39. Yarrow Wakes Up and There Is Snow on the Ground

39. Yarrow Wakes Up and There Is Snow on the Ground

Yarrow opened her eyes slowly. They hurt already, and the light hurt them worse. But it was really very dim light—a sort of cool, underwater sheen—and she wondered where she was. Around her were warm bedclothes, but the chill on her face was that of an unheated room. A sweet-rancid taste filled her mouth. Her head felt light and cool—where were her wimple and fillet? The rough cloth of her gown, at least, pushed familiarly against her skin. When she tried to move, her injured arm was cramped and achy. She gave up and lay still.

She was on a bed in a small room with plaster walls and a heavy, rough wooden door. In its center was a firepit, now burnt very low. An iron hook swung over it. Snow spiraled in through a smokehole in the ceiling. Tools hung all around the walls, and the corners were full of clothes and wheelbarrows and things, as if she had awakened in Monkshood's little shack. The Lady lay curled up beside the fire, asleep. She was bigger than Yarrow now, and her dress had developed a high lace collar and dozens of bows and frills and pearls.

The bed trembled. Something was coming out from under it —no, it wasn't just the bed. She was still alone. The walls swayed, the tools rattled, and a little fall of snow was shaken loose from the outside to sizzle in the fire. The shaking soon ceased, and before she could collect her scattered thoughts, the door opened and a person stumped in.

They were muffled in many scarves and shawls, and in their arms was a stack of firewood. Stamping and puffing, they dropped most of the wood in a pile near the door and heaped the remainder on the smoldering embers. As the room warmed up, they pulled off their wrappings to reveal a black-furred rabbit body in a brownish smock.

"Oh, you're awake," they said. They coolly shifted the bedclothes to look at Yarrow's arm, which had been firmly bandaged. "It's done its work nicely, I see."

"What has?" said Yarrow. Her voice was thick and hoarse, and she had to cough and swallow many times to get it back to normal.

"The mellified man."

Yarrow gagged. She leaned over the side of the bed, retching, trying to make herself vomit.

"Now, now," they said. "None of that." They gently, but forcefully, pushed her back down.

"I don't eat meat," Yarrow gasped. "I can't eat meat!" Sacrilege—violation—oathbreaking—

"Come, come," they said. "I am a doctor. Even a woman in grey eats what a doctor prescribes."

A wary hush settled over Yarrow. A doctor? She had never met any; even Arnica and Old Yarrow had only known one in their youth. Surely someone like that would know whether she'd broken the most ancient laws.

"And am I—" She swallowed a bit of bile. "Am I cured?"

"Certainly," said the doctor. He hung a pot of snow on the hook to let the fire melt it. "Mellified man is powerful stuff, but I had doubts as to whether it would counteract Her Ladyship's bite."

"How did you have any? Someone told me there wasn't any in the palace."

His little black eyes met hers. They were narrow and questioning. "You were carrying it."

"I was?" The honeyed meat. She had been carrying a panacea in her pack for days and days, and feeding it to the Lady. Yarrow swallowed again. "I can't read. I didn't know."

"Nobody told you?"

"Nobody knew I had it. I brought it with me to trade." She choked back wild laughter. The only mellified man in the world, and she had packed it in case someone wanted a snack.

"Brought it to Blue to trade?" A new note had entered his voice.

"Yes." Oh North, they'd had it in the house the whole time—Old Yarrow could have—She fell back on her pillows. "Is there any left?"

He pointed to a padlocked iron chest on a little shelf. "One piece. She wanted it, and I've had a terrible time keeping it from her."

"What has she been eating?"

The doctor shrugged. "The spiders that come out of the firewood. She also likes to go catch birds."

Yarrow shuddered.

"She tried to eat you, didn't she?" said the doctor.

Yarrow nodded.

"She certainly is a throwback. I don't have my books here, but I think that sort of thing was common among older generations of Ladies. You must tell me why she's here, why a daughter of Citrine the Deathless is so far from Yellow. I'd urge you to part ways with her, but she would not leave you while you slept, and nobody has ever understood the relationship between the women of your house and their Ladies." He stirred the melting snow. "I am Roe 73. I was a doctor in Blue Tower."

"I am Yarrow LXXVI. Mother of Grey House."

"Awfully young to be a Mother, aren't you?"

"We've had—" Yarrow swallowed. "—hardships."

"I believe it. With this winter…" Roe emptied the steaming water into a cup and added a handful of herbs and a little salt. "Drink this."

The savory taste washed out the sickliness of the mellified man. Yarrow sipped it gratefully.

"I'm very grateful for everything you've done," she said, as Roe busied himself chopping vegetables: withered carrots, some sprouting potatoes, a wrinkled beet. "Can I trouble you for one more thing?"

"What is that?" he said.

"I need to get to Black Tower. I need to ask them to lift this winter."

"We've already sent emissaries," said Roe.

Hope flared in Yarrow's chest and burned out immediately. If the emissaries had been listened to, winter would have ended already. "I see," she said.

"That was weeks ago. They came back saying that the wheel of seasons would not turn. After that, nobody else was sent."

"Why?" said Yarrow. "If we beg them—if we're persistent—"

"The Lady of Blue is dead," said Roe. He looked up at Yarrow and his eyes were bright with grief. "Her true successor is dead. The pretender has closed all the doors. Nobody leaves the tower except exiles like me. Those who supported the eldest daughter."

"Isn't succession… succession?" said Yarrow. "Aren't there laws?"

A couple of logs snapped in the fireplace. Sparks flew toward the ceiling.

"Ha!" said Roe. "The tower is dangerous now. When I left, the silk rooms were a bloodbath, the gardens full of fugitives, and the great hall—" He stopped talking but began chopping the beet with angry vigor.

"What is the new Lady doing? Why won't she stop it?"

"Stop it?" said Roe. "She started it. The tower is being purged of the old Lady's court." He dropped the knife and swallowed a sob. "All the old court—anyone who knew Her Ladyship—I saw a Marten struck down as she pleaded for mercy. They got all the Voles at once, herded them into the scriptorium and set it on fire. They'll kill you if they find out I helped you. She's gathered everyone in. There's a new era in the tower. They're cutting themselves off from the rest of the palace. They can do it; they have the frogs. They're waiting out the winter, and killing each other for the new one's favor."

The young Lady stirred in her sleep. Both Roe and Yarrow looked at her, hoping she wouldn't wake up.

"I have to get to Black," said Yarrow. "I promised I would. If they won't listen to Blue, they might listen to Grey. Can you help me at all? I'm sorry to ask."

Roe sighed. He tossed the vegetables into the pot and stirred them around. "I could take you through the Deeps, where the hollowmen go," he said. "I've been there a few times since the new era began, but it's a huge risk."

"Take me to the Deeps," said Yarrow, "and then give me directions. I don't want to put you in harm's way. I owe you my life."

"It's not safe. It is, in fact, very, very dangerous." Roe added some salt and a handful of thyme to the pot and stirred it again. "But I can do that, if you're determined to go."

"I am," said Yarrow. "I'm the Mother of Grey, and people are relying on me."

Roe sighed. "All right. But tomorrow. I insist on that. You may have taken mellified man, but you need to rest. And eat first."

"Agreed," said Yarrow, accepting a bowl and a spoon.