by Cait Dee
I look at him through narrowed eyes. How could Abernethy possibly know this? The bloodstone is magic; I know it is. It was only when I had the stone that I found my own magic. When Ishbel she touched it she was freed of the love spell that bound her to Gregor. It led me to the Faerie fort. And then it cured all those folk in Dunshee. That was all the doing of the stone.
‘How . . . ? I don’t . . .’ I take a deep breath. ‘Why would Grizel lie to me? Why did she tell me to risk my life to protect the bloodstone and come all this way to find Ancroft?’
‘Think on it. Your aunt was a clever woman, and she knew you better than anybody. Would you have left your home, made such a perilous journey, without it?’
‘Nae, I would not,’ I admit.
He passes the silk kerchief to me. I shake it out and the bloodstone falls into my upturned palm. As I look down at it, I remember my aunt’s voice as she whispered her instructions through the bars of the Tolbooth in Strathcraig. My throat grows tight. Grizel was the cleverest person I’ve ever met. And she would have done anything to keep me safe. Perhaps what Abernethy says is true, after all. Grizel told me what I needed to hear to get me where I needed to go. The bloodstone was a sleight of hand, used to distract Finster from where the real power lay. All this time it was here, within me.
‘Grizel found the stone one day in the wildwood when we were bairns,’ he says in a soft voice. ‘My sister’s favourite plaything. That’s all it ever was.’
My eyes meet Abernethy’s. Bright green they are, like the first shoots of spring.
My mouth falls open and then I close it, shaking my head.
‘There never was any Angus Ancroft.’ The realisation slips from my lips in a whisper.
He shrugs. ‘Ancroft is the name I adopted when I first came to Edinburgh. When I joined the Guild of the Green Lion as an apprentice.’
The vein in my neck throbs.
We’ve stopped walking and I take a moment to study his face. ‘You don’t look much like a Balfour,’ I say, trying to stop my voice from quavering.
‘Neither do you, now. Our eyes will always give us away, though, will they not?’
‘But — but you are a lord. How is it so?’ I ask him. ‘Balfours are country folk, not nobility. It’s not possible . . .’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘Remember the looking glass, and think again on what is possible.’
I take a deep breath. So, he wields real power with his magic; enough to change a poor man’s fortunes. If what he says is true, then in the course of my lifetime, Fingal Balfour has gone from being a village herbalist, eking out a living in Heatherbrae, to a nobleman with a vast estate on the outskirts of the capital.
Perhaps this is why Grizel agreed to raise Ishbel and me after our mother died: so her brother could pursue a greater destiny — a destiny not written in the stars, but one he created for himself.
My mind races as I consider the possibilities for my own life. Of what it might become, now that I have this chance to learn from him.
‘Grizel sent me to Edinburgh to find Ancroft. He was supposed to help me finish my apprenticeship,’ I tell Abernethy, trying to temper my excitement.
He’s been leaning on his cane, but now he probes the ground with the end of it. ‘Your aunt got a message to me before she died. She did indeed want you to continue your studies,’ he confirms. ‘But you must understand, my methods are different from hers. If you wish to commence under my tutelage, you’ll have many difficult years ahead of you. High magic is scholarly and rigorous; you will need to be disciplined. Do you think you are prepared for that? If you’d prefer, I could send you to Orkney with Fenella Sinclair. You can continue to learn the healing arts. The path will be much harder if you stay here. Dangerous, too. The king is relentless in his pursuit of us.’
My heart begins to trill a rapid beat. With Grizel dead, I’ve no way of knowing if this man is really my father. But then, why else would he have saved my life? I’m convinced he forged a spell on Castle Hill to break the leather strap that would have strangled me. If he’s speaking the truth, then this is what my aunt wanted for me: I’m supposed to be here, with him. And he may be the only kin I have left now. When Ishbel died I thought I was the last Balfour, but perhaps it is not so, after all.
‘I wish to stay here, with you,’ I say. ‘I want to learn high magic.’
My answer seems to please him. ‘Very well.’
‘Nightwing!’ I call.
In moments, my friend appears in a haze of blue-black feathers. A sudden feeling of giddiness overwhelms me, and I don’t dampen the smile that has spread across my face.
As we follow Abernethy deeper into the woods, a warm breeze rustles the leaves, bringing with it the promise of an early summer. Sunlight streams through the tree branches, illuminating the path before us. I cannot know what the future holds if I walk this path, but there’s one thing I do know for certain: I will not be walking it alone.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to my family and friends and to the following people and organisations for their assistance with The Last Balfour:
Mentor-extraordinaire James Bradley, for his wisdom, early feedback and assistance in finding the book a home.
My wonderful agent, Tara Wynne, from Curtis Brown Australia, for her expert advice and support.
My publishers, Chren Byng and Eve Tonelli, from HarperCollins Publishers, for their tireless support, guidance and enthusiasm, and for agreeing to take on this project. To their colleagues at HarperCollins Publishers for all their efforts in design, production and marketing.
My editor, Ali Lavau, for her meticulous review and constructive suggestions that did wonders to improve the manuscript.
Roland Fishman, the teaching team and fellow students at the Writers’ Studio, for encouragement, guidance and unstinting generosity with feedback.
And finally, to my earliest of early readers, Andrew Robertson, for his unfailing friendship and support.
SOURCES
The following sections have been adapted from traditional Scottish spells, incantations and folk tales.
Rowan tree and red thread incantation adapted from a traditional rhyme, Robert Chambers, Popular Rhymes of Scotland, W. & R. Chambers Limited, Edinburgh, 1870, p. 328.
Wolf folk tale adapted from ‘The Fox and the Wolf’, Elizabeth W. Grierson, The Scottish Fairy Book, J.B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, 1910, pp. 245–252.
Blessing of the nine sacred woods adapted from F. Marian McNeill, The Silver Bough, volume I, Canongate Classics, Edinburgh, 1989, p. 84.
Healing prayer of Bride, adapted from Alexander Carmichael, ‘Charm for Sprain’, Carmina Gadelica, volumes I and II, Forgotten Books, London, 2007, p. 231.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CAIT DUGGAN has spent the best part of twenty years working in commercial law, while harbouring a secret ambition to become a writer. This led her to undertake a number of writing courses, studying at the Writers’ Studio and Faber Writing Academy. As she loves history and is obsessed with magic, Cait writes fantasy and magical realism for children and young adults. The Last Balfour is her first novel.
COPYRIGHT
HarperCollinsPublishers
First published in Australia in 2019
by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited
ABN 36 009 913 517
harpercollins.com.au
Copyright © Caitlin Dugan 2019
The right of Caitlin Dugan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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Cover design by Micaela Alcaino
Cover images: Woman by Ebru Sidar / Arcangel; flames by shutterstock.com
