Chapter 20
I gathered up the jacket like it was the precious thing that it was. And after dabbing up blood, I carried my medical bag and the jacket back to the house, keeping out of sight until I could race up the servants’ stairs and get to my room.
Ignoring Bethany’s panicked questions, I stripped out of my bloodied uniform and changed into my old day dress.
It had once been a deep brown but was now thin and worn, covered in patches, and a little bit tight.
But there was nothing I could do about it.
I had a fresh apron to tie over it, at least. And when I stowed everything under my bed and raced to find Mr. Hoffmann, he only made the briefest of comments about my dress.
“Spilled a bottle of ink,” I said, and he bought the lie. No one else said a thing. Not even Voss when I eventually was forced to face him. He’d improved, and despite Filomena’s warning, he didn’t ask me about the copper gate or the crypt.
I’d gotten away with it, I supposed.
All of it. Even the stolen pocket mirror from Hoffman’s room.
So how come I didn’t feel relieved?
In the afternoon, when I wasn’t needed and Voss was in his quarters, I stole back to my room and retrieved both my uniform and Nin’s jacket.
And I took them down to the utility room and washed them.
The blood was nearly dried on my cornflower-blue uniform bodice, so it took a lot of elbow grease to get it all out.
Nin’s jacket was harder, though, because of the arrow damage.
However, I scrubbed out most of the blood and sweat, and I found a needle and thread in a small cabinet.
I took it all back up to my room, where I hung my uniform near the fireplace to dry before repairing Nin’s damp jacket by the afternoon light streaming in from the window.
When I was done, I dug out the red feather he’d given me and carefully added it back to the white lily boutonniere on his lapel.
Then I hung the jacket inside my wardrobe, hiding it behind my clothes, and I spent the rest of the day waiting anxiously for an opportunity to see Nin again.
I waited through the afternoon. Through dinner, a vitals check in the master’s quarters, and the servants retiring for the night. I sat up talking with Bethany until past midnight, still waiting.
But the night passed without any sight of Nin.
He’s too injured to leave the crypt, I thought. But the crypt was locked—I checked it early the next morning—and I had no way of getting down to him. Which worsened my anxiety, especially when the day passed and there was still no sign of him.
What if he’d died? Could gods die? He’d mentioned being confused about his own mortality, questioning whether Voss’s trap had somehow made him human. I didn’t know if that was even possible.
I’d never felt so in the dark.
Two days passed without any sign of Nin.
I performed my duties with Voss and helped Filomena with domestic chores.
Upstairs in my room, I collected all the notes I’d been taking of the master in my tiny chatelaine notebook and transcribed them into a proper patient file that potentially could be presented to Sister Helen when she finally received my letter and sent help. I just had to hang on until she did.
If I pretended to myself that I wasn’t trapped on the estate, that I could leave whenever I wanted and that there were no occult activities taking place here, I could almost believe it was true. I had to believe, in order to keep myself from breaking down, worrying about Nin.
On the third day, I spent my time much as I had the previous ones.
It was starting to get colder outside, and some of the trees had lost all their leaves.
More fires needed to be lit in the fireplaces, and Hoffmann lugged a cart of cut wood from the woodpile to keep all the rooms stocked.
When evening’s shadows blanketed the house, I ate dinner with him and the other servants, made polite conversation.
Afterward, I took Voss’s vitals up in his room before returning to mine.
“What’s the latest gossip?” Bethany asked when I perched on my bed to unlace my boots.
“What gossip?”
“The downstairs gossip. Someone’s got to have seen that hourglass, don’t you think? I’ve been looking for it, but the manor is so big. It would be helpful if I could narrow down the search.”
I sighed and continued loosening my laces. “I’m not discussing the hourglass with the servants. I don’t trust them.”
“You trust Filomena.”
Did I? Maybe a little. I trusted that she was wary of the master and at least had sense enough to realize that things weren’t as they should be in this manor. But it didn’t matter, because I hadn’t had much time alone with her since she’d given me the warning in the greenhouse.
“Maybe that wicked book of yours has some clue about hourglasses,” Bethany suggested.
I tugged off my boots at the heels, one at a time, and chucked them onto the floor near my bed, wiggling my stockinged toes to stretch them out. “I thought you hated that book.”
“I do, I do!” she said. “But we’re getting desperate now, aren’t we? That ugly boy of yours is probably dead by now. I’m sorry, Molly, but you know it’s true.”
A soft sound drew our attention to the door, where a shadow spoke.
“Have faith, Bethany Cross.”
Bethany screeched and disappeared, but I didn’t even care. My heart was beating too fast as I slowly stood from the bed, peering into the shadow until it moved.
Nin stepped into the candlelight.
I was so relieved to see him, I couldn’t hold back a gasping cry and briefly slapped a hand over my mouth to control myself. “You’re alive.”
“I exist,” he corrected.
“I was so worried.”
His smile was barely perceptible. “No need. A very skilled nurse has been taking care of me.”
I let out a muffled laugh and smiled back at him, so pleased that he was in better spirits.
Then I looked him over as he stepped farther into the room and was surprised by the sight of him.
His shoulder was still bandaged—and that was fine.
I’d just forgotten that I’d ripped off the sleeve of his shirt.
His bare arm hung by his side, uncovered but for the golden bracelets circling his forearm.
