by Tim Stead
“I’m sorry,” he said. He pressed the cloth against her, and it stung like a thousand wasps, like an ember on the skin. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Then the cloth was gone again, and he was binding something else against her wound, something that felt hot and sticky. “It’s honey,” he said. “It’s good for the wound, helps it to heal.”
He dripped more water into her mouth, and she was glad of that.
The lord arrived. He looked quite white, his expression a thunder cloud of worry and anger as he leaned over her.
“Will she live?” he asked.
“I think so,” Tilian replied. “There’s a lot of blood lost, but the knife didn’t hit anything vital, my lord. I’ve dressed the wound.”
The lord touched the bandages, and his touch was far gentler than Tilian’s had been.
“You’ve done well, Tilian,” he said. “Undo the bandage.”
“My lord?”
“Take it off.”
“But my lord, it needs binding. She will bleed more if I take it off and…” he ran out of words suddenly. He reached down and carefully untied the cloth and pulled it away. That hurt more. The lord leaned over her again until his face was most of her world. He looked her in the eyes.
“Sara Bruff, I brought you here to repay a debt that I owed your husband Saul, and now I find that debt still greater. You have killed the man that sought to kill me. I cannot repay two such debts.” He had a knife in his hand, and she watched through the haze of her pain as he drew the blade across his thumb, saw the sudden bubble of blood. He allowed a few drops to fall on her open wound. “I give you my blood, Sara Bruff,” he said. “I name you blood cousin to my house.” He turned to Tilian. “Bind it up again, and devote yourself to her care. She must not die.”
Tilian snapped his open mouth shut and sprang forwards again. She felt the bandage tighten, and the haze grew thicker. She licked her lips again.
“Look after…” she said. Breath failed her. She drew another, shallow as dust. “…after Saul.”
After that she remembered nothing.
* * * *
When she opened her eyes again she thought for a moment that she was dead and had become one with the great light of Ashmaren. Everything was white and bright. But then she saw a tray of food, balanced on a table by the bed, and the figure of a man in a chair beside her. He looked asleep, head forwards, arm splayed out.
She looked at the window. There was a pale blue sky the other side of the glass, and the sun shone squarely through it, painting a bright square close to the floor on the opposite wall. She tried to move, and managed to raise her head. She was weak as Afaeli tea. Her head fell back. The small noise was enough to rouse the sleeper, who turned out to be Tilian Henn. He rubbed his face and smiled at her.
“You’re back then,” he said. “You must be thirsty?”
She nodded, and the boy fetched a glass, filled it with clear water that sparkled in the sun. He sat by her side and held it to her lips, the other hand supporting her head. She sipped at it, felt the cool thread trickle down her throat. He only allowed her tiny sips, but he did not take the water away, and soon she had taken half the glass.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I will bring you a broth,” he said. “You must eat it all so that your blood is restored, and you will regain your strength.”
“Saul?” she asked.
“He is in the room next door. Do you want to see him?”
She nodded, and Tilian left the room, only to return a moment later with a plump woman of middle years. She was carrying a white bundle. She held him so that she could see. It was Saul. The child fixed his eyes on her, and she thought that perhaps he smiled to see his mother.
Sara’s eyes felt heavy. She could have looked at Saul for ever, but Tilian touched the woman on her shoulder, and she was gone again.
“You should sleep, my lady,” he said.
She frowned at the title, tried to ask him. “No, sleep. Everything will be better when you wake. There’s no cause for you to fret. Just sleep.”
She nodded. She trusted Tilian. She relaxed and closed her eyes, and sleep came.
* * * *
When she next awoke it was evening and a dull reddish light filled the room. Through the window there were clouds like lumps of pale dough against a pink tint. She felt stronger. Her weariness had passed, it seemed, and she was ravenous. She remembered everything as though it had been a dream. Most of it was clear enough in her head, but she did not trust it. The last certain thing was Elejine and that long, sharp knife. Had she really killed a man?
She moved carefully, and the reality of her injury became apparent. Her breath hissed between clenched teeth. She eased back the blankets and looked at her body. She was clothed in some sort of night dress, and she put her hand beneath it to feel the bandage. She stroked the rough cloth. So that much of what she remembered was true. Perhaps the rest was also true.
She looked around the room. It was a grand chamber, huge. Vaulted ceilings arched over her head. An acre of tapestry covered one wall: a scene of bucolic paradise with trees and deer, a cobalt blue lake and a house. She recognised the house. It was this one. The room by itself was bigger than the house she had shared with Saul back in Bas Erinor. The thought of her husband made her eyes prick for a moment, but she took a deep breath.
