The Girl Who Chose

by Violet Grace

  The familiar sounds of cars, buses and people travel over the walls of the courtyard. Human sounds. We’re in London.

  ‘Jules! Where’s Jules?’ Abby shrieks. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She stayed behind,’ I say darkly. ‘She chose Damius.’

  ‘No! No!’ Abby screams. ‘We need to go back now. We need to go back and help her.’

  ‘She pushed me into the portal and closed it behind me, Abby. She —’

  ‘No! She would never,’ Abby insists and then, her conviction faltering, ‘She wouldn’t…’

  ‘This is not the time, Abbs,’ Tom says. ‘We need to get inside. Now.’

  Tom scoops my mother into his arms and strides towards the entrance of Apothecaries Hall. I put my father’s arm over my shoulder and follow Tom.

  ‘Tom,’ I say quietly. ‘Is it safe here?’

  ‘They’re Fae,’ he replies.

  That doesn’t fill me with confidence. I’ve just seen how quickly and easily Fae can switch their loyalties. But I realise we don’t have much of a choice. We need to get my parents some help.

  Abby trails after us, shocked and dazed.

  The door opens as Tom approaches. An elderly man in an olive-green uniform with gold buttons and a high stiff collar beams at him.

  ‘Master Williams,’ he says brightly.

  ‘I need the Dean,’ Tom says. ‘Urgently.’

  The old man nods and disappears through a side door. Abby, my father and I follow Tom and my mother into the foyer.

  A moment later a middle-aged woman with snow-white hair glides in. She’s dressed in an elegant pinstriped suit that highlights her striking Fae looks. Poking out of the pocket of her suit is what looks like a small wand.

  ‘What is this?’ she demands, her ice blue eyes searching Tom and Abby first, then scanning the rest of us. Her brow furrows in shock when she spots my mother.

  ‘The Queen?’

  ‘Struck by Damius’s Art as her life force was reuniting with her body,’ Tom says.

  The Dean places her fingers on my mother’s forehead and the concern on her face fills me with terror all over again. I have not come this far to lose my mother now.

  ‘Come,’ she says.

  We follow her into a large dining room full of round tables with white linen tablecloths draping all the way to the floor.

  ‘Close the door behind you,’ the Dean barks at me. She stops abruptly in front of an oil painting of a pompous-looking guy with a curly wig and a long red cape. She taps the gilded frame of the painting with both hands, as if she was playing notes on a piano. The painting squeaks open to reveal a tunnel lit by flaming torches on the walls.

  Before Tom steps through the painting he looks back at Abby, who has sat down at one of the dining tables. ‘We could use your help, Abbs.’

  Abby shakes her head. ‘Our family has already done enough for the Raven family.’

  Her words are like an icepick to the heart but I can’t say I blame her.

  Tom carries my mother through, and my father and I follow. The slope of the tunnel is steep, and I have to tread carefully so as not to slip and bring my father down with me. After several bends we reach some sort of indoor garden, with trees and shrubs and a pond of crystal blue water. A warren of tunnels supported by beams made from tree branches burrow off in five different directions.

  ‘Nadia!’ the Dean calls as we rush down one of the tunnels, passing rooms that look like classrooms, some with rows of jars containing what appear to be pickled body parts, although from what animals I couldn’t say. Other glass-doored cabinets are packed neatly with lines of bottles and vials and ancient-looking Bunsen burners.

  We reach a circular room with walls covered from floor to ceiling in rough-cut turquoise. An orb of fluorescent light hovers in the centre of the ceiling. I can’t be certain if it’s magic or fancy lighting. The room is filled with a bluish hue, reminding me of the way light is reflected off the ruby-encrusted walls of the Temple back in Iridesca. Intricately carved dark wooden chests packed with stoppered bottles filled with brightly coloured powders, liquids and dried herbs sit open around the room.

  ‘Nadia!’ the Dean calls again.

  A young woman, dressed in the same olive green uniform as the old guy at the front door, hurries into the room from a second entrance. Her eyes widen when she sees my mother, but then they dart past Mum and settle on me. She obviously recognises me, but doesn’t bow or show any sign of deference.

