ZATsamizdat

This is the beginning of the third short story in this collection, The Affairs of Mortals. This segment is my take on the fantasy-romance and slice-of-life genres, with some military and political sub-plots. 

I said that Curse of the Moon was one of my most 'literary' stories, I would describe The Affairs of Mortals as my most 'web-fiction-like' story. I look forward to hearing what you all think of it.

Several Years Earlier

Vero hated being cooped up in a bed. Even when she was sick as a girl, she had still given Mama no end of trouble making her lay down to rest.

There was nothing else for it though.

Most of her minor fractures were well on their way to mending, but her right leg had been totally shattered and her spine severely injured. Half the physicians brought to examine her urged Vero to temper her expectations of ever walking faster than a hobble again.

Jean sent those men away and retained only the half that believed in a full recovery- or at least, those who claimed so. From the moment she had woken, Jean and his doctors visited her constantly. The healing priests prepared a therapeutic schedule to manage her recovery. Jean stood by and listened to everything they had to say. Then, when they were finished, he would sit by her bed and caress her hand, occasionally leaning forward to exchange kisses with her.

Vero had spent hours as a girl daydreaming of kissing knights with merely half the dash and nobility which the Marquis de Fer possessed. Each time their lips met Vero thought her heart would explode out of her chest.

At first, Jean asked her many questions about herself, but he quickly discovered that was one of Vero’s most detested subjects of conversation. Instead, they discussed her previous hunts, a subject Vero felt much more at ease speaking about. She told him about the mountain lion which became possessed by a rogue fae to snatch children until she and her master had put it down, about the gibbering dead risen from the untended casualties left behind by the civil war, and also about the false unicorn she and her master exposed near the border with the Imperium.

Jean listened to her with unexpected interest. He had even heard the second-hand accounts of the unicorn, and was greatly amused to learn the true tale of the matter.

He returned her stories with some of his own. His father had remained aloof from the War of the Bastards until the end. Consequently, as a hot-blooded youth, Jean had no choice but to throw himself into tournaments with reckless abandon. He earned a grand reputation in both the melee and the joust. All his stories were filled with knightly valor – Vero’s favorite kind of story – and she listened to him tell them with devoted attention.

Eventually, Jeans father did commit them to a side in the war – the winning side, of course – and Jean had his opportunity at real battle. However, he did not speak of the war with relish, and Vero did not press him on the topic.

He was such a constant companion to her that she almost forgot how dreary it was to be trapped in bed all day, aside from her brief bouts of painful exercise.

There were four of them total sleeping in the tent, which might have been uncomfortably close, if Jean’s pavilion was not larger than most peasant families’ homes. Vero’s bed was almost in her own room with the curtain between them. Her father was the richest commoner in their village, but even the house she grew up in had only a single room.

The first nights after Jean had kissed her, she was afraid that he might simply come to her bed and take his pleasure from her. He had not.

Jean stayed in his own bed, and his squire slept in a pallet at its foot. Vero and Antoinette shared a bed together, and Vero found it very pleasant to have someone to hold as she fell asleep.

Fra Heward came to visit her once, but only briefly. He had been called by his bishop to answer for all that had happened at Kaer Longus. Vero tried to convince him to ask Jean for help explaining matters to his church, but he refused. Relying on the Marquis’ support would only reaffirm that he had lost his objectivity. The templar preferred to be vindicated only by his own actions, and Vero respected his choice.

Whenever they moved camp further into Umbria to subdue the next batch of disloyal vassals, Vero traveled on a cart with Antoinette. Jean offered her more servants, but Vero turned them down. At least with Antoinette Vero could convince herself that the girl was not really a servant, but only her friend.

The necessities of campaigning began to draw more and more of Jean’s time, and Vero was shocked to find how quickly she had come to depend on his company. Fortunately, Jean traveled with a small library. He put it at her disposal to entertain herself with while he was away.

Antoinette was not lettered, and Vero had not read a book since she left home, leaving her own letters to become very uneven. Consequently, Vero read aloud for both their benefits. Jean was impressed when he learned she could read, and she wanted to be sure she was proficient again before she might be called on to use the skill while he was present.

Antoinette preferred romances, but the love books Jean brought with him were so explicit, Antoinette could not stop blushing and occasionally squeaking her disapproval at the most intimate moments. Vero eventually set those books aside. Perhaps Jean might like to read them with her later.

