A Perverted Path to Victory

Evie Brown

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A swaddled bundle of pale green squirmed in Evie’s lap, gurgling in protest as it did its best to make its discomfort known. Evie smiled down at Tahn as she picked and plucked at the cloth, pulling it away from anywhere it might be pinching. After a few more half-hearted protests, tiny eyes drooped closed, feline ears twitching beneath enchanted earmuffs.

They were in the forge, of course. Unlike Sara, Hurlish had little to no compunctions about using Imperial luxuries to their fullest, and mostly chose to benefit from their offer of exhausting manual labor. Each day, long before the rest of the army awoke, a team of Imperial workers would begin to pick apart and disassemble Hurlish’s temporary forge, finishing just in time to hurry ahead and travel at the head of the multi-mile column. By the time the army stopped for the night and Hurlish had caught up to the new camp, they had finished reassembling and preparing her equipment. It was an arduous task each day, one which wouldn’t have been possible without a great deal of expensive enchanted tools, but no one amongst the Imperials had dared to argue the provided service was not worthwhile.

As Evie watched, Hurlish reached into a glowing bed of coals with her bare hand, pulling out a piece of cherry iron about a foot long. It was a thick, flat bar, one made not of wrought iron, but something Sara called ‘mild steel’. Despite its name, the material was far tougher than the common iron most smiths used, and in fact was even more robust than the hammered steel most smiths used for armor and weapons.

Hurlish placed the sparking metal atop her left hand’s middle finger, then wrapped one giant fist around the bar. Without so much as a grunt of effort, she squeezed, the muscles in her bicep and forearms bulging.

When she released her grip, the steel bar had been wrapped around her finger.

For the thousandth time, Evie was profoundly grateful for the earmuffs Garen had crafted for Tahn. The oohing, awing, and squeals of delight from a dozen children was a very shrill, chaotic noise.

Hurlish’s wide grin was more than worth the discomfort. She quickly flipped the iron bar around, placing the other half on her finger, and squeezed again. When she released, the whole steel bar had been bent into a tight, shockingly symmetrical tube.

Children rushed up as Hurlish set the piece down, adding it to the neat procession of what was soon to become the barrels of Imperial pistols. Hurlish gently herded them away from the steaming forge with one calloused hand, the smile audible in her voice as she spoke.

“Now, like I was telling y’all, you probably won’t be able to do it like this. Lot more hammering and all that involved, and it takes a whole long time. But since Nout wanted to see how I really did it, here you are.”

The children’s babbling turned into an incomprehensible clamor as they jockeyed for position around the table, pushing and shoving for a better view. Hurlish continued to explain her working process as she reached down to grab and move aside the roughest children, keeping them from trampling their juniors. Every time she did so, she’d interrupt her lecture just long enough to chide the children by name, then resume her speech as if she’d said nothing at all.

Evie was impressed. For a short while, she’d tried to keep track of the various children Hurlish tended to gather like lost ducklings, concerned that some might be a security risk, but she’d been forced to give up in short order. The army’s follower camp was awash with unsupervised children born of prostitutes and soldier’s widows, parents who were often too poor to afford the time to care for their children, much less educate or train them. Many were outright orphans, both parents dead to war or circumstance, yet they continued following the army because it was all they had ever known. Hurlish hated what they had been forced into, but she very much enjoyed the opportunity to help keep them out of trouble. Particularly when she was able to teach them valuable skills at the same time.

One girl raised her hand just like Hurlish had taught her to, waiting until she was pointed at to ask her question.

“Why doesn’t your iron end up all squished when you squeeze it?” Her tiny hands made an illustrative grabbing motion. “You say it’s as easy as squeezin’ clay for you, but I tried it m’self, and when I was squeezin’ clay it ended up all mushy and lumpy.”

Hurlish laughed fondly. “It ends up looking that good because I’m careful about how I do it, and me being careful earned me a Skill for it. Remember that when you start getting near your Class. You don’t get Skills that let you do new things you couldn’t before. They make you better at doing whatever you were already doing. You always gotta put in the work first.”

Evie suppressed a smile at the sight of a gaggle of young children nodding solemnly. They were old enough to know how serious their first Class would be, but not quite old enough to grasp how unusual it was for a near-stranger to be talking about it. She hoped they didn’t grow too blithe about discussing such intimate details. It could cause serious problems for them later in life. Sara’s own attempts to loosen the stigma of discussing Class and Level had run into its own roadblocks, with word from Tulian recently reaching them that employers had begun to demand an applicant’s Class information before hiring, rejecting them on the spot if they refused to prove they possessed particular Skills. As was far too common, her wife’s good intentions had been spoiled by the greed of others.

Evie’s jaw clenched as her thoughts turned to Sara. Sara was in the midst of a battle at that very moment, one which Evie could not aid or protect her through. It was why Hurlish had given her Tahn to hold; as a distraction from her gnashing, teeth-grinding anxiety. She couldn’t allow herself to show that directionless, bubbling anger. She refused to allow Tahn to be exposed to it.

So, with a herculean effort, she refocused on Hurlish and her gaggle of children. The oldest of them had become informal apprentices, allowed to handle heated pieces with tongs or brush the scale off cooling iron. Those were the only ones that Evie could recognize by name. Jan, Vang, Samna, and Ivohn. They were around the ages of twelve or so, as best they knew, and they were each fully orphaned. Until Hurlish had swept them under her wings, they’d made ends meet by washing the army’s laundry and running messages for low-ranking officers. Now, thanks to Hurlish, they had a different life.

A cannoneer of the Powdered Lead, as the artillery had been left behind while the riflemen scouted ahead, jogged up to Hurlish, saying something that Evie couldn’t quite catch. Hurlish grinned, setting her latest piece aside.

