by Hannah West
The door swung open. Severo came in and stamped the snow off his boots. His mother shot him a discreet look, as if to say you didn’t bother to tell me royalty was coming to stay the night? He cocked an eyebrow at her and tromped past me toward the fire.
“You don’t want to take that wet thing off?” he asked me over his shoulder as he warmed his hands.
“Oh.” I realized I was still wearing the fur, damp from snow. I shrugged it off and his mother hung it on a line of garments following the steep staircase to the loft.
Severo filled a bowl with stew and passed it to me before serving himself. The huntsman dropped into it with the familiarity of someone who belonged.
I began to devour the stew, savoring it bite by delicious bite. Melda bustled about while we ate, collecting and folding laundry.
Navara and I both started another helping. The mother sent the boys to bed and they trampled up to the loft like a herd of cattle. There, they whispered and chuckled until the eldest of the three boys chided them.
The two eldest girls, Stasi and Leda, were tasked with carrying a sloshing pail of hot water into their shared bedchamber for our baths. Margala took Navara by the hand, and I followed, leaving Severo and his mother speaking softly in the kitchen.
Without a hearth of its own, the girls’ bedchamber was cold. There were three narrow straw mattresses piled with tattered quilts. Dolls and spinning tops littered the floor, but Stasi, who was twelve or thirteen, said, “Pick those up, Eleni.” The second-smallest girl gathered them and dumped them in a toy chest while the two older girls poured the steaming water from the pail.
The copper bathtub was little more than a pail itself. Navara had already started unlacing her ravaged gown, and I felt I deserved at least the punishment of staying filthy a bit longer for the havoc I’d wreaked. I let her go first.
“Your hair is so lovely,” Leda said, touching the ends of one of my long golden waves. “You look tired. You can sit down.”
She pulled my arm and brought me to sit on the edge of the nearest mattress, where she continued playing with my hair, much to the sorrow of my tender scalp. The two younger girls climbed up to join her. “How did you get that scar?”
“Leda,” the eldest warned while she bent to soak a cloth. The tub was small enough that Navara had to hunch rather than sit.
“It’s all right,” I said. My mind felt like that frozen watermill, unable to turn and find the right words in Perispi thanks to crippling exhaustion. “I was fighting creatures that wanted to kill me in the woods.”
“Those woods?” Eleni asked, the whites of her eyes showing as she pointed vaguely in the direction of the forest.
“Oh, no, far away from here.”
Navara yawned loudly, and Stasi shook out a clean nightgown for her. I unlaced my tunic and waited for the girls to refresh the water. They didn’t.
“It will get cold if you don’t hurry,” Stasi said. She beckoned me over.
Hiding my surprise, I crossed the room and wriggled out of my boots and breeches. Despite the secondhand bathwater and unaccommodating tub, I felt at home among the sisters, who went about their business climbing under the covers and whispering.
Stasi wrung out the cloth over my shoulders. “You’re not even shivering,” she said. “You don’t mind the cold?”
“Maybe not as much as most.”
She passed me the cloth. “I know the queen’s men are looking for you,” she said, quietly so that the other girls couldn’t hear. “I’m surprised my brother brought you back here.”
Guilt closed like a vise around my heart. All day, I’d been thinking of Severo—Sev—as the callous hunter who had kidnapped and nearly killed me. But now I realized he was the older brother who’d risked everything dear to him by keeping Navara and me alive and bringing us to this safe haven.
Boots scuffled outside the door, followed by a light knock.
“Come in!” one of the younger girls called. Sev swung the door open before anyone could retract permission. I happened to be in the midst of bending over to scrub my dirty feet. He swiftly turned away.
“Leda!” Stasi scolded. “Why did you tell him to come in?”
“I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking.”
“You never are.”
“More blankets,” Sev said, thrusting the folded quilts in our direction without looking. Eleni scurried to accept them. Sev slammed the door.
The other sisters looked at Leda. “I said I was sorry!” she whined. Eleni burst into a laugh, leading the others to laugh, and I found myself chuckling a bit too.
But grief slammed back full force. I could imagine Perennia here, giggling with these girls. They’d want to play with her hair too, and she would probably encourage them to braid it while she told them stories of lavish balls and sumptuous gowns that would dance through their dreams. She would recount child-friendly versions of my perilous journey that would leave them believing that good always triumphs over evil.
But there would be no triumph here, at least not for me.
While dripping wet, I tugged on the clean nightgown and wool stockings waiting for me. Burrowing into the straw mattress next to Navara, who was already asleep, I covered my head with the quilt and listened to the creaks and rustle of the girls blowing out candles and settling snugly into their beds.
Chill air hissed through the warped shutters. What if my power acted while I slept, when I could not control the turmoil inside me? Would I lead Ambrosine straight to this cottage? Or was she already on her way after realizing Severo had not fulfilled his duty to her?
A band of yellow light glowed beneath the door, and soft footsteps padded in the kitchen. I needed rest, but I also needed a distraction to dull the immense pain before my eyes closed in sleep. Perhaps I could sit by the fire and wait for the flames to thaw my power into submission. I would assure Severo’s mother that I would leave in the morning and no longer put her family in peril. Perhaps with a proper disguise—unremarkable commoner clothes, a scarf over my head and face, which the cold readily excused—I might be able to get a message to Devorian at the palace. Maybe Severo had a contact there who had not succumbed to Ambrosine’s influence.
