A Ragged Magic

by Lindsey S. Johnson

  “This way, cousin,” I hear at my side, and Connor takes my arm and leads me to the gentry box.

  I let out a shaky breath. “Good morning, cousin,” I say, and catch his small smile from the corner of my eye. I realize he’s looking meaningfully at me, and the ladies, who are all staring. I let him lead me, fumble for some conversation. “What a lovely chapel. I am so glad to, uh, see it.”

  “I’m happy you feel up to it today, cousin,” he says. The ladies still stare, but my stomach trembles as he hands me into a seat in the back row of the box, and I decide that’s enough conversation for now.

  Connor takes the seat next to me, which I gather is not usual, as everyone now has to turn and raise eyebrows. Several ladies frown at him, and all of them start to whisper. I find it amazing how little noise six whispering people can make, and yet still echo in open space of the chapel. I stare fixedly at my hands, clenched together.

  Two of the ladies turn and smile in a pointed fashion. “Good morning, my lord, my lady,” Lady Geneve says. “It is so wonderful you could join us this morning. Are you recovering, Lady Rhia?”

  I swallow once, try to find my tongue. “Yes, thank you, Lady Geneve. It is kind of you to inquire,” I say, attempting a smile.

  She reaches over and pats my hand, glances at Connor, and back again. “So kind of your cousin to escort you today,” she says, and I wonder again where he usually sits. With Julianna, probably. I feel a little guilty.

  “I could not let my cousin go unescorted, Lady Geneve. She is not used to such a grand castle as this. I wouldn’t want her to feel overwhelmed.” I stop feeling guilty and instead try not to scowl. True or not, that was just patronizing.

  “Your concern does you credit,” says the older woman, Lady Charlotte, in a voice that suggests she doesn’t expect to give him credit.

  I raise my eyebrows, but the ladies turn back around and Connor’s face is merely tightly pleasant, when I look.

  But now comes the hard part, and I am distracted. Gantry has entered, and the congregation drops silent. He looks out at them, at us, and I try not to feel like a small, hunted thing. He doesn’t even glance at me, I try to reassure myself. Orrin follows behind the bishop, quiet in his brown robes, not looking at anyone in particular. I try not to look at him, either. Connor would notice for sure.

  The sermon starts abruptly. Gantry’s dark robes sway with his vehemence. His words are rather obviously pointed. I wonder what Her Royal Highness will have to say.

  “I hear from my fellow kirchemen that there are grumblings in Haverston. That the prophet Ashere is leading the kirche astray, that the woman Tejal is the true prophet, and our people should follow the lead of countries like Indranah and Zohar. Even some exalted people have been saying this, all over Talaria.

  “I cannot speak for other men. But I know this: Prophet Ashere is the one true prophet. We have and will follow his edicts. And when he tells us that magic not sanctified by light, of people not given to the light, not of the chosen of the Star Lord, is magic bound to the dark, to demons — then he is telling us what is true.”

  I keep my head down, not looking in his flat eyes, his burning expression.

  Connor puts his hand on my fidgeting knee. A jolt of energy shoots up my leg to my spine, and I have to work to contain the startled jump that wants to leap out. I look at him, and find his gaze on me, steady and clear. Taking as deep a breath as I can, I try to relax my limbs.

  He leaves his hand for a moment longer, looking forward. I look up before I can stop myself. Gantry faces this way. I duck my head, but his focus is above us, to the balcony.

  “We are only as safe as our laws and rules allow. But crude law is not the only power. You must turn to the Prophet, turn to the Star Lord. The edicts are to save you all. No matter the earthly laws, follow divine laws for the sake of your souls. Ignore them, and sickness and death will be your reward.”

  I don’t know what Julianna’s face looks like from here, above and behind us as she is. But Connor’s face is stone. The kind of stone I would be afraid to come across in the dark. Or the light.

  I keep my gaze away from Gantry as he continues, his voice buzzing uncomfortably, raking along my nerves. I don’t know if this is his usual routine, but there is no music, no stop for chanting, no ritual call and response. The congregation is silent and blank-faced. There’s no joy here. If he is this grim at every service, I am glad the castle dictates chapel only twice a week for devoted attendance.

