by Emma Newman
“No, she did not!” Sam pressed against his wedding ring with his thumb. The last time they met he wasn’t wearing it. “And before you try anything dodgy—” he thrust his left hand towards Poppy’s face, fingers spread “—I’m protected by Lord Iron.”
“How terribly exciting for you. Could you explain why that’s relevant? Am I threatening your person?”
Sam lowered his hand, aware of the people cowering behind him as if he were the only thing protecting them from a rabid dog. “Um…”
“Irrelevant then, it seems. And it’s such an ugly ring. Wouldn’t you rather take it off and put it in your pocket so its ugliness isn’t inflicted on everyone around you?”
Sam nodded, pulled it from his finger and did as Poppy suggested. He wondered why the people behind him were groaning.
Poppy’s smile didn’t seem to cheer them up. “Now tell me, has my faerie been helpful?”
The faerie fluttered next to Lord Poppy, giving Sam a hopeful smile. “Yeah.”
“She brought you into Exilium, I understand.”
“Yeah.”
“And led you to these poor little waifs and strays.”
“Yeah.”
“And what do you plan to do with them? No one wants them. They’re soiled now. They smell of the Rose. Never has a scent been so unfashionable.”
“I’m going to take them home.”
Poppy tittered and watched Sam for a moment. “You’re telling the truth!” He flapped his free hand as the faerie accompanied his melodic laughter with its own soprano harmony.
“What’s so funny? They were kidnapped!”
“But,” Poppy said, dabbing at the corner of his eye with a slender finger, “they’ll die if you take them back to Mundanus.”
Sam glanced at the crisp packet at his feet. Would they be incapable of eating anything at home? Or was that something to do with being in Exilium? “We’re willing to take the risk.” He twisted to look at them. “Right?”
All of them nodded.
“So be it.”
“And we’re leaving now.”
“So soon? But we’ve hardly had a chance to enjoy the day. It’s a very special one. My favourite is being married to a very pretty boy.” Sam had been certain Cathy had more time. “They moved the date,” Poppy added. “She’s captivated the Iris boy to the extent that he begged his father to marry them as soon as possible. Isn’t that romantic?”
But she had been determined to find a way out. Sam jolted. That’s what he needed to do! “We need to go now.”
“Before we’ve settled my compensation?”
“Oh, no.” Sam sighed. “Look, I told you—”
“Because it would be so dreadfully impolite to accept help from my faerie—twice—and simply leave without a token of your gratitude. Or rather two of them.”
Sam folded his arms. “Like that time you took one of my memories?”
“Yes, but I don’t want another. I took the one I liked the best, the rest are horribly dull. No, I want you to do two things for me, such easy tasks. It being my favourite’s wedding day has filled me with generosity, it seems. You’re lucky she likes you. Otherwise I would have cursed you to believe you’ll die if you don’t bray like a donkey and given you an irresistible urge to visit the ones you most want to impress in Mundanus.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Take a message to Catherine. That’s all. And then in one month—or perhaps less—you’re to deliver something to me.”
“But I don’t know how to find her.”
“Then you’d better work it out. Otherwise I shall be displeased. Now, the message is this—and take care to recite it perfectly, otherwise your debt won’t be paid.” Sam nodded. “‘Dear Catherine, Your friend accepted my help in Exilium. As payment, I require the painting you promised to me the last time he visited before the next Mundane new moon. It must contain an Iris secret. Your true patron, Lord Poppy.’”
“Hang on a minute!” Sam said. “You said my taking the message was payment, not her giving you a painting!”
“Ah, the painting is in return for not turning your fingers into hungry rats with a taste for your flesh. I think that’s most generous.”
Sam couldn’t reply. He just blinked a few times, trying to drive the image from his mind. “OK…tell me the message again.”
Poppy repeated it. Backwards. Sam’s temples started to throb as the faerie giggled.
“Fine, I got it,” he said, trying to sound confident. “Do I just take the painting to the church again?”
“No. That’s such an inelegant way to bring my favourite’s masterpiece. Simply stand in front of a mirror, say my name three times with the desire to come here and you’ll be able to step through. Of course, should you wish to visit before then, or—” he looked pointedly at the people behind Sam “—bring me other gifts in return for saving certain doomed souls, you’ll be quite welcome.”
“OK. Thanks.” He didn’t want to thank him but he had to get at least one thing right. “We’ll be off then.”
“But how will you leave?” the faerie asked.
“You’ll take me back, won’t you?”
“Only if you give me something in return,” Poppy said.
“Oh, for the love of…If you don’t let us go, I can’t give Cathy the message, can I?”
“I could find another way and give you an alternative compensatory task if you wish.”
“No. No…I’ll…” He looked at the faerie and at Poppy, understanding even more clearly Cathy’s frustration with the Sorcerer and his unwillingness to help. He put his hands in his pockets in an effort to look relaxed and not at all panicky, and his fingers brushed the wedding ring. He clasped it tight, horrified he’d taken it off. “I’ll find my own way out. Thanks.” He started walking as Poppy laughed. “Come on then!” he called back to the others and they followed him.
