She Dies at the End

by A. M. Manay

  She approached the Pink Tower, looking around for Penn. It was her first day back in tutorial since the attack at the princess’s dedication, and thus her first afternoon attending Queen Zina. Penn had promised to walk her in. Shiloh was more nervous than she’d been in weeks. The palace had become familiar, but the role of a maid-in-waiting felt so foreign. She prayed that the day would not end in humiliation.

  “Dame Shiloh,” Penn called, grinning.

  Shiloh laughed. “I’m never going to get used to that,” she replied.

  “Well, I suppose calling you ‘Sir Shiloh’ was out of the question,” Penn noted. “Are you ready to enter the lion’s den?”

  Shiloh took a deep breath. “Review them for me one last time?”

  “Sure,” Penn replied, seeming pleased to be the one doing the explaining for once. “Queen Zina is close to her sister, Lady Gwin. Not kind to her, mind, but relies upon her. Lady Hana, Lady Jann, and Lady Beetrix are the rest of the inner circle. Lady Esta is also in attendance, until Princess Loor departs for points south.”

  “That must be awkward,” Shiloh replied with a grimace.

  “Indeed. But her grace mostly ignores the poor girl. Still, no one is brave enough to do her much kindness. Lady Esta is young, just thirteen years old. She simply sits quietly in the corner, reading prayer books or doing needlepoint. I do feel badly for her,” Penn shared. “Now, some of the men will come in this afternoon, as the dancing master will be here.”

  “Gods preserve me,” Shiloh prayed.

  “You’ll be fine,” Penn assured her. “Come along. It doesn’t do to keep her grace waiting.”

  They climbed the stairs to the queen’s apartments. “Dame Shiloh Teethborn and Miss Penn Warwick,” the guard announced.

  “Here we go,” Penn whispered.

  Zina looked up from her playing cards and plastered a smile on her face. “Dame Shiloh!” she cried. “We are so pleased that you have recovered enough to attend us.”

  Shiloh curtsied deeply before replying, “I am so honored to be invited into your presence, Your Grace, as undeserving as I am.”

  Zina shooed away one of the young women to make a place for Shiloh. Shiloh caught sight of Hana narrowing her eyes. “If it weren’t for your courage, dear girl,” the queen proclaimed, “we shudder to think what would have become of us! And to think that it is your hideous deformity that allowed you to survive your heroics!”

  Shiloh smiled through the backhanded compliment. “Indeed, Your Grace, the Gods work in mysterious ways.” On the other side of the room, Esta looked up from her book and briefly caught Shiloh’s eye before turning away. The former princess sat alone.

  She looks so small.

  Zina played a card, and the game resumed. “Do you play?” she asked Shiloh.

  “Oh, no, Your Grace,” Shiloh replied. “Card games are not popular in the Teeth.”

  “Watch and learn,” the queen replied.

  Shiloh did as she’d been told, trying to learn both the rules of Kabo and the rules of the queen’s sitting room.

  “Tell me,” Zina remarked after winning the next hand, “is it true that the Teeth is full of Feralfolk?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Shiloh confirmed. Please, Gods, let her change the subject.

  “Do they really kidnap girls?” Lady Beetrix asked, eyes wide and avid.

  Shiloh nodded. “Yes, sometimes, my lady, both girls and women grown. Little boys, too. Never men. They just kill the men.” An image of her father’s bloodied body flashed in her mind, and she closed her eyes, wishing the memory away.

  “I would kill myself before I allowed some ruffian to spirit me away!” Lady Hana declared.

  That’s what everyone thinks until it happens, Shiloh silently replied. “Indeed, my lady,” she said aloud. “As would I.”

  “What becomes of them?” Penn asked, her tone much more serious.

  “The Feralfolk teach them their ways and marry them off,” Shiloh replied. “Very few manage to get away. The Feralfolk use magic to bind the captives to their settlements until they forget their old lives. There are fewer kidnappings now. Just raids for livestock and tools, mostly. My teacher said that they must have enough people to sustain their population now. Sometimes people run off to join them voluntarily, but no one knows what happens to them.”

