by Molly Ringle
“What’s the matter?”
“Sal’s in Miryoku till tomorrow. So no expert magical advice till then. I don’t dare tell her over the phone, and I don’t really feel like driving another two hours up there to see her when she’s surrounded by friends. Not to mention Dad’s expecting us tonight.”
“Tomorrow, then. A day to rest would be welcome, in my opinion.”
Merrick, for one, wanted reassuring ideas sooner than tomorrow evening, but it would have to do.
Merrick: Ok, thanks Sal, take care
He checked the burner email address he and Cassidy had set up. His heart seized. A new message, sent thirty minutes ago, blazed in boldface, from the sender Floriana Palace Guard Central Office.
“Shit. They answered.”
Larkin came closer to peer at the phone. “The palace? What do they say?”
Merrick opened it with unsteady fingers.
Larkin read it aloud over his shoulder. “‘We have received your message. We urgently request a meeting in person with whoever is responsible for sending it. Please be advised that since this is a matter not only of palace security but of national security, we will be searching for you, including via the use of summoning charms, and if you do not come forward willingly, we cannot rule out the possibility of arrest. We hope therefore instead for a voluntary and cordial interview. Report to the palace as soon as you are able, and ask for me. Best, Abalone Janssen, Witch Laureate.’”
His legs weak, Merrick leaned against a tree, letting Larkin take the phone from him to read it again.
“The Witch Laureate,” Merrick said. “We are in huge fucking trouble.”
“What manner of title is Witch Laureate?”
“Court Sorcerer—it’s what Court Sorcerer used to be, I think.”
“Well, this person’s letter is quite wanting in courtesy. I shall respond, yes, though not in the manner they request.”
“She was appointed by Riquelme and is every bit as corrupt as he is, maybe worse since she’s got magic. Oh gods, they’ll handle this horribly, I knew it.”
Larkin returned the phone to him and began pacing in the grass. “Hush. I’m thinking of my reply.” He steepled his fingers and put them to his lips. After a few minutes, he stopped and stared out at the sunset.
“Are you ready?” Merrick asked.
“Hush, I said. Is everyone so rushed in this century?”
Merrick sank to sit cross-legged in the grass. He passed the time by ripping the heads off dandelions, earning an angry squeak from a tiny weed-faery hiding among them. Its green face, surrounded by a bonnet of sepals, scowled and spat a drop of brown goo at him that only missed his hand because he was quick enough to yank it away in time. The creature disappeared in a swish of grass blades. “Sorry,” Merrick muttered. At least he’d avoided the itchy burn that the goo would have ignited.
“I’m ready.” Larkin strode over to Merrick. “I have my response.”
Merrick got up, brushed grass from his trousers, and motioned to the tree. “Stand with your back to that. The greenery’s pretty generic; they won’t know where we are. Hat off.” He turned on the video. “All right. Whenever you’re ready.”
“My greetings to the Witch Laureate and friends,” Larkin began. “I’ve received your reply. Once again I assure you that neither I nor anyone assisting me pose any threat to me, the palace, nor the country. I repeat also that I know nothing of Ula Kana’s state of consciousness. I am willing to answer your questions through this medium, and I promise that conducting a face-to-face interview would not change my answers. Thus I do not see its necessity, especially when I am heartily weary of being confined to the palace, having spent over two hundred and twenty years there of late. Please accept my apology for the confusion I’ve created, but do try to rejoice in the fact that I have found my freedom at last—which, I hope, is as much my right as it is any citizen’s.
“Upon that subject: I have sensed your attempts to summon me. They have failed, due to resistance magic I was fortunate enough to obtain, and I ask you to desist. Should the public find out, I expect they would look unfavorably upon your use of such charms against my will.
“Bear in mind that multiple people already know the truth of my uninvited sleep and awakening, and I intend to tell more still. When it is generally discovered that I’m awake, should that discovery occur before I make the announcement myself, I promise to do my best to allay any panic by making appearances and assuring the people of my well-being. Meanwhile, I’ve had a most bewildering day in this century, and I look forward to a quiet evening. I trust you are attending to the question of Ula Kana’s status, as is your duty, so that you will be prepared to speak to the public on the topic. Until then, I bid you goodnight.”
