking good, so to speak!

And Lily knew other recipes, too. Mayo alone could be enough to make a fortune, as long as the recipe wasn't copied too quickly. She just had to pick a tavern.

So, what would it be? That required some research.

Ideally, she wanted to be in a tavern where the owner gave the staff the run of the place or something in that vein. She couldn't start cooking without a kitchen, after all, and she couldn't open a tavern herself—she had already asked around about that. Even selling food in the street wasn't an option.

The guilds—those parasites that Edward had already started to crush were going strong in Avester! If you wanted to join a guild, you'd have to pay a sizeable fee, and if you wouldn't…...

The guild would never let you circumvent its rules. You wouldn't work, you wouldn't study... They'd squash you in an instant. That didn't sit well with Lily.

The fishermen set sail for Turon, taking her shawl with one knot. Uncle Putney received money for five more nights.

Lily and Larie kept walking around the town and investigating. And finally, their efforts paid off.

***

The tavern called "Red Hedgehog" drew Lilian's eye by its run-down appearance. That was exactly what she was looking for: a place that used to be successful but, at some point, fell onto hard times.

"Let's go inside," she suggested.

Larie nodded.

For the sake of simplicity, they were pretending to be a lady with a companion. Lily was already accustomed to holding her head high, not bowing too much, and keeping a confident expression. A dress couldn't hide that unless she wrapped herself in a heap of rags, but even then, sooner or later, something would betray her. Instead, she chose another mask. If the innkeeper had believed that, the others would never question her.

Larie, however, was scared and kept fidgeting, squirming, and fretting, only calming down behind Lilian's back.

So, she was a maid? That didn't seem so bad. With a good mistress, she'd do well and good!

Apparently, Lily arrived just in time.

She looked around the tavern. The Hedgehog had clearly lost most of its spikes since its opening. The paint on the walls chipped away, the fireplace smoked badly, the floor and the chairs were dirty, and the food...

To Lilian's surprise, the food deserved the highest praise. It was served by a girl about ten. The tray in her hands kept shaking under the heavy plates; she had to return twice before bringing their entire order.

So, the establishment used to fare better, but that little thing was the only one left? Odd.

The moderately-sized hall contained four large tables and six small, the latter lined against the wall. The large tables had benches and the smaller ones, chairs. Lily and Larie took a small table while a group of several men partied at one of the big ones.

Guild apprentices? They sure looked like that. They were young, plainly dressed, and had leather emblems on their left shoulders—too dirty to make out the exact guild. Not that Lily cared, anyway.

Two tables away from them, a man in his thirties, clearly a nobleman, was eating something from a large bowl. He ignored the rest of the visitors and kept rolling his eyes. What was inside his bowl? Braised cockroaches?

Speaking of cockroaches, Lily had already noticed a few. Blech. She was no entomologist and thought that insects had no place inside.

"More wine!" the "nobleman" barked.

The serving girl ran out of the kitchen with a pitcher.

If Lily hadn't been watching him, she would have never noticed the man slip out a knife sheath into the aisle. Unsurprisingly, the girl tripped and fell on the floor, the pitcher breaking with a loud bang, the chair clattering against the wall.

"You wretch!"

The man loomed over the pale girl and seemed about to hit her.

"Sir!" An ashen-faced woman ran out of the kitchen.

"I'll kill you and your spawn!"

The woman fell on her knees.

"Sir, I beg you... She's a child... Just a little child..."

A knife flashed in the man's hand. As if on cue, the apprentices rushed outside, so quickly and smoothly as if they had spent a year rehearsing. Even a mounted rider would have never caught them.

Larie flattened herself against the wall, pale as death.

Taking advantage of the fact that only four people remained inside, Lily grabbed the pitcher of berry juice they had ordered and threw it straight at the man's head.

She hit, of course. A slingshot would have been better, but it worked out almost just as well.

Pottery is no joke. A clay pitcher hitting your head doesn't exactly feel like a soft pillow. Even if small, it was quite heavy—around five pounds, in Lilian's estimation, not including the liquid inside, which also reached the target, for the most part.

The man sniffled and slumped to the floor.

Lily jumped up.

"Larie, quick! Help the girls!"

Lily's commanding tone forced Larie to pull herself together while the older woman went for the body sprawled on the floor.

In a second, the shards of clay were thrown out of the window. In two, the man's pockets were looted, his purse picked. It wasn't heavy but still had a few gold coins inside. The silvers would come in handy, too. Actually, even the coppers would.

As for the rest of the pockets... A handkerchief with a coat of arms, a piece of bread, a cheap snuffbox, a knife—it might prove useful, another knife...

Out of the corner of her eye, Lily noticed Larie dragging the girl into the back rooms and the woman's hopeful expression.

Lily waved at her to calm her down. She would sort the situation out in no time!

Her next target was a pitcher of water that stood next to the entrance as if waiting for her. She poured it over the miscreant and dashed outside.

"GUAAAAAAARDS!"

***

Lily didn't have to scream long. The guards came running as if they had already been on their way. Maybe they had.

What if one of the apprentices turned out to be decent enough to send for help to prevent a murder?

Four guardsmen barged into the tavern and froze in place.

There was no fight and no blood—just a man sitting in a puddle and wincing as he clutched at his head.

Lily went at the guards with the most heartfelt expression she could muster.

"Good sirs! Merciful Aldonai, you came just in time!"

She rattled on, quick enough to swallow half of the words. Whatever! It's not like she cared about the guards' well-being.

"Good sirs, the horror, THE HORROR! He was sitting, then jumped up, and then he screamed SO LOUD!"

"Who?" one of the guards interrupted her.

How rude.

Lily glanced at him, reproachful.

"This is what I'm saying! Can't you hear me? I'm saying it like it is! This sir was sitting and eating, such an important sir, handsome sir—must be a noble sir, I swear to Aldonai! Then he jumped up and started screaming, all of a sudden!"

Going by the guard's face, all of his teeth started hurting at the same time. Well, soon, Lily would add hemorrhoids to the list of his problems.

"And then he fell! It was a heatstroke, methinks! Or maybe the cold. Must be a stroke of some kind. Anyone can get it if you have bad blood! My aunt, the doctorus, said she must leech it off, so she spent a month sitting in a lake. The good sir was sitting at the table, and he really should have used leeches, too..."

"WHAT LEECHES?!" the guard yelled, pushed over the edge.

"The black ones, the small kind. They're terribly useful, although they're terrifying, too. Even looking at them chills me! Must be Maldonaya who made them to plague humankind, but if they can heal, maybe it was Aldonai. But how could he create something that nasty?"

"Shut it!"

Lily glared at him with all indignance she could muster.

"Why are you snubbing me? I'm trying to help you, I am! It's always the same thing: you're trying to do what's best for people, working your rear off, and they just sock you in the face or kick you in the back while you stay up all night thinking how to please them..."

The guard's fist tellingly appeared right under the countess' nose.

Lily sobbed, rubbed her eyes red, and stopped, spitefully registering that her blabbering had made her victim's headache even worse.

Serves him right!

The guards clumsily helped the unfortunate noble up and started questioning him. However, it was useless; Lily's aim had been too precise. He didn't remember anything except for yelling at some woman. After that, everything was dark.

Why had he yelled at her? The food there was just horrible! Rotten, disgusting... Just awful all around!

Lily carefully watched the man and the guards.

Did they believe him? They didn't, but they weren't going to argue with a highborn, either, grimly nodding along to his account. Lily beckoned to their leader, positioning herself so the noble wouldn't see her.

"What do you want?"

"My momma was an herbswoman."

"So, what?"

"He had a stroke, I'm telling you."

"What?

Ugh, what a dolt!

"A stroke," Lily repeated. "Blood rushed to his head, and he blacked out, hit the table with his head... If he gets too nervous, he'll never live to old age. Can't you see how red his face is? It's the bad blood, I'm telling you! He needs leeches to let it out, drink some herbs... You might've seen that, too! When blood gets to your head and heart, you die!"

"Hmm..."

The guard's face brightened up. Naturally, he was quite reluctant to get involved. Lily's explanation seemed good enough.

A stroke? True, those things happened. Brain hemorrhage, heart attacks... It was all a stroke to people around there. They all looked similar enough.

"Were you there?"

"Damn right I was," Lily said, resuming her blabbering, but the guard wasn't listening anymore. Instead, he walked up to one of his colleagues—the sergeant, judging by his leather jerkin and white chevron—and whispered something in his ear. The sergeant immediately lightened up.

In less than five minutes, the verdict was delivered. The tavern was to be closed for the rest of the day, while the guards would escort the poor nobleman to a doctorus to deal with the stroke. Oh, milord had also hit his head when he fell? That settled it, doctorus and only doctorus! What if he dropped dead?

As for the rest, they were free to go.

At last, the men left with the aristocrat in tow.

***

Larie and the girl stepped out of the backroom.

The woman who had been kneeling before the bastard came up to Lilian.

"Thank you, Milady."

"I'm no lady."

She responded with an incredulous look. God, what was wrong with everyone? Why didn't they believe her? Should she dress up as a beggar again? Roll herself in Khangan rags? Nobody would even see her face then, only the eyes and the soles of her feet. Even the queen wouldn't get recognized!

"I. Am. No. Lady," Lily repeated, stressing every word.

"Of course, of course... Thank you, Milady."

"Mama!" The girl cuddled up to the woman, putting her arms around her waist. "That mister won't be back, right?"

Lily gave her a confident nod.

"He won't. And if he tries, I'll knock him out again."

"Really?"

"I promise," Lily said earnestly.

She was studying the girl and the woman.

Both of them weren't especially tall and had light brown hair, round faces, and gray eyes. The woman's chin was small and stubborn, and the girl's eyebrows and eyelashes dark and thick. She was pretty. The woman was small-framed, but the girl might grow up statuesque, maybe just like Lilian Earton.

"My name is Aliya," Lily said. "And you are?"

"Marion Salie. My daughter's called Fiona."

Lily looked around.

Oh boy.

She had smashed the pitcher against that idiot's head and splashed water and juice all over the tavern.

"Marion, where are your buckets and rags?"

"Lady?"

"Aliya. And this is Larie, my friend. I suggest we get to know each other while cleaning up."

The woman's look became even more disbelieving. Fiona, however, wasn't doubting her at all. She cheerfully ran to the corner, grabbed a bucket, pulled out a few rags...

Lily felt her lower back ache in anticipation of the trial to come.

Ladies and gentlemen, do you know what needs to be added to the short list of her inventions? You don't?

A mop!

***

The clean-up took two hours. There were only three of them, after all. Still, they washed the windows, scrubbed all of the tables, removed all of the cobwebs, swept away the old reeds, and poured a generous helping of hot water on the floor in lieu of washing it. A few dozen cockroaches fell victims to the Great Flood.

They also talked.

A woman's lot in a world of men was far from enviable. She could attach herself to her husband and all but rule a kingdom in his shadow, but what if she was left alone? All on her own?

That's what had happened to Marion. She was born in a shopkeeper's family and married an innkeeper. Eventually, her husband decided to move to Berma and took his family with him.

They had no children for three years after Fiona, and the boy who was born then didn't survive. The doctorus recommended sea air and saltwater fish for Marion, and Rohm—her husband—made the decision to relocate.

And that's what they did. They sold their old inn and bought another one. Slowly, the business took off. Marion gave birth to another girl, then a boy—also Rohm, after his father.

And then, the plague came.

Lily chuckled.

"The plague."

Being an educated woman of the twenty-first century, she knew that in those times, people called half of all diseases a plague. Everything that gave you a rash was "smallpox." "Plague" covered the rest, even if it was a flu.

That said, with the current medical advances, the chances of dying from plague and flu were about the same. Instead of actual treatment, the medics smoked rooms with nasty-smelling sticks and prayed over their patients' bodies.

Aldonai would hear them, right? He would heal them?

Lily avoided making a quip.

Oddly enough, almost everyone fell sick, except for Marion and Fiona. The other daughter died, and so did Rohm.

The eldest one, that is. Rohm Junior survived but remained bedridden. A healer told Marion to give him enemas and powders, performed a bloodletting...

Lily shook her head. The boy must be strong indeed to survive a sickness and such healing! She would have ended up at the cemetery in his place, and he was just infirm! He must have a good immune system!

Marion was bending over backward to provide for her children, but how much could one woman do? All of their money went to the healers, and the tavern staff left. Stretched too thin, Marion couldn't handle the work alone and started losing clients. Fewer clients meant less money, and it's not like she and her husband had been rich in the first place.

But when it rained, it poured. A neighbor, a shopkeeper called Wiener, started courting Marion.

"Say again?" Lily asked.

"Mister Wiener."

Lily wouldn't have held it in even if a higher power offered her to immediately teleport to Earton with the sole condition of staying silent. It was pointless.

Wiener! It might be one of the many types of food yet to be invented in that world, but...Wiener!

Lily calmed down only after Fiona—smart girl—brought her a glass of cold water. She gulped it down, coughed, and nodded.

"And why is it so bad?"

Marion sighed.

"He has three sons of his own... How long would Rohm survive, you think?"

She didn't say anything else, but Lily got the implication.

Really, it was quite convenient. A husband owning a shop and the wife a tavern seemed like a match made in merchant heaven. Whatever wasn't sold could be fed to the customers. Why not? How do you think delis work in the twenty-first century?

The woman's daughter could be married off, while his sons would help manage the tavern. Her son? He was ill and bedridden...but also the heir to her business.

Lily gave Marion a look of appreciation.

"I understand."

Marion shrugged.

"At first, I rejected him kindly, but then he grew mad and started threatening me. And then...this sir started coming in, kicking up a fuss, picking fights, breaking plates, scaring off people..."

"So today wasn't the first time?"

"He never went this far in the past."

"I followed him, this leir!" Fiona chimed in. "He went into Wiener's shop!"

"What does this Wiener sell?"

"Smoked meats, sausages..." It figures.

Lily nodded, hiding her chuckle.

"All right. So what are you going to do? He could have killed you today, you know."

Marion shivered.

"I don't know."

Lily glanced at the ceiling.

"And your son?"

"He sleeps all day."

"Hmm. Can I take a look at him?"

Marion's expression was doubtful.

"My...friend knows a thing or two about herbs!" Larie proudly exclaimed.

"What will you lose?" Lily asked, narrowing her eyes.

Marion had nothing more to say. Really, what would she lose?

Nothing, nothing yet.,,

***

Lily didn't know how old the boy was, but he turned out to be only four.

Four years old, but he looked no older than two and a half.

Thin, haggard, curled up under the blanket...

Lily pushed the sheets away, making a note of the stuffy air inside the room—that was an important issue.

The boy shivered, probably expecting nothing good.

"Auntie will just look. Auntie's an herbswoman," Marion said, trying to assuage the child.

That didn't help much. The boy curled up tighter than an armadillo. He clearly expected pain.

Lily gently touched his dark, disheveled hair. Fiona was almost a copy of her mother, but the boy definitely took after his father. Brown eyes—once bright and currently glazed, dark hair, wide eyebrows...

