by A. M. Manay
“It’s all right, Penny,” Shiloh whispered. “I’m being stupid.” She shoved back the blanket with her stump, the stick from her mouth now fallen to the bed’s sheet and tears visible on her face. “You can’t stop him, anyway.”
Penn reluctantly stepped out of the way. Hatch instantly took her former place sitting on the edge of the bed.
“And you leave my friend the hell alone,” Shiloh ordered Hatch, voice cracking, “or I will make you sorry.”
“Noted,” he replied. “Now let me see.”
Shiloh turned onto her back and reluctantly pulled away the rest of the blanket. Hatch kept his face carefully blank, not wanting to frighten her with either his dismay or his fascination. The whole right side of her torso was covered with dark purple bruising, the hex mark itself a deep burgundy outlined in stark white. “Kobard’s Curse,” he whispered. “I had no idea she . . .”
“No idea who?” Shiloh demanded, voice weak but ears sharp.
“Nothing,” he muttered. You need to be more careful. She’s too quick, even like this. “I know the countercurse, but I’ve never performed it on a person. Just laboratory animals. It’s a very rare hex. Very difficult to perform.”
“Evidently, Mother was a rare pearl,” Shiloh replied bitterly, managing some fire even under the circumstances.
You could say that again, he thought. Without looking up from the patient, he said, “I’ll get started. Miss Warwick, tell the masters that it’s Kobard’s Curse and that they will want to have some strong Tincture of Jadeleaf handy. And when Jane comes back, send her to fetch me something to eat and some strong coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”
***
Shiloh passed out just after dawn. The battle had been lengthy, and Silas yearned, too, for sleep, but he would berate himself later if he passed up the chance to jot down some notes. Jane entered the infirmary carrying fresh clothes and sheets for the patient, and Silas saw an opportunity. He waited, nearly nodding off, as Jane bustled about heating a basin of water.
“I’m going to sponge her off and change her gown, Master Hatch,” Jane told him pointedly.
“Yes, I know,” he replied, turning to a fresh page in his notebook.
“Master!” she protested. “You must go. She won’t be decent.”
“Must I?” he replied blandly, not looking up from the page.
Muttering under her breath, Jane got to work. Hatch drew as fast as he could, eyes darting up and down, recording the life story written in scars along Shiloh’s skin.
“What the hell are you doing, Silas?”
Silas looked up to see Master Jonn glaring down at him. “Research,” he replied.
Jonn grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. “She is not one of your laboratory rats,” he hissed. “You take your obsessive fascination with evil out of my hospital.”
“My fascination with evil may have saved her life last night, and certainly spared her suffering,” Silas pointed out. “When you couldn’t do either, I might add.”
Jonn nodded, eyes blazing. “Right. Rub my face in it, as usual, that you’re twice the wizard I’ll ever be. You helped her tremendously. You’re a Gods-damned hero. I’m sure it went a long way toward patching things up between you after your unhinged interrogation the other day. But if she finds out about these drawings, whatever trust she has in you will crumble. She’s a virgin from the Teeth, Silas! She prays an hour a day in the Temple. She’s still uncomfortable with men seeing her hair. And you have drawings of her naked torso in your notebook. Are you daft?”
“You make it sound so prurient,” Silas complained. “It isn’t like that.”
“You want to make a scientific inquiry into her condition, then you wait until she wakes up, and you ask her permission. Until then, if you want to stay in here, close your notebook, take yourself over there, and get some sleep before you collapse and crack your head open on my clean floors!” Jonn ordered.
“Elder’s balls, Jonny, you don’t have to get so mad about it,” Silas muttered, yawning. At his only friend’s glare, he relented, holding his hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. I am quite tired,” he allowed.
Jonn continued to glare at him. “And don’t you call me Jonny! You’re not my mother!”
***
Silas Hatch supervised as the men finished loading Mirin’s trunks onto carts. He knew he didn’t really need to do so, but he wouldn’t be able to concentrate until he knew the former queen was underway. The woman herself was expected any moment, her carriage and guard standing ready to depart for the royal wharf.
