My ears burned to hear it—like he had no name. This was the man I loved! This thing.
Even I had to admit, it was hard to see his humanity through all the exposed clockwork. I didn’t know if he could be fixed. But behind the gears and metal, I saw his soul, vibrant and living. For one precious moment, it all melted away, and I remembered the words of the Queen of the Longest Night when she had told me to take care of Erris. You have all the strength you need.
“He isn’t a thing,” I said. “He’s Erris.” And I took his hand.
32
Erris was neither human nor fairy, and all my love could not change that fact.
Smollings’s home was searched that evening, but they found no evidence of skin, and even if they had, how would we have reattached it? The illusion of life was broken.
“It was just . . . a glamour,” Erris told me, looking very serious. It was late by this time, and the day had been an exhausting round of police questioning and confusion. We had our first moment alone in a room of the massive New Sweeling police station.
“How does a glamour work?”
“An animation spell gives this body life . . . but the glamour tricks us into believing I’m real again. I know what fairy magic is capable of. We might be able to find a sorcerer to put up the illusion again, but . . .”
Panic scattered my thoughts. He would want to leave me. He wouldn’t want to live like this. “What can we do?”
He squeezed my hands. He was dressed in a suit again. He looked like anyone else. “I really don’t know. I’m not going to do anything rash . . .” Erris made a fairly ineffective attempt at a reassuring smile.
A policeman opened the door, admitting Karstor. His wound, thankfully, had been largely superficial.
“You’re both free to go,” Karstor said. “You can come home with me.”
“We are?” Erris said. The prospect of freedom seemed almost to frighten him.
“You have diplomatic immunity, Mr. Tanharrow,” Karstor said. “We can’t just hold a member of the fairy royal family. Come on. I imagine you both need rest. Later we’ll discuss what the next step will be. I’m sure you want to go home, but even that is hardly a simple matter with a king already on the throne.”
“What about Hollin and Annalie?” I asked, rising to walk with him.
“Hollin’s punishment will not be terribly severe,” Karstor said. “In light of the circumstances.” He looked at us, quite serious. “After Smollings, I have the highest rank on the council. I’m the Ambassador of Magic now. Not a responsibility I expected to inherit this quickly, if ever.”
“I know how you feel,” Erris said.
Karstor nodded.
A carriage brought us back to Karstor’s elegant apartment, where the well-intentioned cook plied us with baked goods the moment we sat down. This was not a house like most, where a maid brought food out from the mysterious realms of the kitchen. Karstor’s cook, apron-clad and dusted with flour, proudly displayed a towering pile of apple tarts and slender slices of chocolatey things topped with lattice and powdered sugar.
“Thank you, Birte,” Karstor said rather absently, sinking into his chair. He spoke to her in what must have been their native tongue, something kind but dismissive.
“You eat and you will feel better,” she said, lifting a tart onto a plate, and placing it on his lap whether he liked it or not. She clearly intended to serve Erris next.
“No, thank you,” Erris said.
“It’s very good,” she said. “I know you’ll feel better also. People say my tarts are as good as magic.”
“I can’t eat,” he said.
“Once you taste it—” She put another tart on a plate.
“Birte, he means it,” Karstor. “I’ll explain later.”
As she bustled from the room, Erris buried his face in his hands.
“Erris—,” I began.
“There is nothing to say.” He got to his feet and rushed to the bedrooms, and I felt so powerless. I could fight dark spirits for him, fight Smollings for him . . . but even I couldn’t fight this.
“He needs time to grieve,” Karstor said, probably speaking of himself as much as Erris.
I reached for a tart, and hoped they really were magic.
As one day passed, and then another, I tried to smile and say reassuring things whenever we spent time together. Karstor urged us to play cards, he offered books, he even gave us tickets for the theater, which neither of us had the slightest desire to use. He turned away everyone who wished to speak with us. I think we had some delusion that if we never left the apartment and never talked of plans, time would stop and decisions could be avoided.
But I could never forget what Erris was. Every morning, I wound him. I didn’t want to wind him; I feared he would start to resent me. But someone had to do it, and better myself than any other.
I felt awful when he caught me crying on my bed, my head pressed into my pillow.
“Don’t be sad,” he said.
I summoned up my false smile. I’d been making good use of it. “I’m not.”
“I was thinking, I should give you a concert,” he said. “I haven’t played a real song in years and years. I see Karstor has a piano.”
“Oh, I would love to hear you play.”
The piano was tucked into a cozy corner in a room full of books. Erris picked up a chair from the side of the room and plopped it in the center of the rug, facing the piano.
“Have a seat, milady.”
I sat, arranged my skirts, and folded my hands expectantly. Erris took the piano bench, flipping his coat out behind him.
I had always loved music for the way it heightened my emotions and lifted the veil to other worlds. As Erris played, his music grew more bold and strange, and he started to lose himself in it. He might have forgotten I was there, with such intensity he played.
