And was. The winter clothes—long sleeves, heavy skirts, and shawls—had disguised her fragility. Bannan laid Frann gently on the bed, wrapping her first in the sheet, then adding every blanket in the room. “Rest, dear lady. I’ll bring—” Who, if not Lorra? “—someone.”
Frann might not have heard. Her eyes closed and she shivered under the covers. Delaying only to rekindle the fire, Bannan went for help.
Help, in the capable form of Palma, her mother, Gallie Emms, and, in short order, Endshere’s healer and his apprentice, shooed anyone else from Frann’s room and closed the door.
“But—” Hettie pressed her lips together and sighed instead. Tadd put his arm around her, looking over her head at his father. Zehr shrugged, settling Loee into the crook of an arm while Devins stared helplessly at the door.
Word had spread quickly, as it would in a village. The wonder was that it had reached all of Marrowdell but the Treffs. “We might as well wait downstairs,” Bannan suggested.
They nodded, following him down the stairs to the nearest table. The truthseer chose a seat where he could watch the door. When Allin spotted them, he hurried over, abandoning his customers.
Who nodded one to the other, knowingly.
“What ails Frann?” Allin demanded as he sat beside his twin. They were no more alike than any two brothers near in age would be, but identical concern filled their faces.
“We don’t know yet,” Hettie answered. Her hands rested over her unborn. “The healer wouldn’t let me stay.”
When Covie, Marrowdell’s healer and Hettie’s stepmother, would have, Bannan knew. Allin, well aware of this, nodded. “Frann’ll be well cared for,” he assured her. “Gallie will make certain of it.”
“If only we knew what was wrong.”
“Perhaps the journey—” Bannan offered.
“Nothing of the kind!” Lorra Treff arrived at their table like a whirlwind, her giant son drawn in her wake. He looked anxious. She looked furious.
Or terrified, Bannan thought with sympathy. He rose to his feet and offered his arm. “May I take you to your friend, dear lady?”
As he’d hoped, the courtesy made her pause, rather than rush past and up the stairs as she’d clearly intended to do. “It was the mutton,” Lorra declared, eyes snapping to Allin. He suddenly found the tabletop of great interest. Her eyes came back to Bannan, brows knit in a frown. “I told Frann to avoid it, but she’s no sense of taste. She woke queasy this morning. Serves her right.”
The truthseer kept his arm waiting. “Then you must tell the healer at once.”
“Heart’s Blood. That idiot’s with her?!” Shoving past Bannan, Lorra dashed for the stairs. Such was her speed, her hat flew from her head, landing three tables over amidst tankards and plates of sausage.
Davi followed, sending an apologetic glance over a massive shoulder.
As Bannan sank down in his seat, Zehr spoke up. “Lorra and Master Shedden—the local healer—had a disagreement, last fair. Cynd told Gallie,” he explained.
“‘Disagreement?’” The truthseer raised an eyebrow.
“A loud one.” Zehr handed Loee to Tadd, then shook his head. “Ancestors Brash and Bitter. Wasn’t our place to ask what it was over. For all we know, it was Lorra.”
Bannan kept his peace. A ready tongue—and temper—didn’t mean Lorra had been in the wrong. Ancestors Witness, didn’t Lila have both? He rubbed his chin, feeling its roughness. Hadn’t shaved today. Hadn’t eaten, other than the baking at the fair. Not that he’d appetite left.
Gallie Emms paused on the landing, looking for them. She didn’t smile as she came to their table, her eyes touching briefly on her sons and husband. Taking Loee, she sat on the bench and pressed a kiss into the baby’s curls, only then looking up. “Lorra and Davi intend to take Frann home. Now.”
Hettie paled. “We’ll be on the road in the dark.”
“We won’t. Davi claims his team knows the way and Lorra suggested—” her tone implying anything but a suggestion, “—those who prefer can follow tomorrow on horseback.”
“I could ride to Weken,” Tadd offered. “Bring their healer.”
“There’s none better than Covie,” countered Hettie. “Lorra’s right about that.”
