“Are you daft?” Isolde flicked a crumb at her, red mottling her cheeks. “Enough nonsense.”
Nerys folded her hands in her lap, turning her head to admire a tapestry at the farthest end of the room to give us privacy. Her spine was straight, her bearing graceful. She was placid, lovely.
There was no good reason why I should not like her, yet dislike her was exactly what I did.
“And to think, there are those who sneer at my manners,” Isolde mused.
“I apologize.” I lowered my chin to force my wandering eyes to behave.
Leaning closer, Isolde asked, “Who taught you to sever spines?”
“I— What?” Her leap from social impropriety to murder left my head spinning.
“Spines, girl.” She reached over to jab my arm. “I inspected your work. Very clean.”
I blanched. “Um, thank you?”
“Either you’ve been at this a while or you’ve had instruction,” she pressed. “Which is it?”
I shifted on my chair. “Both?”
“Figured as much.” She waggled that same finger at me. “Who taught you?”
“I, well, it’s complicated.” I dug my nails into my palms. “The first time I… It was messy. It got the job done, but the whole thing made me sick. I…I wanted cleaner, better ends for them.”
Isolde nodded along in agreement, as if I had said nothing untoward.
“Then one morning, after a particularly rough night, I wandered into the nearest town. It was early enough I would be the baker’s first customer of the day, but my stomach was queasy, and it seemed like a better idea to go for a walk first. As I explored the town, I came upon the butcher’s stall in the market. I watched him stick his hand in a cage, grab a fat hen, drag her out and lay her on his board. One hard whack of his cleaver and it was done, she was dead.” I remembered how cold and methodical he had been too. It was his job, the killing. He took no joy in his work. Pride lit up his face when comely wives complimented the skill of his cuts, but their praise was earned.
I sensed everyone’s attention on me and went quiet. The story was not meant for their ears.
Ignoring my discomfort, Isolde jabbed my arm again. “You asked for instruction, I take it?”
“Not exactly.” I could hardly ask an honest man to teach me how to make cleaner kills. “He had great slabs of varanus on display, and I knew how hearty and thick-boned they are. I rented a room in town near the market and kept an eye on him. It took a few days and cost me most of the gold I had left, but I found where he lived. I tracked him to his stable one day and watched while he slaughtered a varanus. When he was done, he tossed his cleaver aside and went inside to rest. I stole it and an old spade I found leaning against a stall. That same night I put his lessons to use.”
“Huh.” Isolde scratched her chin.
“What is it, Lady?” Murdoch’s voice so near my shoulder startled me.
Isolde dropped her hand, balling her fist. “Call me that one more time, Murdoch, and I’ll—”
“Mother, do try not to pick fights at the table.” The sound of Vaughn’s voice made her chest swell. I fancied I could see love pouring in to fill her heart to bursting. Such was her love of him.
“Finally decided to join us, eh?” She indicated her empty plate and lifted her drained goblet.
“I apologize for the delay.” His smile flashed the tips of his fangs, and Mana flushed.
Skirting her husband, Mana approached Isolde. “You had to have your way, I see.”
“I fixed the problem.” Isolde patted her head. “I like it.”
Mana ran a few strands between her fingers. “We agreed I would apply a suitable shade.”
“Suitable shade. Bah.” Isolde slapped Mana’s hand aside. “You took too long.”
“You asked me yesterday.” Mana looked to her husband for help, but Vaughn was grinning.
Isolde had the grace to glance aside. “Blasted plague sucked the life out of me. I tired of that white fluff. Before the plague, I had some color. My hair was steel gray, and it complemented my sword. White complements nothing and no one. Now black, that’s a fine shade for a Mimetidae.”
“Steel gray, we can do.” Mana searched out Nerys. “After dinner, we’ll discuss our options.”
Confusion swirled through my head until I had to shake it clear. “You survived the plague?”
“I’m sitting here, aren’t I?” Isolde smoothed hands down her sides and hips.
“That’s not possible,” I said dumbly. Yet there Isolde sat with no detractors.
