The Fisherman's Daughter (3 page)

Tal Harun has a slightly sad, slightly amused expression on his face.

Meiri too has lost her composure and stares as dumbly as a village girl watching miraclemen at carnival. Except miraclemen use tricks, so her father always told her. Lady Desdemona is no worker of tricks.

Lady Desdemona continues, allowing the fire to burn in the air. “We are not here to force you,” she says, “but we
are
making this same offer to all human lands. The others have accepted. If you do not allow us to raise your people on our terms, Aradheim will be left in the dust of history. You’ll become obsolete and absorbed by your neighbors. Do you think Galadheim or Surafel could be intimidated by you if they wield the power that I now hold? It won’t matter that you hold the orc tribes at bay. They won’t need you to anymore.” She leans back and extinguishes the mystical flame. “And when the orcs finally come for you, and you turn to them for help… do you want to be counted among Artalon’s friends, or do you want to be remembered as the land who turned away from the rest of humanity just because you are a weak people who fears your own slaves?”

“Desdemona,” Tal Harun intervenes, “let’s retire for now. Lord Keeva needs time to think. Words will add nothing more in the moment.”

She nods curtly and stands. Tal Harun follows, and they both leave the room. They each glance briefly at Meiri as they pass.

Meiri waits silently, unsure what to do. She wants nothing more desperately than to be away from this room right now, but she cannot leave until he leaves or she is dismissed.

Lord Keeva stares at her. His lips slowly press together, and his eyes narrow in anger. She feels as if the room grows dark as blood rushes from her head. She breaks her gaze with him and stares down towards the floor as she has been trained to do.

“Get out,” he hisses.

That is all she needs to hear.

“I heard what happened tonight,” the cook says. Meiri is bent over on all fours, half-inside a big iron pot while she scrubs away the day’s grease, with her rear end pointed out in the air. Her punishment from Matron for today’s events. Matron had her lashed three times and sent to the kitchens for late cleanup after everyone else had finished, to endure the cook’s watchful leer. Meiri tries to ignore him

“Upset Master, you did,” the cook says knowingly. “I’ve never seen Matron that angry before. No one’s ever upset our lord like you did. What did you do? Refuse him? Did he want to press his cock inside your pretty little ass?”

Meiri closes her eyes for a moment, refuses to answer, and keeps scrubbing. She needs fresh water, so she crawls out of the pot and stands, looking around for the wash pail. The cook’s moved it.

She turns to face him. “Where is the water?” She backs up a step against the table and places her hands behind her, resting them upon the handle of an iron skillet in the clean stack. “I’m going to finish and go to bed.”

“You think that, do you?” the cook asks. He grins, whiskered jowls sliding in a way that makes Meiri’s skin crawl. “I know there’s pretty under your broken face. Your scars can’t hide it, not completely, and I don’t mind a little ugly as long as what’s below is soft and wet. I knew it was only a matter of time before Master saw it too. Except somehow you got away from him.”

Meiri’s hands clench around the skillet handle, and the cook doesn’t seem to notice.

“You’re going to give me what you didn’t give him,” he says, “or I’m going to tell Matron you’re shirking your duties. She’s likely to release you from service.”

Meiri’s eyes betray hope for a moment.

The cook laughs. “Master doesn’t release his slaves to the street, girl. He kills the ones who no longer please him. Now come here, bitch, and lift your skirts. Just relax. You’ll find it’s not as unpleasant as all that, especially if you close your eyes.”

Meiri drops her voice low. “If that’s what it takes to get me off to bed, then come and take what you want.”

The cook’s grin twists deeper, and he relaxes as he approaches.

Meiri grips the iron skillet hard and heaves it in a clumsy arc. The cook sees what she’s doing at the last moment, eyes shifting from lust to shock, but he’s too late. The heavy skillet connects satisfyingly with a
thock
to his temple, and he collapses in a lifeless heap.

For a moment she stares down at him with righteous anger, but then her breath catches. She kneels. He’s not breathing, and his eyes stare unfocused towards the table legs. Blood pools from a gash on his head, dripping onto the floor.

“Oh Meiri,” she whispers in panic to herself. “What have you done? You should have just let him have his way. You’re a slave girl. It had to happen at some point.”
Lord Keeva kills his slaves.
Surely she has just signed her own death warrant.
I have to get out tonight.

