Disclaimer: I'm only playing in Pat's beautiful playground.

Chapter 15: Forgetting

.

I fell into my new life painfully, but with little resistance. There were things that made it easier. A warm bed at night, even if most nights it wasn't my own. A small but steady stream of coins. Enough to eat and get by on. Enough to start slowly refilling my purse. On the nights when I didn't share a bed, I would take a tiny room meant only for sleeping and revel in the silence.

And so the days passed.

I told myself that it was different. No one was forcing me into anything. I was making the choice. Working for myself. And I was making money. Not a lot by any means; these men paid far less than what I had managed to squirrel away in bits and pieces at the Mare. But money was money, and I was in no position to turn down any coin. It was meant to be temporary — just until the warning lifted and it was safe to go. Until I had enough to leave. But span turned to months. And months to seasons. And the everyday horror of my reality settled into the dullness of routine.

Hard and broken as it was, South Renere became a sort of home to me. I stayed there until long after the ashy coloring of my hair faded away. At first I had been waiting, but waiting was hard. I had learned that lesson long ago, back during the summer when I spent long, empty days waiting for Denna to come back home. Back when I was young and naive, and life didn't weigh nearly as much. And these days there wasn't really anything to wait for, no matter what promises I had made myself.

Anilin was a distant star; so far away that its light didn't feel real. When I looked up at the sky my first few span in Renere, I dreamed of it. It was a distant flicker of hope at the edge of the map. It kept me going for a while. But as time went by, that hope, too, began to fade. The reasons were simple. It was too far. It was impossible. And I wasn't a silly child anymore. I knew the truth of things now, and I was far too old and clever to keep believing in something like hope. I had already learned how cruel a thing it could be. As brightly as it could light the sky, it wasn't real. You couldn't eat it. Couldn't live off it. And when it inevitably came crashing down, the shards would cut you up as well as any knife. And then only disappointment remained. The sky would turn so black that finding your way at all would be impossible. It just hurt so much more when hope was involved. It was easier just to be. And I was nobody now. Just a whore, and a cheap one at that. I had already lost everything worth losing. Wasn't it easier to not hold on to hope and risk losing that, too?

So I stopped looking up.

In bits and moments at first, until the moments grew longer. Until, one day, I couldn't find the sky at all. There was no blue anymore. No lights. No stars. Just grey, really. Just an endless, dusky greyness everywhere. And all the days the same. Each counting down to the night, the hours between sunrise and sunset dragging and speeding all at once. Just time that didn't mean anything to live a life that meant even less.

And then night would come. There would be a man. And the next day there would be another. And again. Night after night, I would lie upon rumpled beds or weary couches, another's body heavy against mine. Though not as heavy as the stone in my heart. The stone that was my heart. Their kisses would be sloppy, or greedy, or sometimes even tender. Loving. All agreed upon. But never wanted. Their hands would press, eager, always demanding more.

But for all their touch on me, I felt nothing. I felt like I wasn't ever there at all. Oh I would go through the motions, say all the right things. But while my body was free for the taking, my mind wandered to places they couldn't follow. Places that lived in the grey and were filled with the sounds of Denna's laughter or Mother's rebec. I lived mostly in memories and the spaces between, the rooms in my mind filled with people who had started to fade around the edges. My real world was the one that existed only in my mind. The other one — the one I'd wrapped away in grey cotton to hide its sharp edges — was just too painful. If I had stopped to think about it long enough, to take the time to see or feel it, I think I would have broken apart.

As it was, it was nearly winter before it all caught up with me.

The morning air was brisk. Particularly cool for Fallow. I had left Lucian asleep in his room on the second floor of the Kindled Falling and slipped out through the dark and empty taproom. The owner stuck his head out of the kitchen at the sound of my footsteps and gave me an amiable nod. It was not my first night spent at the Falling. I returned his greeting before I wedged open the door, allowing morning's brightness to spill into the room. It blinded me for a moment, the cold swirling around me like dust in strips of daylight. I pushed through it and stepped out into the icy air. It tasted of winter.

I pulled my thin shawl tight against my dress and hurried down Picket Street. It was empty at this ungodly hour. Empty was how I liked South Renere best. And early mornings were the only times it was truly empty. The street, the buildings, the cobblestones — it all seemed to breathe in a peaceful harmony. As if the entire city were still asleep, lying in wait for the day. I saw it this way most mornings. And these moments of peace were well worth the chill.

Still, it was significantly colder than it had been last night, and I had not dressed appropriately when I left for the Falling the previous evening. I walked faster, hurrying through the streets as the icy air brushed against my skin. It burned my lungs with every breath. Nauseatingly cold.

