Dandelion

by ~nekoewen

For Porku

Tara sprang out of bed at the usual time, so early that the stars were still out. She let herself look up at the stars and the moon for just a little while. The white light shone over the great dream-city of the humans, over Nine Towers, and she could just make out an airship surrounded by crackling blue. More travelers from the Empire.

She shook herself. She really couldn’t be lingering here. She bounded off to start her long day, singing quietly to herself as she went.

She got perhaps ten paces down the hallway when something hard thudded into the side of her head. The blow threw Tara off her feet sideways. She scrambled to stay upright, but landed on the ground with her tail underneath her before jumping into a crouching position. She held the spot where pain bloomed on her head, but she didn’t cry. Her ears flattened against her head though. She couldn’t help that.

The chef stood over her, his well-worn rolling pin in hand. “Look at you, filthy savage,” he growled.

Tara did not tell him that she was a Wild Folk of the Tuathi tribe. That was never something humans wanted to hear.

He grabbed one of her long ears in his free hand, and lifted, so that she was forced to get to her feet. His hands seemed too big, the fingers too sausage-like, to be so able to make such delicate food. “Go wash yourself! I’ll not have you handling the young mistress’ food in that state!”

“Yes chef,” she bleated, “I’m sorry chef.”

As she scampered off towards the fountain—they wouldn’t let her use a proper bath—he jabbed at her back with the rolling pin, making her stumble forward.

She didn’t smell at all yet, and she was sure her nose was keener than his. But, there was nothing to do but wash. Humans were always so caught up in cleanliness. It was still dark out, and the courtyard was a cold place made of stone. The soles of her feet practically froze on the tiles with each step, and her skin was covered in goose bumps. She quickly splashed her face with the ice-cold water, and hoped it would be enough as she hurried back inside.

Miss Rosalind woke with the dawn. Her mother, Lady Castillo, demanded it. Tara quietly opened the door to Rose’s bedroom with her foot, slipped inside, and crept up to the mistress’ bedside. Tara waited for the rays of the morning sun to come through the window and creep along Rose’s covers, and then began to sing the morning song.

The song didn’t have words, at least not words that she could remember, but she knew it was a song to thank the sun for his warmth. Lady Castillo didn’t seem to approve, but Tara knew, you had to thank people for the good things they gave you.

Rose stirred, and then woke. She was probably the same age as Tara, but a pale, delicate thing. Where Tara was brown and sinewy, with unkempt red hair and yellow eyes, Rose was thin and weak, with long hair the color of straw and eyes the color of sky. But, she was beautiful, like a flower. Rose sat up, and closed her eyes to listen to the song.

“Good morning, Tara,” said Rose. “Thank you.”

One thing Tara liked about humans was that they always complimented the morning. One thing she liked about Rose was that she knew how to be thankful. “Good morning.”

They’d repeated their routine so many times that they didn’t need to say anything. But, Rose still thanked her every step of the way. Tara pulled back the covers. Rose got out of bed. Tara brushed her hair. Rose washed her face in the washbasin. She helped Rose change from her pajamas into a suitable dress, and put on her slippers.

“I’ll bring your breakfast.”

Rose nodded, and Tara slipped out and down the hallway, humming to herself. She paused at the window to see a small airship landing in the courtyard, its soulfire engine aglow. Was someone coming, or was the family going somewhere?

There was a sound of a woman clearing her throat. Tara looked up, and then immediately dropped her gaze to the floor. It was Lady Castillo. Tara bowed low, and waited. Her head still hadn’t quite stopped smarting from the chef’s encouragement. The Lady’s footsteps grew closer, paused for a moment, then got further away. Only when she heard the door open and close did Tara stand up again and race for the kitchen.

“What’s the point of me putting my very soul into preparing food for the young mistress if you’re always so slow that it gets to her cold!” snarled the chef.

Tara did not point out that Rose never complained about her food, and in fact complimented the chef when she could. When she picked up the silver tray, she also did not mention that the food was probably still too hot for Rose to eat.

