Witch Fall (19 page)

Lilette opened her mouth but no words came out.

Merlay’s expression softened. “The truth is, there’s nothing you can do. Nothing but wait. Let us handle it.” She offered a small smile and strode away.

Lilette didn’t follow her. Jolin was trying to speak with Lilette, but the words circled like sharks—all sharp teeth and terrible speed. Lilette remembered the last time she’d seen Sash. The circle could have held for three, maybe four days. By now, everyone inside was at Chen’s mercy. Lilette knew that mercy all too well.

Han took her elbow to guide her through the press of people. She leaned gratefully into him, closing her eyes to the overwhelming sights and sounds. “I lost my sister before I ever knew her,” she said.

“You don’t know that,” Han replied. “They should be safe for as long as he needs them.”

Lilette felt sunshine on her face. They must be out of the pavilion now. “And if you’re wrong?”

The sounds of the crowd were fading. Lilette blinked up at the canopy, a dark lace of leaves against the indigo sky.

“You haven’t lost everything,” Han finally said.

The first night Han saw Lilette, he betrayed his brother for her. If that is not proof of love at first sight, I don’t know what is. ~Jolin

The fading light cast shadows across Merlay’s face as she paused in front of the strange tree, steam drifting between the walls of woven sapling trunks. She looked pointedly at Han and gestured to a nearly identical tree set a little farther back. “That’s the men’s bathing tree.”

“You’ll be all right?” he asked Lilette.

Not meeting his gaze, she nodded.

He leaned into her, his breath brushing against her skin. “Take your time. I’ll be waiting.” Lilette watched him walk away.

Merlay folded her arms across her chest. “Jolin, if you will excuse us.”

Jolin shot an apologetic glance at Lilette before disappearing inside.

Merlay studied her. “You look like Sash. The same nose and eyes, but your jaw is finer, and her hair was wavy.”

Tears sprang to Lilette’s eyes. “What was she like?”

“She was smart. A good singer. And she hated fruit.”

“Fruit? Who hates fruit?”

Merlay gave a little chuckle. “I know. She was odd, but she was also my friend.” She was silent for a time. “I remember Lellan—you remember the ones who die.” She took a deep breath. “If only Sash had known—if any of us had known you were alive, we would have come for you.”

Lilette blinked back tears.

“There has been no trace of you for eight years. We all thought you dead.”

“I washed up on an island and was cared for by a man who raised me as his own.”

“But—” Merlay seemed to gather herself “—our listeners should have picked up on you.”

“I never sang.”

Merlay’s eyebrows shot up. “Never?”

“Not until a few weeks ago.”

“Why not?”

“The man who took me in—he made me promise.”

Merlay’s gaze sharpened. “Why?”

“Because our village lord wouldn’t have left me alone if he’d known.” Lilette didn’t want to talk about Bian or her first betrothal. “Harshen told you our ship sank, but . . . why did you believe them?”

Merlay let out a long breath. “Even witches can die in fires, Lilette. We had no proof of foul play.”

A wastrel approached, scroll in hand. “Head Merlay, the others request your presence.”

Merlay sighed. “Very well.” The wastrel bowed and stepped back.

“How long will we be stuck here?” Lilette asked.

“For you, probably not long. Han is another story.” Merlay pointed down the hill. “Brine will have already sent a wastrel to alert the inner city guards that he is not to pass. Please send the word along. None of you want to be at the receiving end of Brine’s temper, trust me.”

Lilette pursed her lips and said nothing.

“I have more questions, but I’m afraid things are rather chaotic right now. I’ll send a wastrel to bring you to me sometime in the morning.” With that, Merlay started back to the pavilion.

Lilette stepped through the arched doorway. Inside was a pool of turquoise water. Steam dewed against her skin, making her feel the grit of her journey more keenly.

Jolin was already in the water, her dress neatly folded on a long shelf. “No wonder you forgot,” she said softly. “I would have wanted to forget too.”

