Witchmark

by C. L. Polk

  “Yes. Don’t you use them?”

  “Amaranthines don’t go in for group magic.” Tristan poked the map. “I have to go to Bywell. That’s where Nick’s mother was sent. Maybe he managed to see her. Maybe she can tell us what’s happening in those asylums, what they’re making her do.”

  Grace’s cup halted on the way to her mouth. “What they’re making her do?”

  “Dame Hensley,” Tristan said. “Your laws and methods scoop up every witch you can find and distribute them to points along your country’s borders in this particular pattern. Do you believe they’re held to weave baskets?”

  She turned her head, white-lipped. “You have a point. So you mean to delay your return.”

  “I’m so close to the answer,” Tristan replied. “There are stones near Bywell. I can pass through those. I don’t want to break into the royal park and get chased around by guards again.”

  “Again?” Grace asked.

  Tristan waved his hand. “A tiny misunderstanding surrounded my arrival to your realm last year. Anyone could have done it. I would have apologized for the fuss, but they were shooting at me.”

  Grace fought to keep her expression sober. “What do you mean, the stones?”

  “There’s a ring of stones covered in spirals on the palace grounds. It’s a gate.”

  Grace went bug-eyed. “The King’s Stone is … a gate? And you Amaranthines can just pop in and out of it whenever you please?”

  “It’s not easy, even on stable lands.” Tristan offered a second round of whiskey. “What I did at the Kingston stones was downright heroic. If I travel to Bywell, and go through the stones there—”

  “How were you going to get there?”

  “I have a coachman.”

  “But we’d have to get into the asylum.”

  “I might be able to hide us,” Tristan said. “I’d be useless if we wound up in trouble. Hiding us and moving at the same time would use all my power.”

  Grace fidgeted in her seat. “Or…”

  “Or?”

  “I’ll take you,” Grace said. “My car isn’t comfortable, but it’s far faster than a coach.”

  “That doesn’t get us into the asylum,” Tristan said. “But I thank you.”

  “I can get us into the asylum,” Grace said. “The Benevolent Society funds every rural asylum in the country. We practically own them.”

  “We can find Ann Elliot. Find out what’s being done to them.”

  “The asylums are the next lead,” Tristan said. “I need to bring answers with me when I go home.”

  “But what about this … possession?” Grace asked. “If it’s making soldiers murder their families … they have to be stopped.”

  “It’ll take more than the three of us.” I licked my lips and went on. “We’ll need the Invisibles.”

  “We’ll need Secondaries.” Grace’s expression took on excitement. “If they help save Aeland, this will show the Invisibles exactly how their treatment of fellow mages has hindered our progress.”

  “So that’s how you see them,” Tristan said. “Not as tools, but people.”

  “We’re all tools, Mr. Hunter. The Invisibles are merely the ones the Crown knows have a use.”

  “You are people, Miss Hensley. In particular service to your Queen, but still people. How will you tell the others?”

  “Tonight, when we sing in winter. Everyone will be there. I’ll gather the First Ring and tell them. Miles, you’ll need to explain, but you know everyone.”

  “Sir Percy will be a problem.”

  Grace’s mouth shifted to one side, and she nodded. “Sir Percy’s always a problem. But the other four will be sensible. We’ll talk to them tonight, and go to the asylum in the morning.”

  “Can you wait another day, Tristan?”

  “I’ll have to.” Tristan shrugged. “Better to be a day late with the answer. Aife will temper herself if the mission’s complete.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Black Beads and White

  Grace’s car made my head pound and my skin crawl. It ran on aether, and the active power it took to make the heavy black vehicle move down the street had me squinting against the pain in thirty seconds.

  “How do you stand it?”

  “It takes a good hour to get a carriage ready,” Grace said. “It’s a sight worse than aether lights, isn’t it? Too bad it’s already a relic.”

  It was a beautiful relic. The front panel was carved from rich, golden wood made more interesting with dark knots. The thick leather seats were hand-tooled with frond-like leaves, and brass trimmed the dials and gauges arched around the driver’s wheel.

  Only the wealthiest could afford such a wonder, and most of those would have to endure the pain of being near so much aether and the copper to run it. I gritted my teeth and watched the smooth black road that fed the little branches leading to one jaw-dropping house after another.

  I was ready to get out and walk by the time we passed the gates to the hall where we’d celebrated the Return. A golden carriage rested directly in front of the door. We dashed across the trampled heads of violets in our rush to get inside, tracking them with us as we went.

