“Rhia!” Hugh shouts. I flinch back from the wardrobe door. “Get out here!”
The door still won’t budge, and my arms don’t have any strength in them. After a moment the door opens; Connor regards me, his expression blank. I look back. I don’t know what my expression is. When he turns to go into the dining room, I follow.
“What were you thinking? What was in that goblet? How could you do such a thing?” Hugh’s voice buffets me, inside and out, and I stagger, ward off his mind with my hands.
“Oh, for the love — barriers!” he snaps, and I try, but I’ve been working too hard and they’re weak and wobbly. “Rhia,” Hugh warns, and I turn to snarl.
“I’m trying! Stop pushing at me!”
“Stop pushing — you just tried to kill my mother!”
I shake my head, back against the wall. “She wasn’t supposed to be here,” I mumble.
“Do you think that would absolve you if she’d been harmed in any way?” The rasp of his shout grates the air, and I stare at the floor, try to build my tattered barriers.
Linnet flings open the door from the hall and runs in, fear and rage clear on her face.
“What did you do?” she yells at me. Behind her, Julianna enters a little slower, but in a hurry still.
“What happened, Hugh?” she asks. She stares at me, too. I feel pinned to the wall.
“Rhia almost poisoned our mother, that’s what happened. She seems to think the fact that it was meant for Gantry is a good enough excuse.”
Linnet throws her hands up in the air, as Julianna just stares.
“What were you thinking!” Hugh yells again. My stomach feels like an avalanche, and my eyes burn, and I can’t get my breath.
“I was just —”
“What could you possibly — how could you —” and I find my voice.
“That he murdered my brother! My parents! That he’s killed how many others! That he killed Queen Cecily! Yes, I finally got something concrete from him — he killed the queen, and he’s glad. And he’ll kill all of you, too, as soon as he gets the go-ahead from someone.”
Everyone is silent, staring, except for Linnet. She crosses the room, broken goblets crunching under her boots. “So you get to poison Duchess Marguerite?”
“No! She never even touched the goblet. The poison was for Gantry!”
“What poison,” Julianna asks quietly.
“What?”
“Which poison did you use, Rhia?”
I look down, away from everyone. “Foxglove.”
“How much?”
“Does it matter?” I snap.
“How much foxglove powder was in the goblet that my mother didn’t touch?”
I stare at the ground, shrug. “A little less than a one of the small packets.”
“A little less?”
“I spilled some.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know! It spilled, I brushed at it, I had to hide! I was in kind of a hurry.”
“To poison a goblet, you were in kind of a hurry. Because you didn’t want anyone to find out.”
I don’t answer. The next question will hurt more.
“You didn’t want anyone to find out, because you knew it was wrong. You knew you were wrong, Rhia, and you did it anyway.”
“Did anyone see you?” Connor asks.
I don’t look at him, either. “Orrin might have.”
“Orrin saw you put poison in the goblet? And you didn’t tell anyone about any of this?” Hugh snaps.
“He didn’t tell anyone either, did he? And he spilled the tray over only after the duchess asked for wine, so I don’t think his intentions were to stop me before that.”
“You don’t know that! What if he was supposed to spill it? What if he had plans to poison me instead?”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“None of this makes any sense! What were you thinking?”
“He’s a murderer! He killed my family! He’s killing more people, he’s going to kill your sister, and you don’t care!”
“Don’t you tell me what I do and don’t care about, young woman! How dare you jeopardize people’s lives like that? You don’t know what you’re doing! You could have killed someone!”
“I was trying to kill Gantry!”
“And it failed! Spectacularly! What are you even doing right? Nothing, so far!”
As I reel back, hurt even more than I thought, I hear Connor move. He puts his hand on Hugh’s arm. “Enough.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Enough, Hugh. I’ll talk to her. You calm down. We’ll — we’ll figure out what to do next.”
“This —”
“Enough. Go. Take Julianna to see your mother.”
“Gods.”
“Tell her,” Connor says.
