Breath of Winter, A (19 page)

“That might be best.” He poured water into a small bowl and squeezed in three drops of oil.

“What’s that?” Inhaling, I didn’t smell common bath scents such as rose or jasmine.

“It’s an antiseptic. Be careful when you wash your face to avoid your eyes.” He set the bowl nearby and handed me a cloth. “If any of what you’re wearing is riser blood, we best be careful.”

“Good point.” Twisting my arms, I studied the spatter, but it all looked crimson.

While Henri braved the bastille, I washed my face and arms. The stains on my shirt I couldn’t help, but if my brothers saw a clean, smiling face, they might overlook regions south of my neck.

I snorted. Even I wasn’t fool enough to believe they would be conned so easily.

Finished with my bath, I tossed the stained cloth into the bowl and settled in to air dry.

Clawing at the door snapped my head up. I reached for my dagger, forgetting I had tossed it in favor of clinging to Farrow. Tired of running and unable to stand, I might as well sit and fight. I lifted the bowl high then smashed it onto the floor. Pottery shards flew in all directions, but the piece I held was large and sharp. It was a pitiful weapon, but at least it was one. Henri said I was safe here, and I believed that was true, unless the same person who had left the hatch open had plans to disable this one as well. In that case, what scratched at the door now might find purchase later.

The sound of the bowl shattering didn’t bring help running.

Sound didn’t carry in or out of the bastille. I never thought to ask if the main room was insulated as well. Though I heard the scratching at the door fine from where I sat. Muscles tensed, I clutched the shard and waited. I stared at the door, watching for signs it might give until my eyes blurred.

Behind me, metal clicked and footsteps carried. I relaxed a fraction at Henri’s familiar gait.

He circled around in front of me, frowning at the mess I’d made. “Do I want to know?”

Sheepish, I gestured toward the hatch. “Something’s out there. It can’t get in, though.”

“It’s most likely Farrow. Braden should have taken her away by now.” He flipped up a coin-shaped disc inset into the door then pressed his eye to the hole in the hatch. “The hall is empty.” He slid the cover back into place. “What was it you heard?”

The fact he hadn’t asked me what
I thought
I had heard kept my temper in check.

“Scratching at the door.” I held up my shard. “I wouldn’t have done this for nothing.”

“I know.” He gathered the largest pieces and swept the rest under the nearest table. “I won’t even imply that because you have recently experienced a traumatic incident, you are hearing sounds that don’t exist.”

“Good thing I’m already sitting.” I scowled. “Your faith is staggering.”

“Don’t be angry with me.” He slid an arm underneath me.

“Wait a minute.” I put a hand to his chest to hold him at bay. “Where are we going?”

“I need to examine you.” He scooped me into his arms. “For that, I need to get you into bed.”

I looped my arms around his neck. “You’re such a romantic.”

Hours after being carried into his office and deposited on a cot that smelled faintly of lilacs, I was more than a little peeved that Henri was keeping me waiting. I was downing a second glass of tea when a dull thump hit the door. I set my cup aside, reached for the dagger and came up empty.

“Who’s there?”

“Who are you expecting?” a muffled voice replied.

I folded my arms over my chest. “Come in, Henri.”

He did, lugging a bucket filled with white liquid and an armful of cloth scraps. “I have returned.”

“So I see.” I tapped my fingernails. “I had given up on seeing you before supper.”

“It takes a while to perfect the consistency of a starch-based plaster.” He spared a glance for my ankle, which I had propped on pillows. “Is there swelling? Or tightness in how the cast fits?”

“It’s no worse than it was the first day.” I frowned. “How will you remove it?”

“With this.” He lifted a graceful handsaw with an arched handle and a curiously white blade.

I swallowed. “That looks…dangerous.”

“It’s not as bad as all that.” Once he had his implements arranged, he asked me to turn so my legs hung off the cot and my ankle fit into the notch of a crude brace he was affixing to its frame.

“If you need me…” I flopped flat onto my back, “…I’ll be back here.”

“You may feel the sensation of—” he began.

“Don’t warn me.” I waved at him. “I don’t want to know what to expect.”

“You enjoy surprises then?”

I considered the question. “I guess it depends on the circumstances and the payoff.”

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean?” I propped on my elbows to stare at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He was soaking his strips in the bucket. “I was just thinking.”

“Oh.” Slumping backward, I resumed my position.

Cold metal brushed my skin. I knotted the sheets in my hands and held on tight.

To keep my mind off the jagged motions jostling my leg and the ragged grating of plaster as it was being cut, I gave a rundown of what we knew. “The eastern hatch was left ajar. For how long, we don’t know. Five ursus were killed, but only one riser was found in the stables.”

“Considering how many risers are lurking outside the main hatch, we are fortunate only one found its way inside. The damage could have been much worse.” His motions slowed. “One of the ursus survived the attack. I had him put down. He was in rough condition, and there was every reason to believe that if a riser’s bite could infect your brother, it could infect the livestock as well. I’m not taking chances.”

“My people are hunters by trade.” I had been raised with a spear in one hand and a net in the other. “You did the right thing, the kind thing, showing the boar mercy. No animal should suffer the way Farrow’s cub did.” Our fangs aside, Araneaean teeth were blunt, not intended for ripping out thick ursine throats. The riser managed the feat, but it must have been horribly painful for the cub. “We all deserve a clean kill when the end comes.”

Glittering thread caught my eye, drawing my attention to Henri’s fist and the handful of silk he clutched. “How did you manage that?” I asked. “I thought nothing cut through Araneidae silk, and that’s been hacked all to pieces. You wouldn’t have used such short strands for a large cast.”

