Ashcroft was looking at her like she had just talked about how tasty selkies were, and how she liked to nibble on their young. He was absolutely incredulous, his eyes wide, his mouth open. Eventually he said, “You get… ill?”
Worrying her brow, she shook her head and wondered if Ashcroft had finally actually lost his mind. His eyes were absolutely wild!
“How long does it take you to heal?” he asked excitedly. “After you get a cut or something of that sort? A whole day? Two days?”
She blushed and then looked back and forth. This seemed extremely exciting for him, and so she nodded. “It takes some time. Here,” she said with a mischievous whisper, liking the attention he was providing, though she didn’t quite know why.
Looking once more around the room to make sure Hoel wouldn’t walk in during a poor moment and expect the worst, she put her leg up between them, and then pulled up the hem of her skirt. His eyes were glued to her fingers before he also looked at the door and cleared his throat uncomfortably. She pulled the skirts up past her thigh, where her stockings were just coming over her skinned knee. “Look, see? I got this a couple of days ago. When I came in all dirty, you know? I’d fallen accidentally off a small hill and did this.”
He looked back and forth one more time before deciding he was brave enough to take a good look at it. Then he put his spectacles on and grabbed her leg with both hands.
Her stomach immediately fluttered with butterflies when she felt his warm fingers just outside the thin confines of her stocking. “Fascinating,” he told her, suddenly looking very deep in thought.
She was watching his expression entirely and not her knee at all at this point, so she knew it as soon as he looked up at her. She could feel her heart thrum wildly in her chest as they connected.
“You’re…” He drawled off and then swallowed.
She was already blushing. She was certain that he was going to call her beautiful, or something of the sort. She hadn’t noticed his eyes were a beautiful dark blue before, and those eyes were drinking her in. “You’re Byndian,” he told her.
She blinked, surprised at the amount of disappointment she felt. The words came out exactly like one might say, ‘You’re beautiful,’ but she definitely hadn’t misheard him since she had been listening too closely.
She pulled her knee slowly out of his hands and began to draw down her skirts. “Thank you.” She crossed her legs casually, trying to make it seem like she lifted her skirts up for just anyone and on a frequent basis.
“Byndians!” he exclaimed, putting his hands up in an explosive motion.
“Byndians?” The word meant nothing to her, but she was beginning to wish it did.
“Yes!” It seemed like now Ashcroft was finally beginning to perceive that she didn’t, and couldn’t, share his excitement, and he tempered his own. “Maili,” he said with temperance, putting a hand on her now-covered knee, “that’s why you can get sick. Byndians were the physically weakest magi races in history. In fact, if you’re purebred, you’re the last of your kind. It’s extraordinary; the rest of the Byndians have died out, save for a very small group of crossbreeds that I know…”
This took a second to sink in.
So, the mystery of what she did for the first part of her life, before her first memories on the beach with Hoel, no longer needed to be answered, apparently. She was the ‘last of her kind,’ then. She had no real mother, no real father, no husband. Her people were gone.
She had dreamed that there were people out looking for her; that she belonged somewhere.
Knowing otherwise hurt—and that was before it sounded like what she was wasn’t even something to be hailed by even the magi. “Well,” she said, completely unable to keep her surliness and disappointment out of her tone, “at least I’m not whatever you are.” She grabbed her skirts and stomped toward the exit to lick these new wounds in peace.
“I’m an archivist,” he reminded, and she could hear him march behind her. “But wait, Maili—let me explain, here. You’re weak, but very important!” She shut the door to the study behind her, not caring if she nearly slammed his nose right in the door.
* * *
Ashcroft stared at the door, which was very easy to do because that thick, solid oak was only about half of an inch away from his nose, and wondered how someone who’s read nearly every book in the Otherworld and knew nearly every spell of all the races of the magi could be so amazingly stupid.