Hugh glares at me. I glare back, but I’m fighting tears. Finally, Hugh stalks over past Julianna to the door.
“Come, sister mine. We’ll have so much to chat about with Mother.”
Julianna stares at me, her face a mask. I keep the glare, but I know it just looks sullen to them. I don’t understand why they don’t understand. It’s not like the duchess even touched that goblet.
When they are gone, the only ones left are Connor and Linnet, and the mess on the floor.
And me.
“Why did you do it that way? That was stupid!” And now not only is that man not dead, but you just hurt the only nice person in this entire castle!” Linnet yells, her arms gesturing wildly.
“I didn’t hurt the duchess! She didn’t even touch the goblet.”
“I was talking about Orrin!”
I shake my head, annoyed. “You don’t even know Orrin. I was trying to help him.”
“Well, you failed. You left him with that awful man, and you’re just standing here while he’s probably beating him right now! Don’t pretend it’s not true — I saw it in your head that he beats him!”
She clenches her fists and I feel my own temper flaring again, as she accuses me over and over again of something I can’t fix.
“You’re so selfish!” she shouts. “You don’t care about anyone! You think you’re so special, you play martyr all the time, and I’m sick of it!”
She leaps toward me, her hand raised, but I too have had enough.
She raises her hand, but I am faster. I grab her shoulder and whack her hard across the face, and then Connor pulls us apart, our hair locked in each other’s fists and neither of us able to breathe for sobbing. I wrench myself from Connor’s hands and throw myself to the other side of the room, choking on my breath and my rage and not caring who hears this time.
Linnet slaps Connor’s hands away too, and runs out of the room. When she’s gone, I can only lean back against the table behind me, gasping. Connor stands where he is, his feet crunching in the crockery, and regards me.
“Just say it,” I snap. Or I try to snap — it’s too watery, and I can’t stop the hiccupping sobs.
“What would you like me to say?” he asks, his voice quiet.
I won’t look at him. “Whatever it is you’ve been holding back. Whatever lecture you have waiting — I’m selfish, I’m stupid, I can’t do anything right, I’m horrible, not to be trusted, evil —”
“I would never say any of that. None of those words describe you.”
I turn my head then, trying not to pant, failing. “What words would you use, then.”
He leans one shoulder on the wall, oblivious to the clinks and crackles under him. “Words that describe you: loyal, brave, impetuous. It was you being impetuous that brought you to Gantry’s attention to begin with, wasn’t it?”
I shake my head, shrug. It didn’t feel impetuous. “I don’t know. A man was dying — I made sure people knew about it. I couldn’t not — Mother was so horrified. It never occurred to her that I could See something like that. She thought it was embarrassing.” I bite back another sob, half-laugh. “She wanted me to back down. Say I was mistaken.”
“I think she was probably afraid for you.”
“Maybe. Maybe. She didn’t — she never understood me.”
“Rhiannon — I can’t speak for your parents. But you frighten me on a regular basis, and I do believe you’ve been rather less exuberant than your old self, since I’ve known you.”
“I’m really quite shy,” I say, and he shrugs.
“Shy maybe. Stubborn is another word I’d use to describe you. Honorable. Intelligent, but not always smart.”
I stiffen. “Fine.”
“And you have a temper.”
I glare at him. “Who doesn’t?”
“Fair point. Here’s another. You do not have the knowledge and skills to assassinate a powerful man and get away with it.”
I suck in a breath. His tone hasn’t changed, but his eyes are quite dark. “So now the lecture.”
“Lecture, if you like. Facts. Rhiannon —” he sighs, runs his hand through his hair. His shirt is rumpled under his gray brocade waistcoat. I stare at his chin. “Rhiannon, there are some things you and I agree on. But you’ll have to bow to my age and experience.”
“You aren’t so much older than I am,” I say.
He barks a laugh. “Oh, so much older.
“Eight years isn’t so much,” I say, because I heard Hugh say they were of an age, so I know.
