Then, a sharp, sudden silence.
The fat minister, whose purple robes were too small, stepped forward and closed his hands around theirs. He cleared his throat and the hanging skin under his chin wobbled.
‘We are here today to witness a bond that only death can break!’ he declared. ‘It is my honour to conduct this sacred ceremony.’ He turned to Matthew and bowed. ‘My Lord Mortenstone.’
Matthew nodded and took his leave to join Josephine in the front seats.
‘Edward Vandemere, Iris Mortenstone,’ the minister continued, ‘you come together in the presence of the congregation to make a vow of loyalty, love and kinship to one another. Repeat after me: I make this vow, this unbreakable bond, to the person here before me. My love, my life, all that I have, is reserved for only thee.’
Iris hesitated before she spoke. She could feel her mother’s eyes burning into the side of her head and, from the corner of her eye, saw Lucian’s lips moving as he mouthed the vow. She muttered the words without sentiment, while Edward stammered his way through nervously. When they were done, the minister tightened his grip on their hands and closed his eyes. His own hands were warm and clammy.
‘Here, in the Great Hall of Merlin the Good, I bind these two in life.’
Iris felt a tingling sensation in her fingers and it grew painful as it spread up her arm, through her veins. She looked at Edward, who seemed to be experiencing the same pain. He half-smiled through a grimace. Suddenly, the feeling vanished. The minister let go of their hands and beamed.
‘The enchantment is cast. You are man and wife.’
Iris felt nothing but emptiness as the cheers filled the hall. She was bound forever to Edward, who leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks, smiling happily. Alexander crept back into her thoughts but she pushed him away. She could never be with him again. It was too late. All too late. It seemed a lifetime ago that she had plotted her escape, convinced herself that she would find a passage to freedom.
Dreams had a way of seeming absurd in the plain light of day, when night was long behind them.
12. MORTENSTONE VALLEY
The following winter, Iris gave birth to a son, Jacobi. And, the winter after that, a daughter, Rose. Both children had her eyes and golden curls. In fact, they didn’t look much like Edward at all, which pleased her; though, in truth, she did not find marriage unbearable. Edward was a fool, but fatherhood seemed to agree with him and the children found hilarity in his silliness and loved him for it. Often, she would catch herself laughing when he was entertaining them. She didn’t love him, but she was fond of him. He was a good man, a good husband, a good father.
Enola remained in the lower rooms of the castle, in the care of Maid Morgan. Iris would not admit it but she was glad the girl was not sharing a nursery with Jacobi and Rose. Where they were sweet natured and kind, Enola was devious and sullen. It was frightening sometimes – menacing, even – to glimpse her dark, unwavering stare from a shadowy corner of the chamber; her blue eyes, cold as the winter frost. Something lurked behind those eyes, something vicious. Iris knew this because the physician had stopped visiting. He refused to set foot in the castle again. He said Enola had attacked him when he came to examine her and he had the scars to prove it. Maid Morgan had insisted that he was lying or exaggerating; it was almost as if she was trying to protect Enola, as if she was trying to be a better mother to her than Iris. But, no matter, they all knew the doctor was telling the truth. Even if he hadn’t shown them his wounds, they would have believed him.
With each mounting incident, Iris found herself thinking more and more of Alexander. Did he think of her, or ever wonder what became of their child? Did he regret the last words he spoke to her, when Enola was still growing in her belly? A monster, he had called her. Kill it, he had said. And, in her most shameful moments, Iris wondered if she should have listened to him.
*
Matthew descended the stairs to the castle basement and headed for Enola’s chamber. It was dark in these passages, with few torches and no windows to offer any light. Already, he couldn’t stand it. The ceilings were low and the air felt close. He wanted to march back up to the ground floor and take a long, deep breath, fill his lungs. It would do Enola good to get outside, he thought. Staying down here all day would drive anyone to distraction. Could he blame her for attacking the physician? She needed fresh air. The trip he had planned could not have come at a better time.
