Read Online Of Sorrow and Such by Angela Slatter - Free Book Online
Authors: Angela Slatter
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importance to me! I glare, spit sharp words at her, “Shut up, Flora, or so help me I
will
do precisely that.”
She subsides and I carry on. Halfway up, I pause and yell, “How could you do this to me?” before breaking into sobs. There’s the sound of hobnail boots on the floor above and the door is flung open, Maundy a large silhouette against the dim light. I flutter into his arms, a weakened butterfly—my enervation’s not entirely faked, for I was not certain of release—and he half-carries me to a chair.
I notice a goblet on the table, red wine in it. I nod at it. “I am parched . . .”
He leaps to appease and when he goes into the kitchen I retrieve a pouch from the inside of my cloak, and add two pinches of mandrake and poppy dust to his beverage. After a slight hesitation I add a third for good measure: he is a large man. I swirl it to mix everything in, and am back in my seat when he returns and offers me a drink of my own.
The five minutes it takes for him to succumb to the opiate seem the longest of my life, but when he is done I take the time to empty his cup, rinse it so no one might discover the concoction for what it was, and then refill it partway with more wine. The keys at his belt come free easily, and in a trice we three are sneaking outside, past darkened homes and barns, past the new mill and along the river Tey, past the farms, and finally through the woods to Edda’s Bath.
I take in deep gulps of air as if I’ve not breathed in hours. Flora collapses and begins to laugh. Gilly holds on to me as if she will never release me. I hug her back for as long as I can, then push her to arms’ length. “You must go.”
“
We
must go.”
“I shall follow.”
“I’ll not flee without you, Aunt Patience!”
“Gilly, you promised. You promised to do as you’re told. Go into the greenwood, you know where the things are. Head north. Take only the old roads. I will follow, I swear, and I will find you again.”
She gulps but nods.
I look at Flora. “You must leave with her too.”
Flora shakes her head. “Oh, no. Not without my things.”
She doesn’t say
Not without Ina.
“You can always acquire more things, Flora. You’ll find another stupid rich husband and he’ll buy you more things. Accompany Gilly, for your life depends on it.”
Your life, Ina’s life, the lives of all the shifter-sisters still in
Edda’s
Meadow.
My life.
She shakes her pretty head again, certain that she will get her way, for nothing that’s happened to her in this past month has taught her any better. She is invincible once again. I move away from Gilly and stand over Flora.
“You will go now or not at all.” My voice is low, but she takes no warning from that.
“Aunt Patience . . .” says Gilly, who knows well enough the pitch that signifies the terrible anger I am sometimes gripped by, the note of finality that indicates the end of all argument.
“Not without my things!” Flora shouts in high temper. I step around her quickly and draw a paternoster from my pocket. I twist it swiftly once, twice around her throat and pull tight, tight, tight.
She makes surprisingly little noise, just a sort of hissing as life seeps from her; barely enough noise to cover Gilly’s weak pleas. When the smell of her bladder and bowels letting go fills the air, I know she’s gone and unwind the garrotte. I turn to Gilly and put the strand of beads away. In her eyes is something I’ve never seen before: fear. Fear of
me.
“Gilly, head north.” I do not speak gently, there is no point. My tone is hard to cut through her distress; to make her obey for her own sake. “Collect one of the satchels from the alder grove, then go north. I will find you, I promise.”
And she does not argue. She gives me one final hug, gives Flora’s sad form a final glance, and then is gone into the darkness, moving silent as a shadow, just the way I taught her. I look at Flora, briefly consider weighting her down and sending
will
do precisely that.”
She subsides and I carry on. Halfway up, I pause and yell, “How could you do this to me?” before breaking into sobs. There’s the sound of hobnail boots on the floor above and the door is flung open, Maundy a large silhouette against the dim light. I flutter into his arms, a weakened butterfly—my enervation’s not entirely faked, for I was not certain of release—and he half-carries me to a chair.
I notice a goblet on the table, red wine in it. I nod at it. “I am parched . . .”
He leaps to appease and when he goes into the kitchen I retrieve a pouch from the inside of my cloak, and add two pinches of mandrake and poppy dust to his beverage. After a slight hesitation I add a third for good measure: he is a large man. I swirl it to mix everything in, and am back in my seat when he returns and offers me a drink of my own.
The five minutes it takes for him to succumb to the opiate seem the longest of my life, but when he is done I take the time to empty his cup, rinse it so no one might discover the concoction for what it was, and then refill it partway with more wine. The keys at his belt come free easily, and in a trice we three are sneaking outside, past darkened homes and barns, past the new mill and along the river Tey, past the farms, and finally through the woods to Edda’s Bath.
I take in deep gulps of air as if I’ve not breathed in hours. Flora collapses and begins to laugh. Gilly holds on to me as if she will never release me. I hug her back for as long as I can, then push her to arms’ length. “You must go.”
“
We
must go.”
“I shall follow.”
“I’ll not flee without you, Aunt Patience!”
“Gilly, you promised. You promised to do as you’re told. Go into the greenwood, you know where the things are. Head north. Take only the old roads. I will follow, I swear, and I will find you again.”
She gulps but nods.
I look at Flora. “You must leave with her too.”
Flora shakes her head. “Oh, no. Not without my things.”
She doesn’t say
Not without Ina.
“You can always acquire more things, Flora. You’ll find another stupid rich husband and he’ll buy you more things. Accompany Gilly, for your life depends on it.”
Your life, Ina’s life, the lives of all the shifter-sisters still in
Edda’s
Meadow.
My life.
She shakes her pretty head again, certain that she will get her way, for nothing that’s happened to her in this past month has taught her any better. She is invincible once again. I move away from Gilly and stand over Flora.
“You will go now or not at all.” My voice is low, but she takes no warning from that.
“Aunt Patience . . .” says Gilly, who knows well enough the pitch that signifies the terrible anger I am sometimes gripped by, the note of finality that indicates the end of all argument.
“Not without my things!” Flora shouts in high temper. I step around her quickly and draw a paternoster from my pocket. I twist it swiftly once, twice around her throat and pull tight, tight, tight.
She makes surprisingly little noise, just a sort of hissing as life seeps from her; barely enough noise to cover Gilly’s weak pleas. When the smell of her bladder and bowels letting go fills the air, I know she’s gone and unwind the garrotte. I turn to Gilly and put the strand of beads away. In her eyes is something I’ve never seen before: fear. Fear of
me.
“Gilly, head north.” I do not speak gently, there is no point. My tone is hard to cut through her distress; to make her obey for her own sake. “Collect one of the satchels from the alder grove, then go north. I will find you, I promise.”
And she does not argue. She gives me one final hug, gives Flora’s sad form a final glance, and then is gone into the darkness, moving silent as a shadow, just the way I taught her. I look at Flora, briefly consider weighting her down and sending
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