“I’ve been dealing with assassinations and political plots since before I was born. I am so many more years more than eight older than you.” He sighs again, levels a look at me. “If you are sure about Queen Cecily,” he starts.
I fold my arms. “I am.”
He nods. “Write down everything you can remember, every piece of information or picture that you gleaned from him. Then we’ll discuss all of it. This —” he gestures to the mess beneath him — “this isn’t the solution you’re looking for. Trust me to keep you, and your sister, and everyone else as safe as I can. Let me do it. We’ll find a way to save Orrin yet.”
I look away, press my trembling lips together. But I nod as more tears fill my eyes. I lean my head back, look at the ceiling.
Connor turns to go. “Rhia,“ he says, turning at the door.
I look at him.
“If you really mean to poison someone, make sure you’re in charge of the vessel the entire time.”
I feel my eyes widen a little.
He stares at me. “If I didn’t need him alive, he’d be dead already,” he says, and then he’s gone.
Chapter Twenty
Despite his words to me after the poison fiasco, it’s apparent that Connor doesn’t trust me any more than anyone else does. I gave him my description of what happened to Queen Cecily, but we haven’t discussed it.
Julianna and Hugh are still furious with me, and stay tight-lipped and coldly civil whenever I am present. Linnet refuses to speak to me at all. When Connor does see me, he shakes his head sadly and says to keep a low profile, stay away from Gantry and Orrin. I’m forbidden chapel services even, and the herbarium. I spend all of my time in the library, avoiding everyone.
Days pass slowly, but it seems the weeks fly past without my notice. Summer is ending, without ever really appearing at all. Everyone talks about how cold and wet it’s been, that it’s the worst harvest in decades.
Duchess Marguerite develops a pinched line on her forehead that never goes away, and the talk is that the hospice is more full than ever. Although none of us go there anymore: Julianna sends her simples by messenger.
Julianna has announced to the castle that she’s pregnant, with her mother’s urging, and everyone graciously pretends that they are surprised. The ladies in the castle gather in her rooms to embroider and sew baby clothes, and exclaim over her.
I sit in the corner and mend stockings, badly. I know the tension between us is noticeable, if only because of whispers about fitzWellan blood are louder. I still don’t know anything about Connor’s brother, but I know he is a villain in their eyes, and so now I understand what they mean. I keep my eyes on my work and ignore everyone.
I miss Keenan, and Orrin, and not feeling like a monstrous mistake. The castle is full of people who ignore or despise me, and I am so lonely and afraid. If they won’t help me, I’m going to have to do something else. Something drastic.
In my spare time, I’m pouring over all of Hugh’s magical texts, mostly left to my own devices in the back corner of the big library room. I’ve found the book of runes Hugh was talking about. The text is very old, and smudged in places. It’s written in ancient Indrani, and I only know a few words.
There’s an incomplete Indrani lexicon, and I translate what I can onto papers of my own, that I keep with me and study later, trying to decipher the meanings. The grammar is the hard part. Indrani sentences are backwards and inside out to ours, and trying to parse what the author meant takes me a lot of time. I don’t ask for help.
But I’ve found two of the runes, I think. One, on my arm, is the rune for silence, with intent mixed in. Another, that appears several times on my legs, calls the magic. I don’t know what any of the others are, yet. Not for sure. I’m afraid to find out.
My dreams at night are not happy. I know they disturb Linnet, too, because she smacks me awake with her pillow. All she says is “wake up, stupid.” Then we both lie in the dark, listening to my harsh breath.
This morning is no different, and I feel more lost than I ever have. Dawn finds me in the library, alone, with a guttering candle and a spent glowsand lamp. The text wavers in front of my tired eyes, but I blink the runes into focus. There. That rune, that rune means free, it opens bindings. It is almost the same as the one for silence. I think — I think I have a plan.
I pad into the kitchen and make a tray as if for an early breakfast. Bread, honey, oatmeal, and I surreptitiously slip a sharp knife onto the tray. The kitchen maids and guards at the back table ignore me but for a few murmured “my lady’s” as I bustle about. I know I look half-crazed lately, and they give me a wide berth.
