Witchmark

by C. L. Polk

  She reached out to touch my medals, lifting each one and feeling the profile of her own face. I wanted to close my eyes when my copper coin rested on the pads of her fingers, to pull away as she peered at the broken shackles on its face.

  “So that’s what you did, Sir Christopher. You ran off to join the Service. Tell us why.”

  “Arrogance, your Majesty. I joined the surgeons to use my gift.”

  “Majesty, Sir Christopher has a knack for healing. He wanted to use it,” my sister explained.

  “Do all Secondaries have such, or are you special?”

  “Some might, ma’am.”

  “And now you’ve returned to your true duties?”

  You could lose your tongue for lying to the throne. “Ma’am, I work as a doctor.”

  Her dark painted brows came down. “Will your work interfere with your service to me?”

  “No, ma’am.” My tongue was dry. “I won’t allow it.”

  She nodded. “I am curious about the other Secondaries. You have a useful gift. Perhaps the others do, too.”

  Warmth flooded me. A useful gift. Feet shuffled behind us, and warm ballroom air sucked into a hundred gasping mouths.

  I couldn’t help smiling, so I ducked my head and tallied the score: one for Grace.

  * * *

  The moon had shifted its place along the panes of the ballroom’s roof, from low in the southeastern corner to toeing the borders of the southern face. It was ten o’clock? Eleven? High time to leave, if I had my say. I’d had enough staring, enough lying, enough guessing at what hid beneath politely veiled curiosity. I was sick of the smell of beeswax and perfume, the taste of champagne gone flat, the ache of my smiling face.

  But Grace was gone, and as far as I could see, so was the First Ring, the mages with the strongest power, positions in Parliament and Cabinet, and the expectation of deference from everyone they met. All the Callers and Links of the First Ring were probably shut away to argue over which of them would sing in winter.

  Grace needed it to be her.

  I squinted through the glass roof at the moon and tried to reckon the time. Once Grace freed herself, I would insist on leaving. She’d negotiate for another hour. I would go to work groggy and stupid, if I could sleep at all.

  The music was pleasant, but untroubled by the fervent energy and joyful bounce of dance hall melodies. Couples glided across the elaborately inlaid floor, their steps crossing over the five petaled roses and circles that mapped out exactly where Storm-Singers stood while working their manipulations. I stood on a rose, the place where a Storm-Singer skilled at shaping the whims of the sky would direct the pooled energy of five magicians who stood on the inlaid circles surrounding the Caller.

  I had learned that much as a child, attending my sister while Father taught her how to stand at the center of every mage in the room, how to catch every thread weaving peace into the sky, how to conduct the efforts of the hundred and fifty-six mages into safety for the thirteen million citizens of Aeland. Lightning might strike, rain might fall, but it was all carefully managed.

  It was important work. Vital, necessary work. But I had hoped to never see this room again.

  “Sir Christopher?”

  I turned around. “Call me Miles. Please. Sir Christopher is my father.”

  She was a girl, at least ten years younger than me, dressed head to toe in creamy white silk and lace. She tilted her head up to look into my eyes and clasped her gloved hands together.

  “I can heal too,” she said, so low I had to watch her red-painted lips to understand. She wasn’t the first Secondary to tell me about her gifts, but she was the first healer. And too young for me to speak with privately.

  “It’s a useful gift,” I said. “Did you attend with your mother?”

  “My brother. He’s in the Second Ring. We’re from Red Hawk.” The name tripped in my memory. Red Hawk, the northern town with a train station and an asylum.

  “I would like to meet him.”

  She glanced at a knot of young men who laughed too loud and drank too much. One as golden-haired as she was caught us looking and raised his glass. He didn’t move to join us.

  What were manners, these days? He had a responsibility to her. It wasn’t proper. I kept staring and he left his cronies, snatching up another saucer of rose-gold champagne on the way to us.

  “Sir Christopher Hensley.” He stuck his hand out. “Richard Poole. I see you’ve met my sister, Celinda.”

  “He prefers Sir Miles,” Celinda said.

