A Simple Shepherd's Cottage, Glacia, Late Saturday Afternoon (Fandom Time)
The further south their great procession had traveled, the more things had changed. Some of that was purely geographical, of course. They'd left the mountains and the great pine forests long behind them, trading them in for fields and rivers made mighty by the runoff from the mountains that only stopped when the weather turned water to ice. They had not yet hit Glacia's true agricultural region--that lay in the wealthier and more settled south--but small hills and dales were dotted with sheep and brightly-colored cottages in large and prosperous villages.
The weather had also changed as they'd ridden and marched and trained. They had started off in high summer, but even that had been cool and pleasant beneath the vast trees up north, the brightest days dimmed by the dark and heavy pines. Now they were in the fall, almost time for the harvest, and yet still the days grew hotter and more stifling as they traveled. The frequent rivers were cool and refreshing to ride through, but they lent mugginess to the air and the Black Widows and Healers that traveled with Karla's army were hard-pressed to keep up with the demands for salves to prevent mosquito bites and unguents to soothe the inevitable itches away.
But what had changed most dramatically during the course of their procession were the people. Oh yes, they all still had the Glacian stamp on them: pale skin, pale blond hair, pale blue eyes, but the further south they rode, expressions of the people had grown harder, more distrusting, or even just duller, as if their spirits had been all but snuffed. In the north, people had flocked to her banner (and she had one now, a literal banner, carried out in the front of her army, whose idea was that?) by the hundreds; Jono, Julian, and Momoko had been forced to turn people away just to keep the size of her army manageable. That flood had slowed to a trickle and had practically dried up by the time they'd crossed into the Province directly north of Glacia. Lord Mallory, her Steward, had suggested that everyone who had wanted to join had already done so. But Karla knew the truth: it wasn't just potential recruits that had dwindled here, but also her support. These were the in-betweeners, not close enough to be cowed by Hobart, nor far enough to be independent of him, either. At best, they were indifferent to political maneuvering, wanting only to be left alone. At worst, they were willing to play both sides, looking for whichever one offered the best advantage at the time.
Karla looked at the woman in front of her and wished she knew where on that scale the other woman fell.
"Lady Fetya, I beg you to understand," Karla said, keeping her voice calm and soothing, carefully not letting any of the irritation she felt into her tone or psychic scent. "This is not a matter in which to abstain from. We are, quite literally, talking about the future of Glacia. I represent the Old Ways, returning to the Territory we had when my mother still ruled. Do you not agree that that would be preferable that the path we are heading down now?"
Fetya nodded slightly, before recovering and shaking her head. Then she stopped moving at all, save for her hands which twisted a handkerchief around and around. She had been doing that for almost the entire length of the meeting. By the end of it, Karla was sure the poor thing would be tattered and worn, for all that it had appeared immaculate and new when Fetya produced it.
The Rose-Jeweled Queen was a slight woman, with sharp delicate bones that rose up through her thin skin. She reminded Karla of a nervous bird, one that constantly fluttered about, keeping watch for predators she was sure were near. It was at Fetya's request that they had met in this shepherd's cottage, far from the Queen's residence; whether it was because Fetya didn't wish to have Karla in her home or out of fear of potential spies (or both!), Karla had yet to discover.
No one had liked that idea, especially when Fetya had insisted that Karla be accompanied by no more than two people, but Karla had overruled her Court's objections. Winning Fetya to her cause was worth the risk; without her, Karla's months of planning would amount to nothing.
Now, she was starting to wonder if her Court hadn't been right all along. Under Morton's Court mask, she could tell he was already mapping the ways out of this place if it came to a fight. From Warren's rigid stillness at her side, she was guessing he was doing something very similar.
"You have to understand," Fetya said, giving Karla a smile that suggested the lady was suffering from stomach pains. "It's not that I don't agree with you, Lady Karla. It's just that, well, you have to understand, you're asking for quite a lot."
"On the contrary, lady, I feel I am asking very little," Karla rejoined with an equally-forced smile, though at least she managed not to look dyspeptic. "I am not asking for warriors from your Court or access to your funds. I'm not asking for donations of arms or even food--everything my army eats and wears and uses come from our own storess or are bought and paid for for full value. All I asking is that you support me when the vote is called. I hardly see what the difficulty is."
"Oh, see, that's just the trouble," Fetya said, with another sharp twist of her handkerchief. "It's what you don't see that's the problem! My Court is full of spies! Just full! I try to root out the ones I discover, but there are always more. They breed like rats, you know. Big, hairy, nasty rats!"
