On the Subject of Griffons

by Lindsey Byrd

  Dressed at long last, she found a brush nearby. Her hands wrapped around it, and she treasured the feel of the soft wood against her palms. Sitting before a vanity, she took her long hair in hand and gripped it tight with one fist before setting herself to work.

  Each bristle snagged on the army of knots, but Kera found that she didn’t care how long it took. She just wanted her hair brushed. She was merciless on the mess. She tore at it with dedicated precision. Her muscles complained whenever she exerted too much pressure, her back reminded her of its injuries, but she was trained to ignore it by now. She pushed the pain to the farthest recess of her mind and focused on her hair.

  When the knots at the end came loose, she slid her hand up and repeated the process. Each stroke of the brush was a victory in and of itself. She was familiar with this sensation. It was part of a routine that she’d kept since well before her wedding night. She always brushed her hair, washed her face, cleaned her body for the day, and it always left her feeling empowered and motivated to proceed.

  She sighed in pleasure as the brush began to slide through her strands. One by one the knots were conquered, and she let herself relish in the glory of just feeling at ease. She wondered if she could convince Aurora to brush her hair for her. Or if Aurora would think it was demeaning or rude. She meant nothing by it, but she enjoyed the feeling of her hair being touched. Being stroked and tended to. Sometimes Mori would . . .

  Kera set the brush back onto the dresser. She was so tired of remembering what Mori would or would not do. Mori was not here. And if she was going to keep moving forward, what he would have done didn’t matter. What mattered was what she was doing here and now. He had no part to play in her future.

  Standing, she looked at herself in the mirror above the vanity. She almost recognized the image she presented. Her hair was perfect. Her dress was beautiful. She straightened her posture and felt how comfortable the new position was. How her body relished returning to the poised picture of being a lady! But there was something different about her reflection that she couldn’t understand. Something nameless that made her face seem just a touch . . . off.

  Her eyes were more narrowed, her face more cut in stone. She looked . . . like the boys who went off to war and returned as men. A darkness advancing their age and their minds. “Don’t be absurd,” Kera whispered. The analogy was very rude. She had not been to war. How could her experiences compare?

  She spared a final glance at Aurora and the children as she stepped from the room. They were still at peace, and she wished to leave them that way for a time longer. She had no notion when they would be leaving, but she knew that they would have to continue on soon. They were so close to reaching the lakes. After all this time, they were almost there.

  Kera found Najah in her parlor. She had a hoop on her lap and was sliding her needle through the fabric stretched tight between the hoop’s compress. In and out, in and out. Najah’s needlepoint had always been precise. Although it lacked the flair and imagination of some women, Najah’s needlepoint retained a consistency to her patterns. She excelled at flowers. Much of her linens and clothes had neat flowers reaching up along the sides. Kera had at least four different such hand-cloths folded in amongst her drawers at home. The thought of somehow harming the gift always made her hesitate before using them. But once used, she always dedicated careful time and attention to cleaning them.

  “You’re far too fragile to be standing in the doorway, dear,” Najah chided without looking over her shoulder. Chastised, Kera crept inside and found a seat across from Lady Zakaria.

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “I could hear you walking down the stairs.” Najah hadn’t looked up yet from her needlepoint. Instead, she focused on the center of what appeared to be a sunflower, looping her black thread in amongst the yellow. “You knew where you were going, even if you took your time about it. I suspect Ms. Lawrence will not be as comfortable wandering about the house.” She finished her final stitch and knotted it along the back, snipping the thread loose and sliding her needle free.

  Securing it in the fabric with a quick tuck, she settled the hoop to the side. With her hands folded in her lap, she looked up to meet Kera’s eyes. Kera found herself filled with the strangest desire to go to her, kneel before her like a child and bask in the embrace that she knew Najah would give her. It had been so long since she’d last seen her friend, and after all this time, her care and compassion was one of the few things Kera thought she could crumble for.

  “I’ve missed you,” she admitted. Her voice cracked along the words. Watery even though she was not close to tears.

