by Marisa Mills
I showed Viviane the pages I’d landed on, featuring notes about gemstones and several illustrations of sigils. Viviane pursed her lips together and traced a finger over the lines. “I’ve never seen these before,” she said.
“Me neither,” I replied. “But Nick knew about the chamber beneath Reverie,” I said, “and when the Council wouldn’t let him inspect it, Nick petitioned the senate of Aubade to investigate theirs. They agreed, and that’s where the journal ends. But if Dorian is forty now, he’d have been in his last year of studies at around the same time I was born. That means Celeste’s arrival in Reverie more or less coincides with my mother’s suicide. What if Nick came back to Reverie, and Celeste followed him here? Alexander said that Nick’s body was never found. What if Celeste helped him escape? Or what if she captured him and took him back to Aubade?”
Viviane frowned, calculating the math on her fingers. “There’s one problem with your theory. Dorian began finished his studies a couple years late. He only returned to Reverie and came to the Academy after Gwen’s suicide, which means Celeste wasn’t his professor until four years after she died.”
“Oh,” I said.
“And even if Celeste followed Nick to Reverie, how do you know she didn’t kill him?” Viviane asked. “Maybe it was a lover’s spat, and he murdered Gwen and then him out of jealousy?”
Her eyes sparkled; she’d always loved gruesome stories.
“Didn’t you tell me once about a rogue mage from the Lower Realms who butchered a woman and threw her off the edge of Reverie? What happened to that story?”
She shrugged. “I’ve heard different versions. I might have even created a few when I was younger. Dorian said it was good practice. Too many versions and nobody will learn the truth. According to him, ‘it obfuscates a bit of our more colorful history.’”
I frowned. Dorian had never believed his sister committed suicide, and if someone had poisoned Amalia as well, the Rosewoods were clearly a target. Did that mean Nick was murdered too? But if it were Celeste, why didn’t she just destroy Reverie then, when she had the chance? And why was it all happening again now?
Because of you, Wynter. Lucian said. Nick was able to hear what most mages cannot. Now you’ve inherited his gift, and it threatens those in power.
“Have you asked Gareth?” Viviane said, grabbing her purse, “I think he went to school with them too, and he’s pretty good at sigils.”
With a rush of embarrassment, I realized Viviane didn’t know that I’d stolen the book for Dorian. If I asked Gareth for help, I’d have to admit to taking it in the first place, but maybe he’d be understanding. He was one of the few who knew the truth, and Nick was my father after all. It’s only natural I’d be curious. I didn’t even have to lie about how I’d gotten into his drawer, now that blood magic wasn’t forbidden and Gareth knew about Lucian.
“That’s actually a real good idea,” I said. “Thanks.”
“I have my moments,” Viviane said, throwing a shawl over her thin shoulders. She smirked, but there was sadness in her eyes. I wondered how she was doing without Dorian. He hadn’t been gone for long, but it was strange to think that if I went to his estate, he wouldn’t be there to receive me. While I gained an uncle, Viviane had lost her entire family in a handful of days. I bit the inside of my cheek and tried to find the words, but they fell apart. We’d reached the stairwell; Viviane needed to go down, and I needed to go up.
“Viviane,” I said, “I’m sorry… about everything.”
Viviane visibly tensed, then she tossed her hair and rolled her eyes at me.
“Stop apologizing,” she said. “You’re a noble now, remember?”
My eyes followed her as she strode down the hall, then I went down the stairs and through a marbled corridor with portraits of ancient mages, so dark with age you could barely make out their faces.
I knocked on the door of Professor Gareth’s office and held my breath, waiting to see if he’d be in there. I was about to turn away after a few seconds of silence, when the door opened suddenly.
“Wynter!” Gareth exclaimed, stepping aside to wave me in.
I glanced around his office, which was a maelstrom of papers and books. Even the walls were covered in sigils and papers with sigils.
