by Emma Newman
“Wait, are you seriously telling me that everything that is wrong with…industrialisation and modern technology is because the Fae are in Exilium?”
Beatrice considered this. “It is a woefully inadequate summary, but the essence of the causality is correct.”
It took a moment for Cathy to parse Beatrice’s strange phrasing. “I know there are all sorts of terrible things being done by the Elemental Court, so I don’t disagree that there’s a problem with them. But solving that by bringing the Fae into Mundanus is like…like solving an itch you can’t reach by jumping into a river full of piranha fish.”
After the same careful consideration, Beatrice said, “I disagree. If I interpret your analogy correctly, you assume that restoring reality to what it was before the worlds were sundered would be worse than it is now. That the Fae would cause lethal damage to humanity.”
“Not necessarily always lethal,” Cathy said. “They specialise in worse than death. I mean, why the hell do you think I’m so keen to trash the Nether? One of the reasons is to stop them having access to the people there! If you’d told me you wanted to dump Exilium into Mundanus wholesale when we first talked about it, I’d never have promised to persuade Sam.” How could she have been so stupid? She’d been so desperate to have hope she’d walked into this without asking the right questions. Maybe all the lessons she’d learned in the Nether had leaked out of her with all those bloody tears.
“Please understand that I am seeking to restore something that was broken, rather than forcing one thing into another. You speak of Mundanus as if it is something to be protected. It is not. It is the impoverished remains of a brutal magical ritual that never should have been done. Both Exilium and Mundanus are false constructs.”
Cathy buried her face in the cushion, trying to keep track of her thoughts as her anger and self-loathing buffeted them. “Look, the worlds were split to protect people, so how can you—”
“Ah!” Beatrice cheered as if she’d had some sort of lightbulb moment. “This is the root of the problem. Of course, I should have realised that you would be just as corrupted by their lies as everyone else is. You believe the Fae were ‘put into Exilium’ to protect people from them. This is not the truth. This is what the Sorcerers wanted everyone to believe. Like all victors, they ensured their version of history was believed above anyone else’s. Even those of the Fae-touched.”
“If that’s the case, why didn’t the Fae tell us the truth?”
“They are bound by the Treaty.” Beatrice sat very still, her back ramrod straight, but she seemed to be relaxed. Like they were talking about an interpretation of a painting, rather than the nature of reality. “As much as I despise the Sorcerers, I cannot help but admire their command of language. The word ‘treaty’ implies an agreement, yes? Something that both parties have committed to after reaching an accord?” She waited for Cathy to give a nod, like a tutor waiting for a student to confirm they are still following along. “But that’s a lie. The Sorcerers split the worlds to protect themselves from the magic they were incapable of controlling. To form a new reality in which their magic was dominant. Logic. Rules. The patriarchal control of information. None of it had anything to do with protecting people.” Beatrice smiled. “The idea is strangely amusing when considered from your point of view. If they truly cared about people, they wouldn’t have created Arbiters. They wouldn’t have ignored the Nether. They would have closed the loophole that permitted its existence. It was in their power to do so. It was in the Sorcerers’ power to stop the Fae from doing anything. The crowns made sure of that.”
Cathy hugged the cushion tightly, feeling like too much of what she knew was being challenged at once. “Look…I’m struggling to see this any other way. The Fae are…they are the cruellest, shittiest creatures who have done the cruellest, shittiest things to people, myself included. Needing to protect people from them makes a lot of sense.”
Beatrice sighed. “The Fae have treated the people in the Nether—and those they steal from Mundanus—this way because they too are unbalanced. If I locked you in a prison, starved you, and assigned jailers from your own family, would that not change your behaviour towards the tiny amount of food you could find? Would you sit nicely, use cutlery? Or would you snatch that food, make sure no one else could steal it, and then devour what you could?”
“Wait, are you saying we’re like food?”
“No, but human emotions and memories nourish the Fae. Of course they are cruel to you. It creates so many more emotions than contentment does.”