I finally reached the tiny alley behind the Iron Tree, a boarding house where I had taken to renting a bed when my trips through South Renere proved fruitless. It was a small but decent place run by an honest Cealdish man and his wife. The beds were clean if not fancy. The food good in a simple way that tasted almost nostalgic. The rates affordable. And best of all, it had an old fireplace against the back wall of the common room that had since been replaced by a new and significantly better-designed fireplace. The new fireplace was centrally located, better ventilated, and provided even heating to the entire first floor. The old fireplace had been bricked up from the inside, but not removed because it would "compromise the structural integrity of the building," as explained to me by Charrel himself, the owner of the Iron Tree.

He had talked at length about the updates he and his wife, Hana, had made after acquiring the decrepit building several years ago. Charrel was warm-hearted and enthusiastic. He loved to talk despite his thick accent, and it was his favorite activity to chat with the boarders and regale them with stories from his past as he tended the small bar in the dining room. I never minded the company; it was the sort of human connection I found hard to come by these days, and it filled the time in a way my evenings and nights never did. Sometimes he would even bring over a sweet and leave it for me with a wink before he launched into a story.

So I learned a great deal from Charrel. I learned that he and Hana had dreamed of opening their own inn for too many years to count. That they had come to Renere from Dalonir several years ago, looking to make a fresh start somewhere new, though I was hazy as to why. Despite being Cealdish merchants, they weren't particularly wealthy. As such, the only property they had been able to afford was in the seediest part of Renere. And it had been more of a broken building than a boarding house when they had bought it. But Charrel and Hana were nothing if not incredibly diligent. Over the years, they had put their heart into the Iron Tree, building up its bones until it grew into the proper boarding house it was today. Now, it had fifteen small guestrooms, all of them comfortable and warm. The kitchen was well updated and the dining room pleasant and bright. They had even added a small but extravagant bathhouse, available to guests for a discounted fee and open to the public for a penny per hour.

And I learned about the fireplace. The old one had been drafty and poorly ventilated, prone to filling the entire first floor with smoke. Unusable for their purposes. Much too expensive to remove altogether, but taking up valuable space in the small common room while it remained. Hana, a voracious reader, had dreamed of having a library in its place, and to her the news had been a source of great disappointment. But Charrel was practical and creative in ways that other people often didn't see. As such, he had managed to rework the ancient brickwork of the old fireplace and build its face out into a set of shelves. The fruit of his labor was a marvel — shelves that stretched to the ceiling built of an assortment of multicolored bricks. These days, they were stacked tidily with books. Boarders were free to peruse it and enjoy a multitude of stories during their stay. And if a story was left unfinished when their stay was over, they were free to take the book so long as they left another in its place.

I knew Charrel was especially proud of his small brick library, for he spoke of it often. He invited me to look through the books on the shelves even when I hadn't taken a room and had only stopped by for a meal.

"It is full of story and magic and secret," he had told me when we first met, his eyes sparkling. "Very exciting for young girl like you."

I had nodded politely. It was a nice offer, but it had been a long time since I'd believed in magic. Magic, after all, was up there with hope. And I had lost mine by the time I found the Iron Tree.

My skepticism must have shown in my eyes, for he had given me an earnest nod and said, "Ah, but you a serious girl, Dayana. No time for story, yes? No time to belief."

"Believe," I corrected with a small smile, nursing my warm soup.

"Ah, believe." He stressed the last syllable. "Yes, I thankful. But story have magic. I promise. Every book have something secret inside. Even my bookshelf is full of secret." He smiled. "It is built atop ancient fire, you see. Who knows what hides inside. Perhaps it is wordfire, like what make the Adem strong. Words make library strong too."

After I had finished my soup and thanked Charrel, I walked the perimeter of the building until I found the tiny alley along its back. And there, tucked away between piles of spare roofing tile, I found what I was searching for: a rusty iron cleanout door tucked away into the brick wall of the building. Charrel may have blocked the old fireplace, but all its hardware remained.

It took me a while to pry it open, and to clean out the ash, soot, and broken bits of brick within it. But when it was done, I had the perfect storage place for my things. It was dry. Insulated. And best of all, it was entirely secret. I used it to hide away my travelsack, extra clothes, and, most importantly, the bulk of my coins and Mother's ring while I spent my nights wandering from inn to inn. I had already lost my savings twice to desperate men in as many months, and I refused to do so again. The last time I had refused with Derren's knife, and the encounter left me shaken for days. But from then on, the coins stayed safe in my secret fireplace, buried deep beneath Charrel's library. The knife, though, I carried.

Now, I stood in the alley, trembling in the freezing Fallow air, my numb fingers pulling at the icy metal of the door. It took me a long moment to pry it open and dig out my cloak. By the time I threw it around my shoulders, I was frozen all the way through. There was no helping it. I had wanted to save today's coin, but I had to get warm. Winter was too cruel to me by half. I dug around the space some more, until my fingers brushed the small bag of things I kept for washing, and I pulled the cloak tight around me and headed to the entrance of the Iron Tree.

Hana was at the desk when I stepped inside. She smiled brightly in my direction.

"Hello, Dayana. Breakfast?"