Was he cute? It was hard to tell; he looked too exhausted.

Lily regretted not being able to take him in her arms, but she was in no condition to lift heavy things. She had another idea in mind. It had worked with Miranda and had to work with that boy, too.

"Do you know that I'm not just an herbswoman but a tale-teller, too?"

The boy was silent.

"I'm going to tell you a story about a magic bean."

Lily stretched on the bed next to the boy and started talking in a soft voice.

She didn't notice Fiona listening to her, fascinated; Larie sitting right on the floor; Marion half-closing her eyes to escape her troubles even for a fleeting moment.

Lily was looking only at Rohm, telling him about a poor country boy, Jack, who had traded his cow for a magic bean, grew an enormous beanstalk, met a giant, outwitted him, and returned to his family with many treasures...

The boy listened. She told him about Red Riding Hood, too, and about Goldilocks and the three bears, and slowly, his fragile body uncurled. Lily touched his wrist and took his pulse, examined his mucus membrane, listened to his heartbeat—and came to a simple conclusion.

Sunlight, water, vitamins—no place for viruses.

She had seen that sign in a clinic where she interned. Mostly, Lily agreed with it. The sun, the sea, vitamins... Well, the sun was a problem, but the rest? The child didn't need medicine; he needed something else. Technically, he was healthy. He just had a subnormal temperature, resulting in fatigue, sleepiness, and so on, and so forth...

Rohm fell asleep during the third tale, and Lily quietly stood up and left the room. The others followed her.

Downstairs, Lily sat down and prepared to tell her verdict when someone knocked at the door. Marion grew pale.

"It's him..."

"Your personal pain in the rear?" Lilian asked bluntly.

"Wiener."

"I don't see how that's different," Lily curtly replied and marched toward the door, flinging it open—thankfully, it opened outward.

***

Lily's maneuver with the door proved successful. The man standing at the doorstep barely managed to shrink back and gave her an unfriendly glare.

She returned the look. So that man, with all the charisma of an unkempt hog, was courting Marion? He needed to be sent to the capital zoo, pronto! The monkeys there would be happy to meet another one of their own!

Most of all, Wiener reminded Lily of a Pithecanthropus, aside from being dressed. He was thick-set, stocky, incredibly hairy, and long-armed. His forehead was low, his eyes deep-set, his jaw sticking out...

Lily felt an urgent need for formaldehyde and a jar. She needed to preserve that specimen and send it to Richard for their museum.

But alas, the specimen showed no inclination of climbing into a jar. He was standing in front of Lilian and scowling. She, however, wasn't going to spend too much time exchanging looks.

"We're closed today! Come tomorrow!"

Her vigor took Wiener aback. He blurted out the first thing that occurred to him.

"I didn't come to the tavern."

"All the more reason to scram! We ain't giving no alms! Don't have food for ourselves!"

Wiener opened his mouth, demonstrating the rotten remains of his teeth. Lily felt nauseous.

Calm down, girl... No need to puke on him, or we'll never get rid of him.

"I didn't—"

"Tomorrow!"

"I want to talk to Missus Salie."

Lily firmly shook her head.

"She isn't accepting visitors. And by what right you dare to besmirch a widow's reputation?"

"Um... I come with a proposal."

"Good people, just look at him! He came with a proposal!" Lily exclaimed. "Sister Marion didn't even grieve her husband right before the vultures came! I'll have to write to my hubby! He'll flush you bastards all out; just let him come!"

Wiener made a step back.

"Sister?"

"As if I'm going to tell you about our family!"

Lilian's voice was as loud and clear as a drill sergeant's, and the entire street was enjoying an unexpected performance. Actually, that's why Lily was jabbering like a chatterbox. He wouldn't beat her in front of everyone. Well, maybe.

Famously, there is a certain category of people that makes everyone recoil: a Karen, formerly known as a "dumb broad."

Nobody ever wants to be around a Karen. What is the point? But in the end, she always gets hers, and you end up scolded and maligned.

Alas, Lily had no choice. Puffing her chest—which made it look even more impressive than it already was—she advanced at Wiener.

"So, why did you come here, mister Oh-So-Important? What are you proposing? Cheap sausage? We don't need your stinkers. It's a tavern, not a privy! And we don't need your ham, either! The way you reek, that ham must still remember your grandpa! A proposal! Merciful Aldonai, in garb like that, you're only fit to offer a graveyard spot! Your beard's unkept, your head's covered with lice, your clothes are all dirty... Marion!" she yelled, turning aside, "suit yourself, but I'm writing my hubby, right now! As soon as a cart leaves, he'll get here! Let him set things right!"

"Shut up, you mouthy broad!" the sausage seller snapped.

As if that was going to scare her. Lily put her hands on her hips.

"Don't you tell me to shut up! I know your kind! I can see right through you! Worked six wives to death, have you? Set your eyes on my sister? She'll never marry you, your spawn, or your brother! Get yourself out of here while the going is good, or I swear you'll regret it!"

"You're a real shilda!"

"I'm a shilda? Good people, what is he doing? Shaming me in front of everyone! Go to the temple, I will, ask the Lord to reveal your lies! So you decided to slander me, you sausage-eared mutt? Not even a shilda would ever want you, and even if she does, your fleas will eat her alive!"

Lily screeched and prattled so vehemently that the shopkeeper muttered a curse under his nose, spat under her feet—he aimed at her skirt, but she managed to yank it away just in time—and left.

Lily triumphantly slammed the door shut and returned to the tavern.

"Well, Sister Marion. Let's have a talk, shall we?"

Chapter 11

Marion stared at her with fear and Fiona with admiration.

"You—"

"You can call me Auntie Aliya."

"Auntie Aliya... did you chase him away?"

"I don't think it's going to last. He might return soon, maybe even with guards."

"It was him who hired that man...with the pitcher," Marion spoke up. She shivered as if once again grabbed by a merciless hand, and needlessly adjusted her bonnet. Lily patted her on her back.

"Don't worry. It will be all right..."

"If only."

Lily shrugged.

She was no merchant, but she had lived in another world with all of its bills, sales, discounts, and promotions. She might not have cared about that, but she remembered. It was hard not to.

"How long do you have until bankruptcy?'

"Bank... What?"

"Until you go broke," Lily explained.

Marion's shoulders slumped.

"A month or two, I think. Food is running out, and we have no money to buy more..."

"And then?"

"I don’t know." Large tears ran down the woman's face, one after another. "I already wrote to my family. Maybe one of them agrees to harbor us, I don't know..."

Lily felt like an asshole. Still, it's not like she was questioning her out of curiosity or her innate sadism. It was important.

"I have some money. Marion, if I help you, can you help me?"

"How?" The woman sobbed, hopeless. "How can I...help?"

She burst into tears again.

Marion cried softly and desperately, like a small whimpering dog. Fiona snuggled to her mother and seemed about to cry too, but Lily nodded to Larie.

Larie understood the unspoken command and pulled the girl away into the kitchen, telling her about her mother being tired and needing a few minutes to rest, and a good way to treat fatigue was eating something sweet, like bread with jam...

Lily shook her head, walked up to Marion, and gave the poor woman a strong hug.

That was it, the flip side of marriage.

In that world, men decided everything. Women like Marion didn't mind being dependent on someone. She had been a happy wife and mother.

But what happens when the provider dies? Would you look for someone else? That is far from easy, and no woman gets prettier with age, alas. Marion was left alone to shoulder the burden her husband used to carry, and she failed. While she had to, she tried to be strong, but as soon as someone, like Lily, showed up, Marion found a crutch—and
snapped like a twig.

Lily kept patting her back, knowing that the woman needed a good cry before a conversation. She needed to rest and come around, too, to live another day and fight for herself and her children. She wouldn't have to do it alone anymore, though, because Lily knew: she wouldn't leave Marion.

How could she? Her conscience would eat her alive! Her ancestors would be ashamed!

To break a broom, you need to snap every twig—but Lily would make a new one! She, Larie, Marion... You don't think that was enough?

You just don’t know what women can do for their children. Lily more than knew about that: she could do the same. And she would.

"Shh, sweetie. Don't cry. You're not alone in this world anymore. You're not on your own."

***

Marion spent at least forty minutes sobbing, sniffling, and wheezing—a scary sound, loud and dry.

But Lily wasn't afraid for her. It wasn't dangerous. She knew the right treatment.

Wash your face. Drink something hot. Go to bed.

She put Fiona next to her mother. The girl had had a rough day, too. At first, she was nervous, but after Larie stuffed her with food, she quickly fell asleep.

Both she and Marion needed it.

Lily sent Larie upstairs to the boy and his family and decided to return to "Clever Caddis."

She needed to talk to Uncle Putney, arrange her move, and finish before nightfall.

***

Uncle Putney was cordial enough, but his face darkened as soon as he saw Lilian's expression.

"So you're leaving, then..."

"I am," Lilian told him the truth. "I'm going to my friend's. I wanted to talk to you about something else, though."

"That's later... Well then, you paid for three more days, that is..."

Lily shook her head.

"Consider this the payment for giving me good advice or answering a question."

Lily's inner Scrooge was threatening to come out, reminding her, You have no money, you need to save up. What are you even thinking...

Lily mentally pushed the old miser away and smiled.

"Advice? I could do that," Putney said with a nod. "And what's the question?"

"Uncle Putney, it's people who join the guild, not taverns or inns, right?"

"It's people, yes."

"Let's say a couple ran a tavern. The man died, and his wife took the reins. Should she join the guild?"

Uncle Putney scratched his beard.

"So, you know, guild patents..."

Lily listened closely. As Countess Earton, she had never cared about guilds or unions. But as Aliya? She depended on the law. Knowing it was the only way to free yourself from responsibility.

Apparently, she had confused a union for a guild, as innkeepers had a union. So what's the difference?

Simple. Guilds—mostly merchant guilds—had sprung up first. Later, craftsmen started to group together depending on their craft and leave the guilds. They formed unions, but the principle stayed the same.

However, the innkeepers had different rules and their own union. They weren't like the others. Combers, clothiers, weavers, dyers, and others all needed a lot of studying. A boy would become an apprentice to an artisan, spend years learning the trade, and then swear an oath to his master.

There were many restrictions, too. No marriage until the end of the apprenticeship, no taverns, no crime—the master would be responsible... There were many kinds of restrictions, some of them quite amusing. Say, dyers were forbidden from archery. Why? That was anyone's guess.

Lily would get no answer, and it's not like she needed one. Of course, promises and oaths were being broken all the time, but people would look the other way. Some men might stay an apprentice until the day they died, so what would they do? Never marry, never have children? That didn't seem right.

Thus, boys learned a craft, passed an exam, paid an initiation fee, and became craftsmen who had the right to work alone. But what about innkeepers?

That just didn't fit them. An innkeeper could buy an inn or a tavern, but who would train him? It was sink-or-swim, so the innkeeper union had different rules. There were no apprentices among innkeepers and no craftsmen. Really, was it even a craft? Certain nuances existed, and so did certain skills, but that was it.

The innkeepers’ union accepted annual contributions at Midwinter. If you paid yours, you didn't have to worry the rest of the year, although the fee was rather high, up to several hundred gold per inn.

There was also an agreement to avoid selling illegal alcohol and buy wine only from the royal wineries. Trading in smuggled goods was attempted only at your own risk and peril. You could get fined or even kicked out of the union.

You also were forbidden from undercutting prices. Raising them was well and good, but lowering was strictly banned. You couldn't poach staff from other guilds and unions, hire bouncers without involving the union, buy foodstuffs from outside the union... They had their own agreements, rules, and prices. Yes, even the fishermen had their own contract. Not all crews had the right to sell fish.

It was a complex check-and-balance system. Lily paid attention. The situation wasn't exactly promising but not as bad as it could have been.

The money, however... Now that was a problem.

Lily had already estimated that her assets would be enough for one thing: either paying the union fee, leaving them scant coppers to scrape by, or get the inn sorted out and try something new. In the latter case, they couldn't pay the fee, but it's not like they could stay afloat without making any money.

Lilian leaned toward taking a risk, and the first step in her plan was gaining the support of the man sitting in front of her.

"Uncle Putney, I'm grateful for your assistance."

"You’re welcome."

That man really reminded her of a bear. He was just like Colonel Kravchuk, a member of her father's garrison: a giant of a man, not fat but mighty.

"Can I count on your advice in the future?"

Uncle Putney slowly nodded.

“I suppose. As long as you have something to offer me in return."

His gaze locked on Lilian's breasts.

Still, she didn't even flinch. Instead, she took a deep sigh, forcing her dress to sway. Why couldn't she use what nature had given her? Let the men look at her breasts and never think about what was on her mind. After all, she did have something to show if she had to.

"Of course," she purred. "Could I borrow a servant from you? I want to move our things to our new residence."

"Of course."

The innkeeper was sating his own curiosity, but Lily wasn't going to hide where she would live.

Soon, very soon, Red Hedgehog would become the talk of the town. She was sure of that.

***

When Marion opened her eyes the next morning, she couldn't believe them.

The sun was shining through the window, its rays gently touching her cheeks. Hers—and Fiona's. Her daughter was sleeping on her chest, cuddled like a kitten.

How long had it been since they slept side by side? Since her husband's death. Marion remembered her despair when her other daughter had passed away; remembered her grief when her husband—so strong, so reliable—surrendered to the nasty sickness, and she couldn't do anything to help him. She would have shielded him with her own body, but the plague wasn't an enemy you could hide from. She would have screamed, but screaming was just as pointless.

And what happened next?

Marion's mind kept working, but she couldn't remember anything. Gray days, black nights... Constant desperate work, pain, hopelessness in her children's eyes, and work again: for her and everyone. Her son's illness and the realization of her own helplessness—would she lose yet another part of her heart? And darkness again.

Marion knew that she had been waking up every morning, tending to the livestock and the household, cleaning up...

Had that truly happened?

It had.

Still, her memory was silent, as if all of that had occurred to someone else, some other unfamiliar woman. It felt odd. It felt scary.

And then, the flash of light when her daughter almost died. The green eyes of the woman who had wandered into the tavern, her confident voice as she persuaded the guard, and the strange, wonderful tales she told her son, who easily fell asleep for the first time in ages... Had that happened as well?

Marion sniffed.

Something smelled amazing. Quietly, trying to avoid waking up her daughter, she moved her head to the pillow. Fiona didn't stir, burying her nose in the sheets. She just purred like a kitten and tried pulling the blanket on top of her.

Marion covered her shoulders and stroked her hair. Her daughter had grown a lot during that horrible year. She deserved her sleep.

That's how it always happened: children would come to sleep with their parents, drinking in their scent and feeling their love, knowing that everything was going to be all right. Someone big and strong was next to them, someone who could protect them and save them from all woes...

But she was a bad shield for her children.

Still, how could she do better?

The work in the kitchen was in full swing. The green-eyed woman turned to Marion as soon as she entered.

"Ah, good morning."

"M-morning..."

The second woman, who was rolling out an extremely thin sheet of dough—was she making a pie?—smiled as well.

"Did you sleep well, mistress?"

"I'm Marion," she replied.

