The girl had hidden under her desk. Aquilina let her, while she tended to her evening rounds, listening as her sniffling slowly died down. She took her time with it, chatting with the priestess who had twisted her ankle, explaining to the pregnant wife in her care how the birth would be handled; changed the cast on the wrist of a rather surly young boy while pointing out that the Guard, in the bed across from him and wheezing gently from a chest infection, was being much more polite and cooperative and he should follow his example.
By the time she had worked her way to the far end of the room, a curly blonde head was peeking out at her from around the desk.
Aquilina pretended not to notice it as she headed for the shelves on the back wall, the girl ducking out of sight as she straightened the supplies, gathering a few into her arms. She settled cross-legged on the floor, she kept the chair between them as she laid her things out, turning on the hot plate and setting a pot of water on it.
Aquilina glanced furtively towards the rest of the room. “I like to hide back here too,” she whispered to the girl. She leaned around the chair just far enough to peer at her, thumb of one hand in her mouth, the other fidgeting with her ear. She was flushed, probably running a fever, and hardly more than three. “It’s very safe and quiet, don’t you think?”
The girl nodded, if only just. “Intira said your name was Passercula,” Aquilina said. Another tiny nod, as the tugged her ear. Aquilina picked up a pouch from her pile of things, and gave the room another suspect look. “Well, Passercula, it’s very nice to meet you. I don’t have enough of these to share with everyone, but since we’re hiding together, I’ll share one with you.”
She hesitated, reaching for the bag of sweets, and Aquilina popped a small one in her own mouth. Passercula took a larger one, hardened honey and herbs that would help soothe her throat. She couldn’t help but smile as the girl’s face lit up at the taste, but fussed with her materials instead of press her, unscrewing a bottle and carefully squaring a bit of cloth. She finished her own candy before asking, “Does your ear hurt, Passercula?”
Passercula had crept further out of hiding to watch her work, and froze. She pulled at her ear again, but didn’t answer, still working on her treat. “I know a song that helps hurting ears,” Aquilina said. “But I need to put two drops of oil in it for it to work.”
It was amazing, the amount of skepticism that could be expressed by such a small face.
She pulled the dropper out of the bottle, and rubbed a dab of it onto the back of her hand. “It doesn’t hurt, and it smells nice,” she said, holding her hand out. Passercula leaned forward to smell it, her nose making a loud sniffling sound, left over from her crying. “Do you like it?” Aquilina asked, the skin already a little numb.
A slightly firmer nod, and Aquilina helped push the chair out of the way. The girl shuffled up on her knees, and Aquilina gestured for her to come closer when she hesitated. She pointed to the candies again, and was allowed another as she laid her head on the priestess’s lap.
The Legion had no use for lullabies, for anything but their forward march and the death it brought. But the Twisted Hairs had known the value of the gentle, the soft; and as a storyteller, a teacher, Aquilina herself knew the need to pass words from one to the next.
There was no way the girl understood the song, but low and gentle and simple as it was, she relaxed as she placed the drops and laid a warm cloth over her ear. Her eyes slowly closed, and Aquilina helped her wiggle further onto her lap, drifting off as she re-wet the cloth to warm it again.
Aquilina stroked her hair as she lay there, fine and curling and nearly white. She would have known too few real caretakers, and passed through too many hands on her way to the Temple, and likely would never recall her mother. Aquilina had seen how the children grew into it, boys and girls alike, turning either cold and distant far too young, or full of a thoughtless obedience that only resembled trust in passing.
The thought made her voice falter. Passercula stirred, and Aquilina lifted her as she stood, settling her on her lap as she sat on the chair. She started again, another song, one she had learned decades ago and wondered if she would ever sing to her own child.
She slept again as Aquilina worked through her papers one-handed. By her count, she had no children, yet far too many. And with everything in her, she was going to make sure those she could would remember something sweet and gentle.
