Shana Abe - The Deepest Night

I bobbled back and choked again, water filling my mouth.

“—I think it’s best that I stay. I’m an excellent chaperone. Pious as a saint. Ask anyone.”

“Bugger you,” Armand muttered.

“Language, Lord Armand! I’m shocked.”

“I doubt it, since you’re the one who taught me that word.”

Her smile returned. “Chloe was right about one thing. This summer would have been positively wasted on dances and social calls. Why, I might have missed all of this! Shall I go wake her to join in our fun?”

Armand shook his head in disgust. “Stay, if you must.”

“Smashing!” She clapped her hands. “Swim away, children. Swim away. I’ll just be right here. Chaperoning.”

I looked at Armand standing inches from me, water breaking against his chest, all ivory skin and toned muscles, his jaw set, his eyes narrowed.

I couldn’t tell if it was me or the pool, but suddenly I was much, much warmer than before.

And I knew I should be glad that Sophia was going to stay.

My almost-but-not-quite fainting spell from the day before had been noted by more than just Chloe. I wasn’t three feet into the induction room before Deirdre cornered me.

“Ah, Eliza! There you are.” She gave me that quick smile, which I’d come to realize didn’t necessarily mean she was pleased. “How are you?”

“Fine.” Knackered, actually. I’d been up practically all night and then had my first swimming lesson this morning, and nearly everything about me right now ached.

Armand had been patient with me. Sophia had not. I’d endured her heckling (You call that a forward stroke? Eleanore, you’re useless!) for almost an hour before wading near enough to splash her pretty dress all down the front.

“Good, good. Listen, dearie, I think perhaps you might be better suited for a position slightly less … strenuous than assisting Dr. Newcastle and me.”

“Oh,” I said, partly offended. Mostly relieved.

“There, now, don’t you fret! There are still many important tasks left undone! Why, Mrs. Quinn was just mentioning that we’re always running short of properly rolled bandages. And many of these poor lads are sorely lacking for books and games. You might have a hand in distributing those!”

“Games,” I said.

She clasped me on the shoulder and lowered her voice. “Not everyone is cut out for the realities of war, Eleanore. It is a grim business, a grim business indeed. You’re still very young. You’ve not dealt with death before, and that’s perfectly normal. A slip of a child like you shouldn’t have to dwell on such things. You’re more concerned with bonnets than bullets, I daresay! Have a go at the bandages, won’t you? There’s a good lass.”

Another smile, and she was gone. I watched her until my eyes were caught by someone new: Chloe, seated in a chair by a bed, a man’s hand clenched in hers, speaking something I could not hear. She felt my stare and returned it with a smirk, still talking. A duo of doctors worked frantically around her, both of them spattered in blood, and no one was giving her the boot.

I turned away, my chest tight. I walked a few aimless paces one direction, then another, until I found myself by the piano.

Someone had arranged a sheet over it, but it was already sliding off. A tray of dirty scalpels and clamps had been set haphazardly atop the sheet. A fly buzzed around it, hopping from blade to blade.

I was not useless. I was small and marked with a strange magic; I was different, but I would not be made useless. Not by Sophia, not by Deirdre or Chloe. Not by anyone. I had my own kind of power, and even if practically no one else knew of it or understood it—even I didn’t fully understand it—it was real. It existed.

I scooted the bench into place. I took my seat and raised the cover from the keys.

It took a moment, but eventually a song did come. I followed it with my hands, soft as I could at first, just in case someone noticed and got angry. But no one stopped me, so I kept playing, my eyes closed, swaying in place because this was a meandering, sweeping sort of song, with parts that danced far and near and then doubled back on themselves, echoing, and I needed to concentrate to catch the smallest of the notes.

I wasn’t sure where it came from. It seemed more permanent somehow than the bits of gold and silver worn by the people swarming around me. Perhaps it belonged to the limestone base of Tranquility itself. Perhaps Tranquility was trying to assert its own voice. After all, it wasn’t the house’s fault it’d been designed by a crazy person.

I finished and opened my eyes. Nothing in the chamber had changed. Same bustle, same noise, same smell.

Well, almost nothing had changed.

“I liked that,” said a soldier dreamily from his bed. “Reminded me of home. Of the rye fields in autumn. All the frost on the stalks, and the sun coming though.”

