Loving Strangers
Leaning back to stretch Anastasia saw the sun had begun to set, washing the fields in reds and golds.
“Anne, could you bring in the washing?” Gemma called from her place at the window.
Squinting at the sky Anastasia saw clouds gathering on the horizon and managed to get everything in before the first drops fell. It was autumn again, a year and two seasons since Anastasia first set foot in the Riverlands, but she had yet to get used to the deluge when it did decide to rain. Laughing she dashed into the house, catching the tail end of Gemma’s grin where she stirred the pot over the fire. Anastasia peeked over her shoulder, humming in anticipation before she approached the crib in the corner.
“I just got him to bed. Storms seem to calm him, they always make me nervous,” Gemma said.
Smiling, Anastasia touched the golden curls, same color as his mother’s though with his father’s texture, lightly so as not to disturb the sleeping babe.
“He’s a funny one that boy,” Gemma continued, stirring a pinch of herbs and salt into the pot, “never a peep and always smiling. I wish my girls had been as calm and quiet as him when they were young.”
“That’s my Selwin,” Anastasia murmured fondly.
Wiping her hands on her apron, Gemma came to stand at Anastasia’s side, gazing down into the crib.
“He’ll be out until dinner I dare say. Go up and rest, I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
There was no sign of Zaxa when she stepped into the two-room apartment they shared in the loft of Errol and Gemma’s house. After a moment of indecision, Anastasia grabbed his cloak and dashed off to the tavern.
The roads were muddy already and they sucked at her boots until she tripped, sprawling in the grime. Getting to her feet and cursing her own stupidity she ran the last few steps and swung the door open, slamming it against the sudden downpour. She turned the latch to find most of the bar staring at her. Tucking her hair self-consciously behind her burning ear, she bowed a little and they turned back to their drinks and conversations, grumbling a bit if she dripped on them.
She found him in the back of the smokey room, glowering into the dregs of a pint, oblivious to his surroundings. After a moment of hesitation she slid in beside him, and when he didn’t move she carefully rested her cheek against his arm, sighing a little.
His opposite hand came up to cup her cheek, stroking the dirt and grime with a calloused thumb as they shared a silent moment of understanding. It was a good situation, better than they could have hoped but, even with the kindness of their hosts and Selwin’s good health, they were tired of pretending. Anastasia’s greatest friend was gone, her family somewhere in the North they knew, but not where, and she herself remained in a precarious position, always under threat. It was no wonder Zaxa preferred to spend his nights drinking here, listening for news rather than sitting idle at the house.
Anastasia breathed deeply, that scent of him, of sweat, and alcohol, the faint oil and flower perfume of the soap they all used, the smell of the meat he’d eaten, and of the wood he’d been working with today. Once such a powerful stench had alarmed her but now it merely smelled of him, and the knowledge that he was near put her at ease like nothing else. Since before her confinement all those years ago she had trusted his judgement, his kindness for her, taking his strength as her own when she needed it. Without Selah he was her only friend, and right now he was the closest thing she had to her home, for he reminded her of home, though he’d never been there that she knew. Something about the solid bulk of him, and his unwavering support of her quest made her feel comfortable in a way she never had outside of Easthaven.
On impulse she reached up to touch his cheek, raising her head and tilting his chin so they were eye to eye. He met her gaze questioningly but Anastasia wasn’t interested in explaining herself. Lightly, with just the tips of her fingers, she traced the outline of his face, the thick tangle of his untrimmed beard, rough bristles turning to soft strands as she moved up, sweeping his long hair over his shoulder so she could examine his ear and neck. He shuddered when she touched him, eyes gliding closed. Too good an opportunity to pass up, Anastasia ran her fingers lightly over his eyelids, skimming the bridge of his nose and measuring the length of his jaw. She touched the fine web of wrinkles at his temples, the deep grooves beside his mouth but both of them knew where she was headed. He opened his eyes and Anastasia met them, fingers pausing over his scar.
“Does it hurt?” she asked quietly.
“No,” he replied in a voice just as hushed, searching her face.
“But it did.”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched between them as they both searched for words. Zaxa surprised her by speaking first.
“I was in a border town between Rux and Akra, working for money for drink. I was, worse than what they call me, a beaten cur with nothing to live for and every reason to die. The perfect mercenary.
“A man hired me to watch his son, a rich merchant’s boy. He liked me, invited me to drink and gamble with him. I was a curiosity, something new to relieve their boredom. I served him for nearly a month and when his father moved him to Dragonstone he took me with him. Compared to our tiny border town, Dragonstone was a metropolis, affording more delights than even a poisonous snake like my master could tire of. I always knew he went whoring, he’d invited me more than once. I went out of curiosity, but, their eyes.” He gritted his teeth and looked away.