Instead, they read adventure stories and accounts of knightly chivalry, which were Vero’s preferred genres. Antoinette only listened politely to them at first, but Vero eventually prevailed on her to become more engaged. At last, she had Antoinette caught up in conversation about how the protagonists ought to proceed in order to escape their present peril.

Their talk also gave Vero more time to decipher the words on the page before proceeding to the next passage.

As the days passed, Vero’s reading became steadier, and once she asked Jean for a dictionary her vocabulary was much expanded. Although some of the words the love books had made her curious about did not seem to appear in the dictionary, so she still did not know precisely what they meant. Except from what she could gather through context.

It was well advanced into autumn before they reached Hollowstone, the last of Jean’s disloyal vassals. The fortress was put under siege; Jean preferred to take the castle intact so he had refrained from bringing cannons to bear on the walls.

Her leg had rehabilitated enough that she was independently mobile with the aid of a cane. They had been at the methodical siege for a ten-day when Vero suggested over breakfast that she could accompany Jean out into the field that morning.

He looked taken aback, but not unpleasantly so. “If you wish so. Are you sure? You would be very welcome company- but will your leg stand up to it?”

“I believe so. If it doesn’t you shall simply be required to carry me in your arms. And I consider that no bad thing.”

“Ha!” He cut a slice of ham with joviality. “We’re agreed on that point. Very well, I don’t think there’ll be any danger. We’re only waiting for their food stores to run out, after all. And here- I was going to give this to you once we took the keep, but this is as good a time as any. Lad-”

Jean spoke to his squire; Lyam was the boy’s name. He had been concentrating on his eggs, but jumped to attention at once when spoken to.

“-Go fetch the presents we purchased for Vero a fortnight ago, won’t you?”

“At once, my Lord.” The boy leapt up and left the tent. He was much better disciplined then Vero remembered being at his age.

“A present?” No one had given her a present since she left home with her master, and Vero was almost childishly excited to see what it was.

“You’ll need something else to wear besides an infirmary shift if you’re going out to be seen. I said those clothes and baubles I gave you before were just the start of your payment. It’s not much of a shame their being lost. You’ll hardly remember them in a moment, I’m sure.”

The squire returned with the majordomo and some other domestic servants. They brought in a ruby red dress with voluminous long skirts which blossomed in all direction from a very confining looking top. It was matched by rings, a hairclip, and a pendant, all with emeralds set into silver.

Vero had never before seen something so valuable so close. She had no idea how she ought to respond.

“Do you like them? I wanted to find a dress with a deeper red to better match your hair, but it’s impossible to find really fine clothes this far north. When we’re back in Velois, I shall provide you a real wardrobe worthy of you.”

No- I mean, this is perfect. I like the gay color.” Even if she got a bad price from haggling, Vero still expected that she could sell the dress and jewels for more money than she or her master had ever received for a contract. “May I put them on now?”

“Please do.” Jean turned to the majordomo. “You have the rest?”

“Yes, my Lord- in just a moment. I believed that you wished the delivery once Hollowstone had been taken.” He replied.

“I did. But I changed my mind. It’s your labor to respond to these flights of fancy I take.”

“I do so, Ser. Only you must please be patient for a moment.”

More servants arrived bearing a small vanity with a mirror backed by silver. The lacquer box of cosmetics came with it. Then there was a set of ivory combs and brushes along with more of the accoutrements noble ladies must use for their beautification, but which Vero could not identify.

“Put that back in Vero’s space so that the women may have some privacy.” The servants moved to follow Jean’s orders.

Vero retreated behind the curtain with Antoinette the moment they were finished.

“Vero, it’s beautiful.” Antoinette regarded the dress with wonder.

“Yes. And you’re the one that must find a way to get me into it.”

“Oh.” Vero watched the features of Antoinette’s face alter as the dress changed from an object of wonder to an enemy.

At least a quarter of an hour passed before they got her properly tied into it. The bodice was indeed tight, but it was formfitting once she was in it. Jean had taken her measurements from her physicians; he informed her through the curtain. The neckline of the dress plunged more deeply than any Vero had worn before, and she was surprised to see that the dress had somehow found breasts to push up and present.

It was hard to breathe, but Vero considered that an even exchange. She was not used to looking at her chest and feeling satisfied by what she found.

