Bloodsong Ch. 06

There was a subtle change to Mrs. Drakma's features, noteworthy because little else about the woman held truck with subtlety.

"Anyone too young to be culpable should be spared," she said, averting her eyes. Valeriana had an inkling that this was the closest she'd get to a concession. Even if it was empty.

"I have family there," she gritted out. One wondered if the woman would understand that, considering the fraught state of her own familial relations.

Mrs. Drakma's eyebrows went up.

"Family you care about? I'd presumed you were estranged, as you didn't ask me to contact anyone aside from my nephew."

"Oh." Valeriana had to admit that not only was it a reasonable conclusion to draw, but it might be accurate. Her father would forbid her sisters from being in touch with her, if they didn't cut ties themselves. "I didn't because . . . it's not worth it. They wouldn't want to answer letters from me, after the way I left."

"I am sorry to hear that."

"It's . . . it will be fine. Better this way. They could get in trouble with the High Council if we kept in touch." Mrs. Drakma's eyebrows climbed so high as to be diagonal. Valeriana recalled that she had yet to share the reason she'd ended up on Earth, and this appeared as suitable an occasion as any. What would the woman do with the knowledge? Chastise her, having just discoursed on how unworthy of life their kind was? "I . . . killed someone. I have a birth defect, so it's been difficult to find a suitable mate, but this man offered and . . . only it wasn't a serious offer, but . . . he used it to get me alone and try to . . . and I didn't know what else to do, so I killed him."

"Well. Good on you."

"I, yes. I mean, I shouldn't have—"

"—shouldn't even dream of questioning that it was deserved, is what I hope you were about to say." The woman reached over and gave her shoulder a companionable pat. After everything said, Valeriana couldn't decide how she felt about the gesture. "Be proud that you stood up for yourself. Imagine what would have happened otherwise."

"Lady Marabeth also said something like that."

The words came out before Valeriana could consider how well they wouldn't land. To her relief, Mrs. Drakma appeared amused.

"Did she? Well. I suppose even a stopped clock is right twice a day."

"She also criticized the way I got rid of the body."

"That's just Maz for you. So, just to assure myself that I am on the right page, you and my nephew aren't eloping?"

Valeriana let out a startled laugh.

"Jack helped cover up for me and got Lady Marabeth to take me off world so that I wouldn't be arrested. He's my oldest . . . my only friend. We're not eloping for sure. I'm . . . before, I hoped he'd write back so that I'd have help in navigating all this. Now I'm just worrying if he's safe. If they all are."

"They will be."

Here, her answering laugh was bitter.

"Those are just words, though. You have no way to guarantee that."

Mrs. Drakma regarded her through narrowed eyes, unsmiling, and finished her tea in silence.

The next day materialized, for once without being preceded by a night spent skipping from one nightmare to another. Valeriana had persuaded her eyes to fall shut with sunrise a handful of hours away, sleeping too little to get through more than a single bad dream.

There were five that recurred. She had feared that following her exchange with Mrs. Drakma, the number would grow. That her night terrors would start including her sisters being mobbed by people covered in scales and seaweed; Jack eaten alive by fish with tentacles.

Instead, upon closing her eyes she'd met a vision by now familiar: Rachel's face, gaunt and frightened, as insubstantial as smoke against a scarlet backdrop; darkening while the lights dimmed, eventually leaving only the girl's voice. Its modulation would dance from panicked to pleading to almost challenging, but she always said only one thing.

Help. Help. Help.

Standing under a blue sky in the afternoon sun, Valeriana wished that she could shut out the memory or, failing that, understand what to do with it.

"Lovely day, no?"

She whirled around, startled. How lost in thought had she been, to not have noticed Mrs. Drakma's approach?

"Yes. Good afternoon. I was just . . ." She motioned at the rain lilies she'd been looking to uproot. Spending the day pulling weeds in the backyard, where the overgrown hedge would conceal her, had been her goal for the afternoon. "I'm replanting these by the fence. They'll get more light there. Do you need anything? Because Frank is at work, and I think Tonya went over to the neighbors."

"No, don't fret. I'm here for you." Which had Valeriana doing the opposite of not fretting. Mrs. Drakma peered at her, lips pursed. She shook the dirt off her hands self-consciously, hoping there'd be no commentary on her messy state. No such luck. It came almost as the thought formed. "You look right awful."

