Chapter 14 #2
Admittedly, the threat falls flat, because I’m not very skilled with the shovel. I have to try a few angles and grips before I figure out how to use it to scoop the mess out the door. After clearing only a tiny section of straw, my arms quiver.
I lean on the handle and stare at the pile blocking my exit. Where is any of this supposed to go? In the palace, filth simply vanished. There has to be a heap somewhere, in some corner of the grounds. I glance up at the sky and wish, uselessly, for rain to wash it all away.
One aching scoop at a time, I move the waste to one side of the aviary, so I won’t have to wade through it on my way in tomorrow morning.
Dashol told me that outdoor jobs end with the light, but my strength goes faster. Still, I hold out, pushing the shovel when I can no longer lift it, scraping dirty straw out the door.
When I finally trudge to the kitchen for dinner, my arms are numb, and my back aches in places I didn’t know had muscles.
I grab a plate of meat and bread and eat on my way to my quarters.
I resist the call of sleep only long enough to take a bath, arms trembling as I scrub my hair.
Someone left extra uniforms for me, and a basket for used ones.
Thank goodness. It won’t matter if I can’t stand the smell of the aviary if I can’t stand the smell of myself.
The light wakes me, but before I get out of bed, there is a sharp knock, and Karns’s clipped voice rings out: “Wake up, hawk keeper. Breakfast is in the kitchen.”
Nice of him. I return to the aviary, still sore, but also more determined.
With my hands raw from the shovel, I switch to the matter of water.
I should fetch fresh bucketfuls from the well, but it seems like a waste to pour clean water into a grimy basin.
So I use the rusty bucket to empty it, then go at it with the bristle brush.
I have to go slow, conserving strength. Scores of obsidian eyes follow me as I work.
It’s a battle to get the mildew and droppings off the stone. My shoulder screams and my split finger aches, but I’m winning the war against the grime, one pass of the brush at a time.
A hawk drops from the rafters and clips my shoulder. I flinch, cursing under my breath, and wave it off. It settles on the beam above me and clicks its beak.
“You’ve been busy,” a voice behind me says.
I whip around. Alaris is leaning against the closed door, arms crossed, like he just stepped out of a portrait. His rich velvet cloak drapes over only one shoulder, showing off his white silk shirt. I see myself through his eyes, on my knees in a puddle of gray water with feathers in my hair.
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough. Just checking on my newest member of staff.” He glances around the aviary. One side of his mouth ticks up. “I’d ask how you’re finding the work, but I think the answer is on your apron.”
I scowl. It’s his aviary. But I swallow my frustration. “It’s fine.”
“And on your face.”
“It’s your mess,” I snap.
He chuckles. “I can ask around and see if there is a position in the castle…?”
I grip the brush. “No, my lord, this is just fine.”
Maybe it’s the way we met and the attitude I let loose on Somnus, but I’m having trouble controlling my tone around him. I return to scrubbing, taking every ounce of my ire out on a stubborn green patch.
But I can feel his eyes on the back of my neck. I huff. “Do you enjoy watching people work while you lounge around, or is this a special occasion?”
“I wouldn’t call this lounging. Watching you is a bit painful.”
“Heroic of you. How’s the carriage ride going?”
“Uneventful.” He pushes off the door, his ringed fingers dangling a cloth bundle. “I brought you something.”
I stare at it. “What?”
“You and I share a secret. I’ve been to more corners of this continent than most, and I’ve picked up a few indulgences along the way.” He swings the bundle. “I thought my co-conspirator might appreciate the benefits.”
I pull off my filthy gloves carefully by the fingertips, accept the bundle, and unwrap the cloth. Inside is a small jar of something orange, and beside it, a dried piece of fruit dusted in yellow powder.
“From a seaward market in Marithos,” he says. “The paste is ground vigi root, quite the unique flavor. The fruit is dried nola, rolled in lemon sugar.”
I weigh the jar in my palm. “Do you always flit about like this, using your magic rock to visit markets?”
“No. That would be a bit too reckless,” he concedes. “I usually keep the stone tucked away somewhere safe. But it’s with me on the road, for now, and the carriage is ever so dull.”
It’s an obscene risk, using a spelled object to flit around the continent.
Even one witness could result in the emperor finding out.
Still, I’m curious. I’ve never seen fruit like this before.
I bite into one end of the dried nola. Sour puckers my lips, but in a few chews, it’s all sweet.
It’s a delightful combination I could imagine getting addicted to.
I set it aside for the vigi root. The jar comes with a tiny spoon. I dip it into the gritty orange paste. The smell is medicinal. The taste is worse. It’s bitter and dries out my tongue. I keep my face controlled as I struggle to swallow without coughing. I force a smile.
“They’re lovely,” I say. “Thank you.”
“And your thoughts?”
I glance at him. “I like them both.”
He cocks his head.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He straightens. “I should rejoin my carriage. Enjoy them, Ly.”
He reaches into his cloak. The air beside him splits open, dark and wavering at the edges. He steps through and disappears.
I stare at the space where he stood. I didn’t learn much, but he confirmed he keeps the voidstone somewhere safe when he is not on the road.
I savor the rest of the nola and wipe my hands on my apron.
“Want any?” I ask the hawks, setting the bitter paste on the bench.