“Now I have told you something, you must return the favor.” Her deep blue eyes catch mine and hold them. “They say you are a witch, Rhiannon. Is that true?”
I look into her eyes unwillingly. A witch. I See things, yes. But I didn’t summon pestilence to the town, or cause boils to form on children, or pray to demons for power, make a man die, as they say I did. Not a witch like that.
“No, your Highness.” I press my lips together until they ache.
“Not a witch? Well, I suppose I should have expected as much from Bishop Gantry. He specializes in false accusations. A pity, though. I could have used a witch.”
My heart beats faster and all my wounds burn more fiercely. Used a witch? The princess’ eyes narrow in an emotion, dark and bloody, and I See.
The vision takes me unaware and it hurts this time. Stronger than usual, I feel like fire burns along and under my skin. Knowledge comes with the pictures, and some words, and I try not to drown in it.
I See that the hospices are targets of the Archbishop Montmoore. He and Gantry are attacking anyone using magic outside the kirche. Some have even been burned as witches. I See that several of them were personal students of Her Royal Highness, that the court is divided, that the hospices are not popular. That others are beginning to call her power, magic and otherwise, unholy.
Bishop Gantry points to people and names them witches, calling it the Will of the Lord of Stars. Archbishop Montmoore and others foment rebellion in the courtiers, pitting them against the king, against the princess and her husband the Crown Prince Alexander. They work for the exiled Duke of Torrence, who wants the throne for himself, who promises the kirche more power.
The princess works to curtail the kirche’s power. The kirche is on the brink of declaring her a witch.
I swallow, try to clear a throat thick with fear, to clear my mind, stay afloat within this onslaught. These are things I should not speak of: I have at least learned that much.
Connor, Earl of Dorward steps to my side, grasps my chin with hard hands. “She’s casting a spell; you can see it in her face.” His voice is sharp, cuts my vision in half, and it flutters away in tatters. “What is it, little witch? What spell was that?”
I shudder in his grip, try to turn my head away.
His hand is hard and rough. “She will do you some harm, my lady. You should have left her where she was.”
The princess’ laugh is low and smoky, and Connor drops my chin to glare at her.
“You do not take this seriously enough!”
“You misunderstand, Connor. I take this all too seriously.” She turns to me, and her eyes are more black than blue. “Not a witch, hmmm? Well, I can understand your not wanting to admit it, not after all the trouble it’s caused. But now I know something about you. When you are spelling, your face gives you away. You should try not to gasp and stare at nothing.”
“Not spelling, lady, Princess, your Highness, not really,” I wheeze out, fear shaking my limbs. “I just know things, See things sometimes. I don’t control it, or I would have it go away. I swear to you, I never killed a man or consorted with demons or cursed the name of the Star Lord.” I paw at her sleeve with bandaged, useless fingers, begging her to understand.
“Of course not. Who ever does?” She cuts a glance at Connor. “There is nothing wrong with having magic, Rhiannon. Despite what some people say.”
Connor only clenches his jaw harder. He wants her safe more than he wants to be right. She wants to be right. More knowledge to keep to myself.
The sun catches a gleam in her eye as she turns to me. “Now then, Rhiannon. What sort of things do you See?”
Connor grasps my face again as I turn my head away. My eyes burning, I know Connor is afraid of what I See, afraid I’ll tell her. He glares fiercely into my eyes but I See his heart beating fast, know he loves her quietly, and he would keep it that way. He’s afraid I See more than I do, that I am someone’s tool, that I will get her killed.
“I See —” but Connor’s grip hurts, and I wince away.
“Connor, let her be! She’s not hurting me.”
Connor’s hand tightens, releases, and he turns away. He retreats to the low bench by the table, his lips pressed thin.
“Tell me, Rhiannon, what is it you See?”
“I — your Highness. Sometimes I See things about people: what they want, what they think … what they’ve done. I don’t do it on purpose; I can’t control it. It is not a — comfortable thing.”
The princess smiles kindly, the light glinting in her hair. “No, it wouldn’t be.” Her hand caresses my cheek. “What do you see about me?”