“Sorry about the mess,” Gareth said, moving a massive stack of books from the chair before his desk. “I was working on a project, some very advanced sigils, but I lost the book I was reading. I’ve been trying to recreate them from memory, but I don’t think I’m quite getting it right.”
“Yeah, about that—” I hefted my father’s journal in one hand.
Gareth took the book, reaching to close the door behind us.
“A yes,” he said, pulling on his glasses. “I wondered if you’d taken this. I wasn’t really supposed to have it anyway, so I guess it’s fair. Do unto others and all that…” He drifted off, flipping silently through the pages, his eyebrows lifting with each new discovery.
“I’m sorry I stole it,” I said, sitting across from him as he sank into the leather armchair behind his desk.
It’s not like you had a choice, Lucian grumbled.
Gareth shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, already absorbed. Then he looked up at me suddenly, a gleam in his eyes. “Did you find anything of interest in it?”
“Not really,” I said. “I don’t know what most of the sigils mean anyway.”
“And you’re disappointed,” Gareth smiled, with compassion. “After all this was supposed to be the infamous journal of Nicholas Armenia, the brash rogue from the Lower Realms who challenged the king, but not before stealing a noblewoman’s heart.”
“Is that how you remember him?” I asked.
“I didn’t know him that well, personally,” Gareth said. “And I wasn’t on the council at the time, so my information is mostly secondary. But he certainly made an impact. He flew into Reverie like a meteor, challenging professors and charming the aristocratic daughters. He was doing magic no one had ever seen before, and it blew everyone’s mind. Magic usually takes a lot of work, preparation and concentration—years of study and training, to properly control otherwise dangerous forces. Armenia could do things effortlessly, with just a thought, which made him faster than anyone else. But he made a big fuss when the Council refused to let him study the source of Reverie’s power, and he flounced off to Aubade. Soon after, his jilted lover Guinevere killed herself, then Dorian disappeared around the same time we held the funeral. If I remember correctly, he wasn’t even there to bury his sister. Since then the Rosewood family has had a black stain so dark it couldn’t be scrubbed out. Until you, that is. You certainly brought in some fresh air. Perhaps when the dust settles we’ll all be better for it.”
“Amelia was poisoned,” I said quietly. “Like Du Lac and the queen. I can’t help but feel like there are secrets in this journal someone doesn’t want to get out, but I can’t find anything remarkable about it.”
Gareth pushed the journal towards me, flipping through to a page and pointing at the sigils.
“He’s working out Gwen’s charm here. I’ve been mildly curious about it for years, and in fact it was I who first suspected Nick’s power was due to a freed demon. By copying his designs, I was able to replicate a rudimentary form of communication, though I doubt it’s as good as your own. The problem is that until recently, we didn’t know what the other sigils actually did, and proper intention is one of the core principles of spell casting.”
“But you do know?” I asked.
“That depends,” Gareth smiled slyly. “That trick you pulled at your trial, was that your mother’s pendant?”
I hesitated before nodding.
“The king had it,” I confessed. “Alexander stole it for me, and that’s how we got into the demon chamber. But he returned it already. I don’t know how it works exactly, it’s more instinctive, and depends on my moods. You called them healing and decay in class once. It
feels more like love and hate. I can stitch things together, or tear them apart.”
“That’s fascinating,” Gareth said, turning to scribble some notes on a pad of paper.
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t help us much,” he said. “I’ve tried drawing all the sigils, in hundreds of arrangements. I even tried blood magic to see if that would work, but try as we might…nothing. These are just notes, in order to understand how Nick put them together, I’d have to know what he was thinking, and this level of magic is simply beyond my skills.
I sighed. “There’s no hope for me, then. I’m terrible with sigils.”
Gareth smiled wryly. “If it’s any consolation, I’m told Dorian was bad with them, too.”
“Really?” I asked. “Why?”
Maybe that’s why his sister designed his tattoo for him.
Gareth shrugged. “It’s something we’re still trying to piece together,” he said. “Some mages just do better with sigils than others. Many of them are very complicated. As for these…”
Gareth placed a finger over one of the sigils in the notebook, then lifted out a large magnifying glass and positioned it over the yellow pages.
