When Aya awakened, it was not with dry crusty eyes nor a throbbing headache of disrupted torpor, but the full-chested vitality of sleep deep and heedless. Her assigned maidservant was gently shaking her shoulder, saying that the matriarch was waiting for her. She was dressed in a pair of loose pants and sleeveless vest, which was well fitted enough that she thought they might’ve taken her measurements when she slept.
“Well, are you ready?” her grandmother said, dressed in much the same attire, “we have tradition to maintain!”
“What are we doing?” Aya said, looking down the hallway and seeing that it was still dark out.
“Hunting, my girl! I’ve hunted marshbacks for the Festival for fourty years, and they damn well aren’t going to stop me now,” she said, taking Aya by the shoulder and steering her down the stairwell.
There were a collection of boats, some of the Eisen, Aya’s, house’s colours, some not. As they pushed out from the dock and moved towards the south, she quickly learned that the non-household members were that of the hunting guild. It was an annual tradition, and an honour all involved assured her, to hunt with the matriarch.
“I’ve never done much hunting,” admitted Aya, as they passed out from the Eisen complexes and headed towards one of those red gates.
“Oh, you’ll be fine,” her grandmother said, “Assyeria might not have told you about what came before the night I first cooked one. The nosy bastard knocked me into the water four times before I could net it.”
“That’s only because you were trying to catch it by yourself, matriarch,” said one of the hunters.
“Save the flattery for Aya,” she said, “I think she’ll need it later. Stand up straight! Keep a bend in the knees! The canals are the easy part.”
As it turned out, their route took them out east past the exit of the canal and around south, past the harbour.
“And that!” said her grandmother, pointing to a massive complex of stonework docks, “is the main shipyard! Our pride and joy!”
There must’ve been half a dozen ships on the verge of being slid into the harbour, and Aya could see dozens of upright masts behind the workshops and warehouses. There were large canals that led between them and her grandmother told her about the scores of stations where carpenter and shipwright worked tirelessly at different construction stages.
“Our family instituted the practice,” she said, slapping her hand on her chest, “Not working on a whole ship at one time, but dividing it. Workmen who’d come to know keels, masts, sails, rigging, better than any other! Most other yards take over two weeks! If we push it, we could do one every two days!”
Aya marvelled at it and the massive collections of ships of all shapes and sizes that laid moored to its southwest, well over a thousand by her count. The polemen had switched to long paddles and were driving the boats around to the north, pushing on towards the mountain range. The wind had begun to pick up, and small waves were beginning to rock the boat gently.
“Knees bent, that’s my girl. Go with the water, not against it!” said her grandmother.
Aya tried, and to her surprise only stumbled once or twice. Her grandmother might’ve been a stone monolith as far as the motion of the boat was concerned however. They drove up and on, past the stone reefs and beaches of the lagoon, and continued to where dense banks of trees stood clustered together.
“Remember,” said her grandmother, who was in the middle of explaining the various currents and tides, “being stuck in the bay at evening’s dangerous. There’s a narrow line on the shelf where the current is mild, but if you get out to deep waters, you’ll be sucked all the way to Nieth before you know what’s happening.”
The water grew shallower and mercury as they passed between the bows of the trees. The polemen had to switch back to poles as they delicately manoeuvred between spindly masses of roots between each tree. Her grandmother was hunched down, like a hound scenting the air.
“Are there marshbacks here?” Aya whispered, which earned her a laugh from the rest of the boatmen. They were quickly silenced by a look by her grandmother.
“They prefer to make their nests where water is completely still,” her grandmother said, “it’ll take another twenty minutes at least before we come across their territory.”
The boatmen had already shifted in alert stages, casting their eyes about warily, while some retrieved wickedly barbed spears, tied with ropes.
“This, young lady, is a harpoon,” said her grandmother, “designed to sink in and stay there. They haul us about, get tired, and we go in and finish them.”
She handed it to her, letting her feel the heft of it, the rough grain of the wood, before taking it back.
“How do you… get it in?” she said, staring at the barbed metal tip.
