jhefarm2

Jhetarya was shaking, filthy, and exhausted when Lord Consort Gherol dropped in. He’d come mercifully late, three days late, in fact, but there was still a field lying fallow, and the early vegetables were being devoured by insects instead of holderfolk.
The Lord Consort looked rather dignified astride his llama mount, a feat in itself, and he frowned down at her as she bowed her head. It wasn’t so much an obeisance as it was an excuse to hide her expression, but when she raised her eyes again, he seemed better pleased.
“Cotholder Jhetarya, I presume,” he said with a heavy Bitran accent on his sharp voice. He raised his elegant eyebrows pointedly. “But where is Cotholder Aljheran? Did you have a falling-out, Cotholder Jhetarya?”
She pressed her lips together over the words she would have liked to say. “You could say that Aljheran and the plow had a falling-out, Consort Gherol.”
The eyebrows, if possible, went even higher than before. “Oh?”
“It hit a rock and had a blunt argument with his skull. Healer says it’s a concussion,” said Jhetarya brusquely.
“Oh, my dear Jhetarya,” Gherol sympathized, oozing artificial concern from every pore. “You must know that your progress is slower than would be expected, but now that I know you’ve been shorthanded, I think I can work something out. When Cotholder Aljheran is well enough to be moved, you’re to come down to the Hold. Lady Holder Aschiane will be waiting.” Nodding and smiling, he urged his placid brown beast down the steep incline of the path to the Hold, waving a cheerful farewell to the stunned cotholder.
The days passed with agonizing slowness, and Jhetarya’s aches went the same way. There were still blisters on her hands from wielding the mattock she’d used instead of the useless plow, but her shoulders no longer screamed every time she moved her arms. Her fingers were stiff, but not sore, and her back was willing to straighten when she finished her work.
Aljheran was learning, haltingly, how to card the wool and mohair, a task he could do in the darkened second room to the two-room cot. Her cousin’s boyish face seamed with deep lines when he watched her inside, eyes scrunched to slits against his headache. Guilt was writ large over his actions and brusque conversation, and he would not speak of how they would get a new plow, where they might replace Madallah, what they would do if they lost the cot.
Numb, Jhetarya did not pursue that avenue of thought. It would all be better, she assured herself, when Aljheran was well. When Jheran was well, and the Lady Holder had been convinced out of the cousins’ mouths that they would be the best caretakers of Folly Cothold.

When they made the trek down the backbreaking trail to Windwhip Hold, Jhetarya and Aljheran brought nothing but themselves. No gifts, no bribes, not even a sample of their skeletonized early crops, only two bone-thin, dull-eyed, defeated cotholders from Telgar, barely able to put one foot in front of the other from exhaustion or dizziness.
It was Aljheran, who’d had sevendays to consider his position, who drove his weary cousin on. He’d urgently propelled her through the protective foyer, while the Hold’s famed, typhoon’s-kin winds scoured the low building with sand and flung pebbles. He escorted her now, gently pushing her to walk the length of the room that doubled as both the Main Hall and the Dining Hall. An ellipsoidal table--skybroom, Aljheran noticed with surprise, eyeing the long whorls of the grain enviously--dominated the dais at the far end of the long hall; at the center of its length the Lady Holder was seated.
Aschiane was just as beautiful as he remembered her; moreso, in the gorgeous wool plush gown that was fitted smoothly from shoulder to waist, falling in a cascade of whispering folds from hips to instep. The striking maroon and chestnut dress set off her golden complexion, and the matched amber jewelry she wore--even to gravel-sized beads strung on thread and wound in her golden-brown hair--made her striking blue-green eyes stand out all the more, the only cool color on her person. She was smiling, which made him nervous; Aschiane smiled only if it would be to her advantage.
He nudged Jhetarya with his elbow, and together they bowed. There was approval in Aschiane’s eyes when Aljheran met them again, and her smile flashed white teeth.
“Cotholder Aljheran, Cotholder Jhetarya,” she said smoothly, inclining her head. Her tapered fingers drumming on the arms of her chair.
“Lady Aschiane,” Aljheran acknowledged.
“It is good to see you well, Cotholder,” Aschiane purred as Jhetarya stared blankly at her. “I’ve heard rumors that you were injured?” She tilted her head inquiringly at him.
Aljheran gave his most charming smile. “Oh, one of the plowshafts and I didn’t get on well, m’lady. I wouldn’t let it keep me down, but at the time, I couldn’t figure out which way /was/ down.”
She smirked. “I see. How inconvenient for your…sister?”
“Cousin, lady,” Aljheran corrected.
Aschiane fluttered a hand in a soundless lamentation for her bad memory. “Yes, cousin. You’ve done a remarkable amount of work, Cotholder Jhetarya, in the face of such long odds.”
Jhetarya blinked and began to open her mouth; Aljheran ‘accidentally’ jostled her. “Isn’t she a marvel?” he enthused, teeth flashing. “I don’t think there’s been a daylight moment when she hasn’t been wearing herself to the bone. But come now, Aschiane, surely you didn’t have your most esteemed Gherol tender an invitation just because you wanted to commend us. What of Folly Cothold?”
Blue-green eyes narrowed, and slim, tapered fingers steepled as Aschiane straightened in her seat. “Oh, yes, Folly Cothold. I have reached a decision about Folly Cothold.”
“Do fill us in, Aschiane,” the handsome cotholder invited gently.
The eyes flashed. “Lady Aschiane, Cotholder,” she not-quite-snapped. “The fate of Folly Cothold is not good if it continues to yield so little. Even though there have been extenuating circumstances, I believe that Folly is a bit much for a mere two people to farm. In this light, Folly Cothold appears to need a large family to properly tend it. Since you are only two, I fear I must deprive you of your cothold.”
Aljheran held his smile on, although his face stiffened, but Jhetarya drooped as if the lines that held her up had suddenly been cut, and her lips whitened in an effort to deny her despair.
Aschiane smiled again. “Oh, don’t look so glum, my cotholders. I have jobs for you, should you wish to take them.”
Both of them glowered up at her, and she shook her head at them, eyebrows arched delicately. “Now, Aljheran, I need an escort for the Two River Hold Gather, because Gherol is going to stay right /here/ and manage things for me. The escort needs to be strong, charming, and quick-witted so that Windwhip Hold will not be embarrassed. He also needs to be fairly imposing, because I don’t trust some of these Hold-Brats to remember that I’m married. You fit the bill, I think.”
The Telgaran frowned. “What of Jhetarya?”
“Jhetarya will be my chaperone, because I doubt very much my dear Gherol would be happy about my trip otherwise. She’s no competition for me, and Jhetarya is an impressive example of heroism and hard work from /my/ Hold.”
“And when we’re done, Lady?” his cousin grated, speaking for the first time. “What are we to do?”
Aschiane shrugged expansively. “That’s entirely up to you, Jhetarya. There should be plenty of job-offers at the Gather, and as long as you serve the length of the Gather with me, you’re welcome to take them. I doubt that the new cotholder for Folly would like you to stay at Windwhip.”
Aljheran bit his lip and looked his cousin in the eye. Charming aqua met snapping azure in a long, measuring glance, and Jhetarya nodded, shortly. She liked their prospects no more than he did, but the last words out of Aschiane’s mouth had made any hopes of staying in the area die unborn.
The cousins straightened as one, and Jhetarya nodded curtly as Aljheran bowed. “We accept your offer, lady. May I present your humble servants: the oh-so-capable Jhetarya, unsung hero of Folly Cothold, and this charming wretch you look on now--Aljheran!”