Several paintings of countryside and waterfowl, amateurish by the look of them, lay against the wall waiting to be hung. A breakfast tray hadn’t been cleared yet, eggs congealing upon a plate, cold tea growing cloudy in a cup. In a corner of the sitting room, Wolff’s cello and Lambe’s violin rested against each other, a strangely comforting sight, as though they were propping each other up.
Wolff let me in—it was surprising to see him home at this hour. His normally neat hair was spiked all over his head. Thick stubble coated his chin. He didn’t bother to ask why I’d arrived—instead, he guided me quickly into the parlor.
“He said you’d be here. He needs to tell you something.”
Dear God. Lambe was laid out on the sofa, his hands arranged over his chest. He keened softly.
Poison.
Wolff knelt beside Lambe and placed a large hand on the other boy’s forehead. Lambe’s eyelids were so translucent and thin that one could make out the tracery of every blue vein. His breath came in worrisome gasps.
“What did he take?” I asked Wolff.
“Nothing. He wouldn’t eat or drink these past few days—he was too weak to attend Lady Eliza’s party.” Had Lambe foreseen what would happen at the ball? No, I didn’t think so. His prophetic powers didn’t work so clear as that. “This morning, he wrote that he wanted to see you, and then fainted. I’ve tried waking him.” Wolff’s voice cracked with fear.
The first thing to do was revive him. “I need chamomile and gingerroot, if you’ve got any.” Maria had told me how soothing those ingredients could be. “And some clear broth.” Wolff sent me downstairs to the landlady, a broad-armed woman who tsked to see an unmarried young lady in a gentlemen’s flat, sorcerers or no. But she gave me what I wanted.
I brewed Lambe a cup of tea and forced him to drink. Most of it ran down his chin, but it was a start. His eyes fluttered open, and Wolff groaned in relief.
“Are you all right?” I whispered. Wheezing, Lambe tugged at my sleeve.
“You will. Won’t you?” he asked. His pupils were dilated.
“Won’t I what?” I said. He slurped more tea, and Wolff managed to give him a few spoonfuls of hot broth.
“Help the girl defeat the woman. It’s the only way,” he whispered. Then, “Poison.” He said the word twice more, emphasizing it.
“Someone poisoned you?” I whispered.
Wolff swore, but Lambe shook his head. He took more broth, mopping it in a piece of bread. Faint color returned to his waxen-looking cheeks.
“Listen. Poison. Belladonna. You must take it. Take the belladonna when you can,” he rasped. Belladonna was incredibly lethal. Lambe was clearly delirious. “Take the belladonna and you’ll finally know the truth. The poison will show you.”
“I don’t know what he’s talking about half the time.” Wolff swiped the back of his hand over his eyes. “I warned him about drinking their damned Etheria juice.”
“Why did he go to the priory in the first place?” I laid a cold cloth on Lambe’s face. “I thought he wanted to stay in London.”
“He said that there were things he could only learn up north.”
“I’ll get some more cold water from downstairs,” I said, wringing the cloth and taking up the basin.
I walked out the door, but halfway to the landlady’s rooms I realized I’d forgotten to bring the tray. I ran back up, opened the door…and stopped in my tracks.
Wolff had Lambe tight in his arms. Lambe murmured gently while Wolff kissed his forehead, his cheek, his lips. Lambe’s pale, thin fingers tangled in the other boy’s hair. Their embrace was tender, passionate even. What in the devil?
I backed away and accidentally knocked into the door. Wolff released Lambe and shot to his feet. We stared at each other, neither seeming to know what to do. What had I seen? A tortured moment ticked by in silence.
“I should leave,” I said, setting down the basin as I tried to find my cloak. I’d no idea how to behave. Wolff trailed me as I walked around the room, bumping up against one of the chairs.
“Why won’t you look at me?” He sounded heavy.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Forcing myself to stay calm, I brought my eyes to his. He sighed.
“I can see how much you loathe it. What we are,” he muttered.
