Mark’s face stilled. “Elieve’s like a newborn. That will take years.”
Pellin shook his head. “I think not, lad. She knows her name and yours already. The nature of memory holds more mystery than we can divine. We spoke of the inseparable nature of the mind and the body and the spirit. In her spirit, she knows all these things already, even if they’ve been temporarily erased from her mind. I believe, based on what you’ve accomplished already, that her mind and body will relearn the rest with amazing speed.” He lifted his hands, palm up. “But in any case, the most important thing is for you to teach her to tend to herself without constant supervision. We won’t have time for you to bathe her every day.”
For the next two days Pellin watched, amazed, as Mark tended to Elieve. The boy had been committed before, but with Elieve’s mind now her own, Mark had been afforded the opportunity to obtain regular sleep and rest. He taught Elieve with an intensity belied by his playful demeanor. Each morning he would talk her through breakfast, insisting that she feed herself, describing the utensils, the food, even the taste. When Elieve’s attention flagged, he would cease that particular lesson and adjourn to the deck.
Hand in hand they would walk around the ship, and Mark would take Elieve’s fingertips and rub it across the surfaces, describing each in turn, or point to objects that shared the same color to call them out. It was during one of these moments that Elieve rediscovered her sense of humor.
“Blue,” Mark said, pointing to the waters of the southern sea. Then he pointed to the sky and repeated the word.
Elieve shook her head. “Red.”
“No.” Mark shook his head and pointed to his tongue. “Red.” Then he pointed to the sea and sky again. “What color are they, Elieve?”
She nodded confidently, her light-brown-eyed gaze dancing. “Red.”
“No,” Mark huffed in exasperation. “They’re blue.” He pointed again. “Tell me the color.”
“Red,” Elieve said, smiling.
“No, no, no,” Mark said and pointed to his tongue again. “Red. See my tongue. It’s red. Now look at the sea and sky and tell me the color.”
Laughing, Elieve put her hand to Mark’s face. “Red.”
Mark slumped in defeat before turning to Pellin. “If you laugh with her, Eldest, you’ll just encourage her to do it again.”
Pellin nodded. “Good. There’s little enough joy in the world, Mark. Allow her to experience as much of it as she can.”
After nightfall and supper that evening, Mark took Elieve to their cabin and under Pellin’s discreetly watchful eye, he continued teaching Elieve how to bathe and dress herself, a situation made more difficult by the fact that Elieve’s rediscovered sense of humor had yet to be tempered by a sense of propriety.
Making Mark blush seemed to be her favorite pastime, and the instruction on bathing and dressing offered innumerable opportunities. After another series of lessons in which Elieve managed to set Mark’s face aflame with her unselfconsciousness and playful attempts to undress him, Pellin intervened.
“I think you should leave off teaching her how to bathe herself, lad.”
“Eldest?”
“Elieve is more than in love with you, Mark. The lessons on dressing and bathing are an opportunity for her to approach you in an intimate way.”
“How can that be, Eldest? She still has the mind of a child.”
“True,” Pellin nodded, “but her body and spirit are that of a young woman. Before Cesla took her and transformed her into an assassin, Elieve might have been anything, lad. She might have been a maid or a servant with a husband, or even a courtesan or night woman.”
“You don’t trust me with her, Eldest?”
Pellin laughed and shook his head. “Far from it, Mark. Given her playful advances, I’ve been meaning to ask you how you’ve managed to resist returning her affection.”
Mark didn’t mirror his smile. In fact, he grew more somber. “Do you know about justice in the urchins, Eldest?”
When Pellin shook his head, Mark turned, pacing the cabin. Elieve, dressed now after her bath watched him as she always did, her fingers combing through her wet hair. “Rory inherited the urchins after Ilroy died. Usually, when someone new takes over the urchins, they make changes to the rules, about how much we’re allowed to steal and who from.”
“But one of the permanent codes we follow in the urchins is we never, ever, take advantage of another urchin.” He turned to face Pellin. “In any way. Would it surprise you to know that urchins will often marry each other as soon as they’ve gone through the change?”
He shook his head. “So soon?”
“Life on the streets is short, Eldest. Within the urchins, at fourteen or fifteen—I don’t really know which—I’m of marriageable age.” He looked at Elieve. “It seems Elieve is a year or two older than I am.”
Pellin believed he already knew the answer to his next question, and he had no intention to tempt his apprentice, but certain facets of Mark’s character would have to be stronger than steel to survive being in the Vigil. “Why haven’t you returned her affection, lad? I’m old, but even at seven hundred years I can appreciate beauty, and Elieve has more than her fair share of it.”
Mark shook his head, and something of anger showed in his eyes. “Right now she’s still a child, Eldest. Justice in the urchins is very swift. Any boy or girl caught taking advantage of an urchin whose mind is less than whole is killed. We usually throw them from a rooftop or push them under a passing carriage. The city watch doesn’t interfere. They’re not interested in investigating the death of a throwaway.”
A weight settled in Pellin’s stomach at the thought of children meting out such punishment. “Harsh.”
Mark shook his head. “Necessary. Most of the children in the urchins come to us as castoffs without the power to
