White Hart (White Hart series #1)

by Sarah Dalton

  Sasha saves me. “Casimir, why don’t you make the fire and start roasting the rabbit? Mae needs to eat, and I need to change her dressing.” She winks at me when Cas walks away.

  “You heard that?” I ask.

  She lets out a sigh as she peels away the linen covering my wound. “That boy has no idea what he’s saying. You should tell him how you feel before it is too late.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Before he finds and marries that Ellen girl.” She lowers her voice to barely above a whisper. “He still believes she is the craft-born and you are an average girl. If he knew the truth—”

  “He’d be forced to marry a girl he thinks of as a sister,” I reply. “Would you want that fate for yourself?”

  She gives a little shake of her head. “No I suppose not. But there’s still time for Casimir to think of you differently.”

  “But I’ll always know,” I say. “I’ll always know that I was the second choice.” That when he first met me, he thought I was ugly. That he grew to like me as a sister or a friend, not as a girl. A woman.

  Click-ick-click-click-ick.

  “It’s back,” Sasha whispers. “I’ve not heard it for days.”

  The relentless prowl of the Nix chills my skin. “It’s coming for us because of my injury. We’re vulnerable!”

  “We’ve been weaker,” Sasha says. All traces of a smile leave her face. “Your recovery has been short of miraculous, Mae. I’ve seen many of the Borgans suffer fever and illness. None of them have overcome the fever so quickly. It’s almost superhuman.”

  Before I have time to ask if Sasha believes it is because of my craft, Cas has the fire started, and the smell of roasting meat distracts me. I’m more interested in my stomach. For the first time in days, I pull myself up onto my feet and lean on Sasha so I can walk over to the fire. Cas rushes to my other side and loops an arm around my waist. I know that it’s just to help me walk, but I can’t help leaning into his warm body and examining the profile of his face, the sharp edge of his cheekbone and the straight nose. When he catches me looking, my cheeks heat, and I avert my eyes to the fire.

  “Are you in pain, Mae?” he asks.

  I shake my head. Not physical pain. Sasha turns her blue eyes on me and stares me down harshly. I can almost hear the words that look says to me: Stop making a fool of yourself, Mae.

  When they set me down, the hunger has left my stomach, but I pretend to still be ravenous, and I eat my roasted rabbit. All I can think about is Father and the story he always told about when he met Mother. A light went on in his eyes, and his fingers gripped his cane in excitement. As the years went on, those moments became sadder. He would tell the story and, partway through, forget a small detail—the colour of my mother’s eyes, the shape of her chin—and his eyes would glaze over until he stared into the dark of our hut with misty tears rolling down his cheeks. His heartbreak seemed only to worsen as he aged. The thought of that happening to me chills me bone deep.

  What if I fall in love with Cas, and he never loves me back? What then? What if Cas is the only man I ever love, and for the rest of my life, I will know that I once could have had him, but instead I gave him to another and watched how, in one instant, he felt for her something he could never feel for me? What if I am his ugly little sister for the rest of his life? I feel like spitting out my rabbit, because a bitter taste forms over my tongue.

  What if I am alone forever?

  Sasha drops her bowl, and it clatters over the rocks she had been sitting on. Now, she stands with her hands twitching by her sides. Her face is a grey-white colour that only ill and terrified people have. Her eyes are wide open and bulging, with her eyebrows high up on her forehead. When Cas follows her gaze, he reaches for his sword.

  I’m the last to see it. I’ve never seen a creature like it before, and yet I immediately know what it is. It is the Nix, and it has finally attacked us.

  Chapter Seventeen – The Vision of Fear

  I find myself face to face with the disgusting creature that has followed us for days. It is dark—black as night—and huge, the size of a horse. But it is shaped like a maggot or a fat worm, and wiggles its body as it moves, creating that skin-crawling clicking noise.

  Click-ick-ick-ricker-ricker-click-ick-ick.

  When it comes closer, I see that there is a hard shell on top of its body, which knocks together as its body squirms across the ground. That is what makes the clicking noise. It moves more quickly than I expected, faster than Gwen at a canter. When it approaches, it lifts its head to reveal a circle of teeth and two wide, gaping black eyes. Its front feet hang limply in the air.

