Not Magic Enough and Setting Boundaries

chapter Seven



It took a long hot bath and a lot of scrubbing before Delae felt clean again. She only dared bathe while Kort was occupied with his parents.

She didn’t even attempt to hide the bruise on her face although his parents pretended it wasn’t there. No one else dared speak of it. Kort scowled at the sight. She simply went about her business, although it pained her deep in her belly to walk after his attentions the night before. It was as if she were bruised inside.

Knowing Kort, she ordered Morlis to take all of the best animals over to the lands of one of the smallholders. The last time Kort appeared he’d ridden off with her prize stallion to sell as riding stock. It had taken two weeks to get it back and she’d been lucky to get the animal before he’d been gelded.

Kort had sold him for a fraction of what he’d had been worth.

Petra held a cold piece of meat to the Delae’s bruise to ease the pain.

“Why is he here?” she whispered.

“Either I’m not sending him enough coin,” Delae said with a sigh, “or he’s spending it too quickly. Otherwise, I don’t know.”

She didn’t dare offer him more money to leave either or he’d be convinced there was more she wasn’t giving him, that she’d been holding back from him.

Which of course she was.

Over the course of the day many of the folk of the homestead reported Kort skulking and poking about as if he looked for something. He was short-tempered and angry - so much so that most of their people actively avoided him.

There was an air about him even Delae found disturbing, as if he were on edge for some reason.

If she didn’t know better, she’d have said he was frightened. But what could he be frightened of here? There was no one to challenge him except her. Yet he was clearly nervous and irritable, even more so than usual. It was disturbing and unsettling.

She knew better than to ask, it was unlikely he would tell her.

In disgust, Kort slammed his knife down at the food offered to him for dinner.

“Tasteless slop,” he snarled. “I get better in the slums of Doncerric.”

Most days Delae ate alone, save when Dorovan had been here. It was only on the rare occasions when Kort was here that they ate together as a family. It was a sham, a sop to convention, but it kept the peace and Delae couldn’t deny the benefits of it.

Not this time, though.

Lifting her eyes to him, without a glance at his mother and father who well knew this was the best the homestead had to offer, Delae said, “Then why don’t you go back?”

“I should,” he shouted and threw the bowl at her as he stormed away from the table, taking the jug of wine with him.

The bowl glanced off the arm she threw up to protect her face.

As angry as he was, she took care not to sleep in her own bed that night.

Still, she didn’t get a peaceful night’s sleep either.

“Lady,” Hallis whispered, “milady, wake up, I been keeping guard, keeping watch, he’s gone and found it…”

Stunned, furious, she shot to her feet, terrified and nearly in tears.

If he had, she’d kill him.

“Go to bed, Hallis,” she said, quietly and, snatching up the sword, ran down the hall.

“Might have known this was where the bitch hid her money,” Kort muttered, holding a single candle, pulling the bag from the hidden niche in the wall.

Quietly, from the doorway Delae said, “And if you take it, we’ll starve.”

He spun, furiously, reminding her suddenly and startlingly of a maddened boar with his bloated face.

She fought the urge to weep, to beg.

“Where is it? There should be more!” he demanded.

“Supplies were needed,” she said, begged. Pleaded. Fighting sobs. “We bought them. Half, Kort. Take half and go. I’ll send you more as soon as we have it. Half, no more.”

“Or what?” he snarled.

She looked at him. “Or you try to get past me and one of us dies. I’ll take my chances with King Hastan, thank you very much”

“Hastan and his Dwarven bride with their half-breed son,” Kort said. “At least he’s prettier than you. Think you can best me?”

There were tales of Dwarven women who were as big and bulky as their men but Delae knew better. In truth they were small, warm and lovely. Delae had been lucky enough to meet the Queen of Riverford two summers past when she’d bought one of Delae’s tapestries.

She only answered his last question.

“A sword in the gut?” she said with a careless shrug, “you’ll be just as dead, it will just take longer. Or, I might slip…”

The sword tip dropped a little, toward his second most-prized possession.

His jaw tightened in fury but her eyes stayed level with his.

Dumping the coins on the bed, he swept up half, his expression bitter and angry.

She made certain to stay out of his way, her sword up and on guard as he left but she followed him warily to be certain he was, indeed, going.

There was an air of desperation and fear about him.

Watching, she saw him go into the stables and ride out on the horse he’d ridden in on. Frowning at his haste but in some relief she watched him ride out through the gates as if hellhounds were after him.

As a precaution, though, she set guards to watch in case he came back for more.

She didn’t tell anyone he hadn’t gotten even half of her stash of coins, knowing better than to put all her eggs in one basket. Especially where Kort was concerned.

Delae fell to her knees, the precious coins in her lap and wept with relief.

This much at least, was safe.

It was a blow all the same, as it made a significant dent in their funds. Things would be tight, very tight, if the winter was too harsh. As it looked to be. She would have to ration food far earlier than she’d hoped and their solstice celebration would be chary, too.

Nor did she sleep in her own bed that night either, as a precaution. She wouldn’t have her sleep interrupted so again anytime soon.