Free The Year of Our War by Steph Swainston Page B

Rhydanne born in wedlock wouldn’t associate long with a mistake like me. My childhood of abuse flashed to mind—
    “Fucking Dara slut! Slow-runner! Bitch! Sgiunach! ”
    “Goatherd!”
    Lightning forced me back into my chair. I pointed a shaking hand at Genya. “Get this lone wolf bitch out of here or I’ll kill her! Tawny, throw her out the window!”
    “Don’t,” said Lightning, and the conflicting commands rendered Tornado too bewildered to move. I gave Genya a longing look, which wasn’t requited.
    She strutted on the table, stretching her lean legs, patting Staniel reassuringly on the head.
    Staniel gave her the kind of look a child would give a hunting hawk. “I comprehend,” he said softly, “that you have had no exemplification of our abilities in recent hostilities and also precious little toward you in the practice of chivalry. It occurs to me that, my lady, since your husband left you as Governor in Lowespass, we have been presumptuous in prevailing upon you. My jurisdiction extends only to Featherback -land, but I propose, with the good will of the Eszai, to serve you as we may.”
    I had to translate this for Genya, who clapped thin hands in delight. “I want to go home.”
    “Well, a Rhydanne would run away,” remarked Vireo.
    “None of that now!” Ata rebuked her.
    “Jay shouldn’t have gone out riding along the Wall by hisself,” Vireo taunted.
    “Fishwife! He killed more Insects than you could count.”
    “Hush and hear what Jant says,” said Mist. “Horse’s mouth.”
    All eyes were again on me, as if they sensed there was something between Genya and me which it was my duty to end, and end peacefully. I thought for a while, knowing that to Genya, Lowespass was a foreign and frightening place. Vireo and Tawny would certainly not take her into consideration. From living in comfort with her kindly husband, she was alone and confused. From ruling the manor and its solid fortress, she suddenly had nothing at all. It was like being conquered.
    Genya discovered the flask of whiskey on the table. She plucked out the cork, threw her head back and glugged noisily.
    “Sister?” I said. Her green eyes blazed. “Come down to the stables tomorrow. I’ll find a horse for you. Leave the fort to Vireo; I’ll let you go home.” I saw her pause, eyes narrowed. “No tricks, I promise. I’m sorry.”
    Ata practically slavered with the desire to know why I was so contrite.
    Genya nodded. She unfastened the top button of a thin shirt and pulled out the Lowespass seal, on a dirty string. She bit through the string neatly, and dropped the fat gold ring in Vireo’s outstretched hand.
    Vireo clutched it, her face glowing with pleasure. After a while Tawny gave her a bear squeeze hug.
    “Good horse?” asked Genya, peering up through fine fronds of black hair.
    “Yes. And now I need to rest, my sister. We’ve been awake all night.”
    “What!” Staniel spluttered. “You were asleep for hours.”
    “I was awake all night. Just somewhere else.” I pushed my chair back, and was nearly—nearly!—quick enough to catch Genya’s hand.
    She jumped from tabletop to windowsill, making Mist swear. She fastened her fists in the ivy growing outside, swung herself over the edge and swarmed effortlessly down the wall like a squirrel. At the foot she halted, wreathed in foliage. The courtyard was still so she ducked free, sprinted across, and disappeared under a portcullis at the far end.
    She trailed a moon shadow rapidly over the tiles of the Inner Ward; muscled, bone-thin, and athletic. That’s not just the thin of women who aren’t fat; there’s something essential in her, an animal’s constant hunger. Genya is sex on a stick to me, just the stick to everybody else.
     

    T he stables of Lowespass Fortress were two long, low buildings. The walkway between them was cobbled and slimy, with a gutter running down the center into which my boots kept sliding. By the time I reached the stable entrance, a