Chapter 5
The next morning, I awoke before dawn and left the sailor snoring in bed.
A few coins and a note of thanks on the bedside table—the men especially liked mementos to show their friends—and I was gone.
His snores followed me down the hallway.
I’d worn him out. I envied the complete abandon of his sleep.
I was nearing the border of Fenwood, watching the sky for signs of what the Mist’s mood would be that day, when a dark figure caught my attention. It moved swiftly through the shadows wearing a hooded cloak like my own. I knew that gait and that silhouette, even draped in fabric.
The Warden.
I nearly pressed on back to Rosewarren. I needed a bath, a tonic from the infirmary to guard myself against infections, and some sleep. And I was in a wonderful mood that I didn’t want to give up, all my bad thoughts rigorously scrubbed away by the sailor and his impressive stamina.
But remembering Cira’s recent musings gave me pause.
The Warden is quite unwell, isn’t she?
She really ought to hurry up and have that child she’s supposed to bear.
It was entirely possible, of course, that the Warden was here in Fenwood for any number of reasons that had nothing to do with taking a lover into her bed. My curiosity, though, was too eager to ignore.
I followed her down the main road at a safe distance.
On either side of me was the sleepy morning bustle of the town waking up: a baby crying out, the bleat of a goat, the clang of kitchen tools, the smell of baking bread.
A girl darted out of a tall, narrow house, followed by her little brother.
I stopped with a flinch. For a moment, the girl’s hair was auburn, not black.
For a moment, it was Petra giggling, Petra whirling around to hug the little boy, Petra catching me staring and throwing me an uncertain smile.
I hurried around the next corner, the taste of ash on my tongue, and stopped just short of barreling into the Warden.
“Madam,” I blurted out. I ducked my head in a sharp nod. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mara,” she said, a twist of amusement in her voice. “I trust you slept well? I know you always do when you spend the night in Fenwood.”
Her comment should not have shamed me. I was far from the only Rose to seek comfort in the arms of Fenwood strangers. In fact, the Warden encouraged it. But a flush crept into my cheeks, and I was certain she could hear my pounding heart. I made myself look at her anyway.
“The best night of sleep I’ve had in weeks,” I replied.
Her smile widened. “Excellent. I’m gratified to see that you’re taking my orders to rest so seriously.”
With that, she glided past me, and I should have let her move on unbothered, but I was in a strange state. The little girl had smashed into my calm like a great stone, and now there were cracks all through it. For a moment I lost my head.
I grabbed the Warden’s arm and said quietly, “May I ask you a question before you go?”
The Warden’s eyebrows rose. She glanced down at my hand around her wrist; I immediately released her.
“Very well,” she said smoothly. “Ask me.”
My mind raced. I had to be careful here.
“The last few weeks,” I began, “I’ve noticed that you’ve seemed more tired than you usually do.
And after the battle in Sector Three, a thought occurred to me.
” I gathered myself with a shallow breath, then met her narrowed black gaze.
“With these increased attacks and the regular Mistfall, the likelihood of something getting past our defenses, even at Rosewarren, is greater than ever. And with exhaustion comes mistakes, as you were wise enough to point out to me. If something were to happen to you before your successor is in place…” Another steadying breath.
I lifted my chin slightly. “What would happen to us?”
“Oh, Mara. I’m touched by your concern.” She took my chin in her hand and looked steadily at me. “This is what happens when you stop moving, isn’t it? All the mean thoughts wriggle in.”
I swallowed the urge to apologize. “It’s a reasonable question, Madam. If there are contingencies in place, I should know about them.”
The Warden tilted her head, appraising me. Even in her human form, the manner of an owl hung about her. After a moment, she nodded slowly and released me. Only then, my jaw aching, did I realize how tightly she’d been holding me in place.
“Perhaps you’re right,” she said. “I’ll consider what you’ve said. And in the meantime, try to put thoughts of my daughter out of your mind. I’ll introduce her to all of you when the time is right. Oh, and since you’re here, I have something for you.”
From the pocket of her dress she retrieved an envelope bearing the royal seal, which had already been broken.
“The councils are holding a ball this weekend in Fairhaven. To boost morale, they say. A foolish waste of resources, but as long as they keep sending new girls to us, I’m afraid we must tolerate their idiocy.
