Chapter 5: A Slower Recovery
Indecorum, Invasive and Incessant
A sun or so after I awoke and discovered yet another member of my family taken by the queen's ridiculous tyranny, the houseguests began infringing on the small bit of privacy I had apparently been allowed. I shouldn't have been surprised when the town grocer came pounding on the main door of Delia's house – or, I suppose the house was officially mine at that point – before first light. Lady Myrtia, the goddess bless her, fought diligently to prevent him from entering my bedroom, where I was lying, still mostly helpless, with the blankets wrapped around me and just barely maintaining my ladylike modesty.
The thought of that tickled at my memory for a moment, but I didn't have time to properly consider it, as the grocer was demanding my attention.
"When they came around asking after you, little Roisin, didn't no one tell nothing about you, your family, or your sister. That's not the Powell's Square way.
"Course, it was a bit after supper when they were about, so your kin were here at home as a family – minus yourself of course – and there weren't much we could do. Fore anyone knew much of what was about, they were gone.
"And that was a bit before the good Lady Murshuh showed up with your own self limp in her arms."
I had to stifle a laugh at his mispronunciation of the Lady Myrtia's name. As I did, my vision blurred for a moment, giving way to a shadow of a forest that seemed wrong, with trees of metal and glass. I struggled to focus on Lady Myrtia, whose face seemed an anchor to my comfortable bed. She was grimacing as she held a hand to her face at the butchering of her name.
"Well anyway, little Roisin," he looked somewhat abashed, "the town was a touch worried over your condition, so you can expect a fair mite of traffic through your home."
He didn't even give me an opportunity to react as he turned to leave. I had to assume his sense of propriety overwhelmed him when he realised I was mostly unclothed. Just as he predicted, more townsfolk followed, sometimes individually, and sometimes with their own families. I would've likely found it rather endearing, but there was never a long enough gap between guests for Lady Myrtia to assist me in dressing, even partially.
The whole scene was a veritable parade of debauchery.
My employer Mrs. Reed was the first person to realise the dire breach of decorum, even too much for my wild self, and do something about it.
"Dear Roisin, I'm so dreadfully pleased that you've started your recovery," she began in the same lilt my father often bore in my youth. "Don't you worry, if you so desire you can have your —"
The look of horror on her face told me everything I needed to know.
"Oh my goodness gracious, Miss Hawthorne," I couldn't stop the smirk that hit my lips as she said it. "Have you been having all manner of guests in this home without a scrap of fabric adorning the lady of the house?"
I moved the small bit I could – a bit more than the sun before, ever improving – to stop Mrs. Reed from physically assaulting the woman who had been caring for me and attempting, poorly, to nurse me back to health. I didn't have any misgivings about my condition allowing such an act, but I had to try all the same.
"Wait, Mrs. Reed. It's not her fault." I was certain desperation filled my tone, and fortunately it was enough for her to turn back toward me. "She tried to shut out everyone long enough, but every time there was another person barging in. If I'm honest, I think the grocer might have broken the lock."
Her face went red hot. "He did not! That brigand. And I'm sure he's the one who started the word around that you'd woken up, was he?" She didn't wait even a moment for a response. "Well, first we're going to manage this trouble of you being near in the nude, and then I'll go give him a piece of my mind!"
"I assure you, Mrs. Reed," Lady Myrtia chimed in, "she is not nearly nude, she is well and wholly nude beneath her bedclothes, and I have been fighting to my best to stop the flood of well-wishers."
The red in Mrs. Reed's face intensified to a near blood scarlet. "Well that certainly will not do!"
As she moved across to my wardrobe, the elder woman gestured toward me, indicating for Lady Myrtia to move in and assist. There was a bit of hesitation as she moved to my side, as if she hadn't, just two suns before, been staring at every inch of my naked form to check the progress of my healing wounds.
