Chapter Thirteen #5
So it was my stupid, girlish dreaming, my head stuffed with stories, that had set all this in motion.
If I hadn’t stitched that little map and sent it winging off to Plague-knew-where, wishing for rescue from my stifled, stunted little life, no one would ever have found us, and none of this would have happened.
And why had I done it? Because, like a fool, I had hoped for a prince to rescue me from my tower.
Instead, I’d had to clamber down myself.
And anything further from my dreams of a fair and square-jawed knight than Patrick Foley would be hard to imagine, slight and dark as he was, and standing barely as tall as I in stocking feet.
“You were watching me through Baldbeak? From the very beginning, after you found my map?”
I am sorry, said Baldbeak, confirming my worst fear.
“You were my friend,” I whispered to him. “My one friend.”
The room was threatening to close in on me again.
“And what of the Temple?” I said hoarsely. “Why was it Temple guards that attacked the tower? In all your machinations, have you come across that information?”
“I did not know that for certain until I saw them pursuing you in Quell,” he said. “I do not know what the Temple wanted with the book, or your mother. But I intend to find out. We can find out together.”
It was all too much.
“I’m going to be sick,” I said with great dignity, and then, without further ceremony, I was. Patrick did me the kindness of turning away while I heaved up what little I had eaten onto the library carpet. Baldbeak fluttered about me, but I shook my head and shooed him away.
“I have to get back to the party,” I gasped when I was calm enough.
“Ah yes … and to your betrothed.”
“Well, what would you suggest I do?” I said sharply.
“Why, come with me, of course. Surely you see now that I am a better prospect than Milady.”
I snorted.
“You are so fond of that noise,” he said.
I peered over his shoulder at the door. “I have been gone far too long. They will miss me. You don’t know what they will do to me if I displease them.”
“Wait a moment,” said Patrick with more urgency. “Just a moment. Just hear what I have to say, and then, if you choose, you can go.”
Baldbeak chattered his beak from where he perched on Patrick’s shoulder. He seemed completely comfortable with Patrick, as if the man were an old friend. Which I supposed he was.
“I can take you to Spire,” Patrick said softly.
I froze. “How do you know I want to go to Spire?”
“I told you, I am in the business of secrets.” He looked at my set face. “I understand your … reservations. But you need to know that Ban Morin is a dangerous man. Milady is bad, yes, but he is worse. And once you are on his lands, in his house … in his bed …”
I shuddered.
“… it will be much harder for me to reach you.”
I started towards the door. He reached out and held my upper arm with a cool, firm touch, stopping me. Baldbeak, still on his shoulder, rattled his feathers a little.
“I am merely offering you a choice,” he said.
“Safe passage to Spire. And then, after we have found the book, the company of others like you. Other mages who do not wish to be married off, pledged to the Temple, or otherwise used. Mieka can vouch for them. She is … involved with their welfare, also, as I am.”
I bit my lip. His expression was serious—but those unsettling hazel eyes with their changing colors did not inspire confidence. “I’ll think about it,” I said.
“That is all I ask. Get back to the party,” he said, raising a hand to stroke Baldbeak, who arched himself up against the pressure. “I’ll make sure he gets safely back outside. Don’t worry.”
“I will talk to you later,” I said to Baldbeak and stumbled out of the room.
The rest of the evening, even Milady’s scolding when I returned to the drawing room, passed in a blur. When I returned to my chambers, Baldbeak was knocking his beak against the glass, and Mieka wasn’t there. I pointedly ignored Baldbeak as I undressed.
I am sorry, he said.
I blinked back tears.
Please let me in.
I thought for a moment, then opened the window, just a crack. He hopped closer, just a little, unsure of his welcome.
“You were my only friend,” I said to him. “And you were reporting back to Patrick the whole time.”
He cocked his head. I would not have stayed if I did not want to.
I snorted. “He said your lot are his spies.”
When we consent to it. We are curious, and if someone offers us meat and shining things … He shrugged. I wanted to stay.
“And you wanted to gather information for him,” I said.
There was little to tell. I went back to him once or twice, but I have not seen him since the Tower except in your company. He hopped towards me, sidelong. I have stayed with you.
I sighed. “Just … let me get used to the idea, all right? I need some time.”
Mieka pushed open the door.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Baldbeak and I exchanged glances. “No,” I said, turning back.
“Oh good. Here.” She spilled a pile of silks onto the bed. Among them were several spools of thread and a packet of needles. “I know you must have been going mad without these.”
“Mieka!” I grabbed a handful of the spools. “Where did you get all this?”
“There’s a sewing basket for the lady of the house. Cook showed me. Milady doesn’t use it, of course, but I thought you would.”
“Thank you,” I said. I let out a long breath. Even the idea of being able to sit down and stitch my thoughts out of my head was calming. “Really, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, grinning.
“I saw Patrick tonight,” I said, sorting through the supplies and avoiding her eyes.
“And?” Her face was bright with expectation.
“I’m going to think about it,” I said.
“Suit yourself,” she said. “By the way, I’m going to be the one watching your room tonight, if you still want to go to the library.”
“I do.”
I sat on the bed with needle in hand—a bone needle, not as sharp and elegant as my own, which I mourned, but good enough—and a square of fabric draped over my knees.
Threading a slender vein of silk into my needle, I wondered, how can I possibly get out of here without going with Patrick?
I started to stitch, feeling the usual blessed calm settle over me as my fingers followed the needle, and a memory rose unbidden: One of the lords had said that a band of Followers was nearby, had he not? Could I travel with them again?
The Followers. Ironically, the first solution Patrick had offered me, on that day beside the river. It felt so long ago, now.
Well. It had worked before, and it could work again. I thought about rescue, about the Followers, about safe passage. I thought all those things onto the cloth, and they sprang to life there. It was not a spell in the traditional sense, but it was all I could do … And it wasn’t quite right.
I stared at it in frustrated silence. It was almost there—I could feel it.
It was like not quite remembering a simple word, knowing it was on the tip of your tongue, but being unable to summon it forward, to speak it into the world.
My needle hovered above the silk, charged and waiting.
I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood. Then I gritted my teeth and got back to work, determined to keep stitching.
Please. Please come. Please find me.