Spark and Sorrow

by Rachel A. Marks

  “For pities’ sake, Breanne—”

  “In any case, tomorrow I’ll write a letter to the sisters informing them of her presence.”

  My gut sinks at the words. My only hope is to find my way out of here in the length of time it will take the sisters to get the message and come to fetch me.

  “But for now,” she continues, “I’m set to return to the chapel, and to prayer. You took me from my time of mourning. Again, I am barren.” Her chin goes up slightly.

  The prince’s gaze softens. “I am sorry, Sister.”

  “Yes, well, I seem unable to do my duty for Lord Bracen,” her voice wavers.

  He reaches out like he might want to comfort her, but then brings his hand back to his side. “It has barely been a season, I’m sure that your husband—”

  “I need to be in prayer,” she says quickly. “Petitioning God, not being consoled by my heathen brother.”

  He bows his head to her. “I understand.” He watches her in concern as she picks up her skirts and walks quickly to the door, the taller girl following.

  But before Breanne exits the room, she seems to come back to awareness, shooing at the girl, saying, “No, no, you stay here, Lady Gwyndolin. We must keep the novice’s honor secure from my brother’s wandering hands.”

  Julius looks to the ceiling. “Will you always think me a beast, Sister?”

  “If only I could convince Father to commission a cage.” She gives him a rye look and slips out the door.

  Lady Gwyndolin searches the floor for a few seconds and then quietly moves to find a seat next to the window. She reaches into a basket beside her chair and pulls out a piece of embroidery, beginning to stitch without comment.

  Julius leans down to sit on the end of the couch, near my feet.

  Lady Gwyndolin clears her throat and his lips tighten. He scoots a bit further away from me.

  “So,” he begins quietly, “is it true? Are you a novice?”

  I hesitate, unsure if I should answer. But his gaze bores into me, as if seeing all my secrets. I shake my head.

  “But you come from the abbey?” he asks.

  I bite my lips together.

  “Don’t worry, Breanne will send word—”

  “Please, tell her I wish to be left in peace,” I say quickly before he can finish. “She mustn’t contact the abbey.”

  He studies me, then glances at our chaperone, who’s pretending to be lost in her needlepoint.

  “Perhaps you can reveal your name? Lady. . . ?” he pauses, giving me a curious look, likely thinking I’ll fill in my name after my title.

  “I am Lily,” I manage to say. “Just Lily.” My voice is brittle as it emerges.

  “I see. Well, I’d like to speak with you . . . Lily,” he seems uncomfortable saying my name, “about what happened in the woods.”

  I look away from him. He shouldn’t ask about that. I’m forbidden to speak of the Otherworld with a human. And, anyway, he doesn’t want to know. “I can’t,” I say.

  He leans closer, whispering under his breath, “Of course you can. I was there, I saw you speaking to that . . . thing that appeared from nowhere. I must know what it was—I heard you bargain with it. And I know that it wasn’t . . .” He hesitates, touching his chest where the nixies scratched him with their thorny limbs. He glances at our chaperone, then says very quietly. “It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t right.”

  This simple human has no idea. He has no idea what truly lies beyond his sight. But I’m not permitted to explain—there are some laws you just don’t break.

  I try and sit up, and he stops me gently with a hand to the shoulder.

  “Don’t move,” he says, sounding surprised. “Your stitches will come loose.”

  The pain has faded significantly, though. I’m healing, at last. I settle back down, realizing I should be careful not to let him become more aware of my powers. I need to just calm myself and focus on not making any mistakes. This prince has shelter to hide me for a night or two, food I can eat, horses I can steal. With this torque on, I’ll need to be that much more clever.

  “Which kingdom is this?” I ask, letting him nudge me back into the pillows.

  “Not a kingdom, so much as a territory within one. My father is king of marsh and mud more than anything else.” He waves to the window mockingly.

  “But how far south is this?” I press, wishing he’d simply answer.

  His brow furrows at my question. “We’re twenty-five leagues from Wintanceaster.”

  My heart sinks, realizing how far away from safety I truly am. But I still don’t know if this is west or north or east or south of familiar roads?

