by Marisa Mills
***
That evening, I went down for dinner. The Academy had a general dinner time and a dining hall, which I tried to avoid. Most often, I grabbed a few things to eat and went somewhere else, like the gardens or the dormitories. Whichever had less people. Francisca had drilled me in proper etiquette for weeks, slapping the back of my hands with a silver spoon whenever I did something wrong, but it would be too easy to make a casual mistake with so many people watching.
Today however, I wanted to try dropping something for Briar and Sterling, so I grabbed two plates and loaded them up. The problem with food was that it eventually went bad, but living in the Scraps, I’d learned not to be choosy. So had Briar and Sterling. Fruit seemed like a good choice, so I grabbed apples and oranges.
When one of the cooks looked strangely at me, I gave her a toothy smile. “It’s for my study group,” I lied, trying not to sound awkward about it.
But no one really seemed to care, so I grabbed a couple of muffins and a large handful of roasted cashews, along with a dozen raspberry-creme biscuits I knew my brother would love. Only when I could barely carry the plates without something falling off, did I decide it was enough. I returned to the dormitory, and noting with relief that it was empty, I placed the plates on my bed. Then I dug around through my trunk, searching for something to carry everything in. I couldn’t just drop them one at a time, after all.
I pulled out the long, white dress. I could tear that up and wrap the food in it. No, that wouldn’t do. It would be better to wrap the food in something warm, so Sterling or Briar would also have something they could wear or sell. During the winter months, wool and heavier fabrics fetched a good price in the Scraps. Of course, this was assuming my uncle didn’t get ahold of it. I pulled a scarlet red cape from my trunk and laid it across my bed. After wrapping the fruits in a wool scarf, the nuts in a pair of knotted up gloves, and the muffins in a thin linen shirt, I bundled them all into the cape and tied it up together. I tucked the letters into my coat pocket.
My arms full, I left the dormitories and the Academy grounds. It was nearing sunset, and the sky was awash with bright and vibrant colors. I walked at a quick pace, enjoying the wind in my hair. Rakes swept across the ground, brushing leaves into piles. There were people everywhere, milling through the streets. I walked past them and headed towards the place where I’d been the night I’d seen Professor Gareth and his friend. The place where Reverie overlooked the Scraps.
When I reached it, there were a few people scattered here and there. So I kept walking, edging down the fence until I saw no one. I didn’t know if it was illegal to drop anything down from Reverie, but I couldn’t risk unusual behavior. I was pretty sure this spot was the closest to my home. I bit my lip and glanced around me to make sure I was alone.
Then, I carefully wedged the cloak-wrapped fruits through the metal patterns of the fence. The fruits fell in a burst of red fabric, dipping beneath a layer of clouds. It was about the time Sterling and I usually headed to the Dregs, so I hoped he’d see them. If I did this every weekend, Sterling or Briar might be able to catch onto the pattern. I leaned out as the fruits vanished from view, pushing my head against the bars. I couldn’t see where they landed. A gust of wind tilted the fence slightly, quickening my pulse.
I felt sick, imagining the fence breaking and sending me toppling forward, down through the clouds from Reverie. Once, when I was very little, my uncle and I came across the body of a man in the Scraps. His bones had been shattered, and there was so much blood. My uncle said he’d fallen from the Floats. After that, I barely slept for a week, imagining bodies raining from the sky. Later I found out one of his own men had beaten the man to death.
I backed away from the fence, shivering and pulling my coat tighter. But before I left, I gazed back wistfully. Everything below was so gray and flat, with just a few tiny pinpricks of light from fires and lanterns. I said a silent prayer that Sterling and Briar were surviving without me.
I’m sorry they aren’t with you, Lucian said. I, too, know how it feels to be separated from your family.
“It’s not great,” I muttered, staring down at the Scraps.
“But it’s complicated,” I said, trying to distract myself from how far up I was. “I don’t miss my uncle. I don’t miss living like that. It’s nice being here. Sometimes. Even though the people don’t like me very much.”
