The green shoots unfurled further, thickening as they grew into tiny plants. It was undeniable. The plants in the greenhouse reacted to her, but the effects had been subtle—so subtle that she had wondered if she’d been imagining it. Beds she’d weeded had seemed lusher than others, the herbs seeming to grow faster and smell stronger than those around them. She’d ignored this, told herself that she was tired, and adjusting to a new life.
But she wasn’t imaging this. The lovesknot spouts had slowed, but they were still inching upwards, starting to branch into a lattice above the soil’s surface.
“Some seeds take better to magic than others.” Ariella jumped and found Yora standing behind her, smiling.
“What do you mean?” she asked, a flood of nervous heat making her blush guiltily. Even though it was silly, she knew that if anything Yora would want to help, not condemn her.
Yora’s smile widened, “Well, the moonsuckle on the house was a fairly obvious change.” Ariella felt her blush deepen.
Yora reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “This is normal, Elle,” she said. Ariella found she quite liked Yora using Prell’s nickname for her. “This is how Graces start to show. Hasn’t the Synod been guiding you?”
Ariella shook her head without thinking, then stopped, feeling guilty. Her mother was the head of the Synod of Light, the ruling council of the Vale, made up of nine people, each representing one of the Godstars. Her mother made ten, because the Grace was of all Stars, not just one. Ariella had met the Synod, of course, every year on her birthday when they came to inspect the young Grace. She’d always suspected they’d been looking for signs of magic, and every year left her feeling smaller and weaker than the year before. She’d begun to believe Ellentyre’s words—that she was a false Grace, a failure for the Vale. Possibly the end to all magic in the Vale at all.
Yora clicked her tongue in irritation—Yora, who came from a Blooded family.
“Do you know— I mean, can you tell me—” Ariella battled to get the words out. How did you ask someone to tell you something you should all ready know? The knowledge of what she was supposed to do should have been born into her.
Yora sighed and shrugged a little. “My grandfather was mayor of Pyscoria once. He was also on the Synod—the representative for Feloren, the Luck Star. That was in the days when they were still careful to represent the whole of the Vale on the Synod. These days unless you’re Ystellian Blooded, you can forget it.”
She beckoned Ariella to follow her down to the little corner where they kept the tea and chocolate. Outside, the rain pattered on the glass, turning the warm, softly lit greenhouse into a cosy haven.
Yora passed her a biscuit. The older woman leaned back in her chair, her eyes on Ariella, while she considered her. “The Synod’s one job is to safeguard the Grace, and ensure that the Graces-in-Waiting are educated, trained and prepared for the Bonding. But like any group of people with a bit of power, they get greedy quickly.”
“I can’t tell you much about the Bonding. It’s a secret told only to the Synod and Graces, but my grandfather spoke a lot in his old age, often about things he shouldn’t have. And I listened.”
Ariella was trembling. She had waited so long for this, to find out how she was supposed to fulfil the destiny that had lain like a shadow over her life. She tucked her hands between her thighs to stop them shaking and waited. She didn’t dare interrupt Yora. She wouldn’t even know what to ask.
“The nine Stars—” Yora hesitated, then ploughed on, “—they all require something of you. Of the Grace. I don’t know what it is—each one wants something related to its nature, to the magic it’ll bestow on you.” She gestured around at the greenhouse. “Judging by your effect on the plants, both here and on the moonsuckle—no, don’t apologise—I’d say you’ve bonded Anthia.”
Ariela frowned and shook her head. “No, I couldn’t have, could I? Wouldn’t I know?” She swallowed, and admitted in a whisper, “I don’t even know where they are.”
Yora smiled gently, “No Grace does. Not until they begin their bonding season. Can you imagine if everyone knew where they were? Anyone with a drop of the Blood would be at the focuses, trying everything they could to get the Star to bond with them.”
“What? Anyone?”
“That’s the part they leave out of stories. And not quite anyone—anyone with a drop of Grace blood. The Grace family used to be bigger, and the succession far less certain than it is now.”