“Oh,” I said in surprise. It felt as if I’d accidentally seen him naked… though, I immediately wished I hadn’t thought such a thing when my face warmed. “You, um—I’m so sorry about your sleeve.”
He stuck a hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a wrinkled piece of silk. “I still have it, but…”
“Gods aren’t accustomed to doing their own tailoring?”
“Any tailoring at all, to be fair.”
I laughed, feeling much lighter now that I knew he was okay. But I’d feel even better once I took a good look at his shoulder. “Do we have time? I’d really like to check your wounds and apply a fresh bandage.”
“Your master’s asleep,” Nin confirmed.
Wonderful. I pulled the chair out from underneath the desk, dragged it to the middle of the room, and patted the seat. “If you would, please? And I’ll just fetch my bandages. How are you feeling?”
He sat in the chair while I kicked my discarded boots under the bed and quickly ducked down to pull out my medical bag.
“It still hurts,” he admitted. “But not quite as badly.”
“Good,” I said, a little breathless as I set down the medical bag on my bed. “I have your jacket in my wardrobe.”
“You have my gratitude.”
I nodded once and pointed to his bandage. “Any problems? I mean, other than the fact that you’ve got a couple wounds that need stitches.”
“And will you do that today?”
“Depends on what I find beneath the bandage.”
He nodded. “Do what you must.”
His bandage was a little bloodied, but it wasn’t soaked through. That was good. I began removing it, and my eyes roamed down his well-defined bare arm and settled on his bracelets. “Quite a lot of those,” I said, pointing with my chin.
“They contain memories of the dead.”
My fingers stilled. “Memories…?”
“Preserving recollections of the bereaved is a vital part of my function,” he said, gazing at the bracelets on his arms. “When someone is in mourning, and they recall their interactions with someone who’s died, I gather these stories and etch them into my bangles for preservation.”
He lifted the cuff of his remaining shirt sleeve to show me matching bangles covering his other arm as well.
“That’s a lot of memories,” I murmured.
“Yes. All memories of the dead from all of time.”
I squinted at the bracelets. “Wait… All?”
“My bracelets are divine tools, forged in another world. They may not appear so in your eyes, but they are unending, without limit. Some bracelets contain memories of people who lived a thousand years ago. Two thousand, even, when the first Prince of Mourning collected memories.”
I looked into his face, surprised. “You… aren’t the only one?”
“There have been many princes. When great changes come to your world and humanity shifts into a new era—a new Aeon—the gods often change along with them. Old gods die or retire, and new gods come into power.”
“When did you come into power?”
“Six years ago, during my thirteenth winter.”
A thirteen-year-old god? I tried to picture him being that young as I unwound the final stretch of soiled bandage from his shoulder. “And when was that, you know… here on Earth?”
“The first human upon whom I bestowed the gift of grief actually lived about thirty miles south of here. He was mourning his parents, who had just died in a fire that had swept through Manhattan during the Revolutionary War. The number of the year was 1776.”
“1776,” I murmured as goose bumps swept over my arms. He was both older than I’d imagined and somehow younger. “I guess I’d allowed my mind to think of you as a being who’d been around on Earth for thousands of years—since the beginning of time, or something.”
He gave me a soft smile. “Are you disappointed?”
“Only fascinated,” I said, briefly distracted as I inspected the wadding in his wounds. “This is going to have to come out, and you’ll need a few stitches. I’m sorry. It will hurt, but not as much as…”
“Having an arrow pulled out.”
“Yes, that.” I quickly moved around Nin to fetch my nursing lantern and lit the candle inside to give me extra light.
Then I rummaged through my medical bag to find a box of sutures.
I really needed water and a soft cloth to clean him up.
I let him know and quickly raced from my room to the washroom next door and got what I needed.
I half feared Nin wouldn’t be there when I returned, but he was.
I found him standing at my open wardrobe, removing his jacket. My face flushed when I realized that all my spare undergarments were hanging next to it.
“Um, y-yes—your jacket,” I stammered, bringing a small copper basin of water to the desk.
“You washed and mended it,” he said softly. “And you replaced my feather.”
I felt a little self-conscious. “Yes. I tried to be careful with your lily, but it seems to be pristine, even after being shuttered away in my wardrobe.”
“The flower is precious to me. Thank you for taking care with it.”
“Of course.”
“It is a divine gift from my mother.”
“Oh,” I said softly. “Like my claddagh ring.”
His eyes glinted in the candlelight. “Yes, Molly. Like your ring, it was given to me in a gesture of love. It doesn’t harbor any special power, but it is precious to me.”
“Yes,” I murmured, touching my ring. “I understand. It’s a personal memento.”
He nodded, eyes dancing. My sutures were ready, and I needed to get going with cleaning the wound, but I didn’t want him to stop talking.
“I’m sorry to have to do this to you,” I said.
“It is all right, Molly. I can handle more pain than a human. You may begin.”
“Perhaps you can talk to me while I work? I’d love to hear about your mother,” I said. “Is she different from mine?”
He studied my face for a moment; then he settled into the chair as I wet a cloth in the basin. “To tell you about her, I would need to tell you about me, and that is a long story.”
“I have a lot of time, a very sharp needle, and a yard of sterilized catgut string,” I said. “Tell me your story, Prince of Mourning.”