by Lindsey Byrd
Kera felt as though she were frozen in place. Terror seized her as the cuts on her back screeched in agony. She turned to face the night.
There was a black cloak flickering down the road. White face bright as the moon. A hole in its head—she recoiled. Stumbled. Aurora started screaming in earnest. Kera’s heart hammered and—
The door opened. It was pulled back at a steady pace, but when it was wide enough for a person to step through, Kera was met with the much beloved face of Najah Zakaria.
“Kera, dear.” She was as calm and as placid as ever. “I think it’d be best if you came inside.” The door opened wider, and they were across the threshold before the wraith could even get close. “Welcome to Mount Maladh.”
The wraith crashed against the doors of Mount Maladh. Kera flinched badly as it screamed, long and furious as it was repelled by the fire line. She could hear Najah’s patrolman shouting in surprise as the doors rattled, as well as the thwacking snap of a bowstring letting loose a fire arrow at the nightwalker.
Quick as it came, the screaming dissipated, the wraith vanishing back into the abyss, but the howl kept echoing between Kera’s ears. Her breath stuttered in her chest, and dizziness threatened to overcome her as she swayed on her feet. Aurora’s hand snatched at her arm, and she barked out a tight “Kera?” when her vision threatened to fail her.
“’M’ all right,” Kera mumbled awkwardly. She leaned into the safety of Aurora’s body, knowing her friend would help her stand.
“Really now.” Najah sighed, taking them all in with a critical eye. “What have you done to yourself?”
For a woman who’d been called such grandiose titles as the True Lady of Absalon to the Mother of Absalon to Najah, the proud owner of Mount Maladh, she was tiny. Yet despite her diminutive figure and advancing age, she always carried herself with enviable grace. As an army wife, Kera had been in awe of her. And despite the many years since their last visit, Kera wasn’t surprised to note that her awe remained undwindled.
The rain pelted them from above, and Najah adjusted her shawl so it lay more firmly about her shoulders. She adjusted the ornate cloth she always wore over her hair, patting it into submission. Then she approached Kera and clasped her cheeks. Lips traced across Kera’s brow. “What have you done to yourself, my dear girl?” Najah asked, southern drawl so warm and welcoming.
Whenever Najah spoke, Kera always imagined that this was what home felt like. She’d never lived in the south, had always lived in Ship’s Landing or Alexandria. Yet Najah’s voice carried quality that made Kera long for fireplaces and hearths. Pianos and parlors. She leaned her head down to rest against Najah’s shoulder. It was inappropriate, and she could feel Najah startle beneath her touch, but the woman patted her back anyway.
The gesture would have been far more appreciated had she not struck Kera’s wounds. Kera flinched. Her knees buckled; Aurora shot her hands out and caught Kera under her arms when she crumbled.
“Gods above—” Najah gasped. “Horaceon! Horaceon come here at once! See to the Widow Montgomery, now!”
The reminder burned. For so long she’d just been Kera. Lady. And yet now it was back. The harsh streak of pain and torment that burned through her like a knife. Just as painful as the gashes that marred her skin and the sickness that held her children hostage. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Your husband is dead, and you’re meant to be mourning.
She was not in her mourning clothes. She should be in her mourning clothes. Her hair should be tucked into a bonnet, black should be coating her from shoulders to heels. A shawl, at the very least, should cover her hair if she forsook the bonnet. Tears pressed against her eyes, hidden by the rain. She was so tired of being sad all the time.
Horaceon appeared, and Kera tried to get her feet underneath her. She failed and relied on Aurora’s endless strength to keep upright. When Horaceon uttered a brief “Beggin’ your pardon, mi’lady,” she didn’t have a chance to protest before she was hoisted up in the air and held within his arms. She arched her back, hissing as he pressed against her wounds. Aurora snapped for him to move his arm farther up toward her shoulders, and Kera lost time.
She had no memory crossing the beautiful fields of Mount Maladh that separated the gates and the house, only the stunning sensation of burning light once they stepped into the main house’s foyer. She squeezed her eyes shut and twisted away, but there was nowhere to go, and Horaceon held her firm.
