Thornlost (Book 3) (36 page)

The last door on the left opened into a playroom, whence the noise. Dolls and balls and a small menagerie of stuffed animals, tables and chairs, and children ranging in age from toddlers to ten-year-olds causing all sorts of happy racket. There were three middle-aged women in the room, but nobody would have said they were in charge; instead, they seemed to be guardians of chaos, not calm, and perfectly happy to have it so.

The door on the right led into a refectory. There was a mural all along one wall, of animals both real and imaginary. At the back was a wide window into the kitchen. Three of the seven circular tables crammed into the space were occupied. Mieka was trying to figure out how to ask Cade exactly what this place was and why they were here when he realized that not only were all the other people in the room women and children, but at the sight of him and Cade, all of them froze silent and stared.

He was used to being looked at. But not like this. Not with hunted eyes in faces bearing new bruises and old scars. Not by women—and some of the children—who had bandages on their jaws or their arms in slings or who limped as they rose from their chairs and backed slowly up against a wall. Staring at him.

“They’re having a bite to eat before the wagon arrives,” said their guide. “It’s a long ride, where they’re going. The others are back in their rooms, the ones who still need a few more days to heal before they go to their families or friends, or sometimes—like today—far from Gallantrybanks.”

“With different names,” Cade murmured.

“Oh, yes. It makes things impossible for them and their children legally, but their decision—and I agree with them—is that although they’re not free to marry again, not under their own names, at least they’re safe.” She tucked a wayward strand of dark curling hair behind her ear. “We’ll let them finish, shall we?” she asked softly, and they left the room. Out in the hall, as they walked she went on, “If you’ll excuse me now, there are still some arrangements to make. They don’t have much to pack, of course, but we did get two lovely big barrels of clothes last week from a friend.” Her smile was a marvel as she looked up at Cade. “Someone you recommended, and much beholden to you for it, Master Silversun.”

“A word here, a word there.” Cade shrugged. “I wish I could do more without compromising your precautions.”

“We have good friends, and they have friends who have other friends, and on the whole we do very well. A pleasure to meet you, Master Windthistle.” With another smile, she opened the main door for them.

Mieka dug into his pockets. He still had his winnings from the races. All of it went into her hands. Then he undid his golden topaz earring and gave her that, too. As he gave it to her, he saw the glint of the silver bracelet on his own wrist, and his fingers twitched towards its clasp. But it wasn’t just jewelry, it was his wedding jewelry, sealed with magic. All at once he knew that whenever he looked at it from now on, he’d be reminded of this place, and what he’d done.

The money and the earring went into the woman’s skirt pockets, and she touched his arm gently, and then Cade was guiding him through the door.

It was raining harder now. He turned his face up to the sky and tried to remember other times when it had felt so clean to do this. Cade would scorn the image as trite, he knew. But while he was neither as smart nor as creative as Cade, he had brains enough
to know why he had been brought here. He got into the hire-hack and hoped the rain would excuse the moisture on his face.

Cade told the driver, “Just take us anywhere, it doesn’t matter. I’ll tell you when to stop.” He got in and gave Mieka a handkerchief and sat silently in his corner of the hack.

Mieka struggled for a few moments, then curled up and hid his face and wept.

After a long while Cade spoke again. “The man who helped us unload the provisions, he’s some sort of distant relation of Mistress Mirdley’s. So is Mistress Tola—the lady who sold us the flour at half price. I don’t know the name of the woman who runs Ginnel House. They tend towards privacy, as you can imagine.”

Mieka had recovered himself by now. But he still couldn’t look at Cade.

“Mistress Mirdley started helping them when they set the place up, about three or four years ago. I didn’t even know about it until this year, when she asked me to take some money by on my way to the Kiral Kellari one night. And I didn’t really know what Ginnel House was until a bit before we played at the wedding celebrations last spring. I’ve never asked how many women and children they help. From what we saw today, I’d guess it’s a lot. More than anybody wants to admit. There are probably other places like it, safe places, in Gallantrybanks, but I don’t know anything about those, either. It’s not necessary for me to know. That’s what Mistress Mirdley told me, and she’s right. The only people who really truly
need
to know about it are the women who haven’t anywhere else to go.”