  Cas lunges at the monster with his sword drawn, but the thing simply squirts him with a coating of clear, gloopy liquid. I remain transfixed as the gel wraps itself around Cas’s body and holds him tight. Sasha whimpers before turning to run away. Tears stream down her face; she trips and falls, landing heavily on her face. The monster shoots her with its serum, and Sasha quiets.

  My body is telling me to run, but my heart tells me to help my friends. Bile rises in my throat as the hideous thing approaches me. I try to lift myself from the rocks, but my leg isn’t strong enough. My only hope is to call upon nature. I summon enough energy to use my craft, pulling strength from the soil around me.

  Ha-ha-ha-ha.

  It takes me a moment to realise that the laughter sounding in my head comes from the Nix. It is talking to me in my mind.

  Craft-born, you cannot summon your little butterflies to fight me. The forest will not come to your rescue this time.

  “Why not?” I say. My fingers are trembling, and I don’t know how I manage to summon the courage to ask such a bold question.

  Because they know better, White Hart. They know not to cross me. I am more powerful than you will ever be.

  “How do you know that?” I force myself to ignore the rapid beat of my heart and lift my chin defiantly. “You don’t know what I will become.”

  The thing squirts its serum at me, which sends freezing cold up and down my body. The gel forms around me, tying my legs to my torso. When it has spread from my feet to my neck, it solidifies to create a cage. I am trapped.

  Why don’t we take a look at the future for the heroic craft-born, shall we?

  The world slips away. The monster before me disintegrates into the earth. My arms are free, and the pain has disappeared from my leg. I’m on my knees with a foamy brush in one hand. On my left there is a bucket of water. I see a lofty hall stretched before me, with red brick walls and glorious tapestries. There is a long mahogany table with half a dozen servants milling around it, laying down silver which sparkles as the sunlight breaks through the tall windows.

  Quick footsteps tap along the stone flags of the floor, and before I can even look up to the approaching person, a sharp toe rams into my side, causing pain to burst through my abdomen.

  “Get a move on,” says a harsh voice. “The wedding is tonight, and every inch of this floor must be scrubbed.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I hear myself say. It was an automatic response, as though I have said it many times before. I give the owner of the voice a quick glance to see a formidable woman in a black maid’s outfit, standing above me with her hands clenched by her sides. She has her grey hair scraped back into a severe bun, and her skin sags at the jaw line. Her foot lifts in threat, so I lower my head and continue scrubbing the floor, my side still aching from the blow.

  I remain like that for hours, scrubbing that floor until my knees throb. Eventually, the image fades away, and I find myself basking in sunshine. This time I see the castle from the outside, with its tall turrets of red brick with terracotta slate roofs pointing to the sky.

  Surrounding the castle are enormous copper cogs, turning with a thunderous grinding noise. Each one is connected to the other by lengths of something that looks a lot like rope. There are sky-scraping copper turrets; steam pours out the tops, into the bright blue sky. It doesn’t linger. It fades almos
t as soon as it touches the wind.

  “Mae!” says a familiar voice.

  I pull my eyes away from the castle to see Cas approaching me. My stomach turns into butterflies when he comes closer. He’s not like the same Cas I know, with skin dirty from camping in the woods. He is regal in his resplendent cream outfit which complements his eyes. His face shimmers with a sun glow, and he smiles brightly. His eyes are wide with excitement. “Can you believe I’m a married man?”

  The words hit me like a hammer to the stomach. “No, I can’t.” I force a smile.

  “Doesn’t everything look wonderful? Isn’t Ellen beautiful?” He waves a cream-gloved hand over the festivities.

  I hadn’t noticed the tent before then, nor the bunting decorating it. There are flower bouquets everywhere, adding bright bursts of colour to the scene. In the middle of it all is Ellen, wearing a pure white gown which trails the ground. She doesn’t seem to care about her gown getting ruined. She is sipping from a glass and tipping her head back in delight at something amusing. Her skin is a perfect alabaster, and her black hair rains down her back in ringlets. She is beautiful.