"I remember. I'm Aliya, and this is Larie," the green-eyed woman said, smiling at her friend. Marion liked her smile. It was kind and cozy. "So, have you gotten enough sleep?"

"Y-yes."

"Then sit down and eat."

Marion obediently sat at the table and saw a small pot with a flatbread instead of a lid standing in front of her.

Marion removed the bread and couldn't resist licking her lips at the steam rising from inside the pot.

How long had it been since she’d eaten food prepared by strangers? A year? A decade? During her marriage, she was the only one cooking, and she didn't mind, but sometimes... Sometimes, she wanted to treat herself, but she never could.

"Add some sour scream," Aliya said, pushing another small bowl, this time filled with cream, toward Marion.

"Oh?"

She didn't know that smell, but it seemed delicious.

"Don't be afraid. Want me to steal a dumpling from you so you wouldn't fret?"

Before Marion's eyes, Aliya put her spoon into the pot, extracted something small and white, and put it inside her mouth. Then she chewed it and swallowed with obvious pleasure. Marion shrugged and followed her example.

Well, she definitely had never tasted anything like that! It was a miniature bun full of meat but boiled rather than roasted or baked. It melted on her tongue, filling her mouth with tasty meat juice, warmed her throat, and fell into her belly.

Yum!

"It'll definitely be better with sour cream."

Marion put another...dumple? Dimpling? Into her mouth. Ah, it didn't matter what it was called. First, she would eat everything.

True, sour cream made the dish taste even better. Soon, the pot was empty, and Marion felt full enough for the next ten years. She had the urge to sprawl on the chair or, better yet, the bed and fall asleep again.

Lazily, she started picking at a loaf of bread.

"Did you like it?"

"It was delicious," Marion replied. "What is it?"

"Dumplings."

"Dumpolings..."

"Dump-lings."

"I've never tasted anything like that before."

Lily grinned.

"You will. Larie, how's the second helping doing?"

"I'm cooking!'

"Great. When another child wakes up, we—"

"Oh!"

Marion realized she had forgotten about Rohm. Her son! Aldonai, how could she?

"Calm down!" Aliya said as if reading her thoughts. "Your son is doing great. We fed him. Will you go to him?"

"Y-yes."

"Then take it."

She handed Marion a tray of food. It had a bowl of something wine-red in color and a plate with some bits and pieces mixed with carrots and onions. Was it liver? It sure looked like that. The last item was a cup full of nuts and honey.

"Tell your son to eat everything, or I won't tell him any more tales."

"What is this?"

"A beetroot-and-mayo salad, liver with carrots and onions, and nuts with honey. He needs it. The boy has anemia...I mean, blood problems."

"Oh..."

"Go ahead."

Marion obediently took the tray and left the room.

***

When she reached the nursery door, she looked around and forked a morsel from each plate.

Delicious!

It was an unfamiliar taste, spicy and tangy. She was tempted to eat it herself despite being already full.

Rohm was sitting on his bed and assembling something. Marion walked closer.

Her boy was playing with blocks covered with letters burned by someone's firm hand. He built a house, destroyed it, built it again...

"Sweetie!"

"Mama!"

Marion almost cried.

Rohm was smiling! For the first time in months, her son was smiling. She had never thought she could feel so happy.

Marion sat down, hugged him, and felt on the verge of crying again. Still, she held the tears back.

"Eat something, baby! Come on..."

Does it need saying that all plates soon became empty?

***

When Marion returned downstairs, she was calm and collected.

The women were still fussing around her kitchen, and that's where she headed. She looked the eldest right in the eye.

"Who are you? What do I owe you for...for all of this?"

Lily snorted.

"Well, let's talk, shall we?"

"Let's talk."

"Then I suggest we sit down. My name is Aliya, and this is Larie. We know your name, too. So what do I need? My situation's complicated, Marion. As you can see, I'm pregnant..."

"Oh...I see."

Marion hadn't even noticed her guest's stomach. After all, she was curvy and tall; it's not like her belly stuck out that much.

"I need a place to live for a year, give birth, wait for my baby to grow up a bit, and make money—as much as possible. Larie needs a place to live for more than a year. As you can see, we're pretty handy and ready to help. If you let us stay, we'll return the favor. We'll help you run the place and look after the children."

Marion bit her lip.

If only they had come a few months ago... But it was too late.

"Did you break the law?"

"No. I'm fleeing my husband's relatives, and so is Larie. We don't want to live in a cage. We met up by chance and found it easier to survive together."

"Lady Aliya..."

"I'm no lady. Call me just Aliya."

"But you're no commoner. You're a noblewoman, aren't you?"

Lily shook her head.

"Not exactly. My parents were a soldier and an herbswoman. But I did grow up in a noble house, that's true."

Marion nodded thoughtfully. Yes, it sure seemed so. Aliya's manners fit.

But it was time to pay for the truth with another truth.

"I'm broke. I doubt I'll still be here in a month or two. I'll have to sell the tavern and go live on the street with my children. I can't give you shelter...I can't do anything at all."

"You told us that last night," the green-eyed woman said, chuckling.

"Oh?"

That woman sure didn't look like a fool. What was going on, then? Why were they still talking?

"Marion," Aliya said, looking at her with a serious and slightly sad expression. "We all have our hurdles. Still, my friend and I have some money. It will be enough to pull anchor, and then...then we'll see!"

"M-money? I can't pay off a debt..."

"Nobody said anything about a debt. There are three of us here, and we either fail or prevail. It's not like we have enough money to live a long time... It's like oars."

"Oars?"

"We're all in the same boat. You have one oar, and I have another. If we don't row, we'll sink. If we row with one oar, we'll never take off. But if we work together, we'll turn the corner and get money. I think we should divide the profits into three parts. You'll get fifty, and we get twenty-five each."

Marion replied with a bitter chuckle. Profits? Where would they get any profits? They'd never get any...

Lily grinned.

"I have a couple of ideas. First, I suggest we close the tavern for ten days."

"And then?"

Lily's smile turned even wider.

"Oh, it's going to get even better then! It will be hard, but it will be tasty and fun, I promise that. A million-gold question: do you have an ice cellar?"

"Yes."

"Do you have ice in there?"

"Yes, it was Rohm who put it..."

"Great! Then we'll start today."

***

Arnold Wiener felt horrible—disgusting, even. Like he had had a bucket of waste flung at him—or inside him. But who was to blame?

He knew the answer: that red-headed broad with green eyes, fat and nasty.

He had fancied the Red Hedgehog Tavern for a long time, and he fancied its mistress, too. Even when the owner was alive, Arnold had his eye on her. She was just his type.

No, not a stunning knockout or a head-spinning beauty. Marion was a quiet homebody, calm and agreeable. A woman like her wouldn't shine at a ball, but it's not like he'd care about balls.

But running the household or raising children? That was her forte. She would listen to her husband without question, never wandering or cheating. Arnold made a point of watching her, often visiting the tavern.

Marion would serve the customers and carry the plates. Arnold knew that in situations like that, women would flirt and play footsies...like his wife had done. Rohm Salie, though, didn't have to worry about that. The only reason he'd need to keep an eye on his wife was to protect her from being hurt or offended, even if nobody ever tried—Rohm's establishment was respectable enough. It was too far from the docks for drunk sailors and too expensive, and it had no floozies, either. Decent people, however, frequented the tavern. Arnold himself didn't mind wetting his whistle from time to time, sitting and chatting with someone.

It's not like he could do it at home, anyway. His wife was dead, and Arnold sensed that the house was getting too crowded for his sons. He was no nobleman who could give each of them their own part. The eldest would inherit the shop, and the other two could help him, but still...there was not enough space. And if he wanted to expand? The competition was crazy!

And... He had to admit it, it wasn't even the competition; it was fear. He needed to expand, but he was too afraid of going bust and losing everything. He'd need to buy another shop, invest money... Arnold was rather stingy and cowardly: not the worst personality traits in his business, but he couldn't exactly make a fortune being like that.

And then, he got lucky. Rohm Salie's death during the plague made Arnold happy. That was his chance! If he married Marion Salie, he'd get everything: a gentle and obedient wife by his side—no need to spend money on women of pleasure—and a tavern he wouldn't have to buy. He could use it to dump his unsold goods, put his middle son at the counter, and the youngest would buy produce...

Was that a good idea? It was a win-win! And best of it, it would cost him nothing. Lovely!

The only thing that was left to do was to get married. Arnold puffed his chest out, started courting the widow... And failed.

Pale as a ghost, Marion rejected him outright. It happened once, then again... The third time, she went off on him—her son was sick, and she had no tolerance for the annoying neighbor. Arnold learned that Marion wouldn't marry him even if he were the last man in the world and that she knew why he needed that marriage but had no idea why she would.

All in all, it was a fair assessment, and that made it twice as hurtful. Arnold nursed a grudge. But how would you force a stubborn broad to marry you?

It seemed simple. Hire someone to make a row in her tavern, shatter the glass, break the furniture... Who would she ask to repair everything? But that would mean he'd have to pay twice: first, for the roughhouse and then the mitigation. Arnold didn't think in those specific words, but he didn't want to pay with his own money.

His middle son, who had taken after his father, had an idea. Francis suggested hiring one of the bretteurs—professional mercenaries—to visit Marion's tavern. Still, instead of raising hell, he'd need to nag at her cooking, scare off the visitors, scold the mistress... It wouldn't cost much, but it should work. And if that man got too engrossed...well, the broad could take it! That would even make her more pliable. Women were cowardly by nature. Soon, she'd come running on all fours.

And that's what Arman did.

For a few weeks, his plan proceeded splendidly until one day, something went wrong. The guards came running, his hireling got dragged out of the tavern in pretty bad shape—hanging on a guard's shoulder and unable to walk—and an unfamiliar red-headed woman stepped outside to see off the guards.

Who the hell was she? What was going on? Of course, Arnold couldn't keep himself from checking his own tavern. Whose was it, anyway? Soon, Marion Salie would marry him...

Children? Yes, she had children. So what?

The girl, when she grew up, could marry one of his boys, maybe the youngest. The boy wasn't long for the world, anyway. And Arnold was still in his prime. He and Marion might have more children yet...

His wonderful dreams were shattered by the nasty redhead. He got a scolding and a rude dismissal. Moreover, she turned out to be Marion's relative!

Arnold considered the news. Now that was something he hadn't entertained—Marion's family. He thought a bit and finally smiled, a sly expression on his face.

Maybe he should make another visit. First, to Marion to properly ask her hand in marriage and look at her family.

And if she told him no...well, the guard sergeant was an old friend, wasn't he?

***

Marion wasn't too enthusiastic about Aliya's idea, but it's not like she had a better one. Her new friend also seemed confident enough, and her unusual cooking tasted amazing. Maybe they should really try?

Other cooks couldn't steal the recipe right away; it wasn't that easy. And when they would start... Aliya knew many others, like ma-yo-nnaise. What a weird word! Yet it was so delicious. Could she recreate it?

Marion tried but failed. It wasn't as simple as it might seem. And to think that it could be made in advance and stored in the ice cellar...

"Salie's sauce," Aliya suggested with a wry smile.

Marion agreed. Why not? Yes, it was Aliya who had told her the recipe, but if she was offering, why would Marion refuse a profit? There was no reason.

Still, a lot had to be done before they could implement their plan.

First, they needed to restock on supplies and preserve foodstuffs for future use.

Second, scrub the tavern clean—let's be honest, Marion had been neglecting it ever since her husband's death.

Third...

The women and the children themselves were the third. They needed new clothes, preferably similar enough to serve as uniforms.

They examined their old dresses and decided to dye them black and make them look smart by adding white aprons, collars, cuffs, and bonnets. After all, sewing a dress from scratch would take a lot of time and money, and buying ready-made ones was beyond their means.

Thus, Marion set a fire in the backyard and found an old vat used for dying. Lily started sewing aprons and bonnets—they all had to look the same.

Larie went shopping. They needed flour, meat, eggs...lots of things. Larie liked shopping and could bargain with the best of them, surprising Lily. What happened to the naive farmgirl?

As Larie explained, one had to learn to haggle if one lived in a village: with neighbors, with wandering merchants, even with tax collectors. She had watched her husband do that many times and learned on the fly. She didn't think townsfolk were all that different; they shouldn't eat her alive if she stumbled or failed.

All right, meat...

The women decided to postpone the clean-up—in the process of cooking, they were bound to mess up the place, seeing as how much food they had to make.

***

Lily was finishing up the third bonnet when she heard a knock at the door.

"Open up, Aliya!" Marion yelled.

She couldn't leave the kettle with three dresses bubbling away in black dye. It was open fire! A distraction meant losing the dress for good—a lot of money, considering the price of clothes.

Lily pricked herself with the needle, cursing under her nose— reprimanding Fiona, who was cocking her ears, and Rohm, who tried to repeat after his Auntie—and quickly put the bonnet aside.

The puncture was deep enough, drawing blood. If she hadn't been fast enough, the fabric would be smeared in blood, wasting her work. Fine, not wasting, but forcing them to launder and bleach it, significantly complicating the matter.

So who had the cat dragged in? Their timing was atrocious!

Lily stood up and threw the door open. Uh-oh.

Mister Wiener stood in the doorway, as large as life...well, maybe even larger, considering his beer gut. He was all bedecked in his finery, his mustache waxed, his beard and hair glossy and gelled with something resembling lard, his clothes...

Oh boy. If you decide to style your hair with oil, be careful when you dress. His collar was all greasy, and so were his shoulders. Ew!

And what was it he was holding? A sausage? How appropriate!

"What can I do for you?" Her Grace asked him dryly.

"Good day, mistress," Wiener said, trying to extend his olive branch. "I'd like to see Mistress Salie."

Lily wasn't going to forget that in that world, olive was the color of grief rather than peace.

"Marion's busy. What did you want?"

"To see her, mistress."

"Come in two days," Lily replied, not going to step back. As if that man was a problem, even if he was a head taller and twice as fat as her while she was far from a wisp herself.

Mister Wiener stepped forward, trying to turn up the pressure.

Yeah, right.

Lily didn't even flinch. That was ludicrous. She had dealt with Virmans, and Leif alone could glare hard enough to make weak-minded people cower and wet their pants. And if glaring didn’t work, he had an axe, thiiiis big! Pfft!

Lily wasn't scared, embarrassed, or willing to retreat. Arnold could see that in her eyes, in her gestures.

Lock the door? Hide? Fat chance!

Instead, she puffed out, put her hands on her hips, and projected an aura of absolute contempt. She was the one in charge.

Wiener was taken aback. Broads weren't supposed to do that! They were quiet little homebodies afraid of men, or at least apprehensive... His wife had feared him, for instance. Of course, he didn't remember how many times he used to slap her every day.

"So, what do you need from Sister Marion?"

"Sister? Are your parents alive, even?"

Suddenly, Wiener realized that he could come to an arrangement with her parents. They must see their profit! They weren't stupid broads dreaming of handsome noblemen...

"How's that any of your business, good sir? You come in, you want something, but what is it exactly? Maybe I should call the guards and tell them you tried to ravage me!" Lily said, huffing and puffing.

