IV
Ashton awoke gradually to the sensation of something hard digging into him. Bleary-eyed, he looked down at his left arm—the source of the sensation—and saw something red.
What’s that? he wondered. As his vision came into focus, so too did the form of a death-eater bird, the so-called “cleaners of the land.”
“I’m not dead yet!” he shouted, instinctively jumping to his feet. This resulted in a wave of fierce pain through his body, drawing a moan out of him. The death eater bird spread its violet wings wide in a gesture of intimidation, then flew off into the distance, letting out an unsettling cry as it went.
Right... Ashton thought. That thing knocked me aside and I fell down the cliff.
He looked down and saw his hands were covered in scrapes. Almost afraid of what he would find, he rolled up his sleeves. His arms were a mass of bruises. He was also drenched from head to foot, so he had clearly fallen into the river.
And yet, he thought. He might have had the good fortune to avoid hitting the ground, but falling in the river while unconscious meant certain drowning. Even if he had been conscious, Ashton was not a strong swimmer. In other words, he should have been dead either way. And yet here he was, still alive. It was a decidedly unusual state of affairs.
Never in a million years could I have unconsciously swam to shore. But now that I think about it, something like this has happened before.
It was back when he’d been assigned to defend Fort Lamburke after they’d liberated it from the bandits. With the idea of securing their food supply, he’d gone to the river, tried to fish, and almost drowned. Ashton scowled as he remembered how Olivia had fallen about laughing—then, he let out a shriek of alarm as someone spoke from behind him.
“Sounds like you’re all right, if you can make a noise like that.”
Ashton turned and found himself looking at a woman carrying firewood under both arms. She wore a deep green cloak and had a bow and a quiver of arrows slung across her back. Based on this getup, Ashton hazarded a guess that she was a hunter. She crouched down where she stood and set about building a fire with practiced ease.
“Might you be the one who saved me?” Ashton asked tentatively.
“That I am, no ‘mights’ about it,” the woman answered brusquely, not looking up. Before long, he saw a tendril of smoke snake up into the air.
“Thank you very much for saving me. If it’s not too forward, may I ask your name? I’m Ashton Senefelder.”
“Don’t really care about your name,” she replied, “but you can call me Stacia Vanessa. Anyway, what do you say to paying me for my trouble? I’m not the sort of bleeding heart who rescues people for free.” Seeing that the fire had grown to a healthy crackle, Stacia stood up so that she was looking down at Ashton, then thrust a hand out to him. She had long black hair which was tied back, and was very pretty. She looked around Ashton’s age.
“Oy, you listening?”
“Right, sorry. Money, was it?”
“Yeah. By the looks of it, you’re not with the Winged Crusaders, but you’re not a nobody, are you? That uniform looks like it’s made from some pretty nice fabric.”
Whatever her motives, she had rescued him. Ashton had no problem paying her in thanks for saving his life. The only thing was, as there was no need for money on a hunt, he’d left his purse back in his room.
“I’m a little short right now...”
“I know, I searched you earlier,” Stacia said matter-of-factly, her eyes on Ashton’s pocket.
“You searched...?!” Ashton hurriedly patted himself down.
Stacia, appearing to remember something, reached into her own pocket. “This what you’re searching so desperately for, by any chance?” she asked, pulling out a silver pen which she dangled tauntingly in front of Ashton’s face. He grabbed for it, but she yanked it out of his reach.
“Give it back,” he said, glaring at her.
“Huh,” Stacia said, looking thoughtfully at the pen. “You’re all worked up over something that don’t look like it’s got any value.”
“Everyone values things differently. Now, please give it back,” Ashton insisted. “Rummaging through my pockets like that. What are you, a thief?”
Stacia blinked, then burst out laughing.
“Did I say something funny?” Ashton asked.
“Well, yeah. How do you take me for a thief? I saved your life. And after I broke my back carrying you all the way back here...”
“Of course I’m grateful that you saved me, but that’s got nothing to do with this. That’s no good reason to go rummaging through other people’s property.”
Ashton’s retort was in vain, however. Ignoring him, Stacia pocketed the pen once more. Then she fixed him with a look of intense interest.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re not a noble, are you?”
“What’s that got to do with any—”
“Just answer the question.”
Cowed by Stacia’s glower, Ashton reluctantly answered her. “No, I’m a commoner...”
“That figures. A noble would be all high and mighty. Suppose you’re some well-to-do merchant’s son, then?”
“I...can’t really deny that,” Ashton replied at length. Stacia nodded a few times, looking satisfied. With no clue what she was trying to say, Ashton forgot she’d saved his life and grew angry. “Is there something wrong with being a merchant’s son?” he demanded.
“Oh, no. I just thought you seem to have been brought up real nice.”
“And? What are you imply—?!” All of a sudden, Stacia seized Ashton roughly by the collar, and he froze with shock.