She returned to the bedroom, delicately set the tray on the table in front of Rose, and then stood in a corner, her eyes fixed on the floor. All agreed that Miss Rosalind was an angel, which made it baffling that she had come from the womb of a woman like Lady Castillo. She was like an ice witch, only she used ordinary words rather than spells.

“We are visiting the Vasconcelos household today for the occasion of Erinandria’s marriage. Everyone will be on their best behavior. We cannot afford to cause offense.”

“Yes, Mother,” said Rose.

“You will dress your best, and we will have to make your… creature… presentable. See to it that she is properly washed, and put in proper livery for a change.”

When Lady Castillo was gone, Rose let out a heavy sigh. Tara held her hand. A child should not be afraid of her mother.

“Go ahead and wash,” Rose said quietly. “Tell the head maid I sent you. I’ll finish eating.”

Tara nodded and scurried out.

Mira, the head maid, was a tall woman with dark hair, beautiful in a cold kind of way. Tara found her standing in one of the hallways, giving orders to some of the other servants. When she saw Tara, her expression changed from stern pragmatism to undisguised disgust. She took hold of Tara’s left ear in one fist, and dragged her along. In her own way she was just as bad as the chef. She was loath to even touch the likes of Tara unless she was inflicting pain. They walked briskly through the hallways with that arrangement, with Tara stooping and jumping to keep from falling over.

Tara was seldom allowed in the bath room, with its shiny copper tubs, but today she was dragged there. Mira yanked open the ties on the back of Tara’s clothes, pulled them to the floor, then picked her up and dropped her into a tub with a splash. She just barely managed to catch a bar of soap before it hit her forehead.

“Wash every inch of your filthy beast body,” Mira growled. “And be quick about it.”

Tara did not mention that while her ears were long and pointed, and she had a furry tail, her body was indistinguishable from a human, if a bit darker than most of those around the Castillo household.

She waited for Mira to leave. The water was hot, and she paused to enjoy the prickly sensation that danced across her skin. Then, she got to the business of washing. One of her few clear memories of her mother was of washing together in a river. Humans, however, favored these tubs of hot water and using soap. Soap was an odd thing, a soft, white block that eroded in the water, but took dirt away with it. The smell of it was at once flat and pungent, and she already knew that it tasted awful. A couple of the maids were bathing too, and chatting, but every time the noticed Tara they quickly turned back to their own business.

She had done her best to be quick about it, but she wasn’t quite done when Mira strode in, eliciting squeaks from the other maids. She grabbed Tara’s hand, and dragged her out of the tub, splashing soapy water all over. Tara struggled to keep from slipping on the slick stone floor.

Mira thrust a towel at her. “Dry yourself with this, then we’ll put you into some proper clothes.”

The towel was soft and white, and good for drying her off. It was the little things the humans had that always impressed her the most. Then came the servant’s clothes. It was much heavier and more complicated than anything Tara was used to, and Mira hurriedly did up the buttons and bows for her. When it was done, Tara looked like a miniature maid, though her tail had to hang down through the skirts, which would make it hard to sit down.

Walking back to Rosalind’s room wearing shoes was a strange experience. Tara was still moving awkwardly when she opened the door to see Rose lifting up a cup of milk to her lips with both hands. Rose’s eyes bulged, and Tara had to hurry over to help her as the milk tried to escape through her nose.

“Sorry,” said Rose. “I’ve never seen you like that before. You look cute.”

Tara’s face felt hot all of a sudden. “Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

There were only two people in the entire household who ever had anything good to say about Tara. One was a maid named Alice, who occasionally gave her a morsel of chocolate or fruit. The other was Rose.

Rose stood up, and together they got her clothed in the lacy dress that someone had carefully laid out on the bed. By now they had developed a rapport, and each had a sense of the other’s movements, so that the entire process went smoothly.

“Father was speaking of giving me sword lessons,” said Rose.

“What?” It was hard to imagine Rose holding a sword, doing anything violent.

“One day I will be a noble lady of the Empire of Man, and I must be able to protect myself as my cousins do. So he said.”

“Well, so long as I don’t have to be your training dummy,” Tara chuckled. She received enough blows from the chef’s rolling pin alone.

“I would never hurt you!” Rose squeaked.

