Maggie Furey - Aurian

“No you don’t, my girl!” she said. “Get inside and I’ll fetch you a nice hot drink. Put your feet up for a while. It’s bad enough you had to traipse round the market like a serving wench—your poor mother, bless her, would turn in her grave . , .”

Zanna let her rattle on as they went inside, knowing that the housekeeper’s indignation was really on behalf of them both. Dulsina bore her years well; her skin was clear and un-lined, and her dark hair without a trace of gray. She had been very close to Zanna’s mother, and it was that friendship, so kitchen gossip said, that had kept her feelings hidden frpm Vannor after his wife’s death. The servants, however, had looked upon her eventual marriage to the merchant as a certainty— until Sara had come along.

As Dulsina bustled off down the kitchen stairs, Zanna paused in the spacious hall to unwrap the cloaks and shawls in which the zealous housekeeper had swathed her. She sighed. Dulsina meant well, but she was tired of being coddled like a child! Inevitably, her thoughts turned to the Lady Aurian. Mage and warrior, she could ride and fight like a man, and you wouldn’t find anyone wrapping her in half a shipment of wool! I wish I could be like her, Zanna thought. She was unwrapping her scarf from around her ears when she heard a resounding screech of rage, Gods! Not another disaster today! Zanna ran. She was halfway upstairs when she heard the howls of her little brother.

The noise came»fe>m Sara’s room—and in other circumstances, Zanna might have laughed. Antor, now a mobile and mischievous three-year-old, had escaped his nursemaid, and found his way to Sara’s open door. Unfortunately, she had been out at the time, but the collection of jars on the mirrored night table had proved an irresistible temptation to the child.

The reek of spilled perfume hit Zanna as she entered. She took in the whole scene at a glance—the powder spilled across the carpet; the upended jars and bottles, their lotions pooling on the table; a frieze of greasy, colored handprints that tracked across the wall, the furnishings, and even the counterpane. And Sara, her face contorted and flushed with rage, was hitting Antor over and over again.

Zanna never stopped to think—her resentment of Sara and her fierce protectiveness toward little Antor fused in a flash of rage. “Leave him alone, you bitch!” She flew across the room and dragged the child away. She had never meant for things to get out of hand—this was her stepmother, after all—but when Sara slapped her, Zanna lost all sense of restraint. She got in one good hard blow before Sara started hitting back, and then they were on the floor, biting, scratching, pulling each other’s hair and screaming like wildcats, with Antor, in the background, adding his own shrill wails to the commotion.

Neither of them heard Vannor enter. The first that they knew of his presence was when he waded into the fray and flung his daughter and wife apart. One look at his face, and the fire of Zanna’s rage turned to ashen horror. Antor’s howls were the only sound that broke the silence—until a chuckle came from the direction of the door. “On my oath, Vannor—you’ve a pair of hellions here! I had no idea your home life was so interesting.”

To Zanna’s horror, a stranger stood in the doorway, witness to the disgraceful brawl. Despite her acute embarrassment, she felt her heart turn over at the sight of the handsome young man. Vannor scowled, looking angrier than ever, then he turned to the visitor and forced a smile.

“Why don’t you go downstairs, Yanis, while I sort this out,” he said. “You know where the drink’s kept!”

The interruption had given Sara time to gather her wits. As soon as the stranger had gone, she seized her husband’s arm.

“Vannor, she attacked me! And look what that wretched brat has done! I insist that you punish them, or—”

“Or what? You’ll go back to the poverty I took you from?” Vannor’s face was bleak as stone. Sara turned white at his words, and shut her mouth abruptly. Zanna sighed with relief. Her dad was so entranced by his new wife that she had feared he would take Sara’s part—but her relief was short-lived when Vannor turned to look at her. With a sinking heart, Zanna realized that Sara was not the only one who was in trouble. “Get to your room,” Vannor growled. “I’ll deal with you later!”

Zanna had been prepared for her father’s anger, but his disappointment was more than she could bear. “I thought I could depend on you to be sensible,” Vannor stormed at her. “I know you miss your mother—don’t you think I miss her, too? I know you don’t want Sara in her place. But I won’t have my home turned into a battlefield, Zanna! Sara is your stepmother, and you’ll treat her with respect!”

Zanna, choking with tears, was unable to speak. Vannor, who had been about to leave, turned quickly and came to her, putting his arms around her as she sobbed. “Look, lass, don’t cry. I’m not such a fool as to put all the blame on you for what happened—I’ve spoken to Sara.” He looked so grim that Zanna wondered what had been said between them. “She’ll not mistreat Antor again, I promise. But she isn’t used to children, and—”

“Curse it, Dad, why must you make excuses for her? Can’t you see she’s—” The mad, untirrielywords spilled out of Zanna before she could stop them—and were silenced abruptly by Vannor’s slap. “You watch your mouth, girl, or by the Gods I’ll—” His face twisted with rage and anguish, Vannor stamped out, slamming the door behind him.

The merchant went downstairs, completely at his wits’ end. He was ashamed of what he had just done, and sickened by his earlier scene with Sara. He adored both his wife and daughter—but why couldn’t they try to get along? He rubbed his aching head. Gods, what a night! When he’d left that morning, everything had been running smoothly as usual. He had come back a few short hours later to find the house in an uproar!

In the brief time since his return, Vannor had calmed his bawling son and turned him over to a bristling Dulsina, (who, judging by the look on her face, meant to have words with him before the night was out). He had dismissed the nursemaid, who’d been outside, flirting with the gardener, while Antor was getting into mischief. Having sent the girl packing, in tears, he had found himself confronted by a furious cook, with baggage, who announced that if her Solstice Feast was no longer good enough for him, he had better make his own in future! Hebba had marched out, leaving him gaping. As if these disasters were not enough, he had followed them up with a blistering row with Sara, who was no longer speaking to him, and had hurt his favorite daughter. What a bloody awful Solstice this is going to be! Vannor thought bitterly.

It was only then, as he was heading for the welcome sanctuary of his library, that he remembered the visitor. Vannor groaned. If that idiot Yanis was desperate enough to come to the house, it had to mean trouble. Yanis, who was sitting by the roaring log fire, leapt to his feet when Vannor entered the library, his handsome face taut and anxious.

“Vannor, I’m sorry to come here like this. I know what you said about secrecy, but . . .” He looked away, biting his lip. “Oh Gods,” he muttered. “It wasn’t my fault, I swear! How was I to know they would—”

“Whoa, whoa!” Vannor held up a hand to stop the young man in mid-protest. “If this is more bad news, Yanis, for the Gods’ sake, let me get myself a drink first!”

Vannor had not been Zanna’s only visitor that night—her stepmother had come close on his heels. Sara’s visit had been brief, and she had said very little, but her words had turned Zanna cold with fear. “Well, brat—since you are so protective of children, perhaps you ought to have some of your own,” she had said, with vicious sweetness. “Now that you’ve turned fifteen, I must take my duties as a stepmother more seriously, and start casting around for a suitable husband for you!” And with a whirl of skirts, she had gone.