He knocked twice upon the door and entered the bedchamber. The room was dark, like the hallway. Four torches blazed in their brackets at intervals around the room, throwing shadows across the stone floor. A fire roared in the hearth; Maid Morgan was sitting in a chair beside it, sewing a hood onto a black cloak. She rose from the chair quickly when she saw him and bowed dutifully. Enola was sitting on the floor in the corner, fiddling with a wooden doll. Her hands stilled for a moment as he entered and then went on bending the arms of the doll.
‘Hello, Enola,’ he said, crouching down in front of her. Enola continued to play as if he wasn’t there, but moved the toy further away from him and then shuffled around completely, so that her back was to him. He smiled, staring for a moment at her white streak of hair. He rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. Curses always left their mark. He was reminded, then, of the note that had arrived at the castle the previous night, scrawled hurriedly across a piece of parchment. These vicious outbursts will only become more violent and uncontrollable. The curse grows with her, the physician had warned him. And, looking at her now, Matthew could not deny that, in the weeks - or had it been months? - since he had last come to visit Enola, the white streak had certainly expanded.
‘Would you like to see a bit of magic?’ he said, flicking his hand upwards and conjuring a small horse from wisps of white smoke. He flicked his hand again and sent it prancing about the chamber. Enola looked around and watched intently over her shoulder. But, when the horse evaporated, she returned to her toy without a word. Matthew stood and turned to Maid Morgan. ‘I would like to take Enola to Mortenstone Valley with the other grandchildren tomorrow,’ he said. ‘She will travel separately, with you. I will have guards escort you both. You are to leave before dawn. It’s not far - half a morning’s ride on horseback at most. Home in time for supper.’
It would be an educational expedition, he believed, an opportunity for his grandchildren to learn about where they came from - all three of them. They would enjoy it too, he hoped. Josephine and Lucian had refused to come, just as he expected. And he was all the happier for it.
Maid Morgan nodded. ‘I shall prepare her travelling things,’ she said.
‘Very good,’ he said. As he took a step towards the door, there was a sharp, sliding noise, the sound of something coming loose, and, in a blur of orange, a torch fell to the ground where he had stood. He turned slowly and looked at Enola. She was staring at him darkly from the corner. ‘Missed,’ he said. Maid Morgan rushed forwards to pick up the torch but he held out a hand to stop her. Next moment, the torch jumped up from the floor and slotted back into its bracket on the wall, the flames reigniting themselves. ‘Tomorrow, then,’ he said, eyes fixed on Enola. Maid Morgan nodded and bowed again.
When he left the chamber, he hastened down the darkened corridor, putting distance between himself and Enola. His heart was beating furiously. And, for a moment, he felt afraid.
They gathered in the courtyard at dawn. Master Hagworth filled his horse’s saddlebags with blank parchment, quills and ink, for the children to draw and write about the things they saw, and waited patiently for them all to mount their horses.
Iris emerged from the castle, carrying Rose in her arms. The child was peaceful in her thick woollen blanket, nestled against her mother’s chest. Jacobi followed, helped down the steps by a maid in a violet cloak.
Matthew strode into the courtyard from the stables. When he saw Jacobi, he grinned and dropped to one knee. Jacobi ran straight into his arms.
‘I have a surprise for you. Would you like to
see?’ Matthew said. Jacobi nodded. ‘Wait here, then,’ he said, standing and walking back to the stables.
When he returned, he was sitting astride his black Latheerian horse, which walked majestically towards Jacobi, unbridled and unsaddled, its long neck arched, its blue eyes bright as jewels. The creature dwarfed the other horses in the courtyard. Matthew held onto its mane with one hand. As the horse came to stand before Jacobi, it tossed its head and grunted.
‘This is Wistor. He’s been my friend since I was your age,’ Matthew said, patting the horse’s neck. ‘Say hello to my grandson, old boy.’
Wistor drew his head around to regard Matthew, then turned back to Jacobi, bent his right leg and bowed. Jacobi squealed with delight. Matthew chuckled.
