by A. M. Manay
“Of course,” Gret assured her. “And we’ll tell the boys that no fatal curses are permitted.” She shot her husband a glare when he opened his mouth to speak again.
“You should have warned them, Keegan. And me,” Shiloh declared. For an instant, her lips trembled. She’d been so relieved for a moment, and now, her stomach ached again with worry.
Keegan reached out for Shiloh, and she stepped back, angry and wary.
“I think I would like to rest for a while,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She refused to look at Keegan or Gret and kept her eyes fixed upon the cliff.
“As do I,” Bluebell added, slipping her arm through one of Shiloh’s.
“Me, too,” Hana said, taking Shiloh’s hand. Shiloh gave them each a grateful look.
“Come, I’ll show you a place,” Gret offered, and she led the trio of girls away.
Stay Down
Silas walked quickly toward the stable with his head down, running through the list of things Edmun had warned him to remember for his ride to the Gate.
I must not seem overeager, or Mirin will suspect. I should say no several times before taking a bribe. I should let her catch me crying if I can manage it, so she thinks she can take advantage. I should seem hungry but a little proud. I should stare at her sometimes, as if I find her beautiful. I should seem nervous, but not too nervous.
He took the stairs two at a time and emerged into the courtyard, only to find Alissa and Keegan in a passionate embrace. Silently, he stepped backwards through the doorway before they noticed his presence.
“Your lords won’t like it,” Keegan warned.
“My lords will get over it,” Alissa replied. “My father is dead. I am the rightful queen. I can make my own marriage. They can hardly complain that it lacks political advantage. Without the Free, we’re grossly outnumbered.”
“Edmun will be livid,” Keegan continued, this time with a touch of glee.
“Don’t you dare provoke him,” Alissa warned. “He’s difficult, and far too pious, but he’s my favorite brother. And the most powerful, by far.”
“Fine, I shall restrain myself,” Keegan agreed. “But I think you underestimate how little your people will approve of a man like me as royal consort.”
“When we win, and end the war, they’ll approve of whatever I tell them to. They’ll be too afraid of me not to.”
“Oh, I do love you, you hard-hearted lass!” Keegan cried.
The queen’s delighted laughter filled the air.
“I’m keeping track of how many times you make her cry,” Silas told Keegan, affecting a casual tone belied by his eyes.
Anger and concern dueled on Keegan’s face. “How was I supposed to know Shiloh cared that much about you gold-plated clods?”
“Going into battle together has a way of bonding people,” Mosspeak pointed out. He was visibly bemused. “I am willing to put on a show if your customs require it. Keelie, however, will not be pleased. Best we don’t tell my wife in advance.”
“I’ll try not to kill any of your lads,” Silas told Keegan. He smiled coldly. “Good luck getting back on Shiloh’s good side. You’ll need it.”
Silas strode toward the tents. Jonn came along beside him, biting at a hangnail.
Outwardly, Silas was calm as still water. Inside, he roiled. Not about having to fight—he was unperturbed by combat. He was upset on Shiloh’s behalf. He wished more than anything to be able to protect her from the least little harm, and coming to this place was bound to stir up all manner of disturbing emotions for her. Keegan’s clumsiness guaranteed that such moments would recur.
There was a tiny part of him, he had to confess, that could not help being pleased at the evidence that Shiloh cared enough for him to be upset at Keegan. She did come save you from Esta, he reminded himself. She could have left you to rot. She may not be passionately in love with you, but she cares.
He watched from just outside the rings of tents, peeking through the yurts at the people going about their regular business. Women were working on laundry. Children were pulling weeds. Men were repairing carts and tools. It all seemed very ordinary, until something struck him—nearly every adult was using magic. He had never seen such a thing.
Jonn had noticed it, too. “Babe in a bucket, Silas. Every one of them has a wand.”
“When you let folks marry whomever they want, and you stop withholding education from the people, the ability spreads through the population pretty quickly,” Henrik said.
Silas turned around to find that the priest-turned-Feral had followed them. “Apparently so.”
