Excerpt: The Falling Woman

The storm lasted all through the day. By mid-morning it paused to gather its strength, and odd light in shades of orange and green cracked the sky. Customers were scarce, but those that came in stayed in to dry off, gossip and get the merchandise wet. Most of Imber’s conversations had to do with the shades, which were circling the neighborhood and irritating the locals. She and Hylas traded off checking in on the woman, who hadn’t moved since she was laid in Imber’s bed.

There wasn’t so much to be said about her. Her nails were ragged and her palms were raw. The dress was torn and stained, and Eudora did not think it should be salvaged. When Hylas took the time to brush her hair out, it came to her elbows and appeared to have been well tended once. She wore a gold band on her left hand and an odd bracelet on her right wrist: it was fashioned of some glasslike material, with a single thread of something nearly copper-colored inside. The cuts of her garments were foreign to all three, and Traitorsburgh had a deep memory for these things.

“Burling didn’t know anything? Not a single thing?” Imber pressed.

Eudora shook her head. “Nothing. A man he didn’t know said he found her in the open.”

“Maybe she’ll talk when she wakes up,” Hylas said.

They didn’t have to wait long. The skies cleared by late afternoon, and the sunset was a fresh-faced palette of delicate pastels. Bells began to ring in all the quarters of the city. Imber opened a window and leaned out, looking out at the wet slate tiles of the rooftops beneath the eggshell sky. A breeze ghosted in through the room. Traitorsburgh was lovely and quiet, with not a shade in sight.

The woman in Imber’s bed sucked in a loud, strangled gasp and went rigid. Imber jumped at the noise and smacked herself in the small of her back on a shelf. The woman sat up straight as a rod, her eyes adrenaline-wide. The sound ended as suddenly as it had started: the woman put one hand to her mouth and seemed amazed to see it come away dry. “Shit,” Imber exclaimed, massaging her back. “You gave me one hell of a fright there!”

The woman stared at her, and Imber got a good look at her crooked teeth and grey eyes. Imber made a slow circle of the bed, her hands palms-up. “You’re safe. It’s all right.” The woman gripped the blankets, her chest heaving. Imber tried to keep her stance friendly and comforting. “Can I get you something? You want some drink, something to eat?”

“English,” the woman rasped. “Are you English?”

Imber blinked at the thick accent. “Excuse me?”

The woman’s face became more guarded. “Your name,” she said stiffly. “I would know what lord keeps me and where.”

“This is Traitorsburgh, and you’re not being kept anywhere. What’s your name?”

She hesitated; it flickered across her face, but briefly. “Gruoch,” she said. The word was strange in Imber’s ear, two syllables she wasn’t used to combining.

“Gruoch,” she repeated, experimenting with the sound. “I’m Imber. You’re under the care of Eudora Komideia. This is her apothecary. You were brought here last night. Do you know anything more about that?”