  “May I?” Cas says, gesturing to what is in my hand.

  I look down and realise that I’m carrying a platter of champagne flutes. He lifts one and takes a sip.

  “I’m so glad we managed to find a job for you here in the castle,” he says. “Now we get to remain friends.”

  “Casimir, you nincompoop, what are you doing fraternizing with the serving staff?” A corpulent man comes up to Cas and slaps him on the back. “You do know you’re a prince, don’t you?” The man guffaws and clasps Cas by the elbow, pulling him away.

  As he leaves, an excited Ellen runs to me. She is not the Ellen I’ve known previously; her cheeks are flushed, and she smiles from ear to ear. It isn’t her usual sarcastic smile; it’s bright and open and warm. “Oh Mae, thank you so much,” she gushes. “Thank you for helping me when I needed it. If you hadn’t transferred your craft in the castle source, I never would have kept him. I never would have become a princess.” She lifts a glass of champagne. I can tell she’s a little drunk from the bright red rash on her neck. “But you can never tell. It’s our secret.” She winks and then leaves.

  The scene melts away again. This time I’m alone, and I do not have anything in my hands.

  I face only myself. The mirror is dirty, with rust spots around the outside. It reminds me of that chunk of glass we used as a mirror in the hut back in Halts-Walden. I’ve not come far, just far enough to own a whole mirror. The face in front of me is not one I recognise. It is haggard and old, with sunken cheeks and sagging eyelids. The skin around my eyes is so dark, I can hardly see the irises. I look bruised, but when touch below my eyes there is no tenderness. It must be fatigue.

  The mirror reflects my humble room, which contains a tiny mattress, a leaning wardrobe, and a few blankets. Underneath the mirror are a washbasin and a small dresser. On the dresser, I notice a sketch of Cas, young and attractive as I know him now.

  A deep, ripping pain explodes in my chest, and I lean forward into the washbasin. Before I know it, a sob runs through my body like a wave, hitting me so hard that I can’t breathe. Tears flow from my eyes. The wall is coming down, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

  Father’s death comes flooding back, along with speeding images of things I’ve never seen before: Cas and Ellen dancing; Cas walking past me without so much as a glance; Cas, older now, asking me to shine his boots; me alone, pulling my stockings off at the end of a long day and rubbing my tired feet.

  When I straighten up, I realise that I’m holding a razor blade in my right hand. As I let out a groan of pure, primal sadness, I press that razor against the flesh of my inner arm. Trapped inside my own body, I can’t do anything. I can’t shout or stop myself. I can’t! I can only witness…

  Not yet.

  With a gasp I find myself back at the stream, with the Nix before me. I sit on the soil by our fire with a shard of rock in my right hand. I have gripped it so hard that there is blood on my palm. I shake the rock out of my hand and move away from it, appalled at what I was about to do.

  Not yet. I have things I want you to do first.

  “What things?” I try to calm my breathing, but my heart is racing so fast that I struggle.

  It begins to back away, making its click-click sounds again. A white blur runs at the thing and collides with it, knocking the monster sideways.

  “Anta!” I shout, realising that he has hit the Nix with his antlers.

  The monster squeals and rears up, shooting the serum at Anta. I watch helplessly as my white stag falls backwards and snorts. He cannot move. The goo has wrapped around his legs.

  Keep your beast in line next time, Craft-born.

  The monster wiggles away, leaving the click-ick-ick noise as a lasting reminder. I blink, not sure what I have seen today, not sure what the Nix showed me. When the bushes rustle, I know that it has finally gone, and I wiggle my legs, waking them up after the serum froze them. Cas rolls onto his side and rubs the side of his head.

  “Was I hit? Why was I unconscious?” he says.

  “I was too,” Sasha says as she pulls herself up from the ground. “The bastard knocked me out.”

  I remain on the ground, shaking all over. My breath comes out in ragged whispers. Cas rushes to me and frowns. “Are you all right? Did the thing do anything to you?”