Karla closed her eyes and silently prayed to the Darkness for patience. It was all she could do not to grab the woman by her scrawny shoulders and shake her. Repeatedly. If for no other reason than because getting rid of an enemy spy you've discovered was a waste of resources! How had this woman and her mother been friends?
"I am sorry for your difficulties--" she began, but Fetya cut her off.
"They're everywhere in my Court," Fetya said, eye twitching. "It's infested with spies. Oh yes, Hobart has me under very close watch. He's just waiting for me to do something, try something. And then he'll have me replaced with one of those little bitches his Ruling Council's hand picked! Pretty and mewling and subservient! And then what will happen to me?" Flecks of spittle flew from her mouth and Karla tried not to wince as they spattered her face. "I'll end up dead, I tell you! Dead in a gutter! Eaten at by rats and worms and maggots! I have nightmares about this! I know!"
Ooookay. So, yeah. Karla was going to have to rethink her strategy a bit. Whatever the Queen had been like when Ilyse was alive, she'd clearly gone a little barmy in the interim. Not that Karla doubted Fetya's insistence that there were spies--other Queens had mentioned that same--but the way she was going on about them didn't exactly sound sane.
See? That's what happened when you rounded up all the Black Widows. People went starkers.
"That must be very distressing for you," Karla began again. "But that's all the more reason you should vote for me. Once Hobart's no longer in power, his spies won't be able to hurt you."
"Oh, so it's going to go as easily as that, huh missy?" Fetya snapped. "That's why you've got that army of yours about, drawing attention to me and mine? Because Hobart's just going to hand over Sidra and Glacia and everything will be well? Is that the line you're trying to feed me? Because I'm not eating it! And while you two wrangle over Glacia, I'll be murdered in my sleep and nibbled on by rats. Rats!"
Okay, well, a bit of madness hadn't robbed the woman of all of her wits. That was something.
"Surely you have people who can keep you safe--"
"I have almost no one!" Fetya shrieked. "Just my sister!" She pointed to the woman that had accompanied her. She'd been introduced to them at the beginning of the meeting but had stayed silent since. "My sister, the only Black Widow remaining in my Province! The others ran off or were rounded up and killed! The only reason Marva survived is because she's not a natural Black Widow, just trained in a coven! Marva is the only one who can keep me safe and she is only one woman! One!"
Marva flushed under her sister's almost hysterical praise. "Hush, sister, hush," she soothed. "You'll make yourself upset if you keep talking this way." She looked at Karla and shrugged. "The lady has your answer, perhaps it's time to think of going."
"Yes, I'm tired," Fetya agreed, drooping a little. "It's not safe out here. Rats."
Not yet! They weren't allowed to leave just yet! Karla was certain that with just a little more time, she could possibly coax the Fetya into just thinking about voting for her. "You were studying to be a Black Widow?" she asked Marva hastily, hoping that they wouldn't up and leave in the middle of the conversation. "How much did you have a chance to learn?"
Marva's tone was frosty. "I may not be a natural Black Widow like some," she said pointedly, "but I am still a full Black Widow. I finished my training and education before you had your Birthright Ceremony." And she let her gaze travel down to the hourglass Karla wore around her neck, the sand caught halfway between the top and bottom, marking her a journeymaid still.
Rather than be insulted, Karla was confused. She'd assumed that Marva wasn't fully-trained because of Fetya's behavior. There was clearly something wrong with her, but it was not so advanced as to be untreatable. Any Black Widow worth her salt should have been able to help her Queen, especially the Queen's own sister and only trusted companion.
"Come, sister," Marva said, standing up and offering her right hand to Fetya. "It's getting late. We don't want to be out much longer. It's almost sundown."
"And the rats come out at night," Fetya agreed with a shudder. Then she looked at Karla, with real sympathy in her eyes. "I'm sorry I can't give you the help you need, girl. Ilyse was one of my best friends, both before and after she was Territory Queen. It feels like a betrayal to say no, but..." Fetya trailed off, her expression growing clouded. "Rats," she whispered. "Nibbling at me. Want to eat me up."
"Warren!" Karla cried. "Door! Don't let them leave!"
"What is the meaning of this!" Marva demanded. "How dare you!"
In answer, Karla pointed at the table. The light from the setting sun was pouring in through a window to their side. In the air, Marva appeared to have five fingers on her right hand, just like any other woman.
