House of Blood and Bone

by Kimberley J. Ward

  This is a perfect spot, Aoife said. I can bask and see the town from here. If anything happens, I can simply swoop down and whisk you away.

  Nessa peered at the horizon, seeing nothing other than wild meadows that slowly gave way to tended fields. I can’t see it.

  That’s because my eyesight is better than yours.

  Nessa’s sarcastic response was poised on the tip of her tongue; then she saw something that stopped her dead.

  Chaos had changed alright, but not just his clothing. He had changed everything. Literally, everything. His wings and scars had gone, as had his long black hair.

  The clothing he now wore consisted of faded robes that hung from his frame, tatty and baggy, and he carried a walking stick in one gnarled hand. Where he had got that was anyone’s guess. His back was severely humped, making him hunch forwards, almost doubled over, and his black hair was now straggly and white.

  Chaos shuffled out from behind a bush, tying a strip of cloth around his eyes as he did so. Nessa caught a glimpse of his face before he hid most of it, and sort of wished she hadn’t. Chaos’ ghastly scars were gone, which was a slight improvement, but so had his eyes. Two smooth hollows stood in their place. Gone was the winged nightmare, replaced by a deformed old man. Still, Nessa found him no less intimidating.

  Close your mouth, Aoife advised. Otherwise, you’ll start catching flies.

  Nessa’s mouth snapped shut, her teeth chinking together sharply. What…how?

  Chaos is old and powerful, even by Old Blood standards.

  That’s not an answer.

  Some more—how do I put it—inhuman species of Old Bloods have two sides to themselves, like that of a coin. This is one side of Chaos, the blind seer, and the other, which you are more familiar with, is the harbinger of truths.

  That sounds a little alarming.

  Aoife laughed. At least he doesn’t have wings now. He’ll draw less attention when you’re in town.

  I’m not so sure about that.

  Yes, Chaos appeared more human without the wings and the glacial eyes, what with the strip of cloth hiding the hollow sockets, but he wouldn’t pass completely as a human. There was still an aura of danger and otherness about him. Nessa could feel the power coming off him in waves, a deep thrum that was felt in her bones.

  He knows what he’s doing, Aoife assured her. He’s done this many times before.

  I guess I’ll get to see for myself shortly, won’t I?

  But Nessa didn’t get to see, not really.

  As soon as the crowded market came into sight, Chaos muttered something along the lines of “bloody hate humans” and slipped away, disappearing down a narrow alleyway. Those who crossed paths with Chaos before he had left had given him a wide berth, but hadn’t stared too much. Nessa thought it was handy that Chaos could pass himself off as human if he wanted. She had been wondering how he was planning on going incognito when they got to the capital. Now, Nessa knew.

  Just ahead of her, Hunter pulled Orm to a stop and nodded at something before catching Nessa’s eye, waving her over. She quickened her pace, closing the gap between them, curious to see what had captured his interest.

  On the other side of the street, sheltered under a large awning, was a booth that sold an array of colourful clothing. Dresses, capes and tunics hung on rails, and footwear covered a table top. Knickknacks such as belts and bags were to be found nestled amongst the other items, as were socks, gloves and underthings.

  “There,” Hunter said as Nessa came to stand beside him. “That seems like a fine place to get you a few things.”

  It looked a good a place as any, by Nessa’s approximation, but she had to ask, “I thought we didn’t have enough money to get me things until Orm had won us some?”

  “Oh, we have enough to get you a change of clothes, at the very least.” Hunter winked. “And some shoes that fit too, I think.”

  Nessa’s back straightened as she recognised the glint in his eyes. “You know my feet hurt, don’t you? You’ve known all along. Aoife told you.”

  Hunter grinned, wicked. “Maybe she did. Maybe she didn’t.”

  Traitor!

  I merely mentioned it in passing after he noticed you limping, Aoife murmured sleepily. Now, go find some shoes that fit before you get gangrene or another one of those pesky ailments.

  “Anyway,” Hunter said, “Orm can get a head start on gathering some winnings whilst we get you some things. He can recoup what we spend. Can’t you, Orm?”

