Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 277
smell breakfast as she cooked it, and feel hungry. Some days
she could listen to Uncle’s plans, and tease into life a small
spark of enthusiasm that he seemed to know she had. She
could look forward to being an ingenue at Rhiene or one of the
other great cities of Iapysia. So there were days when she
practised her curtsies, her embroidery, and recited the epic
poems Uncle had coached her in.
And then there were days... Her hands trembled again as
she reached down to massage her leg. She couldn’t remember
why she had been running--all she remembered was the
overwhelming bleakness of the landscape. Bare trees, yellow
grass. Cold air. Her own thoughts and feelings were
inaccessible to her. One thing was sure, she was certainly not
looking where she was going that morning. No wonder she’d
sprained her leg.
Sometimes the tiniest little annoyance would set her off
in a fit of temper that made her Uncle’s eyes widen in disbelief.
Once it was because she had dropped a stitch! He did nothing
to calm her down, but let her play it out. Afterward, she was
always listless and ashamed.
I will not explode, she told herself. Even if Uncle is
trying to get us killed.
They were talking up there--chatting like old friends. Of
course, he did that with strangers all the time, but it was
normally when they stopped at roadside markets or near towns.
Uncle was an insatiable vessel for news, and these last two
days he had been stopping everyone for information about the
horrible incident at the Boros estate. It just wasn’t like him to
pick people up off the road to talk.
Tamsin gritted her teeth and glared at the canvas flap. It
was true an extra set of hands would be good right now.
Rationally, she understood it. It didn’t stop her seething.