“If Lorra leaves now, who’ll finish the rest of her trades?” Allin looked from one to the other. “Ancestors Witness, I’m as worried as you about Frann, but Marrowdell depends on these goods. You’ll run out of lamp oil and medicines. Lorra was bartering for barrels of salted fish as well as lye and who knows what else. The cart was to go home full.”
“Now it goes home empty.” Zehr half smiled. “Won’t be the first winter we’ve managed without luxuries.” He exchanged a glance with his wife and lost his smile. “Dear Heart?”
Gallie hugged Loee, her eyes troubled. “You want to go with them. Tonight.”
“We can’t let Davi and the others try this alone.”
“There must be another way,” she argued.
As one, they turned to Bannan.
Not only, the truthseer realized, because Horst had sent him to counter any of Lorra’s follies that might endanger the rest. If anyone here knew the risks at night, he did. Years along the border, creeping through the dark. More often than not, they and their enemy would stumble into one another, flailing swords and firing pistols in a confusion that would have been laughable if it hadn’t been for the dead.
The Northward was a road, not a battlefield. They could die on it as easily, and for no better reason.
“We go together.” Bannan rose to his feet. “Be ready to leave at first light.”
“But Lorra—” Hettie began. At his look, she stopped and nodded. “We’ll be ready.”
“I’ll inform the Treffs,” the truthseer told them.
He’d thank Horst for that duty once they were all safe in Marrowdell.
Before, light had poured out through the gaps in Mistress Sand’s mask that marked where her eyes and mouth should be. Now, mask in her hand, all but her hair disappeared within coruscating beams, impossible to bring into focus.
With a cry, Jenn looked away. It was like trying to stare into an inferno, one that sent sparks flying hot into her eyes. She wasn’t at all surprised to find herself flesh again, nor to feel tears wet on her cheeks.
~Some things you must see for yourself, Sweetling.~ Calm and sure.
A cautious peek revealed the turn-born had donned her mask once more. Jenn shuddered, but gazed directly at Sand. “That’s not what happens when I show my other self in Marrowdell.” If it had, Bannan would have told her at once, being truthful and ever-curious. Peggs too, though her dear sister would have found a way to say it that made having a face of fire sound both reasonable and good. Which it wasn’t at all.
~Curious, but unimportant.~ Mistress Sand shrugged. ~This is how terst see us. How turn-born see each other. Those of Marrowdell are neither.~
As if they didn’t matter. Did Mistress Sand forget her fondness for the villagers here, in her own very different world? Another question, one Jenn wasn’t sure she’d want answered. “Then—here—I should have a mask,” she concluded.
~No need. Stay as you are. I enjoy seeing my Sweetling.~
A spiked tail beat against the rock. ~Jenn Nalynn will not stay here or with you. The Verge is hers as well and she intends to travel it. What of other turn-born? What of the terst?~
Wise Wisp, Jenn thought gratefully.
Mistress Sand appeared discomfited. ~I don’t advise leaving this place or seeing others. You’ve much to learn, Sweetling. We don’t even know how long you can stay in the Verge.~
There was a limit? “You were in Marrowdell for five days,” Jenn ventured. She could be happy with that, five days surely long enough to explore and perhaps have a small adventure without missing too many chores at home or worrying Peggs.
~Days? Others of your kind die within moments of crossing,~ the turn-born said, the words leaving a chill inside Jenn’s heart. ~They go mad and harm themselves or become prey. Ask your dragon.~
~I haven’t eaten one of you,~ Wisp replied. ~Yet,~ he qualified, tongue wrapping thoughtfully around a fang.
“Wisp!” Though suspecting she was being teased, Jenn couldn’t help herself. “You mustn’t!” She was, however, careful not to make that any kind of wish.
From the pleased tilt of his head, he knew.
Jenn folded her list and returned it to her pocket. Those questions could wait. “How will I know when I need to go home? Will I—will I go mad?”
~If you do, I promise to eat you before anything else does,~ her dragon vowed. Amethyst eyes closed, then opened.
She chose not to believe him and was oddly comforted.
