Page 66 of Tiger's Trek
“Here,” he said. “Eat up. You’ve got visitors.”
“What?” Veru said, rubbing her eyes and adjusting her blanket as she took the bowl of leftover porridge. “Who?”
“Your admirers are here, and they’re bearing gifts. I took the liberty of bringing in this bundle now. I thought you could use it. Your other dress is washed and hanging on the line outside. I’ll leave you here to change in peace.”
Danik headed toward the secret cupboard door that led to the summer porch but turned before shutting it behind him. “There’s a fresh bucket of hot water by your chair with some soap and a clean cloth. See you outside.”
Veru nodded her thanks from the depths of her blanket but doubted he could see the slight movement. The door closed behind him with a snick, and she hurried to inspect the bundle of fabric he’d left her. It was a new skirt and blouse, leggings, a knitted sweater, and the finest pair of stockings and boots she’d ever seen. When she lifted the skirt, the most delicate undergarments fell onto the chair as well. They looked to be made of butterfly wings and were embroidered with pink flowers.
Usually, Veru rejected such feminine wares, preferring the standard undergarments worn by soldiers. They were durable and warm. These would hardly serve a purpose, as scanty as they were, and yet knowing they were a gift from the grateful townspeople, she took the time to run her fingertips across the embroidery and admired the craft and the effort it took to create something so lovely.
Dropping the heavy blanket, she washed quickly and donned the slips of fabric and found she quite liked the way they molded to her body. The stockings were warm but smooth and silky and attached to the undergarments with tiny buttons. It was quite cleverly done. The skirt and blouse were heavy but well-made and fit her perfectly, and the sweater was as soft as a newborn lamb. The ribbons that tied it around her shoulders could be easily untied so when she was overwarm she could hang it nearby.
Since she couldn’t brush her wild hair, she let it hang loose, then ate a few bites of breakfast, leaving the rest to Maxsim, and headed outside, excited to see what the new day would bring. Veru opened the door to find Danik with his arms full of wood. It was stacked so high that it covered his face.
“Do you need some help?” Veru asked cheerfully.
“No. There’s quite a line waiting to see you. Go meet with them, and I’ll get to work on the house like I promised. It feels good to remember what I wanted to do today—seems I’m able to remember the things that are happening here, just nothing from the past. Maybe it’s the magic of the house that’s helping.”
“Oh. Yes. Maybe.” Veru stood there fidgeting for a moment with her hands. “Okay. But don’t you think I should be in there helping you? Yuga did ask me to clean, you know.”
“And you have. This is different. I’m not cleaning, really. I’m... restoring. That’s different. You need to be doing the work with the people. You’re good at it. I’ll just be in the way. Now this load of wood is heavy. I’m heading in. Do skoroy vstrechi.”
“Yes. Well... have a good day, then. With the house, I mean. Do skoroy vstrechi.”
“You as well.”
“Let me hold the door for you.”
“Spasibo.”
When he disappeared inside, Veru shut the door behind him and felt disappointed that he didn’t want to spend the day with her. She tried to justify his desertion by telling herself that he was simply keeping his promise and not angry with her. Then she shook her head, wondering why she was acting like such a fool. She was a tsarevna, a spy, a soldier, and, until recently, a tiger.
Verusha Irena Vasilia Stepanov didn’t moon after men. Or weep when they didn’t shower her with flowers, chocolates, and affection. If Danik Andronovich desired a relationship of any kind with her, then he should be so lucky. And if he didn’t... then so be it. She would seek friendship and perhaps other things... elsewhere.
Just then she heard a neigh, and the white-clad knight, Zarya, appeared. She gave a shout and raised a hand in greeting. He returned it and galloped up to the porch, then removed his helmet.
“Privet, my lady.”
“Dobroye utro, Zarya. How do you fare today?” Veru asked, ducking just in time as his horse lifted his head to blast a golden-white pillar of flame in the air.
“I am well this morning. I wish to give my thanks.”
“Thanks? For what?”
“For helping my people. You gave them guidance when I could not.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was not nothing. You showed you cared about them. You listened to them. You thought about their problems and made them your own. You prioritized them, worrying about them more than yourself. It’s what a leader does. I wish to give you a token as a sign of my appreciation and gratitude.”
“Really, it’s not necessary.”
“But it is.” The knight lifted his leg from his horse and slid down, then reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a wooden-handled tool. After he set it into her hands, she touched a fingertip to the sharp barbs on the comb end. At first glance she thought he’d given her a brush, which she could’ve sorely used, but she quickly realized this wasn’t a hairbrush.
“What is it?” she asked. “It looks like something the weavers use, but I’ve never seen one quite like this before.”
“You’re right—it is used for weaving. It’s called a spinning hatchel.”
