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“Laudna?”
Laudna was lying back with her head resting in Imogen’s lap, presently enraptured in the process of twirling her knobbly fingers into Imogen’s lavender curls that dangled over her. “Yes, darling?”
“Remember our first house?”
A thoughtful smile crossed her face, and she stopped playing with Imogen’s hair for a moment. “Do you mean that one where I refinished that lovely roll-top desk? I loved that desk.”
“Before that,” Imogen replied gently, “Ol’ Martin’s place.”
Laudna’s eyes went round in recognition, and her voice softened. “Of course. How could I forget?”
“What can you see from up there? Is it much further to the village?” Imogen’s abdomen gave a wobble as she struggled with Laudna’s form atop her shoulders. Laudna, being much weaker, was the more obvious choice to be boosted up into the tree—but her arms were too flimsy to pull herself up onto the branch properly.
A shower of papery bark fell into Imogen’s hair as Laudna’s fingernails scrabbled for purchase on the branch above. “Another mile or so, I think? We should pass that farmhouse soon, and I think we can get to the village itself in time for a late lunch,” came the response, strangely delighted even in her precarious predicament. “Now, how am I going to get down?”
Imogen gasped as Laudna’s weight shifted—her muscles gave out—and all of a sudden found herself buried under a bundle of brittle limbs and a lank tangle of hair. A distinct crack panicked Imogen, for that had definitely not been from her body.
“Laudna! Are you hurt?”
Laudna disentangled herself from Imogen and pushed herself into a sitting position on the dry forest floor, skirts hitched up to evaluate the damage. “Has that knee always bent that far?” Her eyes widened as she flexed her scrawny leg, comparing it to the other.
“I—I couldn’t be sure,” Imogen said, trying to hide the blush that rose to her cheeks. Laudna, who had been her strange companion for a few months now, was—different to other people. There was a childlike innocence to her that combined oddly with her love of all things morbid and grotesque. But all the same, Imogen felt that Laudna was important to her. More than important, she was essential—and Imogen could not help the protective feeling that flared up in her heart when she saw her.
“What do you think, Pâté?”
As Laudna began to voice and act out Pâté’s raucous response, Imogen gingerly touched the affected knee. There was no blood, and no bruising yet that she could tell. Laudna’s face only twitched slightly in pain.
“Do you think you can walk?” Imogen asked softly.
“I’ll be fine.” Laudna smiled a wry, disarming smile. “I’ve lived through worse.”
Imogen gave a hesitant chuckle; she was still getting used to that macabre sense of humour. “Well when we make it to the village, we might be able to find someone who can help.”
They headed on down the wooded hillside, at a slightly slower pace than Imogen’s stomach would have liked. Their rations had run out last night—or rather, they had become contaminated with some mould from Laudna’s hoard of grisly treasures—and Imogen was really feeling that missed breakfast. To keep her mind off her growling stomach, Imogen watched Laudna carefully to see whether she truly was all right. There was a slight limp to her walk that made her lurch in a slightly more zombie-like manner than usual. Imogen bit her lip, but Laudna made no complaint and seemed in high enough spirits.
They reached the village a little after two o’clock, to the most wonderful smells coming from down the cobbled road. After the long stretch of wilderness, it was a sudden shock to be around so many people with their vibrant, grating thoughts; yet still it promised a good hot meal.
Laudna’s limp was worrying Imogen. She already tended to draw too many odd looks with her colourless skin and skeletal form, but it would look suspicious if Laudna put a hood over her head in this fine sunny weather—perhaps even more spooky than her usual self. Her attention, however, was diverted from that worry as they approached the cheerful sight of people under colourful covered market stalls, and took in the intoxicating aroma of sizzling food, warm baked treats, and all colours of fruits and vegetables on display.
Imogen was still footsore from walking all morning, but Laudna was in her element—she flitted around the market ahead of her, already with a ratty rattan basket on her arm that Imogen had never seen before. She inspected vegetables with her childlike wonder—being particularly taken with a misshapen pumpkin—and exchanged copper pieces for delicious morsels.
Laudna beckoned her over as she found a place that served hot pies. After a moment of indecision—all of the flavours sounded so good to her—Imogen let Laudna pick for the both of them. As the vendor was parcelling them up in paper, she took the opportunity to look over at Laudna with something far deeper than fondness. The light caught the gold of her ear cuffs, and Imogen’s heart twisted; Laudna would just tell her she was being silly to pity her for something far in the past, but she only wanted to trace her finger along the cropped line of her ear and tell her she was beautiful.
Yet as she looked, the sound of voices began to press in on her mind, becoming more distinct as people passed close to them. There was hostility—revulsion—and Imogen felt her protectiveness clash against the stifling anxiety in her crowded head.
