by Anna Sheehan
By the time Will was finished with that little burst of Honesty and Wit, her father had buried his head in his hands, and Amaranth and Lavender had turned perfectly, nobly still. Prince Ferdinand looked as if he was trying not to laugh. Will took heart from that.
‘You must forgive my daughter,’ Queen Amaranth said into the stunned silence of the chamber. ‘I fear the cold has befuddled her. She is not at all well.’ She turned to King Ragi. ‘My dear, if you would see to our guest. I must ensure that our dear Willow is properly tended to. Your Highness,’ she added to Lavender. ‘If you would be so good as to assist us?’
‘But of course, Mother,’ Lavender said, standing up so quickly Will suspected Ferdinand had been caressing her again.
Will was seized by two graceful, noble hands and marched quickly and quietly out of the room. Her only comfort was that Prince Ferdinand remained behind with King Ragi.
Amaranth led Will to her private antechamber, a room well appointed for use as a study, with couches and curtains for the use of waiting nobility. The antechamber was much warmer than the chill throne room, a blazing fire dancing in the hearth. Amaranth gestured for Lavender to shut the door. She did so, and then whirled on Will. ‘Willow!’ Lavender screeched. ‘What in the name of all the gods were you thinking!’
I was thinking about Prince Ferdinand nearly consummating his upcoming marriage at court, Will didn’t say.
Amaranth’s voice screeched less, but was no less angry. ‘Have you any idea what you’ve just done?’ she asked. ‘You have publicly insulted your great-uncle, a king of a powerful nation towards which this kingdom owes all allegiance. On a delicate state occasion, you have shown the worst disrespect any noble can show another. You arrive late, in disarray, in your father’s clothes, no less. As if you were the jester, making fun of the entire court! We are trying to prevent a war! I do not know how I shall gather the courage to face that man again. If your father is able to convince him not to run to his coach and return directly to Heidelen, I will be amazed. Where is your head, child?’
They wanted Will to apologize. She knew they did. Lavender was about to demand it outright. ‘I’m not sorry,’ Will said. ‘To let him believe that we agreed with that damned fool wasteful timber plan—’
‘He can believe whatever he wishes,’ Amaranth said. ‘And we can continue to do as we always do.’
‘But don’t you see that letting the populace think you agree with him makes us appear less?’ Will said. ‘If we appear weak in our stance and our dignity, that is more likely to cause unrest.’
‘Insulting King Lesli is likely to start a full-out war!’ Amaranth said. ‘The Hiedelen kings have sacrificed for generations for our people.’
‘The Hiedelen kings as a whole may have done,’ Will said, ‘but I see no sacrifice in Lesli’s history, or in his robbing our country of our gold like a common highwayman! King Lesli’s sacrifice consisted of sending us his least respected, thinnest-blooded relation, hoping he’d be killed and taken off his hands.’
The queen went white at these words, and Will feared she’d have to face her cold wrath. But it was Lavender who turned on her. ‘You impolitic wretch!’ she screamed at her. Amaranth glanced toward the door, afraid the words would travel to the audience chamber. ‘Insulting Father like that!’
‘I have nothing but respect for Father,’ Will said. ‘His blood is mine, but I very much doubt King Lesli’s is, and I owe no honour to him.’
Lavender lunged at Will and grabbed her by the front of their father’s coat. ‘I’m trying to get married!’ she yelled. Tears were streaming down her flower petal skin, falling from her summer sky eyes. ‘You wretched little worm! You’re going to ruin this for me! I can’t live without him!’
‘I don’t see what your betrothal has to do with this,’ Will said.
Amaranth placed her hand on Lavender’s shoulder, trying to calm her. ‘Can’t you see, Willow?’ she said. ‘If we don’t make a good impression on this visit, allow Lesli to feel that his influence in our kingdom is not diminished, he will take it as both a state and personal affront. He will dissolve the alliance and use his considerable influence to cause severe unrest in Lyndaria. There might even be civil war. The only way to quell such unrest would be an indelible alliance with the Heidelen line, marrying the heir to Prince Narvi.’