Panic set in and she tried to wriggle free, but was unable to move. “Hush, Lady,” Aurora told her from somewhere over her right shoulder. Kera tried to see her. “It’s all right.” There! Aurora was standing with Aiden in her arms. Holding her son on her hip, rocking him even as someone else assisted Faith.
Najah hovered around them all, wrapping and rewrapping her shawl around her shoulders. Lips pursed with displeasure. “Up the stairs to the guest rooms please,” Najah commanded, authority slipping from her tone with ease. Horaceon hurried to do just that, taking the stairs several at a time while Najah ordered someone else to fetch a physician.
The guest rooms were turned down. A proper guest would have waited for the staff to set them right, but the urgency of their arrival made it impossible. Aurora argued for them all to be in one room, and Kera was lowered down onto a bed almost as soon as it was clear Aurora had won that particular argument. Horaceon apologized for carrying her so roughly, but Kera forgave him. It wasn’t his fault.
Still, her back felt as though someone had rubbed it raw with nettles, and her ribs provided equal protest within her torso. Several more people filled the room. Lanterns were lit, and a fire was drawn up in the fireplace in the corner. Kera’s head was spinning too quick to try to place names to faces, and searched instead for Aurora.
Her friend was standing not far away, still rocking Aiden, but when she caught Kera’s eyes she stepped closer, placing Aiden on the bed and cupping a hand to Kera’s cheek. “You all right?”
Kera nodded. “I’m sorry,” she started, not sure how else to express the sudden flare of embarrassment that threatened to take her over.
“There is nothing to be sorry for,” Najah replied as she bustled into the room. She held fresh clothes in her arms, and towels for them to dry themselves with. She shooed the staff out once the room was made cozy and started to warm. All that remained to be seen to were their injuries and their physical well-being. Horaceon promised to not be far in case Najah needed him, but she flicked her wrist in his direction and closed the door behind him.
Clicking it shut with a gentle press of her palm, Najah drew herself up to an impressive height for such a diminutive figure and placed her fists on her hips. “Kera Montgomery, what have you done to yourself?”
Shame flooded Kera’s body, and her throat constricted as she tried to explain the events of the past few weeks. Nothing came out. Hot tears pressed against her eyes, and she tried to remind herself that this was her friend, and that Najah was concerned for her.
“Wraiths, Your . . . Grace?” Aurora tried to explain in Kera’s stead.
When it came to speaking to Najah, Aurora seemed equally uncomfortable. While she had no trouble arguing with Najah’s staff, Aurora was likely too cognizant of Najah’s stature as the wife of the former Overseer of Absalon to not have some degree of hesitation. Najah didn’t even correct her on the title. She’d never been the type to argue over trivialities, though Kera knew she laughed herself hoarse over some of Wild’s attempts at honoring Zakaria. Each honorific more absurd than the last, until Kera had been certain Mori had been telling tales when he listed them all.
He hadn’t been.
Isra Zakaria had confirmed it himself, shaking his head in abject misery. He’d loathed the spotlight until the day he died. And while Najah was better suited to navigating it, he’d chafed uncomfortably at the attention of his admiring people. “I’m afraid I don’t recognize you, miss . . .?” Najah trailed off, raising a brow as Aurora fumbled over her words.
“Aurora . . . ehm . . . Lawrence. You wouldn’t know—”
“You’re Aurora Sinclair,” Najah interjected.
“—me.” Aurora gulped.
Najah’s eyes narrowed as they roamed over Aurora’s body. She cataloged from head to toe. Najah scanned Aurora’s unkempt hair, her dirty cheeks, her filthy (yet dry) clothes, the trail of mud she’d tracked into the house, as well as the calloused and knobby fingers on Aurora’s hands. When he had returned from the war, Mori had once mumbled that they didn’t need any spies to determine Trent’s plans, they only needed Najah Zakaria to sit in a room filled with soldiers. She would find the answers they sought and it wouldn’t even take her very long. At the time, Kera had laughed and set the thought aside. Since then, she’d seen Najah unleash her unique gift on the world. Kera had seen her stare down Ira san Ruug when he’d tried to hide his brilliant scheme to return to his homeland and free his parents from the dungeons after they’d been captured during the war. She’d seen her stare down the general himself when he swore he wasn’t ill, but he really was.
