by E. D. Walker
“Well, that’s done,” Ned murmured, still keeping his voice low.
The burble of the party was distant, a murmur like ocean waves outside a window, but Violette understood his caution. She had no desire to draw anyone into the hedge maze after them either.
“I’m happy for them,” Ned said. “King Thomas has been alone a long time now. And he’s never looked at anyone the way he looks at the princess.”
Violette could only sigh. “I never realized it at the time, but my lady’s first husband made her deeply unhappy. He never valued her as he should have. I hope her second does right by her.”
Ned took her hand and turned so he cradled it in his own. With one finger he traced the lines of her palms. Some distant part of her realized how forward he was being, how presumptuous. But as she shivered at his delicate touch, she couldn’t really make herself care.
“Why are you upset?” he whispered, more quietly than all the rest.
She curled her fingers in to catch and hold his hand. “I’m happy for them. I am. I only wish…” She leaned close, so close her lips accidentally brushed his ear. “I wish she were a dairy maid and he a shepherd. Or, if that were not possible, I wish the princess and King Thomas had remembered who they are, how difficult this could make things for everyone.”
“For you, you mean?” His face was outlined in sharp shadows by the flickering torchlight. The words sounded harsh, but his tone was soft, gently enquiring.
She chuckled. “For me. Noémi. For Jerdun. For Lyond.” She shook her head. “Where were you before, by the way?”
“Before?”
“For the dancing.”
He shifted on the bench beside her, and she realized he was patting inside his tunic for something. “Well, I knew a lowly squire like me wouldn’t get one of the first dances with a lady-in-waiting to Princess Aliénor, so I seized my chance and raided the banquet table. Good thing, too. After the first dance, the crowd descended like locusts.” He extracted a stained handkerchief from inside the folds of his doublet and scooted a little ways away from her to unfold the cloth and reveal a small stash of delicacies.
“I saved you a fruit tart.” He nudged it toward her with one finger.
Her heart sweetly ached holding the pastry. The treat was a little crushed and crumbly, but with a glistening sugar glaze, the bright fruit shone like jewels on the top.
Behind her, the music tinkled in a slower dance, something close and quiet. She set her fruit tart down with care and licked one sticky finger clean. Her aunt would’ve died to see that gesture, which only made her smile wider. “Ned, will you dance?”
His eyes kindled like embers with pleasure, and she had her reward. He stepped close—closer than the formal moves of the dance would call for. They joined hands and swayed together, trying to catch the beat. But somehow they got caught in that moment instead, gazing at each other, swaying gently to the music.
A sharp scream pierced the night, and Ned broke away from Violette, body tensing all over.
She touched his arm. “Someone probably spilled something—”
But more screams erupted from the main ballroom. A crash. The sound of breaking glass. It sounded like a riot.
“Ned!” King Thomas called.
“Here, my lord.” Ned caught Violette’s hand and tugged her after him toward the sound of King Thomas’s voice.
King Thomas met them at the end of the maze’s path with Princess Aliénor tucked close against his side. “We have to get the ladies out.”
“Noémi is still in there.” Princess Aliénor bounced on her feet as if she wanted to break from King Thomas to return to the ballroom.
“Llewellyn will help her. Love, if we’re to save anyone, we can’t risk going back. I’m so sorry.”
The princess bit her lip but nodded.
The screams continued, as well as angry shouting now. Alarm fired all along Violette’s nerves, a rolling ball of anxiety-induced magic starting in her gut. Ned squeezed her hand hard enough to startle her. When she looked over at him, he held her gaze. “It’ll be all right, my lady.”
His voice calmed her, and she pressed their clasped hands to her cheek. Yes, everything would be all right. She had Ned.
“This way.” King Thomas took the lead, urging them along the twisting path of the hedge maze. Ned set Violette in front of him just as King Thomas had put the princess behind himself. Now the two Lyondi warriors stood between the ladies and danger. It occurred to Violette, and not for the first time, just how much all the princess’s ladies owed these men.
