A Ragged Magic

by Lindsey S. Johnson

  Hugh asks us questions about who is likely to attend, and where are the best hiding places, and where our father’s office is. Was.

  I answer quietly, my chest aching and my eyes scratchy, but I don’t cry.

  Linnet never says a word. She nods or shakes her head, shrugs. Her eyes stay on that plate. Nothing interesting is happening on it.

  The other three serve themselves, each other, and plot. They wave forks of meat, sauces, and their goblets with grace and animation as they talk, never spilling or spattering themselves or one another, which is a neat trick.

  Linnet and I sit quiet, more cautious with our words and our food. We can’t be sure of our grace or our graciousness, I suppose. I ache in all my corners, and remembering all our childhood spaces is a weight on my neck and chest. I answer questions asked of Linnet, so she doesn’t have to.

  Connor notices, and stops addressing her, but his eyes narrow, looking at me. I’m not happy with him, either. Soon we’re in a glaring contest.

  “Linnet, you haven’t touched your dinner. Are you too upset by all of this? I thought you’d want to help us plan things,” Julianna says.

  Linnet doesn’t look up. I reach over and touch her arm, and she startles, jumping back from my hand as if I’d burned her.

  “Linnet,” I say, but she stands quickly.

  “I’m sorry, may I be excused, your Highness, your Grace,” she whispers, and leaves before anyone can answer.

  When I turn back from watching her leave, the three of them are staring at me. “Has she been like that all day?” Hugh asks.

  I shrug.

  “Yes,” Julianna says. “I tried speaking to her earlier, but she just nodded and kept with her sewing. I’m not certain she was listening.” She sighs. “I’ll try talking to her again.”

  “No,” Connor says. “It’s my turn. She’s going to listen to me.” He stands from his chair to stride after her.

  “No, you don’t!” I rush to block him, knocking over wine and tripping over my skirt.

  He tries to brush me out of his way. “I’m tired of her scenes and her unrelenting temper. This behavior is unacceptable. She’s going to endanger everyone if she doesn’t straighten out.” His hands squeeze my arms, but I stomp my foot down and refuse to budge unless he drags me.

  “And who is going to straighten her? Straighten how? Are you her father now that ours is dead? And all of you sit here at this table and discuss our lost home as if sneaking into it is some sort of game! How do you think she’s going to feel?”

  “No one thinks this is a game!” He roars. “The two of you, however, are playing something dangerous if you let us walk in there blind, and if you aren’t prepared for what we’ll find. Did you want to just show up and pretend you still live there?”

  I reel back from him, my blood rushing in my ears, lungs constricting. I feel punched, although he stands there, no longer touching me. Wincing.

  “Connor, enough,” Julianna says. She touches his arm, and he stiffens slightly, stands straighter.

  Hugh appears at my elbow and draws me to the table, which is now sopping wet with spilled wine.

  “Oh, drat,” I say, and start to mop at it with soaked napkins.

  “Never mind, Rhia,” Hugh says, and has me sit in Linnet’s abandoned chair. Julianna pushes Connor back to the table.

  “You both have a point,” she says.

  I open my mouth to protest, but close it again. Connor’s jaw clenches and I see muscles jump.

  “Linnet is a problem, acting this way,” she continues. “She needs to be prepared for what’s going to happen. And she needs to treat you better, Rhia. She needs to control her temper. All of us do.” She looks down at Connor.

  He moves to stand, but she prevents him with a light touch on his shoulder. “I will speak to her. And she will listen. And neither of you will interfere. Is that perfectly clear?”

  I study the table full of spilled wine. “Yes, your Highness,” I say. There is no sound from the men.

  “Very well. Why don’t the three of you discuss better barriers for Rhia, since she still glows so much to the Sight. The party is only a few weeks away. It would be nice if she weren’t a small sun when Archbishop Montmoore arrives.” She leaves, her skirts swishing around her swaying form, and Connor and I glare at each other across the table.

  Hugh clears his throat. Neither of us acknowledge him. “Well, then. Rhia, we should test a few things out with your new … configuration. Have you noticed any significant differences today in how your barriers feel?”

