Nineteen
The cold wind running over Sigrid's back brought her home. She closed her eyes for a moment and let her mind take her to the snow-covered ridges of the Upper Reach. She didn't think she had ever breathed air as clean and pure as that. For an instant melancholy almost made her miss the movement. She snapped her eyes open and looked down over the courtyard. She sighed. Just another change of guards.
She looked down at the scene below her. Mirja was riding the young duke with an impressive vigor. Sigrid felt a sting of what she realized was jealously. She sighed again and lay down on the roof watching the lovers below imagining that it was her face that Mirja was riding, at least it brought a pleasant tingle. She put her hand inside her undergarments and slowly rubbed herself as she watched. A few drops later she shivered in a tiny climax. It was the third time she was at the duke's palace in the last month and not a single showing of the wraith.
And there isn't going to be one tonight either.
She sighed and looked up at the clear autumn sky. The stars were rising earlier and earlier. She could already see the Whipped Lady in the east. She closed her eyes but opened them again as the same vision appeared at a moment's notice. The female Westerling. Sigrid shook her head. The creature had appeared in her dreams and waking dreams more often than not since they visited the basement of the Animancy building.
I have to go back.
It was the hundredth time she had thought that thought. And so far, done nothing about it. Looking back at the Whipped Lady she sighed one last time. Shook her head and stood up. She glanced down at the entwined couple below. Then she made her decision.
The door to the basement looked just like the last time, when Samel had been the one lifting the bar. Sigrid hesitated before touching the dark wood.
I will die one day anyway. And it is not today.
She grabbed the bar and lifted it off, gently placing it down onto the bottom of the stairs. Felt the handle. Locked.
I haven't yet met a lock that can keep me out, she thought and brought out two slender daggers and inserted them into the lock.
There was an audible clicking sound as the lock yielded to her. Sigrid's lip quirked up a little and she put her daggers back in their sheaths and snuck inside.
Strange sounds echoed through the dimly lit hallway. Sigrid drew a breath and held it, trying to remember the way to the room holding the Westerling. As she came up to the thick wooden door she drew in a breath and kept it in. She put her ear towards the rough surface. Nothing. There was no handle on the door. Last time it was Mirja that had opened it. Sigrid cursed under her breath. But there was something different this time. Last time she had felt her presence almost as she entered the basement. She had been drawn to the creature. Now. Nothing. The silence ached inside her.
"She is not here any longer."
Sigrid spun around, reaching for one of her daggers.
"No need for that," Master Olgric said raising a hand. "I intend you no harm. Which is most generous of me considering that you are trespassing. Once more."
Sigrid froze. The Master held a glowing sphere in front of his face which made him look even more gaunt that usual. He walked slowly closer until he stood less than an arm's length from her. He towered above her. He was even taller than she remembered.
"You have all the signs," he said and before she could react his cold hand was on her cheek.
For some reason she didn't move as he ran his fingers over her skin.
"Do you know who your mother was?"
Sigrid was taken aback by the question. It hit deep into her core and she couldn't utter a single syllable. Her mouth opened and closed a few times as his hand stayed on her skin, cold seeping in from his fingers.
"No," she finally managed to breathe out.
He nodded.
"I can find out, if you want the truth."
Sigrid felt the cold of the Master's fingers. She tried to move away but seemed stuck.
"You should go now. Come see me again if you want the truth."
He pulled his hand away and once more she could move. Sigrid blinked, turned around walking away. She dared not look back at the strange old man.
*
The autumn passed and winter winds swept down from the north bringing more memories, and not only pleasant ones. As Mirja spent more and more time with the young duke and Jarl spent most nights at the Mistresses, Sigrid found herself with more time on her hands than she knew what to do with. First, she was as diligent as any Sister and spent her nights on the rooftops watching for the wraith, but one night as Mirja was thrashing under the duke's ministrations Mirja stood up and gazed northwards. She struggled with her duty for a moment, but then gave in and started towards Parchent. Less than a bell later she perched outside of Irese's room. To her surprise she saw Irese on the bed with a bunch of papers spread out in front of her.
She's reading.
Sigrid sat still for a few drops watching the lady of the night turn over paper after paper. Then she silently opened the window and slid inside.
"What are you reading?"
Irese looked up in shock from the papers laid out in front of her. Sigrid shot a glance at them, but they were written in a language that she didn't recognize. Irese sat up on the bed with an accusatory look.
"You should really stop doing that," she said slowly collecting the papers together into a single pile. "It's not nice, you know. Especially since you haven't visited me for far too long."
Irese's lecherous smile almost made Sigrid lose her focus. She bit down and took another step closer and repeated her question.
"What are you reading?"
"This?" Irese said with a little laugh. "Old stories. Just old stories from a time long passed."
Sigrid frowned. She had seen Irese reading a few times before when she had watched her, but she had not expected it to be old stories. She had expected ... actually she didn't know what she had expected, but not that.
"Like of the Westerlings?"
Irese sat up straight and there was suddenly an interest in her eyes that had not been there before.
"Yes. Exactly like the Westerlings," she nodded.
Sigrid snorted. Irese had another layer that she had not seen before. Maybe she had been blinded by her need for the woman's body to even consider that she had a mind. There was a surge of embarrassment that ran through her as the thought settled into place.
"Do you know much of the Westerlings?" Sigrid said and sat down on the chair next to the bed.
Irese nodded slowly seeming to consider this.
