I did not want to use the guest room, but I ended up there anyway. There was something scary about Nanny. She must be the one who taught Uncle Ulric his charms, or lack thereof.
I sprawled on the bed, wishing I had the energy to draw a bath. There was no time for dreams. I knew I’d fallen asleep only because I was bewildered and slow to rise when the screams started.
5│ FAMILY
~
“AHHH...AHHH...AHHH!” EACH SHRIEK FROM THE girl was punctuated by huge gulps of air. I stared at her, not knowing what to do. Old Nanny tottered down the stairs in a nightgown, hands over her ears. She didn’t hesitate before slapping the girl across the mouth with all her strength.
The ex-slave put a hand to her cheek and sobbed. I patted her shoulder awkwardly. “You didn’t have to hit her,” I told Nanny.
“Only way to quiet them down. Viktor’s brought a few like her through here.”
“Are you alright?” I asked the girl.
She nodded, but her wide, tear-filled eyes said otherwise.
“What’s your name?”
“… I don’t know. Where am I?”
“Her name is Kali,” Nanny said.
“How do you know that?”
“I have a list.” She pulled out a sheet from the writing desk in one corner of the room. “Yes, the next girly name on the list is ‘Kali’.”
“You’re randomly naming ex-slaves?”
“It’s alphabetical.” Nanny said, as though it explained everything.
“Didn’t their parents give them names?”
“I remember my mother.” Kali’s elvish disintegrated into an excited string of foreign words. Seeing my confused expression, she switched back to the standard dialect. “She’s dead I think.”
Old Nanny shook her head. “Born to slaves with the mark, just as addle pated as they are, who’s going to name them if we don’t?”
“I know what ‘addle pated’ is.” Kali scowled at the old woman. “I remember lots of things now, but they’re...hazy. You broke a jar on his head.”
“You’re safe.” I tried to smile reassuringly, but it frightened her more. I didn’t smile well, plus I had circles under my eyes and hair sticking up everywhere. She must have thought I was an overgrown bogle. “What do we do now?”
“Give her some money and send her on her way,” Nanny said, dismissively.
“No. She has nowhere to go.”
Kali was born a slave, her mother was dead, and she was a long way from the land of her birth. I couldn’t simply toss her on the street with no means of surviving on her own. Besides, I didn’t have any money to give her, not anymore. I’ve always been terrible with it. Whenever I found a coin I’d lose three. She would have to stay here, at least for the time being.
Kali’s stomach growled. “I think I’m hungry.”
“We’ll take care of you.” I looked at Nanny.
She threw up her hands, saying, “I’ll warm up the stew,” and headed for the kitchen.
I rummaged through Viktor’s closet and came out with some oversized clothes for Kali and myself. With two of us, I could justify the work involved in heating water for a bath. When it was ready, I let her climb into the huge copper tub first.
“I love to bathe,” Kali said. “They gave me a bath at least once a month.”
Sounded almost as bad as elves. “Our custom is once a day. Maybe a bit longer in between if I’m lazy and not giving a damn. Of course, it’s often a cold bath for similar reasons.”
I scrubbed Ilsa’s clothes and hung them to dry. When Kali was done, I shooed her out and took my turn in the tub, letting the hot water relax my sore calves. I seldom hiked around the city, and my muscles were shouting at me not to do that again.
A yummy smell enticed me downstairs, but it was false advertisement. A traditional Solhan stew, made from every part of the animal normal people chose not to eat, awaited us. I didn’t enjoy seeing bits of brain and intestine nestled together in the same spoonful. Especially for breakfast.
“What’s wrong?” Nanny frowned. “It puts fire in your blood.”
“I have enough fire already.” I set my spoon down. “I’m going to Karolyne’s to finish packing.” Not that I had many things to pack. I’d left most of my stuff behind when I’d stormed away from Uncle Ulric’s over a year ago.
Nanny’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not moving into Viktor’s....”
“I know! I’ll take the guest room.” I stood.
“Where are you going?” Kali grabbed my hand. She glanced nervously at Nanny. “You haven’t told me what to do.”
