Aalis gingerly peeled back the flaps of Judd’s swag and hunted for something appropriate for him to wear to dinner. He had returned from the early morning patrol ride looking outwardly refreshed yet somehow agitated. Rather than ask him what was wrong, she simply offered to make sure he had clean clothes for supper in the soldier’s mess that evening. As she drew the crumpled clothing from the swag Aalis realised the item would need to be pressed.

  Smoothing out creases in clothing was not a common habit for her, having never required to know how to perform the task before but a simple inquiry with a servant Aalis was able to catch the attention of prompted the delivery of an iron. She had to heat it up by the fireplace which was crackling strongly. As she waited, Aalis decided to see if there was any other clothing in need of salvaging from Judd’s haphazard packing method. She took hold of a shirt sleeve, the body of which seemed to have been wrapped around the bulk of his clothing and as she yanked it out, several small oddments scattered with the force of her motion. Aalis lunged to catch the ones flying through the air, only realising just before her fingers closed around the red object what was about to happen.

  Naturally, it was too late to stop herself or the memory that assaulted her…

  “…Andigre’s horseman and loyal companion, I bestow upon you this emblem of immortality.”

  Aalis immediately recognised the speaker as Gairil Palaidin from her time in the memory before. Though Aalis and Gairil must have been the same height, through the memories of whoever Aalis was in the body of, she was taller than her by a head at least.

  “An emblem of immortality, eh? And here I was told I would never amount to anything.” Aalis’ voice was almost melodic, a little like Giordi’s voice when he chose to adopt his charming minstrel persona.

  Gairil looked abashed and turned her head. “My words…they were not meant for your ears.”

  “Sorceress, you should always assume someone is listening,” Aalis leaned down a little to catch her gaze, “even if the words were not specifically for me alone…”

  She nodded, her eyes soft and blue, so pale her pupil was quite startling.

  “I…misjudged you…all of you…Andigre most of all…” She sighed. “If only I knew what to say to undo my careless, heartless words.”

  “Perhaps, if you were truly remorseful, you could ask for forgiveness?”

  She shook her head, waves of white hair like silk flowing over her shoulders. “I should not have made the mistake to begin with.”

  “We all make mistakes, sorceress. That is what makes us human.”

  Gairil lifted her eyes, her irises turning lavender then deepening into a dark purple and Aalis could feel her skin prickle as if there was a lightning storm brewing.

  “Callain…”

  Aalis blinked, the memory occurring so fast the ruby cylinder had only just left her fingers to fall to the ground with a delicate chime. It lay on the stone, undamaged and innocent.

  Numbly she stood and went to the fireplace, taking up the long handled shovel and brush. Gingerly she scraped the ruby cylinder into the shovel. As carefully as she could she emptied out Judd’s bag and found the other one, sweeping it beside the ruby cylinder. They lay on the black metal curve of the shovel, innocently glinting in the light and Aalis felt a chill run down her spine.

  She didn’t have the chance to try to work out what had happened or even what to do with them when there came a knock on the door. Aalis tucked the shovel beneath the bed and went to the door. Beyond it, the second eldest daughter of Sir Donimede stood holding a beautifully embroidered shawl in cornflower blues, white and purple which was wrapped around a parcel.

  Aalis thought frantically for her name, opening the door wide and welcoming her in, hoping to recall it through the fog of unexpected and unwanted memory she had been bestowed with.

  “Is your master here?” She looked around the room.

  “No,” Aalis licked her lips, “he heard that the soldiers have a bathhouse and took himself there to bathe.”

  “Then my timing is fortuitous.” Despite the triumphant words, the young woman’s tone was flat and unimpressed as she held the shawl to Aalis. “Here, for you.”

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  “That is very kind of you.” Aalis accepted the parcel.

  “It is not from me,” she said brusquely, distancing herself from the gift immediately, “it is from my mother upon proof that the subterfuge of calling a common child the son of a knight has worked. Father now boasts that the child is his.” Aalis laid it on the bed and eased the edges of the shawl apart, revealing a leather purse on top of layers of black fur. Aalis lifted the purse, feeling the weight of it and knew there was a considerable sum inside. “It is both a gift and a bribe for your collusion in this sordid affair.”

  She turned to leave, heading for the door with an angry stride.

  “Endolin…” Aalis blurted, the girl’s name returning to her in a heartbeat, half reaching out to her as her hand clasped the door handle.

  She paused, her head lowering and her shoulders, bowing. “I…I am not angry at you,” she confessed brokenly, “if anything we are kin, unwilling collaborators in a situation our conscience will not let us ignore…but demands a heavy penalty.” Endolin glanced back at Aalis. “We are tainted by her guilt…and my father’s cruelty that drove her to desperation…”

  “I know.” Aalis nodded. She could almost feel the ache in Endolin’s chest from her pained expression. “In the light of this baby’s birth, I imagine your innocence of childhood would have felt as though it was torn from you without mercy.”