"I wasn't planning on seeing anyone," she countered, flushing bright pink. Privately, she found it absurd that the woman would take exception to her insufficiently curated appearance, in light of that hat. It was the most horrid hat Valeriana had seen in her life; tall and wide brimmed and leaf green and bedecked in sunflowers, which might have improved its look if a good third of the flowers weren't dead or wilting.

"Not the clothes, your face." Oh. "I thought you already seemed peaky at headquarters, but it's gotten worse. Did you sleep?"

"A little," she admitted, trying not to let the matter-of-fact commentary bother her. "It's fine. What do you want me for?"

"I'd like to apologize. Moreso now that I see evidence that I did upset you yesterday."

"I'm fi— you don't need to. Apologize, I mean."

"No, but I do. It was a mistake to tell you about the invasion. Frank had already mentioned that you'd been having nightmares. I ought to have held off until you were more grounded, instead of adding to your troubles."

"It's alright. Truly." Valeriana meant it. She didn't begrudge Mrs. Drakma telling her the truth. She'd have felt more cross if the woman had withheld it, regardless of the sleep she might lose. She also needed to start locking her door overnight. It hadn't occurred to her that Frank and Tonya would notice that she had trouble sleeping. Had she been making that much noise? "I'm glad you told me. I would rather know, even if it means I'll worry."

"Yet somehow, I sense that we didn't leave on the best of terms yesterday."

Valeriana's mouth mimed a waxy smile.

Truthfully, they had not. Mrs. Drakma had left soon after finishing her tea, called away to mind more important matters. She'd spent the leftover time at headquarters haunting the kitchen table, until a human named Bea, who'd come in looking for a bagel, took her hostage and dedicated the next three hours to teaching her Morse code.

The rest of the afternoon and evening were a blur. She had a faint recollection of complimenting Tonya's hair on their way back to the house. Otherwise, her mind had been fuddled by fear and bitterness, wedded to the sobering realization that the rug had been pulled out from under her once again.

"Yesterday. I just . . ." She pretended to study the rain lilies, avoiding the woman's eyes. The impulse to hand out a polite lie was easier to curb if she didn't face her. "I haven't made this clear, maybe, but I don't hate our world. I'm not happy that it's being invaded and that people are dying. And you, you were glad! I'm not upset that you told me, I'm upset that you were smiling while telling me!"

"In my defense, I'd made some wrongful assumptions about your relationship with your family."

"Even so! If I didn't have family and friends there, I'd still find it awful. You want me to work for you—"

"With. Work with."

"However you phrase it, I can't. Not if I'm expected to jump for joy at the notion of Barashi being invaded. I'm not — I killed someone, and I realize that means I'm a criminal, but I'm not a traitor."

"I understand."

"I . . ." Valeriana, having lost her yarn, rallied as best she could. "Good. Thank you. But do you really?"

"You aren't ready. That's alright. Things must happen in their own time."

"No, you . . . you don't understand at all, then! I'll never be ready. I don't want to be ready!"

"Mm. Yes, that's all part of it, I suppose," Mrs. Drakma mused. Her attention moved to the lilies, as though she didn't see Valeriana staring at her with surging disgruntlement. "If you try to pull those out by force, you'll yank the stem right off the bulb."

"I know that. Look, I'm grateful for your help, but—"

"If I were you, I'd dig out a swath of earth around each, make a hole the same size at the new spot and drop them in dirt and all; they'll never notice they were moved." A small smile played on the woman's lips. Valeriana didn't have the energy to pretend she didn't see the lines she was meant to read between. Mrs. Drakma smiled brighter, as if to compensate for the dip in mood. "But, it's too nice an afternoon for you to spend on weeds. Go get yourself clean and sorted. I'm taking you out. Did you try on those dresses I brought you last time?"

"Yes, but — wait—"

"Then go put on one you like and meet me by the gate. Go on, hurry up!"

Valeriana ached to say that she'd prefer to continue moving lilies, but years of experience at being ordered around made her resolve fold. She turned her back on Mrs. Drakma and trudged inside the house without another word.

As a minor show of defiance, she didn't place haste in getting ready. She took her time brushing her hair until it was free of dirt and foliage, cleaned her nails and stopped short of showering only because it was an age and a half for the water to reach an adequate warmth. Making Mrs. Drakma wait that long would be overdoing it.

Tonya had stuffed the drawers with underthings. Humans, left to their own devices, wore infinite layers under the upper echelons of their clothing. She eschewed the girdle and the stockings. She didn't have the patience to wrestle the former and the latter were always falling into her shoes when she tried them on; she kept the brassiere. Of the dresses Mrs. Drakma had left her, she selected one in a dark shade of purple. It was the least garish of the lot, although it made her feel like she'd raided Belladonna's wardrobe.

Mrs. Drakma didn't comment on the delay when she returned. Just as well, really.

"Where are we going?" she asked, sliding into the passenger seat. Another question presenting itself was 'What if it rains?'. Unlike every other automobile she'd ridden in, this one lacked a roof. She'd borrowed a felt hat from Tonya, but didn't trust it to protect against random downpours.

"I'm meeting some acquaintances in Port Stoketane. Frank and Tonya didn't take you touring the seaside yet, did they?"

"I didn't even realize we were near the sea."

"Near? Well, in a manner of speaking. It's a forty-minute drive, though that's because they used someone's small intestine as a blueprint to plot the road. It's godawful. Curves for miles, for no good reason. You'll see."

Mrs. Drakma's driving skills turned out to be reminiscent of Jack's, which was to say, unspeakable. Valeriana doubted that they'd proceed in a straight line even if the path were drawn with a ruler.

Exhaustion and lethargy, coupled with queasiness as they hit every pothole they came across, made it difficult for her to enjoy the scenery. There wasn't much to appreciate either way. If she looked behind her, she could make out Westmont's dwindling outline. In the other directions she saw nothing but desiccated bush and dunes rippling at the whim of a dry wind. The sea must hide somewhere past those.

It was just her and Mrs. Drakma and the road ahead and the woman's song around her, so hectic and busy that she could mistake it for atmospheric turbulence.

Valeriana felt the loneliest she had since she was five.

She wished Jack were there. If she spent a second thinking it through, the fantasy that his presence would make it all better collapsed, because he'd want her to mend her ties to Lady Marabeth and she would refuse to entertain the thought. They'd argue. It might turn ugly. Still, in the end she'd feel better for having him with her, knowing him safe and well.

There was no dearth of words pouring out of Mrs. Drakma as the tires cut through the dust. The woman inquired about how she was adjusting and snorted with disbelief upon being told that no adjustment was taking place. She wanted to know how her English lessons with Tonya were coming along — it was not a surprise that she knew about those. Admitting that progress was scarce and slow going resulted in a good-natured appeal to give it time.

Valeriana couldn't figure out what to do with that. She'd hastened to divert conversation. Port Stoketane, what was it like? What color was the sea, were there beaches where you could swim, how cold was the water . . .

"There's a gate to Cynihe two hundred nautical miles off the coast. Converting to lim, that's about . . . hm, I need to convert it to cubits first, I don't know the direct equivalence. Are lim even still in use?"

"The Kaldian mile has been the standard for the last thousand years." Valeriana might never cease to be stunned by how, despite her above average grasp on current events in Barashi, Mrs. Drakma could be so out of touch regarding subjects that were common knowledge. "I think you only see lim used on old maps these days. In the altar room at home we have one that—"

"Well, the gate is a ways off, that's the relevant bit. Two thirds underwater and outside the popular sailing routes. It's small enough that it would take incredible bad luck for a ship to pass through it by accident. Thankfully; there's another seaboard gate in the Bermudas that causes no end of grief, because it's massive, not out of the way, and connects to the bloody Death Zone."

Valeriana paled a little. That was one world that she didn't feel tempted to visit. Everything one might say about it was encompassed by the name.

"That sounds . . . dangerous."

"It is. Nothing that goes through returns. We have a section stationed in Providenciales that's tasked with herding back boats before they make it that far, but they can't catch them all. And planes! I swear it's like the blasted thing attracts them."

Valeriana recalled being in the dark, lost among unseen people, with a call reaching out to her, terrifying yet irresistible. This time she couldn't stave off a shudder.

"That's horrible. It's good of you to intervene."

"We do have purposes unrelated to harassing poor, hardworking slave traders."

"Uhm."

"Apologies. Coming on too strong?"