“I know.” She took Rose’s arm and led her to the bed so that she could put on her shoes. After that, Tara picked up the brush to begin fixing Rose’s hair. Rose picked up a book, a new one Tara didn’t recognize. Tara brushed, and Rose read aloud.

“Imperial civilization as we know it today owes its existence to the Church of the One God. This is not a statement of religious doctrine, although that is among the Church’s teachings. Rather, the Church impressed upon the human race a notion of ‘manifest destiny’ that was not present in most human cultures previously.”

Tara concentrated on fixing Rose’s hair. There were too many words she didn’t understand in this book anyway.

“In this case manifest destiny is the belief that the One God has chosen humans above all other races, and thus mankind has an obligation to colonize and occupy all available territory. While we have always been an ambitious, expansionist race, the doctrines of the Church of the One God served to exacerbate this tendency above and beyond what occurred during the primacy of the Old Gods. As the faith of the One God expanded, humans conquered all of Gaia, and then began aggressively expanding to other worlds of the Astral Sea.

“Despite this, the clergy of the Old Gods remain essential to the wellbeing of the Empire because of its dependence on soulfire. The coexistence of these two forms of religion is uneasy, but…”

Rose looked up. Alice stood in the doorway. The maid curtsied. “Milady, it is time to depart.”

As near as Tara could tell, the airship was a large cloth-covered metal frame, with a smaller room attached to the bottom, and machines—the soulfire engines—attached to the back. But where the ships bringing deliveries to the house were usually dull, gray things, this one was all polished metal and lacquered, carved wood, with big, clear windows. The copilot, dressed in a crisp uniform and wearing goggles on his forehead, held the door open for them.

When the airship lifted off from the courtyard, it contained the Lord and Lady Castillo, Rose, Tara, Gregory the butler, two guards, and of course the pilot and copilot. Rose sat between her parents, while Tara and Gregory remained in a corner where they were invisible.

“Milord, milady,” announced the pilot. “And young mistress. Please hold tight while we lift off.”

The pilot and copilot worked the levers and such, and the ship started to hum. Tara looked behind her, where interlocking pieces of metal began to turn and shift, and the two cylindrical soulfire batteries began to glow. Shapes appeared and vanished in their orange light, and Tara was glad she could not hear their screams.

The airship began to rise, though at first Tara’s stomach seemed determined to stay on the ground. It rose higher and higher, showing them the great city. It was called Nine Towers for the nine structures that surrounded its irregular edges, but where they started straight and magnificent, the towers on the far side of the city were monstrosities that hatefully clawed at the sky. The Castillo house rested in the part of the city where the nobles dwelled, which was carefully ordered and very beautiful, but by degrees the city’s lucid, palatial dream turned into nightmares, and the buildings turned into monsters and warrens. That was where the poor people lived, in dark stone dreams.

“You haven’t often had occasion to see the city,” said Lord Castillo to Rose. “Have you learned how it was built?”

Rose nodded. She had once told Tara about it. The Empire had sent a Dreamer, and he had dreamed the entire city into the world, then died. What had that man seen in waking that made him dream of such things?

The trip was short, but tense. Lady Castillo lectured her daughter on proper etiquette, as though Rose would be anything but perfectly polite. Gregory avoided looking at Tara.

Tara had always thought the Castillo house was grand, but the Vasconcelos house was a step above that. Everything was bigger, finer, more beautiful. The carefully trimmed plants, the ornate statues, the sweeping shapes of the buildings, the fountains. Everything was a song made out of stone, glass, wood, and plants, a powerful, inevitable song.

The airship set down on a massive lawn by the house, where it joined many others. A pair of attendants stood at attention by the door, but the Lord and Lady seemed to ignore them. They made their way along a path paved with sparkly stones—the ones at the Castillo house didn’t sparkle—and drew closer to the massive house.

Lord Castillo let his wife and daughter go a little ahead of him. He bent down and spoke into Tara’s ear. “Rosalind will have to greet her relatives and the other guests. Stay close, but not too close, and take her somewhere to rest if she starts to get faint.”

“Yes milord.”