I cannot fill my lungs. Visions pour over me as though willed upon me, and I drown, lost in them. The king, the bishop, men whose names I know without knowing how. A battlefield, a man who smiles too much, secret meetings filled with malice.
My eyes clear to Julianna holding my shoulders, her gaze concerned. I answer as though her grip is the only lifeline in this deluge. Perhaps it is.
“You suspect Bishop Gantry of conspiracy and treason against the king and your husband. You traveled here in secret to try and find out what that conspiracy is. And, and, something about other nobles, and the archbishop …” The princess has a wicked glint of glee in her eye that makes me wary.
Connor stares. In his eyes I also See that she is here without support. The court is angry, they did not want her to marry Alexander. They did not like her late father, and they do not like her.
I bite my lips, aware suddenly that neither of them want me to know that. Those thoughts whisper quietly, inside walls of other, louder thoughts.
Connor still stares, his eyes narrowed. “You came home to Haverston,” he says, “to visit your mother and brother. Or so you informed King Peter. The court believes the king is angry with you.”
“Really, Connor. You know how rumors get started.” She grins, a mischievous glint in her eye. “But you see, that proves it! She couldn’t have known!” Her smile lights the room too bright, and I am forced to look at my disfigured arms, clasped lightly in her dainty hands.
“Now you have proven yourself to me, I shall prove myself to you.”
I look up, confused. “I’ve had to do this in stages, but I think I can complete everything now.”
Her eyes grow focused somewhere on my forehead, and my body becomes all pins and needles. I gasp, shudder as the feeling crawls into my wounds and burrows deep. The air around me grows dim as though smoke or broken bits of night dance around my eyes. My breath roars in my ears; the fever recedes and the tide of pain ebbs.
My eyes clear, as the princess slumps into Connor’s suddenly waiting arms. I stare in alarm at the pair of them.
Connor is glaring again, this time at the princess. She sighs and stirs, and Connor lifts the forgotten water goblet to her lips.
She pushes it away as she opens her eyes. “No, thank you Connor. Not just yet.” Her voice is soft, husky. She lifts herself away from him, and I don’t need the Sight to see how his arms ache without the weight of her.
Connor looks at me, drops his eyes and turns away. He busies his hands with the water pitcher.
“How are you feeling, Rhiannon?”
I startle at her words. I feel stronger now, the pain receding, unraveling, pulled like loose threads from a bad weave.
She unwraps my hands where the burns and shackle wounds are. The bandages come away bloody and soggy, but the body underneath is whole. The princess breathes a laugh as I gawk at skin I thought ruined, fingers I knew to be broken lumps of flesh.
The bandages over the rest of my wounds come off next. Connor leaves the room as she pulls the linen from me, revealing pink winding and jagged scars where the bishop carved symbols. The scars travel the length of my body, from chest to knees. Even my arms down past my elbows are covered with ugly sigils.
Her Highness shakes her head sadly. “There wasn’t any way to prevent those, I’m afraid. Whatever Gantry used to cut them must have bee
n poisonous.” She presses her lips together, as if still thinking of ways to erase the stain of my torture. “I wish I knew what he was trying to do.”
I think of demon teeth and ritual knives, and look away. I try to say “Demons,” but I can’t say anything. Rolling onto my back, I bite back a sob. I may be hideous, but I am alive. I will have to be grateful for that.
Blood flakes off new skin where a scab used to be. I am amazed by my own body, able to lift my arms and move around with no pain. I smell myself and blanch.
Chuckling, the princess calls to Connor to bring water for washing. As she bundles me back under the covers, he steps in and bows sardonically to her.
“I’ll let you in on a secret.” She leans forward, a conspirator against the bowing Connor. He glances up at her as he turns to leave, his brow furrowed with worry for her. “I wasn’t sure it would work this well. I spent quite a bit of my energy this last week, trying to keep you alive.”
