pounding. ‘I—I have seen nothing of the greatness of which Ruther
speaks,’ I began. ‘But I do know that all wisdom is born in the springs…’ With these
words, a strange calm descended over me and my voice steadied. ‘If a man obscures
our sight of these by a thousand tiny tiles, then surely he is the fool.’
‘And this from a kitchen girl!’ Fibor roared with laughter and the other guests joined
in.
Ruther looked away.
Llwyd’s gaze was fixed upon me.
The feast rolled into the night. Ruther barely allowed me to leave him, pulling me
back to his lap when I tried to get up, slipping his warm hand into the sleeve of
my leine to stroke the fall of my breast. When the sow’s carcass had been picked
clean and the men had fallen to slumber from drunkenness, he led me to the stables
to couple again.
Afterwards, he lay panting, his head on my chest. ‘Last night was by no means my
first time in the fields,’ he said when his breath had steadied, ‘but I have never
known such nearness to the Mothers as by you this Beltane.’
I smiled, confused by his praise. ‘Still it does not bother you that I am without
skin?’
‘No.’ He propped on one elbow and stared at my face. ‘You know so little of the world.
In Durotriga you all live as you have lived for thousands of summers. But the eastern
tribes are leaving the hills and are settling in river towns—large towns that are
already shaped by the Empire. People of all skins fill these cities. The ties of
skin are loosening there. Does that not interest you, Doorstep?’
‘By the will of the Mothers, I am blessed with a name. Will you use it?’
He laughed and rolled back, pulling me onto his chest.
What he described did interest me. How could it not? But it frightened me also. The
laws of skin had denied me much but I knew in the heart of my bones that they were
true. It unsettled me that Ruther did not see it so.
He yawned. ‘You should come with me to the Empire lands, Ailia. Journey with me and
see for yourself what I have spoken of.’
I chuckled. ‘How could I come?’
He wriggled up to sitting, roused by the idea. ‘You will come as my servant.’
I sat up, our spell broken, and began to dress. ‘It is too soon for me to leave Cookmother.
She needs me for her work.’
‘The herbs? Any girl can help her with that—you are meant for something greater.’
I flinched. ‘You’ll not say that when my poultice saves your limb should you come
to me with battle wounds.’ I strapped my sandals.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To my bed.’
‘Will you not return with me to my house?’
‘As your servant?’
He frowned. ‘Forgive me, is that not what you are? Have I done wrong to call you
so?’
I sighed and softened. ‘No, you haven’t. But I would rest in my own bed this night.’
He drew a deep breath of my scent. ‘You’ve pierced me, Doorstep. When I was not battle-ready.’
I kissed his mouth then slipped out onto the moonlit courtyard. As I walked to the
kitchen, my eyes stung from sleeplessness and my body hummed with a sweet, dull ache.
But I was glad to have run the threshold of Beltane, glad to discover what lay beyond.
All wisdom lives in our rivers.
The brink of water is where knowledge is revealed.
T HE MORNING’S FIRST light showed Bebin’s bed was empty.
As I wandered out to collect
fresh water, I met her stealing through the Tribequeen’s gate, still in her feasting
dress. I led her to the back of the kitchen, where we could stand in the warmth of
the rising sun and talk without being heard.
‘Where have you been?’ I whispered.
‘With Uaine,’ she murmured, heavy-lidded.
‘He is pleased to return then?’ I smiled.
‘Ay.’ She turned to me, her brown eyes brightening. ‘I think he will sing me his
song.’
I nodded. Wordless. I was not prepared for how deep it cut.
The skinsong. The betrothal. An invitation to join with another as kin. It was how
we knew if the Mothers blessed the union. When
speaks,’ I began. ‘But I do know that all wisdom is born in the springs…’ With these
words, a strange calm descended over me and my voice steadied. ‘If a man obscures
our sight of these by a thousand tiny tiles, then surely he is the fool.’
‘And this from a kitchen girl!’ Fibor roared with laughter and the other guests joined
in.
Ruther looked away.
Llwyd’s gaze was fixed upon me.
The feast rolled into the night. Ruther barely allowed me to leave him, pulling me
back to his lap when I tried to get up, slipping his warm hand into the sleeve of
my leine to stroke the fall of my breast. When the sow’s carcass had been picked
clean and the men had fallen to slumber from drunkenness, he led me to the stables
to couple again.
Afterwards, he lay panting, his head on my chest. ‘Last night was by no means my
first time in the fields,’ he said when his breath had steadied, ‘but I have never
known such nearness to the Mothers as by you this Beltane.’
I smiled, confused by his praise. ‘Still it does not bother you that I am without
skin?’
‘No.’ He propped on one elbow and stared at my face. ‘You know so little of the world.
In Durotriga you all live as you have lived for thousands of summers. But the eastern
tribes are leaving the hills and are settling in river towns—large towns that are
already shaped by the Empire. People of all skins fill these cities. The ties of
skin are loosening there. Does that not interest you, Doorstep?’
‘By the will of the Mothers, I am blessed with a name. Will you use it?’
He laughed and rolled back, pulling me onto his chest.
What he described did interest me. How could it not? But it frightened me also. The
laws of skin had denied me much but I knew in the heart of my bones that they were
true. It unsettled me that Ruther did not see it so.
He yawned. ‘You should come with me to the Empire lands, Ailia. Journey with me and
see for yourself what I have spoken of.’
I chuckled. ‘How could I come?’
He wriggled up to sitting, roused by the idea. ‘You will come as my servant.’
I sat up, our spell broken, and began to dress. ‘It is too soon for me to leave Cookmother.
She needs me for her work.’
‘The herbs? Any girl can help her with that—you are meant for something greater.’
I flinched. ‘You’ll not say that when my poultice saves your limb should you come
to me with battle wounds.’ I strapped my sandals.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To my bed.’
‘Will you not return with me to my house?’
‘As your servant?’
He frowned. ‘Forgive me, is that not what you are? Have I done wrong to call you
so?’
I sighed and softened. ‘No, you haven’t. But I would rest in my own bed this night.’
He drew a deep breath of my scent. ‘You’ve pierced me, Doorstep. When I was not battle-ready.’
I kissed his mouth then slipped out onto the moonlit courtyard. As I walked to the
kitchen, my eyes stung from sleeplessness and my body hummed with a sweet, dull ache.
But I was glad to have run the threshold of Beltane, glad to discover what lay beyond.
All wisdom lives in our rivers.
The brink of water is where knowledge is revealed.
T HE MORNING’S FIRST light showed Bebin’s bed was empty.
As I wandered out to collect
fresh water, I met her stealing through the Tribequeen’s gate, still in her feasting
dress. I led her to the back of the kitchen, where we could stand in the warmth of
the rising sun and talk without being heard.
‘Where have you been?’ I whispered.
‘With Uaine,’ she murmured, heavy-lidded.
‘He is pleased to return then?’ I smiled.
‘Ay.’ She turned to me, her brown eyes brightening. ‘I think he will sing me his
song.’
I nodded. Wordless. I was not prepared for how deep it cut.
The skinsong. The betrothal. An invitation to join with another as kin. It was how
we knew if the Mothers blessed the union. When
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