Amongst the other pressing matters, a request came in from Lady d’Oily’s room, which Arable quickly claimed. She climbed the stairs, passing the ghosts of its faceless builders, to the master solar where Lady d’Oily now resided alone. There was nothing else she could think of. William had promised he’d find a way to secure her safety after he was gone, but had yet to define what that meant. And he had not so much as noticed her during the Sheriff’s council. Sadly, she had gotten used to being ignored—but usually not by him.

She shifted her hold of the quill and inkwell—a gift to the Sheriff from a Spanish dignitary—and knocked on Lady d’Oily’s door. It cracked open with no invitation, and Arable moved into the room as quietly as she could. Lady d’Oily, draped in a dark sleeping gown, gave only her back and a vague gesture toward a small writing desk at the side of the room.

Say something.

Arable placed the writing instruments down gingerly, as if she were afraid the desk itself might collapse under their weight. She did not want to leave, but nor did she know how to begin a conversation. She realized she was trembling when Lady d’Oily dismissed her without a glance. Foolish girl, Arable cursed herself, and moved to exit as quickly as her feet could carry her.

You’re running again.

Whatever morsel of bravery stopped Arable at the doorway was not hers. She turned to realize Lady d’Oily was staring at her, open mouthed at her insubordination. But she had made up her mind.

“Excuse me, Lady d’Oily,” Arable barely said, “I was wondering if I may have a word with you.”

“You’ve stolen quite a few words from me already, girl. Should I let your headmistress know she has a thief, or shall you be on your way?”

Arable’s lungs seized, but she did not move. Still, she was humbled enough to bury her face downward. “I just wanted to say that I admired what you did earlier. The way you were able to … be heard.”

Lady d’Oily moved to respond, and bitterly by the look on her face, but the insult seemed to catch in her throat. She bit it back and her demeanor softened, if only a shade. “Being heard is important, and uncommon. For women it is easiest to be heard when you choose not to yell.” She gave Arable a withering look. “You did not come here to compliment me. What is your name, girl?”

All Arable’s plans unraveled and slipped away. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

“Out with it.” Lady d’Oily moved to prevent her departure, the weathered lines of her face turned into chasms by the harsh light. “You’ve already called me by my name rather than m’lady, so there’s no point in hiding.”