~I can’t say how you will know.~ Mistress Sand told her. ~For us? When it’s time to leave your world, we feel what is inside of us trying to stay, as if your world would reclaim what we’ve borrowed.~ She held out her arm of glass and sand. ~I know of no turn-born who has lingered past that warning. Why would we?~
It did seem a test unlikely to go well, Jenn conceded. She had a sudden, quite horrible, thought. ~The sei’s tears. It couldn’t claim those back, could it?~
Mistress Sand hesitated, then shrugged. ~Who knows what a sei could or can’t, would or won’t? Don’t disturb them, Sweetling. Don’t seek their attention.~ With grim finality.
Disagreement.
The turn-born’s head rose sharply and the air grew stifling and thick. Jenn met the hot glow marking the other’s eyes, refusing to back down though shaken by the speed of what must have been instinct, for she’d not consciously realized Mistress Sand had tried to force her compliance.
Which wasn’t right and mustn’t happen again. She found herself becoming angry. Angrier than she could remember being. So gloriously angry that the air in the room snapped and crackled as if a storm brewed and why shouldn’t it—
~Temper, here? It will harm only your dragon.~ Calm, as if speaking to an irate child.
“Peace, Dearest Heart!” whispered a breeze. “Sand’s caution is wise. No one in the Verge tempts the sei’s notice.” As her anger faded, the breeze warmed. “Always remember, there are turn-born who do not love you.”
Jenn lowered her gaze to her hands. Glass fingers filled with pearl and light, clenched into fists. She’d made Mistress Sand—who did love her and was her protector—stare into her unmasked face, which had been cruel.
She watched glass become flesh, nails biting into callused palms, and sighed, letting her anger go as she looked up again. The air calmed around them. Wisp closed his wings with a shake from head to tail, pointedly resuming his curl on the floor. She was sorry to have alarmed him.
“I came to learn, Mistress,” Jenn protested, stung. “You should trust me.”
~Trust you? I do. You’ve such a good heart.~ Then the turn-born shook her head. ~It’s mistakes I fear. Ask questions of the sei, Sweetling? That’s a mistake the Verge could pay for. Do you understand me?~
“There are rules.” Ones the turn-born obeyed, to keep themselves and those around them safe. Rules, Jenn thought with a wild rush of hope, to make sense of the Verge. Or some sense, she added to herself, eyeing the wall that had moved ahead of her.
Wisp made a rude noise.
Mistress Sand ignored him. ~You could say that.~ Slow and consideringly. ~Certain actions have consequence here. We don’t bring ourselves to the notice of the sei, for the consequence?~ A palm turned up. ~From nothing to the destruction of the Verge. Sei cannot be predicted or understood or trusted.~
She’d no intention of bothering the sei, and every hope they—or it—would ignore her too. A promise being foolish at best, Jenn nodded, very politely. “And the masks, Mistress?”
After a pause every bit as expressive as one of Aunt Sybb’s, during which Jenn did her best to look attentive and not obstinate, the turn-born surprised her with a chuckle. ~Masks are good manners, Sweetling. Taking advice from those who know better?~ A finger pointed. ~That’s good sense.~
The words left a shiver behind, a reminder she faced no one so safe as her aunt. “What advice would you give me, Mistress?”
~The most important you’ve heard. The next? What’s to be born, will. What’s about to die, will. Turn-born can’t oppose nature.~
Jenn started to object, “You healed Uncle Horst . . .” then stopped.
~Healing’s no more turn-born magic than your finding the lost or Bannan’s truth sight.~ Almost gently. ~It’s a terst gift, Sweetling, and one we were glad to use, but make no mistake. Had he been worse, or slower to reach us, that brave man would be bones in the ground.~ Mistress Sand made a sound like a cough. ~Best advice of all, Sweetling? Stay close to your family.~
Wisp uncoiled his neck, lifting his head to stare at the turn-born. ~You have none.~
Mistress Sand didn’t flinch. ~We do not. Being no longer terst, nor welcomed by those who birthed us.~
Her dismay must have shown on her face, for the turn-born reached across the distance between them to lay her hand on Jenn’s knee. ~We have each other, Sweetling. It’s not the same, but then, neither are we.~ Her hand withdrew. ~You asked for rules. I give you what is our one and our only. Turn-born must agree.~
Was that a rule, a consequence, or simply a statement of fact? All three, Jenn decided. In Marrowdell, there was no one to disagree with her magic. That she hadn’t done anything lastingly dreadful—there having been, of course, Night’s Edge—was more due to luck than wisdom. “I wish there was another turn-born in Marrowdell.”