“And that’s still going to be true if you undo the magic. Right? I mean, they’re going to gorge themselves.”
“You forget the balance. There might be a period of readjustment, but ultimately, all would return to the state it should be. A world in which both the Fae and the Elementals co-exist with humanity. Both of the courts in balance again, neither able to become more powerful than the other. Magic would become part of everyday life again. Humanity’s soul would be soothed by its return. The Elementals’ need to steal and destroy would be tempered by the Fae’s roots in the chaos of nature. The Fae’s hunger for the emotional fruits of humanity will be sated by their immersion in human society and its constant change. They will be just as cruel and just as kind as any other creature with a mind and desires.”
Cathy shook her head. “It just sounds too good to be true.”
“Regardless of your ability to believe me about the result, you cannot deny the need for radical change. Without it, the Elemental Court’s actions will be so environmentally destructive that millions of people will die. This has nothing to do with magic. It has everything to do with them extracting their elements from the ground unchecked and perpetuating a system that puts profit above humanity’s survival. The only solution is to undo the work of the Sorcerers and restore the balance the Fae will provide. Permanently. The worlds must be unsplit to bring this about. If you cannot see this, then you are of no use to me and our agreement is void.”
The possibility that the magic tuition she’d been offered, promising true freedom, could be taken away so easily made Cathy’s stomach cramp with panic. “Wait!” She hugged the cushion tighter, trying hard to untangle her selfish needs from the revelations she’d just been buried in and the legitimate doubts they’d caused. “Wait. I just…I need some time.”
“People are dying. Now. In mines. In cities with tainted air. In droughts and in floods. I have taken too long already. Bring Lord Iron around to my solution and fewer people will die needlessly.”
“But the Fae…” Cathy simply couldn’t see them as victims. “I just can’t agree with unleashing them upon the world!”
Beatrice stood. “Then there’s nothing left to discuss. And nothing I am prepared to teach you.”
“Wait!” Cathy dumped the cushion, holding her hands up to placate her. “You haven’t lived with the Fae controlling your life. It’s irresponsible to just rush into this without thinking about the immediate impact.”
Beatrice folded her arms, but appeared to be listening.
Cathy paused for breath, trying to figure out whether she even believed it all. She had vague memories of old stories about the Fae protecting people and natural places, mythical tales passed down the Great Families, but she’d always hated them. What if they had some basis in truth? There was no doubt that the Elemental Court was awful, and Sam’s hope of changing them was diminishing daily. But this seemed like such an insane plan she couldn’t even hold it fully in her head.
Then she remembered the ride in the carriage with Tom on the way to see Natasha at the Tower, the way he’d made it clear that nothing could change and that she had to just accept it. He was right. There was no way to change the Nether. But just because she refused to simply abandon the people in the Nether, did that mean it was right for her to help this woman destroy it? And more than that—to change the world forever?
It was too big to agree to after one conversation, a weird and difficul
t one at that. Cathy needed time. Information. A plan. And she needed to keep Beatrice on her side. No one else in the worlds was prepared to teach her sorcery. No one else in the worlds could give her the freedom she’d been promised.
“I propose this,” Cathy said, the plan forming just ahead of her words, like train tracks being laid ahead of a moving train. “We go ahead with your plan and unsplit the worlds. But we only do it after certain things are put in place. Like protections and setting up information ready to disseminate once it’s all been done. Because the people who have always lived in Mundanus need to be educated on how to protect themselves from the Fae. They really do. Otherwise the Fae will just fuck everything up in a matter of days.”
“That seems reasonable.”
“And you’ll still teach me?”
“Yes. If you still commit to persuading Lord Iron to assist me.”
Cathy nodded. “I will definitely be having a very long conversation with him about this.” Whether they’d agree it was the right course of action was another matter. “Look, he’s not here at the moment, and I’ve sat around crying for long enough. Are you willing to start teaching me now?”
