The boy clutched at my tunic. “No. No! Don’t leave me,” he begged, but his voice sounded thick now, muted and unnatural.
“Languoreth,” Ariane said, “I need more water before I begin. Go now. Quickly!”
I scrambled from my knees and dashed across the courtyard into the kitchens. I was gone for a heartbeat—just long enough for Agnes to fill the wooden bucket from the vast iron cauldron over the fire and for me to race back to the barn, the bucket sloshing against the sides, scalding my legs through my already sodden trousers.
But Ariane was no longer beside the boy.
She was bent now at the side of a graying old man, dressing a wound to his head. Her blue eyes met mine. I looked to the place where the boy’s body lay. She had covered him with a flour sack. His twiggy legs stuck out from beneath it like a broken puppet’s, his shoes still caked in mud from the rain.
There was a thudding between my ears that drowned out the din. For a moment everything stood still. I leaned my face against the splintered wood of the barn and closed my eyes. I might have stayed there had I not felt a warm whoosh of breath and the velvety wet nudge of a nose against my neck.
“Fallah.” I turned to bury my face in my horse’s soft white neck and she leaned into me. “Oh, Fallah.” My voice broke, and I let her thick winter fur soak up my tears.
“He was my friend,” I heard a small voice say.
I blinked and turned from my horse to find a brown-haired girl sitting against the stable wall, her knees drawn to her chest. Her upturned nose was streaked with dirt. She smelled rancid, as if she hadn’t bathed in days.
She fiddled with a loose thread on her dress, and I noticed a soiled cloth doll in her lap. “His name was Drustan.”
“Drustan,” I echoed. Her dark eyes were hollow. I took a step closer. “Which town have you come from?”
“Bryneich. Our village lies just beyond its gates.”
“But Bryneich is where the Angles began their assault,” I said. “How ever did you escape?”
The girl just stared at me, her chin thrust in a defiant way that made me sorry I’d asked.
“You’ve come an awfully long way,” I said. “Was there no other refuge you happened upon before ours?”
“None far enough.” Her small eyes studied me. “Are you the lady of this hall?”
I thought a moment. “Yes.”
“You look terrible young to be the lady.”
“My mother has died.”
“Oh.” She screwed up her face. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” My face felt suddenly hot with guilt, accepting condolences from a girl whose parents were obviously dead. “I’m called Languoreth.”
“Languoreth.” She echoed my name almost with a sense of wonder.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Desdemona,” she said.
My gaze traveled to her feet, where welted sores puffed over the heels of her rough leather shoes. “Are . . . are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“You must be hungry. There’ll be food in the great room, and a warm fire there. You must get something to eat. And perhaps get some rest.” I offered. “My brother is there. He’ll welcome you.”
“No.” Desdemona shook her head. “I’m waitin’ for my mum. She fell behind in the wood. She’d an injured leg is all,” she said. “She made me swear to keep goin’. She did swear she’d find me here.” Her dark eyes were wide, hopeful.
“The Caledonian Wood?” I bit my lip. I’d never seen it, but I knew of the vast forest that bordered the Wall. They said the trees grew so thick that noon was dark as night. There were packs of wolves the size of bears, wild boars with tusks like spears. People said the wood had been cast under a dark enchantment long ago, and if you strayed from the path, the trees themselves could twist round your body and swallow you whole.
Desdemona looked at me impatiently, widening her eyes as if to make me understand. Her mother was coming. Couldn’t I see? I fumbled for the right thing to say.
“Of course. Please. Head inside to the warm. If your mother arrives, I’ll send her straight to you. When your mother arrives,” I amended.
This seemed to satisfy Desdemona, and she nodded. I let out a shaky sigh as she stood with slumped shoulders and headed out into the chill.
She had no sooner departed than Ariane called to me. “Languoreth, come. I need your help.”
She’d finished with the snowy-haired man and was scrubbing her hands with a bar of lard soap. She gestured. “Rinse, please.”
I tilted clean water onto her pale, soapy skin. “You didn’t save him,” I said. “You knew the boy was going to die and you sent me away.”
She bowed her head as if she hadn’t heard. “You must clean your hands often when caring for the injured. It prevents wounds from going sour. Surely your mother taught you that.”
Of course my mother had taught me that. But it hadn’t saved her, either. I stared at Ariane, unmoving, and she let out an exasperated sigh.
“Everyone dies, Languoreth. Mothers. Fathers. Lovers. Even little boys.” Her blue eyes were piercing. “Did you wish to watch that little boy die?”
My face went hot with tears, but Ariane only straightened, wiping her hands on her dress.
“I can tend to the others. Wounds that need stitching or sealing with fire, some broken bones. Mostly they need nourishment—more than they’ve gotten. Have the old woman in the kitchen make a heartier batch of stew. We need more wine and ale also, or we’ll be in danger of draining your well. Most have sour stomachs. It gives them a terrible thirst.”
“Agnes. Our lady in the kitchens is Agnes,” I said.
“Have Agnes make a heartier batch of stew,” she said patiently.
“Would you have anything else, or would you dismiss me now?” I could not keep the edge from my voice.
“Yes, wait.” She lifted a slender finger. “There is something we must discuss. Compensation.”
I looked at her in astonishment. “You wish to talk of payment?” There were men and women yet bleeding before us.
“My father is not at home,” I said coldly, “and I am but a child. I do not deal in such matters.”
“It appears your family has need of my skills,” she said. “I have heard of your father, Morken, and of course Cathan the White. I have no need for jewels or cattle or other such trifles given to Keepers who take up employ. I ask only food, lodging, and whatever clothing I like for as long as I should stay. Most important, I shall need the freedom to come and go as I please, without question. Do you accept my terms?” She folded her slim arms over her chest. “I believe they are more than fair.”
Keepers were lavished with feasts and gifts wherever they traveled. After all, they carried the Gods’ good favor, and it was ill luck to turn away someone who could bend the ear of the Gods. She might not wear robes, but her training as a healer was evident. Still, Father would be angry if I accepted Ariane into the household without consulting him first.
“I . . . I cannot make such decisions,” I said. “I must consult my father.”
“Your father is not here. And are you not, at present, the lady of the house?”