As he watched her cross the courtyard, he thought that she looked smaller than he remembered. Perhaps it was just the scale, since she’d been cooped up in those tiny rooms in the Dark Tower for the better part of five years. Perhaps it was age. To his own surprise, he felt a pang at the sight of her frailty.
Apparently, I’m still capable of feeling sorry for my enemies. Who’d have thought?
Mirin tripped on a cobblestone, and Hatch leapt out to take her elbow before she could fall. She gave him no thanks but a glare, but she did permit him to help her walk.
“Here to gloat, boy?” she asked.
“Certainly not, my lady,” Silas replied evenly. “I simply wished to bid you a safe journey.”
That got him a bark of a laugh, which turned into a protracted fit of coughing.
“You should take a healer with you, my lady,” he told her, eyes sober. “This doesn’t sound like something you can get rid of with a bottle of Grayson’s Titrate.”
“Whoever I’d hire, you’d bribe him to kill me,” she retorted.
“Don’t be absurd, my lady. If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead,” Hatch pointed out. “I’ve spent the last five years trying to save you, little as you may deserve it.”
Mirin snorted.
As he helped her into the carriage, he remarked, “You were right about one thing, though, my lady.”
“What’s that, you conniving lapdog?” Mirin demanded
He leaned in close and whispered coldly, “I never should have opened that box.”
Mirin’s mask fell away for just an instant, horror at his words peeking out. Hatch turned and left her before she could make a reply, a cruel smile creeping across his face.
***
Shiloh sat by the window, looking down at her half-eaten food, struggling to find both the strength and the appetite to finish it. A nurse had reluctantly helped her out of bed, muttering all the while about having to be touching an Unclean abomination. The woman had disappeared just as soon as she could manage it, casting signs behind her for good measure.
The door creaked. Shiloh looked up to see who approached, then heaved a sigh. She had to admit, though, that he looked to be in better spirits than the last time she’d seen him. Smelled a far sight better, too.
“Is the torture business good, Master Hatch?” she asked, taking her frustrations out on him. She picked up her spoon, but it fell out of her shaking hand with a clatter.
He shook his head and pulled up a chair. “Tolerably,” he replied gamely. Then he looked down at her tray, picked up the spoon, and scooped up a mouthful of porridge. Shiloh eyed it for a long moment before opening her mouth and accepting his help. He then held the teacup to her lips, and she took a long swallow of the lukewarm tea.
“Thank you. Sorry for the torture crack.”
Silas shrugged. “I’ve had worse. And it’s been a good day.”
“Well, don’t leave me in suspense,” she demanded.
“Mirin is gone. Left this morning,” he reported, grinning.
“The queen must be happy,” she replied, smiling in spite of herself at his boyish glee.
“Tolerably,” he allowed. “You look terrible.”
Shiloh snorted. “I’m not surprised. I feel pretty terrible.”
“How long does Jonn think you’ll be here?” he asked.
Sh
iloh shook her head and immediately regretted it. Wincing, she replied, “He said he reckons at least a week. And that’s assuming I don’t have any further . . . setbacks. I’ll be so behind on my reading,” she lamented.
“Given how far ahead of everyone you already are, I wouldn’t waste too much energy worrying about that,” Silas replied. “Markas is about ready to give you a class to teach.” He fed her another bite of breakfast.
“So, why are you here?” she asked.
“I have a few things for you, gifts from his grace and the queen. It might cheer you to know that once you are recovered, the queen would like for you to be one of her maids-in-waiting,” Silas told her, laying an impressive sheet of embossed paper on the edge of the table. Ornate calligraphy danced across the page.
Shiloh raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“You should be happy,” Silas scolded. “It is a tremendous honor for a half-blood to be chosen. Usually only the royal bastards are invited.”