Mrs. Reed returned with a handful of clothing and set them at the foot of my bed before unceremoniously yanking back the covers. When Lady Myrtia averted her gaze, Mrs. Reed chuckled and shook her head.
"I know you're the one responsible for her indecorous state," she was still smiling broadly as she accused Lady Myrtia, "so it's a bit silly, don't you think, for you to be hiding from your handiwork?"
"Well, it's a bit different," Lady Myrtia defended quickly. "She was asleep before, and her clothes were such a shambles, I couldn't simply leave them in place, so removing them was my only option, and I've never dressed another before, so I was unable to remedy the situation once she was properly cleaned."
"Relax, Miss Hawthorne," Mrs. Reed was actively laughing at that point. "It wasn't intended as an attack, simply a playful jest. Now, stop averting your noble gaze, and provide a hand."
They worked in tandem to move various body parts, with what small assistance I could provide, into position and begin putting various items of clothing on me. As they finished getting me into my undergarments, Lady Myrtia froze, staring at something on my midsection.
"Roisin, I do not mean to pry," she was being cautious again, like when my nose had bled two suns prior, "but have you always had these scars here across your midsection? I do not recall seeing them when I was previously inspecting you."
Mrs. Reed leaned in to observe, and she tilted her head in confusion. "Are you certain, Miss Hawthorne? I'm sure she got that when she was but a lass."
I moved to observe whatever it was she saw, and my eyes settled on a vast array of branching scar tissue that vaguely resembled the veins in a leaf. As my eyes traced along the various paths, my vision clouded, and I slowly fell out of the sliver of consciousness I had previously maintained.
An Interlude in Silver
My awareness slowly came into focus as a crowd of people were milling about. There was a sense that I was inside a room of some kind, though it hardly resembled even the grandest of adornments I could imagine for myself.
Something that resembled rows upon rows of chairs were gathered in the space, all facing one direction, toward a raised dais far below me.
As I took in the full scene about me, a voice echoed in my ear, light rain and filling every corner of the colossal room. "Dear Roisin, what ever are you doing here? Without doubt, I can say this never happened, and yet here we sit."
Identifying the source of the voice was infinitely more difficult in this alien hall, but my eyes eventually settled on the scantily clad silver-haired woman who had watched the people of the metal forest. She was seated in the row farthest from me, closest to the dais, but she quickly moved to close the space between us.
"I wish I could say what brought me here," I said, honestly, "as I have no recollection of a journey that might have brought me here."
The silver-haired woman alighted on the platform beside me, and indicated we should sit. As we settled into a pair of adjoined chairs, she smiled. "I have seen all of this before, and you are not meant to be here. But even still, here you are. It is fascinating, though, that I have never seen Rose anywhere near Powell's Square."
"Who is she?"
"Rose? Well, I am not at liberty to say. That is something you will learn for yourself when the time is right." Her smile broadened immensely. "But perhaps the other one will show mercy to your desperate pleas for knowledge. If you ever meet her."
"Who are you?"
"You know how people sometimes say things like 'thank the goddess' or 'the goddess willing' or similar things?"
"I have been known to say them myself."
"Well, I am not her. And neither is Rose. And neither is the other one. I truly wish I could say more. None of us is allowed to go outside our own path, least of all those of us already outside your paths."
"Do you have a name?"
"Everyone has a name, Roisin. Some of us have more than one. You may call me Salora, though that is not my true name."
"So you are not the goddess people thank, Salora, but you are a goddess, aren't you."
She giggled at something before she replied. "For a lesser rose, you are a quick one. Perhaps you will make up for the fact I never met the true rose. Especially if you and I continue meeting like this. Now, the show is starting, we must allow Rose her moment."
As Salora spoke, the lights around us faded, and a single bright circle shone on the dais where Rose was standing. Her mouth moved as though she were speaking with great force, but no sound reached my ear. As she spoke, movement behind her set a scene that resembled my home in Powell's Square.
