The Bone-Setter's Daughter

Chapter 5

"You're getting a little old to have a nursemaid, you know," A-at says from behind me as she brushes perfumed oil into my coarse, black curls. I meet the distorted vision of her in my polished copper mirror, my golden eyes looking amber in the fuzzy reflection. "Soon your father will purchase you a lady's maid."

"Absolutely not," I return, and A-at smiles fondly.

"Come now, won't it be lovely to have a girl your age to share your secrets with? Talk about boys," she teases, and I make a face and stick out my tongue.

"Gross. Besides, I have Bak to share my secrets with," I reply, thinking of largest secret that he carries- the fact that I use my magic, frequently. He allows me to practice on the canvas of his dark skin daily, now. In fact, he demands it. He tells me that it is a skill that must be honed like any other, and remaining untrained as my father would have me do is not only a waste of talent, it is also irresponsible.

I'm inclined to agree with him.

I can't imagine a better secret-keeper.

"Bak is a boy. Besides, soon he will be far too busy tallying up your father's cattle, grain and gold to play with you."

Adults and their stupid practicality.

"You'll be eleven next month," A-at adds, as though that has any meaning at all. I stare at her blankly. Her smile is warm as she ties my hair into a braid down the side of my head. "That's right about the age that you'll become a woman."

"I don't want to become a woman."

A-at laughs a deep, throaty laugh. She touches her belly- the swell of it just becoming visible underneath the thin, linen kalisiri she wears. "It is a beautiful thing, to be a woman," she says, and then leans close to whisper in my ear. "Almost as beautiful as it is to lay with a man."

"A-at!" I cringe, my face flaming. 

"Laying with a man is as close a feeling to being in the presence of the gods that most of us will ever have," she adds, much to my mortification. "And the blessed act gives us children. Don't you want a baby of your own, one day?

I look at the gentle curve of her belly, and recall how many other times it had swollen with life, only to expel death. Bak's little sister died in A-at's arms after only three short weeks of life. Her death was followed by two miscarriages and one stillbirth. Despite this being A-at's sixth pregnancy, she has only one living child to show for her suffering.

And my mother had died of the infection that set in from the trauma of my own birth.

"I'm too young to think about that," I say, shying away from the thought, and A-at chuckles.

"The neighbor's daughter is only four years older than you, and she has already given her mother a grandson."

I shake my head, the oiled braid A-at had carefully plaited swishing across my collarbone. Finally taking mercy on me, A-at turns down the thin coverlet and sheets draped over my straw-stuffed mattress.

"You know when this child comes, another woman will have to take my place as your nursemaid until I heal, and even then, I will not be able to give you the attention I do now with a baby at my breast," she warns me. "It will be the perfect opportunity for your father to hire a lady's maid for you."

Yes. If this baby survives, I think, but do not say out loud.

"Maybe," I say, noncommitally. A-at shakes her head, her mouth tilted upwards with fondness.

"Come, Sweet," she says, and pats the bed.

Once upon a time, she had been given a bed in my father's house, and Bak and I had snuggled on each side of her every night. I have a few hazy memories of those early days- but they ended when I was three and weaned. Now, she and Bak sleep on reed mats in the slave's quarters.