  Her borrowed dress felt so strange after so long in breeches and blouse, with free legs and unconstricted hips. The tight confines of her sleeves and the way the bodice clung to her offered a strange form of comfort and peace she hadn’t realized she’d missed.

  She was grateful she’d taken the time to dress and clean herself up. Just sitting before Najah, fresh and composed, made her feel so much more at ease than only twelve hours ago.

  Najah’s lips spread into a polite smile, and she reached a hand out. She placed it on Kera’s folded ones. “And I as well. I confess . . . I did not think that I’d see you again.” Her words carried more melancholy than someone of her age and stature should feel. Kera twisted her wrist and squeezed her palm to Najah’s, holding her tender but tight.

  “I’m sorry.” She should have done more to honor their friendship. With their husbands dead and their children growing or grown, there hadn’t been much that should have kept them from seeing each other. But neither had put the energy into the journey. Kera should have taken the opportunity beforehand. But— “After Mori . . . one day slipped into another, into another. I found that I did not even speak to my own family, let alone pen letters to dear friends.”

  Their hands tightened with each passing second, securing and promising that they were both still here. Both were still alive despite everything. They were both widows who had seen the glory their husbands wrought, and who had only memories of legacies to hold on to in the cold of the night.

  “I understand, dear.” Najah’s eyes had sagged some around the corners over the years, her skin seemed to droop more than it used to. She was older than Kera remembered her being, but it did nothing to hide the strength within her bones. “Sometimes,” Najah told her, “there are no words.”

  Kera closed her eyes. She breathed in and let it out, and she felt the memory of Najah’s reply turn around and around in her head. She had lived her life not knowing if she had any words to share. Lived it feeling, more often than not, that she would never be able to amount to anything proper, because she didn’t have the phrasing right. Because she didn’t have the understanding correct. Because she couldn’t express the millions of emotions and pains that filled her body.

  At the end of it all, though, Najah was right. Sometimes there were no words. Sometimes there was nothing to say. There was nothing that could be done. There were no lives that could be altered by one more person’s quiet exhalation, by one more utterance.

  Najah held Kera’s hands tight, and Kera counseled herself not to cry. She straightened her spine, and she found the words that did come sometimes. These ones, she knew how to say. “Aiden is sick.”

  Najah listened.

  She listened with a quiet intensity, eyes sharp and discerning. She nodded her head at certain moments but did not speak. She did not offer her advice or her opinion. She kept her gaze on Kera, and allowed Kera the opportunity to tell her story. Kera told everything she could. She spoke about the bankers that’d come to usher her out of the Ivory Gate (Najah’s eyes narrowed at that, though she held her tongue), she spoke about Aiden’s sudden illness and the doctor who’d come for him, the decision to leave everything behind in hopes of finding Aiden’s salvation.

  Aurora.

  Kera stumbled a little; she lost her place once, distracted by her feelings of now, and having a hard time putting them i
n perspective of her feelings of a few weeks ago. Before she left, she would have never imagined sleeping in the same bed with Aurora Sinclair. But she found herself longing for the friendship of Aurora Lawrence, and seeking out her warm comfort. Aurora always encouraged Kera and let her know that she was doing well. She always reminded her that even though their struggles were not the battlefields they were used to, they were still triumphing by moving forward every day.

  Throughout it all, Najah sat with perfect poise and accepted every word Kera told her. She didn’t deviate or offer any words of advice. She didn’t lead the story astray with anecdotes or questions. Kera was given the freedom to speak the words she longed to speak and not become sidetracked halfway through.

  When she had finished, and had nothing else to say, Kera flicked her tongue out and licked her dry lips. Najah plucked a pitcher of water from the stand near her chaise and poured Kera a glass. Kera swallowed whole mouthfuls, and a dribble slipped out from the cracks of her lips. She swiped at it, flushing the whole while.

  But when she attempted to apologize, she was waved off. “Please,” Najah told her. “That is hardly my concern, my dear child.” Settling the pitcher back on its stand, Najah adjusted herself. She shifted her skirt so it was no longer bunched around her waist, adjusting how her bodice sat. She even pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders, though the morning heat had already started and Kera suspected it would become warmer as the day went on.