"Maybe later," I said, my teeth chattering. "I was hoping I could use the bath."

"Of course," she said, her words soft beneath their Cealdish wrappings, "go ahead. You can pay later."

"Thank you." I dropped the purse back into my pocket and hurried past Hana and through to the back. It was a more expensive bath than most, but it was the nicest one in these parts, and it had been a while since I enjoyed it. At any rate, I was much too cold to walk to the public bath on Flint Street.

It was still early and there were only two other women in the baths. I avoided them and slipped into the small room where steam gathered, letting my mind drift somewhere far away. Sometimes when I sat here long enough, the steamy fog swirled into familiar faces. And then, for the space of several moments, they all stood around me. Alive. Happy. Sometimes being in this room was like stepping into a warm embrace. I stared hard at the swirling vapor now, but the patterns remained wild and random. Today, even the steam seemed to know I was alone. Eventually a red-haired woman joined me, and I put my efforts to rest. It would be best if I got on with it before my hour was up. Otherwise Hana would certainly charge me two full pennies. She liked me well enough, but she was still Cealdish.

I hurried through the rest of my time, brushing my damp hair with a detached efficiency as I stole glances at the harmony clock on the far wall. I liked the bath, but I couldn't afford two pennies on this sort of pampering. I had to eat. And winter was coming. I needed warmer clothes. New shoes. New dresses to tempt the men. It was getting harder to find men willing to buy a room for the night. I'd had to pay for my bed four times in the last span alone. I hadn't had so many nights alone for over a month. Not since— I froze, my heart thudding painfully against my chest.

Not since…

"No…" The word was a breath more than a whisper. Barely a sound at all.

My fingers shook, the brush clattering to the floor. It made a terrible echoing rattle that seemed to cut right through me. I turned, my eyes scanning wildly around the room, though I wasn't sure what I was searching for. The baths were painfully white. White stone. White walls. White ceiling. Too white. I took a gasping breath. Then another. But I couldn't seem to draw in enough air.

"Are you all right?"

I turned again. The red-haired woman was standing several feet away, staring at me while a small frown worked its way across her face. She was half-dressed, having paused in the act of slipping on her shirt.

"W-what day is it?" I managed. My voice sounded thin to my own ears, like I had strung it together from frayed bits of cloth.

"Reaving," she said, frowning at me.

My hands shook harder. I could feel the blood pounding in my ears. Her face blurred for just a moment and I shook my head sharply, blinking. Trying to hear past my violently beating heart.

"The last span?" I asked. "Of Fallow?"

"That's right…" She took a step toward me. "You should sit down, dear. You look rather pale."

"No, I…" I backed away, my whole body trembling. I took another empty breath. Where had all the air gone? My lungs burned. "I'm fine."

It wasn't… It wasn't fine.

"I'm…"

Late. Over a span late. I should have bled last Felling. How had I not noticed?

I turned aimlessly, my eyes roving across the bright, white room. It seemed to shimmer around me, growing brilliantly brighter. The woman spoke again, but it was just noise. Just an echo.

It couldn't be. No…

But my bloods had come consistently ever since I returned to Renere. Since I had stopped drinking the herbal concoction they forced on us monthly at the Mare. To keep us from bleeding… from falling with child. Of course I couldn't afford such things on my own. I hadn't even considered…

The pounding in my ears intensified. A child.

That was what she had thought, too.

I blinked, and all the white around me turned red. And suddenly Denna's face was there, right in front of me. But there was no smile. No easy laughter. Only a horrible grimace of pain, and my ears were ringing with her sobs. They echoed. And I could taste the blood. The sharp tang of iron on my tongue. My stomach roiled with nausea and black dots flashed across my vision.

I stumbled back.

I couldn't breathe. There was no air… no air… in this room…

I was running before I realized it. I tore through the stifling heat of the baths. There was a shout behind me, but it sounded distorted. Words meant for someone else. Everything was swirling as I ran. Fuzzy. The air cloying. Wet and hot. I could feel the drops of water gathering on my skin. The doors appeared before me, materializing suddenly. I pushed hard against them. Felt the kiss of cold metal on my skin. A tiny respite. And I was through. Out in the common area. And the air felt cooler here. Dryer. The space around me so dark after the brightness of the baths it was hard to see.

I turned stupidly where I stood. Where was this, anyway? The room had a name, I'd been in it so many times before, but now I couldn't think of the word. My mind felt fuzzy. As if I were missing a part of myself. The part that could think and feel. And now feeling seemed impossibly far away. The room grew darker, shadows looming with every heartbeat. Pulling the air from my lungs.

There was a sudden pressure on my arm, and I blinked Charrel's face into view. I saw his mouth move, but all I heard was silence. Even the frantic sound of my heartbeat had faded away. And then his face, too, was lost to black.

A/N: We're halfway through D's journey now! To anyone who's been following and walking this road with D, I just want to say a huge thanks! Your kind words are everything.