The Widow's Ways update

The next time Tilda saw the Widow, Minerva was going through katas as gracefully as a ballerina would practice her steps, every movement supple, voluptuous with rippling muscles, the grace and force that Minerva put into each shadow-blow. Tilda felt a hot flush of anger seeing her like that, the matriarch stripped to the waist, a white tanktop and dark pants showing off both the firmness of her muscles and the sweetness of her curve. The hot flush traveled lower, tingling in the lowest parts of Tilda’s belly, as she thought of how exquisitely Minerva practiced, all the skill and brutality she packed into those beautiful motions.

She tensed, her body tight deep down inside her thighs, and Tilda grabbed a handrail for support. She didn’t know what had come over her. But evidently Minerva had heard the sweaty sound of her palms slapping against the railing. 

“You used to watch me practice for hours,” Minerva said into the wind. She did her exercises in the courtyard of her stronghold, in the open air, with only the towering manor around her and the discretion of her followers to give her privacy. She prided herself on being able to be vulnerable with those she led, not as afraid of betrayal as the other barons—ironic, for someone who otherwise put on one of the strongest fronts imaginable.

In a dazzling burst of athleticism, Minerva pinwheeled around in a series of roundhouse kicks, leaping up to defy gravity entirely as she followed up with several helicopter kicks. Her body was a well-oiled machine, sweat barely admonishing her body despite the strenuousness of her exercises. She came to a perfectly still halt, controlling her breathing with the utmost studiousness, breasts heaving as she held to a crisp, cool standard.

“You wanted to learn everything,” Minerva continued. “At first, I thought you just wanted to defend yourself. You can’t imagine the joy I felt when you told me you wanted to defend me as I had defended you. I do believe that’s what made you my Regent. Not just your skill or your loyalty, but… love.”

Tilda started down the steps to the ground floor, the heated tightness in her gut becoming a familiar anger and irritation. “You reminisce about that time so sweetly. I wonder if you truly miss it or if you just think I do.”

Minerva sent a number of hard punches into her invisible enemy, trying out right hooks, left crosses, an uppercut that could’ve exploded anyone’s jawbone. “I don’t let the past tempt me with what can’t be gotten back. A lot’s changed since then. The Badlands have made a great deal of progress towards being a society for all of us, not just the powerful and the vicious…”

“Don’t sell me,” Tilda interrupted. “It’s wasted breath.”

“I was going to say that it would’ve been nice to have you here as I traveled that road. At my side. Where you belong.” Minerva ended her kata with palms pressed together, a last oneness, a unity with herself as she came down to a sit. Dispelling the energy she had invoked, reabsorbing the energy she had expended, coming to peace and preparing for battle.

It infuriated Tilda, the reptile calm the Widow could have despite all her sins. She should be tormented. She should have no more peace than Tilda did. “Underneath you. Where you can talk down to me.”

“When have I ever talked down to you?” Minerva insisted. “I have only ever told you the truth as I’ve seen it.”

Tilda approached her with droning footsteps across the cobblestone that Minerva practiced on. “Your version of the truth leaves a lot to be desired.”

“The truth often leaves something to be desired,” Minerva remarked. “Is that my fault?”

“You’re the Baron.”

Minerva laughed aloud, a surprisingly girlish sound, as she fell back from her sit and onto her back. “Tilda… my girl… what am I to do with you? You truly are the most confused sort of atheist. You say you want to be my equal, without any games or lies or deceptions—then you get angry that I’m not God, and can’t make everything better with a wave of my hands.” She collected her hands under her head and looked up at Tilda with them as a cushion. “It’s like you want to throw away this bitter, angry adult you’ve become so you can be a little girl once more and let mommy kiss it all better. But do you know that’s what you want or do you not even know it? And which would have you this angry, I wonder?”

“Don’t laugh!” Tilda demanded, stomping her foot where Minerva’s belly had been before the Widow rolled away, coming up into a crouch with the deadliness of a snake that’d been disturbed, her aura radiating violence every bit as threateningly as the warning of a rattlesnake.

“Don’t start fights you can’t finish!” Minerva hissed, then came up to her full height in serene elegance, broadcasting peacefulness once again. “Unless you want to spar with me. Perhaps that would work out some of the kinks.”

“I don’t want to do anything with you,” Tilda argued, pulling back the leg that had almost drilled through Minerva’s stomach.

“Are you sure?” Minerva asked, taking a step towards her. Tilda’s back went rigid, her eyes locked on the other women, watching her every movement as ardently as she would if she were hypnotized. “I didn’t get to be leader without knowing the people I lead. What they want and how to give it to them. If what you want is to put your fist through my face and what you need is an excuse—here’s an excuse.” She smiled wickedly, making the tight knot that was low in Tilda’s body become tighter and hotter and under more pressure. Even more confusing than it had been before, even as Tilda gritted her teeth and hated her. “Or if that’s not what you want… then have the guts to admit it.”