Aunt Sybil jumped, and Hetta was hard pressed not to laugh. She turned to Laurel and said pleasantly, “I don’t think so, no.”
“Laurel!” Phoebe objected. “That is a very impertinent question!”
“Indeed,” said Aunt Sybil, eyeing the now-mutinous Laurel with a frown. “One might think you were raised in a barn, Laurel! Shouldn’t you be in the schoolroom?”
“I was in the schoolroom! But Mama said I might help her check the Wintersol decorations.” She turned tremulous eyes to Phoebe. “You did say I might!”
“But surely it’s too early for decorations?” Hetta said in surprise. Wintersol was still nearly two months away.
Phoebe shook her head. “Last year I thought so, and by the time we realised that rats had got into the chains, it was too late to order new papers from Greymark, and the only ones left in the village were horrid plain ones.”
“I see,” said Hetta, although she did not, entirely. “Well, I shan’t delay you then.” And with that, she took the cowardly route and fled.
17
Eavesdropping
Was everyone going out of their way to be as vexatious as possible, Hetta wondered? It certainly felt like it. Jack remained missing, and she could find neither Marius nor Wyn. Gregory sulked until Alexandra and Miss Gwen returned from their walk, after which he became extraordinarily thick-witted, gazing longingly at the object of his affection and offering to fetch and carry quite unnecessary items for her. In return, Miss Gwen blushed and stammered and disavowed the need for Gregory to put himself out. Watching the two of them was excruciatingly dull. Hetta spent some time trying to talk to Miss Gwen but found it far from easy. The girl reminded her strongly of a younger Phoebe, full of sensibility but not much sense. But despite her grandmother and Wyn’s warnings, Hetta could detect nothing amiss about her.
Hetta had far more enjoyment from watching Alexandra sketch—her sister had real talent and, it became apparent, a fanciful imagination. She drew scenes of Stariel peopled with creatures from fairy tales—waterhorses, starcorns, and nymphs. But Alexandra grew self-conscious when she realised Hetta was watching closely over her shoulder and put her sketchpad away. Hetta sighed and left the three of them alone.
All that day, everyone seemed to want either to reproach her or request something from her. She sought refuge in her father’s study, only to be interrupted by Grandmamma, who wanted approval for their contribution to the village’s Frost Faire, and Lady Phoebe, who wanted to know what the Frost Ball budget was, and Mr Fisk, who wanted to take the accounts books back into his keeping and was most disapproving when Hetta said she wasn’t yet finished looking through them. She went to the library and tried to discover if they had any of the books on drains or sheep that Angus had mentioned but found nothing younger than she was. Where was Marius when she needed his help?
Hetta was determined to find at least one sane person before the day was out and went hunting for either her oldest brother or Wyn late that night. Neither of them had appeared at supper, and since Gregory said he had seen Marius return to the house ‘in a right state’, as he put it, Hetta was beginning to be concerned.
She wandered the darkening house with increasing anxiety for some time until it occurred to her to check the same tower where she, Marius, Wyn, and Jack had drunk rather too much good wine what seemed like a very long time ago.
She cut across the courtyard to reach the tower, hunching in on herself as the cold, still air bit through her clothing. It was only marginally warmer inside the winding stone staircase. The small windows set around the tower let in dim rectangles of starlight. Glass had been added to them many years after the tower’s original construction, the metal frames ugly and awkward against the grey stone.
About halfway up the stairs she heard voices, her hunch proving correct. Wyn and Marius were together, talking softly. Feeling slightly excluded, Hetta made her way up to them but froze when a few of Wyn’s words penetrated.
“You should tell Hetta, you know,” he was saying. “You do her a disservice, keeping this from her.”
There was a sound very much like a strangled sob. She couldn’t make out Marius’s reply, but she could tell he was distressed. Her first instinct was to rush to his side and demand to know what was wrong, but she hesitated. What was Marius keeping from her?