This, then, was fairy music. I think I understood what fairies were, for the first time: not the tricksters or the dainty creatures of Lorinar’s tales, but people tied to the earth. In Erris’s melodies I heard the slow strength of trees, the fragility of flowers, and the ache of dreams. He carried me into them, and showed me where he had come from, as much as any picture or story.
Erris finally sat back, blinking slowly at the ceiling.
“Erris, that was beautiful.”
“I’m out of practice,” he said. “But I’ve missed it more than I knew.” I heard something new in his voice—a desire for the music he had missed. Maybe even for the land he had left behind. I was glad. If he was to stay with me, he would need something more to live for.
I went to stand beside him. He clasped my hand against his shoulder.
The door was open, but Karstor still knocked on the frame before he entered.
“A letter for you, Nimira,” he said, holding it out.
“It’s from Hollin,” I said, breaking the seal with my thumb. I read aloud.
Dear Nimira,
The opportunity to travel was the first desire of my youth, and to become a sorcerer the second, but my taste for magic has dimmed somewhat, in light of recent events. I have agreed to a yearlong position in New Guinnell, a Lorinarian colony rife with heat, insects, and adventure. They need sorcerers of my caliber to keep the region stable and explore new territory—and local forms of magic. I’ll help our government in lieu of the usual penalty for using forbidden magic.
Annalie is going home to Vestenveld. It’s what she wants, so don’t worry for either of us. We’ve agreed that maybe time apart is what we need. She urges you to visit whenever you wish.
There is more, however. You and Erris have been ever on her mind. She has been spending every free hour in communication with the spirit world, and they have given her a message. There is a sorcerer named Ordorio Valdana—indeed, I have heard of him, and I am sure Dr. Greinfern will know his name as well. He was once on the council, one of the greatest necromancers of the last century, but after the war he became a recluse. No one knew why
.
The spirits told Annalie he was once married, to a fairy woman, Melia Tanharrrow. Erris’s sister.
If anyone knows how to help Erris, it might be Mr. Valdana. He lives near the fairy gate, in the northern mountains. I hope you can find answers there.
Nimira, I’m sorry I drew you into the tangled web that has been my life these past couple years, but I must thank you for helping me to do what I did. When I was surrounded by falseness, yours was the voice of truth that helped me find my own. I wish you all the best.
Sincerely,
A. Hollin Parry
“Valdana! Yes,” Karstor said. “I met him once, when I was just a student. He came to the academy. A rare sort of man, with such power you could nearly see it rising from him like smoke.”
“And he was married to flighty old Mel?” Erris said.
I folded the letter with the slightest sigh. I hoped Hollin would find the adventure he’d hoped for in New Guinnell. I wished he could have had a happier ending with Annalie. As misguided as his actions often were, I knew it had all started with his love for her. Maybe a year abroad would be what he needed to heal.
“What do you think, Erris?” I asked. “Should we go find Mr. Valdana? I’d like to see mountains again.”
“I think, Nim, that you should pack your coat,” said Erris. “There could be hope for us yet.”
Acknowledgments
My name might be on the cover of Magic Under Glass, but I couldn’t have done without the following fabulous individuals:
Dade Bell, not just the love of my life but my political history advisor, sounding board, and the guy who listened to me read every single draft of this novel aloud. Fact: some of the best ideas in my stories are actually his.
My parents, for their love and trust in me and in radical education methods that allowed me a great deal of creative freedom. And to Mom for writing down my stories before I could write. Telling you both my book sold was a great moment.
My agent, Jennifer Laughran, for being lightning-fast, funny, and an all-around super agent. Yay!
My editors, Melanie Cecka and Sarah Odedina, for editing suggestions so fantastic that sometimes I thought my mind was being read and improved upon, and the rest of the Bloomsbury team.
Kate Dolamore, for years of complicated and fabulous pretend games and for just being a great sister.
Sarah Cross, for sending me a list of agents back in 2005 and ordering me to send a query out, already!
My beta readers, some dating back over three years and some who read more than once: Memory Arnould, Heather Cress, Liz Parker Garcia, Rose Green, Emily Hainsworth, Karen Kincy, Jackson Pearce, Robin Prehn, Rick Silva, and Jen “Awesome” VonDrak (who once sent me a supportive e-mail right when I really really needed it).
Sarah Hamilton, for being a lifeline for my imagination during the dark days of retail.
Freddie Baer, my fairy thriftmother, for boxes of clothes you better believe I’ll wear to signings.
The children’s writer community on Livejournal and around the Web. I wish I could add at least fifty more names here. So many have you have helped me, supported me, and made me laugh and think over the years.
And last but not least, all my dear family, friends, and coworkers who never laughed when I told them I wanted to be a writer.
Thank you, all.
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Acknowledgments
Magic Under Glass Page 18