“I could never loathe you.” The idea of it shocked me from my stupor. Damn it all to hell, this was Wolff. My friend. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he sat next to the sofa. Lambe reached out his hand, and Wolff took it. I was struck by the honest fearlessness of that simple gesture.
“You’ll run straight to Whitechurch now,” Wolff said.
“No. Never.” I found my normal voice at last. They could be excommunicated if anyone knew about this relationship, perhaps even jailed.
Wolff brushed a piece of hair out of Lambe’s face, his expression full of tenderness.
“I won’t give him up. Not for the world. Maybe it’s a half life, living this lie, but it’s the only one I want.” He looked up at me. “No matter what I do, I’m trapped.” His voice wavered.
His pain was palpable, and I recognized that sensation of living and breathing a lie. Damned if I would let another friendship be ruined, I sat beside the sofa, took up the teacup, and offered it to Lambe once more.
“I don’t bloody care what you do. Whitechurch will never hear about it from me.” As far as I’d seen in my life, love was too rare to squander.
Wolff touched my shoulder before going to the table. He picked up a plate of food and then returned, and together we tried to get Lambe to eat something solid. After a while, Lambe was able to finish half of some cold mutton stew. His cheeks regained their color.
“You’re all right,” I said, relieved.
“Yes. There’s one more thing to discuss, though.” Lambe focused on me. “The bells.”
I nearly dropped the cup. “Bells?”
“Molochoron at York. Yes, and the Skinless Man is there as well.” He quirked an eyebrow and took a bite of potato.
“How…did you…” I couldn’t finish.
“I returned to London because I am to be your mirror, Howel, now and in the wars to come.” He nodded. “I will help you with the Imperator.”
“Thank you,” I breathed. Yes, we would hunt down R’hlem together.
Because I’d decided something, watching Magnus cry over his mother’s body and Rook scream like an animal. My father was responsible for all of this, and I would stop him…no matter the cost.
Whitechurch watched the hovering square of water glass, brows furrowed. Lambe waited in the front row of the obsidian cathedral, his pale hair visible from where I sat. I crossed my fingers in my lap as Whitechurch scanned scene after scene until he came to what he wanted.
“That,” he said with quiet excitement, “is R’hlem.”
Indeed, we caught faint glimpses of a man striding through a swarm of Familiars. He was taller than most, his face slick with blood. R’hlem was there. He hadn’t moved from his position outside York.
When Lambe had come to Whitechurch two days earlier with tales of his “vision,” Whitechurch had at first been hesitant to believe it. But he’d investigated on his own and located the Skinless Man. Every few hours since then, he’d watched and waited to see how R’hlem moved, what he did, if his days held a particular pattern. The rest of the Order was brought in to observe, and soon it became obvious that R’hlem had stationed himself. He was not moving.
Now would be the time to strike.
Blackwood sat beside me, but he might as well have been on the moon for all he acknowledged my presence. Since our arguments in the aviary and then the study, he’d become like a stranger. Fine. I could ignore him just as easily.
“The time has come.” Whitechurch melted the glass, returning it to a ball of water and draining it into the elemental pit.
Sorcerers began asking questions, but I’d a fair idea of what was coming. We’d march to R’hlem, the boys and I armed with our weapons. Sev
eral squadrons would protect our little group, forming a block on all sides. If we moved swiftly, without alerting the other Ancients, we could surround R’hlem and take him down. Yes, his psychic powers could be extraordinary—I knew that from firsthand experience—but with sorcerers attacking from every direction, he’d be overwhelmed. That would give us the opportunity needed to strike. And by us, I meant me.
It had been the queen’s particular wish that I strike the final blow.
My heart hammered to think about it. Even after all of this—Rook, Magnus’s mother, the death of so many people—even now I didn’t know if I had such an act inside me.
To kill one’s own father required something monstrous.
“How are we to approach him, sir?” Dee called.
“I believe I can be of service in that particular area,” a delicate, feminine voice said. Queen Mab stepped out of the shadows, arriving from Faerie between one heartbeat and the next. God knows how long she’d been listening. At least she’d worn a more modest gown for this occasion. The sleeves were long, her bosom fully covered, though the fabric still seemed to be woven from spider silk and dusted with moth-wing powder.