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  “I don’t remember anything,” Sasha says. “I don’t understand.”

  “Me neither,” Cas says, still rubbing his temples. “What about you, Mae, did you see or hear anything?”

  “No,” I reply.

  For the rest of the day, I sit by Anta and stroke his nose until the Nix’s serum wears off. I find that I can’t look at Cas, not anymore.

  I came into the Waerg Woods for revenge. Since then, things have changed. I’ve faced death more than once, I’ve helped people I never thought I would want to help, and I’ve developed feelings I never knew existed. Throughout all of this, the ache in my heart still exists. I still miss Father.

  Now, a new ache has begun: an ache for the future, for my future. If what I saw was true, then going along this path will lead me to heartbreak, loneliness, and poverty. It condemns me to a future of scrubbing Cas’s house and cleaning his boots while he lives happily ever after with Ellen. As we pack up the camp to move on, I wonder if I should just leave. I could sneak away with Anta and leave Cas with Sasha. Together they can find Ellen, and I can move on with my life. I can go back to Halts-Walden and take up where I left. Perhaps the sympathy regarding my father’s death would finally bring me closer to the other villagers.

  But then I think about the miller and his wounded eyes. Could I live there, after leaving Ellen to the Wanderers? If Cas and Sasha failed… Would it be my fault?

  Maybe I could move to the Haedalands. Generations ago, my family came from there. Perhaps I could trace that history and find out if I have any relatives left. But then I think of how I was born in Halts-Walden and that I don’t even know the Heda language. Would I fit in? Or am I destined to never fit in anywhere, to always live as a half-ling, with one foot in either culture, never belonging to either?

  If I left now, I would never see Cas again. The thought makes me feel hollow inside. I’m not ready to say goodbye to someone else in my life. Even leaving Sasha would be difficult. If I stay, it means helping Cas find his future wife, and the thought it makes my stomach roil.

  I feel so betrayed by my feelings. I blocked away those tears at my father’s funeral because I didn’t want to hurt anymore. I wanted that wall to go up and stop anything from getting in again. Somehow I let Cas work his way into my heart, sidestepping the wall I thought I had so cleverly constructed.

  Reluctantly, I climb onto Anta’s saddle. He nibbles the end of my boot with his nose, and I know he’s trying to cheer me up. Well, it won’t work this time, Anta. There’s too much weight on
my shoulders, too much to bear.

  Sasha has recognised a trail, and she believes it will take us straight for the Wanderer’s camp. Now is the time that I have to decide what I want to take from the Waerg Woods. Do I want to take the revenge I came here to seek? Do I want to seek answers from the people who killed my father? Do I want to free Ellen so I can rid myself of guilt? Or do I want to run away from it all?

  Chapter Eighteen – The Journey to Knowledge

  The sun shines through golden leaves, and almost all the pain has left my leg. Cas rides Gwen up front, and Sasha skips along next to Anta. Ever since the Nix attacked us, she seems free and happy, as if she’d been locked in a cage before and now she has broken out. She begins to sing a song, and I find myself listening to the lyrics.

  It’s about the Ancient Ones, when everyone had magic, not just the craft-born, and those abilities were passed through generations.

  The Ancients live for hundreds of years in cities with beautiful castles and tall, glass houses. But then people begin to be born without magic. These non-magicals travel for miles around to heal their sick, begging the Ancients to help them. At first the Ancients do it because they want to help the sick people, but later in life, they begin to charge. The charges go up, until most people can’t afford to pay for the service anymore. Many people die as a consequence, and the non-magical people hate those with magic because of it.

  They come to the city with torches blazing, ready to burn their castles down to the ground. It starts a war that lasts for centuries, magic and non-magic fighting, innocents dying, riches running out.

  Years later, a beautiful young woman with the power of the Ancients—the last of her kind—falls in love with a handsome young man without magic. They run away together to start a family, and it creates a scandal that reaches into the four corners of the world until they are hunted down by angry people. They kill the man, leaving the woman to grieve. This part pricks up my ears. Sasha sings with a haunting voice, and I find myself falling into her song: