Uprooted(74)
Author: Naomi Novik

But there wasn’t anyone else I could talk to, or even ask for advice. The servants and soldiers didn’t want any part of me, either, nor the officials hurrying on their appointed rounds. As they came past me now I could see them all throwing doubtful looks in my direction: a fine lady sitting on a haybale next to the road in my satin and lace finery, my dragging train full of grass and sand, a stray leaf in a well-tended garden. I didn’t belong.

Worse than that, I wasn’t being any use—to Kasia or to Sarkan or anyone back home. I was ready to testify, and there wasn’t a trial; I’d begged for soldiers, but none had gone. I’d attended more parties in three days than in my whole life before, and I had nothing to show for it but ruining the reputation of one silly girl who’d probably never had a real friend in her life.

In a burst of frustration and anger, I called vanastalem, but slurred deeply, and between one passing wagon and the next, I put myself back into the clothes of a woodcutter’s daughter: good plain homespun, a skirt that wasn’t too long for sensible boots to show beneath it, an apron with two big pockets in it. I breathed easier at once, and found myself suddenly invisible: no one was looking at me anymore. No one cared who I was, or what I was doing.

There were hazards to invisibility, too: while I stood there on the edge of the road enjoying the pleasure of a deep breath, an enormous carriage swollen out over its wheels on all sides and four footmen hanging off it came rattling past me, and nearly knocked me over. I had to jump out of the way into a puddle, my boots squelching and mud spattering my skirts. But I didn’t care. I knew myself for the first time in a week, standing on earth instead of polished marble.

I went back up the hill in the carriage track, my stride swinging wide and free in my easy skirts, and slipped into the inner court without any trouble. The fat carriage had drawn up to disgorge an ambassador in a white coat, a red sash of office brilliant across his chest. The crown prince was there to meet him, with a crowd of courtiers and an honor guard carrying the flag of Polnya and a yellow-and-red flag with the head of an ox upon it, one I’d never seen before. He must have been coming to the state dinner. I’d been meant to go there with Alicja this evening. All the guards were watching the ceremony with half an eye at least, and when I whispered to them that I wasn’t worth taking any notice of, their eyes slid over me the way they wanted to, anyway.

Going back and forth from parties three times a day from my inconvenient room had been good for one thing, at least: I had learned to find my way about the castle. There were servants in the hallways, but all of them were laden under linens and silver, hurrying to make ready for the dinner party. None of them had attention to spare for a mud-spattered scullery-maid. I eeled around and through them and made my way down the long dark corridor to the Grey Tower.

The four guards on duty at the base of the tower were bored and yawning with the late hour. “You missed the stair to the kitchens, sweetheart,” one of them said good-naturedly to me. “It’s back down the hall.”

I stored that information away for later, and then I did my best to stare at them the way that everyone had been staring at me for the last three days, as though I were perfectly astonished by their ignorance. “Don’t you know who I am?” I said. “I’m Agnieszka, the witch. I’m here to see Kasia.” And to have a look at the queen, more to the point. I couldn’t think why the trial would be put off so long, unless the king was trying to give the queen more time to get well.

The guards all looked at each other uncertainly. Before they could decide what to do about me, I whispered, “Alamak, alamak,” and walked straight on through the locked doors between them.

They weren’t nobles, so I suppose they weren’t inclined to pick a quarrel with a witch. They didn’t come after me, at least. I climbed the narrow staircase around and around until I came out onto the landing with the hungry imp knocker gaping at me. Taking the round knob felt as though my hand was being licked thoroughly by a lion that was deciding whether or not I would taste good. I held it as gingerly as I could and banged on the door.

I had a list of arguments for the Willow, and behind them flat determination. I was ready to shove my way past her if I had to; she was too much a fine lady to lower herself to wrestling with me, I suspected. But she didn’t come to the door at all, and when I pressed my ear to it, I faintly heard shouting inside. In alarm, I backed up and tried to think: would the guards be able to knock the door down, if I shouted for them? I didn’t think so. The door was made of iron and riveted with iron, and there wasn’t even a keyhole to be seen.

I looked at the imp, which leered back. Hunger radiated from its empty maw. But if I filled it up? I called a simple spell, just some light: the imp immediately began to suck the magic in, but I kept feeding power to the spell until finally a little candle-wavering gleam lit in my hand. The imp’s hunger was an enormous pull, guzzling in nearly all the magic I could give, but I managed to divert a narrow silver stream: I let it collect into a tiny pool inside me, and then I squeezed out, “Alamak,” and with one desperate jump I went through the door. It took all the strength I had left: I rolled out onto the floor of the room beyond and sprawled flat on my back, emptied.

Footsteps came running across the floor to me, and Kasia was at my side. “Nieshka, are you all right?”

The shouting was from the next room: Marek, standing fists clenched in the middle of the floor and roaring at the Willow, who stood ramrod-stiff and white with anger. Neither of them paid much attention to my falling in through the door; they were too busy being furious at each other.

“Look at her!” Marek flung an arm out at the queen. She still sat by the same window as before, listless and unmoved. If she heard the shouting, she didn’t so much as flinch. “Three days without a word from her lips, and you call yourself a healer? What use are you?”

“None, evidently,” the Willow said icily. “All I have done is everything that could be done, as well as it could be done.” She did take notice of me then, finally: she turned and looked down her nose at me on the floor. “I understand this is the miracle-worker of the kingdom. Perhaps you can spare her from your bed long enough to do better. Until then, tend her yourself. I am not going to stand here to be howled at for my efforts.”

She marched past me, twitching her skirts to one side so they wouldn’t even brush up against mine, as if she didn’t care to be contaminated. The bar lifted itself at a flick of her hand. She swept out, and the heavy iron door clanged shut behind her, scraping on the stone like an axe-blade coming down.