Ariella sat back, not quite stunned, not after the unpleasant revelations in her treasured journals, but very uncomfortable. She’d always thought that no matter how lacking she was in magic, that she was at least guaranteed her position. The Synod’s lack of guidance took on a sinister aspect.
The door banged opened behind them, and a dripping Prell slouched in, bellowing for biscuits and warmth. The hustle and inevitable complaints about the smallness of the lunch pushed Ariella’s worries to one side, and she let Prell’s jokes lull her back into the cozy safety of her new-found family.
6
The Messenger
After ten straight days of rain, they woke to a calm, breezy day. The sky was grey, but it was dry. Ariella found she quite liked the clean cool air, and the darkness made her feel more at home. Not quite the same as a forest canopy, but a lot less intimidating than the expanse of bright blue.
Yora took one look outside and fetched two wide baskets from one of the hundreds of cupboards.
“Mushrooms!” She brandished the baskets at them over breakfast. Ariella frowned down at hers, which was empty of anything, not just mushrooms.
Prell elbowed her in ribs. “No silly. She means we should go mushroom hunting today.”
Yora winked at Ariella. “Yes, get off these damp rocks, and go find some mushrooms. I have plans for them.” She tapped her wooden spoon against the side of the pot in which she was currently scrambling more eggs. There never seemed to be an end to Prell’s appetite, only to Yora’s willingness to feed him. The small loren chirped its agreement—it seemed as eager for an adventure as Ariella was.
It felt strange to be leaving the islands, even if just for a few hours. She’d dreaded her exile, Ellentyre’s punishment for refusing to open the hidden library for her, but the islands had quickly turned from exile to home, and it was all due to Yora’s stubbornness. Ariella was giddy with fresh air, and she didn’t care that though the rain had stopped, the skies were still determinedly gloomy. Today she could spend alone with Prell, utterly unsupervised. Her fluttery nerves made her restless and eager to be away from the city. Prell picked up on her mood and soon they were racing each other over the bridges, across a small stretch of the plain and into the small wood below the river city.
Prell’s advantage in the open with his long legs was lost the minute they stepped into the trees. Ariella was a child of the forest, and even this small, strange wood felt right to her in some ethereal, inexplicable way, as much home to her as Prell and Yora were. She slipped between the trees like a fish in a stream, the loren shadowing her every step. It only took her minutes to close Prell’s lead.
He come to a stop in a small glade, leaning against a tree. Sneaking up behind him, Ariella did her best impression of a shadowcat growl. Prell jumped so high his feet left the ground, and his squeak of fear had Ariella collapsing in laughter. She fell to the forest floor, wiping tears from her eyes, giggles spilling hopelessly from her.
Prell growled at her, and leaped onto her, pretending to bite her neck. She arched against him instead of away and his play bites turned into gentle nips at her throat. His hands were in her hair, his mouth moving slowly, achingly slowing up her neck, along her jaw and then, oh, to her mouth. He kissed her softly, but not timidly. And she returned every inch of it, deep, unhurried kisses. There was no one to hide from out here in the forest, and the loren was no doubt busy doing whatever loren did in the forest.
She slid her hands along Prell’s wiry arms, across his chest, around his broad shoulders.
He was always so warm, warmer even than her. Digging her hands into his shirt and his hair, she pulled him closer and leaned back, bringing him back with her, until the length of his body was stretched along hers. Their kisses deepened, limbs so intertwined that she wasn’t sure where she ended and Prell began.
Her body felt liquid and hot, like molten gold. She pulled away from Prell, his lips were slightly swollen, and his cheeks flushed. The realisation came in a flash—she loved him.
“I love you Ariella Grace,” Prell whispered, his dark eyes intense. She’d never felt so seen.
“Prell—” Her voice broke. “How do you always read my mind?”
His face softened, and he bumped his forehead down to hers.
“I didn’t know it was possible to feel like this,” she said, whispering into his mouth, his lips only a breath away from hers. “I love you.” His mouth came down on hers again, with a gentle reverence, and she pressed herself against him, unable to to get close enough, her joy almost bubbling out of her.