  Tom lays my mother down on a black and gold velvet bed, its wooden sides engraved with Celtic symbols.

  Nadia pulls a wand from her boot, but rather than using it to conjure the Art, she strikes a bronze gong hanging in the corner of the room.

  Ringing reverberates through the room, and a moment later eight more people in olive uniforms rush in. Suddenly everyone is talking at once. Half of the newcomers surround my mother’s bed, firing questions at Tom as he briefs them on her condition. The rest crowd around me as I help my father onto his bed. They take his pulse, inspect his wound, shine a torch into his eyes and mouth. Dad sits on the bed, seemingly oblivious to all the poking and prodding, looking intently at my mother.

  I tell them that my father was struck by Damius, and that he’s human. I don’t know if that makes a difference. Given these Fae live and work in Volgaris, I figure they should know what to do with a human.

  And then a small woman is ushering me towards the door.

  ‘Get off me,’ I say, trying to shrug off her grasp.

  ‘The Dean is the most skilled apothecary in all three realms. Let her do her work,’ the woman says, her face as kind as it is firm.

  Tom catches my eye. ‘Go, Chess. I’ll come for you. It’s for the best.’

  My father sits up. ‘I love you, Chess,’ he calls as I’m ejected from the healing room and the door is unceremoniously slammed in my face. I try the handle but it holds fast. I could blast it off its hinges and force my way back in, but I know Tom’s right. There is nothing I can do to help my parents right now. I’d only be a distraction.

  I slump against the cool, smooth, dried-mud wall and slide down to sit on the floor, trying and failing to make out the murmur from behind the door.

  I wait. I worry.

  I try to make sense of the past few hours. Jules’s face appears in my mind. She was determined, resolute in her decision to stay behind. A million different thoughts rush through my head about why she did what she did, most of them dark. Had she been planning this all along or was it a snap decision? I think back over the past days and weeks, searching for the turning point. I told her to pick a side. And she did.

  It kills me that it wasn’t my side.

  I hear the Dean dismissing people, thanking them for their good work. Bottles and instruments clatter as if they are being cleared away. A door creaks opens on the other side of the healing room. I register the footsteps of the healers and apothecaries leaving, and then only two voices remain. I press my ear to the door.

  ‘You should not have brought them here,’ the Dean is saying.

  ‘Yes, I should,’ Tom replies.

  ‘You are not a naive and lovesick child anymore. The very act of healing them is treasonous.’

  ‘Surely you can’t have love or loyalty for Damius.’

  ‘That is irrelevant. I have responsibilities. As the Dean of the Hall I serve the Crown.’

  ‘And as my mother? Where do you stand?’

  Mother?

  Of course. In the confusion, I’d forgotten that Tom told me he was visiting her here while I was in Serenissima.

  Footsteps approach the door. I have just enough time to scoot back against the mud wall before it opens. I scramble to my feet as Tom appears, closing the door behind him.

  ‘They’re both stable,’ he says.

  I feel weak with relief.

  ‘When they wake, will they … you know, will they be okay?’

  ‘You father, almost certainly. Your mother, we can’t be sure. Her life fo
rce has been estranged from her body for so many years. There is no precedent.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  He takes my hand, squeezes it. ‘We wait.’

  ‘So that’s your mother,’ I say, giving him an opening to divulge the details of their conversation. He doesn’t take it.

  ‘Yes, that’s Alvina. She’ll want to meet you,’ he says. ‘Properly, I mean.’

  I’m surprised by how uneasy I suddenly feel. Am I worried about being assessed for my worthiness as a political ally or as her son’s girlfriend?

  Tom wraps his arms around me and pulls me into him.

  A question forms in my mind. I don’t want to ask it. But I have to.

  ‘Tom. Can she be trusted?’

  ‘Of course,’ he replies, but the slight tensing of his body against mine does nothing to put me at ease.

