Command the Tides

by Wren Handman

  “We thought that we would be most out of your way if we stayed in here.” And out of sight, Taya thought, but said nothing. “I hope that you don’t mind. We haven’t touched a morsel.”

  She laughed at that, remembering her harsh words from the night before, and leaned casually against the doorjamb. “Well then, I will make you both a deal. If you make some soup while I freshen up, and bring a bowl up to Darren, you can both break your fast. I’m sure you’re as famished as I, after the long night.”

  David readily agreed, and Taya left them in charge of her kitchen as she collected a fresh shirt and pair of trousers and went outside.

  It was late summer, and the day was just starting to warm, a touch of dawn nip still in the air. She held her clothes awkwardly under one arm while she washed at the pump, and then slipped into the outhouse to change into her new clothes. She dumped the dirty laundry into a large bin waiting to be dealt with, reminded herself with a sigh that the wash was long overdue. The wooden bin had been intended to hold the clothing only long enough to put them in the water and wash them, but she had gotten into a bad habit of leaving off the wash until she had nothing clean left to wear—and she was getting near that point. Wondering when she would have the time, she bound her thick black hair at the nape of her neck and went back inside. She pulled open the blinds, the sign which announced that her shop was open for business, and opened the shutters on the windows. As she was finishing, David came into the room, nodding politely and offering her a bowl of soup, which she gratefully accepted.

  “My thanks, David. Forgive me for not being a better hostess. I fear, however, if I had tried to make the soup we would all be eating raw carrots and cold water.”

  David grinned easily at her jest, at first glance seeming casual and relaxed. Despite the long night, the amount of sleep he had gotten appeared to be enough for him. At a closer look, however, his eyes belied his appearance. He was watching the streets, the windows, eyes glancing quickly from one spot to another and then back to her face even as he spoke, as if searching for hidden threats. Which is probably, she reflected, exactly what he is doing.

  “There’s no need for thanks, ma’am. It was the least we could do, in return for your help. I’ll leave you to your work, now, and we’ll be up to see Darren.” As if called by the words, Ryan appeared in the doorway carrying a tray of food and drink, which he handed to David to carry. The two proceeded upstairs side-by-side. Quite silently.

  Chapter Three

  THE DAY TURNED OUT TO BE a slow one, for which Taya was infinitely grateful. As, she was sure, were both her bankbooks and customers. She was so desperately tired she found herself nodding off still standing, and she didn’t even touch the nearly finished skirt—she knew if she did she would end up sewing the trim to her own pants instead of the silk it was meant for, and probably stick more needles than could be good for her into her hands and legs. She had said it wouldn’t be completed for another two days, anyway, so there was no worry of irate customers pounding on her door.

  A few hours before midday, she had her first serious customer. A liveried man, dressed all in blue from nape to neck, opened the door and allowed his master to stride purposefully inside. Of average height, with a gray mustache that was a few years out of style and an outfit that was so expensive it would have been in style no matter what year it had been, the man paused to survey the shop. He hooked one hand casually through his belt loop, a posture that seemed to indicate he was at leisure no matter the business nature of his call, and strode around for a minute peering at the work Taya had on display before coming around to the counter. He gave Taya a critical once-over, appeared to dismiss her, and spoke in a commanding voice that was tinged with a foreign accent she couldn’t quite place.

  “Where is the owner of the establishment?”

  Taya resisted the urge to grit her teeth, instead giving the man a polite smile. After two years she was used to being dismissed. She refused to dress as befitted her station, since the oppressive gowns and complex hairstyles were impossible to get around in. She hadn’t needed them before she was engaged, and she didn’t see why she should need them now. What sane shopkeeper wanted to flounce around in skirts twice the size of herself? Idiotic. But Miranov was a country that respected its traditions, even when those traditions had no good basis in life.

  “My fiancé owns the store, sir, as he is often away on business ventures, I run the store. I am the seamstress, and all the work you see displayed here was done by me.”

  “Really,” he responded with a skeptical tone. “You’re the proprietor? Not just the girl?”

  She wanted to spit in his face, but she’d lost more than one customer to her temper, and had learned to hold her peace.

  “As I said, sir. Just because I don’t wear the fashions doesn’t mean I don’t know how to make them.”

  He seemed doubtful, but he glanced once more at the work around the shop, and this appeared to alleviate some of his concern. He nodded, lips still slightly pursed. “Well. How very…eccentric of you. I would like to request a dress for my wife-to-be. It must be of the modern style, and appropriate for an evening ball in honor of our wedding.”

  “Congratulations, sir. Do you have a color in mind, or shall I match the fabric to your wife’s hair and eye tones? If that is done the dress often creates a far more striking display.”

  He frowned, considering, and then called to his servant, who had remained posted by the side of the door. “Cordonne! What is Isabelle’s coloring?”

  The servant, looking startled to have been called on, hesitated a moment before replying. “I…I’m not sure, Your Grace. I haven’t met her.”

  “No. Neither have I.” The man turned back to Taya, a frown on his lips. “I would like the gown to be striking, but I am not sure of her coloring.”

