Amie found herself staring at her fingers half buried in the earth. She tucked her uncle’s words into a place she would think on later. For now she only wanted to get rid of the sudden ache her own thoughts invoked. Her life had been marked by too much too soon. She’d avoided change for years after her father and mother died and wondered if Henry’s letter would bring the same sort.
…
Henry, meanwhile, had been covertly watching her while they worked. He wondered if he was being too hasty or too foolish in testing her. It was hardly fair when she didn’t even know his reasons for bringing her to the gardens. Telling her the truth of their heritage had only pushed her away. He knew she was thinking of Drustan, of her place here. Even if he felt as if she had always remained with them, belonging as solidly as he, none of them could force her to choose to stay.
Feeling slightly ashamed, he attempted to bridge the wedge between them. “Have you read any of the books I leant you, my dear?” Henry tried to keep the desperation from his voice, but every day he prayed something would break through, that she might truly see again.
Jessamiene scoffed, yet seemed glad for the change of subject. “You mean the ones written in Old English and whatever that other language is? You do know I’m American, right? We’re not exactly the most brilliant kids on the world block.”
Chuckling, he offered, “Have you at least tried to read them? What about The True and Complete Works of Willem Shakespeare? Are your school houses so uneducated?” The thought of not reading these common titles was preposterous to him. Here outside the Vale, in the land they called Silver Hollow, such books were necessary for their class.
“Um…Uncle Henry, I’m pretty sure your books are out of print. I’ve never seen or heard of any of them.”
He paused, forlornly. “Not even History of the First Kingdoms?” Standing on the flower mound, he took in the glorious sunset.
“Not even What Not to Say to a Gnome,” she ended with a dramatic sigh. Leaning over to examine a nearby rose petal, she glanced up at him with a sly smile.
“Now I know you’re making fun!” Clasping his hands behind his back, he grimaced and pretended to walk away from her towards the hedgerow. As predicted, he heard the sound of her boots pounding against the earth behind him.
“Wait! Uncle Henry, I didn’t mean to—hey!” She stared, amazed by the clod of dirt just thrown in her face.
When he twisted round to face her he feigned confusion. “Well, those poshumicked flobbergidits! I didn’t even see them throw soil in your—” His words were cut off by her mud pie squashed down into the crevices of his faintest wrinkles. From this point the war was on, until both were coated in a fine shade of brown.
Exhausted, they lay together near the flower mound, watching the stars slowly wink into existence. As the moon rose and held sway, Amie dug her fingers in the earth they had planted and glanced over at her uncle. He was watching the stars, determined he would not do anything that would incite her gifts.
Only two could rule together, he reminded himself. Having guarded this gate for years alone, Henry could scarce dare hope his other half had come home. If she hadn’t inherited any of their family’s legacy he was prepared to love her as best he could anyway.
But if she has…
Their eyes locked and he watched her mother’s smile take shape on her face, saw the emerald eyes crinkle at their corners. He couldn’t help but return her grin, because he felt the same. Jessamiene was the only blood family he had left. Once he had despised his kin, though he was loyal to a fault to their cause. So often it was only after losing everything that what truly mattered came to light. By the time he had realized how much he loved his parents and brother, they were already gone.
“I’m glad I’m here, Uncle Henry,” she said.
Henry watched as unbeknownst to her, a crackle of silver energy escaped her fingertips and all around them the flowers grew.
Chapter 12
Akin to Joy
Amie woke from a dreamless sleep, the first she’d had in days as a matter of fact. She realized, while racing through the gardens with her uncle, she was really having fun. For the first time in as long as she could remember she was something akin to happy. Memory of the night she had almost lost her life was fading in this new welcome reality. So instead of waking up because of the pain emanating from her scar, or clutching her father’s ring tight enough to imprint its symbol in her palm, she lay back with a sigh and tried to ignore her maid.
