Kingdom's Fall

Chapter 3, Part 2

Kara only had to set both arms in the basin of water before it was too dirty to wash in. The man’s blood was caked on her skin, and though she had done her best to flake off the worst of it, it hadn’t made any serious difference. She tipped the water away, down the sluice that led to the back yard, and refilled the basin from the second bucket. It wasn’t until she’d turned her hands over each other once in the basin and the water had gone brown-red again that the tears started to fall. Kara clenched her fists in the basin, pulled them tight against the side so that the rim was pushed hard against her thighs. She gritted her teeth, and forced her lips shut, every inch of her will holding in the sob that wanted to escape. It wasn’t shame, or fear, or even guilt. She just didn’t want them to hear her. She didn’t want their pity, or their help.

It had been close. Too close. The thought of what could have happened lurked at the back of her mind like a thundercloud, a brooding, hulking shadow that she wasn’t quite ready to accept yet. She had been lucky - a whole lifetime’s worth of luck used up in one fell swoop - and that thought terrified her. For a moment she had felt unstoppable, every fibre of her being singing out as though capable of anything. The feeling hadn’t lasted. It had drained out of her long ago, leaving her back where she started, feeling helpless and empty and weak, crying her eyes out over a basin full of bloody water. She couldn’t let them see her because if they did she was sure she would never be able to get that feeling back.

Lord Aiden Baird, spy and traitor. Of all the luck in the world, this was the worst. Leaving home was far harder than thinking about it, and she’d been waiting years for something to give her reason enough to tell her father she was done, that she was going. For it to appear in the form of a wanted man was depressing enough. That circumstances had forced her to throw her lot in with him…there was no way she would be forgiven the deaths of the two peace-men. By morning, word of what she’d done would be sounding in every local ear. Their families would call it murder, and there was no justice here higher than vengeance. She’d end up with a rope around her neck before she was done explaining herself. Lord Aiden Baird: spy, traitor, and now her ally, she thought. Be careful what you wish for. 

There was a knock at the door, a deep, reverberating thump that shook it in its frame. Einar. Kara sucked in a long breath, feeling the last echo of the tears shudder through her chest. She reached for the towel he’d fetched for her, reconsidered, and pulled the sheet off the bed instead to dry off her arms and wipe her face. It came away red, ruined by the contact. She opened the door to find the corridor beyond empty, two pails of water steaming at her feet. For the first time that day, she found herself smiling. She dragged the pails inside and set the empty ones outside, closing the door after.

It took another basin full of water for her to get cleaned off, and the last she used to wash her hair in. She kicked her old clothes into a heap in the corner, and put on her new ones. They were her secret: the clothes she’d saved, bartered, and even stolen for. She’d never taken anything that would be missed, but whenever an odd coin chanced to slip from drunken fingers or someone had been over-generous in paying, she’d scooped it up and put it in a safe place. The clothes she’d bought were a motley mix of linen and wool, with snug-fitting breeches, a shirt and jacket that hung slightly loose but were warm for all that, and a pair of good boots. Those, she was most proud of. Third hand at best, all hint of shine beaten out of them, and worn thin along the inside curve of the heel; they were sturdy and solid and - most of all - hers. It felt strange to be free of a stay, but she imagined she would get used to it. Kara pulled her hair back and tied it up in a bundle behind her head. It had taken a long time to wash it, to get rid of the cloying, greasy feel that clung there long after her hands and face were clean. Cutting it would have been faster, but she liked her hair long. Too short and it stuck up around her head like the arse-end of a hedgehog. Some sacrifices were just too much.