“You don’t have to wait to be told anything ever again. Do what you want. But I recommend staying indoors until Randall and the slavers leave town. They’ll recognize you, and if they spot your slave mark has been removed we’ll be in real trouble with the law. Death for you and something worse for me for freeing you. I’ll be back tonight, and we’ll figure something out for the long term.”
Slowly, after another nervous look at Nanny, Kali released my hand.
I felt terrible leaving her, but the home-cooked meal frightened me off. I needed real food, which meant I needed to go back to work this afternoon. I also needed my own stuff. Viktor’s shirt still carried his smell, but as comforting as it was, it also reminded me I would never see him wear it again.
A detour first.
Even more important was returning Ilsa’s things before she noticed them missing. I donned the shoes and gathered the dress, coat and accessories I’d washed, but I couldn’t find the hairpin. Then, I remembered leaving it in Stanley’s door. Not smart. Still, it had been our mother’s, so I had as much claim to it as Ilsa did. I could leave it anywhere I wanted. Hadn’t mother left me behind as indiscriminately?
Viktor’s shirt was long enough to be a dress, a very short one. The weather was cold, as usual, but I could endure a brief exposure. I scurried up the cobblestone street, hoping to avoid anyone I knew, which was impossible, since I knew everyone and it was full morning.
I frowned at the miniature locomotive pulling ice scraping blades across the cobbles. I hated those things. These new technologies were ruining the place. This one was particularly bad, because it was covered by goblins hitching a ride. I recognized them from Karolyne’s place. They were still drunk and showing no signs of sobering. One tried to whistle at me, but with a mouth full of teeth and no lips, he just slobbered. The human operator inside the glass bubble at the front of the locomotive huddled in his seat and had a better view of the drool than I did. I hoped they broke the noisy eye sore. I smiled and waved as they drove away, the goblins excitedly waving back.
When the quiet of falling snow returned, I took a moment to breathe in the icy air and coughed on the stinking smoke left by the locomotive.
This was supposed to be the best neighborhood in the Outskirts. No shanty houses here. Foundations were brick or stone. The sturdy wattle and daub walls were painted white to contrast with the black wooden beams that crisscrossed the surface and framed real glass windows. The neighborhood didn’t have a special name, like the Slave Quarter, but it was where every self-important human tried to live. Merchants, hostellers, master tradesmen, less savory businessmen, priests...I smiled enticingly at the High Priest of the Light Bringer temple when I caught him looking at my legs. He went livid and stared stiffly ahead.
I heard other people whisper as I passed, “...her own brother”. They must have recognized me from my disheveled appearance. Ilsa would never be caught without her face painted and hair perfectly ‘so’.
“Murdering Solhan pig.” That comment felt like a punch to the gut. I couldn’t see who said it, but I walked faster.
Murder. The scene leapt into full recall. Morgan had found me at Karolyne’s with the wagon. I was one of the first to see.... We drove to Uncle Ulric’s, and he gently carried Viktor’s blood-covered body inside and laid it on the marble floor. I couldn’t bear to look at the mess made of Viktor’s chest, but Ilsa...Ilsa crept for
ward, eager. Ulric took hold of his lifeless hand. “Who did this?” Morgan had no answers, but I burned for them from that moment.
Later, when we heard the will read aloud by the magistrate and what was bequeathed to me, Ilsa shot me a knowing glare. I could ignore Ilsa’s suspicions. I spent most of my life ignoring her. But she turned the neighborhood against me. Most people respected Viktor, even those who mistrusted Solhans. After he died, they had nothing but rancor for his supposed killer.
Solhans, and the Thorne family in particular, had a reputation. While we didn’t have a monopoly on dark magic, we were good at it. When I was a child, my uncle showed me a twisted effigy of wood and blood and sinew, ready to start my lessons. I ran and hid under the house.
I wasn’t like Ilsa and the rest: I liked ponies. Viktor and I were the only sane ones, and we fought hard to avoid being entangled in Ulric’s web.
I didn’t cut Viktor’s heart out, but someone had. I saw other fair-skinned Solhans strolling the street, all a head taller than the humans around them. Thornes weren’t the only ones who knew what to do with a captured soul.
