Free Water Witch by Thea Atkinson

egg.
Such were the things her father ate every day while she rooted for ferns and
boiled her own scavenged eggs. Even in Sarum she'd fared no better.
    She had a room, yes; she had food. The
first was in the hall that should have been used for dungeons, except there'd
been no need to hold captives for years -- not since Yuri had been on his
latest campaign and had begun to use his daughter to decimate any enemy. Down
within the sanctity of dank earth, past the dozens of tunnels hewn by laboring
hands, with stone on three sides and torches to light the gloom. She wasn't
prisoner, exactly, but neither was she welcomed. The only time she felt
anywhere near normal was on campaign, and the less she was in Sarum, the more
sure of herself she grew.
    So no, she fared no better, and yet the
best she could do on campaign was to eat the leftover, and left-for-dogs,
leavings from Yuri's plate.
    She deserved more.
    "Wait for me here," she told the
girl, and headed toward her father's tent.
    She got only as far as the Bodiccia's fire
before the cook herself barred her way.
    The woman shook her head.
    "Get out of my way," Alaysha
said.
    "You're too young to dispute me, even
if you are trained," the woman said.
    "I don't mean to try to best
you," Alaysha said. "I just forgot to tell him one important
detail."
    The woman stared at her suspiciously.
"I will have him return to you."
    Ferret approached then, darting toward the
fire and lifting the stick that held Bodiccia's meal from the rotisserie: three
wild potatoes sandwiching scraps of something that looked like meat. The cook's
rage was evident even before the girl had leapt over a fallen log and had
pushed her way into the trees and up the hill.
    "I'll wait," Alaysha told
Bodiccia, trying on her best somber expression.
    The woman grunted and leapt to pursuit, her
long legs traversing the distance in seconds, the jangling of teeth rattling in
her wake. If there was to be a time, Alaysha knew it was now.
    She knew as soon as she took flight,
several more guards would be upon her, so she casually lifted a cauldron from
the fire and made a great show of lugging it as if it were laden with food
toward Yuri's tent. A foot away, she kicked at the flap and ducked in.
    He was seated on the bench to her left, his
three-month-old heir lying on his lap, being rocked side to side. Alaysha
expected him to show alarm at the sudden intrusion; instead, he smiled slowly.
    "You take such unexpected chances with
your life."
    "Do I?"
    He shrugged unconvincingly.
    "I want to know," she said.
"I have a right to know."
    He sighed and passed the boy over to his
mother, a frail looking blonde Yuri had rescued from her abusive father. Alaysha
couldn't remember if the man's widow still lived. Right then, she didn't care.
    "Tell me about those people"
    "What do you need to know that would
bring them back?"
    She kept his eye. She had one good tool,
now would be the time to use it.
    "Those crones were all marked with
tattaus."
    Only his lower jaw moved and that so subtly
Alaysha could have imagined it.
    "Yes?" He said.
    "Yes. Just like mine."
    He nodded. "And you lied to me."
    "I needed to."
    "You don't trust me."
    "I lied because I knew number nineteen
was alive and I was afraid you'd send me to kill him."
    "I would have."
    "Why?"
    Yuri paused a moment to wave away each and
every servant. To the mother of his heir, he gave a brief kiss on the forehead
and whispered in her ear. She left with the boy pressed against her bosom, and
as she brushed past, Alaysha could see the drawn look to the skin of the babe's
hands. Dehydrated.
    She thought she would be sick.
    Yuri caught her staring at the frail boy.
    "She has no milk for him," he
said, and he looked pained.
    "Still, he must be strong,"
Alaysha told him -- not wanting to add that if he'd escaped her power, he
certainly had to be so.
    "He is his father's son." Yuri
turned to the table beside the bench and placed his fingertips on it, spread
apart, bracing. "It's time you