“Gwen’s charm is especially impressive because of its wide range. These particular sigils are clearly tied to communication, but I’ve still no idea how your father managed to incorporate healing and decay into that charm. Most likely, he’d discovered a very powerful demon who shared the knowledge with him.”
“So I don’t suppose I can make another charm like my mother’s, can I?” I asked.
“Likely not,” Gareth replied, “unless you managed to learn from Nick himself how he’d done it. If I could study the charm myself, after years of effort, maybe it would be possible.”
And that probably wouldn’t happen, since Nick had vanished decades ago, and there was no way the king would share his source of power with the Council.
Nick had so many secrets, Elaine’s soft voice flitted into my mind. I startled, since I’d thought we were alone, but found her foxy form curled up into a ball of white fur on a chair in the corner next to a warm iron stove.
It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that Gwen’s charm was some rare incident of magic, she continued, something that cannot be replicated.
“Quite possibly,” Gareth said. “There’s also the gemstones Nick used. It’s possible that Gwen’s charm required a specific arrangement of crystal structures in order to work. But I’m not a gemologist, so I couldn’t say. As embarrassing as it is to admit, Gwen’s charm is beyond my expertize. Nick quite clearly surpassed me as a sigils mage.”
“Isn’t that what you want, though?” I asked. “For your students to surprise you?”
“Certainly,” Gareth replied. “But I think Nick surpassed me from the beginning. He came into the Academy already so brilliant and ready to learn. I envy how well he understood demons.”
Do you? Elaine purred.
“Of course, dear,” Gareth replied.
I think you understand me well enough, Elaine said.
Not that it’s done much good for the rest of us, Lucian grumbled.
“I think we could benefit from a greater understanding between mages and demons,” Gareth said. “It is my hope that someday we can live together as equals.”
A nice dream, Lucian said, but I don’t foresee it happening—until the mages wipe themselves out with these silly wars. After all, the liberty of demons requires the fall of mages.
“I’m still an optimist,” Gareth said. “Look at you and Wynter. You get along well enough.”
Only because she’s not a spoiled mage, Lucian said. And if she becomes one, I doubt our friendship will last.
He was teasing, but there was a serious barb in his voice. For a moment, he assumed a shadowy, human form and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. Lucian’s comment sucked the air out of the room, and the urgency of our task made me feel hopeless. Gareth was content to talk about someday, but we didn’t have that long. One way or another, things were going to have to change.
“Professor,” I said, suddenly remembering the pamphlet Francisca had found. “Alexander and I were attacked recently, by a gang of rebels. They had a pamphlet with a list of names on it, along with a list of supposed crimes they had committed. Du Lac and Queen Apollonia were on the list, and so were you.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Gareth replied. “And it does concern me. But I’m a member of the Council, and the Council has lied to the people of the Lower Realms for years. Some of us knew Nick was right, but we didn’t want to believe it. If word got out that Reverie was sinking, there would be panic. Farmers and craftsmen would flee, soldiers would abandon their posts. The kingdom would go bankrupt, and then starve. I have helped keep this secret, and I still keep it. It doesn’t surprise me that my name would be on their list.”
How could he sit there so calmly, knowing people out there wanted him dead?
“But they knew magic,” I said, stuttering over his admission. “I don’t think they were just revolutionaries. And they’d have to have access, to the Palace and the Academy. You haven’t done anything wrong, not really.”
“Neither did you, dear,” he said, “and look what you’ve been through. We experience the fate we need, not the one we deserve.”
I slumped back in my seat and sighed.
“I don’t mind if you hold on to Nick’s journal, as long as you keep it from Markus. He’d probably just return it to the forbidden archives, anyway. But with your permission, I would like to study it again.”
“Sure,” I replied. “Anytime. And thanks.”
Gareth twirled his pen in his hand and smiled. “While you’re here, why don’t I walk you through some of the more popular sigils? You might find me a more reasonable instructor than Markus Du Lac.”
