by A. M. Manay
His uncle’s tone having evidently been sharp enough to cut through the fog of alcohol, Perce nodded vigorously. “Sure, Uncle, whatever you say.”
Silas downed the rest of his wine. “I'm going to get some sleep. I suggest you do the same. We still have a long journey ahead of us.”
Chapter 3
Armor
A shoeless Silas stood in the front yard, a bundle of sticks in his arms. He’d been gathering them for the fire, for his Ma. He could hear them fighting again, his mother and her man. The baby girls were sleeping, but they wouldn’t be for long, the way the two of them were going at it.
His stepfather’s name was Vin Hatch. He was a butcher by trade, when he wasn’t too drunk to work. He was also a butcher recreationally, truth be told.
“The money they send me is to take care of Silas. I got to pay for his school. He needs to go to the monastery. He’s got the magic in ‘im. Our lord’s gold is not for buyin’ your devil liquor,” his mother screamed.
“You’re lucky I consented to keep the little bastard in my house and give him my name so’s you wouldn’t have to bear the shame of callin’ him Vineborn. He’s none of my blood, and he don’t deserve no better than our children just ‘cause you spread your legs for an earl when you were still pretty.”
“You go to hell, Vin—” she began. Silas heard her cry out and fall to the ground, and he knew that his stepfather had decided to end the argument with his fists, as was his custom.
Silas dropped all but one of the sticks. He brushed a tear out of his eye and walked slowly toward the open door, all four feet nothing of him. He stepped inside. Vin kicked his mother again. Blood poured out of her nose.
“Stop it,” Silas whispered.
Vin turned. “Mind yer business, brat.”
“Leave her alone,” Silas replied, his voice stronger. His mother sobbed on the floor.
“Get out of my sight, boy, or ye’ll be next,” Vin snarled.
The stick in Silas’s hand burst into flame. A wisp of a smile appeared on his dirty face, then vanished like smoke. The boy pointed his improvised weapon at his stepfather, whose eyes grew wide.
“I believe my mother told you to go to hell,” Silas observed. The air crackled around him.
It was Vin’s turn to sob on the floor.
***
“She’ll need clothes,” Hatch declared.
Thunder rumbled outside his richly curtained window, heralding the start to the rainy season. The bad weather had bought them a few days’ rest in his house in the Claw before they could get on a ferry to cross the Bay.
Hatch was grateful. They had kept to a brutal pace. The last few days had been miserably cold and wet, this after a week of blazing heat in the Flats. He was surprised that Shiloh hadn’t collapsed entirely. She’d been unable to completely hide her misery, but not a word of complaint had passed her lips. He could not say the same for the men.
At least there hadn’t been any further attacks. Silas had to acknowledge, however, that the Feralfolk’s assault in the hills had given him a valuable peek through the veil of the girl’s false modesty.
If she could do that with an icicle, she’s an even more valuable prize than I’d suspected. And much more dangerous.
“Nothing too fancy, or it will look like she’s putting on airs. But I don’t want to send her in there looking like Teethtrash,” Silas clarified. “Something respectable, as though she has a reasonably successful family who cares.”
His half-sister smiled. “You like this girl.” Lill served as her brother’s housekeeper. The child of his mother and his stepfather, there was no magic in her blood, but Silas found her most useful nonetheless.
“I just want to give her a fighting chance with the courtiers. She’s got an uphill climb as it is,” Hatch protested.
“Like you did?”
Silas nodded his admission. “Fair enough. We may have a few things in common. But that is immaterial. We need her to remain loyal to the crown. It is to our advantage for her to be successful at the Academy. That begins with not sending her to court looking like a beggar.”
“I’ll talk to Mistress Crowley down the lane. She’s of a size with the little waif, always has new clothes, and owes you some favors. Perhaps she has some castoffs she’d be willing to part with, a few years out of fashion but more respectable than the poor child’s short skirts and leggings.”