He could not communicate with women at all. It wouldn’t have been too hard for him to bring up the good points and sweep the bad ones under the rug—Moriarty would claim that’s what one must do with all females everywhere—but Ashcroft forgot the necessity of that. He had simply been too excited!
A Byndian—real and in the flesh. He thought the power of that mighty race had died right along with Charlotte. Now, there was hope.
It was suddenly so clear. Maili reminded him of Charlotte! Dear gods, how had he not put it together? Her eye color and voice were nearly exactly the same, as were their scents, and that was surely because they were related somehow—maybe cousins, maybe even sisters! The last generation of Byndians was scrambling desperately to get their numbers up; Ashcroft just thought that they had done a horrible job of it, since only two girls were the products of the last generation.
Apparently, Alice and her children weren’t the only ones with Byndian powers. In fact, a full-blooded Byndian would have the strength to bring unimaginable spells to the world. They were a creative race, one that loved to perform and tended never to expect anything less than perfection from themselves.
Yet now he just told one that she was weak and alone and then let her leave the room. “Bloody fantastic, Ashcroft, you moron,” he cursed himself, then flung open the door. Maili deserved any distance from him that she could get.
He nearly turned around to go back to the study, deciding that he’d share the news of her amazing birthright with Hoel immediately, and then he paused.
No; he had to see the girl first. He didn’t know exactly why, but the obvious hurt in her eyes when she left stung at him.
An hour later, she proved not to be so easily found and consoled. Her maids didn’t even know where she was, and eventually he got concerned and actually asked Anwen if he’d seen her, since Hoel was down in the village looking over a sick family. Anwen immediately took up the search.
Within a half-hour, after Ashcroft had rechecked every room of the palace, he heard voices coming from the empty ballroom.
“Maili, what is the matter with you? You can’t go out there! Now you’re soaked!” Anwen chided in the motherly tone she seemed to reserve just for Maili. “Get her a towel!” she told someone; probably a nearby maid. “Maili, you make me want to tear my hair out. Look at you! You’re not fit to be seen, and you’re going to get ill! What were you doing in the gardens in the rain? Have you completely lost your wits?”
Ashcroft peeked around the corner that gave him a view of the pair. A maid was hurriedly bringing a towel and Anwen snatched it and began to aggressively wring out Maili’s long, black hair. Maili had her arms curled around herself, but she looked more miserable than she did cold. Of course, she was also completely drenched. It looked like she had gone swimming in the ocean more than got caught in the rain.
Right about the time Anwen was demanding the girl answer, Maili made an explosive movement and wrapped her arms tightly around Anwen, pressing her forehead against the woman’s bosom for comfort, finally releasing a shattering sob.
Ashcroft was bamboozled. He knew that Maili was upset, but not so upset that she’d start to actually cry beyond the normal fleeting emotions of the usual female.
Anwen seemed surprised at first, but then merely embraced the girl in return, despite how wet she was probably getting because of it. She rubbed her hand down her back, comforting Maili like one might a small, heartbroken child.
Ashcroft backed away slowly and then finally returned to the study, where he paced for a goo
d long while.
Something just wasn’t fitting here. He was emotional lately, plagued with headaches and bad dreams. The girl was emotional and sensitive, when according to Hoel she was normally made of much stronger stuff. Even Hoel seemed distant sometimes, and heaven knows what the demigod was thinking about, because what could even be important enough to really pull away the attention of a creature like himself?
Mix in missing warlords, Maili’s claims, her strange past, and now the fact that she was a Byndian? Ashcroft had found that he had plunked right into a whole stew of mystery and chaos.
He had finally just sat down when Anwen came into the room in her usual quiet, graceful way. He stood up and bowed respectfully, asking as to what brought on this honor of having her company.
“We knew what she was, Ashcroft Medwin,” Anwen said, even with exasperation.
He was being scolded? “You mean… a witch?” he asked, confused.
“A Byndian. We realized it. We know the difference between the magi factions. She has powers that only a Byndian might have. She can talk to trees. She can control the winds, the clouds—and those are just things she picked up without spell work.