Blackwood stiffened. We both knew what was being suggested.
“My Faerie roads are the surest path across your country.” Mab twirled a piece of hair on a pale little finger. “You can be in the north after two hours of marching, and the Skinless Man won’t be able to track you.”
There was much happy murmuring among the sorcerers. I noticed Magnus in the crowd, deliberately facing away from the faerie queen. He’d put on his naval clothes once more, though he kept a black band tied about his upper arm to signify mourning. I knew he did not want anything to do with Mab. But needs must.
“Indeed,” Whitechurch said. “We join with Mab’s forces. We march north. We circle. We divide the Ancients and vanquish R’hlem. We end this war.” His voice boomed upon the obsidian walls. As one, the Order rose to its feet, the applause thunderous. Mab beamed and waved at the crowd, as though she’d won something.
“Do you think we’re ready?” I asked Blackwood. For the first time since the day of Fanny’s funeral, he looked at me straight on.
“We’ll have to be.” That was all I got from him.
—
THAT EVENING, I MADE MY WAY upstairs to the apothecary, half of which had already been scrubbed and packed away. Fenswick didn’t want the Order finding any of his “experiments.” He was squatting on the table, stacking bowls when I entered.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
The hobgoblin only laid three bronze measuring spoons into a napkin and tied it up.
“I should have informed the Order myself.” He held a dried yellow flower of some kind to a candle flame and watched it burn. The smoke was cloyingly sweet, like incense. Maria came out of the back room, a few small objects gathered in her apron. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
“We’ve destroyed nearly everything dangerous.” She sniffed. I handed her my handkerchief, my initials embroidered upon it in blue thread. She blew her nose, then said, “I should go. If they find me out, you know what they’ll do.”
“Where can you go?” My heart wrenched at the idea.
“Maria shall come with me into Faerie,” Fenswick said, packing two velvet pouches into a little wooden box. “The roads can take her wherever she wishes.”
“Will you be all right?” she asked me.
“Of course.” I forced myself to mean it. I didn’t want to part with either of them, but keeping her and Fenswick safe was more important than anything else. Together, we finished cleaning the shelves, scrubbing out the evidence, and packing their few bags. Soon it was as if no one had been there. “Until we meet again, Miss Templeton,” I said.
Miss at least made her smile. “Until then.”
Maria tried to return my handkerchief, but I closed her fingers around it. “Give it to me next time,” I said.
I needed to pretend there would be another meeting.
“We must move quickly,” Fenswick said as Maria picked him up and shouldered her pack.
“One last thing.” She took her ax from its place by the door, though Fenswick grumbled about the iron. Then she walked to the corner of the room and, under Fenswick’s guidance, stepped gingerly into a line of shadow. They vanished at once.
I found myself alone once more. Even the turtledove’s cage was empty. Maria had set the creature free.
Three days later, Eliza and Lady Blackwood were sent north to Sorrow-Fell, along with most of the servants and an escort of five sorcerers. We’d tried to get them access to the Faerie roads, but Mab had been strict about who could use them. Besides, I didn’t like to think of them wandering those paths beneath the earth. Lilly was one of the few who stayed behind with the house. When I tried to get her to go with the others, she simply shook her head.
“If it’s all the same, I feel safer here. And I’ll be waiting to greet you when you come home victorious, miss.” She smiled.
The remaining household all turned out to see the ladies off. Lady Blackwood walked out of the house and climbed into the carriage without so much as a word or a look. She was swathed totally in black, from her lace shawl to her gloves, and a thick, opaque black veil covered her face entirely. Not an inch of her was visible. She passed me as though I did not exist. Eliza came next. I kissed her cheek, and she embraced me. “Why won’t you come with us?”
“It’s my duty,” I said. I spoke the words with all the passion of a novice actress in a theatrical company. These days, my duty did not please me. Inside the depths of the carriage, I heard Lady Blackwood coughing. “I’m sorry for what happened at your ball,” I whispered to Eliza. She waved away my apology.