  “I’ve come unannounced to your home,” Kera murmured, and Najah scoffed at the notion.

  “My dear Kera, if I came to you in the middle of the night, cold and sick from rain, terrors behind me and stomach empty, would you leave me on your doorstep too?” It was a rhetorical question, and it didn’t make Kera smile.

  “Whether I’d let you in or not does not change the matter of the inconvenience it provides. You were out after dark, in the rain, to let us in. And you were up quite late last night tending to us. Summoning doctors for an illness you did not know you were letting into your home, then keeping him in stagnation as we slept.”

  Her hostess didn’t scoff again, but it was obviously a near thing. Najah seemed to be taking personal offense to every word that left Kera’s mouth, and Kera grimaced. “Kera, dear, I’ve let continental soldiers hide on this property while the Trents searched door to door for any who dared challenge them. If you wish to say your thanks, then I will accept them, but you will talk no more of debt or burden. I assure you, I am pleased to have you in my home.” Then, before Kera could say anything, she went on. “But if you’re insisting on feeling guilty, you’ll allow Mr. Burns to examine you all for me. He has been waiting.”

  “I truly wish you hadn’t endangered the poor man by summoning him in the middle of the night, and your staff too! There was a wraith out there!”

  Najah’s lips pursed like Kera’s mother’s did whenever she was displeased. “I have never endangered anyone doing me a service, and I wouldn’t now. You must trust I handled the request with extreme care and that Mr. Burns was never in any danger. Now, you say your children have this plague. Well I say, no one in the south has seen or observed such a thing. Mr. Burns is quite intrigued as to its possibilities, and would like to examine you all for himself. Will you allow this?” There was nothing else to do but accept at this point. Nodding, Kera took a moment to steady herself as Najah stood and summoned a servant to fetch the physician from wherever he’d been staying as they slept. A young Ruugian woman led him over, and Kera hoisted herself to her feet as she shook his hand. Burns was a somewhat young man, close to Aurora’s age, and dressed in plain clothes. He carried a cloth bag with him, and Kera could hear glass vials clinking against each other as he walked. Najah led them all back to the guest bedroom, but gave Kera leave to slip inside and wake the others before the examination began. She closed the door behind herself as she entered.

  Aurora was already awake. She was sitting upright in bed beside their sleeping children. The borrowed dress was already wrapped around her frame.

  “You look lovely,” Kera said before she could stop herself.

  It was true. Aurora was gorgeous in the bright candy-orange frock. Her dark skin mixed so well with the subtle hues blending amongst each thread, and her black hair was the perfect shade. Kera couldn’t help but let her mind wander to that dance she’d promised to teach. As a child, she’d thrilled at the thought of dressing for a ball. She’d found nothing but joy in tying her hair up in the latest fashions, painting her face, and dusting her eyes so she could dazzle with a twirl.

  She imagined, suddenly, feeling Aurora’s hair between her hands as she set it into spirals. Feeling the heat of her body as she leaned in close to apply the makeup that was only worn at such an event. Smelling the perfume that they’d keep on hand. Dressing her up, and then taking her down to the ballroom, knowing that when everyone looked their way: it was her Aurora was dancing with and no one else.

  “I feel strange,” Aurora told her. Her lips twisted in an almost grimace, and Kera rushed over, shaking her head. The world seemed to spin dizzily as she smiled.

  “No. No. You’re perfect.” The urge to touch became overwhelming. She stumbled forward and reached a hand out to run her fingers over the sleeve. Aurora lifted her arm to allow her greater access, and Kera found herself wrapping her fingers around it. The fabric was silky and smooth, warmed already by Aurora’s skin. “I’m so happy they—they found something so . . . so right.”

  Aurora had a small streak of gold in her eyes. Gold like the sun on a fall day. Her face seemed darker than usual, but not all of it was blood. The sun had left a burn around her cheeks. Over the bridge of her nose. It didn’t detract from anything. Sun kissed, she recalled hearing once. Aurora’s cheeks had been sun kissed. Her words echoed back in her ears. Found something so perfect . . .

