“Cloda,” Kilkenny says.
“I go by Chiyoko now.”
Kilkenny’s brows are high, but he nods. “Chiyoko,” he says. He turns and fingerspells her name for me.
Chiyoko’s eyes widen, lips slightly parted.
Kilkenny introduces Osheen, Alys, and me to Chiyoko as well. I’m touched that he’s picked up on the unique signs we use for our names. “They all escaped the brig under Paramount. We’re heading to the Verge for sanctuary.”
The ire in Chiyoko’s eyes melts into curiosity. She unfolds her arms and lets them fall to her sides. After one last glance at each of us, she steps aside to let us in. I sigh with relief as we enter the warmth of the humble dwelling. After more than a week on the road, this cottage feels as extravagant as the castle.
A small fireplace, a few threadbare armchairs, and a shaggy woven carpet over a terribly scratched wooden floor make up the cozy room. A woman with straight grey hair down to the nape of her neck steps into the space, a hand behind her back. Eyes identical to Chiyoko’s analyze the scene, and as they settle on Kilkenny, it takes a moment before recognition takes hold. Her hand flies to her gaping mouth and her chest expands with a deep breath.
“Hello, Mam,” Kilkenny says with a wavering smile followed by a small, respectful bow.
Despite her short stature, his mother closes the gap between them with four long strides and wraps her slender arms around him tightly. When she pulls away, her hands rest on his shoulders as she peers up at him, eyes brimming with tears. The hilt of a dagger peeks out from the back of her trouser waistband, and my heart lurches at the realization that this woman could’ve probably killed us on sight if she wanted to.
She turns to Alys, and they greet each other with warm familiarity, a swift hug and a kiss on each cheek. Osheen and I observe from a short distance, the space between us annoyingly tense. Kilkenny andhis mother approach us before I have time to dwell on my relationship with Osheen, and Kilkenny introduces us. “This is my mam, Haruka.”
“Welcome,” Haruka gestures. “Please forgive my signing. I’m a little out of practice.”
I smile at her. “No need to apologize. I appreciate even the effort.”
“I know how lonely it can be.” She pauses, then continues motioning as she recalls the signs from memory. “My father was deafbefore he died. Chiyo took a very long time to speak but she learned some signs from my father. He learned from a friend. So that’s how we communicated for a while. Only within our home, of course.”
Of course.
“Where’s Da?” Kilkenny asks.
Haruka frowns. “Currently far away in Ballygort. On a special assignment. I’m afraid you’ll miss him.”
Kilkenny’s shoulders sag.
We all take turns changing out of our wet clothing, and a while later, as I return to the sitting room from the bathing chamber, Kilkenny is still there talking to Haruka. He glances at me over his shoulder, his face unreadable as usual.
I have so many questions. About this stop, his family dynamic, my powers, his… But I don’t have the energy. My sore body sinks into one of the worn armchairs. If I never ride a horse again, it’d be great, but I remind myself that this comfort is only temporary.
As I lean back against the cushion, I catch Kilkenny’s gaze on me again, a crease forming between his brows. “All good?” he signs.
I barely have the energy to lift my arms, so I risk a worsening headache and nod gently. I’ve forgotten to take the tincture, but I’m not leaving this seat.
The concern disappears from his face, and he turns back to Haruka, says something, then heads toward the bathing chamber.
The next thing I know, someone is nudging my shoulder. It’s Chiyoko, a steaming cup in her hands. Behind her, Alys is spreading out blankets on the floor. “I’ve brought you some chamomile tea,” says Chiyoko. She sets it down on a small circular accent table beside the chair.
“Thank you.” I sit upright.
“You’re welcome. So, are youfullydeaf?”
The question comes out of nowhere, but there is only curiosity on her face, no ill intent. “I am,” I reply.
“Were you born deaf?”
“No. I fell severely ill when I was thirteen and it left me with an ailment that’s grown worse over the last… decade. Hearing loss was part of it. At first, sounds slowly faded, then they just ceased to exist.”
Kilkenny walks back into the sitting room in only a loose tunic and trousers. The sleeves are rolled back, leaving his powerful forearms exposed for a second before he tugs the fabric over an inked design on his skin. His feet are bare, his hair still damp and unbound, falling to just above his shoulders where a towel is draped. He still hasn’t shaved the facial hair that’s grown over the eleven days of travel, but the look works for him. I do a doubletake. I’ve only ever seen him in his guard livery or riding gear. There’s something oddly… intimate about seeing him this way.
I am compelled to turn away, but at the same time, I don’t want to.