  A muscle just below Connor’s right eye spasms in time to Hugh’s pacing. My teeth ache from clenching them.

  “Gantry can’t detect you or he would have already — at the hospice if anything.” Hugh clears his throat again. “But Montmoore has the Sight, so we’ll need to reduce your aura to something reasonable. Some sort of illusion to cover some of it that won’t raise suspicions.”

  Hugh paces faster, and I see his arms gesturing out of the corner of my eye. But Connor still stares at me, his lips tight, and I can almost hear him thinking that I am a stubborn fool.

  Hugh barks at us to pay attention, but I am not a stubborn fool, and Connor can’t just think that at me.

  I glare harder.

  I hear a sigh from behind Connor, and Hugh’s blue silk-clad arm comes into view as he taps Connor on his left shoulder.

  Connor glances to his left, then right, as Hugh bends down to meet Connor’s face with his own, kissing him squarely on the mouth.

  Connor jerks back, surprised.

  Hugh smiles sweetly at him. “Hello, Connor dear. Do I have your attention now?”

  Connor narrows his eyes again, making them almost disappear. Then his eyebrow lifts, and he offers a twisted smile. Hugh snorts. He gestures with his head to the door, motioning Connor to leave.

  Glancing at me, Connor says “My apologies, Cousin.” I snort a little, as well; I don’t believe his tone. He bows slightly in my direction as he stands, then walks away.

  Leaving me unaccompanied in the duke’s rooms. I’m supposed to have a chaperone, but as I’m a dead witch, and we keep dispensing with niceties such as chaperones or days without bloodshed, I suppose it doesn’t matter. I try to calm my temper, but I still grip my hands together till they ache.

  “Rhia,” Hugh starts, and I jump.

  “Forgive me, your Grace. You were saying?”

  He sits beside me, his smile gentle. “She’s rather a fire-brand, your sister. Hard to keep up with. And her temper!” He breathes a laugh. “She is too hard on you, Rhia. And it takes its toll, doesn’t it?”

  I rub my hands over my face, shake my head. “She is very young, your Grace.”

  “Yes, she is young, and stubborn. And things have been very horrible for her. But she’s not the only one. She needs discipline, Rhia, not forgiveness.”

  “Not for this. She didn’t do anything wrong at dinner, she just didn’t speak to anyone. She was upset, but she didn’t yell. Yes, she does have a terrible temper, and she is angry with everyone, especially me. But maybe she’s right. I did leave her behind when I ran.

  “She lost everything: her birthright, the mastership, our family. She has enough talent for any three master weavers. She would’ve been Guildmaster before she turned thirty if she — but not now.

  “Maybe I am a coward. Maybe Keenan was wrong telling me to run. If I hadn’t, maybe …”

  “Maybe you’d all be dead,” Hugh says, and brushes a stray curl from my eyes. “You are very brave, Rhia. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. You don’t know what your staying put might have done. But it doesn’t sound like Aman was willing to leave your family standing. He turned you in to Gantry, and he got the town upset about witchery. And no one ever did find out what happened to Pastor Seaton, although I had the bailiff look into it. She says it looks as if his heart gave out, but no one is certain.

  “Aman and Deacon Bertram might have stopped a witch hunt, even with Bishop Gantry
coming. But Gantry wanted a witch, and Aman singled out your family. No, you were right to run. I’d’ve run.”

  He shakes his head as I shake mine. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. And don’t let Linnet be so hard on you, either. Although, maybe this morning — you shocked all of us. But maybe your sister most of all.” He puts his arm around me, rubs my shoulder, two pats and a rub. “Let’s wait and see how she handles it, then. Maybe you’re right, maybe she’s just still processing. She is young, but she’s not stupid.”

  He sits back in his chair and regards me. “Now, let’s work out some new tests for those barriers of yours,” he says, and he starts discussing spells and changes and runes until I am too tired to think any more. When I leave to go back to my chambers, it is very late, and the only thing I can do is crawl into bed. Linnet is already in hers, sleeping, or pretending to. I turn down the lamp and try to do the same.

