The Girl Who Fell (The Chess Raven Chronicles)

by Violet Grace

  I look up. We’re in the middle of lush woodlands. A robin chirps in the distance and, closer by, a mother duck calls to her ducklings. A light breeze carries the sweet scent of lilacs and roses. But my heart is so full of anguish that even this beauty can’t move me.

  Tom slowly lowers his head to the ground and I tumble forward down his neck. A carpet of moss cushions my fall and I curl up into a ball.

  There’s a fluttering sound and Tom’s enormous feathered wings fold forward to cradle me.

  ‘I’m sorry, Chess. I’m so sorry Gladys is dead.’ He wraps his wings tighter around me in an angel’s embrace. ‘But I will never be sorry about the cataclysmic spell. You were worth saving all those years ago and you were worth saving in the butterfly house. Gladys knew what she was doing.’

  ‘How can I keep going?’ I mumble into my sleeve, which is slippery with tears. ‘How can I ever be enough to honour her sacrifice?’

  ‘Because you are you.’

  I slowly move out of his silken hold so I can see his face. His magnificent wings nestle perfectly into his body. Despite my guilt and grief, I’m struck by the sight of his strong and commanding frame standing amongst the oak trees. But it is his faith in me that takes my breath away. Only now do I realise the value of such a gift.

  I reach out to him. My palm glides down the side of his nose in long, deliberate strokes.

  He stares at me through thick, long lashes.

  The sounds of the garden fade into the background. The air becomes a thick blanket, enveloping us in a private moment. Something passes between us that feels timeless and permanent, a bond forged from our shared struggles, joys and dreams.

  I step back and break our eye contact, overwhelmed by the intensity. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Her Majesty’s private garden.’

  I raise an eyebrow.

  ‘Buckingham Palace,’ he explains. ‘Thirty-nine acres of woodland in the centre of London for one woman and a few corgis. We’re unlikely to be disturbed – by the owners, at least. As for the Protectorate unicorns, I can’t be sure. Without Gladys’s influence, we can’t be sure if the Order will hold strong against the rebel guards and the growing number of dissenters or buckle to them.’

  His eyes travel slowly up my body. ‘I didn’t know what state you were going to be in. I thought you were going to incinerate yourself back there and I was going to have to try to put you back together. We can rest here for a bit, but we’re not in the clear yet.’

  Tom shakes his head, a look of wonder in his eyes. ‘Mind telling me how you managed to fight off the entire herd of Protectorate unicorns with barely a scratch? I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  ‘Your sister gave me the idea. She laughed at me when I couldn’t handle a wand back at the Temple. She couldn’t believe I was unable to summon the Art, with all the energy that the rubies on the walls have absorbed over years. It got me thinking – my mother’s amulet must have absorbed powerful magic from Fae queens for centuries. I figured I’d only have to use a little of my own magic to direct the spell without killing myself, and the power of my foremothers would do the rest.’

  ‘You’re incredible,’ he says, laughing, and then winces.

  ‘You’re hurt.’ I step closer, inspecting him. I find an angry patch of blisters and welts across his coat.

  ‘Don’t,’ he warns, as I prepare to summon a spell. ‘We’re in Volgaris now. You’ll have to pay for it. And you’ve lost enough today.’

  I shake my head and speak the incantation. A picture of two paths forking out forms in my mind; one is for pain, the other is for memory. Since my poor body has endured so much over the last few days, I choose to pay with a memory.

  An image of my past flashes before me and my gut clenches as I respond emotionally to the memory. But the image disappears before my mind has time to register what it is. I don’t even know which memory I’m looking for.

  I recite a healing spell and Tom’s burn turns golden before closing over. An angry red mark remains underneath the white coat, which begins to grow back over. It’s not a great job, but it will have to do until we can get to an apothecary or healer.

  The muscles in Tom’s face relax, and I’m pleased that at the very least I’ve stopped the pain. But a moment later, he’s frowning again.

  ‘What did you just pay for that spell?’

  ‘Nothing. A memory.’

