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It seemed too much effort to move my limbs, and the thought of the fabric of my clothing sliding against my skin made me feel ill. Instead, I pushed each boot off with the toe of the other foot and left them where they fell, then climbed as slowly and carefully as I could onto the bed, fully dressed.

Its softness felt like a blessing. I lowered myself onto the mattress gently, even that little amount of friction making my skin burn, until finally I could rest my head on the pillow. My Hair lay limp on the pillow beside me, not moving at all. I started to reach out a hand to touch it, but it was too painful and took too much effort, and I let it drop. Baldbeak made another of those low muttering sounds.

There was a disturbance in the air of the room. A familiar presence. Mieka.

“They kept me away,” she said, and I heard the tears in her voice. “They wouldn’t let me come to you.”

“Mieka,” I said in barely more than a whisper.

In a few quick steps, she was across the room. I felt a weight at the edge of the mattress as she sat. Even that small movement made my limbs ache again. I opened my eyes and saw her silhouette, barely visible in the little starlight that managed to spill through the window.

“What did she do to you?”

“Not her,” I managed to say. “Him.”

She stroked my Hair back from my forehead.

“Water,” I mumbled into the pillow. The pitcher was across the room, and it seemed a hundred miles away. She poured me a glass and held it against my lips.

“Patrick …” I began, intending to ask if she had heard more from him.

“He is not here,” she said. “I wish he were. But I can call him, through the ravens. He will come if you ask him to.”

“No,” I whispered, barely audible.

“Netta …” I felt rather than heard her sigh.

“I cannot stay here, but I do not want to go with him,” I said. To my own ear, my voice sounded slurred, almost drunk.

“You are so stubborn,” she murmured.

“It’s a family trait,” I managed.

“How can I convince you that he is to be trusted in this?”

I shook my head very slightly.

“Ban Morin will break you,” said Mieka. “He might even kill you. He is not a man who knows the meaning of restraint.”

“I will find my own way out,” I murmured. Sleep was pulling me under despite myself. I felt the mattress shift again as Mieka stood. I opened my eyes.

“Wait.”

The shadow stilled. “What is it?”

“Will you … stay a while? Just don’t leave yet. Stay until I fall asleep.”

“Of course. I will stay all night, if they let me.”

She sat down again, resting her hand on mine, and though it was as soft as a moth’s wing, I felt the touch as I fell asleep.

Chapter Fifteen

The Couching Stitch

‘When the thread is too fragile, thick, or unwieldy to be sewn into the fabric as usual, a couching method allows the practitioner to fasten it securely without directly employing the needle to the inconvenient thread.’

—An Exhaustive Compendium of Stitches