  “I was hardly na?ve.” Endolin admitted, still by the door. “Father always reeked of insecurity and now that he is older, it is even worse. It is as though he is clinging to the glory of the past even though it is rotting like overripe fruit. And despite my mother being obviously unhappy in her marriage, she drills us like soldiers that we had to aim for the same.” Endolin shook her head. “Never…I will never marry.”

  “Not all marriages are the same…”

  “And then for my mother to have clearly allowed a Maul to…” Endolin shuddered. “And not just once…”

  Aalis sat in one of the armchairs in front of the fire and gestured for Endolin to do the same. The second eldest daughter perched on the cushion, unable to sink into the chair’s embrace as if she still felt the need to keep her guard up. She seemed preoccupied by the flames, completely still except for the wringing of her fingers.

  “I never thought much of Mauls.” She confessed quietly. “Deacon Alast preached on strict separation for fear of contamination and my mother,” she tilted her head back and gave a mocking laugh, “she lectured us endlessly on ‘purity of conduct’…” Her voice broke and she looked away, swallowing hard. Aalis gazed at her hands clutched in her lap, allowing Endolin to regain her composure. “However, upon seeing that baby…he is so small…so innocent…with no idea that his life hangs in the balance.” Endolin turned her hazel eyes that seemed so warm, compared to Aalis’ cool lavender ones. Fear was etched across the second eldest’s forehead, the emotion colouring her pale, causing her freckles to stand out. “If my father were to discover that baby…”

  “We will save him.” Aalis promised.

  Endolin licked her lips, nodding. She sniffed and stood up, brushing her dress down. “There should be more than enough coin in that purse to provide for the babe, to purchase a goat perhaps so that you have a supply of milk or even to hire your own wetnurse for as long as needed…”

  Aalis had already decided to take the babe to the nomad camp. Yolana would not hesitate to look after the baby and perhaps Revna would be able to act as wetnurse. Regardless of how she intended to look after the baby boy, Aalis would ensure it escaped Fort Mavour.

  She stood and walked Endolin to the door.

  “Thank you for all your help, Endolin.” Aalis said warmly.

  Endolin paused and gave a sad smile. “You know you are one of very few people who remember my name. Everyone knows who my sister is, Willower Donimede, unwed despite being introduced to every eligible male that enters Mavour. My father would have a hard time recalling all his daughter’s names, let alone which name goes with which daughter and I only have my mother’s confidence because she needed someone to collude with her.”

  “I imagine it is a lonely life.” Aalis said softly.

  “If only I could be a cleric,” Endolin sighed, “shut away in a room with nothing but books for company…if only I was born a boy…”

  “If you were a boy, your father would have doted upon you every day.” Aalis pointed out.

  “Imagine how suffocating that would be?” Endolin said dryly then walked away.

  Aalis watched her go then closed the door. She crossed the room and picked up the coin purse. She tipped out the contents and pulled the drawstring as loose as she could. Trembling, which only made the delicacy of the manoeuvre harder to manage, Aalis tipped the two cylinders from the shovel into the purse. She yanked the drawstring as tight as she could, feeling the leather strain beneath her grasp then made sure it was placed deep inside Judd’s swag. The coin she put into her own purse which was hidden inside one half of the pair of boots she was not wearing.

  In order to distract herself from the strange pocket of memory, Aalis turned back to the parcel from Lady Jocasa. When she lifted the shawl up, a small parcel tumbled out. Aalis was delighted to discover a pair of kidskin gloves. The gloves Ersha had given her had helped hide the nails on her left hand for weeks but they were clearly riding gloves, meant for the outdoors. Thankfully it was so cold no one questioned it but inside the fort, Aalis was struggling to find reasons to wear them or keep her fingers hidden. However, the kidskin gloves were a delicate shade of white, thin enough to wear indoors and matched beautifully with her nomad outfit. The shawl was beautiful and in shades that complimented Aalis’ complexion. Aalis also realised that the fabric would be quite useful in concealing the baby if she tied the ends of the shawl around her neck, the baby resting in the sling, supported by one arm while the other held her nomad cowl tight.

  The black fur was the trim on a magnificent cloak and hood, the leather worked until it was as soft as could be and embroidered with a trail of stars as though they were draped over the wearer’s shoulder.

  “Lady Jocasa is either very grateful or very guilty…” Aalis breathed, stroking the fabric. She hastened to hang it up before it became wrinkled. Aalis might be game to iron one of Judd’s shirts of sturdier fabric but a delicate thing like the cloak was beyond her skill. She set to task, putting her limited knowledge of pressing garments into practice as she attempted to smooth out the creases in Judd’s dark blue shirt.