Rachel Elisedd Underhill was one of those venerable institutions of Wenderdowne. Young as she appeared, her old soul shone through her henpecking ways and motherly affections. She seemed to flit from her duties with single-minded determination, yet was afflicted with a terrible case of absentmindedness. One of her favorite pastimes, besides forcing Amie into her costume for the day, was chattering on about things her charge never quite understood. This pleased Underhill immensely, this weaving of riddles.
Probably because I’m American, Amie often thought to herself.
Today Underhill was humming an offbeat tune while picking out a different wardrobe. She had had loads to say last night when Amie and Uncle Henry came in looking like they had dug trenches in the gardens, huffing and puffing about “stains that shall nay ever come out!” and likewise.
Rather than feeling annoyed by her indomitable joy, Amie was compelled to ask, “Rachel, how long have you worked for my family?”
The maid paused, mid-dust, to lift her owlish eyes and stare. For a split second it seemed as if Amie had struck a nerve at last, her favorite pastime of the day. But then the feather duster in her hands began to quiver and soon the strange woman laughed until several snorts escaped her pointed nose. “Oh! Gooseberries! What funny questions you ask us!”
Amie crossed her arms over her chest and glared back. “I only asked Reggie if he liked being a butler. It’s not my fault he ran down the hall screaming your name.”
“But don’t ye see, milady? The other house servants are nay used to your bamboozling phrases as I am. Poor ole Reggie thought ye were cursing him, he did!”
After a roll of her eyes, Amie tried again. “Okay, so honestly now, I just want to know how long you’ve been working here.”
“Longer than you’ve been alive, milady, and I’ve served at Wenderdowne most of me life.” The clock then chimed and the feather duster flew out of Underhill’s hands and across the room, smack into the bear-faced rug Amie called Tiger.
Casting a crooked glance at the strange time-teller, Amie watched the five hands align at the nine o’clock hour. At least, she thought it was nine o’clock. Each hand sported a different being engraved on its end. The longest was a lion-bodied, eagle-faced gryphon. Next was the horse-bodied centaur, then came people and below dwarf-sized people. Last of all were the tiny winged figures Amie couldn’t begin to imagine. At the moment, it was the human’s hour.
Underhill was rushing to find the rest of Amie’s wardrobe. When she appeared from the wardrobe with a ridiculous miniature top hat, Amie backed away into her breakfast tray.
“Oh no, I’m not wearing this.”
Underhill gasped, clutching the hat to her chest, and pursed her lips. “But it’s tradition, milady!”
“Sorry, but you couldn’t pay me to wear it,” Amie replied.
“At least let me braid your gryphon’s mane,” Underhill huffed and her charge appeased her whim.
Amie knew better than to disagree and watched as the housemaid got to work on her black curls, twisting and turning it into something manageable. After a while of watching her deft hands, her mind wandered to other things.
Like the flowers that grew out of nothing…
She had ignored the look in Henry’s eye when the violet blossoms appeared from beneath their hands the night before. They had watched the stars burn across the night sky and Amie had felt it the moment her happiness bubbled over and flooded her nerves. After a good night’s rest she decided she hadn’t felt the sharp s
ting of an electric current escape her fingertips, or smelt the strange blend of rain and something burning after.
Henry hadn’t stopped smiling after, even as his brow creased with something like worry. Before they parted ways at her door he had pressed her palm between both of his and said, “You’re beginning to see now, dear one. Don’t open your eyes just yet…”
“What troubles yer thoughts, Lady Wenderdowne?” Underhill’s soft voice eased her out of her thoughts.
Blinking numbly back at her reflection, Amie watched her brow furrow and cursed the fact she couldn’t help but wear her emotions on her sleeve. “Nothing…So am I meeting Uncle in the Looking Room today?” Amie referred to Henry’s favorite morning retreat, a white room of mirrors and illusions. He never invited her to breakfast with him there, however. Once again she couldn’t help the niggling curiosity that wanted to know why.
“Master shan’t be sparing any time for lessons today, I fear. He’s got much dishwakling to do. Of course!” she exclaimed while tying Amie’s silver ribbon in a sharp bow, then said, “’Tis what happens when a Master forgets his duties. He has too much to oversee and too much Rumplekin mischief afoot!”
