Nettle & Bone

by T. Kingfisher

The trees were full of crows and the woods were full of madmen.

Perhaps she might have built a man out of bones, but she had no great love of men any longer.

They were protected by powerful magic, but magic could not fix blood,

She had not realized that a nun had more power than a princess, that she could close a door.

She could not quite make up her mind whether she wanted to be a ghost who would haunt the convent or not. It would be very satisfying to be a sad-eyed, beautiful ghost who drifted through the halls, gazing up at the moon and weeping silently, as a warning to other young women. On the other hand, she was still short and round-faced and sturdy, and there were very few ghost stories about short, sturdy women.

“They took her from me as soon as she was born,” Kania said. “You remember? I did not hold her, not even for a moment. They took her to her father, and then to the wet nurse. She had an army of nursemaids and tutors. I saw her for a few minutes a day at most.” She shook her head slowly. “There were so many things I missed, and I did not even know that I was missing them. She took her first step and spoke her first words, and I heard from the nursemaids.” “Perhaps you mourned then,” said Marra, hoping desperately that it was true. I didn’t mourn her, either, and now it seems like no one is, not really, and that’s not right. “Perhaps. But I should be mourning now,” Kania said, sounding thoughtful. “I should be destroyed. This should be the greatest pain that a mother could know. And yet it is as if a stranger’s child had died. I feel badly for that stranger, but it does not seem as if it has anything to do with me.”

“She’s managed this long,” said the queen. “She is riding a dragon, and all of us in the kingdom are riding along with her.”

the history of the world was written in women’s wombs and women’s blood and she would never be allowed to change it.

“The dead could help you,” said Elspeth. “But you need a real dust-wife, one married to clay and bone and grave dirt, not an old herb witch good at digging holes.”

People who would jostle Marra the woman would step aside for Marra the nun. And Marra the princess? she thought, bemused. Would they stand aside for her?

“Lots of people deserve to die,” said the dust-wife finally. “Not everybody deserves to be a killer.”

“Imagination is not your strong suit, is it?” asked the dust-wife. A smile cracked the planes of her face. “That’s not an insult, child—don’t look so surly. For this sort of work, you want feet on the ground, not castles in the air.”

“Is it dangerous?” “Deeply,” said the dust-wife. “But everywhere’s dangerous if you’re foolish about it.

Some things come into being once it’s inevitable that they will exist.”

“I was a fool,” said Fenris. “I slept in a fairy fort. I knew better, but I…” He looked away. “What’s a fairy fort?” asked Marra. “A ring of earth. Trees grow up the sides, but the centers are usually clear. Ruins, some say, of an old people. Dwellings of the hidden ones. Uncanny places. I should not have been there.”

“I do not know that I believe in ghosts.” “Yet you believe in fairies,”

“It is probably not the path of honor to deprive a young woman of half her blanket, but my bones are old enough that I thank you.” “I’m not that young,” said Marra. “And don’t even talk to me about old bones until you’re over seventy, youngster,” said the dust-wife.

“What about curses?” the dust-wife asked. “There are many stories about the wicked fairy at the christening.” Agnes shook her head. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I always wondered if maybe those godmothers could only give bad gifts. And then you have to wonder if maybe there are lots of godmothers out there who don’t do anything because the only gifts they could give would be curses.”

I know it was partly because I was not … not good at these things. But none of it is my power. It is only other people, moving me on a game board.

“I, uh … realize it’s awkward that you have to share a room with me. If there were a stable, I’d offer, but there isn’t one. And honestly, I’d rather be close at hand, in case…” He trailed off, but Marra knew that he was thinking about the curse-child. “I’d prefer you were close, too,” she said. “It’s fine. No worse than the road.” Fenris made a noncommittal noise. Marra knew perfectly well what he meant. Once you added walls and a door, things became … complicated.

She wondered if all the old stories of heroes slaying monsters and maidens locked in towers had involved long, tedious stretches of trying to find the monsters or build the towers in the first place. Probably. No, almost certainly. Who wants to hear the dull practical bits? Me. I do. It would make me feel less like I am failing.

You look as if you’re afraid the universe is ashamed of you.”

“You cannot help people who do not want help,” rumbled Fenris. “You can’t force someone to do what you think is best for them.” He paused, then added, somewhat reluctantly, “Well, you can. But they don’t appreciate it and most of the time it turns out that you were wrong.”

She did not look like a tiny, fluttery woman who lived with chickens and a garden that had gotten out of control. She looked like a creature of magic and terror, the dark mirror of a saint, more at home in the goblin market than the throne room.

“And I already agreed to help you ransom the other humans in the goblin market.” “You did.” “So. Maybe you and I could … not go home together?” The words hung in the air between them, as fine as spun glass and just as fragile. Marra waited for him to say something, to catch the words or shatter them, whichever he chose. “I think I’d like that,” said Fenris.