Miriam Alganon, 2
"That is a secret even I do not know."
If you haven’t read part 1, click here.
By all accounts, Miriam ran. She wasn’t fast, it was the dress’s fault. Thea called after her, but Miriam knew Theor was in the gardens. He always was. She wished she were there with him, maybe she could have stopped the blade. Maybe she could have seen the assassin and told him to run. But she hadn’t been there.
It was Father’s fault. He put on the ball so that she could meet Yulen Krail. Miss Ruth had forbidden her from playing swords with them tonight, so it was her fault too. It was everyone’s fault, and no one’s. Anger burned in her throat and formed into a lump. It soured, turned into sorrow, and she tried to swallow it.
She passed decadent artwork and door after door. Never before had the manor house seemed so big. The halls were empty of servants, most of whom were attending the fleeing guests or already with Theor. Miriam went through the kitchens and into the chill twilight air. Tall bushes walled stone paths.
Miriam was crying now. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, she knew. Not hers, not Father’s, only the man who did the deed. Why? Who was Theor to deserve such cruel attention? She didn’t know.
She found him by the fountain in the corner of the garden. She could see him breathing shallowly. Father knelt over him, holding his trembling hand. Salyra stood with the kitchen maids, hands clasped behind their backs. Calinor sat on the ground, two wooden swords and shields in a tangle at his feet. His reddened eyes stared at Theor, unblinking.
Theor lay on his back, bloody bandages pressed to his stomach. His once white shirt lay beneath him, torn open. A chirurgeon sat helpless with wiry tools still in his slackened red hands.
From behind the towering hedge, a figure stepped toward Theor. The bald man with the neck tattoos. Miriam gasped, stumbling. How? She left him on the balcony and came straight here. There was no faster way. He could have easily outrun her, but she hadn’t seen him. And he came from the outer part of the garden, not the house.
Father looked up at the man, who crouched next to him. In the darkness, with his painted neck, the man looked like nothing more than a floating head.
Miriam drew up next to Salyra and watched. Nobody questioned his appearance.
“Is there anything you can do?” Father asked, voice in a whimper. He had shown his weakness to them before, but here he was at his end. He didn’t look away from Theor’s pained face, and he didn’t let go of the boy’s weakening grip.
“Let me see the wound,” the man said.
He lifted the bandages and Theor cried out, clenching his trembling hands. The man inspected it, prodding it with his finger. Salyra covered her face, unable to watch. Miriam kept looking. Blood seeped from the slice in his gut, dripping to the side.
“You tried to suture the intestines,” he observed.
“The hole is too large. The stitching wouldn’t stay,” the chirurgeon said.
“I see. Here, eat this,” the bald man told Theor, producing a leaf from a fold in his cloak and resting it on the boy’s dry lips. It was mottled purple and orange.
Theor ate it slowly. He was in evident agony.
“What is it?” Father asked, watching his nephew chew.
“The ethisca leaf, grown from living memories in the ruins of Nyonalia. It is the most potent healer. The leaf will close the wound, but he will be weak from blood loss for a few weeks.”
“He . . . won’t die?”
“Not from this.”
Father was stunned. He worked his mouth, but only said, “How?”
The bald man smiled. “That is a secret even I do not know. Put the bandages back on. In a few minutes, carry him to his bed and change them. It will burn on the inside, but he will feel much better in the morning.”
He commanded Father with the grace of a king. No titles were used, yet Father obeyed without question. When Theor swallowed, a procession of servants carried him back into the manor. Salyra and Father went with him, but Miriam stayed in the garden, left alone with the bald man. It was full night now, with a single torch blazing from an elaborate sconce. She faced him, with his glittering green eyes.
“How did you get here so fast?”
“Ah, that is a secret I do know. And why should I share it with you?”
“Because you must!” she insisted. “I know that the secret is there, and I shall die from curiosity if I cannot know.”
“Ah, but you can know. All you must do is return to Perch with me, and I will teach you.”
“I don’t understand.”
In response, he looked up into the night. She followed his gaze to the field of stars above, looking for the answer among them. Swaths of tiny flecks brushed the sky, always the same. Some were bright, others dim. Sailors followed the stars for guidance. Is that what he had done? Had he drawn from the mysterious power of starlight to vanish and reappear in the garden?
Then she saw a shadow sweep over the stars. It grew and descended, landing atop a pine beyond the high garden wall. It opened its mouth and let out a screeching caw.
“An eagle,” she said.
“A falcon,” he corrected. “Though not of any common breed. It’s a stormfalcon from Perch. They grow to the size of a ship’s boat from head to tail and its wingspan is far greater. Her name is Estamere.”
“Is she safe?”
He laughed. “If I command.”
Miriam stared at the dark creature in the tree. It seemed to stare back, though she couldn’t see its eyes. Then it took flight, spreading its wings wider than the pine and launching into the air. She followed it with her eyes as it swooped down and landed on the grass. It clicked its beak, cocking its head and eyeing Miriam, but it did not squawk. In the firelight, it was no longer the color of shadow, but a dappled gray. On its back was a brown leather saddle, much akin to a horse’s, without the stirrups.
