by Katie Cross
With that, Papa chucked me softly on the jaw and transported away, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the room. Both Merrick and Wolfgang looked up when Papa left. Merrick met my gaze, swallowed, and let out a heavy sigh. Wolfgang clapped him on the shoulder and disappeared.
My heart pounded when Merrick closed the distance between us with a slow, deliberate stride.
“You lied,” I said.
Merrick’s nostrils flared. He looked down at his hands. “Yes,” he said, and this time his voice carried the heavy burr of the North. “I did.”
I looked away, unable to bear the remorse in his eyes. Too much had happened for me to even know how I felt. Elated? Betrayed? Confused?
“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted.
“It’s pretty simple, really,” he said, meeting my gaze without flinching. “I grew up in the Northern Network. My boss, Wolfgang, sent me to the Central Network so we’d know what was happenin’. There’s more to it than that, of course.”
Mabel’s memories still spun through my head in long, complicated ribbons, clogging my rationality. I was free. The Northern Network was fighting the war with us. Merrick wasn’t who I believed him to be. My bones felt limp with fatigue. Grogginess overcame me in the wake of fading adrenaline and a warm meal in my belly.
“Can I have a little time before you tell me everything?” I asked, putting a hand to my head. “I just … I need sleep. Then we can talk all you want.”
He nodded, but I could see the disappointment in his beautiful green eyes. “Of course. I’ll show you to your room. We promised your father that Wolfgang or I would be with you at all times. Wolfgang is going to take the first watch.”
Though I craved it, sleep remained elusive.
Farah had ordered their grandest room prepared for me, and so I stretched out in a sprawling bed large enough for four grown witches. The opulent chamber was easily as big as the apartment I shared with Papa at Chatham. I left the double doors to both balconies open to the mountain breeze and lay on my side, a light blanket pulled over my shoulders. Wolfgang snored from where he sat just inside the main door, and three North Guards stood in the hall outside. Merrick had not returned.
I stared at the rocks on the mountainside across from Balmberg, listening to the replay of Mabel’s memories again and again. The quiet became too lulling. I slipped into vague dreams of Clavas and Mabel and Angelina and the Book of Spells. When I felt the cool metal of the manacle slamming back onto my wrist, I jolted upright out of sleep with a gasp.
The room lay quiet and dark, sweetened by the cool air. No heat. No Juba. No Mabel. I grabbed my empty wrist. No manacle. A heavy feeling of relief rippled through me. I fell back onto the mattress, turned my head into the pillows, and let out a long, slow breath.
“The rosemary doesn’t go here. What were they thinkin’, rearrangin’ my pots?”
Who was speaking so quietly outside? Startled out of my thoughts, I pushed myself off the mattress and pattered over to the balcony, clutching my borrowed wrap dress. Wolfgang continued snoring.
“Parsley, that’s better. Parsley goes before rosemary in alphabetical order. Nutters.”
The mountain wind brought goosebumps to my skin when I stepped outside and looked to my left. To my great surprise, a thin figure stood with her back to me. Farah. Her nightgown, a rich ivory color, rippled in the wind. She bent toward her potted plants on a balcony parallel with mine.
Clucking, she shook her head. “Need more thyme.”
I watched her for a moment. The ring in her nostril glinted in the residual light of two torches burning on the wall just behind her. She reminded me a little of Jackie with her dark skin, coiled hair, and long eyelashes. I couldn’t help but wonder again about a connection between the gypsies and the North.
“Farah?” I asked, hoping to alert her to my presence.
She didn’t even look up. “Yes, I am talkin’ to my plants at three in the mornin’,” she said. “I find that’s the only time I can guarantee them I’ll check in, and they’re the only thin’s in the Network that really listen to me.”
“You have your own garden?” I asked. Several herbs bloomed in the clay pots. I recognized mint right away and lifted my face to smell the sweet scent on the wind. I thought of Grandmother. How comforting that something so small and familiar could still be found so far from home.