The attendants were trailing behind them. There was a guard on either side of the great wooden double doors, and a doorman as well. The doors parted to reveal a party already in progress. There must’ve been a hundred guests, nobles, clergy, wizards, and the most powerful of merchants. Musicians played, and servants were everywhere, dispensing wine and food to the guests. Most had the blue and black colors of House Vasconcelos, but there were other colors here and there.

“Lord and Lady Castillo!” bellowed the doorman, “and their daughter Miss Rosalind!” He made no mention of Tara or the butler, because that was how things worked.

As the family proceeded down into the hall, greetings rang out. A middle-aged man with a fringe of blond hair strode up and embraced the Lord and Lady.

Tara was shocked to see Lady Castillo actually smile. “Rufus! It is good to see you at last! I hope the move to our little frontier city was not too hard on your family?”

Rufus—Lord Vasconcelos—whispered something into her ear. Her smile stayed fixed, but her eyes darted around the room for just a moment. He then bent down to address Rose. “Dear little Rosalind. You must be twice the height since I saw you last! Do enjoy yourself, my dear.”

Rose curtsied, and said, “Thank you, uncle.” Her voice was nearly lost in the party’s merry susurration of voices.

Tara tried to take in the party, but it was just so much at once. She had heard that humans came in many varieties, from pale people like the Castillo family to deep brown like one man she saw milling around by the far windows, but she had never seen such variety all in one place. There were also a few Touched. Rose had told her about how they were people who had something from another plane—fae, demon, elemental, shadow, or angel—in their ancestry. One man had ruddy skin and horns. There was a woman with all-violet eyes and long, pointed ears, though not as long as Tara’s.

Rose seemed to be delivering curtsies and greetings to nearly everyone she met, and they in turn found some way to compliment her. Finally, after repeating this process with some thirty different people, Tara took Rose to a corner of the room, where she could sit down.

“I fear my voice and my feet won’t take much more of this,” said Rose.

“If your voice gives out,” said Tara, “I shall speak for you. If your feet are too tired to walk, I shall carry you.”

Rose did not take hold of her hand, not here, but she smiled.

Tara saw a woman coming towards Rose. This woman had golden hair and sky-colored eyes, but she strode around exuding a bold confidence that even Lady Castillo couldn’t have matched. She looked down at Rose.

“And you,” she said appraisingly, “you must be the Castillo girl.” There was a big sword at her belt. A magic sword.

Rose jumped to her feet and curtsied. “I… I am Rosalind Castillo of House Castillo,” she squeaked.

The woman did not bow or curtsey. “I am Octavia Vasconcelos of House Vasconcelos.” She had a way of tilting her head to emphasize her words. “And who is this?”

She was pointing at Tara. Tara’s tail stood on end.

“She’s… Tara. My servant.”

“Yes,” said Octavia. “You do look like you need a servant. I am surprised to see someone of your stature with a Tuathi in tow though.”

Tara’s face felt hot. No human had ever called her a Tuathi before. Never!

Rose murmured, “My father…” but Octavia leaned closer to get a better look at Tara.

“Oh yes, I know your people, perhaps better than you do. Primitive, yes, but brave. The Tuathi know how to live, to fight, and to sing. Tell me, what kind of name is Tara?”

“Taraxacum is the name of a plant that grows on Gaia,” said Lady Castillo. “A persistent weed of little value except perhaps as a distraction to children.”

When Lady Castillo and Lady Octavia looked at one another, Tara was certain she did not want to be around. Even Lord Castillo seemed hesitant to oppose his wife, but Octavia stayed calm and confident.

Octavia rested one hand on her sword’s hilt. “In common speech they’re called ‘dandelions’. Do you know what a lion is?”

“Yes, milady,” said Rose.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

Lady Castillo shot Octavia a look that would’ve frozen any normal person solid.

Tara took a deep breath. She remembered from one of Rose’s many books. “A lion is… a big cat?”

“A fierce, swift predator of the savannas. Only the bravest hunters dare to hunt for lions.”

Lady Castillo pinched Tara’s ear and hissed, “Go to the kitchens.”

Tara felt sorry for Rose, who looked terrified, but she went quickly. Octavia laughed.

