Approximately 20-minute read time.

24

When Tildy opened the door to her room, a startled Ramora turned around, scattering towels and linens. “Oh, young miss! I assumed you’d be down at dinner,” she said, kneeling to pick them up.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Begging your pardon, I’ll finish up and be out of your,” Ramora’s eyes flickered to her forehead, “hair.” Tildy laughed as she recalled their first meeting, but the young woman frowned. “Sorry miss, I’ll leave, as it please you.”

Tildy moved to stop her. “No, it’s alright. I was thinking about the first night where we discussed my hair.” She could tell the woman wanted to smile, despite it not being proper. “It’s fine, you can smile, if you like.” Tildy messed up her hair again, and finally, the woman did.

“Good,” Tildy said, “Please, do your work and tell me how I can help.”

Ramora gasped and dropped her bundle again. “You can’t! I mean, you shouldn’t. It’s – really, miss. It’s not for me to trouble you so.”

“I’m sorry,” Tildy said, finally comprehending her concern about proprieties. “Castle living is so foreign to me. I don’t see how people live like this.”

Ramora gave her a shy smile as she collected her dropped items. “But you’re about to, aren’t you, miss? Take care of you like herself, my lady bade me. You’ll not want for nothing, I promise!”

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Tildy smiled, though the attention made her uncomfortable. She had been responsible for herself and her adoptive mother for so long, she didn’t know if she could watch while someone else did all the work. At the very least, she could clean herself up for bed while she waited. She found a slender porcelain ewer on a table and poured some water into a basin. Washing her face and hands, she wondered how anyone could become accustomed to such a life. “Ramora, tell me more about your lady,” she said, her eyes following the woman in the mirror.

“If it’s not private, I’ll do my best.”

“She’s a Greenwoman of Gardenstem?”

The woman beamed. “Oh yes! It’s a position of some honor, I’m told. Gardenstem is a land of fields and gardens, where farmers and orchardmen are held in high regard! A Greenwoman is something of a leader, and being daughter of the Roseguard – him being the ruler – hers was a special place.” She stowed the linens in a chest near the bed. “It were a real honor for him to offer his daughter to the baron, if you don’t mind my immodesty, miss. Everyone said it when we arrived.”

“You came to the Last Shard with the baroness?”

Ramora blushed. “Shortly after. We couldn’t all arrive together. Wouldn’t be proper, would it?” Tildy couldn’t answer that. Many of the rules and etiquette of nobles made little sense to her.

Seeing that her young charge had finished washing, the enthusiastic maid bustled over with a towel. Tildy grabbed it, afraid she was going to have her face dried for her. “Quite honestly, I can do it—” she trailed off as her elbow knocked the ewer to the floor, where it shattered. She immediately got to her knees to pick up the pieces.

The young woman stooped beside her. “Miss, no please, don’t trouble yourself.”

Tildy ignored her, gasping as a shard cut her finger. “Ouch!”

The maid squealed but grabbed her hand to examine the wound. “There’s but a splinter lodged here, and I can pull it out. I’m not at all squeamish about blood, and you’ve a fair amount of that!” She deftly removed the piece, before reaching for a cloth from the dressing table. She took Tildy’s hand to ministrate the wound, but with a cry, released her grasp.

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“What is it?” Tildy asked, looking at her bloody finger. The wound had already closed.

“You—you’re,” Ramora stammered.

“No, it’s nothing,” Tildy replied, falling onto her posterior in astonishment. She had no idea what had happened to the cut, and the last thing she wanted was the maid telling her mistress there was a peculiar girl with strange abilities in the castle.

“You’re like me,” the maid said slowly, staring at the finger.

“No, I’m,” she paused looking up in astonishment. “What?”

“I wondered, that first day you arrived. D’you remember?” Her large eyes looked expectantly at Tildy. “You put on that blue dress. I wasn’t sure ‘twould be your color, and I turned around, and your hair and skin and eyes matched it perfectly. I thought it a subtle trick of the light, but, oh my word!”

Tildy found herself too shocked to respond. She had done something she didn’t know she could do, and she’d done it in front of a stranger! She imagined what the witch would think! Marklin seeing her in the wilderness was one thing, but here she was, within a castle of armed men, in a valley she could not escape. The two of them sat there staring at each other: the scared girl and the eager maid.

Finally, Ramora spoke. “Will y’keep a secret if I keep one?” she asked hesitantly. “I mean, miss, I’ll keep your secret. All secrets. It’s what a lady’s maid does. Honest. It’s just, I’ve never met anyone like me before.”

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“What do you mean?” Tildy asked, her fear giving way to curiosity.

The maid’s face went slack with concentration. Suddenly, her skin rippled like the surface of disturbed water. And then she was someone else. “M’lady doesn’t suspect,” she said with a new voice.

