Seventh Bride

by T. Kingfisher

  He’s the master of the house…he can make it go where he wants. Otherwise we probably couldn’t get food deliveries. Even if he didn’t create the magic, he clearly knows how to use it.

  I could wind up halfway to the city and he could be dragging my parents out of bed and setting the mill on fire. Great.

  She turned the hedgehog loose in the garden, and went up to bed in a pensive state of mind.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  She woke in the afternoon when the floor fell. This time, she did not go back to sleep, but got up and dressed. Her clothes were getting stiff with dirt. Perhaps she could do some washing up.

  Maria nodded to her when she came down, and again at her request. “Certainly. There’s a laundry. It’s big enough for a dozen, you won’t have any problems.”

  Clad in borrowed clothing—Sylvie’s, Rhea suspected, as the cuffs of the pants fell halfway up her shins—she went to work pounding the dirt out of her clothes.

  The laundry was a cavernous room. Big enough for a dozen didn’t do it justice, unless you meant a dozen elephants. The tiles were cool underfoot and the ceiling was lost in dimness.

  Why is it so large? Is it from when the manor house was built?

  Even the smallest tub could have held an entire family’s worth of clothes. She ran a few inches of hot water into it, and set to work.

  Scrubbing the clothes left her hands busy but her mind free to wander. If it wandered too far, Rhea would begin to think about how utterly mad it was that there was a murderer in the house and she was doing laundry.

  Well. What else can I do? As Maria would say, if I sit down and cry, nothing will change and I still won’t have clean laundry.

  She would not think of the night’s task. That way lay only dread.

  She thought instead of the house itself, so large and so empty. It was obviously made for dozens of people and hundreds of servants, not for one man and a half-dozen wives.

  Crevan obviously hadn’t built it, even if he planned to marry a hundred wives and wanted space for them all.

  Everything I’ve seen him make has been sort of awful. All those golems...if he tried to build a house, it’d probably be a golem-house.

  Rhea scowled. That was not a pleasant thought. Walls of dried skin and the roof lashed on with black leather thongs…no, not a pleasant thought at all.

  Still, if he didn’t create the magic, it must be attached to the house somehow. Maria said the house touched many forests. Perhaps it was one of his ancestors. Maybe magic runs in the family.

  It would make sense if it were a family seat. He’s a noble, they inherit buildings more often than they build them. I suppose it’s probably been in the family for hundreds of years. Presumably he’ll pass it on to his heirs…not that he has any heirs…

  Her hands slowed. She turned the little cake of soap over in her fingers, not seeing it.

  …yet.

  A slow wash of adrenaline went through her body, leaving her cold. Her fingers shook despite the heat from the water.

  Is that what he wants from me? Children?

  She stared into the tub without seeing it. Suds drifted over the surface.

  I can’t have children. I’m fifteen. I mean, I could, but—that’s a stupid thing to want from me. You’re not supposed to have babies for at least a couple more years. Everybody knows that really young mothers die more often. I don’t even bleed regularly yet.

  The midwives would howl.

  She wondered if she’d even be allowed a midwife, or if it would be Maria and her endless cups of tea.

  Or Ingeth.

  Oh, dear Lady of Stones. I will kill myself first. I really, truly will. It shouldn’t be hard around here. I’ll go get a midnight snack and fall through the floor. I would rather plummet to my death than try to have a baby with Ingeth poking around down there.

  I think I actually mean that.

  She pressed her forearm against her face, tilting her hands so the soap wouldn’t run into her eyes. Her head ached.

  No. No, this is stupid. He’s not stupid. Completely mad and obviously evil, but not stupid. If he wanted an heir, he’d probably marry someone who had proved she could have children. Some attractive young widow with big hips or something.

  Rhea grabbed her laundry out of the tub and hauled the dripping weight over to the drying racks.