“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? Ready for it. Elsewhen.”

“Yes. When I found out what the place was, I knew I’d be taking you there sooner or later.”

He repeated his question of last night. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Because even if you believed me, it’s something you had to learn for yourself.” Leaning forward, he opened the little grilled hatch beneath the driver’s bench and called through it, “Number Eight, Redpebble Square, please.” He sat back again, and they were both silent for a long time.

Then Cade said, “The other evening, back home after the races, Dery’s legs were hurting. He’s growing so fast.” He paused for a fond smile. “I remember being that age, and my leg bones outgrowing the muscles and tendons. It hurt like twelve kinds of Hell. Mistress Mirdley and I rubbed liniment into his legs, poor little bantling, and she gave him something for the pain. We kept watch until he fell asleep, and then she said, ‘That’s the way of it with everything in life. When it hurts, you know you’re growing.’ ”

Mieka scrunched farther into his corner. “I notice she did give him something for the pain.”

Cade shrugged. “That’s the kindly thing to do.”

He knew where Cade was headed with this. He resented it. “I’ll take the thorn over the hurting, beholden all the same.”

“Most people would.”

“Not you,” Mieka accused. “The sort of anguishing you do over every damned little thing—it’s not normal.”

“
I’m
not normal—hadn’t you figured that out by now?”

He heard the bitterness and, Gods help him, relished it.

“We learn only from the mistakes we make and the pain we endure,” Cade said quietly.

Mieka said nothing. What he was thinking was,
So nobody ever learns anything from being happy? You’re wrong, Cade. Gods, you are so
wrong
! And one of these days I’ll prove it to you.

The hack drew to a stop at Redpebble Square and they got out. Cade went into the kitchen for something to eat; Mieka went upstairs to sleep. He hadn’t got much last night—this morning, really—and he suspected that anything he ate would come right back up again.

But of course he couldn’t sleep. He kept seeing those women staring at him. He kept seeing her eyes with that look in them. He supposed all this meant he was growing, because—Gods, how it hurt.

At three by the Minster bells, Cayden appeared upstairs with a lavish tea: three sorts of muffins, baked eggs in little pastry shells with bits of ham and cheese, fried flatbread dripping in butter and jam, a bowl heaped with berries dusted with sugar, and a plate of sliced pears. Mieka discovered that he was ravenous and the instant Cade set the tray on his desk, he leaped on the food.

“Mistress Mirdley says not to be impressed,” Cade told him. “This is what she made for our breakfast, if only we’d had the decency and manners to come downstairs early enough to eat without rushing off, so it’s all reheated and stale and if it tastes awful, it’s our own silly fault.”

It was all delicious. A little while later, replete and sipping his fourth cup of tea, he nestled into Cade’s new chair and sighed. All he lacked was a nice glass of whiskey, and he’d be perfectly happy.

Not that he deserved to be.

Cade had been alert to the change in his mood. “So can we really talk about it now?”

“Want to hear every sordid detail, do you? Or—wait, I know. After what you made me look at this morning, you want me to relive all of it and make all the right connections so it
hurts
again and the lesson sinks in.” He met those gray eyes with a parody of a smile stretching his lips. “Fuck you.”

“You said there was a card.”

Relentless. Wasn’t that what he’d thought once—more than once—about Cade? Ruthless and relentless and inexorable when it came to the truth. Of course Cade wanted all the details; that was how his mind worked. Pull apart each tiny little piece of whatever it was, even if it was Cade’s own soul, for examination and interpretation, and only then could it all be put back together
and understood. This was probably what made him a great writer. It was certainly what made him an annoyance.

“From the Finchery,” Mieka heard himself say, giving in with poor grace to the inevitable.

“Tell me about it.”

“What’s there to tell? It was a business card.”

Cade sighed. “What kind of paper? Typeface? Color of ink?”

“Just the usual paper—stiff but not rigid. Blue ink. I don’t know anything about typefaces.”

“Was it like the one I found in my father’s old coat that time?”

“Yeh, of course.”

“Are you sure?”