“Well, if you will not tell her, I may be able to help.” Wyn’s voice grew too low for her to hear what he was saying, and Hetta had just decided that she’d better beat a retreat back down the stairs when she heard Marius say in surprise:
“I didn’t know you could do magic, Wyn.”
Hetta braced a hand on the wall to support herself, hearing Wyn’s reply through a sudden daze. Surely she’d misheard?
“It is not something I like to have known. But, if you want to do this, come to me tomorrow, when you and I are both sober again, and I will do what I can.”
Hetta stumbled back down the stairs, her mind in turmoil. Wyn could do magic? Marius had some problem that apparently only magic could solve? How long had this been going on?
Beneath the shock was rapidly rising anger. Wyn knew how alone Hetta’s powers had made her feel at Stariel. He knew how she’d struggled to come to terms with them. For him to have kept a secret of this magnitude cast doubt across the depth of their friendship. Perhaps Hetta’s friendship didn’t mean as much to Wyn as his did to her.
Hetta knew she was reacting childishly, but it was hard not to march back up the stairs and confront them both. But, she thought bitterly, Marius had chosen not to share with her whatever it was that was causing him distress, and he’d been adamant that he didn’t want Hetta to know it.
There are too many secrets at Stariel, she thought grimly as she went to bed that night. Her dreams were fitful things, full of never-ending chase scenes and strange, inhuman creatures.
18
Cousin Jack
Today I am going to pin Wyn down and wring some answers from him, Hetta thought upon waking. After all, as Mr Fisk was proving so obtuse, it surely fell to Wyn to instruct her on what was needed for the smooth running of the household. It was Wyn’s job to help her. However, this intention wasn’t so easily carried out. Whenever she tried to locate Wyn, he was either clearly engaged in some necessary task or else mysteriously absent. After the first few times this happened, Hetta began to suspect he was deliberately avoiding her. Although it was possible he was also avoiding Miss Gwen; Hetta hadn’t yet seen them in the same room together.
In theory, as Wyn’s employer, she could resort to tyrannical overlordship and simply demand his attention, but she was reluctant to do so. Her and Wyn’s friendship had always been that of equals, despite the difference in their stations. She needed to tread carefully lest she irrevocably damage that. Of course, she reflected with no small irritation, this resolution would be much easier to stick to if the other party was not being so evasive. She was only slightly reassured when she found a comprehensive list of tasks requiring her attention on her desk. They were concise and businesslike except for the signature, which read, simply: I will explain more later. My sincerest apologies for my absences, my Star—Wyn Tempest. She huffed down at his handwriting in frustration.
Marius was a different story. He was entirely present and entirely preoccupied. He missed quite a few meals, and when he did appear, it was obvious to Hetta that something was very wrong and that he was trying very hard to hide it. He succeeded well enough, for the most part, with the rest of the family, who were not watching him so closely. But when he thought himself alone or unobserved, his gaze would turn inwards, his features heavy with sorrow. Others might have naturally attributed the sorrow to their late father’s death, but Hetta didn’t think so. This sorrow was new and of an entirely different sort to the more complicated grief that had been present before.
“Is everything all right, Marius?” she asked him bluntly at the first opportunity. He’d been staring morosely out the window of the dining room after everyone els
e had left. He started and coloured.
“What? Yes, um, everything’s fine. I’ll get along to the library now.”
“That wasn’t an attempt to prod you into action. You just seem…strained.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ve found some of the old family diaries. I’ll let you know when I find anything useful about the lord’s land-sense.” And he sloped off, shoulders high and defensive.
Hetta stared after him, wondering if she should reveal her inadvertent eavesdropping. But maybe Marius was merely working through his own feelings about not being chosen. At least it was encouraging that he was still researching the land-sense for her.
The house slowly emptied of its extra relatives. Each farewell hit Hetta with a fresh wave of bitterness. For them, Stariel remained a comforting rock in a sea of adventure, a rock to which they could return at will but weren’t required to live on. The house felt cavernous with their removal, although she knew the servants were relieved to have their workloads back to normal.
