The Reaper's Curse #1 - Complete

Honest Work

Galya finds Alicia in her room, and at first, Alicia is reminded of their conversation the night before, her heart still stinging because of it. But Galya simply smiles and offers her clothes.

"These should fit you a bit better," she says, the kind look in her light green eyes easing Alicia's nerves from the night before slightly. Alicia thanks her, taking the clothes, glancing briefly over the worn materials. "If you're looking for work then you should ask around."

"Sam doesn't need help with anything?" Alicia places the clothes on a chair at the end of her narrow bed, Galya leaning against the door frame and glancing around at the slight room.

"The only thing we're dealing with at the moment is the Ruga flu and those supplies you helped get have aided us immensely." She looks to Alicia. "Besides, the doctor will get even madder if she has to trip over another person."

Alicia smiles and nods. "I'll ask around for some other work then."

Galya nods her head, pushing away from the door and turning to go but she pauses, looking back at Alicia. "I want to apologise for last night," she says, and Alicia opens her mouth to tell her not to worry, but Galya shakes her head. "It's not my place to tell you how to live. Plenty of people in the Commons haven't even seen a Grey Blood in months. We may need more fighters right now, but that's your choice to make."

"Thank you," Alicia replies sincerely and Galya leaves, placing a worn hat on her head as she goes.

Alicia closes the door to her room, thinking of what she said about work. Alicia hardly remembers the days of honest work. The long hours spent with her horses, the frigid days of training them out in her aunt's field. That changed when the war knocked upon the walls. While her brothers were off at war, she was learning the best ways to braid her hair for the races, trying to hide the shadows within her soul as she eyed men twice her age.

Honest work isn't a thing she knows anymore.

Alicia changes into her new clothes in her room, glancing at herself in the wardrobe mirror that reflects her haggardness. She's beginning to look like an exile. Her bronzed skin carries the sickly pallor of someone who has spent far too long in the dark. Alicia twists her brushed hair into a braid, managing to secure the loose strands with some pins from the bottom of her satchel.

The black trousers are thick and warm, much better for warding away the constant chill. She wraps herself in the wool coat, rolling up the sleeves while admitting that she looks far less dishevelled than she did before with her fading bruises properly covered beneath her mother's red scarf and her hair pulled from her face. Her mother would still give her an earful as she often did when Alicia would come back from the stables smelling like horses with dirt and straw tangled in her hair.

Alicia steps into the sun once again and it warms her skin as she tilts her face towards it, closing her eyes for a brief moment to breathe in the scent of the leaves and fresh food on the breeze.

She opens her eyes, blinking in the light and lowering her gaze. A figure stands across the street from her, eyes not on the people passing between them but on her. Alicia watches Oliver as he smokes his cigarette, leaning against the beam of the building with a hand in the pocket of his waistcoat. She eyes Oliver's gun holstered snuggly under his arm, looking as though it's always belonged there. And perhaps it does, he did once tell her he brings a gun everywhere.

But that was a lifetime ago.

Tearing her eyes away from the man who haunts her dreams like he haunts the house at her back, Alicia walks along the still busy street. She ducks her head, avoiding the gazes of the people around her. There's a buzz in the air, a nervous energy that she feels pricking at her skin. Alicia hears talk of the thwarted herd as she walks past people, snippets of conversation of the Ruga flu, of the exiles, of the latest harvest of pumpkins and how miss Luther is baking pumpkin pie for the children in the school.

Her steps take her to the stables, breath halting in her lungs to hear the familiar noises of horses, for their comforting scent to tickle her nostrils. The stables welcome her into its warmth, the nostalgia instantly calming her. She breathes easier with the scent of dirt and animals. She always preferred the company of those who wouldn't judge her so readily.

Alicia approaches the horses that snort and toss their heads at her presence. She bites her lip, glancing around herself warily. For so long she's gone without the gentle company of the animals, so swept up in her marriage to a prince and the workings of a country that she had forgotten her passion.

She moves to one of the stalls, and with a lump in her throat, she opens it, stepping inside to greet the horse that studies her. She speaks softly to the magnificent chestnut, murmuring words of reassurance as the mare huffs. She strokes the animal's head and she smiles softly as the horse nuzzles her hand.

"You're good with her." Alicia jumps slightly, stepping away from the animal so she doesn't startle it as she whips around. A woman carries a saddle into the stables, eyeing Alicia with a raised brow. "She's skittish, that one."

Alicia turns back to the horse, reaching out again and running her fingers along the animal's dark mane, keeping herself in the horse's line of sight. "She just needs some respect and guidance," Alicia murmurs, those deep brown eyes watching her steadily. "How are you?" The question is for the horse, breathed through lips that smile.

"You're the new girl, right?" the woman questions from behind her as she busies herself with the saddle.

"I suppose," she answers, turning to the woman who squints at her with moss green eyes, blond hair flecked with mud escaping from her bun. "Alicia." She offers her hand and the woman stares at it.

"You're just a slip of a thing," the woman continues, hefting the saddle over the wall of the stall to take her hand and shake it, her skin rough.

Alicia looks down at herself, knowing she's lost weight in the past two months but not really caring to notice such a thing. She's been slimmer. "I was wondering if you might have some work for me," she asks before she can focus on the comment, burying her hands in the black, woollen coat.

"Sure, I could always use the help. Especially with my pa gone."

Alicia's throat constricts, making it painful to swallow. "I'm sorry for your loss."

The woman waves her hand, a deep crease forming between her brows. "My pa was a fool. But he was a fool I loved, may his soul be with the Light."

Alicia can't find the words to comfort her, not when her own grief and guilt scratch at her insides, clawing to be let out. She just dings her nails into her palms and wills it away. "I've worked with horses before, I can help."

"I won't be able to pay you much, just some rations," she clarifies, brushing her hands on his trousers.

"That's fine," Alicia replies far too eagerly, but she can't help the smile that lights her eyes at the prospect of working with horses again, of doing something. She's hardly done anything for herself since before the war, hardly remembers what such a thing feels like.

"When can you start?"

Alicia grins, the first tendrils of happiness unfurling in her stomach, smothering the hurt. "Right now."