The Shattered Circle

14. Learning Signs

My grasp on Shira's signing expanded by leaps and bounds when I focused the entirety of my attention on it. Over the course of a long life, I had learned many languages and used my body in many ways. Following quick movements of her hands, the posture of her body, the curving of her lips as she shaped the words soundlessly, all these things were relatively simple. Any complicated concept could be broken down and Vex was quick to whisper in my ear when I could not understand. I spent many nights sitting in front of a mirror, motioning with my hands and letting Melody guide me if I fumbled.

The challenge and novelty of it kept me preoccupied, shut away inside the Winter Palace instead of engaging in the petty squabbles that were so common in Sanctum's political arena. They were so busy clawing at each other's eyes that it took them time to realize the absence of my cold disapproval and cutting words.

They were a world away from my solar, however. Currently the dinner table stood stripped of its tablecloth, occupied by bandages and a large basin of freshly boiled water. The cloying, earthy smell of the healing ointments Haven favored filled the air and I sat patiently as Haven stitched up the wound on my bicep, fortunately shallow enough that it had done no damage to tendon or ligament, nor really much of the muscle. I was familiar enough with Vex's claws to know how to slip the worst of them.

Shira watched us from across the table, brow furrowed. Something about Haven's relentless gentleness and good manners seemed to unnerve her more than Vex's cruelties. I felt another pass of the needle through my flesh and poured myself a cup of tea with my other hand, careful to keep my left arm perfectly still for Haven's work.

He isn't like the others, Shira signed finally, apparently unable to restrain her curiosity. She was out of a dress at the moment, wearing the gray gambeson with a red sash of one of my trainee guards. Melody and I had agreed that it was for the best to camouflage her, to raise fewer questions since she was not really one of the servants.

"True enough, though you say that as if all undead are the same," I said as I lifted the cup to my lips. "Not all wights are like Vex. Nor are they all like Haven. Individuality does not end with life."

My response only frustrated her further. The stories of undead say otherwise, that they know only hate and hunger.

I sipped and then returned the cup to its place. "Undead like Vex tend to make more of an impression. They seek it out. There are plenty within Sanctum who would much rather concern themselves with their own affairs than terrorize mortals."

"It would be impolite," Haven said absently, utterly focused as he knotted the last stitch. He had already cleaned out the wound with spirits and the willowbark tea would ease the pain. It was important to keep such things clean and well-tended, something Haven was always single mindedly attentive to. He focused on taking care of me the way Vex focused on torturing mortals.

A faint smile touched Shira's lips at Haven's response, probably because it was so very in keeping with his appearance of propriety and manners. How many kinds of undead are there?

"Many. Some naturally occurring, others created." I swirled the tea in my cup thoughtfully, studying it as if reading the leaves at the bottom like some fortune-teller. "The lesser undead are prolific in the Eternal Kingdom, each variety lending its use to those above. But where a necromancer operating in your lands would likely only be able to sway the most feeble ghouls, those who rule here can command the loyalty of far more dangerous things."

If I am going to be here long, it would make sense for me to know more about them.

I nodded slightly as I watched her fingers dance. It was a reasonable request. "The most common form of undead are ghouls: little more than rotting corpses given animation, enough to move around, devour, and attack. Ghasts are more coordinated, using a low cunning and pack tactics. Both deteriorate over time away from the one who raised them. Wights on the other hand, are much more independent. They are as intelligent as a human on their own, and a wise necromancer would not part them from that intelligence. They are, like all undead, unable to experience emotion."