***
There was a package waiting for me when I arrived back at the dorm. I unwrapped the box and slowly unfolded the thin, white paper to reveal a dress of sleek, scarlet satin. The tiny stitches rippled like scales as I lifted it from its packaging and spread it out on my bed. It looked fashionable with a tapered waist, full skirt and half-sleeves, but I’d have to ask Viviane if it was in style when she got back from visiting her parents. A card dropped from the folds of the dress. I picked it up and opened it with one hand.
Wynter,
I expect I’ll be gone by the time this dress is completed and delivered to you, but I’m told it will be fit for a princess, so I hope you’ll enjoy it. And if you and Alexander ever have children, I hope you’ll continue the proud Rosewood tradition of naming them after your dead relatives. Gwen and Eleanor took their names from the first two Countesses of Rosewood. I took mine from my grandfather Dorian, a man whose strength was rivaled only by his great cruelty. Might I suggest Clarence or Bella? I don’t think any Rosewood child has been named after them yet.
Perhaps, you think it odd that I’d give you advice on baby names, but names have a way of unfolding so many mysteries. I hope you enjoy this one. I spent months looking for it.
Best, Dorian
PS. If I don’t return, wear this dress to the funeral and dance on my grave.
I laughed, then quickly wiped away a tear. I picked the dress up and held it against me, my fingers roving over the sleek fabric. It was far fancier than anything I’d ever seen, and made of a unique material. Dorian might have used his last words for something sentimental. Instead he’d mentioned another mystery, but it was too vague to figure out. What did baby names have to do with dresses? It seemed so random.
If your nobleman survives, I will kill him for being so confusing, Lucian said.
I might’ve smiled if I hadn’t been holding this beautiful, scarlet dress. The dress I was supposed to wear if Dorian died. I had no idea where Dorian was or what he was doing, but receiving this red dress felt like placing a rose on his grave; a final nail in the coffin. I couldn’t appreciate any joke that used my uncle’s death as the
punchline. I pulled off my pants and sweater, tugging the dress up over my shoulders. It fit snugly, and I wondered if Dorian had underestimated my size. I sucked in a breath and zipped it up all the way, turning to admire myself in the reflection of the window.
Maybe you need to wear a tighter corset, Lucian teased.
This time I smiled. I reached back to unzip the dress, about to respond to Lucian, when a deep voice coughed behind me.
“Wynter.” Kit’s voice cut through my thoughts like a knife.
I spun around, my eyes darting about the room to find Prince Christopher and his royal escort crowding the entrance of the girls’ dormitory. My face turned red as he traced the outline of my flashy dress. I’d never seen a man in here, not even a prince. Around me, my dorm mates whispered to themselves. I felt numb as I curtsied.
“Good evening, Your Royal Highness.”
“Please come with me,” he said, his face serious.
“I need to change,” I said, reaching again for the clasp behind my neck. I fumbled at the zipper, but it was stuck.
“It’ll only take a moment, and we’re not going far,” he said, extending a hand.
I cursed silently and grabbed a long cloak, trying to cover up the thick folds of the dress. My heart was in my throat as I followed Kit out, and my chest heaved against the restrictive fabric. We passed through the main entrance and towards a barn behind the dorms. More soldiers lined the outer walls of the old structure, and they snapped to attention as Kit approached. My hands shook as Kit led me into the darkened room that smelled like piss and sweat and blood. Was I being arrested? Interrogated? Dismissed from the Academy?
“I need your help identifying someone,” Kit said finally.
We entered a sitting room, filled with generals. They were standing around a man bound to a chair. He was tall and thin with dark hair and brown eyes. My gaze darted anxiously to the chains on his wrists. Nearby was a short table supporting a handful of dangerous looking mage tech and short, curved blades. The man didn’t even glance at me when I entered the room. Bloody sigils stained his cheeks, making him look like a ventriloquist’s dummy, and I wondered if the charms were keeping him immobile, or loosening his tongue.