A great roar from the ballroom erupted, and a rush of air. Flames were now licking up the walls of the governor’s palace.
“Fate spare them,” the princess gasped.
Tears stung Violette’s eyes as she worried about Noémi, but Ned nudged her and the princess to keep moving.
The crack of splintering wood sounded above them, and Violette tilted her head back. A balcony over their heads had caught fire. It was high up, but she could still feel the heat of it licking against her face.
“Move!” King Thomas grabbed the princess’s hand and pulled her to run.
The balcony broke free of the wall and plummeted in flaming shards toward all of them.
Without thinking, Violette cast her hands upward. The burning debris stopped in midair, rotating. But that was no good, because ash and wreckage still fell down. She blinked debris from suddenly watering eyes and gritted her teeth. Dance, magic. Do my will. She made a flicking motion with her fingers, and the debris sailed back up into the burning building.
“Violette,” the princess gasped.
Violette’s cheeks burned as she looked over at the princess, whose mouth was hanging open in shock.
“No time.” King Thomas yanked on the princess’s arm and got them all moving again.
Violette kept a wary eye on the burning building as they ran, but soon enough, they were out of the hedge maze and running toward the street. King Thomas held them for a moment at the edge of the wall that would dump them out of the governor’s gates and into the street. But it must have been safe, because he moved forward, holding the princess by her elbow now, not her hand.
“What’s happened?” King Thomas called.
Violette scurried after, wishing she could still be holding Ned’s hand. The street was in chaos, but there was no sign of violence. Men at arms and knights ran back and forth, trying to form a bucket line to put out the fires consuming one half of the governor’s palace.
One man must have recognized King Thomas, or the princess at any rate, for he bustled forward and bowed deeply. “Your Highness, thank goodness you made it out. Your cousin Guillaume and the governor are still missing.”
Noémi. Violette’s hand flew to her mouth to hold back a sob.
She forced herself to listen as the nobleman related what had happened: a group of angry citizens had crashed the party, yelling about missing relatives, demanding the governor release the people he was holding. The governor had tried to throw them out, and a fight erupted. Someone had knocked over a torch…
“We have to get this bucket line organized,” the man said, bobbing on his feet and scratching at his soot-stained face. “I think many of the people are still stuck inside.”
Violette glanced over at the disarray of the bucket line. Men were running back and forth to the nearest well, bumping into each other, sloshing precious water onto the cobbles.
Drawing in a deep breath, she moved away from Ned and the others. Her hands trembled as she stepped closer to the governor’s gates, trying to see the whole of the fire. She coughed, eyes burning from the smoke. Her magic tensed inside her, waiting like a stallion who knows he’s about to be given his head.
Violette flung her hands up high. “Saltatio!”
Buckets flew from the hands of the volunteers, and men cried out all around her. She ignored that. Twisting one finger in the air, she directed the already-full buckets toward the palace. With her other hand,
she sent the empties back to the well to fill themselves. The buckets dumped their load of water on the blaze, and the nearest flames guttered.
“Again,” she said. Buckets cut through the smoke, zipping like little birds in the air.
“She’s a witch!” someone gasped behind her.
She ignored that and sent the next line of empty buckets back to the well. It was working. The buckets danced and bobbed, flying through the air back and forth, again and again. The fire was dying, slinking away like some beast defeated in a fight. Meanwhile, the magic danced with her more nimbly than any of her other partners tonight had. She felt light, joyous. Her magic coursed along her arms, making her limbs tingle and tickle with delightful warmth.
“Witch, what do you think you’re—”
“Don’t touch her.” Ned’s voice, and the sounds of a scuffle.
She didn’t have any attention to spare for that…bum bum badada deedee deedee…she had a tune in her head, a lively dance, and she found herself humming along as her buckets dumped out more and more water on the blaze. Bum badada deedee…
Her hands flicked through the air too, twisting and turning, conducting the buckets like a man on a dock telling the boats where to land. She was grinning so hard her cheeks hurt.
