Lena Marsh's Arc

Chapter 20 of 24

Lena woke to boots on the stair. Not Nell's. Heavier. Two men, then a third. She heard the shop bell below, and Linny's voice sharp and low, and then the boots came up anyway. Nell was already standing when the door opened. The fox rose with him, ears flat, green tail low. Governor Hild stepped inside alone. His guards stayed on the landing. He took off his hat and held it against his chest like a man at a sickbed. His spectacles caught the window light. "Miss Marsh," he said. "You look better than I feared." She pushed herself up against the pillow. Her arm still felt like wet rope. The silver needle sat on the table where she had left it. "Three days," Hild said. "I came for your answer." Nell did not move. He did not have to. "My answer is no," Lena said. Hild's mouth made a small, tidy shape. He looked at Nell. He looked at the needle. He looked at her hand, and at the other hand, the one closed around Nell's fingers. "I see," he said. "My hand is spoken for." He nodded once, slow, as if she had confirmed a figure in a ledger. He turned the hat in his fingers. "The square is still black with blood," he said. "Six families are burying tonight. The council has told me plainly that the woodcutter and the seamstress saved what was left. I cannot sign a writ against either of you this week. I would be pulled down in the street." "Then don't sign it," Lena said. "I won't." He smiled with only his mouth. "This week." He set the hat back on his head and adjusted it. "People forget, Miss Marsh. Faster than you'd think. A month from now they'll remember the fae and forget who stood between them. When that day comes, I will remember this one." He looked at Nell a moment longer. Nell looked back and said nothing. Hild left. The guards went down after him. The bell rang once as the door shut. Lena's hand was shaking. Not from the magic this time. Nell sat on the edge of the bed. He took her wrist and turned it palm up and held it until it stopped. "He'll come back," she said. "Yes." "He'll wait until they forget, and then he'll ruin us slow." "Yes." She closed her eyes. "I can't think about him. Not yet." "Then don't." His voice was flat and close. "One thing at a time. Your father first." He reached past her to the table. He lifted the silver needle between two fingers and laid it in her open palm. He closed her hand around it, slow, until she held it herself. "It'll be okay," he said. "Start with him." Her fingers closed. They held. They did not shake.