  “We are loyal to the king of Wessex, if that’s your concern. But our house has no quarrel with the north, the Danes have become a far greater threat than your kin—you are a Northerner, right?”

  “I must find my way home,” I say, trying not to let the desperation filter into my voice.

  He releases a dry laugh. “You’re not well enough to go anywhere. But I’ll ensure you’re taken back to the abbey within the fortnight.”

  “No,” I say through my teeth. He’s not hearing me. I look sideways at Lady Gwyndolin. But I can’t speak freely in the presence of our chaperone. I’m unsure if I can trust Princess Breanne, as devout as she seems to be; she’s sure to want me back behind abbey walls with the sisters.

  “I don’t understand how—” he begins.

  “No,” I say, cutting off his confusion, deciding it’s best to be alone. To think and make a plan. “You should leave me in peace. I’m very worn down from my wounds. I need rest.”

  He releases a low sigh and stands, still studying me for several tense seconds before saying, “I won’t relent, you know. I will learn the truth of what happened in that glade. The truth of who you are,” then he adds more quietly, “the truth of what you are.”

  I close my eyes, ignoring him as best as I can. Let it go, you human fool.

  His footsteps echo across the stone floor as he walks away, but rather than the sound of the door latch filling the room, scraping follows instead.

  Curiosity has me opening my eyes again.

  He’s at the hearth, stacking pieces of wood onto the grate and building up the dying flames with a few pokes from the iron rod hanging on the hearth. The smell of smoke and ash and heat filter into the space as he stares into the fire, pondering the orange glow for a moment.

  “Sit with her, Cousin,” he says to the girl, “in case our guest needs anything.”

  He stands and turns to me again. Our eyes meet. “You’ve had an ordeal. Once you’ve rested, we’ll talk.” But I see he means, I will talk.

  He’s going to be sorely disappointed. I’m in enough of a mess, I won’t add breaking the godslaw to the long list of sins I’ve committed today. I’m far more afraid of the gods’ wrath than I am this simple human’s interrogations. While I may be forgiven for slipping my chains, it would be beyond foolish to test their patience to that extent.

  I keep my gaze steady on the prince until he turns away, at last leaving the room.

  Exhaustion hits me then, full force, the extent of my weakness now a weight in my bones. I can’t help but close my eyes, as the scent of impatience fades from the room and footsteps echo down the hall.

  I should stay aware, keep my composer, keep my guard up while I’m being watched by strangers. I’m too vulnerable here. Too many things are unknown.

  But in spite of my underlying caution, the tide of sleep pulls at me. My eyelids grow heavy, my body sinking into the cushions, breath slowing. I drift, losing my grip on awareness. And at some point I fall into a dreamless sleep.

  *

  Lily . . . hear me, comes a whisper. Here me, child.

  I rise to the surface, eyes sliding opening.

  Did someone call my name?

  I blink at the shadowed room, disoriented. Where’s my familiar woolen blanket? The close feeling of the abbey walls.

  This isn’t right, I .
. . But then I remember: the buck, the hunter.

  The goblin’s horrible words, First made in blood, and then fire. A bargain made, a bargain kept.

  I swallow the panic that rises in my gut at the reminder of my new vulnerability and try to sit up a little. There’s a bit of stiffness left in my back and shoulder muscle, but nothing more.

  Night has nearly swallowed the room in shadows. The fading embers of the fire pulse in red and gold against the stones of the hearth, casting odd shapes into the darkness.

  The snores of my young guardian drift across the room. She’s in profile, chin to chest, hands resting open in her lap, needlework tumbled to the floor as shards of moonlight spill in from the window behind her.

  I watch her, thinking she’ll awaken, that she’ll hear me now that I’m moving around. But she remains lost in sleep.

  I watch the night beyond her for a moment, wondering if I should attempt to slip out, if this is my moment to leave these humans, escape the questions, the prince’s insistence, and return to the shelter of the wood. There’s no casement in the window. The shutters are held open by a metal latch—

  Hear me, Daughter. The embers shift, hissing.

  My stomach lurches, gaze darting to the hearth. “Mother?”

