Nor Iron Bars A Cage by Kaje Harper Read Free Book Online Page B

misty hours, drifting in and out on the edges of unconsciousness. I didn’t want to go too deep anyway. After that waking remembrance, I wasn’t sure what my dreams might be.
    When the sun rose, I got up and went into the garderobe with a pitcher of water to wash and dress. I felt sticky with the sweat of old nightmares and wished I could have a bath, but heating and carrying water to fill the tin tub would take half the morning. I did the best I could with a cloth.
    I chose sturdy clothes for traveling, and tucked my shirt into my trousers, with a good leather belt round me. I chose long thick stockings to go under my boots, and pulled a warm knit vest over the shirt. We’d be five nights on the trail, according to Tobin, and it would still get cold. I combed my hair, untangling it to lie sleek past the nape of my neck. My hair was more trouble long, but Meldov had made me wear it short, and its length was now one more choice I kept for myself.
    And Tobin had liked it. Maybe I should cut it after all. I lifted the long strands at my neck in my hand, considering. But cutting hair, at least any shorter than a horse-tail I could tie up and saw through with a knife, was not a task for a one-handed man. All right, there were several reasons I kept it this length. Pathetic, that I couldn’t sit still under the village barber’s hand for a trim. But there it was.
    When I finally emerged, Tobin gave me a shrewd glance. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d drowned yourself in the ewer. Second thoughts?”
    “My hair had knots.” I tossed my head to let it fall further across my eyes.
    He grunted and hefted my pack. “We’ll walk to the village and make arrangements for your house. And get the horses.”
    “You could go do that and fetch the horses while I water the garden,” I said.
    “You watered yesterday. No.”
    “Afraid I’ll change my mind?”
    I could see that he was, but he said, “Seizing the moment.”
    I took the pack from him and slung it on my back. He picked up my bedroll, and the second bag, grunting at the weight. “What did you put in here?”
    “Books. You saw me.”
    “Yeah. Didn’t realize how heavy they were. Do you really need all of these?”
    If he didn’t want me to spend my nights pacing. I gave him the short answer. “Yes.”
    He didn’t argue, just hooked it over his shoulder. I paused for one last look around. This had been home and refuge, and prison at times, for so long. I’d thought I’d never leave it alive. If they’d sent anyone else after me, I might not have.
    My other books on the shelves were wrapped to keep out damp and insects. We’d nailed several layers of oilcloth over the broken window too, and the interior was almost as dim as the onset of night. The dishes were clean, the food packed for the road or stored in its tins for safekeeping. The bedclothes were stripped off and bundled with my bedroll. What I wasn’t taking, Dag’s mother could fetch to launder and send back with him. Already the place looked dingy and unused.
    On the sills and the lintel of the door, my spells were visible as a fine burned tracery in the wood. Spells of banishment, of warding, of life-not-death. Tonight I’d be sleeping outside those wards. I was tempted to claim the call of nature and barricade myself in the garderobe after all. But the time for that had passed.
    “I’ll get you a new window,” Tobin promised. “A better one. I took measurements and I’ll order it in the city. A single pane even. We can bring it back with us.”
    I shrugged. I had the feeling I’d never come back.
    Still, I pulled the door shut behind me, and set the bar. No sense leaving the place wide open. I tugged my pack higher on my shoulders and set off down the path. This was still familiar territory. For the last decade, I’d been to the village every month or so, and sometimes even on to the town, on market days. I might live alone, but I didn’t make my own boots or my own tools. Some