“Rumplekin?” Amie repeated.
Underhill’s nose twitched and with a passing glance she motioned for her to turn around. Putting on shoes had been no big deal back home. Amie still didn’t know what the house servants had done with her Converse or her other clothes. The first couple of days she nearly went on strike, refusing to come out wearing anything but her modern wardrobe. Now the slow art of Underhill shoving the high boots over her ankles and then lacing them up seemed natural.
Though the Lady of the house had forgotten her previous question, the head of the household staff had not. So she startled Amie when she burst forth with a wealth of information.
“The Rumplekin family has been causing mischief in the Vale for the better part of this age! Always pulling the wool over the eyes of formerly wiser lords and ladies, it is in their nature to tell half-truths. No better than Goblins, they be!”
“Goblins?” Amie queried while Underhill helped her up and rummaged for her parasol.
“Aye, cousins to me own kin…Just be grateful you’ve never met a Rumplekin! And Grimwich! Och! Most ever-lackadaisical fool you’ve set your eyes on!”
“Underhill?”
“No better than a brimbled troll he be!”
“Rachel…”
“Fool of a tushmonger!”
“Hey, you!” Amie waved her hands in front of the maid’s face and watched the blush fill her cheeks. Underhill blinked fitfully before a slow maniacal grin enhanced her round cheekbones and creased her lips. Snatching the ridiculous-looking parasol from her hands, Amie promptly thwacked her maid in the skirts and growled, “Snap out of it! Are you going to show me why I’m dressed like Eliza Doolittle or are we just gonna gossip all day?”
Underhill blushed to the roots of her chestnut hair.
…
Underhill refused to betray their destination until they were safely through the kitchens and out a door she had never been through before. Only two doors led away from Cook’s domain, one leading into the gardens and the other the stables.
Separated from the house by a winding path drawing parallel to the main road, the pathway to the house-sized barn was a quick descent. This particular road connected to the one Slaine used to bring her here. Yet after passing the furthest wing of the castle it split off two different directions. One way swiveled back into the dark forest and the other turned to the stables.
For the first time Amie was treated to her first hint of the grounds. To her right, the endless hedgerow rose high, hugging the back of the manor. To the left were even more wings to the colossal vine-covered fortress. With its curtain of ivy and pale ivory flowers covering its columns and towers, the house seemed to have sprouted from the earth. From this vantage point it was plain to see her new home was a castle and it was unlike any she had ever seen before in the movies.
Eventually the path fell off a shallow dip of a green hill and from there stretched on forever. Unprepared for the open slope, Amie paused at the crest of the hill and blinked against the sudden sunlight. A sea of heather-swept emerald grass rippled with each gust of wind and stole her breath away.
“Come, milady!” Underhill charged back up the hill to beckon her and called, “He will not accept anything but punctuality.”
Doubting the merit behind Underhill’s threat, Amie nevertheless rushed after her.
The stables were deceptively small and bordered by a giant-sized corral. On closer inspection Amie realized this was because half of the barn was underground. She thought she could see the outline of the closed-in carriage that had borne her to the end of her journey. At the mouth of the tall wooden structure, another open-seated black buggy was being polished. Amie almost didn’t recognize Slaine’s footman when he wore his cap tightly over his mop of sun-kissed hair.
“Halloo!” Underhill skipped ahead to meet the boy.
Amie wanted to crawl into herself at the prospect of seeing those unsettling eyes. But he never once peeked up from his polish, even as Underhill badgered him.
“Where is Mr. Cutterworthy? We did nay see glimpse nor hair of either of ye two old dragons at breakfast!”
The tall boy visibly flinched when the wind spoke, carrying the inflections of a craggy voice to their ears.
“Eddie! Ye mangy waif! Where are your manners?” Slaine limped around from the nearby fencepost, though Amie could have sworn he hadn’t been there the moment before. She couldn’t help smiling at the first face she had seen upon entering the Vale.
