~ Tasha ~

For eight days, Tash had little to do but wait. Oliver left early each morning, to attend first the Council’s daily deliberation and then a meeting of the Governor’s Borrowood contingent, and it wasn’t until long after dark that he returned. At first it had brought only boredom. Sesi had proved her worth dealing with that, keeping Tash company and doing everything she could to keep her Lady entertained. She was a keen proponent of needlework. Somewhere she’d found all the supplies, and enticed Tash to give it a go “because a Lady needs an outlet for her creativity”. It was fun for the most part, though the bloody fingers were something of a pain.

Needlework quickly lost its draw, though, and so did everything else. How could she commit to enjoying it, when all she wanted to do was see Oliver again? One day soon he was going to come home and tell her she was a queen, and then she’d know her dream was life. Every day passed with her waiting for him. Every night, late, he’d stumble home exhausted. She’d always prompt him for a summary of the day, and his answer was the same every time. “Nothing’s been decided yet, Tash. I’d tell you if it had been.” And then he’d be asleep, and she wouldn’t even get a chance to spend some time with him.

“You’re pining, Lady,” said Sesi, after a week. She’d been sat with a book on her lap for three hours, immaculately made-up and in one of her favourite gowns because she’d asked Sesi to make her look pretty, and she’d barely read a page. The rest of the day had been spent staring at nothing.

Tash dismissed Sesi’s words. “I’m not a dog, Sesi.”

“Perhaps a walk would do you some good. We could sit on the banks of the Clearwater.”

“No thank-you, Sesi. I’m fine here.”

Sesi had curtsied. “Of course, Lady,” she’d said, retreating from the room, and for the rest of the day Tash had seen no sign of her. The only disturbance was Eva, carrying a tray on which was a heaping plate of sardines and potatoes mashed to a cream. Tash ate the food diligently, but she couldn’t tell if it was nice or not. Nickie could have defecated onto a plate and served it up, and she’d have been unlikely to notice.

But she wouldn’t admit that Sesi was right. She wasn’t pining, she was just occupied with other things, other thoughts. She just didn’t know what those other thoughts were.

At last, after more than a week of building a cocoon of indifference, she caught sight of Oliver walking towards the house, flanked by Lieutenant Sharp. It was still daylight. She’d been upstairs just because she was bored of looking at the walls of her solar, when she happened to catch a glimpse of him out of the window. That was enough to bring her vigour back, as if it had never gone away. She bounced down the stairs and met Oliver in the doorway. Without thinking, she jumped into his arms, and regretted it when he collapsed, red-faced and wheezing, and she fell to the ground.

It was only a minor knock, though the dent to her pride was considerably more. “Why didn’t you catch me?” She had to be cross with Oliver, or she’d be admitting that she was the one at fault. And he was the one who’d dropped her.

“Tash, there’s a whole extra person inside you, not far from being ready to meet the world. I can’t deal with the weight of two.” He held out a hand and pulled her to her feet.

She brushed her dress down, her face flushed. “How did today go? I’m not used to seeing you in the daylight.”

Oliver looked at her with an unreadable face. “I’m sorry, Tash. The Council weren’t keen on the plan. I argued your case as best I could, but...” He trailed off. There was the wind, pried out of her like she was just a pair of bellows. She could see it leaving. All the effort she’d put into pretending the reeves of the Council weren’t utter dicks, and it still hadn’t been enough. Father was right. She couldn’t achieve her dreams. She wasn’t strong enough.

But Oliver was grinning, and Lieutenant Sharp too. They were trying to hide it, but it wasn’t working.

“What?”

“They’ve agreed to the Governor’s plan. There’ll be a coronation sometime soon—the Council thought it best that we hold off on the pageantry until the situation at the hospital calms down somewhat. But they’re going through with it. You’d best get used to being Queen Tasha.”

She pushed his shoulder playfully, relieved. “You were trying to trick me,” she said.

“Guilty,” said Oliver. “Now, it’s time you got changed into something regal. The Governor’s bringing the whole Borrowood Party along, everybody. They want to meet you, Tash. Everybody wants to have the ear of a queen.”