There was a table with a mirror, a soft chair that looked like it was made of gold and covered with satin. The bed was big enough for a family, and the sheets were crisp and clean. A small table stood by the bed, and on it stood a small bell. She reached out an arm, slowly and carefully, and picked it up. It made a high, clear sound when she shook it.
It was Tilian that responded. He must have been sitting just around the corner. He smiled.
“You look better, my lady” he said.
“I feel…” she felt like she’d been stabbed, but “Why do you call me that?”
“You don’t remember?”
She tried to. There was something. The lord leaning over her, cutting himself. Something about blood. She shook her head.
“I didn’t know about it,” Tilian said. “Apparently there’s an ancient ritual, blood binding, they call it. He gives you his blood and says the words. It means you’re family now – his family, my lady.”
“Family?” the word covered a multitude of possibilities.
“Blood cousin. You have all the rights of a true cousin, including inheritance. You have been raised up.”
“And Saul?”
“The same. He inherits from you.”
“Why?”
“You killed Elejine. Elejine tried to kill my lord. He would have tried again.”
“I protected Saul, just Saul.”
“The law judges the deed, my lady, not what you meant, which it cannot know. Now, enough talk. My lord has charged me with overseeing your recovery, and so you must eat, or I shall suffer for it.” He stepped to the door and pulled on a rope that hung there. Sara could hear no sound, but she assumed that they were further from the kitchens than she had been in the library when the sound of the bell had answered her pull.
“Am I in the apartment?” she asked.
“No, my lady. This chamber is yours. If you do not like it you may change it for any other that is unused, except the master room.”
A maid arrived. Sara heard a hesitant knock on the door in the next room, and Tilian stepped out of sight. She heard words exchanged, briefly, and a door close. The boy reappeared. She should really stop thinking of him as a boy.
“You saved my life?” It was half statement, half question. She remembered Tilian and bandages, leaning over her, tearing her good clothes.
He seemed to think about it for a moment. “I suppose so,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“I did what I could do. Any other would have done the same.”
“Never the less, I shall remember it,” she replied.
Tilian inclined his head, smiling a small, i
ronic smile. “I am honoured that you think my service worthy, my lady,” he said.
She slapped the sheets with irritation. “You must not speak to so,” she said. “Do not forget that I am a tanner’s widow. We are cut from the same tree, you and me.”
“That, my lady, is exactly what I must strive my hardest to forget,” Tilian replied. He executed a shallow bow and withdrew from the room.
* * * *
It was morning again before the lord of Latter Fetch came to visit her. Tilian had brought her some books, just random books from the library, and she had begun to flick through them. They were dull as grass. One was about Afaeli agriculture, the growing of corn on dry land, mostly. Another was a history of the house of Kenarrab, of which she had never heard, and seemed to be mostly a list of names, marriages, properties and livestock. She was about to move on to the third when he appeared.
She tried to pull her self up to bow, but the lord stepped forward quickly and put a hand on her shoulder, pressing her back into the bed.
“Do not rise on my account, Sara,” he said. “Tilian tells me you are much improved, but any effort may reopen the wound.”
“My lord,” she said.
“Besides, there is a gesture,” he said. “You touch your fingers to your forehead, so,” he showed her what he meant. “And that is also a bow, but you should not do so to me. We are family now, according to law.”
“Tilian said, but I do not understand.”
The lord pulled a chair out from the wall and sat on it so that she could see him easily from where she lay.
“I will try to make it clearer,” he said. “You did me a great service in killing Elejine. He was a dangerous man. Did you know he killed one of the maids? No, I see you didn’t.”
“Which maid, my lord? Was it Lira?”
“Lira? I’m not sure I know that one, but no, it was another. Mara, her name was. You have some attachment to the maid Lira?”
Sara was relieved. She had not seen Lira since the terrible events in the library. She would not have liked to think the girl was dead. And yes, she did feel attached to Lira in a small way. The girl had been the first friendly face the house had shown her.
“She brought me food from the kitchens,” she replied. “She was kind.”
“Do you wish her for your personal maid, to see to your needs alone?”
Sara nodded. “Yes. Yes I would like that.”
“Then it is done.” He smiled. “You see that it is sometimes good to have some degree of influence. But I was explaining the blood bond to you.” He paused for a moment, as though ordering his words. “It is an ancient custom. Those who perform exceptional service, especially those who are in need or distress, may be granted a blood tie to a noble house. I did this for you, though it cannot be said yet that my house is particularly noble. I have a gloomy building and an overgrown forest of useless trees that was until a day ago the personal fiefdom of a deranged steward.” He laughed at his own description; a short bark of a laugh; and he shook his head.