“Simple. You throw it,” her grandmother said, striking up a pose.
“You can’t be serious,” she said with a smile, “Don’t marshbacks have scales?”
“They do indeed,” her grandmother snorted, “I said ‘throw it’ not ‘toss it gently.’ You’ll see soon enough.”
They continued in silence underneath the trees, until a whistle came up from one of the other boats. They broke off, and circled around, and soon the boatmen assured them that they were on the track of one. Aya couldn’t really see how, but the polement beat at their work, sending them forwards on the muddy water.
It resolved some ways ahead of them, stirring in the water, barely visible in the dawning light. It stopped for a moment then turned to head away from them.
“Trying to run,” her grandmother said, “get to it, boys! Hold on Aya! Remember the knees!”
Aya tried to keep herself loose as they shot forwards, the polemen grinning even as their skin glistened with effort. Her grandmother took the acceleration in her stride, walking up to the head of the boat and hoisting a harpoon to her shoulder. Aya felt her teeth rattle as another round of acceleration sent them speeding toward the ripple.
She could see, albeit barely, a streak of red close to the surface of the water. Something long, black and scaled whipped the water behind it. But they were closing, closing, closing, her grandmother was ready, drawing herself in like a cat ready to spring and the harpoon was flying and-
The acceleration from before was nothing compared to the explosion of motion that nearly sent Aya falling off the side. Fortunately for her, her grandmother at the moment of letting it fly had sunk into a low crouch, grabbing at Aya’s vest. Even in the rush Aya couldn’t help but note the polemen jabbing this way and that, narrowly keeping them off the trees. The creature did not slow for several minutes, when another boat came up and landed another successful harpoon. The drag was pathetic after that, with the creature finally coming to a stand still, floating in the water.
“Is it- is it dead?” Aya asked, nearly leaning over the gunnel before being yanked back.
“No, and don’t do that. A cornered animal is dangerous,” her grandmother said, “it’s weak now, but it could still drag you under if you do something stupid. Here.”
There was a spear now, long and straight unlike the prongs of the harpoon. It was wrapped in the green and gold of the Eisen, and was handed to Aya. Her grandmother guided her, angling and adjusting the spear so that it hovered across the heaving side of the creature.
“If it thrashes, let go,” her grandmother said, “but don’t be afraid to sink your whole body weight into it. You’ll need to, to get through the hide. We’ll catch you if it pulls.”
Aya felt anxiety beginning to well up as she tightened her grip on the spear. She looked at the barely visible trails of blood in the water, the heaving side of the creature, who’d been simply swimming before. The eyes of the boatmen, hunters, and family servants all focused on her. But still, she could not bring herself to lunge forward. It seemed a cruel, unjust way to end this animal’s life.
Her grandmother, without a word, gripped her hand, and with a push, the spear sunk into the animal’s side. Blood exploded outward as the spear passed the hilt, splattering the side of the boat and its occupants. She turned back to her grandmother, who was wearing a controlled smile.
“Hit the artery. Well done my girl,” she said, covered in red.
Aya couldn’t smell the coppery tang of blood, rather strawberries, and hot hay, and dust kicked up from the side of the road.
“Alright you lot, you know what the deal is!” her grandmother called to the other boats, “I think my granddaughter’s had enough for her first day.”
There were calls and cheers, most congratulating her, some disappointed that the matriarch wasn’t going to spend more time out hunting.
“I’m getting old,” she said, “could barely land that harpoon and it was good as a sitting duck. Why don’t you impress me? The boat that lands the biggest beast today gets a half-purse of silver, and if it’s as large as the one last year you all get ten pieces.”
There was a roar of approval as the polemen began to push away down out of the grove of sea-side trees. The corpse of the marshback, bleeding out into the water was left behind them, vanishing behind a trunk as they neared the ocean. They were silent for that whole trip back, with the guilt that she’d somehow betrayed her grandmother’s expectations tearing at Aya the whole way through.
“I’m sorry-” she blurted when they pushed past the last of the trees.