‘But Prince Narvi is already betrothed. To me,’ Will added with disgust. Narvi was well enough, he was too young to have developed any truly hideous traits, but that didn’t mean Will was thrilled about the idea of being his bride in another seven years.
‘Betrothed,’ Amaranth said. ‘Not wed.’
The full implications of this slowly dawned on Will. She swallowed.
Lavender was still weeping. ‘If Lesli isn’t satisfied with this visit, he’ll forbid my marriage to Ferdinand! Mother, I can’t live without him, Mother! Don’t let her ruin this! We must do something!’
Amaranth cuddled Lavender under her arm. ‘Hush, dear, we’ll do everything we can.’
Comforting Lavender. Where’s my comfort? Will thought. ‘But what would happen to Ferdinand?’
‘Likely banished or executed,’ Amaranth said, ‘if King Lesli’s wishes were to be followed. Which they would have to be.’
Lavender sobbed louder.
Will banished an uncharitable thought of Lavender and herself switching their betrothed, Lavender safely married to Narvi, leaving Ferdinand and Will free to find each other. ‘That wasn’t what I meant to do,’ Will said honestly. ‘But I’m still not sorry for what I said to Lesli.’
‘Oh, you horrid little vixen!’ Lavender said, somehow able to sob without her voice breaking, a trick Will would have killed for. She grabbed Will again. ‘You’ve never been in love! You’ll never be in love! All you love is your self and your magic and your wretched books!’ She ripped Will’s new book out from under her arm. ‘Ach!’ She pointed at the book as if it were an apparition. ‘Mother! Mother, see what she has!’ She pushed The Ages of Arcana under Amaranth’s nose.
Amaranth frowned at the title. ‘Is that what you were doing this afternoon?’ she asked. ‘You snuck out to get a book on magic? On this, of all days?’
‘I … I forgot,’ Will said. ‘I really didn’t know what day it was.’ She’d been trying to forget. She’d been trying to forget everything. She’d been trying to forget Ferdinand’s ice-blue eyes and the chuckling hawk of his laugh and the warmth of his fingers and the sound of his voice. Will was near crying herself. She only wished what Lavender had said was true; Will wished she’d never fallen in love.
‘You’re still doing magic?’ Amaranth looked astoundingly sad. ‘I’ve told you and told you what that would do to the opinion of the populace. Willow, what is wrong with you? Why won’t you listen?’
‘I can’t!’ Will said.
‘You won’t try!’ Lavender said. ‘You never try at anything!’
‘I do try!’
Amaranth shook her beautiful head. ‘Willow, it was magic that caused the interregnum, magic which made the thorns that are still killing innocents every year, magic which made us beholden to Lesli in the first place. Why do you insist on dabbling in something this dangerous?’
‘Yes, magic got us into this,’ Will said. ‘So doesn’t it make sense that it might get us out of it?’
‘It’s been tried,’ Amaranth said. ‘All it does is make things worse. We haven’t found a single spell that will eradicate the thorns. All that happens is they grow angrier, faster, killing more subjects. We abandoned all attempts as too dangerous before you were born. All we can do is slowly choke the briars out, tending the ivy, grafting the more violent bushes with more benign ones. You just have to trust that we know more about these things than you.’
‘You insist you know everything,’ Will said. ‘And everything just stays the same! Maybe you could stop trusting that you know everything and try and learn something new.’
‘Maintaining this country takes experience and wisdom, no
t unproven invention,’ Amaranth said. ‘We can’t afford to fail. It’s too important.’
Will tried to keep her anger only simmering, instead of boiling over. ‘We’re already failing if one little criticism over timber maintenance can cause a civil war,’ she pointed out. ‘Maybe keeping an open mind is just as important.’
‘I know you don’t care what’s really important to this country,’ Amaranth said, which was both insulting and untrue.
Will’s fist clenched. She wanted to hit her own mother, but she wouldn’t dare. ‘You can believe that if you want. I know that you don’t care what’s actually important to me.’ Will had meant to add that the country was just as important to her as her magic, but she didn’t get a chance.
