“Bindy, what’s wrong?” Nate dragged himself to a chair. Fortunately, it was already pulled out from under the table. “Where’s Canty?”
“Ma kept him today.”
“Is he unwell, too?”
She seemed to have to think about this. Bindy was quick as lightning, fleet as a fox. She never had to stop and think about anything. “No,” she said. “It’s just, my brother is dead. The one inside. A guard came this morning and told us.”
He slumped down in his chair. This city. This city. These people. Too weak to be angry, once again he wanted to kill all of them. What a full schedule the Seneschal must have had yesterday, with the whipping and two executions: whatever unfortunate soul had been swapped in for Judah’s stableman, and now Bindy’s—
Wait. “Where did he work?”
“Darid? He was head stableman.”
Oh, no. Nate’s face felt slack and the world telescoped down, shrinking to the size of Bindy’s tearstained face. But she was still speaking, her voice bitter. “They don’t even tell you how they die, magus. They just say, he’s dead, no more money. Then they ask if you’ve got anyone else to send in.” Suddenly, she sat down on the floor, legs splayed out like a baby’s, like Canty. She started to cry. “Oh, this is stupid,” she said through her tears. “I never even met him. He was inside before I was born. But we wrote letters. I made him a scarf. And Ma is so upset. She won’t let Canty out of her sight. I had to beg her to let me come here.”
He wanted to fix it. He wanted to tell her that her brother was still alive. But she would no doubt tell their mother, and perhaps Nora would tell somebody else, and soon enough the word would get back to the Seneschal. Nothing in this city happens without my knowledge.
“You didn’t have to come,” he said numbly, and then realized what no more money would mean, to Bindy’s family, and knew that she did. And he hated the city even more, and he hated himself, too.
Chapter Ten
There was a time when there was pain and the world was soft and white and something kept her from moving her arms. She didn’t understand and she didn’t try to. When a straw was held to her lips she drank, and the fluid was bitter.
That time passed.
* * *
There was a time when there was pain and her eyes were closed but she saw, as if in a memory, Elly standing among a group of guards. The sound of ripping fabric. Tears on Elly’s cheeks. Wrong, all wrong. Elly didn’t need to cry. Judah had saved her.
Hadn’t she?
That time passed.
* * *
There was a time when there was pain and the Seneschal’s voice filled the room like stone and she could not breathe. The magus, she could not remember his name, but his voice was there, too, and it said, he said, I warned you, and there was anger in his voice and a tiny cramped place where she could grab the tiniest sips of air.
But the Seneschal was the one who had warned her. Nothing made sense.
That time passed.
* * *
There was a time when there was pain and she fled from it, went somewhere else, and in that somewhere else she lay barefoot on warm grass while the sun sparked gold in Darid’s hair and his face was happy, but something was wrong, there was danger, she wanted to warn him, but her mouth would not do anything but smile, she could not make it stop.
That time passed.
* * *
There was a time when there was pain and somebody in the room was singing, a high thin voice that cracked on its way up and cracked on its way down.
That time passed.
* * *
Time passed.
* * *
The pain stayed.
Chapter Eleven
Then there was less pain. She drifted up through the soft sea of white into consciousness, and she still could not move her arms or legs. She waited to drift away again but the current seemed to have stopped. All she could do was lie—yes, her cheek lay against something, that was the softness—and wait. Each rise and fall of her body was searing agony so she breathed shallowly. She blinked, and realized she could blink, that there was a difference between closed eyes and open ones, and also that blinking helped the blur around her coalesce and separate into specific forms. A bright blur became a window