“You shouldn’t wander off by yourselves until after the trial. Once you’re officially welcomed, you should be safe enough. But for now, you’re a stranger in a strange land. And one with a bad reputation for killing Freemen.”
Silas nodded. “Thank you. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Keegan wasn’t too keen on me when I showed up either, before the war. Thought I was a spy,” Henrik shared.
“What turned him around?” Silas asked.
“Same way anyone makes friends. Time. Stories. Fighting together.”
“Well, you didn’t kill his wife, like Silas, here, did,” Jonn pointed out.
“There is that. You seem to be a decent enough husband to Shiloh, though. That might count for something,” Henrik said.
Silas looked down at his muddy boots.
“I’m not getting my hopes up.”
“For tonight, you can stay in one of our guest tents,” Gret told Shiloh, Hana, and Bluebell. “One for the women, and one for the men. After the feast tomorrow, we’ll get you into more permanent lodgings.”
“Thank you,” Shiloh replied. She tried to rein in her irritation at Keegan, but it was a struggle.
“Keegan is thrilled to have you here,” Gret shared, seemingly reading her mind. “I know you may think he has a strange way of showing it. But he has longed to know you for many years.”
Shiloh nodded. “I know.”
They came to a tent next to a stand of trees. Its brown leather walls were decorated with abstract patterns in dark ink. Bluebell reached out to touch the material, and Hana described it for her.
“Come,” Gret beckoned, and she pulled back the red curtain that served as a door.
They entered a dim room, lit only by the dappled sunlight sneaking in through the smoke-hole in the center. Gret flicked her wand, and lanterns filled the spacious interior with golden light. A hearth was already prepared in the center, wood and kindling piled in a great steel vessel, though Shiloh didn’t imagine they would need it in the warm weather. Sleeping pallets with neatly folded blankets marched along the edges of the yurt. A large, covered jar stood next to a basin on a stand next to the door. Shiloh assumed it was filled with water, as a basket hung above full of metal cups. Woven fans hung from the walls, ready to combat heat or insects. She’d noticed an outhouse outside, a few dozen steps away. All in all, it appeared to be quite suitable for summer living.
“I hope you’ll find it comfortable,” Gret said, a touch of uncertainty in her voice for the first time.
“It’s lovely. Thank you,” Shiloh assured her.
“I know you’re all used to life in the City, so I wasn’t sure if . . .”
“We’ve spent months imprisoned in the Citadel, then weeks sneaking through the woods and plains. As far as I’m concerned, this is as nice as Castle Kepler, and the company is better,” Hana replied. She threw herself down onto one of the pallets with a sigh. “The mattress is stuffed with feathers. I think I’m in heaven. All I need now is a bath or three.”
The others all laughed. Shiloh found it hard to believe that this was the same girl she’d known back at Greenhill Palace, complaining endlessly and tormenting everyone.
“The bath I can help you with,” Gret offered. “We have four bathhouses, two for the women and two for the men. Two are down here on the meadow. Two are up in Cliffside. We also have sweathouses in the winter. It�
��s quite relaxing.”
“That sounds lovely,” Bluebell said. “But we don’t have any clean clothes to wear afterwards.”
Gret smiled. “Oh, I’ll take care of that. Don’t you worry.”
“We had best invite Penn and Keelie, and Sister Riah,” Shiloh reminded them, “if Loor will sleep for a while.”
“I’ll find someone to keep the child,” Gret promised. “Come,” she encouraged them, and took Shiloh by the hand. “Let’s go to the Cliffside baths. They’re much more luxurious. There is a chamber for scrubbing, then one with three different pools, then a room for applying oils and lotions, then one to rest in and gossip, wrapped in warm towels.”
Every eye in the tent lit up brighter than a Solstice candle.
They climbed the stairs to the first terrace, marveling at the detail of the railings and the carvings in the rock. Gret opened a door, and they followed her into an antechamber lined with benches and shelves.