  Taya fought the urge to roll her eyes. It was such a typical response from one of her noble customers. Arranged marriages had fallen entirely out of practice with the common people, as far back as two hundred years ago, but they were still in vogue for the nobles of the country. The poor girl was probably nothing more than a political pawn.

  “If you would like, you could request that she comes to be fitted. I’m sure she would be pleased to, for the joy of receiving a new gown. And if you could give me her family name, I could take care of the arrangements for you.”

  “Excellent!” he declared, his voice booming through the small shop. “Cordonne! Make the arrangements.” The servant quickly agreed and opened the door in anticipation of his master’s wishes, who surely enough strode toward the door before even waiting for a response. Cordonne carefully assured that the door was closed before stepping gingerly forward, a trace of a smile on his lips.

  “He acts like he’s getting me to tell you because he’s above it, but really he just keeps forgetting her family name,” he admitted quietly.

  Taya laughed. “I’m sure his piles of gold will soothe her wounded ego,” she said.

  “Her name is Isabelle Duchynko. You’ll find them up Kranza Way, just past the park.”

  “Appreciate it. Will your master want a copy of the pricing before we go ahead?”

  He only snorted. “Details. He’ll just say it’s details.” He touched his cheek in a quick salute and left. She could see him disappearing past the windows, jogging to catch up to the carriage which had left without him.

  She laughed, shaking her head. Nobles had always seemed to her to be a funny lot, so separated from the real world in which everyone else lived. Strange to think that Darren would soon be among them. At least they were good for something—a contract with no price limit let her stretch her creative wings. It would be a fine gown, and planning it gave her an idle task to keep her busy as the morning stretched on.

  A few hours before the shop was due to close, the door swung open and Taya’s friend Annelle slipped in, quietly as always. She glanced around the store to make sure there were no customers she would be interrupting before even ste
pping away from the door. A few years younger than Taya, she was light to Taya’s darkness, in appearance as well as in the states of their souls, at least according to the children of Ashua. When Annelle saw Taya she gave a start and hurried over to her, her expression one of innocent worry.

  “Taya, dear, what’s wrong?” she cried, catching one of her hands. “You look as if you haven’t slept a wink all night.” Taya smiled tiredly, and pulled Annelle into a deep kiss. Real relationships were so complicated—why couldn’t everything be as simple as this? They broke apart and Taya touched her cheek gently.

  “I know, I’m a terrible mess, aren’t I? Darren came by for a surprise visit last night—” She grinned suddenly, mischievously, unable to resist the temptation. “We didn’t sleep all night.”

  Annelle looked confused a moment, and then her entire face flushed a deep red and she shoved Taya’s chest lightly.

  “T-Taya!” she spluttered, and Taya released her, grinning.

  “Well? He is my fiancé, you know, and I’m sure the goddess will understand that even if we aren’t married at this particular moment, we will be eventually.” She didn’t like lying to her dearest friend, but Annelle had certain ideas about right and wrong. Better for her to think Taya’s sin was taking advantage of a poor innocent boy and seducing him with her wicked ways than have her know the truth of it.

  “Taya! The whole point of relationships like ours is to curb those wicked impulses,” she chided. “You know the children of Ashua say—”

  “Everyone knows what the children say,” Taya interrupted. “But from my experience, men have just as many wicked impulses as we do. Poor things just aren’t allowed to do anything about it.”

  “Taya!” Annelle was truly shocked now. She knew she ought to feel guilty for goading her friend like this, but it was so easy. She had such a rosy clean view of the world, it tickled Taya to poke at it. “How would they do such a thing without wasting the Gift of Yariel? It would be like spitting in the face of the gods. And you, you shouldn’t be doing anything about your wicked impulses with Darren. What would happen to the poor thing if people found out? No one else would have him!”

  “Why would anyone else need to have him?” Taya reminded her. “We are engaged.”

  “I know that, Taya.” Annelle caught her hands, already regretting her outburst. “And I don’t think you would do anything to harm him. But you play with fire. You need to be more careful. I worry about you.”

  Taya kissed the hands that held hers. “And will you miss me, when I’m married?”

  “Of course,” Annelle told her gently. “But I’ll see you every day.”

  Taya kissed her lightly and then pulled away, wondering how this conversation had gone from play to such serious matters so quickly. Of course, she supposed that now that Darren was to be king, and her mock-marriage annulled, she would not have to give up Annelle. A silver lining to the cloud.

  “You have your basket with you,” Taya said, searching for a break in the conversation.

  “Yes. Someone told me one of the farmers has a huge crop of onions, more than he can sell, they said! Will you come to market?” Annelle did all the shopping for her mother and father’s household, as part of her daily chores. The two women had discovered that if they went in the evening, they could often get deals from farmers who were too tired to barter, and wanted only to get rid of their wares before the market closed for the evening meal. It meant there was little choice in the pickings, but neither family was wealthy and the savings were always welcome. It also meant they rarely ate the same meal twice, which was entertaining if not always appetizing.

  “Oh, Annelle, I’d love to, but I don’t want to leave Darren alone.” Realizing how silly that would sound without understanding how near she had come to losing him only hours ago, she quickly added, “It’s not every day he drops in for a surprise visit, you know. You go on without me. I’ll come by tomorrow and we can do some shopping for the end-week dinner, all right?”