  The service ends abruptly as Gantry raises his hands in supplication to the Star Lord, intoning “The Light and the Path.” The congregation fumbles into response.

  I mumble “… the Path,” and watch, wary, as the bishop stands above us, staring. After a moment, everyone starts to stand, murmur, file out. The normal ceremony of the service is off kilter, and Gantry is happy to have it so. I can feel his grim satisfaction; I don’t need the Sight for that.

  Lady Charlotte turns to Connor, who is waiting for them to file out. “Did you enjoy the service, my lord?”

  “Very edifying, Lady Charlotte,” he says, and they smile politely at one another.

  I press my own lips into a banal smile and nod at anyone who looks my way.

  Connor’s hand under my elbow pulls me up, and I try not to flinch at his touch. I feel raw from the service, all my nerves exposed.

  Lady Charlotte notices my flinch, anyway, and I can see her filing it away for gossip later. She smiles at me some more, and I smile back, but neither of us mean it. Suddenly I am exhausted.

  Duchess Marguerite and Julianna emerge from the stairs to the balcony, and approach the group of ladies.

  Marguerite smiles at everyone, then calls out to Gantry. “My Lord Bishop, she says, and everyone left in the chapel stops as he turns and descends from the altar.

  “Your Highness, your Grace,” he says, bowing. He glances at Connor and me. “My lord,” he says to Connor, and now I’ll have to be introduced, and I grip Connor’s hand on my arm like a vice.

  “I present my cousin, Lady Rhia Wolff fitzWellan,” Connor says quietly. He nudges me and belatedly I curtsey, keeping my face down.

  Gantry bows briefly, but his attention returns to Julianna immediately. I do not like the look I see in his eyes when I glance up. He looks avaricious.

  Connor’s hand is rigid on my arm, although his expression betrays only bland interest. When I straighten, he lets go and starts to leave. Before I can follow, Duchess Marguerite reaches past me for Gantry’s arm. He stiffens in affront, and I am stuck.

  “My Lord Bishop, now that you have taken over service for several weeks, I must wonder if you intend to continue with such … plain ceremonies,” the duchess says. “We have many reasons to sing and pray, along with the lectures on holiness.” She smiles sweetly at Gantry, who frowns back.

  “Your Grace, I speak to the needs of this community,” he begins, and the duchess raises her hand to stop him.

  Julianna just stands serene, smiling at her mother.

  “Lord Bishop,” the duchess says, “I understand you have much to impart to our humble duchy. We are a much smaller community than the usual bishopric. Although I believe you have yet to be assigned to this bishopric, my lord? Or indeed, any?”

  The duchess sharpens her smile. “And of course, our town has different customs than you are used to. Here, we do not require our citizens to be dedicated to the light. If one desires it, or is joining the kirche, then it is a lovely ceremony. But we have citizens who are Qorial, and those who worship Pavali, as well. As surely there are in Corat, and all over Talaria.”

  Gantry scowls, but Marguerite smiles sharply and will not let him break in. “And while many of us are indeed dedicated to the light, my children, myself, and my late husband included, I have spoken to King Peter myself on the topic, and he says that he will not require it of his citizens.”

  “Your Grace,” Gantry tries.

  “Keep this in mind, Lord Bishop. I require that you keep that ve
ry strictly in mind. From now on.” She stops smiling, and it is a very chill moment in the chapel.

  “Your Grace,” he says, and pauses.

  Duchess Marguerite stares him down. I can only admire her.

  “I will bear it in mind,” he says, not graciously at all, but she nods.

  “Songs, young man. And some of the joyous lectures. Dorei is celebrated for her great love and kindness, after all. And the Star Lord is our heart in the heavens.”

  “So we are told, your Grace.”

  “See that you remember it,” she says, her smile returning. All of us bow and curtsey as she turns to leave. Most of her ladies leave with her, but several stay, talking just within earshot. They aren’t fooling anyone.

  Julianna beams at us all. “My mother is a wise woman, my Lord Bishop.”