On the table, her shadow had only four. Her right ring finger had been cut off.
"You pledged yourself to Hobart," Karla snarled. "You're the rat your sister should fear." Behind her, Morton drew his sword.
[NFB. Omg, this is incredibly long, much love to anyone who reads it all the way through!]
The weather had also changed as they'd ridden and marched and trained. They had started off in high summer, but even that had been cool and pleasant beneath the vast trees up north, the brightest days dimmed by the dark and heavy pines. Now they were in the fall, almost time for the harvest, and yet still the days grew hotter and more stifling as they traveled. The frequent rivers were cool and refreshing to ride through, but they lent mugginess to the air and the Black Widows and Healers that traveled with Karla's army were hard-pressed to keep up with the demands for salves to prevent mosquito bites and unguents to soothe the inevitable itches away.
But what had changed most dramatically during the course of their procession were the people. Oh yes, they all still had the Glacian stamp on them: pale skin, pale blond hair, pale blue eyes, but the further south they rode, expressions of the people had grown harder, more distrusting, or even just duller, as if their spirits had been all but snuffed. In the north, people had flocked to her banner (and she had one now, a literal banner, carried out in the front of her army, whose idea was that?) by the hundreds; Jono, Julian, and Momoko had been forced to turn people away just to keep the size of her army manageable. That flood had slowed to a trickle and had practically dried up by the time they'd crossed into the Province directly north of Glacia. Lord Mallory, her Steward, had suggested that everyone who had wanted to join had already done so. But Karla knew the truth: it wasn't just potential recruits that had dwindled here, but also her support. These were the in-betweeners, not close enough to be cowed by Hobart, nor far enough to be independent of him, either. At best, they were indifferent to political maneuvering, wanting only to be left alone. At worst, they were willing to play both sides, looking for whichever one offered the best advantage at the time.
Karla looked at the woman in front of her and wished she knew where on that scale the other woman fell.
"Lady Fetya, I beg you to understand," Karla said, keeping her voice calm and soothing, carefully not letting any of the irritation she felt into her tone or psychic scent. "This is not a matter in which to abstain from. We are, quite literally, talking about the future of Glacia. I represent the Old Ways, returning to the Territory we had when my mother still ruled. Do you not agree that that would be preferable that the path we are heading down now?"
Fetya nodded slightly, before recovering and shaking her head. Then she stopped moving at all, save for her hands which twisted a handkerchief around and around. She had been doing that for almost the entire length of the meeting. By the end of it, Karla was sure the poor thing would be tattered and worn, for all that it had appeared immaculate and new when Fetya produced it.
The Rose-Jeweled Queen was a slight woman, with sharp delicate bones that rose up through her thin skin. She reminded Karla of a nervous bird, one that constantly fluttered about, keeping watch for predators she was sure were near. It was at Fetya's request that they had met in this shepherd's cottage, far from the Queen's residence; whether it was because Fetya didn't wish to have Karla in her home or out of fear of potential spies (or both!), Karla had yet to discover.
No one had liked that idea, especially when Fetya had insisted that Karla be accompanied by no more than two people, but Karla had overruled her Court's objections. Winning Fetya to her cause was worth the risk; without her, Karla's months of planning would amount to nothing.
Now, she was starting to wonder if her Court hadn't been right all along. Under Morton's Court mask, she could tell he was already mapping the ways out of this place if it came to a fight. From Warren's rigid stillness at her side, she was guessing he was doing something very similar.
"You have to understand," Fetya said, giving Karla a smile that suggested the lady was suffering from stomach pains. "It's not that I don't agree with you, Lady Karla. It's just that, well, you have to understand, you're asking for quite a lot."
"On the contrary, lady, I feel I am asking very little," Karla rejoined with an equally-forced smile, though at least she managed not to look dyspeptic. "I am not asking for warriors from your Court or access to your funds. I'm not asking for donations of arms or even food--everything my army eats and wears and uses come from our own storess or are bought and paid for for full value. All I asking is that you support me when the vote is called. I hardly see what the difficulty is."
"Oh, see, that's just the trouble," Fetya said, with another sharp twist of her handkerchief. "It's what you don't see that's the problem! My Court is full of spies! Just full! I try to root out the ones I discover, but there are always more. They breed like rats, you know. Big, hairy, nasty rats!"
Karla closed her eyes and silently prayed to the Darkness for patience. It was all she could do not to grab the woman by her scrawny shoulders and shake her. Repeatedly. If for no other reason than because getting rid of an enemy spy you've discovered was a waste of resources! How had this woman and her mother been friends?