"Don't flatter yourself," Wiener snapped.

Lily's jaw dropped.

Well, well, well... That man was a cheeky one! Interesting... Too bad that her current interests didn't include men.

"Right. So does my sister flatter herself? Or is it her tavern?"

Wiener took a step back. Was he that easy to read?

Lily gave him a sweet smile, her teeth looking vicious enough to make starving wolves jealous.

"What are you even counting on, good sir? To marry my dear sister, get your hands on the tavern, and get rid of her children? Well, my sister isn't alone in the world! As soon as troubles came, she wrote to her family, so we'd come and help her out."

"I didn't know..."

"Why should she tell you? Rohm knew, and who are you to her? You're a stranger; that's who you are!"

"And why haven't you ever showed up before?"

"That's what family's for, to help in the hour of need! Nobody remembers their relative when it's all well and good, but when woe knocks at your door... Help me, save me, gimme money!"

There was a measure of truth in the redhead's words. So what did it mean? Did Marion really have a family? And no simple people, from the looks of it! He needed to find out more to avoid getting into a situation!

Wiener thought some more and stepped back again.

"In two days, you say?"

"Come back then, and we'll sit, drink some wine, and have a nice talk," Lily said, nodding. "It's just not the time right now. The house is a mess, the children are sick, and we have nothing to treat a dear guest. That just won't do! A guest shouldn't leave hungry."

Again, her words made sense. Wiener considered them.

"So, I'll come back?"

"Exactly," Lily replied and closed the door.

Arnold was left to stand in the middle of the street looking like a fool.

Oh, what a woman! What a woman! A real witch! Aldonai forbid you end up married to one such as her!

***

Lily shut the door and returned to the children.

"What's going on there?" Marion yelled.

"Your suitor came to visit!"

"Wiener?"

She wanted to curse, but she shouldn't talk like that in front of children—they picked up words too fast. Instead, she was polite.

"Exactly."

"And what did you do?"

Out of old habits, Marion was still afraid of that pig.

Lily snorted.

"He promised to return in two days. We'll drink, we'll talk..."

"What will happen in two days?"

"Dumplings."

Marion sighed and resumed watching over the dresses. Scared or not, she had a business to run.

***

"Why aren't you afraid?" Larie wondered as she helped Lily brush her hair.

Lily looked at her friend.

"What?

"That man. He's so big...and scary... Probably strong, too."

Lily stared at her, dumbfounded.

"So?"

"He can hit you, kill you...anything!"

"I can hit and kill him, too." Lily didn't doubt herself.

Larie shivered.

"Still...it's so scary!"

Ugh, if only Lily could give Larie’s husband a good wallop! Maybe rip off his limbs, too, or at least spit at his grave a few times...or a hundred.

Lily patted Larie's hand. Washing up had made her prettier, too, but instead of a dirty, scared sparrow, she started looking like a clean sparrow—and just as scared. God only knew if she would stop being afraid. She really needed a therapist, but it was centuries before one might appear, and Lily couldn't do anything to help, either. Cutting and sewing were one thing, and healing a person's soul quite another. That was complicated, too complicated for her liking.

"Don't worry, Larie. We'll make it."

"Really?"

"Of course," Lily said with all the confidence she could muster. "Rest assured. We'll get the business up and running, marry you off if you'd like..."

"I wouldn’t!"

"Then we won't. Don't fret. It will work out. It's just sometimes, life can be hard, but we have to keep fighting and moving forward. Everything will come—a road, fellow travelers, a sunrise, a house full of love and care—as long as you don't give up when it's dark and cold."

"You're saying it, but—"

"I know that for sure. We can't influence much, but our honor, our faith, and our love always remain with us."

"It sounds so pretty."

"It does. You need to live, Larie, sometimes against all odds. Clench your teeth and tough it out, crawl on all knees and rise up. Otherwise, you might as well not be human."

"And then?"

"And then, a new day will come and a new trial. And you'll have to pass it, too."

"So, our life is all trials?"

"Yes."

"Why does Aldonai keep giving them to us?"

"To see if we can remain human."

"It's so complicated..."

Lily smiled, stood up, embraced Larie, and stroked her hair.

"Stay strong, friend. Just remember never to give up. The rest will come."

"What will?"

Lily snorted.

"For starters, dumplings."

***

For Lily, making dumplings was a holy rite.

The dough had to be mixed just the right way. She'd shape the flour in a mound, pour eggs and salted water inside the hollow in the middle, add oil, and knead it, adding more flour from the sides of the table: slowly, step by step.

Then she'd cut the resulting lump into smaller pieces and meticulously roll the dough, followed by mincing various kinds of meat. Sometimes, fish and poultry were also used, but Lily preferred pork and beef, one part each. Garlic, pepper, salt, onions... That process never failed her.

There were no grinders around, so the meat had to be chopped manually. Larie turned out to be quite good at that.

Lily rolled a sheet of dough, put it into the mold, pushed the meat mix inside, covered it with another layer of dough, and started shaping the dumplings. Then she cut off the remaining dough and put it on large boards.

The kitchen smelled of dough and mincemeat, and when Lily put the dumplings into clay pots and set them to simmer...

The children hovered about the table, Larie kept giving her curious glances, and even Marion licked her lips.

Lily covered the pots with pieces of dough and served them just like that, with delicious flatbread instead of a lid.

"A shot of strong liqueur would go nicely with it," Lily said dreamily. "But it's good the way it is."

Larie fished out a hot dumpling from the pot, chewed it, then took another one...

"It's a test. Try it with sour cream or mayo!" Lily failed to make real mayonnaise—olive oil was nowhere to be found around Avester—but she still made a sauce based on sour cream. Plant-based oils weren't rare, and so was apple vinegar, while garlic grew literally everywhere.

Whisk the eggs, oil, and vinegar, add a sprinkling of salt and sugar, mix it with sour cream and garlic, and voila! It tasted great, too. Lily knew many such sauces.

In the spring, she might even mix radish, dill, and cilantro, chop them up, and use them as a sauce. Simple enough, but not that obvious! Delicious, too.

Garrison life caused women to come up with no end of inventions to feed their families, and like any other military brat, Lily could cook anything. She just had to start, and her hands would remember the rest.

The three women set to work, their vigor renewed. Still, there was something else they had to do...

***

The trade union.

Lily had to lay low, and Marion... With her shyness, Marion could never go in, bang her fist against the table, and demand a license. Yet, that was exactly what she needed to do.

The Innkeeper Union was a peculiar sort of place.

Leatherworking had to be learned. Bakers, basket weavers, charcoal burners—all of them studied their craft since childhood, apprenticing before learning trade secrets. Innkeepers, however...

That wasn't exactly the safest profession, and people from all walks of life came to join the union. Mercenaries, merchants, commoners...everyone! There was only one thing they had in common: their character.

They were all tough, even sometimes cruel, folk—after all, being meek and mild meant losing everything in an instant. Rohm had been like that, too. He tried being gentle with his family, but his customers? He ran a tavern, for Aldonai's sake! If he didn't play rough, he'd end up working out of a shoe box!

Marion's license wouldn't last long; it had to be extended, preferably in her name.

If their little business started bringing in profits... If their dumplings became popular... Who said that others wouldn't try ousting them, ruining them, or simply fleecing them? After all, would some broads need money? Men were so much better at managing it!

Lily pondered it and went to visit the only innkeeper she knew.

Uncle Putney was in his inn, berating a negligent assistant by pushing his nose into cabbage—carefully and all fatherly-like. The loaf was already covered in blood and snot.

"How many times do I have to tell you? Don't you ever buy rotten produce, dolt, or I'll pull your head off!"

Upon seeing Lilian, Uncle Putney let the boy go and gave her a smile. It looked quite vicious.

"My pleasure, Milady."

Lily smiled and bowed. Yes, she wasn't used to that.

"Sir..."

She made an effort to make her smile normal, not strained like a bowstring. It's not like her teeth were being drilled without anesthesia!

"What brought you here, Milady?"

Lily sighed.

"I have a request. It might benefit both of us, too."

"Interesting. Maybe we should sit down, drink some wine, and discuss it?" Uncle Putney kept smiling, doing his best to demonstrate that he was a good guy. Still, he didn't let the assistant go. Seeing Lilian's gaze, he smashed the boy into the cabbage head one last time.

"Replace the entire cart this very day! One rotten spot, and I'll force you to eat everything!"

That sounded quite convincing.

The boy grabbed the cabbage and made himself scarce while Uncle Putney nodded at a corner table. Soon, the servant girls brought a pitcher of wine and a plate of simple snacks—salted fish with onions, seaweed, and soused apples.

Lily took a polite sip and munched on some cabbage.

Uncle Putney carefully watched her, his face serious. He was silent. Lily was the first to speak up.

"Uncle Putney, I've looked around the town. I can't work myself."

The innkeeper said nothing. Still, Lily wasn't going to be embarrassed.

"I'll need to join the union. To do that, I need money, but I can only make it in the union—otherwise, it's jail for me. You, however, are already a member."

"True."

"I managed to get hired as a cook..."

"Can you handle it? Aliya, you're with child. It's hard work!"

Lily shrugged.

"I know. Still, this is all I can do. It's a good place, the Red Hedgehog. Maybe you've heard of it?"

"Rohm Salie? He was a good man. Too bad the plague burned like a candle..."

"Yes. His widow doesn't want to abandon her husband's business."

"Running a tavern isn't a woman's work! Definitely not hers, anyway. I've seen Marion—she can't hurt a fly!"

Lily tossed her hair back.

"Right. Alone, she'll go belly up, but together, we can make it."

The innkeeper fell silent, patting his short beard.

"So, what do you want of me?"

"She'll have to pay a fee to join the union. I can't go with her, and it's not like they'll listen to me, anyway. She needs a man with her, someone serious and respectable. Someone who can strike the table and stand up for the poor woman."

"And you think that's me," the innkeeper replied with a nod. "I can see that. But what would I get out of it?"

"We'll share something with you."

"What exactly?"

Lily shrugged.

"How about you pay us a visit? Tomorrow morning. We'll treat you to a meal and discuss our plans."

"I might."

"Then come. We'll be happy to see you."

Lily stood up from the table, gave him a short bow, and headed to the door.

Putney watched her go.

***

The women went all out to welcome their guest. While their signature dish simmered, Lily fussed around the kitchen, making a few sauces—they weren't going to lay all of their cards on the table yet.

Pastry, however? The locals already knew various kinds of buns and pies, but cheese bread was something new.

Yet making it was pretty simple. In the morning, Lily made two dozen slices and was busy watching them, so they didn't burn. Larie had to open the door herself.

Uncle Putney arrived in his best bib and tucker. He wore a leather doublet, a wide-brimmed hat, and a belt with a bear-shaped buckle. After all, he had served as a mercenary back in the day, survived long enough to retire, and used his money to open an inn. How many men could say that about themselves? Not many, only the smartest ones. He had something to be proud of.

"Hello, good sir."

Lily had been doing her best to help Larie fight her anxiety. There was nothing to be afraid of anymore.

Now, being at the mercy of an asshole—that must have been truly scary. But she wasn't alone anymore; she had a family that wouldn't let any bastard off the hook.

Fine, Lily wasn't exactly her family, but she was more than capable of biting any jerk's head off.

Countess Earton had grown used to being responsible for her people in Ativerna and remained true to herself.

Was she still herself, though?

Once, a long time ago, Aliya had put on the mask of Her Grace Lilian Earton, and when she tried to go back to her old self, she was surprised to realize that it wasn't there anymore.

She was, but she was completely different.

A stranger.

A mask.

Or did people simply change with time, their souls, their thoughts, their essence?

Lily wasn't sure, but it seemed to her that Aliya hadn't been like that.

"Good day, Larie."

"Come in, please. Sample our humble treats..."

"Thank you very much. I'd love to."

Putney gave Larie his hat and went inside.

Then he whistled in surprise.

Lily had used the time she had as efficiently as she could.

Everything was sparkling clean—the tables, the floors, the walls, the windows. She didn't whitewash everything yet, but the walls and the ceilings were painted. It's not like it was that big of a deal. Too bad that her neck hurt like hell afterward, and cleaning up was a bitch, too. Still, it was worth it.

She also hung fresh sharp-smelling herbs everywhere and diluted white with bright colors in the form of rowan branches in clay vases.

The results looked pretty nice indeed. One table was covered with a white tablecloth. That's where Uncle Putney sat down.

Marion served him in person, her tray large and full of food. A pot of dumplings, a bottle of bitters, and various snacks—pickled onions and cucumbers, ground carrot, beetroot soused with garlic, rolled ham—usually, she'd use eggplants, but where would she get them? Instead, she cut thin slices of pork.

It might seem that preparing all of that would take a while, but almost all dishes used similar components, just different sauces and cooking methods. Roasting, baking, marinating...

Uncle Putney's smile grew wide. The pot looked familiar enough, but the smell...

Lily marched out of the kitchen like a queen, twiddling with her hair.

"Feel free, sir."

Then she sat down across the table, poured the liqueur into shot glasses, and raised hers.

"Cheers!"

Uncle Putney nodded and gulped down the bitters.

"Cheers, Aliya."

"Have a bite, please. Try everything."

Putney devoured everything with gusto, starting with the rolled ham. And when it came to the main dish, Lily took the lead.

She opened a similar pot, albeit smaller, fished out a dumpling, put it into a bowl of sour cream, and finally ate it, a look of pleasure on her face.

"Yum... It's amazing with bitters, trust me. I can't drink too much, or I'd chase it down."

"You don't like spirits?"

"Spirits make a man foolish and a woman loose. I don't," Lily snapped.

"I hope I won't become foolish from so little," the innkeeper said with a smile and tried a dumpling.

First, it was one, then one more, then with different sauces...

Lily watched him stuff himself with her cooking and felt proud. So it hadn't been all for naught! She really did a good job!

After finishing everything on the table, Uncle Putney sat back and looked at Lilian.

"So this is what you're going to sell?"

"Yes."

"Others will borrow the recipe soon."

Lily shrugged.

"Let them. You don't think I know only one recipe, do you?"

"So you have many?"

The innkeeper was clearly planning something.

Lily chuckled. Just you wait! She might even introduce sushi! There was no shortage of algae and fish around Berma, and as for rice...

Rice was a problem. Oryza was cultivated there, but it wasn't exactly common. It was a complicated and delicate plant, too—buckwheat and wheat were much easier. Still, she could buy a bit and only serve sushi to respectable customers, maybe as a snack, too...

But back to the real world.

"We have enough. You might even get some if you help us."

"And what prevents me from stealing your ideas and kicking you out?"

Lily snorted.

"It's not like I'm planning on staying here long. I doubt you'll have the time to steal all my ideas."

"Oh really?"

"Let's try it, and you'll see," Lily suggested.

The innkeeper seemed reluctant to agree.

"I understand that you'll be cooking for two places, yours and mine?"

Lily shook her head.

"It won't be profitable."

"Then what will I get? I understand what you want: to get your license extended right now."

"Yes."

