Chapter 7 – The First Word
The twenty-second morning began with the wool already under my knees.
I woke, my knees fine — no ache, just the memory of pressure. I went through the routine: wash, dress, make the bed, wipe the table, prepare the tea with less herb and the same spoon of honey.
She entered, drank the tea, opened her book.
"Come closer."
I stepped forward. She checked the gloves.
"Kneel."
I knelt on the wool.
There was no pain.
The silence between pages was long. I kept my breathing even, counted my breaths — fifty times — and didn't move.
She turned a page.
"You are very still," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She continued reading.
I knelt longer.
The silence stretched. I could hear the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth, the soft shift of her gown as she turned a page, the distant clink of dishes from the corridor. The light from the window had moved a hand's width across the floor since she started reading.
When she closed the book, she said, "Stand."
I stood. My legs were steady, no sway.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot, folded the wool, lay down.
I lay back and stared at the ceiling.
My knees felt normal.
My body had learned.
I closed my eyes.
---
The twenty-third morning the wool was under my knees before she entered.
I went through the routine.
She entered, drank the tea, opened her book.
"Come closer."
I stepped forward. She checked the gloves.
"Kneel."
I knelt on the wool.
There was no pain.
The silence between pages was longer than yesterday. I counted sixty breaths, slow and even, in through my nose, out through my mouth. I noticed the way the light had moved a little farther across the floor. I noticed the faint smell of old paper and wax.
She turned a page.
"You are very still," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She continued reading.
I knelt longer.
The silence stretched further. I could hear the faint tick of a clock somewhere down the corridor, a sound I hadn't noticed before.
When she closed the book, she said, "Stand."
I stood. My legs were steady.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot, folded the wool, lay down.
---
The twenty-fourth morning the wool was under my knees before she entered.
I went through the routine.
She entered, drank the tea, opened her book.
"Come closer."
I stepped forward. She checked the gloves.
"Kneel."
I knelt on the wool.
There was no pain.
The silence between pages was longer. I counted seventy breaths.
She turned a page.
"You are very still," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She continued reading.
I knelt longer.
The silence stretched further. I could hear the distant sound of a door closing somewhere far away, and the faint rustle of the pages as she turned them.
When she closed the book, she said, "Stand."
I stood. My legs were steady.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot, folded the wool, lay down.
---
The twenty-fifth morning the wool was under my knees before she entered.
I woke a little earlier than usual. My body felt light.
I went through the routine.
She entered, drank the tea, opened her book.
"Come closer."
I stepped forward. She checked the gloves.
"Kneel."
I knelt on the wool.
There was no pain.
The silence between pages was longer. I counted eighty breaths.
She turned a page.
"You are very still," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She continued reading.
I knelt longer.
The silence stretched further. I could feel the coolness of the air on my cheeks, the steady rhythm of my heartbeat beneath the quiet.
When she closed the book, she said, "Stand."
I stood. My legs were steady.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot, folded the wool, lay down.
---
The twenty-sixth morning the wool was under my knees before she entered.
I woke earlier still. My body felt light, my mind quiet.
I went through the routine.
She entered, drank the tea, opened her book.
"Come closer."
I stepped forward. She checked the gloves.
"Kneel."
I knelt on the wool.
There was no pain.
The silence between pages was longer. I counted ninety breaths.
She turned a page.
"You are very still," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She continued reading.
I knelt longer.
The silence stretched further. I could hear the faint scratch of the pen she sometimes used to mark a page.
When she closed the book, she said, "Stand."
I stood. My legs were steady.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot, folded the wool, lay down.
---
The twenty-seventh morning the wool was under my knees before she entered.
I woke before the light fully entered the room.
I went through the routine.
She entered, drank the tea, opened her book.
"Come closer."
I stepped forward. She checked the gloves.
"Kneel."
I knelt on the wool.
There was no pain.
The silence between pages was longer. I counted one hundred breaths.
She turned a page.
"You are very still," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She continued reading.
I knelt longer.
The silence stretched further. I could hear the faint movement of air through the window, the quiet settling of the room.
When she closed the book, she said, "Stand."
I stood. My legs were steady.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot, folded the wool, lay down.
---
The twenty-eighth morning the wool was under my knees before she entered.
I woke before the light entered the room.
I went through the routine.
She entered, drank the tea, opened her book.
"Come closer."
I stepped forward. She checked the gloves.
"Kneel."
I knelt on the wool.
There was no pain.
The silence between pages was longer. I counted one hundred and ten breaths.
She turned a page.
"You are very still," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She continued reading.
I knelt longer.
The silence stretched further. I could feel the weight of my body settled evenly on the wool, the stillness of my hands on my thighs.
When she closed the book, she said, "Stand."
I stood. My legs were steady.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot, folded the wool, lay down.
---
The twenty-ninth morning the wool was under my knees before she entered.
I woke before the light entered the room.
I went through the routine.
She entered, drank the tea, opened her book.
"Come closer."
I stepped forward. She checked the gloves.
"Kneel."
I knelt on the wool.
There was no pain.
The silence between pages was longer. I counted one hundred and twenty breaths.
She turned a page.
"You are very still," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She closed the book.
"Speak."
I blinked. It was the first time she had asked me to speak beyond "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Yes, Your Majesty," I said.
My voice came out low and steady, a little hoarse from disuse, but clear.
She nodded, her expression unreadable.
"Stand."
I stood. My legs were steady.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot, folded the wool, lay down.
The word had been small, but it was the first time she'd asked me to say more than an answer.
I lay back and stared at the ceiling.
My knees felt normal.
My body had learned.
I closed my eyes.