"I am sorry for your difficulties--" she began, but Fetya cut her off.
"They're everywhere in my Court," Fetya said, eye twitching. "It's infested with spies. Oh yes, Hobart has me under very close watch. He's just waiting for me to do something, try something. And then he'll have me replaced with one of those little bitches his Ruling Council's hand picked! Pretty and mewling and subservient! And then what will happen to me?" Flecks of spittle flew from her mouth and Karla tried not to wince as they spattered her face. "I'll end up dead, I tell you! Dead in a gutter! Eaten at by rats and worms and maggots! I have nightmares about this! I know!"
Ooookay. So, yeah. Karla was going to have to rethink her strategy a bit. Whatever the Queen had been like when Ilyse was alive, she'd clearly gone a little barmy in the interim. Not that Karla doubted Fetya's insistence that there were spies--other Queens had mentioned that same--but the way she was going on about them didn't exactly sound sane.
See? That's what happened when you rounded up all the Black Widows. People went starkers.
"That must be very distressing for you," Karla began again. "But that's all the more reason you should vote for me. Once Hobart's no longer in power, his spies won't be able to hurt you."
"Oh, so it's going to go as easily as that, huh missy?" Fetya snapped. "That's why you've got that army of yours about, drawing attention to me and mine? Because Hobart's just going to hand over Sidra and Glacia and everything will be well? Is that the line you're trying to feed me? Because I'm not eating it! And while you two wrangle over Glacia, I'll be murdered in my sleep and nibbled on by rats. Rats!"
Okay, well, a bit of madness hadn't robbed the woman of all of her wits. That was something.
"Surely you have people who can keep you safe--"
"I have almost no one!" Fetya shrieked. "Just my sister!" She pointed to the woman that had accompanied her. She'd been introduced to them at the beginning of the meeting but had stayed silent since. "My sister, the only Black Widow remaining in my Province! The others ran off or were rounded up and killed! The only reason Marva survived is because she's not a natural Black Widow, just trained in a coven! Marva is the only one who can keep me safe and she is only one woman! One!"
Marva flushed under her sister's almost hysterical praise. "Hush, sister, hush," she soothed. "You'll make yourself upset if you keep talking this way." She looked at Karla and shrugged. "The lady has your answer, perhaps it's time to think of going."
"Yes, I'm tired," Fetya agreed, drooping a little. "It's not safe out here. Rats."
Not yet! They weren't allowed to leave just yet! Karla was certain that with just a little more time, she could possibly coax the Fetya into just thinking about voting for her. "You were studying to be a Black Widow?" she asked Marva hastily, hoping that they wouldn't up and leave in the middle of the conversation. "How much did you have a chance to learn?"
Marva's tone was frosty. "I may not be a natural Black Widow like some," she said pointedly, "but I am still a full Black Widow. I finished my training and education before you had your Birthright Ceremony." And she let her gaze travel down to the hourglass Karla wore around her neck, the sand caught halfway between the top and bottom, marking her a journeymaid still.
Rather than be insulted, Karla was confused. She'd assumed that Marva wasn't fully-trained because of Fetya's behavior. There was clearly something wrong with her, but it was not so advanced as to be untreatable. Any Black Widow worth her salt should have been able to help her Queen, especially the Queen's own sister and only trusted companion.
"Come, sister," Marva said, standing up and offering her right hand to Fetya. "It's getting late. We don't want to be out much longer. It's almost sundown."
"And the rats come out at night," Fetya agreed with a shudder. Then she looked at Karla, with real sympathy in her eyes. "I'm sorry I can't give you the help you need, girl. Ilyse was one of my best friends, both before and after she was Territory Queen. It feels like a betrayal to say no, but..." Fetya trailed off, her expression growing clouded. "Rats," she whispered. "Nibbling at me. Want to eat me up."
"Warren!" Karla cried. "Door! Don't let them leave!"
"What is the meaning of this!" Marva demanded. "How dare you!"
In answer, Karla pointed at the table. The light from the setting sun was pouring in through a window to their side. In the air, Marva appeared to have five fingers on her right hand, just like any other woman.
On the table, her shadow had only four. Her right ring finger had been cut off.
"You pledged yourself to Hobart," Karla snarled. "You're the rat your sister should fear." Behind her, Morton drew his sword.
[NFB. Omg, this is incredibly long, much love to anyone who reads it all the way through!]