“That’s an awfully long way to go, just to visit your brother,” Fin said, a sceptical look on her face. “There’s got to be more to it than that.”
Gantalla wondered what to say next. The best lies, she had been taught long ago, contained a grain of truth. And sticking to that truth as much as possible would make any of her lies easier to remember later down the track. For all her efforts to remain aloof, she seemed to be getting rapidly caught up in all the goings on here in town. “My father died not too long ago,” she said, not having to manufacture any false grief at the memory. “Our home was attacked by raiders. He died defending me and my sisters. I only have one brother left, and I thought…”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Fin said, sounding genuinely embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s all right,” Gantalla said, feeling embarrassed herself by Fin’s easy sympathy. “I just prefer not to talk about it, if that’s all right?”
“Of course. Let’s talk about something else,” Fin said, renewing her efforts on Gantalla’s feet. “Well, I’ll tell you a bit more about what to expect around here. How about that?”
“That would be wonderful,” Gantalla agreed.
“Well, first up, you need to be aware that some of the women here aren’t near so friendly as I am. Elria’s well known, and she did well sending you to me. The younger women in particular cause most of the trouble. Young and silly. They’ll see you as competition for the warriors. But the older ones are a bit more sensible. Kuri, for example. She married one of the warriors last year, and now she’s pregnant, so she’s past the need to compete with anyone. And Stella is married to a blacksmith. She’s got three children already, but she still chooses to serve the warriors. A hellhound got loose in the forest a few years ago and cornered her youngest son, and Grailon, one of the warriors, caught it and killed it before it could do any damage. Honestly, near on every single person in the city has some story or other to tell about how one of the warriors saved their life. We’re all very grateful to them. The younger women, though, they’re all trying to find husbands. They want fancy clothes and nice houses and they haven’t yet figured out that getting married means having children, and then there’s a whole lot of new responsibilities going on. They wake up quick smart once they push out their first kid, but in the meantime, they’d as soon stab you in the back as say hello.”
Young women fighting for husbands? But if she dared entertain the idea, that was exactly what Gantalla herself might have the chance to do. But forewarned was forearmed, and if these women were as silly as Fin suggested, she should have an easy time proving herself to be the better option. She had style and class and… and a stained cloak and muddy shoes. Gods, maybe she was no better than them, after all?
“What about the warriors themselves?” Gantalla asked. “This Hallix sounds like a fine man,” she forced herself to say, managing not to grit her teeth as she said it, “but what about the rest of them?”
“A mixed bag. Plenty of young men show up, dreaming of riches and glory. They get a rude shock when they have to spend three solid weeks fighting demons at the gate. Half of them just pack up and go home after their first cycle, but the rest manage to make a go of it. But they come from all walks of life. The sons of warriors, some of them, or of blacksmiths, or farmers, or merchants. Some of them are eager to find a wife and start having sons of their own. Some are happy to play the field for a few years – or even longer than that. It’s a hard life. But they get plenty of reward for their efforts. There are those who spend the latter half of each cycle drinking and wetting their cocks in any cunt they can find, but at the end of the day, we all owe them our lives.”
Once her feet were seen to and she’d chosen a fragrant oil to rub through her hair, Gantalla followed Fin to the storage area where the clothes for the serving women were kept.
“Now, let’s see… You’re tall, but plenty lean. Try this on,” Fin said, thrusting a skirt at her. It was exquisite, maroon fabric embroidered with silver threads, and Gantalla felt a rush of satisfaction at being out of her stained trousers – as expensive as they has been – and back in a skirt worthy of a princess.
“It’s beautiful,” she told Fin, tying the laces around her waist. The skirt fell to her ankles, a generous amount of fabric falling in neat pleats.
“Next, a blouse,” Fin said. “Let’s see… Green? No, that doesn’t quite go with the skirt. Blue? No… Oh, but look at this,” she said, pulling a new selection out of the rack. “This would beperfect.”
