Free Hunter and Fox by Philippa Ballantine

room, idly flicking through the trinkets of the mistress's life: a thick gold bangle, screeds of lace underthings, and a positive mountain of makeup. A pile of papers caught her roving attention. They appeared to be religious images devoted to the Scion of Right, but when viewed from other angles they were something else entirely. Talyn's lips twitched. Some of the poses were almost physically impossible and deeply amusing.
    Kelanim sailed over, her emerald eyes honing in on anything that her rival might find of interest. Her smile was like a dagger. “I would have thought this was more my area than yours…”
    She was making sure Talyn knew all about her relationship with the Caisah.
    The Vaerli let her finger linger on the picture. “Why would you think that my people never have sex, Kelanim? Do you think we had no joy in life? Or perhaps that we grew from the ground like vegetables?”
    Something flickered across that dazzling face, and for an instant Talyn wondered if the mistress knew of her dalliances beyond V'nae Rae, but then those beautiful eyes turned icy. “Of course not, but it seems there is no other way for you now.”
    Talyn smiled back as gently as she could. “Once there were many ways for us. In fact, some Vaerli were masters of the sex-magics, the kahi atuae. ”
    â€œI have heard of this,” Kelanim said stepping closer with a rustle of silk, her breath near to Talyn's skin, “but I had not believed it was true.”
    She was probing for power. She would take any chance to keep the Caisah interested. The Vaerli glanced into the before-time and saw the parting of ways that lay in this discussion. After a moment she took half a step back. “But I am not one of those masters.”
    â€œCertainly not.” Kelanim's voice trembled a little as she turned back to the dresses. “Our Caisah has taken all such pagan powers.”
    The mistress decided quickly after that, and found a suitable dress near the back of her wardrobe.
    â€œIt is last season's fashion, but the sleeves will hide your brawn while white will suit you well enough. I will send my seamstress to adjust it for you this evening.”
    With that Talyn was bundled out of the room like so much dirty laundry. It was no great loss to her to be expelled from that den of female intrigue.
    While retreating to her own quarters, the Hunter passed through one of the tranquil garden courtyards. Few lingered in such places; the carved figures on the walls spoke of long-gone Vaerli, and it unsettled the Manesto even if they didn't acknowledge it. Talyn thought it was small-enough justice.
    It was cool here even in summer, while the reflecting pool practically begged to be lingered by.
    Glancing over her shoulder assured Talyn she was alone. It surprised her how Kelanim's words had stung; she'd thought herself well past caring what she looked like. And yet here out of the glare of the mistress' attention she allowed herself to look at what centuries of servitude had made her.
    Staring into the water, she could see her mother reflected back, only hardened by life. Kelanim was right. Underneath the light shirt she could feel the rigidity of muscles honed by sword and shield. Hardly any feminine softness remained; her breasts bound as they were gave little away. If the Harrowing had never happened, then this would not be her body or her face. Her voice would have been all that was required of her. Life would have been the maie atuae . She had not been able to sing since that awful day.
    It was so foolish to let Kelanim's words affect her. Talyn slapped the water, shattering her reflection, and turned away.
    She had not seen Syris since they rode in, and knowing full well the dangers of that, her trail turned toward the stables. At least she was properly attired for this particular journey. The stable boys, used to seeing her there, looked up and smiled. For them it meant they did not have to deal with