Chapter Three
Some dreams are of the body, not of providence.
Making assumptions when she couldn’t know what the man before her thought was a dangerous thing. Even so, Seraphina made a mental list of what Idris knew so far.
That she had defected to the High Harvester.
That Matteo was dead, and she’d lost her sight sometime in the past two years.
That she was looking for a revenant of all things, and the creature coincidentally had no eyes while a pair of them was waiting in a snow bucket.
She couldn’t remember if she’d told him they were hers, but she had suggested that someone else had worn them.
In the chaos and relief of discovering it was him – her old friend from Kr?henstein – she hadn’t paid attention to those first things she’d revealed to him.
She should’ve lied from the beginning.
She shouldn’t have lied at all, and trusted that their friendship could withstand anything, even her, Seraphina Bell, having become corrupted.
By war, by what had been done to her, by prison, the blood on her hands, and the apex relic that whispered in her mind: “you, you, you”.
The word was on the tip of her tongue, the command burning the back of her throat.
Idris turned to the nurses.
“There was an incident in the western tower,” he told them. “Captain Mayer is hurt. Go see what’s going on, and I’ll be right behind you.”
A sigh was all that left Seraphina’s lips. She closed her mouth and waited for the compulsion of the thrall relic to abate before she could trust herself to speak again.
The two women didn’t comment. They gathered supplies and hurried out of the tent.
Seraphina was certain they didn’t believe Idris, but they’d sensed the tension in the air, humming like a bowstring ready to snap.
Something was about to happen, and they didn’t want to be there, trapped in a closed space with a strange, blind woman, a soldier who was acting out of character, and a ghoul who’d just lied to them.
They were wrong, though. Nothing was about to happen.
Because Seraphina had it all under control.
She felt like a puppeteer, strings jutting out of the tips of her fingers, attaching to the heads and limbs of the people around her to guide them in a dance she conjured.
It was all right, she told herself, for she was doing it to make sure no one got hurt. No one that didn’t deserve it…
“Find us a cart and a horse,” Seraphina told the soldier.
He nodded and went to fulfill his new mission.
Meanwhile, Idris had started throwing things into his medicine chest.
Seraphina knew the chest well. She’d seen it in his room at Kr?henstein.
It was a sober, handsome thing of dark walnut bound in bronze, the lid carved with the sigil of House Cordoba – a serpent’s skeleton coiled around a fibula, its bony jaw parted as if in wonder of the bone it studied.
The wood had been stained a deep forest green to match his house colors as well.
Idris had always been poor, so he couldn’t have afforded such an object of luxury.
He’d received it from his mentor the day he was named surgeon, and he’d carried it everywhere ever since, one of his most prized possessions.
“Don’t forget the medical lattices,” she said.
“Of course not.”
His shadow reached for the pieces of linen sewn with bone shards. Seraphina noticed he was counting them, packing half, leaving half behind.
“The Harvester’s companies seem to be well stocked on lattices,” she mused.
“That they are.” He shot her a glance, and she thought his brow lifted in an unspoken question. “It definitely made my work easier on this side of the front line.”
“How many are there?” She motioned at the stacks he was sorting through. “What kind?”
“Six Quietus Nets, six Antipyretic Nets, ten Anodyne Bands, four Staunching Lattices. About two dozen Hearthbands.”
Seraphina inhaled sharply. She remembered the church in Langenbach, the makeshift hospital beds along the nave, the few broken medical lattices they had left after the world had abandoned them to the bone fever. She released the air slowly through her nose, determined to keep calm.
“You should take one.” Idris held out a Hearthband. “You must be freezing.”
She accepted it and unfastened the buttons of her cloak.
Truth be told, she could feel the cold, it bothered her, but she knew the atlas vertebra implanted in her eye socket kept frost sickness away.
She’d gotten used to suffering below freezing temperatures with the knowledge that they couldn’t kill her but merely make her regret the day she was born. At night, in particular.
This Hearthband was nothing like the small, decorous things seen pinned to ladies’ shawls in Ingolstadt.
It was a long strip of linen along which she could feel bone shards sewn in close ranks.