Tildy started, the hairs on her neck offering the slightest vibration of warning. She hadn’t seen such a marvel in all her years with the witch, not even looking at her own transformations in a mirror. She felt reckless – whatever inhibition she had about specialness, she was suddenly over it. Giving a shy smile, and ignoring the warming amulet against her chest, she revealed her wings and floated a foot into the air.

Ramora put her hands to her mouth, her previous face returning as she exclaimed, “When I cleaned and stitched your dress, I found a curious panel on the back that made no sense. How would I have guessed it ever served such a purpose!” She took a breath and added, “And to think, we bathed you and had no idea!”

Tildy should have worried about how easily she could have been discovered, but her joy ruled her caution. They spent the next few hours sitting on her bed, sharing stories and fears like old friends who were catching up after an extended separation. Long into the night they chatted, until a drowsy Tildy found herself being tucked beneath her bedcovers.

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The next morning, she woke to find the windows and doors closed against a storm, and she wondered if she’d been allowed to sleep in. She experienced equal parts relief and regret for revealing herself to Ramora. It certainly was wonderful to have another person sharing her secret, especially someone who was more like herself than anyone else in her life.

At the same time, she had been raised to use caution in unfamiliar places and with strangers. It was quite unlike her to do something like this without need. Granted, there was that idiot Harchen she’d met after drowning the Sarsenith, but he had already seen her, and she’d needed to defend herself against his sanctimonious accusations. Marklin’s discovery also resulted from great need. But with Ramora, she went further than she should have and that worried her. It was like she had been outside her body – uninhibited – pulled into doing things beyond her control.

At breakfast, she learned that Marklin had already eaten, and the witch had asked for a tray in her room. Having no one in which she could confide, she disappeared into the library to find a storybook friend. She began and finished Whimsical Wheezes that day, finding it more wheeze than whimsy, yet somehow satisfying, nonetheless.

Longing for company, she spent the next week trying to apologize to Marklin, but he was having none of it. When he wasn’t distracting himself with training or swordplay or archery, he was rushing by without speaking or making eye contact. She watched him turn his back on her as he chatted with the blacksmith, who warily watched him brandishing a sword in each hand. She left him to his fascinations and returned to the tower.

Frustrated, hurt, and more than a little angry, she convinced herself that he was being ridiculous. How many days could a person stay mad like that? She certainly didn’t hold a grudge that long. As soon as she thought that, however, she knew it was untrue. There had been times when she’d gone an angry week or more without talking to the witch. This felt very much like that.

Her adoptive mother had returned to her old self, though this didn’t mean Tildy saw her more. Quite the opposite, as she had found the Thirsellion to be “quite enthralling”. Typical, Tildy thought. The witch often forgot about food and sleep when she discovered a curiosity, and the room on the thirteenth floor was filled with wonders uncounted.

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Although distanced from her companions, she spent more time with Fillofillo or Ramora. That is, when she wasn’t in the library. Additionally, she spent many hours visiting the poison garden with Lady Amaranth. Leaving had become an ordeal, despite promises that they would always return.

She found the Obsequiant nearly as interesting as the baroness found her. He seemed to trust Tildy implicitly, and he confided things as they traveled the castle on errands. She found the tidbits about Baron Stoneward particularly interesting: he hated water (even drinking it), could come and go from the castle without being seen, and had never planned to marry. She began to get a sense that the baron had been gone longer than they’d been told. As they entered the kitchen, she asked, “Why does no one worry about your lord’s absence?”

“Ahh, that is an interesting question. Dwell on that a moment so I can impart the key ingredient for tonight’s meal!” He gave a young scullery maid a bundle of mushrooms.

As they left, he said, “Was not unusual for a private man such as he. Most servants keep to themselves anyway. That is to say, out of their lord’s business.” Tildy took this to mean that the Obsequiant did not. He confirmed her notion with a sidelong glance and a frown. “People give away small thoughts, and from those he revealed, and by words he said, I came to believe he wanted to fight monsters in the wild, a most brave endeavor and one well within his purview as feudal lord. As you know, many folk petitioned for help, though their tales sounded too outlandish for even a children’s book of nursery tales!”

This reminded her of the crofter’s words. “They didn’t know he was taking any action. They thought the opposite.” They descended the stairs, bustling servants silently passing.

“A necessary deceit for his people, my lord deemed, though one that bore no fruit. So, he went into the wild alone,” he said with a wide gesture she interpreted to indicate the lands beyond the Valley of Southershard. “His own guards knew nothing. They might have been lying for him, but those dullards have little guile. One believed ‘nosywort’ a good word to describe a most discrete castellan.” He sniffed. “Truth to tell, their blindness made me question the safety of the whole valley, which I don’t mind telling you I shared with their captain.”

“We met Captain Stormshere at the guard-gate,” she said.

The castellan nodded. “He is quite clever for a soldier. I believe if anyone were a co-conspirator with the baron, it would be him, for they knew each other from the War of the Lost Royals. He remains in Southershard for an old and deep-rooted loyalty, though he misses greatly the winterlands of Brighthearth Keep.”