"So, what do I get?"

Lily shrugged.

"We'll be cooking here. You'll be sending a man to deliver sauces and snacks. We'll share the main dish later when we skim the cream."

"Hmm."

"And for your inn, I have something else in mind. It will sell better, too. It's cheap, easy to make..."

Lily nodded to Larie, and the girl brought a tray of burgers.

Why not? It was the perfect dish! Baking a bun was easy. Patty? Not a problem, either. Salad, veggies, cheese, sauce... It was delicious, filling, not exactly expensive, and most importantly, popular. After all, that dish had conquered an entire planet. Lily, back when she had been Aliya, loved junk food, too.

So what if it was bad for health? It was so tasty! Sometimes, there were things you just HAD to do!

And French fries? Lily almost groaned when she remembered the taste. Still...she couldn't reproduce them yet. Too bad. But she could make hotdogs! Probably not with wieners (heh), though...but why not? She just needed to think about that.

"Well, well, well..."

He bit off almost half of the burger and chewed it.

"Tastes good. So?"

"As you can see, it's not hard to make. We'll make as much sauce as you like." Lily wasn't afraid of sharing the secret of mayo. All things had nuances; it's not like having the recipe was the end-all. Even Marion, with all her skill, had ruined a few basins of sour cream, and that was with Lily standing next to her and giving advice.

Lily didn't want to recall her own first attempts: that wasn't even funny. The sauce would separate into layers, the egg whites would somehow clot, and when she accidentally used a rotten egg once...

Who'd ever explain why sour cream became so, well, sour? Everything was done right!

Uncle Putney thought some more, clearly playing hard to get. Then he slowly nodded.

"Fine. You'll have to pickle vegetables for my inn, too..."

"But you'll be providing them for us," Lily immediately remarked.

"Fine. As for these buns, I'll send my cook here to learn the recipe and have a look myself."

"As you wish. Pick the time and come right in."

"Tomorrow, we'll visit the union to extend the license for a year."

Lily smiled.

"We'll start immediately after that. I'll have a reason to stay in town, too..."

Putney got the hint. If the license wasn't extended, Lilian would leave, and he'd lose out on a lot of money.

Things were never as simple as they might appear. Cooking was a real science. Even making tasty porridge was hard, and cooking for a few persons wasn't the same as for an entire tavern, either. There were so many catches!

Honestly, he'd rather help those broads. In the end, one way or another, he would get his profits.

Chapter 12

Two days later, Arnold Wiener knocked at the tavern door.

Lily opened up and gave him a warm smile.

"Good day. Come in, be our guest."

Such a cordial reception surprised Wiener. That wasn't what he had expected.

"Good day. Mistress, what cheer?"

"Well met, good sir," Lily replied in kind.

"So, Marion..."

"Mistress Salie will be right in. Come in; you can wait. The dinner's ready."

Arnold chuckled and went inside. Hopefully, they wouldn't poison him...would they? Lilian's saccharine manners were all too suspicious.

Arnold liked the new look of the tavern: onion strings decorating the walls, garlic hanging from the beams, wooden tables scrubbed clean...

Larie peeked out from the kitchen, her eyes wide, and disappeared behind the door. Lily excused herself and went to talk to the girl, then came back, seated Wiener, and started filling the table with various snacks and drinks.

Bitter liqueur tasted amazing with sauerkraut and pickles, and Lilian's seaweed salad turned out pretty well, too—she had mixed it with chicken, carrots, eggs, and mayo. Calamari salad, cabbage-and-eggs salad...

Mayo was a big hit.

The guest chugged down shots of bitters one after another. He wanted to try every dish, but he couldn't do it without drinking anything, could he?

The tasting proceeded with so much enthusiasm that when happy Marion entered the tavern arm-in-arm with Uncle Putney, he couldn't even stand up. Apparently, he didn't need that sixth shot...or did he? The sixth went down well. It was the eighth that was a problem!

Lily gave him a snide smile. After all, it was she who had poured some moonshine into his liqueur. Unfortunately, soda water wasn't a thing yet, and she had no idea how to invent it.

It would have been so nice, though! The Brown Bear—cognac with champagne—would have knocked Wiener straight out. He would have been a real bear, all right, curled up in a ball and sucking his paw.

Lily didn't even have to ask if everything had turned out fine—it was that obvious.

"A year?"

"A year!"

"We need to celebrate this!"

"Y-yeah! Let's d-drink!" Wiener barked and banged his shot glass against the table.

Miraculously, it didn't shatter, but Lily immediately snatched it away from him and replaced it with a plain tin cup. He'd have to make do without it; she wasn't going to have him break Marion's stuff!

It was time to serve the main course. She had stuffed several pumpkins: cut off their tops, put porridge and meat inside, added mayo, stirred, and put them into the oven. She also cooked some dumplings and made a few salads. With wine for the women and liqueur for the men, everything was gone in an instant.

However, if Uncle Putney tried to drink in moderation and eat well, Wiener was getting hammered. He had a shot, then a few more, and slammed his fist against the table.

"Oi! M-mrion! M-marry me!"

Lily could barely make out his words. What followed was even more interesting.

"Y-you'll c-cook f'me!"

So that’s what it was. The way to a man's heart was through the stomach, and Wiener had just paved the way. His brain, however?

Well, the saying didn't mention the brain. Apparently, it wasn't part of the conversation.

Uncle Putney narrowed his eyes as he glanced at his "rival," estimating his threat level. Without a word, he stood up and seized Arnold by the scruff of his neck.

"Go sleep it off, swine, before accosting a decent woman!"

Lily could only sigh with admiration. Wiener was carried to the door, put outside the tavern, and even propelled into the right direction with a slight kick. Shown the path to a bright future, so to speak. And that's where he went...probably.

Putney returned inside and gave Lilian a completely sober glare.

"You'll owe me."

"You're really no nobleman," Lily said with a sad sigh. "What about heroics for fair ladies?"

"Well, one more shot might do it," he replied.

A nobleman... There was nothing noble about him! He wasn't stupid enough for that!

***

Precisely two weeks later—Lily had been counting—the Red Hedgehog resumed operation.

The sign changed, showing a hedgehog sitting on a tree stump and eating dumplings from a pot. There was enough prepared to last a week.

Somehow, the women had repaired the interior and cleaned the parts they couldn't repair.

Most importantly, however, they made a deal with the guards. Lily knew first-hand—every restaurant needed protection, a "roof," so to speak: not just the one on top of the building but a group of men in charge of safety.

In any world, running a restaurant was a troublesome job. All kinds of people came there: drunks, customers unwilling to pay, jerks like Wiener... Some schemes were older than Christ.

First, you'd push your neighbor's business into crisis and then carefully lay your grubby hands on it: nothing new under the sun. To prevent such plots from going off, Lily needed protection.

Ideally, she'd hire a bouncer, but there were some threats that he wouldn't be able to handle.

What else, then? Lily tried asking Marion whom she was paying for protection, but the woman simply shook her head. Rohm might have mentioned something about that, but she wasn't sure. Her husband never shared details about his arrangements with her; that wasn't a woman's business.

Should she ask the neighbors? Who'd ever tell? Lily would have kept silent, too, just in case.

Wiener? Yeah, right.

Uncle Putney? Lily questioned him, mulled it over, and sighed. No, it wouldn't work.

His inn was in the docks, and he was paying the group called Longshore Seagulls. Apparently, even in that world, thieves loved coming up with fancy names. As if that would protect them from getting hanged!

She might try cutting a deal with the Seagulls, but that guaranteed a conflict with the locals. That was someone else's territory; would they tolerate some dockside riff-rats?

Lily wouldn't have liked it either and done her best to punish the arrogant tavern keeper who risked doing that.

But who else could provide her the service she wanted?

The town guard, of course! The guardsmen who patrolled the town, had their fingers in each pie, and were respected and feared. After all, the mayor had permitted them to fire their crossbows without warning and beat up any wrongdoer they wished.

Was it too much? Not really. A port town with docks, sailors, and taverns could make any man into a beast capable of shooting on sight.

Lily understood it. In the times of the Wild West, the sheriff would carry a gun and fire it without warning, sometimes not even explaining the bodies left in his wake. How else would you maintain discipline among people who didn't even care about their own lives, let alone someone else's?

On the other hand, what could she offer the guards? Money?

First, that would be illegal.

Second, the women didn't exactly have any money at that moment, having put everything into their business: paying the union fee, buying supplies... And they had only gotten enough to last them a few days, too.

So what could Lily suggest?

The answer was obvious. They were guards! In Berma, they patrolled in three eight-hour shifts. Each group had six men who walked around the streets, kept watch, mediated conflicts, and found and sometimes buried corpses.

Eight hours outside, cold and hungry...

There was a catch: guards were strictly forbidden from visiting taverns. If anyone was found sitting at a table during their shift, he'd be fined for half of his wage. Two strikes, and he'd get a full-wage fine and discharge. They were allowed only a thirty-minute break for dinner and only in turns.

Lily rubbed her hands, pleased, and headed to the sergeant.

***

Prévôt Larus was sitting at a table, preparing to eat.

Worlds may be different, but some things never changed. Joylessly, he stared at the bread, meat, a pitcher of flat wine, and a pie way past its sell date as a dessert. But what was he to do?

Alas, he didn't have a wife, and nobody would cook him dinner, wait for him to come home after his shift, and give him a cheerful scolding. He was already forty, too.

His work was a daily grind, the money he got could barely feed him... The only consolation was the promise of the town supporting his widow and children if anything happened to him. Well, unless she remarried.

However, women didn't seem particularly enthusiastic. The mayor wasn't exactly generous: he paid enough to keep the guards from starving but not enough to live comfortably. Having a rich family was the only salvation, but who'd ever become a guardsman if he were rich? That would be a miracle!

Men like that would only ever be in charge. Rank and file, though?

Don't hold your breath.

Martin Larus had earned his position fair and square, starting out as an ordinary patrolman, then the patrol officer, and finally getting a promotion—not by his own will but because of an injury. His leg hurt all the time, not just when it rained, and the scar on his hip was hideous.

That's why women didn't like guardsmen. They might deign to hitch their skirt for them, but starting a family?

Actually, that was pretty sad. Those guys were doing good work, and they weren't bad people by nature, either. However, if you stick a fresh cucumber into a jar of pickles, it will marinate, and guards didn't exactly deal with saints.

Thieves, beggars, murderers—criminals came in all shapes and sizes, and people who had to work with them couldn’t be angels, either. The prévôt was no angel himself.

The knock at his door annoyed him to no end, but it's not like he had so much to do, anyway...

"Come in!"

The door creaked, and a basket entered the room.

Well, at first, it was a basket. A woman followed. She wasn't carrying the basket herself—a boy about twelve was hauling it for her.

"Good day to you, esteemed prévôt!"

"Well met," Larus said, nodding to her while thinking about the basket's contents. He didn't have to wonder long.

Lily—and it was she—walked up to the table, shook her head, and pushed the food aside.

The prévôt was so shocked that he didn't even protest, and soon, it was too late for that.

"You can't eat it. It will ruin your stomach."

"Wh—"

“Bon appetit.”

A pot appeared on the table in front of him. It was wrapped in a towel to keep it warm and covered with a fluffy flatbread instead of a lid. The aroma it emanated was nothing short of divine.

Green leak leaves lay on a cloth next to the pot, as did slices of fatback, a small bowl of sauce, and even a bottle full of clear liquid with a shot glass.

The woman deftly poured the liquid into the glass.

"Please, dine before we talk."

The prévôt wanted to refuse, but the smell... A tired and hungry man couldn't resist the temptation. He emptied the glass, quickly chased it down with a piece of fatback, then opened the pot and looked at the spoon.

"Is it a stew?"

"It's better. Go ahead, esteemed prévôt. Who else to sample this wonderful dish if not you?"

The odd lump of dough didn't seem all that attractive at first. But sometimes, appearances were deceiving.

Larus chewed the dumpling, savored the taste, put another one into his mouth, then the third... When Lily poured hum another shot of liqueur, for the first time that day, the prévôt felt at peace.

Was that what happiness felt like?

There was only enough liqueur for three shots, but he didn't need anything more. That was quite the right dosage for a well-built man eating a variety of filling foods.

In the meantime, Lily went outside into the reception room, which was usually occupied by guards, and started fiddling around. He was too lazy to go upstairs, but when she returned, Larus peeked through the door left ajar and saw something in his subordinates' hands.

"Are you treating us, mistress?"

"I'm feeding the men. Aldonai commanded us to do charity," Lily retorted.

"Can't argue with that."

"And here's the dessert."

Lily hadn't exactly gone out of her way with the dessert. A simple apple sponge cake was quite enough. It didn't require a lot of time and preparation, stayed fresh for a long time, and whipping some cream didn't take more than a few minutes. She couldn't give him meringues, could she? That was for the ladies, "sweet and delicate," but working men would only appreciate tasty, filling, and plentiful food.

The prévôt ate one slice of cake, then another, and gave Lilian a friendly look.

"So tell me, mistress, what's wrong? Did your husband run away? Drop the idiot, then! Serves him right for not appreciating you."

Lily smiled.

"It's not about my husband. My sister owns a tavern in your town. The Red Hedgehog, you might have heard of it."

"Yes, that's right... The Salie family. Rohm died of plague... Is your sister Marion Salie?"

"Yes, esteemed prévôt."

That man's memory was nothing short of impressive! He didn't need any archives to know everybody!

"So, what do you want from me?"

"Esteemed prévôt, I lived in Elvana for a long time and learned a few cooking recipes. Made some money, too. Then Sister's husband died, and we thought—what if we combine my money and skills with her tavern so that we could raise our children together?" Lily demonstratively stroked her growing belly. Her pregnancy was already showing.

"Oh, I see. What about your husband?"

"Esteemed prévôt, it's hard for me to talk about him..." Lily shamelessly lowered her eyes.

The prévôt gave her sympathetic nod.

"But at least you have a child on the way."

"My darling!" Lily touched her stomach again and got a kick. Why are you bothering me, Mama? I wish to sleep!

"So, what is it you want?"

"Esteemed prévôt, I have a small request. You must realize how hard it is for two women to run a tavern. But if you visited us from time to time, we'd be happy to feed your guardsmen... It must be tough, walking all day long!"

"How much for a meal?"

"Esteemed prévôt, for you, it's free, of course."

"And for the men?"

"A copper, a token price, really," Lily replied.

Considering that even the crappiest lunch cost at least three copper coins, it was a wonderful price.

"What are you going to serve?"

"Our signature dish," Lily said, pointing at the pot of dumplings. "That's what we're going to cook, mostly. A meal like this one—without liqueur, though, or no more than one glass at the guardsman's expense. It's unseemly, getting drunk while on duty."

"What about the union?"

"Marion has already filed an application. For three years, we're the only ones who can serve this dish. Others can borrow it later."

That was true. There was no hiding a cat in a bag; recipes were stolen all the time, and that's why patents existed. If you invented something new, you had the right to sell it at your place for three years. Afterward, other establishments could follow. You'd get the opportunity to skim the cream without completely crushing the competition.