“Perfect. Whatever would I do without you?” Silas asked, turning his gaze back to the mountains of documents on his crowded desk.
“The Gods only know,” Lill laughed.
***
Shiloh woke with a start, shocked to find herself cradled deep in a featherbed, warm and cozy and surrounded by damask. She’d spent so many nights sleeping in haylofts and dirty taverns, when they’d even have her, that she was afraid that she was still dreaming. It had been so late when they’d arrived the night before. She had a vague memory of someone half-carrying her up the stairs.
A voice from the doorway convinced her that she was, in fact, amongst the awake. “Good morning, dearie,” she called cheerily, flinging back the curtains. “You’re looking a sight better than you did last night; that, I’m pleased to see! I’m Lill. My brother is the knave who brought you all this way. He’s a troublesome creature, but you’ll have to forgive him. He cannot help it.”
Lill’s smile was as genuine as it was infectious, and Shiloh found herself returning it.
“Good morning, ma’am,” she offered awkwardly.
“Call me Lill, dearie. I don’t put on airs like my wizard of a brother. My ma was a laundrywoman, and my da was a drunken butcher. No sense in being ashamed of the truth. Now, first things first, let’s get you a bath,” Lill ordered, “and then a nice, big breakfast.”
Shiloh slid clumsily out of the high bed. She stood on the polished wood floor, clad only in her linen. “Um, where are my clothes?” she asked, looking around the elegant room for any sign of the familiar.
“Oh, honey, I’ve already got you some new ones, but I saved everything from your pockets. They dress a touch differently in the City,” Lill gently explained.
Not like Teethtrash, Shiloh finished to herself.
“I don’t have money for new clothes,” she confessed in a small voice. She’d been living on her father’s savings for the better part of a year, and despite her scrimping and bartering, the Suns were all spent, and only a handful of Moons and Stars remained.
Lill took her by the shoulders. “Don’t you worry your head about it. I got them for nothing but Silas’s goodwill. A lot of people owe my brother for this and that. He deals in favors as much as gold.”
I bet he does. “That is very kind of you both. Thank you,” Shiloh replied. She tried to swallow her discomfort at taking charity, but she must not have sufficiently schooled her face to hide it from Lill.
“Never you mind,” Lill scolded. “It’s the least Silas can do, what with dragging you all over creation with a bunch of ruffians. He’s got his own reasons for wantin’ you to look respectable at court; of that you can be sure. This isn’t charity.”
Lill pulled out a housecoat and wrapped Shiloh in it, tying the sash firmly around the tiny girl’s waist. “The last man that owned this property built himself a bathhouse upstairs the likes of which I’d wager you’ve never even imagined. Come along, now.”
Lill led Shiloh by the hand, seemingly untroubled by touching hexborn skin. The affection was so unexpected that it gave Shiloh a lump in her throat. Up two sets of back stairs they went until they came to an attic room of gleaming marble and shining copper.
“Oh, my,” Shiloh breathed.
“See? What did I tell you?” Lill laughed. “I sit up here and pretend I’m the queen, I do!”
Lill turned a tap, and steaming water began filling a deep copper tub. At Shiloh’s look of astonishment, the woman explained, “There’s a cistern up on the roof, over a fire, full of piping hot water al
l the time.”
“But all that water! All that fuel!” Shiloh protested.
“I know!” Lill agreed. “It’s terribly extravagant. But you’d best be getting used to extravagance, where you’re going.”
The bath was soon full, and Lill began matter-of-factly stripping her charge. Shiloh winced, preparing herself for the inevitable reaction.
“My Gods,” Lill breathed. “Who did this to you?”
“No one,” Shiloh replied weakly. “No one living, at any rate. It just happens. When I get sick, on account of being, you know, hexborn. Some of the time, the marks fade. Eventually. But not always.”
Shiloh knew how it must look, as much as she always tried to avoid catching sight of herself. She knew her torso was scattered with bruises and scars both old and new. Her last attack had come about a week prior to Hatch’s arrival in her village, so the bruise had faded by now from livid purple to sickly green, but it was still plainly visible. The hexmark scar would take much longer to fade. If it ever does.
