by Lindsey Byrd
“Yes,” she agreed. Then, because it had bothered her, and the tide could only be ignored for so long, “You did not wrap the bedding.”
“I wouldn’t,” Aurora replied. She seemed uncomfortable for a moment, but then urged her gelding so they were walking closer together. Holly didn’t notice or care. Continued moving forward. “Faith’s not gonna get nobody sick. She’s not con-conta . . .” Kera watched as Aurora’s tongue peeked out between her lips. Teeth biting down on the tip. As if by the action alone she could latch on to the word that was lost to her.
“Contagious,” Kera supplied. Aurora nodded and repeated it slowly, but not correctly. Kera shook her head. “Con-tay-jis.”
Aurora narrowed her focus on each syllable. “Con . . . tay . . . jis?”
“Yes. Good.”
A pretty smile formed on Aurora’s face, and she nodded again. “Contagious. Faith’s not contagious.”
“The plague is highly contagious,” Kera countered. “All of the physicians who came to investigate the plague contracted the illness, and whole families died by the household just on my street alone.”
“Maybe,” Aurora shrugged.
“Maybe?”
“Just find it strange is all. You fancy rich folk never get sick as much as the rest of us. But now it seems you’re all—eh . . . well . . . at least more of you’re getting sick than we are.” Kera blinked, hesitating as she considered her answer. Aurora pressed on, “The poor always die first. So why’s it not affecting the gutter?”
“It is affecting you,” Kera pointed out, motioning toward Faith with her chin.
“But I work for the rich. I’m the Traverses’ laundress.” Oh. Not a nanny, then. “I’m always with ’em. Mopping their floors and cleaning their beds.”
Kera didn’t know what to say to that, but Aurora wasn’t wrong. Before his death, Mori had commented how strange the plague was and how unusually it behaved. He had written letters to Amit, asking his medical advice. He had flipped through the pages of Herbalism in hopes of finding the answer to the problem too, but as far as Kera knew, he’d never found one. Every impossible thing had a scientific answer in Mori’s mind. Each problem could be quantified. And yet, he hadn’t quantified this. Sometimes, a plague was just a plague. Sometimes there was no cure.
Still, Kera did feel a tingle of uncertainty rippling in the back of her mind. “By your logic,” she said slowly, “any laundress or servant who came in contact with the plague in a rich family’s household would have contracted it.”
“But they haven’t.”
“You have, your daughter, at least, has. That on its own says it’s contagious.”
“Maybe we’re just unlucky. Don’t know, do I? All I know is that it doesn’t feel right, and it don’t act like any sickness I’ve ever seen. Can’t be treated none either.”
Thinking back to the night before and the scented cloth that Aurora had given her for Aiden to use, Kera shook her head. “It can be managed . . . What was that odor?” It had been familiar. Something spicy yet sweet. An aloe plant of some sort, perhaps.
Aurora took her time replying, grimacing as she focused on the road. “I’m not too good at the word. It’s . . . you-ka . . . you-kalee?”
Oh! “Eucalyptus!”
Aurora nodded, and Kera nodded right back. The scent was familiar now, triggering memories she’d half forgotten. She groped through the murky fog of her mind and pulled up the sight of her husband bringing bottles of the oil home after he’d been traveling. He always purchased some before leaving on long journeys too.
Kera turned in her saddle, holding Aiden steady as she rummaged through the saddlebags. It was awkward and her back twinged as she twisted too much, but she found Mori’s book and turned forward once more. Holly huffed at her in annoyance, and Kera winced when she realized how tight she had pulled the reins. She gave some more slack and apologized to the good girl before fumbling to open the book.
It wasn’t easy. Between balancing the reins, her son, and the book, it took a long time to find the page on eucalyptus. Once she did, though, she read it out loud. “‘The health benefits of eucalyptus oil are well-known and wide-ranging.’” Aurora leaned toward her a little, so Kera raised her voice. Be polite! she reminded herself. “‘Its properties include anti-inflammatory, antispasmodic, decongestant, deodorant, antiseptic, antibacterial, stimulating, and other medicinal qualities. Eucalyptus essential oil is colorless and has a distinctive taste and odor.’”