  ‘Don’t ever give up your memories,’ he says seriously.

  ‘There are plenty of memories I’d gladly give up.’

  ‘No, Chess, your memory is what orients you in time and space. Memories make us unique. All your experiences piece together to make you who you are. They show you where you’ve been and guide you to where you need to go,’ he says. ‘Lose too many and you lose yourself.’

  I stare up at him, his words sinking in as I recall the childhood memories that flashed through my mind back at the butterfly house.

  Memories of my hunger at school and the moment I became a thief.

  A man who must have been my father.

  My terror of Larry.

  Being asked to unlock the Luck of Edenhall.

  In one way or another, all of these experiences have led to this moment.

  And that’s when I know what I must do to find the key to the Chalice.

  chapter 30

  Wind howls in my ears as we soar above the centre of London.

  Tom manoeuvres between buildings, turning sharply. I wrap my arms around his neck.

  ‘What if people see us?’ I say, leaning into the space behind Tom’s ear to be heard above the wind.

  ‘What are they going to do? Put us on the Wanted list again?’ Tom’s wings beat powerfully, swinging wide over Hyde Park. ‘Fly with me.’

  My body tenses at the mere suggestion of it.

  ‘It’ll be quicker,’ he urges. ‘The longer we’re out here, the more we’re exposed. Fly with me, Chess.’

  The memory of my flailing wings at the Shard has me tightening my grip.

  ‘But last time —’

  ‘Last time you didn’t know your power.’

  Attempting to fly on my own right now feels crazy stupid. But with all that came before and all that is about to come, living fearlessly in this moment is suddenly more important than clinging to what I know.

  Or, at least, what I thought I knew.

  Finger by finger, I release my grip and loosen my clenched thighs from around Tom’s body. My heart’s in my throat. I do my best to ignore it. Tom slows and then hovers as I climb onto his back. I tilt my head towards the heavens. My hair whips around my face.

  ‘Will you catch me if I fall?’

  ‘I won’t have to.’

  I feel the power in me, like an adrenaline kick to the heart but surer, more stable, more lasting. My mind screams at me that this is insane.

  I go with my heart, leaping into the nothingness.

  My stomach plummets as I wait and hope for my wings to appear.

  Time slows.

  My head aligns with my heart. I’m done with waiting and hoping.

  Up until now, my wings have chosen me.

  This time, I choose them. I command them.

  My wings burst from my back in an explosion of iridescence. I catch the breeze, slowing and then halting my descent. I flex my wings as surely as a muscle, feeling them slice and scoop the air in smooth, steady arcs. Long-dormant muscles awaken, extending and contracting as I feel myself lift gently into a hover.

  The breeze is cool on my skin, but in the exhilaration of the moment I feel warm.

  Turning, I gasp at the sublime grandeur of my wings, gracefully beating in the breeze.

  My wings are part of me. They are me.

  Still hovering, I turn a full 360 degrees, each beat of my wings becoming surer and easier. My breath settles and I feel at home. I squint in the bright sunlight as I take in the view over London. It’s stunning, nothing like the view from a building or Google Earth. So open, so free.
r />   I laugh and cry at once.

  A moment later I soar upwards, overtaken by pure joy. At first, I’m surprised by how fast I travel. I race through the thermals, then slow myself, spiralling to meet Tom. He looks back at me, his head held high and his ears pointing forward.

  ‘You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met, Chess Raven,’ he says, eyes shining with pride, and for a moment I forget how to breathe.

  ‘Race you to the V&A,’ he yells, and speeds away.

  Now that’s a challenge I can’t refuse.

  Instinctively, my arms arch in front of me like a swimmer’s, then cut back through the air in one swift propulsion. My wings take over, beating effortlessly. The wind is cold on my teeth, and I realise that my mouth is open because I’m grinning.

  I fly level with Tom and then zoom past him, looking over my shoulder.

  ‘Thought I’d give you a head start,’ he calls.

  ‘That was a mistake,’ I yell back.

  I expect him to laugh but his ears fold back and his neck arches.

