“Bonsoir! And pardon, but we are closed—” The door opened the rest of the way and the shoemaker saw who was at his door.
“Oh, Your Grace! I am so glad you have come. Forgive the delay—”
“Not at all, we have been busy. In fact, I thought myself late to pick them up and was going to ask your forgiveness. Would it be possible to come get them even at this hour?”
“Of course, of course. Come in, let me show them to you. I must confess I am still here because I was seeing if there was anything last minute I could add.”
He lead Pierre to the back where the finished shoes were set up to be admired on a workbench. They were simple at first glance but details emerged the more they were inspected. Dark green with a single strip at the top, a golden buckle in the shape of an acorn to clasp it shut, they were leather, thin and comfortable, with embroidery along the sides in what seemed like rose-gold thread. Butterflies and roses; often symbols of the fée. The soles were dark wood, and the small heels seemed more like branches growing out from it. One even had the smallest twig and leaf on it.
“Monsieur you have outdone yourself,” Pierre said, picking up one of the shoes and looking it over.
“What spells are on them?” Elizabeth asked. She sat on a bench and slipped off the shoes she had chosen for the evening. Pierre knelt and put on her new pair. He pointed out the twig and leaf on her left shoe and she smiled, touching it gently, but not wishing to tear it off.
“They will fit your feet comfortably every time and leave no blisters or chaffing. They should also last quite a time, perhaps twice the length shoes without the magic would last, but not forever. That leaf, my dear, will actually indicate how much of the magic is left. When it fades past autumn colors and falls off the magic is no more.”
Elizabeth stood and twirled around, taking a few steps and even a leap with them. They were sturdy and she both felt they would not fall off no matter what she tried, and yet almost as if she were barefoot. The heels were short enough that they did not impede her, and she loved them, even if she had at first asked for flats.
“I know they do not match my dress,” she said, “but I do believe I will wear these out for the rest of tonight.”
Her other shoes were boxed up instead and Pierre handed the man a quarter-livre.
“But, Your Grace, you have already paid much more for these than I asked.”
“And yet I believe they are worth still more. Take it, next time I commission something from you I may not be as generous.” At the somewhat-warning the shoe-maker took the pay, thanked the duc again, and invited them to return soon.
“I will most certainly need a pair of similar shoes,” Pierre said as they walked out, observing Lizzy. She was almost dancing, twirling and walking around without a care. He wondered if there was a spell put on them to induce such happiness, or was it merely his presence that had her so happy.
“But no heels,” she said. “You are already far too tall.”
“Am I?”
He caught her hand, stopping her, and twirled her back into his arms. Before she could protest he leant down and kissed her gently. Then he stood, still holding her, picking her up. He did not break the kiss and she did not protest.
“Hm, yes,” he murmured just before kissing her ear, “I believe with your new shoes you and I are just the right height. No heels for me, then.”
He placed her down gently, not wanting to test how her balance would hold up if he dropped her from half a foot in the air in new footwear. He smiled at her blush.
“A toy,” she finally said, turning around. There were still a few gift-stands open, though many vendors were putting things away already. “For Ancel, remember?”
They found a small toy, something that could be sent by pigeon without impeding the bird too much, so that it would be not very late. They in fact bought two, one for Eliana as well as she had recently also had her birthday. They were wooden horses whose legs moved if you tugged at the ribbons that made the reins.
“Tugging at the reins should stop the horse,” Pierre had commented though. “Even I know that.”
“Then I suggest we buy Gwythyr something else because my brother would never allow such a toy for his son. But he is still too small to appreciate this.”
At the edge of the square there was also a kiosk set up where boys could be paid to take one’s shopping home if the people wished to stay longer and not carry heavy bags. Given the hour only a few older boys were there, but when hearing that it would be taken to the château they jumped to attention.
“Do not look into it,” Pierre ordered, giving the packaging and bags over. Both Lizzy’s shoes and the two horses were inside. “Have it taken to Lady Elizabeth’s quarters.”
“Oui, monsieur!”
“You wish to stay out longer?” Lizzy asked. She had thought it enough of a victory that he had come out for this long.
“Yes. I feel much better in your company now. The sky is clear, the stars are starting to shine. We can just wander for a bit.”
“And if I have an idea of something to do?”
“Lead the way.”
After a few moments, instead of turning into the restaurants or to the theater, Lizzy ducked into a smaller side-street. She had seen this place while out with Pierre and Síofra last time, but had not had the chance to mention it.
“Where are we going?” Pierre asked.
“She will tell our fortune,” Lizzy said, rushing ahead of him in her excitement. At her home there was a only a small town near the comte’s residence, and such nuances were not yet something she had seen much of. To be honest Pierre himself, while having heard of such from the other boys who went home for breaks, had not seen such a thing either.
“And you know this how, my lady?” he asked, catching up to her.
“I have been places other than home and the castle, you know,” she replied. “Maybe I have already been told my future before.”
He would have liked to call her out, but something about her tone made him think it was not a lie.
