by Emma Newman
Will trembled, his fists clenched. Vincent appeared at the doorway behind George. Do something, damn you! Will thought at Vincent, but his uncle just leaned against the door frame, as if Sophia had already been taken from them.
“Let it go, Will,” his father repeated, squeezing his shoulder.
Will looked his father in the eye as Sophia sobbed. “No.” He readied his fist to punch him. There was the briefest look of disappointment on his father’s face and then he spoke something so quietly, so quickly, Will didn’t realise what his father had done until it was too late.
George stepped around him as Will struggled to move, frozen in place by the Doll Charm, so all he could do was stare straight ahead at his uncle. Vincent looked away, covering his face with his hands until he staggered out into the hallway, unable to watch any more.
No matter how hard he strained against it, Will couldn’t even move his eyes, couldn’t blink, couldn’t breathe. As the panic built within him, all he could do was listen to Sophia screaming his name until even that was abruptly cut off and Will was left alone, trapped in his own skin.
12
Just when Will was certain he was about to suffocate to death, he lurched forwards and then stumbled into the sofa, released at last from the Doll Charm. His ears rang as he sucked in lungfuls of air, coughing and gasping himself back to normality. His eyes watered and he couldn’t stop blinking, now that he was able to do so, nor was he able to stop shaking. Gripping the back of the sofa, he took a minute to steady himself before being certain he could walk.
Wiping his eyes, he looked at the mirror and saw only the reflection of his study. He pounded his fist into the sofa cushion and went to the door. Uncle Vincent was sitting on the floor just outside, his back against the wall, weeping into his hands. Morgan lurked down the hallway, clearly at a loss about what to do. Will waved him away angrily. “Get up!” he shouted. “We haven’t got time to sit around crying!”
“He always was a heartless bastard,” Vincent sniffed. “I can’t believe—”
“Get up!” Will repeated in disgust.
His uncle just looked up at him with reddened eyes. “What for? She’s gone. It’s all over now. I’ll be next. Oh, my life!” He covered his face again, shaking with each sob.
“What do you mean ‘what for’? We need to get her back!”
“Don’t be a fool, boy!” Vincent said into his hands.
“Coward!” Will went back into the study. He’d lost Cathy. He wasn’t going to lose Sophia too.
He rifled through the desk drawers until he found an envelope he’d acquired shortly after he’d become Duke. Something he never thought he’d need. “What’s that?” Vincent asked from the doorway. “Is it opium?” he added hopefully.
Will gawped at him. “What in the worlds…? No!” He tapped the corner on his palm to ensure the contents were settled, then tore it open. “It’s a Charm. To open a Way to Exilium.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses, boy? No one goes into Exilium without a summons! It’s madness. You’ll be lost for sure!”
“I am not going to sit here and weep whilst my father makes a terrible mistake. I have to bring Sophia back. Did you see him step through?” Vincent nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “And did you see our patron on the other side?” Vincent shook his head. “Then Father may not have reached him yet.”
“Listen to yourself! Surely you cannot believe that,” Vincent said as Will went to the mirror. “I know you love her, but Will, m’boy, you’re the one making a terrible mistake.”
Will made no effort to hide how low his opinion of his uncle had fallen. With a last, withering glance, he poured the sparkling powder from the envelope into his cupped hand, drew in a breath and then blew it towards the mirror before pressing his palm to the glass. He felt it ripple beneath his skin and before his doubts got the better of him, he walked forwards.
Will had never been to Exilium without having been summoned, and he was shocked by the open countryside that surrounded him. He couldn’t see any wooded glades, even in the distance, and when he turned, there was no Way back to his study. Only then did he appreciate how little he had thought this through.
There were rules about Exilium, everyone knew that, all to do with what one should or should not do in order to avoid slavery or death. Every single one of them flew from his mind. The only thing that remained in the blossoming panic was the need to find Sophia. He listened for her, hoping that her cries would lead him to her, but all he could hear was the breeze caressing the meadow grass around him.