  My pulse quickens, rising into my throat. The voice, so familiar. It can’t be.

  Tears sting my eyes, blurring my surroundings, but I blink them away.

  I must be imagining it. The goddess wouldn’t speak to me now. Not here in this lost place. Not when I’ve disobeyed.

  But the vibration rising in my skin, the heat, argues with such logic.

  It pulls me closer.

  I settle my feet on the cold stone of the floor, clutching the shawl to my chest as I rise and tip-toe over to the glow of the dying fire. “Mother, do you hear me?” I breathe.

  The ashes shift again. You will be revealed, they say, a spark flying up. Too soon.

  My heart thunders in my chest.

  “Why have you hidden me and left me alone for so long? You must come for me—I wish to go home—”

  Hear me, Daughter, the voice of the goddess insists. Your disobedience brings a bitter end for many. There is no safety for you here. Leave these heathens before it is too late. Return to the arms of the abbey.

  The abbey? How could she wish me to go back to that place? To Sister Agnus, to her switch, her scowl, to those dark eyes.

  I shake my head as if she can see me. “No!”

  Lady Gwyndolin snorts, shifting in her seat, but she doesn’t wake up.

  “I can’t go back to the abbey,” I say more quietly, determination hardening my voice. I’m done being a pawn, always allowing myself to be toyed with. But now, I finally have my mother’s ear. I can change my fate—I must stay strong.

  I’ve escaped the abbey’s walls. I’ll find a way to be truly free, to return to Lailoken. I must. “They are cruel at the abbey, Mother, the humans there are horrible. You don’t understand, I can’t return to their poison. I must remove this torque and find my way back to my guardian. Please Mother, help me.”

  The fire pops and sizzles. Return to safety before your fire breaks free and your world burns. It is too soon for you to be revealed.

  “Safety?” I’m baffled by her words. “Mother, it isn’t safe there.” She must not understand. All this time, I’ve been without her voice, held back from knowing her, and now . . . now that I’m at last able to speak to her once more after so long, she’s telling me to embrace the monsters who’ve kept us apart? “They’re cruel, Mother. Send me anywhere but there.”

  You must obey, the fire hisses, return to their shelter or your heart will be lost.

  A chill works through me. She isn’t listening.

  You are my daughter.

  I lean closer, frustration and desperation twisting in my gut. “I am. I am your daughter, and still you leave me to rot. I have power, Mother, I am said to be the very Fire of your spirit. I am meant to be the Queen of your kin.”

  You are.

  “Then let me be free so that I can take my place.”

  Too soon, the fire repeats.

  “Tell me how to get the torque off, Mother,” I say, desperation filling my belly. “You mustn’t leave me helpless.”

  Too sssoon, the flames hum, fading a little.

  “Please,” my voice cracks, “don’t cast me off. Hear me.”

  Sssoon.

  FIVE

  Shadows

  I stare out the window, troubled and heartsick as the night passes. I have no idea what to think about my mother’s warning. Didn’t she hear me? The sisters are cruel, they’re not my home. They force me to hold back my true self, the part of me that’s linked to the goddess, to my own blood.

  I realize that I stumbled into a trap in the woods, made by the goblins, that I’ve come to this keep by their trickery, and perhaps given away a piece of myself to some fate I can’t even fathom. But I cannot regret leaving the walls of the abbey. I won’t.

  I’ll simply begin my journey home again. Before word can reach the sisters. Once a day or so passes, once I can get my bearings and decide how these people might help me, then I’ll speak to my mother again. I’ll try to convince her one more time. She’ll understand. I know she will. She must.

  I sit as the fire dies, unmoving in the cold, and listen to the skittering of mice along the walls. The scent of damp stone surrounds me as the warmth slips away, and I try to recall what it felt like when the fire belonged to me. Before the abbey. Before this torque. When golden flames licked up my skin and my power filled me fully. And I was whole. Alive.

  I’ll be alive again soon.