There were more notes on the sides of the pages, but one in particular caught her eye. It was tucked in the corner and circled twice. “‘Very effective against bed-bugs.’” She paused, blinked twice at the words, then looked up. Aurora met her eyes.
This time, they both laughed. And this time, Kera didn’t stop for fear of bothering the other woman.
They reached Doleystown by the end of the day. Dark shadows had started stretching out across the land, shrouding the tops of the buildings with a cloak seeped in the dusky night. Faith was more or less conscious when they arrived, rolling off the gelding. Aurora helped her down, asking her quick questions, trying to see if she was all right. Faith, feverish and warm, pointed at Aiden and asked, “How’s . . .”
“He’s still alive,” Kera murmured as she dismounted with Aiden. He’d slept for most of the day, but on occasion he’d wake enough for them to stop and feed him. Kera even congratulated herself on getting him to swallow almost a full canteen of water at one point. He’d sicked up some, but he’d kept most of it down. She was even able to wash his skin with the eucalyptus that Aurora offered. They would need more soon. Aurora hadn’t expected to share, and Kera knew they needed to be careful using it until they found a fresh supply. Still, Aurora hadn’t said anything as Kera used what little she had. It was . . . kind of her.
Faith’s eyes fluttered as she swayed on her feet. Her skin took on an unhealthy pallor. She looked ready to vomit, and Kera felt like a useless voyeur. Off in the distance, the night howls started. They needed to get inside immediately if they wanted to be safe. Old rhymes she used to sing as a child started to twist about her mind. She hated how nervous it made her. First come the wraiths, black as night. Then come the ghosts, with skin like ice. The specter joins the dark. The ghoul is in the park. Run, run, run, or they’ll tear you all apart.
Each noise drew her ear. She twisted her head and searched her surroundings, trying to see if the figures were starting to rise from the ground. Fire kept the monsters at bay, and the townsmen were lighting torches, but wraiths could hide in the shadows. They could cross the threshold if the line wasn’t secure. Ship’s Landing always made sure the guarding fire lines never broke, but perhaps these smaller towns and cities weren’t as safe.
Kera’s heart thundered. She flinched when Aurora called her name, startling her out of her reverie even though she knew she ought to be paying attention to them and them alone. This group was her priority, and yet—
“We need a room for the night,” Aurora told Kera. Yes, she knew that. “Faith is too sick, they’ll turn her away at the door.” She was right, of course. Aiden could be passed off as a sleeping child, but someone was sure to notice how unbalanced Faith was. They would question her, then turn them away for fear of their families catching the plague. Kera couldn’t even blame them for that. “You need to get the room for us. Something on the ground floor.”
Kera stared. “I—” She glanced toward the inn. It seemed so far away.
“Please,” Aurora begged her, arms around Faith. Faith was starting to shake harder; if they didn’t get inside soon, the whole town was bound to find out. Aiden was sitting on a barrel nearby, knees drawn up to his chest, waiting like the good boy he was. “I can wat—”
“No.” Kera straightened and squeezed her reins even harder. She glared at Aurora. How dare Aurora even suggest such a thing? She was not leaving her son with Aurora Sinclair. Whether she called herself Lawrence or not. She was not going to allow her child to be anywhere near
her. Aurora blackmailed Mori for years because of their affair. What she could do with Kera’s son . . . Kera had no interest in finding out. “Take the horses.”
Aurora glanced about the stable. No one was here, everyone was off lighting torches and ensuring the fire line stayed in place. Settling Faith down on some hay, Aurora took the reins. She was trembling and perhaps more than a little frightened. If Kera took too long, someone would find Faith and Aurora both and . . .
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Kera promised. Reaching down, she pulled Aiden to her chest. Her muscles ached. Each tendon strained and filed a complaint with the manager. “As soon as I can,” Kera swore once more. Aurora didn’t say anything in return. Just watched her go with wide eyes.
They were running out of time.
Kera hurried to the inn. She flattened out her hair as she went, adjusting Aiden so he was curled around her body. His little arms hung by her sides, and his brow burned hot through the cotton of her shirt. She needed water for a bath. She had to wash him and try to cool him down as best she could. Riding in the sun had done neither him nor Faith any favors, but it wasn’t as if they could pen a letter to the griffons and ask them for their aid.