‘You dare say that?’ Lavender cried. ‘You dare say we don’t care? You don’t care about me! You don’t care if I lose my true love! You only care about your stupid magic books!’ She grabbed the book from Amaranth’s hands and flung it at the fire.
Even as it flew Will was sure it would fall to the ground, would bounce against the wall, couldn’t possibly land in the fireplace. The gods couldn’t be so cruel. But it did. Lavender’s aim had been perfect. The Ages of Arcana flew like a bird, its pages spreading open, the ribbon streaming behind it like a tail, a phoenix, ready to rise again from the flames. But it wouldn’t rise again. One of the few books on magic theory that had survived the purge, and it went up in flames.
Will screamed. It was as if Lavender had flung all that was left of her heart along with that book. ‘No!’ Will shouted. She dived for the fireplace, trying to grab the book from the flames before too much damage was done. It was hopeless. It was a cold day, and the flames had been burning hot, to fight the chill. Her hand closed on the fiery book and tried to pull it from the flames, but it crumbled to burning ash. The pain didn’t register for a moment. Then Will screamed again. It hurt too much to be real. The sleeve of her shirt caught fire. Her very face was smarting, and strands of her hair singed in little comets past her eyes. Lavender started screaming. Amaranth lunged for Will and pulled her from the fire, smothering the flames in her fine burgundy skirts.
Will’s hand was in agony, but it was better than the pain in her heart. She stared up at her sister, her perfect Beautiful, Kindly, Noble, Patient, Graceful, horrible sister. She had everything. She had all the best virtues. She had the kingdom’s respect. She had Ferdinand. And she had to burn the only thing Will did have. ‘You didn’t!’ Will yelled at Lavender. Her voice sounded deep and deadly, as if it came from someone else’s chest, or through a long tunnel. ‘Why did you do that! Why did you have to do that? I’ll kill you, you hear me? I’ll kill you! Why did you do that?’
Lavender had stopped crying and was staring at Will, realizing, belatedly, exactly what she had done. She did have the virtue of Kindness, after all. But her lack of Mercy had burnt Will’s own heart. Will curled in on her injured hand and sobbed and sobbed.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lavender whispered, but Will was past caring what she said. Her very world was reduced to flames. It was only one book, but it seemed to represent everything, her hopeless love for Ferdinand and her hideous, useless place in the family and her despicable penchant for magic and the general wretchedness of her life. All of it was fire, burning her, until she was nothing but the pitiful black ash of those pages, unreadable, lost forever.
Then Will felt her father’s arms around her and he lifted her to her feet. Will was already at the seventh level of her own personal hell when she discovered there was a hitherto unknown eighth level waiting for her. Lavender’s screams had made her swain come running, and not only was Ferdinand witnessing Will’s pitiful sobbing, but half the populace of the audience chamber seemed squeezed around the open door of Amaranth’s antechamber. Will couldn’t be certain, but she thought the court recorder was still taking notes. She let her head drop onto her father’s shoulder. King Lesli of Hiedelen was standing a little behind the crowd, only visible because he, like Will, was half a head taller than everyone else. Not as tall as King Ragi, but taller than the Lyndarons. He was watching Will with eyes like razors. There was really only one thing to do. Will grabbed her chest and cried, ‘Oh! Oh, my heart!’
It wasn’t really a lie. Her heart was indeed broken. Her next actions were the lie. Will rolled her eyes back in her head and pretended to fall into a dead faint.
There. Will wasn’t at all well. Maybe now everything could be smoothed over.
Chapter 5
* * *
I debated with myself for hours before I decided to even leave the burrow. I finally left only because our ma had returned, and there really wasn’t much space. Sometimes we could huddle together and tell stories, or use our smallest magics (never the spinning magic, but other kinds) to entertain each other in our tiny, chill space, but I wasn’t up to it this evening. Our ma had risked her very life stealing a chicken to make a broth for the kit, and stealing always made her irritable. She wished she didn’t have to, but even if we could have gotten our hands on some money, no one would sell anything to her. Making us Nameless had forced us into being criminals, in a self-fulfilling prophecy. Our ma with her wings was more obviously a faerie than me. More clearly a faerie, and more obviously Nameless. The kit and I were very pleased we’d inherited Da’s more earthly magic, and weren’t cursed with useless, Nameless wings.