He had to stay focused. Yes, that was one of the rules; he had to stay focused on why he was there. He turned around, scouring the horizon, looking for any sign of Sophia. When he turned a third time, he noticed that the ground nearby was sloping upwards into a small hill that wasn’t there before. With no better direction to head in, he started to walk up it.
After taking a breath to call for Sophia, Will decided against it. What if Lord Poppy heard him and pounced on the opportunity to torment him more? Instead, he thought of Sophia’s little hand in his, the way she hugged him, her ringlets and the way she said his name. He needed to see her, needed to hold her and tell her everything would be all right. He needed it so badly it felt like a rope had been tied around his heart and was pulling it out of his chest.
At the crest of the hill he saw a copse of trees not far away—impossibly close, given what he’d seen when he first arrived. But this was Exilium; he had to expect such things here. He headed towards it, keeping thoughts of Sophia foremost in his mind, having to push away momentary flashes of anger towards his father. He’d deal with that later. All that mattered now was finding his sister.
As he approached, Will saw familiar blue and purple flowers bobbing in the breeze. Irises. And it felt like every single one was watching him. Nonsense, he thought to himself, they’re merely facing the sun. He ignored them as best he could and stepped in the shadow of the leafy trees.
It felt different here. When he turned around to glance behind him, all he could see was forest, stretching so far back he couldn’t see the edge of it. He shivered. Just think of Sophia, he told himself, not the bloody trees.
He walked, passing irises that always seemed to be tilted towards him, a sense of unease growing all the while. He hadn’t been summoned, and worse than that, he was uninvited. This was his patron’s domain; he’d been here before, but had always been brought straight into the heart of it. Now it felt like he was a trespasser, creeping into a private estate to steal valuables.
A movement up ahead made him stop. He could hear someone’s voice. A woman’s.
His mother!
Will hurried forwards, eager to find her, yet terrified of being caught. She sounded upset. He was too late. Why else would his mother be there but to answer for her crime? Was that what it was? To have a child and love her?
Close enough to hear her words, Will slowed to a stop as the light of the clearing ahead illuminated his parents kneeling before Lord Iris. Will scoured the trees for Sophia but couldn’t see or hear her anywhere. Had Lord Iris whisked her away to some hidden place so he could focus on his parents? “Don’t get attached to her, Will,” he could remember Imogen telling him, shortly after his return from his Grand Tour. “She shouldn’t be here.” He shivered. Was she even still alive?
He moved forwards slowly, carefully, until he was right at the edge of the clearing, mere yards from his parents. He could see both of them clearly whilst he was obscured by the dense foliage, having positioned himself to the rear of Iris’s organic throne in the hope that his patron wouldn’t see him.
“I know it was wrong.” His mother’s voice wavered with fear. “I should have come to you as soon as I knew, Lord Iris, and I beg your forgiveness.”
“What for, exactly?” Lord Iris said.
She looked up, frowning in confusion, her cheeks wet with tears. “For having a fourth child, my Lord. Against your wishes.”
“And what
else have you done that requires my forgiveness?”
Will saw his mother visibly flinch and then look at his father, terrified. She started to speak but broke down before the words left her mouth.
“Anna-Marie!” his father said harshly. “Comport yourself!”
“Speak!” Lord Iris commanded.
“Sophia…” she began, tremulously, “Sophia…is not your daughter, George.”
Will watched his father’s face, saw the utter confusion there, which was mirrored within himself. “But the Charm,” George said quietly. “How could you betray your vow? Only an Iris man can touch you.”
“Sophia’s father is an Iris man,” Anna-Marie said, fearfully. “He’s your brother.”
“What?” George shouted, and then remembering where he was, looked at his patron with a mixture of shame and barely contained anger.