Amusement leached from her face. “Careful who you accuse of lying, girl.”
“Forgive her, La—Isolde.” Murdoch braced my shoulder. “She speaks before thinking.”
His grip squeezed an apology from me. “I meant no disrespect.”
Isolde toyed with the fork by her plate as if checking the balance of a dart she might throw.
“Murdoch, fix Kaidi a plate and take her to her room.” Vaughn rubbed his temples. “Mother, put down the fork. Hishima won’t be as quick to negotiate if his beloved is pricked full of holes.”
Her fork clattered to the table. Murdoch snatched me from my seat. Mana’s expression made me wince. I had shamed my hostess. I was ruining the goodwill she was busy cultivating for me. I hadn’t meant to act so ungrateful, but Isolde’s bold claim shattered all my intentions to behave.
One did not simply survive the plague. It was not an illness. It was a metamorphosis.
No life it touched was left unchanged.
Chapter Five
“Seven days.” Murdoch paced his bedroom from end to end. “Seven days.”
I sat at his desk, savoring a vegetable medley between bites of a meaty substance I could not identify.
“Must you remind me?” It was hard enough to silence my own reminders, let alone his.
“You ignored my advice, all of it, every scrap.” Murdoch stopped with his legs braced apart. “What’s worse is Isolde liked you. She engaged you. But what did you do? You insulted her.”
“Did she truly survive the plague?” I had to know.
He flung his arm toward the door. “You saw her with your own eyes.”
“But did I see a female who survived infection, or did I see a female immune to the sickness? I asked Isolde, and you both claim I insulted her. I meant no disrespect. I only want the answer.”
Murdoch let his arm drop. “She was infected. All the females here save Nerys fell ill within days of one another. Those sick longest passed first. The others were poised to die when a…” He paused. “A miracle saved the lives of the others. Isolde recovered, but it was a very near thing.”
I clenched my fist until the fork bit into my hand. “There are more survivors?”
“Several,” he admitted. “Most will make full recoveries. A few may never be whole again.”
Metal scraped against bone, and still I tightened my grip. “How is that possible?”
As if realizing he had said too much, Murdoch gave me his back. “It doesn’t matter.”
I shoved from the table and approached him. “Do you realize how many have died from the plague? Whole clans have been devastated by it. Yours was not. Yet there you stand—with nerve enough to tell me it doesn’t matter how that’s possible?” I jabbed him with my fork, and he spun. He plucked the utensil from my hand and tossed it to clatter across the stones. “Tell your paladin to send word to all the clans. Gather their physicians. Let them see your survivors. With luck, the cause for their recovery can be determined.” Excitement lent my voice a high pitch. “They might find a cure. Can you imagine? No more lives lost. No more sickness. No more loss of livestock.”
No more grim nightly work for me. Oh, to enjoy the luxury of idle hands.
Murdoch’s expression shuttered. “That’s enough, Kaidi.”
“What did I say?” Only that I wished for a cure. How could he begrudge me that?
“Finish your meal.” He pointed at the plate gone cold behi
nd me.
“In a minute.” I touched his arm. “Why are you angry? What have I done?”
His gaze skittered to the window. “Do you really have to ask?”
“Don’t change the subject.” I dismissed our earlier spat with a wave of my hand.
“I will say this, and then I will say no more.” He grasped my shoulders and pegged me with a beseeching look. “The plague has been every Araneaean’s priority. We have all sought a cure. We have all sought answers. We have all waited for a sign the end of our suffering was near.”
Some odd note struck me in his speech. I snapped my fingers. “You said have. Not are.”
His brow creased. “A slip of the tongue.”
“No. It’s more than that, more than accidental. It’s the lack of urgency, as if you don’t care.” Giddiness overcame me. “But it’s not that, is it? You know something. Tell me. I lack the richest sources of gossip since I’m no longer part of a paladin’s court. You must hear everything. Well?”
Murdoch turned me loose. “Who would spread gossip to a girl who can’t hold her tongue?”
I bounced on the heels of my feet. “So you do know something.”
