‘But what are you looking for?’ I continued, rushing into the gap so that Kizzy would not, and say something that would earn her another slap.
‘I need to check you are as you claim – not bedded. There is added value in that.’
‘Please,’ I said, blood rushing to my face, tears coming hot down my cheeks. ‘Please do not make us.’ But Malovski made for the door, and I held out my hand. ‘All right, Mistress. All right.’
It was better, I decided, to undress myself.
Malovski gave a nod and returned to her box of glinting instruments. Kizzy didn’t move as I stumbled from my clothes, my knees still muddy from mushroom picking. My skin pimpled despite the close air. I had never been naked in front of anyone who was not my blood before. Malovski watched me with a dispassionate air and had me lie on the table. The wood was smooth and cool, and I felt I lay on a tomb’s slab.
‘You cannot touch her,’ said Kizzy, and I heard the crack of another slap. A second followed, and a third.
My sister made no further sound as Malovski transferred her hands to me, running them across my skin, feeling the soft parts of my chest, checking my armpits for the swellings and traces of sickness.
I felt as though I was floating above my body, and as her cold fingers moved towards my thighs I sent my mind spinning away, my body a dead thing I left behind easy as a soiled sheet. I reminded myself of the scorched trees in the fields. They seemed conquered, levelled, but it was only the illusion of defeat.
The roots, I reminded myself. Plant yourself deep in where you came from. Keep your feet.
‘All right,’ said Malovski. ‘Put this on.’
I opened my eyes, and saw she was holding out a black dress, and a crimson sash. The uniform of the people who had killed my mother. I took it, remembering the trees. It didn’t matter whether I wore clothes the colour of tar: inside I was still me, still living.
I sat up and put them on, back turned to Malovski so I could transfer the deathcap to my new pocket. The dress was a little big, with too much fabric on the hips, and the sash was tight with not enough give for me to move freely as I could in our loose-layered skirts.
‘Now you,’ said Malovski.
Kizzy was sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around her legs. Her eye was swelling – the rings on Malovski’s fingers had caught her.
I crouched beside her, my new garment straining. ‘Kizzy?’
‘I don’t have time for this.’ Malovski made for the door again.
‘Mistress, please,’ I said. ‘She is the same as me, we are twins.’
‘A fool can see you are not formed the same, and her shape invites trouble,’ said Malovski. ‘I must be sure she is clean. I’m fetching the guard.’
‘Please,’ I said, desperation scratching my throat. ‘She will fight him, and you said you wanted no more bruises.’
Malovski clucked her tongue. ‘If you can convince her, do. But quickly.’
‘Kizzy,’ I brought my head close to hers, as I had in the cart. ‘Kisaiya, my love, please. I don’t want you to get hurt.’
I held out my hand in our gesture, and she looked suddenly at me, her brown eyes liquid in the candlelight. There was an anger there I had never before seen directed at me. I thought she might be about to hit me, but she only stood suddenly, and began to undress. I tried to help with the laces of Mamă’s bodice, but she shrugged me off, though the coarse string grating against her sore hands made her wince.
When she was naked, she let me lead her to the table, and lay down. I felt like a traitor, the worst sort of conspirator as Malovski leaned over her. I could not bear to see her stretched out like that, like a body ready for burial.
‘I have never understood men’s fascination with this much body,’ said Malovski, prodding Kizzy’s breasts. ‘They should want us small as possible, easier to handle.’
Kizzy kept her eyes locked on mine, and when Malovski brought her hands to her thighs she gave a small mew and reached for me. I took her hand and cried silent tears into her hair.
It was over soon, and not nearly quickly enough.
‘That’s enough. Get dressed.’ Malovski threw another outfit at Kizzy and went to open the shutters. ‘I’ll check your hair now.’
It was nothing like how Mamă did it. Mamă was so tender it was like being stroked. She carded our hair like wool, until it puffed into halos of curls that crackled like silk. Malovski yanked the comb through, checking it in the candlelight after each wrench.
‘It really would be easier to cut it,’ she muttered, scraping the comb so it bit into my scalp bad as a blade.
When that was done, she fetched another box. This one was open topped, and inside were things I recognised: willow bark, and witch hazel, and gut thread.
She did my cheek first, threading a needle. I held as still as I could. It did not hurt as much as I had feared. Malovski was a deft seamstress, her needle sharp and precise. She wiped the stitches with vinegar when she was done, and that is what brought tears hot to my eyes.
‘Now you.’
Kizzy sat down, and Malovski began to clean her burns with witch hazel. ‘Vinegar would be better, but it makes the skin tough,’ she said. ‘And I need your hands as soft as your belly.’
When she was done, she laid strips of willow bark along her forearms, just as Mamă would have done, and wrapped it all with what looked like clean linen.
‘I will need this back,’ she said, tapping the linen. ‘Do not soil it.’
She left Kizzy’s hands free, spreading them with a yellow salve with a sweet scent I could not place. She gave the rest in its wooden pot to Kizzy.
‘Put this on every night. Twice a day is better, but I don’t want the trays slipping from your hands.’
No vinegar, no salve, I thought. Because it would make her clumsy, or tough. There was no real care here, though Malovski’s touch had been tender as a healer’s. She was merely protecting her investment.
Kizzy put the pot in her pocket, and Malovski rose to inspect us both.
‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘I’ll keep you in the kitchens a month or so, to let the healing begin. And then I think you will be quite the attraction.’
We travelled in a fine carriage, though anything would be better than a cage. I felt already that I was making one for myself, by obeying this woman. Her touch lingered on my skin, and though the clothes we wore were clean and of a soft material that swished when we moved, I felt as though I wore a mourning shroud.
We sat facing Malovski, travelling backwards so we couldn’t watch the castle approach. If I closed my eyes it was almost like travelling in our wagon with Mamă driving, taking us high into the mountains.
Kizzy’s eyes were far away, and I wished we could have a moment alone, so that we could link arms and I could press my temple to hers, like we used to in our narrow bunk, feeling for a moment that we could push all the way into each other and be two hearts in one body, as we once had been. Grown together, and not apart.
I made a grave error in helping Malovski calm her, but didn’t see what other decision could have been taken. The soldier would have been far rougher. I wanted to whisper all this to her, hear her forgive me, but I contented myself with pressing my leg against hers. She didn’t move away.