Oliver couldn’t have been more right. Nearly two dozen people arrived at the house, pretty much all of them at the same time, no more than an hour after Oliver. Were it not for Sesi’s aptitude for speed, and some shortcuts taken while dressing, Tash would not have been ready in time. Even foregoing the bustle and petticoat, and leaving her hair unbraided beneath her caul, she’d barely made it downstairs before Ian Fitzhenry was the first to arrive. A girl with messy blonde tresses was hanging on his arm, and she headed straight for Tasha.

“It’s an honour to meet a queen,” said the girl. “You’re the first one I’ve ever met.”

“That’s probably the same for everybody,” said Tash. “There haven’t been any queens for hundreds of years.”

“Oh. Of course.” The girl looked abashed. “I hope you’re happy with your gown. I made it myself. Well, Mistress Snyder made it. I just helped with the stitching.”

Tash smiled at her, like she thought a queen should smile. “It’s very darling.”

The girl returned to Ian Fitzhenry’s arms, beaming like she’d just been blessed by the Gods themselves. Tash watched her with amusement. Being a queen wouldn’t be bad at all, she thought, if she was going to get attention lavished upon her by people who thought her an idol.

Oliver stayed by Tasha’s side as each of the guests arrived, naming them all. She met Sever Marcrand, Toby Wallwork, Cey Norbit and others she’d have forgotten by morning. The Master of the Treasury, Arthur Mannion, had hit the drink before he arrived; his face was flushed so thoroughly it matched his plum jerkin, and he swayed even while being supported

By the time the last people had arrived, the greetings had grown tiresome. Everybody, it seemed, thought they could somehow win her favour by complimenting her on her status as if they were the only ones to think of that. Lots thought to remark on how pretty her dress was. None had compliments for her, just the dress she was in. If she’d swapped clothes with Sesi, she’d probably have been ignored by all these people.

Even Cassandra Fiouhart had the gall to show herself, and instead of mocking Tasha’s very being she chose to play the demure society lady, kissing Tasha’s hand and gushing over her. “I knew you were a proper Lady,” she said. “I do hope you’ll join us at the grove again one day soon.”

As if that was ever going to happen.

Eva and Emmy were busy dashing around the solar, making sure every one of Oliver’s guests was well fed. Nickie hadn’t left the kitchen since Oliver’s return, and Goodwife Mabeth had joined her. Between them they’d cooked up some appetising snacks. Not the same as Mam Argent’s, but Oliver swore he was working on that. And in any case, she was a queen now. Tomorrow she might take a walk to the Lord Constable’s Tower and demand that he release Stini.

Oliver pulled her aside. “Tash, the Governor would like a word.”

He led her out of the solar, into the airy room where she’d hung the majority of her masks. They were yet to think of any other purpose to the room, so it was entirely unfurnished other than the masks hanging on the walls. It was also gleamingly clean. Eva had probably spent more time cleaning in here than Tash and Oliver combined had spent making use of the room.

The Governor was stood waiting for her, and with him was a bespectacled woman, with hair of a dark chestnut piled in layers on top of her head. Her skin was saggy, and her cheeks tinged the lightest peach.

“Tash, this is Naomi Mallender,” said Oliver. “She’s responsible for much of the Governor’s strategy.”

Naomi Mallender shook her head, smiling bashfully. “That’s far more my wife’s doing,” she said. “She’d be here tonight, but she’s got a touch of the lurgy.”

“It was Naomi’s idea that Essegena should have a king or a queen,” said the Governor. “So you have her to thank.”

