by Anna Sheehan
For you and me. I stared at her, sitting on the edge of the frozen fountain in the lamplight. She was risking everything for the chance to improve her skill. ‘Isn’t it?’ I asked her. ‘Do you think you could just stop using magic, just because someone says you should?’
She smiled wistfully and pulled off her snow-filled muff. ‘Does it look like I could?’ she said, holding up her burned hand. She gazed balefully at the burns and moved to put the muff back on.
This was it. The perfect opportunity to earn her trust. ‘Wait,’ I said. I forced her back onto the edge of the fountain, pulled the wet muff off again, and examined the burns. ‘I might be able to do something for that.’
‘I tried already,’ the princess said. ‘But I don’t have any spells for healing burns. A few for cuts, but nothing for burns. They wouldn’t adapt.’
‘I’ve got something.’
‘What?’ she asked, interested.
There was nothing for it. All my other magics were too small to heal burns this deep. I thought about this. ‘Close your eyes,’ I said.
‘Why?’
‘Because the spell will work better,’ I lied. The lie parched my throat. Faeries have the natural virtue of Honesty. I swallowed the burn away and reached for my drop spindle. Damn. I’d forgotten I’d already woven the Sleep onto it. The last of my wool had been used for the final catchment, that would let the spell loose when the thread was unwound. Well … maybe that was for the best. I couldn’t have her realizing my magic was anything spectacular. She might suspect me. Instead I used the opportunity to plant the spindle in the hood of her cloak. Hopefully it wouldn’t start to snow and she wouldn’t pull the hood up until she got back to her palace. By then, I’d be far away, and no one would be able to blame me for it.
Then, of course, I was forced to try and pull a healing spell out of sheer willpower. Actually, her having her eyes closed probably would help, here. I placed my hands on her shoulders, to distract from the pressure of what I’d just placed in her hood. ‘Think about your other hand,’ I said, keeping my voice low. ‘Think about how it feels to not be in pain.’ I took her injured right hand in mine. It was very cold, and very, very smooth. She hissed. ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘Think about not feeling pain.’
I placed my thumb atop one of the deepest blisters. She hissed again. ‘Ow!’
‘Shh!’
Without a single tool I twisted the state of her two hands together in my mind, twisting the healthy hand over the injured one. ‘Thy pain be done, there will be none,’ I muttered, twisting the spell into the words. As a human, words would work much better than pure mind magic. She needed the focus. I looked at her face. Her nose was less than an inch from mine. She had opened her eyes. I hadn’t realized how little they looked like the queen’s famous sky-blue ones. Hers were grey and ominous, like a winter’s storm. She had very long lashes. The scent of roses was enough to make me dizzy. ‘Can you remember that?’ I whispered.
‘I think so,’ she answered, and I could feel her breath against my skin.
‘Repeat that when it starts to hurt.’
She seemed to have trouble finding her voice, and her eyes were fixed on mine. ‘Th-thanks,’ she said.
I pulled away a little. Didn’t want her to realize I was trying to seduce her. ‘It’s getting late.’
‘It is.’
‘And you have your spell.’
‘I do.’
‘You should be getting back to the palace.’
I could tell she didn’t want to. She looked very reluctant as she said, ‘You’re right.’
I could barely wait for her to leave. The presence of my drop spindle in her hood made me uncomfortable. I thought at any moment that she’d discover it, and accuse me of something. Though I didn’t think she would recognize the sleep woven into the spindle, not being exposed to spinning magic. ‘Fare thee well, Highness.’
‘Will,’ she said firmly.
I did not want to give her her name. I flashed the book at her to remind her I was taking it. She’d probably never see it, or me, again. ‘Goodnight.’
Chapter 8
Will
That roguish Reynard was up to something. Will didn’t trust him an inch. As he slipped out the door she recited one of her favourite spells.
Evening shadows, autumn shadows,
Come to find a certain space
Dawning shadows, sunset shadows,
Bathe me in thy dusky grace
Brightness now will I abandon
I must be as dark as thee
I will shun the light of heaven,
Evening shadows, come to me.