As he too reeled from the shock, Will expected to see either rage or complete disinterest on his patron’s face. But the hungry anticipation Will saw there instead was so much more frightening. “You were married and yet you dared sleep with another man?” Lord Iris said, his voice gentle, his tone…fascinated, almost. It was hard to place. “You knew how highly I value loyalty and respect and yet you cuckolded your husband and bore another man’s child?”
“We love each other!” Will’s mother wept. “Vincent loves me and…and…” She looked at her husband. “And you never have. It’s like being married to a statue! No, a golem, made of judgement and constant disappointment. I was never good enough, never anything enough for you! But Vincent…he is actually capable of loving someone in a way you simply aren’t.”
Will realised he’d clamped his hand over his mouth. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but at the same time, it all made sense. The way Vincent had come to the hospital so soon after the attack. How he’d never left Sophia’s side. How he’d practically abandoned life in Society to be with her, day in, day out, and why he’d been so upset at the prospect of being sent to Jorvic. Now the terror that his uncle had shown when his father took her made sense; now Will understood that it hadn’t been just about Sophia’s fate, but also his own.
George stared at his wife, his expression mutating from one of shock, through varying shades of disgust and shame to settle upon pure, unbridled fury. “My own brother?” he hissed. “That failure?” His eyes widened. “Is Sophia the only bastard you’ve given birth to?”
“George!”
Lord Iris held up his hand. “Enough. The first three are yours,” he said to George, and Will breathed again.
“My Lord, I had no idea about any of this!” Will’s father lowered his head as if waiting for it to be chopped off.
“That is of no interest to me,” Lord Iris said, still focused on Anna-Marie. He leaned forwards, his white hair slipping from his shoulders, until he was close enough to kiss her. “I want you to think of the moment you first wanted to betray your husband.” Somehow, as if carried by the breeze, Will could hear his whisper clearly. From the horrified look on his father’s face it was evident he could too. “Hold it in your mind. Yes, good. And now I want you to remember when you first acted upon it, knowing your vow, knowing you were breaking rules set by Society and your patron.”
His mother was so pale Will feared she was about to collapse. It was as if Iris was a mesmerist and she could not look away.
“I want you to remember,” Lord Iris whispered, lifting her chin with his fingertips, “the moment you felt your private needs were more important than your obedience.”
Will heard his mother gasp and saw the tendons in her neck stand out as she strained against something. A choking cry slipped from her and then, faster than he could see, Lord Iris’s hand was around her throat. For an awful moment Will thought he was going to strangle her, but there was no change in his mother’s behaviour and Will realised Iris was holding her still.
“Yes,” Iris’s whisper held such anticipation, such desperation, as the Fae stared deeply into her eyes.
Then something seemed to be oozing from her tear ducts, something thick and greenish yellow, that made Will’s gorge rise. Her breath sounded ragged, strained, and Will wanted to turn away but simply couldn’t.
A sigh from Lord Iris was enough to pull his attention and Will saw the delight on the Fae’s face. Lord Iris opened his mouth and as Will stared, utterly horrified, a long thin tongue emerged to lick the ooze from his mother’s face. Sweat burst across Will’s forehead and a dreadful lurch in his stomach made him spin round and hunch over in the grass, panting for breath as he struggled to stop himself from being sick. By the time he’d got his gut under control and turned around to face the clearing again, Lord Iris was withdrawing, that inhuman tongue hidden from sight. He let go of Anna-Marie’s throat and she collapsed.
Was she dead? Will tried his best to see, and was rewarded with the sight of her back rising and falling with each breath. Her eyes were shut, her face clean and a sickly grey white.
“She won’t break a vow ever again,” Lord Iris said, settling back into place on the throne, looking genuinely happy in a way Will had never seen before. “She is incapable of it.”
George was just as pale and as horrified as Will felt. “I…”
“When you take her home, she will sleep and then be well. And obedient,” Iris added, with a cruel smile.
Will’s father looked from his wife to his patron, speechless. He closed his eyes, swallowed, opened them again as he rallied himself. “And my punishment, my Lord?”