Cries rose from the crowd, but happy ones, and she had a vague awareness of a stream of people escaping from the smoldering palace, some hobbling and carrying the injured. The fire was still going, though, so Violette continued with her buckets. She felt warmth at her spine, a solid presence, and bumped her shoulders back a little just so she could feel them collide with Ned.
“Filthy witch!” Something sailed through the air, just missing her head. Her buckets faltered in the air, water splashing against the ground.
She whirled, trying to find the voices in the darkness outside the firelight. “Wha—”
“We don’t want your kind!” Something hard clipped her head, knocking her back, leaving a stinging throb behind. Buckets clattered and hit the ground, and at least one landed hard enough to crack. Blackness edged around her vision.
“Violette.” Hands caught at her, holding her arms, pulling her close. She listed to the side, unable to stand as Ned tried to pull her up, and they both nearly lost their balance.
“Ned, get her out of here. Quick.”
“Come on, love.” Ned swept her legs out from under her and lifted her in his arms. He broke into a run, carrying her close to his heart.
Violette forced her eyes open. Ned’s face was pale, his mouth pinched. He was looking over his shoulder, breathing hard and running. “It’ll be all right, my lady.”
Despite her best intentions, her eyes fluttered closed.
Chapter Twelve
Violette was only unconscious for a few moments before Ned gently slapped her awake, but she was still fuzzy as he darted with her down some dark alley. Still, she managed to stay conscious as they crouched together, waiting for a crowd of people to pass. Her head ached and ached, making it hard to concentrate, to stay steady. She followed where Ned directed and tried not to think.
He led her swiftly but carefully through the streets until at last they came to a somewhat rundown villa almost on the outer edge of the city’s fashionable neighborhood. The sky was going gray with dawn by the time they arrived.
“Where are we?”
“This is the king’s borrowed villa.” Ned tugged her forward. They’d been holding hands this whole time, and she dreaded the moment she’d have to stop, have to release that solid warmth.
She frowned, looking at the villa. “But it’s so—” She bit her lip and darted a sidelong look at Ned.
His mouth quirked. “Quaint?”
“Just so.”
He shrugged. “This was a Jerdic colony city. The governor let in Lyondi refugees, but the good citizens of Aratum reserve their generosity for Jerdic folks. This villa belongs to a Lyondi merchant. A bachelor. He volunteered to let the king and his men stay here free of charge. Which was better than some of the offers we received.”
“Hmm. Yes, the princess had no money left when we arrived either. But everyone here is willing to give her things, extend her credit.”
He laughed. “And we must pay cash for every transaction.”
“I’m sorry, Ned.”
“This way.” He led her around to a side entrance, and she thought it would be the servant’s entrance, but it turned out to be nothing so legitimate. There was a crack along the villa’s garden wall, cleverly hidden by a fall of clinging vines. Ned slid through it sideways then beckoned her to follow. Shaking her head, Violette slithered through. The crack was just wide enough, although if her breasts had been any larger, she’d not have fit. They stood in the gardens among the shadows of the vines. The villa proper lay some twenty feet away down a small hill.
“The front gates don’t work?” she whispered.
“The king doesn’t always send me out on errands in the daylight hours, and he doesn’t always want me to use the door.” Ned waggled his eyebrows, hinting at some juicy intrigue.
She just shook her head at him then grimaced and touched her forehead. “Oof.”
He set his hands on her shoulders, peering intently into her face. “Are you all right?”
“Ned! Ned, is that you?” a voice hissed at them from the shadow of the villa’s walls.
Ned’s mouth crimped, a regretful wince, and he turned away from Violette. “I’ve got her,” he called back, softly.
“Come on then.” Footsteps clicked on tile, the speaker turning back inside. Violette thought she recognized the voice of King Thomas’s magician, Master Llewellyn.