“Laudna?”
At the sound of her enfeebled voice, Laudna’s expression muted into concern. “What is it?”
The faces of passersby seemed to loom closer even as she tried to form her words. “I think I need to get a bit aways from the centre of the village. It’s too—loud here.”
“Of course,” Laudna whispered back, “Let’s find somewhere in the woods to settle down and eat our spoils.”
The pressure eased as they fled the busy centre of the village, but Imogen’s head was still ringing with the effort of keeping the voices at bay.
At the northern side of the village next to a house with a well-kept garden, they found an old path—unkempt for a few seasons, with creeping ivy tangling over the crumbling stone wall beside it. It looked like a promising start to finding somewhere less well-populated.
Imogen glanced down to the basket on Laudna’s arm that was currently taking the place her hand sometimes occupied. “So where were you hidin’ that basket all this time?”
Laudna grinned a crooked smile. “Oh—I rescued it from being thrown away by one of the vendors. It has a little hole in it, but I think I can fix it up with some twigs and string.”
“It’s real nice,” Imogen said, biting her lip. “It suits you, sittin’ on your arm like that.” She couldn’t believe she was jealous of a broken basket.
“Why thank you, Imogen,” Laudna responded, idly scratching her nails along the stone wall as they walked on.
The trail narrowed and wended away from the wall, instead heading deeper in to the woods. Imogen’s stomach growled. She hoped they would find a nice clearing to sit down in—they were far enough away by now. But it was a surprise to both of them when, between the trees, a tiny ramshackle dwelling came into view, seated amidst a wilderness of thorny undergrowth.
An air of neglect hung around it, but the entire impression Imogen had from it was that whoever built this house intended for it not to be found easily. If someone was in there and didn’t want visitors, there were no witnesses to see what might befall them. Imogen’s instinct was to turn back, but—
“Oh—what a pretty little cottage!” Laudna exclaimed, and dashed haphazardly up to it, pressing her face against the window at the side, ignoring the tumble of brambles snagging at her clothing as she did so.
“Laudna—” Imogen hissed to her. “That could be someone’s house!”
But Imogen was helpless to stop her as, raggedy skirts bouncing, Laudna hopped up the wooden steps of the porch between foot-snagging tendrils of ivy and knocked on the door. After a heart-stopping moment where Imogen imagined an angry old woodsman rushing out wielding an axe, the door gently creaked inwards on its hinges. She held her breath, but it creaked back again. It was just the mischief of the wind.
“Oh Laudna,” she groaned, “You’re really gonna get yourself into trouble one of these days.”
A manic glint sparked in Laudna’s eyes. “What makes you think I’ve not already been in trouble?”
Imogen gingerly followed after Laudna into the shadowed interior. Other than being severely disused, overtaken by encroaching nature, and perhaps once home to some mice who had since died in a little pile of bones in the corner—much to Laudna’s delight—it looked quite homely. There was a fairly sturdy wooden bedframe in the bedroom, and a stove in the main room that looked like it would not take much to get in working order. There was even a pair of chairs and a table—albeit with a broken leg.
“No one’s been here for at least a year,” Laudna said, examining the decay on the mouse bones.
“Maybe we can stay here for tonight, and try to ask around the village tomorrow if anyone knows if anyone owns it.”
The folds of Imogen’s dress floated over the tips of the grass as she wandered the woods alone. She stooped, letting her fingers close over the coarse bark of a loose tree branch. There was no one around for some distance, not even Laudna, who was back at the dilapidated cottage where Imogen had left her trying to clear some of the debris out. Imogen had volunteered to gather firewood to clear her head.
The solitude was nice, sometimes—even from Laudna. Imogen loved being around her, but that was growing into a bit of a problem. Imogen had never felt this close to anyone before, and the last thing she wanted was to spoil their easy companionship. The nights huddled together, the gentle touches— Imogen’s breath caught painfully in her chest. Laudna and her curious lust for life were infectious—and Imogen, who had spent so much of her life being cautious, always trying to hold back her abilities lest she hurt someone, craved that infectious joy. It reminded her sometimes of how much she missed Flora, her beloved mare back in Gelvaan.
Being around Laudna had always felt that way—like she was riding free through the fields of tall, whispering grass with Flora, an exhilarating rush of air on her cheeks as they careened faster and faster onward, then slowing down to watch the sunset over the plateau valley, with not a soul for miles around. And then, aching with tiredness after a long journey, she would bring Flora back to the paddock, take off her saddle, and lie on the grass with her head on Flora’s side, letting her hair down from the plaits she wore when riding. There was such a peacefulness about horses—they could be funny, smart, and tender all at once—and not having the burden of everyone’s thoughts nagging at her was a relief, too. She used to think horses were easier than people, until she met Laudna.
But what could she do? Telling Laudna outright that she had feelings for her would obviously be a huge mistake. Imogen swore she would never read Laudna’s thoughts without permission—and she would honour that promise. The only thing was to fight her emotions down, and be as supportive as possible.
When she had collected enough wood to bolster her sore heart, Imogen returned to the cottage, easily picking her way back through to where the path carved a line through the underbrush. The distinctive white streak through Laudna’s hair caught her eye on the porch as she rounded to the front of the cottage. Surely enough, broom in hand, Laudna was sweeping the dust and stray leaves out of the doorway, and Imogen just watched her quietly for a moment before she was noticed.
“Imogen!” Laudna exclaimed, dropping the broom at once and rushing over to her, throwing her arms around her, crushing the bundle of branches between them. “You’re home.”
Hearing Laudna say those words sent warmth blooming through Imogen’s chest—even though Laudna could not mean it the way she yearned for her to. If only her hands had not been full of firewood; she felt cheated out of the pleasure of hugging her back. Felled by my own darn sword—gathering too much wood while dwelling on stupid things.
“You know we might not be able to stay here for much time,” Imogen admitted. “It looks as though someone just up and left for a while. They might want to come back. There’s still good stuff in here.”
“But while we are staying here, we might as well make it comfortable for ourselves. This is what I used to do all the time—fixing up old cabins in the woods and living there until someone or another chased me out! So I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if some friendly strangers cleaned up a bit. We’d be doing them a favour.”
Imogen’s mouth twisted. She knew Laudna had used to make homes for herself in shacks and make them liveable. It had used to make Imogen at least a bit sad, thinking of Laudna with nowhere to go but mouldering ruins of other people’s histories. She could tell the idea had rooted in Laudna’s mind now, and she kind of wanted to see her unleash her passion. “I s’pose you’re right. There’s no harm in it.”
“Let me take that for you.” Laudna took the wood from her, and arranged it on the side of the porch to dry out. Then, slipping her spindly fingers around Imogen’s hand, led her in through the scrubbed door.
The difference was astonishing—the ivy that had twisted its way inside had been removed, which made the space feel so much more open. Some of the cobwebs still dusted the upper corners—but the walls, floor, and windows were much cleaner. While the table leg was still broken, Laudna had pushed it up against the wall to stabilise it, and set the brushed-down wooden chairs opposite each other, angled invitingly.
“I think I might leave the moss in this corner as a nice natural carpet.”
Imogen was unsure if Laudna was joking or not, but this was Laudna. “Um—”
Before she could find any words to form a sentence, Laudna held up a dull metal pot, in which her unearthly face was partly reflected in a bulbous circle. “Look, I found a little cooking pot in the cupboard—I could make you a lovely home-cooked meal! Would you like that?”
“That sounds incredible, Laudna,” Imogen said in relief, sitting heavily down on one of the chairs. “But you’ve done so much already. Are you sure you’re all right? Is your knee hurtin’ at all?”
Laudna laughed her off. “Like I told you, it’s fine! Don’t worry about me. My joints pop in and out of place all the time.”
Although it still felt a lot like they had intruded on someone else’s house, something about Laudna looked different here—with just the two of them together in such a domestic setting. No other voices intruded, and only the soft musicality of Laudna’s thoughts lulled at the edges of her mind. She tried to imagine a week or so of this tranquil existence with only Laudna as her companion, or what it would be like to properly settle down for a while rather than constantly moving from place to place. But this was not their home, and they would most likely be moving on in the morning. “Maybe we’d best leave off lightin’ a fire tonight. If someone sees smoke comin’ from a house they know belongs to someone who ain’t here for the season—well, we’d be caught in a trespass.”
“You’re right,” Laudna said, deflating somewhat. “We don’t want to be attacked in the night.”
Laudna had set up the bed last night with their bedrolls, since the mattress was water-damaged—and it proved much more comfortable than sleeping rough in the forest. Imogen had to admit that Laudna was a real pro at this.
After finishing up the last of the bread for breakfast, they headed into the village and made some subtle enquiries in the village about the cottage—Imogen did most of the talking, and after a few people said they didn’t think anyone lived there any more, she managed to gently pry a little more information out of an older couple who lived close to the path back to the village. One of the women had been out in the front, gardening, and had been joined by a shorter woman, who had bustled out from inside with a glass of lemonade for her wife, her hair bundled up in a plump bun.
The cottage, it turned out, was owned by a dead man’s grandson who never got around to coming back to the village, so it had been left vacant since his death. Laudna looked as if she wanted to say something creepy, so Imogen shot her a look. “That’s kinda sad.”
The shorter of the women, who had introduced herself as Margaret, nodded. “There’s not much here for younger folk if you’re not looking to work on a farm. The grandson most likely is off on some grand adventure out in the big world. You’ll probably end up passing through in a little while, too.”
“Hmm,” Imogen replied. She privately thought it sounded like bliss. She had worked in stables and was no stranger to hard work like that. Maybe if she could ask around to see if one of the local farmers had need of an extra stable hand—
“What if someone were to—do some redecorating at that cottage? Take care of it for a little while?” Laudna interjected, eyes bulging as she grew excited. “A sort of temporary house-sitting situation, if you will?”
While Laudna’s presence and manner audibly unsettled the couple—for their buzzing thoughts grew louder in fear in Imogen’s mind—the taller of the women, Jessie, tugged on the brim of her hat and answered gruffly, “Well, I don’t think Ol’ Martin’s grandson is gonna know one way or the other. It’s been two years now. He never even came to the funeral.”
“Oh,” Imogen replied, not knowing whether to appear sad for the grandfather or relieved for herself and Laudna. Emotions were hard. “We don’t want any trouble, just a place to stay in. Truth be told, there’s not much in the way of coin lining our pockets, so I don’t think we could afford to stay at the inn or anything.”
“You look like a nice couple,” Margaret’s eyes drifted between the two of them hesitantly. Imogen felt herself blush at the assumption. “My advice is to keep to yourself and no one’ll trouble you. That’s how we’ve got by here through the years.”
Part of Imogen wanted to say, “No, we’re not a couple,” because it was not true, however much she wanted it to be—but drawing attention to the fact always made her feel sad. Now eager to get away from the pressure of Margaret and Jessie’s thoughts, Imogen put a hand on Laudna’s shoulder in readiness to be off. “Well, thanks for all your help.”
Margaret waved a wrinkled hand. “You’re welcome around any time if you’d like to share a meal with us. Take care!”
“They seemed nice,” Laudna said as they left, and fell into step beside Imogen, linking arms with her as they proceeded down the path. “We should drop in on them.”
“I can’t believe our luck.” Imogen threw her head back to admire the forest canopy above. She could appreciate it so much more now that it felt like they had some justification for staying there.
“It’s so lovely here, Imogen,” Laudna said, spinning around as they went, despite her knee—and almost tripped over a root that had erupted through the path. “I think we could settle down here for a little while.”
“Be careful,” Imogen warned her, taking a step closer and putting her hand gently on Laudna’s arm to steady her. Her hand lingered there a moment, before she withdrew it, pushing down her unwise thoughts.
They continued on in silence for a while. The initial relief Imogen felt from being away from people morphed into a sudden awareness of Laudna’s closeness. Did they really look like a couple? Was Laudna comfortable with that? She hadn’t objected to the comment. Maybe she simply hadn’t noticed the implication, or the way Imogen shared physical touch with her alone.
The cottage coming back into view prompted Laudna to pipe up, “I wonder if that Old Martin fellow died in there?” She grinned with all her teeth down at Imogen.
No, she definitely hadn’t noticed.
The next morning, Imogen awoke peacefully for the first time in a while. A bouquet of light rays spread across the bed, and she let a breath of relief fill her lungs and sigh out. It felt good to be in a proper bed, and to wake up next to— Oh! You’re awake. Imogen inadvertently thought at Laudna, upon seeing her glittering black pupils already watching her.
“Good morning,” Laudna murmured. “Someone slept well last night.”
“I did,” Imogen replied in her voice, sleepy and low. “No dreams.”
“Was it my excellent cooking?”
Imogen could not keep the smile from her face. It had been so—domestic—she, lighting a fire in the stove, fetching buckets of water, and then mostly watching as Laudna worked her magic around the kitchen. For someone who was not known to throw mouldy food away, she was surprisingly skilled in the culinary arts—and looked adorable in an apron.
“Well, let’s just say you sure know your way around a kitchen.”
Laudna’s eyes lit up with the compliment. “Thank you. It was lovely to have the chance to cook for you.”
The comment circled Imogen’s thoughts for a minute, and she could not help herself from overthinking and overanalysing it. “Hey, Laudna?”
“Hmm?”
Imogen gazed into Laudna’s eyes—at her long fingers folded around the edge of her blanket—and wondered if she should say anything at all. Laudna’s friendship was so precious to her, and she never wanted that to change. But at the same time, she yearned so much for the bond between them to become even deeper. “Oh— uh— nothing.”