  Gantry looks up from his bowing, straightens, and the gleam of hate in his eyes returns. I bite my lip. “She is pious and follows all the holy laws,” he says, his eyebrows raised.

  “Yes, so she does. We are all of us in love with my mother. Every last person in the duchy and castle, down to the smallest child.”

  “And yet you yourself are not so beloved by your people, your Highness. It is a pity.” He narrows his eyes at her, glances at Connor. “Excepting for some of your favorite pets, of course. I do worry for you so. It has been such a trying several years for you, since your hasty marriage to the prince. It must be good to be home, where you can be sure of a kind welcome.”

  Julianna raises her eyebrow. “I most certainly can be sure of kind welcome here. Almost everyone can.”

  I try to edge my way past. Connor waits for me, but Gantry’s arm brushes my hand as he gestures. I gasp, my vision goes dim. Sparks travel the length of my spine, all along the scars on my body.

  I look up to see Gantry’s eyes widen as he turns to me. All I can see are his eyes again. It’s over, I know it’s over.

  “Clumsy oaf!” Gantry exclaims, and I shrink back, panting. I hear a clang and the muffled thumps of bodies colliding.

  Orrin sprawls half on Gantry, ceremonial wine spilled and spreading on the floor. The ladies let out squeals and cries of dismay as they stumble back from the spreading stain, and I let them take me with them.

  Orrin looks up and catches my eye. I nod to him, almost weeping, and Connor’s hand is under my elbow, all but dragging me from the chapel. I hear Gantry castigating Orrin all the way down the hall.

  I cannot catch my breath. My vision swirls in sparks and blurs, and I struggle to keep my feet under me as we hurry up the stairs and all the way to Julianna’s rooms.

  “What was that about?” Connor demands as he deposits me in a chair. I wheeze, but do not answer.

  “Connor, what are you talking about?” Julianna asks, coming in behind us.

  “Ask her. She has something going on with that acolyte. Answer me, damn you,” he says, grabbing my chin. “Have you been a spy all along?”

  “Honestly, Connor. Do you think she tortured herself?” Julianna snaps. He has the grace to wince, look chagrined. “And Robere himself vouched for her innocence, you told me.”

  But no one told me. My lungs start to relax, but my mind is going in circles.

  “There is something between her and that new acolyte, I can tell you that,” he says. They both look at me. Julianna trusts that he’s right about that, at least. And he is.

  “He, he,” I gulp. “His name is Orrin. He was a friend of my brother’s. He, uh, he recognized me.” I say, and Connor swears, begins to pace. “He won’t give me away. He promised.”

  Connor stares at me like I’m simple. Julianna stares at me with pity. I’m not fond of either look.

  “He loved Keenan. He wouldn’t — he doesn’t even want to be an acolyte to Gantry.”

  “Good. Then he won’t object to leaving,” Connor says.

  “No, he won’t. I told him one of you might write to Cardinal Robere, have him transferred somewhere safe.” I try to get my breath under control.

  “That will take too long. I’ll simply take him, removing him from the castle should be enough.” Connor turns to leave.

  “What? No! You can’t do that!” I cry.

  Julianna shakes her head, too. “That would be suspicious, Connor.”

  He turns to glower at us both. “More suspicious than harboring a dead witch?”

  “She’s not a witch, Connor! And she’s right here!” Julianna yells.

  “Yes, here, where Gantry or anyone else might recognize her at any moment. Putting her life in danger again, as well as yours!” He’s yelling, too, which isn’t like him.

  But I’ve thought of something. “I am a witch,” I say, and they both turn to look at me. “Rhiannon Owen was recorded as a witch in the Guildhall by now. A dead witch, as you say.”

  They both wince.

  “I only meant,” Julianna says, but Connor cuts her off.

  “You are Rhia Wolff fitzWellan. Anyone who says differently will answer to me.” His voice and eyes are grim.

  “Even you,” Julianna snaps.

  He grimaces. “Fine. You are Rhia Wolff fitzWellan. My cousin and ward.”