“Alright!” Hurlish’s voice boomed. “Takin’ a half hour break. Who’s ready for it?”

The children excitedly yelled “me!” as Hurlish began toweling off her hands, waving them over. Evie turned her gaze towards the direction the cannoneer had left, the slightest of smiles creeping onto her face.

Several mercenaries were approaching Hurlish’s forge with their arms full, platters of food teetering on the edge of collapse.

Hurlish’s ability to wrangle the children was put to its ultimate test. She barked and snapped and chided as they swarmed the soldiers, leaping up at the food like starving pups. Hurlish caught up to them a moment later, hauling them back one by one, reprimanding each by name.

The evening meal progressed almost as chaotically. Hurlish allowed each of the children to take a wooden plate of food, but refused to allow them to eat right away, something which was partially enforced by the older children. Hurlish herself went around with a soapy bowl of water, making each child wash off their grubby hands before they were allowed to tear into their meal. It took far longer than the kids would have preferred, but then again, a single moment was longer than any of them wanted to wait.

Hurlish spent the time explaining the nature of germs and how they could make you sick, using shockingly vulgar terminology to describe the kinds of illnesses one caught from food. The kids shouted “ew!” and “gross!” in protest, some going so far as to claim she was lying, but washed their hands all the same. They wanted food.

It didn’t matter that the meal was nothing fancy. It was essentially a pile of rice-like grains wrapped in thin bread, with a few rare (and expensive) pieces of meat scattered throughout. In Evie’s old life, it was so plain a food that it would have been a dueling insult for a host to set on her plate. These children considered the meat alone, which in the Empire only came from hunted game, an unimaginable delicacy.

Tahn began to squirm as Hurlish’s unending lectures switched to the importance of a balanced diet. Hurlish herself hadn’t known a thing about that before Sara, naturally, but she’d taken to the revelation with a fervor. She always did, at least when it came to information related to her child or her work. Hurlish couldn’t care less about the mysteries of the cosmos or the intricacies of chemical compounds, but the stages of infant development? She had memorized it in one afternoon.

Evie watched from a distance while the children ate their dinner, a small smile playing at her lips. Hurlish was delightful. The children loved her, and not just for the free food she provided. Some of them may even pursue the smithing talents she was introducing to them. Certainly some of the older ones, Evie suspected. The twelve and thirteen year olds took to their work with a sternness and concentration that only said good things about their prospects for a smithing Class.

A commotion at the edge of the temporary forge drew Evie’s attention away. Many of the youngest children made a habit of taking their meal to the perimeter, guarding it jealously as they ate, and it was there that the commotion had begun.

One child was standing on their tiptoes, dragged up by a scowling man’s pinching grip on his ear. The man looked furious, the young boy petrified. A half-finished plate was upside down between the boy’s feet, his barely-touched meal dumped into the mud. Evie’s ears swiveled toward them, bringing their conversation into focus.

“...were you thinking?!” The man growled. “You have the faintest idea of what you’ve done, boy? Kai about gnawed my face off when I couldn’t get the damn stitching done! Whose fault is that, eh? Eh?” The man shook the child, making the boy cry out. “You! It’s your fault! Damn useless brat!”

Evie pursed her lips. Not every child which sauntered into Hurlish’s forge was free of other responsibilities, it would seem. The others were watching the display with food half-raised to their lips, frozen in reflexive fear. Evie noticed that those who had grown up with a marching army had a respect for authority well beyond their more pampered peers. In some ways, Evie supposed, that might work to their advantage. At least within the framework of the Empire, where such obedience was so highly praised. She reached down to brush a bit of hair out of Tahn’s eyes, smiling. It certainly wouldn’t do for her little boy, however. He would be living a different life.

“You’re going to be sewing shirts ‘till your fingers bleed, by the gods! What do you say, boy? Well? Do you know that much?”

“I-I’m sorry!” He cried out. “I’m sorry, pa!”

“Sorry don’t mean a damn thing!”

Evie looked over the rest of the gathering, inspecting reactions. If this unsightly shouting match lasted too long, it would interrupt Hurlish’s later lessons. If that became the case, she would order some cannoneers to escort the two distractions away. Already the meal was slowing, many refusing to eat, whispering to one another as they stared uncomfortably at the display. Evie hoped that those who had other responsibilities would understand the risks involved with—

Hurlish was watching the man with a deep, angry scowl on her face.

Evie was on her feet in a flash, fingers of her freehand curled to await the summoning of her rapier. She took several quick steps towards Tahn’s crib, preparing to deposit him safely into the waiting pillows.

“No,” Hurlish rumbled. Evie stopped in mid-stride, turning to her wife. Hurlish was not looking at her. “You’re supposed to be relaxing,” she said. “Go sit down with Tahn.”

“But-”

“Now.”

Reluctantly, Evie’s fingers fell limp. Robotic steps carried her back to her seat where she sat stiffly down, Tahn clutched close to her chest.

Hurlish stepped out from amongst the crowded children. The man who had been yelling at his child did not notice the towering orc smith returning to her forge, but others did. Mercenary and child alike began to scramble away as Hurlish picked up her hammer, a tool with a head the size of Evie’s upper body, and stood before the coals.

Flame flashed and sparks sizzled as Hurlish reached into the fires, pulling out a slab of steel which had been soaking face-down on the coals for hours. Its heat visibly warped the air as she stepped up to her work station, dropping the three-foot by three-foot slab onto the Empire’s finest gift for the vaunted Master Gunsmith: a blacksteel-faced anvil.

Because Sara’s armor was the only blacksteel in the world to have ever been successfully smithed so wide, the anvil was wrapped in strips of the material, each band a priceless wealth. It was not Hurlish’s forever, of course; it was hers to use only so long as she worked with the Imperial Army. That did not make it any less useful a tool.