Vero put on her jewelry herself, while Antoinette brushed her hair. There were earrings, but Vero’s ears were not pierced so she put those aside to sell when she could do so discreetly. She positioned the pendant so that it fell into the valley of her breasts and was very enamored by the look of it. Antoinette began drawing rouge and paints from the box of cosmetics. Her hair was securely held out of her eyes by the silver and emerald clip.

It suddenly occurred to her that those were the colors of Jean’s house; white and green, the argent stallion against the vert field.

Well, she had agreed to serve as his retainer, had she not? Male retainers typically wore a patch embroidered into their doublet bearing the sign of their lord’s house. Was this her mark? A sign of his patronage?

Or ownership.

Vero thought that she might be introspecting and philosophizing too far. It also happened that the richest man in the kingdom was almost certainly courted by jewelry merchants regularly, and what better to offer his lordship than jewelry in his own colors.

Her master often told her never to seek a complex answer when a simple one would do.

He also told you slayers never involve themselves in politics.

But then, he always added the proviso that politicians were still people, and that personal vengeance was a private matter not a political one. If she became the mistress of the Marquis de Fer that was also a sort of private matter, so she did not see why the same principle should not apply.

She would act within her capacity as a slayer for him, and become his lover, no more. So long as she did not become a direct party to any plots or schemes aimed against a human target, the code would not be violated.

What of the scheme to commit adultery against his wife?

“I’m sorry I’m not a trained maidservant. I don’t know the proper arts of applying paints and such.” Antoinette had already begun applying the makeup without Vero noticing her passing.

“Well, I’m not trained in the arts of being a proper lady, so I suppose it shall be appropriate. You’ll just have to do the best you can and I shall do the same.”

Antoinette giggled a moment, then returned to her work with renewed intensity.

Vero knew that it was common for bishops and princes to keep mistresses even if they ought not to. Jean assured her that his wife tolerated him spending time with other women. If the Marquis de Fer fulfilled his obligations to his wife to her satisfaction, then why should she feel guilty for being his lover in her absence?

Antoinette made a satisfied smile. She stepped aside so that Vero could see herself in the mirror.

It was a rare occasion when Vero was pleased to see her own reflection, but she did think she looked rather beautiful. She was by no means the fairest woman in the world, nor even in the kingdom. However – as Hollowstone was under siege – she doubted the ladies there had much time for finery, so she might have been the fairest woman in the county.

Vero stood and hugged her, though more lightly than she would have liked, for fear of smudging Antoinette’s careful workmanship. “If you’re an untrained artist, then I think you must have strong natural instincts.”

They stepped out from behind the curtain. The Marquis stood up from the remains of their breakfast and wore a very wide smile.

“Yes, it’s just as I thought. Absolute radiance.” He walked nearer to her and Vero felt her heart pound in her chest as though she were on a hunt. A strand of her hair had fallen by the devilry which always seemed to move her hair where she did not wish it. He tucked it neatly back into place. “I believe that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on.”

That was not the kind of thing one said and meant it seriously- though in the moment she wanted more than anything to believe him. It was not so much that she thought that he was lying. It was just that she considered it the kind of flighty romantic talk that lovers often use flippantly with one another. They may not have been lovers yet in a real physical sense, but they had already decided to become as much once her leg was well again.

She was very firm with herself that she would not take his words seriously. “Thank-you, my Lord.”

The Marquis flinched, but it was only a small movement. Had she said something wrong? “Only Jean- please. I’ve told you before that I don’t want any of this ‘lords and ladies’ business coming between us.”

“My thanks, Jean.” Vero corrected herself. “I confess I- find you rather comely as well.”

“Do you? I shall need to bear that in mind.” He took her by the arm, and also helped to support her bad leg. “Shall we go now?”

“Yes, please.”

Jean turned to Antoinette. “I’ll look after your mistress myself today. Go with my majordomo and arrange a new wardrobe for yourself. We don’t want Veronique’s attendant looking like a poor relation. I’m sure you’re the best expert at which clothes suit you.”

Antoinette blushed and stammered. “Thank-you, my Lord.”

And then they were out of the tent and into the noise and bustle of the camp.

ZATsamizdat

I thought it might be fun to add a little bit of roleplaying to my poll question and try to motivate some more engagement. Feel free to expand on your answers in the comments section, and let me know if you'd like more little scenarios like this.