Nettle & Bone(57)
“He’s not a lad; he’s nearly forty. And I haven’t been thinking about it, Aunt Agnes. I’ve had other things on my mind.”
“You watched him chop firewood the other day.”
“What does that…?” Marra had to pause. Yes, she had. He’d taken off his shirt. There had been a lot of muscle on display. Even the dust-wife had paused for a look. Her hen had cackled so loudly it had set off the others in the nearby barnyard. “Oh. That. All right. I’m not dead.”
An elderly woman, older than Agnes, went by. She was bent double under the weight of a basket and she went up the stairs twice as fast as either of them. Marra didn’t know if that was inspiring or depressing.
“So you have noticed,” said Agnes, pleased. “And he’s quite a gentleman, too.”
“He’s wanted for murder in his home country.”
If she’d been expecting that would stop Agnes, she was sadly disappointed.
“I’m sure he had his reasons.”
“Well, yes.”
“Good with chickens, too. Finder likes him.”
Marra put her face in her hands. Lady of Grackles, if you would like to open the earth and let it swallow me whole, now would be an excellent time. “Aunt Agnes, we have—” No, she couldn’t very well say that they had an assassination to plan, could she? Not where people might be listening. Blast. “—a lot going on right now.”
“All right, all right. I’ll stop. Just, you know, keep it in mind. Not every day a man like that comes along, eh?”
“I am very suspicious of men right now,” muttered Marra through her fingers.
“A little moth told me he’s what you need.”
“He’s not—” Marra dropped her hands, realized the exact words that Agnes had used, and glared at her great-aunt. Agnes looked smug.
“Besides, I’m sure he doesn’t think that about me,” said Marra. “So it’s all moot anyway.”
“You’re sure about that, are you?”
Fenris’s hand on hers, absently stroking her palm. Fenris’s wry smile. His solid presence against her back. The mutual awkwardness of finding themselves in a bedroom together. The way he had held her hands, then let her go the moment she pulled away. “Completely sure,” grated Marra. “Now, come on. We’re supposed to be meeting a terrifying godmother, or have you forgotten?”
“Yes, yes.” Agnes got to her feet. “More stairs. Joy.”
“Humph.”
Both of them were red-faced and gasping by the time they reached the temple district. A tall woman with close-cropped hair, wearing the medals of the Unconquered Sun, gave them directions. “For all the good it will do,” she said. “She sees no visitors.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” said Agnes cheerfully. “She’ll see me. Probably.”
Marra expected a cynical look, but the woman’s eyes softened as she looked down at Agnes. “Then good luck to you, grandmother.”
The godmother’s house looked like a temple. It shared walls with the buildings on either side, one a priest’s home and one a shrine to the Saint of Dust. There was a guard standing outside the door, armed and armored, holding a halberd before him.
“Hello,” said Agnes, walking up. “I’d like to see the godmother, please.”
The guard tilted his head almost imperceptibly. “She does not see any visitors.”
“It’s important,” said Agnes.
“You waste your time. She does not bless anyone but the royal family.”
“Oh, that’s all right.” Agnes reached out and patted his arm as if he were a small child. “I don’t need a blessing. I’m a godmother.”
Marra braced herself to grab Agnes and roll out of the way if the guard took offense to being touched, but he only looked bemused. “Another godmother?”
“Yes. Can you go tell her I’m here?”
“Is she expecting you?”
Agnes shrugged. “Well, I don’t really know, do I? If she’s an extremely powerful godmother, she might be able to see the future, in which case yes. But if she’s like the rest of us, then probably not. Or she might be very powerful, but not good at seeing the future, which happens, too. Futures are very muddy. You can’t really get much out of them, you know.”
He was beginning to get the look that most people dealing with Agnes got. Marra wondered if that was something a person could learn, or if you were born with it. Or perhaps it only works if you’re obviously older and seem a bit silly and so obviously devoid of malice …
“How do I know you’re a godmother?”
Agnes searched his face. Little strands of white hair had escaped from the pins and gave her a wispy halo. “You … did not have a godmother,” she said slowly, “but your mother did, and the blessing was … was … Oh dear, I’m afraid I can’t tell exactly. That her children be born strong or born healthy, one of the two.” She patted at the air with her hands. “It was a good blessing,” she said. “I think it worked.”
The guard’s eyes widened. He looked over his shoulder at the door, as if expecting to find someone looking at him.
“Wait here,” he said, pulling the door open, and stepped inside.