  ～

  Nine days since Linnet has eaten much of anything, and she grows tired and gaunt. Never a fleshy girl, now her cheekbones seem to stick out like a mask, and she half-faints standing from chairs. I make sure she drinks water at least, but she hardly speaks to anyone and stares listlessly at nothing.

  Julianna is at her wit’s end trying to reason with her, and both Connor and Hugh have shouted uselessly at her. I just bring her food and beg her to eat.

  She hasn’t done her chores at all today: she nearly fainted when she tried to get out of bed, and didn’t try again.

  I bring up a luncheon of broth and sweet carrots freshly peeled. She refuses tea or milk, so a pitcher of cold water sits next to the broth. I didn’t add bread, fearing it would be too much pressure. I lay the tray on the chest in our room, and sit next to her.

  “Please, dearest, eat something.” Her face, pale and drawn, faces the window and not me. “Linnet, you must eat something. It’s only broth, it won’t make you sick. It’s chicken broth. You like chicken broth.”

  Her eyes stay fixed on the window.

  I clench my hands.

  “Hugh asked about you today. He’s worried about you. Everyone is.”

  She blinks, but otherwise shows no interest. I lay my head next to her still form in despair.

  Fighting sobs, I try begging. Again. “Little bird, you have to eat. Please eat. You’ll get so sick if you don’t. I can’t bear to see you like this.” My nose and throat are thick: I can hardly speak.

  “I can’t lose you too, Linnet. I’ve lost everyone else. I can’t lose you too. I’m half mad already — I’ll be raving if you die. You’ll join all the other eyes that haunt me and you won’t touch me any more than they will. And I will have failed again. Oh please, Linnet. I can’t bear it.” My words muffle in my fists, wet and staccato with gasping sobs.

  I feel a touch on my hair. I start up, and she looks at her hand, a kind of desperation in her eyes. “She didn’t look at me.”

  I can barely hear her. Trying to stifle my snuffles, I ask her breathlessly, “Who?”

  “Mum. She didn’t look at me. Not even to say goodbye. And Da was so busy trying to look proud. Keenan only looked at you. No one said goodbye to me. And they died, and then it was too late.”

  Tears start to trickle down her temple. I reach for her hand and she doesn’t pull away. I grip it, and feel how frail her bones are. It stays limp in my grasp, but she lets me hold it.

  “Mum looked at you, I saw it. And Keenan looked to you. I waited for you to save them, but you didn’t. You stood there, staring back at them, and they died. And you never moved. I waited for you to save them.”

  “Oh, little bird, I couldn’t, I was —”

  “I waited for you to save them, so I didn’t. I didn’t do anything. I let them kill my family, and I didn’t do anything. And I didn’t save you either. And look what they did to you. I just waited, and did nothing.”

  Like a blow to my stomach, the revelation of her rage. She blames herself as much as me, and now that she knows I was tortured, she blames only herself. It’s too much for one soul to bear. I grip her hand tighter and kiss it, hold it to my cheek.

  “You couldn’t have saved any of us, Linnet. You couldn’t have saved me from Gantry. He wanted a person with the Sight for his spell. And Da was unpopular with the guild, or someone would have spoken for him. All you could do was stay safe. That was your part. To stay safe so there was hope. That’s all the hope I had: your safety.

  “You aren’t to blame for their deaths. I swear to you, the man that is, we’ll stop him. Julianna and Hugh have a plan, and we’ll stop him. I swear to you.”

  She sighs and turns her face to the window. But she lets me hold on to her hand, and she falls asleep later. I try to look on that as a sign.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A man’s party is in a few days. Linnet is eating better, although I’m worried it’s not enough. She won’t talk to me about it, but she is trying to control her temper more. She’s still sarcastic and angry, but it’s not as pointed in my direction. Most of the time.

  We’ve been working with Hugh to create illusion spells for us. They’re getting complex, and I can’t follow all of the theory behind it, although Linnet seems to pick it up pretty quickly. But it’s my power they use to run them. I’m learning how to share it with everyone, in a slow and steady stream.