“You know, that first marshback I caught,” her mother said, looking back at the grove, “the one your mother loves talking about. You want to know how that ended?”
Aya felt the words die in her throat, and nodded for her grandmother to continue.
“Well,” she began, “I said he knocked me off the boat. I was young, desperate to break free of scandal, to re-earn my family’s approval. I went by myself. It was stupid. If I had not happened upon a juvenile, if I had met an adult, I wouldn’t be here today.”
She undid the buttons of her collar and pulled it back, exposing her neck and shoulder. There was a mess of pale scar tissue, standing out against her dark skin.
“Little rat took me under the water, bit and didn’t let go. Only reason I was saved was twofold - I had a knife long enough to gut him, and there was a tree root strong enough and close enough that I could haul myself out with his dead weight still attached. Try doing that with an adult five times the size.”
Some of the boatmen chuckled, most remained silent.
“So, I managed to get loose and tie it to my boat. It was getting dark, I could barely push with my shredded shoulder. I had to stop twice to rebind the bandage, I am terrible at those. Dragged it all the way into the water shelf of the schools. You haven’t seen it yet - it’s built past the docks, where the three old schools converge, they have this shallow pool that feeds right into the ocean. You cook there, or dance, or recite, whichever school you choose to go to, in front of the judges.”
She began to laugh, though it was not with the usual mirth that she projected.
“So me, this tiny little waif, dragging this serpent almost as big as me with its guts hanging out into the water, hauls it onto the cooking table. The judges alternate - surprise, then disgust, then surprise again. Then you know what happens?”
“It was… still alive?” Aya said, having never heard this version of the story before.
“The judges screamed,” she said, “I'm still surprised I didn’t. There was something in me that just reached for a knife and nailed it through the head. I managed to play it off as the whole act but that whole time as I was cooking it I…”
Her eyes grew misty as she looked out to the broad expanse of the ocean.
“I thought about… how it’d still been alive. That whole time, dragged at the back of my boat, its innards on the outside. Must’ve been a mercy when I drove that knife through its skull.”
She shook her head, rubbing at the bridge of her nose.
“Anyways, the point is… it was okay,” she said, taking Aya’s arm, “it was okay that you hesitated. That means your mother taught you to be kind. To pity. That’s good.”
There was an awkward silence as the polemen changed back to their long oars.
“That’s right my lady,” one of them spoke up, “I froze up the first time I hunted. Damn fish nearly knocked me unconscious. Almost everyone does it.”
Her grandmother cleared her throat loudly.
“Quite right!” she said, “almost everyone. Anyways, we should get back. Gods know that there’s going to be petitioner's at my gates, even today, and the meeting! Of course! Better hurry, you lot!”
Aya, in the exchange, got the distinct impression that her grandmother was embarrassed by the conversation and wanted to move past it. She sat at the woman’s feet and pressed her back to her, trying to ignore the stickiness of the blood that covered them both.
“I’m glad you took me,” she said, looking into her grandmother’s eyes, “it was nice, for all of… this.”
She gestured to the clothes, which she was fairly sure were thoroughly ruined.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” her grandmother said, smiling.
When they returned to the family complex, her grandmother insisted that they go to the central pyramid without changing. She hauled Aya out onto the central pool, their feet and pants staining the water red as the other members of the family gaped. Even lord Efrain and commander Naia were there, staring on as she was proclaimed her grandmother’s successor.
“Did we have to do that?” she said, being led away to her quarters, “like this?”
“Of course!” said her grandmother, “did you see their faces? Better get moving Aya, here they come!”
There was a crowd of angrily shouting for the martirach to please wait, and so on. Her grandmother took her hand and hauled her along, up the stairs and into her rooms.
“You stay here, get cleaned up. Let me deal with the aggrieved. I suggest a bath first,” her grandmother said, a mischievous streak in her grin as she clicked the door shut behind her.
The handmaid, who’d been adjusting a piece of cloth, turned, and went white at the sight of her.
“Um,” Aya said, glad that the blood would hide any blush that she might have, “we went hunting?”