“Now, you’re not a queen just yet,” Naomi Mallender cautioned. She indicated Tasha’s swollen belly. “That’s your ticket, in there. Your child’s the true figurehead. Until you give birth, you’re about as relevant as a sodfarmer on Malindei—I’m sorry, but that’s just the way of it. But the moment you become a mother, you become something special. For every person here with a brain for politics, there’s half a dozen or more who have no thought beyond their night’s shag and their next hot meal. The Governor could give some great speech extolling the virtues of you as a queen, but most wouldn’t give the smallest of shits. But everybody knows the story of the Mother, whether they’ve set foot inside a church or not. The Mother is a hero to huge portions of the population. I don’t doubt people would name their daughters after her, were it not confusing to have a daughter called ‘Mother’. When your child is born, you become the new Mother, the Mother of Essegena, and you’ll be revered by those same people who wouldn’t pay you any mind today. Then, and only then, will they accept you as their queen.”

Tash frowned. “Why should it make any difference whether or not I’ve given birth?”

Mallender shrugged. “Human beings are strange. My expertise is in the what, not the why, and the what is that you need to be a mother for them to take you. It would be different if there were still kings and queens in the Unity, but that ship sailed a long while ago.” She reached into the leather bag slung on her shoulder and pulled out a battered pad, the pages creased in the corners. Licking at her finger and running it along the edges, she opened the pad. “Now, your child’s name is incredibly important. It needs to scream royal. I’ve trawled through the history books and compiled a list of suitable choices. For a girl, you can go through the obvious choices—Matheld might be too on the nose, if we’re selling you as the new Mother, but a Marguerite or an Edith cannot go astray, and while there’s never been a regnant Queen Alice that I can tell, the name comes up enough in the histories that it might do, if you fancied something more unique.”

“I’m not having a girl,” said Tash. “I’m having a boy.”

“Oh.” Mallender flicked through a few more pages. “I wasn’t aware you’d had the scan. Well then, perhaps a Richard or a Hilo. Mordant is also an option. That has a more peculiarly Manaser flavour, in case you wished your lineage to reflect your homeworld.”

Tash shook her head. “He’s called Jem.”

“That’s a bad name,” said Mallender. “No links to royalty at all. The people would never accept it.”

“I don’t give a shit what the people would accept. His name is Jem.” Tash barked loud enough that Mallender recoiled.

Mallender dropped the pad into her bag. “We can talk about this again another time,” she said, clearing her throat. “Perhaps you can discuss the matter with your husband beforehand.”

“No,” said Tash. “It’s not up for discussion. I’ve already met my son, in the hospital. He... travelled in time, somehow. I don’t understand the science. But I’ve met him, and his name is Jem. That’s it. There’s no discussion to be had, nothing to talk about. The matter’s settled.”

Mallender shared a look with the Governor.

“You’ve met your son?” asked the Governor, with a curious look on his face.

Tash nodded. “He was in the hospital. When I went to have a scan.”

“Right.” The Governor clapped Oliver on the back. “Come on, Wrack, let’s enjoy this party of yours. I don’t want to keep your wife from her guests.” He left the mask room, and Mallender sidled out after him, pausing briefly to smile kindly at Tash.

Oliver turned to Tash. “Try to be normal,” he said. “Queen or otherwise.”

Eventually the last of Nickie’s braised beef parcels disappeared, and with it the final drop of brandy from the big bottle Oliver kept in the chiffonier. Absent of food, the party withered on the vine. They’d said what they needed to say to Tasha. Now they had other places to be.

“Don’t go with them,” she begged Oliver. “They’ll survive without you tonight.”

He looked at her with contrition in his eyes, and held gently to her hands. “I won’t be late back, Tash. I promise.” And he’d gone, Lieutenant Sharp close beside him.

The gathering melted away like ice, and Tasha was alone before she had time to fight back, to grab at the sleeve of a passer-by and cling tight to the memory of the attention they lavished on her. To the Borrowood Party, she was everything. They’d treated her like such. Even Mistress Fiouhart had been civil, and Tash had felt well and truly like a queen. But once they had gone she was just the lady of her small household. Through the window she could see a dozen other houses, so close she felt as though she could reach and touch them with her fingertips. To the people in those houses, she was nothing. She could see every corner of her domain from her own solar. A proper queen, like the ones in her storybooks, would have sway far beyond the visible horizons.