While she carried neither the unimaginable beauty of some socialites, nor the classic fashion of her peers, Najah Zakaria had a great deal of talent when it came to divining knowledge from those who didn’t feel like offering it. But unlike Mori, who couldn’t have contained that information to himself, Najah’s lips thinned.
Then she straightened her back and smiled. “I’ve called for a physician,” she informed them. “He should be here shortly. I’ll have someone fetch some water for washing. Do you need any assistance, dears?”
Dears. Plural. Kera let out a long slow breath of air. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d become as she waited for Najah’s approval. Aurora was still coiled tight, likely not realizing that Najah had given her acceptance already, and Kera reached a hand out to catch her palm. Squeeze and release. Aurora’s confused brown eyes turned toward her.
“Could I have something to drink, Najah?” Kera asked, throat croaking. It was rude, but she didn’t look back to Najah as she spoke. She kept her eyes on Aurora. It’s safe, she thought, hoping the feeling was conveyed, we’re going to be all right here.
“Of course, Kera. I’ll send up some food as well,” Najah said, ever the good hostess. “Is there anything that should be avoided? Allergies?”
“No.” Kera shook her head. She met Najah’s gaze. There was something hidden behind the older woman’s eyes that was impossible to decipher. Najah knew what parts of the face revealed which hidden secrets, and so she kept her face placid and calm.
Shifting a little, and feeling more than a little rude for not standing while her friend was attending to them, Kera winced once more. Najah’s eyes narrowed and she strode closer. “May I?”
Kera nodded, and Aurora helped remove Kera’s blouse. As the bandages came into view, Najah offered to assist in the process. Aurora cupped Kera’s dark hair and hung it over her breasts, offering her a meager token of modesty that seemed unnecessary after all this time. It was appreciated all the same. She held on to Aurora’s hands as Najah examined her back.
To her great relief, Najah didn’t release any crude exhalations. Nor did she turn to prayer. She had served as a wartime wife, staying on battlefields while her husband fought his wars. She had held boys down as their limbs were removed, she had stroked their hair as bullets were extracted from their thighs. She had seen far worse than Kera’s back.
Still, she brought her fingers to the gashes and let her hand hover over the wounds. She looked Kera over thoroughly, taking in the bruising on Kera’s chest and the red marks that lingered over her broken ribs. “That’s not all,” she decided.
Kera’s trousers were pulled down; her feet slipped from their shoes. Aurora squeezed her hand as she watched Najah’s inspection. “Sit down, Ms. Lawrence. You need not stand. I saw how you were walking too, please.”
Like a scolded child waiting to be disciplined for poor behavior, Aurora did as she was told. Najah didn’t comment. Instead, she assisted in removing the wraps around Kera’s feet. She squinted at the blistering flesh and the bloody sores. “You as well, I’m sure?”
“Ehm . . . yes . . . Your Grace . . .”
“Najah, dear, please, or Lady Zakaria if propriety is in your head.”
“L-Lady Zakaria.” It was strange to see Aurora so subservient after all this time. Strange to see how her head ducked away so she didn’t have to make eye contact. How she addressed Najah as if she herself were a part of Najah’s staff.
In all the years Kera had known Najah Zakaria, Kera had never felt cowed. She never felt the urge to play supplicant beneath her. She felt the desire to respect and obey, but not wait on each breath for an order to come. Aurora acted as if she were going to be sent to fetch them their wares herself.
She’s a laundress for the rich, Kera reminded herself. Her fingers tightened around Aurora’s palm. And Najah was as rich as they came. Aurora was acting like she expected to be treated like staff, because she was Najah’s staff. Perhaps not in reality, but in theory. Aurora had never been friends with the wealthy. She’d never been welcomed into their homes and treated as an equal.
When there was a knock at the door, Najah wrapped her shawl about Kera’s body to provide her with modesty, then went opened the door. She accepted a bowl of warm water and the cloth that came with it from one of the members of her staff, sharing words with them briefly before returning. Aurora stared, seemingly gobsmacked, the whole time.