  Kera licked her lips. She shifted so she was holding Aurora’s hand. “The physician is here for Faith and Aiden,” she said. Aurora let Kera pull her to her feet. Her hair moved a little around her head, curls shifting to reveal bare ears. “Earrings,” Kera mused, mouth moving once more without her express permission. “You need earrings.”

  “I don’t think I’m that kind of lady, Kera.”

  “That kind of lady?” she asked. But Aurora didn’t answer. Just shrugged a little as they walk to the door and announced that it was okay for the physician to come in.

  Burns introduced himself to Aurora, not taking nearly as much time as Aurora deserved to ogle her beauty, before moving to Faith and Aiden. He frowned deep, then reached over to press his fingers against Faith’s wrist. The back of his hand touched her head. He squinted at her face and leaned over her, staring at her chest and he watching her breathe.

  Najah encouraged Aurora and Kera to sit, chiding them for remaining on their feet. She motioned to the opposite side of the bed where they both could watch Burns’s examination. Faith slept through the whole exchange, not reacting in the slightest when her limbs were poked and prodded. Aiden hadn’t risen either, and anxiety squeezed Kera’s heart, twisting her intestines tight as she wondered why they wouldn’t wake.

  Good feelings faded away to nothingness as reality settled back into place.

  “Neither of you have been afflicted?” Burns asked.

  Aurora’s nails dug into the sides of Kera’s palm as she answered, “No, we’ve been fine.”

  “It’s not an illness I’ve ever seen before,” Burns admitted. He leaned over Faith’s body and checked on Aiden much the same way. Breathing, heart, skin.

  “We’ve heard of your plague, of course,” Najah informed them as Burns worked. “But as of yet . . . it hasn’t moved south. You’ve been traveling for several weeks now?” They nodded. “I’ve not seen nor heard of the plague anywhere except the northeast.”

  “Ship’s Landing,” Burns cut in. “The reports I’ve heard were from Ship’s Landing.”

  “Willowisric too,” Aurora added. Burns frowned and motioned for her to go on. “The
family I work for . . . the Traverses? They had business in Willowisric over the summer. Lots o’ people there got it. When they returned to the city, the mayor had them looked over to make sure they weren’t infected.”

  The physician made a noncommittal noise and returned his attention to the children. But Najah hummed. “The Traverses? I haven’t heard that name in years. Didn’t your husband offend them in some way, my dear?”

  “My husband had a knack for offending anyone with a place in society.” Kera sighed and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “But it seems the family has done well for itself after Travers died in jail.”

  “Yes,” Aurora agreed. “And they’ve been doing better and better each year; business seems to be going real well . . . even if they are trying to take Kera’s house.” It was clear she didn’t know what to say to Najah. She kept flicking her eyes up and away as though she didn’t want to be caught staring.

  “Take your house?”

  Kera winced at Najah’s tone. “They believe I can’t pay down the mortgage now that Mori has passed.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Wild won’t approve Mori’s pension because of the assassination attempt; I have no income.”

  “That’s absurd!” She slapped her hand on the hardest surface she could, and the resulting thud echoed about the room.

  “Wild won’t suffer my audience—”

  “He will suffer me,” Najah hissed. Of that, Kera had no doubt. Wild might have been their duly elected leader, but no one in the country would deny Najah their loyalty. Some might even swear her fealty if she so demanded it. “No, this will not stand. Once the children are settled, I will take the matter to Wild himself. Your house will remain in your custody Kera, you have my word on it.”

  “Najah, I’ve been sending petitions to Wild since Mori’s death, he won’t—”

  “He will.”

  Frustration burned beneath Kera’s skin. She knew her place was to say that she understood. She was meant to be grateful for her patron’s assistance. She met Aurora’s eyes, an uncomfortable understanding settling in where she’d never wanted it to. She didn’t want Najah’s help after how hard she’d worked. She wanted to do it on her own. Aurora winced, as if the thought had been conveyed from Kera’s mind to hers without needing to be spoken aloud. She averted her eyes. “Thank you,” Kera gritted out.