She’d pulled out a blouse – not the usual design Gantalla would have worn, but nonetheless, it looked expensive and finely made. It was black; satin, shining as brightly as Gantalla’s hair now did, and for all that it was plain, the quality of the garment was obvious.
Shedding the towel that was still draped over her shoulders, Gantalla slid the blouse over her head, feeling more like herself than she had in weeks, now that she was back in clothes befitting of her station.
But when she had the blouse on, she felt her face heat. By the gods, the thing was almost indecent! It sat low against her chest, revealing the deep plunge of her cleavage. Lace sleeves displayed a clear view of her shoulders, and more lace drew attention to her chest. But worst of all, the bodice hugged her breasts, plumping them up so that she felt in danger of her generous mounds spilling right out of it.
“I don’t think this is quite what I’m looking for.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Fin said. “No man would be able to resist you in this. You look ravishing!”
That was exactly the point Gantalla was trying to make, though with far less approval than Fin was displaying.
“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good fit,” she said, trying to puff herself up to make the blouse look too tight. With the amount of weight she’d lost recently, it was a hard ask.
But her protests fell on deaf ears. “Trust me, Hallix will take one look at you and damn near lose his mind.” Fin stood back and gave her a critical once-over. “Now all we need to finish the picture is the perfect pair of shoes…”
CHAPTER SIX
“There you are! By the gods, man, you had me worried.” Lying in his hospital bed and feeling far more sorry for himself than befitted a warrior of his standing, Nalyx opened his eyes, seeing Captain Leefe standing near the foot of his bed, stern and serious with his bushy eyebrows and thick moustache. “How are you feeling?” the captain asked. “Ready to return to the land of the living?”
To be honest, Nalyx was feeling like he’d been trampled by a team of horses. But it wouldn’t do to admit as much. Not if he ever wanted to earn Leefe’s respect. “Well on the mend,” he said, struggling to sit up and biting back a groan as his shoulder protested. “But you can’t fault me for wanting to spend a little more time with all these pretty nurses.” He winked at the woman hovering behind Leefe. She was young, maybe only sixteen years old, and Nalyx got the impression that she was entirely star struck by his presence. Plenty of warriors came and went through the hospital on a daily basis, for as long as the gate was open, but as young as she was, she likely hadn’t had the chance to treat one directly before. The nurse blushed and shoved her hands behind her apron.
“Come on, then,” Leefe said. “On your feet. The festival’s about to start for the evening and you’ve already missed enough of it last night.” Nalyx had spent most of the previous evening busy being unconscious, drugged up on opium while a diligent doctor had stitched his shoulder wound closed and treated the burns on his hands as best he could. Nalyx had woken this morning with a fiery pain in his shoulder, and had spent the rest of the day asleep, after requesting more opium, on the back of a string of curses that had earned disapproving looks from even the hospital’s most seasoned nurses.
“Right away,” he said, hauling himself to his feet. He was dressed in one of those ridiculous hospital gowns that always left one’s ass flapping in the breeze, and he was grateful that the blushing young nurse couldn’t currently see that part of him, as he carefully kept his back to the wall.
But then he looked down at his hands, both wrapped in copious swathes of bandages. Grabbing the unicorn’s flaming horn had been a poor choice, for all that he’d been trying to save his own life at the time. “I might need a hand getting my pants back on,” he said, trying to make it sound like a joke. Gods above, what the hell was he supposed to do for the next week while his hands healed? The doctor had said he’d have to keep them wrapped for at least that long, and that his shoulder was likely to take even longer to heal.
“I’ll leave that to the young lady,” Leefe said with a smile, already on his way towards the door. “Don’t take too long, though. That whisky isn’t going to drink itself.”
Thankfully, someone had thought to bring him a clean set of clothes, and the nurse helped him dress, blushing all the while and desperately trying to avoid looking at his nudity. Which didn’t help things, when he was relying on her to be his pair of hands.