  Orm nodded, his eyes bright with excitement. “I think I’ve already found a likely spot. Looks just the place where gullible rich fops go to lose lots and lots of money.”

  “Go forth, my friend,” Hunter sighed even as Orm moved away, cutting through the shoppers with ease, purpose in his step, his smooth head bobbing above the market’s crowds. “Go forth and win.”

  Nessa cocked a brow. “Is he likely to win?”

  “Orm’s the finest cheat out there.”

  “He’s going to cheat?”

  “Of course,” Hunter smirked. “Why, did you think he was going to play an honest game?”

  “No,” Nessa mumbled. Orm did not strike her as someone who would ever play an honest game.

  Hunter nudged her with an elbow. “Then don’t act so surprised. Come on,” he began herding her over to the clothing stall, “let’s get you something that doesn’t make your feet bleed or make you look like a vagrant.”

  Nessa looked down at herself, trying to see how she might appear to other people. Yes, everything was a little oversized, but at least it was clean. She had bathed and her hair was brushed. Surely she couldn’t look that bad. “I think the term ‘vagrant’ is a little harsh.”

  “Mmm, I guess we’ll have to see what the seamstress thinks, won’t we?”

  The seamstress in question milled around her stall, talking to a potential buyer. She was middle-aged, her brown hair threaded with a delicate touch of silver, and her face holding a scattering of laugh lines. Her gaze darted to them as they approached, and when she realised they were interested in her wares, she smiled warmly.

  “Can I help you with anything?”

  “Perhaps,” Hunter replied, looking around with a keen eye. “It depends on your prices, and if you have anything that fits my wee friend here that’s ready to go.”

  The woman took Nessa’s measure, which couldn’t be easy considering how baggy Hunter’s clothes were on her.

  “I believe I have a few things that might fit,” the seamstress replied. “And I assure you, my prices are the best in town.”

  As Hunter and the seamstress fell into conversation, haggling on prices, Nessa meandered around, perusing what was on offer. There wasn’t anything particularly fancy, but all of it was of high quality and well made.

  Judging from what the other women wore, Nessa assumed floor-length dresses were the fashion. She had seen a few younger girls wearing leggings and half-dresses that fell almost to their knees, but other than that, everyone else was in a long dress, although the styles did vary. Nessa supposed that social status and age played a part in who wore what.

  Those of the upper class, though rare, were easy to spot. They walked around with a confidence that few had the privilege of experiencing, oozing self-entitlement and wealth. They were clothed in velvets and silks of vibrant colours, royal reds and purples and blues. The women’s dresses featured a fitted bodice and three-quarter-length sleeves that left their wrists bare for them to display an array of bejewelled bangles. A full skirt edged with delicate embroidery or decorative trim flared out from the waist, falling gracefully to the ground in an elegant sweep, accentuating their tiny waists and making them seem taller than they actually were. The men were no less splendidly attired, wearing rich brocade doublets or tunics paired with fine overcoats, their knee-high boots polished to a high shine and a dagger or two sheathed at the hip.

  Those belonging to the lower and working class wore more modest, practical clothing. The men were dress
ed similarly to Orm and Hunter, wearing smocks, tunics or loose shirts paired with trous. The women wore linen dresses that featured slim-fitting sleeves and a bodice that laced up at the back or sides. The skirts were usually softly pleated, giving them a bit of body and movement. A matching surcoat or, like the seamstress had chosen to do, an apron was sometimes added.

  Unfortunately for Nessa, who eyed the dresses of the upper class with a touch of longing, the stall only catered to the lower classes. There was no sign of a lush velvet gown in Nessa’s immediate future. Not that she had the money for one, come to think of it.

  Hunter and the seamstress appeared to have reached some kind of agreement and crossed over to the side of the booth. As they began looking through a pile of folded clothes, Nessa joined them, eager to see what she would be getting.

  “Since you aren’t planning on staying for long,” the seamstress was saying, “that limits our options. But seeing as she’s small, these should be alright lengthwise. They lace up well, so they shouldn’t be overly baggy with a bit of tweaking.”