~
I knocked and Morgan answered the door. When I thought of home, I thought of Morgan. He was Uncle’s manservant, although bodyguard was a more accurate description. He looked the part, with his wide shoulders and huge hands capable of smashing nutshells one at a time. When our family fled the fall of Solheim, he carried me in one arm and Ilsa in the other and never set us down until we were safe. He was still looking out for me.
“Those are Ilsa’s shoes you’re wearing. At least they used to be shoes. She’s still asleep. You had better move fast, Eva.” He held the door open for me.
“Morning.” I did a little jump to reach and gave him a kiss on the cheek as I swept past.
He wiped it away with a scowl. Morgan wasn’t good at smiling either.
Tiny feet pattered across the polished marble floor. “Papa!” It was my nephew, Little Viktor. He saw me and stopped, his face falling. “Where’s Papa?”
I felt my heart clench and my throat constrict. This was the worst part. As hard as it was for Nanny to accept he was gone, it was harder for a five-year-old to understand. “Sorry. Only me.”
Morgan hadn’t closed the door yet, and someone crossed the threshold behind me. Lil’ Viktor’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open.
“It’s ‘Ane!” The boy ran past me and hugged Duane.
Duane wasn’t alone. Bell smiled, tucking her thumbs in the straps of her soot-stained work overalls. Massive goggles dangled from her neck, like they were the latest fashion. Duane tossed Viktor in the air and swung him on his back.
I instantly cocked a hip and felt my lip curl, ready to snarl. Him again. “What are you doing here, Duane? Following me?”
He laughed and set the boy down. “Not only dressing like Ilsa, you’re sounding like her. Think you’re the center of the universe now?”
Morgan and I shared a frown. He understood how much Duane irritated me.
“If you must know...” Duane paused to give Viktor a tickle. “...I’m here to see this little guy. And your Uncle.”
“What about?” I was curious—and suspicious.
A deep voice rumbled behind me like thunder. “Mister Adder.” Ulric stepped into the foyer, which was getting crowded. My uncle raised an eyebrow at seeing me there, but he chose not to comment. He stepped past me and kissed Duane on each cheek before extending an arm for a businessman’s handshake. “Please, come to my study.”
My uncle claimed to be a shoemaker, which was why he was on the council of merchants that ruled the Outskirts. I’d never seen him pick up a cobbler’s hammer in my life. The only business he conducted was closed meetings with the powerful. Priest, merchant or criminal, he pulled all their strings.
Ulric appeared to be the same age as Morgan, although I knew he was older, and he was almost as tall, but the similarities ended there.
Where Morgan’s pale, Solhan skin was tinted gold from too much time spent practicing in the yard, Ulric was white as a cadaver. His eyes were white too, and if his hair were any fairer he’d be monochrome. At least it must have been so in his youth, for now there were enough distinctive threads of silver and gray among the shoulder length locks to spoil the albino effect. Nevertheless, all the white in contrast to his immaculate black suit gave him an otherworldly appearance, like the Harvester of Souls Himself.
Ulric let his guests precede him. Duane’s smile vanished. My uncle had that effect on people.
“What’s going on?” I had to ask.
“You should be more concerned with making yourself presentable.” Uncle eyed my borrowed shirt and sack of damp clothes slung over one shoulder. “You are an embarrassment.”
Yeah, well, you’re an evil old coot, but I kept my thoughts to myself.
When they disappeared into Uncle’s study, I told Morgan, “I’m worried about Little Viktor. Can you keep an eye on him for me?”
“I will take care of the child. I always do. You should be more worried about Ilsa.”
“Trust you to stay focused.”
“Never take your eye off your opponent, and never let a dog’s bark distract you from its teeth.” He was quoting an old lesson.
“Right.” I headed upstairs. I understood the first part but wondered about the second. Did he mean Uncle was worse than I thought? My thoughts were pretty bad, so I didn’t see how it was possible.
On the way to Ilsa’s room, I passed the family shrine and felt a chill. I made myself go back and bow my head in obeisance before continuing.