She sneaks out of the kitchen, making it two halls down before she realizes she’s still clutching the skillet. She panics and drops it, marking the rug with the smear of the cook’s blood. At least its thud is muffled by the rug’s wool threads.

She hears voices approaching. She doesn’t know if they’re looking for her or not, but decides not to chance it. She ducks down another corridor, familiar now with the silent, out-of-the-way routes in the palace, since her job is to remain unseen as she serves.

More voices, and they seem to be getting closer. She slips into a guest room through the servant’s entrance and hides behind the curtain, crouching in the shadows.

The chamber’s main door opens just a second afterwards, and through the curtain slit she sees two people enter. Meiri holds her breath.

“Are you sure, Tal?” Desdemona asks as she closes the door behind her. “This isn’t exactly the place I want Leera raised.”

“We’ve been over this,” Tal Harun replies. “Adultery’s a capital offense. If my wife finds out about Leera, she’ll see we face it, the both of us, whether we sit on the Council of Thirteen or not.”

I’m not supposed to be hearing this,
Meiri thinks.
What will wizards do to someone who hears their secrets? I mustn’t make a sound.
Again, she wonders if she would have been better off spreading her legs for the cook, but then anger steels her resolve.
No one should have to accept living like this! I will get out of this alive, somehow!

Desdemona slips her arms around Tal Harun’s neck. “I’m just grateful for your sanctuary spell. Nine months of pregnancy safely tucked away in a single moment outside of Time, and Leera born with no one the wiser and me never gone as far as they can tell.”

“And she’s four now, by her age,” Tal Harun states. “Time isn’t stable in the sanctuary. I don’t want her raised by faeries, and if she doesn’t rejoin our own timeline, we’ll miss her growing up.”

“I know you’ve picked wizards you trust to run this school,” Desdemona concedes. “She’ll be raised by the best and learn our arts. But here? Surely, another land…”

“Aradheim is the most uncouth. No one would suspect a child here could be ours. My wife is too proud to even think of it, and you know her suspicious nature.”

“She can prove nothing. We’ve seen to it. Why did you have to marry a nonwizard? You’re better than that.”

Tal Harun snorts. “It was arranged, you know that. Nevertheless, Artalonian law is law. I accepted that law when I became an apprentice.”

“And now you’re the greatest among us.” Desdemona sighs and smiles. “The little boy from Tuimapar. Who knew you could rise so high?”

“Second only to you,” he teases.

She releases him and says, “I’d like to see her for a little bit before we go to bed.”

Tal Harun draws a wand and holds it upright. It flashes for a moment, and then a white vertical line appears in front of him. It stretches into a flat rectangle, and a child walks out from it into the room, holding the hand of a twig-faced and leaf-haired goblin.

Meiri suppresses a gasp. At the sight of the fae creature, the shaman’s voice echoes in her mind.
You are meant for the fair folk.
She knows a goblin is not an elf, but both races are descended from the faerie folk of the Otherworld. She’s surprised that the goblin is fair of form, not nearly as unpleasant to look at as she’d been led to believe from her childhood bedtime stories. He’s short and thin, with a stretched face that has an unsettling youthful look about it, with green skin and a smooth complexion. His eyes are both gentle and piercing, but at some angles almost look carved from wood. Twigs grow from his eyebrows and cheeks, and leaves spring from the ends of his hair.

“Lord Tal Harun, Lady Desdemona,” the goblin greets them. “Little Leera is doing well, but she misses you.” He pauses before he adds, “And Sanctuary stretches ever
thinner
.”

“Soon she will have a home outside of the sanctuary,” Desdemona says. “Just a few things more to settle.” She picks up Leera in her arms, and the child touches the woman on her nose.

“Mama!”

Meiri’s knees complain from not having moved from their crouched position. Her calves and ankles tingle for lack of blood.

There’s a knock at the door. Meiri sucks in a breath, and her fingers dart to her lips when she sees the goblin look straight at her.

“Tal,” Desdemona whispers urgently. “They must not see her. No one can see her.”

The knocking becomes more insistent. “Lord Tal Harun, Lady Desdemona!” a woman’s voice calls out.

The goblin points towards the curtain and whispers, “She has already been seen.”