She accidentally bit his lip and he jerked back in surprise, before falling on her, growling and nipping at her neck. Ariella squirmed with laughter, her desire not gone, but dormant again for now. There was no reason to rush this—they had time. She hoped they had time, it was getting harder to ignore the sense of urgency that dogged her.
Laughing, and floppy with joy and desire, they both fell back into the grass, legs still tangled together. Ariella’s body was still loose and warm, she lay in the crook of Prell’s arm, watching the shape of his jaw as he told her stories about all the trouble he’d got into with Jotan and Drummond—who she’d learned was the short one, who’d been so impressed with her treatment of Raef at the market.
He told her about the time they’d stolen the town locksmith’s picks and he’d somehow managed to break not only into the mayor’s house, but into the very guarded pantry within, and stolen an Artefact that made what was considered to be the best mead in the entire Vale of Astyria, by those who had been lucky enough to drink it.
“You must have been so sick afterwards.”
He laughed. “Yes. After I climbed down from trying to perform the Rysine on the mayor’s roof, Mom didn’t have to punish me. I felt so terrible for the next week that it was punishment enough. Even now the smell of mead makes me sick.” He grinned at her.
Laughing, she arched up to press a quick kiss of his mouth, part of her still disbelieving that this was her life now. That she could have got so lucky. “I suppose we should bring home some mushrooms, or your mother may never let us out alone together again.”
Prell’s grin was wolfish as he pushed himself up on his elbow. “We still have time.”
Ariella returned his grin, her skin already flushing with anticipation when something soft brushed her bare foot.
The loren sat at her feet, its body stiff and ears pricked.
She pushed herself upward quickly, ignoring the spinning in her head. “Something’s wrong.”
Prell didn’t argue, getting to his feet in flash and looking around them at the clearing. “There’s a storm coming in,” he said softly, as if worried that he might be overheard, “but I can’t see anything else.”
He held out a hand for Ariella, and she quickly got to her feet, straightening her clothes and fetching her basket even as the loren trotted toward the edge of the clearing, clearly eager for them to follow it.
Then she heard it, the crunch of twigs, the rustle of leaves. Someone was close.
“Who’s there?” she called.
“Just me, Gracelet,” said Oscar, coming into view. The portly man, the first person she’d met on when she arrived in Pyscoria, looked as grey as the sky today. “Come to fetch you and the boy home for some news.”
“You can tell us now,” said Ariella.
“Can’t,” he said simply.
Ariella suppressed her sigh of irritation, her earlier panic making her snappy. “Why not?”
“Gotta tell Yora too, and not saying it twice.”
Oscar was immovable, and even Prell’s jokey prodding couldn’t get him to open up. The loren climbed into her still-empty basket, and they all set off for home. The grey skies had darkened, Prell was right—a storm was brewing. Ariella found herself leading the way out of the forest. The light wasn’t much better outside of the trees, but the sparkling city on the river was a clear beacon.
Ariella kept glancing at Prell, her heart in her throat. Oscar could only be here to fetch her away—either to the mayor’s house or to Ellentyre’s. She should have known this day was coming, but somehow, the past few weeks had lulled her into believing that Yora could do anything, and that maybe, with some time, so could she.
Tears threatened, but she tilted back her head. She wouldn’t let them escape. She hadn’t give Ellentyre the satisfaction of seeing her cry in many years, not through all the bruises, not even when her ribs were cracked. Her mother might not be here to see her, but she was shadows-damned if she would let that woman make her cry. Never again.
She squared her shoulders against the dread, although it grew heavier with every step towards Pyscoria. She was so sick of being powerless.
It was too soon. The loren was purring from his perch in her basket, his eyes wide and worried as he gazed up at her. Prell’s warm hand bumped into her empty one as they crossed the first bridge back into Pyscoria and she clung to it as she would to a raft in a stormy river. It had started to drizzle by the time they reached the narrow blue house.