“Don’t worry about me,” she said softly. Leaning closer, she whispered, “It’s a pretend engagement, you know.” Eliza sniffed. “Magnus was never on my list of prospective suitors. Poor as he was, how could he be? But I confess the idea of it makes me happy, even knowing it’s a lie.” She tried to grin and climbed into the carriage. “I’ll see you at Sorrow-Fell.” She said it hopefully. The footman closed the door, and they departed. A cart filled with the servants bumped behind them down the road, and the sorcerers rode alongside on horseback.
Blackwood had not come out of the doorway. He watched the carriage until it disappeared. When I went to speak with him, he vanished into the house.
—
I KNOCKED AT HIS STUDY THAT evening, receiving no answer. But the lantern light seeping from beneath the door told me he was inside. That night, and the night after, I had my meals alone, walked alone through echoing halls. It was like living in a marvelous tomb. I would sit by the fire in the library and imagine Rook coming in to say good night. Or I would go to the place where Fanny…it became difficult to even think the word. I would sit on the stairs, smooth my skirts, and listen to the utter silence. The memories sat beside me, laid their heads in my lap.
There was nothing else to do but reflect and prepare.
Whitechurch was selective about who would undertake the mission, choosing the fittest and strongest fighters. Valens, Wolff, and Lambe were among the few warriors chosen to remain behind, to keep the barriers secure.
Blackwood, Magnus, Dee, and I worked every day, planning how we would ambush R’hlem. Despite being constantly near one another, we had as little interaction as possible. Magnus actively avoided me. Blackwood would address me always in an impersonal tone. Even Dee was distant.
Every time we practiced the final moment—Magnus and Blackwood at the sides, Dee behind with the flute—I delivered the killing blow, a short upward jab with my dagger, careful to avoid the rib cage. And then a slash across the throat, just in case.
R’hlem, the skinless monstrosity, dying at my feet. But William Howel, the man who’d read my mother poetry as they eloped, bleeding alongside him.
Every night, I lay in bed and asked myself if I could do it. And every night, silence was the only reply.
/> —
FINALLY, THE DAY ARRIVED. WHITECHURCH SPENT the morning in consultation with his Masters, appraising R’hlem’s movement. They’d got his pattern down and had selected a hilly terrain ideally suited for attack on the high ground. The time had come to march.
I drank tea with a shaking hand while Lilly prepared me. Every button hooked, every pin placed, every lace tied had the weight of goodbye. If this failed, we would never have this routine again.
“You look very nice,” Lilly said when she’d finished. I wasn’t sure who moved first, but we embraced quickly. She was so short that my chin nestled in her hair. The bells began tolling outside, calling the squadrons into position. Today, it seemed that all of London held its breath. The street corners were silent, the windows of every tavern and shop shuttered.
We assembled by the river, standing side by side in the early morning as our robes moved in a breeze off the water. I’d the bone whistle around my neck, Porridge on one hip, a dagger on the other. The little dagger rested in its sheath up my left sleeve.
Thorn knights with oaken armor walked through our ranks, inspecting us. The faerie creatures congregated at the head of the line, raising twisted-looking horns to their lips to sound the signal to advance.
As one, we marched forward, following the Fae.
The transition from our world to Faerie was immediate: the air chilled on my skin, the wind died in my hair. We followed a road lined on either side by tall, bony-looking trees that pointed upward like accusing fingers. The sky—for there was a sky—was speckled with constellations I didn’t recognize. There was no Ursa Major, no Orion’s Belt.
I was in the front squadron with Whitechurch, Blackwood, and Magnus. The Goodfellow we’d seen before in Cornwall stopped us in our path.
“Halt,” the faerie said, wooden joints creaking. “Imperator, Her Majesty wishes for you and these four,” he said, pointing to Magnus, Blackwood, Dee, and me, “to meet in her chambers.”
A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire, Book Two) Page 25
