A Ragged Magic

by Lindsey S. Johnson

  “Ah, your Grace, so good of you to come,” Hugh says with a distracted and affable air. “I’m sorry we’re in a bit of a mess here. These are just a few things we’re delivering to the hospice. I know they run low so quickly these days.”

  “Your Graces,” Montmoore says, his mouth pinching sour. His voice is a pleasant baritone. He nods to Hugh and Duchess Marguerite. “Your Highness, a pleasure to see you again. I offer you congratulations on your happy news.”

  “Thank you, your Grace,” Julianna says.

  Montmoore smiles in a pitying way. “My very best wishes for a happier outcome this time.”

  Julianna’s smile is a parody of her usual warmth, and I feel her anger spike.

  Duchess Marguerite steps in front of the table, blocking Julianna from the delegation. “Such kind concern, Your Grace, for my child. And my grandchild.” Her voice is a low burr of warning.

  Montmoore’s smile does nothing to ease the tension. “I have great concern for all the people of the realm, of course.”

  “Is that so, your Grace? Because you don’t seem to show it for all my people here in Haverston.”

  “To what can you be referring, your Grace?”

  “To my hospice, your Grace. Where my people are dying. So many more sick than even a month ago, yet you will not allow other Healers to help.”

  “Ah, my dear Marguerite, you would force this discussion now?”

  “It seems appropriate, Richard.”

  I blink at the sudden drop in honorifics. The chill in the room deepens. Gantry takes a deep breath to speak, but Montmoore puts his hand on his arm, preventing him.

  “I will not debate kirche doctrine with you … your Grace.”

  “It is not kirche doctrine, Richard Montmoore, it is rank greed, and you know it. That hospice belongs to this duchy, my duchy, opened with monies brought in by my people. If your priests turn one more person away, I will see every monastery in this duchy closed and your monks and priests turned out, and your bishop, as well.

  “I’ve heard more tales from my people of their treatment at the hands of yours. And several of yours have come to me in despair, because they actually want to Heal. So do not speak to me of the kirche, or of Holy writ. I demand much more concern — your Grace — than you’ve so far shown for any people.

  “I demand that you show a reckoning to us, in the form of money, and also in the form of returning our hospice, and allow oversight from our own Healers and physicians. This kind of hypocrisy cannot be allowed to stand.”

  Montmoore’s face grows mottled as Marguerite speaks, although he doesn’t try to interrupt. Gantry seems ready to explode into rage, but Montmoore’s grip on his arm is an effective leash.

  “Is this you speaking for your son, the duke?” Montmoore asks, his voice quiet.

  “I agree entirely with my mother on this, your Grace. She is, as usual, completely right.”

  “That is unfortunate, your Graces. I do not dispute some in this bishropic have acted rashly, and without proper guidance. But it has been the declaration of our prophet Ashere that Healing is a holy magic, and must be therefore a holy right. I cannot allow your lay Healers to profane the will of the Star Lord.

  “You do have my word I will look most carefully into the hospices, and who has been running them so poorly. No deserving person should be turned away.”

  All movement in the ballroom has stopped. No one even pretends to be working. Most of us stare avidly at the ground or table in front of us, glancing up from time to time, hoping to stay unnoticed. I am too frightened to venture the Sight around this man. I keep my mind locked tight.

  “Are these the medicines from those trader ships — from Indranah, weren’t they?”

  Julianna answers, her voice bored. “Some are, yes. We arranged for their shipment, as Indranah grows herbs we can’t, that have worked on some plagues such as the Wasting for their own people. But to return to your last remark — who exactly is deserving, your Grace? And deserving of what, precisely? Because if you are implying that any of our citizens deserves to be ill and die, I will have to take great exception to that. As will my husband, and the king. That is not the doctrine we were raised with.”

  “You were raised as heretics by that blaspheming, pox-ridden —”

  Montmoore turns slightly to Gantry and looks him in the eye. “That’s enough, Theodore.”

  Duchess Marguerite regards them both with distaste. “I don’t believe this bishropic is the right place for you, my Lord Bishop. I don’t think you would be happy here. I expect you will find it far more comfortable in Corat, or perhaps your home county.” She turns her back and walks behind the table. “Do find your way out, my Lord, your Grace. And find your way home again, quite soon.”