  If not children, though…

  He takes something from every one of his wives. I don’t know how and I don’t always know what. He took Maria’s magic and Sylvie’s sight and I think Ingeth’s voice and maybe he killed Lady Elegans by taking her life—and Maria said something about the golem-wife’s will, although I don’t quite understand how that works—

  What is he going to take from me?

  It occurred to Rhea, later that evening, that she could simply ask. For all she knew, he might even tell her.

  She did not get a chance. When she presented herself in front of Crevan’s study, Ingeth was waiting. The silent woman glowered at her.

  “Did he take your voice?” asked Rhea conversationally.

  Ingeth’s breath hissed inward and she wheeled around, one hand raised. Rhea jumped back to avoid a blow.

  For a moment, she thought the other woman might block her from the study. But Ingeth only stared at her, her chest heaving, and then she turned back and struck the door with her open hand.

  “Enter,” called Crevan.

  Do I apologize? I didn’t realize—or I suppose I did, but I didn’t think she’d—oh, damn.

  Ingeth turned her back, the lines of her shoulders as straight as if they had been made with a ruler.

  Rhea gritted her teeth. She didn’t like Ingeth and yes, if she was being honest, she wanted to needle her a little, but there was a difference between needling and punching someone in the gut.

  “Sorry,” she muttered. The line of Ingeth’s back didn’t change.

  She entered the study, her stomach roiling. Was she going to get light, amused, sardonic Crevan, or enraged Crevan?

  I suppose it doesn’t matter. It’s all the same madman.

  He was at the bookstand again. The last light through the window tinted the book and his hands red. It should have been an ominous light, but his cuffs were white and the light dyed them as pink as the ridiculous strawberry roan horse.

  “There will be no helpful magic tonight,” said Crevan.

  She gazed at the pink cuffs and said nothing.

  “By rights, I should accuse you of cheating,” said Crevan. “Those were your tasks, not some bearish familiar’s.”

  Rhea lifted her eyes. “You never said I had to do the tasks alone. And if we’re speaking of cheating, the orchard path didn’t vanish on its own.”

  He gave a short little laugh. Rhea suspected it was covering up anger. No, I’m not mad, I thought it was funny, didn’t you hear me laughing? What makes you think you could make me angry?

  She clasped her hands behind her back so that he would not see how she twisted her fingers together.

  Crevan picked up a card from the bookstand. It was folded into thirds and sealed with wax. “Tonight, you will go to the old well. When you get there, unseal the note and follow the orders. This one time, you must return after sunrise.”

  Rhea felt a flicker of relief that there was not a time limit, and hated herself immediately for it.

  What is this? Do I really think he’d make it easier? And even if he had, I’m supposed to be grateful that he’s made the rules of his stupid little game easier on me?

  “How many times are we going to do this?” she asked, digging her nails into her palm.

  He raised an eyebrow and smiled.

  And now he’s happy again. Lovely.

  “What if I told you this was the last task?” he asked.

  She met his eyes squarely. “I don’t know. Are you going to tell me that?”

  His laugh this time was all amusement.

  He likes to be challenged, thought Rhea, but only when it’s obvious th
at it’s futile. He finds defiance funny, as long as you’re still playing his game.

  It occurred to her that knowing this might be useful, if all went ill and she wound up married to him and trapped in this vast house with a growing collection of wives.

  That was so grim a thought that she missed his next words. It was only when he held out the card to her that she concentrated enough to take it.

  “Don’t open it until you reach the well,” he said. “Or you will fail at once.”

  She nodded and left without asking permission.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “The old well?” said Maria. “It’s not far at all. Not like the graveyard. Go to the end of the orchard, where the two apple trees have grown together.”

  Rhea nodded and touched the note in her pocket. It felt vaguely oily. She took her hand away.

  “Perhaps it’ll be an easy one,” she said.

  Maria looked at her.

  “I know,” said Rhea, bowing her head, and slipped out of the kitchen.

  She looked in vain for the hedgehog. It did not come out to greet her, and after lingering by the lamb’s-ear for a few moments, she continued on.

