“Oh, Ordorio,” Annalie said. “You were never honest?”
He put his head in his hands.
“That must weigh heavily on you,” she said.
“It does. But I wouldn’t change things. We had many happy years in the woods. I really didn’t think anyone was looking for Mel anymore. I guess I got a little complacent… sending a few letters, talking to people in town. Violet’s first summer… fairy men came for us, and I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t been keeping up with magic all those years. When they found out about Violet, they killed Mel, and when I tried to stop them…” He swallowed.
“I am dead,” he said simply.
“I know,” Annalie said. “I sensed it.”
I was not quite so calm as Annalie. “What does that… mean?”
“I died, but I couldn’t pass on. I could see my fallen body and those men leaving with Violet. It’s an awful feeling to die in the midst of a will to live. I feared I would be trapped a lost soul. After I calmed down a little, I called upon the Lady to help me. She said she would grant me life again and protect Violet if I would serve her. She needed a skilled necromancer who could travel the world and deal with abuses of spirit magic. I gave my power over to her, and for nine months of the year, I serve her. I have the summer with Violet. It certainly isn’t the life I envisioned for her, but at least she isn’t an orphan. I brought Melia here to bury, but… well, you saw the clockwork body upstairs. I was trying to find a way to grant her life again, because I knew she would want to raise Violet.”
“You are a necromancer,” Annalie said. “You couldn’t bring her back with her real form?”
“The fairies… mangled the bodies,” he said curtly.
I was feeling ill, preferring not to imagine all of this. “What are you, then?”
“I am a ghost. Just corporeal enough so you don’t notice.”
Truly, I was glad Annalie was there. If Ordorio had come and I had been alone, hearing these stories spoken to me alone, in the isolated darkness of this house, I might have screamed, but Annalie, accustomed to strange matters of the spirit world, seemed to take it in stride.
“Now, you want to go after your daughter,” Annalie said. “And I suppose you can’t, because your magic belongs to the Queen of the Longest Night and you are only supposed to be here during the summer.”
“You’re quite right,” Ordorio said.
“I want to go after them more than anything,” I said. “I would leave right this moment if I didn’t think I’d be hopeless as soon as I reached the gate. But how could I even get in, much less find them in Telmirra?”
“You’ll have help.”
“Who?”
“You asked me if I’d gotten Karstor’s letters. Well, I hadn’t, but I heard from other sorcerers I encountered in my travels that he was searching for me to head home. The Lady granted me permission, and so I rushed back. When I got off the train, I stopped for the mail.” Ordorio took a bundle of letters from his coat and slid the top one my way. “This letter is how I knew Violet was gone. From Ifra Samra to ‘Friends or Family of Violet Valdana and Erris Tanharrow.’ I think you’ll find it very interesting.”
TELMIRRA
The entrance of the palace of Telmirra was draped in black curtains with the royal seal, but Ifra and Violet didn’t even make it that far before Tamin approached them, followed by stable attendants to see to the horse.
“Greetings, jinn. I know Belin will want to see you immediately.” Tamin had the sort of face that looked perpetually on the verge of a sarcastic comment, even when he was serious and dressed in a drab brown tunic that Ifra guessed to be mourning garb.
Tamin led them around the outside edge of the palace, to the house where Ifra had first visited Belin. Through the bare winter trees, a road cut through the woods where a few groups of fairies went by on horse-drawn sleighs, the bells jingling, and they passed a young woman taking the path by foot, carrying a basket, but the mood was somber, quite unlike the wild mood of most towns Ifra and Violet had traveled through. When they’d stopped at Keyelle and Etana’s house, they found a slew of Green Hoods, coming and going and discussing plans, eager to help compose and deliver a letter for Nimira.
They stopped at Belin’s door to scrape the snow off their boots, then Tamin let them in. “Belin’s been hiding like a mouse since Father died.” He called to a frowning servant girl, “Hey, tell my brother he’ll want to leave his bed for this.”