  “Traitors!” Lady Jann spat. “Must be criminals fleeing the law.”

  “Some criminals do try their luck, but the Feralfolk don’t accept them knowingly, my lady,” Shiloh countered. “We’d often find them dead, strung up in the trees. They say the Feralfolk only accept honest folk with skills they need. They have no tolerance for thieving amongst themselves.”

  “But why would someone choose to be a Feral? To run off to be an outlaw, cut off from decent society, excluded from the holy sacraments of the Church?” a little voice piped up from across the room. Shocked faces turned toward the typically mute Lady Esta.

  “Well, my lady, if they are starving at home, or beaten cruelly by their parents or by their husbands, or betrothed to someone they despise, life as an outlaw might seem a reasonable alternative,” Shiloh explained.

  “Perhaps you should consider it, Lady Esta, since you are so unhappy in our company,” Zina taunted. “You could be their princess. Or perhaps they’d have you for supper instead. Though a meager meal it would doubtless be.” Titters filled the room.

  Shiloh saw no sign in Esta’s face that she felt pain at the queen’s mockery, but the girl’s hands tightened around her needlework. “No, I don’t suppose I’d make a very good meal, Your Grace,” she replied blandly.

  She’s tougher than she looks, the former princess, Shiloh thought.

  I imagine she’ll need to be.

  ***

  Shiloh sat in the first row of the large seminar hall. It was about half full of students of varying age, all awaiting the start of the day’s open lecture. At the front of the room stood Kiven Rangeborn, master of farsight. He’d been away on a pilgrimage to holy sites in Gerne. This was, therefore, the first time she’d set eyes upon the man.

  Behind him, upon a low stage, sat three of his students. On the table before them sat bowls of water. Shiloh assumed they were going to demonstrate something. With hair more salt than pepper and a face full of frown lines, Master Kiven glared down at his audience with narrow eyes.

  “Scrying, properly performed, can change the course of history. It can reveal danger, expose treachery, provide insight. Or it can be a cheap parlor trick for rich people with too much time on their hands. I’ve no doubt that for most of you, it would be the latter, if you could see anything at all,” Master Kiven proclaimed.

  “Farsight arises only in those who possess an affinity for the element of water. If your magic is devoid of water, you will see nothing. Visions do not come to a busy mind, nor to a soul burdened with sin. Your mind must be calm as the glassy surface of the water. Your soul must be pure as the driven snow. The Gods show nothing to those filthy with misdeeds and vile magics.”

  He turned his glower on Shiloh, his expression full of disgust. Her ears flushed pink as her hair, and she pressed her lips together to keep herself from replying in anger. She looked down at her hook, then raised her eyes to find Master Kiven standing far too close to her, his face twisted.

  “You needn’t bother trying to learn to see across time and space. You reek of dark magic. The Gods do not reveal truth to the Unclean,” he hissed. “No wonder Edmun didn’t bother trying to teach you farsight. Even that traitor knew you were unworthy. He should have killed you in your cradle.”

  Every eye in the room turned to stare at the confrontation. Shaking, she stood to face her tormentor. Drawing herself up to her full height, she barely came to the seer’s chest. Still, her expression must have conveyed something of her rage and of her power, for the large man took a step back when she glared up into his face.

  “Master Kiven, I would so hate to be a waste of your pre
cious time,” she said, her voice sickly sweet and her eyes blazing. “After all, who among us can know how much time he has?” And with that, she turned on her heel and strode out of the room.

  She kept walking until she found herself in the Temple in front of the shrine to the Mother. She knelt down on the pad and bent to rest her forehead on the railing. A few tears fell, hot and silent, onto the stone floor below.

  You shouldn’t have let him get to you, she scolded herself. You know better than to let them see that it hurts.

  “Are you all right?” Brother Charls asked, coming up behind her.

  She lifted her head and brushed aside a tear. “I’m fine. I just stalked out of the open seminar in a huff. I may have said something slightly threatening to the tutor.”

  “What happened?” the priest asked, taking a seat on a nearby bench. Shiloh rose to join him.