‘Now, close your eyes, Jacobi. It’s time for your surprise,’ he said, and he looked over his shoulder and nodded. A young boy emerged from the stables with a sprightly black foal. ‘Open!’ Matthew said. Jacobi opened his eyes and his jaw fell open. He began to jump up and down with excitement as the stable boy led the foal right to him. ‘Quickly now,’ Matthew prompted the stable boy, who had paused to watch Jacobi. Remembering himself, the boy plucked Jacobi from the ground and swung him onto the foal’s back. Suddenly, the animal went still. Jacobi frowned, looking confused and unsure. And then he, too, fell still. Matthew watched avidly.
*
As Iris stared at Jacobi and the Latheerian foal, she felt a sting of disappointment. They were rare creatures, enchanted creatures, expensive creatures. She remembered the day she had been given hers. Lareena, white as snow, fresh from the mountains of Latheera, legs strong from the long journey to Lambelee. She had been bonded to Lareena when she was three. She was too young to comprehend much about the world, but old enough to understand the significance of the moment a barrier between them dissolved and the horse’s thoughts found hers.
Iris looked at her father bitterly. He caught her eye and quickly climbed down from his horse and came to her.
‘What is it?’ he said.
‘Enola wasn’t given one,’ she muttered.
‘Iris, come now, it wouldn’t be proper. I won’t insult the Vandemeres.’
‘Then why did you ask her to come today? Why did you include her?’
‘Iris—’
She turned her back on him.
‘Iris,’ he said again, a caution in his voice. ‘I will not insult the father of your children.’
‘You’ve insulted him already by keeping her here,’ she said.
The foal had begun to skip about in circles, with Jacobi laughing on its back. The stable boy looked flustered as he tried to keep hold of him. Iris heard her father sigh and felt instantly guilty for snapping at him. She understood why he couldn’t treat Enola like the other two children. She couldn’t blame him. And, what was more, even if Enola had been legitimate, it would have been wrong to give her a gift like this. A creature as pure as a Latheerian horse didn’t deserve to be tainted by her dark thoughts.
‘Mount your horses. We are leaving!’ Matthew called, walking over to the foal. Iris almost gasped as he removed the rope from around its neck.
‘What are you doing? He can’t ride it by himself!’ she protested, handing Rose to a maid and striding after him.
‘Of course he can!’ Matthew said.
‘He’s only two. He doesn’t know what he’s doing!’
‘He’ll be three soon. I was his age when I first rode Wistor. It’s better to start them off young. Riding will become second nature to him,’ he said, tossing the rope aside.
‘But he’ll fall!’
‘Then we’ll put him back on. Iris, don’t fret. No harm will come to him,’ he said, giving the foal’s nose a rub before walking back to his own horse and hoisting himself up onto its back.
‘How do you know that?’ she said.
Matthew turned to Master Hagworth. ‘Master Hagworth, you have a Seer’s blood. Will any harm come to my grandson?’
Master Hagworth straightened up in his saddle. He looked affronted.
‘My Lord, what my father claimed to be and what he really was are two different matters. Perhaps if he had dedicated as much time to reading and furthering his mind as he did to providing false insight into people’s futures, he might have made something of his life and met his end in a comfortable bed instead of a ditch outside a tavern,’ he said curtly, the vein in his forehead throbbing.
Matthew seemed surprised by the outburst. Iris was not; she knew by now never to mention Seers to Master Hagworth. It was a sensitive subject. She had found herself on the receiving end of the schoolmaster’s wrath countless times before for such impudence. Her father bowed his head apologetically.
Master Hagworth flushed with embarrassment.
‘Forgive me, my Lord, forgive me,’ he said. ‘Lady Iris, I will personally ensure that no harm comes to young Jacobi today.’
Iris backed down. She trusted Master Hagworth. He was a man of his word.
‘Hold his mane like this,’ she said to Jacobi, folding his hands around the hair at the nape of the foal’s neck. ‘Don’t let go,’ she added, before leaving him to mount Lareena, who had just ambled, unaccompanied, into the courtyard from the stables.
Thomas and Eve hurried down the castle steps, followed by four servants, who were laden with sacks of bread, cheese and ale for the journey. Matthew sighed impatiently and his horse began to fidget.