It was huge, but she wasn’t afraid. She wanted to feed it corn from her hand like she did with the chickens and run her fingers across their feathers.
“Can I…” she hardly dared to ask. When she turned to the man, he was watching her with curious eyes. “Can I pet it?”
“Perhaps in the morning. Your father will be wondering where you are.”
She sighed, looking back at the manor house.
“Of course he will. He must always know where I am. At least will you come inside? I’m sure he would like to honor you.”
“You are kind, child, but I must return to my lodging. I will visit in the morning to check on Theor. Now go to your father.” He bowed quickly and climbed his mount.
“Thank you,” she said. “For saving him.” Then she trotted off to the manor, watching in her periphery as he fiddled with straps, then took flight.
She found her father by Theor’s bed, reading a book. Her cousin was asleep and he breathed steadily. His face was pale, but was otherwise healthy. It hardly looked like he was assaulted today.
Father didn’t notice her enter. He turned the page and sipped a steaming cup of tea. He had washed his hands and changed his tunic, but traces of blood still spattered his neck. His breathing too, had calmed.
“Will you not sleep?” she asked.
He looked up. “Miriam,” he said. “You didn’t come in with the others.”
“I—” Now she felt embarrassed for her conversation with the falconer. It was unwomanly to be alone with a man. And yet she hadn’t even asked his name!
“I was outside.”
Her father knew her too well. He shut the book and leaned back in the creaking armchair. “You take great interest in the falconer.”
“You know him?”
“No. But he came as a guest of Lord Tremont. We were introduced at the ball, but I’ve come to believe that he is as much a guest of Tremont as he is ours.”
“I saw his bird.”
Father smiled. “They’re large creatures, aren’t they? I saw one as a boy. It roosted on the mast of a ship in the harbor, riding it like a chariot. A majestic thing it was. I raced down to get a closer look, but by the time the ship docked, it had flown off.”
“He’s coming back tomorrow to check on Theor,” she said.
“I should hope so. I haven’t got a true chance to thank him. We owe him a great debt.”
“He’s not expecting to receive anything.”
“Not that he said,” Father insisted. “But I must offer him something.”
“What do you have that he could possibly want?”
“Miriam! There is much to value in our family. Don’t think so ill of your own house.”
“That isn’t what I meant!” she cried out. “Only that he is a powerful man and has no need for trinkets and jewels.”
“You don’t know that. If it is a mighty enough gift, he will accept.”
“Send me with him, Father,” Miriam said. The words came out faster than she anticipated, bubbling forth. She ran up to his chair and knelt, placing her hands on his. “I want to go to see Perch and the Bay of Birds and Last Landing. The Great White Forest is there, and their mountains touch the stars, and they have snows a hundred feet deep. Please, Father, this is my dream and I know he will accept. Please!”
Taken aback by the verbal onslaught, he said dumbly, “But Miriam, you are to be married!”
“I don’t want to be married. I’ve told Miss Ruth a million times and now I’m telling you. There’s no sense in it. Thea and Salyra can marry. Not me. I don’t want to.”
“But Lord Krail was here to seek an arrangement between you and his son.”
“Surely there can be no arrangement! Theor was attacked. Who wouldn’t you blame if he had died?”
“There were many guests here, my dear, and only one is guilty.”
“One that you know, and you don’t even know who. Father, who would you choose to protect me if I were the assassin’s mark instead?”
He hesitated. “I trust the Melgars. They would give their lives for you.”
“Father, their oldest is ten! I cannot wed him, and heaven knows I don’t want the old man. Would you consign me to such a living death as that?”
“Miriam.”
“I don’t want it! I never have. I want to see the world. Let me go to Perch with the Falconer and learn their ways.”
“Miriam,” Father said more sternly. “I love you, you know that, but I can’t send you off with a stranger. How is this any different to you than marriage? Before long you’ll take his hand instead! Do you know anything about the falconers?”
“Do you?” Miriam demanded, unable to admit that she knew nothing. She hadn’t known of their existence until today. But this was her chance to be free.
“It’s not safe there.”
“Like Theor was safe?”
His eyes flashed with anger and his jaw clenched, but he said nothing. She was right.
“This man saved Theor’s life as a stranger. If I am under his protection, would I not be even safer, if that is your concern?”
“The world is a dangerous place. I will never believe that you are safe where I cannot see you.”
“Then you will never let me grow up.”
She started to cry. She didn’t want to. The tears sprang up suddenly, pouring over her cheeks and off her chin. Years of abhorring her future engagement bubbled to the surface. She couldn’t do it. It wasn’t men that scared her, but the cage. She was a bird yet to fall from the nest, and the cage loomed. All she wanted was to fly free.
Father sighed. “Promise me you will return before too long. Send letters if you can.”
Miriam embraced her father with such force that the armchair groaned under him.
“Thank you, Father.”