I continued along the path, until I heard hisses. I tightened my hand on the letters in my pocket, and prepared to draw the rapier, but no demon appeared. I was alone, save for the two people walking ahead of me. It took me a few seconds to recognize Professor Gareth and the woman on his arm.
“—now, I think the problem,” the woman said, “is that the aristocracy is so convinced that magic is solely the domain of the Council. Most of these aristocrats forget that they, too, are mages and responsible for the safety of this kingdom.”
Gareth sighed. “Perhaps, that’s part of it,” he said, “But we’ve had these attacks happen before. You remember.”
Have they? Lucian asked.
Yes. Someone had mentioned a rogue mage. The pathway was lined with large, red-berried shrubs. I remembered Dorian’s warning about eavesdropping, but this seemed like a good chance to actually get some answers. I climbed behind the bushes, bending my knees to remain hidden. I hurried along until I walked beside Gareth and the woman. I caught flashes of them between the leaves and branches, but they didn’t seem to see me. And it was growing darker.
“Yes,” the woman said, “But we don’t know that there’s a connection.”
The hissing continued, but it was a low rumble, like the sizzling noise of animal fat dripping on hot charcoal. Still no demon. I furrowed my brow.
Maybe there’s a demon elsewhere? Lucian asked. Or maybe you’re hearing something else. That happened the last time you were here.
“We don’t,” Gareth agreed, “But thus far, Viviane has been present during each of those attacks.”
“But why would anyone wish to harm Viviane?” the woman asked.
“Perhaps, someone believes she’s carrying Guinevere’s charm and is trying to confirm their suspicions.”
What charm?
“I have no idea,” I whispered.
A pause. I suspected Gareth might be looking around to see if anyone was near. “We shouldn’t speak of these matters aloud,” he said.
But I wanted to know! Why would anyone want to hurt Viviane?
“But perhaps, I’m seeing connections where there are none,” he admitted, sounding resigned. “I’m so afraid, Elaine. Afraid for my students, afraid for Reverie—”
“You should be afraid for yourself,” the woman, Elaine, replied. “If you speak too much…”
“I know the dangers,” Gareth said.
“So did Guinevere,” Elaine replied, “And look at her.”
What did that mean? Did Elaine suspect Guinevere hadn’t really killed herself?
Hisses. I barely noticed them now. Whatever I was hearing, it hadn’t attacked me yet. Maybe it was just something about this place. Gareth and Elaine halted, and I crouched lower. When I peered through the bushes, I could see that they stood very close together.
“I don’t know what I would do without you,” Elaine said softly.
“I think you’d do fine,” Gareth replied. “You’ve always been strong like that.”
Elaine sighed. “Are you certain,” she said, “That I can’t convince you to go elsewhere? Somewhere far away. Beryl, perhaps. Maybe the outskirts of Argent.”
“I’ve too much that needs done here, Dearest,” Gareth replied.
“I know,” Elaine said, “But sometimes, I wish you would think of yourself first.”
“I’ll be careful,” he promised.
“I know. Is this where we part?”
“Yes,” Gareth replied. “Good night, my love.”
The bush beside me rustled. I jumped at the sound and felt a bit sill
y when I realized it was just a stray cat. Its yellow eyes glared from the darkness. When I looked up again, Elaine was gone. For a second, I wondered if she’d jumped. I raised my head just a little over the bushes and found Professor Gareth walking alone, as if nothing was wrong. Elaine was nowhere to be found.
Nineteen
BY THE TIME I ARRIVED at Rosewood, it was already dark. I stepped around the fence and walked up the entryway, but hesitated before walking up the steps. This place looked especially foreboding at night. I remembered what Alexander said about half the kingdom thinking Dorian had killed his mother, and how Elaine implied Guinevere’s death hadn’t been a suicide. Could Dorian have killed her, too? What if he just had a penchant for slaughtering his female relatives? There had been a fairy tale about that, hadn’t there?
“Miss Wilcox?”