I rose from bed, taking care to tuck the covers back around Navara’s shoulders, and slipped out the door.
But the shadow thrown into relief in the firelight was not Severo’s mother tidying up before retiring. It was the huntsman himself, staring into the fire. He held a mug of frothy ale.
“I’m sorry,” I said, turning back toward the room.
“Do you need more quilts?” he asked impassively. “You can take mine from upstairs.”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid to sleep,” I said, surprising myself by admitting it aloud. “I might make it colder if I have bad dreams.”
Setting his jaw, as though to show this was an act of mere decency and not of kindness, Sev dragged a chair close to the hearth and gestured for me to sit. I folded my arms against the chill and shuffled forward, suddenly aware of how threadbare and damp my linen nightdress was.
“I feel the need to apologize,” he said, unable to meet my eyes.
Not exactly an apology in and of itself. “For barging in on me bathing?” I asked disingenuously. I was going to force him to say what he meant. “It’s all right. I have nothing to hide.”
He seemed taken aback by my brassiness, his ironclad expression giving way to amusement. But he immediately banished the rogue quirk at the corner of his mouth.
He spoke carefully, in Nisseran. “I’m sorry I injured you.”
“And almost killed me.”
“Yes, that. Does your head hurt?”
“A little,” I admitted.
“Let me see.” He clanked his mug on the table.
I turned in my chair so that his fingers could part my hair and brush over the contusion. He remembered the spot where he’d ripped a lock out by the roots, and examined that, too. Despite the soreness, his touch didn’t hurt.
“You
ripped my hair out for nothing,” I said irritably.
“If you had lain low like I said, it wouldn’t have been for nothing,” he replied, slipping back into Perispi. “Here, hold it like this.”
He handed me a section of thick hair and went to rummage through a cupboard, producing a bottle of salve and a ratty but clean washcloth. He returned to dab at the wound.
“It’s a good thing Ambrosine was too cowardly to kill us with her own hands,” I murmured.
He finished his work and put away the salve, throwing the cloth into a wicker basket. He turned abruptly and raked back his springy dark curls. “I didn’t want to do what she commanded. I was protecting my family.”
I sighed as though a deep enough breath could fill the cracks in my broken heart. “I would have done the same.”
I reached for Sev’s mug of ale. I was owed a nightcap at least.
“You won’t like it. Our neighbor Yannis makes it.”
“Don’t presume to know what I like.” I took a sip and nearly spat it back out, but let it pool in my mouth until I found the fortitude to gulp it down. “That’s awful.”
A dimple formed in his right cheek, though nothing else about his face signaled a smile. He dropped into a seat at the table. The firelight glistered in his dark eyes, and his long eyelashes cast shadows across prominent cheekbones.
“How often do you come here?” I asked. “Is it a long way from the palace?”
“I try to come once every few days. When Jeno and Stasi are old enough to take care of the others the way my mother and I do, I’ll feel better leaving them for longer. But that doesn’t matter anymore. I won’t be going back to the palace after today.”
“Is it safe here?” I asked. “Now that Ambrosine knows you didn’t kill us?”
“I’ve told very few souls where we live, and I know how to make sure no one follows me. We’ll be safe for one night.”
I nodded. “If you say so.”
“You speak Perispi well,” he said. “Your Nisseran accent is light.”
“My brother is an Omnilingual, and I had a very strict governess. I also entertained many a Perispi guest until my…” I trailed off and cleared my throat. “How did you learn what Nisseran you know?”
“My father was the royal huntsman before me, and he would take me on outings. When King Myron entertained prominent Nisserans, they liked to go hunting. To our people, it’s not a sport. It’s putting a meal on the table. But we were expected to help entertain the guests by leading them to quarries and letting them make the kill. King Myron let me join the princess’s language lessons so I could become a better host.”
“Did you ever take my parents?”
“Yes,” he said. “Your father was a skilled hunter. And he could not stop singing the praises of his ‘beautiful, intelligent’ daughters.”
“Trying to capture the king’s interest, no doubt,” I scoffed. “Did you meet my mother?”
“No, but I know that during her visit, she used her magic to help Halithenica’s crops thrive after a season of heavy rains.”
My power had done the exact opposite. I took a regretful swig and passed him back the ale. He scratched his chin and took a drink. Impressive, how he didn’t grimace. When he set the mug down, I caught him looking at my scar.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” I asked.
“I expected worse.” He smiled. “It’s strange. The description the town crier gave was something like ‘blond hair, fair skin, and a horribly disfiguring scar.’ But…” He gestured at me, bewildered.
“Sounds like Ambrosine,” I sighed. “That’s an advantage, I suppose; if she has all of Halithenica searching for someone with a disfigured face, perhaps no one will recognize me.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed.
“Do you have any friends you still trust at the palace? Anyone who could help you get a message to my brother?”