“We cuffed her not just because Damen asked us to, because he feared her. We did it because we felt like she was going to expose herself.” She sighed. “We always feared that whoever tried to harm her, whoever broke her body, would come looking for her to finish the job. If it got out that she was a Byndian… the last? It might bring her murderer right to us. Or… those who tried to execute her.” She stepped forward, raising her hands. “She’s a good, sweet girl. She’s completely innocent! She doesn’t remember anything from her past—she doesn’t deserve for any of her past sins to come reckoning.”
He shook his head, feeling overwhelmed with sympathy for her. He couldn’t believe that a goddess was actually justifying herself to him. The woman actually feared for Maili’s life. “I didn’t mean to upset her,” he said. “I was excited; my last pupil was a Byndian, and she died years ago. I thought her kind had died with her.” He smiled kindly and added, “I don’t blame you for hiding her away. I should have probably done the same with my own Charlotte. Byndians have a lot of enemies, and they are embarrassingly easy to kill and even easier to take advantage of. Lots of people want to use them for their powers and control them. They have unfortunate weaknesses—but brilliant powers. The Byndians were the most godlike of us with their abilities.” He shook his head. “Who have you told?”
“Nobody,” she replied as if she wouldn’t dream of it. “Except Damen. We did tell him, of course. We felt it would be wrong not to—his people are so fearful of magi. We wanted him to realize that Maili wasn’t just any magi, but one of the most powerful factions. He wanted her anyway.” She smiled, as if she thought that was very sweet of him.
Ashcroft’s eyebrows furrowed. “I heard that he came to you for the match? You didn’t go to him?”
Anwen cocked her head to the side innocently. “Well, we knew we’d have to match her with someone eventually. She’s a beautiful girl, good with children. She just needs a strong, understanding, patient husband who can guide her with a strong hand. Damen seemed perfect when he came here. The reason he wanted her, supposedly, is because a seer from his kingdom said that Maili would be his perfect match. Hoel took to him very quickly, too. He’s confident, proud, strong, sophisticated. He’s extremely well-read. He’s not the barbarian most warlords are. He’s different. We think he’ll make a fine king for ages to come.”
Ashcroft couldn’t help but think that there was one more ingredient to this stew of chaos. Someone coming out of nowhere to claim Maili… It didn’t feel right to him, prognosticator or not.
Not that he knew how to piece it together. Ashcroft was too exhausted—he’d been sleeping horribly, his world was a jumble, and he was still agitated at himself for hurting Maili’s feelings. “Is there anything I can say to her that will help? I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he admitted, shoving his hands into his pockets.
She appraised him, even lifting her chin as she looked him over. “She wasn’t hurt by what you said. She just felt like the more she knew about herself, the more she’d learn about her past, and the happier she would be. I think she’s now realizing her past is a dark hole she doesn’t want to stick her hand into lest it get bitten off.” She eyed the floor for a minute and then raised her eyes once more. “And that’s for the best.”
After that, she left him alone in the study again. He felt like he had been warned, in a way. Don’t poke into her past. Don’t try to get to know her; it would only hurt her.
Eventually, the rain stopped and a dense, heavy fog rolled in from the sea, making him feel like there wasn’t a world beyond the windows. He walked out into the fog, hoping to get some fresh air between the rains. He could almost feel in his bones that a thunderstorm was brewing on the horizon, set to come in.
Ashcroft hadn’t seen Maili at dinner, and decided that was for the best. It would serve him better to avoid her as much as possible until he interviewed Damen, as she requested. It would also help when he told her that she merely had a bad dream; that perhaps when Damen took her to his bed that night, her mind had made up a strange, scary fantasy…
It was what he wanted to believe. It would be the easiest solution that would keep up the least amount of sand, and he didn’t want to interview much more just to deepen the mystery and cast doubt on his theory—he had begun to actually like her in the last week, and that was very dangerous.