Yes, hello, please send us feather posthaste. Your obedient servants, Kerryn Montgomery and her husband’s mistress.
Pressing open the door to the inn, Kera smiled at the woman behind the counter. “A room for the night, if you please,” she asked. The woman looked from her to Aiden.
“Just the two of you?”
“My sister and niece as well,” she lied. “The poor girl is ill from sun-heat. We’ve been traveling all day.”
“Aye, the sun’s been quite hot today. Whatchu traveling ’round dressed like that for?”
“We don’t have the coin for a carriage, but my fool brother is determined to marry. Says it’s the love of his life, though he’s waited half of it to find her.”
The woman laughed and reached for a mug, wiping it with a filthy cloth before jutting her chin toward the left. “Got one room there, so long as you have the coinage for that.”
Kera did. She pulled out the fee, thanked the woman, then arranged for water and food.
Key in hand, she rushed back to Aurora and Faith.
They were just where she left them. Aurora relaxed when she saw Kera, though. Isn’t that a surprise?
“Tie the horses to the peg,” Kera explained. “You’ll need to come back for them. Let’s just get Faith inside first.” Stepping forward, she retrieved Holly’s reins and looped them several times around a post one-handed as Aurora did the same to her gelding.
Pulling Faith to her feet, they stumbled forward, Kera still balancing her son on her hip while she used her other arm to assist Faith. It was painful. Pressure descended on her body and her chest felt tight the farther they walked, but they reached the room just as the torches finished being lit. Aurora helped Faith fall onto the bed. There, Faith’s limbs thrashed. Her joints went akimbo, back arching like a man in the throes of lockjaw.
Kera slammed the door shut and drew the curtains. “You need to go tell the stable boys about the horses,” Kera told Aurora.
The woman looked at her, incredulous. “You can’t be ser—”
“I am entirely serious. I cannot leave Aiden alone, but I can tend to Faith. It must be you.”
“He wouldn’t be alone! He’d be with me!”
“I can’t leave him.”
“Would you leave your child in a fit?” Aurora asked her sweetly, face twisting into a vicious snarl.
No. She would not. But . . . “I cannot carry the bags. Not with Aiden. The eucalyptus and the books . . .”
Aurora hesitated, then flew into motion. “You’ll not harm her,” she demanded. Kera swore she wouldn’t. Then Aurora whisked out of the room faster than she had entered. A feat in and of itself.
Kera shut the door behind her and went to Faith’s bedside. Aiden was settled not far away, but he wasn’t the priority at the moment. Not now. The poor girl was gasping for air, hands clawing at her throat. The ants were crawling once more. Hoisting her upright, Kera felt the muscles in her arms burn as she slid into position behind her. The complaints sent from her body were being triplicated, and the frenzied manager kept commanding the employees back in line. They didn’t have the luxury of a break. “Breathe, Faith, breathe. There’s a good girl. There’s a good girl. Breathe.”
As with Aiden earlier, Kera reorganized Faith’s body, trying to get her into the perfect position to enable air to flow to the lungs. She struck Faith’s back a few times, whenever something lodged deep in her throat, listening intently to the sound of Faith’s breathing until she settled.
Aurora whirled back inside. She dropped the first set of bags, then rushed out for the rest, door slamming once more behind her. Kera kept her focus on Faith. Aiden watched them the whole time, hands over his ears, and he cried. She couldn’t go to him. Not now. Rubbing Faith’s back, she kept her mind on her and her alone. “Breathe, Faith,” she instructed. “You’re doing so well. Breathe.”
A good breath got through, and Faith stabilized her hitching lungs. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. There was sweat pouring from her face. Her hair was a tangled mess. But! She was breathing.
Aurora returned. She stumbled to Faith’s bedside. Kera changed her position so Aurora could hold her daughter.
“I’m sorry,” Aurora whispered in Faith’s ear. “I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry. I won’t ever. Never. I’m sorry.”
“She was unharmed in your absence, Ms. Lawrence,” Kera said.
