healing magic. Someone must be here…” She traced the stones nearest her with golden fingertips. “To ensure the Caravanserai yet stands.”
Bertie’s earth-magic sang in response. “You’re the reason this sand castle doesn’t crumble into the sea.”
“Now you know the truth of it.” Serefina pointed at the table. “Bring me the kettle. Add two spoonfuls of powder this time.”
Stumbling to the tea service, Bertie poured the liquid, now tepid and pale pink. She spilled a bit on the cloth, muttered an apology to both her hostess and the linen, and reached for the herbal spoon. The odd powder caused it to bubble up twice more, this time the color of raspberries. Carrying the cup carefully to the hearth, Bertie knelt and pressed its rim to Serefina’s mouth.
The herb-seller swallowed deep and grimaced. “It works better when it’s hot.” But the moment she finished drinking, she was able to stand. “What say you now to my proposal, earth daughter?”
Even crouched next to the hearth, Bertie couldn’t get warm. “I … I cannot give up even the idea of a child. I’m sorry. It’s a turning-straw-into-gold sort of bargain, something I would surely regret later.”
“What of your other talents?” Serefina’s questions drifted down to settle on Bertie’s shoulders with the weight of falling snow. “You can breathe water into your lungs without dying and ride the winds like a bird. Would you trade me either of those?”
Bertie reflected upon the abilities she’d inherited from her parents, which had saved her on her journey through Sedna’s underworld. “To be quite honest, I’m not certain I can do either of those things when not in the clutches of the Sea Goddess, but I can’t trade them either.”
“There is little, it seems, you are willing to give for the sake of safety, then.”
Bertie heard the wheezing rattle of the wind in the woman’s chest, the slosh of water behind her eyes. “What you need most is a bit of my strength. Enough to tide you over until you get the wish-child you seek.”
Serefina made a noise so small that it was only the suggestion of a sigh. “I will take your strength and thank you for it. Clever thing you are for offering it to me, for I think such a trade will also safeguard you from Sedna.” The herb-seller drew a small hand mirror out of her pocket, its silver backing scratched and pockmarked. “We all wear masks. They start out plain, decorated with the various small artifices of childhood, an innocent lie or two. As the years pass, we add laughter born without humor, tears shed for the sake of those watching.”
Without thinking, Bertie took the mirror and peered into it. Only her own puzzled visage peered back at her, though it was still a shock to see herself with silver hair. “What’s that to do with Sedna?”
“The Sea Goddess tracks you through the water like a shark, drawn to the scent of your deceptions. Once you remove the mask you wear, she will find it much more difficult to recognize you.”
“But I can always build another mask.” When Bertie spoke, it was equal parts statement and question.
Serefina smiled. “True enough, wordsmith, but the one you give up today will not be the one you wear tomorrow or the day after that.”
Though such an idea gave Bertie pause, it seemed a small price to pay for her safety and, by proxy, the safety of the troupe and the Caravanserai.
Especially in comparison to Serefina’s other requests.
Hand shaking just a bit, Bertie raised the mirror again. Ophelia’s eyes looked back at her— you have your mother’s eyes —but everything else wavered. What was left of Bertie’s eyeliner formed ridges under thickly painted eyebrows. Traces of glittering eye shadow crystallized into fog-smudged half-moons. And, perhaps most disconcerting, the silver of her hair ran in rivulets down her face to form a translucent mask, glass-trapping her features.
“Lift it from your skin, child,” Serefina
Bertie’s earth-magic sang in response. “You’re the reason this sand castle doesn’t crumble into the sea.”
“Now you know the truth of it.” Serefina pointed at the table. “Bring me the kettle. Add two spoonfuls of powder this time.”
Stumbling to the tea service, Bertie poured the liquid, now tepid and pale pink. She spilled a bit on the cloth, muttered an apology to both her hostess and the linen, and reached for the herbal spoon. The odd powder caused it to bubble up twice more, this time the color of raspberries. Carrying the cup carefully to the hearth, Bertie knelt and pressed its rim to Serefina’s mouth.
The herb-seller swallowed deep and grimaced. “It works better when it’s hot.” But the moment she finished drinking, she was able to stand. “What say you now to my proposal, earth daughter?”
Even crouched next to the hearth, Bertie couldn’t get warm. “I … I cannot give up even the idea of a child. I’m sorry. It’s a turning-straw-into-gold sort of bargain, something I would surely regret later.”
“What of your other talents?” Serefina’s questions drifted down to settle on Bertie’s shoulders with the weight of falling snow. “You can breathe water into your lungs without dying and ride the winds like a bird. Would you trade me either of those?”
Bertie reflected upon the abilities she’d inherited from her parents, which had saved her on her journey through Sedna’s underworld. “To be quite honest, I’m not certain I can do either of those things when not in the clutches of the Sea Goddess, but I can’t trade them either.”
“There is little, it seems, you are willing to give for the sake of safety, then.”
Bertie heard the wheezing rattle of the wind in the woman’s chest, the slosh of water behind her eyes. “What you need most is a bit of my strength. Enough to tide you over until you get the wish-child you seek.”
Serefina made a noise so small that it was only the suggestion of a sigh. “I will take your strength and thank you for it. Clever thing you are for offering it to me, for I think such a trade will also safeguard you from Sedna.” The herb-seller drew a small hand mirror out of her pocket, its silver backing scratched and pockmarked. “We all wear masks. They start out plain, decorated with the various small artifices of childhood, an innocent lie or two. As the years pass, we add laughter born without humor, tears shed for the sake of those watching.”
Without thinking, Bertie took the mirror and peered into it. Only her own puzzled visage peered back at her, though it was still a shock to see herself with silver hair. “What’s that to do with Sedna?”
“The Sea Goddess tracks you through the water like a shark, drawn to the scent of your deceptions. Once you remove the mask you wear, she will find it much more difficult to recognize you.”
“But I can always build another mask.” When Bertie spoke, it was equal parts statement and question.
Serefina smiled. “True enough, wordsmith, but the one you give up today will not be the one you wear tomorrow or the day after that.”
Though such an idea gave Bertie pause, it seemed a small price to pay for her safety and, by proxy, the safety of the troupe and the Caravanserai.
Especially in comparison to Serefina’s other requests.
Hand shaking just a bit, Bertie raised the mirror again. Ophelia’s eyes looked back at her— you have your mother’s eyes —but everything else wavered. What was left of Bertie’s eyeliner formed ridges under thickly painted eyebrows. Traces of glittering eye shadow crystallized into fog-smudged half-moons. And, perhaps most disconcerting, the silver of her hair ran in rivulets down her face to form a translucent mask, glass-trapping her features.
“Lift it from your skin, child,” Serefina
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