She was the last Byndian, yes—but she was untouchable. He couldn’t take her away from Hoel and Anwen, and he sure as hell couldn’t train her under the eye of her new husband. Eventually, and maybe centuries from now, she would die of sickness or by some courtier’s hand, and the Byndian power would die with her. He had to ignore what she was; if he did, his alliance with Hoel would be much more fruitful for him if he’d just let the facts lie where they were.
He kicked at a stone bench for a while with the toe of his boot, but after he noticed it was quite dry, he settled down on it, wringing his hands together between his knees. He was nervous, restless, and his stomach was churning with upset.
He put his head in his hands until his stomach settled down and his nausea subsided. When he looked up, Charlotte’s figure was there, standing between two statues.
He gasped, and fell backwards from the bench. He was beyond positive that it was Charlotte, and he didn’t blink. Her posture was the same, and her scent hung in the air; her silhouette was so astoundingly Charlotte’s…
And then Maili stepped out of the fog, her eyes wide and her hands up. “Are you alright?” she asked, looking at him like he had spontaneously turned into a top hat.
He swallowed and stood up, calming. “Yes.” He looked her over. She wasn’t drenched anymore; her skirts were completely dry. Only her hair was still a bit damp, but it was pinned up off of her neck. “Yes,” he repeated, this time with a sigh, and put his hand over his eyes for a moment before lying. “I’m alright. You look…” …like my dead lover? He swallowed again and shook his head. “I’m fine. I’m just not feeling like myself tonight.” He rubbed at some mud that had accumulated on his sleeve.
He cleared his throat and, when he noticed her still staring at him, asked, “How about yourself?”
“I don’t know what is usual for me to feel like, actually,” she said mysteriously, shaking her head. “I used to think when I was feeling odd, that maybe I was feeling more normal than I normally did. Maybe I was feeling more like my former self.” She smirked and looked around the gardens; her attention seemed like it had been grabbed by a sudden blowing of the wind.
“You remember nothing of what you were like before?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. I don’t know my name. I could speak, and I could read. That was all. I was mortal then, maybe nineteen. Maybe twenty. You wouldn’t know it though, because I didn’t know anything. I mean—anything. It was as if I appeared from the
dark.” She frowned. “I used to dream that people were out looking for me. That I was being missed somewhere, and it would break their heart to hear that I didn’t know them.” She gave a small sigh and admitted, “So, I guess I’m a little disappointed not having a family out there, but on the other side, I’m grateful that nobody’s hurt over what happened to me.”
He smiled at that. “I’m sorry if I hurt you earlier,” he told her. “I should have started out by saying that you’re a witch of gigantic potential.”
“That’s sort of what I’m afraid of,” she said, after shifting her eyes around. She was acting like he was missing something very obvious.
“With your cuff on, you won’t have to worry about doing magic,” he consoled, thinking that’s what she wanted to hear.
She frowned. “My husband is an evil wizard, and he said he has plans for me. I imagine this power I have but can’t wield without his eventual say-so is going to kick me in the teeth. Except you’ll keep your word…” she added hopefully, but her eyebrows were twitching with worry, as were the corners of her mouth. “You’ll investigate Damen when he comes?”
“Yes,” he told her, giving her a chiding smile. She was stubborn; she absolutely would not let him out of his word, either. He wasn’t looking forward to interrogating a famous warlord. “I will keep my word.”
She smiled at him.
His body froze—that smile was absolutely world-shattering. Damn it all if he didn’t want her to smile forever! She had never acted happy around him, so he hadn’t noticed that she was glorious when happy. She was like a flower that bloomed in the damn darkness. His heart literally felt like it had skipped a beat, and now it was completely off its normal rhythm.
So what if she was a little too much like Charlotte? He wanted so badly to kiss her that his hands were itching to tie themselves around her waist and do just that—not twenty feet from where a demigod would surely render him limb from limb for doing so.
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