"Well..."

"Esteemed prévôt, I understand if you refuse my offer. If so, please recommend someone who can help me. We're poor lonely women. We can't make it without protection and assistance..."

Prévôt thought a bit.

On the one hand, the taverns in his quarter were controlled by the Cockeyed Cat. They paid a small share and lived comfortably. On the other, he had just gotten tasty food and polite conversation. Wasn't that too good for the kitty?

The prévôt had to think about his men. Winter was just round the corner; would it be so bad to get a hot meal once a day? And then, he might drop in himself, too...

A copper was a good price, and he'd get a free dinner—good thinking for a broad...

"Let's agree to this: I'll start sending guards to you. We'll see how things are going in my quarter and decide later."

Lily gave him a respectful bow. She liked the prévôt.

She felt a bit sorry for a man in his forties—not exactly old for a man by local standards—but without a family. And Lily could see he didn't have one unless something was really wrong with his wife: his beard wasn't trimmed, his cloak was dirty, his doublet had a suspicious dark stain...

Was it blood or ketchup? Ah, there weren't any tomatoes in Avester. Definitely blood.

His hair was salt-and-pepper, his eyes unexpectedly bright blue but tired.

Honestly, even if Lily had come to argue and fight, she would have stopped to feed him first.

"Let's draw up an agreement, esteemed prévôt. But the tavern isn't mine. It belongs to Marion Salie, so she should sign the papers. Would you like to visit us? Let's say, tonight?"

Seeing as nobody was waiting for the prévôt at home—and definitely no food—he had no choice but to agree.

***

Arnold Wiener was preparing to storm the castle.

Last time, the cunning women had tricked him, got him drunk, and kicked him out. Arnold wasn't sure how he got home, but his dirty elbows, knees, and belly, plus the footprint on the backside, attested that someone had shown him the direction to his house but decided against escorting him.

How dare they!

Couldn't they call for his sons, at least? The lads would have carried him home... Actually, a good host would have let Arnold stay the night in the tavern to sleep it off! In the morning, after he had a drink to take the edge off his hangover, they could have talked.

Instead, however...

Come to think of it, what exactly had happened? Wiener's memory was blank. They let him in, treated him to a meal, he ate something hot...but what was next?

Even if she couldn't make a real Brown Bear, Lily still got things done. Her mix wreaked havoc on the man's brains, leaving him with no recollections of that night. Too bad Arnold Wiener wasn't going to tell her about that detail.

Should he pay her a visit, though?

Why not?

He could claim, for instance, that his belt buckle was missing...a golden one! With gems!

So what if Arnold would never waste money on such trifles? Let the broads look for it for all he cared! And if they failed, he could always talk to the prévôt...

***

The tavern wasn't open yet, but that didn't stop Wiener. He walked up to the door and started banging his fist against it. A woman opened up. Not the redhead—her friend? A maid?

"Good day," Arnold said, deciding to start with greetings rather than expletives. "Now that won't do at all! I came to you with the best of intentions, and you got me drunk, slipped something into my drink, and robbed me blind! How could you?!"

The girl stepped back but instead of replying, turned around and yelled, "Aliya!"

The redhead wasn't long in coming. She marched out of the door, her hands on her hips.

"Whatever do you want, good neighbor?"

He was forced to repeat his complaint, albeit in a more aggressive tone. Lily didn't flinch.

"You never had any buckle with you, and you know it, too. Blaming us for something that didn't happen isn't nice at all!"

"I did have a buckle! And if you don't give it back, I'll have a talk with the prévôt!"

Lily bared her teeth like a hungry crocodile.

"Why waste time, then? Come on in. The prévôt's here."

Arnold hadn't expected such a turn of events, but before he could say a word, Lily stepped aside and pushed him right inside the tavern.

The hall was clean and full of light, decorated with something. Arnold wasn't sure what had changed—as if he'd ever deigned to care about those womanly frills and ruffles—but it looked pretty. Marion was sitting at the table, treating their guest.

Prévôt Larus. Arnold knew him well enough. They had met several times.

You'd think there was nothing wrong in a man occasionally indulging in a few cups of wine. So what if he got a little rowdy? Things like that happened. Why twist his arms, kick him, drag him to the prévôt, fine him? So hurtful!

Last time, the prévôt had promised Arnold that if he got caught again, he'd only have himself to blame. He'd be put in the stocks, for sure!

Such disrespect! He was no rabble, either! He was a butcher with his own shop!

"Umm... Ahem!"

Arnold coughed.

That didn't produce any reaction.

"Good day to you."

The prévôt turned around.

"Arnold Wiener? Good to see you! What brings you here? Have you come to offer your meat to the owners, like any good neighbor would?"

"I...er..."

"Our esteemed neighbor here tells me that when he was here last time, he got sloshed, and his belt buckle went missing. Gold one, with gems," Lily said, her voice truly angelic.

The prévôt burst out laughing.

"What went missing?"

"My b-buckle!" All of a sudden, Arnold looked shorter. That tavern was really cursed.

"Where would you get something like that? Did you filch it?"

Arnold coughed again. Now that was unexpected.

"Your words wound me! Prévôt Larus, you've known me for a long time!"

"Exactly, I do know you! As a drunkard, rabble-rouser, and seller of rotten goods!"

"Me?"

"Who bought the dead horse from the harness maker's widow, then? Or was it for personal use?"

Lily put her hand on her throat. It's not like she was particularly squeamish. She had even eaten horse sausage back in her day. Still, that thought made her uneasy. If the horse had died a natural death... Ew!

Arnold mumbled that the horse was a lie and he had nothing to do with it anyway, but the prévôt wasn't going to let him off easily.

"Turn around and be off with you. I'm dining in fine company and have no wish to hear you out. So your buckle's gone? File a proper complaint, and don't forget to tell us where you got it, so we can go check. Got it?"

"Yes, esteemed prévôt."

"Then begone. You're excused."

Arnold Wiener turned around and went on his way empty-handed.

Lily smiled and hurried to the kitchen, where the oven was full of pies just like her mother used to make. Fish pies, cabbage pies... They were amazing.

Larus could use some both as a treat and as a gift. The man clearly wasn't doing that well.

***

After seeing the prévôt off, Marion glanced at Lilian.

"Is everything all right?"

"Of course."

"Aliya, we won't go broke by feeding the guards almost for free?"

"We won't, as long as we raise the prices for other customers. Your husband used to pay some lowlifes for protection, too, and we won't have to."

"What if they come?"

"They'll have to go whence they came from. If we have guards eating here at least daily, miscreants will stay away from here. Instead, we'll get ‘clean,’ respectable public, and it means money."

Marion nodded. She didn't think on that level. She had always had her husband to take care of her, to think for her. He made the decisions and told her where to go and what to do. He loved her, cherished her, protected her...

Lily took up the reins, and Marion was happy to take a breath and get rid of that responsibility. Instinctively, she knew that Lily wished her only the best. And if so... Let her.

Marion agreed to everything, and it's not like she had to learn a completely new trade. She was used to helping to run the tavern. The business seemed to come into its own, and her children were doing better, too—Aliya made a point of rubbing them with some ointment and giving them herbal tinctures, as well as telling them stories.

They got the license, too, and patented their recipes. Hopefully, they wouldn't go bust.

That thought scared Marion, but she had to move forward.

***

The Red Hedgehog was finally opening its doors.

Lily went to great lengths to advertise the tavern. Instead of putting up banners or publishing newspaper ads—that wasn't the right era for that—she simply took a stroll through the marketplace. A word here, a hint there... She gave a few coppers to the urchins and hired a couple of apprentices.

As usual, word of mouth was the best marketing agency. People would rather trust a maid or a stall keeper rather than a proclamation.

Still, Lily was nervous. The pots were simmering in the oven as she kept checking the flatbread to avoid overdrying it, and pickles bided their time in wooden barrels.

Their first customer was the prévôt.

"Good morning, ladies. Serve me, why don't you?"

Marion smiled and started fussing around the man. The guardsmen, who came along, received their meals and started munching on them.

Slowly, more people came in. A few mercenaries, several apprentices, three middle-aged men—merchants, from the looks of them...

Larie and Lilian ran off their feet serving everyone, and so did Marion. Fiona also helped as much as she could. And the people...the people seemed happy.

By the end of the day, when the tavern was closed, Marion counted their earnings and stared at Lilian, wide-eyed.

"Aliya... My husband only got that much in the better days."

"Splendid. Let's clean up. In the morning, we'll have to start cooking again."

"Will you take the money?"

Lily shook her head.

"No, Marion. The money will be yours. I don't need it...yet, and neither does Larie—where would we spend it? When I give birth, I'll ask you for a few coins for the swaddles."

"Why ask?" Marion replied, dumbfounded. "I have a cradle in the attic and lots of swaddles. Some baby clothes, too. I can give you everything, no trouble."

Lily gave her a grateful smile.

"Thank you."

Then she went to douse dirty plates with water to be cleaned in the morning.

As Lily poured a dipper of hot water into the vat, she touched her belly. How was the baby doing?

The baby kicked. I'm fine, I am! Still, Mama, you better avoid straining yourself too much.

Lily patted her stomach.

"We'll make it, honey. We'll definitely make it and go back home."

The baby replied with another kick. What do you mean, Mama? I already know that! No need to convince me!

***

His Majesty Entor was furious. He had already sent out the courtiers from the throne room, and the servants were wise enough to follow them, closing the doors behind them. As he tossed his crown into the corner, it clattered against the marble floor like a tin can hitting the pavement. Enraged, he toppled over his grandfather's magnificent suit of gilded armor standing in the corner, kicking it and crushing his toe against the horns on the helmet, and cursed before finally sitting down on the windowsill—something that kings weren't really supposed to do.

Well, it's not like anyone could see him, anyway. What kind of king was he if he couldn't sit on his own windowsill?

Anger choked him, fury pulsing in his head and crushing his heart, making it hard to breathe, and the taste of someone's blood and pain stung his tongue.

He had a good reason to be seething.

Just imagine: you have a plan. No, the Plan. A great one and important for your country, sure to bring you a lot of money and almost on the verge of coming true.

And then, something happens. A spanner gets in the wheels, and your chariot goes to the curb. Why?! What was going on?!

His Majesty had received Lofrayne's letter, followed by the Ativernan ambassador's message. Everything was fine: the countess had been captured, put onto the ship set for Avester. And then, the vessel disappeared from the face of the world, as if it had never existed in the first place as if a cow had licked it off its hide...although a king wasn't supposed to use such base expressions. Fine; let's say it wasn't a cow but a heraldic gargoyle.

The point still stood: the ship was missing. It wasn't in the port or at sea, at least going by the word from Loris. The pirates weren't lying; Entor knew that. The pirates needed that base. He used the pirates to liven up trade, and the pirates needed one place whence they weren't chased away. They would die off without Loris, and Entor was the one they had to thank for it. Piracy alone couldn't provide them with enough supplies: they had to trade for them.

And thus, the balance had been born. Entor would set prices higher than other kings but not so high that the pirates ignored the treaty and started attacking his ships. Meanwhile the pirates served him as...watchdogs?

No, more like watch coyotes around his lands. Dogs were loyal, after all, and those scoundrels would bite anyone if they could. They were the scum of the earth, true vermin—Entor genuinely despised his allies, even if he never showed it.

No, he was certain that the pirates weren't lying. Even if one of them were to nibble the spoils, the others wouldn't stand for that. Sooner or later, the truth would reach his ears.

But where was the Prancing Mermaid, then? Where were his people? Were they dead?

Entor knew very well that many things could happen at sea. He had heard the legends about the Sea Wyrm, the Great Whirlpool, the ghost ship that passed through the other vessels and took the souls of their sailors, the mermaids...

Ships kept vanishing. People kept vanishing.

Still, that was the best-case scenario: if he couldn't get Lilian Earton, nobody could. Maybe his Plan could still work.

But what if she wasn't missing? What if someone else had gotten their hands on the Mermaid and could use the countess for their own ends?

Of course, Entor could deny everything. There was no proof, anyway. The problem, however, was that nobody needed the proof!

When it came to politics of his level, nobody cared about the due process! So what if there was no proof? The only evidence people needed was the knowledge of who would ultimately benefit from the abduction and the countess' testimony. There was no need for a court trial.

Ativerna. Wellster. Virma. The Khanganat. If those four countries ganged up on Avester, Entor would have a hard time. They would cut off its seaways, reduce shipments, raise fees... And angry merchants had a lot of power.

But what if he was wrong, and the ship was resting at the bottom, the fish snacking on the sailors?

He hoped so. The countess would be there, too. Lofrayne? He felt a bit sorry for him: a cute pup that could have grown into a dangerous hound. But there were plenty of dogs around. He could find someone else. Maybe he shouldn't have gotten involved in that affair in the first place, anyway.

But the countess eloping with her lover meant a slap in Ativerna's face and a boon to Avester. It was meant to be followed by lots of diplomacy and a few more slaps to boot... Alas, Edward had died, but good riddance! Yes, on paper, the Plan looked great. But when it came to implementing it...

Nobody could be trusted. NOBODY! Nobody could bring his genius ideas to life. First, the pup had failed to properly seduce the countess. Idiot! All women were whores! They always played coy in the beginning but surrendered in the end! Instead, he kept beating around the bush. Entor should have picked someone else; court wenches had spoiled Lofrayne! He became too used to whores chasing him and failed in his task.

If Entor himself had gone there, he would have definitely charmed Countess Earton. It couldn't be that hard.

And then, the abduction. It seemed to have gone smoothly, but the ambassador wrote that the Ativernans had taken an interest in him.

Richard told him directly that he knew the culprits' names, and they would have to answer for their impudence. And the idiot ambassador couldn't even argue himself away! Was it so complicated, really? Richard had no proof, only suspicions. So what if someone had snuck into his bedroom? Idiot!

Entor never doubted himself: in the ambassador's place, he would have held out under any torture, absolutely. But those dimwits... So soft! So weak!

What was he supposed to do, then? What should he expect?

Still, the answer was simple. There was no need to expect anything, as there was nothing His Majesty Entor could do,
nothing at all. He could only sit around and wait, maybe prodding his agents to watch for every piece of gossip, every move, every whisper—everything they could.

They would write it down, and they would report it to him.

Alas, waiting was the thing for which Entor had never had any patience. That's why His Majesty was so mad; that's why the crown was thrown around the throne room, and the armor was kicked...

However, waiting was inevitable for any news that might come along.

Virma, the lands of Clan Hardring.

"The Prancing Mermaid, you say. Jock Arran, you say..."

Olav Hardring's expression almost made Jock soil the deck. He had a good reason, too. Olav was a behemoth of a man, two heads taller than Jock with shoulders twice as broad, and his smile was vicious and bloodthirsty.

And his axe? That monstrosity could chop down a century-old pine tree with one swing! Now that was just nothing short of terrifying! Jock could use it as a mirror, a waist-high one. And it wasn't just for show, either. It was clearly a weapon that knew the taste of an enemy's blood. Jock had a newfound respect for himself when he mumbled...well, spoke up almost distinctly,

"Are you the clan chief, sir?'