A new man spoke, sitting up as best he could with his torso and both arms swaddled in bandages. “Miss, can you play ‘Tillie down the Lane’?”

“Um, no,” I said. “Sorry. I don’t know that one.”

“How about ‘Always Love a Sailor’?” called out a different man.

“ ‘Green Apples’!”

“ ‘Follow Me to the River’!”

“ ‘When She Said Yes’!”

“No.” I felt my face begin to heat. “I’m terribly sorry. I don’t know any popular songs.”

During all this Chloe had come to stand nearby, her lips pursed, her hands on her hips. She practically radiated triumph, a goddess towering over my hunched-up humiliation.

“Oh, get up, Eleanore. I know them.”

I ducked my head to hide my blush and swiveled off the bench. Goddess Chloe took my place, smoothed her dress, and smiled at the room. “ ‘Green Apples,’ did you say?”

I left to roll bandages.

I was asleep without dreams this time, cradled in a deep and dark silence, when I felt the hand at my cheek.

I sat up and swung out. Armand danced instantly out of range, nimble as a seal in water.

Or a dragon in air.

“Lora!” he whispered, both palms held out, staying well back. “It’s me! Peace!”

I rubbed my eyes, wondering if this was the beginning of some unlikely new dream.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he answered. “It’s time, that’s all. Come on.”

“Time for what?”

“Time to plan, love.”

Lottie emitted a particularly powerful snore; we both glanced at my door.

“Now?” I wasn’t fully awake, nor did I want to be. I was tired. I wanted more sleep.

“It was your idea, remember? Or would you rather keep playing nurse?”

My shoulders sagged, and he nodded.

“Get dressed. Bring a coat. I’ll wait in the hall.”

“What are we—”

“Hurry. There are only so many hours left to hide us.”

We were outside in a place I’d never been before, camped near the border of a tall crumbly cliff, ocean below, the woods rambling behind us thick and untouched. I assumed this was all still part of Armand’s holdings, but I wasn’t sure. All I could tell for certain is that we were miles from both the village and Tranquility, and that Iverson and its isle made a small, lonely blot against the water to the east.

He’d motored us here, guided by nothing more than the hazy starlight (the stars themselves oddly, stubbornly silent behind the haze) and the blurred cream half smile of the moon. Armand had refused to turn on the headlamps. I’d prayed the whole drive that his night vision was significantly better than mine.

He’d brought a blanket, a basket, and me.

The blanket was spread upon the grass, the basket was emptied of its bread and ham and cheese, and I was the one eating and listening and biting my tongue, because he’d made me promise not to interrupt until he was done explaining.

I’d agreed. The honey-smoky fragrance of the ham had been too much to resist.

But now the food was gone and he was done, and I had resorted to staring down at my clenched fingers in my lap.

“That,” I said to my fingers, “is an abysmal plan.”

“What?” He sounded indignant. “No, it isn’t. Which part?”

“All of it, Mandy. You can’t come along, and that’s that. There’s no safe way to keep you with me when I fly—”

“I explained to you about the saddle—”

I straightened. “I am not a horse! And anyway, every time I go to smoke, then what? I’ll tell you: you and the saddle—” I made a plunging motion with my hand. “Straight down to earth. Splat.”

“So you won’t go to smoke while I’m on you. You can take off and land as a dragon, can’t you?”

“No! I mean, I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”

“Aaaand … that’s why we’re here, far from prying eyes. Practice.”

I groaned and flopped back upon the blanket, covering my face with both hands. “You don’t understand!”

He didn’t speak right away, but I felt his gaze. I felt the warmth of him though my new cotton dress and old battered peacoat, though he sat feet away. “Explain it to me, then.”

“I’m not good at it. You know that I’m not.”

“At what?”

I threw my hands back to my sides. The stars shivered in the misty black sky, distant as unspoken wishes.

She’s just so hopeless … 

Eleanore, you’re useless … 

A slip of a child … 

“I’m not good at any of it yet. Half the time I think I’ll be smoke, but I Turn to girl instead. I’ve only managed to be a dragon a handful of times, at best.”

“A glorious handful,” he said quietly. “A damned brilliant handful.”