The kitchens of House Vasconcelos were a hive of blue and black bees. Tara knew that Lady Castillo really just wanted her out of sight, so she looked for a corner where she could be unobtrusive until needed. Dodging among the small army of cooks and other servants hoisting a veritable feast on silver trays, she arrived at a back room where some men were playing cards and some women were chatting as they peeled potatoes.

Tara was about to sit in a corner when a voice said, “Sit in a chair. They hate it when you get the livery dirty.” The one who’d spoken was a young human man, also dressed as a servant. Tara sat. He was young and handsome. “I’m Trevor,” he added.

“Tara. I’m Tara.” She had to sit on the edge of the chair to keep from squishing her tail underneath her.

“From House Castillo?”

“Um, yeah. I take care of Ro—Lady Rosalind.” Rosalind liked it when Tara called her “Rose,” but that was only for when they were alone.

“I’m surprised the Castillos have a wild folk servant at all. They’re not as… egalitarian as their Vasconcelos cousins.”

This household was still mostly humans, but there were other wild folk—though no other Tuathi—here and there, and even Touched.

“Do they beat you a lot?”

Tara put a hand on her wayward tail and looked at the floor. “Sometimes. The chef does.”

“And not in a fun way?”

“What?”

“Never mind,” he said quickly. “I, uh, I’m Lady Octavia’s manservant.”

“What’s that like?”

“Terrifying and amazing. She takes me with her on all of her adventures, whether she’s serving in the army or just wandering around looking for something interesting to do.”

Tara looked at the floor. Maybe one day Rose would grow into a woman who could see the world without it being through the window of an airship. Maybe.

“That sounds great,” Tara mumbled. Trevor said nothing, and when she looked up, he was on his feet and looking towards the door. She hopped off the chair and followed him. “What is it?” she whispered.

“Trouble,” he murmured. “Stay here.”

“No!”

He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head and started down the corridor. “Do what you must.”

When she caught up to Trevor, he was peering around a corner at the back of a servant in Vasconcelos livery.

“He has a tattoo on the back of his hand, which means he is a hashish-eater,” Trevor whispered.

Tara furrowed her brows. “What does that mean?”

“An assassin.”

The hashish-eater was holding a tray with many slender glasses of wine on it, and had a cloth covering his other arm. He went through a door, into the ballroom.

Trevor started for the door, and Tara followed. “I’ll go find my mistress,” he hissed. “You find the guard with the blue headband. He should be by the foot of the stairs at the south.”

The two of them burst out of the door and dodged through the crowd. There was no sign of the hashish-eater. Tara had to jump up and down to get her bearings, earning disapproving looks from the people around her. She saw the man with the blue headband and started to run towards him. One servant tripped and splashed red wine on a priest’s white robe. There was shouting all around her. Tara was nearly to the edge of the crowd when she saw a flash of silver. She heard a gasp—Rose’s voice!

Tara launched herself towards the sound. The world seemed to slow down, but the knife was moving fast. She had to get there first. She had to. She sprang off of a tray of small cakes held up by one of the servants.

The world suddenly returned to its normal speed, and then some. Pain exploded in her right side. She slammed sideways into someone, and everything became a cacophonous song of blood and tangled limbs. Rose screamed. Someone shoved Tara away. A sword was drawn from a sheath of leather and shoved into one of flesh.

“This is only the beginning!” snarled a dangerous voice. “We are legion!”

“But today,” said Lady Octavia, “you are one less, and we are not.”

A boot collided with a skull, and the air became warmer and louder and people crowded in to see.

A hand held Tara’s hand. “Someone help Tara! Someone get a healer!”

Tara looked up at Rose, who was crying.

“Alexandria!” called Octavia. “Please, help this girl. She may have saved my life.”

*

Tara awoke in a large bedroom, where she was laid out on a downy bed quite unlike anything she’d ever used before. The room reminded her of Rose’s, but with a suit of armor stationed by the door, and swords mounted on the walls.

It was late afternoon, and if Lady Castillo saw her lazing about she’d be sure to yell at her. Tara tried to get up, but her side hurt so fiercely that she immediately gave up on trying to move. There was a bandage there.

