I offer him my hands. After a momentary hesitation, he takes them, and his skin is warm, and this feels so real. I know this never happened. Why is my blood showing me such a beautiful lie?
In a kind, curious voice, he says, “Why am I concerned that whatever it is you’re about to say will be in some way distressing?”
“I genuinely hope it’s not going to be,” I say, in the vision. “I mean, we’ve talked about it before.”
“We’ve discussed a great many things.” He eyes me warily. “Many of them involve knives, blood, and screaming.”
The vision shattered there, and I snapped back into myself with a gasp, almost dropping the cloth. At the last moment, I managed to clench my fingers around it, and stayed as I was, staring off into the shadows.
What in Oberon’s name was that?
FOUR
KERRY RETURNED IN SHORT order, carrying an armload of kitchen washing. She dumped it on me, waiting until she was sure I had everything, before she said apologetically, “Ma recommended against a basket. If the blood on the washcloth brushed up against the wood, it could be contaminated.”
The comment caused a bolt of alarm to shoot through me. I sat up straighter. “The shards from outside, what—”
“You didn’t bleed enough for it to make it off your face, and the bit of plate that cut you has already been fed into the fire,” she said, reassuringly. “Meriel collected it as soon as she understood what had happened. She was careful to keep it clutched tight in her fist and not let it touch any of her clothing. She’ll avoid your mother for the next few months, should Amandine choose to grace us with her presence.”
“I . . . I appreciate it,” I said. “You’re a good friend. My sister . . . ?”
“Is with Sir Grianne in the courtyard,” said Kerry soothingly. “She’s a flirt, your sister, and no mistake of that. I’d say you have an hour or better while she assumes you’re preoccupied with the likes of us, and she’s preoccupied with flattering a pretty gray-skinned knight she has no intention of courting.”
“August does enjoy a good flirtation,” I agreed, with a small smile.
“Enjoy? She’s a scholar of flirtation. Eventually, books will be written.” Kerry beamed encouragingly as she helped me to my feet, laundry still clutched in my arms. “Come along now. You’ve had a shakeup, but nothing so bad as to keep you from chores, and Ma says she’ll have stew and bread for you when it’s done.”
My stomach gave an answering rumble, her comment reminding my body that food existed. I looked sourly down, then nodded to Kerry.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s go.”
She led the way through the servants’ halls to an outside door, and through it to the outbuildings on the grounds behind the manor. It might have made more sense for her to carry the washing, but an unoccupied changeling could be set any task a proper occupant of the Duchy wanted to set. This way, I was occupied with the laundry, and she was occupied with making sure I got where I needed to be. Anyone who wanted to interrupt us would need to have an excellent reason to do so, or we’d be able to take it to the Duke, my uncle, who would not favor someone trying to trouble his niece.
It was a good plan, elegantly enough assembled to fit together until we reached the square, squat building with no real frills or ornamentation that housed the laundry. It was the farthest outbuilding from the manor, far enough away to spare the pureblood residents the need to acknowledge that laundry still needed to be done. They preferred to think magic and Titania’s beneficence were enough to fill their tables and sweep their floors, and woe betide the changeling who was too obvious with the domestic tasks that were meant to be ignored.
“Ilya is expecting us,” Kerry assured me, leading me to the laundry door. She smiled again, this time reassuringly, before she opened the door and waved me inside.
The air was hot and steamy; we were both instantly soaked to the skin. Bubbling vats of cloth stood on all sides, while a vast fireplace took up an entire wall. And at the middle of it stood a stocky man with dark, messy hair, his shirtsleeves rolled up around his biceps and his eyes half-closed, as if he were asleep on his feet.
Looks can be deceiving. Ilya was a Bannick in a laundry. He could probably feel our heartbeats in the soles of his feet, and tell us what we’d had for breakfast yesterday.
“Last tub on the left,” he said, with a vague gesture of one hand.
We wandered over there. The tub he’d indicated was barely more than half-full, bubbling away with a mixture of soap and what looked like sheets. With Kerry’s help, I hoisted the load of kitchen washing to the edge and dumped it in, taking a long wooden paddle down from the wall and using it to mix the whole mess together. The blood remaining on the cloth would be diluted to nothingness in no time at all.
“Come on now,” said Kerry, taking my elbow and tugging me back to Ilya. “Hey, Ilya.”
“Hello, daughter of the hearth,” he said politely, turning to regard her before swinging his head around to look at me. “Child of the crossroads.”
“Uh, hi, Ilya,” I said.
“We’ve had a little accident, and Ma said to ask you to scrub us down,” said Kerry.
Ilya looked back at her. “Is that so?”
Kerry twinkled. “I can bake you tea cakes if you do.”
Ilya appeared to think about this for a long while. Finally, expression never changing, he nodded. “It will do,” he said. “Hold your breath, please.”
I took a breath and screwed my eyes as tightly shut as they would go, holding that position as a wave of hot, soapy water crashed over me. Only a few seconds later, it withdrew, leaving me perfectly dry. Even the sweat from the steam was gone, although it would return if we lingered there.
Kerry clearly knew that. She grabbed my hand again, chirping, “Tea cakes tomorrow night. Bye, Ilya! We appreciate the save!” as she dragged me out of the laundry and into the comparatively cool morning air.
Not that it was morning there. No sign of sunlight had come to Shadowed Hills.
Kerry looked me critically up and down before she smiled. “Better,” she said.
“It’s not going to fool my mother,” I said.
“Ah, but see, it doesn’t need to fool anyone,” she said. “It happened, it has been washed away, and your mother will never know unless she comes looking. It’s not lying to her to hold your tongue; we both know you’d tell the truth if she asked you directly, ‘Hey, did Etienne’s smug fucker of a squire make you bleed?’ We just need her not to think she needs to ask. And I’m pretty sure we’ve achieved that.”
“You’re a good friend, Kerry.”
“I am, aren’t I?” She preened a little, beaming. “Now come on. Let’s get you something to eat before your sister comes and drags you off again.”
Willingly, I followed her back into the knowe and through the halls to the kitchen, where Melly settled us in a safe nook with bowls of stew and loaves of fresh, steaming bread. Kerry said nothing until she’d seen me take several large bites, and then, voice mild, she asked, “Has Moving Day been very bad this year?”
I swallowed, hard. “Why would you ask that?”