  “Of course. You should be spending time with your fiancé. We see each other every day, and I know how seldom it is that Darren’s route brings him into Miranov’s lap,” Annelle told her friend with a gentle smile. Such was Annelle’s nature. She was always ready to forgive, to accept people at face value. She seemed so much the image of all the faith that she held so dear.

  One year, when the girls were not yet women, they had been chosen to be lantern bearers in the annual Funeral of the Son, the end-year feast day in honor of Yariel’s death. Taya was sure she would not have been chosen if her friend had not pleaded that they be allowed to go together, and certainly she had felt out of sorts in her pure white dress and crown of flowers, but Annelle had seemed one of Ashua’s Maidies. Dressed all up in white, from the tips of her feet to the delicate flowers in her blond hair, it had not seemed such a stretch that she was about to ascend through the air, her slippered feet held up by nothing but her faith, as she led the young god to his final resting place in the night sky. She had been scandalized, of course, at Taya’s suggestion that this was the case.

  “The Maidies weren’t just little girls! They were special. They loved Yariel so much they got to walk up to the sky with him and put his coffin up there with the stars, so Ashua wouldn’t ever forget him.”

  “Well, yeah, but weren’t they special because they were just little girls?” Taya had demanded, not seeing the logic in her friend’s argument.

  “Well, yes, but not really.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, Annelle.”

  “S’not supposed to. It’s supposed to make faith.”

  “That doesn’t make sense either!” Taya had whined, her voice rising dangerously high above the whisper the conversation had started at.

  “Shhhhh,” her friend had quieted her softly, and unappeased, Taya had been forced to abandon her line of questioning.

  That had been how it was between them for many years, and eventually Taya had learned not to ask the whys in her head. Annelle believed because she felt it deep in her bones, and that belief tinged all of her life with compassion and understanding. Considering the other people Taya had known who had pulled far less benevolent lessons from the teachings of Ashua, she knew she should be thanking Yariel’s bones.

  “Thank you for being so understanding, Annelle. You know I’d go out with you if it wasn’t for this.”

  “Of course. I hope your shop is visited well today.”

  “May the goddess get you some good shopping deals.”

  “Taya!” Annelle said in an admonishing tone. “I think the goddess has better things to do, don’t you?”

  Taya grinned. “You’re probably right. I’ll see you tomorrow, Annelle.”

  Annelle gave her a quick kiss good-bye and then headed back out into the busy street, leaving Taya alone with her whirling thoughts.

  She glanced out the window, trying to gauge how long it would be before the dinner bells rang. The heavy cloud cover from the night before had started to clear, but there were enough plumes left in the sky that it made the time hard to judge. Deciding she probably still had an hour or two before dinner, and that she would probably need some tea in order to make it that long without falling back to sleep, she ducked into the kitchen. Tonight she’d be able to get some sleep, but for now she’d make do with natural stimulants to keep her eyes from shutting of their own accord.

  She heard the door open and saw Ryan moving past the kitchen door and up the stairs. He and David had been in and out all day, running messages or some such for Darren, probably meeting with Jeremy, who had yet to make an appearance. She had been assured that Darren had gotten some rest, but had been politely told that they were in the middle of some delicate maneuvering, and in David’s own words, “now isn’t the best of times.” Normally she might have been outraged at the idea of someone telling her what she could and could not do within her own home, but despite her indignation she understood that Darren was probably at his wit’s end. He had never been one f
or politicking and stepping around people’s sensibilities, and that was likely what he was having to do in the messages that were flying in and out of her shop. So she had let them politely bar her entry, and busied herself with all the matters of keeping a store running smoothly.

  As she sat waiting for the tea to brew, her mind wandered inexorably down the track it had been treading all day. She would start with something innocuous, like how tired she was, and then she would think about how she hadn’t gotten any sleep yet, and then she would wonder if Darren was sleeping, and then she would be questioning whether she had suffered a blow to the head and this was all some fever dream. Or perhaps she would distract herself with making lunch, and then she would wonder if Darren had eaten yet, and then she would wonder how, by Ashua, a man who thought soufflé was too fancy would handle a royal court. What really got her was the sheer clichéd irony of the entire affair. Imagine, falling in love with a rough-hewn sailor boy who you had never even intended to take home with you, and then finding out that he was so far above you, normally you would never have even seen the eyes that had swept you off your feet the very first time you saw them. For it had been his eyes that had done it for her. The way they sparkled when he laughed, yet sometimes seemed so serious even in the midst of revelry.

  With a snort of disgust at herself, she pushed up from the stool she was sitting on, moving to pace up and down the kitchen. It just didn’t make sense, didn’t fit in the real world. Dirt poor boys from the seaside were just that—children who had no rungs above them to climb, not great heroes waiting for their chance to be discovered and make their destinies come true. What child who had mystery in their past didn’t dream they were more than they appeared? How many small faces looked up at uncaring stars and prayed for a destiny larger than the one life had delivered? But in vain—it was always in vain.