“Oh gods!” cried the maid, “take it off! Take it all off! You’ll get it everywhere!”
Aya was stripped and sent into the bathtub with a near martial rebuke.
“Honestly,” said the handmaiden, who was scrubbing her back with a bar of soap, “I don’t know what the matriarch is thinking, letting you in her like this.”
“I think she wanted to send a message to the rest of the family,” protested Aya.
“I swear, she’s lucky that she has master Fascili to keep the staff in line. We’ll spend a week scrubbing the floorboards! Again!” she said, shaking her head.
“Should you be talking about her like this? Ow!” Aya said as she was scrubbed at.
“She encourages it, outside of official functions,” her handmaiden says, “you may have noticed she cares little for flattery, or flowery words. Ironic, considering her husband’s a poet. Although…”
She stopped scrubbing for a moment, then resumed with redoubled effort.
“No, you won’t tell on me, will you be my lady? Oh, your hair!”
“Scrub slightly less hard and I won’t,” Aya said, wincing as the woman teased it apart.
“Not a chance. You know how hard it is to get dried blood out of hair?” she said with a smile, “was this your first time?”
“Hunting? Yes,” Aya said, “It was… something else.”
“The matriarch has often given that impression. Your arms!”
Aya flinched, forgetting that her scars were fully visible, and withdrew her hands into the now brown-red water.
“It’s nothing, it’s fine,” she said, “I’ve had them since… for a long time.”
Her handmaiden frowned, then shrugged as she went back to cleaning her hair.
“Well, nothing a little makeup can’t fix,” she said, “I think we’re going to need another helping of water. Sit here, please.”
Aya was about to ask what she was doing, when a blast of hot water hit her in the back of the head, sending her with a shriek into the water. When she pushelf back up, she glared at the handmaiden.
“Was that really necessary?” she complained, as the woman applied some kind of scented oil and ran her hands through Aya’s hair.
“If you want to cook with your grandmother in the festival, you bet it is! I will not be having the successor of the family on stage looking like she’s crawled through the slaughter docks.”
“I’m doing what?”
When Aya awakened, it was not with dry crusty eyes nor a throbbing headache of disrupted torpor, but the full-chested vitality of sleep deep and heedless. Her assigned maidservant was gently shaking her shoulder, saying that the matriarch was waiting for her. She was dressed in a pair of loose pants and sleeveless vest, which was well fitted enough that she thought they might’ve taken her measurements when she slept.
“Well, are you ready?” her grandmother said, dressed in much the same attire, “we have tradition to maintain!”
“What are we doing?” Aya said, looking down the hallway and seeing that it was still dark out.
“Hunting, my girl! I’ve hunted marshbacks for the Festival for fourty years, and they damn well aren’t going to stop me now,” she said, taking Aya by the shoulder and steering her down the stairwell.
There were a collection of boats, some of the Eisen, Aya’s, house’s colours, some not. As they pushed out from the dock and moved towards the south, she quickly learned that the non-household members were that of the hunting guild. It was an annual tradition, and an honour all involved assured her, to hunt with the matriarch.
“I’ve never done much hunting,” admitted Aya, as they passed out from the Eisen complexes and headed towards one of those red gates.
“Oh, you’ll be fine,” her grandmother said, “Assyeria might not have told you about what came before the night I first cooked one. The nosy bastard knocked me into the water four times before I could net it.”
“That’s only because you were trying to catch it by yourself, matriarch,” said one of the hunters.
“Save the flattery for Aya,” she said, “I think she’ll need it later. Stand up straight! Keep a bend in the knees! The canals are the easy part.”
As it turned out, their route took them out east past the exit of the canal and around south, past the harbour.
“And that!” said her grandmother, pointing to a massive complex of stonework docks, “is the main shipyard! Our pride and joy!”
There must’ve been half a dozen ships on the verge of being slid into the harbour, and Aya could see dozens of upright masts behind the workshops and warehouses. There were large canals that led between them and her grandmother told her about the scores of stations where carpenter and shipwright worked tirelessly at different construction stages.