“I’ll join you,” Poppy said. “A stroll before the wedding is just what I need. Do you know where you’re going?”
Sam marched on but Poppy matched his pace effortlessly. “Out of Exilium.”
“Oh, this is simply divine entertainment,” Poppy breathed. “If only I could bottle it and save it for dull days. But Catherine would be upset if I rendered you into a few drops of hopeless optimism. I have no desire to upset her when I can’t see it.”
Sam tried to ignore him, pressing the ring painfully into the palm of his hand to keep his focus on it. There had to be a place he could get them out. Surely Exilium had a border?
“How long do you plan to walk? Your waifs look so dreadfully hungry. Poor little things. Perhaps I could take them in, I’ll need something to play with after the wedding. I fear I might feel a little upset by the sight of my strange sunlit one becoming an Iris.”
Sam had the urge to veer left. Was that Poppy, the faerie or something else? He slowly changed their direction and Poppy didn’t seem to notice. He pressed on.
“Oh, look, over there is a patch of daisies in the shape of a teardrop. If you can guess what made it, I’ll grant you a boon.”
“No, thanks,” Sam said. He was on to something, he could feel it.
“A missed opportunity is a dreadful thing. I could have given you the ability to know a woman’s desire. Or a man’s, should you wish it.”
Sam shook his head. “Not far now,” he said to the others. Then he saw something ahead: a huge pillar driven into the earth, the grass around it yellowed and coarse. A fogbank hung in the air on the other side of it as far as he could see, so dense the ground seemed to stop where it began, as if forming the edge of Exilium. The pillar looked like it was made of iron with copper bands riveted around it and was about six feet tall. It was covered in symbols and things that looked like algebraic equations written by an insane mathematician. Several thick iron chains ran from the top of the pillar and disappeared into the ground.
Poppy had also stopped and planted his cane in the ground. “Well, I need to go to the wedding no
w,” he said, turning slightly so the shape up ahead would be out of his sight. “I look forward to your delivery—whichever one it may be. Time for you to leave.”
He pushed Sam backwards with the tip of his cane, so hard it hurt. The panic of falling made his arms pinwheel and seemed to go on for longer than it should. There was a horrible pop in his ears, a brief pain in his sinuses and his stomach rose up like he’d fallen several metres instead of onto his backside.
One second he saw blue sky as he tipped back and the next a white ceiling. His hands sank into a deep pile rug and there was the scent of cologne. Before he could even take in the room Clare landed next to him and then the others, as if they had fallen through an invisible hole in the ceiling. One of them landed on a chaise-longue, the rest on the rug next to Sam.
“Good God!”
A man in his sixties was on the other side of the room with a butler tying a bit of white cloth around his neck like a weird tie.
Poppy’s faerie appeared next to the older man and whispered in his ear as the servant came over and pulled Sam to his feet.
“Oh…I see,” the man said. “Well…where should I send them?”
The faerie whispered something back and a twitch at the corner of the man’s mouth made Sam nervous. He nodded and went to the door leading out of the room as the others were pulled onto their feet, just as disoriented as he felt.
“This way,” the man said, opening the door and gesturing for them to go through. Sam couldn’t see a room on the other side, just a haze.
“Where does it go?”
“Home,” he said. “I have a wedding to go to. Will you please hurry along?”
Sam wondered if they were in the Nether, as the Sorcerer’s house was, so he looked out of the window. The familiar silver mists confirmed his suspicion. “Come on,” he said to the others. “We need to go. And I think we should all hold hands, in case something weird…I mean more weird happens.” They did as he asked. Clare slipped her hand into his to join them together.
Wanting it to be over as soon as possible, he ran out of the room. His ears popped again, there was a rush of cold air and he found himself—and mercifully the others—in the central reservation of a motorway. It was dark and cold and he didn’t have a clue where they were, but car fumes had never tasted so good.
3
The servants were lined up outside the house when the butler opened the front door. Everything was misty white through Cathy’s veil. Her mother’s hand cupped her elbow, steering her forwards, as Cathy’s legs still felt as if they belonged to someone else. As they emerged, she saw the carriage waiting, decorated with red poppies, looking more like something to transport people to a war memorial in Mundanus. It seemed appropriate.
“Best wishes to you on your wedding day, Miss Papaver,” the butler said with a bow.
“Health, wealth and happiness,” the cook said, curtsying, and the same was repeated down the line.
The footman helped her into the carriage and her father was waiting inside. Once the train of the dress had been arranged under her mother’s critical eye, the door was shut and there was a familiar lurch as the carriage pulled away.
Father was dressed in a black morning suit with a poppy-red waistcoat and one of the blooms buttonholed in the lapel. It suited him; the dark colours matched his black moustache and peppery hair. He wore his usual funereal expression as he took in her garb.
“You look very…nice,” he finally said. Then he peered through the veil, studying her glassy eyes, and tutted. He lifted the gauze, which was edged with crystals, and planted a dry kiss in the centre of her forehead, whispering a few words as he sat back. A wisp of smoke reached towards his lips for a brief moment, then Cathy shuddered and felt like she expanded into her own body, as if she’d been dozing at the back of a room all morning.