  “Do not overreach, Marguerite,” Montmoore begins, but Julianna cuts him off.

  “What overreach, your Grace? I am sure, very sure, that you do not mean to threaten a duchess? I would think the other nobles would feel so distressed to hear of that. And kirche lands are so very attractive, aren’t they? And so rich, and yield a good income. Of course, they aren’t your lands, are they?

  “It would be so terribly distressing if the nobles all decided they couldn’t trust kirche promises all at once, and called your rents due. And so very many of your lands belong to, well, us. To my brother, to the king. I don’t think you would be so impolitic to push a bishop on a duchy for which he is quite unsuited.”

  “You dare —” Gantry’s face is nearly purple, but Montmoore’s grip on his does not ease.

  “I would not be too sure of yourselves, your Highness, your Graces. But we will take our leave, and return to this — discussion — at another time.” The kirche guards have been stepping closer to them, and surround them as they turn to sweep out.

  Which they must do between a full phalanx of castle and royal guards, who have been entering and standing at attention in twos and threes for the past little while.

  The essential truth of Haverston is: everyone loves the duchess. Most of us love her in a distant, doting way. But we do not take kindly to anyone acting the bully toward her. Not even the kirche. The guards and servants and minor nobles make sure these kirche gentlemen know it, glaring them out.

  I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. When we hear the great doors thud shut, everyone slumps a little.

  Hugh turns to his mother. “That did not go precisely as planned.”

  She shakes her head and sighs. “No. That man always did make me angry. But he’s a fool if he thinks the court will support him on this, or his other plans.”

  “Mother,” Julianna says, warning her off.

  Duchess Marguerite shakes her head again, shoots a look at her daughter. “Let’s get this finished up, shall we?”

  Everyone gets back to work packing chests. My hands shake. I know that whatever else happens, it will be open war from Archbishop Montmoore from now on.

  The packing finishes with alacrity. Several guards mill by the stairs while Connor speaks to them. I brush at my skirt and run my hands through my hair as I walk slowly over. I try to lie to myself that I’m not nervous to speak to him.

  “Spread the word,” he tells them, “all kirche guards and persons are kept out until further notice. The gate is to be closed and guarded at all times. Tell captain Tand that I have business this evening, but when I return I will check in with him.”

  “Yes, my lord,” the woman in front says, and bows. They turn and leave, and I stand behind Connor, my feet twisting in my shoes. I try to think of how to start.

  He looks over his shoulder at me. “Good day, cousin.”

  “Good day.”

  He waits for me to say something else, but my mind races in circles while he stares. He sighs and offers me his arm. “Allow me to escort you to your rooms,” he says.

  I accept his arm, and we head toward Julianna’s chambers.

  “What did you want to say?” His voice is calm, but distant.

  “Abou
t the package,” I say.

  “Ah. I told you,”

  “I know. Safe for now. But where is it?”

  He shakes his head. “Not far, but I won’t tell you more. There are plans to move it tomorrow or the day after, to somewhere safer. You have other things to concentrate on. Don’t think about the package. I’ll give you information when I can.” He stops at the door and looks at me, but doesn’t release my arm. “About last night,” he starts, and stops. “I …”

  I shrug and smile a little. “Apology accepted.”

  That startles a laugh from him, and I step away and through the door, shutting it behind me. I try not to fret about Orrin for now, and focus on Connor’s assurances. Tonight will be long, and I have preparations to make.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hugh greets me jovially from the midst of gay party clothes swathed about his chambers. He wears loose golden trousers, a bright purple sash at his waist, and nothing else so far.

  I catch Linnet staring at his bare back. She sees me smirking and sticks her tongue out at me, then turns back to sorting tunics.

  I keep smirking until Connor walks into the room from the bathing chambers, similarly clad. Swallowing quickly I look at Hugh instead of Connor’s dark skin.

