Nettle & Bone(43)

Her godmother had the kind but faintly anxious look of someone who was permanently in just a little over her head. She smiled at Marra, a smile with a little worry at the edges, and started to say, “How can I hel—” and then a line formed between her eyes and in midsentence, she switched to “Oh! You’re one of mine, aren’t you?”

She dropped the stake that she had been trying, without success, to slide into the already rampant tomatoes. She was round and flushed and there were sweat drops on her forehead. As Marra watched the woman push to her feet, wiping at her face and leaving a streak of dirt across her cheek, it was hard not to compare her to the ancient aquiline majesty of Prince Vorling’s godmother. It was not a kind comparison. Marra felt a pang of something like despair.

“I can always tell,” said the godmother happily. “I’m Agnes!” She reached out to take Marra’s hand with her own. There was dirt on her fingers and a dead tomato leaf adhered to her hair. “It’s so good to see one of mine all grown up!”

She hasn’t got the faintest idea who I am, does she?

“I’m Marra.” The dust-wife stepped through the garden gate, with Bonedog and Fenris hard on her heels. “Princess Marra.”

The dust-wife walked forward. There was a run in the corner of the garden with a half dozen hens. The brown hen looked down at them imperiously, then away, profoundly uninterested in her fellows.

Agnes’s mouth fell open. “Oh,” she said in a much different voice. “Oh. You’re … oh.” She looked down at Bonedog, and her eyes widened. “Oh.” She wiped her hands on her skirt, leaving stains. “I see. You … ah. You should come in. Maybe tea?”

“Tea would be a kindness,” said the dust-wife, inclining her head.

They all followed the godmother into the cottage. It was cluttered but not dirty, the windows large and streaming with light. Agnes hurried to put the kettle on.

The uselessness of it all struck Marra like a blow. This was the woman who had given them all a gift of health and said that Damia would marry a prince. And meanwhile Vorling’s godmother kept the entire kingdom wrapped in immortal magic, warding off enemy curses and usurpers to the throne. “We should go,” said Marra in an undertone. “She won’t be able to help us.”

The dust-wife gave her a quelling look. Agnes, who must have heard, continued making tea. “It’s good tea,” she said. “The horse trader brings it, you know, when he’s gone to sell a string of yearlings. I blessed his youngest and he brings me tea every time. I tell him he doesn’t need to, but it’s such good tea, and he’s such a sweet man to do it.”

“What did you bless her with?” asked the dust-wife.

“Health, of course. I always give them—”

“Health!” exploded Marra. She had not thought that she could feel rage toward this small, foolish woman but there it was, coiled around her heart, and suddenly it had found an outlet. “You gave Damia health and marriage to a prince and she was healthy enough, yes, right up until the day the prince killed her! And Kania is healthy now, too, and so she survives the beatings he gives her and the pregnancies she’s forced to bear one after another. Health! What were you thinking?”

The fairy godmother stopped moving. Her hands locked over the edge of the little washbasin and her back sagged. After a moment she reached slowly for the tea.

The cottage was utterly silent as she made the tea and brought the teapot slowly to the table. She put out mismatched mugs. Her eyes were full of tears, and Marra began to feel ashamed of herself, as angry as she still was. Agnes’s hands were shaking. The dust-wife took the teapot away from her and poured it.

“I always give them health,” said Agnes, wrapping her fingers around her mug. “It’s a good gift. You lose so many children to fevers, you know, every year. Not one of mine ever died of fever.”

A suspicion began to form in Marra’s mind, but the dust-wife got there first. “Health is the only gift you can give, isn’t it?”

Agnes nodded. “The only one that anyone would want.”

“But you said that Damia would marry a prince…” Marra let her voice trail off.

“It seemed like a safe bet,” said Agnes, gazing into her mug. “She was the oldest daughter of the king and queen. I thought it was likely she would.” She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. Her voice shook. “Health’s a good gift.”

“It is a very good gift,” said the dust-wife in a voice that left no room for doubt. “You have saved many lives.”

The godmother smiled a little, and another tear fell and landed, unheeded, on the table.

Marra began to feel like a monster.

This isn’t some great power who could have saved you. She did her best. And you’ve never been really ill in your life, have you? You recovered from that fever. And if it weren’t for her, perhaps Kania would not still be alive to save.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She was still angry, at the universe if not at Agnes, and it came out clipped. She tried again. “I shouldn’t blame you. I didn’t realize…” She gestured aimlessly.

“It’s all right,” said Agnes. She reached out and patted the air near Marra. “I didn’t know that your sisters…” Another tear slid down her face. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I wish I could have given them something better. I would have, if I could.” She smiled, though her lips were trembling.