“Take a few deep breaths,” he said. “It takes a moment to wake fully.”
She batted the veil up and away from her face, looking down at the white gown, taking it in properly for the first time. She could feel the crush on her chest of an impending panic attack, horrified that she’d been sleepwalking her way into the wedding day she desperately needed to avoid.
“You…you…” The terrible things she wanted to call her father were so plentiful she couldn’t settle on one. “Sly, evil…”
“Don’t say anything you may regret later, Catherine.”
“How could you do this? You drugged me!”
“Your mother and I decided it was the best course of action.”
“That doesn’t make it right! My God, I knew you were both cold…evil people but this! Drugging your own daughter so—”
“Be quiet!” The commanding boom he’d perfected in the army was still with him. “I want to have a conversation with you, not sit here and be insulted. I could have waited until we arrived at the Oak to fully revive you, but I felt it was important we speak whilst we can.”
“Am I supposed to be grateful?” She almost choked. Now she wasn’t shouting, she could feel the anger trying to escape in tears but she was determined not to dissolve, and certainly not in front of him. The first and last time she’d broken down in his study he’d beaten her until she’d passed out.
“You have a choice, Catherine. Have a civil conversation with me now, and learn something in the process, or continue to demonstrate all of the qualities that have precipitated our treatment of you. If you insist on being rude, disrespectful and rebellious, you will be treated as a spoilt, worthless child with no sense of duty or honour. Which will it be?”
Cathy permitted herself one moment of fantasy, in which she punched him squarely in the face and shouted all the things that burned in her chest, then forced herself to think strategically. He was right: she did have a choice, just not the one he offered. She could rant and vent all her fury, or she could start looking for a way out.
“That’s better,” he said, interpreting her silence as a victory. “Now, I’ve been giving this journey a great deal of thought over the past day or so. It’s the last time you’ll be in my care. After today, another man and another family will be responsible for your wellbeing.”
She sucked in a breath to cool the scream building in her throat. In less than thirty seconds he’d unknowingly summed up one of the roots of her rebellion: the idea that she was nothing but a delicate piece of property.
“As such,” her father continued, “I felt I should say a few things to you that I have neglected to over the years. I’m a man of few words, as you know.”
You prefer violence, she wanted to snap at him, but she kept that inside too.
“I confess I’ve struggled to comprehend your behaviour. It started early on, when you simply refused to delight in the things that all little girls like. You have a stubborn streak that is most unbecoming and, frankly, I had no idea it would result in the despicable way you ran away and hid from us for so long.”
“You made your disappointment perfectly clear to me when I was brought home.”
“I haven’t finished. And you’re doing it again. Just listen.” He paused, waiting to see if she’d acquiesce. She focused on expressing all her hatred in her silent glare. “You know I’ve been angry with you, on many occasions. I simply could not understand why you continuously rejected every effort we made to give you the very best life. Dresses, dolls, the best dancing and singing teachers, all manner of things your sister adored, you threw back at us and simply refused to even try.”
“That’s not true. I did try to do all those stupid things you wanted and I can’t! I’m just not made that way.”
“You can’t even speak in a civil manner.” He shook his head. “I’m constantly ashamed that I have failed to make you into an accomplished young lady. We are so very lucky that events have transpired to make this marriage happen, otherwise I have no idea what would have become of you.”
Her fists were clenched so tight Cathy feared she’d split her knuckles. She took a breath but he held up a hand.
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“I haven’t finished. Your lack of gratitude and your supreme lack of appreciation for the privileges you have enjoyed astound me. I have seen people suffer, Catherine, really suffer in the most unimaginably awful situations, and to see you pouting and refusing to participate and even be courteous when you have such a blessed life quite frankly disgusts me.”
She looked away, feeling a sharp stab of truth in his words.
“I realised last night that one of the other reasons you have infuriated me so is…” He paused, and she looked back to see him searching for the right words in a way she’d never witnessed before. “…is because I believe we’re far more alike than I’ve ever wanted to admit.”
She gawped at him. “Really?”
“You know very little about me. You’ve never expressed any curiosity. I thought it might interest you to know that when I came of age and was presented to the Patroon to make my request, I too did not ask for what my parents expected of me.”
Cathy blinked, unable to imagine even a shred of rebellion in the stilted, repressed rod of a man that was her father. She remembered his rage when she’d asked to go to university instead of the shallow beauty or grace Charm her mother had pressed for. He’d never once let it slip that he’d done the same.
“What did you ask for?”
“To fight in the First World War.”
“But I thought that was a tradition for Rhoeas-Papaver men—to be in the army, I mean.”
“The First World War was seen as too dangerous for active service. It was very different, what with the Gatling guns mowing down the officers in such numbers. Our family has served in many military campaigns over the ages, when our interests were under threat, or when some young blood wanted a taste of glory, but no one was permitted a commission when they saw what was happening in the trenches.”
“But you wanted to go out there?”
“I turned twenty-one in 1916. I was desperate to get out there and give the Hun a damn fine kicking, but the pater said no. So I asked the Patroon, and he had to say yes.”
Cathy saw a spark of something in his eyes that she’d thought impossible: spirit. “Were they angry with you?”