He sighed and turned to her. “My lord’s deception was absolute. Even his sword and Stoneward armor remained here whilst he took other armaments into the wild.” Fillofillo shook his head, seeming to indicate the gravity of such folly, though Tildy didn’t quite understand. “Ah me, it is often said in Southershard that, as Keeper of Locks and Light, the baron can secretly go hither and thither as he pleases.”

“But you’re an Obsequiant. You have a way of,” she paused, gesturing with wriggling fingers because she was unsure how to describe it, “a way of knowing things.”

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“Indeed, yes. Yes, indeed,” Fillofillo said, head bobbing in exasperation. “Late last autumn, my Lord Stoneward began feeling anxious. Then, on a bitter winter’s day, before this most humble castellan could discern the cause of his disquiet, his sheltered thoughts vanished, and I could not find them again.”

“Is that unusual?”

“It is a dishonorable shame to lose one’s ability, ulamed-ulamed,” he replied quietly, shaking his head. “When the aging grey-tips realize this, they hide their disgrace in the wilderness and are not seen again. But I have come to understand that it was something about the baron, not the approach of my dotage.”

They entered the grand hall, and she followed as Fillofillo pushed through the ravenswood doors and they stepped into the daylight. As they walked, she saw the blue mirador, which reminded her of her treetop visit. “I’ve wanted to tell you what I saw as I watched the sunrise.”

“Ah, most excellent, bright-smile,” he replied, nodding. “I hoped this fresh air would blow some dust from your memory, though I apologize for painful recollections of that day. Perhaps you will find a gesture that mends friends.”

She didn’t feel like discussing her eavesdropping on Marklin. “Perhaps.”

He let it go, as she knew he would. Instead, he said, “I trust the view was exquisite?”

“The sunrise, yes. But I saw something else. A window. It felt like,” she trailed off, searching for the right word to capture her perception. She lowered her voice: “It felt secret, like I couldn’t have seen it from the ground. Is that true?”

“Very good, young miss. You cannot.”

“I couldn’t see into it, though. It was too far from the tree.”

“Yes, earthbound girl sees less than the skyward one could.”

He knew! Tildy stopped and looked sharply at him. “What?”

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Fillofillo wrung his hands so earnestly, she might have pitied him if she wasn’t suddenly so angry. The Obsequiant’s dark eyes studied her, and for a moment she thought he would cry. He took one of her hands in his. “Much forgiveness, please. Some things are so very easy to read, unaled-unaled,” he said in a low voice, touching his other hand to his head.

She pulled away. “You said if I didn’t want you to know, you couldn’t know!”

He bowed. “I can never apologize enough, young miss! No, never.” He bowed again, more deeply. “Never shall I speak of your wings, no. Be not afraid. Never.”

Tildy’s wrath faded, though she couldn’t say why. An innocence lay upon Fillofillo, as did trustworthiness. His opportunity for betrayal had already come and gone, but he’d been tempted not in the least. So many thoughts raced through her mind, until he interrupted, looking up at her in the middle of another bow. “You may ask that question.”

Tildy still found his ability unnerving. Regardless, she asked the one foremost in her head. “How did you guess that I could see it from the tree?”

“Obsequiants live in most beautiful trees, not in dark burrows or warrens. Grand trees, similar to the castles of Humans, but with sky-branches and greened leaf,” he said, answering more question than she had asked. “I have seen the window myself.”

“And why is it important?” she asked.

“Perhaps your dreaming self can answer that question,” he paused, nodding as a forgotten image of the window returned to her mind’s eye, as did a flash of green light. “Yes, yes, the key lies beyond that window, and you cannot reach it from the tree.” He smiled encouragingly.

Tildy bit her lip. She had been frustrated by plenty of stories where a knowledgeable character mysteriously withheld crucial information. She found she liked it less when it happened to her. “Why don’t you tell me plainly?”

“Plain betrayal is also very easy to read,” he said, reminding her of a cornered animal. He darted away without another word, the ends of his linen stole trailing beneath his arms. Tildy let him go. She didn’t expect to get more from him, at least, not yet.

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As she mulled over the intrigue in his words, she recalled her adoptive mother’s words about the importance of conversation: Like the road from your door, a person never knew where it would lead. As usual, she was right. There was more to the window than Tildy would have guessed, and beyond it, a key. It was important enough that it had somehow invaded her dreams.

The next day, Tildy found herself too preoccupied to read. The Nimble Funambullah lay discarded on the table beside her bed, as her thoughts returned ever and again to the barred window and the hidden key. Mostly, she tried concentrating on a dream she didn’t remember. A fruitless effort. As such, when a soft knocking interrupted her contemplation, she was glad of the distraction. She opened her door to see Marklin, his face a mixture of determination and trepidation.

It’s been a few weeks since Marklin and Tildy spoke. Will they reconcile in Chapter 25 – The Paradox?

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