“Our family instituted the practice,” she said, slapping her hand on her chest, “Not working on a whole ship at one time, but dividing it. Workmen who’d come to know keels, masts, sails, rigging, better than any other! Most other yards take over two weeks! If we push it, we could do one every two days!”
Aya marvelled at it and the massive collections of ships of all shapes and sizes that laid moored to its southwest, well over a thousand by her count. The polemen had switched to long paddles and were driving the boats around to the north, pushing on towards the mountain range. The wind had begun to pick up, and small waves were beginning to rock the boat gently.
“Knees bent, that’s my girl. Go with the water, not against it!” said her grandmother.
Aya tried, and to her surprise only stumbled once or twice. Her grandmother might’ve been a stone monolith as far as the motion of the boat was concerned however. They drove up and on, past the stone reefs and beaches of the lagoon, and continued to where dense banks of trees stood clustered together.
“Remember,” said her grandmother, who was in the middle of explaining the various currents and tides, “being stuck in the bay at evening’s dangerous. There’s a narrow line on the shelf where the current is mild, but if you get out to deep waters, you’ll be sucked all the way to Nieth before you know what’s happening.”
The water grew shallower and mercury as they passed between the bows of the trees. The polemen had to switch back to poles as they delicately manoeuvred between spindly masses of roots between each tree. Her grandmother was hunched down, like a hound scenting the air.
“Are there marshbacks here?” Aya whispered, which earned her a laugh from the rest of the boatmen. They were quickly silenced by a look by her grandmother.
“They prefer to make their nests where water is completely still,” her grandmother said, “it’ll take another twenty minutes at least before we come across their territory.”
The boatmen had already shifted in alert stages, casting their eyes about warily, while some retrieved wickedly barbed spears, tied with ropes.
“This, young lady, is a harpoon,” said her grandmother, “designed to sink in and stay there. They haul us about, get tired, and we go in and finish them.”
She handed it to her, letting her feel the heft of it, the rough grain of the wood, before taking it back.
“How do you… get it in?” she said, staring at the barbed metal tip.
“Simple. You throw it,” her grandmother said, striking up a pose.
“You can’t be serious,” she said with a smile, “Don’t marshbacks have scales?”
“They do indeed,” her grandmother snorted, “I said ‘throw it’ not ‘toss it gently.’ You’ll see soon enough.”
They continued in silence underneath the trees, until a whistle came up from one of the other boats. They broke off, and circled around, and soon the boatmen assured them that they were on the track of one. Aya couldn’t really see how, but the polement beat at their work, sending them forwards on the muddy water.
It resolved some ways ahead of them, stirring in the water, barely visible in the dawning light. It stopped for a moment then turned to head away from them.
“Trying to run,” her grandmother said, “get to it, boys! Hold on Aya! Remember the knees!”
Aya tried to keep herself loose as they shot forwards, the polemen grinning even as their skin glistened with effort. Her grandmother took the acceleration in her stride, walking up to the head of the boat and hoisting a harpoon to her shoulder. Aya felt her teeth rattle as another round of acceleration sent them speeding toward the ripple.
She could see, albeit barely, a streak of red close to the surface of the water. Something long, black and scaled whipped the water behind it. But they were closing, closing, closing, her grandmother was ready, drawing herself in like a cat ready to spring and the harpoon was flying and-
The acceleration from before was nothing compared to the explosion of motion that nearly sent Aya falling off the side. Fortunately for her, her grandmother at the moment of letting it fly had sunk into a low crouch, grabbing at Aya’s vest. Even in the rush Aya couldn’t help but note the polemen jabbing this way and that, narrowly keeping them off the trees. The creature did not slow for several minutes, when another boat came up and landed another successful harpoon. The drag was pathetic after that, with the creature finally coming to a stand still, floating in the water.
“Is it- is it dead?” Aya asked, nearly leaning over the gunnel before being yanked back.
“No, and don’t do that. A cornered animal is dangerous,” her grandmother said, “it’s weak now, but it could still drag you under if you do something stupid. Here.”