Laudna scrutinised her. “What is it, Imogen?”
Forcing a smile, Imogen shook her head. “Like I said, nothing.” She sat up and slipped from the bed, the morning air chilling around her shoulders as she did so, before she collected her clothes and headed outside to wash in one of the frigid pails of water.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. She drenched her face and hair in the bucket. Why had she said anything? Laudna was incurably curious, and she knew she would have to come up with something to cover for the fact that she was going to ask her something that might have changed the entire trajectory of their friendship.
While she let the water drip all down her shift, Imogen noticed a washboard leaning against the wall on the porch. Some of their clothes could definitely do with a good wash. The sky was clear enough for now, with no tell-tale signs of coming rain. Maybe they should take advantage of the fact that they had a place to rest for a little while.
She twisted the last of the water out of her hair and began tying it back into a bun on her way back inside. Laudna was inspecting the table, using a piece of thread as a guide to measure how long the broken leg ought to be.
“Hey, you got any laundry that needs doin’?”
“An excellent proposition,” Laudna responded with glee. “But before that, why don’t I go into the village and get some eggs for breakfast? Is there anything special you’d like?”
“No, I’m all right,” Imogen replied, wishing she hadn’t worked herself up so much that morning trying to open up about her feelings, only to not be able to put all that nervous energy to use. It was kind of Laudna to offer to go into the village without her, even though Imogen was a bit worried about her going on her own. She figured Laudna had coped well enough without her before they had met, and— it really had been unpleasant going through there the other day.
“I’ll be back soon,” Laudna sang out from the front porch, before heading off, swinging her beloved basket from her arm.
It was often like Laudna to get distracted while she was out and take much longer than normal to do a basic task like buying some eggs—but when it was long past breakfast time and Imogen had almost finished scrubbing the road out of their clothes, she knew something was wrong. A sick feeling began to churn Imogen’s stomach as she squeezed water out of Laudna’s blouse. The sudsy water was suddenly nauseating.
Imogen reached out with her mind to see if Laudna was nearby, in the hope that she would be walking down the path, a dozen eggs too many in her basket—but she was not. Imogen hung the blouse on the line she had strung between the porch and a nearby tree, before heading inside to fetch her belt.
Her feet dashed against the path. The thought that Laudna might be in trouble spurred her onwards, even penetrating the whirlwind of thoughts that battered at her as she headed into the village.
Something had definitely happened here, for the inner voices of those around were loud and troubled—and there, in the centre of the square—a basket that looked very much like the one Laudna had been carrying was discarded, its brittle wicker broken where it had been trampled.
In a flight of frenzy, Imogen ran over to the nearest person standing in the village square—a older man in a well-pressed suit that looked out of place amongst the farm workers with their clay bottles and the more casual attire of those milling about on errands.
“Excuse me, have you seen—?” Imogen was so panicked that she had not even mentally prepared what she was going to ask. “An unfamiliar lady around here? She’s tall, kinda pale-looking, dark hair with a white streak and— a nice smile. She went to buy some eggs but—”
The man narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “You mean the— corpse-looking thing?”
Imogen hardly liked to admit it, but she shrugged and gave a nod. “She’s just awful pale.”
“She caused some unrest, so they took her to the cells in the barracks.” He surveyed her warily, scratching his stubbly chin. “You don’t look dead.”
The cells? Imogen could not imagine Laudna deliberately causing harm—but then again, if she had said something a bit morbid, perhaps someone might have taken that the wrong way. This man was being a pain in her backside, though. She squared up to him. “That’s because I’m not.”
“And yet you’re travelling with that thing.”
Imogen didn’t have time for this. “Are you gonna point me in the direction of the barracks or am I gonna have to find someone around here more competent?”
A nasty smile crossed his mouth. “Not with that attitude, young lady.”
Imogen’s first instinct was a flash of anger, but— she was no good to Laudna if she pissed off the wrong person. This small-town jerk wasn’t worth it. The breath she was holding in expelled slowly. “All right, I’m sorry. I’m just worried about my friend.”
“That’s better. I can take you there myself, if you like.” He was growing slimier by the minute. “I’m headed that way.”
Great. An escort. Imogen tried to arrange her face into a smile. The sooner this was cleared up, the better. “Thanks, that’d be great.”
Tension tightened Imogen’s hands into fists at her side as she followed the man across the square and towards the edge of the village to a fortified building. If she had been less panicked, she might have been able to find it herself, and almost felt stupid for asking directions.
Once in the dark interior, Imogen realised her guide must have been a person of some importance in the town, for the guards within stood and nodded an acknowledgement of his presence—if the fancy suit had not been enough of a tip-off. A jangle of keys pealed out as the guard unlocked the room behind, letting him pass through. Imogen found her way stopped by the haft of a spear cracking into the stone floor before her.
