Page 118 of Stardust Child

“There are a hundred kinds of devil in every country, noble lady,” Madam Sanai said, a rather grave and philosophical answer. “But in our home, we call such creaturesitareand they are not all evil things. Dangerous, but not always malicious. Like a bear, so?”

“Are they magical creatures?” Ophele asked as she stepped into the deep wooden tub, hissing at the heat of the water. It was always just at the edge of her endurance, but after a few moments resting against the smooth, flat stones in the bottom of the basin, it felt as if her bones were melting like wax.

“I am not sure,” Madam Sanai answered. She and Pili drew up their wooden stools on either side of the tub and the madam filled a bucket, pouring a stream of hot water over Ophele’s head. “What the lady seems to mean bymagicis not clear. It is true that the…energy of my homeland is weak in this valley, and I cannot weave it. I do not know if that is magic. In Benkki Desa, there are leopards we callShibuwho walk at night and vanish into the moonlight, but that is not accounted strange. Is it magic that makes your devils burn in the sun? The Grace says this means the devils are not of this world, but the Shibu have been with us always.”

“Maybe I don’t know what I mean, either,” Ophele replied, closing her eyes. What wasmagic?“The leopards really vanish in the moonlight?”

“They walk in places where moonlight touches,” Madam Sanai answered. “Dangerous, but not evil. Sometimes a Shibu comes in the form of a young man, perilously beautiful, followed always by two white leopards…”

She and Pili knew Ophele’s interests by now, and their conversation wandered freely from these legends to stories about Benkki Desa itself, a mountainous country of steep gorges and rushing rivers, where swingingrope bridges stitched cities together. Their tales breathed life into the paintings on the walls: those were the landscapes of Madam Sanai’s home, expressed in stark silhouettes.

Between their talk of manipulating natural energies—which Ophele would certainly have called magic—and the uncanny creatures of the mountains, both Pili and Madam Sanai also gently noted the condition of Ophele’s energies and body, from small items like the scrape on her elbow to the more concerning fact that she had still not had her bleeding. Madam Sanai had inquired about this on Ophele’s fifth visit, with such respectful interest that Ophele had found herself confessing the truth.

“It may be some time,” Pili agreed as they ushered her into the cooler bath, the water fizzing against her skin. “In Benkki Desa, when a woman wants a baby, there are many things to strengthen her. Hot baths in the morning, the red flower tea, and of course many offerings at the shrine of Teyyi…”

But Madam Sanai had a different opinion, and after the bathing was done and Ophele was stretched out on the cool white pallet in the massage chamber, the Benkki Desan woman traced a gentle pattern on her flat belly.

“I think the problem is not here,” she said, her eyes closed as if she were seeking something with her fingers rather than her eyes. “I think…here.”

“Oh,” Ophele said involuntarily, blinking as she rubbed her forehead. Madam Sanai’s fingers flicked again, lighter this time, against her temples.

“Pili is right,” Madam Sanai went on. “In Benkki Desa we say that serenity is the best cradle for a baby. Here,” she said, her hands cupping the bones of Ophele’s pelvis. There were light cloths covering her breasts and hips, but this matter-of-fact touch was somehow not embarrassing. “The cradle, so? But the Grace must seek it. Serenity. Quiet.”

No doubt this was true. But serenity had never felt farther from Ophele’s reach, and she was learning that quiet was a dangerous thing. Every moment of every day, she was cramming new knowledge into her head, filled with quiet desperation that it was already too late, she could never catch up when she was so far behind. Dreading the day that Remin realized it, as he certainly would now.

“It is very quiet, at home,” was all she said, closing her eyes to avoid meeting Madam Sanai’s penetrating purple gaze.

“Maybe the wrong kind of quiet,” the other woman said softly, but for a while her hands worked in silence, skilled manipulations that reminded Ophele of what Remin had said on the day of the tourney. Madam Sanai understood the body, joint and muscle and nerves, and knew how to search for the pain.

It was the thought of Remin that hurt most. No matter how busy she kept the forefront of her mind, Ophele was always aware of the dark and churning waters beneath the surface, the storm of anxiety that rose up to drown her every night. Madam Sanai’s quiet sympathy was making those turbulent waters rise, and Ophele squeezed her eyes shut as tears leaked below her lids, streaking toward her hair.

Really, she had known the truth all along. From the day she met Remin, she understood that she was not what he needed or deserved. She had known it for certain when the Knights of the Brede knelt and swore themselves to her, for her life and her honor, and she had promised that she would make them proud of her. But the more she learned what that would take, the more she heard of the treacherous society of Segoile and the role of a lady and the thousand things she had yet to learn, the more she despaired of ever fulfilling that promise.

And yet she couldn’t stop thinking about it. No matter what she did, her mind circled it endlessly, obsessively, trying to find a pattern, a solution, some way to forge a path for herself between the thing she was and the thing she must become.

Madam Sanai’s hands worked. Cradling the back of her head, they stroked upward along the back of her neck, gliding over the slender tendons, drawing the warmth of her body upward. And then they returned to her forehead, smoothing, pressing, sometimes almost to the point of pain.

“I see your tears, noble lady,” she murmured. “Sleep. Be still for yourself. I will tell you more of the Shibu, who walk the moonlight on velvet feet, and sometimes, one will come in the form of a beautiful young man…”

Her voice murmured on, low and gentle, the tale of the sacred Shibu, who was searching for something, but no one knew what. It wasa beautiful story, and sad, and somehow that made it all right as her tears flowed on, silent and endless, until she fell asleep.

Sometime later, they woke her, and she mutely underwent the final polishing as they dressed her and brushed her hair and offered her sweet mint tea.

“Has your serenity increased?” Madam Sanai asked formally at the door.

It would have been easy to simply say yes, but somehow, looking up into the dark purple eyes, Ophele understood that unless it was true, it would be an insult.

“I feel better,” she said instead. Madam Sanai bowed, Benkki Desa fashion, and showed her outside.

They had been so long at the bathhouse, it was nearly midday, and Ophele hurried up the road with Lady Verr, Davi, and Sir Leonin behind her. She did feel a little better, if only for the nap. The air was clear and the day was chilly, the November afternoon filled with the scent of dry leaves. Soon, she and Jacot would have to hold their lessons indoors.

They met her pupil on the way back to the manor, racing up Eugene Street as if he had wings on his heels. He wasn’t even panting as he drew up.

“My lady,” he said with a bow and nod for Ophele’s entourage. “Thought that was you. Not poetry again today, is it?”

“It is, and you will learn to like it,” Ophele said as he groaned theatrically.

He was coming along so marvelously. Ophele couldn’t help glancing at him as they walked up the hill together. He was almost fifteen now, and it seemed like he grew another inch every time she took her eyes off him. He stood straighter and spoke better. His bare arms were tanned and taut with lean muscle, and in his face she could see the bones of the man he would become. The knight. He had swum the Brede to come here. He had become a page when most boys his age were becoming squires. Jacot had begun his learning late, too.

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