Sev pursed his lips. I noticed that the top lip was thicker than the bottom, which leant his mouth a natural pout when he wasn’t looking grim. “It’s hard to know, considering everyone remaining at the palace fears her,” he said.
But he hushed when someone knocked three times on the front door.
TWENTY-TWO
GLISETTE
WE both froze. The visitor knocked again, more urgently.
“The cupboard,” Sev whispered, pointing to a door in the kitchen. I stood and tread carefully over creaky boards, looking back at him for reassurance before wedging myself in among jars and depleted flour sacks.
Through the crack, I watched Sev lift an axe from high pegs on the wall. His grip flexed around it as he strode across the room and opened the cottage door just wide enough to look outside.
“Oh,” he said, swinging it wider.
“Three knocks,” a woman said. “Didn’t you know it was me?” She had an Erdemese accent. She removed the hood of her cloak, revealing onyx hair and stunning features. Her complexion was a warm brown rather than the medium olive of most Perispi people.
“You can’t be too careful.” Sev ushered her inside and replaced the axe on the pegs. He seemed to trust her, but without an invitation, I didn’t dare emerge. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “You didn’t come in the cold just to bring that, did you?” He indicated a laden sack in her hand.
She shook her head. A jewel sparkled in her nose. “No, I’m here on business.”
“Sit down,” Sev said. “Have some ale for warmth.”
“Yannis’s ale? No, thank you,” she laughed. I had to work a little harder to understand our common tongue through her accent. Thankfully, she sat facing me, which allowed me to read her lips.
“I came to tell you that the Uprising plans to question you about the princess’s whereabouts,” the stranger said. “You need to flee.”
“I don’t know anything—”
She put up a hand. “I don’t care what you know. I only care that you and your family are safe. The Uprising knows the queen used you. They’re very protective of the princess, and they will torture you if they think it will help them find her. They consider you an elicromancer sympathizer, just like your father. Maybe you could give them enough to stay valuable and alive. But it’s a trap. Once you give something to the Uprising, there’s no going back. You’re loyal to them or you’re dead.”
Elicromancer sympathizer. Uprising.
My exhausted mind managed to make the connection: this had to be the same group who had killed Mother and Father.
But King Myron had told us that the anti-elicromancer rebels had been swiftly tracked down and executed. He said he personally oversaw their executions.
Were there others? How big was the Uprising? What had Sev’s father done to earn their ire?
“They are more powerful than you know,” the stranger went on. “And they have eyes and ears in places you would never expect. Your family needs to flee as soon as possible.”
“Who are they, Lucrez?” Sev asked. “Is it Rasmus Orturio? It was his brothers the king executed after…”
Sev trailed off, and I knew why: to spare me the mention of my parents’ deaths, the details that had been scrubbed, neatly packaged, and dispatched across the sea so that my brother and sisters and I might have closure. I had never asked for the names of the rebels; they hadn’t mattered. I thought they were all dead, everyone who’d plotted such senseless violence.
“Orturio has never been involved with the Uprising,” the woman called Lucrez replied. “He isn’t radical like his brothers were. He made his own path.”
Sev cocked his head. “You work for Rasmus Orturio and live under his roof. You know so much about the Uprising’s movements. And yet you claim the two have no relationship.”
“He keeps his ear to the ground, and so do I.”
“What about the rumors?” he asked. “That Orturio killed his first wife for not being pious enough, that he killed his second wife for prying into his business, that he kills people for knowing too much—”
Lucrez
bleated out a laugh. “You sound like a gossiping hen, Sev!”
“What am I supposed to believe? You’ve told me nothing about the Uprising. How will I know who to run from, where to go?”
“You already know where to go: your father’s cabin in the woods. It’s the only safe place. And you don’t need to know anything about the Uprising except that they won’t hesitate to kill you and your family.”
Sev quietly pushed out of his chair and crossed the room, drawing near enough to block my view.
“You can come out,” he said.
Wary, I stepped out of hiding. The woman’s mouth dropped open.
“This is Lucrez,” he explained. “She’s a friend from the palace. She was a dancer in the king’s court before your sister dismissed her. Lucrez, this is—”
“The queen’s sister, who has a bounty on her head? Who brought winter to Halithenica and spoiled the summer harvest?”
My better instincts told me to apologize and promise I would make things right. But instead, I retorted, “Pleasure.”
“Likewise,” she said, but her tone was playful. “Oh, Sev. Don’t tell me this means you’re harboring someone else…”
“Then I won’t tell you.”
Lucrez shook her head. “You make it hard, trying to protect you.”
“She ordered me to kill them both, Lucrez. What should I have done?”
“Why was your father called an elicromancer sympathizer?” I asked quietly.
Sev hesitated, staring into the fire for a moment before he said, “After the Uprising murdered your parents, King Myron sent his huntsman to track down the murderers and bring them back for execution.”
I swallowed, trying to find the words to speak. “Your father…avenged my parents’ deaths?”
He led me back to the table and hunkered down, sliding his ale in front of him, but he didn’t drink. “He died in a hunting accident just days after. I have no proof, but I always suspected other members of the Uprising killed my father and made it look like poachers.”
Eyeing Lucrez, I took the seat next to Sev.