My pulse tingling with anticipation, I bring the tray up to Julianna’s rooms, and leave it in the solar. I head to the bathing room, taking the knife and the rune text with me.
The room is tiled in a pale green and blue pattern, with suggestions of fish in the tiles. I latch the door, hands shaking. I don’t remember what Gantry chanted: I don’t think I want that spell, anyway. But Keenan had a spell to focus power, and I think I can do that. It is just a little spell, but I don’t want to mess with a big one. I think Keenan would approve.
I take off my clothes and toss them at the hook on the wall. The tub is a tiled rectangle, with thick ledges on the sides. Slender pipes jut out from the wall, coming from below the kitchens, where some symmetry of magic and genius brings water at the pull of a chain.
I sit on the edge, my legs in the tub, the chill tile biting into my flesh. I can’t catch my breath. Closing my eyes, I chant the words of the focus spell in airy puffs, rest the edge of the knife on my right arm. The text is open on the floor next to me.
I feel my runes, my skin, my body fill slowly with power, like waking a hibernating monster. I haven’t used it in the last few weeks. Everything feels sore and rusty, even though not using my power has hurt, as well.
It’s hard to keep my hands from shaking, and it’s my off-hand that will do the … the cutting. I take a deep breath, shuddering, and press. After the first resistance, my skin parts, and it hurts, it stings, and I push power into the wound as I try to re-draw the rune.
I’m trying to be careful not to go too deep, but it’s so hard to tell what’s working — if anything is. My arm burns, then all my runes, and sweat runs into my eyes and between my breasts and down my back, and I’m shaking from trying not to shake.
I chant the focus spell again, and I turn the knife again. I part more skin, and tears fall onto my arm and into the tub with my sweat and blood, and I want to finish this. I have to finish this. But I’m afraid I can’t. I turn the knife again.
The door burst
s open. Linnet stands in the opening, and I know she’s yelling. Her eyes are wide, her mouth is wide, but I hear only the roaring in my ears, the power in my skin trying to turn, change, pull me forward. I press too hard and the blood rushes over my arm, and I can’t see the runes anymore.
Julianna runs in, her belly a hard ball under her nightgown, her hair a fierce halo of wisps around her head and braid. My hands can’t hold the knife steady, my mind can’t hold the spell, and I shake as she nears me. The spell is too hot. She should not come near me.
Rhia, what are you doing? Hugh sends me, but I can’t answer. His power slips into mine to hold the spell steady, to keep me from dropping anything else, as my legs give way and I slide down into the tub with the blood and the sweat. Even I can hear Julianna and Linnet cry out, but I manage to not stab myself with the knife.
At impass, Julianna and Linnet stand halfway into the room, unable to come closer because of the focus spell, or the magic I put into it, or maybe shock and disgust, because I am so awful. And I’m not done; I feel the power lurching off-kilter through my body. I was always off-kilter, I realize, always not quite balanced, the spell was always a little wrong. Now it’s wrong in a new way, and a lot.
It hurts, this new way. Or maybe it’s always hurt, and I only now recognize it. I stare at my bleeding arm and feel dizzy. Am I dizzy from blood loss or the spell?
Both. It’s both, honey. I feel Hugh in my head, see him kneeling next to the tub, and he weaves himself into the spell. He looks down at the book beside him, then at me again, and there are tears running down his face.
Give me the knife, he sends, and puts his hand over my bloody one, but I can’t let go. He sucks in a breath, nods, and leans forward to kiss my forehead. Then let me guide, and my shaking hand follows his lead. He grimaces, his face close to mine. He takes my hand, the knife, and makes the last two cuts to finish the rune. I feel a surge of balance, a blast and release. I cry out, and so does Hugh.
The silence after the roaring is a pressure suddenly gone. The room is filled with gasping and sobs, and I don’t know whose is whose.
“There. We did it,” Hugh says softly. “You can let go of the knife.”
A Ragged Magic Page 19
