2 - The Farmer's Daughter

Razea stared at the little girl. They hadn't even had the naming ceremony yet. Her daughter was lost to her, perhaps forever just as her husband had been. Taro held the baby tighter than she did the night before, as if the girl was somehow more precious just because a sorcerer had staked his right over her. That was the problem with magic, it affected everything without trying to. And sorcerers, they never cared about the rules of the world or the bonds of affection. They were intimately familiar with desire, but not with love. The sorcerer desired her daughter like an object, and once Taro handed over the child, he would treat her as such. Perhaps he would take good care of her, as people often did with expensive things. But more likely, he would use her. He would use her as a warrior and as a weapon.

"Are you sure of this?" Razea asked. "Must we accept?"

They could leave their little kingdom behind. It had been a good home, and generous to their family in the grand scheme of things, but there were other pleasant places to live. Some countries even existed where the use of magic was prohibited, and the practitioners of such dark arts were punished with the swift removal of their covetous hands and curse-casting tongues. Home was where the heart was, and her heart would cease to exist if she lost her daughter.

"I am sure," Taro replied curtly. "There is no other solution. We cannot let individual greed overcome the greater good. Besides, she is my son's daughter. She will not fail so easily. I shall make sure she is everything the sorcerer expects and more."

Her mother-in-law's words did not sit well in her mind. Taro didn't make vows lightly.

"What do you intend to do, mother?" Razea asked.

"I shall make my granddaughter the finest warrior this land has ever seen," Taro said. Razea felt the promise in her bones. She would make her daughter everything Razea herself was not. She would make her daughter strong, fierce, unfeeling, a dark-haired miniature of Taro herself. Her husband had been mellowed by the influence of his father, made soft by the love of women, made kind by his fellow soldiers. Razea knew by the vice grip Taro had on her daughter that the baby would be granted no such reprieves. She would have to do it alone, survive alone, pass her grandmother's tests and then go into the world as a stone of a person, to a stranger's abode, to be tested once more. She could not let it happen. Children were supposed to be happy. There was enough unhappiness and loss, enough struggle, once they became adults. If left to her devices, Taro would kill her daughter's spirit before it had a chance to grow.

Razea left the room and headed to her chambers. She could not abandon her daughter to such a fate. She could not fight back against Taro's iron will. Her only option was to do the one thing she had planned since Havim died and left her with his too-large house and his unmotherly mother. She planned to run away.

***

The day dragged by while she planned and packed. Her daughter's wet nurse was given a hike in her salary to eat better food to produce better milk for the child. Little changes started to be made around the manor. The doors to the armory were unlocked, and she heard the whir of the sharpening wheel from inside. There was more happening, she knew for sure, plans that existed thus far only in Taro's mind. And Taro's mind was a dangerous place.

Razea dug out the old satchel that she had brought with her when her husband wed her. It was all she had in the world back then. Taro had said nothing about her being a peasant girl and a farmer's daughter. She only had plenty to say about Razea's disposition. Taro found Razea's eagerness to please unbecoming, and her willingness to obey disgraceful. Razea wasn't allowed disobedience, and she was given little power in the house that was lawfully hers, but Taro had disdain for all she did, whether it was to her liking or not.

Taro didn't come to check on her. It was a mercy, but disappointing as well. Her mother-in-law had allowed Razea a few moments of grief after her husband had died, sparingly and for brief periods of time. Razea had been grateful then, thinking that perhaps Taro's softening towards her might be permanent, that their loss would unite them. It had disappeared after a few months, and the old woman continued as always. People knew better than to speak of the late master of the house. It was almost as if Havim was still at war. Razea snuck into the kitchen and grabbed things out of the pantry, caring little what her hands got a hold of, and smuggled them back to her room. Her satchel was almost full. She went back to the nursery. The room was empty. Her daughter was most likely with the wet nurse, in the garden or Taro's chambers. She grabbed a few swaddling cloths and started for the door.

The cradle was missing something. The sheep she had set to hang above her daughter's head were gone. The flowered bedding was replaced with plain white blankets, and the toys she'd bought for her daughter were missing from the shelves. Razea for a second, pitied her late husband. It was a cruel thing, to steal a childhood from a child. How he had grown up in such a cold home and become such a warm man, she would never understand. She hurried back to her rooms. Her satchel was almost full. She put her coin purse in last. The money in it was pocket change for a noblewoman, but she could go back to her life as a peasant. And for a peasant, the money was enough for passage far away and more.

She paused, her hands on the drawstrings of the coin purse. A peasant's life wasn't easy anywhere. There were always difficulties. Her daughter might live a hard life if she stayed, but she would always be fed, she would be educated as a nobleman's daughter ought to be. She pulled on the drawstrings of the purse and shoved it deep into the satchel. Her husband and Taro were both well-educated, and a fat lot of good it had done them. One was dead, and the other dead inside.

When it was late and she knew Taro would be sleeping, Razea made her way to the nursery with her satchel. She kept her over the bag, pulling it as close to her body as she could. Even in the darkness, the bag was a noticeable bulge against her side, but there was only so much she could do. No one was in the halls, and her daughter was in the nursery. The wet nurse was fast asleep. Razea lifted her daughter out. The infant was a fussy child, a light sleeper, and fussy when awoken. She gently closed the door behind her and headed for the garden in the back. The garden was dark and unguarded. There was a little iron gate the gardener used to enter and leave. The old gardener predated the current owners of the manor, working on the house before her father-in-law had purchased the property. The old man found a kindred spirit in Razea, a farmer's daughter. She sometimes used the old gate to explore the nearby village when Taro's presence became too much to bear. Few knew of the gate, and although it was a fair walk to the nearest road, it was her safest bet. She could hire a carriage out of the village at dawn before Taro even realized she and her daughter were gone.

For a second, she paused outside the garden. The second she was safe, the rest of the country would cease to be. Other children would suffer. Other people would die. The war would resume, and in the current state of their country, it would soon be lost. Razea squared her shoulders. She had already given her husband for the country. She owed the nation no more favors and no more sacrifices. The night was cold, and she hugged her daughter closer to her chest.

When she reached the iron gate she saw something that had never been there before. A padlock hung between the two doors of the small iron gate. The gate was old, but the lock was new. It was a short gate, and she considered climbing over, but with the baby in her arms it was impossible. Razea looked around the garden. The old man kept a ladder around, but it was probably locked up in the shed. There was nothing around she could use to get past the gate. Things were out of place. The garden was never locked. Fear crawled through Razea's body, rising up her throat, taking root in her chest until she couldn't breathe. To add to it all, her daughter was beginning to wake up, the chill of the night having seeped through her thick blankets.

"What are you looking for, daughter?" Taro asked.