Uncle would have whipped me if he’d caught me walking by so brazenly. He was a very religious man, but he didn’t only worship the usual gods, such as the Light Bringer, Hearth Mother, and Riverwalker. He told us to respect the other ones too—the Devourer, in particular. Worship of the Dead God was banned; otherwise, I think my uncle would have had a statue of his winged form in the shrine too.
I blew out the hall lamp and went into silent running as I neared Ilsa’s door. Tiptoeing, I cushioned each footfall and slowly turned the knob. It wasn’t locked. It never was. What did Ilsa have to fear?
I slipped inside, shut the door behind me and waited a moment for my eyes to adjust. Thick curtains were drawn across the windows to allow Ilsa to sleep off another night spent surrounded by her admirers. The outlines of the four-poster bed became visible and then the lump of soft, downy blankets.
I started when I saw Ilsa staring right at me with cat-like eyes, the irises as pale as Uncle’s. It was my own face, but a cold and unforgiving version. I was ready to run, when a soft snore eased my fear. Sometimes she slept with her eyes open, just one of the creepy things she did.
I felt like a knight raiding a sleeping dragon’s lair as I skulked past her to the closet. The clothes were still damp, so I hung them to the side, where she was likely to overlook them for a while. I put the shoes back in their box and hoped she forgot they were supposed to be heels and not flats.
On the way back, I tossed a few words of gratitude at the shrine. This was turning out to be a far better day than yesterday. I had avoided Ilsa completely.
A neatly folded stack of my old clothes awaited me at the top of the stair. Morgan no doubt. How thoughtful. I’d abandoned my things when I left Uncle and his twisted world behind months ago.
I ducked into another dark alcove—Ulric’s place was full of them—and changed clothes. It felt good to be back in my own skin: brown riding pants, for the pony I never had, sky blue knit top, furry white jacket, and best of all, knee high leather boots with no heel. I was me again.
I took in the austere surroundings. I’d been imprisoned here throughout my childhood, and there was nothing I missed. Just these few cherished garments, forgotten in my haste to escape.
I went downstairs, looking to thank Morgan and see if he’d kept any more of my old clothes. Was it my fault I passed Uncle’s study on the way? Or that, with my ear to the door, I could hear everything
they were saying?
“It’s settled,” Ulric said. I disliked the satisfaction in his voice.
“Except for this.” I couldn’t see what Duane was doing, but I heard Bell exhale.
Ulric chuckled, dismissive. “He left those to you. I have no need of them.”
“They were meant to be spent on Little Viktor, to care for him. I’m not doing that. You are. You’ve won. The responsibility is yours, and so are these.” Stones clattered against Uncle’s desk, chairs shifted, and I backed down the hall.
My uncle stayed behind in the study. I went up and grabbed Duane before he reached the front door. “You’re giving up? I thought you would have fought harder than this for Lil’ Viktor.”
“You sound disappointed. I thought you didn’t want me to have him?” Duane was the one who sounded disappointed.
“Better you than Ulric.” Part of me was wondering what the hell the other part of me was saying.
“You turned out alright.”
“Only because of Morgan.”
“Well, Little Vikky will have Morgan—and me. I’m his godfather. I’ll see him as often as I can.”
My temper heated up. “You couldn’t handle taking care of him every day. Raising a child was too hard, so you quit. You couldn’t do the one thing your best friend wanted?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He told Bell, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Duane is doing what he has to do, Eva.” Bell glared at me, but she was an amateur. My glare sent her for the door. When she opened it, Conrad was standing there, hand poised to knock.
“Hello.” He looked from Bell to Duane and then to me. “Am I interrupting something?”
6│ VISITORS
~
DUANE FROZE AT SIGHT OF the Guard uniform. Or, was it Conrad’s effortless smile and golden hair? “Yes, you’re interrupting. Why don’t you leave?”
“This isn’t your house.” I strutted over to Conrad, nudged Bell aside, and said, “Come in. They were going.”
“Actually,” Duane said, “it’s not your house either. And I want to check in on Little Viktor.”
Tangle of Thornes Page 5