“Yes, I do,” she said with a wan smile. “I love to garden, especially after a difficult day. Interactin’ with plants and the earth—even if it is contained in pots and not wild the way I prefer—grounds me. I think today could be classified as difficult. Don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I thought you’d never come out,” she said, plucking a shriveled oregano leaf. “I’ve been hopin’ to talk to you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You’re of great interest to me.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Why is that?”
“Because you know the witch that I just decided to go to war against better than any other witch on Antebellum does.” Her dark chocolate eyes met mine for the first time. “I’m secretly hopin’ you can help me understand her better. Your father told me what happened the night Isobel died.”
While it made sense that Farah would be aware of all that happened in the lower Networks, I realized I hadn’t expected her to know about Isobel. I shifted, biting my bottom lip. She smiled softly.
“I have my ways of stayin’ up-to-date on the news,” she said, anticipating my thoughts. “Besides, your father and I have just agreed to go to war together. He’s told me everythin’ I need to know.”
“I see,” I said, not sure of what to say next. She was right—I did know Mabel best. But I wasn’t sure what that meant. Nor was it a burden I wanted to bear.
“You’re restless tonight, aren’t you?”
“I’m struggling to slow my thoughts,” I admitted, folding my arms over my chest.
“A restless mind is a busy one,” she said, straightening. “Would you like to talk about it?”
I hesitated. I didn’t know Farah at all beyond her steel cage of an exterior. Tones of Mildred ran through her strong personality. But the last High Priestess I’d trusted had turned out to be my mortal enemy and tried to murder Papa. Farah held up her hands. The tips of her fingers were smudged with black dirt.
“You don’t have to, of course. Just an offer.”
The zesty tang of a tomato plant filled the air, making my stomach growl. It seemed ages since I’d eaten the thick stew.
“You know, for an eighteen-year-old girl, you seem quite … unbothered by the traditional ways of your Network,” she said, and I was grateful to change topics. “I’ve often had the impression that witches from the Central Network are sheltered and close-minded. I don’t see that in you.”
She spoke in a musing way, as if trying to add together a strange new arithmetic.
“I’m probably not the best witch to represent other girls my age.”
“Yes, I hear you don’t enjoy wearin’ shoes or dresses.”
My eyes narrowed. That seemed like an odd tidbit for her to know. “Did Papa tell you that?”
“No. Merrick.”
“Oh.”
“I think it impressed him.”
She flicked a handful of weeds off the side of her balcony, sending them to plummet tens of stories until they fell into the raging river below. The breeze whipped my dress against my legs.
“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about Mabel and her mother?” she asked. “I believe war is more of a mental game than a physical sport, although it’s arguably both. By understandin’ her better, I’d like to think I could anticipate what she’ll do. Protectin’ my Network is my life, you know. I take it very seriously.”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t mind.”
“What was Angelina like?”
While Mabel exuded a sultry, fluid kind of beauty, like burning desert sands, Angelina had been res
erved and as strong as steel.
“Angelina? She was cold. Calculating. And the best liar I’ve ever met in my life.”
Farah tilted her head back. “No doubt the daughter learned all she knew from the mother.”
“No,” I whispered, recalling Mabel’s memories. “Well, not exactly. Mabel was mostly raised by her grandmother.”
“Ah.”
“But May was … worse. She was—” I shuddered, pulling my arms more tightly around my middle. “Horrible.”
Farah studied me but didn’t ask me to elaborate, for which I was grateful. The sting of Mabel’s memories still ran deep, and I had a hard time separating her pain from my own.
“That kind of thing tends to run in families,” Farah said, “which means Mabel must still be bitter.”
“You have no idea.”
“What was it like?” she asked, her voice lowering a notch.
“Being in Mabel’s head?”
She nodded.
“Dark. Full of pain. So much pain. Hatred, too. Her hatred gives her an unbelievable amount of power.”