“It’s time for us to go to bed.” The room was dark except for a few scattered tapers. He went to the nearest candle and extinguished it. “I would offer you the chance to read before turning in, but you’ve made it abundantly clear you don’t care for the material I have available.” He pinched a second flame between his fingers. “Therefore, I will assume you would prefer sleep to study.”
Frantic for a reason to keep him chatting, I wracked my brain for some telling scrap. “Plague victims die within days of infection.” Days after that, they rose. “A cure would have to act fast.”
His exhale told me nothing except of his desire to escape me.
“For your surviving clansmen to have recovered so quickly, their symptoms must have been mild.” Except Isolde’s claims sounded extreme. Was that due to her age? Fragile health? Or was her illness merely an excuse to indulge in eccentricities such as dying her hair outlandish colors?
“Think what you will.” He dismissed my talk as brainless musings.
“I have little choice,” I groused. “No one here seems willing to speculate.”
“Speculation is an attempt at forecasting the unknowable. I prefer to deal in absolutes.”
I ignored his disdain and pushed ahead. “Do you think there’s a connection between the way the plague affected Cathis and the similar, mild effects it had on the people of Beltania? What is the commonality? A shared water source? Plant life? Whatever it was had to be in direct contact with livestock. If nothing else, we can prove that the plague is transmitted through them.”
Murdoch leaned a shoulder against the wall, his face cast in shadow. “Did you happen to notice Isolde asked how you had learned your…skills….yet she failed to ask why you cultivated them?”
I clamped my mouth shut. “Perhaps she wanted to make polite conversation.”
“No.” He guffawed. “Isolde is not the sort of female who engages in idle chatter.”
“But I am?” I was no idle chatterer. “I am trying to speak to you on important topics.”
“As am I.” He warmed to his speech. “What else I find interesting is she didn’t ask about the bodies. She merely complimented your skill. Don’t you find that odd? A former maven, who discovers her clansmen have been violated by some feckless girl, and doesn’t say a word on it?”
I had wondered where Isolde’s anger was, why it failed to reach the heights her son’s had.
“That is what makes me curious.” He tapped a finger at his temple. “Always thinking is our Isolde. She saw something to your methods that made her curious. What was it?”
Dread soured the food resting in my stomach. “I think you’re right. I am ready for bed.”
He wore a smirk around the room while hefting a plush chair and plopping it down near the window. The door he left unguarded. Or so I thought until a shadow glided past and light from the hall was broken for an instant. Straining my ears, I heard a low voice sing a bawdy tune.
“Lleu?” I asked, slumping at the realization how well I was corralled.
“He asked for the detail.” Murdoch sank into his chair, and it was then I saw the book in his hand. “You must have made an impression on him. Lleu is not overly fond of such quiet work.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t see why the paladin gives him leave to do as he does.”
“They’ve been friends since childhood.” Murdoch lifted his novel and shielded his face from me. “Be wary of any insults you hand Lleu if you want to continue enjoying the paladin’s favor.”
I picked at a pillow on Murdoch’s bed. “If he favored me before, he won’t after tonight.”
“Isolde is capable of defending herself. She doesn’t need her son to hold a grudge for her.”
That I could believe. “Vaughn’s interest in my wellbeing isn’t genuine anyway. All he wants is for Hishima to arrive and see me clean, well-tended and smiling, so I can vouch for Mimetidae guards and declare them the best and most fit champions for our people. As if Hishima listens to me.” I tossed the pillow at Murdoch. “No one listens to me. You think I talk too much, and I may, but I’m the only one who ever listens to me. I might as well be good company for myself.”
“Tell me something, then.” He caught the pillow and set it neatly on his lap. “You want an ear to bend, have mine. Tell me whatever’s on your mind, and I won’t judge you for it. I swear.”
“Tempting.” I dropped onto his bed and let my feet dangle. “From my lips to whose ears?”
Murdoch gifted me a rare smile, a real one that made me reassess his temperament. Where I had seen only stern lines bracketing his mouth before, I began to notice those around his eyes came from laughter. Despite his grumpy disposition toward me, others might find him less…prickly. Perhaps a soft female like Nerys was better suited to his quiet kind of humor.
