Page 4 of Thief of Roses
Her meal awaited her arrival in the solar.
“Thank you,” she said, trying to be respectful to the unknown entity that provided for her.The most demonstrative gesture of her gratitude came in the hearty way she set into the food, appreciative of every bite and every sip.She complimented the cooking and the temperature of the meal.She complimented the freshness and expressed her gratitude yet again at being treated so hospitably.She made her offering to the fire.
She did not repeat any of the exercises of the bailey by pretending to be mistress.If the Magic could be that aware, she dared not give it reason to thwart her.If the Magic could choose a silver platter and goblet by which to deliver food, maybe it could determine the class and quality of the person too.Although, as the Magic supplied silver platters and goblets, it had not made an accurate appraisal of her.If she would have been received by such a household, she would be working in the kitchens or laboring in the fields, somewhere out of sight.
“Magic,” she said when she finished her meal, “if I promise to work extra hard tomorrow, may I have a hairbrush in the morning?”
She sighed in relief when no one answered.She did not think herself the jumpy sort, but in a place this wild and strange, she did not think terror would be an overreaction.With her energy reserves restored by food and sleep, she might perhaps have the emotional resources to throw a fit if required.She disdained indulging in such ill behavior, but if the situation merited it, then she would rise to the occasion.
“I do not know what the limitations are to Your hospitality,” she began as she contemplated her destroyed clothing, “but if I could have a new set of clothes since mine are much mended, I will stay a day or so longer that I may attend to several more cleaning necessities here.I do not know if there is anything You need, but I hope You will make it known to me if I should attend to something first.”
Silence.
When she settled herself in to sleep, she heaved a sigh, wondering what the future might hold once she left.She did not want to think of that now.
“Good night, Magic.Thank you for looking out for me.”In the quiet, something rhythmic, like hard objects striking each other, retreated from the solar.She dared not investigate.
In the morning, a hairbrushlay beside the platter.Her disappointment over not finding a new skirt or blouse discomfited her with the extent of her ingratitude.She was being fed and sheltered already.Maybe the Magic did not know how to make clothes.That theory shattered, however, when she discovered a frilly concoction of sewing principles that she guessed might be a dress.Pampered ladies of luxury might wear such a thing, but with fussy laces, scratchy fabrics, and a bodice that would not let her move, she would never wear it.
“Thank you, Magic,” she said, determined to be polite through her dismay.“I appreciate your efforts, but I plan on cleaning today and I would despair if I should soil or damage such...”She managed not to say,an overdone monstrosity, but only just.“Such a display of quality.”
“My underskirts will serve,” she assured the Magic, lest it think it needed to try again.She also did not repeat her request.The Magic probably only provided quality and she did not want to burden the Magic with trying to explain.Her already mangled clothing would serve for the cleaning she intended to do.
A few hours later, ash covered her from head to foot and she was glad that she had not wasted time on new clothing.She would be finding ash on her for the next year.Even though she bound her hair in a scarf, nothing could protect against the disturbed particles that obscured the room.The open doors and windows helped, but not enough.
“You could probably clean the hearth Yourself if I asked for it to happen,” she told the Magic, “so perhaps this is a pointless exercise, but You’ve been good to me.”
She took a seat on the kitchen bench and surveyed her work, disappointed that her efforts did not produce the visual accomplishment she desired.
“Most places don’t want Rivani lingering.There’s a lot of hate toward us in Varnasia and we risk life and limb in many places just for existing.I did not intend to travel out this way, but I stopped at a tinker’s to get a pot mended and — Well, you know how it goes.One thing leads to another and I’m being run out of town.”
She untied the scarf from around her braids and shook it out.It would require a wash.She grabbed a spare and retied the new one, preparing to resume work.
“When my horse fell, a wheel on myvyardincracked.I ran from possible pursuit, but I feel like I made one foolish decision after another.”She laughed at herself.“I cannot say that I feel anything about magic in general, neither warm nor cold to it, but Your generosity and care have been the greatest piece of luck I have had in years.”
