A Pet's Rebellion

Threne had seen this dark skinned woman before, but he was in a form she wouldn't recognize. He changed his form very often, you see.

They were in a pub; it was just before the sun began to set. The room was a world of brown, gray, and orange. Brown woods, gray stones, and orange from the firelight that would soon seem brighter as the sky would darken.

That dark skinned woman ... what was her name?

She was alone, nursing a cup of frothy ale, keeping to herself at a tiny table, separated from the giddy, laughing customers that enjoyed themselves.

Estelle? Was that her name?

Threne's womanly lips formed a pensive little frown.

Ah! Esther! That was her name. She was an investigator ... or something in that vein.

Threne was a beautiful woman this night, even though in his mind he believed he was certainly a man. Being a woman was always slightly strange to him. Overall, his personality would be the same, and so would his preferences, but there would always be something in his brain that had him feeling a bit more ... nurturing? More ... personable? Perhaps it was true. Perhaps men and women truly had different brains, and he was in a newly formed body with a newly formed woman's brain.

Threne was still a he, in a sense, because that was his truest form, but he had no issue with being called a she in this case, because he was physically a woman at the time, and he certainly looked the part. He even let his hips sway a little, shaking about his lower class, but charming skirt, as he approached that Esther woman, giving her a pretty little smile.

"Hello there, Stranger. You seem truly down in your ale. Would you mind if I prayed for you?"

As if guided by strings, Esther's dark eyes rose, and she looked at Threne and asked, "Are you one of those traveling prophets of the God of Hope?"

"I suppose so, Miss. My name is Anselma." That was a fine name to go by, he supposed. He gave a polite little curtsy, even though "Anselma" knew that he, or she, rather, didn't have to.

Esther's fingers pushed themselves closer together, and her grip seemed to tilt her cup a bit. "Your sort is useless." Her voice was more bitter than a lemon's pith.

Anselma nodded. "I suppose so, but would you please humor me? Let me hear your wish."

"You won't grant it," countered Esther.

"There's a difference between won't and can't," Anselma said, pulling her long, red braid of hair over her shoulder, sniffing up an ache in her sinuses.

Esther's long fingertip traced the circle shape of her cup's rim, making a tiny squeaky noise that Anselma barely heard. "Even the gods have limits, eh?"

Threne/Anselma nodded. "One might say that."

A shrug, and Esther put on a strange smile, a mad smile, a smile that held no amount of happiness. It was like a smile of a murderer. "People like to say that if a prophet of the God of Hope approaches you and asks for a wish, then most of the time the prophet will reject your wish. They also say that if the prophet accepts the wish, it will come true."

Anselma flipped her braid back behind herself. "That could be true. That could also be false. Do you have a hypothesis concerning the matter to test out?"

Esther blinked at Anselma, her smile evaporating. "I don't mean to insult you, Miss Anselma, but I'm surprised you even know what that word means."

"I've taken no offense, Miss." Anselma slid her booted feet together. "Give me a wish, then. A wish that isn't impossible."

Esther rolled her eyes, and she said, "Fine. It can't hurt, now can it? Give me a new lover." "Male or female?" Anselma asked very dryly.

"Female."

Anselma put the backs of her hands together, her fingers straight, and she bowed as she mumbled out a false prayer. When she was straight again, she said, "I have prayed to the God of Hope. I believe your wish will be granted."

And as Anselma walked away, she heard Esther giggle to herself, as if she couldn't believe she had given a prophet a wish.

***

Katharina Falk was rather confused and concerned.

One of her maids, Vinny, had left behind a suicide note and disappeared in the night. Poor girl. She always seemed to have a cold, but she worked hard and was friendly. So, on a hot morning, Katharina sat in the first floor of her townhouse, sipping a small bit of flavored water, as she did every morning. She was idly gazing out a window, another thing she did every morning, wondering what her next novel should be about.

Suddenly, Katharina heard screaming.

"Come back here, you bitch!"

"Catch me, you drate-poke!"

Katharina didn't recognize the first voice, but she recognized the second one. It was the voice of Vinny, who was allegedly dead. Katharina opened her window and leaned out, searching for the sources of the voices.

From her left, she saw the totally not dead Vinny running, clutching her skirt with one hand and a reticule with the other. A dark woman with cropped black hair and plump lips was chasing her.

