Page 44 of Tiger's Trek
But that did not mean using charm was off the table completely. They simply employed beautiful people to do the job for them. And, like it or not, Veru was one of them. Oh, they never made Veru go too far. She simply had to dance, flirt, and make promises she didn’t intend to keep. They never wanted Veru to compromise herself in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. They did, however, want her to understand the benefits and hardships that came with beauty.
As for Stacia, she considered herself fortunate she was blessed with something other than traditional beauty. Stacia was statuesque, imposing. Most men weren’t nearly as tall as she was, and that made them uncomfortable. Sure, Stacia could hunch to make them feel more manly, but she didn’t want to. She liked her height. If they couldn’t measure up to her, then too bad for them.
It had been a long time since Stacia had felt attracted to a man, or could even look up to one. Not since her father, anyway. Even when a man did happen to best her in a physical capacity, she often found his mind was pale by comparison. Truth be told, she hadn’t found anyone interesting at all, not until a certain surly, bare-chested someone made an appearance and decided to help them. If they couldn’t rescue Iriko... Stacia didn’t like to think about what was going to happen to him if they couldn’t. They just needed to... that’s all.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Zakhar’s return. Once he was seated next to her, sipping a hot mug of tea, the sisters brought out a loaf of brown bread, freshly churned goat butter, and lamb stew. Stacia’s mouth watered, and she dug into the food immediately, grunting her appreciation, if not voicing it outright, but Zakhar took the time to fawn over every bite. He made appreciative little noises as he ate, praising the cooks and calling the butter “ambrosia made with angels’ hands” and the bread “manna.” When he got to the stew, he told the aunties they were guaranteed a seat in heaven.
Stacia thought he was laying it on a bit thick, but when she glanced over at her traveling companion, he did seem to be genuinely relishing his meal. One would think the man had never eaten before. He closed his eyes with every bite and chewed slowly. If she didn’t know better, she’d say Zakhar was in love. Stacia had only met her mother’s father once, but he was a man like that.
Tomas Dalle had no great loves in his life, other than dogs, hunting, and horses. He wasn’t overly fond of his granddaughters either. Stacia remembered that too. Her mother had been very vocal about how Veru and Stacia should act around her father. He was a man who believed women were less valuable than men. There were a lot of men like that in the world. But their mother still took care of him and even loved him in her own way. She played a role with her father, one that made him happy, and Mila Dalle didn’t seem to feel that it diminished her in any way to do so.
Stacia had watched her mother serve her father food. She’d ladled extra gravy on his beef, just in a certain way, half on and half off his slices, and even cut his meat for him, just the way he liked. He’d pat her on the head and smile at her like she was one of his horses or his dogs, and then turn and talk to his men or some visitor who was much duller than her brilliant mother, while her mother would simply smile and nod and occasionally dab her father’s lips with a napkin as he slobbered gravy on his expensive tunic.
“Why do you do it?” Stacia had asked her mother when they’d left. “Why serve the man when he treats you that way?”
“Because he expects it.”
“But you are better than that. He keeps you under his boot. You’re worth ten times what those men are. You’re an empress! What are they? Tiny barons or local law keepers. They’re nothing.”
“Our title doesn’t make us important. Nor does serving others make us unimportant.”
“But he listens to them because they are men.”
“That’s his choice.”
“But he ignores you because you’re a woman!”
“That’s his loss.”
“Doesn’t it make you mad?”
Mila turned to Stacia and took her chin, holding it gently in her hand. “Listen to me, dear one. You are strong. You always have been. You’re much like me. But you are also like your father. You want to mend what’s wrong in the world. There are many things you will be able to fix because you have been given the power to do so. But”—her mother smiled—“you will find that you cannot force someone to alter their thinking. All you can do in those cases is to try to show them a better way by example. Anger, my love, never fixes anything.”
Weaving her arm through her daughter’s, Mila continued, “And here’s a bit of advice for you to tuck into your pocket for safekeeping: The way to your grandfather’s heart—and to most men’s hearts, for that matter—is to add a bit of gravy to his plate.”
Stacia smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Thinking about that long-ago day with her mother, Stacia watched Zakhar sop up all the gravy from the stew with the remaining piece of brown bread and stuff it into his mouth and thought,Truer words were never spoken, Mama.
“More?” one of the aunties asked, taking Zakhar’s plate.
He looked as if he was considering saying yes but instead managed to say, “Perhaps later.”
The aunties looked disappointed but nodded and removed the plates, then returned to straighten Zakhar’s blanket and ask if he needed a refill on his tea. Finally, they asked if their guests would like to stay for the remainder of the evening, and Zakhar found his opening to mention their missing friend.
“There is nothing more we’d like to do than accept your generous offer of hospitality,” he said. “Unfortunately, though we managed to escape the trap at the bridge set by the vodnik, we left a friend behind. We must return to save him. Perhaps you know of these creatures and can help us negotiate a trade of some kind? They seem to want coin, but we have none to offer.”
At the mention of the vodnik, the aunties tensed and gave each other long, guilty glances. One asked Zakhar, “What, um, did they want from you?”
Stacia answered, “They wanted Zima. We wouldn’t give her over. How could we leave a little girl in their clutches? They’d gobble her up for certain.”
One auntie said, “Oh, we don’t know about ‘for certain,’ though, do we?”
“It’s more likely they’d just keep her for a spell.”
“Yes. Probably just to listen to her stories. They do like a good yarn, those vodnik.”
“Ladies, I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Zakhar began.