“All right, young master,” she hissed. “You listen to me. There’s no question that if I hadn’t saved you, you’d be dead right now. Soon as that happened, this pen didn’t belong to nobody. In other words, everything you had on you belongs to me now, as do you.” Ashton said nothing. Stacia continued, “Are you starting to get how this works, young master Ashton?” With a twist of her lips, she flicked him on the forehead. Unlike when Claudia did it, the pain this time was cold and unfeeling.
“I’m soft, is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“Not just soft, you’re a marshmallow. I’m impressed you manage in the army.” With a derisive snort, Stacia dropped Ashton. Her argument was utterly lawless, but she had a point. Ashton couldn’t have cared about the pen being stolen if he were dead. No matter how important it was to him now, it was of no use to a corpse.
“What happens to me now, anyway?” he asked.
“I told you to pay up, didn’t I? Once I’m paid, you can have your precious trinket back.”
“You’ll let me go free if I give you gold?”
“Did you hear me say anything else?”
“But if we follow your logic, I belong to you. I’m your possession, aren’t I?”
Stacia ran her fingers through her hair in irritation. “Yeah, that’s all part of why I’m telling you to cough up. You look like you can pay better than what I’d get from a slave trader for you.”
“A what?! You were going to sell me to a slave trader?!”
Stacia looked him up and down with another half-smile. “Maybe if you didn’t look like that.”
Ashton thought for a moment. “Stacia, you’re a hunter, right?”
“That’s ‘outstandingly talented hunter’ to you,” Stacia said, puffing her chest out.
“Such an outstandingly talented hunter sells people?”
“Well, look at it this way. Since when is a hunter not allowed to sell people?” There wasn’t a trace of apology in Stacia’s voice. Ashton swallowed this, then tried a different tactic.
“This is the Holy Land of Mekia, isn’t it?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure Mekia doesn’t condone slave trading.” Slavery had been common practice up until around Tempus Fugit 700, but it was now on the decline, seen as a relic of a past era. Even so, there were still nations who openly condoned the purchase and sale of slaves, and others, one heard, where the number of slaves was actually considered indicative of national power.
“You’re right, Mekia don’t care a whit for slavery. But Mekia ain’t the only country about. The Kingdom of Seranis right next door has a roaring trade in slaves to this day,” Stacia pointed out. “Anyway. Strip.”
“What?” Ashton gaped at Stacia, uncomprehending. She tsked loudly.
“Don’t make me repeat myself. Just hurry up and strip.”
“Why do I need to take my clothes off?”
“You sure do have to question every little thing, don’t you? Because you’ll catch cold like that, obviously. Or have you not suffered enough yet?” With a look of impatience, she reached for him, but Ashton swatted her hand away. Her demand made sense now, but it obviously wasn’t out of the kindness of her heart. She probably just thought a cold would make him a nuisance to cart around. On the hundred-to-one chance she was concerned about Ashton’s well-being, he definitely wasn’t about to let a young woman help him get undressed.
“Fine, I’ll do it myself.” Gingerly maneuvering his aching body, he took off his jacket and shirt, then grimaced as a myriad of bruises came into view. As he did so, Stacia tossed a small bottle to him without warning. He scrambled to catch it, then, despite his misgivings, he opened the lid. A pungent stench rose to him.
“What’s this?”
“A salve for scrapes and bruises. It’s a secret Vanessa family recipe. Got it? Then slap some on already—unless you want me to do it for you?” Stacia asked, smirking at him as she hung up his uniform around the fire using sticks that might have been used to roast fish. Ashton lost no time in applying the salve himself.
Stacia looked at Ashton suspiciously. “What’re you daydreaming for?”
After covering himself in salve, he had been left at a loose end. “It’s not like I have anything else to do,” he pointed out.
“You ain’t done the bottom half yet.” Stacia stared at his nether regions, not bothering to be discreet.
“That part’s, um...” Ashton muttered, squirming under her gaze.
“You’re embarrassed, ain’t you?”
“I-I am not!”
“If you weren’t, you’d strip. Don’t worry, I don’t got a lick of interest in your body.”
“I don’t want to,” Ashton refused stubbornly. Stacia heaved a sigh.
“If you’re that embarrassed—”
“I told you, I’m not!” Ashton insisted fiercely. Stacia raised her hands to show she meant no harm. Then, just as Ashton let slip a breath of relief, she struck, hands reaching for him. Ashton’s body, still in too much pain for him to move freely, betrayed him, and despite a desperate show of resistance, she got his trousers off. As if that wasn’t enough, her eyes then moved to his underpants with a look that seemed to say she wasn’t done yet. This was the first time Ashton had shown his undergarments to any woman other than his mother. Trying as best he could to cover the area between his legs with his hands, he shouted, “Not that! That is absolutely off-limits!”
“No need to yell. I won’t take your undies,” Stacia said, grinning. “Now, eat this and try to get some of your strength back.” She held out a strip of dried meat. Ashton accepted it mutely, hugging his knees to his chest to keep his nether regions out of sight.
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