  “Hear that, Nessa?” Hunter asked. “They won’t be too baggy with a bit of tweaking.”

  “Some growing room, I suppose,” Nessa murmured.

  “Exactly. Get a few pies in you, and they’ll fit perfectly soon enough.”

  Nessa chuckled.

  “Here we are,” the woman muttered to herself, pulling out a few items from the middle of the pile and setting them on top. She unfolded a dress and held it up to Nessa, checking the size. “I made these from a shipment of new fabric last month. I think they turned out rather nice.”

  “How very stimulating,” Hunter said. “And what a fantastic seamstress you are. However, Eliza, as I’ve explained, dresses aren’t particularly practical for long travels. Don’t you have some tunics she can wear instead?”

  “And as I’ve explained,” Eliza replied, holding up another dress. “It’s all well and good for young ladies to be running around in tunics and trous down in the south, but here in the midlands, that’s just not the done thing. And it’s certainly not acceptable in the capital, not at her age.”

  “It’s not acceptable for her to be tripping over every five minutes whilst walking to the capital,” Hunter grumbled.

  Eliza glared at him. “She won’t trip over.” She turned to Nessa. “You won’t trip over, will you?”

  Nessa shook her head complacently, unwilling to be in the middle of an argument. “Since dresses are the fashion in these parts, especially in the capital, I suppose I should wear them. I wouldn’t want to draw any unwanted attention to myself, now, would I?”

  Hunter rolled his eyes, grumbling something uncomplimentary under his breath.

  Eliza clucked like a happy mother hen and moved around her stall, searching for clothing that was within their budget, whatever that was. By the time Eliza had finished collecting and laying out Nessa’s options, Nessa had six dresses to choose from. While Hunter and Nessa looked over the dresses, Eliza busied herself on the other side of the stall, selecting some shoes, socks and a few other things.

  “I’ve negotiated for two outfits,” Hunter informed Nessa. “Plus a pair of shoes and some, uh, underthings.”

  “Underthings?” Nessa queried, amused.

  Hunter scowled. “Hush.”

  Nessa snorted, then looked over the dresses. “Two, you say?”

  He nodded.

  “Then I’d like to have the blue one and the red one?”

  Hunter shrugged. “They seem as good a pair of dresses as any I’ve seen before.”

  “They’re an excellent choice,” Eliza said as she rejoined them, carrying a selection of shoes and an armload of neatly folded things. Nessa presumed that they were the underthings which Hunter found too embarrassing to mention without his cheeks turning pink. “The red compliments your complexion, and the blue goes nicely with your hair.” Eliza sighed as she set down her armload by the dresses on the table. “Although it is a shame that I don’t have anything in purple. That would go with your eyes so perfectly. But still, the blue and the red are lovely.”

  Nessa felt herself blush at the compliments, knowing that she looked less than her best. She managed to squeak out a small “thank you”.

  Eliza smiled, the fine creases around her eyes deepening, and nodded to a nearby stool. “Why don’t you sit there and try these on,” she passed a few pairs of shoes to Nessa, “and see which ones are the most comfortable. I’ll go wrap everything else for you.”

  Nessa perched on the stool, hesitant to remove her current footwear, fearful that her blisters had bled through her socks. Knowing that she needed to try on the new shoes, lest they are as uncomfortable as the ones she already had, she forced herself to bury her embarrassment. She placed the changes of shoes on the ground and unlaced her boots, slowly pulling them off. To her pleasant surprise, no blood stained her socks, and Nessa slipped on her first choice of shoes. They were soft suede, lightweight and durable. They were also a good fit. Nessa decided they would do just fine. She didn’t bother trying on the other pairs.

  Reluctant to put her old boots back on, Nessa decided to simply keep wearing her new shoes, even if they did look a little odd paired with Hunter’s oversized socks. She tugged the bottom of her trous down, trying to conceal the strange ensemble as much as she could. As she did so, her sleeves unrolled, falling around her fingers.

  Nessa sat up just as Eliza finished wrapping their purchases. Hunter gave Eliza a winning smile as he deposited a palm-full of coins in her waiting hand and took the wrapped bundle.

