And perhaps she sensed Claire’s unease, and promptly offered, “Or I can stay. If that would make you—”
Claire shook her head. “No, no. Thank you. I’m fine. I can’t believe I’m still so tired—I’m sure I’ll be able to sleep.”
“Everything will be better tomorrow,” Ivy predicted. “We’ll start to make sense of everything.”
Claire offered a weak smile, clinging to the very idea, to make sense of everything.
Wordlessly, with a raised brow, Ivy inquired about the half-eaten tray, at which Claire nodded, she was done, she’d eaten all that she could or dared right now. Ivy took the tray and departed.
Sleep tugged at her again, heavy and unrelenting, and before the door had even closed behind Ivy, Claire had already burrowed into the bed. She hated that she had no answers yet, but her staggering exhaustion meant that wouldn’t be fixed now. She was mollified only by the fact that she believed Ivy, that she was safe.
***
The next day, Claire sat propped against the pillows, clearer-headed now, no longer fever-dazed, and not nearly so weak as yesterday. The same teenage girl who’d poke at the fire yesterday had come half an hour ago with another tray of food. Only now did Claire really notice what she’d been too muddled to register before: the tray was a hammered metal platter, the “plate” nothing more than a thick slab of dry, hard bread that doubled as a dish, and the drink wasn’t beer as she knew it but something close to it— except that it was cloudy, yeasty, barely carbonated, and with a sour tang that reminded her more of bread dough gone rogue than anything she’d ever ordered at a bar.
Since she’d decided this place must be some sort of old hospital, maybe even a relic of the past that hadn’t seen an update in a century or more—so old that it had no machines or modern equipment, maybe not even electricity at all, not that she’d noticed—she didn’t question it too much. But still, bread for a plate and some questionable homebrew beer for breakfast was a little strange.
And yet, she managed to eat, had scarfed down half the bread and cheese, and even a few sips of the beer before Ivy entered the room.
“Oh, Claire, your color is so much better,” she remarked.
Claire tried out a smile. She did feel better. Certainly the gray fog had lifted from her brain, leaving only those burning questions.
“I thought you might be ready for some fresh air,” Ivy said, flapping out what she’d carried in with her, what looked to be a plain gown, similar to the blue one Ivy wore, except that it was the dull color of river stones. Another long sleeve, even plainer dress unfurled next to it in Ivy’s hands. “Your clothes are being laundered,” Ivy explained. “This will do until then. Just something simple to wear over the chemise.”
The chemise?Claire glanced down, assuming what she’d thought was a nightgown was supposed to be the chemise.
She flipped back the blankets and turned, putting her feet on the floor as Ivy approached, offering the garments.
Claire smoothed a corner of the fabric between her fingers, noting the coarse weave. “This is... different.” She glanced up at Ivy’s gown, then back at the plain gray dress. “Is this how everyone dresses around here?”
Ivy nodded, though there was a pained expression about her face, her usual brightness dulled a bit.
Claire stared, then gave a small, incredulous laugh. “Are you in, like, a cult or something?”
Ivy barked out a nervous laugh, the sound too sharp. “No, no. Nothing like that. But yeah, it’s a bit old-fashioned, I guess.” She busied herself with removing the tray rather than meeting Claire’s gaze.
With only a little more effort than rising would normally require, Claire eased to her feet. Ivy helped pull both gownsdown over the chemise, tying the laces at her back before stepping in front of her and smiling at the result.
“Would you like to step outside? Get some fresh air?”
“I would, thanks.” She didn’t want to complain, but the air quality in the room left a lot to be desired. It wasn’t foul exactly, just...heavy. The constant fire left a faint haze of smoke clinging to the air, and the stone walls seemed to breathe dampness, as though they held the chill of the earth itself. It was a closeness she wasn’t used to, and the thought of stepping into open air felt like the only cure.
Ivy twirled around then, looking left then right before lumbering over to the fireplace where she bent, not without difficulty, and picked up Claire’s sneakers from where they’d been drying by the fire.
“No socks,” she said with a hint of apology. “They should be returned today with the rest of your clothes.”
“Thanks,” Claire said and sat back down to put on her shoes before Ivy pulled open the door and they left the room.
The corridor beyond was dim, the air cool, the stone underfoot unexpected—she’d have pictured tile floors even in this old place. Claire followed Ivy, a frown darkening her brow, guessing that she’d been placed in a rarely used, and somewhat drafty wing of the hospital.
But as they moved on, she realized this was...nothing like that, not a hospital at all. They turned a corner and descended a narrow set of stairs that opened into a vast chamber. The room was wide, the ceiling soaring so high that the beams disappeared into shadow.
People, dressed as oddly as Ivy and now Claire, too, moved about with quiet purpose, women with baskets, a boy hurrying past with a bucket, a man stacking firewood near the hearth.
Claire stopped short, unsettled. “Where...what is this place?” she asked Ivy, her voice low, fearful that she was going to be confused again, that things wouldn’t make sense today after all.
“This is Caeravorn, the home of the Kerrs,” Ivy answered casually, waving Claire along toward the door.