The book she’d gotten it from called it a shadow spell. It was all but useless during the day, but at night it would almost turn her into a shadow. So long as she kept to darkish places she was nearly invisible. Moreover, it made her silent as a shadow. It wasn’t really an invisibility, but it had served the purpose well enough in the past. Will loved it, as it was one of those spells that wrapped around her and made her feel powerful, but she didn’t use it often; it made her tired, and as a spell it felt dark – sinister. It was a spell that gave one the power to do very unsavoury things. But if Will was going to know anything about Reynard, she knew she had to balance the risks with the rewards.
She became a shadow and followed him.
At first it was difficult. He moved much more quickly than she did, and he too had a tendency to stick to the shadows, so it was hard to keep an eye on him. While they were in the city Will was panting trying to keep up with him. But after some time he turned down a side street where the snow had not been churned to a muddy slush, frozen now in the night air. The barely disturbed snow showed only a few footprints, including a fresh set which belonged to her magician. Will followed, carefully setting her feet directly in his footsteps.
Once she had footprints to follow she let him go on ahead. She hardly had the energy to keep up with his long strides, anyway. By the gods, he was tall. It unnerved her. They followed the side road until suddenly Reynard’s footprints turned and set off across country. They passed through a meadow, where the only footprints were Reynard’s and a few rabbits’. Beyond the meadow was a copse of trees, followed by some fallow winter fields. The moon was obscured by clouds, but the sky glowed with its light. Everything was grey and blue, and seemed to be asleep. Despite Will’s shadow spell, her footsteps still squeaked slightly in the snow.
At first Will thought that Reynard was heading toward some farm house, but as she passed through the little copse and looked out across the fields she knew that was not the case. Mistress Cait’s enchanted forest loomed ahead of her, and Reynard’s footprints headed directly toward it.
Will frowned. The enchanted forest wasn’t exactly welcoming to casual visitors. Still, Reynard had gone there. She would go only to the border, and see where he had entered.
Will’s shadow spell blinked out as she left the copse and let herself be exposed to the moonlight. She hesitated. If he was still within sight of her, he could hardly miss her coming, a dark, hulking form against the snow. Finally she shrugged. What had she to lose? She followed.
As she approached the enchanted forest she was struck by the sheer size of the trees there. Twice as wide as ordinary trees, they were as tall as some of the turrets of the palace. The only plant she’d seen nearly that size were some of the briars which had been left to overrun the disused East Wing of the palace. That section of the palace was now so overrun with thorns it was a deathtrap with walls. Apparently the chamber Queen Amaranth had slept in was up one of those towers. Will had never been in there, stilling spell or no.
Her shadow spell flickered back as she stepped into the shadows. She let loose a little breath of relief. She was pleased to see that Reynard’s footsteps did not plunge into the forest but instead skirted alongside. She followed them, darting between the border trees, until she smelled smoke. Smoke? Did he have a cottage in there, then? It was risky business, living by the e
nchanted forest; the trees were known to grow up through your sitting room of an evening.
Will crept forward, listening. She thought she heard voices. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but one voice was clearly Reynard’s. The others were higher, feminine. She poked her head from around a tree, but saw no house. Only Reynard’s footprints, which vanished into a hole that glowed from beneath the roots of a tree. Did he have some kind of underground fastness, then? That made sense for a magician.
It didn’t matter. If she ever needed him, she knew where to find him now.
She skulked her way out of the border forest and back into the fields. Across the fields she could see a few scattered lights from Lyndaron, lit by those who started their day before the cock’s crow. The twisted towers of the palace grew above the town, like a little thornbush all its own. With its spires and towers it was as pretty as the briar roses, and seemed just as deadly.
Will had walked farther than she’d intended, and had a long walk back to the palace, but she took it with relish. She could spend the day ‘convalescing’ in her room after her ‘attack’ yesterday. It was the perfect excuse to avoid having to deal with King Lesli. If she was extremely tired and spent the day sleeping, so much the better.
She was weary but content as she neared the palace. She didn’t feel quite up to experimenting with Reynard’s altered spell, and besides, it was already full morning. Rather than brave the thorns and her secret passage, Will approached the palace from the front, heading toward the main entrance.