  “Master Kiven started talking about how Unclean I am, and how the Gods would never show me anything because I’m so contaminated, so I needn’t bother being there,” she explained, voice hot.

  Charls rolled his eyes. “Kiven is an ass. Always has been. We shared a room our first year here. He’s always been . . . strident. I considered murder on a number of occasions.”

  Shiloh laughed. “Will the headmaster be cross with me? Or will Hatch?”

  “I doubt it,” Charls replied. “Kiven is notorious.”

  Shiloh sighed. “It’s a good thing I chose to read healing arts instead of trying to become a seer.”

  Charls smiled. “Agreed. Somehow, visions never seem to help anyone very much.”

  ***

  Silas looked up at the sound of a knock to find Kiven Rangeborn glowering down at him.

  “Well?” Silas asked. “Did she go for it?”

  “You mean, did I insult the girl cruelly enough to chase her out of my lecture?” Master Kiven replied, glowering. “Yes, I did.”

  “Good. Thank you,” Silas replied.

  “Then she fled to the Temple and wept at the foot of the Mother,” Kiven added. “I watched her from the lectern. The only one of the heathen brats who actually prays, and you make me drive her away. She even has a touch of the sight in her. I could tell. I could actually teach her something, unlike most of these idiots.”

  Silas looked up at him and heaved a sigh. “And I am most grateful for your sacrifice, I assure you.”

  “Why don’t you want her to learn? You don’t trust her? She nearly got herself killed protecting the royal family. I saw it, all the way from Gerne.”

  “As gifted as you are, Kiven, there are things that escape your knowledge. You’re just going to need to trust me. Inducing her to scorn the discipline of farlight is in the best interests of both Dame Shiloh and the kingdom.”

  Kiven huffed in reply and stomped out of Silas’s office, slamming the door behind him. Silas rolled his eyes, then steepled his fingers in front of his chin.

  I simply can’t take the chance that Kiven might see who she is. Whose she is. It could be the death of her. And the last thing either the kingdom or I need is for that girl to become even more powerful than she already is.

  He heaved a sigh.

  Oh, come off it, Silas. You’re just afraid she’ll hate you forever if she sees anything about you.

  ***

  “Shiloh! You’re back!” Daved exclaimed, smiling through the barred door. “Are you well again?”

  She nodded. “They told you what happened?”

  “They said you almost died. And the king made you a member of the Order of St. Stex. Besides, I saw them dragging that crazy priest up the stairs,” Daved replied.

  “It was . . . a near thing. But Master Jonn released me last week, and I finally felt strong enough to attempt the stairs,” she told him, holding out a basket of books. He looked thin to her; she tried to hide her concern.

  Daved pulled them through the bars one at a time. “Thank you,” he said, “Dame Shiloh.” He winked as he used her new honorific.

  Shiloh laughed. “You’re most welcome, my lord. Has anyone else come to see you while I was sick?” Shiloh asked, then immediately regretted the question as Daved’s face fell.

  “No,” he admitted. “Just Master Hatch.”

  “He hasn’t, you know . . . ? Has he?” Shiloh asked.

  Daved shook his head. “No, he’s . . . stuck to other kinds of pressure.” He swallowed heavily. “I heard they’re going to execute Brother Mikel tomorrow.”

  Shiloh looked away. “It was supposed to be the day after the dedication, but they postponed it after all the excitement. I guess they wanted to make sure he didn’t know anything about the plot first. I almost wish they’d done it while I was sick. I don’t want to watch it.”

  “You have to,” Daved countered. “And don’t look too sad about it, either. It’ll make you seem disloyal.”

  Shiloh nodded her understanding, wondering if her friend knew the role she had played in the librarian’s arrest, wondering if he’d still be her friend if he did.

  Daved looked down, then changed the subject, asking, “So, what is going on down there? Any interesting gossip I should know about?”

  Shiloh snorted. “Well, I’ve been helping Lord Wheatley with spellcraft for an hour each day after supper, which seems to irritate Lady Hana no end.”

  “As if she could tutor anyone in anything,” Daved scoffed. “She’s just mad that Jaym doesn’t fawn all over her like he used to when he was little.”