The man was still yelling at his son, so furious that he had not realized that both the other children and the Powdered Lead had fled the area, retreating at least fifty feet away, some considerably further. Evie, Tahn, and Hurlish were all that remained. Keeping her back straight and her face impassive, Evie slipped thick wax plugs into her ears.

Hurlish raised her hammer.

Evie braced.

CLANG!

Birds flew from the trees for a half mile in every direction, a squawking storm of feathers dotting the evening skies. The dust and mud beneath Evie’s feet leapt up into the air in thick clods, flung high enough to land in her lap, nearly high enough to dirty Tahn. The impact of Hurlish’s hammer was loud enough to be agonizing, more than a match for the comparatively dull thuds of artillery and rifle fire.

The man was thrown off his feet by the impact, clapping his hands over his ears in agony. His son, more used to the shock of Hurlish’s hammer, barely stayed standing, but even he cried out in pain at the sheer volume of the impact.

The blacksteel-faced anvil, though its base was wide and set upon thick stone slabs for just such an eventuality, sunk several inches into the mud with the first blow. Hurlish reached down and grabbed the edge of the still-glowing steel, itself weighing several hundred pounds, and twisted it a few inches to the side.

She raised her hammer again.

The man turned around just in time to see the swing.

CLANG!

Hurlish disappeared behind a cloud of dust. Through the echoing reverberations, Evie heard something that reminded her of the staccato pops of massed gunfire. As the air cleared, she saw the culprit: the stones beneath the anvil had been snapped in half, valleys of cracks spidering through their form.

“What in the gods’ name are you doing?” The man demanded, his hearing damaged such that he was unknowingly shouting. “Is this what my boy has been coming to see?”

Hurlish paid him no mind. She moved the steel again, tapping the three-inch slab with a fingernail. It made a surprisingly pleasant ringing noise, like the chime of a bell, yet the sound made Hurlish frown. She raised her hammer again.

The man recoiled, clutching his palms over his ears and turning away.

Hurlish stopped the moment she saw his back. He stayed that way for a while, half-crouched in fear of the impact, until he slowly turned, confusion on his face.

Hurlish met his gaze. She was trying not to show much emotion. She wasn’t doing a good job of it. A flat face meant very little when one had that kind of fire behind their eyes.

Hurlish dropped her hammer. Evie felt the reverberations of its landing through the soles of her feet. Hurlish picked up the steel with both hands, scraping her thumbnail against its hammered face as she walked towards the man.

He grabbed his son by the shoulder, taking several steps back, staring up at her. She looked down on him as she felt out the metal, poking and prodding at its face.

She stopped right in front of the man, her back straight. He and his son stood in her shadow. Then, in perfect silence, Hurlish knelt without warning, startling both figures.

“Hey, Keo. See what’s wrong with this?”

The child— Keo, presumably— only stared. Hurlish continued, undeterred.

“Didn’t do what I wanted,” she said gruffly, holding the piece out for the child to inspect. His face was distorted by shimmering heat as he leaned closer. “Was hoping to get it to alloy better. But see here?” Her thumb scraped a line on the edge of the armor, scale flaking away to reveal a thin dividing line. “Didn’t quite weld right. My wife said that just hitting the piece wouldn’t work, that I needed to use the right tools for it. I thought she was wrong, so I gave it a shot.” Her thumb dug into the steel. With an awful shriek of tearing metal, it began to split apart, bonds failing. “Turns out, I was wrong. Now that I know it’s no good, I’m not gonna try to make it work. I’m just gonna start over with a new piece, hopin’ to make something better with it. No point trying to fix something this screwed up.”

The boy nodded heavily. He didn’t quite understand what Hurlish meant, but he was a clever one. He knew that little lecture wasn’t about forging, not really.

“Mind your place!” Keo’s father snapped. “You think you matter that much? Working for some mercenary company don’t give you the right to pretend you’re taking my brat up as your own!” He spat. “Northern barbarian! Y’think you own this place just because you got a Chosen bossin’ you around.” He puffed up his chest. “I’m an Imperial citizen! My wife, gods guide her soul, was an officer, and I still know her old pals! Y’don’t matter a bit to me, and you never will!”

Evie put considerable effort into controlling her breathing as the little peasant shook his fist at Hurlish. She had been asked to stand aside, and so she would. But Evie knew how she would have handled things in her wife’s place. She would have told the man exactly who their other wife was, sparing no detail as she told him exactly how poorly informed he truly was. She would have demanded a list of his dead wife’s so-called friends, would have asked after the woman’s rank, and would have cited Imperial law regarding the status of a fallen officer’s authority not being inherited by their spouse. If the man proved particularly thickheaded, she would have let a hand drift to her pistol, or perhaps she would have summoned her rapier in order to begin pointedly polishing it.

Hurlish, naturally, was her own woman. She leaned down, whispering into the man’s ear.

“I’ll kill you.”

With that, Hurlish took a step back and, after inspecting the colossal steel slab one last time, snapped it in half.

Three inches of steel, three feet by three feet wide, was unmade by her hands. The sound of it was horrific. Metal shrieked like a griffon under torture, molten spears exploding into glowing shrapnel. By some means even Evie couldn’t fathom, not a single piece dared scythe towards Keo or his father. They instead careened toward Hurlish’s body, spattering her with glowing chips that bounced harmlessly off her skin. She dropped the chunks, which sizzled and steamed in the mud.

“Keo.” Hurlish held out her hand. “Let’s get you another plate. You’re too skinny for proper forge work. We need to fatten you up quick, yeah? Some extra meat, I’m thinking.”

The young boy looked up at his father. The man was enraged. His pupils were narrowed to pinprick dots, facial muscles twitching spasmodically. The fingers which were still clenching Keo’s arm were bloodless and pale, latched on for dear life.