His fingers stroked the length of my leg, from thigh to knee and lower, where the cast began. Chills raced over my skin. He touched those too, all too aware of his effect on me.

“Your ankle isn’t as large as you would have me believe. I am rather fond of your legs.”

I smothered a grin. “You did seem impressed by their length at our first meeting.”

One side of his mouth hitched higher. “I was intimidated by their lush curves.”

I laughed. “Next you’ll be telling me you were cowed by the ample valley of my breasts.”

“No.” He connected a sprinkling of freckles on my knee with his finger. “Just these.”

I shivered again. “It’s a pity I broke what you consider to be my best feature.”

“They aren’t your best feature,” he said, “or even my favorite.”

Too afraid to ask what either of those might be, I settled for asking, “How did you do it?”

“If I had a piece of gold for every time someone asked me how we cut our silk, we could live off the income of curiosity and never spin again.” He grinned wickedly, and I liked it. “I could tell you our secret, if you think you can handle it, and if you swear that you will keep it to yourself.”

More than a tad concerned by the gleam in his eye, I agreed. “All right. You have my word.”

In response, he widened his grin until he flashed me every one of his perfectly straight, white teeth.

“You’re scaring me.” It wasn’t far from the truth. “What’s the secret?”

Henri tapped a front tooth with his fingernail. “These are.”

“Teeth,” I said.

“Teeth,” he agreed.

“That’s how Araneidae silk is cut? With your teeth?” Mine ached thinking about it.

“What tools the gods gift for us, we must use to the best of our abilities.”

“That sounds like a quote.” Similar to one my mother used on me.
As the river gives life, it may also sweep it away.
Sage words considering floods and drownings were a part of Deinopidae life.

“Mother said it often, more often to Pascale than any of us.”

I had learned my lesson about prying into his family. I left him the choice to illuminate me.

He chose to keep me in the dark.

To prevent our awkward pause from becoming unbearable, I focused on the saw. “How does it work? You cut through the plaster then bite through the silk?” I scrunched my nose. “That can’t be comfortable for you, especially not around a fresh wound—or worse—near someone’s feet.”

“Feet are worse than a fresh— Never mind.” Lifting the saw, he twisted it. “If I had to gnaw at silk around open sores, I would never leave my laboratory. No. It’s as you said, not the most practical way to apply our gifts, which is why our foremothers invented a tool for the task.”

“The saw.”

“Yes.” He ran his finger along the dull side of the blade. “Can you guess what those are?”

“No.” I blinked. Shuddered. Looked again, and I still saw them. “You wouldn’t— That’s disgusting. Those are—those are
teeth
. Did they come from your clansmen? Of course they did, what am I saying? They must have. How did you get so many? There are dozens. Does every Araneidae have one?”

“They’re heirlooms,” he explained. “These teeth came from my siblings and me.”

Had I not been lying down already, I might have fainted. “Those are from your mouth?”

“Isn’t that where most teeth originate?” he teased, but I didn’t find him amusing just now.

“You have a tooth saw and dare to mock me?” I recoiled when he offered it to me.

“When you were a child,” he asked softly, “didn’t you lose a mouthful of teeth?”

“If by
lost
you mean my brothers knocked them out or I swallowed them, then sure I did.”

Amusement saturated his tone. “We are more careful of ours.”

I curled my lip. “Obviously.”

“Any Araneidae child can turn a baby tooth in to the maven for a gold coin. It was actually a thriving business for my brother when we were children. He would scour the tourney fields after games to see if he could earn extra coins.” He studied the blade. “I wouldn’t be surprised to hear Armand had kept every ounce of his gold. He always was a hoarder. I never saw the fascination.”

“Your mother paid you for your teeth?” I choked. “She bought teeth from her own children?”

“She did, as Lourdes does now. When there are enough collected, they are fit into the blades of tools we need for our work. Most become shears for the spinners. My saw is, of course, one of a kind. It’s longer and narrower than most, but I based my design on the heavier saw blades used by masons for tunnel construction.” With that, he put his specialized saw to use on my poor cast.

Every last one of my toes curled.

“All my life I thought Mimetidae were the ones with the most disgusting customs—eating the flesh of their enemies after battle? That’s horrid. But this?” I covered my mouth. “This might actually be worse.”

“There are Deinopidae customs others might find equally offensive.”

“Offensive? Yes. There are several I could name off the top of my head, starting with the belief a female’s highest calling is to sit at home and wait on a male to come and claim her. Disgusting? No. In that respect, I believe your clan’s customs well and truly beat mine. Who would have thought?”

“Brace yourself.”

“No.” I covered my ears. “If you have something worse to tell me, I don’t want to—
ouch
.”

His lips were moving, but I missed what he said.

I bit my lip. “Next time give a girl some warning.”

“I tried.” He lifted my foot from the mold. “You plugged your ears before I finished.”

“I thought you were going to impart more Araneidae clan secrets to scar me for life.”

“I think you’ll survive.” He ran his hands over the worst of the swollen and bruised areas.

“I think I’ll have nightmares about blue-eyed, toothless children gumming my leg tonight.”

“I could give you a gold coin to slide under your pillow just in case.” He kept his head bent.

“If we keep talking, I won’t be sleeping at all, ever again.” Good thing he had insisted I sleep so well last night. “I’m tempted to take your gold as compensation, but I worry how you earned it.”

His chuckles subsided. “I earn coins the same as anyone else these days, with honest work.”

Honest work. I wonder if he meant his words to sting. No. He was not the kind to deliver his compliments backhanded. Henri told me what preyed on his mind. No. The problem, it seemed, was all mine. When had mercenary work lost its appeal? When it became a necessity? My life’s work?