Farah rubbed her thumb and forefinger over a downy strawberry leaf. “I suppose someone dedicated to the dark Almorran path would have to be guided by such ideals. It opens Mabel up to incredible weakness, which is likely why she’s so defensive. I’m not surprised. I’m frightened by it, of course, but not surprised.”
She’s a witch just like us, I wanted to say, but the words choked me. Was Mabel just like us? Or had she allowed herself to fall so far that she’d lost her humanity? Rather than risk sounding too compassionate toward Mabel, I said nothing. It wouldn’t look good to spout sympathy toward the witch who wanted to annihilate us.
Farah eyed me with fresh curiosity. “You bear the mark of Almorran magic, do you not?”
I’d gotten the scar behind my left ear months before, in my first encounter with Mabel’s mind. I reached up to touch it with the tip of my finger.
“Yes.”
“Your father has one as well.”
“Can you sense it?”
She nodded.
“May I ask you a question now?” I said, hoping to divert the conversation.
“Of course.”
“Why didn’t you take Mabel’s offer?”
Farah folded her hands in front of her. Her casual air struck me as odd. She had been so distant and cold in the throne room. I wondered if her sisters were as compartmentalized and easy to talk to.
“A fair question,” she said. “What Mabel was askin’ of us was certainly appealin’, and I have no doubt she meant to honor her agreement at first. But it would only be a matter of time before what she’d gained wasn’t good enough, and she’d fight us for the North as well. Knowin’ her, she’d find a way around the bindin’. Even if she didn’t, the agreement would make trouble for future generations. Almorran magic used by a governin’ power would not benefit any Network.”
“I believe you’re right,” I said. Winning wasn’t enough for Mabel. She strove for total domination. “Are you afraid of her?”
“Of course I am. I’d be a fool not to be. She may not be invincible, but she is the Almorran Master. She wields power we can’t change or control. But fear isn’t always a weakness, you know. It’s an indicator. It means somethin’ isn’t right.” She looked away, her profile regal in the soft moonlight. “I have a hard time reconcilin’ a world that requires death to achieve peace. But I suppose I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“No,” I said. “None of us do.”
“Which is why we shall fight,” she said sadly. “And hope that goodness prevails after all.”
I sensed no relief or vindication in her declaration. Instead, I felt an overwhelming flood of regret that conversations like this had to happen at all.
She forced a smile. “I have no doubt your father can lead us to victory, Bianca. I have a feelin’ you believe in him as much as I do.”
I smiled. “I do.
“Now, you look tired. Try to get some sleep. I’ll save the conversation with my plants for another time so I don’t keep you awake.”
“May I ask you one more question?”
She smiled. “Of course.”
“The gypsies, in our Network, bear many similarities to your people. Are you…”
Farah nodded. “Yes, I know of your gypsies. They were once Northern Network witches who fled before we closed our borders. Their ancestors didn’t want to be stuck in the mountains, so they traveled down into the lower Networks to live as nomads.”
“Really?” I asked. “That’s incredible.”
She smiled. “We are all connected, whether we know it or not.”
I didn’t regret my reticence to tell Farah more about what I’d seen in Mabel’s mind. After Isobel’s betrayal, it would take time for me to trust strangers again. Besides, I didn’t understand it all yet. But I was glad to speak with Farah on a more intimate level, to feel some semblance of trust in our new ally.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I said with a curtsy. “I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me.”
She smiled, and her eyes sparkled in the moonlight. “Good night, Bianca.”
“Good night.”
I slipped back into the opulent chamber, falling into a dreamless sleep.
The Real North
I slept in well past lunch the next day, waking up with a clear head and a mind free of Mabel’s voice. The distance strengthened me, and I felt more like myself as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.
Merrick stood on the balcony nearest the bed when I woke, his arms stretched out and his weight on his palms, as if he could lean into the mountains. He wore a simple white shirt and brown breeches. The broad expanse of his back faced me, drawing my eyes to the muscular, attractive cut of his shoulders. Strands of his golden hair shimmered in the sunlight. I sat up, an unwanted tickle of anticipation in my stomach as I slipped out of bed, ran a hand through my unruly hair, and joined him in the sunlight.