  “It’s good to meet you both. Miss Poole tells me you’re in the Second Ring. You must be talented.”

  “Weather up north is a wild horse,” he said. “I was quelling storms as a child.”

  He’d go far if he had the right connections. But Poole was a name I knew only faintly, so I guessed not.

  “My sister has a lot of strength,” he said. “And she’s handy with her little trick. I haven’t been sick in years. Do you like her?”

  I blinked. “We’ve only just met, but I am charmed.”

  “Perhaps you two should dance.”

  Celinda colored prettily. “I have daydreamed about dancing at the Return.”

  Trapped. “Shall we dance, Miss Poole?”

  I hadn’t often danced with a partner in my arms, but she didn’t seem to care about my amateurish technique. She sparkled in her maidenly dress and demure pearl jewelry and glanced at my medals, intent on the copper one.

  “Was it terrible?”

  “It was.”

  “You’re so brave to have done it,” she said. “My cat died.”

  What? “I’m sorry.”

  “She was old. She had a lot of pain; she couldn’t move much. She died on my lap. I cried, and then I—” She glanced left and right, one corner of her lip tucked in her teeth before staring up at me with round eyes. “I wanted to know what killed her.”

  Oh. “You did a death examination.”

  She nodded. “I want to be a doctor. Do you think I could?”

  “You have a great deal standing in your way.”

  “But you did it.”

  “I did. But consider what I did. I ran away. I joined the Service in exchange for my education, and ended up in a war. You could join the Service, but you’d need permission.”

  She bowed her head. My bold moves weren’t so easy for a gently bred daughter of the Royal Knights. She could, if she rebelled. I couldn’t encourage her to do so.

  She raised her head, her face intent. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

  “I—Miss Poole.”

  “I think you’re handsome,” she said. “And brave, and you know so much about healing. We could have powerful children.”

  Oh. Oh. “I never planned to marry,” I said.

  “I don’t mind,” she said. “Becoming a doctor would be enough. Would you … would you have your sister speak to my brother?”

  Speech deserted me. The dance ended. We applauded the musicians, who paged through music to find the next song. I brought Celinda Poole back to her brother.

  “My card,” he said. “I’m home on midweek.”

  He took his sister and steered her through the crowd.

  * * *

  Miss Poole was the first young lady to make the approach, but the gates opened to miss after miss and dance after dance with women of a marriageable age. All of them whispered their gifts to me. All of them wanted a way to pursue mastery of those gifts, and with my own history, wouldn’t I be a tolerant husband?

  It broke my heart and set my head on fire with anger. I didn’t want a wife. I tried escaping them by leaving the ballroom, hoping I would spot Grace before she buried herself in another meeting or friendly talk, but they pursued me in the progress around the continuously refilled buffet.

  The eldest Miss Lawson regaled me with all the latest in the cinema when a man interrupted with an elegantly extended hand. He gave me a measuring look that scanned the polished toes of my shoes to my carefully slick-
combed hair, an inspection I apparently passed, by his easy smile. “I’m Raymond Blake, and I’m tired of waiting for your sister to cut herself loose.”

  “Mr. Blake.” I bent my head in greeting. “The Edenhill hotel is a triumph. I can hardly wait to see what you’ll do next.”

  “I’ve no plans to take on a design until after the wedding.” He turned and gestured at me to follow. “Walk with me.”

  We left Miss Lawson behind.

  “You’re popular,” he said. “I think every eligible Secondary girl has tried to make your acquaintance.”

  “It’s a bit shocking,” I said. “I never planned to marry.”

  He arched an eyebrow at me. “Unimportant. What do you think of Elsine Pelfrey?”

  She’d stepped on my feet. “She was charming.”

  Raymond scoffed. “Her chin’s a mile long and she has a sinus condition. But her father is the Station of the Southeast. She’s your best choice.”

  The wine in my belly curdled. “Politically.”

  “He’s on the fence. Secure the Pelfreys and Grace will be the Voice. Dance with her again.”

  Raymond walked away and left me staring after him.