Yora was waiting for them in the kitchen, as if she knew they were bringing back a visitor. She placed steaming cups of chocolate in front of Ariella and Prell, then took her seat at the table again.
Oscar was left standing near the door, no mug for him. It was the first time Ariella had ever seen Yora snub a guest.
He let out a giant sigh. “I’m just the messenger, you know.”
Yora arched an eyebrow. “Out with it then. Shouldn’t be too hard. Mellie’s already been all over town with the news.”
The stocky man’s face coloured. “I didn’t…” Then he sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Well, you know how wives are.”
Another eyebrow raise from Yora.
“She’s to go to the mayor’s house. Tonight. He’s back already, and wants to dine with her tomorrow to establish her schedule for the upcoming season.”
“What does she need a schedule for?”
Oscar blushed deeply, and glanced at Prell and Ariella’s clasped hands.
“Courting. Mayor says it’s time, and that Hunter boy will be down in a week or two.”
Ariella found her voice. “What Hunter boy?”
“You should know him. Lives up in the tree city. Tainn, I think.”
She shook her head, it couldn’t be. She’d forgotten. Tangled up with Prell, it was so easy to forget that the choice wasn’t hers, that the Grace’s marriage was arranged generations before she was born.
“No,” she said, shaking her head, “I won’t go, and I won’t be courted.” She lifted her chin, and hoped no one could see it wobbling. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Yora’s face softened, but Ariella could see the regret in her eyes. “You can stay here as long as you like Ariella Grace. There will always be a place for you here, but, you’re still to be the Grace, and that comes with responsibilities. The mayor will one day be one of your advisors.” The older woman sighed. “Oscar, you’ve delivered your message, and given that the whole town knew before the Grace-in-Waiting did, you can confidently say that the message was successfully delivered. You can go now.”
Oscar shifted awkwardly. “I’m supposed to bring her to the mayor’s house.”
“I’m not going,” said Ariella with a trembling voice.
Oscar sighed. “Come on, love, you’re only making it harder on yourself. You’ve got a duty to do.”
Anger bubbled up in her chest—this man wanted to lecture her on duty? Ellentyre had given her a life-long lesson on duty. She’d taken beatings fo
r her duty.
“I will be at the dinner tomorrow evening, but I will not be moving into the mayor’s house. And I will not accept suitors.”
“But—”
Yora interrupted Oscar. “I thought you were just the messenger?” A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and warmth flooded Ariella. Prell’s hand tightened around hers under the table, giving a lie to the nonchalant way he was slurping up his hot chocolate. The loren had begun to groom itself on the kitchen table, and had angled its bottom at Oscar.
Oscar looked at each of them, then threw his hands up with a groan. “Message delivered then,” he mumbled and showed himself out.
The door snicked shut behind him, and Ariella’s freedom left with him.
7
A Bigger Battle
The mayor’s house was everything she’d come to expect from the Pyscorian Blood. Set at the centre of the four islands that made up the Rose Quarter, the residence was by far the largest of the Blood’s mansions. It must have been at least six stories high—not unusual in itself for Pyscorian homes—but it stood as wide as four houses, was surrounded by gardens and the whole thing was ringed with a bright copper fence. Ostentatious was an understatement.
Ariella hated it.
Prell, picking up on her mood, squeezed her hand, grinning at her as if her life wasn’t about to be ripped apart. But the irritation did distract her from despair, and she smiled back at Prell. She wasn’t here alone.
She lifted the brass rose-shaped knocker, and rapped on the door.
The Cythian girl whipped open the door as if she’d been waiting behind it. Ariella took a step back in surprise and glanced around her. Had they come to the wrong place?
The girl from the market was almost unrecognisable. The long central mane of her hair had been unbraided, and parted so that it fell over the shaved sides of her head. The limp strands looked strange and sad, too little hair for too much head. She was wearing a plain grey dress that sat oddly on her, a bit too tight on the hips and short enough to show her ankles. But even out of her leathers and velvets, she was still intimidating.
The City of Dreams Page 5