  I stand in the turquoise healing room for hours, feeling helpless and impatient as I watch and wait for them to wake. My mother’s breathing is so shallow that every so often I put my ear to her mouth to reassure myself that she’s still alive. It’s just like all those times I sat beside her in the butterfly house.

  Tom showers and comes back dressed in clean jeans, t-shirt and a leather jacket. His hair is damp and his musky scent is mixed with what I’m guessing is citrus shower gel.

  My heart skips a beat at the sight of him. It’s hard to believe that it was only this morning that we stood on the bell tower in Serenissima. I stared into that beautiful face and I told him that I loved him. I don’t know what comes after that. To be honest, I’m not sure what terrifies me more: the fall of House Raven and our exile in London, or being with Tom and finding out exactly what does come next. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love Tom. And I’ve never been loved like that in return. It’s a hell of a lot to screw up.

  ‘How late is it?’ I say, rubbing my eyes.

  ‘Late enough. Come with me,’ Tom says. ‘We need to talk, and you need fresh air. And some rest.’

  He’s right. I have only the vaguest thoughts about what my next move should be. I need to start making plans.

  After Tom arranges for two apothecaries to sit with my parents, I follow him through the tunnels out the secret doorway with the painting into the ground floor rooms. The sun has set, but the courtyard is illuminated by the lamppost and the light from the windows and surrounding city buildings. I wouldn’t call the air fresh, but it does make a nice change from the stuffiness of being underground.

  Abby stands alone in the courtyard, next to the fir tree that has been restored to its pot. I almost don’t recognise her because she’s wearing so little fabric. Her yellow play-suit makes quite a change from the full-skirted gowns she usually favours. She’s holding two test tubes filled with dark red liquid. In the dim light it looks like blood.

  She throws one test tube at the lamppost, creating a flash of blinding light and an explosion that sounds a bit like a car backfiring.

  I instinctively cover my face with my hands. Tom leaps in front of me.

  Abby swears. ‘The pH balance is off.’

  I drop my hands and see a whole lot of black smoke.

  ‘Abbs,’ Tom says, ‘what are you —’

  She tosses the second test tube.

  I cover my eyes again. This explosion is loud enough to rattle the windows in their frames.

  ‘That’s better,’ Abby says.

  All that remains of the lamppost is a puddle of molten metal and shattered glass.

  The old guy in the olive uniform opens the door and pokes his head out. He looks around, notices the ruined lamppost, rolls his eyes and closes the door again without a word.

  ‘I’m going back,’ Abby says, as if that adequately explains why she just blew up a lamppost. ‘You owe it to Jules to come with me to help, but I’ll go alone if I have to.’

  Tom’s reaction tells me that they have had this conversation already.

  ‘Abby,’ I begin. ‘Jules didn’t want to come.’

  ‘Did you hear something?’ Abby says to Tom. ‘I thought I heard a voice. Must have been the wind. Or the ghost of some has-been queen.’

  ‘Jules stayed behind on purpose,’ I persist. ‘With her father. I don’t want to believe it either. But it’s true.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Abby spits.

  ‘She’s right, Chess,’ Tom says. ‘There could be any number of reasons Jules stayed behind.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘She sacrificed herself so that we could escape,’ says Abby, exasperation in her voice. ‘And how are we repaying her? By sitting around, questioning her loyalty.’

  ‘I looked into her eyes, Abby. She’d made her choice.’

  I don’t add that she’d made the choice when she begged me to spare Damius’s life. Nor do I say that I wish I hadn’t listened to her plea. I should have killed Damius. We wouldn’t be in this situation now or having this conversation if he was dead. House Raven would stand; my parents, Tom, Jules and Abby would all be safe. But I trusted Jules and she threw that trust back in my face.

  ‘Are you so sure you’re right about Jules that you’re prepared to risk her life by leaving her there?’ Tom says.

  A huge part of me hopes, prays, that I’m wrong, but I’m certain I’m not. I reach into my pocket and pull out Jules’s knuckledusters.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ I say to Abby, holding them up.

  ‘They’re her knuckledusters,’ Abby says thinly, snatching them out of my hand. ‘What’s there to know?’

