Two-Edged Blade

She started to put them back in her belt-pouch, and her hand encountered something that crackled. She pulled it out, puzzled for a moment, then felt the blood drain from her face as she recognized Eldan’s letter and voucher.

It would be the easy answer. Her fortnight’s worth of coin, if augmented by living off the land, would take her to Valdemar.

I don’t have to do anything, she thought reluctantly. All I have to do is go. I can just collect my money, and leave. I don’t have to listen to anything he says.

She was lying to herself, and she knew it. She shoved the parchment back into the pouch and dropped the coins on top of them with a little groan. She lay back on the bed and rubbed her aching temples. I’ll go up there, and he’ll tell me how much he loves me, and he’ll offer me some sinecure—and I’ll take it, I know I will. Then I’ll be trapped. Because it’ll be his job, and probably it’ll be no more than a token, a pretense-job, to make me feel less like he’s giving me everything. And gods, I do love him, it’d be so easy to accept that....

But love wasn’t enough, not for her. She had to have freedom, too. She had to know that she was earning her way, not just playing someone else’s shadow.

No. She gritted her teeth stubbornly. No. Not unless there’s no choice. I’ll go to the Plains, first, and become a nomad like my crazy cousins. And I haven’t exhausted all my options. I still have two more days.

As it happened, it wasn’t until sunset of her third grace-day that she found work. It wasn’t what she had expected; she was looking for work as a groom. She’d tried all the places mercs frequented, then the places that were the haunts of the city guard, and finally started trying tradesmen’s inns. No one had a place for her, not even after she demonstrated her ability with a couple of surly, troublemaking beasts.

One of the last places on her mental list was a peddler’s inn; a cheap place mostly used by traveling peddlers and minor traders. It wasn’t a place where she would have worked if she’d had a choice; but the fact was, she didn’t have a choice. She walked into the stable yard and right into a fight.

The conflict was complicated by the involuntary involvement of a donkey and a pony, both kicking and protesting at the tops of their lungs.

Kero was tempted to wade straight in, but years of tavern brawling had taught her not to get involved in an ongoing fight without reinforcements. There were an assortment of servants and stablehands gawking at the fracas. She grabbed them all and formed them into an assault force, which she led into the fray.

When the pony and donkey were on opposite sides of the yard, several heads had been knocked together, and calm had been restored, she turned to what she thought was the head groom who now sported an impressive black eye.

“I need work,” she said shortly. “I’m a bonded freelance merc, but I’m willing to do just about anything. Especially if it has something to do with horses. Think your master could find a place in the stables for me?”

The man squinted against the light of the setting sun, holding a handful of snow against his eye. “There’s nothin’ open in the stables,” he said with what sounded like mixed admiration and regret. She turned to go, without waiting to hear what else he would say, the bitter taste of disappointment in her mouth once again.

“Wait!” she heard behind her. She almost hurried her steps, not wanting to listen to another offer of a meal, or worse, an offer that she whore for the owner. But this time something stopped her. Perhaps it had been the honest admiration in the man’s voice; perhaps it was her own desperation. She stopped, and slowly turned.

“We don’ need anyone in th’ stables,” the man said, limping toward her. “But we sure’s fire need a hand like you i’ th’ taproom.”

“I don’t whore,” she said shortly, knowing that this inn’s serving-girls were expected to do just that.

“Whore?” the man seemed genuinely surprised. “Hellfires, no! Ye’d be wasted as a whore! Need i’ th’ taproom’s fer a peacekeeper.”

“A what?” She raised both eyebrows, trying not to laugh.

“Peacekeeper. Break up fights, throw them as makes too much trouble out on th’ ear.” The man seemed earnest enough, and Kero kept a straight face. “Ye unner-stand, men won’ reckon on pickin’ fights wi’ a wench, see? Big hulkin’ brute, they kick up dust just t’ challenge ‘im. Wench, they don’ see as worth makin’ trouble with. Then, trouble does start, they won’ be lookin’ t’ a wench t’ stop it. See?”

Oddly enough, Kero could see the sense of it. “How did you figure this out?” she asked.

The man sighed. “Had a wench’s peacekeeper fer years. Lost ‘er t’ th’ Wolflings. That’s ‘cause all we c’n give is room’n’board. Been hopin’ t’ replace ‘er, but ain’t seen nobody I’d trust, much less a bonded, that’d work fer that.”