It was one more reminder that Tasha was a fake queen, with an empty title, propped up by people who thought they could use her. Her father’d not been king. Her husband wasn’t king. She’d conquered nothing. And that hadn’t stopped her believing that she could be her dreams.

She blagged a steaming mug of cocoa from Nickie, who was snowed under with a mountain of dirty pots and pans, and nursed it in her hands as she sat in the harsh light of her washroom, taking time to reflect while Sesi washed off her make-up and made her ready for bed.

“Do you think I’m a fraud, Sesi?” She had to ask the question. She had to know what Sesi thought.

“A fraud how, Lady?”

“Everybody was calling me ‘queen’. But I’m not, am I?”

Sesi frowned. “Aren’t you?” She ran a soft wipe along Tasha’s eye, and pulled it away black. “Lady, the only person who can crown you is yourself. Your kingdom is what you choose it to be.”

“Wouldn’t that be a queendom?” asked Tash.

“Yes, Lady,” Sesi nodded. “If you want it to be. You should drink your cocoa, or it will be cold and horrible.”

“I’m waiting for it to cool down,” said Tash, taking a long sip. “It’s too hot to drink just yet.”

Sesi gave her a knowing look, then returned to silently wiping away Tasha’s face. She rose ten minutes later. “Make-up is not intended for you,” she said. “You have more beauty in your natural face than others have when painted. Anybody would be envious of you.”

“You’re my ladiesmaid, Sesi,” Tash scolded, with a grin. “You aren’t supposed to furnish me with a surfeit of compliments.”

“I never say anything that isn’t honest, Lady,” Sesi insisted. “You have the look of a queen. Tasha the Fair.” She binned the dirty wipes and headed for the door. “Goodnight, Lady.”

“Night, Sesi.” She wasn’t sure what the time was. Was it too early to go to bed? The sun had gone down, and outside was darkness, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. There was too much about the firmament of Essegena that she didn’t know. How early did the sun set at various points in the year, and what point were they at right now? It looked late, but she didn’t feel tired. So it couldn’t be that late.

She yawned. Loudly.

Okay, maybe she did feel tired. She could get into bed and read for a time. Oliver had told her he wouldn’t be late returning, but they had differing ideas of what late meant. She hoped he’d be along soon. She wanted to talk to him, woman to man. They used to have great conversations, when they were newlyweds on Tol Manase. Those great conversations had been denied permission to board the Eia, so it seemed. Everything they did together seemed to be in the company of the Governor or Lieutenant Sharp or Sesi. They were never alone.

Well, tonight they would be. Tash was resolved to stay awake no matter how late Oliver was in returning.

That was an easier proposition to think up than to enact. She changed into her nightdress determined not to sleep, and found a hefty tome that was bound to take her hours to read—as long as she had something to keep her attention, she wouldn’t want to fall asleep anyway. But only a few minutes in bed, with her cocoa still only half drunk, she was overcome by that lethargy. She put the book to one side and switched off the light—just for a minute, while she laid her head on the pillow and rested her eyes. She wouldn’t be lying down for long enough to go to sleep. Just to get some energy back.

She passed into dream without pause. It was a fitful sleep, the kind where she drifted in and out of conscious, long enough to be vaguely aware of her own body shifting to get comfortable. And then a noise jolted her into wakefulness.

Her chambers were in darkness. The only faint light was the reflection of the sister-moons on her diamantine shoes, discarded on the floor. Oliver wasn’t with her. She felt his side of the bed with a hand that brushed only the smooth sheets of an undisturbed bed. He’d not been in at all. How late was it now? She couldn’t say.

Nor could she say what had woken her.

She strained her eyes, but the darkness was absolute. She could see nothing, hear nothing. The night was still.

That’s okay then, she thought. It was just a noise in the night. Nothing to worry about. She put her head back down to sleep again, any idea of waiting for Oliver forgotten. But just as she touched the pillow and screwed shut her eyes, there came another noise. A creaking. Like somebody was walking around outside. The floorboards outside the chambers were always creaking. The contractors had left it that way, and Oliver had eventually convinced her it wasn’t worth complaining about. As he promised, she’d got used to the noise in time.