The main entrance was heavily protected by ivy and walls, a broad carriageway bordered by footmen and guards. It should have been perfectly safe. Indeed, as Will came through the front gates she spied a handful of palace children and young people engaged in a sprightly snowball fight in the gardens. She even caught sight of Lavender, laughing merrily as she pelted Prince Ferdinand again and again with snowballs, which he seemed to be going out of his way to be struck by. He had snow in his yellow hair, and his fine features were red with the cold. And there was Will’s nine-year-old betrothed, the odd one out of the bunch, being systematically slaughtered by the Lyndar noblemen’s children.
That didn’t seem at all fair. Narvi was the only Hiedelen child there, and it wasn’t his fault that his grandfather had designs on the kingdom. Narvi was shy and quiet naturally, and he kept trying to laugh off the attacks, but his coat was caked with snow, and as Will watched a snowball hit him in the face with enough force to bruise.
Will shook her head, almost amused. This was likely the most fun she was liable to have with her husband-to-be, for at least some years. She decided it would be prudent to join in the fray, give her young betrothed someone to watch his back. She shouted and waved, announcing herself to the snow party.
Lavender started and stared at her, as if ashamed that she’d been caught out at something so undignified as a snowball fight. She hadn’t thought such things beneath her dignity even three years ago. Will had to hand it to Ferdinand – he had reminded Princess Lavender that there was fun to be had in the world.
But Lavender’s gaze glanced from Will to Narvi, and Will saw her turning to Ferdinand. Will realized that she was probably a sore point with Lavender just then. Lavender was still a bit of a sore point with Will, but at least Will wasn’t dwelling on it. She took a step back, debating the merits of joining in, or simply giving a distant curtsey and seeking out her bed.
Before she had made a decision, she felt something wrap around her ankle.
She knew it was the briars without even looking. She was standing rather close to the hedge, although the thorns in this part of the hedge didn’t usually reach out for people. Will was royalty, though, and the hedge had a taste for royal blood. Fortunately her ankle was wrapped in a heavy winter boot, so it hadn’t pierced her flesh yet. Will sighed. This wasn’t the first time she’d had to sacrifice her fingertips to the thorns to rescue an ankle or the hem of her skirt. She tried to remember the alterations Reynard had suggested for the stilling spell.
But Lavender screamed as if Will was about to die. Will looked up, bemused, and saw Lavender rushing toward her, Ferdinand hot on her heels. The palace children mostly stared in numb stillness, but Will spied Narvi quickly running in the opposite direction. Oh, my brave swain! she thought, rolling her eyes. ‘I’m fine!’ she tried to call to Lavender, but Lavender was too busy screaming Will’s name in panic.
‘Willow! Willow!’ Lavender fell prostate at her feet, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the thorns, which were slowly tightening around Will’s leg.
‘Really!’ Will tried to explain. ‘It’s all right!’ Then she realized that Lavender had no idea that Will dodged through the thorns on a regular basis. Lavender had no interest in all the studies Will had done on the hedge. Will knew how the thorns worked, how quickly they were apt to attack, how deeply embedded one had to be before it was impossible to extricate oneself. Lavender knew none of this. She only knew that once the thorns had hold of you, they slowly bled your life away.
Her panic was only making things worse. The thorns reacted to fast movements, and new tendrils reached out from the hedge, grasping at Lavender’s skirts. ‘Get back,’ Will told her. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’ But Lavender was making a high-pitched cry of panic that drowned Will’s words. Ferdinand arrived then, and of course he made to rescue Lavender. He pulled the reaching briars from her skirts with a ripping noise. Suddenly he hissed with pain as a long thorn pierced his hand.
That did it. Will opened her mouth to recite the stilling spell.
She knew she had no one to blame but herself. Will knew the old version of the spell very well, and when her mouth began reciting it should have gone with the old recitation rather than experiment with the new one without preparation.