The building was dimly lit, one of the lamps near it flickering while the other was not lit at all. Several men and women, dressed for an evening out, were waiting. Pierre and Lizzy took their place in the group, greeting others. No one yet recognized the duc and his lady.
“Bonne nuit, monsieur, mademoiselle! I have not seen you before at Madame Veriette’s.”
“We have not yet been to one of these events,” Pierre replied.
“Ah, then you are in for a treat! Please
Half an hour later, even more coming to stand and discuss with other, the door finally creaked open of its own accord. Most of the people laughed, took it as part of the fun. One suggested a string that had already been untied and pulled away, but Pierre noticed a statue by the door. It blinked.
“Welcome one and all, people of Triumphe. Tonight the Madame will be accepting the company of a dozen! Form a single file and wait to be chosen.”
There were more than twice that amount of guests in the lobby at the moment. They formed a line, trying to guess where best to stand. One couple decided to be on either end so that perhaps at least one of them may be taken in. Elizabeth and Pierre were stuck somewhere in the middle, next to each other, and she took his hand.
“Do you know what happens next?” Pierre asked. The room was lit with perhaps three candles and it was hard to see. The voice had been coming from somewhere in-front of them, but no man stood there.
“Non, I do not,” she whispered back. “When I went in Eichel it was one woman that looked at my hands and told me I was likely to be doing noble work. This is much more.”
The few candles flickered. All at once everyone hushed and Pierre felt as if he had to be quiet, even if he wished to continue talking. It was almost as if a hand was pressed to his mouth but when he reached up there was nothing there.
This was not a mere parlor trick, this was magic.
The creak of a door sounded to the right an
d most turned their heads in that direction. Flickers of white caught the light and someone called out that it was moths. A dozen, in fact, white and grey, flying over to those that waited. Some flew straight to a person, sitting on their shoulders or collars, others hovered for a moment trying to decide. A woman laughed hysterically, both at being chosen, and at having the insect land on her hair. Elizabeth made a similar noise and Pierre glanced down to see a moth had landed on her outstretched hand.
A light fluttering hit Pierre’s cheek and he reached up to also find a moth now clinging to his cravat.
“Those of you who were chosen, please follow your guides.”
On cue all of the moths rose into the air and back to the door they had come from. Pierre reached down to squeeze Lizzy’s hand and the two left with the other ten.
“Have fun!”
“Be careful, dear, I will wait here for you.”
Through the door, down a hall. Only every other candle was lit to keep up the appearances of a dark and sinister evening. The people crowded together, most thinking this harmless, but still wary at the chance that this was more. A single moth was still visible before them.
The hallway opened up into a great room, a large round table waiting with thirteen chairs pulled out, a dozen around the outside and one main chair at the other end. The men guided the women to seats before taking their own, an even number of each sex. Pierre sat beside Lizzy and another woman on his right, almost opposite of the thirteenth empty—
No, it was no longer empty. A woman was sitting before them all, waiting to be noticed. She wore a veil and shawl that hid much of her appearance, the darkness did the rest.
“Bonne nuit,” she said, and silence came upon those at the table. Lizzy held her fan in her hands and Pierre could not help but tighten his grip on his cane.
“I see some new faces, and some old friends,” Madame Veriette continued. “I wish to assure you all this will be perfectly safe as long as my commands are followed exactly. Tonight’s events are perhaps a little more elaborate than other nights, but it is a special occasion—the young prince Ancel’s birthday. He is not in the city currently, but up at the castle Victorieux. I wish him all the best this night and for the next year.”
A polite clapping at this.
Veriette then reached up to her hair and pulled out a pin from among her curls. With precision she pricked her middle finger and then held out her hand to the center of the table, palm facing upwards, within everyone’s view. A bead of blood grew and rested at her finger’s tip. The room became cool, a draft coming from unseen spaces and chilling everyone seated around the table. The few candles in the room were extinguished. Pierre did not feel Mora nearby, but the spirits in the room were not too unlike hers.
The only light in the room was now that of the waning moon though a small window, a stripe of moonlight landing right at the fortune-teller’s hand.
A moth, it seemed one of the dozen that had brought them in, seemed interested in this and flew twice around the palm of the madame, but did not sit. It hovered in the air, then flew between the guests.
A servant stepped out from the shadows and laid a large candle in the center. He lit it, and in the new glow one could see that the drop of offered blood had becoming a small pool. She had pricked herself quite deep. The blood, though, was red.
The moth returned, having darted around each guest, fluttering in someone’s hair, and landing for a moment on a cheek. This time it sat on the wrist of the woman, walking slowly to where the candle-light called it, and began to drink of her blood.
The moth was white and beige but now as everyone watched the wings changed in color and size, becoming that of a monarch butterfly. There were sounds of approval and interest as the wings began to change again. They were then blue and bright, and yet another form after, with great owl-eyes. When the wings had settled on those of lunar moth it flew from her hand and straight into the candle-flame. Gasps sounded in the dark as the insect caught alight, still trying to fly, but it only burned a moment before falling dead in front of Pierre.