Hurlish didn’t look up at him. She smiled at Keo, hand extended, waiting patiently.

The father wasn’t a fool. Face split in a rictus grin, he released his grip on his son.

Keo started to step forward, then hesitated, looking anxiously back at his father. With apocalyptic fury wrestling with his sense of self-preservation, the man nodded him on.

Hurlish had to bend quite far to keep herself low enough for Keo’s tiny hand to rest in hers, but she did it without complaint. The boy’s father stared at her back with unmitigated rage as Hurlish left, gesturing for one of the cannoneers to go grab another plate of food.

Evie could stand by no longer. She swept her way over to Tahn’s crib, nodding to the guard as she deposited him safely inside. After a quick activation tap on the enchanted crystals, she turned, facing Keo’s father.

“Evie,” Hurlish rumbled, barely loud enough to be heard. “No.”

Evie’s fingers curled into her palm, needle claws drawing blood. Her tail was curled tightly against her back, her ears flattened to her skull.

For the first time, Keo’s father seemed to look at someone besides Hurlish. As his eyes landed on Evie, recognition dawned.

She took a grim satisfaction in watching the blood drain from his face. He gawked, mouth open, then stumbled backward, beating a hasty retreat.

“Don’t follow him.”

Evie’s teeth ground. She spent perhaps twenty seconds seriously, honestly debating whether or not she should disobey Hurlish. Keo’s father had threatened her family. He had done so in ignorance, yes, and was incapable of doing even the slightest bit of harm, but that did not change what he had said. Evie’s instincts gnashed and gnawed at her self-restraint, yelling at her that an example must be made of the man.

She held herself back. Barely, but she did.

The rest of the evening went smoother. Accepting it from a cannoneer, Hurlish personally delivered Keo his new plate of food, this one containing noticeably more meat. Evie sighed at the sight. She would need to find a cheaper source of meat soon. The Empire’s lack of livestock, when combined with Hurlish and Sara’s insistence on providing their respective charges with a balanced diet, had been doing considerable damage to their accountbooks. Wild game hunted from the jungle was just too expensive.

While Keo ate, Hurlish inspected the boy’s ear. It was red and inflamed, pricks of blood welling up in places where his father’s tugging had started to tear the skin. Ignoring the boy’s protests, Hurlish wiped it clean with disinfectant— Tulian alchemists had finally figured out how to refine pure medical alcohol— and rubbed a local healing paste on the remaining wounds. Sara had considerable doubts about the efficacy of that paste, considering it was not magically imbued, but the locals swore by it.

Evie, meanwhile, was lost in thought. She alternated between pacing around the perimeter of the forging area as if she were a guard on patrol and, careful not to wake him, checking up on Tahn.

It should not have taken me until I saw Hurlish’s expression to find issue with that man’s behavior.

Evie, though she knew some amongst the Powdered Lead whispered otherwise, was not a woman without empathy. She could understand other’s emotions, even sympathize with them. In many ways, though admittedly minor ones, she cared for individuals outside her family. She was not an automaton. She simply resembled one.

Yet I clearly need to improve myself.

She wasn’t blind to the ambitions of her wives. They wanted her to grow kinder, happier, to learn how to care more freely and speak to strangers without viewing them as a utility to be manipulated. Though few knew it, and fewer still believed it, she was trying to live up to their expectations. She loved how she felt when she was in private with her wives and son, those precious few moments when she could well and truly relax. She knew others felt like that with some regularity. If it was possible to do so without sacrificing her diligence in defending her family, she would love to feel like that more often.

Why did I feel nothing for the boy when he was being abused?

If Sara had been present, it was likely that Keo’s father would have not survived five seconds past his first strike on the boy. Hurlish, being more accustomed to the hardships of what Sara considered a ‘medieval’ lifestyle, was more restrained, but only by a thin margin.

Evie had made mistakes recently. Her lack of empathy was no longer a personal flaw. It was a threat to her family’s safety. She had misjudged Mui’s reaction to Sara’s Blessings, and she had misjudged Sara’s willingness to confront the man on his sudden reclusiveness. Now she had failed to properly involve herself in a building problem, forcing Hurlish to handle it personally. She needed to improve.

After some time, when Keo’s irritation with Hurlish’s fussing finally reached a breaking point, the boy was left on his own. Hurlish kept a close eye on him, not allowing him to return to the group’s fringes, but otherwise left him on his own.

Evie took a deep breath. She didn’t know if the actions she planned were the correct ones, but she knew that they were better than maintaining her passive ignorance.

She carefully stepped through the children, most of whom were sitting on the ground with empty or nearly-empty plates in their laps, until she reached Keo. Stopping over him, she looked down. The boy looked uneasily up at her, plainly intimidated, if not quite enough so to stop chewing his food.

Gently, carefully, as if trying not to startle a feral cat, Evie sat down. She made a point to not sit like a noblewoman, but instead to cross her legs beneath her in the style of the Imperial commoners. Keo, still chewing, stared at her. Evie could feel Hurlish’s eyes drilling holes into her back, but she ignored it.

“Your father,” Evie said quietly. “What is his name?”

“...My pa’s name is Din, m’lady,” Keo cautiously mumbled, keeping his head pointed down in deference.

“Din.” Evie committed it to memory, pinning the name to the man’s face. “No surname?”

“‘M sorry, m’lady. Dunno what that means.”

“A second name, a family name. My own is Brown.”

“Ah. Sorry for my not knowin’, m’lady.”

Evie pursed her lips. “It is no concern. And I am not a noble. You do not need to refer to me as such.”