We didn’t look at each other or speak at first. The distant sound of the waterfall filled the background. Like Merrick, I studied the lines and grooves in the mountains across the ravine. They were so close and majestic I wanted to reach out and touch them.
“I brought something for you,” he said, unlatching a second belt from his waist and producing a familiar sheathed sword from a clip on his belt. Next, he lifted a familiar oblong case off the ground in front of him and handed both of them to me. I gasped.
“Viveet! The Volare!”
The moment I touched her, Viveet glowed a bright, familiar blue. The metal hissed as I pulled her out of her sheath, laughing when her blue flames danced merrily, as if she’d missed me. It felt wonderful to hold her in my hand. I swung her, enjoying the movement of the muscles in my wrist again. Merrick smiled in an offhand way, but it remained a little distant, as if he were afraid to commit to being happy for me.
“I thought you’d want her back,” he said.
“My muscles are weak,” I said, rubbing my wrist. “I need to start practicing again. Build my strength back up.”
The Volare slipped out of its case on command, growing longer once it burst free of its magical house that kept it to a manageable size. It hovered in the air next to me. I sat down with a laugh, excited to feel the familiar carpet beneath me.
“Thank you,” I said, leaning back. “It feels wonderful to have them with me again.”
For a moment, it felt as if no time had passed between us at all. I strapped Viveet to my waist, feeling better with her at my fingertips. The air between Merrick and me shifted back to uncertain awkwardness. A worried shadow fell over his face.
“Care for a little hike?” he asked.
“A hike? Uh … sure.”
“It would be easier to explain why I never told you about where I was from if I could show you more of our Network.”
“All right.”
He met my eyes. The turmoil stirring in his irises surprised me. “It’s … my fami
ly,” he said. “I want you to meet my family. And I want you to see the real North. But only if you want to, of course.”
“Your family?” I repeated, sliding off the Volare. “Really?” The Volare rolled up and slipped back into its case at my silent command. I slung it over my shoulder, letting it fall across my back. Being armed had never felt so empowering.
Merrick nodded. “Yes,” he said.
Merrick hardly ever spoke of his family. Whether they were protected by his silence or he simply didn’t want anyone to know about them, I’d never known. Extending such an offer showed incredible trust. Saying no to his offer could create a fissure in our relationship too great to repair. Besides, I didn’t want to say no. I wanted to meet his mother. It seemed like so many of my questions would be answered if I could find out more about his life.
“Will you meet them?” he asked, drawing me from my thoughts.
“Yes, of course,” I said. “I would like that.”
He straightened and relaxed his shoulders. “Then let’s go,” he said, a hint of a sparkle in his eye. “We have a long climb ahead of us.”
Merrick’s family lived higher than any witch had business living.
To reach his house, he led me to the back of the castle, where a bridge started at Balmberg Castle and connected with the sidewall of the ravine. I glanced down as we crossed, watching the frothing white river rapids swirl beneath us until they gave way to another section of waterfall. Mist collected on the ends of my hair. Above us, the Mala bells sang on a light breeze, filling the air with a whispery chorus.
“The air is thinner here, so take it easy on the speed,” he said as we moved onto a narrow road that wound up the steep mountainside in a zigzag pattern. An old peddler with a cart full of knickknacks waved to us as he passed. He wore a bright orange cloak around his thin shoulders, and his cart swayed back and forth on the pebbled road.
“Right,” I panted, although we had only walked a short distance. “I … noticed.”
As we climbed higher, I glanced over the side of the crumbling trail at the needle-sharp tops of pine trees in Balmberg Village. The temptation to pull the Volare out and spare my energy flitted through my mind only once. I feared I’d miss too many little details of the North if I rode—the rocks in the trail, the wildflowers scattered along the path, the way Merrick seemed unusually at ease, even happy.