  “Rhia, you’re late,” Hugh calls. “Come meet Asa and Preyasi, they will help you to dress.” He ushers me past Connor into the bathing room where four people fuss over stunning gowns of colors I didn’t know existed. Such fabulous dyes are why Da wanted me to travel to Indranah: our dyes here in Talaria don’t render colors of that intensity.

  “Rhia, here are Asa, Preyasi, Bhanu and Zelig: the traders from Indranah. I think you’ve met Asa. Zelig, Bhanu, come help Connor and me with these blasted tunics.”

  Asa smiles at me, and I offer her a nervous smile of my own. I can’t help but remember our last meeting; I was less than gracious. She doesn’t seem to care as they help us dress and place jewelry carefully on our too-exposed limbs.

  Preyasi gasps for a moment at my scars, and she and Asa trade glances, but otherwise don’t comment.

  I keep my eyes on the floor. This is the first time I have undressed in front of anyone on purpose. I can feel my hands shaking.

  Asa quietly helps me with the skirts. I try to focus other things.

  I admire the way both women move: as though always dancing. Hugh’s plan seems impossible to me. No one will ever believe I am Asa, and Linnet is too darting and quick to ever be the languid Preyasi. Even with illusion laid over us, we are ourselves.

  We enter the bedchamber for the spell casting. Connor struggles with his tunic. I bite my lips and try not to blush at the sight of his bare skin. Asa catches my eye and grins.

  I smile back, feeling my blush deepen. She laughs and pulls his tunic straight, wrapping the end of it under the sash. Then we wait for Hugh to finish admiring the cut of his clothes in the mirror. I catch Connor rolling his eyes.

  Standing in a loose circle, Linnet and Hugh and I chant the verse of the spell, joining hands. I spin my magic out to join theirs, and See green and blue light swirl around us. A tight, thin green line of power courses from me to them both.

  The glow from our joined power fades as it drops around all of us. I feel dizzy as the chant ends, but blink and smile as Hugh and Linnet turn to us in triumph. And I realize it isn’t them anymore. I see Bhanu and Preyasi in front of me, instead.

  “It worked!” Linnet squeals out of Preyasi’s mouth.

  Behind her, the real Preyasi smiles at me. “I can’t tell you from Asa!”

  Linnet dances around me, gleeful.

  “And these complete the vision,” Hugh says as he lifts more jewelry from a wooden box on his bed. Necklaces hang from his fingers, thin silver chains. On each chain hangs an eight-sided star pendant that glows brightly to my Sight. The one I gave to Linnet already hangs about her neck. She looks under her lashes at me as Hugh gives out the others. I smile at her.

  “Prophet’s Stars,” Hugh continues. “Many wear them in Indranah. Their blessing-spell will hide the power of the illusion. And … anything else.” Hugh looks sidelong at me.

  Hugh clasps the silver Prophet’s Star about my neck, the pendant resting perfectly at my collarbones. He settles my hair back into place and turns me to look at him: but it isn’t his face. Instead I see Bhanu’s smiling visage, with his crooked front tooth and equally crooked smile. Behind that I catch a glimpse of Hugh’s more perfect smile. The double vision dizzies me, as does the sea-colored glow about us all.

  The spell rushes under my skin as we maintain it. As we spoke the words together, I felt the drain and pull, as though a river runs through me. The glow surrounds the four of us and shifts when we do.

  I lick my dry lips and stare at Hugh. “Are you sure about this?”

  He laughs and spins me toward the mirror. I see a grown woman, tall and bronze and graceful, showing more bosom than I’m used to. More than I actually have.

  “Look at you. I’m sure. We’ve been over this. Try not to worry too much — the illusion is working perfectly.” Before I can form my next question, he spins me back to face him. “And the Prophet’s Stars were infused with a powerful blessing. They will hide the spell, and you.”

  I glance at Connor, or at who I think is Connor. The Zelig who is dressed for a party. Still tall and dark, only a little darker, now his face is rounder, smiles more easily. But underneath I sense his concern. At least some of us are worried, I think quietly. But Connor nods at me: my thoughts must show in my face. In Asa’s face.

  The real Preyasi fusses with Linnet’s gown. Shining a brilliant rose, it molds to her curvy torso and falls gracefully to her ankles. Her black hair cascades around her round shoulders and her teeth flash white against her red mouth when she smiles. Her beauty stuns me; but she is not my sister.