~So do we all.~ But there was a hint of a smile behind the stern mask. ~Don’t doubt yourself, Sweetling. You’ve come to me with your questions. Turn-born here should do the same.~
Encouraged, Jenn pulled out her crumpled list. “If you’ve time,” she said shyly, “I’ve more.”
In the stable, Davi tested the straps on the cart, throwing his weight into the pull. The wood creaked in reponse.
The big smith hadn’t protested leaving in the morning, or packing Marrowdell’s few acquisitions now, instead of then. No longer smiling and all too quiet, he’d joined their preparations with a fierce will. “I’ll be in the loft,” Bannan said, coming around from the other side. Devins and Tadd had volunteered as well. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I won’t sleep.”
The smith shook his head. “Get your rest. We’ll need you tomorrow.” He tossed a bedroll into the space in the cart left for Frann and Lorra. “Ancestors Witness, anyone tries to steal this takes me too.”
Bannan gave a grim nod.
Worry clouded everything. Gallie, Loee, and Zehr were now in the room across from Frann’s. To everyone’s surprise, Lorra had merely nodded when told of the dawn departure.
To no one’s, she’d banished the healer and his apprentice, and ordered meals brought to the room.
Perrkin and the other Marrowdell mounts nickered a welcome as Hettie entered the stable, laden with a tray of covered dishes. “I’ve brought supper,” she announced briskly. “Where would you like it?”
Bannan patted the top of his crate. He’d had no chance to open it, but there’d been room after all, not that the reason was good. They’d tried their best these hours past, but trade was trade. Though sympathetic, no one in Endshere was ready to make a quick deal to Marrowdell’s benefit, especially without Frann or Lorra involved. They’d leave their remaining goods for trade with Allin, who’d do what he could with them through the rest of the fair. As he’d warned, the cart would return home empty, but no one argued otherwise.
Anything, to get Frann into Covie’s care.
“Any change?” Davi asked, taking his bowl.
Hettie nodded. “She’s awake at last. Won’t eat, but Gallie said Frann drank so
me sweet tea.” She fretted at the ends of her shawl. “Ancestors Bothersome and Bound. Someone needs say it.”
Bannan gave her his full attention. “What?”
“Something’s not right. When she first woke up, Frann was furious with Lorra for changing her room without permission.” The young woman’s eyes were round and anxious. “How can she not know where she is?”
“Ancestors Blessed,” Davi said, warm and hearty. “Frann’s confused, that’s all. She must have bumped her head. Like Tadd, that time on the ice. Right, Bannan?”
He’d looked for such an injury and hadn’t found one, but what they needed to hear wasn’t more reason to worry. “I’ve seen it before,” the truthseer agreed, choosing not to elaborate. Blows to the head weren’t always fatal, but few soldiers who survived them were the same afterward. “We’re doing the right thing, taking Frann home.”
He wasn’t sorry, seeing the relief in their faces.
Hettie left soon after, needing rest herself. Once they’d finished their meal, Bannan went to return the tray to the inn. He owed Great Gran her story and tonight would be farewells, to Allin and the Anans.
Stepping from the stable, warmed by horses, into the night air, he found himself in winter. Stars twinkled like specks of ice in the black sky and the ground was hard, the grass crunching beneath his boots. Smoke wreathed rooftops; his breath fogged around his head.
The truthseer walked faster, trying not to shiver. If this was but winter’s start in the north, best he study how the villagers dressed for this weather. Vorkoun and the marches rarely stayed below freezing for long and the only snow to last was on the peaks.
It’d be different here.
Marrowdell’s folk made ready to leave before dawn the next morning. The cold reddened cheeks and noses, biting at fingers bared for work. The horses might have been on fire, the way steam rose from their backs and puffed with each snorted breath. Battle stamped, jingling his harness rings, impatient to be away. To head for home.
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