Three figures arrived at the door and forced the people from inside. Rose continued delivering whatever speech she had, and a desperate young woman dashed about, holding a small bundle as she did so. Someone welcomed her into their home.
A part of me cried out at the events as they unfolded, but the scream didn't reach the surface. I was somehow disconnected from whatever it was the action below made me feel.
Just as before, I witnessed a scene materialise above Rose, different than everything around her, colourful and bright. It was me, and I was falling in the woods under the weight of a great beast. As quickly as the scene focused, it vanished, none in the space seeming to have noticed.
I don't know whether I saw the full 'show' Salora was excited to enjoy, but at some moment while watching, everything faded to black.
An Admission of Guilt
As everything returned to focus, I was still in my bed, still clothed only in my undergarments, and being assisted by Mrs. Reed and Lady Myrtia into proper nightclothes. The scar was still there, and no one seemed to be making much fuss over it.
There was a sense of something fading from memory that settled over me as a faint burning in my abdomen slowly subsided. I did what I could to assist with the women dressing me. Once I was fully clothed and properly tucked into the blanket, Mrs. Reed leaned close.
"Dear little Roisin, look after yourself," the words were barely a whisper. As she spoke, I felt something slender and hard press into my hand. "Just in case," she whispered, turning her head toward Lady Myrtia, who was busying herself with something at the door to my room.
As Mrs. Reed left, I looked to see what she'd placed in my hand. It was a dagger, small enough to conceal, but long enough to kill.
I tucked the blade under my leg as Lady Myrtia rejoined me. "Well, I think after they hear how enraged Mrs. Reed is, the people of Powell's Square will give you a bit more privacy, Roisin."
"One can only hope," I mumbled a half-hearted reply. "Why are you helping me, Lady Myrtia?"
Her expression darkened, "Do you want the long answer, the short answer, or the honest answer?"
My mouth went slack for a moment. When I managed, somehow, to recover I confronted her about the strange question. "Are you saying you're planning to lie to me?"
"Not exactly. I'm not given to lying to people over whom I have power." She tried to smile, I could see it, but there was something off about her whole expression. "You see, I've something of a responsibility, as the Lady Myrtia, but I've never really wanted to be Lady Myrtia."
"You're talking in circles."
"Wouldn't you?"
"Why would I? I have nothing to gain from it."
"No. I suppose you don't."
"Make it simple for me. On the basest level, why are you helping me?"
"It's my fault."
My mind raced. Those three words could mean any number of things. Was it her fault that I was stuck in bed? Or was it Delia's conscription? Did she have some hand in my other misfortunes?
"It was my duty to decide who was assigned to what parts of the war effort. When I was younger, I didn't have any real context for what I was doing. How is a child of only seven years expected to direct regiments?
"No one told me what it meant. They gave me lists of names and told me to choose who to send where. And I did. At first, it was a game. Then it became a simple inevitability. I was the only one who could, so I must.
"Your name came across my desk three moons ago. Daughter of Tarant and Omela. I might've been a child, but I remembered those names. Tarant was the first name for whom I made the conscious choice. And his name was provided with hers. Tarant, husband of Omela. Father of Roisin.
"Of course, I didn't know how to say your names then, but I do now.
"Your name came across with the other two. It was a conscription proclamation for you in particular. The free child who defied norms. Daughter of the heroine and her husband the bulwark. My heart broke.
"I made a choice. I hid the proclamation. And I hoped that would be enough. But someone discovered it, they held it against me. If I didn't handle the task, someone else would, and I would be conscripted beside you.
"A few suns after that, I heard about Lady Magnia and Lord Montgomery leaving on a special favour for the queen. I left only a few suns after them, and I knew it was too late.
"It's my fault, Roisin. And I'm sorry."
She didn't wait for me to respond. I thought I caught a glimpse of a mark on her wrist as she turned and threw open the door to my room. And before I knew it, I was alone and helpless.