Merrick stopped recording. “Damn. You just throw those speeches together on the spot, don’t you?”
Larkin wound his hair back up and replaced the cap. “It was rather my vocation. Much to my family’s chagrin.”
“Chagrin?”
“The royals are not meant to have strong opinions. Surely you’ve heard.”
“Ah. So are you satisfied with the speech? Should I attach it and send it?”
“Please.”
Merrick hit “reply,” attached the video with no other message, and sent it off. “Done. I feel less and less safe by the minute.”
“Well, are they any likelier to find us at your father’s house than anywhere else?”
“I suppose not, since they don’t know I’m involved. Yet.”
“There you have it, then. Shall we?” Larkin swept his hand toward the car.
In a cul-de-sac at the top of the hill, Merrick parked in the grassy gravel that formed Aneurin “Nye” Highvalley’s front drive. Wood shingles sheathed the cabin’s walls and roof, and a ribbon of smoke rose from the river-rock chimney. Flowering fruit trees peeked over the garden fence.
Merrick and Larkin got out of the car. Merrick inhaled the scents of meadow, wood smoke, and forest, comforted by the childhood nostalgia the mix brought.
“Why doesn’t your father live at Highvalley House with you?” Larkin asked.
“He used to. He grew up there. But he says it’s too huge and stately for him. He wanted something simpler, closer to nature, so he bought this place in his twenties. This is where we grew up, Cassidy and me, before moving to Highvalley House when our grandma was getting old. Also she had the space there for us to set up the perfume lab, so, free real estate.”
Larkin peered at the dark trees across the meadow, a stone’s throw from the back of the cabin. “That’s the verge, is it not?”
“Yeah. He’s close to it. He likes that feature too.” Merrick paused at the front path, brushing the toe of his shoe against a clump of butter-yellow wildflowers. “Listen, before you meet him … I should tell you he’s actually sixty-six, but he looks and feels like he’s in his nineties. Because he’s fae-struck. Physically in his case, not mentally.”
“Oh.” Empathy softened the prince’s voice. “The poor man.”
“That’s why I was hoping for Rosamund’s Lava Flow charm. Doctors and healers haven’t been able to do much for him. He never complains. He’s fine with it. But just so you know.”
“How did he come to be fae-struck?”
Merrick turned onto the path. “I’m sure he’ll tell you.”
At their knock, Nye opened the door and held his arms wide. “Hello, dear!”
Merrick hugged him. The sight of his father pinched his heart. He seemed to get older each time Merrick saw him, even when only two weeks had passed. Nye’s hair was thin and white, his back was hunched, and wrinkles webbed his brown skin.
Nonetheless, he smiled. “So this is who you wanted me to meet.” He turned to Larkin and captured the prince’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Nye. I’m so sorry, Merrick didn’t tell me your name.”
“A pleasure. I’m … ” He shot a quizzical glance at Merrick. “Lorenzo?”
“Right, um.” Merrick glanced over his s
houlder, making sure no one else had wandered up the road. “Let’s go inside.”
Then Larkin took off his cap, seemingly out of habitual politeness when about to enter someone’s house. His hair, the color of a sunset through wildfire smoke, tumbled down his shoulder in its clover-decorated braid.
Nye froze, still holding Larkin’s hand. “Merrick … ”
“Your house is most charming,” Larkin added. “Such a splendid view.”
“Merrick, is this … did you … ” Nye turned Larkin’s hand over and found the scars.
“Let’s do this inside, Dad,” Merrick said.
“But you couldn’t have. Unless … ” Nye squinted again into Larkin’s face. “Those rumors about the house, about Rosamund, they … ”
Larkin met his gaze patiently.
“Inside.” Merrick took hold of their joined hands, pulled them into the house, and shut the door.
Fifteen minutes later Nye had the whole story of Merrick awakening Larkin—omitting the part where Merrick had been looking for a charm to help Nye. That was too pathetic a failure to share.