I turned at the sound of my name. A woman stood several yards away. I squinted, trying to figure out if I knew her. Francisca, I realized. She walked towards me, swinging the basket looped over her arm. As she reached me, she dusted specks of dirt off her trousers. “Have you come to see my Lord?” she asked.
“Is he busy?” I asked. I was half hoping she would take the letters and let me leave.
“I’m sure he’ll make an exception for you,” Francisca said. “Follow me.”
I’d assumed we’d go into the house, but instead, she led me around the side of the house, through the gardens. When I glimpsed into Francisca’s basket, I saw it was filled with dark blue cherry-like fruits.
We found Dorian sitting on the ground before a large green bush, bearing the same fruit in Francisca’s basket. Seeing us, he climbed to his feet. He pulled a lit cigar from between his teeth, and let out a long, smoke-filled breath.
“Wynter,” he said, exhaling more smoke with my name. It floated into the air and arranged itself into small animal shapes before dissipating.
“Viviane said you’d come to see me,” I said.
“Just checking in, making sure you’re settled. I hope you’ve had time to visit the library?”
“I got into the restricted section,” I said. “There’s a lot of material, but most of it is unsorted.”
“I see,” he said, taking another long puff on his cigar. I pulled the letters from my coat pocket and held them out. Dorian took them and opened the top letter. For a few seconds, he silently skimmed its contents.
“Is that like what you wanted?” I asked.
“It’s related to what I wanted,” Dorian replied thoughtfully.
He didn’t sound angry. I couldn’t help but think of Amelia, but there wasn’t really a tactful way to ask if Dorian had murdered his mother. And maybe all the rumors got it wrong. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions before I had all the information.
“I’ll keep looking through the rest of the archives. It’s a lot of ground to cover,” I said. “It might take a week, or more…”
“Good,” he replied, without looking up from the letter. “Fran, I trust you have this handled? I’m going inside to read these more carefully.”
For a second, I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment cross Francisca’s face, but it was gone so quickly that I wondered if I’d imagined it. “Yes, Your Lordship,” she said.
“I’ll join you when I’m finished,” Dorian added, “If there’s still work to be done.”
“I should get back to the Academy,” I said, backing away.
“Nonsense,” Dorian replied. “You’ll stay the night. It’s far too late for a young lady to be wandering alone at night, especially with the recent demon attacks. Do you remember where your rooms are?”
“Not exactly.” Not from here anyway. The mansion was enormous and I’d never been into the backyard before. My face warmed as I followed Dorian inside, scrambling to think of an excuse not to stay with him.
Just don’t close your eyes! Lucian exclaimed gleefully.
We entered through the back doors and emerged between the twin staircases that ran up to the second floor. Dorian snapped his fingers and lights flicked on, casting warm light down the stairs. I wondered if those were the same stairs Amelia had fallen down. We headed upstairs and down a corridor; most of the halls were a soft, brown-red color and decorated with tapestries and giant paintings, a lot of them featuring people who—I assumed—were related to Dorian in some way.
Quite suddenly, I realized that, aside from his servants, nobody except Dorian lived here. It seemed like too much space to go unused.
“Are you married?” I asked. Dorian was reading as he walked, but he looked up long enough to answer.
“I haven’t found a sufficiently advantageous match to make that worthwhile yet,” he said.
He’d probably throw her down the stairs anyway.
I choked. Dorian opened a door and bowed; I couldn’t decide whether he was mocking me or trying to tease me. “Your rooms,” he said.
“Thank you,” I replied. “Um…enjoy reading your letters and picking fruit. I guess.”
“Fruit? That was deadly nightshade,” Dorian said. “You’d only mistake it for fruit once.”
“Why do you have…?” I trailed off.
“For poisoning my enemies, of course,” Dorian replied with a wink. “Try not to let the ghosts of them keep you awake, little mage.”
He was definitely playing some sort of trick on me.
I stepped inside the room and rocked back on my heels. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
His face softened. “Ghosts exist, Wynter. Just not like you might expect.”