‘Quickly, quickly,’ he said to them. Eve stopped in her tracks and looked at him in dismay, clearly horrified to have been made the focus of everyone’s attention. Iris tutted under her breath at her father. Eve’s Companion ran down the steps after her and put an arm around her shoulders to calm her nerves as a jittery, chestnut-coloured Latheerian horse came careering through the courtyard, its blue eyes wild, and skidded to a halt before Eve. But Eve made no move to climb onto its back. She covered her face while her Companion soothed her, speaking to her softly. Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, but said no more as he waited.
When, finally, everyone had mounted their horses, Matthew nodded to the guards, who opened the gates. They filed out behind him. Iris rode at the front with Rose. Thomas, Eve and Eve’s Companion rode beside her, followed closely by Jacobi and Master Hagworth, ten guards, four servants, three stable boys and two lady’s maids.
After a hard ride across open fields, they reached the outskirts of Lambelee and the steep descent into Mortenstone Valley was suddenly upon them. Trees clung to the hills, bent and warped over time as they struggled to remain upright.
Master Hagworth had his work cut out for him trying to keep Jacobi on the foal, which was as nervous as its new master on the crumbling slope. It tripped and staggered and almost fell to the ground completely when its hoof clipped a stone. Jacobi started to cry and begged to ride with Iris on her horse, but Matthew would not allow it.
‘The first ride is the most important,’ he said. ‘He cannot abandon him.’
They rode on, along wide tracks that snaked through the valley’s forests. Sunlight seeped through the delicate green leaves, making everything around them glow with warmth. Jacobi quickly forgot about his fear, so enraptured was he by the wild, dappled deer, the rabbits and the streams and the great, lolloping valley dogs that bounded alongside them. Iris beamed as she watched him and gently shook Rose, who was leaning against her on the horse, sleeping. She woke with a start.
‘Look,’ Iris said, kissing her daughter’s soft cheek. Rose leaned forward eagerly to stare at the large brown mushrooms with fat stems and spotted tops on the edge of the track. ‘Do you know what they are?’ Iris whispered. As she spoke, a small, winged creature flew out from under a mushroom top, flitting left and right before disappearing behind a tree. Rose gaped after it. ‘Oh, look!’ Iris exclaimed. ‘A mushroom fairy.’
As they pushed on, the slope became gentler, the ground underfoot fern-covered and springy. More and more mushrooms lined the path, some reaching as high as the horses’ flank
s. The fairies buzzed around them, wings beating rapidly and glinting with light. They filled the air like golden dust. Rose reached up and tried to catch one as it passed overhead but Iris brought her hand back down.
‘Be careful, my love,’ she said softly.
When Matthew called for them to halt, Iris looked up. Over his shoulder, she could see several horses standing together further down the track, their reins fastened to tree branches. In front of them stood Maid Morgan, Enola and three Mortenstone guards, who looked utterly bored. Iris’s horse shuddered and jerked its head back suddenly. She could feel the creature’s distress and it began to make her own heart beat wildly.
‘Lareena,’ she said firmly, as the horse backed into Master Hagworth’s gelding. She held tight onto its mane. What is it? she asked silently. Enola’s image flashed across her mind and, as it did, she felt another swell of panic. Lareena’s panic. She took a sharp breath. Her horse was afraid of Enola. It’s alright, she thought, it’s alright, but Lareena only continued to back up.
Master Hagworth was shouting at her now; his horse was growing agitated, stamping its hooves as Lareena pushed against it.
Iris slid down off the horse quickly, pulling Rose with her.
‘Sorry!’ she said, skirting around her father, who had come to help them. Master Hagworth shouted after her, ordering her to come back and control the animal. But she didn’t want to be near Lareena just now. She wanted to be as far from her as possible.
‘Enola!’ she said cheerfully, walking along the track towards her, heart still racing. Enola’s eyes drifted past her to the commotion behind. Iris didn’t look back. Lareena’s fear troubled her. She had made a blood bond with her horse when she was three years old. How, then, could the creature be afraid of Enola? Was she not half Mortenstone? Was she not of Iris’s blood? It didn’t make sense. And yet it did.
The White Witch (The Serpent and The Sorcerer Trilogy Book 1) Page 12