Tamin took off his coat, looked around for another servant, and made a disparaging sound when the room remained empty. He tossed his coat atop a side table and turned his attention to Violet. “So, you’re the Tanharrow girl, are you? Mmph.” His eyes had a mocking glint, and Violet edged behind Ifra a bit.
Ifra had stopped in the shops outside of Telmirra and purchased some fairy clothes for Violet-a scarlet bodice with embroidered leaves, and a blue-and-white striped skirt with green ribbon trim. Still, she looked so exhausted from the travel that Ifra supposed she didn’t make the best impression for a future queen.
In another moment, Belin was coming down the stairs, his steps heavy. Ifra’s stomach tightened with terror before he even saw Belin’s face. The new king looked as if he hadn’t slept since Ifra left. “You’ve returned, jinn. This is the girl?”
“Yes, master.”
“Your betrothed, milord,” Tamin said, with a little bow.
Belin glared darkly at his brother. “You may go now.”
Tamin picked up his coat again. “You are sorely lacking in servants, brother,” he said, and he shut the door hard behind him.
“I am king now,” Belin said, as if someone doubted it. “And I suppose you will be my queen.” He looked at Violet without much enthusiasm. “You can’t possibly be fifteen.”
“I am almost sixteen,” Violet said, her imperious tone destroyed by the quaver in her voice. “I was born in March.”
“Well. You look like a child bride. Maybe humans like to marry children, but here it is considered vulgar.”
“Don’t marry me, then,” Violet snapped.
Belin made a dismissive motion at her. “We will have to make sure it’s well-known she is small for her age. Still… You might have mentioned this lost Tanharrow is a sallow little thing. I imagined a young woman coming into the prime of her life, not a girl. Maybe something can be done. Maybe the ladies of the court can improve her.” He motioned for the maid to whisk Violet away and turned back to the stairs. “Come with me, jinn.”
Ifra followed, forcing himself not to give Violet more than a very brief glance. The poor girl looked dumbstruck by this treatment, but if anyone caught Ifra and Violet exchanging even one conspiratorial look, all their plans might go awry.
Belin showed Ifra into a humble sitting room-almost a work-room, really, with knives, tools, half-whittled wood, and pale shavings littering the table. Only the game board arranged by a crackling fire and the bright tapestries hanging from the walls lent it more of a leisurely air. It appeared that Belin himself had carved the wooden animals downstairs; the body of a lumbering bear was beginning to emerge from raw material.
Belin motioned for Ifra to sit, but he himself was restless and pacing. “Well, I’m sure you know my father has died. I am your master now.”
“Yes.”
“People are whispering that I poisoned him.”
Ifra had thought this very thing.
“What are they saying, on the roads? Have you heard anything? I’ve had reports. Some people think the peasants will take advantage of my youth and inexperience to rebel.”
“I… am not sure if they’re ready to act.” Ifra didn’t want to give details, but he knew Belin wouldn’t be satisfied without them, and his servitude tugged at his words. “It is true that the first village we came to, people were dancing around bonfires and singing about marching on the king, and lauding rebels past. We were snowed in there for several nights, and every time I went to the dining room, I heard talk about you. They think your father was
an impostor, and so are you.”
“Well, who do they think ought to be king?” Belin asked. “That little waif you dragged along? Do you think she’s the hero they’re waiting for?”
“No, master. They want a great ruler.”
“What does that mean? Was my father not a great ruler?”
Because he had a feeling Belin was on the verge of taking his anger out on him, Ifra said, reluctantly, “I don’t know, but that isn’t what the people say. If I can be perfectly honest with you, master…”
“I demand it.”
“You’ve had me cross this country twice now, and I’ve spoken to many of your people. They’ve never felt right about your father’s rule. They say there is a disconnect between the desires of the royal court and the common people-that you collect harsh taxes, but you don’t protect them. You make concessions with the humans. They think… your father seized the throne wrongly and never tried to prove himself worthy of it.”