***
Despite all the talk of ghosts, I slept soundlessly through the night. My room at Rosewood was spacious and quiet, unlike the dorms. This time I made full use of the soft mattress, and when I woke up, the early morning light streaming in the window chased away all my fears from the night before.
Dorian was already gone, but Francisca made me waffles with butter and syrup before I headed back to the Academy. I had a lot to think about, and I understood very little of it. If anything, listening in on Professor Gareth had made things more confusing. What was this charm he’d mentioned? Is that why Dorian wanted Viviane’s necklace? Why would Elaine suspect Guinevere hadn’t killed herself? I thought about asking Dorian if he knew, but I wasn’t sure if that was a conversation I really wanted to have. Questioning a dead sister’s suicide definitely seemed like a line that I shouldn’t cross. And then, there was Elaine, who had seemingly vanished into thin air. I didn’t know what to make of that, but I was sure that knowledge wasn’t something I ought to just spread around. It was obvious Gareth and the woman were trying to keep their relationship a secret, maybe he was just having an illicit affair of some kind.
I crossed into the Academy grounds, my boots crunching on the early morning frost. The weather had warmed a bit, and more of the snow had melted, but it was still colder up here than it ever had been down in the Scraps. As I passed the ballroom, heading back to my dormitory, I saw Alexander in the nook that stretched across the second floor, extending into the balcony. He was leaning against the railing of the stairwell, reading a book, illuminated by the sunlight filtering through the glass. I bit the inside of my cheek as I watched him reading. He was wearing a charcoal gray suit that fit him perfectly, with a purple cape pinned at the shoulders. Despite having told him I’d consider his proposed alliance, I hadn’t really thought much about it.
“Good morning,” I said.
Alexander inclined his head in greeting.
“Are you going out tonight?” he asked, his voice low.
“I might,” I replied.
Alexander nodded. “If you want to meet me at the library…” he trailed off.
I think we’d do fine on our own, Lucian said. Tell him to sit on his sword!
I was not going to tell him that.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Good,” Alexander said. “I’ll see you, then.”
I nodded and leaned against the r
ailing beside him, suddenly in no rush to leave. Alexander smiled at me, then went back to his book as I studied him. His haughty arrogance had been replaced by something much warmer; a relaxed confidence that was calming just to be around. He was the only person who knew I was hearing voices, and rather than condemning me for it, he was intrigued. By me. I dared to let myself wonder whether we were becoming friends, of a sort. A student with bright red hair walked past us. I saw her from the corner of my eye and scanned my mind, trying to recall her name. Tatiana. That was it.
“Crazy Tati,” Alexander whispered under his breath. Just when I thought he wasn’t so bad, he let out his inner asshole again. I glanced at Tatiana, but she didn’t seem to have heard the remark.
“What do you—”
A hissing screech filled the room, so loud it shook the walls. I moved into a fighting stance. Alexander backed away from the balcony. Tatiana remained frozen in place. “What was that?” I asked.
“Let’s not find out,” Alexander said. He grabbed my arm and steered me towards the stairs, just as sound exploded behind us. Tatiana screamed and dove for the wall. The floor before me crystalized, ice forming and creeping up the wall. The windows across from me had busted in and lay in glittering shards on the floor below us. I brought my gaze upwards in time to see a massive, black dragon slip inside. Its clawed feet gripped the haggard remains of the window frame, as it snaked its head and fixed its large, blue eyes on us. When the dragon opened its wide mouth, ice spread across the walls. I’d always heard that dragons breathed fire; I wasn’t sure one breathing ice was better.
Alexander still held my arm in a death-grip. We backed against the wall. I shook off Alexander’s grip and unsheathed my blade; Lucian’s flames burst immediately along the edge. Tatiana picked her way down the stairs; she was smart, keeping her back to the wall. I followed her. After only a few steps, I felt a sudden and strange tiredness, but I brushed it away. It was probably just a result of using Lucian’s fire. Alexander came after me, his pen ready.