“You poor child,” Lill clucked, then helped Shiloh step into the bath. “Is it going to hurt you when I scrub, now?” she asked with furrowed brow.
Shiloh sighed in bliss as she sank beneath the water. “No, ma’am,” she replied, only lying a little bit.
As awkward as it was to be washed by a stranger, Shiloh couldn’t deny that it felt lovely. She’d never had a mother or a sister, and she’d long since gotten too old for her father to help her bathe. By the time Lill was finished, Shiloh was sure she’d never been so clean in all her life.
“Now, to do your hair and get you dressed,” Lill proclaimed, toweling off Shiloh’s hair. “Close your eyes until I’m done.”
“All right,” Shiloh agreed, stifling a laugh.
“I never get to dress up anyone these days,” Lill confessed. “My daughters are at a fancy school in Estany. Silas pays their tuition, since my husband died. They’ll make good marriages there.”
“I’m sure they will,” Shiloh replied.
“Hmm. Not too much hair to work with here,” Lill clucked, gently pulling apart Shiloh’s braids.
“I know,” Shiloh replied, flushing hot. “I had a bad fever, and they clipped it short early last year. It’s taking forever to grow back. But it’ll just be under a scarf or something, right?”
“Oh, no, not at court!” Lill replied. “Very elaborate hairstyles in the City, especially since the king took his new wife. Not to worry. This will braid nicely. A few ribbons, and you’ll be more than presentable. And with that unusual color, you’ll certainly get some attention!”
Gods help me. What is going to become of me? Shiloh took a deep breath and tried to calm her anxious heart. Lill knows best. You have to adapt. The Gods don’t really care if your hair shows or what kind of dress you wear, she told herself firmly. They know your heart.
“Do they wear corsets in the Teeth?” Lill asked.
“No, never!” Shiloh replied.
“Well, I chose you a gentle one,” Lill claimed. “And I won’t lace it too tight. You’re skinny enough as it is.”
Shiloh bit her lip to stifle a cry as Lill yanked on the corset’s strings. She recited hymns to herself until, many minutes later, Lill was finally finished with everything.
“There we go. Now you look like a proper City girl, a successful merchant’s daughter or something else respectable. Open your eyes, dearie.”
Shiloh obeyed and looked in the mirror, trying to hide her horror. Lill burst out laughing at the expression on her face.
“It’s not as bad as all that, now,” Lill claimed.
“In the Teeth, they would think I was a harlot seeking business,” Shiloh replied softly.
“Dearie, you’re not in the Teeth anymore.”
Shiloh forced herself to look again at her reflection. Her hair had been arranged in a thick pink braid coiled around her head like a crown and wrapped with ribbons. She reached up and touched the plait, yearning for a veil, at least, to cover it. The pale blue dress left her collarbone bare and fell in heavy panels to the floor. Shiloh was certain she’d trip on the long skirt the next time she faced a staircase. The bell sleeves were, thankfully, loose enough to cover her prosthetic, if Hatch ever deigned to return it to her. Lill had pinned the empty left sleeve, which Shiloh appreciated. The unfamiliar corset beneath made it difficult to take a deep breath.
“You’re beautiful,” Lill declared. “Those noblemen at court are going to be begging the king to give you a special dispensation to marry.”
Somehow, I doubt it. “My father is spinning in his grave,” she said aloud, then covered her mouth in embarrassment.
Lill laughed. “You’ll get used to it, dearie, and so will he up in heaven,” Lill said, patting her arm. “Trust me, this is conservative by court standards. The new queen . . . let’s just say that she has a daring fashion sense. She wears short sleeves! Above the elbow, if you can believe it. And necklines three fingers lower than yours. Her bosom must fall out every time she swings a tennis racquet. And the decorations! The dresses are dripping with lace, pearls, ribbons, gold, jewels! The courtiers will think you aspire to be a monk when they see you in this. Trust me.”
