“You are in pain?”the king said.
I was, but I wasn’t supposed to speak of it.
“Valya will help you with the rest,” the king said, nodding as Valya held open the curtain once more.
When inside, Valya moved quickly, cutting the knot at the base of my spine and heaving each quarter of my gown away, letting the pieces fall to the floor with a metallic, thud-jangle, revealing blood-soaked wool.She frowned at me, her eyes meeting mine with a silent, judgemental feeling in them.
I felt the urge to cover my chest, even though I was already covered by my underdress, but before I could complete the movement, I sucked in air.My lungs were free from the burden of metal, and I’d just taken my first full breath in many days.I grew dizzy and swayed.
Valya caught me and called out.Pinkbeard came with a bowl of hot water, his eyes leaping to the bloodstained wool and then to my face.He exchanged a look with Valya before leaving again.
Valya peeled the wool off my mottled skin and washed my sores and painted them with something strong-scented.She wrapped my wounds in linen and helped me put on the new dress and cloak.Then she piled furs atop me, and the whole time she worked, she hummed softly and paused regularly to brush my hair out of my face or cup my cheek in her palm.I was delirious with the pleasure of breathing without restriction and the way my fever made the world seem thin.I’d never had a woman care for me so gently.I cried and said to her, in my own language, which, of course, she couldn’t understand, “You are so beautiful.You mustn’t surprise me by being mean.”
The last thing I remember of that evening was clutching the straw-coloured hair that hung over her shoulder, afraid of falling asleep and being separated from her.
Twelve
Death came and offered me its hand.I’m sure many scholarly order members believe it would have been better if I’d taken it, but I didn’t.
I lived.
There was coldness and dreams that I forced myself to forget the moment I awoke.But then there came the hour my mind grew orderly.I felt truly hot again and kicked off my blankets with sore legs and pulled the giant knot that was my hair away from my face and neck, but even that wasn’t enough to cool me.The room was full of braziers—dangerously so.Especially if anyone thought about how the whole space leaned subtly every so often because the palace—indeed half of the city I was in—was set atop the sea.And there were more than braziers.The odd king had insisted any painting, tapestry, or carving with flames on it be brought and set in the space with me.
Maybe he’s not even a king, I thought.He’s probably a liar thief.And then I thought again,Thief!
I couldn’t see where my goldkeeper’s gown was and began frantically tearing through the mountain of blankets and furs I’d been sleeping in.“No,” I said under my breath as I searched.“No, no, no.”It wasn’t my gold I’d lost; it was Loric’s.It was my betrothed’s gold.
“It’s beneath the board there.The third one over on the wall.You hid it while in Egil’s clutches.”
I turned to find a young woman at the entrance to the room, her arms full of yet more blankets.I vaguely remembered prying the board away from the wall only after she’d mentioned it.
“You’re from my country,” I said.She had a servant’s way of talking, but her accent was Islish entirely.
“Perhaps it is you who’s frommycountry,” she said.Her skin glowed like amber; her hair shone like bronze.She wore the same loose-fitting garments as the sea dogs, but her hair was oiled smoothly to a twist at the nape of her neck, and her nose was pierced—both were Islish stylings.“Fuck, it’s hot in here,” she said as she dropped the blankets onto the bed.
I had more questions than I could possibly begin to count or articulate.
“Are you an accidental captive, too?”I said, realizing how foolish the sentence sounded just as it came out of my mouth.
“No,” she said.“Fell bid me come so you could have someone who speaks your language who isn’t The Bard King.I had other things to do, but, alas, he has a way of asking… halt!You don’t like that corner.”
I had been retreating to keep a fair distance between us, my arms crossed over my chest because I felt undressed even though I had a thick linen garment on.
Only after her warning did I remember the bundle of troublesome objects I’d hidden in the small, triangular space provided by a painting leaning against the wall.Someone had brought me a comb, and I’d figured it might be cursed.There had been other offerings as well.The idea seemed so foolish to me with my mind returned.I actually believed very little in sorcery—why had I been so focused on it while ill?
“You must think me mad,” I said.
“Only a little.You seem to be faring better, though?”
I nodded.“I don’t know what to begin asking.Your name and where the woman who cared for me has gone and where I am and how I am to leave and why you call him The Bard King and?—”
“Your hair is against prescription,” she said.
I’d never heard someone speak of prescription so lightly, so playfully.
“If you let me fix it, I will answer what I can.Most I only know through hearsay and what Fell told me as we walked to the palace.”
“Fell?”The name scratched at my memory.