Aurora didn’t respond. She sat at her daughter’s side, shoulders tense. Kera knew full well that she had hurt the other woman. Kera even knew that she had made a mistake. Aiden was safe the whole time while Faith struggled in terror. Kera should have left to secure the horses. She could have carried the bags and left Aiden with Aurora. Aiden would have been fine.
“I’m sorry.”
The lines of Aurora’s back constricted even more, a viper ready to strike. She sat poised for one timeless moment as if considering her prey as it offered up pitiable excuses.
“I . . . didn’t mean to cause offense.”
The viper sprang forward.
“Cause offense?” Aurora seethed. Kera’s chest tightened. Her lungs struggled to draw air. There was no helpful hand knocking breath back into her chest. No assistance from the cosmos as her brain searched for the correct words to say. The manager gave all its employees free rein to evacuate the premises, and she fell in a boneless heap before Aurora’s gaze. “Cause offense! Lady Montgomery, how could someone like me possibly be offended by someone like you?”
Kera flinched. She glanced toward Aiden, who stared in awe at the viper. He had never seen someone raise their voice to her before. Even feverish and weak, he was boggling at the sight. Sliding from the bed, Aurora strode toward Kera. She towered over her. “What’d you think I’d do?” she growled, making no attempt to hide her wrath.
Kera’s breath stuttered in her chest. Her mother’s voice overlaying Aurora’s words in a heated rush (If you’re not going to act like ladies, you don’t get to dress like ladies!)
Head down.
Hands in lap.
Smile at everything.
“Tell me!” Aurora shouted.
Kera flinched. (Don’t raise your voice!) She raised a hand to her trembling lips. The words were paralyzed within her throat, never reaching her tongue. She couldn’t form their shape or breathe her intentions. Tears pressed against her eyes. (Ladies do not cry in public.) She should excuse herself, but there was nowhere to go. She was in a Doleystown inn, and night had risen. The howls of the dark had already started, and she dared not step outside.
Better the monsters within than the monsters unknown.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to say, her words wet and garbled. Frightened and dismayed, disgusted and horrified, she repeated it again, “I’m sorry.”
Aurora still stood over he
r, sneering, “You’re sorry.”
Kera’s nose clogged. She wiped at her eyes, desperate to be rid of the indecent affliction. Words. Words. She just needed to find the right words. Something Aurora, for all her limited education, seemed to have no trouble doing.
“You being sorry doesn’t fucking matter,” Aurora hissed.
Kera wondered if this was how duels started, if this was how it felt to face the wrath of one so slighted. To be incapable of mitigating that disaster, until the tempest took hold and lifted you up, high into the air, wrapping its winds around you before crashing you to the ground. By my honor. Count to ten. Mori and her first son had both given their apologies as they lay bleeding to death at her home.
A noise was produced in the back of Kera’s throat. Her mother would be appalled. Father would be horrified. Unladylike. Unbecoming. She pressed her hands to her eyes.
“Stop crying,” Aurora ordered. Kera didn’t. “Stop crying!” Rough hands wrapped around Kera’s arms.
She gasped as she was drawn to her feet. Her back pressed against the wall.
“You don’t trust me,” Aurora continued. Kera was frozen. The change in position shocking her into immobility. “Learn to,” Aurora commanded.
She released Kera then, leaving her to stumble and catch her balance.
Aurora sat by Faith’s side. One arm wrapped around Faith’s shoulders, the other resting on Faith’s hand.
Kera sank down to the floor. She didn’t know what else to do.
The words never came in time.
They must not have been important.
Kera’s younger sister, Gale, had been a spitfire from the moment she’d drawn first breath. She’d belonged in the same world as their older brothers, but while they’d never complained about her chasing after them with a stick she pretended was a sword, their mother took it upon herself to mold Gale into the clay doll she expected all her daughters to emulate. Their mother punished Gale whenever she acted out, which was far too often to be considered acceptable. Gale spent a week shoveling manure in the stables at Crystal Point, months de-weeding the cobblestone walkway, and she had been given the grueling task of tending to the chimney each day for no other reason than to teach her humility. It never caught on. Kera had watched all of this in open wonder, never understanding why consequences never seemed to matter to her sister. Gale had just kept running from one disaster to the next, heedless of warnings, and eyes always set on the horizon.