Slaine wore a far less formal attire while off duty apparently. His breeches came up his waist, held up by plaid suspenders. While his plaid vest lay open, unbuttoned, it was partially covered by a calf-length gray trench coat studded with buttons. Silvery curls tossed madly wherever his bowl cap didn’t hold them in place. As before, his pale eyes focused on her and a peculiar grin etched into his grizzled face.
“Elisedd Underhill, I see you’ve brought me the Emerald Eyes and not a smidgeon too late!”
Underhill crouched down until her legs were lost in a mushroom of skirts at Eddie’s feet and waved her hand. “Oh aye!” she called, “Forgive our belated arrival. She was stubbornly underdressed for the occasion!”
Eddie predictably said nothing while observing everything. Much as she was coming to love her uncle, Amie wondered if he were secretly the only sane person in this theme park. As if her thought had summoned him, for one brief disturbing moment the stable hand craned his neck and met Amie’s eye.
Slaine winked as he took her arm in his. “Survived the mad house, have ye? I never could stand to be stuffed and puffed indoors like them clever ones.” Still leading her round the side of the barn and towards the corral, he continued, “Special ways ye must play to inside the great house. Never too carefully can you tread.”
Amie had to wonder as the house had seemed nothing more than an old ruin, albeit creepy at times. Clouds gathered overhead as though sensing the shift in their moods. It was every bit a part of the Northern English countryside then, a comforting reminder of where she was.
Slaine was still watching the house on the hill above with a wary eye when he caught her sneaking glance. “Ye might not know it, Jessamiene, but we were all tied to that place once. Solemn vows are not something one can burn away. Some aren’t in the habit of forgiving the breaking of powerful words.”
“What do you mean?”
He unhinged the gate with an uncanny grin. “Oh, you’ll know soon enough, Jessamiene, mark me. Meantime, do your best to poke your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“But you just said…”
“Eddie, lad! Miserable bushwickle, get on with you!” Slaine called with a toss of his head.
Her eyes widened as the redhead led two stubborn, sturdy horses down the slope. “What is that?”
“Why, I won’t have a Wende
rdowne not know how to ride on my watch!” He grinned, one eye slightly more focused than the other.
Hence the split riding skirt…oh crap, you are such an idiot! That’s why there was a riding hat! Amie shook her head at her inner musings. The only time she’d ridden horses was with a friend down the street in elementary school. If Amie’s father had known at the time he probably would have put her under house arrest.
Turning to Slaine, Amie said, “Are you sure this is such a good idea? I’m not exactly an expert, you know. I mean, I know I live in Texas, but that doesn’t mean we all ride horses. What about Uncle Henry? Surely he wouldn’t approve of this.” When she saw the cabbie’s grin widen with each of her protests, she knew it was pointless to resist.
Eddie glanced briefly at her as he passed. Hanging his head and hunching his shoulders, he pulled the giant beasts into the corral. Underhill giggled and called out encouragement after hopping onto the fence and rocking against its post. Even though she still had no definite idea what he looked like, Amie could spot the blush on his fair skin from here.
He doesn’t like the attention. Can’t say I blame you, buddy.
Slaine held a proffered fruit before both horses’ noses, waiting until he had her full attention. “First lesson you will learn, Jessamiene Wenderdowne, is these beasts can be gentle or wild as your inner nixy. Observe…” With one swipe of his hands the fruits had disappeared and the eccentric driver’s countenance changed. Dark shadows tainted his features. Untamed fury shook from his every limb, leaving a mad creature in his wake. The horses shifted on unsure feet, then began to buck and toss their heads the more Slaine allowed his rage to fester.
He growled above the sudden gust of north winds, “Without your own inner beast tamed ye can never tame the wild ones around ye!” His eyes glowed with a subtle fire, distorting his pale eyes to a blood-red pallor. His fingers pushed in together, against an invisible weight between his thumb and palm. When his voice grew louder Amie shivered, backed against the fence Eddie and Underhill had taken refuge behind. “To tame the beast,” Slaine continued, “ye must know it first!” At this he slapped the hindquarters of either horse and both let loose a terrifying scream.
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