“Y’aren’t?” Keo, even while trying his utmost to show deference, took another overlarge bite of his wrapped food. “I seen nobles before. They walk like you, look like you, ‘cept they’re not so pale. Pa said to be careful with them. Not to talk to them ‘less I had to.”

“That is good advice.” Evie glanced around. The other children had fled the area, giving them space. “But I am not a noble. I was, once upon a time, but no longer.”

“Y’can do that?” Keo took another bite. “Thought they were always nobles, cause their Pa’s and their Mom’s were nobles.”

“I was born in a different land, very far to the north. It is why my skin is so pale. Things are very different there, and I did not live a normal life.”

“Miss Hurlish talked about that place up north,” Keo said. “She said there’s water that gets so cold you can pinch it between your fingers, and it falls from the sky. It’s all white, like your skin.” Keo eyed her suspiciously. “That true? Was she lying to us?”

“She was not. It is called ice, or snow, and I have seen them both many times.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

One corner of Evie’s mouth curled upward. “Yes, I am sure. Perhaps you will see it for yourself some day.”

“Don’t know if I would wanna. I been in rivers that’re so cold they hurt, and they were the worst. If something gets colder than that, I don’t ever want to see it.”

“Maybe I will arrange for a mage to conjure some ice for you, then. That way you would not have to suffer through an entire winter.”

“Winter?” He took a bite, even as he was still in the midst of chewing his last mouthful. “Whassat?”

“The time of year when it is coldest. In the north, the temperature changes from month to month, growing hotter and colder depending on the season.”

“Sounds weird. Almost as weird as your skin, m’lady.”

Evie watched Keo eat for a time. She tried to come up with an elegant, polite way to phrase what she had begun this conversation to ask, but couldn’t find one. Sara could have done it, even Hurlish could have, but Evie was not there yet.

“...your father,” she said.

Keo visibly shrank. “What about ‘em?”

“Would your life be better without him?”

The boy, to her relief, did not catch the full implication of Evie’s question. He chewed thoughtfully for a time, swallowed, then took another bite before answering.

“If I had my ma instead of him, maybe,” he said. “She was nicer. And he was nicer when she was still alive.” He wiped his nose. “But she’s dead, and he’s not.”

“You seem to be doing well enough for yourself on your own.” Evie motioned to the plate. “You have food, a tutor, and a willingness to learn. Many children have much less.”

He gave Evie a look. Like he thought she was stupid.

“Yeah, I got food today. But that’s ‘cause of Miss Hurlish. And she won’t be ‘round forever. I know a few kids that don’t have no parents at all. They’re bad off, m’lady. Some of ‘em get so hungry that they try and steal stuff from me and Pa. Don’t want to be like that.”

“Hm.” Evie tapped a finger on her knee. “But if you weren’t worried about food? About a tent to sleep in? What would you think of him?”

He looked askew at her, suspicion crawling up his face. “He’s my Pa, m’lady. That means he’s… I dunno. That means he’s my Pa, you know?”

Evie did, if only in an abstract manner. Families within the Empire were incredibly close-knit. Such a heavily populated culture placed a heavy emphasis on maintaining the bond between blood relations, ensuring that the family unit would not break apart and dissolve into the faceless crowds. Keo wasn’t thinking of his family’s relationship in terms like that, but as Sara so often told her, everyone was molded by the circumstances of their upbringing. Such a young child simply couldn’t conceive of a life without his father.

“I know he’s your Pa,” Evie said, trying to mirror the boy’s thick accent, “but that doesn’t mean everything.” She waved at his bandaged ear. “Does he do things like this often? Will he do it again?”

“Only if I screw up,” Keo mumbled. “Which I will. Do it all the time.”

Old memories, dark memories, flickered through Evie’s head. Her natural impulse was to discard her concern for the boy; she’d suffered far, far worse. A tugged ear and loud shouting was nothing next to the welts which had prevented a young Evie from sitting comfortably for days at a time.

Yet Sara wouldn’t think so. Neither would Hurlish. Evie could no longer make her judgement with the knowledge of the life she’d lived. She needed to make her decisions through the lens of the world her wives intended to create, rather than the one which already existed.

“How old are you, Keo?”

“In my tenth year, ma’am.”

Too young. Even if he diligently attended Hurlish’s every lesson, it would be three years or more before he gained his Class. Until then, he could not independently support himself without turning to theft or begging.

“My wife gave you excellent advice a moment ago,” Evie said. “I suggest you heed it. There is always a better life to be lived than that which can be found under the boot of a tyrant.”

Keo stared blankly at her. He swallowed his food.

Right. This is a ten year old child. Evie cleared her throat.

“If your father becomes too cruel, you should do something about it. Even if you only run away, that will be better than living unhappily with him.”

“Um. Right, m’lady.” He looked back down at his food, tearing a chunk of the wrap off. “Don’t much know what else you’d expect me to do, though. He’s a big man, my Pa.”

“Don’t concern yourself over that,” Evie assured him, putting a hand on his knee. She did her best to smile kindly. “It is a trivial problem. Pistols will become increasingly available to the general public over the coming years, particularly amongst this army. If the situation requires it, one should be easy enough to steal, and they are easy to prepare and in total silence. If you need a demonstration, I can-”

“Evie. That’s enough.”

She froze. Somehow, impossibly, Hurlish had snuck up on her. Her head swiveled to find her wife standing directly behind her, a mild frown visible over her folded arms.

“Let’s go. Sara’s battle finished up. She’s fine, but she wants to report casualties.” Hurlish held out her giant, calloused hand. Evie accepted it, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet.

“I see. Was I out of line-”

“Not ‘till the end there. C’mon. I’ll get Tahn’s crib, then we can head back to our tent.”

“It is still my turn to carry Tahn,” Evie reminded her.

Hurlish snorted. “No problem, Kitty. Go get him.”