And ... as Vinny reached an area on the street close to Katharina's window, she seemed to slow down, and the dark woman caught her, and proceeded to beat the absolute shit out of her.

Katharina rushed out of the house. When she was outside the entrance, she called out, "Vinny! Vinny!"

Vinny dropped the reticule, and then she escaped the dark skinned woman with a peculiar grace Katharina had never seen in her before. Then Vinny ran quickly, almost like an athletic man. Apparently distracted by the reticule, the darker woman picked it up and tied it about her waist. Then, as she brushed a little bit of grit off her skirt, she looked up and yelled, "Keep on running!" Then she put a hand beside her mouth. "You don't want me to catch you!"

But Vinny was already gone.

And Katharina was entranced.

The woman was exotic, smooth, and pretty. Her eyes were sharp and fierce. She was tall and determined.

Katharina had to approach her, and she did.

***

The expensive silk gown had an intense pink color, a deeply saturated pink, a bright rose of a pink The under-skirt, which was revealed by the pulled back over-skirt, didn't match. It was a pastel blue, and the stomacher was of the same blue.

And again, Laileen felt rather confident. She was happy to dance with her new betrothed, enjoying the night, the music, and even the harsh looks of occasional jealous women.

But ... something bothered her.

Kristof wasn't quite looking at her. His eyes were repeatedly swerving, as if he wanted to be certain that someone else was watching him.

When the set was finished, Kristof led her away to a table of food. Laileen tried to enjoy her snack, but as she looked at her betrothed, the flavor evaporated on her tongue.

Kristof was keeping his eyes on someone.

Music started again, and Laileen soon realized that Kristof was looking at the Adurants. Laileen remembered something she had heard. The Duke Adurant had received his grim scars during an incident with a fire. Laileen pitied the man, but he seemed fairly happy. Laileen imagined he wasn't very concerned with his past.

Laileen was very grateful to the God of Hope for the fact that she hadn't received any permanent scars.

Hmmm ... something about Kristof's eyes.

Laileen's painted lips formed a frown. Her fingers took in a small section of Kristof's coat, right at his arm, and she asked, "Why are you fretting over that man?"

His head didn't turn, neither did his brown eyes. "I don't understand. I'm not fretting."

"You are!" Her fingernails bit a little into his arm. "His Grace hasn't ever bothered us, and I'd even say he seems quite uninterested in us."

Kristof's voice seemed faded, lost in a world Laileen couldn't understand. "Of course." He nearly dropped his plate of food. Laileen had to catch the bottom of the plate to remind him to hold it more carefully. His eyebrows lowered, as if in frustration, and his voice returned. "He isn't even aware. He won't recognize my glory."

Laileen's legs and feet turned cold. She stopped gripping his arm, stepping away from him, her heels tapping on the shiny floor.

"Are you ...?" She didn't want to say it.

But ... she wanted to say it.

"Are you ... the sort of man ...?"

"He honestly doesn't think much of me, does he?" Kristof was still ignoring her a bit, his eyes following the twirling couple on the dance floor. "I'll beat him, though." Then, he finally turned to look at Laileen, his eyes seeming to soften in a forceful way, as if he didn't actually have any gentle feelings in his heart. "Do you suppose we might have children, hopefully soon after we're wed?"

Laileen's lips parted as molten madness flared up in her throat. She would have screamed her choler out into his face, but she quickly remembered where she was. She closed her lips and took a deep breath, her breasts rising from her gown's low neckline, nearly exposing her nipples.

Her voice was light. "Why don't we discuss this once we're in bed?"

And they did, but only after a few sessions of animalistic rutting. Laileen felt as if someone else was controlling her. She couldn't find the affection that had been budding her heart. Something had stolen it away.

She told him that she wouldn't mind having children as soon as possible. It would, after all, be her duty as his wife to give it her best effort.

It was all a lie.

***

The first thing Kristof heard in the morning was the housekeeper of his townhouse saying into his ear, "Master! Master! Miss Madock has disappeared!"

The ridiculousness of the statement had him shooting up from his bed. His foggy eyes tried very hard to focus on the woman. His voice was a crumbly thing. "What is this nonsense?!"

It didn't turn out to be nonsense, because it was true. There was even a note left on her pillow.