“And do you think that’s true?” Belin clamped his hand on the back of Ifra’s chair and hissed in his ear. Ifra’s heart was drumming, but he forced himself not to flinch.
“Why do you ask me?” he said. “Don’t you have advisors? Why are you hiding away here and not at the palace?”
“This is my home,” Belin said, with a slightly defiant edge that almost reminded Ifra of Violet. “I have always liked to be alone.”
“But you’re a king now. A brand-new king. With a lot to do, I’d imagine.”
Belin let go of the chair and resumed pacing. “Answer my question. Do you think it’s true? I want you to tell me because you’ve been away from court, and a jinn can’t lie to his master.”
“I think… that once things have calmed down, you should go see for yourself,” Ifra said. “And in the meantime, you should consider the kind of king you want to be. Telmirra is a wealthy city, and it feels like a protected place. When I go to the villages, the people are free and rough and very welcoming. But they live with hardly any barriers between themselves and the wilderness… and it leaves them open to trouble. They’re afraid the humans could invade, destroy their homes, drive them away from the woods that they love and the crops they’ve grown, and they’re afraid the taxes will grow higher than they can afford to give.”
Belin had paced all the way to the window, and then he turned. “Do you think I killed my father?”
Ifra wanted very much to say no, but it was a lie, and he couldn’t lie to Belin.
“Do you?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“Tamin and Ilsin think they should be king. Not me. They’re whispering that I had control of you all along, and I used you to trick my father.” Belin’s voice was taking on a wild edge. “He died so fast, Ifra. I didn’t think he’d die this year. I didn’t kill him. I spent two years traveling through bleak deserts and getting sea-sick, to bring you to my father, to prove I could do something better than my brothers, and now they’re telling everyone I cheated. You know I didn’t. You know I gave you to my father, and he could have wished to have his health back if he wanted.” Belin’s eyes were wet with tears, and his whole face was red and angry. Ifra had never seen a master so angry. But he had also never seen a master in pain like this, and that surprised him.
“Master, please-”
“You think I killed him too!” Belin took the half-carved bear and threw it on the ground. He swept his hands across the table, scattering knives and sharp tools, forcing Ifra to fly from the chair to get out of the way. “It doesn’t matter what I do, I’m always a failure.”
“Belin. Please.” Ifra held out his hands and kept his voice mild, trying to soothe Belin like he would a troubled animal back on the farm.
“Shut up!” Belin shouted, voice raw. “I don’t trust you either. I’ve never trusted you. Shut up and don’t speak again until I tell you to. And don’t write, either. I don’t want you talking to anyone. I don’t even want to see your face. I just want you to protect me from harm but never, ever talk to me.”
Maybe it was all in his head, but Ifra imagined he felt his vocal cords tighten. He shivered.
“Get out of my sight!”
Ifra left the room. He stood in the hall, cold sweat breaking out in patches. What if Belin was losing his mind? Ifra had never imagined that Belin would forbid him from speaking.
He heard Belin stomping around the room, and then he heard a door shut as Belin ventured deeper into his quarters. Ifra took a few calming breaths. It could be worse. At least he didn’t have to leave Violet alone or kill anyone. For now. If Belin asked something worse of him tomorrow, he couldn’t even beg or plead.
Some time passed. Belin still hadn’t come out. Ifra couldn’t stand in the hall forever. He didn’t have to be within sight of Belin to protect him.
But he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even ask the servants where Violet had gone, and when he found Violet, he couldn’t tell her anything. If he thought about it too long, his panic started mounting again. Just as a master had never shouted at him before, of course they had never wished for Ifra to be punished himself. The power to speak was one of the freedoms even the lowliest slave enjoyed. Maybe it would only be a day, but what if weeks or months or years went by?
He went downstairs. A servant girl was dusting the carvings. She looked sad, the kind of sad he never saw on fairies outside of Telmirra.
“How is Master Belin?” she asked.