Kitty? Evie’s tail slowly uncurled, stretching out languidly behind her. She turned to look up at Hurlish, her bulk silhouetted by the setting sun.

“Was I doing well, then?”

“I said go get Tahn,” Hurlish rumbled. Her hand fell to Evie’s middle back, shoving her forward. “We need to get back to the tent.”

Evie’s tail began to swipe from side to side, swinging so low it brushed the ground.

“I see. To discuss the battle with-”

“Go.”

Evie went.

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“There,” Evie announced. “Tahn is sleeping in his crib, the shutter is closed, and the deafening enchantments are engaged- eep!”

Air rushed from her lungs in an uncharacteristically girlish yelp as Hurlish’s arm curled around her stomach, dragging her up into the air. Instinct had her briefly scrambling away in an effort to slip out of the firm grip, but the moment she started to succeed and she felt herself moving away from Hurlish, her better senses emerged. She went limp, allowing herself to be hauled up into Hurlish’s body.

“Mmm,” Hurlish hummed, burying her face in the top of Evie’s hair. She breathed deeply. “You still smell good.”

“I have been marching in the heat all day.”

“Which is why it’s funny that you smell good,” Hurlish said. She adjusted Evie a touch, holding her to her chest like a young girl would an oversized doll.

“...are you going to let me down?” Evie asked after a minute or so had passed.

“No.”

“I see.”

Evie remained hanging in her awkward position, arms dangling over Hurlish’s forearm and feet swinging a foot or so above the tent’s rug. She was still wearing her breastplate, as she always did on the march, but Hurlish didn’t seem to care. She didn’t notice the weight, that much was sure.

“So,” Evie said, drawing the word out. Her tail involuntarily smacked against Hurlish’s stomach. “I believe you called me Kitty earlier?”

“Yup.”

Evie’s tail sped up. It started dropping low, trying to wrap around Hurlish’s upper thigh, though that was much too thick a target for it. Once upon a time, Evie would have fought against the rebellious limb, going so far as to pin it in place with a hand. She’d long since given up that fight. She simply let herself shiver as she felt it slide against Hurlish’s leg, rubbing back and forth.

“You’re gonna make a good mom, you know.”

Evie stiffened. Hurlish was still leaning into her head, her words muffled by Evie’s braids.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m not lying,” Hurlish continued, as if Evie hadn’t spoken. “You probably think I am. But I’m being honest. Put the collar on me and ask if you want.”

Evie’s tail slowed, retreating a few inches. Her ears flicked several times, incidentally batting Hurlish’s cheeks.

“That… won’t be necessary,” she said at last. “I will take you at your word, as always.”

“Hm.” Hurlish turned around, taking Evie with her. She moved to their heavily reinforced cot and sat down, legs pressed together. Evie was forced to sit in her lap. “Just ‘cause you know I believe it doesn’t mean you think it’s the truth,” Hurlish rumbled. “I’ve spent too long around you and Sara to not pick up a few tricks. I know how you two like to twist up your words.”

Evie’s tail didn’t seem to know what to do with itself. Without an easy limb to wrap around, it slithered around Hurlish’s waist, creeping beneath her shirt.

“But since you’ve been such a good Kitty, I’ll give you a reward. Even if you don’t think you deserve it.”

Hurlish’s hand moved to the edge of Evie’s breastplate, thick fingers undoing the leather buckles with surprising grace. The steel armor fell away in short order, dropping into Hurlish’s waiting palm. She tossed it across the room, leaving Evie in nothing other than her shirt and pants.

Evie gasped as the hand which was holding her in place roamed upward, pushing rough clothing into her unbound breasts. She squirmed in place, aiming to work herself free.

“Not that I don’t mind,” she said, trying to turn around in Hurlish’s lap, “but I think we both know how you could reward me.”

Hurlish shook her head. “You’re not getting between my legs tonight. Just lean back and relax.”

A second hand landed on Evie’s stomach, sliding downward. She tried to roll her way out of her wife’s grip, mouth already watering, but that only prompted Hurlish to press down harder, shoving Evie against her chiseled stomach.

Evie’s efforts to escape faltered as a hand reached her upper thighs, forcing her legs to spread apart. Biting her lip, Evie turned her head aside, burying her face in the side of Hurlish’s breast as fingers dipped low, applying a firm, distracting pressure.

Hurlish chuckled. “You trying to pretend you don’t like this?”

“I… I prefer to please you,” Evie said, barely managing to keep a whine out of her voice. “It would be so much more pleasant if I could… just…!”

Her voice rose an octave as Hurlish’s fingers spread, palm grinding against Evie’s clit as she cupped her sex.

“Don’t care.” One of Hurlish’s hands cupped Evie’s left breast, the other rubbing slow circles. “If you wanted to get between my legs, you should’ve been a shittier wife out there.”

“I… I fail to see how that is…” A shaky breath fell from her lips as Hurlish pinched her nipple. “...relevant to anything at all.”

“Because, Kitty,” Hurlish growled, moving her lips so she could whisper straight into Evie’s ear, “it made me want to fuck you.”

Evie’s back arched as Hurlish’s fingers closed over her shirt’s collar, tugging upward. She had no choice but to give in, lifting her arms so that the garment could be sent flying. She tried to take the opportunity to escape, but her hips were still pinned in place. Even though she was faster by far than Hurlish, she didn’t make it far before one meaty palm came slamming back down, burying Evie’s head into the valley of Hurlish’s breasts.

She was breathing hard enough that her own chest was visibly rising and falling. Hurlish’s hand ran upward, along her collarbone, tracing the lines of her tattoo. Evie could hear the smile in her wife’s voice as she spoke.

“You earned this, Kitty. Just sit back and relax.”