For everything that grows and every leaf
That hangs upon the climbing vine or tree
with sweet flower, and belief,
Blessed with flower, and belief
That my poor will can overpower thee
For I am nature’s strength, her arm and hand
That can, for beauty’s sake, bind the fruitful bounty of the land.
It was abysmal. She forgot the word of power and tried to insert it afterwards, and then forgot how much of the verse to cut. Whatever Will had done to the spell, it wasn’t going to do what she wanted. The thorns suddenly went wild, constricting around her legs and grasping at Ferdinand’s hands. He pulled away with a sudden cry, and a huge gash opened on his palm. Will was too distracted to worry about Ferdinand at that moment, however, as the thorns thrashed, throwing herself and Lavender, still tangled hopelessly in the briars, high over his head.
‘Oh, you wretched fool!’ Lavender cried out, her voice sounding beautiful amidst its high panic. She hung upside down, and her autumn colored hair was pierced through with combs of briars. ‘What did you have to do that for!’
‘What did you have to go panicking for?’ Will retorted, trying to wrestle her arm free. ‘If you’d just stayed put I’d have been over to join you in two breaths!’
Lavender didn’t respond, except for a scream as another bramble twisted around her skirts.
‘Hang on to me!’ Will shouted. She was going to get that stilling spell to work if it killed her! ‘Do you hear me? Lavender, hold on to me, I’ll get us out of this!’
Lavender looked both doubtful and desperate. She had no faith in magic, but she wasn’t about to reject her current only hope of rescue. ‘You’ll just make things worse!’ she cried, grabbing for Will’s hood.
‘How could things get worse?’ Will asked, and Lavender didn’t respond except by grabbing hold of her even tighter. A thorn was digging into Will’s thigh and her arms were twined round with them and her foot was starting to go numb, but all of those were pleasant compared to Lavender’s graceful arms, which were, annoyingly, around Will’s throat, preventing her from uttering another word, let alone a chant.
Will still thought she
might get them out of there herself, but it would have been an iffy thing. Rescue was at hand, however, and a series of jarring thumps shook the briars. Gasping for breath around Lavender’s stranglehold, Will glanced down to spy Ferdinand hacking at the base of the briar that held them with a broken battle axe. Standing behind him was Narvi, out of breath, holding the broken end of the axe. Will’s opinion of her betrothed went up a good few notches. The boy had had the presence of mind to go and fetch the axe from one of the front doorkeepers at the palace.
Will did manage to get a muffled, ‘Let go!’ out of her strangled throat, and Lavender loosened her hold. Will took some much needed gasps of air and began the first line of the stilling spell. ‘For everything that grows, and every leaf—’
She didn’t get a chance to finish any more, as Ferdinand had finally hacked through the key stalk. The briar that held them stiffened, then loosed its hold. They fell eight feet to the ground, and Lavender’s grip tightened around Will’s shoulders again. Even Will shrieked as they fell. They landed with a bruising thump on the snow, and Will felt something snap under her back as they landed. She was afraid it was a bone, and wondered if it was her own or Lavender’s but was too stunned to feel any specific pain. Lavender had landed first, and Will had landed on top of her, and some terrible bruising force had crunched under Will’s substantial weight.
Ferdinand dragged them away from the hedge, and Will pulled herself off Lavender as quickly as she could. She was frightened. Lavender wasn’t screaming or sobbing or laughing hysterically. That wasn’t like Lavender. Will turned and stared at her in horror. She was completely unconscious, and a smear of red blood shone stark on the white snow where they had landed. ‘Lavender?’
But Will’s cry was utterly overpowered by Ferdinand’s, who rubbed Lavender’s hands and touched her face and loosened her cloak. A piece of stick was embedded in Lavender’s right shoulder – too high, Will thought, to be fatal, but it would have ruined any prospective career as a soldier. Her mind, still in a panic, was unable to separate important thoughts from trivial ones. She thought of all of Lavender’s skills, and decided dancing and diplomacy would be unaffected, depending on the damage her table manners might need to be adapted, and it was possible, but not likely, that her embroidery would suffer. And off the shoulder evening gowns were going to be a thing of the past, unless she opted for a sash of some sort …