  Perhaps it’ll find me. For all I know, it’ll ride in at the last moment on dragon-back and save me from whatever idiocy Crevan has planned tonight.

  It was a short walk. After the previous nights, it seemed to take no time at all. She stepped off the path and picked her way through the grass, where the fallen apples were rotting quietly under the leaves.

  She came abreast of the two apple trees, which were wrapped around each other like lovers, and there was the well.

  It was a short stone well, with a metal crossbeam. There was no bucket or handle, and ferns grew in the gaps in the stone.

  Sylvie was sitting on the edge of the well. It yawned black and cold behind her.

  Rhea felt her stomach turn over with sudden dread.

  The blind woman turned her head when Rhea approached and said “Ingeth? Is that you?”

  “No,” said Rhea, “it’s me.”

  “Oh,” said Sylvie. “Good. Ingeth brought me out here, but I’m afraid I didn’t bring my stick. I’m not so good out of doors without it.” She gave a small wisp of a laugh.

  Rhea suddenly felt that needling Ingeth earlier had not gone nearly far enough.

  Sylvie smiled in her direction. The wind tugged at a frayed end of the cloth around her eyes.

  “I’ll take you back in,” said Rhea. “Just a moment…”

  She dipped her hand into her pocket and unfolded the note. There was the faintest hint of a spark when she broke the wax seal. The silver ring burned on her finger.

  There were two words written on it.

  Kill her.

  Rhea looked at them for a moment. She read them five or six times, but they did not change, and in truth, she didn’t expect them to.

  Then she laughed, one short, painful laugh, and felt the knot in her stomach unclench.

  Rhea had expected, when she finally failed a task, to be consumed with dread, to fall down weeping, to faint or scream or shriek like a child. Instead, what she felt was the first cousin to relief.

  She had failed. It was over. Whatever terrible thing was going to happen was out of her hands now, and she could stop playing Crevan’s ridiculous game and focus on doing something useful, like running away or killing him or something.

  I should probably have been doing that all along. Did I ever really think he’d let me go?

  She crumpled the note up and tossed it into the black mouth of the well. Her heart felt strangely light.

  Perhaps I could simply walk up and stab him in the face. I wonder if anyone’s tried that?

  A little breeze sighed through the ruined orchard. Rhea could see Sylvie shivering.

  She pulled off her cloak and tucked it around the blind woman’s shoulders. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you home.”

  It took longer returning. Sylvie tucked her arm through Rhea’s and they walked arm in arm through the grass. Rhea stumbled more often than Sylvie. “I’m sorry,” she said, when a ruined apple turned underfoot. “I don’t know who’s leading who.”

  Sylvie smiled. “It’s all right,” she said. “I wouldn’t know which way to go.”

  They reached the path. Rhea glanced down toward the clearing where the golem-wife hung beside the pool. Whatever I do, surely there’s some way I can free her as well.

  The going was easier now, but Rhea did not walk any faster than she needed to. The moon was just barely over the trees, and they were stepping into their own shadows, though Sylvie could not see it.

  “I was beautiful,” said Sylvie quietly.

  Rhea glanced at her.

  “I’m not boasting,” said Sylvie. “I was beautiful. I came from a land…oh, a long way away, I think. Everyone here is very dark, but we were all very pale. Lord Crevan came there and courted me. It was a long time ago.”

  “It’s all right,” said Rhea, because Sylvie’s face was anguished. Does she remember that other people can see her expression?

  Sylvie shook her head. “It wasn’t strange,” she said. “That he made an offer, I mean. In my country, we aren’t…we aren’t noble and peasant the same way. Maria says it’s different here. But it wasn’t strange, in my country. Lords marry beautiful women all the time. I don’t want you to think badly of my parents.”

  “I don’t,” said Rhea, who hadn’t thought of them at all.