A polite murmuring and soft applause began. Those around the table studied where it had fallen, what position it lay in, what wings it had finally decided on. Some, who seemed to come to such events often, guessed with their limited knowledge what it would mean.
“You are our new duc, oui?” the soothsayer asked him. Pierre nodded. He could not look away from the smoldering remains of the moth. He felt sick from the smell, but also curious as to the display. Could he perform this cræft? It was certainly not blancræft, which left noir and necro-. Mora had not taught this manner of future seeking, but surely he had the basic understanding if it seemed to similar to his own.
“You shall continue to have a life of knowledge and secrets.” The soothsayer was speaking to him. He looked up but decided to stay silent. She continued, “Yet it will be filled with others, confidants and loved ones, some of whom are aware of what you try to hide, but accept it.”
“Merci, Madame.” It was vague, ‘secrets’ could apply to a number of things, especially with his station, but a chill that made the hairs on his neck stand gave doubt to whether this was mere guessing.
“The wings are together and it lies sideways, facing the south,” the soothsayer continued. “Do you have business there?”
“I have come from the north,” he said. “So even now I am further south than I have been in quite a time.”
“Ah, perhaps. But I believe there is more to come.”
The dead insect was taken by a servant, and the madame wiped the blood from her hands. What stained the table was left.
The fortune telling continued, both vague enough to be dismissed by the skeptics, and yet with the occasional insight that spoke of this woman’s power. It was not as grand as the first showing, but continued to impress him. She used her blood and moths, and he could not tell from the feeling in the room whether it was necrocræft, noircræft, or a fée’s magia. Perhaps it was all of them.
Seventeen
“Wolfram!”
It was like her voice filled his soul. He expected her eyes to open and to see her smile up at him, but she lay still. Yet in his heart, his mind, he felt her with him.
The young Suitor of Death sat back on his heels, wrapping his arms around himself as if to hug the version of the girl that he knew was now connected to this world through his blood.
“Can you hear me, Salome?” he asked aloud. There was no reply, but then again the calling of his name had not really been heard so much as felt.
“I hope you are safe and healed,” he continued, unsure if she could hear him, but wanting to say these things even if he felt silly. He closed his eyes, imagined her before him, that his own arms were in fact hers. “We are working on a way to bring you back soon, His Grace and I.”
Though, was there need to wait? Her soul was in his grasp and her body right before him, still laying peacefully in the wooden trunk and silk sheets. All he needed to do was to tie the two together. Lord Ophion had already showed him how to do this. True, they were not yet sure about her illness, but His Grace had mentioned that she would likely return healthy.
Wolfram began to trace in the air, a smear of blood still on his finger. He felt his pulse in the knife’s knick. Imagining a string forming from where he touched he drew a long rope. He made a move to grab two ends and tie them together in a knot. A pressure started to surround him as the spirits of death gathered, interested in what he was doing, waiting to be given an order.
He tugged. Pluta hissed. His vision darkened.
When he regained his sight he seemed to be standing for he was no longer booking at the trunk or the legs of chairs. Then the walls began to descend and with a yelp the boy realized it was in fact him that was floating up!
He looked down to see his own body laying on the floor. Pluta paced around it, nudging him, softly meowing and calling his name. The blood on his finger shone and the wound bled far more than it should have given
the small incision. She licked at it and it still continued to bleed. She called him again and hit his cheek with a paw.
“What happened?”
“Wolfram! Oh, you dear idiot!”
Salome appeared before him as Mora at times did and floated with him in the air. She was wearing the same nightgown that she had been killed in (even though the gown her body wore now was different) and her dark hair was in disarray. Both the clothes and her skin were somewhat transparent, the lamp-light in the room coming through her and illuminating her. She was ethereal—a spirit; a ghost.
When each realized they could see the other they embraced, the spirits having enough purchase with their bodies close by that they could touch. Wolfram saw that his own skin and clothes were transparent as well, but less so than Salome’s.
“I’m sorry,” Salome said before Wolfram could speak. “I am sorry I asked to die! I’m sorry I asked you to kill me. It was not fair. You did not have to try and get me back—”
“Of course I had to!” he said. “Salome, I love you. I was already learning a cræft which was known for returning the dead to life, you must have realized I would want to try and get you back. You were in pain and wanted to die, but I was never going to let you stay dead.”
When His Grace had first said he needed a sacrifice to kill Wolfram had thought to get an animal. Then Pierre had specified that it had had to be human. He had decided to bring Salome. She had asked to die, after all. Her illness had been making her weaker and brought much pain. It was only after, seeing her corpse, that he realized the intent had been for her to remain dead. His Grace said that he could not bring back this sacrifice. The phrasing, thankfully, had been deliberate and Pierre agreed that another could return her life.
“I did not want to wait,” Wolfram continued. “I thought I could try. I felt you with me.”
Delphinium- or A Necromancer's Home Page 16