  * * *

  I knew Grace was free the moment I saw Sir Percy Stanley enter the room. Queen Constantina had gone home long since, and the moon had made it to the southwestern face of the glass roof. The musicians were on their second meal break. The sky would purple with dawn before I made it back to Tristan’s.

  But first, I had to endure an odious, greedy, heartless martinet. Sir Percy Stanley headed straight for my scarlet tunic, his face red. “So. They’ve tamed you, have they? You’re in your proper place.”

  I blinked. “I’m bound to Grace, yes.”

  His narrow-eyed look matched his sneer. “Estelle ran away. Your doing. When we found her again she drank poison. Your fault.”

  Because I’d planted the seed of rebellion in his child, by having the audacity to leave my place. “Estelle … Stanley? I don’t believe we ever met.”

  The red deepened. His nostrils opened like a bellows, his outraged breath stoking rage. “Insolent. No proper Secondary would dare. I don’t believe you cowed, Master Christopher. The others are befuddled by you charming the Queen with your medals instead of understanding you never belonged in a war in the first place.”

  “I enjoyed meeting Her Majesty,” I said. “I’ve had a most wel coming Return. I’ve danced all night and met every charming young woman here. Do you suppose Miss Pelfrey likes poetry? I’ve been thinking of the stars in her eyes.”

  Cruel, if Elsine ever heard of it. But it made Sir Percy’s jowls tremble, and the petty satisfaction at my insinuation felt good. But if I pushed him too far, his clenched fist would swing, and Secondaries didn’t have the right to hit back.

  He’d have to apologize to Grace though.

  “Ah, Sir Percy.” Grace appeared with Raymond Blake, her smile full of good cheer. “How good of you to greet my brother. Raymond took the time to introduce himself earlier, and from what he says, Miles didn’t have a moment to feel lonely.”

  “Your feet must be tired, Miles. All that dancing.”

  “Dancing until dawn is a skill I look forward to refining, Mr. Blake.”

  “Surely you have time for one more?” He cast a meaningful look at Miss Pelfrey, standing alone at the edge of the floor set out for dancing, dreaming of turning on the five-petaled motifs inlaid on the floor. She caught my glance and waved, blushing as I smiled in return.

  If Sir Percy grew any angrier his hair would set on fire. My pleasure at vexing him sank. I laughed today, but Grace’s pleasure at my popularity nagged. She could arrange my marriage. She had the right. And if an alliance cemented her place, she’d do it.

  She’d do anything it took.

  “I think I should save my energy for all the calls I’ve been invited to pay,” I said. “Grace, do you want to stay? I can send the carriage back for you.”

  “I’m ready to go,” Grace said. “Have a pleasant evening, Sir Percy.”

  I held my tongue until the carriage rolled along the red road back to the King’s Way. “What part of ‘I have to work in the morning’ did you decide was trivial, Grace? People blunder without enough sleep. I hold lives in my hands!”

  “We held a debate,” Grace said, “over who would sing winter in tomorrow. Three rounds of voting. I won by one vote. One vote, Miles.”

  Not the support Grace was hoping for. That wasn’t even the support she should have had. She was weary, her body shaking along with the carriage.

  “Have you eaten?”

  “I thought going to work on time was the top priority?”

  “You should have eaten.”

  “I’ll manage,” Grace said. “Did you dance with Elsine Pelfrey more than once?”

  The question jarred me right down to my toes. “I didn’t dance with anyone more than once.”

  “Good. Her father voted with me. We don’t need her. What do you think of Laura Burleigh?”

  Laura Burleigh? What is this? “Grace. I never planned to marry.”

  “We need this.” Grace gritted her teeth. “My alliance with the Blakes isn’t enough. The Burleighs would double our alignment with the Pelfreys, and Miss Burleigh isn’t at all hard to look at.”

  A cold whisper shivered up my neck: I don’t know this woman.

  “Don’t favor anyone yet,” Grace said. “But get used to the idea. You’ll be a married man by the Feast of Lights. I’m sorry.”

  The pronouncement rocked me in my seat. “I will not.”