  “Good. They meant well.” She sighed. “They didn’t think it was odd…”

  “Mine did,” said Rhea, stepping on her shadow’s heels. “Lords don’t marry peasants here. They knew it was strange, but they couldn’t do anything about it. You can’t stop a lord doing what he wants. If you try…well…bad things happen.”

  Sylvie nodded.

  The edge of the gardens came into view, and Rhea quickened her step a little. “We’re almost there.”

  Sylvie leaned her head against Rhea’s shoulder, and said, very quietly, “Be careful. Maria’s afraid, but she’s excited, too. I can hear it in her voice. She thinks something’s going to happen.” Doubt crept into her voice. “She’s not wicked, no matter what people say about witches. But she can be ruthless if she has to be. I love her, but it’s true.”

  Rhea let out her breath in a long sigh. She seems less befuddled out here…or perhaps if you live in a house where you are powerless, it is safer to seem harmless and befuddled. And she’s not saying anything I hadn’t considered.

  “Thank you,” said Rhea.

  Sylvie straightened. The moonlight made silver glitter of her hair.

  “You’re still beautiful,” said Rhea, no longer sure if she was telling a kind lie or not.

  Sylvie smiled and shook her head. “Thank you,” she said. “It shouldn’t matter any more. But it still does.”

  Maria took one look at them, as they came through the door, and drew her breath in as if she’d been struck a blow.

  Her eyes sought Rhea’s. Rhea shook her head slightly, settling Sylvie into a chair. Not now.

  Maria nodded. Rhea didn’t know if she had taken the message or not.

  “Ingeth took me outside. Rhea walked me back,” said Sylvie, sounding pleased and somewhat child-like again.

  Rhea glanced down at her, her suspicions confirmed.

  She may not be the smartest woman, but she’s smart enough to play dumb. I don’t think it’s completely an act—I’m pretty sure she’s not entirely all there—but she’s also not doing anything that might make herself look like a threat. Hmm.

  It was interesting. Rhea could admire it, in the abstract. From battling swans, she had learned to fight back or to run away. It had not previously occurred to her to dress up like a rock or a tree or some other part of the landscape, and just let the swan swim past her.

  Bit late to start that with Crevan…

  Maria fussed over Sylvie, getting her another cup of tea. Rhea turned toward the door.

 
“Tea?” asked Maria.

  Rhea shook her head. “I have to talk to Himself.”

  Now, before I lose my courage. Now, while I still feel a little bit invincible.

  She was almost to the doorway when the house rocked and the floor began to fall away.

  Rhea clung to the doorframe, glanced over her shoulder, and said “I guess it’s midnight.”

  She had a better view of the process this time. The baseboards descending directly into bedrock were still profoundly absurd.

  More unsettling, the tiles that stayed in place appeared to be hanging in empty air. There was nothing underneath them. An end table with a flower arrangement on it hung suspended over the abyss.

  “How does that work, anyway?” asked Rhea.

  Maria came up behind her. “The short answer is that the manor house touches many places at many times. That’s how the roads get so muddled. The clock-wife, when she’s angry, pulls the house to a place and time where there is nothing underneath.”

  Rhea turned her head and stared at Maria. “She can do that?”

  Maria shrugged. “More or less. There’s a technical explanation, but it’s of interest mostly to witches and sorcerers. And possibly clock makers.”

  “Is she trapped in there? Like the golem-wife?”

  The cook watched the tiles flying up out of the pit, like white stone birds. Her voice was low and rapid. “The inside of the clock is different. He has no power there, so he stays out of it. When she shakes the house, his power is weak for a little while. I must ask, if the chance comes, would you be willing—”

  She broke off. Rhea turned and saw the last tiles fitting themselves into place.

  That’s interesting. If I can catch her when the floor falls again, maybe she can answer my questions.

  Rhea stifled a snort. The entire process lasted such a short time. Well. One question, then. I wonder what I should ask?

  How do I kill Crevan?

  No, don’t be ridiculous. If she knew how to kill him, she’d have done it herself already. I doubt she’d even think twice about it.