Come morning, I’m still every bit as furious with my uncle as I was the night before. What kind of man sets his ten-year-old nephew to be a bodyguard?
I grab one of my old maid dresses because the fabric’s better for travel and set about preparing rucksacks and supplies for my own departure, because I dare not trust anyone else to do it.
Head Matron Morgana finds me in a supply pantry. “What are you doing?”
“Go spread your legs,” I retort, bundling jerky and packing it securely.
Her face reddens, and her eyes widen. “I beg your pardon?!”
I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s the one who’s been behind my poisoning, but somehow, after having folks try to knife me, one full-of-herself matron doesn’t frighten me anymore. “You did it often enough for Grandfather. Are any of your children your husband’s, or are you the reason Proctor drinks so much?”
Fury or indignation makes her eyes bulge and her face go crimson. “How dare you. How dare you judge me, you—”
“My grandmother was your ilk. Not my mother, not me. How dare you blame me for your bad judgment.” How many of the others who hate me for my father’s illegitimacy do so because their own children are illegitimate? “I’m done caring that you’re an idiot, or that your daughter wouldn’t know a clean floor if it bit her. Makish can take you and her and Uncle and everyone else down to the black fires, for all I care.”
Her hand comes at my face. I somehow manage to dodge it.
Is she deaf? “I’m leaving! You’ve won! Congratulations! My job will be empty. Maybe your daughter will get it, but somehow, I think one of Grandfather’s cousins from over the mountains is going to end up with it.”
Morgana lunges at me and abruptly lurches back with a shriek.
Expression bored, Tuelzi crouches on the table behind her, a cup of rods still in the process of toppling…and Morgana’s hair is casually clutched in one of her hands.
“Unhand me, hussy!”
Tuelzi releases Morgana’s hair and tugs her shoulder so the matron faces her. Without a pause or change in expression, Tuelzi grabs Morgana by the collar and spins to slam her against the wall. “Act together, woman.”
“How dare you attack me!”
“Dead king’s daughter. You dead king’s lover. Which wins?” Tuelzi shoves her again. “Too many angry, too many bitter, too many challenges. Soon, war. People start dying. You first? Want first? Can be.” She makes sure the head matron has her feet, then lets her go. “Will be.”
Morgana turns on Tuelzi, who slaps her before she can be slapped. The head matron yelps.
“Montai,” Tuelzi enunciates, as if trying to make a point. “I fight. Must fight, stay alive. You?” She shakes her head. “You tool. No more use, no more life.”
“You have no right to speak to me thus,” Morgana says, tone cold.
Tuelzi takes a breath, glancing upward as if in entreaty to the Creator, and lets out a long sigh. “Fine.” With a polite smile, she steps to the side, leaving more space between her and the doorway, and gestures for the head matron to leave. “Fine. Go.”
Morgana lifts her chin. “His Majesty will hear of this.”
Tuelzi nods as if she doesn’t care. “Yes, yes. Tell employers. Go.”
YOU ARE READING
A Fistful of Water: Chronicles of Marsdenfel #3
FantasyShe can regain what her father gave up, but it'll cost all she has to get it... Geddis Feyim is tired of others complaining because they have all she ever wanted. Her father and elder sister serve as prophets for the king, their father's half-brothe...