  I blink at the aura from the Prophet’s Stars and the illusion that blurs my vision.

  “Ready?” Linnet seems eager for this evening. She never had her coming-out ball. And this is Francis’ majority ball as well as an engagement. Everyone for miles will attend this event. Even if she can’t talk to any of her friends, she knows they will be there.

  My own coming-out ball was an unfortunate disaster. I managed to spill on my gown almost at once, and I tripped over my tongue the whole evening, trying not to say the wrong thing. So Mum and Da spent more time showing off the manor than they did me. I remember leaving as early as I could without offending anyone, and reading in my room. It wasn’t as if I was trying to get a husband, I reasoned at the time. I was already betrothed to Francis.

  And that is another thing, my head reminds me, as Hugh goes over last-minute instructions whispered to the Indrani: the manor. The ball will be held at our home. Aman has taken that from our family as well. If Da hadn’t been executed, if there had been a real trial, we might have gotten it back. But because of the disgrace and rushed circumstances, Aman took advantage, and stole our family holdings as well.

  I exit Hugh’s rooms on Connor’s arm. Bhanu and Preyasi are married, and Asa and Zelig are Bhanu’s siblings. We act our parts accordingly as Gervaise escorts us to the carriage we are to take “with His Grace’s blessing and thanks.” I smile Asa’s smile at my “brother” and try to bite back the butterflies that threaten to fly from my mouth.

  ～

  The carriage is sumptuous and as comfortable as a carriage can be. The walls, lined in dark satin, flicker with shadows as darkness falls and the outer lamps are lighted. I huddle in my wrap next to Linnet and hold on to her when we rumble over holes in the road. We ride through the town, mostly in silence.

  The window shades are open, but the lamps swinging on their posts obscure the sights as we progress. Only well-lit houses and shops are easily visible, and tonight in Haverston there are few. The storm wind from this afternoon still howls eerily about the trees, but has not erupted into the rain we expect. Connor sighs, and I look at him. He peers out the window as well.

  As the carriag
e pulls up to the brightly lit manor, I am sure we will be recognized. The illusion itches my eyes, and everyone looks blurry. The Prophet’s Stars around all our necks give off a fierce silver glow when I look at them, and I only hope Hugh is right and it will hide my power.

  “It’s like looking at the night sky through a lamp glow. The stars still burn, but the lamp hides it from you,” he said when I asked him. Hugh smiles at me as he fingers the necklace about his own neck.

  My swirly skirt unnerves me. The women of Indranah wear shorter skirts than we do. The material swirls about my ankles in bright aqua, the color of the sea in Indranah, Asa told me. I have never seen water this color; but she said the sun shines so brightly that Pavas, the ancient water goddess rejoices in it.

  The shorter style is pretty, but years of outgrowing my gowns too quickly have taken their toll. I feel juvenile and awkward as I step out of the carriage on Connor’s arm. The shoes — far too large — are of such thin material that the cobbles bite cold into my feet. Asa laughed when she saw how many rags I needed to stuff into the toes.

  “My Papi always said I had longboats for feet.”

  Knives of jealousy: to be able to speak with such cheer about family. I smiled at her, anyway.

  I feel grateful now for the extra warmth of the rags. But those sharp knives still tear my stomach as we approach the banquet hall through the garden entrance of my old home. The wind pulls at my skirts and my thoughts together, and I try to keep my mind on tonight.

  The room sparkles and shines with couples who undulate gently like flowers in the breeze, as they dance to harp and flute: a quaint fashion popular with the guilds now. The air smells different than it should — sharp smells of wine where there should be flowers from Mum’s garden. I nearly cough from trying to smell them and failing.

  All the tapestries of generations of Owen-Weaversmith are gone. Aman-Weaversmith tapestries hang here now, and banners proclaiming the betrothal of Danwright to Aman, Francis to Melisande. I know months have passed since my parents’ deaths, but this final sacking leaves me weak. I feel Linnet stiffen behind me as she enters, and I clutch her arm with my free hand.