I missed Da. He’d finally left after the kit was born Nameless, and he knew there’d never be any hope for us. We weren’t sure where he’d gone. Back down into the earth, or left Lyndaria, lost in his fox form. It didn’t matter. We’d never see him again. The kit didn’t even remember him.
There was only one place to go unless I wanted to wander aimlessly in the cold, and I didn’t. I kissed the kit goodbye and told her I was heading for the club.
The club was in fact an abandoned townhouse off the market. It was condemned, falling down in places, and extremely dangerous. It was also where every magician in Lyndaron gathered to meet.
There were never any formal meetings. For those who could read, a board was up in what had once been the parlour, asking questions and dropping hints about certain spells, or some Morality Coalition which was cracking down on magic in this or that neighbourhood. It was close enough to several taverns, so it was easily accessible. Magic was so looked down on that we kept the club a clandestine affair, only telling other magicians of its existence and its location. This was the third house the club had been housed in in two years. I rather liked this place, though the sagging floors worried most of the others. I’d surreptitiously spun some strength into the ageing foundation shortly after the club had taken residence there. I was far and away the strongest magician who ever frequented the club, but I kept that fact as closely guarded as the shape of my ears.
I ducked in through the kitchen window, the only entrance which hadn’t been nailed over. Even inside I was careful to keep my hood up to hide my ears. It didn’t look out of place. The temperature had dropped, and everyone was huddled against the cold, despite the feeble attempt at a smokeless witchfire someone had thoughtfully coaxed into the crumbling kitchen hearth.
The members of the club were of course all magic users. Magic being almost illegal, viewed in the same light as prostitution and gambling, they were also all thieves, cutpurses, whores, liars, sluts, and scoundrels. They were also the closest thing I’d ever had to friends.
I never really knew why, when I couldn’t be completely honest even with them. They did not know I was a Nameless fae. But it was probably for the same reason the princess wanted to meet with me; magicians tend to stick together. We couldn’t meet up outside the club – if one person was found out, all of his or her acquaintances would fall under the same suspicion.
When I ducked into the otherwise empty kitchen, I was greeted by Shadow. We called him Shadow because he was a pickpocket. Most of the members of the club knew only a handful of spells. Faeries are born with magic. Most humans have to learn it, acquire it, build it wit
h rhymes or music or ritual. I could use these things too, but ultimately I didn’t have to. In theory, as a faerie, any spell I knew I could will into being. In truth, we too were often specialized. I was a spinner. I could do other magic, and spinning magic was a skill I could strengthen, but it wasn’t something I could ultimately teach. I could teach how to spin a fine even thread, but to use that spinning for magical purposes wasn’t a gift that was easily passed on.
Shadow knew a shadow spell which made him semi-invisible of an evening. I knew he wasn’t going to stay much longer. The sun was setting, and the night market taverns would be in force until first curfew. The curfew wasn’t deeply enforced. No one breaking it would be arrested, but they would be told to run along home. Mostly the curfew kept people from loitering in the streets after fourth night bell. ‘Aren’t you running late?’ I asked him.
‘Well, if it isn’t the old rumpled one. Haven’t seen you about in a while.’
I grinned. ‘Rumples’ was the closest thing I had to a name. Old rumples or rumpled or rumple. It was because of the excessively baggy clothing I wore to hide my spindles. It wasn’t a real name, because even that wouldn’t stick to me. No one here really noticed that I’d never shared a name, and rarely noticed that even ‘rumpled’ was more a descriptor than a nickname. Most of us went by descriptors here, anyway – it wasn’t always safe to have a name to share. ‘I’ve been here,’ I said. ‘You’re usually gone by the time I come. Why aren’t you out at the taverns?’
‘Oh, there’s gossip from the big house,’ Shadow said. ‘Pretty sketchy yet, but the agony sheets’ll be coming out just after first night bell. I’ll be following the printers. They’ll all be too hung up on the gossip in the broadsheets to notice a little Shadow, slinking amongst them.’
