“When asha fight, they paint their faces, array themselves in jewels, and call it war.” It’s an old saying I found appropriate at that moment as I sat in Mistress Parmina’s room and watched her prepare for the day, wishing I could disappear. I tried to curl up and make myself as small as I could but knew it was only a matter of time before she directed her attention to me.
I had no way of assessing the damage I had done when I had raised the dead because I had been exiled to the room I shared with Kana and Farhi for four days since that night. I was ordered to do the chores that didn’t require me to leave the Valerian, and Kana and Farhi were commanded not to talk to me. I could sense Fox’s presence close at hand, but because of the way the asha-ka was built, even he could not find any other way inside to reach me. I felt miserable, certain that despite whatever Lady Mykaela had promised, I would be seeing the inside of a dungeon soon enough. When Kana and Farhi were told to bring me to Mistress Parmina’s room, I was certain that time had come. The side glances the Drychta maid threw my way as we approached Mistress Parmina’s room were accusatory and seemed to confirm my worst fears.
Kana filled me in on what she could along the way. “I’m all poked up with fright,” Kana whispered, more excited than afraid. “They’ve cleaned up the market, but the graveyard is in chaos. They said you did it all. Did you?”
“I think so.”
Kana looked puzzled by that but squeezed my arm comfortingly and hurried off with Farhi.
The old woman had dressed before summoning me, which I was grateful for. What I hadn’t expected was the richness of the hua she wore. The length of its train took up nearly a quarter of the room and was black in color. Strips of red ceremonial incense paper, folded into doves to symbolize auspiciousness, were hand-painted into the rich silk with meticulous detail, and yellow coltsfoot flowers dotted the edges of her sleeves. Her waist wrap was magnificent to behold; it was made of pure golden silk, with the embossed House Valerian symbol stitched in silver thread on its edges.
A collection of creams, color sticks, powders, and oils crowded Mistress Parmina’s bed stand. I watched, curious in spite of myself at first, and then with slowly growing horror, as she applied liberal doses of a varied selection onto her face: beige face cream against her sagging neck, dark ink on the edges of her eyelids, pink rouge on her cheekbones. Despite my misgivings, the magic in those ointments worked. The lines around her eyes decreased; her face firmed up and lost a greater part of her excess skin. Mistress Parmina still looked old and crass and angry, and men were more likely to cross the street to avoid her than stop to admire—but now they might hesitate. She looked a little less forbidding, leaning toward seventy instead of ninety years old, which I thought was as much of an improvement as was possible for her.
Next, the old asha opened a wardrobe beside her bed, revealing drawers filled to the brim with jewel ornaments of every size, shape, and color. I believe anyone could live off the proceeds of such a collection not only for the rest of her life but also for the rest of her children’s and grandchildren’s. She selected a slim hairpin shaped like a heart and made of solid gold, with yellow and orange silk coltsfoot flowers to match her hua, and twin hairpins with fluttered crepe paper and red coral. She took her time weaving them through her long, white hair and finally turned to me. She looked—I would be lying if I said she looked beautiful or enchanting—powerful. I had never seen anyone who dripped energy and willpower and magic the way she did.
“So,” she said, voice clipped. “I suppose it is time for your punishment. Come with me. Hold the edges of my train. Dirty or damage it in any way, and I shall take the money for its repair from selling your hide if need be.”
Confused, I followed her out, careful not to trip over the yards of cloth trailing in her wake. Kana had been lounging out in the garden but quickly sprung to her feet at the sound of our footsteps and was furiously sweeping the entrance when we passed. The old woman paused to slip on her sandals, and the maid shot me a worried look. I could manage nothing more than a weak smile her way before Mistress Parmina picked up the pace, walking swiftly forward like the rest of her clothes weighed no more than a small bag of feathers.
Fox stood in front of the asha-ka. The expression on his face never changed, but I thought I sensed a quick flare of relief from somewhere inside my head before he fell into step behind us, careful to keep his distance from the asha and her yards-long robes. Mistress Parmina didn’t acknowledge my brother nor did she tell him to leave. We made an odd trio as we continued down the lane: the old woman at the head of the line, with her head thrown back in cool arrogance; me, trying to carry her voluminous train and walk at the same time; and Fox guarding the rear, favoring his leg a little but still looking every inch the soldier.
Everyone around us must have had the same thought; they all did their best to get out of the old asha’s way. Maids took one look at the woman stomping down the road and bolted. Apprentices bowed so low to her that their foreheads nearly hit their knees before they too went scurrying past. One asha strolling down the street in casual robes instead of her hua was more confident in her manners. She gave Mistress Parmina a graceful curtsy, but I saw her shoulders slump down in relief once she was safely past. They paid no attention to the girl on the other end of Mistress Parmina’s hua, and I was grateful for their inattention. If my last encounter with people in the Willows had told me anything, it was that I would much rather remain undetected in the shadows than saunter out into the light, with my flaws out for all to see.
We turned onto a street I had never been on before; there were no buildings here other than a long row of atelier shops, each boasting beautiful and expensive-looking hua in their storefronts. A few apprentices gathered beside a few of the boutiques, admiring the clothes on display. Mistress Parmina led me away from even these, toward the smallest shop at the farthest end of the street. Unlike the others, there was no hua for show. It looked like a private residence that had somehow gotten itself lost on the clothes-makers’ lane.
Mistress Parmina didn’t knock. She simply marched up to the front door and slid it back with little ceremony. “I’m here!” she announced. “Rahim! Where are you, you old rascal? Rahim!”