  ‘They slid off her fingers when I tried to pull her through the portal after me. Before she closed the portal,’ I say. ‘Jules can conjure the Art without an instrument.’

  ‘No, she can’t. You’re the only special one who can do that,’ she sneers.

  ‘I saw her do it,’ I say. ‘She didn’t seem surprised by it either.’

  ‘She couldn’t have … I would know,’ says Abby, faltering. ‘Why would she – how could …’

  ‘She never told you?’ I say. I know I’m being harsh but I need Abby to understand. ‘All that you’ve shared, and she never once confided in you about her powers?’

  Abby bites her lip. ‘You saw her at the boatshed. She was affected by the graphite. She’s not the same as you.’

  ‘Maybe it’s because she’s a half-human unicorn and I’m a half-human fairy,’ I say. ‘That’s not important. All that matters is that she hasn’t been honest.’

  Abby falls silent, unwilling or unable to look at me and Tom.

  ‘She’s been lying to you, Abbs,’ Tom says softly.

  ‘She’s been lying to all of us,’ I say bitterly.

  Abby says nothing, torn between love and reality. She throws the knuckledusters at me and storms back into the Hall.

  The air grows cold and I’m hit with a wave of fatigue so strong I can barely remain standing. I flop onto the wooden seat in the courtyard and fold my legs up, hugging them close to my body. I’m raw, empty. Tom sits too, his muscular thigh brushing up against me.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ he says.

  ‘About?’

  ‘This. All of this.’

  I shrug. I have no words.

  His hand slides into mine, warm and firm. ‘What do you want to do? What does Chess Raven want?’

  I scramble for an answer – any answer. No one has ever asked me that before. I’ve spent my life just doing what needed to be done. Before I knew about Iridesca and the Fae, and after, when I was Queen, none of it has ever felt like a choice. Tom’s question is like a syntax error; my mind just isn’t able to handle this kind of query.

  I stand up and look at him. ‘What I want doesn’t make much difference. Damius has the throne and the loyalty of the Protectorate.’

  ‘Some may remain loyal to you.’

  ‘For how long though? I’m not the Queen and my mother isn’t either. I have no authority, no soldiers. I have nothing.’ I let out a sob. ‘He’s stripped me back to nothing for the second time.’
>
  Tom wraps his arms around me and hugs me to his chest. I stay there for a moment, my ear pressed against him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

  Pulling away, I look at the line of his long neck disappearing under the collar of his leather jacket, those lush eyelashes, his lips slightly parted like an invitation.

  ‘You haven’t lost everything,’ he says. ‘No one, not even Damius, could keep me from you.’

  And just like that, the familiar, insatiable ache of anticipation blooms deep within me. Without conscious thought, my cheeks are flushing, my chest tightening with desire.

  Tom’s gaze roams over me as his unicorn senses read the changes in my body. Like the flick of a switch, it’s there in Tom’s eyes too, the wanting. His eyes linger on my mouth as I bite the corner of my lip. The way he looks at me, as if I’m the only thing in his world that matters – it’s like the caress of gentle fingers all over my body.

  The next thing I know, my hands are on the flaps of his jacket. I’m pulling him towards me until my whole body is pressing into his. His hands slide around the curve of my hips and his mouth closes in on mine.

  The door to Apothecaries Hall bursts open.

  Breathless from running, an apothecary races towards us. ‘It’s the Queen! Hurry.’

  Tom and I run through the tunnels.

  The air is damp and cool but it burns my lungs.

  I overtake Tom and sprint towards the healing antechamber. My stomach lurches into my throat as I push open the heavy oak door. Alvina is leaning over my mother’s bed, her back to me.

  I skid to a halt and gasp.

  My mother turns to me and smiles.

  My father wakes suddenly and all but leaps from his bed as he registers that my mother has also awoken. He takes her hand and, eyes glistening, embraces her. Watching them, the tenderness between them, brings fresh tears to my own eyes.

  How is it possible to have gained and lost so much all at once? I have my parents but I’ve lost my mother’s future.