Incognito

7

Late January

A year and a half since Angelica left. Five months since Zac left.

The smell was nothing like Zac had ever smelled before. His stomach churned and quenched and yet still gave him a slight rumble reminding him that something could not be worse than nothing. He grimaced, arguing with his insides. It smelled worse than yesterday and everything tastes as good-or as bad- as it smells. This made him feel like retching. He felt the bile coming up his throat not that he had eaten anything since the day before last.

"Go oiz, ya rat! Thas pigs can't feed 'em selves." The farmer mockingly yelled. As Zac staggered under the weight the man chortled. With his bucket of slop sloshing with every step, Zac couldn't help but ponder how he got here. When he had left Averie he had a grand vision and when he arrived in Holcombe weeks later he had led a grand life. He had a mansion overseeing a plantation. He had a choice of every young maiden in the land and welcomed many to his home. He was the life of every party, drinking until the night grew long, gambling each coin to earn ten more. But then it began to shatter. He lost a bet a few months in and to compensate sold much. A lovely girl he couldn't turn away had left her husband in the dust and Zac had to calm him with riches before everything fell. He was reckless when drunk and discovered the next morning that he had stupidly given his home away. And that was before the famine hit, devastating and destroying all but the farmers who gimmicked even widows out of money, loads of it, for a small chunk of bread or a couple of vegetables.

Zac poured the slop in the trough and found himself digging in with the swine. The first handful was awful but as he ate more the less he minded. Satisfied with the meager, stomach-churning supper, Zac lay on the snow-dusted earth. He couldn't afford a coat or a cot, much less any shelter for the night. With February around the corner, Zac prayed fervently for an early spring.

His thoughts lead him down rabbit trails as he cuddled to a pig for warmth. Even his father's servants were better off than he was. They slept in warm homes with a fire roaring and blankets upon them. For dinner, they had a feast and had gone to bed with stomachs full. They did honest, good work and made more coin in a day than he could gather in a fortnight. The clothes upon their backs were clean and new, unlike the grime-covered tunic he wore. They drank clean water when they pleased while he got godforsaken grit. Indeed Zac was jealous. He was jealous of his father's servants. He was still jealous of his brother.

Zac's skin crawled green when he reminisced about Brooks. That man had everything: money beyond your imagination, a title, respect, a castle, a girl who worshiped the ground he walked on. Yet Zac had nothing. It was not fair. Maybe his father hated him. Perhaps Zac was an unwelcome reminder of what the duke had lost.

Or maybe...no, that could never be it. Zac shook his head. Idiotic ideas seemed to only sprout when he was tired. His father would never hire him as a servant. There was absolutely no way Zac could go back to being Zacary, the second son. His father hated him too much. But would he be accepted as a servant? Zac looked around. A chance at a 'yes' was better than a pigpen.

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Mia was looking up fearfully at the lean-to made into the roots of a fallen tree when the wailing started. She crawled up as fast as she could and staggered into the shelter. She winced at the pain in her ankle, cursing out-loud her stupidity for tripping over vines and spraining it. Ducking in, she bent down next to Prosper who was writhing enough to crack the makeshift cot. Picking up the toddler she shushed and rocked her, ignoring the pulsing pain in her ankle.