“Wha…? I-I can’t,” she whispered hoarsely. “Put the c-collar on me? Please? Make me want it?”

“Why should I bother?” Hurlish’s fingers began to encircle her throat. Evie’s heart was pounding out of her chest. “Not like you could do anything I don’t want you to.”

“But-”

Evie’s response was quite literally choked off by Hurlish, who didn’t let her get a single syllable out. Evie’s hips thrust involuntarily forward as fingers curled across the sides of her neck, inspiring an intoxicating dizziness.

Hurlish matched her motion with ease. Evie’s breathy whine was awfully loud as she ground against her wife’s palm, toes curling in unwanted satisfaction. She turned her head aside, trying to at least nip and tease at Hurlish’s breast, desperately yearning to do something for her, but she couldn’t reach her nipples.

“I told you,” Hurlish said, beginning to pull Evie’s leather breaches down, “I’m not letting you get out of this. Whether you want to or not, you’re gonna end up feeling good. I’m not gonna stop until you can’t even talk.”

“Wh-why?”

“Because,” Hurlish rumbled, one thick finger running down the soaked lips between Evie’s thighs, “you’re gonna be a good mom.”

Evie’s squirming intensified. “N-noo,” she whined. “I t-told you and Sara not to… speak of Tahn… when we’re…”

“I’m not talking about Tahn.” Hurlish’s finger spun in place, rubbing gentle circles that had Evie’s hips trembling. “I’m talking about you, Evie. You’re gonna be a good mom.”

“That’s still… talking about… Tahn…”

“No. No, it’s not.” Hurlish’s thumb brushed over her neck, stroking her skin. Her tattoo. Tracing the lines which spelled out where she belonged. “You spent ten minutes tryna cheer up some kid you didn’t even know. You faked a smile for him, Kitty. You know how many people I’ve seen you fake a smile for?” Hurlish rested her head atop Evie, rubbing her chin into the base of an ear. “None. Not one. Not unless you’re tryna screw ‘em over.”

“I— mmnn!” Hurlish silenced her with pressure against her ear.

“You’re cute, Kitty. Do you even know what it does for me, seeing you act like a mom? You think I don’t find that hot as every hell?”

Evie was panting. She was still resisting, trying to break free, but her efforts were faltering. Her body’s strength was failing.

The finger teasing her curled inward. It spread her open, just the tip of it, but it was more than enough to begin taking her apart. She clenched her jaw until it hurt, trying to hold back her pitiful gasps. If she could just prove to Hurlish that she wanted to… that she wanted to be beneath… that…

Hurlish’s lips brushed against the fur of Evie’s ear. Her breath was too warm to be making Evie shiver like it did.

“You know how long I was waiting to meet a girl that could knock me up? How hard I was looking for a pretty little piece like you that I could raise my kid with? Years, Kitty.” Hurlish’s teeth nipped at Evie’s ear, sending electricity throbbing through her body. “You think I’m not gonna jump on you after that? After I spent ten years looking for someone like you, and now you’re going around and showing it off?”

Her finger began to slide forward. Deeper. It was so thick. Evie felt so small in Hurlish’s lap. She couldn’t move, couldn’t resist, couldn’t break free even to pleasure her like she wanted to.

A long, eager noise groaned out of her throat, the idea of surrender growing more and more appealing to her lust-addled mind. She tried to shove her hips forward, tried to get more of Hurlish inside her.

But her wife wasn’t done with her yet. She pressed a soft, kind kiss to the top of Evie’s head.

“You’re trying so hard. You’re gonna be a good mom, Evie. I know it. I love you.”

Tears welled up at the corner of Evie’s eyes. She tried to tell herself that it was from the need pulsing through her core.

Hurlish split her open.

Evie’s hips shoved upward, an aching, throaty moan forced from her lips.

Calloused fingers closed around her throat. Not to cut off her air, they were positioned just right to leave her even more lightheaded, a delicious buzz coaxing those larger, daunting thoughts away.

“P-please!” She rasped.

“Please what?” Hurlish’s finger buried itself to the knuckle, diving deep past Evie’s clenching walls. “Please… let you go?” She began to withdraw from Evie’s sopping heat. “Please let you down? Is that what you want?”

“Mmm!” Evie’s hands fell down to the forearm between her legs, claws instinctively trying to dig into her wife’s skin, but it was like scratching iron. “Puh-please!”

“You’re gonna have to get specific with it,” Hurlish teased. Her finger plunged back in with a thump that seemed to reverberate through Evie’s entire body. “What do you want? Come on. C’mon, Kitty. Use your words.”

Evie gasped, mouth falling open as she was pumped full over and over again. She still, even after all this time, couldn’t believe how much she felt. How good it was to be… to be treated like this. To have someone else inside her, to grind down against their body.

“N-nooo,” she whined.

“What was that?” Hurlish’s hand squeezed tighter around her throat. She felt like she should be seeing stars, but as she twisted her head from side to side, all she saw was her own body, bared, cradled within Hurlish’s taunting grip.

“Just… Hurlish…!”

“Hurlish what?” A second finger dipped low, rubbing along Evie’s soaked lips. “You want something? Tell me what it is. You can do it.”

Evie knew this wasn’t her place. It was… it felt wrong to be here. To hear Hurlish’s voice so steady, her own so needy. She should be beneath her wife, should be collared and kneeling and hungry for her, but she wasn’t. She was left gasping and wriggling, helpless as Hurlish fucked her again and again.

But she wasn’t full.

She needed it.

“Please… please just give me more…”

Hurlish slowed, shaking her head. “That’s not good enough. I want you to admit it. Don’t tell me what you want to give me. Tell me what you want from me.”