  I’ve noticed that since the new rune, it’s easier for people to just siphon magic from me whenever I touch them. It worries me, but I don’t seem to be able to talk about that, either. I knew I bled magic, but now that it’s been described, I can feel it happening more and more often. Linnet doesn’t even have to touch me.

  The weather is, as usual, abysmal — the servants whisper the talk in town is of rationing this winter. The crops are bad. Fishing, however, has been extremely good. I don’t think anyone will starve. But we might get very tired of cod.

  Water fills all the dips and smudges of the castle grounds, and everything is a muddy mess. The carpets in the main entry were removed completely, and servants can be found every day scrubbing at steps and flagstones with harsh brushes. All our boots are muddy, and the hems of gowns, too.

  Not that we are traveling anywhere off of castle grounds. Julianna hasn’t left the castle since she revealed her pregnancy. Walks around the garden or the castle walls in the rain are the only change we get. Connor is glad; he’s been worried about the outings, and someone recognizing me.

  I have to do something, or I’ll go entirely mad. And mending towels doesn’t count. I decide to sneak off to chapel service. I haven’t been in weeks, not since I tried to poison Gantry. But I need to see Orrin, to check on him.

  The chapel is half-empty. I sit still in my seat, trying not to stare at Orrin. I am still not to contact him, but no one said I couldn’t look. He looks thinner, and his dark skin seems oddly shiny, as if he’s sweating. His eyes don’t look up from the floor.

  When I use the Sight on him, he is murky and swirling, and his magic pulses in muddy hot colors. I can’t sense anything from his mind. It’s as though he’s behind a wall; I barely sense his presence.

  Gantry preaches against witches and evil magic. He rants about people turning to the dark, about the country turning to the dark, about lack of leadership. “There are those leading our land onto dark paths, where the Star Lord cannot shine. Do not think to follow them, or your soul will be lost! Only evil awaits such wanderings. Beware such purpose as they have for you. A kind face can hide a dark heart.”

  The congregation shuffles in their seats, uncomfortable. His ranting against Julianna and the duchess all but overt. With the kirche in town a longer walk than some servants have time for, there are still some who attend services here. And ranting against evil feels almost normal now. But Bishop Gantry has forgotten Haverston’s larger truth: everyone loves Duchess Marguerite. She has been Haverston’s guiding hand for several decades. Insulting her will not win him any converts.

  Gantry stops abruptly, and walks away from the altar. After a moment, the congregation s
tirs and starts to leave. His sudden exit stirs no comment: we are starting to know the bishop’s tendency toward abruptness.

  Orrin stays where he is after Gantry walks out, and I stay in my seat, as well. The people empty out of the chapel, and it grows quiet but for our breathing echoing lightly in the tall room. Orrin hasn’t looked up. Taking a breath, I push to a stand, turn and head for the Star Chambers. I look back over my shoulder, but he doesn’t move.

  Brushing back the curtain, I stand inside the first chamber, staring at the stone wall, and listen to the quiet in the chapel, the sound of rain and ocean waves outside. I hear a swish of footsteps coming closer. I close my eyes, and hope.

  A body bumps into me from behind, and I spin around. Orrin grips my arms, stares into my eyes. I grab him back.

  “Orrin,” I say, “I hoped you would talk to me.”

  “I need,” he rasps, then stops, panting.

  “I’m trying to figure out a way to get you out of here,” I say. “Hugh is working with the cardinal to figure out the — the —” and I can’t say it, silence closing off my throat. “Connor swears we’ll just take you if we have to, but they’re afraid the bishop will be able to find you.”

  His hands are hot: I can feel the burn of them through my sleeves. His face is hot, too, and his eyes look feverish. The spell is drawing too much power through him. Bishop Gantry is drawing too much power through him. He leans his head down and rests his forehead on mine, his body trembling.

  “Please, I need … I need you to kill me,” he whispers.

  I gasp and start to pull back.

  He grips me harder, stares in my eyes. “Please. Please just do it. I can’t — I can’t —” and the spell closes his throat, too. We stare at each other in mute mutual horror and enforced silence. Finally I force my voice to work.