  “Orrin won’t challenge that,” I argue. “Is it fair to ruin his life just because he loved my brother? He is an acolyte — he has a calling to the kirche. Should he just disappear? How would the cardinal ever fix that? You can — I know you can ask him for a favor. If you ask him to transfer Orrin, or even write a letter of leave, so he can go home for awhile — I know he will do it if you ask him.”

  Connor just shakes his head, but Julianna looks at me, considering. “She’s right, Connor. We should move with caution. He might be useful to us, where he is. And I think Rhia could use a friend.”

  My eyes well up.

  “A dangerous friend,” Connor mutters.

  Julianna smiles fondly. “My favorite kind,” she says, and lays her hand on his arm, and he doesn’t argue anymore.

  I can’t help the relieved smile on my face. Maybe Julianna is right. Maybe I do need a friend. I haven’t thought of my friends in — not since. Not that I had so many. Most of them have married or … but it would be nice to have someone who knew Keenan. I hug the thought of friendship to myself and pick up my tangled embroidery, feeling a shaky, tiny kernel of happiness in my chest.

  Connor looks at me. “All right. But I will speak to him myself. If I think he’s a danger, I will remove him. And don’t meet with him too often, or in the open. I don’t want Gantry getting any interest in you. Do your … spelling, whatever, from afar.”

  Chapter Eight

  I head to the Star Chambers after dinner. The chapel is back to shadowed and echoing now that dark has fallen, and I hope that Orrin will look for me soon. It’s nerve-wracking in here, with Gantry somewhere nearby. I pray to Dorei and the Star Lord, hoping for grace. Or invisibility: either would help.

  Orrin enters with a scrape of the tapestry, and I jump, try not to gasp. “Sorry. The bishop was … displeased with me. I wasn’t sure he would let me come to pray privately,” Orrin whispers.

  I feel my stomach sinking. “Oh, no. Is it because of this morning? It’s my fault.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry. I — I was nervous and shaky anyway. He has a disconcerting way about him, and I try to avoid his eyes when I can.”

  I shiver and nod. He notices the shiver. “Is he, did he beat you? I mean, before the — when you were —” he flounders to a halt.

  I can’t open my mouth to say anything, to tell him even a lie. My breathing falters, my heart races, and I am in that room again, with that voice chanting.

  I shake myself out of it; Orrin is trying to soothe me, pat my arm. I turn to him and hug him fiercely, and I hear him cry out, flinch away.

  “Oh, no,” I say, drawing away to look into his wincing eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I manage through my wheezing. I touch his shoulder and he flinches further, looks away from me. I notice finally that his movements are stiff, and he hold
s himself as though injured. “He — he hurt you, didn’t he?”

  Orrin says nothing. I take his hand. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “I’m hardly the first acolyte to be disciplined,” he says. “No one can do anything. But I swear, it was more than just discipline to him. It was — rage. He wanted what I couldn’t give him, and he was enraged. I thought for a minute — well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.”

  “What did he want?” I ask.

  “Information. He wanted,” he stops, looks away again. My blood freezes, my whole body aches in panic.

  “Information?” I whisper.

  “Not about you, or not about the real you. He wants — he’s looking for information about the princess. And he thinks I can get it for him.”

  “Why would he think that?”

  “He thinks I should be able to use my Sight to spy on her.” He laughs a little. “He’s angry because I told him that’s not how it works.”

  Shaking, I ask, “You have the Sight?”

  “Not much of it. I don’t See much. It’s not a very useful magic in me,” he says, rueful. “I’m sure Keenan told you about it.”

  I just shake my head.

  “The chicken prophesies?” he says, and surprises a laugh out of me.

  “Oh, the chicken prophecies! That was you?” I can’t stop a helpless chuckle.

  “Even the Reverend Superior made fun of me for that. It’s the clearest set of visions I ever had.”

  “Well, it might have been useful to the cook to know how many eggs were going to be laid each day,” I say, relieved. If his Sight is weak, then Gantry can’t use him to spy, not really.

  Orrin’s smile is wan.

  “Have you ever had a vision about the princess?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, sighs. “Only once, and it was nothing. She was Healing a woman covered in bandages. I couldn’t even really see who — I only knew it was a woman because that’s the feeling I got.”