Tess did not cry out or gasp; if she was afraid, it was only for a moment. First she saw that the spider legs belonged not to the man but to an iron chair he was sitting in; his own legs, thin as sticks, were curled under him. In the next instant she realized she’d seen this man before.
The walking chair had been built for him by St. Blanche, in thanks for his service to Ninys before the war. He’d been a herald, and Seraphina’s guide as she collected other half-dragons. When Tess was twelve, he’d come to Lavondaville to visit Seraphina; the family had met him at the home of the Ninysh ambassadress, Dame St. Okra Carmine. The chair had been new, a marvel of engineering, the only thing anyone could talk about, but Tess had been struck by his face and by the shadow of sorrow under his eyes as he looked at Seraphina.
He’d been in love with her, Tess was convinced. He’d come all the way to Goredd to see her again, and she’d broken his heart.
He didn’t look heartbroken now. In fact, he looked very well, his long reddish hair tied back, his chin beard tidy, his blue eyes smiling. If only she could remember his name.
Gaida saved her the awkwardness. “I’ve brought home a prospective boarder, Josquin. A lady, despite all appearances. She’s called…”
Tess had given Gaida her name, but the old woman’s memory hadn’t retained it. “Tess,” she said, stepping up and shaking Josquin’s hand. “Tess Dombegh.”
“Dombegh!” he cried. She’d forgotten how deep and pleasant his voice was. “That’s a name I always like to hear,” he added in Goreddi. “Your sister’s well, I trust?”
Tess wasn’t sure of the answer. “She had a baby,” she began feebly.
“It was hers, then, not the Queen’s,” said Josquin. “I wondered.”
“That’s my guess,” said Tess, unsure how much he knew and didn’t know. “I haven’t been home in six months, but I saw Seraphina pregnant.”
“And you’re certain the Queen couldn’t have got her that way,” said Josquin, with a smile that suggested he knew rather a lot, in fact. Maybe he knew more than she did.
“I am never certain of anything where those three are concerned,” Tess said dryly, “and that’s the way they prefer it.”
Josquin threw back his head and laughed. Gaida, who didn’t speak Goreddi, was losing patience. “If you knew him, why didn’t you say?” she fussed, seeming to forget that she hadn’t mentioned his name. “Don’t deny it. All the women know him, and I never understand how.”
“They talk among themselves, Mother,” Josquin called as Gaida led Tess upstairs. “They say, ‘What a fine, mannerly man Mother Gaida raised, and have you seen his marvelous legs?’ We can’t stop them talking. I could be less mannerly, I suppose.”
“Rapscallion,” muttered Gaida under her breath, but she was smiling.
Tess settled in quickly; the attic room was tiny and she had only her pack. She came downstairs to stew and crusty bread, a collaborative effort of mother and son. Tess relished every morsel and helped with the washing up, and then Gaida said, “You’d better talk to him and learn what you’re to do. See if you want this job. Clearly, you get along already”—her mouth pinched suspiciously—“but that will only take you so far. He needs care, and care is work. You may be too delicate for it, after all. We shall see.”
Gaida toddled upstairs. Josquin clanked toward his bedroom, beckoning Tess to follow. He closed the doors behind them with a lever. One end of the room was set up as a study, with a broad desk and bookshelves; at the other end was a railed bed and an enormous round bath with a gleaming boiler tank behind it.
“More of St. Blanche’s handiwork,” Josquin said, noting where her eyes lingered. “A pump fills it from the well, which I can work myself, but the boiler is hard for me to stoke.”
“You’re lucky to get so much personal attention from a living Saint,” said Tess, realizing only afterward that Saint might remind him of Seraphina. She didn’t want to make him sad, or invite a comparison she could only lose from.
“Blanche feels guilty for trying to kill me the first time we met.” He directed his chair across the room toward another set of doors. “She also built the privy in the yard. I can use it without help, unless there’s snow.”
“Light the boiler; shovel snow. What else can I do?” said Tess, folding her arms. “Your mother hinted, but didn’t say much.”
“There isn’t much to say,” said Josquin, falling serious. “The house is set up so I can take care of myself. I’m not an invalid.” His chair crabbed toward the desk, where he started tidying papers. “Honestly, it’s my aging mother who needs help. She insists on doing too much. I have to butt in to do my share of cooking; she won’t hear of moving to a smaller house. Anything you could do for her—pick up the slack, take her arm on the stairs—I’d appreciate it.”
Tess peeked over his shoulder at the papers he was shuffling. They looked like verses, but he whisked them away too quickly for her to read. She leaned her backside against the desk. “Your mother worried that I wasn’t strong enough to lift you out of the bath, but I threw her over my shoulder, which convinced her.”
“I wish I’d seen that,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’d consider doing it again?”
“She’d hate me,” said Tess, “and I need a place to stay. I also want to properly earn my keep. You can do everything yourself, but you don’t have to all the time. I’m not squeamish, and I’m not afraid. I’ve seen naked men before.”
Josquin, who’d taken up a deck of cards from the corner of his desk, paused mid-shuffle. “You get straight to the point.”
“Don’t spare my imagined sensibilities, is all,” said Tess, drumming lightly on the desk. “I spent two months with a road crew, turned hay, mucked stalls, helped care for a senile old man—” She kissed a knuckle Heavenward. “My sensibilities are back on the road somewhere.”
Josquin eyed her with new interest. “I don’t like to pry, but I remember your family and I can’t not ask: why did you leave home? Not to work on a road crew, presumably.”
Tess opened her mouth and closed it again, not sure how much to trust him with. “I’m just walking the road, looking for reasons to keep walking.”
“The road becomes its own reason, doesn’t it,” said Josquin softly, and Tess met his eye again, surprised. “I was a herald for ten years, riding all over Ninys, and the thing I miss most keenly isn’t the use of my legs but the road itself. Possibility around every turn; the horizon always out of reach.” He grew misty. “You must have some good stories.”
“I have all the stories,” said Tess warmly. Here was a fellow traveler, his journey cut short by circumstance, and she felt for him. “If that’s how I can help, by bringing the road to you, I’ll tell every single one. Twice if necessary.”
Josquin laughed and lowered his gaze. He was still shuffling cards, his large hands competent and precise. “I’d like that,” he said. “That is help I would willingly take.”
* * *
Tess quickly found her niche. Routine sorted itself around her, like a river around a new rock. She woke before dawn to make everyone breakfast. Tess and Gaida went to the workshop, while Josquin puttered around, reading and writing; they came home for lunch (Gaida’s bailiwick) and then again for dinner (which Josquin had declared officially his). In the evenings Josquin had his bath, a long therapeutic soak in St. Blanche’s tub. Tess ended up supervising this because the old woman put her foot down. Gaida’s greatest horror was that her son would hit his head in the bath and be drowned.
It was hard for Tess to begrudge her. She’d fulfilled her own mother’s worst fear, bearing a bastard; if she could ease Gaida’s mind for so little effort, she’d do it.
Josquin was somewhat sour about this at first. Tess would ask, per Gaida’s instructions, whether he wanted help getting in, then again later whether he needed a hand getting out, and he would answer tersely that he wasn’t a child.