A class D, civilian Hearthband held perhaps a dozen shards, while this one had three times that.
Such generous Hearthbands were rare, since most people couldn’t pay for extensive pattern work, especially when its only effect was to trick the mind into believing the body wasn’t cold.
Wearing more than one Hearthband was unadvisable, as the chances of the wearer freezing to death without realizing increased.
But the Harvester’s army marched in every weather, and his Quartermaster General had clearly decided that a soldier who felt warm fought better than one who shivered.
Seraphina wound the strip around her waist, over her dress, and tied the ends in a knot at her hip.
The effect was instant. The illusion of warmth made its way under her skin and caused her muscles to relax one by one.
Under the scarf, her brow unfurrowed and her thoughts cleared somewhat.
It was now that she understood how much the cold had affected her.
Cumulated with all the rest, it was a miracle she was still sane.
Or was she.
“How can I help?” she asked.
Idris was murmuring to himself as he secured bottles and jars in a dedicated compartment, glass clinking as he moved things around. After another minute, he closed the chest and looked around to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. He smacked his forehead and grabbed the bucket of snow.
“You can help by carrying this.”
He pushed it into her arms, and Seraphina held on to it protectively.
All was right. The certainty of it settled over her consciousness like a heavy quilt.
It was going to be. Idris was the best surgeon she knew, and he would make her whole.
Then, they’d go looking for Rune. If Briar had him, there was only one place where she could take him: Saint Vivia’s Convent.
From where they were – Schloss Ewigheim, at the edge of Freising – it was a four-day journey if the weather was merciful. And once they found Rune…
Seraphina swallowed heavily. She curled her fingers, her nails scratching the frigid metal of the snow bucket. It was better not to think that far. Not yet.
Idris lifted the chest with a grunt and made his way out of the tent. She followed. Outside, it was snowing. Seraphina tilted her head toward the sky and felt snowflakes brush her cheeks and cling to her hair. She forced her thoughts to stay positive.
A two-wheeled cart drawn by a sturdy horse waited.
She didn’t need to see it to know what it looked like.
It was the most basic type of cart the military used.
It was plank-sided and iron-banded, with a canvas tilt stretched over wooden hoops to keep the worst of the weather off the load.
She could smell the tarred linen as she approached the vehicle.
Idris heaved the medicine chest into the back, causing the planks to creak under its weight. Then his hand found her elbow.
“Up,” he said. “I have you.”
Seraphina climbed in one-handed, the other arm cradling the bucket against her ribs. Idris steadied her at the waist until she had her footing on the bed of the cart, then guided her to sit just behind the driver’s plank, with the chest at her back and the canvas low over her head.
“You might not want to hold onto it too hard,” he said, chuckling. “Or I’ll have to get more snow soon.”
“Right. You’re right.”
She pushed the bucket away, but not far enough to lose it from her shadowed sight.
Idris climbed up the front, gathered the reins, and clicked his tongue against his teeth.
The horse leaned into the harness, the shafts groaned, and the cart began to move.
Soon, its large wheels rattled out through the castle’s main gate, and the sounds of a camp in chaos faded behind – boots splashing through mud, angry shouts from men who’d just found out their captain was dead.
“Where to?” he asked.
“North. There’s a convent in the Holledau, in the woods above the Abens.”
He stuck to the main road, and Seraphina didn’t comment, since for once she was traveling with someone who had the right papers. The wind hit the cart from one side, then the other as the road bent and the snow grew heavier. She tucked her chin into the collar of her cloak.
They’d been traveling for an hour, perhaps, when Idris turned and spoke in a low voice.
“Checkpoint ahead. Stay down. They won’t check the back.”
Seraphina lay on the bed of the vehicle, drawing her hood over her face and her knees to her chest, making herself small. She looked like a lump more than a person.
They slowed. She heard voices, the stamp of a horse, the dull ring of a halberd butt against frozen earth.
“Papers,” a man said.
Idris handed them over. “Medical supplies for our troops at Neuburg. Surgeon Gharbi, attached to the Quartermaster General’s office.”
The man clicked his tongue as he studied the papers for a minute before returning them.
“Go ahead.”
“Thank you.”