She tried to piece together what had happened, but it was hard. A villain, an eater of something or other, had tried to kill someone and stabbed her instead. There had been a lot of shouting.

Was Rose safe? Tara tried to get up, but the pain was still too great.

“Hello?” she called. It hurt even to speak. She lay down on the bed and waited.

When the door opened some time later, she tried to jerk up to attention, and greatly regretted it. Octavia stood in the doorway. “You’re awake. Good.”

“How is Rose?” she asked quietly.

Octavia stepped inside and closed the door. “She worries about you, but she is quite unharmed. I would envy her, if I did not already have Trevor.” She held out a cup of something green. “The assassin used a magical poison. Alexandria is confident this will be an effective antidote.”

Tara accepted the cup. Octavia helped her sit upright to drink. “Tell Lady Alexandria she has my thanks.” The concoction tasted awful, but she forced herself to drink every last drop. The more she drank, the more her pain lessened.

“I think Rose has already given her copious thanks, but I will relay your message. For now, rest. You can be a servant tomorrow; right now you are Alexandria’s patient, and woe to anyone who says otherwise.”

Tara lay back on the bed. “Was he acting alone?”

Octavia paused, and narrowed her eyes. “No. We have already rooted out two others, and there are likely more. Be vigilant. Use your keen senses.”

When Tara felt well enough—which didn’t take long—she got up and put on the livery dress and shoes that someone had removed while she’d been unconscious. She waited and waited, and it was nearly dark when Rose and Lord Castillo came to the room.

“Tara, you’re alright!” Rose tearfully embraced her, and Tara was glad Lady Castillo could not see it.

“Yes,” said Tara. “Thanks to Lady Alexandria.”

“Come then,” said Lord Castillo. “If you are well enough, we shall return home.” As they walked down the stairs to where Lady Castillo waited, along with Gregory and the guard, Lord Castillo added, “Rufus has eight daughters, and each is a master at something. Octavia is a prodigy of warfare, and Alexandria is one of the greatest healers of the age.”

The hall was mostly empty of people now. Lord Vasconcelos and Octavia met them at the door.

“I am sorry for all this difficulty,” said Lord Vasconcelos. “It will not happen again.”

Octavia looked as though she was about to say something, but glanced at her father and thought the better of it.

The Lord and Lady Castillo exchanged ceremonial hugs and kisses with their cousins, and excused themselves. The airship was waiting outside. Its soulfire engines glowed brightly in the night, and amber-colored lamps lit its interior.

The pilot and copilot eyed the party anxiously, but said nothing as they started up the ship. Somehow, flying wasn’t as mysterious or terrifying the second time. The sight of Nine Towers at night was another matter though. The ground became a riot of colored pinpricks of light, a starry sky carved into the solid ground.

Rose sat next to Tara, and for once not even Lady Castillo felt the need to criticize their closeness. When Tara tore her eyes away from the sight of the city, she found Rose was watching her. Tara blushed, but Rose didn’t say anything. Finally, Rose took hold of her hand. When Tara looked back at her, she was smiling.

A sound jolted through the airship like lightning. Two feet crashed through one of the windows of the airship, followed by their owner, a burly wild folk man. Tara recognized him as a Garathi, with ears and tail like a cat. Rose let out a shriek as he pointed a jagged but sharp sword at her. He had a mark on his hand, some kind of writing.

“No one move!” he growled. He looked at Tara, and held out his hand. “You, come with me.”

Tara held onto Rose’s hand. Her ears folded back, and her tail tried to stand on end through the dress.

Lord Castillo stood. “If you harm one hair on my daughter’s head, your will die, in the slowest, most agonizing manner my torturer can devise.”

Tara took a gulp of nervous saliva.

“What are you waiting for?” shouted the man.

“Please, just don’t hurt her,” said Tara. Rose was the most innocent, beautiful person Tara had ever known. Did this man stomp on flowers and drown kittens in his idle moments too?

“You are one of us! Why would you side with the enemy?”

Tara stood up, and carefully put her free hand around the top of his blade. “If you’re one of us, you should value life, not death.”

