Page 27 of Court of Shadows
Niyek scoffed and threw her hands into the air. “That is because I prayed and made offerings day and night to Tefnut, not because of yourcult.”
The old man did not raise his voice; he simply sipped his beer and shrugged knobbly shoulders. “The other villagers prayed to her. What good did it bring them?”
There was shouting outside. Doors opened and shut, and I could hear growing confusion as villagers emerged from their houses. Niyek ran to the small window at the door and peered out, her hand held out behind her as if to keep us silent.
“More strangers,” she said with a grunt. “More trouble.”
The beer in my stomach soured and I dropped the bowl and cup on the table near Meti and then joined the girl at the window. She shoved me aside angrily and pointed at the satchel.
“Take your things and go before you bring more problems to this house,” she hissed.
The old man stood unsteadily with his cane and hobbled over to us. There were screams then, and a sound like the shakingof leaves after a sudden wind. It was the whip and whoosh before a storm. Someone outside was in anguish, wailing as if in mourning.
“Out the back, then,” the man told me, taking me by the arm and guiding me toward a curtain near the brick oven. “There have been raiders lately; they know our granary is full.”
“Maybe I was followed,” I whispered.
“Why would you be followed?” Niyek scrambled away from the window, chasing after us. “Do you see, Father? Now you have brought a criminal into this house!”
“Be quiet, girl.”
Meti ripped the curtain aside and pushed me out into the cooling night. I smelled smoke and heard the distant crackle of flames. The village was burning.
“Get out of here,” he said, silhouetted against the light in the house. “Put your feet on the path. Mother and Father will guide you.”
Then he was gone, muttering to his daughter as they debated what to do. I crouched down behind the house, moving the curtain aside just as their door exploded in a blinding flash. Two hulking figures entered. They had the shape of men but were unnaturally tall and emanated such a bright light it was difficult even to glance at them, men with yellow hair and bodies that glowed like embers. Great white wings spread behind them as they wrestled Niyek and her father to the ground.
“Where is the writer?” Their voices were so loud, so piercing,they made my own head throb.
The writer?Great Snake, did they know about the book? Did they mean me? To think that I had brought this evil down on innocents.... They wanted me. I huddled behind the curtain and prayed, wondering if I had the strength to run after a long day of travel and only a bit of food. My feet were covered in new blisters and my shoulder ached from the burden of the book. Niyek shrieked, and when I looked again, one of the glowing creatures was kissing her.... No, not kissing her... Some kind of light stretched between his open mouth and hers, stealing the sound from her screams.
“She is not confessing. They do not know anything,” the other creature said. He looked disgusted.
“They must!” The man holding Niyek gave her a shake and the light poured from his mouth to hers brighter, brighter.... Meti cried for mercy for her, for them both, and then wept as Niyek went limp. The skin around her lips bubbled and burst, and the flesh on her face grew shiny before it melted like wax.
A third figure burst through the door then, alight with that same unnatural brilliance.
I clutched my stomach and let go of the curtain, lurching toward the spiky bushes behind the house. Niyek’s exposed skull lingered in my mind, a curse now, a curse I had brought down on myself for seeking their help.
“Did you hear that?”
The men inside must have noticed my rustling in the bushes. Ishouldered the pack and dragged bleeding feet across the ground, running as fast as I could. They would find me. They would find the book, and I, too, would be nothing but a puddle of melted flesh, a fate I dreaded but perhaps deserved.
My punishment the next morning was to spend hours mucking out the horse stalls. Mrs. Haylam sent me out to the barn first thing in the morning without a crust of bread or a sip of tea. She must have known it would take longer to clean up after the horses if I was weak with hunger.
It was a mild sentence, due in no small part, I was sure, to Mary. Leave it to her to beg for understanding on my behalf. I had not argued when Mrs. Haylam handed down the verdict in the kitchen, since even I had no idea if I deserved to be punished for the previous night’s terror. There had been warnings about leaving the house at night, and though I had found Mary, I had also immediately failed to protect her. I couldn’t help but wonder if part of my current misery had come about because of Finch’s heroism.
My day was to get no better, and in fact, mucking the stables might be considered the high point. After I finished, I was expected to wait on Amelia Canny while she chose trimmings and bunting for the wedding, a task I would not wish on mycruelest enemy. I had no interest in her or her betrothed—each hour I spent away from the cellar was another hour wasted. While I dealt with horse dung, the clock ran down on my time to translate the journal.
Two hours after I had begun, the task was finished, and I wiped off my soiled boots and let my rucked-up skirts down. I needed a bath, badly, and something to eat. Cleaner now, the stables smelled strongly of horse and hay, with the sweeter note of grass and clover. The day was a gloomy one, the late-spring sun retreating behind a heavy swell of clouds. Still, that did not make it much cooler, and I felt damp all over with sweat.
At the very least I could justify a bath before meeting with Amelia—she would only complain about her serving girl reeking of horse.
I heard a soft tread on the boards above me, as if someone had just climbed into the hayloft. That had been my haunt for most of the autumn as I adjusted to my job at Coldthistle House, but I had no idea that others were also using it as a hideaway. Quietly, I circled around the horse stalls to the hay-strewn floor of the barn, finding the ladder to the loft was lowered. Someone was indeed above, and it sounded like he was crying.
There was no voice of warning this time, at least, but still, I had learned my lesson about bolting after the sound of sobs. It was broad daylight, however, and Bartholomew dozed outside. I could hear his grumbly snores, and satisfied myself by swearing he would wake and alert if any massive wolf creatures camedashing into the yard.
I put one foot on the hayloft ladder and waited. “Hello up there? Are you well?”