Lilette didn’t want to talk about it. She stripped off her clothes and dropped them on the floor with the pendant and her comb on top. “Merlay seems a little young to be in such a powerful position.”

Jolin looked away. “She became a Head of Light at twenty.”

“Really?”

“Heads of Light are always young. The Creators choose them by gifting a keeper with the strongest song of any woman alive. Heads of Plants are usually older—it takes years to gain that kind of proficiency with potions. The Head of Earth is the one with the strongest witch sense—usually a listener. And Head of Water is chosen because of her brilliant military tactics—she’s usually the oldest of them all.”

“What about what’s best for the elements and the people? Who represents them?”

Jolin looked at Lilette as if she was daft. Deciding to let it go, Lilette stepped into the water. It was so hot she had to ease into it, but once she adjusted, her muscles relaxed. The dirt caked into her pores finally came free. She found a cache of soaps and scrubbed herself three times before she felt completely clean. A serving woman came in and took Lilette’s and Jolin’s salt-crusted clothes, leaving the pendant on the shelf. Jolin explained that the clothes were being taken to be washed.

Lilette floated in the water, her hair curling around her head like the steam from a cup. Her palms grew as wrinkled as the surface of the ocean, her skin as pale as a fish’s underbelly. As darkness fell, a woman dressed in gray came and lit lamps along the walls.

Floating in the water reminded Lilette of home. She missed the ocean, her fishing vessel beneath her, a pod of dolphins leaping in pace with her bow, the gritty feel of salt on her cheeks. She missed Fa’s steady, quiet presence, and falling asleep to the sound of rushing waves.

Through the water, she heard someone speaking. Tucking her legs under her, she sat up. A woman stood at the edge of the pool, towels in hand. “I’m to show you to your tree, keepers.”

Lilette stood, water sluicing down her skin. Jolin still floated, half asleep. “Jolin.” When she didn’t respond, Lilette splashed her. “Jolin!”

Jolin sputtered as she stood up, rubbing water from her eyes. She glared at Lilette before noticing the wastrel. “Time to go already?”

They climbed out of the water. The woman handed them green dresses in a plush material with embossed filigree patterns. Lilette scowled at the dress, but they hadn’t returned her tunic and trousers so she had no choice but to put the dress on. Next she donned the stockings and lace-up boots.

Wet hair clinging to her face, she stared at the pendant and considered leaving it there. But she remembered what Han had told her—how this pendant had been in his family for generations. It was part of Harshen’s history. It was part of Lilette’s home.

She froze. She’d never thought of Harshen as home, but it had shaped her. It was part of her. She picked the pendant up, staring into its amber depths before slipping it on and tucking it inside her dress.

Jolin stood in an alcove, parting her jaw-length hair exactly down the middle. Lilette moved in beside her and wiped the condensation from the mirror, her palm squeaking against the glass. She stared at herself, blurred and distorted by the imperfections in the mirror and the water running down it in streaks. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her face was pink and peeling from sunburn. Her eyes held a hunted, hard look. She didn’t recognize the girl staring back, and that frightened her more than anything.

Keeping her eyes averted from the mirror, she randomly chose a bottle of oil and rubbed several drops it into her tresses. The oil smelled of something fresh and light—like bottled sunshine. She laboriously untangled her hair from the ends up before twisting it in a bun at the top of her head. Last, she slide her comb into place.

She felt a small measure of relief. “When will we have our things back?” Lilette directed her question at the wastrel. The armor and clothes were Han’s, after all. 

“Sometime tomorrow,” the woman replied.

Lilette and Jolin followed her out of the tree. Han silently moved to Lilette’s side as if he’d been waiting for her. He was still dressed in his leather armor, like he expected trouble even here.

“Didn’t they take your things to launder?” Lilette gestured to his armor.

“I always care for my own equipment.” There was a hint of mistrust in his tone, and Lilette wondered if she shouldn’t have let them take his other set of clothing.