Tal Harun stares with a troubled look over towards the curtain where Meiri sits frozen, even as he ushers the goblin and Leera to the side. “Hush,” he tells them.

Leera follows the goblin’s stare and makes eye contact with Meiri. Meiri makes no move, knowing that the only certainty is if the person outside the door discovers her, she is doomed. She’s unsure how the wizards will react.

Desdemona partially opens the door. “Is this necessary?” she begins before whoever was knocking can answer. “I really don’t want to be disturbed right now.”

Desdemona’s back is to Meiri, and light glimmers in the hallway past the door, but Meiri can’t see the person on the other side.

“I’m sorry,” the Matron replies. Meiri recognizes her voice now that the door’s open. “There’s been a commotion in the house. One of our slaves has killed our cook and is trying to escape. We think she’s still in the house, and I wanted to make sure you’re safe. She’s the one with the scarred face.”

Desdemona looks back at Tal Harun. Tal Harun stares at the curtain thoughtfully. He shakes his head. “We’re alone,” he states. “We’ve seen no one since we retired.”

“I see.” Matron’s voice sounds embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Lady Desdemona, I didn’t know you had company.”

“Are we safe?” Desdemona asks.

“We will see to it,” she answers.

After she departs, Desdemona closes the door. “The scarred one,” she says. “She served us this evening during the meeting.”

“I know,” Tal Harun says. He strides purposefully over to the curtain and flings it open. “And she’s hiding in here.”

Meiri gasps and stands, knees complaining at the sudden movement. She winces in pain as the blood rushes back into her lower legs, stoking the pins and needles. “Please don’t hurt me,” she says.

Desdemona scowls at her. “She knows, Tal. She saw Leera. We can’t let her live.” She raises her hands.

Tal Harun catches her wrist. “Have we sunk so low as to be murderers now?”

“Daddy, is she going to hurt us?” Leera asks. She tugs on Tal Harun’s trousers.

Meiri eyes the doorway, wondering if she can run past them. Then she thinks about the window behind her. She inches back towards the glass. The room is on ground level. Breaking the glass would alert the guards, but at least she might run and disappear into the alley streets first.

“Don’t, if you want to live!” Tal Harun snaps as if reading her thoughts. Then, more gently: “There will be guards outside looking for you. You won’t get away. Did you kill the cook as the house mistress claims?”

Meiri grits her teeth in anger. “Yes,” she admits. “But I didn’t mean to. I hit him with a skillet.”

“Probably because he wanted something you weren’t willing to give, no doubt.” Desdemona frowns. She glances down at her daughter. “No, sweetie. She’s not going to hurt us. The question is, though, what to do with you?”

Meiri is certain they don’t want to kill her. “I just want to leave,” she says. “You can’t turn me in. I know your secret.” She nods meaningfully towards Leera. She almost chokes at hearing her boldness. Perhaps she has gone too far.

Desdemona raises an eyebrow, and her lips twitch in the hint of amusement. Meiri flushes hot with anger and shame at suddenly feeling even more insignificant than before.

Meiri closes her eyes briefly and then opens them again. “Lord Keeva will kill me. They already punished me for seeing him weak before you. The cook thought he could get away with raping me, and Matron was so mad she just as well as offered me to him. I didn’t mean to kill him, but I don’t regret it. I just want to get out of the city now. I wasn’t born to this life.”

“Where is home for you?” Tal Harun asks.

Meiri’s fingers clench and curl over the sides of her gray dress. “It was a small village to the north.” Her throat chokes in anger. “At the edge of the Sutonian Woods. It was destroyed when the slavers raided us.” She looks out the window towards freedom. “Still… there are other villages. I’d go back to Fair Lake. I could build a life again.” She turns back to them. “My father—,” she choked, “he taught me to fish.”

Desdemona turns to her lover. “This is what I’m talking about, Tal. This land is barbaric.”

Tal Harun regards her thoughtfully. The pins and needles in Meiri’s legs have calmed, but she feels she can barely breathe as she awaits what they might do to her.

“Then we owe it to these people to show them they can be better,” he says. “And Leera will be well hidden here, under the tutelage and protection of the school.” He returns his focus to Meiri. “But you. You pose a problem. You know our secret, and you won’t survive the night if they find you. What if we were to help you escape?”