The Kine of Farnwen

Her given name as announced by her father during her dripping rite was Ena, but nobody had called her that in a very long time, in years long gone as her girlhood. In fact, the appellation felt foreign to her now, distanced as she was from it by life experience and reputation. She’d long ago come to embrace the nickname she’d once despised, along with all it represented to her: tenacity, ferocity, craftiness, and, perhaps most of all, endangerment for anyone she set upon.

She’d not been summoned to the palace that day, had instead ventured in through the kitchens as was her habit, and she’d placed herself amid pot-scrubbers and chambermaids, eavesdropping, carrying out menial labor for the better part of the morning before slipping through the back door of the throne room and, satisfying herself that she’d not been witnessed, bent whispering into the prince’s ear. He listened in silence, then commanded a brief smirk in her direction before shooing off the serving girl and the adviser who’d been hovering. It was not until they were utterly alone that Onrahn spoke.

“There are many who fear the bite of a venomous creature such as yourself, Jaerv,” he said, addressing her in her native language before standing and reaching out to pinch her in one of her sensitive spots. Her nipple ached sharply and also tingled, aroused. She could not help but to repel slightly and yet the gesture made her smile. “Have you some fanciful tale for my amusement, my pet?”

When she did not answer immediately he speculated. “That little dormouse I’d sent you after. Caught?”

The tracker nodded and laughed a little. “My prince,” she said, kneeling, “that hunt is long over. In fact, you might expect fricassee of dormouse for your supper this evening.” As she spoke she regarded the man; he didn’t really look like royalty. Oh, he was blonde enough, golden haired to be precise, but his cheeks were too full and his chin barely there; he also wore a thin hooded shirt with his circlet crown atop it, and had the affectation of a piss-colored, long goatee. It had earned him the less than affectionate title of Prince Wee-wee. Along with his short trunk, thick arms and soft belly he resembled an obese weasel more than a regal lion. But then, she didn’t look royal either, her dark brown hair, depressingly pale skin (despite having grown up in the North of the land) and too-large nose precluded that possibility, causing her to rely on wit and personality above breeding and social standing.

Fricassee of dormouse. He pinched her again, his brow wrinkling as though he were picturing just that meal, and then he tossed a small but heavy pouch at her. She caught it without effort, nodded to indicate her acceptance of the gold payment, and headed toward the front door. But having a sense that something, someone, was coming, changed her mind.

“Mind if I linger, my Prince?” she asked Onrahn. “I have a feeling my current prey is encroaching, and it’d provide great sport for me to study its behavior stealthily.”

The prince pinched her again – on the bottom, this time – and answered. “Just don’t make yourself noticed, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you wish.” Ena bowed very slightly, then slipped back into the servants’ area to change. Once transformed from bounty hunter to kitchen wench, at least outwardly, she prepared to serve caff from the anteroom and made her study, quickly and without detection. She soon thereafter exited the palace with the air of a steward most satisfied with a job well done.

Ena Pang had not been given fresh quarry in an exasperatingly long time and had therefore found herself completely bored the past few days, the diversions of city life failing to keep her entertained. She was never happier than when she was out on the trail after new assignments had been awarded. Her current contract was, thus far, proving far too conventional, predictable. Boring. But if what Onrahn had told her held true, things were on the verge of becoming very much more sporting indeed.

As it was, she would just have to wait. Stuck in the capital she was, then, until she finally got leave to ride with all haste towards Wester, and Sudbury Cradle. Until that day, she would have to let her imagination suffice and to amuse herself with whatever rude entertainments were at hand.

Before exiting the throne room she had stopped for a quick look out the grand window, which was both the largest in all the palace and the only one in the ostentatious room without stained glass blocking its vista. The view never failed to satisfy, for the grand window overlooked Doa City’s largest public square and three of the streets feeding into it. The streets themselves, this close to the Empire’s heart, were home to elaborate museums of history, art, and science. There were also several of the most exclusive and expensive restaurants in the world tucked in between their tall, stone edifices. Within the open square, there were trees planted in large boxes, a good dozen varieties of decorative flowers, and twenty-three larger-than-life statues depicting the gods and some of the more prominent Teryn in marble and bronze alike.

It was a breathtaking sight. Or, rather, it would have been had it not been spoiled by the clot of commoners, daring to stroll, look at the art and natural beauty and architecture, sit and rest their undoubtedly smelly arses on the many elm-and-steel benches placed strategically, and, worst of all, gather in a knot with placards. Those ungrateful louts were protesting! Ena didn’t bother trying to read their handmade signs but a few shouted up to her from the ground far below without effort: RAISE LIVELIHOOD NOT TAXES; PALACE GATES MUST GO!; PRINCE OF THE PEOPLE (the last word was crossed out, with “RICH!” replacing it).

Simply nauseating. But as Onrahn never seemed to mind, she paid no attention to the throng of enraged poor, nor to the middle class tourists and businessmen on breaks. There was no point in demeaning herself by bothering with the people in the square. They were, after all, so far down beneath them residing in the seat of power for the entire world.

Soon enough, the main gate clanked closed behind her with a reassuring echo, the four guards on duty falling in front of and behind it with nary a second’s lag. So much for being above the little people – but it was just a temporary inconvenience.

As she sauntered through the high street, disregarding the scents of sewer, old sweat and vegetable rot assaulting her nose, she considered the prize now filling out her pocket. She could upgrade her hotel room, and be in rich meals and copious amounts of cactihol for weeks. And she’d be able to buy a boy or two to keep her appetite whetted. The thought pushed her lips into a narrow smile, and as she closed her eyes to let her mind wander, it widened out and seeped into her forehead. How very delicious, to be within the imperial family’s good graces. How very convenient, rewarding; how fun! She smacked her lips in anticipation of the stone drunk night before her, even as she, hardly bothering to notice, kicked a child beggar’s tin cup out of his hand and sent it clanking down the cobbles. But perhaps she’d visit the middle dungeons first that evening. In truth, she was amused at the prospect of sharpening her claws before her next pursuit. It would not do to let them grow dull.