“You can leave your clothes piled in the center,” Gret told them, wrinkling her nose. “I think they’d best go into the fire. I’ve sent for summer tunics, leggings, and skirts for all of you. They’ll be here by the time we’re finished bathing.”
Giggling and self-conscious, the women stripped. Shiloh was grateful for the dim light that rendered her scars less noticeable. She had no desire to shock Keelie or Gret or contend with looks or questions. She removed her hook and left it on a shelf. She made a mental note to oil the leather of the harness as soon as she got the chance.
They stepped into the next room. Taps and buckets lined the walls, and Gret directed them to pour the warm water over themselves and scrub off the worst of the grime before they entered the communal pools. Shiloh stood over a drain and breathed in the scent of soap made with honeysuckle and jasmine.
“I could die happy,” she declared, drawing a laugh of agreement from Penn and Hana.
Shiloh turned her attention to washing off months of dirt. Three scrubs and rinses later, the water swirling around her feet was finally clear.
Dripping, she hurried to join the others in the next room, where steam rose from a large oval pool.
She slid into the hot water between Bluebell and Gret. “Oh, this is even better than the baths at Mount Tarwin.”
“Agreed,” sighed Bluebell. “Don’t tell Mother Falcon I said that.”
“It reminds me of the baths down in Dessica,” Keelie offered in her soft voice.
“You’ve been to Dessica?” Shiloh asked, curious. Keelie spoke so little about herself.
“My mother was from there. When I was small, she took me to meet her kin,” Lady Mosspeak explained. “It is much different from Bryn.”
“I never thought I would be so grateful for a bath,” Hana confessed.
“You can have one every day if you like,” Gret told them. “On Babesday, it can be very crowded, however, with folks wanting to be clean for worship on Lordsday.”
“But worship isn’t required here, is it?” Hana asked, a cloud passing over her face.
“No, certainly not,” Gret replied. “I imagine the Citadel left you feeling less than charitable toward the priesthood?”
“You could say that,” Hana confirmed, eyes ablaze.
“All our priests are heretics, so they may sympathize with you more than you would imagine,” Gret assured her.
“It isn’t just the priests I’m angry with,” Hana admitted.
Shiloh reached out and squeezed her hand. “That is understandable,” she told her former cellmate.
Hana shook her head. “I don’t see how you don’t hate the Gods, Shiloh.” Hana cocked her head toward Shiloh’s stump and raised her eyebrows in skepticism.
Shiloh looked up at the swirling steam and searched for a reply. “You can be angry with someone and still love them.”
Silence reigned for a long moment until Penn changed the subject. “I assume that we shall need to find ways of making ourselves useful around here. Is that correct, my lady?” she asked Gret.
Gret laughed. “Gret will do. Mistress Mace if you insist. Yes, if you mean to stay with us through the winter, we will need you to join in with our work. As you are all educated, you might help with the school. If you enjoy hunting, you may join a hunting party. We will soon need to harvest acorns and process them. We’ve already begun putting up wine and preserves. We have weavers, tanners, builders, tailors, carpenters, potters, fighters, foragers, temple keepers. All need helpers. And the wandmaker needs an apprentice. His old one quit.” Gret shot Shiloh a meaningful look.
Shiloh cocked her head to the side. “You have a wandmaker?”
“Of course! We couldn’t possibly steal enough for all our magic users,” Gret replied. “Bentin is getting a bit on in years, and I know he is anxious to pass on his knowledge. But not every wizard is powerful enough for such work, and most of our young people lack the patience. They’re used to running more wild,” Gret confessed.
“Bentin? Jeroh’s royal armorer?” Shiloh asked.
“The very same. Didn’t get along with Rischar, luckily for us,” Gret confirmed.
“You ought to try it, Shiloh,” Penn encouraged. “If you don’t, what’s going to happen if you lose your steel wand? You’d have to go all the way to Dessica to replace it, or Vreeland.”
Shiloh smiled, warmer even than the water had made her at the prospect of meaningful work learning something entirely new.
“Perhaps I shall.”
