Chapter Fifteen
The Couching Stitch
‘When the thread is too fragile, thick, or unwieldy to be sewn into the fabric as usual, a couching method allows the practitioner to fasten it securely without directly employing the needle to the inconvenient thread.’
—An Exhaustive Compendium of Stitches
He will break you. He might even kill you.
The words echoed in my head as Mieka dressed me the next morning in silence, her hands gentle.
When I came down to breakfast, I found Milady sitting in state among her visitors, who barely spared me a glance now—because I had already been sold, I supposed, and was no longer of interest to them.
Ban Morin had the gall to smile at me from where he sat at Milady’s right hand.
I felt like there must be some signs on my body, something to show what had been done to me the night before, but the guests smiled as usual, and no one recoiled in horror. It seemed wrong that I could feel so broken inside and look so unchanged.
I couldn’t go with Ban Morin. I couldn’t. The thought of being alone with him again made me feel cold and sick. I sat in front of a plate of pastries, but couldn’t do more than pick at the flakey crust. Even the smell of tea made me feel nauseated.
One of Milady’s footmen entered the hall and bowed low before the table.
“Followers at the door, Milady,” he said quietly.
The Followers? They were here? My heart gave a leap. It had worked. My Hair started to curl about my shoulders, but I pulled it over my shoulder and held it still, pretending to play with it as I sipped my tea. I couldn’t let Milady see my excitement.
“They are calling on your hospitality, my lady,” said the footman.
I saw the slight flare of her delicate nostrils.
“Always so conveniently timed,” she murmured. “You have told them we have a houseful of guests?”
To deny them shelter or a meal was blasphemous, punishable by the Temple. She had to let them in. She had to keep up the pretense.
“Yes, Milady, but …”
“Yes, but.” She sighed. “Very well. Throw open the door to the east hall, and tell Cook to bring out more breakfast. It is an inevitability, I suppose.”
My heartbeat pulsed behind my eyelids, making my vision sparkle with each beat. I held myself tense as this band of Followers filed into the hall, as colorful and untidy as the band I had traveled with.
One of them peeled away from the group—a tall, white-haired figure—and spoke the formal words that invoked the rule of hospitality.
The new arrivals caused a great deal of interest among Milady’s guests, and some stifled laughs as the Followers filed past the head table, making obeisance to Milady and thanking her for her generosity in cool, remote voices.
Milady smiled and nodded, looking the very picture of a gracious lady.
I took some pleasure in seeing her impeccably polished floors smeared with dirt and wet grass, and in seeing her notice and pretend not to notice.
I smiled, suddenly having enough appetite to take a large bite of my pastry.
When I had finished eating, I made my way to the east hall, where the Followers were sprawled on chairs or carpets.
A few of them shot curious glances my way.
Although I saw them out of the corner of my eye, I kept my gaze fixed on the one I presumed to be the leader—the one I had seen speak to Milady.
The Priest of this band of Followers sat with their back against the wall and eyes closed, seemingly lost in thought. I put a nervous hand to my Hair, making sure it was behaving itself, and cleared my throat.
The Priest opened their eyes. They had very light eyes, more gray than blue, and hair white and fine as a dandelion clock.
“Priest,” I said, and curtsied. The Priest inclined their head.
“You are the daughter of the house?” they said.
“No. Well … in a way. Milady is my … guardian, of a sort.”
“I see.”
“I wish to join you,” I said in a rush. “Is that possible?”
The Priest’s eyes widened a fraction. “We turn no one away,” they said. “And all Followers are under the protection of the Temple. We cannot be harassed or pursued.” They peered at me shrewdly. “As you no doubt know.”
I let myself take a deep breath for the first time in hours. “Then I want to come with you when you leave today,” I said.
The Priest shrugged. “Of course. You understand that you will have to work and walk alongside us?”
“Yes.”
They eyed my gown. “It will not be the life to which you are accustomed.”
“I know that,” I said. “And luckily I am not really accustomed to it.”
“Very well,” said the Priest. “We leave in an hour.” Their lips stretched in a wry smile. “We find that most of our … hosts prefer us not to stay too long.”
I raced to my room, where Mieka was tidying the bedclothes.
“Get your things. We’re leaving.”
“What?”
“The Followers.” I was smiling so broadly it hurt. I opened the window and called to Baldbeak, who came fluttering down to land on the sill.
“We are leaving this morning,” I told him. He cocked his head.
