When I first woke, I didn’t remember anything, but then it began to creep back like a bad dream. A very bad dream. When I sat up in bed, I received incontrovertible proof that it was no dream. I still wore my father’s chamber gown, and the sharp pain from my bandaged wrists and ankles as I moved could scarcely be imaginary.
I glanced at the window, alarmed, but it was only just dawn, no one would disturb me yet. Quickly I stripped off both garments, which were bloody at cuffs and hem, and pulled on a clean nightgown.
My father’s chamber gown was a dark color and the blood didn’t show, so I threw it over a chair. I could return it to him and let him worry about how to get it washed. The nightgown was a different matter. I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain my injuries, but I doubted the explanation would involve my having been in my nightgown at the time.
I got scissors and quickly cut off cuffs and hem, then, more carefully, cut the rest of the gown into handkerchief sized pieces. I threw these into a basket of similar, waiting to go down to the urchin home for embroidery and sale.
The bloody scraps I tucked into the pocket of my own chamber gown. Once the fire was lit, I would dispose of them. And if any of the maids actually missed the nightgown, I could say quite truthfully that I had been so careless as to stain it badly and had therefore cut it up for handkerchiefs. I was not in the habit of needing waiting on hand and foot; there would be no surprise that I had done it myself.
As to the injuries themselves, I was at a loss. Injuries to my wrists alone, or my ankles alone, well, I could always claim I had been tangled in Hellion’s reins and dragged, but no one would believe I had got hands and feet tangled at the same time. I’d probably better consult with my father before I gave out anything about that.
My father. I sank down in a chair and my mind seethed, as I considered my father. To be involved in sorcery was indeed damnation and the particular sorcery he had unfolded to me was certainly an evil thing. But he was not an evil man. Nor a fool, generally, but one need be foolish only once to fall very badly indeed. He had been foolish, and fallen. And picked himself up and struggled on as well as he could, unwaveringly repentant despite the fact that he could see no salvation ahead.
I gave a faintly irritated sniff. I was no believer in irredeemable sins. The God I felt when I prayed was as loving as a parent. I was not greatly worried about my father’s soul. I was worried about his life.
It was so clear now. His increasing thinness. His tiredness. Just like with my mother. He would waste away before my eyes and then I would be alone again. I had not noticed before because my father was very different from my mother. My mother had always been sunk in gloom, alternating between bursts of visiting and gossip, and drawn-out days of moping. Wallowing in self-pity, she had wasted the years she had mourning for the years she would not have. The years she had which she would never have had in the first place without her husband’s rash actions.
I shook my head, hands pressed to my forehead, trying to drive the traitorous thoughts away, but it was no good. Everything I had never understood seemed to have come into clear focus. I had never been able to understand my mother’s despondence, but finally I did.
My mother had used up all her courage and strength in leaving her husband, securing my safety and the safety of any other potential children of the Duke’s blood with that letter. Then, finding herself with a child that reminded her of nothing but the husband she had abandoned, she spent the rest of her life pitying herself.
That’s not fair, cried part of me. No one can be expected to stay with their spouse after they’ve had recourse to sorcery! That sort of thing breaks all bonds. But I wasn’t sure that it did. After all, had my mother hated him or not? I wasn’t sure. Certainly, if she hadn’t, she had been too proud to go back to him and make up. In which case she had no reason for self-pity, I thought angrily. She took the time he bought her and left him, then squandered it!
I rubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes. I was getting a headache. I pushed consideration of my mother away. Just then, that was not the point.
The point was that my father was made of sterner stuff. He’d ploughed on through the years with an utter determination to live out his allotted time as fully as possible, and by doing so keep from doing violence against himself and further damage to his soul. He was not moping already. Mourning still, maybe, but not moping. He was physically stronger, hence the wasting disease, if it could be called a disease in this case, had taken longer to show itself.
But now that I knew it was there, I could see it all too clearly. And I knew that it would kill him. That thought drove a spear of icy terror to the pit of my belly, and I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered.
I would be alone again. Alone, and rich, and wanting nothing, which would be ten times worse. I wasn’t sure if I could survive it. Surviving before, at least in regard to my mother’s death, had been very easy. Staying alive was extremely distracting.
But this time there would be no distraction and no ring at my waist. No hope of another person who would love me and take care of me. Except a future husband, and the thought of having to pick one out from among the throng of fortune hunters, unguided, made me feel sick. I’d rather be an old maid than get that wrong.
But I’d be alone again! Raven pawed at my cheek comfortingly and I fought against tears. I loved Raven very much, but it was not the same. My father was going to die...
No, I thought desperately.
No, I thought fiercely.
No! I thought with utter determination. I will not let him die. There must be some way to save him and I’ll find it. I’ve got to find it. There is nothing in this world that cannot be undone. I won’t let there be.
With this new resolution thrumming through my veins and holding that icy fear at bay, I jumped up and hurried to my father’s bedchamber, blind to the pain walking caused in my ankles. I tapped and heard a soft ‘enter’.
The Duke stood by the window, gazing out. He did not turn to look at me, so I suspected the eye-evasion had not yet worn off. I put the chamber gown on the bed.
“I’m afraid I’ve got blood on that,” I told him. “It will need washing discreetly.”
“I’ll arrange it,” he said, still ostensibly looking out of the window. “Don’t worry about it. Your nightgown...”
“Already dealt with.” A maid must have just lit his fire, so I crossed the room to cast the blood-stained strips of cloth into the blaze.
He turned around at last but went to sit by the fire without looking at me. I threw myself on his lap and hugged him tightly, determined to break through his shame. It seemed to work, because he finally met my eyes with his own, which were very sad. “Try not to fret too much about all this.”
I couldn’t help snorting at that but replied eagerly, “We’ll find something, it’s just a question of looking. There’ll be something...”
He shook his head at me firmly. “No, child, do not distress yourself further. It is not an illness exactly and cannot be cured, and even if I would stoop to it again, there is no way of removing it through sorcery. Please do not cling to a false hope. It will only cause you more pain.”
I squared my lips and returned his gaze firmly. “Nothing’s impossible.”
“For God!” he said, with a breath of exasperation. “Just think about it sensibly, child, I could fall from my horse and break my neck tomorrow or be struck by a real wasting disease next week. There’s no difference, we just know, that’s all.”
“There is a difference! You could break your neck, certainly! You could get sick, of course! But it’s not the most likely. The most likely is that you wouldn’t do either, and you’d live to be an old old man and die in your bed. And there there is quite a difference. Is there not?”
“There’s no cure, Serapia.” He looked me squarely in the eyes. “I want to be very clear about that now. I will not have you hurting yourself with a foolish hope. Do you understand me?”
I nodded. I understand you, I thought, for you are speaking plain English, but I do not believe it. I cannot believe it. Anyway, have you looked? I do not believe that you have. And if this is what those sorcerers have told you...well, they’re the very last people I intend to believe.
~+~