Unfortunately, Aunt Sybil remained. Her aunt’s new favourite hobby was to loom in the background and interject snide remarks about the need for a man’s hand on the reins. She would inevitably follow these up with some variant of: “Of course, clearly you don’t think you need any help, since you don’t care if your cousin breaks his neck out there alone!”
Hetta consequently spent a lot of time out of the house or locked in her father’s study. She met the village councillors, who stared at her as if expecting a second head to sprout at any moment. They will get used to me, she told herself firmly.
She hated to take Aunt Sybil’s side, but she was growing alarmed at Jack’s continued absence. On Thursday, she was debating if they really should send out a proper search party when little Laurel burst into her study and cried gleefully:
“Jack’s back! Look!” She pointed out the window, where two tall figures had just come into sight of the house—one with flame-red hair; the other palest blond.
They hurried to the front of the house to find Wyn returning with Jack in tow. Wyn’s expression was very much that of a self-satisfied sheepdog who’d herded a particularly recalcitrant sheep successfully to its pen. Jack just looked resigned.
The awkwardness of Hetta’s first encounter with Jack after the Choosing was relieved by, of all people, Aunt Sybil, who descended upon her returned son with so much exclamation and fuss that there was no need at all to find conversation other than, “I’m glad you’re back.”
Jack gave her a very small nod as he returned to the house, submitting to his mother’s fussing with ill-patience.
“How on earth did you find him?” Gregory asked Wyn, who stood beaming at the foot of the entrance steps.
“How did you persuade him to return?” Hetta asked, for this seemed the more important of the two questions.
“I told him he was needed at home.”
This was a very unsatisfactory answer, but before Hetta could question Wyn further, he nodded and strode away around the side of the house and towards the back entrance. She strongly considered shouting at him to come back, but before she could, Alexandra and Miss Gwen appeared around the other side of the house.
“Laurel told us Jack’s come home!” Alexandra said as the two ladies hurried towards them.
“Yes, and looks a right urchin, sleeping rough for four days,” Gregory answered her.
“But how relieved you must be to know your cousin is safe!” Miss Gwen put in, clutching her bosom.
“Well, yes,” Gregory said. “Although I don’t think anyone ever thought he wasn’t. Safe, I mean. Jack knows his own business pretty well.”
Hetta finally confronted Jack alone in the billiard room later that day. Her nerves were strung tight, but it needed to be done. They couldn’t live in this house together without clearing the air between them, and the last few days had shown her how much she needed his help.
He glanced up when she came in. His appearance was tidier than it had been upon his arrival, although there were still circles under his eyes. His lips compressed into a hard line, and he looked away, taking up his position again and lining up a shot. Hetta didn’t say anything but came to watch as he made it. The balls collided with a neat click that sounded abnormally loud in the still room. The shot was off, and the first ball rolled into the edge of the table and bounced off at an angle that put Jack no further ahead.
“Dammit.” He glowered at the red and white balls.
“Indeed,” Hetta agreed. “But the question is, how are you going to deal with it?”
Jack turned, mouth thinning. “Don’t beat around the bush, do you, Hetta? Or, should I say, Lord Valstar.”
“No, it makes me feel entirely too old.” She ran a hand along the edge of the table and said firmly, “I need you to work with me, Jack. I can’t do this on my own.”
Jack’s expression darkened. “You don’t need to remind me of that.”
“I take it Wyn already said something to you on the subject?”
Jack’s brows went up. “Wyn? No. There was…another reason.” He didn’t volunteer what it was, and Hetta had the impression that he would refuse to answer if she asked. Hetta was getting very tired of secrets. She raised an eyebrow quizzically at him. He ignored her and turned back to the billiard table, body stiff.
Should she apologise? No—that would only hurt him more. Throwing it in his face how little she’d wanted the position he coveted would hardly make him happy. Besides, it wasn’t her fault Stariel had chosen her over him. She was considering how best to ask him what he knew of the estate’s financial position when he abruptly broke the silence.