"Yes!" She would sooner have it out than lie, although it meant facing consequences that albeit inevitable, she'd counted on wrestling later down the line. "I do want to ask, need to ask this one thing. Does your kindness towards me rest on your expectation that you'll change my mind? Because if that's the case, I'd rather that you stop. It's . . . cruel, to make me rely on your aid, if you are going to cast me aside once you accept that I won't work for you. With you. Whichever."

A puzzled stare was returned.

"Whoever convinced you that kindness cannot come without strings attached should be made to swallow their own tongue. I'm not lending you help with caveats, Valeriana. You should try to love yourself a little more. I get the distinct impression that you don't do it enough."

"That's not the issue. That's not even remotely the issue!"

"Then I'm afraid I don't understand what the issue is."

Valeriana felt like tearing her hair out. By now, she was convinced that the woman had to be pretending herself obtuse on purpose.

"The issue is that you just . . . keep pressing!"

"That? Yes. And I shall keep at it. Not only because I think you will see things my way, in time, but because I didn't tell my sister that I thought you had potential just to needle her."

There was a spot of silence. Valeriana turned her face towards the road, focusing on the dunes rolling by, each identical to the last. She resisted the temptation to peek at Mrs. Drakma; she could feel the woman's eyes on her, but checking what expression accompanied the stare was a bad idea. If she saw her looking amused, she'd become resentful. If she saw her looking any other way she'd flounder.

She'd promised herself that she would get through this exchange with dry eyes and a modicum of poise. She hadn't counted on being challenged — honestly, however else was she supposed to take the declaration just made?

"Why? Even if you refuse to believe that I can't be convinced . . . why are you trying? Where in all of this do you glean a speck of potential?" She swept a hand over herself, bitterness spilling from her lips like a bottle of spoiled wine, uncorked and upturned. The words came in a stream, as they had in the café, without the clouding of spirits to excuse her. "I have no useful skills or talents or knowledge. I don't even have a true form. I'm broken and useless and I ruined every avenue I was given to make myself into something worthwhile, and if I said yes to you, you'd see me turn out a disappointment, as I've been to everyone since the day I was born!"

Mrs. Drakma didn't stop her from talking, though now she stood closer to shouting. The woman looked taken aback with what Valeriana realized, even whilst too out of sorts to think straight, to be an uncharacteristic amount of virulence.

She could have said anything to replace this diatribe; seized the opportunity to circle back to the low stakes exchange from before and carry on about local fish species and seafood. Perhaps she could place the blame on lack of sleep; an excess of nights spent wandering among corpses of varying levels of personal significance.

The pause that followed after Valeriana cut herself off was delicate. Mrs. Drakma had brought the vehicle to a hiccupping halt and let the engine die. When she spoke, the words came ponderously.

"Get up, get out."

"I . . . what?"

"Out!" Whatever inquiry or argument Valeriana would have worked herself up to making was deflated by the woman's tone, which brooked no argument.

She fumbled with the door. Felt a rush of confusion offset her apprehension when she saw Mrs. Drakma doing the same and walking around the vehicle. She wore a well-known expression, although Valeriana was used to seeing it on a different face; the one that often preceded Jack doing something he knew she wouldn't like.

Here, it was comforting in the same measure as it alarmed her.

"Lady B— Mrs. Drakma, what—"

"Switch. You're driving the rest of the way!"

"What? I don't know how to—"

"I assumed so. Hence why I'm telling you to do it." The woman arched an eyebrow at her aghast expression, as if defying her to argue. Valeriana's mouth opened and closed, unable to form words. "It's half past noon. I set the meeting for three o'clock. That gives you two and a half hoursin which to plow through every dune in this stretch of desert. You may even find it therapeutic."

"But why?"

"Call it a push towards self-improvement. Talent is, by definition, not something you can buy through effort, but knowledge can be improved, skills can be learned, and if you can't make yourself happy with what you have, you hunt for more. I'm starting you off with something easy."

"It's not as simple as—"

"Life, my dear, is only as complicated as you let it be. Sit down. Hands on the wheel." Mrs. Drakma was as unrelenting as the hurricane of her blood song as she ushered Valeriana into the driver's seat. "First things first, adjust that seat so that your feet reach the pedals and the wheel isn't up against your tits. There's a latch sort of thing under on the side, see if you can find — yes, there you go. Now hold it down and slide back until you have enough leg space."