A Ragged Magic

by Lindsey S. Johnson

  “Well, see who joins us. Good evening, young lady,” he says quietly.

  I try to cry out, but his magic is strong, and I am still so weak. His power ruffles through my mind, and I can’t reach out while he keeps my magic quiet.

  “So much power here. I think you could share,” I hear him mutter.

  I can’t do anything magical, but I can move. The cot lists already from him sitting on it, so I throw myself against him, which dumps us both onto the cold floor.

  Montmoore shouts in surprise, and I hear other voices raised, people coming closer. Montmoore extricates himself from the tumbled mess that is cot and blankets and me, and stumbles to his feet, swearing. “Cleverness can only avail you so much, child,” he whispers. His magic releases me as he hurries away.

  I send to Hugh for help, wincing at the ringing in my head as I do.

  We’re coming, Hugh sends back. Don’t let him take you anywhere. The message bangs in my head like drums, and I cut myself off from everyone. Montmoore is gone, out toward the barbican.

  When I look up, Orrin’s face peeks over the edge of his cot, his eyebrow raised. “You do seem to find yourself in trouble a lot, don’t you?” he rasps.

  I try to make a rude gesture, but the pain and exhaustion overwhelm me, so I give up in favor of a vague glare and wandering out of consciousness.

  Arms lift me from the floor, arms that feel familiar. I squint up at Connor’s face as he walks out of the great hall with me.

  “Where are we going?”

  He glances at me, his mouth pressed into a thin smile. “Somewhere a tad more private. And guardable.”

  “Tell Montmoore,” I drop my head against his chest, “tell him sharing is overrated.”

  Connor’s chest shakes lightly with a laugh or something else, and I let myself drift away, feeling safe.

  I rouse a bit when Connor lays me down in a bed — in my bed, in the room I share with Linnet. He pushes curls back from my face and looks stern.

  “Did he get away?” I ask.

  “Yes. I have people looking for him …”

  “But there was a ship waiting,” I finish. The vision of Montmoore on a deck slips sharp and painful into my mind. I wince away from it.

  Connor sighs and shakes his head at me.

  “I have to leave tomorrow for Corat. I have reports to deliver to the king, and Julianna needs to present the baby to court as soon as possible. Try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

  “You either,” I say.

  He snorts at me. “Who in this room is currently laid low by immense overuse of magic?”

  “Who told me himself he has enemies everywhere?” I retort. My voice is weak, and I can’t focus my eyes fully. “When are you coming back?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Soon, I hope. It will take us a week of travel at least, with the carriages. And I may need to stay in Corat for awhile, to deal with some matters.” He strokes at my hair. “Hugh sent the bailiff to arrest Guildmaster Aman and the others we know about, but it’s likely Stephen still has agents in town, possibly in the castle. So do me a favor and be careful. Do what Hugh tells you. Mostly.”

  I roll my eyes. “Who gets to tell you what to do?”

  “Almost everyone.”

  “Then do what I say, too. Stay safe. Remember you’re not your brother.”

  “I am most decidedly not my brother. Be well, Rhiannon.” He smoothes my hair again, kisses my forehead. Bending further, he touches his lips to mine, soft, gentle.

  A shiver runs through me and my hands spasm in fists in the blanket, then on his arms. I kiss him back, pulling him closer, dizzy from exhaustion, from him. When he draws away to rest his forehead on mine, we’re both breathing harder.

  “I’ll look for you when I return,” he says, his voice maybe a little rough. He stands and leaves the room, abrupt as ever.

  “I bet you say that to all the exonerated witches,” I rasp at the closing door.

  I see the gleam of his eye, a hint of a smile as he turns, and then he’s gone.

  ～

  The next few days I wander in and out of wakefulness, slowly regaining my strength. Julianna left instructions for me, as did Cardinal Robere, on what to eat and when I can stand up. Asa and Hugh check in on me, but Linnet is the one who spends her time making sure I follow instructions.

  I haven’t seen Orrin since the night Montmoore escaped. Linnet says Orrin doesn’t want to see anyone. She’s the only one he’ll speak to right now.

  I walk across the hall to the guest room where they’ve put him. I knock and crack the door open, so he can’t send me away before I peek in. He looks up from the bed, where he’s propped against the large wooden headboard, staring at nothing. Afternoon sunshine dapples the woven hanging on the wall opposite the bed. The window looks out over the sea.

  “Hi,” I say. His curly hair is a little bushier, his skin less ashy, than the last few months. I think not being trapped in Gantry’s spell agrees with him. I think magic scars that live on your skin is hard for both of us. I think he needs a friend. I know I do.