Nye was enthralled. He sat on the sofa, Rosamund’s journal open on his lap, Larkin’s ancient tatters and sword beside him. He occasionally covered his mouth in amazement or reached across to grip Larkin’s arm in outraged solidarity upon learning that Larkin had been put into the sleep against his will. Larkin sat in an armchair and answered Nye’s questions, a smile lifting his lips. It was probably hard not to smile when someone was clearly so transported with joy to meet you.
Merrick had been pacing the living room while explaining, and now dropped onto the arm of the sofa. “We’ll see what the palace says next. But Larkin wants to keep far from them so they don’t try to lock him up again.”
“Absolutely.” Nye shook his finger at Larkin. “Do not let them. You know what we should do? We should let the whole country know you were enchanted without your consent. Publish that video on social media or something. Let it go viral. Then they can’t do it to you again without a public outcry.”
“Very wise,” Larkin said. “Can it be circulated easily?”
“Sure.” Merrick drummed his fingers on the sofa. “Just a question of when to do it. The palace will eventually have to come up with a reason why they’re closed to visitors. They can’t claim magical malfunction forever.”
“The people deserve to know,” Nye said. “And you, Your Highness, deserve to live as you choose.”
“Thank you,” Larkin said. “My ultimate aim is to leave Eidolonia and pursue a free life. But I intend not to do so until it’s clear the government and fae allies have acted responsibly in resolving the problem of the truce. It would be wrong of me to flee and leave the difficulty in the hands of others.”
“They’ll come up with something,” Merrick said quickly, because the possibility that they wouldn’t was too frightening. “All these years with the truce in place—no one wants to break it, not even the fae. Not even our stupid PM. I hope.”
“Let him try,” Nye said. “The fae’ll show him who’s in charge. Well, Your Highness, my house is nowhere near fit for a prince, but I would be honored—thrilled, in fact—to have you stay here as long as you need.”
“It’s generous of you, and I accept with gratitude. And truly, calling me ‘Larkin’ is perfectly welcome.”
While Nye beamed as if given the loveliest gift of his life, Merrick got to his feet. “I’ll scrounge your kitchen and make us something for dinner.”
CHAPTER 15
THE FENCED GARDEN WAS STILL WARM FROM the afternoon sun, so they took their food to the patio table. Merrick had found ahi steaks and mixed vegetables in his dad’s freezer and grilled them on the stove, and steamed a side dish of rice. A half-full bottle of Eidolonian Riesling and a sliced-up pineapple rounded out the impromptu meal. Larkin still only picked at his food, as he had been all day, but he drank a glass of wine and smiled often at Nye’s earnestness.
Nye flooded Larkin with talk. He gave a rundown of their current family—how none of them were married; how Cassidy was better off that way since their ex, Elemi’s father, was worthless; how Merrick currently wasn’t seeing anyone.
“I liked Feng,” Nye remarked, “that last guy he dated. But these things don’t always work out.”
Merrick dragged the rice dish over and served himself another scoop. “Feng joined the dark side,” he explained to Larkin. “He’s in the Researchers Guild. Reporting to Janssen, who emailed us earlier.”
“A pity to lose one so young,” Larkin said.
Mainly, though, Nye asked Larkin about the eighteenth century and about Rosamund.
“I regret I cannot tell you much of use about her work,” Larkin said. “She had great talent from birth, unparalleled then or since, it would seem, but such power cannot be taught. The rest of us could never grasp the intricacies of her spells.”
“Ah, right, and the royals don’t use magic. At least officially.” Nye winked.
Larkin nodded and sipped the Riesling.
Finished with his food, Merrick slid his chair back and peered at the roof of the house. “What’s with the moss, Dad? Didn’t you replace the whole roof last year?”
“Yeah. The moss was from fae, last month. Some little earth types moved in up there. I think they’ve cleared out. Haven’t heard them skittering around in a few weeks.”
“I’ll have a look. Where’s your ladder?”
“Oh, fly on up there! You know I love that.”
“Dad, I’m not supposed to.”
“Fly?” Larkin said. “With one of your machines?” He glanced at the many flying machines lying around Nye’s garden, of all sizes from mosquito to bicycle.
“Nah, he can fly,” Nye said. “It’s his rare witch ability. He didn’t tell you?”
Merrick shrugged, still examining the roof.