There was a spear now, long and straight unlike the prongs of the harpoon. It was wrapped in the green and gold of the Eisen, and was handed to Aya. Her grandmother guided her, angling and adjusting the spear so that it hovered across the heaving side of the creature.
“If it thrashes, let go,” her grandmother said, “but don’t be afraid to sink your whole body weight into it. You’ll need to, to get through the hide. We’ll catch you if it pulls.”
Aya felt anxiety beginning to well up as she tightened her grip on the spear. She looked at the barely visible trails of blood in the water, the heaving side of the creature, who’d been simply swimming before. The eyes of the boatmen, hunters, and family servants all focused on her. But still, she could not bring herself to lunge forward. It seemed a cruel, unjust way to end this animal’s life.
Her grandmother, without a word, gripped her hand, and with a push, the spear sunk into the animal’s side. Blood exploded outward as the spear passed the hilt, splattering the side of the boat and its occupants. She turned back to her grandmother, who was wearing a controlled smile.
“Hit the artery. Well done my girl,” she said, covered in red.
Aya couldn’t smell the coppery tang of blood, rather strawberries, and hot hay, and dust kicked up from the side of the road.
“Alright you lot, you know what the deal is!” her grandmother called to the other boats, “I think my granddaughter’s had enough for her first day.”
There were calls and cheers, most congratulating her, some disappointed that the matriarch wasn’t going to spend more time out hunting.
“I’m getting old,” she said, “could barely land that harpoon and it was good as a sitting duck. Why don’t you impress me? The boat that lands the biggest beast today gets a half-purse of silver, and if it’s as large as the one last year you all get ten pieces.”
There was a roar of approval as the polemen began to push away down out of the grove of sea-side trees. The corpse of the marshback, bleeding out into the water was left behind them, vanishing behind a trunk as they neared the ocean. They were silent for that whole trip back, with the guilt that she’d somehow betrayed her grandmother’s expectations tearing at Aya the whole way through.
“I’m sorry-” she blurted when they pushed past the last of the trees.
“You know, that first marshback I caught,” her mother said, looking back at the grove, “the one your mother loves talking about. You want to know how that ended?”
Aya felt the words die in her throat, and nodded for her grandmother to continue.
“Well,” she began, “I said he knocked me off the boat. I was young, desperate to break free of scandal, to re-earn my family’s approval. I went by myself. It was stupid. If I had not happened upon a juvenile, if I had met an adult, I wouldn’t be here today.”
She undid the buttons of her collar and pulled it back, exposing her neck and shoulder. There was a mess of pale scar tissue, standing out against her dark skin.
“Little rat took me under the water, bit and didn’t let go. Only reason I was saved was twofold - I had a knife long enough to gut him, and there was a tree root strong enough and close enough that I could haul myself out with his dead weight still attached. Try doing that with an adult five times the size.”
Some of the boatmen chuckled, most remained silent.
“So, I managed to get loose and tie it to my boat. It was getting dark, I could barely push with my shredded shoulder. I had to stop twice to rebind the bandage, I am terrible at those. Dragged it all the way into the water shelf of the schools. You haven’t seen it yet - it’s built past the docks, where the three old schools converge, they have this shallow pool that feeds right into the ocean. You cook there, or dance, or recite, whichever school you choose to go to, in front of the judges.”
She began to laugh, though it was not with the usual mirth that she projected.
“So me, this tiny little waif, dragging this serpent almost as big as me with its guts hanging out into the water, hauls it onto the cooking table. The judges alternate - surprise, then disgust, then surprise again. Then you know what happens?”
“It was… still alive?” Aya said, having never heard this version of the story before.
“The judges screamed,” she said, “I'm still surprised I didn’t. There was something in me that just reached for a knife and nailed it through the head. I managed to play it off as the whole act but that whole time as I was cooking it I…”
Her eyes grew misty as she looked out to the broad expanse of the ocean.
“I thought about… how it’d still been alive. That whole time, dragged at the back of my boat, its innards on the outside. Must’ve been a mercy when I drove that knife through its skull.”
She shook her head, rubbing at the bridge of her nose.
