Blood-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book I ]

4

Mhera did not know what to do. She was too shocked to weep, too confused. She stood staring down at the little grave, even after the guards had gone away. Then, feeling as if her mind were somewhere far from her body, she went back into her chamber. She sat next to Gella.

"Is there anything else in the basket?" she asked quietly.

Gella looked up, surprised. "Why, of course. Here, my lady. You are industrious today."

Mhera took the pair of stockings she was offered. If there was anything worse than mending with needle and thread, it was darning, but she settled to the task without complaint. As she worked, she tried to piece through what she had seen, tried to come up with an explanation. But there was no explanation that fit.

She was too distracted to make any significant progress. A quarter of an hour later, Gella took the stockings from her with a frown. "Hm. Not your best work. We'll fix it when we return, Lady Mhera. Go wash your face and hands, if you please; we must go down for dinner now."

Minutes later, the young lady walked in the company of her governess through the halls of the palace. She looked straight ahead, the ugly event she had witnessed weighing heavily on her mind.

Then, as they turned into another hall, a cold shock struck her stomach.

There he was! The guard—one of the guards—had just crossed the hall in front of her. She recognized his thick brow, his sturdy shoulders.

Mhera called out to him on impulse. The hall was high-ceilinged, marble-floored, gleaming; her voice echoed. "Sir!"

Startled, Gella put a hand on Mhera's shoulder. "Lady Mhera, what—?"

The guard paused in his patrol to offer the girl and her warden a nod of respect. "My lady. Madam."

"Why did you do it?" As Mhera asked, the scent of rich, damp earth suddenly wreathed her, and she felt as if part of her was floating away. "The baby. Why did you bury it in the garden?"

The guard gaped at her, plainly flabbergasted.

Madam Gella, to whom Mhera had mentioned none of this, made a shocked scoffing sound. "Why, my lady, I cannot imagine what you are on about, but you must let this gentleman return to his duties. Come; we are overdue."

But Mhera did not move. She had seen the expression of surprise pass over the guard's face. She knew, of course, that they had not wanted to be seen; that had been clear in their actions. The guard's expression only confirmed it—and strengthened her desire for answers.

"Because it was dead, my lady," the guard answered evasively, his glance darting to Madam Gella's face and away. Color rose to his cheeks.

"That is quite enough," Gella said. She still had her hand on Mhera's shoulder and now clamped her fingers down firmly, trying to move the girl forward. "Come, my lady."

Mhera was not normally bold. Curious, yes, and sometimes wild, but in the presence of her elders, be they servants or no, she was polite and soft-spoken, as a young lady should be. But horror made her bold that night. She pulled herself away from Gella's grasp with a wrench and took a few steps toward the guard. Standing right before him, Mhera looked up into his face. "How did it die?"

"It drowned." The guard shifted on his feet. He clearly longed to be elsewhere.

"How? How would a little baby drown?"

The guard hesitated, looking down at Mhera for a long moment. She saw him move, just slightly, as if he were going to ignore her and walk away. But then he seemed to remember who she was. He spoke bluntly and quickly, with a less-than-deferential tone. "It drowned in a bucket, Lady Mhera. 'Twas a mixie—one of the servant girls' whelps. We only done what we had to. If you'll excuse me, my lady, I'm expected on patrol. There are men waiting for their supper."

Mhera, living sheltered in the palace, did not know much of the world. But now she had seen a part of it that was dark and terrible. It curled up somewhere deep inside of her, piercing her stomach with vengeful claws, and would not be forgotten.

Mhera wanted to go back to her room to consider what she had learned; the knowledge left her less a child than she'd been that afternoon as she had watched her cousin's dogs frolic in the grass.

But Gella had come up behind her. The old woman cleared her throat. When she spoke, Mhera heard something out of character in her voice; she was shaken. "This has been most improper, Lady Mhera. To supper, if you please. I trust you will not make such a scene there."