Her eyes darken and she grips my shoulder. “I am so sorry for what you went through. Even traitors are treated better. Bishop Gantry is mad. He would never have dared to do this if my mother or brother had been in residence. The kirche may be sovereign to itself, but it does not have the authority to treat Talarian citizens this way.
“Rhiannon, anything I can do to repair damage done to your life, I will do. I cannot bring back your parents, or your brother, but I will make sure you have a life of your own again. That such things could occur in my kingdom makes me ill. I will stop him.”
I had forgotten about Keenan and my parents for a moment. I suck in the chill air of the tower too fast, and cough. Wheezing, I hide my grief behind a need to breathe.
The princess grasps my chin and commands me to breathe slowly. She looks into my eyes and I feel a sliding, a quicksilver presence in my body. I blink and the feeling is gone.
“Damn.” Her lips pursed, she cups my cheek and cocks her head. “I’m sorry, Rhiannon. It seems that I couldn’t Heal your lungs all the way. They’re still damaged: you can only breathe at about half your normal capacity, I’m afraid. I don’t understand why they didn’t heal …” Her voice trails off.
I think of chanting and chittering voices, bael-fire scorching my soul, and I shudder once, my eyes closed. The demon-tainted are burned, too.
The princess drops her hand and looks away, her cheeks growing rosy. “I have no right to ask you, but I must, so I will. Will you help me? To stop Gantry, I mean. I could use a person of your … talents.” She turns again to me, her smile a little sly.
Connor returns with a basin, towels and soap for washing, and bows out of the room. His gaze burns into mine a moment, worry and anger and compassion mixed.
I shake my head and stare at the princess as he leaves. “Help you, your Highness? What could I do?”
“Are you not a witch? Can you not tell what people are thinking?” I blanch again, and she takes my hand. “I have you at a disadvantage, Rhiannon Owen, and I’m sorry for that, but I fully intend to use you, if I can.
“There is a conspiracy against the king. I believe that Bishop Gantry is in the thick of it. Rescuing you from death and torture, while the least I can do for an innocent woman, was done in part to foil his plans.”
She pauses a moment, staring into space. “He preaches against my hospices, and tries to sway public opinion against the crown. The king refuses to act without proof, which is just, but impractical. I believe this man — among others — is capable of setting this country to civil war. And I believe he intends to try something, to start it here in Haverston. I need to stop him.”
Her left hand rests for a moment on her middle, her skin the same color as the pale cream silk stomacher. Then she reaches to push back my hair from my eyes. “I only want to know what he’s planning, what he’s thinking. I don’t expect you to fight him for me, you know. You needn’t look so frightened. And you really should remember to breathe.”
I gasp suddenly at her words, only now realizing that I need air. My hand clenches in hers.
“Will you help me, Rhiannon? I promise you will be safe; I will hide you, and Gantry will never know you still live.”
I sway dizzily and my thoughts chase themselves in circles. What if I am found out? What if I must endure torture again? I can still feel the runes carved into my skin, although soft pink scars stretch the length of my arms now, and my thighs, and belly: not the deep gashes that they were.
I still hear Gantry’s sibilant chants to call the demons. I see their purple, ghostly bodies writhe through a hole in the air. I feel them feed on my blood again, their bael-fire scorching. If anyone were to find out that demons had touched me, my life would be forfeit. What if I can be called, if the demons can find me, if they smell my blood on the wind? I must stay here, to hide, in any case.
I nod, slowly. I will help her, if she will help me. I try to open my mouth to tell Her Highness, but no sound emerges. I am still trying to speak when my lungs protest again my lack of air, and I fade into darkness to the sound of the princess’ cursing calls for Connor.
Chapter Four
I am spending my convalescence in the tower. Julianna comes this morning with a letter from her brother the duke, and reads it to me as I nibble the toast she’s brought. Although her Healing cured the worst of my injuries, I still have lost a lot of blood, and I feel weak and out of breath.
Rain chills the already damp air, and the sound of waves crashing into the cliffs below the castle vibrates deep beneath the sounds of the spring shower. I wrap tighter in the fur cloak Julianna lent me, my lap covered with wool and heavy rugs.