“Allow the girl to enter,” the man said curtly, in a way that made Imogen’s skin crawl.
“Of course, Marshal.”
Imogen held back a curse from her lips at the title. Of course this bastard was someone of importance. She would have to be careful how she went about this, and kept her head low in a posture of meekness as she tailed him into the room.
Rusted iron bars divided the space around the walls into crude chambers—and there, on the straw-strewn floor, was folded the heartbreaking broken shape of Laudna. A dark slash marked her forehead, and the trailing blood had dripped around her eye.
“Laudna!” Imogen cried out, and rushed over to the cell that caged her within. She reached through the bars towards Laudna, but she remained limp and dejected on the floor.
“Imogen,” she whispered, raising her eyes languidly to meet her like a lifeless doll. Hurt like this, Laudna really did look unsettling—but Imogen knew that was solely because she had been mistreated and injured.
Imogen did a quick mental evaluation of the situation. There were two guards in the room behind, and one in here with the marshal. It would be foolish, if not impossible, to take them on by herself. Negotiation was her only choice.
The guard sneered and rang his mace along the bars. “It’s due to be disposed of in the morning.”
“You can’t do that!” Imogen felt herself grow shrill. All plans and intentions of staying calm sublimated to her fear. “She’s my— my Laudna.” She had been about to say ‘friend’, but it did not carry the right weight to it. Laudna was a lot more than a friend to her.
“Look at it from my perspective,” the marshal said, his tone patronising. “We can’t have animated corpses shambling about town. People would fear we were under attack, as has happened before. You can imagine the hysteria—very tiresome to quell. No, the best thing is to show the people of this village that we are in control with a public handling of this disruption to our safe haven.”
Imogen gritted her teeth. “We’re not hurtin’ anyone—but we’ll leave, if you’re so worried. Just let Laudna go and we can be on our way.”
The marshal tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Two lonely girls travelling unprotected through the village. I’d wager there’s no one who would miss you. What’s to stop me from throwing you in the cell with your abomination so you can meet the same fate in the morning?”
Blood pulsed in her ears, sending freezing terror to every cell in her body. She would have no qualms about attacking this man, but with four against one—the odds were not good.
A shuffling behind the odious marshal alerted her to Laudna staggering to her feet. “I didn’t want to have to do this,” her voice rasped, “but you threatened my Imogen.”
An audible crack jerked Laudna’s neck to one side, and her form lurched as the frail body contorted into an unearthly skeletal monstrosity, a veil descending over her face. Her jaw unhinged, black ichor flooding her eyes—dripping from her teeth, and she let out a ragged laugh that chilled even Imogen to the bone. The guard in the room gave a yelp of horror, dropping his mace to the floor at once and backing against the wall, shivering.
Imogen coolly turned to the marshal, whose face was locked into a grimace of fear. “You let her out,” she said, anger heavy in every word. “We’ll be out of town before nightfall, and you’ll never see us again. Or would you rather wait until she breaks out of the cell and rips your spine out?”
The very shadows consorted to make Laudna’s form more menacing. The marshal snarled like a cornered animal, before snapping to the cowering guard, “You— open the cell.”
Laudna’s eyes still gazed like endless voids out from her hollow visage beneath the veil, cracking her limbs at inhuman angles. The guard fumbled to unhook the key from his belt and tossed it away from him like a spider. Imogen was there in moments, scooping them up and unlocking the merciless iron door, checking over her shoulder to make sure the marshal was keeping his distance.
Spindly fingers clawed at the door, dripping black fluid over the bars. For a brief second of primal fear, Imogen thought Laudna might attack her—but she moved with grotesque agility over to where the marshal was rooted to the spot, and gripped his wretched throat. A host of ghastly echoes accompanied her voice as she gleefully told him, “I very much look forward to your death.”
The marshal gave a whimper, and collapsed to his knees when released.
“Pathetic.” Imogen rolled her eyes.
The guards in the front room of the barracks recoiled as the dreadful form of Laudna led the way out—but as soon as they emerged into the light, the hand that rested on Imogen’s wrist was her usual one—thin, bony, and comforting, but smeared with dark blood.
“Y-you saved me,” Laudna stammered, her fragile state once more evident.
“Really, you saved yourself. I was just there to ease the process.” Imogen shook her head, smiling, even though it hurt her heart to see Laudna so mistreated. “I can’t believe what they were gonna do to you.”
Laudna gave a sad smile in return. “Oh, it’s happened before. This time I just got caught. I only regret I didn’t get to make you breakfast.”