  ‘Watch out!’

  I spin around.

  The sky tears apart in front of me with a bolt of blinding light and a deafening boom.

  A white unicorn hurtles through the punctured sky like a missile.

  I’m the target.

  I shoot upwards but the unicorn adjusts his course. He’s so close now that I recognise the golden horn trained on me like a loaded gun.

  Loxley.

  I summon the Art but I’m too slow. Loxley howls and his face contorts in pain as flames shoot from his horn, screaming towards me.

  Time slows as I watch the distance between me and Loxley’s blast collapse. My powers are building, I brace for the pain or conjuring a spell, but the blast is coming too fast. Tom flies towards me but there’s no way he’ll reach me in time.

  From nowhere, a piercing screech of nails down a blackboard deafens me. The air sizzles with sparking particles. A blackish-brown blur bursts across my field of vision and I’m propelled through space, out of the blast’s range.

  I steady my wings, hovering in the sky and trying to work out what’s going on. A cloud of singed black feathers explodes in the air around a brown unicorn. He lets out a guttural roar as the remaining feathers on his wounded wing shrivel and drop off, leaving nothing but exposed bone. I’ve never seen this unicorn before but he just protected me. He pushed me out of the path of Loxley’s bolt, taking the full brunt of the attack himself.

  A blonde fairy hovers nearby, raising her arms and unleashing a torrent of fire on Loxley.

  Abby? From out of nowhere.

  Tom joins his sister, reigning down molten fire on Loxley. Both their faces contort and strain from the pain of conjuring the Art in Volgaris.

  My attention goes to the brown unicorn. His eyes close and his head flops forward. His injured wing droops, before recoiling into his body, followed by the other wing.

  A shimmering cloud of particles explodes around him and the brown unicorn transes into …

  Jules.

  chapter 31

  She’s dropping like a stone.

  I contract my wings, smoothing them as close to my body as I can. I pull my hands back at my side and speed down towards Jules, straight at the ground. The rush of air pierces my eyes and the friction burns my cheeks. My hair is tight against my scalp, as if it’s being plastered back.

  I will myself to accelerate as the concrete rises up to meet us.

  I will not let her die.

  With less than 50 metres to go, I snatch her limp hands and extend my wings to their full span to slow myself. We come to a halt with only metres to spare.

  I cradle Jules’s semi-conscious body in my arms. She doesn’t feel as heavy as she should; it’s more like the weight of carrying a person buoyed by water. I launch skyward, warily at first, anxious how Abby and Tom are faring with Loxley.

  Abby comes hurtling towards me with Tom behind her. I quickly scan for injuries. They’re sweaty and bloody from fighting with the Art in Volgaris but I don’t see any serious wounds.

  ‘Is she alright?’ Abby asks, placing a hand on Jules’s forehead. She doesn’t seem at all surprised to discover that the black-brown unicorn just transed into my bodyguard.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘Are we safe?’

  ‘He fled to Iridesca,’ says Tom. ‘We need to hurry. He might return with backup.’

  ‘We need to get her somewhere I can treat her,’ Abby says, wiping the blood from her nose with the back of her hand.

  ‘The roof of the V&A,’ Tom says, pointing to the dome in the distance. ‘That’s where we were headed.’

  We fly upwards, Tom leading as I carry Jules, followed closely by Abby.

  We touch down and I carefully lower Jules onto the part of the glass-panelled roof of the V&A that isn’t smashed. Blue tarpaulins are stretched over large sections of the roof. I’m guessing we have the ravens to thank for that. My wings draw back into my body. I feel them inside me as a comforting presence, waiting for when I need them. It makes me wonder how I could have lived with such power inside me for all these years and never have realised.

  Tom transes back into human form, his kilt and leather jacket reappearing.

  Abby’s wings retract and disappear as she crouches beside Jules, examining her like a paramedic. Jules groans and rolls on her side, curling into a ball.

  Abby produces a small vial from her armoured bodysuit and places it to Jules’s lips. She whispers something that I can’t make out. Some fairy alchemy, I figure.