Najah knelt at their feet and reached for Aurora’s shoes.
“N-no, ma’am. I can—I can—”
“Hush, child,” Najah commanded. “You’re exhausted.”
She was. She might not have the aches and sores that Kera did, but she’d been slowing down time and again. She’d been stumbling and struggling to keep moving forward. Aurora was exhausted. And Najah knew that. She always knew everything.
Najah revealed Aurora’s bloodied soles to the world, and Aurora whimpered as the blisters were touched. “I’m sorry,” Najah soothed.
“N-no i-it’s fine. I—”
“Hush,” Kera told Aurora. She reached up and cupped Aurora’s cheek. “It’ll be all right.” Aurora just bit her lip. She almost looked ashamed.
Najah lifted a cloth and sank it into the warm water within her basin. She focused on Aurora’s feet first, swiping the dirt and the streaks of blood back. She massaged the tender muscles and the stiff ligaments, and when she finished, she let Aurora sink her feet into the bowl. Let her relax into the soothing heat.
A second bowl arrived moments later, fresh clothing with it. Najah repeated the process with Kera. She was silent as she worked, but her movements were rehearsed. She knew how to do this, and she wasted no time. The soothing strokes alleviated all the tension in Kera’s body. The burst of energy she’d felt earlier started to dissipate, and exhaustion now threatened to drag her to the afterlife.
Najah set her cloth aside and stood, joints popping. She helped Aurora and Kera dress. She spared a glance at Faith and Aiden, both sleeping. Neither showed any signs of waking. “We’ll let them rest,” Najah decided. Then she cupped Kera’s face and kissed her brow. “Sleep, dear child.” She looked at Aurora; she smiled soft and kind. “All of you need rest.”
Gratitude was wordless. It came in so many forms. But in this moment, it was a shapeless void. A well of emotion. A nod of acceptance. A smile and a wish for pleasant dreams. Najah departed as regally as any woman who ever walked the earth, and Kera lay down on a true and proper bed for the first time since she left home. Inns would never amount to the feeling of a real house.
Aurora lay down as well, and Kera wrapped an arm around Aurora’s waist, pulling her close enough that she could rest her head on Aurora’s spine. She couldn’t hear the nightwalkers. She breathed in . . . she breathed out . . . and she fell . . . fell . . .
Fell.
At some point in the night, Aurora had rolled onto her back and Kera had curled in closer with her head on
Aurora’s chest. Their legs were intertwined, and in the morning, Kera was almost loath to pull away. It was comfortable. But the sun was shining outside, and she felt the distinct need to relieve herself. Sitting up, she forced herself not to hiss as her muscles complained. They were starting their protests early, but she had no interest in listening to them. Besides, at least the pain seemed to have reduced to a dull ache that throbbed rather than stung. She was almost certain that wouldn’t last long.
Standing, she stretched as much as she dared. Looking toward the children, she was gratified to see them curled around each other and sleeping still. Their chests rose and fell with perfect breaths. They seemed . . . well. No worse than before at least. For the first time, it seemed as though they’d emerged from the night without being any worse for wear. It seemed like a proper rest had done them both some good. If nothing else came of this detour, at least the children had that.
Rubbing at her eyes, she made her way to a bucket and privacy screen. Her feet stung with each step, but without shoes on, she could apply pressure on the least painful parts of her soles. She felt almost like a child when she gave up all together and hobbled about on her heels.
Voiding inside was far more comfortable than doing so outside. She sighed in relief; they were approaching normalcy at long last. Finishing her business, she set herself to finding clothes to wear. Najah had left them new outfits on a bureau, and Kera let her fingers run over the fabric. Everything was so soft and smooth. There were dresses for her, Faith, and Aurora. A pair of neat trousers and a light shirt for Aiden. It must have belonged to one of Najah’s boys, Pasha or Jaavid.
Selecting the pale-green frock, Kera pulled the dress over her body. There was a tie that secured it in the front, and the bodice had several adjustments on the side that ensured there wasn’t too much pressure on her back. Once again, she found herself grateful for Najah’s thoughtfulness.
