“See that, Tasia?” Mylla said, genuinely upset. “You’ve torn it. Now it truly is ruined.”
Tasia rolled halfway off the handmaid, propping herself up on one elbow, her other arm draped across Mylla’s torso. “I’ll have it mended. Or buy you a better one.”
“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t have torn it in the first place,” Mylla grumped.
“Oh, Myll,” Tasia said. “Don’t be cross with me.” She glanced over her shoulder, saw that Joslyn was still a few yards away, her back facing them. Tasia leaned forward, kissed the handmaid gently. Mylla’s posture softened beneath her. The girl reached up, curled a hand around Tasia’s bare neck, arched up towards the princess. Tasia allowed herself to get lost in the feeling of Mylla’s lips for a moment, eyes drifting closed.
But the kiss couldn’t last. Tasia was mindful that Joslyn was within hearing distance and was apt to turn around to check on her charges at any moment. Reluctantly, Tasia broke the kiss, lowered Mylla back down to the blanket.
“I want you,” she whispered to the handmaid.
Mylla dabbed at her lips. “You got sand on my face,” she whispered back, but her tone was no longer petulant. “And even if you weren’t such an insufferable brat, you couldn’t have me.” Her gaze shifted past Tasia. “Not with her around.”
“I know,” Tasia said. She flopped onto her back, shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare with a sandy forearm. She heard Mylla brush the dress clean, then rustle through the picnic basket behind her.
A light touch ran down her forearm. “You’re so burnt, Princess. You look like a ripe tomato.”
“I feel like a ripe tomato.”
“My sweet Tazy. Are you still hungry?”
“Starved.”
“Do you want some of the roast?”
Tasia sighed. “I suppose. Though it might be disgusting, served cold. But I suppose it’s better than nothing.”
“Says the girl who’s never had anything but the first cut of each meat, when subjects in her own capital go without,” Mylla chided.
“Don’t. Not today. You sound like Joslyn.” Tasia took her arm off her face and sat up, leaning back on the blanket on sore hands. “You’ll never believe what she said to me.” In a low tone, Tasia briefly recounted the charged conversation she’d had with the guard thirty minutes earlier.
Mylla gasped. “I can’t believe her. Anyone else would face the lash for saying something like that. I mean, I would speak to you that way,” she said, giving Tasia a sly grin. “But only in jest. Never seriously.” She took a forkful of roast, swirled it around in the cold gravy. “Here. Eat,” she said, bringing the meat to Tasia’s burnt lips.
Tasia took the bite gratefully, and despite the fact that it was cold, her stomach rumbled and demanded more.
Mylla clucked at the sound of Tasia’s stomach. “My poor Princess.” She prepared another forkful. “Sunburnt like a common field hand. Dressed in boys’ trousers. Covered head-to-foot with sand. And put in her place by a guard.” She lowered her voice. “That nomad is a problem, Tazy.”
Tasia nodded and accepted another bite of roast.
“You’re too easy on your servants sometimes. And I suppose you have to be, what with the name ‘Dorsa’ attached to you. But I’m no royal. I can speak how I want without damaging the dignity of the Empire’s First Noble House.” Mylla gazed past the Princess thoughtfully. “You there — guard!” she called a moment later.
Joslyn looked over her shoulder, walked towards the two young women.
“What are you doing?” Tasia whispered to Mylla.
“You’ll see.” She winked. “And I know something you don’t about your guard.”
“Yes, Lady Mylla?” Joslyn said.
“How did you come to be in the Imperial Army?” Mylla asked.
Joslyn glanced from Mylla to Tasia. “I joined when the recruiter visited my village. Like most soldiers.”
Mylla made a disappointed noise. “Oh, come now, Joslyn. There must be more to it than that! Give us the details. Tell us exactly how you joined.”
Joslyn hesitated. “That’s a rather long story, my Lady.”
Mylla shrugged. “We have time. The Princess has a lesson with Wise Man Evrart, but that isn’t for another hour or so. And neither you nor I need to be anywhere if the Princess isn’t there. So go ahead. Tell us your story.”
Joslyn turned her head, gazing out at the sea. The wind caught her black hair, and it blew across her face, temporarily obscuring her eyes. She reached up, tucking it behind one ear with a practiced, easy gesture.
And for some reason, that was the moment when Tasia saw it for the first time: Joslyn possessed a kind of wild beauty Tasia had never seen before. She was part imperial soldier, part desert nomad. She was tamed and untamed. She was domestic and foreign, familiar and unfamiliar, safe and dangerous, contained and uncontainable, all at the same time.
“When I was a teenager,” Joslyn began, “I lived in the foothills of the Zaris Mountains. At seventeen, I decided I wished to leave. Not long after that, a recruiter from the Imperial Army came to our village, seeking new conscripts. I joined because… it was the easiest way to get away from Terinto.”
“And the fact that you’re a woman?” Mylla asked. “A slash between your legs instead of branch and berries? The recruiter had no problem with that?”
Joslyn didn’t answer for a moment. “Yes. He did have a problem with that. He told me I could join as a cook, but I said I wanted to be a soldier.”
“And what happened?” said Mylla.
Something about Mylla’s tone was playful. Playful, but not innocent. A cat can be playful when it toys with a mouse it has cornered, but there was nothing innocent about it. That was what Mylla reminded Tasia of now — a cat that had cornered a mouse. The Princess couldn’t guess what her handmaid was up to.
“Is there a reason you need to know this information? Lady Mylla?” Joslyn said.
“I’m just curious,” Mylla said breezily. She turned to Tasia. “Aren’t you curious, Princess?”
Tasia nodded, her eyes on the guard.
Joslyn looked uncomfortable. But she deserved to be uncomfortable, after the way she’d spoken earlier.
“Keep going,” Mylla told Joslyn brightly.
The guard sighed. “When I told the recruiter I would only join as a soldier, he insisted upon testing my fighting skills. When I passed his test, he accepted me.”
“And what kind of test did he give you?” Mylla asked.
“Combat,” Joslyn said simply.
“Elaborate,” Mylla said, then quickly added, “Sorry, that’s probably too big of a word for you. ‘To elaborate’ means to give more details, to flesh out an explanation.”
Joslyn’s stare grew cold. “I know what ‘elaborate’ means, Lady Mylla.”
“Then elaborate for us.”
Tasia looked from her guard to her handmaid. Mylla was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable. She wanted the guard to be punished for the way she had spoken earlier, but that wasn’t Mylla’s task to complete. As a princess, Tasia could berate her staff, but it wasn’t proper for anyone else to do it, not even Mylla.