I nodded. “I plan to win that tournament money and fund my escape,” I said. “I see no other way. If I stole from my parents’ treasury, they would set the shire-reeve after me and possibly the entirety of the Otleich family. I would never rest. I must find a way to replace the funds I lost and find a way to purchase another death mask. That’s why I’m here.” I accepted the mug of tea that Idony passed me. “I hope you’ll connect me to the guide. If you’re able to do so again without drawing any risk upon yourself.”
“Oh, Pali.” Idony shook her head, real tears now brimming in her eyes. “I would, my love. I would. But I don’t know that you’ll ever be able to replace the mask.” She peered over her shoulder, looking out the windows and toward the door. I’d never seen her look so concerned for her safety. She drew her chair closer to mine and lowered her voice to a nearly inaudible whisper. “The man I introduced you to, the guide who took you to have the item made… He’s someone I used to have a relationship with. He is married now, so we no longer meet in that way. But we’ve remained great friends and stay in touch. He’s told me…”
She bit her lip, genuine fear reflected on her face as she reached for my hands.
“Pali, the creatures who made your mask have been massacred. They are all gone.”
ChapterSix
After hearing about the fate of the goblins who’d created my death mask, I returned to my room, a sour sickness burning my throat. My heart was wrecked. Not only for myself, of course. I was still living and breathing. Could still share playful laughter and secret smiles with Syndrian—for now. I could still smell the oil from the rind of a perfectly ripe lemon as Idony peeled and candied them into sweets. I was, despite my many complaints, still here.
I couldn’t imagine the fate that had befallen the craftsmen. They were gone. The creatures who had so feverishly and yet gently worked to cast my face and give me a chance at a new life—all of them justgone. To learn they’d suffered a horrific end aroused not only deep fear, but anxiety and grief.
Idony had insisted she knew no details of what had happened, and I believed her. I did not know where the lair was located. If there was a way to find other goblins who might help repair or recreate the mask, only Idony’s guide would have the connections or means to accomplish it. But at what cost? And would it be worth it? I prayed fervently to the gods that nothing I had done had contributed to the goblins’ tragic end.
After visiting Idony, I numbly returned to the manor, my previous plans disappearing faster than points in a losing game of backgammon. Norwin idly noticed my return with an unusually disinterested wave. I went directly to my room and wept miserably on my bed.
I cried first for the creatures who had lost their lives. Their very existence was both denied and condemned by the crown. But they had been kind, industrious creatures. I’d experienced nothing short of consideration when I was among them for those few short hours. I hadn’t been drugged or enchanted, as the specific cast of the mask required me to listen to instructions and to work with them, keeping my head still, holding my breath when instructed. I had heard them banter with one another, their dutiful words as they shared that task as well as many other projects while I reclined with my eyes sealed.
And now those creatures were gone.
After I cried for them, I cried for me.
Since my father was away on a trip, I did not leave my room at all over the next two days. I took meals in bed and wept freely or frantically paced my quarters, seeing no way out of my circumstances. I was truly stuck staring into my future with a sunken feeling worse than any I’d experienced before. There was nothing left to do. No winning roll. No last-minute strategy that could change the course. I had but to play out the moves and concede the loss with dignity.
I considered dragging myself to the crofter’s cottage, to try and lift my spirits, but the thought of running into Syndrian there only brought a different kind of pain to my heart. The kind that I could not bear to think about. When I let myself think of what might have been, things that would never be, my tearful misery renewed like a river well-fed by many smaller streams.
Finally, on the third day of my self-confinement, there was a knock at my bedroom door.
“Palmeria?” My mother’s expression was unusually worried. “Your father is due back tomorrow. I made inquiries after our family physician, but he’s engaged in Kyruna and is not expected back this way for some time. I’ve called in the healer that the villagers use. I’d like you to see her.”
My hair was a mess, and I’d not changed out of my nightclothes since I’d first put them on. I rolled over in bed and nodded, no fight left in me. “Certainly, Mother.”
What harm could a healer do? If she could repair a broken heart, she might even have some use.
“Come in, please.” My mother stepped aside and urged a woman I’d never met before into my room. “I’ll have someone nearby should you require anything.”
The woman closed the door behind my mother. Once we were alone, she smiled at me. “Miss Palmeria,” she said softly, “may I examine you?”
I patted the bed next to me and sat up, not caring how I looked or what impression I made. “Please,” I said, my words slow and sad. “Call mePali. Only people I can’t stand call mePalmeria.”
The expression on the woman’s face changed quickly. She looked a bit stunned, but then gentle understanding flooded her intense eyes. “Of course. I’m happy to call youPali. My name is Odile.” She reached for my hands but not to shake them. She held both of mine in hers and squeezed.
“Your mother is concerned,” she said, her voice tentative. I’d already hinted at the sort of relationship I had with my mother, and the hesitation in Odile’s voice conveyed that she understood. “She believes that you’ve been overtaken by sickness. She doesn’t understand what happened or even quite when you fell ill. Can you tell me how you feel?”
I grimaced. “Don’t be mistaken,” I said sadly, “my mother’s sole concern is how my father will respond if he returns home and learns that I’ve been idle in bed for days.” I pulled my hands from the woman’s and covered my face as sobs shook my shoulders. “I am fine,” I said. “Or I should be. There’s nothing that pains me, other than my heart.”
Her reassuring hand smoothed my hair in long, gentle strokes. “Of course. You’re in pain,” she murmured. “You’re not the only one who takes to bed when circumstances become… How should I describe them? Overwhelming? Unmanageable?”
“I’m being weak,” I said, speaking my fears aloud. “Indulgent. I have problems, just like everyone else. But I have the luxury of being able to lie here and worry over them, and lie here I have.”
“Shh, shh,” she said. “Our hearts have ears, you know.”
I met her eyes, confused.
“Everything we say to ourselves, about our lives, our past, even our future, our hearts are listening. The brain is powerful, but the heart rules the soul.” She opened a large sack and pulled out several vials and tonics. “Why don’t you let my heart listen for a while? Give yours a rest.”
She poured well water from my bedside table into a large wooden mug with an iron handle. Then she withdrew a tiny, oddly shaped spoon from her bag.