  “I’m a maid-in-waiting now,” she shared.

  “I heard. And how is that?” Daved asked, grinning.

  Shiloh shook her head. “It’s . . . nearly unendurable,” she confessed. “I mean, I’m grateful for the honor, of course . . .”

  “Of course,” Daved winked.

  “I just . . . It’s like a battlefield in the queen’s rooms, and I’m rubbish at imitating my betters. I feel like I’m sitting on pins all afternoon. All her favorite ladies look at me like there’s a bug crawling on my face or something. And even just being around people so much is hard. I miss working in the library and the Temple. I miss the quiet. I’m used to being left to my own thoughts most of the time.”

  “That gets old, I assure you,” Daved replied morosely.

  “Oh, Lord Daved, I’m sorry. I didn’t think how that would sound to you,” Shiloh apologized.

  He shook his head. “Don’t fret about it. It’s so funny, though. Anything can be a prison, it turns out.”

  “Time’s up,” the guard called from his post.

  “See you tomorrow,” Shiloh pledged.

  Daved nodded, turned his back, and headed to the table with his new books. Shiloh began making her careful way down the stairs, mulling over Daved’s words.

  Anything can be a prison.

  ***

  Shiloh crashed down into the mud, the wind knocked out of her for the fourth time that morning. She’d learned the first day with Sir Petter to wear her mountain clothing for these lessons, regardless of the stares it earned her. Brown leather and deep green wool didn’t stain much.

  “Woman, your aim on horseback is improving, but you must learn to stay in your Gods-damned saddle!” Sir Petter cried, throwing up his hands. The riding instructor bent to help his student up, shaking his mop of thick gray hair.

  “I am aware of that, sir,” she replied once she was able to gulp some air into her lungs.

  “A ward is little use in a real battle if the momentum of the curse or the weapon it blocks still knocks you on your rear,” he continued.

  She nodded. “I am open to suggestions, sir,” she panted. “I’m reasonably good at dueling on my feet, but this jousting on horseback business is another animal entirely.”

  “Well, it doesn’t help that you’ve only got the one hand and weigh about as much as a puppy,” Sir Petter complained.

  “Unfortunately, sir, there is little enough I can do about either of those difficulties,” she pointed
out. Her horse came over and nudged her comfortingly, as though she felt guilty about Shiloh’s fall. She turned toward her to murmur, “It’s not your fault, Ruby.”

  “I’ll give you some exercises to strengthen your legs. That will help. In addition, you want to use a ward that dissipates the power,” Petter instructed. “You’re too bent on sending the shot back toward your attacker. If you dissipate the attack instead and keep your balance, you will be able to focus a stronger counterattack. Try Yorick’s Ward.”

  Shiloh nodded. “For summer, certainly. Yorick’s is rubbish in the rain, though. Maybe if I modify Gilbert’s Ward?”

  Petter raised an eyebrow. “I’d wager you’re the only girl for five hundred miles who even knows Gilbert’s Ward, much less is capable of modifying it.”

  Shiloh didn’t quite know what to say to that. “Shall we go again?”

  As she swung herself easily onto Ruby’s back, she noticed how much stronger she was getting already. Six hours a week with Petter was making a difference, as hard as it was to see it when she was flying through the air.

  Petter mounted his own horse and came for her again. She tried Yorick’s Ward this time and managed to stay in the saddle, though the curse knocked her back a little in her seat, queering her aim for the counterattack. Still, it was progress.

  “Better,” Petter declared. “Again.”

  Shiloh rolled back her shoulders and wheeled around again. And again. And again. At last, she took Petter’s hex without breaking stride, launched a well-aimed bolt of her own, and knocked her instructor clean off of his mount.

  She was afraid she might have hit him too hard until she realized that he was laughing in the mud.

  “Remind me never to make you angry,” he laughed, pulling himself to his feet. “I think that’s enough for today.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Shiloh replied, then began leading Ruby back to the stables only to find Master Hatch leaning against the fence at the edge of the practice yard. She and Petter had had an audience.