Imogen could have cried. Why was Laudna thinking about the eggs at a time like this? “Let’s get back to the cottage by the back roads and clean you up some.” Imogen put her arm around Laudna, who looked faint and paler than usual—or it might have just been the blood stark against her skin. “Lean on me.”
Laudna winced as Imogen dabbed at her forehead with a compress.
“I’m sorry—”
There was a listless look to Laudna’s eyes. She must have been hit pretty hard on the head, but still managed to shake her head weakly at Imogen’s apology. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”
It was Imogen’s turn to wince, leaning back on the wooden chair and looking into the candlelight. “It kinda is. I shouldn’t have let you go alone when we didn’t know what these folk would be like.”
A clammy hand closed over Imogen’s. “But it hurts you to be around so many people. I wanted to do something nice for you.”
“You do plenty nice things for me,” Imogen returned. “But I really appreciate it, Laudna.” Yet how much she appreciated it, Laudna might never know.
“I care about you deeply, Imogen.” Laudna lowered her eyes. “I—”
But what Laudna was to say next was broken off immediately by a knock at the door. Alarm overcoming her frustration, Imogen was on her feet immediately, dagger already slipped from her thigh holster as she stole towards the door.
The alarmed faces of Margaret and Jessie greeted Imogen’s raised dagger blade. “Wait, it’s just us!”
Relief drained the fight out of Imogen, and she sheathed the dagger. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry— we’ve just had an awful day—”
“—We know,” Jessie said calmly, although a slight crease of concern had developed between her brows. She indicated the basket that Margaret was carrying. “We came to bring you a little care package. We’re so sorry the guards hurt your friend, and that we couldn’t do anything to stop them. If I was fifty years younger—”
“We’re very grateful,” Imogen hastened to say. “We never wanted anything like this to happen. The last thing we wanted was to bother anyone.”
“Are you all right?” Margaret peered around Imogen at Laudna, who was remarkably quiet.
“Just a scratch,” Laudna said—but she was leaning her head heavily into the compress in her hand, stained with black.
Laudna’s appearance looked all too obviously strange to Imogen, for even though she might be used to seeing Laudna like this, she was aware that to others it could be frightening. If Jessie and Margaret were at all frightened, they showed no sign of it now. Imogen lowered her voice. “I don’t think we can get goin’ tonight. She’s been knocked about quite a bit.”
“We’ll keep a lookout at ours,” Jessie vowed. “First sign of trouble, we’ll come and warn you.”
“That’s mighty kind of you.”
Margaret rested her hand on Imogen’s wrist as she handed over the basket with a quiet tenderness. “We want you to know that— even though you might seem different, you still have friends.”
Although Imogen usually shied away from touch with most people, she gave a weak smile and met Margaret’s eye. It was nice to have neighbours—neighbours for only one night more, Imogen supposed—who would go out of their way for them. “Thank you.”
The door closed, leaving them in silence in the darkening front room.
“Wasn’t that nice of them? Shows not everyone is as prejudiced.” Imogen investigated the basket, biting her lip against the guilt she felt, but smiling over at Laudna.
Laudna, however, looked distant; the loose, scraggly strands of her hair shaded over her eyes. “Maybe you were better off travelling without me,” she murmured.
“What on Exandria would make you say a thing like that?” Imogen knelt down beside Laudna, trying to look up at her to catch her downcast gaze.
Her lips curved into a crooked smile. “Someone like me doesn’t deserve— well, just look at me.” Laudna gazed into the unfurled hand in her lap. In undeath, her skin stretched over bony knuckles, and the dark stain of ichor from when they had extended into monstrous claws still remained. “If you had come here without me, you would be safe.”
Something in Imogen broke, and tears beaded in the corners of her eyes. “Laudna— I don’t ever want to be apart from you. If I’ve made you think something different—”
“—You haven’t done anything wrong, Imogen. It’s me.”
Laudna seemed to have withdrawn into a dark mood, and Imogen would usually have wordlessly given her space, worrying internally that she had upset her in some way—but this time, Imogen found her thoughts dwelling on the last thing she had begun to say before Margaret and Jessie had arrived. She touched the back of Laudna’s hand softly. “You were saying earlier— that you cared about me?”
Shame or embarrassment ducked Laudna’s head low, and her hands shrank away from Imogen’s, clawing at the ends of her hair. “Deeply.”
The sincerity gave Imogen reason to hope. Her mouth suddenly felt rather dry. “Well, you mean a lot to me too. The thought of making a home with you— it made me feel warm inside.” She watched Laudna carefully, prepared to stop at the first sign of discomfort. “And without you I’d— I’d be without my favourite person. I don’t care what the world thinks. I think the world of you.”