"Think bigger," Olav said, letting out a pleased chuckle. "I'm the Chief of the Virman Council of Clans."

Then he patted the pendant on his chest.

That was the first step in his and Bran's plan. If he crowned himself a king right away, the Virmans might not submit to him. Acting as the leader of the Council of Clans was a different matter. In a decade or so, when everyone got used to living under him and having their bellies full year after year, he would move to the next step—say, hand over power to his son or maybe declare himself the king.

But that would happen later. At that moment, Olav needed something else. If that was the ship that had taken Countess Earton, it would give him an advantage in his negotiations with Ativerna. Richard was a smart lad and a grateful one, too. He was sure to appreciate that.

And thus, Olav gave Jock a hard look, put a hand on his shoulder, almost crushing the poor sod into the deck, and said, his voice quiet but sharp, "Tell me everything."

Jock gulped and started talking, quick and disjointed, hoping to finish before Olav became really angry. Otherwise, he had no chance of coming out alive from that predicament.

***

Two hours later, Olav Hardring was sitting at the table, writing a letter.

Unlike the axe, the golden Ativernan quill didn't look right in his large hand. Still, it was a handy tool. Lines appeared on the paper as if by magic.

Your Majesty,

By a twist of fate, I have an opportunity to do you a small favor.

A ship came into my possession. Called The Prancing Mermaid, it actively participated in the abduction of Her Grace Lilian Earton...

A favor, not a service. Virmans were no servants. They might end up as vassals, but it wasn't a prospect yet and hopefully would never become one—Olav wanted Virma to stay independent.

He would send Richard the ship and his letter, and His Majesty could figure out the rest.

Olav also made a point of writing that fifty ships, fully crewed, were at his neighbor's disposal. Just say the word.

Olav disliked Loris and wouldn't mind picking its feathers while shielded by the flag of Ativerna. But would Richard risk it?

He would. His Majesty wasn't the sort to turn the other cheek, and it's not like he could do it, either. He had just taken the throne, and everyone was trying to test him. What was Entor thinking?

But he wasn't thinking, not really. He simply had no idea whom he was dealing with. He had only seen the other Richard—a gallant courtier, a brilliant dancer, a lover of ladies, something of a dunce... Nobody had told the king of Avester that it was only a mask. Or maybe not even that. A mask was easy to see through. All of those qualities were a true part of Richard; he simply almost never let them out. That careless, loose, and reckless persona had been buried under the same sheet of ice as his own heart. The king had no time for that.

Entor was up the creek without a paddle, but he had it coming, anyway.

Olav stamped the letter with his personal seal and stroked his pendant.

The Chief of the Council of Clans! It sounded so nice...

Then he started writing another letter—to Bran. He needed to contact Gardren; he might suggest something, seeing as he was already in Ativerna. Things were coming together, and it felt right.

Olav was truly a fortunate man.

But still…where was the countess?

Avester, Berma.

"Aliya, look!"

"Where should I look?"

Lily was running back and forth from the dumplings to the cookies. The former were almost ready, but so were the latter, and missing the right moment was a disaster waiting to happen.

"I'll keep an eye on everything. You need to go to the hall."

"Why?" Lily finally looked away from the food—and Marion's face shocked her.

"There..."

Marion was ghostly pale, biting her lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

"What happened, Marion?"

"The Cock-Eyed Cat came!"

Lily walked up to the kitchen door and peeked out. Thankfully, Rohm had arranged everything to make it possible to spy on customers without them seeing you.

"All right..."

The tavern had been in operation for a month, and it was flourishing. The dumplings were a big hit.

It all started with the guardsmen, and soon, the Hedgehog became known as a place that didn't tolerate any rowdy behavior.

The visitors didn't fight and didn't get too drunk. Yes, liqueurs were available, but getting wasted while eating something as filling as dumplings was a challenge. Hot fatty food plus sauces meant that alcohol took a while to kick in. By that time, most visitors would have already paid up and left the establishment. As for those who insisted on causing a ruckus, they were promptly apprehended by the guards.

Merchants heard about all that and quickly started frequenting the tavern. It was a good place to sit and talk, not to mention, eat a delicious meal. After all, some places charged an arm and a leg for two thin slices of meat, cockroaches floating in the soup...

In the Hedgehog, though, everything was quiet, served with a smile, and really—wasn't helping a window with orphans God's work? Aldonai would surely approve of that!

That rumor had been started by Lily, too. It all made sense.

So you go to the temple, right? Donate to Aldonai? Didn't he preach helping widows and orphans?

But one couldn't exactly walk around the town and ask if any of the folks they met were in need. And giving alms to beggars... Merchants knew that a good half of them were far from poor. That wasn't worth the time spent.

But visit a reputable establishment, pay money, and go your own way? That wasn't hard but took a load off your mind with the speed of lightning. Charity was a great cause! Without you, they might have gone broke, but you prevented it. It felt nice. You'd feel like a lifesaver, a provider...

Burgers, which Lily named that very same way out of pure nostalgia, found a great demand with the guards. Ah, to think that she would never visit a McDonald’s in her life again...

The buns were easy to eat. There were no napkins, and she decided to wrap them in salad leaves. That was even better, anyway.

So you've eaten your meal? Then finish the wrapping!

Lily always added parsley instead of tomatoes. At least it would make the locals' breath smell sweeter; parsley was great against bad breath and contained loads of vitamins.

Lily was still contemplating inventing hot dogs, but that was bound to be pricier. After all, a burger patty could be made out of mincemeat alongside dumplings, but they didn't have time to cook wieners; they had to be ordered.

She'd also have to consider pizza or fish pies. Meat pies, too... There was no shortage of plans.

As for money... It wasn't pouring in, not exactly. Mostly, Lily and Marion had to invest it: tavern upkeep, ordering supplies, winter clothes, herbs and spices... Lily was also preparing to give birth, sewing clothes for the baby.

And then, out of the blue, some smelly cat showed up, trying to ruin everything! Hell, maybe it was time to rename the Cock-Eyed Cat into Blind Cat or Mute Cat.

"Be careful," Lily said, leaving the kitchen to Marion. She checked her own reflection in the mirror and emerged from the kitchen.

***

The Cockeyed Cat was sitting at the central table for eight persons, radiating confidence and respectability. He wore a high-quality suit and ordered the most expensive items on the menu and vintage wine. Still, even wrapped in layers of velvet, everything about him screamed "thief." Even without a brand, once used to mark such people, it was obvious.

Or was Lily just biased?

Countess Earton decided against contemplating that issue, simply grabbing the tray and nodding to Larie.

"Follow me, and don't be scared! Just leave the food and go."

"F-fine."

After a month in Berma, Larie had put on some weight, got the hang of the place, and stopped looking like a tortured shadow of a girl. Still, criminals? She was afraid.

Lily, however, wasn't. She had seen more than her share in the dissecting room in the morgue!

After all, a profession like that had a high fatality rate, and medical students were bound to get their hands on a few subjects like that. Internal organs, skill training...

Thus, she calmly walked up to the table and started arranging pots and bowls, a smile on her face.

Larie followed her, but as soon as they reached Cat, Lilian felt a cold grip on her wrist.

"Call the owner here, girl."

"Please let go of my hand, good sir," Lily purred in response.

Oh, those criminals and their criminal ways! That was a classic story. Enemies would run circles around the castle wall, shouting, "Come out and face us!" while the defenders, tired of that charade, watched them from above and sighed. "So we'll have to bury even more of them? Why do they keep coming? Couldn't they bring their own shovels, at least?"

It was the turning point. Whose nerves were stronger?

Cat, of course, didn't remove his grip, squeezing his hand even tighter.

"Call your mistress. Got it?"

"Larie," Lily said quietly. "Are you done?"

"Y-yes."

"Great. Take the pots from my tray."

"Wh—"

"Come on! As you can see, my hands are busy. I can't use the tray as intended."

"As intended?" Cat asked, curious.

"Of course," Lily replied, her tone just as surprised. "When my friend puts everything on the table..." As Lily spoke, Larie did exactly that. "I'll hit you on the head with this tray. I don't like to waste food and stain the floor: this is why I haven't done this yet."

Cat couldn't help but snort.

Was she bluffing? Not really. He had seen it many times, and that woman wasn't afraid. She was simply telling him what she was going to do.

"Aren't you afraid of me hitting you back?"

Lily nodded at Larie's tray.

"Give this to the man. Let him see."

It wasn't made from aluminum. Rohm had ordered heavy wooden trays that didn't shatter easily.

Larie obediently handed the tray to Cat. He let go of Lilian's hand and weighed the tray in his hand.

"And you have the guts to do it?"

"Larie, sweetie, leave. We do have other guests."

Larie left, and Lily stared Cat in the eye. His one eye. It was brown and full of arrogance.

"I would have hit you here," Lily said, pointing at a spot on Cat's face. "And I would have tried to break your nose."

"Aren't you scared of my guys?"

"I've learned to deal with my fear."

That was true. Now when that wolf had jumped out of the bushes on Lily and Lofrayne or when the bandits attacked them, that was really scary. But a foul-smelling mouser? He could be dangerous, true. But tolerate him and fear him?

Never in her life! If she gave in to pressure, she'd never get him off her back!

"Fancy that! Well then, come sit with us."

Lily shook her head.

"I'd rather extend an invitation to you. If you wish to talk, better not do it in front of other people."

"Aren't you afraid at all?"

"Of you or your guys?"

Cat gave her an intimidating stare. Still, Lily was unused to feeling afraid, and he could sense it. Slowly, he nodded.

"All right. Expect us in the dark of night after the tavern closes."

"Come. We'll treat you right," Lily promised and went to the kitchen, where she discovered rock-hard cookies.

Oh well.

She shouldn't let good food go to waste, and seeing as they expected Cat and his men... Why not show her respect?

Whistling a tune out of her childhood, Lily got down to work.

"Aliya, aren't you scared?" Marion asked after watching Her Grace for several minutes and realizing that she wasn't going to see anything out of the ordinary.

"I'm not."

"Are we—"

"Don't fret, Marion. I'll talk to Cat. I'm going to give birth soon enough. It's not like I need any trouble," Lily winced.

Marion sighed and agreed. What else could she do? Only trust her friend: after all, she hadn't made a single mistake yet. And she wouldn't... Would she?

***

The Cock-Eyed Cat knocked at the tavern door that very same night. Naturally, he wasn't alone.

A dozen adjutants came along, but Lilian wasn't going to stand on ceremony.

"Be my guests."

The bandits got three tables, Larie serving them food and drinks. Cat got a separate arrangement.

Lily made sure the table was set and sat down next to him.

"Good evening, mister Cat. Forgive me; I don't know your name."

"Just call me Cat. I won't take offense," the protector of the quarter said with a chuckle. "And you're Aliya, right?"

"Right."

"What about your last name?"

"Veska," Lily said, shrugging. Did he really think she wouldn't ask Marion's maiden name? "Aliya Veska."

"Well met then, Aliya. But where's your hubby? Or did a stork bring you a baby?"

Lily shrugged.

"I don't have a husband, and I'm doing my best to make a living."

"So you want to live, huh?"

"And live well," Lily said, deciding that she could afford to agree with him—but only up to a point.

"Yet you don't want to pay me."

"I can't," Lily calmly explained. "We're only starting out. If we feed the guards almost at a loss and pay you off, we'll go broke."

"You will go broke anyway if your tavern goes up in flames."

"We won't," Lily retorted. "We'll never make it out alive."

"Maybe you won't. Depends on what we agree."

"Depends on what you need," Lily shot back. "We have two children with a third on the way. How heroic of you to fight children and women! You'll be the laughingstock of the quarter, if not the entire town! The Cock-Eyed Cat managed to defeat a pregnant woman! How strong of him! Will you beat up a toddler next?"

"You're too sharp-tongued for your own good." Cat scowled.

Lily threw her arms up, trying not to overdo it. During pregnancy, her bosom had started expanding. Even letting the dress out didn't help; she was afraid of the fabric bursting and her goods spilling out.

"Lie down with the dogs, and you get fleas."

"Hmm. Well said."

Lily wanted to add that cats were no exception, but she had to stay silent.

"So, how much do you want from us?"

"I'm paid two gold a month. You're in my territory..."

"And here I was thinking it was the king's," Lily retorted. "Alright. We can't pay you yet."

"I can give you a loan."

"And then transfer the ownership to yourself? I imagine the rate would be so high I'd have to sell myself to make ends meet, not to mention the interest. Am I right?"

Going by Cat's scowl, she was right.

"So, what are you offering?"

Cat was no fool, but he knew that he had to stop, too. Maybe he could have succeeded if he had put pressure before, but that brazen broad already had the guards in her pocket. If he tried laying a finger on her, they'd find him even underground and bury him right back!

But letting her off the hook? No, that wouldn't do.

Was it a problem? For Cat, it was, and he had no solution for it, either. Still, that was for Cat. Not for Lilian Earton.

"We can pay another way."

"How exactly?"

"We'll talk money later when we can pay it. And until then... Your line of work is a dangerous one. Do you have your own doctoruses?"

That hit the bull's eye. Well, not Cat's, seeing as he had only one.

Cat winced, cursed—and almost apologized as he saw the reproach on Lily's face.

Yes, she knew that those were the Middle Ages—or a variant of that era—and that people used vulgar language all the time. Honestly, if Walter Scott had followed historical facts while writing Ivanhoe...

Oh, if only!

Now Mark Twain's "Yankee"—that was spot-on, at least regarding that topic. In the beginning, Lily's only salvation had been her garrison past. The locals really should have heard Ensign Sidorenko! That man could sing entire opera arias using only swear words!

But it wasn't about the ensign. There were children around, and if you think that they weren't eavesdropping... Of course, they were! Lily could see their eyes behind the banisters. Those brats really needed a lashing!

But no; she would have to tell that to Marion. They were her children, and their punishment was up to her.

As for Cat, he had no business embarrassing the women and teaching the brats to curse!

"I take it you don't have doctoruses here. What about herbswomen?"

"Healing our people is an offense," Cat said, chuckling.

"What about teaching them to heal?"

"Are you a healer?"

"My mother was an herbswoman. She assisted a doctorus, too." Lily decided that it wasn't far from the truth. Her mother had really known herbs and might have assisted in surgeries back in the day.

"Can you do it too?"

"I can."

"Hmm. Let's go, then."

"Is it far?" Lily didn't even flinch.

"A fellow of mine got injured. Take a look at him."

"What's the injury?"

"His arm."

"Then have him come here," Lily replied. "As if I'm going to crawl around your lairs and hiding holes."

Cat gave her a doubtful look. Lily shook her head.

"You have your eyes on us. Send a man to bring the patient here. So, what happened to him?"

"A dog bit him."

Lily clenched her teeth.

"That's bad. Fine, let him come..."

Cat called up one of his men, gave a short command, and once again focused on Lily.

"Let's say you really do know something. So what? Will you treat my people?"

"No. I'm with child. Soon, I won't be able to work. I can, however, teach. You must have a few boys who can learn."