Beatrice nodded. “I have no other commitments this evening.”
Cathy grinned with relief. “All right. I want you to teach me how to protect myself from the Irises.”
• • •
After what seemed like an age, Will saw a movement at the side of the road. He got out of the car as Carter scrambled up out of the ditch. Will could hear the other three men close behind, but they were invisible in the darkness.
“Where is she?”
“Your Grace…”
“Where is my wife?” Will shouted with frustration.
“We…we tried, your Grace, but there must be some other magic in force at the house. As soon as we touched the windows or the doors we just…we just couldn’t go in. The others just walked away. I managed to get the front door open, but then I couldn’t stop myself walking away before I’d even gone inside.”
“The front door? For the love of… Did the need for caution or discretion not occur to you?”
Carter, clearly affronted, was trying hard not to show it. “It was not my intention, your Grace. I tried to go to the other doors, but—I have no idea how that happened, truth be told. I’m so sorry, your Grace. There’s something else at work there. We couldn’t even get into the house, let alone near to the Duchess.”
“Damn it!” Will banged the roof of the car with his fist. “Did you even see her?”
“Yes, your Grace, through the living room window. The Duchess looked distressed. She was talking to a woman with long blonde hair. Not someone I recognise. And the Duchess looked thinner, and pale, your Grace. I’m not sure that Lord Iron is looking after her very well.”
Will turned away and rested his arms on the car, feeling suddenly exhausted. “I don’t understand. It sounds like Fae magic, but that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Indeed, your Grace. We did all we could. I’m so sorry.”
Will scowled at the distant lights of the mansion. A place that broke magic yet was protected by it. It seemed that only an Arbiter would be able to enter such a place. Fortunately, he knew a corrupted one.
Will pulled out his mobile phone, walked a few paces away from Carter, and dialled the number for Faulkner. It rang twice and then a flat, emotionless voice said, “Hello, Mr Iris.”
“Faulkner, I need you to do something for me. Lord Iron has kidnapped my wife and is holding her at his estate and it seems to be protected by magic.”
“The last I heard, Lord Iron’s estate is in Cheshire.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I work for the Camden Chapter, Mr Iris. Cheshire is in another Kingdom. I can’t help you.”
Will was gripping the phone so tightly he heard the plastic casing creak. “I will handle all of the arrangements. No one else needs to know. I’ll pay you, if—”
“Mr Iris,” Faulkner cut in, “I have been instructed to turn a blind eye to any of your activities in the Kingdom of Essex. Nothing more.”
“Then give me the number of the Chapter here.”
“They will not be interested, Mr Iris. Your wife is not an innocent, and I suspect the local Chapter will be keen to maintain good relations with Lord Iron. And if you are desperate enough to contact me, you might be tempted to involve the mundane police force. Don’t. If you do, the local Chapter will get involved and you will be facing accusations of a breach regardless of whether you use magic or not.”
His chest feeling tighter by the moment, Will glanced back at Carter, who was waiting by the car as the rest of the men arrived. “Is there nothing you will do to help me?”
“No. Good evening, Mr Iris.”
The call ended, along with Will’s hope. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
4
Lucy never thought she’d be able to muster any great sympathy for Nathaniel Reticulata-Iris, but this evening it was easy. His first grand public event since becoming Chancellor of Oxenford was not going well. Despite the impressive interior of the Radcliffe Camera dazzling visitors from the rest of Albion, it was clear to those who had any social understanding that something was very wrong.