She lifted her head to the door. In this dimness it was hard to tell, but she thought she could see it opening, gently, cautiously. Good, she smiled. Oliver was back. He was creeping because he didn’t want to wake her.

“I wondered when you’d get back,” she said, her head still laying on the pillow. She expected Oliver to say something, a mumbled apology for staying out so late. She’d pretend to be offended, read him the riot act for abandoning his wife and go so far as to threaten to make him sleep outside, before laughing and revealing that she was just messing with him. She’d done it all before. It was a well-worn routine.

But Oliver didn’t say anything.

Tash knew he was here. She could hear his soft footsteps creeping across the chambers towards her.

Perhaps he’d grown wise to her game. She’d had her fun with it, but the most fun was always what came after. “Come to bed. I’ve got nothing on underneath my nightgown.” If Oliver was lucky, he might even get to see her nothing.

Again, he said nothing. His footsteps were getting louder as he drew closer. He was coming along her side of the bed, for some reason.

The hairs on her arms were stood on end. Something was wrong in the air. Her brain had sensed danger, and now it was screaming at her to catch up. But where was the danger when she was alone with Oliver?

He was close enough now that she could hear him breathing. Only this wasn’t Oliver’s breathing. This was a coarser, more ragged breathing. Her eyes opened wide now, and she reached for a light. The electric candle cast a sudden bright glow on the room, dazzling Tash momentarily, and when her eyes adjusted she saw the man standing over her. His hair was long and greasy, his face twisted into a crimson snarl. His hands were grotty, grime stuck fast and nails decayed, and in it he clutched a gleaming knife.

She screamed.

The man shook his head. Sssh. He beckoned her to be silent, a finger covering his mouth. “This will only take a second,” he said. And he leaned over her, knife poised.

She screamed again, sucking up a mouthful of her own hair in the process. She spluttered and coughed, rolling across the bed to get away from the man. He had a grin on his face. Why was he so happy?

Tash crawled onto the floor and tried to stand, her legs unsteady. She took a second to weigh up her options. If she ran, she could probably get to the door before the man. Maybe she’d even get it open and reach the hall. She doubted she’d get out of the house, though, not unless she had the fortune to run into Oliver. The guards at the front would stop the man if she could lead him to them. But he was bigger than her, and stronger too to judge from the musculature of his bare arms. Even when she wasn’t pregnant, she wouldn’t have been able to outrun him for long. Right now she’d be lucky if she could get to the stairs.

In any case, she’d spent too long considering her options. The man had started to round the bed towards her. He’d blocked off the door, and that possibility was gone. She couldn’t jump out of the window either, not unless she wanted to choose between being dead and being paraplegic. The drop was too great, and not onto soft ground. The man, with his serrated knife, would kill her if he caught her. She didn’t doubt that. But then it would be over.

She screamed a third time. Why was nobody coming?

The man was closer now. She had maybe fifteen seconds.

Adrenaline was taking over now. She backed away, pressing herself tight against the wardrobe in the corner. It might buy her an extra second or two.

And she screamed again, as loud as she could.

The window was open. Outside, she heard voices.

“That’s the Lady Tasha.”

“Quickly!”

The man must have heard it too. His eyes flashed to the window for a second, and then met hers. He smiled a toothy smile, then stole out of the door, leaving it open. Tash stood immobilised for a while, and then slowly sunk to the ground. She was weeping like she’d never wept before. Tears burst from her like a long-dammed torrent finally set free, clamouring to get to the rush and the sea. Her hands were shaking.

It’s a good job Sesi took my make-up off earlier. I’d be ruining it now, if she hadn’t.

Vaguely, she saw two guards coming through the door. Young Eva, barefoot in a floral nightgown, was with them. She ran to Tash, and crouched down beside her.

“Lady, don’t cry. I’m here with you.”

Sweet little idiot Eva. What could she have done? It wasn’t her that had driven the man away, it was the guards. Without them Tasha would be dead now. So would Eva, if she’d been here.