The fortress, as usual, remained silent.
“I feel as if I am half-mad, talking to myself.Maybe I hallucinated everything.”She had never been a fanciful person though.“Or I died in the forest and I am passing through some kind of afterlife test to determine whether it is a paradise or a misery.”She wiped her brow with the back of her arm.“Either way, no one will ever believe me if I tell them of this place.It’s like a place out of time, out of reality even.If the realm of the gods were an earthly place, I could imagine it here.There are tales of Rivan sorceresses who could manage great feats, perform great magics, even manage to keep a residence like this in such good repair if they were powerful.And our gods too, who command great power, have had their tales told and retold for ages, all about their great works and astounding abilities.The sorceresses died centuries ago, though, and the gods rarely choose to show themselves.You, Magic, must therefore be my experience with such things.”
She returned to the pump for more cleaning water.“Most of the Rivan sorceresses and strong magical bloodlines were killed off in the Great Persecution.Being of Rivan descent, we all have a little magic in our blood, but nothing like there used to be.Most outsiders think that we’re either charlatan magicians or people who sold their souls for dark powers.Some of us can read hand, leaf, bone, or card which is just skill work and not magic, but I refuse to do it and I won’t sell anyone useless tokens even though I would probably live a better life if I gave into stereotypes.I just can’t in good conscience.I hate when people assume I’m selling my body.And it’s almost worse when they come to me asking for spells.I prefer to sell balms and oils although I will weave the occasional basket if I have the concentration.”
She lugged the full bucket over to the hearth and grabbed the rag.She moved to her knees again and resumed scrubbing the stones of the hearth.
“I had the strangest impression in the bailey — like I ruled over this place, like I might have had every right to use the front door.”
As if anyone who once lived here would have mistaken her for a Varnasian!And if the former residents followed The Great Holy, then she may have been risking much to trespass beyond the outer curtain, let alone the keep.
“It is a hard illusion to maintain, down on your knees scrubbing out a hearth,” she told the kitchen.“Still and all, You have made me comfortable.I think whatever magic I possess brought me here.”She ran her fingertip over the line of mortar between stones.“I don’t know what or why, but I am sure there must be some reason I found this safe haven.Whatever magic remains in our bloodlines helps Rivani find each other and the places where magic still exists.It’s part of our survival.”
Maybe that’s why she had been looking for a thong tree, pulled here by something, only she had mistaken the feeling.She had not expected a deep well of magic without an obvious source.She had not expected ruins on a grand scale with the palatial keep still in liveable condition.
The brief contemplation of returning to thevyardinand seeing her poor, dead mare inspired heated pinpricks of tears.She swallowed them back, wiping at her eyes to banish the traces.Tears would not bring her horse back or keep hervyardinsafe.And besides, she had work to do.She had the difficult prospect of trying to figure out how she was going to resume her life.Only the fool or the privileged could waste energy on unproductive thoughts.Her chatter died and anxiety and fear grew in the potent silence.She did not want to be rooted anywhere or be called to any place.Her feet always itched.Her spirit always wandered and yet she faced a bleak and difficult future.
With the sun’s descent, she called an end to her work and retreated to the solar again.She brought a bucket of water with her, intending to leave it by the fire to heat for a scrub.A large basin, large enough for her whole body and filled with heated water, waited for her in front of the hearth.
“Oh merciful gods and beneficent Magic,” she invoked, “in me, You have a most grateful acolyte.”She set her bucket down by the fire to heat anyway, just in case.
As she lounged in the basin, she sighed.To grow accustomed to this kind of life would be a dangerous thing.She could lose her wariness, her caution, her survival instincts.She could get too comfortable.That frightened her.She would have to leave even though she longed to stay a little longer.If she did not, she would be spoiled for the hard life that awaited her outside the forest.