“I heard some mention of him getting upon a roof,” Larkin said. “But I didn’t assume he could in fact fly.”
In the face of such skepticism, Merrick decided he could afford a demonstration. “Well. I imagine no one’s going to report me.” He breathed in deep to gather the wind’s power until his ears rang, then pushed off the ground.
He heard a startled inhale from Larkin and a delighted laugh from Nye. The elation of lift-off lit a smile on Merrick’s face. Six feet above the table, he glanced over the garden fence to make sure he wasn’t being watched. There was nobody; only a couple of rat-sized dwarves crawling along the top of the fence toward the fruit trees. Merrick swept his arms forward, sailed to the roof, and landed lightly on it.
“Sweet Spirit.” Larkin had gotten to his feet. “He can indeed.”
Nye lounged in his chair with his hands folded over his belly. “Don’t you wish you could do that? I sure do.”
“Not I. The back of a horse is as far off the ground as I like to be.”
Merrick turned to conceal his eye-roll. It wasn’t fair to scoff at people for a fear of heights when they didn’t have his abilities, but he couldn’t help it. They had no idea what they were missing. He walked up the roof, dry moss crunching under his shoes.
“I was terrified the first time he did it.” Nye’s voice drifted up. “Cassidy can’t fly, so I wasn’t expecting it. Merrick was four years old and he wanted a toy airplane that had gotten up there, and while I was looking for a rake or something to snag it, he just rose up into the air, laughing.”
“Mercy,” Larkin said. “Was he hurt?”
“Nah, he was fine. But I jumped and grabbed his leg. I was saying, ‘No, don’t go, don’t go.’ ’Cause you see, I thought he was going back to his mother’s people. Isn’t that selfish of me? I wanted to go into their realm—went happily both times I had the chance—but I didn’t want my kids to go and leave me.”
Merrick crouched to tear off a chunk of moss.
“Clearly he did not leave,” Larkin said.
“Nope. He said, ‘Daddy, I’m just playing,’ and from then on it was his favorite thing
to do. He flew plenty, around here, but never did cross the verge. Smart enough for that, eh, Merrick?”
His father didn’t know about the other night, when Merrick nearly had crossed the verge. Merrick tossed aside the moss, gave him a brief smile, and wandered along the roof.
“I don’t have one bit of magic,” Nye continued. “It’s why I make flying machines, though they have to be at least partly charmed up by matter-witches. Funny, huh? A Highvalley born without magic.”
“How many humans do have magic? It was roughly half in my time.”
“Still about half. No clear pattern to it. Well, being part fae does give you a bigger chance, but plenty of witches are pure human too. Take Rosamund—the only triple-witch ever, and she was pure human.”
“Yes. She took some pride in that.”
Merrick tugged free another hunk of moss and tossed it to the patio. “I think you’re right. The moss fae moved on. Of course, they might come back.”
“That’s the price I pay for living so close to the verge. It’s what I wanted, though. Cassidy’s and Merrick’s mom, you know, I’ve only met her those two times. It was right out here.”
Merrick, who had been expecting this part of the conversation, sat on the peak of the roof, ankles crossed, and rubbed moss off his hands while Nye led Larkin deeper into the garden. The sun had dropped below the horizon, and the two men’s forms had become shadowy, though the white of Nye’s hair and his stooped posture still made a striking contrast to Larkin’s straight-spined elegance and long braid.
“I was thirty, I taught literature at the university, was thinking about starting a family if I found someone. Then one summer night I’m out here.” Nye stopped by a quince bush with a hexagonal bench built around it. “Testing a flying lantern I made, for people to have over their gardens—those up there.” He gestured to the cluster of lanterns that hovered obediently above the path. “Then this gorgeous woman flutters down. Right from the sky!”
Merrick had heard it hundreds of times, but the image still raised goosebumps on his skin.
“A sylph. She looked like a woman, but with these feathery garments in the deepest blue you ever saw. Her eyes and the tips of her hair were the same color. Kiryo blue. She could turn into a kiryo bird, she told me. She said she’d been watching my machines and hearing my poetry, and she was captivated, and did I want to come visit her haunt? She promised she’d keep me safe and bring me back by morning.”