“Anyways, the point is… it was okay,” she said, taking Aya’s arm, “it was okay that you hesitated. That means your mother taught you to be kind. To pity. That’s good.”
There was an awkward silence as the polemen changed back to their long oars.
“That’s right my lady,” one of them spoke up, “I froze up the first time I hunted. Damn fish nearly knocked me unconscious. Almost everyone does it.”
Her grandmother cleared her throat loudly.
“Quite right!” she said, “almost everyone. Anyways, we should get back. Gods know that there’s going to be petitioner's at my gates, even today, and the meeting! Of course! Better hurry, you lot!”
Aya, in the exchange, got the distinct impression that her grandmother was embarrassed by the conversation and wanted to move past it. She sat at the woman’s feet and pressed her back to her, trying to ignore the stickiness of the blood that covered them both.
“I’m glad you took me,” she said, looking into her grandmother’s eyes, “it was nice, for all of… this.”
She gestured to the clothes, which she was fairly sure were thoroughly ruined.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” her grandmother said, smiling.
When they returned to the family complex, her grandmother insisted that they go to the central pyramid without changing. She hauled Aya out onto the central pool, their feet and pants staining the water red as the other members of the family gaped. Even lord Efrain and commander Naia were there, staring on as she was proclaimed her grandmother’s successor.
“Did we have to do that?” she said, being led away to her quarters, “like this?”
“Of course!” said her grandmother, “did you see their faces? Better get moving Aya, here they come!”
There was a crowd of angrily shouting for the martirach to please wait, and so on. Her grandmother took her hand and hauled her along, up the stairs and into her rooms.
“You stay here, get cleaned up. Let me deal with the aggrieved. I suggest a bath first,” her grandmother said, a mischievous streak in her grin as she clicked the door shut behind her.
The handmaid, who’d been adjusting a piece of cloth, turned, and went white at the sight of her.
“Um,” Aya said, glad that the blood would hide any blush that she might have, “we went hunting?”
“Oh gods!” cried the maid, “take it off! Take it all off! You’ll get it everywhere!”
Aya was stripped and sent into the bathtub with a near martial rebuke.
“Honestly,” said the handmaiden, who was scrubbing her back with a bar of soap, “I don’t know what the matriarch is thinking, letting you in her like this.”
“I think she wanted to send a message to the rest of the family,” protested Aya.
“I swear, she’s lucky that she has master Fascili to keep the staff in line. We’ll spend a week scrubbing the floorboards! Again!” she said, shaking her head.
“Should you be talking about her like this? Ow!” Aya said as she was scrubbed at.
“She encourages it, outside of official functions,” her handmaiden says, “you may have noticed she cares little for flattery, or flowery words. Ironic, considering her husband’s a poet. Although…”
She stopped scrubbing for a moment, then resumed with redoubled effort.
“No, you won’t tell on me, will you be my lady? Oh, your hair!”
“Scrub slightly less hard and I won’t,” Aya said, wincing as the woman teased it apart.
“Not a chance. You know how hard it is to get dried blood out of hair?” she said with a smile, “was this your first time?”
“Hunting? Yes,” Aya said, “It was… something else.”
“The matriarch has often given that impression. Your arms!”
Aya flinched, forgetting that her scars were fully visible, and withdrew her hands into the now brown-red water.
“It’s nothing, it’s fine,” she said, “I’ve had them since… for a long time.”
Her handmaiden frowned, then shrugged as she went back to cleaning her hair.
“Well, nothing a little makeup can’t fix,” she said, “I think we’re going to need another helping of water. Sit here, please.”
Aya was about to ask what she was doing, when a blast of hot water hit her in the back of the head, sending her with a shriek into the water. When she pushelf back up, she glared at the handmaiden.
“Was that really necessary?” she complained, as the woman applied some kind of scented oil and ran her hands through Aya’s hair.
“If you want to cook with your grandmother in the festival, you bet it is! I will not be having the successor of the family on stage looking like she’s crawled through the slaughter docks.”
“I’m doing what?”