“Have you done something I am unaware of?”
The same confusion struck Will as his father. “Regarding hiding my—the child, my Lord.”
Lord Iris waved a hand, disinterested. “It is forgotten.”
“And…and my brother’s betrayal?”
“I will see to him. You must focus on Aquae Sulis now. I am pleased with your progress, but now it’s time for the rest of Albion to know who controls the city. You must impose harsh rules upon the residents. Restrict their freedoms. Make them struggle to keep your favour.”
“But…Lord Iris, Aquae Sulis is stable and prosperous. The jewel of Albion. If I…” His voice withered away beneath Lord Iris’s glare. “Of course, my Lord. Whatever you wish. I was considering sending Vincent to Jorvic, but now…”
“Focus on Aquae Sulis and its misery. And I need more mortals from Mundanus. No musicians, unless they have the qualities I desire. Talent alone is not enough.”
“How many, my Lord?”
“As many as you can pluck without drawing undue attention to yourself.” Lord Iris clicked his finger and a faerie darted from the branches of a nearby tree. “Return them to Aquae Sulis.” The faerie zipped off to the centre of the clearing and then its flight described a large circle with a sparkling trail. Will saw his father’s study on the other side.
George stood, bowed deeply to Lord Iris and then picked up Anna-Marie, who was still in a dead faint. Will watched them leave and the Way close behind them. Only then did he think about his own predicament.
“William,” Lord Iris said, and with a jolt, Will understood that his patron had known he was there the whole time. Of course he did. How could that not be true?
Will stood, brushed off his trousers, and walked into the clearing, trying his best to look unafraid. “My Lord,” he said, and bowed.
“You did not announce your presence.”
“You were indisposed,” Will replied, and was rewarded with a twitch of Lord Iris’s mouth. He tried not to think of the tongue. He failed.
“Why have you come?”
“I’m looking for my sister. Sophia. My father brought her into Exilium.” He stood as tall as he could. “I’ve come to take her home.”
The fact that Iris looked amused rather than offended was little comfort. The Fae shook his head. “But she’s mine now.”
Will looked out of the clearing, into the trees, desperate for a glimpse of her. “But, my Lord, she’s only a child and she wants to be wit
h me.”
“How do you know that? How do you know if she even remembers you now?”
It felt like a spike was being driven through his chest. “I remember her, my Lord, and my love for her will have to be enough.”
“Where is your wife?”
Will looked down. “I am still working on the solution to that problem, my Lord.”
“I’ve been waiting, William, for so long. For this marriage. Then news of a child. Now it seems to me that you have neither.”
“But Iron took her, my Lord! Any other man and it would have been nothing to bring her back. Please understand how difficult this is!”
Lord Iris held up a hand. “I do, William. That’s why your skin remains on the outside of your body.” He leaned back. “You have not given me what I want. I see no reason to give you what you desire.”
“But Sophia is just an innocent child, my Lord! Why should she suffer when none of this is her fault?”
Iris frowned. “Suffer?” He indicated the woods. “Does this appear to be a place of suffering?”
Will clenched his teeth. He wasn’t thinking before he spoke. “I simply refer to her separation from me, my Lord.”
“I could make her suffer,” Iris said, as if Will had inspired him. “Perhaps that would be better motivation for you.”
Will held up his hands. “No! No, my Lord, I could not be motivated more, please believe me!”
With a tilt of his head, Lord Iris scrutinised him. “I could make the child forget you, but I wonder if making her long for you would be more entertaining. What would you be willing to do, to prevent her suffering, William? What lengths would you go to?”
I’d kill you, was the first thought that came to him, and then he remembered his mother, the way Iris had spoken to her…the moment you felt your private needs were more important than your obedience.
He had to be smarter than this. He’d put his own head into this bear trap and Iris wanted him to trigger it. He wanted his disobedience. With a sudden horror, Will realised that was what the Fae had physically extracted from his mother.