You’ll attend as a representative of the Order, make nice with your sister, charm anyone with heavy purses.
I’ll give you a list of formal requests for the war council.
Consider this an extension of your leave. ”
I took the offered envelope, feeling a little unbalanced.
The abrupt change of topic left a sour taste in my mouth, as did the thought of attending a royal ball.
Even in peacetime, I wasn’t one for dancing.
And I was still fixated on what she’d said about her daughter: I’ll introduce her to all of you. Had she already borne the child?
“And Mara,” the Warden added, already turning away, “make sure you bathe well, and soon. That man’s stink is all over you.”
Then she was gone, and my surprise left me standing there for a solid minute.
I’ll introduce her to all of you when the time is right.
I thought back over the past few years, searching my memory for clues of the Warden’s pregnancy, and found nothing.
And even though the road back to Rosewarren was empty except for me, and I’d walked it thousands of times, I found myself looking over my shoulder like stalked prey.
Each time, I thought for certain that I’d find the Warden slowly trailing after me, a girl with matching black eyes beside her, holding her hand.
But it was only me and the Mist and the quiet air. Embarrassed to be so jumpy, I hurried on.
***
Three days later, I was standing in a corner of the Pearl of the Sea Ballroom, drinking my second glass of wine in ten minutes, pretending to admire the palace’s architecture, and wishing everyone would stop staring at me.
They were coy about it, but a Rose was an object of desperate fascination, especially during wartime.
The night had just begun, and already I’d turned away two Anointed lords, a wealthy tradeswoman who was worried about how the continuing conflict would affect her profit margins, and three writers for various town bulletins, all of whom wanted reassurance in the form of a snappy quote.
The only one I was willing to give them was far more boring than they would have liked, and no doubt not reassuring at all: The Order is working around the clock to reinforce the Mist and fight off as many Olden invaders as possible.
We appreciate the sacrifice the country is making by sending us their daughters and entrusting us with their safety as we all band together to stop this unprecedented threat.
The Warden had told me to be charming, but that was Gemma’s skill, not mine. And even though that tradeswoman and the two lords undoubtedly had funds to spare, they wandered away looking disgruntled, and I made no effort to stop them.
I just needed to speak with Farrin, I told myself, maybe sit with her awhile. Then perhaps I’d find the will to paste on a smile.
I set my empty glass down on a sideboard and wandered the room, searching the crowd for my elder sister while the wine loosened the knots in my shoulders.
At first glance, the party seemed normal enough.
The royal orchestra played a lilting waltz from the stage at the far side of the room.
Guests wearing glittering gowns, brocaded waistcoats, and fur stoles spun past me.
Others gossiped in corners while picking at their plates of food.
Outside the windows, stars were beginning to twinkle in the early winter sky.
The Mist hadn’t reached this far south. Not yet.
But every now and then, I saw people glancing at the windows with sparks of nervousness in their eyes, as if they expected the Mist to come roiling through the city at any moment.
The soft coral-and-periwinkle banners hanging around the room, bearing the royal crest, were each flanked by two panels of gauzy black.
A gorgeous oil painting of the late queen Yvaine hung above the grand staircase.
It was a party, yes, but in a country at war and in mourning.
For a moment, I stood at the bottom of the stairs, nursing my third glass of wine and gazing up at Yvaine’s portrait.
Her eyes—one violet, one gold—were soft and sweet, her smile beatific.
She wore a lavender gown, and her voluminous white hair was gathered up into a knot, around which sat a slender silver crown.
The prim, dainty image was so at odds with what I now knew about Yvaine that I laughed a little into my glass.
Ankaret. Memories of Yvaine’s true form—a creature of fiery feathers and starlit eyes—whispered in the back of my mind.
In Mhorghast, she’d fought so bravely to defend us, the reds, oranges, and golds of her body incandescent beside Kilraith’s angry storm-cloud colors.
I remembered her rearing up to shield us from his blows, the brilliance of her enormous wings.
Woman and avian and Olden, just like me.
“Do you really think she’ll come back somehow?”
I’d sensed someone coming to stand beside me but didn’t realize who it was until he spoke.