“Oh.” That comment seemed to pull Laudna further out from her mood—but she retreated behind a double-curtain of hair that she drew across her face. “Um.”
“I’m sorry— I don’t want to upset you or make you feel uncomfortable,” Imogen made hastily to reassure her.
Laudna emerged from behind her hair, a tired look on her face. “For a moment there I thought you were going to say you had feelings for me that weren’t just platonic.”
Imogen’s breath caught in her chest. “Oh!” Her own voice sounded colourless to her, inflected with a cheeriness that she did not feel extend to her eyes. It would be so easy to lie and continue on in that bright state of denial. But— she had almost lost Laudna today. “What if I do? Would— would that change how you felt about me?”
A heartbeat—one of Laudna’s slow, steady pulses—separated them for a minute. Though she was actively trying not to listen to any thoughts, into her head burst a melodic flood; a blush warmed her cheeks that she felt must have been obvious at the arm’s length of distance between them.
“Of course it would,” Laudna replied, but before Imogen could fear the worst— “It would mean I would have to address the romantic inclination I’ve been feeling for you.”
The entire room felt full and empty all at once as the reality dawned on her. “Laudna—” She knew she could not say it out loud, for the words were a struggle to get her tongue around—she opened up a mental connection instead, cautious, even though she felt like she already knew the answer. Do you really like me?
Truly, I do, Laudna’s voice echoed into her mind.
Imogen stooped to embrace Laudna just as Laudna stood to do the same—Laudna’s head bumped against her chest. “Oh! Sorry—”
Laudna seized Imogen’s shoulders for support, but neither of them had a strong footing, and they stumbled back into the table. Miraculously, Imogen managed to save Margaret and Jessie’s basket before the table’s broken leg gave out from where it had been wedged against the wall for balance.
“I really wanted to get around to fixing that table,” Laudna grimaced.
Laughing softly, Imogen set the basket down safely before wrapping Laudna in a tight hold. “We’ll find a new place with a broken table,” she murmured, cheek against Laudna’s shoulder. “I promise.”
Hesitantly, Laudna withdrew just enough that their eyes met, wordlessly questioning. Imogen knew what was coming next—though she was scared, there was no one else she would rather be scared with. Laudna’s wrist trembled as she lifted it to Imogen’s face, and faltered back.
“It’s all right,” Imogen murmured. She cupped her hand, and guided it to her cheek as gently as she could.
A soft pressure eased Imogen’s jaw up. Lulled by the harmony of Laudna’s thoughts, Imogen found herself lost in her sweet kiss, finally knowing where she belonged.
Imogen brushed her finger gently over Laudna’s ears, trying not to feel overwhelmed. “You know, I s’pose it wasn’t really our first home. But it was the first time I realised I could feel like I was home.”
Laudna flexed the finger that was wrapped around one of Imogen’s ringlets to make it stretch out, and then allowed it to slip free and bounce back up. “Sometimes I think about all those little domestic spaces we’ve carved out of nothing across the world—each homely in their own way, of course—but it only feels like home with you, Imogen.”
Imogen found her hand clasped in cool fingers, and shivered slightly as Laudna kissed her lips against her palm; the simplest act was always the most intimate with Laudna. Imogen smoothed her hair back, and in doing so revealed the tiny scar where a line of grey scalp showed through at the hairline. She traced her fingertip over it, remembering how she had daubed blood from it, and had combed her hair as tenderly as she could with water to clean it without further hurting her.
Laudna frowned. “Did some of my hair fall out again?”
“No—I’m just remembering something.” The wound had healed long ago, and clearly Laudna had never noticed the scar that it had left. Imogen had often thought that Laudna was much more resilient in the face of the violence they had experienced, but she often found herself dwelling on it.
A sulky sound from Laudna shook Imogen from her thoughts. “I don’t want to get up, but we have to make a move soon or we won’t make it to the theatre on time.”
They gradually extricated themselves from the sofa to get ready for their evening out. By the front door to their little home, Imogen helped Laudna put on the black velvet opera cloak she had bought her last week, drawing it around her narrow shoulders somewhat protectively.
“How do I look, darling?” Laudna asked, smiling coyly.
Imogen reached up to stroke Laudna’s cheek, and ran a thumb over her dark lips. “Gorgeous. Very elegant.”
Before she knew it, Laudna slipped her hand from beneath the cloak to Imogen’s waist and drew her in closer, leaning down to kiss her deeply. Though Laudna’s lips were cool, they still sent a flush tingling down to her chest.
Imogen raised an eyebrow and bit her lip. “What if we were fashionably late?”
Another kiss was all the answer Imogen needed.