The drums thrummed. Two dozen young men, shirtless and covered in tattoos, stood waiting in the open circle in the center of the rings of tents, wands in hand. Early morning sunlight colored everything gold.
Silas bent to give Shiloh a peck on the cheek, purposely choosing a moment when Keegan was looking in their direction.
“Don’t let Mosspeak or Jonn get hurt,” Shiloh ordered. “Keelie will be beside herself.”
“What, no worries about me?” Silas teased. “You won’t be beside yourself if I get hurt?”
Shiloh rolled her eyes. “Would you prefer me to faint dead away or patch you up?”
“That’s a tough one. I think Jonn might lose his breakfast if they keep stalling any longer,” Silas observed.
“Aye, I made him a potion so he wouldn’t,” Shiloh replied. “Does he even know how to cast curses?”
“He brushed up last night, but it wasn’t pretty,” Silas admitted. “He did all right in that battle in the Vine, though, last summer.”
“Well, I pinned enough charms on his clothes to protect him from an army, so here’s hoping.” Shiloh bit her lip. “Remember, they have to stop once you hit the ground. So don’t prolong things if you’re getting smashed to pieces out there. When you go down, stay down.”
“You can’t jump in and rescue us if it looks like we’re losing. You know that, right? They might kick us out if we don’t respect their ways,” Silas pointed out.
“I know.” Shiloh sighed. “I know. I’ll make Bluebell hold my hand so I can’t pull my wand on them.”
“Try not to sound so desolate. You’d think you had no faith in me at all,” he taunted.
She smiled weakly. “Have fun, my lord husband. Try not to kill anyone.”
“Line them up,” Silas called out to Jonn, “so only one can get a straight shot. Don’t let them surround you.”
“Would you shut it? I’m trying to concentrate!” Jonn yelled in reply.
Hexes fell thick as rain, but true to Gret’s word, none of them were particularly dangerous. Silas was having more fun than he’d had in many months, though sweat poured down his face. He knocked another boy out of the fight with a curse to his leg, then turned his head to assess how the others fared.
Mosspeak appeared tired but uninjured, his movements a trifle too slow but his curses connecting well. Jonn took a hex full in the chest as Silas watched. He winced as his friend flew through the air and landed in a well-placed bale of hay. A cheer arose when Jonn pulled himself out of it, eyes crossed and swaying on his
feet. Keegan clapped the healer on the back and pulled him out of the ring.
The young fighters were starting to look tired, which filled Silas with a mixture of glee and relief. The Ferals were good with curses, but not as strong on defensive magic, and Mosspeak took out the last one standing on his side just before he collapsed to the dirt himself, hands raised in exhausted surrender.
That left Silas to fight one more warrior. Naturally, he was the strongest both in size and magic. He was more seasoned than the others, older, crow’s feet marking his tanned face. Silas’s neck began to prickle with worry.
The worry was well-founded. The man, whom the cheers identified as Olin, methodically tested Silas’s defenses until at last he found one curse that would get through Silas’s shields.
Silas fell, pain shooting through his chest, knocking the wind out of him. The world spun, as did his stomach and his head. As he pulled himself defiantly to his feet, stumbling, he caught a blurred glimpse of Shiloh’s pleading eyes.
“You want more, old man?” Olin taunted. The fighter took another shot, but Silas managed to parry it with the right countercurse, rocking Olin back on his heels. For a moment, Silas felt a surge of hope, which was dashed when Olin sent him crashing right back to the ground. He lay there, stunned.
Silas heard a sickening crack, then felt the pain. This time, there was no rising; his leg was badly broken.
Olin bent and whispered in his ear. “You should none of you be here.”
Blood poured from Silas’s nose, and he vomited into the dust before the darkness took him.
Home
Shiloh never heard them coming. They were on top of her before she even knew they were there. They leapt off just as quickly when the magic of the charms sewn into her clothes began to zap their hands.
She caught only a glimpse of them as she took off running through the snow: two Feral boys a few years older than her nine, dressed in white and brown to blend into the winter landscape.