He took a deep breath, and forced Rose back with the threat of his sword. “Death is the beginning of a journey, and in her case, it will be an instrument of freedom.”

“I don’t want that kind of freedom!” cried Tara.

Lord and Lady Castillo did not know what to do. The assassin didn’t seem to either. The pilot and copilot only glanced back nervously.

Rose took a deep breath and said, “Release me.”

“Foolish girl,” muttered the assassin.

“Your life is already forfeit,” she continued, eyes blazing. “If you lose it slowly, an interrogator will use spells to pluck all your secrets from your head.”

Sweat trickled down the side of Tara’s face. The assassin glared at Rose.

Rose looked up into his yellow eyes. “Tara has proven to me that wild folk can be the equal of any human in courage and loyalty, while you are proving to me that your kind can equal us in wickedness. In ten years I will come of age, and I will help shape the future of the Empire of Man. Who would you have me remember if I should decide the fate of your people?”

One corner of Lord Castillo’s mouth raised just slightly. Tara looked at the guard, whose hand was on the hilt of his sword. She looked at the pilot, whose hand was poised on one of the levers that controlled the airship.

Tara tensed and whispered, “You’ve already lost.”

For the second time that day, a world of things happened at once. The airship went into a dive. Tara pulled Rose away from the assassin’s blade. The guard’s sword pinged against it once, but the assassin turned around to find Lady Castillo had buried a dagger in his chest. The ship righted itself and banked, and the assassin feeling the blood on his chest, was thrown through the hole he’d made in the windows. Tara didn’t look down, but Rose did.

The rest of the trip was quiet save for the powerful wind that blew into the cabin. When they landed, Lord Castillo commended the pilot, copilot, and guard for their quick thinking, and he went to bark orders to the other guards and servants.

“Rosalind,” said Lady Castillo. “Go to bed.”

Tara escorted Rose to her room, and lit a lamp. Rose was trembling.

“Are you alright?” asked Tara.

“Cousin Octavia asked me… She said ‘How long do you intend to stay as a mere pet?’”

“That’s for you to decide. At least you have a choice.”

“Tara…”

“I’m just a wild folk. You’re human, and a noble lady. I have nothing.”

“But… You’re beautiful. And you’re so light on your feet, when I keep tripping all over myself. And no matter how many lessons I have, I don’t think I’ll ever learn to sing as good as you do. And you’re brave beyond compare, loyal beyond reason, and… I love you. I would be lost without you.”

Tara’s face felt hot. She began to cry and couldn’t stop.

Rose hugged her and stroked her hair. “Thank you. For everything.”

Once Tara had calmed down and blown her nose, once Rose was in her bedclothes, Tara sang Rose to sleep. She sang a lullaby that her mother had sung to her a long time ago. Rose curled up under the covers, and her face slowly relaxed, until there was only the slow breathing of an untroubled sleep. Tara watched her for a moment, and then crept back to her own bed.

She was just getting settled in when the door opened. It was Lord Castillo.

“Tara,” he said, “I chose you to serve my daughter over any number of more experienced human maids and nannies because I knew she needed a friend. She has no siblings, and few peers, and her cousins are all grown.”

Tara stood up and curtsied. “She’s beautiful. On the inside and the outside. It’s strange to think… uh… I mean…”

He chuckled, and tousled her hair. “Lucky for you, she takes after me more than her mother, but she would not be the person she is without you.”

“I… Thank you, milord.”

“Tara, today you distinguished yourself, and showed great courage and loyalty. You protected my family as you would have your own. And that is why I have decided that when Rosalind comes of age, I will free you.”

“I… I’m grateful, but… What about R-Rose?”

“When the time comes, you can seek your own destiny. If that turns out to still be at her side, so be it, but it will be as a free citizen, not a slave.”

“I see.”

“Now I’d best leave you. You still need to wake up early tomorrow, as usual.”

“Yes milord.” As he started to leave, she took a deep breath. “I want the chef to stop hitting me with his rolling pin. And I want to use the baths like the other servants.”

He stopped short, gave her a cold glare for just a moment, and… laughed. “I’ll have words with the chef and the head maid tomorrow. Good night.”

When he left, Tara curled up in her blankets.