Good, he said.
“Mieka and I will be walking with the Followers. You can join us as soon as we get outside.” I scratched the fine fuzz on his beak. “I’m sorry. I know you will miss your new flock.”
You are my flock, he said. I buried my face in his wing feathers for a moment.
“Wait, what is happening?” asked Mieka.
“The Followers are here. We can leave with them, and no one can stop us. It’s Temple law.” I laughed at the expression on her face. “Quickly, get everything you need. They will be leaving soon.”
I gathered up the sewing things Mieka had found for me, and checked that Mother’s three hairs were still safely wrapped in their handkerchief in my pocket.
I was superstitious about them by now, keeping them on my person at all times and sleeping with them under my pillow.
Mieka and I found warm cloaks in the wardrobe and fastened them about our necks with trembling fingers.
“Ready?” said Mieka.
“Ready.”
“Why on earth are you wearing that?” asked Milady when I came back downstairs. She had immediately spotted the cloak I now wore over my dress, of course.
“I was cold,” I said. I pulled it tighter around myself.
“Well, the Followers are leaving,” said Milady. “We have to bid them goodbye in order to receive their blessing”—she said this with heavy sarcasm—“on the house. Come along.”
The Followers were busy gathering their bedrolls and tying on their packs.
Milady watched them, expressionless. Ban Morin’s expression, however, was easy to read.
He hated them. That seemed odd to me. It seemed altogether too strong an emotion for these peaceful people, yet it blazed from his skin like body heat.
When the Followers were ready, the white-haired Priest looked over at me where I stood next to Mieka, both of us straight-backed and tense. They did not speak, but one of their eyebrows raised questioningly.
Feeling as if I might faint, seeing spots of light dance in front of my eyes, I started forward. Ban Morin grabbed my hand. As soon as he touched me, the finger encased by his heirloom ring felt numb. I flexed my fingers a little, and at that small movement, Ban Morin’s grip on my arm grew tighter.
“What are you doing?” he hissed. I struggled to free myself.
Milady noticed the kerfuffle from the corner of her eye. “Netta?”
“Let me go.” I wriggled my arm, trying to slip it through his clenched hand, but could not move. Beneath his fingers, my skin was turning white.
“What are you doing?” Milady shot at me. Her eyes were like two chips of glass.
“My lady,” said the soft voice of the Priest. “Please ask your companion to release the girl.”
Milady wheeled round. “What?”
“Please ask your companion to release the girl.” They gave a gentle smile. “She has requested to join us on our pilgrimage.”
Surprise sat oddly on Milady’s perfect features.
“I beg your pardon?” Her tone dripped acid.
Ban Morin, on the other hand, turned red. His fingers pressed right on the bone of my arm, as if to bruise it down to the marrow. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “She is bought and paid for.”
The Priest’s eyes widened.
“You have no authority over the Temple,” they said softly. “And they have decreed that anyone who chooses must be allowed to join the Followers and wander with them undeterred.”
“Do you have any idea who I am?” hissed Ban Morin.
“I’m afraid not,” said the Priest, “but even if you were the Pontiff himself, this girl has the right to leave you and follow her calling.”
“Let. Go,” I said through clenched teeth.
I glared at Ban Morin with all the force I could muster, and he glared back with a cold, dangerous fury.
He looked from me to the Priest, and back, and then released his grasp—one finger at a time, as if asserting that he meant his loosening hold to be only temporary.
When he finally let go, I staggered a little, but made my way over to where the Priest stood, rubbing at the encircling bruise on my arm.
They watched me approach, with Mieka following close behind.
“Matilda!” called Milady. “Where do you think you are going? Have you forgotten who pays your wages?”
Mieka made a rude gesture at her, and Milady gasped.
It couldn’t be this easy, surely. Ban Morin and Milady would find a way to stop me. But no—both had to stand there impotently and watch while Mieka and I found a place amongst the Followers and joined their march out of the mansion and off the grounds.
The ravens chittered at me from the eaves, one defecating a long white stream, which told me exactly how he felt about the drying-up of the ravens’ daily crumb supply.
I heard a ruffle of wings and felt a sting in the skin of my shoulder as something sharp-clawed and ungainly landed there, wobbling a bit as it got its balance.
It was Baldbeak, of course, flapping and complaining in my ear as he dug his claws right into the weave of my cloak, probably leaving a hole. I turned to look at him, and he snapped affectionately at the end of my nose.