A tray sits on the table next to the bed as I lie back against the thick cushions, my head and shoulders propped up. Daylight, gray and dim today, is augmented by the fire in the grate and glowsand lamps whose spells are fairly new. Greenish-gold light spills from them in steady streams.
Julianna sits perched on the edge of the bed, her face composed. The lamp-and daylight shine on her dove-gray morning dress. Her blue eyes and gold hair gleam like jewels. I stare at her, rapt, and a little frightened. She is stunning, and I am stunned by her.
She reads the letter from her brother. “They’ve been staying at Hugh’s estates in Berdoral, after a few nights hiding to ensure a clean escape. They should return to Haverston in a few weeks’ time.”
Julianna scans the letter further, her lips pursed. “Deacon Bertram claims that Linnet committed suicide.”
I shake my head. No one would believe that — but maybe they would, with everything.
She pauses, eyes me with sympathy. “It’s as well everyone believes it, anyway. No one will look for either of you now.”
I nod, but my hands are shaking.
“Linnet is fine, not ill or injured. You’ll see her as soon as Connor can arrange for a meeting. Oh that reminds me, I should send a missive to the capitol telling Marcus not to send any of my handmaids …” I put the toast down as she looks at me, a gleam in her eye.
She smiles warmly at me, and already I know to worry. “I’ve decided that you will be my handmaid. It will work perfectly! And it will keep Mother from foisting one of her guests on me, who would only get in our way.”
I stare blankly at her. She picks the toast up and puts it back in my hand.
“Marcus is King Peter’s steward. He has some notion that my riding all the way out here away from court with no escort other than Connor stretches propriety.
“Well,” she adds, “I did have Nicole with me, but she met up with her husband as soon as we arrived, and is no longer in my service. Mother’s been lending me Sarah for wardrobe, but she’s really scullery and much too nervous around me.”
I nibble at the toast, feeling a kinship with Sarah.
Connor enters the tower room and bows slightly to the princess. She stands from my bedside, frowning at his carefully blank expression.
Suddenly there is a pale green flash from my skin, and I bare my arms to the elbow, stare at them as the rune scars glow b
right leaf green, then fade slowly. I look up to my rescuers, but neither of them have noticed. I feel on the edge of a vision, and fight it — whatever it is, I don’t want to know.
“Your Highness, there is a visitor to your brother’s castle.”
My stomach roils at Connor’s words, and the vision fights its way through my blocking. I See a thin face with pale blue eyes, dark hair and a black wool cloak over a priest’s robe. Shivering, I drop the last bit of toast and hug myself tighter in the fur.
Connor glances at me, keeping his face neutral.
“What visitor?” Julianna asks sharply.
“The duchess welcomes the Bishop Gantry into her household for an extended visit. She has asked him to assume chapel services from Father Matthew.”
“My mother did what?” Julianna’s voice rises in alarm. She turns to me, and I am small and shrinking in the bedclothes. She hurries to my side and peels my hands from my shoulders. Holding my hands in hers, she reminds me to breathe slowly. I try very hard not to wheeze.
Connor stands where he is near the door. His face still blank, I see his right hand clench and unclench as he gazes at us.
“All right,” Julianna says, “no panicking. We can’t very well have Mother un-invite him. She did say she wanted to keep a close eye on him, although I did not think she would go this far. But we can make this work for us. He’s been staying at the Inquisitor’s building, conducting investigations into reports of witchcraft. Since I arrived, he hasn’t dared to convict anyone. This must be a move on his part to ingratiate himself with the guilds of Haverston, and get closer to his objective: discrediting me. But we can use this to our advantage, as well.”
She takes a massive breath, and expels it, squeezing my hands. “This will make spying on him much easier. No, this is a good thing. We’ll get you disguised, and introduce you into my service … we’ll have to come up with something plausible as a story for why you’re arriving now and not earlier.”
She turns to address Connor. “Rhiannon is going to be your cousin, Connor. Daughter of the baron who died in a fire up north, your father’s third cousin.”
A Ragged Magic Page 3