  Eventually I rise from the floor and move to stand beside the window. I watch the sun creep over the trees on the far horizon. The sky bleeds red until violet takes its place, then it turns blue as a robin’s egg. Below in the courtyard, bodies begin to appear, moving about slowly. A raven screeches loudly, its large dark body perched in the giant oak that grows at the center. Clothes hung out to dry snap in the wind that whistles through the corridors. The scent of smoke and browning bread rises into the air. Just outside the window, swallows awaken, slipping out of cracks and hallows in the walls and eves, seeking breakfast.

  My stomach grumbles.

  Lady Gwyndolin snorts and jerks herself awake at the sound. She looks around, dazed, releasing a small squeak when she spots me standing beside her.

  I bow my head a little, then give her my best sweet smile. “Good morning.”

  She stares up at me, opening and closing her mouth like a fish, apparently speechless that I’m out of bed. Perhaps I should be pretending to be weaker than I am.

  “I’m hoping there might be some bread to nibble on,” I say, “or a bowl of gruel arriving soon, perhaps—when do you usually break your fast?” Don’t these humans eat? It would be nearly Prime at the abbey now, the first meal of the day already coming to a close as the bell called the sisters to prayer.

  “Well, uh, let’s see . . .” she glances up and down my body, like she’s confused, looking for something. “Yes, miss. But you should be resting. You’re gravely injured.”

  “I’m feeling much improved.” I give her space, moving to the hearth, picking up a bit of wood and dropping it onto the grate. “And I’m famished.”

  She clears her throat. “Of course, I . . .” She seems distracted by my shawl, eyes lingering on my bare shoulders, my wound. “We must get you something to wear first. Princess Breanne won’t like—”

  “I would enjoy a bit of cheese with my bread,” I interrupt, turning so she can’t see my new scar, trying to keep her focused on what’s important. I’ll be chewing on my slipper if she doesn’t get me something to settle this growing itch of my hunger. “I’m also pleased with a pie now and then.” Gods and bones, glorious pie. “Or honey and oatcakes. Some goat’s milk would be heavenly.”

  She blinks quickly. “Yes.” She seems distracted, still not quite awake yet. “I’ll fetch something
to eat. And a dress.” She gives me a tight smile.

  And then she’s up, out the door, and heading quickly down the hall as if running away from me. An odd feeling tingles at the back of my neck, but I’m not sure why. That felt strange. More than simply her shock at my quick healing. She almost looked frightened or . . . aware of my power.

  I should have pretended to still be injured. Of course, one good look at my wound and she’d see for herself. I’ve spent too much time around humans who know what I am. I’m not being careful enough. One more reason for me to leave this place, keep moving. I smell no fae in the souls I’ve met, there’s likely no one here who would understand my blood origin. I must tread more lightly and find an out as quickly as I can.

  Lady Gwyndolin returns with a large basket filled to the brim. She sets it down on the couch and holds up a green juicy apple.

  My mouth instantly begins to water; it looks heavenly.

  “You eat this. I shall dress you proper,” she says, pulling out a small knife next and cutting into the meat of the apple, slicing off a chunk, then holding it out to me. Her hands shake a little, and her features are more stern than before. She’s most certainly wary of me.

  I take the offering and pop it in my mouth. “Thank you,” I say around the bite.

  I spot bread in the basket as she’s pulling out a dress. She nods that I can take it. I snatch it up and bring it to my nose. It’s still warm. I eat half of it before coming up for air.

  “When was the last time you ate?” she asks. “You’re quite thin.” She holds up a pale green wool dress. An elaborate string of cornflowers is embroidered on the ribbon-trimmed neckline, as well as along the end if the sleeves. “You’ll be lost in this dress of Princess Breanne’s. But, the queen would run screaming if I took one of hers. We can trim it down before sending you on your way, hopefully very soon. For now we’ll find you a tie for the waist—that will have to do.”

  The dress itself is quite beautiful, the green of the fabric a perfect counter to my burnished hair. It’s not easy to achieve such an even pale tone with wool, nor such a pure shade. It’s thin, intricately woven fabric, formed to fit snug against the shape of a woman. I’ve never worn anything so lovely. The Church always dressed me in a simple linen chemise and a shapeless overdress, with unevenly woven, undyed wool.