"What's stopping me from apprenticing them to doctoruses, then?"

Lily gave him a snide smile.

"Maybe to herbswomen, and it's not a given even they will agree."

Cat scowled but didn't argue. Both Lily and he knew that it was true. Cat had learned that from his experience, and Lily heard it from Hans Tremain.

There were people who guarded the law, and there were people who broke it. The former received treatment even from the town's physicians—there was a special contract, too, with four doctoruses working with the guards for three months each. They treated the sick and the wounded and got a payment from the municipal purse. They also received herbs at a discount, the treasury paying for that. The arrangement worked. It was good training for the healers and their apprentices and even an opportunity to establish contacts. No, it wasn't a whole lot of money, but what could you do?

Criminals, however, had it much worse. A doctorus caught treating an outlaw would get a large fine, big enough to regret that. After all, the purse was everyone's sore spot. And that wasn't the only punishment, either—you might even get arrested or executed. Lily didn't want to take risks. Who knew what might happen?

But she had nothing else to offer, either. Refusing the bandits was asking for trouble. She could do it, but what if they really set the tavern afire? Those men were quite sensitive when it came to their status. Respect and hierarchy were everything to them, and refusing to pay was an obvious sign of disrespect.

The conversation was interrupted by a cloaked man. Short, scrawny, and clearly reeling, he was led inside by one of Cat's guys.

"We've already shown him to our doctorus. He told us that his arm was done for. But Dodger won't survive without his arm," Cat explained. "So..."

Lily wasn't listening anymore.

"Lead him into the light. Pull the curtains down, too, so nobody could take a peek! Larie, hot water, quick! Marion, get me some clean rags! Those I poured with wax! Not just anything!"

Lily had already made her preparations, knowing that the house had children.

What did any medic do after moving? Assemble a first aid kit.

"Put him on the table, right here... And get this dirty rag away, for Aldonai's sake!"

Lily bent over the man and promptly started unwrapping the dirty bandage on his arm. It was crusted and stained with blood.

The stream of obscenities pouring out of Lily's mouth made Cat whistle in admiration. And to think that she had glared at him for a rude word? Such combinations! Such eloquent descriptions of the squid-brained idiot who hadn't washed the injury made by a close relative of an unnaturally conceived mongrel...

Lily was angry because she knew that she had her work cut out for her. Eventually, however, she stopped. Those curs!

Dog bites usually resulted in puncture wounds or lacerations. The puncture wounds were deep, and the lacerations meant torn skin. Dodger, however, had broken bones on top of that...

An open fracture, a laceration, and a dirty rag on top of that.

"When did it happen?"

"Last night."

Lily cursed again, her tone hopeless.

"I'll fix the arm, but I warn you: if it starts rotting, he won't survive."

"Don't worry, dearie, just give it a try," the wounded man croaked from the table. "Without my arm, I'm a goner."

He looked about forty or forty-five. A gray beard, thin hair, tired brown eyes...

"Do we have any strong wine?"

"We do," Marion replied. "Should I bring some?"

"A bottle, better even two."

Lily sterilized her hands and handed the second bottle to Dodger.

"Drink it. You need to pass out...it will be painful."

"I can handle it."

"No, you can't. Drink it."

"Drink," Cat spoke up. "I give you my word: you won't lose your arm!"

"And mine," Lily snapped. "I said it!"

The men glared at her, distrustful, but then Dodger sighed and put the bottle to his lips. He took large sloppy sips, spilling the wine on his chest.

Lily wasn't squeamish in the least. He was her patient, and that word left no place for squeamishness. Helping him was her job. If she had to, she would wade through a trench full of dung, too...but preferably after giving birth.

Lily threw a needle and thread into the bottle, feeling grateful to Lofrayne for letting her have silk thread and fine needles, and started to prepare her operating space.

"Whittle me two small wooden planks, about this big. Actually, make it four and make them smooth," she said, still focused on the wound. Then she reached out for the bottle.

What else could she do in that situation? Only pour alcohol on her patient and hope for his survival.

All right, then. Clean the wound, suture the vessels that could be sutured and sever the torn ones that couldn't, suture the tissues... Ugh, had it been a crocodile that bit him rather than a dog? She'd have to ask later.

But yes, such surgeries weren't known in that world. Doing that required a completely different kind of training.

Lily skillfully put the bone together, hoping that the nerves weren't dead yet, applied splints, sutured the wound as best she could, drained it... And three hours later, she almost fell on the floor, exhausted.

Cat had long since stopped watching her like a hawk, sitting at a table and munching something.

His men were with him. One stood next to her, helping her with the surgery, but the rest realized that an expert was working and stayed away. After all, Lily could tell them off rather impressively.

She had to pour strong wine into her patient two more times, and he still groaned when pain pulled him out of his stupor. Still, Lily didn't smell any rot or decay: either he had treated the wound with something or didn't get the chance to infect it with dirt.

But what would happen next?

That was anyone's guess. It was Aldonai's department.

Seeing Lily limply fall down from the table, Cat personally caught her, put her on the table, and pushed a shot glass of liqueur toward her.

"No. I need water and something sweet," Lily said, almost wheezing.

Marion ran to the kitchen a put a hot mug of stewed cherry juice in front of her. Was that what happiness felt like?

Lily gulped it down in one helping and leaned toward the back of the chair.

"What bit him? A shark?"

"A dog. The count's personal hound..."

"What count?"

"Count Maren. We have one around here... He eats and shits gold but doesn't want to share."

"And you asked him, right?" Lily snickered. "Did you ask nicely?"

"Well, he sicced his dog on us when we did," Cat replied in a tone.

"Did the poor hooch get poisoned?"

"Oh, we'll poison it, all right."

Hearing his tone, Lily felt sorry for the dog. It wasn't to blame in any of that! That good boy—or girl—had bravely defended its master. It didn't deserve any poison! But she had no strength left to dissuade Cat.

"Watch after him. If everything's fine, get him to me in three days."

"And what if it's not?"

"Don't take his arm. I've done what I could, but if it starts rotting..."

"Could it happen?"

"I'm no miracle worker."

"That depends. When I got wounded, nobody tried saving my eye..."

Cat took his eye patch off, and Lily studied the empty socket and the scar.

"A crosscut?"

"A whip."

Lily nodded.

"I've seen those. You got lucky."

"I did," Cat replied, nodding. "I might have died. Did you really study?"

Lily nodded again.

"I did."

"Oh. But you don't want to heal us?"

"Aldonai forbid! I have three months before I give birth, if not less! In a month, I won't be able to do anything. What I can do is to tell your boys about herbs and teach them to stitch wounds. Apply bandages and splints, keep an eye on them..."

"That's a lot, too. I'll pick some of the smarter boys."

"You do that, yes. And while I'm teaching them...have them help me around the tavern. Sweep the floor, carry things..."

"You got a cheek!"

"Right. They might learn to cook, too. No harm in that."

Cat narrowed his eyes.

"Aren't you afraid of letting mine into the house?"

"I am," Lily replied. "But I hope they fear you more."

Cat smirked.

"True. They do. How about that?"

A cat's paw made of bluish steel flashed right before Lilian's face. But if the bandit intended to surprise or shock Countess Earton, he was out of luck. As if! Lily immediately grabbed the intimidating toy and studied it.

It really was the spitting image of a cat's paw but with overly long claws. A weapon like that was bound to cause a terrifying injury.

"A nice toy. A lethal one, too."

"Very nice indeed."

"The blacksmith was clearly competent. Are you chummy with him?"

Cat almost spat out in surprise when he saw Lily touch the claws, testing their sharpness. She wasn't afraid at all! The second serving girl had all but fainted, while the mistress of the tavern leaned on the wall to avoid falling down.

And then, there she was—deftly examining his weapon as if she was going to use it to plow her garden.

"I might be."

"Talk to him. I'll draw a picture of a doctorus tool for him to forge. Have him use the same steel, if possible. You'll get your money's worth."

"And so will you?"

"What use would I get out of it? You must see I'm in no shape." Lily touched her stomach and felt her baby kick.

Mama, how long can you stay on your feet? Let's go get some sleep! I'm tired! I'm still little, and you're weary, too, I know that!

"I'll do that. How many apprentices do you need?"

"For starters, let's say three, and we can go from there. Not everybody's cut out for this work, just like yours."

Cat gave her an understanding nod.

"That's true. Not everybody is... Fine! I'll send you three boys tomorrow."

"And tell them to listen to me. It's their one chance in life. Oh, and you don't have to take just boys. Girls can do it too. If you have anyone in mind..."

Cat thought a bit.

"I'll have a look."

"Do that. I'll tell the others they are just new hires."

"Well, thank you for Dodger, then."

Lily nodded.

"No need to thank me."

"Then we'll leave without that."

Lily paused.

"I'll give you cookies to go."

"Cookies?!" Cat seemed shocked. Cookies?

What was she talking about?

"Larie, put the cookies from that sheet into a basket," Lily said. "I can't do it now."

The girl nodded and rushed to the kitchen without saying a word. She was mortified! She had known that Aliya was a healer, but doing something like that? The bone was sticking out of the wound!

Once again, she felt sick. Marion promptly pushed her toward the waste bucket and started filling the basket with cookies.

"Oh, I really hope this joke won't blow up in our faces..."

But it didn't.

She put the basket on the floor, and Lily pushed it toward Cat. The bandit opened the birchbark lid, peeked inside, and saw them: made out of crumbs from the failed cookies, honey, and sugar powder and shaped like mice. Blackcurrants for eyes, cranberries for noses, white pelts...

To make the powder, Lily had simply ground sugar in the mortar.

Cat pulled out one of the mice, put it into his mouth, and chewed. Then he licked his lips and took another one.

"Fine. You can pay your due in mice!"

"Do come back. Be our guest..."

Being polite was a challenge at that point. Lily was dog-tired.

The men knew that and didn't mind. Cat grabbed the basket, bowed, and marched out of the tavern. The rest of his men followed, carrying the injured man with them. Lily hoped they were being careful.

Slowly, she stood up, walked upstairs to her room, and fell on the bed. As she drifted off to sleep, she saw other worlds, the faces of strangers and their masks. Yet whatever happened, her knowledge always stayed with her. Her mother had been right—people would never stop schooling, healing, and condemning each other, and they would always need medics.

Yes, she wore the mask of a stranger, but her skill was her own, Lilian Earton's, even if Lilian Earton might be just another mask.

Her thoughts were all jumbled together.

Ten minutes later, Larie found her friend sound asleep. Lily hadn't even taken off her clothes. Larie pulled off her shoes, tucked her in a blanket, and shook her head.

"Mice for Cat... You're such a rebel, Aliya..."

But Aliya didn't hear her. In her dream, she saw a circle of masks dancing around her as she put on one mask after another, her face in flux. Only one thing stayed the same: a white doctor's coat. The masks never covered it.

The End of book 10

A Medieval Tale series

Book 1: First Lessons (Find it on Amazon)

Book 2: The Clearing (Find it on Amazon)

Book 3: Palace Intrigue (Find it on Amazon)

Book 4: The Royal Court (Find it on Amazon)

Book 5: The Price of Happiness (Find it on Amazon)

Book 6: For the King (Find it on Amazon)

Book 7: The Right of Vengeance (Find it on Amazon)

Book 8: The Road of Kings (Find it on Amazon)

Book 9: A New World (Find it on Amazon)

Book 10: The Masks of Strangers (Find it on Amazon)

Or you can find the whole series on Amazon. (Find it On Amazon)

More by Lina J. Potter

Legends of Radenor

Book 1: Half Demon’s Revenge (Find it on Amazon)

Book 2: Half Demon’s Fortune (Find it on Amazon)

From the Author

Dear friend!

Thank you for reading! I was happy to share this story with you and hope you liked it. If so, please, remember to leave a review, it will support me a lot.

I sincerely read all yours reviews and comments, they help me and inspires me so much, I do really appreciate each and every of them.

In appreciation you can find a sample of the second book of A Medieval Tale series further.

Thank you, my friend!

-          Best wishes, Lina J. Potter

https://amzn.to/2T6x0a6

Book Recommendations

Leyna: book 1 by Helen E. Peters

Let me introduce to you a good friend of mine, Helen E. Peters. She is one of the most popular fantasy romance writers in my country, and I am a big admirer of her works. Finally, the first book in her breathtaking romantic series Leyna is also available in English!

The main character starts her story just like Lilian: with waking up in another world. She is dreaming of coming back home and has a long way ahead of her in a fantasy land filled with elves and other magical creatures.

I suggest this book to everyone who likes fantasy, adventures, strong female characters, magic, and fairy tales.

*** Read FREE in KU! ***

Kiran: The Warrior's Daughter by Ellen Stellar

A space opera romance by the ‘Fantasy writer of the year 2017’ that cannot be missed.

Kiran’s story is a mixture of The Hunger Games with sparkling humor and a little bit of sci-fi.Kiran, a flirtatious space cadet, is planning to become one of the most successful starship captains ever. Her life is all about organizing illicit races and gambling.

After being kidnapped she is sent to her home planet. Later Kiran is forced to marry the mightiest warrior by the right of the strongest. Many girls have dreamt, at least once of being, a princess, but being a princess of Eeristan, the khassarat of Aygor, is a big deal. This is not about fancy dresses, diamond tiaras and palaces. Eeristan is the land of men – the land of a strong patriarchal society where women have no rights at all.

She will never accept this. Kiran will run away back to her freedom and lifestyle. Her restless soul won't abide either her cruel father or her potential husband. No matter how difficult it might be to confront the whole planet. They might be stronger physically but she is a cadet, after all, and cadets never surrender! Too bad that Eeristan might not survive the changes that she desires strongly.

Kiran: The Warrior’s Daughter is the first book of the Rights of The Strong series by Ellen Stellar. Ellen is one of the most popular Russian and international fantasy and romance writers, a winner of multiple awards. In 2017 she won the ‘Fantasy writer of the year-2017’ award. She mixes up breathtaking narrative consisting of fourteen stories, full of humor, adventures, wit and grit. This is a sci-fi space opera tale with a strong female-leader as a main character in a universe where you can be a captain of a spaceship and a princess of an outdated patriarchal tribe at the same time.Take a deep breath and dive in!

https://amzn.to/30kgedA

About Lina J. Potter

Call it inspiration, the voice of a Muse, or plain obsession... but I felt I had to write it down or else my brain would explode with all these characters longing to come alive.

Lina J. Potter has been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember. She started putting her tales on paper when she was around ten years old. Despite that, the first her story came alive only in 2011.

Her literate pseudonym helps her saving her family and daily routine inviolable. She is laughing while remembering how her colleague at work decided to discuss A Medieval Tale series with her, having no idea she was speaking with the author herself.

Nowadays Lina J. Potter lives in the town of Tambov with her husband, daughter and two cats. She has a light-hearted approach to writing. Whenever she is not writing, you can find her practicing karate and lace-making. She avoids personal publicity and shies away from the literary limelight, preferring her quiet life to focus on writing.

Follow Lina J. Potter’s Facebook author page!

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https://www.facebook.com/linajpotter/

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