  He still says nothing.

  “I missed you,” I say, feeling stupid.

  He glances at me, then stares at his fingers picking at the rosy embroidered counterpane. “I didn’t know how to stop him.”

  “I know. I knew. I wasn’t — I didn’t know either.” I walk a few more steps into the room, biting my lips.

  “You saved me,” he says quietly.

  “You saved me first. A couple of times. I wish I’d saved you sooner.”

  “So do I.”

  And we are weeping in each other’s arms, arms scarred with runes that mark us, change us, make us different. Our skin is marred, but we own our souls.

  “What’s going on in here?” Linnet stands in the doorway with a tray, frowning at us. “Rhiannon, are you making people cry again?”

  “Linnet, do you have a handkerchief?” Orrin asks.

  I start to laugh, and he smiles at us both, but his eyes are still sad.

  Linnet sighs and brings the tray to the side table. “You both are so strange. Here, have a napkin. And I have letters for you.” She draws papers from her skirt pocket.

  “Letters? From whom?” I wipe my face and take the papers, look through them quickly. Julianna has sent something, and Robere for both Orrin and me.

  “A certain Earl of Dorward has sent a missive.”

  I look up; both Orrin and Linnet are smirking at me. “Shut up.” I fight my own smile down when I see his name. “Shut up both of you.” I look at Orrin as he scans his letter from Cardinal Robere, his expression tense. “What does he say?”

  “He wants me to come to Corat to work with him. He thinks we both should go.”

  “As an acolyte?”

  “He doesn’t say.”

  “Do you still want to be an acolyte?” Linnet asks.

  Orrin shrugs, his face very carefully blank. “I don’t know.”

  I press my lips together and work to keep my thoughts private. Orrin should get to make up his own mind. I don’t know what I want to do now, either. I pick up the next letter, the one from Julianna, but a piece of paper falls out of it, folded smaller with my name — my full name, Rhiannon Owen, on it. It has no other seal, and no greeting when I open it.

  “Who is that from?” Linnet asks.

  It doesn’t say, but I know.

  I can’t wait to meet you, clever Rhiannon.

  No signature, but I know it’s from Stephen, Connor’s brother. My stomach drops and my hands tremble, and I’m so very cold.

  Orrin reaches for the paper, and when his hand touches mine, the vision swamps us both.

  An angry woman, a queen, rips up a treaty, calls it an insult. A dark-eyed man smiles and makes her promises for when he is king. An army gathers in a mountain city.

  We both drop the note and stare at each other, panting.

  Linnet picks it up. “What is it? What does it mean?” she demands
.

  Orrin and I speak at the same time. “War.”

  Acknowledgements

  I have so many people to thank for this book happening at all.

  Of course thank you to my publisher and editor Jak Koke, for reading the version I had put away for so many years. Thank you for liking it enough to say yes, and helping me to make this new version as good as it can be.

  Thanks to Karawynn and Shannon, for copyedits, proofs, feedback, and saying “this is good,” when I needed to hear it.

  To Scott, who emailed that earlier version to Jak while we were at a party, despite both mine and Jak’s consternation, when Jak said he was looking for manuscripts.

  To my writing group pals, for reading version after version, for corrections and ideas, for loving the story, and for believing it was good even when I flubbed whole chapters.

  To my family, for cheering me on from a distance, or reading manuscripts and giving me feedback. (Especially Mom, who said, “I was surprised how much I liked it.” Thanks, Mom.)

  To my writer friends, many of whom read bits and pieces, had ideas to make it better, and wanted to see more. Thank you for being my tribe and my cheerleaders, thank you for kicking me in the butt when I need it, and thank you for patting me on the head and giving me cookies when I need that, too.

  For all my friends, thank you for being your awesome selves, and for believing me when I said “I’m a writer.”

  To Angie, for being my best friend and for making a kick-ass cover, because she is kick-ass, and so is this cover.

  And again to Scott, for being who he is, for being there for me, helping me when I’m overwhelmed, and for loving me as I am, warts and all.

  About the Author

  Lindsey S. Johnson has an appreciation for dramatic flair paired with a sense of the ridiculous, which leads to things like getting a black eye via accidentally setting her sweater on fire when reaching for the wonton soup. She started telling stories to her best friend at an early age, mostly to justify creating elaborate forts for dolls.

  Lindsey lives in Seattle with her significant other and two cats named after sorceresses. Why have one black cat named after a villainous magic-wielder, when you can have two? A Ragged Magic is her first published novel; she is currently at work on the sequel.