Ned guided her forward, very properly only touching her elbow as he helped her negotiate the hill. That firm pressure only depressed her. Each step she took toward the villa was a step back toward the real world, toward propriety. Away from Ned.
Master Llewellyn indeed waited for them in the shadows of the house. “Lady Violette, I’m so glad you’re all right.”
She blew an errant curl away from her injured forehead. “Mostly.”
The magician’s eyes crinkled. “Just so. I’ve got bandages and some compresses. Come along. Ned, King Thomas wants you.”
“Of course he does.” Ned puffed his breath out then turned to Violette and made a quick, formal bow. “My lady.”
“Ned. Wait.”
He and Master Llewellyn both froze. The magician’s eyebrows climbed toward his pale-blond hair, but he only cleared his throat and turned to take great interest in a crack on the villa’s wall.
Violette’s cheeks heated, but she forced herself to step forward and touch Ned’s sleeve. “Will I see you again? Soon, I mean.”
Ned grinned, his teeth flashing in the gray light of dawn. “Anytime my lady wishes.”
Violette nodded, something fluttery and warm starting in her stomach.
Master Llewellyn tsked with his tongue as if trying to get a reluctant horse to move. “Better go, lad.”
“Right.” Ned backed away, not turning from her until the very last moment. He nearly banged into a wall, not watching where he was going. Violette bit her cheek to keep from laughing and watched until Ned disappeared from sight into the villa.
“If you’ll follow me, Lady Violette?” Master Llewellyn led her in the opposite direction to a tiny room adjacent to the garden. The sharp, spicy scent of herbs filled the air, and she took a quick breath of cinnamon and rosemary. The smells were instantly comforting, and she relaxed onto the cot in the corner as Master Llewellyn cleaned and bandaged her head. He told her to rest and promised to return soon.
Despite the haze of fatigue clouding her whole body, she pushed herself onto one elbow. “But the princess. I must get back soon. It’s not proper to stay here.” Her head gave a particularly insistent throb of pain, and she dropped back onto the pillows. “I have to leave,” she protested weakly.
Master Llewellyn took a slow breath in and then out. When he spoke again, his voice was very soft,
kindly. “Lady Violette, do you remember what you did after the ball?”
She grimaced. Thinking hurt, remembering hurt. And it was all so alarmingly fuzzy. “Buckets?”
“That’s right. It was a grand Working of magic, one I’d like to discuss with you at length later, but…Lady Violette, many people saw what you did.”
Her stomach was in knots now, dread growing even though she didn’t know why. It was as if her body knew what was going on, but her brain had never received word. The chains of communication were momentarily severed.
She jumped as Master Llewellyn patted her hand. “Rest. We’ve sent word to your princess. You don’t need to worry about anything for the moment. All right?” And then he laid a cool compress over her forehead that smelled faintly of mint.
“All right.” She burrowed in deep against the pillows propping her up and surrendered to sleep.
***
“Violette. Violette lovey, wake up.”
Pulling herself back to consciousness was like swimming out of a dark black river of pitch. Violette blinked and blinked and blinked again until Noémi’s kind face and concerned eyes swam into focus above her.
“Noémi, you’re all right.” Violette lurched forward, throwing her arms around her friend. Pain flared along her head, and Violette swallowed back a cry. She needed to remember not to make sudden movements.
Noémi hugged her hard. “You saved my life last night. Llewellyn threw a shield up around those of us trapped in the ballroom, but he was getting exhausted. It was starting to flicker and fail when your buckets just…sailed in through the window and saved us all.”
Violette smiled against her friend’s shoulder, pride blooming in her chest like a rose. “I’m glad.”
“The princess wanted to come herself, but Guillaume is there right now. And it wouldn’t do for her to be caught at the king’s villa. There’s gossip enough as it is.”
Violette kicked her feet over the side of the cot. “Take me back then. I’m all right to travel.” Her head swam even as she said it, but even as fuzzy as her mind was, she knew the longer she stayed at the king’s villa the less chance there was of her reputation remaining unblemished.