Once, I had been soft too. What might have happened if that version of me had met this version of him? Would we have smiled warmly and genuinely at one another, or not at all?
Would he have purchased baubles in my store and flirted until I let him walk me home?
Would I have let him walk me home? I flushed to consider the possibility.
“Tell me something of little consequence,” he offered. “Something I can keep to myself.”
I almost scoffed at him. Instead I found myself saying, “I hate what I have become.”
He jerked, struck by my unexpected admission. “Then stop. Put down your spade. Let others shoulder the burden of curing the plague. Orchestrate the deal between Hishima and Vaughn, do your duty. Follow Hishima home. Put your heart into becoming a maven worthy of your people.”
Sad laughter was my response. “If every person shrugged aside the burden because it weighs too heavily on their shoulders, then who is left to carry the load? I will do my duty by my people. I owe them that much.” For my uncle and others who had survived. They deserved a measure of peace, no matter how tenuous. Despite my warnings, they refused to see the true danger to us all came from within. But turning a clan against its paladin was treason. Treason was punishable by death, and to a clan who had lost so many lives, it was wasteful, slanderous, and not to be borne.
The best hope I had was by manning Titania’s walls, I armed my clan against the inevitable.
He rubbed his chin. “That sentiment is worthy of a maven.”
I didn’t say I was no maven. What was the point when he was content to cast me in that light no matter my objections? The problems facing my clan, facing our nation, would not be solved if each person tasked with finding a solution handed the issue to the person standing behind them. I acted not as maven, but as the steward of a family the plague had all but snuffed from existence.
I had one final question before I caved to slumber. “When will the funeral pyres be lit?”
“Not for a few more day
s. Families are still performing rites.” His voice hardened. “Why?”
I picked at my fingernails. “Will the bodies be left in the field until then?”
“Yes.” He emphasized, “Under heavy guard. Heavier guard since you arrived.”
“What would you say if I told you I could help you?”
He paused before answering, “It depends on what area you think I require assistance.”
“Your paladin tasked you with finding the missing males of your clan.” I tore my nail to the quick. “I won’t make you any promises, but I have an idea of where you can find your answers.”
Exhaustion beat me to finishing my task. There were still bodies in the field that might rise. I don’t know why I offered, except that Murdoch’s glimmer of faith in me bolstered my desire to have a confidant. Maven or not, I craved shoulders broad enough to share my burden. Murdoch’s were wide and strong. If he balked, I would be none the worse off considering Hishima would ride for Cathis soon. If Murdoch witnessed a rising, what might he do then? Spare me? Aid me?
“What do you want in exchange?” he asked cautiously.
“You can’t give me what I want.” I crawled beneath the covers and tried to get comfortable.
“Why offer now?” He came closer. “Why this sudden generosity?”
“Is it generous, I wonder, to gift someone with the same nightmares I experience?”
“You’re not making sense, Kaidi.” He stood over me, staring into my face, seeking answers.
“I’ve changed my mind.” I reached for him. “I do want something.”
His expression relaxed. This he must feel he could handle. “What do you have in mind?”
“Hold my hand.” When he recoiled, I snapped, “I did wash the gore from under my nails.”
“It isn’t that.” He wiped his palms on his pants.
“Then what is it?” At his mute frown, I rolled away from him. “It was foolish. Never mind.”
“Tell me why you asked.” His voice beat against my spine.
“I dream of graves, Murdoch. Rows of them. Fields of them. Some filled with bodies. Other ones are still empty.” I released a shuddering exhale. “There is always one deeper, darker, colder than the others. No matter how I try to avoid it, I find myself skirting its edge. Just before I might slip and topple in on my own, skeletal hands grasp my ankles and drag me down screaming.” He treated me to another prolonged silence. “Just for one night, I would like to enter that field and not fear the fall. I want to close my eyes knowing there’s someone here who will pull me back.”
A Time of Dying (Araneae Nation) Page 6