Shiloh managed a small smile. “It is gratifying to be appreciated. But I don’t know if I’m cut out for that sort of thing. I mean, this is the first time in my life I’ve ever had more than one pair of shoes, and only because you gave them to me. I don’t sew. I don’t dance. What do they even do all afternoon? What do they talk about?”
“You’ll be fine,” he countered, waiving a hand. “You’re novel, and you have the king’s favor. You’re a hero. They’ll find you cute. Eventually, they will get bored and turn their attention elsewhere. All you have to do is sit and nod, be obliging, and keep your eyes and ears open.”
Shiloh nodded. “That makes sense. To be honest, though, I’d probably do a better job as a Knight of St. Stex, or whatever they’re called. Not that I know what their duties actually are. I just imagine there’s less needlework involved.”
“Well,” he replied, grinning, “you’re in luck.” He pulled another document from his pocket. “The lords balked, but the king insisted. You’re the only woman ever to be invited to join the order, and one of the few bastards. And there are no specific duties as such, except attendance at the occasional sparring or jousting tournament. Your appointment, however, does mean you are permitted to carry a wand in the royal presence.”
“Really?” she replied, cocking her head to the side. “Are you putting me on?”
Silas shook his head. “I suspect the king wants to have you armed in case of another incident. He figures that if you managed to protect them without a wand, you’ll do even better with one. You are experiencing a rather meteoric rise.” He hesitated when her face darkened. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just . . . It makes me nervous. If they can pull me so high, they can just as easily throw me back down again,” she fretted.
“That is the nature of life as a courtier. Most girls your age wouldn’t see that truth. They would just be giddy at the favor,” Silas opined.
“Edmun discouraged giddy,” she pointed out.
“Fair enough.”
“I thought you didn’t trust me. You came barging in here, all suspicious and angry, asking me all those questions like I was some kind of outlaw. And today, you approve of me carrying a wand around the royal family?” she asked, still skeptical.
“I am suspicious by nature and by trade. It’s my war wound, I suppose you could say. Today, I trust you. Last thing.” He pulled out a purse and dropped it on the table with an impressive thunk.
“What is that?” she gasped.
“Your reward. It seems that his grace would like to encourage the rest of us to be a bit more heroic. One thousand Suns, to do with as you wish. You will need to use some of it on clothes. You can’t be a maid in waiting dressed like a merchant’s fourth daughter,” he explained.
Shiloh’s mouth was still open in shock. Finally, she managed to ask, “How much should I spend on the clothes? How do I even find a dressmaker? What do I buy? Tell me what to do.”
He laughed. “Spend two hundred. That should get you four dresses, eight stomachers, eights sets of sleeves, four pairs of shoes, and four sets of stockings,” he instructed. “I’ll send someone your way to handle it for you.”
She continued to stare at the purse, dumbfounded. “Can you . . . will you be my banker? Can you invest what I don’t need yet?”
He smiled. “Gladly. My, but you are a careful thing. You’ve got them all convinced you’re a lost country mouse, but Edmun told you just how to behave once you got here, didn’t he? Once you had more than a few Moons and Stars to rub together.”
“You would prefer I spent it all on wine and women?” she replied tartly. “Brother Edmun tried to prepare me as best he could. That is hardly a sin.”
He laughed again. “Of course not. I’m just reminding myself not to feel too sorry for you.” He winked, then stood to leave. “I’ll hold it all safe. Why don’t you keep five suns locked in your cupboard in case of emergency? I’ll tell the dressmaker to come to me for her payment.”
“Thank you, Master Hatch,” she replied.
“You are welcome, Shiloh.” He paused. “I do have a favor to ask.”
Shiloh’s eyebrows darted upward. “Do you?” she asked.
“I would like to examine your scars and take some notes,” he proposed in a carefully neutral tone.
Shiloh stiffened, looking down and away. “I . . . I don’t know if I . . . Why? Why would you want to do that?”