He shook his head, and quickly went out the door, feeling rude. He’d been raised never to leave a woman’s presence without a proper leave-taking, but he didn’t want to go around miming explanations to everyone he passed.
He walked around the side of the palace, nodding when people greeted him, and entered through the courtyard garden, which was now blanketed with snow. Still, fairies would not be kept indoors. A couple lingered under a bower, and children ran about playing a game. Ifra had just reached the palace door when he realized he couldn’t look for Violet. If Belin learned that he cared for her, things would get even worse.
Maybe he could look for Erris. He felt his spirit, teasing at the edges of his sense, and yet-what direction? He couldn’t tell. Were fairies buried? Did the Tanharrows have a grand tomb where they might have hidden his body? He wandered down paths, through courtyards, past buildings and groves, but he saw no statues or engraved tablets.
How little he still knew of this place, and these people, and yet it was likely he would be here forever, would never see Arkat and Hami again. Even if he was permitted to write his mother letters, Arkat and Hami couldn’t read or write.
His thoughts circled back to Belin’s outburst. He had told Violet that Belin was cruel, and as Belin threw things, he thought him mad. But now that he was off by himself, he started to think that Belin seemed more hurt than hateful.
Was he being naïve again? His tutor had told him not to trust anyone, that everyone everywhere was selfish and merely wanted to enslave others and reach for superficial things, and yet he had encountered kindness everywhere-with Arkat and Hami, with the family who insisted on feeding him and Violet the last of their blueberries, with Keyelle and Etana… And who was he to Nimira and Celestina? A villain. Maybe it was only a matter of perspective.
He was circling back to the palace again when a woman called, “Pardon me! Ifra? Are you the jinn Ifra?”
“Yes,” he tried to say, forgetting Belin’s command. All that came out was a strangled sound, like trying to cry out in a dream. The fear and anger he associated with Belin returned in a hot rush as he put his hand to his throat.
“Are you all right?” The woman spoke as if she didn’t have time for anyone who wasn’t all right, wiping her hands briskly on her apron.
He nodded, then touched his lips and shook his head.
“You are mute?”
Ifra had no idea how to convey that Belin had forbidden him from speaking. He looked apologetic, but his cheeks were hot.
“Well, we’ve been trying to dress Violet for the king,
and she’s locked herself in the privy and won’t come out. She’s calling for you, and I’d rather have her coaxed out of her own free will than find someone with the keys and pry her out.”
Violet, calling for him? She was going to jeopardize their plans and he wouldn’t be able to say a word! Maybe he could calm her down quickly and no one would think much of it. He started to follow the woman, as she muttered, “It’s no way for a queen to behave.”
He followed her to a hall with a gaggle of pretty fairy women-some tall and lean, others with an ample, fertile look-clustered around a door. Ilsin’s wife was there, and she gave him a familiar smile as if they actually knew each other, brushing her dark curls away from her neck. The women all turned to stare at Ifra, quite a few of them flashing winning smiles, one hand actually darting out to touch the gold cuff at his wrist.
“I’ve found the jinn, Lady Violet. Please come out at once,” said the woman.
“Ifra?” Violet called warily.
Ifra looked around helplessly.
“Ifra?” Violet shouted. “Where is he?”
“He’s here. He seems to be mute.”
“What? Ifra isn’t mute!”
Ifra scratched the door, making a plaintive sound he hoped she understood.
She opened the door a crack, revealing a cross face with eyes and cheeks all shining from crying, and when she saw him, she grabbed his arm and tried to pull him in with her, but he wasn’t about to listen to her rant and cry in a privy. He switched his grip to the upper hand and managed to pull her out, past the staring women and into the nearest room, which seemed to be the original site of her tantrum-clothes, shoes, and fabric samples were strewn across couch and rug.
He shut the door behind them and shook her arm, looking at her fiercely. She twisted from his grasp.
“Ifra, why aren’t you talking?”
After a few moments of confused pantomime, she understood. “Belin forbade you from speaking?”
He nodded.
Magic Under Stone Page 19