“I’m sure you’re right. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful,” Shiloh hasted to reply. “It’s simply . . . this is all so strange for me. I feel like I’ve gone to a foreign country.”
“I know. Poor child,” Lill clucked. “Give it a few months. Things will get easier.”
“Thank you,” Shiloh replied, “very much.” She took a deep breath and forced herself to look again. The edge of a faded scar peeked out from beneath the silk, standing out white against her tan skin. She reached up her hand to touch it, hoping it wasn’t too noticeable.
This is your armor. That is how you must think of it, she told herself. Tomorrow, you go into battle.
“Down to the dining room, dearie,” Lill commanded, interrupting her thoughts. Shiloh obediently followed. They took the main stairs this time, now that she was decently attired.
“Who are they?” Shiloh asked, pointing to a portrait hanging on the landing of the grand staircase. A beautiful blonde woman sat with a small child on her lap. The little boy couldn’t have been more than two or three years old. He held a carved duck in one hand and his mother’s skirts in the other.
“Ah,” Lill laughed. “That was already here when Silas was given the house. The Patriarch’s mistress, that is, and their son. Silas keeps it up because it amuses him, I think.”
Shiloh’s mouth fell open. “How scandalous!”
“Indeed, it is,” came Hatch’s deep voice from behind them. “She wasn’t the only one, either. Then there were the boys.” The women jumped guiltily and turned to face him. “I’m sure you’ve better things to do than review the Patriarch’s sins. That would take all week.” He eyed Shiloh. “It seems you’ve been busy already.” His eyes fixed on the hint of a scar sneaking past her neckline.
Shiloh could feel her face blush hot. “Thank you for the clothes, Master Hatch,” she managed.
He nodded wordlessly and continued up the stairs.
“To breakfast, then,” Lill ordered, and the women continued to descend. Shiloh took one last look over her shoulder as Hatch’s black coattails disappeared around the corner.
***
“Were there other marks?” Silas demanded of his sister. The hour was late. Lill already wore her nightcap, but Silas was still hard at work, candles ablaze.
“Aye, poor child,” Lill confirmed. “All over, poor child. Old ones, newer ones that were still red and purple. Bruises, pretty fresh.”
“Could you draw them for me?” he asked, eyes greedy. “The scars, not the bruises.”
“Heavens, no! I wasn’t making a study of them, for the Gods’ sakes! It was all I could do not to burst into tears!”
“Never mind,” he replied, waving a hand. “I can get her maid to do it for me in a few days.”
“Of course, I have,” Silas confirmed, as though it were self-evident.
“I know it’s your job, brother, to do such things to protect the king. But that is a good girl. I can tell,” Lill clucked. “You had best be kind to her.”
“I don’t tell you how to do your job, Lill. Pray do not tell me how to do mine,” came his stern reply.
***
The rain had washed the air clean, and the view from the dock took Shiloh’s breath away even more than the corset already had. The Bay stretched out in front of them, and the hills and buildings of the City were bathed in morning light on the other side of the water. A few islands poked up out of the blue, capped by lighthouses. The two great lighthouses were clearly visible, the one on the City side and its twin on the Gate side.
She’d read about their construction in one of Edmun’s books about the history of the kingdom. A thousand men had died building them, and the underwater barrier, which had only been closed a handful of times in days of war. The mechanism was tested every year, she’d read, at the vernal equinox. Shiloh had always wondered how the blazing towers would look by night. She supposed she would soon have a chance to find out.
Hatch reached out a hand to help her step onto the boat. She clutched his arm for balance as the deck rocked beneath her. “Thank you, Master Hatch. I’ve never been on a boat before,” she apologized.
“Never?” he asked. “With the Great Lake so close to your home?”
Shiloh shook her head. “I’d be bad luck out on the water. There’s not a man alive up there who would take me on his vessel. Not for buckets of gold.”