  Jules swallows the potion, grimaces, coughs and splutters. She’s hurt but alive. She pushes Abby away, setting her off balance.

  ‘Leave me,’ Jules says with a murmured groan.

  ‘I’m just going to check you over,’ Abby says.

  ‘I do not need medical attention,’ Jules says, curling back into a foetal position. A sob escapes her. It’s not pain.

  It’s gut-wrenching, uncontrolled, torment.

  Shame?

  Shame at being scaevus?

  I don’t get it. Everyone keeps telling me fairies don’t do shame or guilt. The Fae say it makes them superior to humans. And humans say it makes them evil. But then they go and do stuff that makes me doubt it.

  It’s not the first time I’ve seen humanity in Jules. When I first met her, she gave the last pyct that was attacking me a chance to live. I’m no expert, but as far as I know, nature doesn’t show mercy.

  I stand there like an idiot, overcome by the magnitude of what Jules has just done. She revealed herself, essentially risking her own life – in more ways than one – to save mine.

  I bend down and rest my hand tentatively on her shoulder.

  ‘I don’t care that you’re a unicorn,’ I say. ‘In fact, I think it’s pretty cool.’

  ‘You should care, Your Highness,’ she says, her voice rough with emotion.

  ‘Well, I don’t. You could trans into a slug and it wouldn’t make any difference to me.’

  ‘I am outside of the natural order, an abomination. I am not worthy to serve you.’

  ‘You’re my friend. And you’ve saved my butt more times that I care to mention.’

  ‘I will tender my resignation immediately.’

  ‘To who?’ I almost laugh, looking around the empty roof of the V&A.

  ‘You must accept it, Your Highness. It’s your duty to enforce the way.’

  ‘Nope. It’s not my way. I’m not doing it.’

  Jules’s tear-streaked face turns towards Tom. ‘Then the duty falls to Master Williams to report me to the Protectorate.’

  In my best impression of a stern royal, I say, ‘What Master Williams witnessed today was First Officer Jules of the Protectorate bravely risking her life to save the heir to the throne. Isn’t that right, Master Williams?’

  I stare imperiously at Tom, awaiting his answer. Instead, he addresses Jules directly.

  ‘You are what you are, and you are exactly who you’re meant t
o be.’

  At that moment I know for sure that I am totally and utterly in love with him.

  ‘Listen, Jules,’ I say, standing up. ‘I’m about to do something that’s most probably dangerous and certainly ill-considered, and there isn’t anyone I would want to watch my back more than you. So, when you’re feeling up to it, on your feet, soldier. I need you.’ I look at Tom and Abby. ‘I need all of you.’

  Abby helps Jules to her feet. She’s still cowering, but whatever alchemical potion Abby gave her seems to be working its magic.

  We make our way around a hexagonal glass dome that forms part of the roof, jumping over raised pipes and air ducts. I examine the lock on the rooftop exit. It gives way easily, with a bit of help from the pin from Tom’s kilt.

  Inside, we weave through the lunchtime crowd towards the Medieval and Renaissance Room.

  It feels like a lifetime ago that I walked this exact corridor on my way to meet Marshall for my birthday lunch. I have to remind myself that it’s only been a few days. When Gladys told me in Tom’s house that I could never go back, I had no idea how true those words would turn out to be.

  And now I wouldn’t want to go back, even if I could. My life before was bleak and lonely, but it was all I had ever known. I made the mistake of thinking that the unhappy familiar was preferable to the risk it would take to change it. I was wrong. My reality and belief in what is possible will never again be so limited. If only I could have understood this without losing Gladys.

  I push the grief and guilt down deep. I need to find the courage to be the person she wanted me to be. If I can’t, I’ll never be able to live with her sacrifice.

  The museum is crawling with tourists, and I’m acutely aware that every one of them has probably seen the news reports about Tom and me. Not to mention that three women in bodysuits and a guy in a kilt aren’t likely to blend in. One phone call to the police is all it will take for it to be over.