“The house is possessive,” she said, inspecting the deepest cut. “It does not like its things broken before it has decided where to put them.”
“I am not athing,“ I said, wincing as she applied pressure. “And I think it was trying to save me.”
“Are the two mutually exclusive?” Mrs. Crane raised an eyebrow. She wiped the dirt from my knuckles. “The manor is old, girl. It remembers when blood was the only currency that mattered. It seems to have decided yours is worth keeping inside your body for the time being.”
So I was ‘girl’ now. She tied the handkerchief around my arm with a knot.
“You should get that properly dressed,” she said, smoothing my tattered sleeve down. “And change. You look like you’ve been wrestling a bog witch.”
“Just a garden drake,” I mumbled, feeling incredibly weary.
“Close enough.” Mrs. Crane stepped back, her gaze softening for a fraction of a second. “The Master is in the music room. He hasn’t played in some time, but the piano lid was open this morning.” She paused, her lips pressing into a thin line. “If the house is working this hard to keep you alive, perhaps you should go and ensure the reason for its effort is still sane.”
“Is that advice, Mrs. Crane?”
“It is a housekeeping suggestion,” she said. “I cannot polish the silver if the roof falls on my head.”
I turned on my heel, ready to march toward the music room, but the front doors groaned. Lady Kelda Morvain stood framed by the morning mist. Now this was a hell of a morning.
She was immaculate, of course. Her robes of pale sage and silver shimmered as she moved, not a mud splatter or stray hair in sight. She brought the scent of crushed lilies into the hall, displacing the smell of damp earth and blood that clung to me. Upon seeing the tableau—Mrs. Crane stiff as a poker, the muddy footprints, my shredded sleeve—her perfect eyebrows rose.
“Oh, my,” she said, her voice a soft chime of bells. “I was in the neighbourhood, checking on the ley-lines for the valley council, and thought I’d look in on dear Fenrik. But it seems I’ve arrived in the middle of a catastrophe.”
“Hardly a catastrophe,” I said, though I casually tried to hide my bandaged arms behind my back. I felt suddenly aware of the potting soil smeared on my cheek. “Just a minor disagreement with a restless drake.”
Kelda stepped forward. She didn’t look at Mrs. Crane; she looked only at me, her sea-glass eyes sweeping over my disheveled state.
“You poor dear,” she said, closing the distance between us before I could retreat. “You really aren’t used to managing an estate of this magnitude, are you? It can be overwhelming.”
“I’m managing fine.”
“Of course you are.” She smiled, but it looked like just a shifting of muscles. “Let me help with that. We can’t have you dripping all over Fenrik’s floors. He does so hate a mess.”
She reached out. I flinched, instinctively pulling back, but her hand was faster, clamping onto my forearm. Her fingers were unnervingly cold, lacking the natural warmth of a living person.
“Hold still,” she said. “A simple Hearthcraft soothing charm. I’ve done it a thousand times for him.”
Before I could protest, magic spilled from her palm.
I expected the weaving sensation of natural healing, the itch of knitting skin, the heat of accelerated blood flow. Instead, I felt a layer of cold, suffocating pressure slide over my skin. It didn’t feel like the wound was closing; it felt like it was being covered up. Like a thick, invisible lacquer was being painted over the tear in reality, sealing the damage under a flawless, glossy surface.
The pain vanished, but the relief brought no comfort. My skin felt rubbery beneath her touch, distant and numb, as if that patch of arm no longer belonged to me.
“There,” Kelda said, inspecting her work. She didn’t let go of my wrist. “Much cleaner.”
“It feels...” I trailed off, staring at the unmarked skin where a gouge had been seconds ago. It looked perfect though.
“Numb?” Kelda finished for me, her gaze drifting up to meet mine. “That’s the quality of the spell. It suppresses everything unpleasant. Fenrik always preferred it this way. When his curse flared in the early years... oh, the nights I spent soothing him.He used to beg for my touch, just for a moment of silence in his head.”
I tried to yank my arm away, but her grip held for a second too long before she released me.
“He requires a gentle hand, Lysa,” she said, wiping her palms on a silk handkerchief. “Not... whatever this is. Roughhousing with the beasts might be acceptable in a village clinic, but bringing that chaos into the manor? It unsettles him.” She gestured vaguely at my entire person.
“I helped stabilize the creatures,” I said.
“Did you?” She tilted her head, offering a sympathetic smile that made me want to scream. “Or did you stir them up? Fenrik needs peace, not more excitement. Perhaps you should go upstairs and wash. You look... frantic. I’ll go to the music room and let him know you’re safe. I know the way.”
She stepped around me, the silk of her robes brushing against my muddy trousers, claiming the space, the direction, and the man waiting at the end of the hall.