Mieka’s patience, never very extensive, ran out. “It was a card, all right? I saw it on the bed and picked it up and unfolded it and I thought it said ‘Finchery’ but it really said ‘Finicking’ and who the fuck cares what kind of card it was?”

“You say it was folded? Was it a recent fold? Had it frayed? What about the edges? Were they sharp or dog-eared?”

“I don’t remember.”

Cade gave him a look that said,
Of course you do, you twit!
But what he said next was, “What did it smell like?”

“Smell? How should I know? Am I a hound on the hunting field, belling when I pick up the scent? I didn’t go to your posh Academy and learn how to remember every stupid little—”

“Just close those incredibly unobservant eyes of yours and think about the card. You unfold it, you read it. What does it smell like?”

He did as told, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. “Her perfume. It smelled like her perfume.”

“Violets or roses?” When Mieka opened his eyes and gaped at him, Cade gave an irritable shrug. “Like you said—I’m trained to remember things. She uses two different kinds of perfume. Which one was it?”

“Roses.” He paused again. “I think. It’s hard to tell. She was sitting near me on the bed and she—she—”
She was lying to me. I know she was lying to me—but about what?

Into the sudden silence Cade said, “She was wearing the violets perfume that day. I remember it. She had a little vial of it in her purse and she took it out to daub some on her wrists. The Princess said how pretty it smelled. And it was in one of Blye’s glass vials, so they talked a bit about that, too.”

“So?”

“So it was violets that day,” Cade said stubbornly. “But the card smelled of roses—”

“But how does that
mean
anything?” he exclaimed. “Violets or roses or cow shit, what does it matter? I saw the card and I thought it said ‘Finchery’ but it didn’t, when Fa showed it to me it said ‘Finicking’ and what does it matter?”

With infuriating patience, Cade explained, “If she’d had the card longer than just that day, and kept it in another bag, then it would pick up the scent—Mieka? What is it?”

“You’re on the wrong page with this,” he said dully. “It’s the card, yeh, but nothin’ to do with the smell.”

“How do you mean?” Wary, astonished and trying not to show it—it wasn’t often he had the pleasure of outthinking Cade Silversun. It was no pleasure now.

“It wasn’t folded. The card Fa gave me. It said ‘Finicking’ but it wasn’t folded. The other one, the first one…” Mieka set his teacup carefully on the floor, knowing he was in danger of dropping it. “Quill, that first one really
was
a card from the Finchery.”

A long, slow exhale. “I swear there wasn’t an Elsewhen about this, Mieka. I just—I had a feeling—something not quite right—”

“She had a card from the Finchery. Why would she have it?”

“You can’t seriously believe she’d—Mieka, it’s a
whorehouse
.”

“Why would she do such a thing? Why did she lie to me? I heard it in her voice, when she was saying about the card—and
then it was a different card Fa showed me—why would she want to trick me like that?”

Slowly, reluctantly: “You’re not exactly shy around girls when we’re on the Circuit.”

What a tactful way of putting it.

“This might be her method of showing you how it feels.”

How a card from a whorehouse compared with a casual dalliance far away from her did not make sense to him.

“And… and you did slap her, Mieka. It doesn’t matter that you were thorned-up. You hit her.”

I
was
thorned-up, and drunk, and provoked, and—and—oh Gods, I
hit
her.

“Never again,” he vowed. “No matter what she does or—or—” He stopped. “Is
that
what she wants? To hold this over me forever? Put a hand to her cheek and that’ll remind me, and—”

“How should I know? She and her mother worked like all Hells to get you—” He broke off abruptly, as if fearing he might say too much.

Mieka surged out of the chair, furious. “Did you see that, too? And never told me? Gods fucking damn you, Cayden!”

“And again we get back to the real question,” Cade snarled. “Would you have believed me? Given the choice between having her and what I might’ve told you, which one of us would you have believed?”

And that, Mieka suddenly understood, was why Cade hated her.

He didn’t look round as he went to the door. “We’ve a show tonight,” he said coldly. “I’ll see you there, at the Keymarker—but don’t expect me to talk to you. And don’t you fucking dare talk to me.”