***

You are the sort of person who donates money to a charity loudly, obnoxiously, seeing to it that everyone notices you. You are the sort of person who expects some form of reward for every piece of so-called kindness you give. You never cared for me. I was meant to be an object. I was meant to be evidence of the kindness you wanted everyone to see, especially that particular duke. You wanted to prove something to the world, but I won't allow it.

***

One of the maids told him that a good portion of Miss Madock's jewelry was gone.

Kristof didn't care about that.

He was concerned with the stinging, searing pain in his eyes and chest.

***

A similar note had been mailed to Lillitu's townhouse, and it was from Esther. It had much fewer words, though. All that was written on the paper was an elegantly lettered, "I'm not going to bother with you anymore."

Lillitu wanted to weep, even though she couldn't admit it to herself.

***

Winter had put snow over the Duvanu province again. Lealna couldn't have escaped it. Thankfully, it had melted a bit on this morning. Travel was much easier than it had been before. The Adurants were in a carriage, all of them seeming to look forward to a trip into the city. They had been hiding in the castle for most of the winter.

Danetta was curious. She had heard that a new dress shop had opened in Lealna back in summer, and it was doing very well. It was proving to be adequate competition for her current favorite dress shop.

Little Amalric was snuggling with his older brother, Andreo, under a shared blanket of white fur. Andreo was looking down at the top of his brother's head with a concerned, knowing expression. He was a sweet, sensitive little boy. Danetta couldn't allow him to go off to a school. She knew the teachers would be cruel. She knew the teachers would assume her little Andreo was stupid and never bother to teach him in a way he could understand. Private tutors would be best for him, completely private. Their current governess was very kind.

Perhaps Amalric would go off to school ... but not Andreo. Andreo was too delicate. There was far too much potential for him to be a victim.

Erdgar sat across from her, holding his cane out and tapping the bejeweled handle with his fingernails. There was a time when Danetta couldn't tell anybody what his hands looked like, because he would always wear gloves. And now, even though it was winter, her husband wasn't wearing any gloves at all. He might have some in his pocket, but he would only wear them if the bitterness was too much for him.

In Lealna they started their shopping trip by going to a little shop of mostly mechanical objects. Danetta tied a small harness with a leash around Amalric, to keep him from wandering into anything dodgy. Andreo was a properly breeched little boy. He was old enough to understand that he needed to be near his family. Regardless, Erdgar kept his eldest child's soft little hand in his scarred one.

Some time later, they had ordered a small music box to be delivered to their castle. Then they walked to a nearby bookstore. Danetta was very fond of a few children's books she found there. Good morals were written into the simple stories, and there were enjoyable pictures drawn on many of the pages. She also thought of Andreo, who was a visual child, despite the fact that he hardly ever looked a person in their face. He'd love a new book.

A few purchases later, and the family visited a few more stores. The last business they went to was the new dress shop that had tickled Danetta's curiosity. The building seemed trustworthy enough. There was a sign hanging from a jutting bit of wood. It read, "Miss Betty's Boutique."

Inside, there were a great deal of female employees working on projects or taking orders from customers. One employee was kneeling at a gown displayed on a dress form. It was a very pretty winter traveling gown with brown fur trimming. Andreo stared at it for a long time. Danetta couldn't quite understand the reason behind his interest.

And then ... she saw a woman, heard her give an employee advice. She had black hair pulled up into an ordinary bun. Her face was sweet. Her eyes were green, framed by intense eyelashes.

"Miss Madock?" Danetta said, handing Erdgar the handle of Amalric's leash.

Miss Madock looked up at her. Mild surprise had her pretty black eyelashes fluttering a bit, but her smile was accepting. She walked around a long desk and approached Danetta.

"Good morning, Your Grace," she said with a serene curtsy. "I'm incredibly, incredibly honored to have you visit my humble shop. Is there anything I can do for you?"

When the breaking of Miss Madock's engagement to Duke Bransted was coldly announced in the newspapers, Danetta had been shocked. She had wanted to ask the duke about the broken relationship, but he had left Henrisk quite early in the season and stubbornly hid himself in his castle. He wouldn't even answer any letters. So, Danetta hadn't been able to visit him without being very rude.

And now, here Duke Bransted's former betrothed was, working in a dress shop, and in the Duvanu province!