“Your mother, whoever she was, obviously had command of some extremely rare and powerful curses. I would like to know about them. If I can identify the ones you have already experienced, perhaps I might be able to predict what curses might trouble you in the future,” he offered.
“Ah. So, it’s for my own good, is it?” she asked, her voice flat with her effort to hide her dismay.
“I do admit to my own . . . scholarly curiosity,” he confessed.
“I don’t let people pay ten Stars to gawk at me, Master Hatch,” she whispered. “Nor do I allow it for a thousand Suns.” To her mortification, a tear fell into her teacup.
“That’s not what I’m trying to do, Shiloh—”
“Please go.”
He rose to obey, picking up her purse. “I’m sorry to have upset you. I’ll check on you in a few days.”
Shiloh didn’t trust herself to move or speak until she heard the door close behind him. She looked down at the five gold pieces sitting on her tray and took a deep breath.
Take not your eyes from fortune’s wheel, for those who fall may rise again, and those who rise may yet be broken upon the self-same wheel.
***
Hatch realized with a start that he’d been staring at the tapestry on the wall for the better part of ten minutes.
Gods damn it, Hatch. It’s not as though she’s the first person you ever made cry. Hell, she’s probably not the first person you made cry since breakfast.
He flipped through his notebook to find the pages that had so infuriated Master Jonn. I only got half of them down, and they were troubling enough. Gods know how many more there are, or how many surfaced long enough ago for their marks to have faded. To how many curses is she immune? If you could even get one past her defensive spells when she’s got a wand on her. Who ever heard of an invincible cripple?
Silas poured himself a goblet of wine.
If this goes bad, if she turns on me, if she turns on the king . . . I fear there’s not a damned one of us who could manage to kill her.
What if I’ve made a terrible mistake?
Chapter 11
Anything Can Be a Prison
Shiloh panted as she climbed the steps carved into the side of Mount Tarwin, treading the path worn smooth by the many pilgrims who had preceded her. Every so often, she sat down to rest, admiring the terraces full of fruits and vegetables that clung determinedly to the side of the mountain.
She removed her headscarf for a moment to allow the breeze to cool her face and dry her hair, grown dark with sweat. It wasn�
�t as though she needed to worry about modesty up there. No man was permitted to set foot on Mount Tarwin. She’d left her father and Brother Edmun behind in the village in the valley, with the menfolk of the other pilgrims. There were not many today. She could make out one woman far above her, and a pair far below.
She stood to continue her ascent. She smiled. Her whole childhood, Brother Edmun had spoken of taking her to see the oracles. Now, at thirteen, the day had finally arrived. Equal parts excitement and fear filled her stomach with butterflies any time she took her mind off of the climb and allowed it to dwell on what she might find at the summit.
There were many stories about the oracles. She had no way of knowing which were true and which were false. It was generally agreed that they would permit only the pure of heart to enter the sanctum, though they would speak to all comers in the courtyard. It was said they gave no import to rank. They might make a queen wait longer than a pauper, and the queen would never dare say a word in complaint. There were tales of pilgrims who never descended the mountain, either because the oracles invited them to remain and join their number, or because some terrible prophesy induced the seers to toss the unfortunate devotée off of a precipice.
Eventually, exhaustion pushed all worries out of Shiloh’s head, leaving only the desire for rest. At last, the sun setting behind her, she came to the gate. A blind girl with clouded eyes and a shaved head greeted her warmly, holding out two hands to take Shiloh’s single one.
“Shiloh, at last you’ve come!”
***
The knighthood ceremony turned out to be simpler than Shiloh had feared. The king had called her forward during services on Lordsday, the first day Master Jonn had let her out of the infirmary. She had sworn her loyalty. Rischar had laid his wand upon her shoulder, and Brother Charls had anointed her with oil. The king had clapped her on the back and laughed, and that had been it.
She reached over to touch the spot on her shoulder where the king had placed his wand of earth. If it weren’t for all the witnesses, she’d fear she had dreamt it all.