Millington came towards her. “What’s wrong, my Lady? I heard you yelling.”

“I was attacked,” said Tasha, through heavy sobs. “A man... the man who threatened Eva. He had a knife.”

“He can’t have gone far,” said Millington, turning to the other guard. “Search the house, top to bottom. There’s no way he can have left. Andrewse would have seen him.”

The other guard nodded and left the room, and Millington kneeled in front of Tash. “My Lady, we’ll get the man.”

“You need a drink, Lady,” said Eva. “Something hot.”

Tash nodded weakly. The worst of the sobs had passed, but her voice was still a touch hoarse. “That’ll be nice, Eva,” she croaked, not daring to look directly at the open door. If she did, she knew she’d see the man there, knife drawn.

Eva and Sesi carried Tash down the stairs between them, her legs too weak to even think about walking anywhere herself, and set her down on the softest sofa in the solar. Sesi sat with her, and Eva disappeared to fetch her a hot drink. Millington stood guard all the while.

The guard Quant burst in while Tash was drinking. “We’ve scoured the property,” he said, “and there’s not a sign of the man. Andrewse swears he didn’t see anybody leaving the front way.”

“He must have got out via the rear,” said Millington. “That wall’s supposed to be unscalable.” He dismissed Quant, and walked across the solar to Tash. “Wherever he went, we’ll find him,” he said. “Don’t fear on that, my Lady.”

Oliver eventually returned, dashing into the solar. “Where is she?” he called. “Where’s my wife?”

“I’m here, Oliver,” said Tash, from the sofa, and Oliver came running across. He pulled her into the tightest hug she’d ever experienced.

“Are you hurt, Tash? What happened?”

She recounted the story, stopping a few times when the memory’s fear choked her up. As soon as she was finished, Oliver squeezed her tighter still, and turned to Millington.

“Did you find the man?”

Millington shook his head. “He got away somehow. Evidently the back way, though how he got out I don’t know.”

Lieutenant Sharp, who had just followed Oliver into the solar, sighed. “We’ll have to keep a full guard until he’s found. That’ll be long hours for everybody, I’m afraid.”

“The men won’t like that,” said Millington.

“They’ll like it even less if something happens to Lady Tasha,” Sharp snapped.

“How are you feeling, Tash?” Oliver had eased off on the hug, and was stroking her hand.

She tried a brave smile. “A bit shaken. I’ll get over it.”

Oliver nodded. “I’ll go to the Lord Constable first thing tomorrow. This will get sorted, Tash, I promise you.”

“You’ll be better staying in the house for the time being,” said Lieutenant Sharp. “We’ll be better able to protect you here.”

Tash shook her head. “I won’t be a prisoner. This man’s a gutter rat. I’m not going to let him cow me—I want him to know I’m not afraid of him.”

“But my Lady, your baby—”

“The Lady has spoken, Lieutenant,” said Oliver.

Sharp nodded. “Yes, of course.” As he made his exit, Oliver turned to Tasha.

“That doesn’t mean you need to go traipsing about on your own. It’s one thing not to be browbeaten by a maniac. It’s another altogether to invite trouble. I don’t want you going anywhere without your maids—Sesala at least. And a guard, always a guard. You had a lucky escape this time. If he comes back, you might not get lucky twice.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you, Tash. I want you to be safe. That means precautions, until the man who attacked you is rotting in a cell.”

“Or dead,” said Tash. “That would be better.”

“Let’s try not to start executing people,” said Oliver. “It won’t end well.”

“He attacked me,” said Tash pointedly. “He’d have murdered Jem and left me to bleed out, if Millington hadn’t heard my screaming. He can choke on his own blood, for all I care. I’ll cheer on the man who does it.”

Oliver sighed. “You scare me sometimes, Tash.”

“Good,” she said. “Perhaps that grubby wanker will be scared of me next time.” And she drank her cocoa, now lukewarm, in the company of thoughts of bloody revenge. In her mind’s eye she saw the man with his own knife sticking out of his neck, pleading with dead eyes for mercy, and she laughed at him. Men like that were better dead.