“There was a flash flood in the upper reaches last night after all the rain we had yesterday.” Hetta waited for him to go on, but he paused instead and scrutinised her expression. “Did you know that? Lucky no one was caught in it,” he added. There was a forced casualness about him as he waited for her answer.
“I didn’t know.” She was about to add, should I? when it occurred to her that maybe she should have, bound as she was supposed to be to Stariel. She stared at Jack. Had that been what he was getting at?
Jack’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Is there something you want to tell me about the Choosing, Henrietta?”
For a moment, Hetta didn’t understand, and then with abrupt fury, she did. It was what Aunt Sybil had said the morning after the Choosing—that Hetta had the ability to cast illusions and perhaps she’d used them to her own advantage at the ceremony.
All thought of sparing Jack’s feelings evaporated in the heat of her anger.
“You think I did this on purpose? You think I lied to you all, used my magic to fool you, all so I could stay here in this crumbling pile and let down my friends back in Meridon, who, I might add, were depending on me coming back as quickly as I could! You think I wanted to be saddled with piles of debt and love-addled teenagers and discussions about the best way to drain fields?” Hetta’s voice had risen as she finally vented some of the emotion that had been building in her since the Choosing. “This was your dream, Jack. Not mine. How dare you think I would misuse my powers in such a way!”
She was so angry she wanted to hit him, but instead she clenched her fists tightly enough that her fingernails bit into her palms.
Jack flushed, his eyes bright and defensive. She strode out of the room and slammed the door with a satisfying thump.
19
The Star Stone
Anger always gave her energy, and she stalked through the house and clomped up the main staircase with unnecessary loudness. Aunt Sybil peered around the doorway of the green drawing room to see what was making so much noise but pulled her head back in with uncharacteristic silence when she saw Hetta’s expression.
Hetta fumed her way up another flight of stairs and along the picture gallery, glaring at each of her assorted ancestors in turn. By the time she’d gone down the northern stairwell and entered the library, the initial white heat of her anger had begun to
ebb, but then she encountered Marius perched in a windowseat and it flared up again, re-stoked when she recalled her brother’s secrecy.
Marius looked up in surprise, holding a book open against his knee. He pushed up his glasses with one finger, blinking owlishly as she stomped over to him. The artlessness of his position made him look younger, and Hetta was reminded of seeing him in that same seat in that same long-legged way, years ago. It made it hard to stay angry.
“Hetta!” He slid the book beside him and folded his legs down off the seat. “This is convenient; I was about to seek you out.” He frowned. “Is something the matter?”
“Jack is the matter,” Hetta said ruefully, the last of her anger burning off. “I’m afraid he rather set me on fire with something he said. He and Aunt Sybil think that my illusory powers are responsible for my being chosen.” She tried to make her tone sardonic, but Marius’s expression turned unexpectedly serious. “Don’t tell me you’ve been thinking the same thing!”
“No, no,” Marius said immediately, but his expression didn’t lighten. “But if I didn’t know you as well as I do, I have to admit I might have.”
“What?” she asked, taken aback.
Marius held up the book he’d been reading. It was a worn, hand-written journal; the library contained a number of such chronicles, written by various Valstars, all of them poorly catalogued. “That’s what I was coming to see you about. I’ve managed to find some more details on the Lord of Stariel’s land-sense.”
A small knot formed in her belly. “You’re about to tell me that I was right, aren’t you? My bond should have changed things. Something went wrong with the ceremony.”
Marius looked grim. “It seems so. According to the family’s accounts, you should be aware of Stariel in a much more heightened way. Things like rainfall, floods, forest fires, downed trees. You should even be able to direct energy to specific areas within the borders, encouraging higher yields, although that sounds more complicated. And you should be able to locate people within the borders,” he concluded with an air of dreadful finality. “Especially anyone of Valstar blood.”
The Lord of Stariel Page 12