“It cannot but improve,” he went on. “The bond, the blood bond, gives you a position in the house. Any blood relatives that I have would be senior to you, but at present I have none. My father’s kin are cut off by their degradation, and my line starts afresh with me. So you see if I were to die in the war you would inherit Latter Fetch, and your son Saul after you.”
“I do not wish it, my lord,” she said.
“You do not want the house?”
“Your death, my lord. I do not wish your death. You have been kind.”
“We’re agreed on that point then,” he smiled. “And you must learn the correct form of address. My name is Skal Hebberd. It is appropriate for you to address me as Lord Skal, and on better acquaintance just Skal. Do you see?”
“Yes, my lord. Lord Skal.” She corrected herself, but it felt wrong to use his name. It felt like a trespass on private ground.
“Better,” he said. “In a few days I will have to leave. The general gave me ten days, and I would not be late for any cause. I will leave Tilian with you until you are on your feet, and then the house is yours. There are some things that I will ask you to accomplish while I am at war, and you may seek help from whoever you wish, but they are simple things, and the landskeeper will do most of the work.”
“The house is mine?”
“To command,” he said. “You will appoint a new steward, make sure that they keep the house in good order, find a nurse for your son. Simple things.”
“My lord,” she swallowed. “Lord Skal, I do not know if I can do what you ask.” The thought terrified her. All these people, all this land, all the skills and things that must be done.
“I am certain that you can, Sara,” he said. “Do not fret overmuch. You will do what you can. It will take time to find your feet, but you will come into it with time.”
“I will try.” What else could she say? A few days ago she had been destitute, and now she was asked to play mistress of a great house, servants at her beck. It was like a child’s dream: all things handed to her, her blood raised up, ball gowns and servants, knights paying her court. Well, those parts at least were still just dream.
The lord Skal bowed his head, serious now. “I must also apologise, Sara. I should not have left you for so long unattended. I could have sent Tilian, or one of the footmen to stand guard. I feel a measure of guilt that you were so injured.”
“No, lord Skal, I was happy enough to be left with the books, and Lira brought me food when I was hungry. It was no trial at all.”
“I should have guessed that Elejine would try to harm you. You came to Latter Fetch with me. Myself, Tilian and you were the ones he needed to kill to be sure of his position again. I should have protected you.”
“But I am alive, and he is dead, so all is well, Lord Skal.”
Skal laughed again. She liked his laugh. It was unrestrained. “You are quite correct,” he said. “Do you know that they are afraid of you now?”
“Afraid of me? Who?”
“The servants. They lived under Elejine’s heel for so long. They feared him mortally, and you killed him, so they fear you.”
“They have no cause…”
“I know, Sara, but it amuses me. You will be kind to them?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then I shall leave you to rest. Is there anything more that you require?”
She looked at the books that Tilian had brought, and she had a hankering to read the other book again. Lord Skal seemed well disposed to do her a favour, so…
“Could you have the other book sent to me? The one I was reading?”
“I will have it sent. What was the title?”
Sara struggled to remember. It was a very long title. She was not sure that she remembered it all. “A History of the Mage Lords, and their wars and customs,” she said. “And what happened to them. I can’t remember it properly.”
Lord Skal raised an eyebrow. “Mage Lords? Are you sure?”
“Yes. Lord Skal. It was on the table next to the tray, a big book bound in white and red leather.”
“And you could read it? It was in Avilian?”
“Yes, Lord Skal. Translated into the Avilian from High Avilian,” she remembered that well enough. “And into High Avilian from Keffish Common, and into Keffish Common from the Mage-ic.” She pronounced it in the way she had guessed it must be spoken. The lord said nothing for a moment, but stared at her, and she thought she must have done something wrong, read a book that was not permitted, but nobody had said anything. She had not thought there might be rules.
“And the author,” he said eventually. “The author. Was it a man called Torastennon?”
“I do not know. I do not remember.”
“Red and white leather, you said? A large book, laid on the table?”
“Yes. Red spine and corners on the front.” She could hear excitement in his voice, so perhaps it was not a fault of hers at all.
“I will be
back shortly,” he said, and without another word he turned and left.
Sara still wondered what she had done, or perhaps what she had found. His reaction indicated that he wanted to see the book, and perhaps that he knew it, but if he knew it then why be excited? She picked up one of the other books and put it down again. She was infected by his excitement. She wanted to know. She did not have to wait for long.
Lord Skal came back into the room holding the book. Her book. She recognised it at once. He was smiling, and he laid the volume gently on the table beside her bed.