"Have you changed your name?" Danetta asked, tilting her head and opening up her cloak, draping it around her lower arms.

A nod, and then Miss Madock said, "I'm Betty Hrin now."

Danetta's brain insisted that she was Laileen Madock. She tapped her boot against the wooden floor. "Why in the world are you in Duvanu?"

"Such an odd question." Miss Madock's nose wiggled a little. "I don't see why it should be answered. I'm quite at peace here."

A thrill went into Danetta's brain, a hitherto undesired pursuit of knowledge concerning this woman, with a twinge of concern. She stepped closer to her, lowering her voice. "Please, Miss Madock. I know we were never friends. We barely spoke to each other, barely even saw each other. Still, I'm terribly frightened by these events. Your former betrothed is locked away in his castle, and I imagine he's terribly overset."

Miss Madock turned her head a bit, as if she didn't want to acknowledge Danetta's words. Regardless, Danetta continued. "He's suffered. He truly has, and when I saw that he had someone to care for, I hoped he would have happiness in his life, even if I was never a friend to him."

Miss Madock's breath hissed out from clenched teeth. Then she loosened her teeth, and said quietly, "Your Grace, this is a private matter."

"Then take me to a private room," Danetta insisted. She knew she was being a little bit rude, but she was too worried to care. "As the lady of this land ... why ... I demand it. Yes, there it is. I demand it." She was smiling then, it was a loving smile, a motherly smile.

Danetta saw Miss Madock's body swell up with a sigh, and then her form relaxed a bit. "If my Lady demands it, I cannot refuse."

Miss Madock jerked her head towards a door, and Danetta followed her to it. Miss Madock touched the handle with mildly trembling hand. She opened the door and led Danetta through it. Then the women walked up a staircase, down a hallway on the second floor, and into a small living area. Danetta assumed that Miss Madock had claimed this place as her home. There was reasonable clutter about.

"Would you like to sit down?" Miss Madock asked as she stood before Danetta, her fingers pressing into each other.

"Thank you very much." Danetta balanced herself on a noisy little stool, wincing a bit. She had grown accustomed to the finest chairs over the past few years. She didn't complain, though. Danetta refused to look at the lower classes with imperious eyes.

Miss Madock chose a similar stool apart from her guest, her plump lips set in a frown. "I hope you won't take offense to this question, Your Grace. Why are you so interested in my affairs? You never were before."

"You're correct. I had not even a fraction of worry over you." One of Danetta's pale braids fell from her coiffure, but she left it alone. All she did was eye the braid for a quick instant. "But, I did have empathy for Duke Bransted."

There was a pause. Danetta had wanted Miss Madock to give a response, but she didn't. She only blinked and crossed her ankles together. Her boots seemed worn. Her skirt was plain.

Danetta sighed. "His Grace, The Duke of Bransted, once desired me."

That earned Miss Madock's attention. She gasped and leaned in a bit, whispering, "Ah, that might explain his sentiments towards your esteemed husband."

A short nod, and then Danetta explained, "Years ago, my father placed me in an auction hall's catalog, as a bride. Duke Bransted publicly offered to pay far more than required to have me as a lover. I refused because my dear Erdgar was willing to purchase me, and as a wife, as stated in the catalog. Duke Bransted was outraged at the knowledge that a scarred, supposedly ugly man had gained what he desired. He didn't care for me. He cared for his pride."

"That behavior seems to match his personality," Miss Madock said. A corner of her lips twitched a little.

"However, I should say that his sister has died, and he seemed to have loved her as a brother should. My husband and I tried to offer our condolences to him, but he'd admit nobody into his house. There seems to be good qualities in him." Danetta pulled her cloak out from behind herself. She folded it and placed it on her lap as she spoke. "When we met you, Miss Madock, we assumed he was much happier, but we didn't spend very much time thinking of him, or of you."

"I must tell you, Your Grace, that I appreciate you and your husband's behavior. You weren't cruel, and you weren't kind either." She smiled at Danetta. Her green eyes relaxed. "I never sensed that you thought any more or less of me than any other person."

Danetta swiped her loose braid behind her shoulder. "Yes, well, I would like to know why you left your betrothed. I know it's quite unwarranted of me to ask. Perhaps you could forgive me?"