Evie was panting. She could feel her breath fogging the air around her, as thick and heavy in the tent as her own arousal. Until that moment, she hadn’t known she had any dignity left. How was it that someone like her, who had entirely given herself over to others time and time again, had let her body be used for pleasure, for profit, for simple entertainment, could have an uncrossed line left? How was it that she found this simple request, this normal, unremarkable question, so humiliating?

“Please give me…”

“Yeah?”

“Give me… your fingers,” Evie gasped.

“I already am, y’know.”

Evie’s legs twisted and shook around Hurlish’s arm. “M-more,” She stuttered. Her face was flushed, and she desperately wished she could hide it. “M-more fingers. Faster. I want you to… I want you to f-fuck me. Please? P-please fuck me, Hurlish?” She licked her lips, dizzy beyond all reason. “I want you to… I want you to fill me. To stuff me. I want to be sore. I want you to f-fuck me until I… until I scream, until I can’t breathe, until I’m begging for more and I can’t stop begging… Hurlish, please, pleasepleasepleeeeaaase-”

Hurlish silenced her by pressing one final, soft kiss to the top of her head.

“That’s a good Kitty.”

Hurlish’s fist finally closed around her throat. The second finger entered her.

Evie cried out in silent rapture.

Her reward was beautiful. Fast. So much. Hurlish curled her fingers inside Evie on every thrust, stroking her from within in just the right way to have her hips bucking uselessly into the open air. She could take just the barest gasps of air, enough to leave her conscious and aware of every wave of pleasure pumping through her.

She didn’t last twenty seconds.

Evie’s entire body tried to curl in on itself as she came. She cried out with tears of relief in her eyes, her toes and fingers spreading and shaking in tune with her pulsating climax. Hurlish’s grip released itself without warning, freeing her throat long enough to let her cry of satisfaction split the air, so loud and shrill that she would have been embarrassed if she’d been anyone else. The tent wasn’t soundproofed, not yet, she hadn’t set it up yet, and she knew, knew, knew those outside might hear, and gods, some strange part of her clenched down even harder on Hurlish at the thought.

Finally, when she had no more air left in her lungs to give, she fell limp. Her chest heaved as aftershocks rocked her, rippling waves seizing against the slow, languid stroking of Hurlish’s fingers.

“Gooooood Kitty. That’s a good Kitty. Good girl.”

Evie made some vague, meaningless noise of acknowledgement. She was utterly boneless in her wife’s lap, kept in place only by her grip.

“Now come here.”

Evie didn’t know what Hurlish wanted, but instincts had her making a loose attempt to obey. She tried to press herself even closer to Hurlish, only to find her world spinning, her body moved and adjusted like a puppet with tangled strings.

“How’s your throat? Can you talk right now?”

Through bleary eyes, Evie looked around for Hurlish. “Y-yes?”

“Hm. We’ll work on that.”

Evie only figured out how she was positioned when she felt a new grip on her body.

At the base of her tail.

Evie’s mewl was downright pitiful, but she couldn’t help it. She was… she was laying across Hurlish’s legs at an angle, face-down. Her tail was pointing straight up into the air, her head hanging off her wife’s left hip, her ass and dripping thighs exposed to the open air.

Hurlish stroked downward on her tail. She felt her fur give way under the calloused smith’s touch, lightning sparking off every nerve ending. If she’d had the strength left for it, Evie would have ground up into the sensation, but she didn’t have the energy, much less the leverage.

As Hurlish’s hand reached the base of her tail, hovering tauntingly over that final spot, Evie froze.

“Like I said, Kitty,” Hurlish said with a grin, “I’m not gonna stop until you can’t talk.”

Two fingers began to split her open again. Evie practically sobbed at the sensation, every inch of her body trembling.

Then Hurlish squeezed down on her tail.

Evie was lost. Her mouth fell open, and it stayed that way. Her thoughts of earlier, of escaping Hurlish, of pleasing her wife, they were scattered by that combination. Her upper body twisted aside, her arms flinging out to wrap around Hurlish’s stomach, clinging to her like she was the lone rock in an ocean storm.

Hurlish began to thrust. Evie’s noises changed. Loud moans were replaced by animalistic pants, rhythmic, every thump of deep-driving knuckles forcing another breath from her lungs. She kicked and writhed, tail jumping up only to fall limp, failing to curl around Hurlish’s arm, her ears going as wild as her face, eyelashes fluttering madly.

“Cum for me.”

Evie cried out in protest. She could have lasted longer! She could have ridden that wave higher and higher, could have ridden it all the way to shore, but… but she couldn’t! Not when Hurlish was doing this to her. Now she had no choice at all, none at all.

All the same, she tried to hold back. She went stiff, head to toe, holding her breath.

Hurlish crooked her fingers.

“Huuuuurrrliisshh!”

Eive buried her face into her wife’s stomach as she cried out, trying to hide the sobbing cry of relief in the bulk of her body. She felt Hurlish’s entire body vibrate as she laughed with delight, even while she kept stroking Evie’s tail, kept stuffing her full, kept pleasing and pleasing and pleasing her.

Evie panted and moaned. She bucked her hips, eyes wrenched shut. She couldn’t stop her body’s spastic reactions, couldn’t stop her cunt from working madly on her wife’s fingers. She cried out again and again, this climax lasting even longer than the first, aftershocks fading and rising then fading again.

Finally, after a minute or more, with Hurlish still petting her tail, Evie fell silent. She was shaking like a woman with a fever, and she could feel her own wetness dripping down past her knees.

“Well? Can you still talk?”

Evie thought about it. She was good at lying. She wouldn’t even have to fake a croaky voice, not really. She could feel the scratchiness in her throat.

She swallowed several times, putting every effort possible into keeping her voice steady.

“Y-yes.”

Hurlish smiled. “Well. Guess we’ve still got work to do, Kitty.”

Evie sighed in relief.

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