by Mark Eller
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Simta fumed for the next several days. How was she to keep an eye on the woman if Anithia wanted nothing to do with her? When Calto returned from Grace would he shun her again once he realized she had failed? She had to find another way to get to Anithia. She refused to be Charmaine’s wife, and she truly desired to get out of her father’s house. Although serving Trelsar for a year had been a pain in her ass, living in his temple had felt almost like a reprieve. Returning home felt like being dumped in the sewers.
Flopping into her chair, she picked up her fork and pushed her roasted arvid around on her plate. She wore the pink satin dress Calto had sent over earlier in the week. It was lovely, of course. Bows, ribbons, beads, but she wanted more. Simta wanted much more. She wanted marriage to someone not repulsive, with family, and respectability. At least she thought she wanted these things. Since she could not be what she truly wished, carefree and independent, the only other option was marriage even if she and her eventual husband shared nothing but mutual lust.
“Lady Morthanhi,” Nita interrupted. Simta looked at her youngest servant. “I hate to bother you, but a beggar woman named Anithia is here to see you. This is the second time she’s come. She says she knows you.” Nita chuckled. “I just can’t imagine.”
Simta flew from her chair. She shoved her servant to the side and dashed from her sitting room.
“Damn shoes!” Simta tried to take the stairs two at a time but only succeeded in stumbling down the steps. When she reached the grand hallway, she panted. More than a year of relative inactivity had stolen her conditioning.
Anithia waited nervously by the door. Lark, the footman, eyed her suspiciously, his hand on his dagger.
“Lady Morthanhi.” Anithia gave her a tight smile, her eyes darting nervously to the footman.
The footman growled. “You curtsy to your betters or I’ll have an ear.”
Simta rolled her eyes. Lark was her father’s lackey and a general pain in her ass. During the last several years he had gloried in snitching on her for everything. He considered it payback for her fucking and then dumping him three years earlier, but what did he expect? It wasn’t her fault she quickly grew bored with a mere servant’s attentions. Besides, Lark had absolutely no imagination in bed. He was a nice enough man before their disagreement and good looking, but again, he wasn’t very good at business.
“Lark, behave. Lady Morlon. Please come upstairs to my chambers where we can talk privately.” Simta glared at Lark before extending her hand to Anithia.
Anithia hesitated. “My daughter is with me. Do you mind children?”
Simta looked around the entryway. She saw no child.
“She’s outside,” Anithia explained. “They wouldn’t let her in.”
Simta glared at Lark. “You idiot! The dogs are loose, and you left her child unattended. If the girl has left the walkway or stuck her hand through the fence— well don’t just stand there. Let her in.”
Lark hesitated for a moment, uneasy. “I— she don’t— I mean— the little girl is—”
Growling, Simta stomped to the door and flung it open.
A near perfect likeness of Anithia sat smiling on the bottom step. She held a stick high in the air above her. The dogs which guarded the grounds, the same mean spirited, ill tempered, bite your face off if you left the pathway and went through or over the fence dogs, sat mere inches from the child, wagging their tails, tongues lolling to the side. Ten feet down the path, the fence gate stood open.
“Good doggies. Go fetch the stick again.” The child threw the stick. Five eager, happy dogs, took off after it.
The little girl looked up. “Hi, pretty lady. Wanna play with me and the puppies?”
Simta stood, eyes wide and mouth open.
“Something ain’t right with the child.” Lark muttered darkly behind her.
Simta swallowed. “Uh, little girl, come inside with me. Please.”
The girl cocked her head, curious blue eyes shining up at her. “Are you the nice lady with the job?”
The dogs came galloping back to the steps. One held a stick. Simta took a step back. Even though she had known them all their lives, these animals were not safe. Looking at her, one growled.
“Yes, yes I am. Come inside, dear.”
The girl turned back to the dogs. She stood up. “Sorry. I have to go now, but we’ll play again sometime.”
The dogs whimpered. The biggest flopped on the ground, whining.
“Oh, it’s okay.” Reaching down, the girl petted each dog in turn. They licked and nuzzled her hand. “We can play and talk again later. I promise. Now go back to your side of the fence and shut the gate.”
Simta’s head spun. Her stomach lurched as the dogs obeyed. Sweet goddess. This child was either touched or insane.
The girl walked up the steps and curtsied. “Pleasure to meet you, Lady Morthanhi. My name is Missa Markie Morlon.”
Petite, fair, and blond, just like her mother, she reminded Simta of an earthly angel. Even the afternoon sun seemed to be drawn to her, forming a golden nimbus about her head.
“Everything okay?” Anithia slipped around Simta. She held her hand out to her daughter. “She likes animals. They like her.”
Smiling, Missa took her mother’s hand. “The puppies don’t like it when you sneak out at night. They worry about you and get angry ‘cause they can’t protect you when you leave.”
Simta took a deep breath.
“See what I mean?” Lark whispered in her ear. “She just ain’t right.”
Anithia fidgeted. She glanced at Lark, then back to Simta. “You do still have a job for me? Yes?”