They started downhill, following the woman through the twisting paths of the inner city. Lilette moved closer to Han. His arm brushed hers, and she had to resist the urge to lean into the steel-and-leather smell of him.

As they started up a rise, the hem of her skirt tangled around her feet. His hand shot out, grabbing her arm to keep her from falling. She steadied herself against the side of his leather breastplate. “Why do you wear these things?” she asked.

“You have to hold up the hem a little, especially when you’re climbing.” Jolin demonstrated, her own skirt lifted in her hands.

Lilette copied her, and the hem no longer tripped up her feet, but her hand was full of skirts. It seemed a ridiculous waste of energy.

They passed another group of women wearing the wastrel’s drab dress. All of them nodded to the wastrel and eyed Lilette curiously. Jolin dropped back to walk beside them. “You shouldn’t stare, Lilette. Wastrels of the inner city all wear the uniform and hair veil. Witchlings and apprentices wear dark green. Keepers wear what they want.”

Lilette forced her gaze away as the cluster of women continued past them. Then she looked down at her own dress. “If they can wear what they want, why dresses?”

Jolin hefted her dark green skirt to climb the steps to a door, where the wastrel was already waiting for them. “That you will have to ask of someone smarter than I.”

The wastrel motioned for them to enter. As soon as they were all inside, she shut the door behind them and said, “The nearest food pavilion is a short walk down this trail. Meals are available morning, midday, and eve, with fruit and bread on hand at all times. There is a room upstairs with beds. I took the liberty of bringing a light meal for you.”

Lilette marveled at the simplicity and beauty of the room. Everything was made of pale wood that blended seamlessly from floor to ceiling, and ceiling to floor. In the center stood a magnificent spiral staircase, shoots of pale wood anchoring it to the walls above their heads. Off to the side was a small cooking stove bolted to a brick platform. The tabletop sat much higher off the floor than a Harshen’s low table.

She had a sudden memory of herself as a child, eating a bowl of soup, her legs swinging through the open air as she sat at a similar table. Her father had chided her to tuck her hair behind her ears so the ends wouldn’t hang in the broth. Overcome with the remembrance, Lilette stared blankly at the platter of fruit, cheese, and bread.

Han brushed his fingers along the back of her hand. “Are you all right?”

She let out a slow breath and turned to him. “I’ve forgotten so much, and it’s coming back to me now.”

His expression softened. “I hope they’re good memories?”

Lilette shrugged. “Sometimes.”

Suddenly the door burst open behind them. Han whipped around, his hand on his sword.

A woman with brown hair threaded with gray stood in the doorway. Her gaze locked on Jolin. “You’re late.”

Jolin’s mouth tightened. “We were delayed.”

“So I heard.” The woman’s gaze flicked to Han’s hand on his sword. Then her gaze settled on Lilette. “You should not have come back.”

Lilette took a step back. “What?”

The woman stepped into the room. Behind her came two others—a balding guardian, his gaze sweeping the area as he maneuvered ahead of her, and a sour-faced wastrel.

The first woman’s gaze locked on the wastrel from the bathhouse. “Who are you?”

“W–what?” the girl stammered

“Never mind,” the woman said. “Get out. Your services are no longer needed. Doranna” —she motioned to the wastrel behind her— “take care of the tray.”

“Don’t,” Jolin said, her face ashen.

Doranna gathered up the food tray and dumped it out the front door.

The first wastrel finally found her voice. “I was assigned here. You can’t just—”

“Well, I just unassigned you,” the woman interrupted, sitting down on one of the chairs.

“And who are you to—”

“My name is Bethel,” the woman replied as she brushed some crumbs off the table. The wastrel’s mouth made a popping sound as it shut. Without another word, she hurried out of the room.

“Bethel?” Lilette looked between her and Jolin. “The famous Bethel?”

Jolin sank into a chair, her eyes hidden under her hand. Lilette looked to Han for an explanation, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off the guardian. “Jolin, who is this?” Lilette tried. “What’s going on?”