  “You must, Miles.”

  “Grace, don’t ask me to do this. Not when I already agreed to help you, not when—”

  “What? When you want your heartless Amaranthine? His kind don’t have the same feelings we do, Miles. You amuse him. That’s all.”

  “We’re not—”

  “He’s fascinated you. So you’ll stay where he can use you. What does he want from you? He made you a bargain. They all do.”

  I bit my lips together and counted. “He’s my friend.”

  “Do you think he loves you?”

  I flinched. “I know he doesn’t.”

  “Miles, he can’t. You know the stories. We fall in love with them. They leave. We break.”

  “He’s never done what you believe.”

  “Tell me you don’t catch your breath when you look at him.”

  I looked down at the floor, at the space between us.

  “Miles.” Grace said it gently. “I won’t lose you again. I won’t. Not to one of the heartless. Not as long as I can breathe and fight.”

  “He’s my friend.”

  “How did he befriend you? How did you meet him?”

  I looked out the window. “We’re not going back to the city.”

  “Where would you go? Your boardinghouse is locked. We’re nearly home.”

  “Grace—”

  “You’ll be gone before Father wakes up.”

  “No.”

  “Harry’s been up all night,” Grace said. “He can get to his bed all the sooner instead of making him drive all the way to the Edenhill.”

  “Halston Street isn’t far—”

  She cut off my protest with the chopping motion of her hand. “Miles, I can’t. I can’t trust him. Please don’t ask me to.”

  She couldn’t trust Tristan? I couldn’t remark on the irony. “I trust him. He’s never given me reason not to.”

  “What are you implying?”

  “That you told Father about me.”

  She flinched as if I had slapped her. She looked away. “He already knew, Miles. He knew and he never told me, and then he asked me if you were happy. He knew all along.”

  “Did you set me up?”

  “No! I didn’t. I swear.”

  “How did you expect to explain his partial recovery? Did you think he wouldn’t notice?”

  “I—”

  I seized her hand. Her heart beat faster
than normal. Her breaths were shallow. Adrenaline cruised through her bloodstream. All heightened from the stress of the argument. “Were you going to tell him about me?”

  “Yes!”

  Her tense muscles eased with the confession. “I knew I couldn’t keep you a secret after that. I was going to make him understand I swore not to bind you. I needed you to consent and to trust me. I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t hear it. I never wanted him to do that to you, Miles. I swear.”

  I could feel her relief at telling me as if it coursed through my own body. “All right.”

  She sagged.

  “One more thing,” I said. “Do you know Nick Elliot?”

  She blinked. “Who?”

  Her heart still eased its rhythm. She breathed freely. Puzzlement reigned on her face. She didn’t even know who I was talking about.

  That only left Father. And whatever was happening to the soldiers. They needed the souls, Nick had said. What souls?

  The souls Tristan searched for.

  Who needed them?

  “Miles, who is Nick Elliot?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  “Is he important?”

  “He is to me,” I said. “I just wondered.”

  “Are you angry with me, for telling Father?”

  “Yes.”

  “He already knew. But I could have tried to lie.”

  “Grace, you and I both know what would have happened if you’d tried to lie to him. He would have had the truth—after he made you feel like the worm under his boot.”

  “I haven’t told him about your Amaranthine. And he has no reason to ask. But he will want to know where you slept, if not in the dower house.”

  Blast. She knew exactly how to manipulate me, after all this time. I sighed and laid my head against the padded backrest. “Fine.”

  Grace smiled, looking relieved. “I ordered it cleaned, but the stovepipe is cracked. You’ll have to come in the house for breakfast.”

  “And I suppose you have something I can wear to work?”

  “Of course,” Grace said. “I’ve taken care of everything.”

  * * *

  The dower house smelt of verbena and oil soap. The walls were plaster and paint, a soft blue trimmed in white and gilt. Ancient furniture bore the fanciful carving of my great-grandfather’s day, and the bedstead stood heavy with dark carved wood. The mattress, the linens, and the pillows were new, treated with perfumes of lavender and roses to aid sleep.