“You are a child, sir.”
“And you, madam,” he snapped, voice now strident and enraged as he came out from around the chair, walking towards me, “are a pillory. You are apillory. You aremypillory and I cannot get out. Even if I am granted a divorce after this marriage, this mockery of a marriage, the shadow of this will never leave my reputation. These are shackles to which, it would seem, there is no key.”
In all the days and nights in Nyossa, he had never lost his patience. Even when cutting the neck of one of his own men, he had not shown the whites of his eyes. He had only raised his voice to be heard, never with emotion. This temper was new. He had left me speechless. I had no rejoinder. I whirled on my feet, black skirts flying and charged into the corridor, door slamming behind me. In a haze of outrage, I somehow made my way back to the dormitory, my hand running over the dark blue rock. When I arrived and stepped inside to find the women having each chosen a bed and undressed to their shifts, I realized I had found it easily and this surprised me.
They had lit a candle in the sconces because the dormitory had no window. It must have been placed further in the center of the keep, neither on the Pikestully side nor the sea side. I would sleep little tonight without a window.
I found Helena’s cot, removed my boots and dress and slipped in next to her.
She turned on her side and faced me. “Thank you for the mural,” she whispered.
“You are a bland cook. Not bad, just very uninspired. I cannot have you in the kitchens being yelled at for using too few spices.”
She gave me a ghost of a smile. “And Maureen too. I owe you much.”
“You have paid me a debt I can never return with your friendship.”
“As you have paid to me. You will not be able to sleep without a window?”
I shook my head. “I cannot. I will need the lightleaf every night.”
“Well,” she started.
“What?”
“Won’t you be sharing quarters with the captain? After tomorrow.”
I closed my eyes. “I had not even thought of it.”
“You likely will.”
“He hates me. I do not think he would mind if I stayed here. He will prefer it, if I were a betting soul.”
“This king is a terror. I believe they will make this marriage as real as they can so as to appease his …insanities.”
“You really think so?”
“I do. Are you scared?”
“Of the captain? No. I mean, I dislike him and he me. But I believe he will not try to have his way with me if that’s what you mean.” I regretted my words immediately. “Oh, forgive me. That was so insensitive—”
“Do not,” she interjected. “Do not. I will weather this. Like any other woman it has ever happened to. Do not treat me as some delicate thing.”
I leaned in and placed my forehead to hers.
She continued. “I need to say something because I want it to be said at least once. And I need to say it to someone and you are my kindred.”
“Whatever you want to say, I have two ears for you. Always.”
She had not shown grief since her assault, but now her eyes fell shut and I felt her brow crease. The tip of her nose grazed my own. Her voice a cracked whisper, she confessed, “I think he thought I was Maureen. In the mist. I can never tell her, Edie.”
28. Journal
Unable to sleep, I waited until Helena had reached some sort of rest and carefully exited her bed. I found an empty bed and undid my braid. In clean linens, I should have been able to sleep. I had not been able to sleep in the cell the night before and I was exhausted. I turned to my side, as I had been doing in Nyossa. I had chosen a cot at the end of the small dormitory and so I faced the wall. The lone candle still stuttered in its sconce so I was not staring into the dark. This room may have been in the center of the keep, but it was closer to the Pikestully side and this wall was not made up of the blue bluff rock, but of stone and manmade precision. I traced the patterns of the masonry with my gaze, trying to forget the spat I had just had with my husband-to-be. I knew what it was to be unwanted by a husband. I knew what it was to be a stranger in a strange land. I had already danced these dances. I knew the steps well.
My flight to Eccleston at the commencement of a cold winter had been harried, driven by terror and heartache. I had borne the final betrayal from Thrush, one after another, charmed back into his arms and ultimately our bed with his handsome face and sugared words. That last dagger in my back would not be forgiven. It had been too deep a cut for me. And so I, a woman of twenty-eight winters, with an education never really put to use, no marketable skills and little knowledge of the world, became a horse thief. I had lived rough for three days and nights, praying it would not snow just yet. On the end of the fourth day, I passed through the gates of Eccleston, claiming to be visiting an uncle in the city. I was shivering, bundled in two dresses, a belt of coin tied against my ribs beneath, dirty and tired. The breeding of my horse must have allowed me entry, for I looked the part of a beggar. I was able to find lodging that first night in a rundown inn. I sold Thrush’s pretty black dam for much less than what she was worth. I had found an Agnes chapel and the priest found me work. I cleaned the rooms in a university for nearly four seasons, bunked in that crowded boarding house and eventually talked my way into scribing. I had met Helena and then Mischa and we had formed our family, welcoming Maureen to the scriptorium when she was thirteen. I had worked my way into the role of head scribe and found better rooms. I had survived that and made that life not only livable but happy. I would this. I had my scribe sisters and they, me.
A groove between the stones caught my eye. Getting out of the bed, I reached a curious finger into it and found a slim book bound in a green leather. The book was wilted, pages warped by damp and age. I opened it and something sharp and small fell out, making a clang as it hit the rock floor.