Even though there was dancing and music and the champagne was flowing, key people were missing. At first Lucy had thought they might be tucked away on one of the upper galleries that looked down into the central circular space. There were many clusters of people watching the dancing, obscured by the huge stone pillars, and it would be easy to miss someone’s presence. But as she and Tom moved through the ballroom and then the galleries, nodding and smiling at those he felt should be greeted warmly, she’d heard several remarks that supported her suspicion. None of Nathaniel’s family had come. The Duke and Duchess of Londinium—the Chancellor’s own brother and sister-in-law—were conspicuously absent. Several guests had even asked Tom where they were, placing him in the awkward position of having to give a satisfactory answer that was bland enough to cover all possible explanations yet leave the enquirer feeling they knew more than before they’d asked. Lucy noted that he’d gone from saying that he was sure the Duke and Duchess would arrive presently to saying that he understood the Duke had been unavoidably detained but should arrive soon. That was what he’d told Nathaniel, who’d demanded an answer through the gritted teeth of a public smile. Unlike all of the other casual enquirers, Nathaniel had left the exchange looking angrier than he had before.
None of the Aquae Sulis Irises had arrived either. Neither Nathaniel’s own parents nor his unmarried, highly eligible sister had deigned to arrive and it was starting to look like the family was snubbing their eldest. Lucy couldn’t believe that; it was clear that the entire family and their patron supported Nathaniel’s controversial rise to power, but that actually made her more worried. What could possibly have happened to keep so many of them away? It felt as if something was building, like the way it used to feel back home before a storm broke, as if the oppressive sense of worry might soon reach the point when it tipped into a social tempest. It didn’t help that the person whom she’d expected to arrive in Londinium earlier that day had also failed to appear.
“Where in the worlds are the Duke and my sister?” Tom remarked. “They’re never this late.”
“I guess they had better things to do,” Lucy ventured.
Tom leaned down to whisper in her ear. The brief thrill of the movement’s intimacy rapidly faded when he said, “‘I guess’ sounds dreadfully colonial, dear.” Reddening, Lucy looked away, searching the crowds for any sign of Cathy. She could do with an ally. Someone who found this event as tedious as she did.
“Excuse me, Mrs Rhoeas-Papaver?” She turned at the sound of the voice to see one of the servants holding a silver tray with a folded piece of paper resting on it. “A message for you.”
“Thank you.” She took the note from the tray.
“Is it from Cat?” Tom asked. “What’s the
excuse this time?”
Lucy recognised the handwriting immediately. “It’s from Edwin! He’s right outside!” When Tom frowned in confusion, Lucy sighed. “My cousin, Tom, from California.”
“Oh, yes, he was coming to visit. Why is he here and not Londinium?”
Lucy snapped her fan shut in frustration. She’d been through all of it with Tom earlier that week. “Because I secured him an invitation. As we discussed.” He nodded in that vague way when he wanted her to think he was listening, but she knew he was probably thinking about the way the building was constructed or which historical events happened within the anchor property or which king killed which queen here or something. “He’s waiting outside; I’m going to bring him in.” When Tom didn’t move off with her, she paused. “Aren’t you coming with me?”
Something had caught his eye. Elizabeth was on her way over and she didn’t look happy. “I’m going to diffuse whatever this is first,” he said. “She looks angry. It’s probably about Harold’s hat. Or it’s Cat. Probably Cat.”
Lucy bit back a comment about Elizabeth’s husband and left the siblings to it. How Cathy could be related to Elizabeth never failed to astound her. The fact that Elizabeth was related to him was something Tom often seemed bemused by himself.
Poor Tom. Lucy reminded herself of the pressure he was under as she descended the stairs to the ground floor. Will had barely been at the Tower all week, leaving Tom to handle the fallout from Bertrand Viola’s scandalous fall from grace. Secretly, Lucy was glad that horrible man had been expelled from Society, even though it was such a headache for Tom. Bertrand had been the wealthiest public supporter of Will’s Dukedom. Now everyone was trying to secure an opinion from Harold, who was now the head of the Viola family in Londinium (a fact that pleased Elizabeth no end) but no one had succeeded in getting anything useful from him. Lucy suspected the man was quite mad, and probably needed professional help, but all the times she’d tried to raise the issue with Tom he’d shut her down. Really, these Brits were just too private for their own good.