Anastasia waited, thinking it was such a shame his sister couldn’t be here to see the man she had made.
“After the first time I remained at the house, and he always conducted his business at the brothels, but Dragonstone was different. A man with money could buy ten women at the brothel, or for the same price he could have a far superior lady to himself. I answered his summons to find a girl, no older than my sister was when,” his eyes darkened with fury. Anastasia pursed her lips, fingers of her free hand moving to grip his until his mood passed. “She was chained at the wrists, dressed in a ridiculous mockery of a mercenary’s garb. My master had decided that his entertainment for the evening would be a ‘match’ between myself and the child he had bought. He informed me I was free to beat her as I liked, do anything I wanted.
“I tried to talk my way out of it. He was angry but he kept laughing. Even when I flat refused his face didn’t change. But there was a knife in his hand and suddenly my face was on fire and he was shouting at me, that both of us were slaves and we would do what he wanted or suffer punishment. So I killed him.”
Anastasia swallowed carefully. Her face remained placid and after a moment observing her for signs of displeasure Zaxa continued.
“I took the girl back where she came from then threw myself on the king’s mercy. My dead master’s family was powerful, I knew without King Silvanus’s help I wouldn’t last long.”
“So you became his man,” Anastasia continued quietly.
“His Rabid Bear.” His mouth twisted the words so they sounded twice as bitter.
Anastasia’s fingers resumed their journey, tracing the twisting purple mass across his cheek. She could feel his eyes on her face so she sighed and let him go.
“And now you’re my friend.”
“I am.” Half certain, half questioning.
“Yes, my friend,” Anastasia replied, smiling faintly as she considered the litany of other titles. Patient, tormentor, protector, advisor, subordinate, partner, teacher, student, brother...
They’d searched and searched for her brothers, to no avail. The only news was that they were still in the North and their army small and scattered, attacking Silvanus strongholds and harrying his troops without committing to any real maneuvers. Waiting for something.
King Adenot’s troops had withdrawn to their mountain-ringed home with hardly any blood spilt, and though Anastasia had heard nothing of Lord Thraxes’s involvement, from the tidiness of the business she concluded he was still pulling the strings. King Silvanus, apparently, and left Kingsport in the hands of a number of his council and gone to command his army in person. They were somewhere in the East, approaching the Riverlands but hesitant to enter the High King’s territory. King Raske in the north and the High King in the south had as of yet made no move.
“Kitten.”
Anastasia jumped, startled out of her reverie by his voice, and the warm, heavy weight of his hand on her arm.
“What is it, friend?” she asked, turning to regard him with a faint smile.
“There’s news,” he said uncomfortably, shadow of an awkward smile hovering at the corners of this mouth, “about your brothers.”
Anastasia froze, ice coursing through her veins. Had something happened to them? Were they safe?
“Some Southern Academicians passed through, you just missed them. No one knows for sure but there’s talk the High King sent them north to observe a meeting, perhaps the forging of an alliance, between King Raske and your brother.”
“So, no change,” she sighed.
Zaxa tilted his head to the side in disagreement. “I’d guess they’ll winter north to cement the alliance, but with papers signed they will be free to venture south again come spring.”
“Come spring,” she echoed, thinking rapidly. The KerRhydderik house was not far, perhaps a week’s travel on foot, less on horseback. She could be there with time to spare, before winter made travel impossible. Her siblings likely didn’t know of Lady Tamsin’s connection, but that could be remedied, and as a large house in neutral territory it wasn’t unlikely that they would stop there anyway on their journey out of the mountains. But was it worth the risk? She did not know Lord KerRhydderik, had no idea what welcome she might receive. Her other options were no more tempting, however. They could wait out the winter here and then continue on their original course, dodging unseen past her husband’s troops, avoiding Sir Thraxes’s spies, and make for Easthaven.
It had been nearly two years since her flight from Sir Thraxes, and while she knew he was still hunting her she thought she knew her false-father well enough to guess he’d sent his search East, hoping she was headed home. Besides, they’d be looking for Annalyn Thraxes, or perhaps Anastasia Silvanus, a lady and a queen, not Anne, a farm girl, nobody.
If anything Zaxa would be more recognizable than her, but with several years of fighting in the land there were plenty of scarred foreigners roaming about. Hopefully their lack of accoutrement and unusual surroundings would keep them anonymous.
Or they could stay here, another voice whispered. Forget she’d ever been a lady and disappear into obscurity. She could raise Selah’s son, perhaps have one of her own, a child that survived to till the fields, whose only concern would be whether the rains fell early or late, who would never have to run for his life from enemies if he didn’t make them himself.
With a sigh Anastasia let go of that fantasy. She could no more make herself a peasant than she could Zaxa a gentleman. She slid her arm from beneath his before patting it. “Come, we have work to do.”