  Fiddling with her sleeves, trying to roll them back up, Nessa joined them, her feet marginally more comfortable already.

  “Well,” Eliza said, casting a warm glance at Nessa, “we’ve got you sorted out nicely. However…” She looked Hunter up and down, taking in his mop of messy brown hair and his lazy grin. “You could do with some new things if you want to get ahead in the big city. No one wants to do business with a scruffy southerner.”

  “I beg to differ, dear Eliza,” Hunter remarked brightly, tucking the wrapped bundle under his arm. “I think people will love my southern charm. It seems to have worked wonders with you.”

  Eliza smirked. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I gave you this bargain because of your so-called ‘charm’, young man. I just felt that this poor girl has enough to deal with, what with travelling and having to put up with you, that she shouldn’t have to look like a vagrant.”

  “If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” Hunter sighed, “then I’m okay with that. But only because I know the truth.” He winked. “Southern charm.”

  Quite uncharmed, Eliza turned to Nessa. “A word of advice for the capital…” Her words faded away as her eyes were drawn down.

  Nessa followed Eliza’s gaze, wondering as to what had made her pause mid-sentence. She quickly realised that Eliza was staring at her hand, at the distinctive, purple-hued mark that wrapped around it. Unease fluttered in Nessa’s stomach. She shoved down her sleeve and hid her arm behind her back.

  Her stare broken, Eliza blinked and cleared her throat.

  “Well,” Hunter said abruptly, “it was a pleasure shopping with you, Eliza. Thank you for all your help. It was most appreciated. However, the time has simply flown by, and we really need to be going. Otherwise, we’ll never find our companion.”

  With a hand on Nessa’s back, Hunter steered her away from Eliza, propelling her into the tide of shoppers. They were soon engulfed by the crowd, swept away by the current.

  “She saw my Rider’s Mark,” Nessa hissed, panicked.

  “I know,” Hunter said, “but maybe she doesn’t know what it is. Maybe she was just taken aback by it. It does kinda look like a scar at first sight.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “No, I don’t. A guy can always hope, though, can’t he?”

  “This could be really bad,” Nessa insisted. “Really, really bad. What if she tells someone?”

&
nbsp; “I’m fully aware that this isn’t good,” Hunter said sharply. “But considering that this is a boring town, it’s highly possible that no one here has ever seen a Dragon Rider before, let alone a middle-aged seamstress who sells clothing at a market stall.”

  Nessa could see the sense in his reasoning and tried to push aside her concerns. Hunter clearly knew of the implications should Eliza understand what the mark signified.

  “Which way did Orm go?” Hunter mumbled, his hand slipping from Nessa’s back as he stood on his tiptoes, peering over the throngs of shoppers.

  Nessa, too, looked around, unsure as to which direction Orm had wandered off in. Her attention elsewhere, Nessa didn’t see the figure rushing up behind her, didn’t sense their approach, until it was too late.

  A hand clamped around Nessa’s wrist and another slapped over her mouth, smothering her strangled scream of alarm. With a forceful yank, she was pulled backwards. Hunter didn’t notice her being bundled into a shadowed alleyway. No one did.

  Nessa? Aoife cried, awoken by the rush of Nessa’s alarm shooting through their bond. What’s happening?

  Uhh… Nessa twisted, Aoife’s fear giving her the strength to wrench herself free from her assailant’s grip. She swung around, a hand raised, fingers curled into a fist.

  “Eliza!” Nessa froze, her punch suspended in the air.

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Eliza gushed, her eyes wide and earnest. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  The words were slow to register, but when they did, the tension eased from Nessa’s shoulders. She could sense the truth in them. Slowly, Nessa lowered her fist.

  “Thank you,” she breathed.

  Eliza took Nessa’s hands and wrapped them around a small, soft package. “You need to be more careful. Much more careful. I will keep my silence, but there are those who would not. Perilous times are ahead. People like us can never be too careful.”

  “People like us…?”

  Smiling coyly, Eliza peeked over her shoulder, quickly checking that no one was lingering by the mouth of the alley. When she turned back, her appearance had changed ever so slightly.