  I ran to the Hensleys’ private suite while Grace ducked inside the glass-domed room where I’d danced with a dozen young women. I changed into a Secondary’s robe, white embroidery on white wool with square-cornered sleeves. I didn’t have the knack for the looped button fastening, and my haste only made it worse.

  Voices hummed and murmured beyond the tiny chamber where I dressed. Grace had gone to gather the Stations to hear our warning. I would have to tell the Stations what I’d seen, and withstand their questions. Grace didn’t know enough to handle their scrutiny.

  It would be like explaining the particulars of a difficult medical case, or arguing one’s findings in front of peers. I’d done that often enough. This would be no different. But a handful of people couldn’t make so much mumbling noise.

  I emerged from my little dressing room and stopped short. Two dozen people glanced over their shoulders and dismissed me with a shrug. Grace had gone to find the five people who led the magic at their Stations, but they’d brought their immediate Link Circles.

  This was no brief conversation between leaders. This was a deciding, a gathering big enough to decide an outcome by vote. Grace stood at the front of the suite, leaning against the hearth. She ignored the black glass bottle on the carved table facing the gathering. She was the only one not in her vestments. I was the only Secondary in the room.

  “Be on your way, boy,” an older woman said to me. “We have business before the ritual.”

  “He’s the one who has business with you,” Grace said. “Miles, come up.”

  Tiny clicks sounded as I wove through the lounging knots of people, as if they were counting with a string of beads. Grace leaned against the mantel, giving me an encouraging smile.

  From the front of the room, the entire First Ring stared impassively at me. I knew some of these faces. None of them looked back at me with warmth or encouragement.

  “Tell them what you told me,” Grace said.

  I folded my hands into the sleeves of my Secondary’s robe. This had been a mistake. I shouldn’t be wearing a reminder of my inferiority for this.

  “We haven’t much time,” I said, “so I’ll get straight to it—Aeland is in danger, and Queen Constantina might be attacked at the signing of surrender at the end of the week by our own men.”

  Some people looked disbelieving. Others frowned.

  “I work as a psychiatrist at Beauregard Veterans’ hospital. Most of my patients have battle fatigue, a condition we are still working to understand.”

  Too many eyes rolled to the ceiling when I said battle fatigue. Many didn’t believe in it, or in melancholy, or in chronic anxiousness. But I had to go on. I had to give them something they could connect to. Maybe they’d seen it themselves.

  “How many of you have the trick of being able to see mages, or
auras around a person?”

  Grace hissed a warning, but downturned mouths and crossed arms scolded me. Invisibles didn’t admit to having Secondary tricks.

  “I misspoke. My apologies. How many of you have family members or friends with the trick?”

  A few hands went up. Few enough so I could count them, and a few more when others saw the admission.

  “They’re about to be vital to the Queen’s protection. I have this trick myself. I will describe what I can see, so you may ask your household if they have also seen people who look like this.”

  I described the miasma to them, and a few people widened their eyes. They’d seen. Hope spread from my chest to warm my cold hands. Some of them had seen.

  “I didn’t know what I saw. I thought it was a disease, since my trick is healing. But I was wrong. It’s not a disease.”

  I took a deep breath and went on. “It’s the effect of a spell binding the soul of a Laneeri to the body of the soldier who killed them. Gradually, they possess the soldier’s body, and then attack their families, and then anyone who gets close to them. There have been four such murders reported in the papers. I witnessed the fifth today.”

  People shifted in their seats, glanced around to check the reactions of others. All of them saw Sir Percy Stanley, arms crossed and mouth thin with disapproval, glaring at me with narrowed eyes. I sought those who had recognized the signs I described. They sat so, so still.

  “One thousand soldiers will stand at rest while the Laneeri who came to Aeland sign the surrender. Of those one thousand, some will be possessed, bearing ceremonial arms in the presence of the Queen. An attack there could end in disaster.”

  Now voices rose up in alarm. Invisibles shouted questions one atop the other. But Sir Percy stood up, and raised his hand for silence.

  The room settled down.

  “That’s enough,” Sir Percy said. “Miss Hensley, we’ve all seen this opera before. You waste our time with this? You let your Secondary run entirely too free.”

  I couldn’t let him deny it away. I addressed the First Ring, as if he’d asked for clarification. “It’s not only whichever thousand are attending the surrender. Tens of thousands of possessed men have gone home to their families all over Aeland. The slaughter of their families alone will devastate the country.”

  Murmurs rose. The mages who could see auras turned to their neighbors, their whispers urgent. But Sir Percy barked a short laugh.

  “This is absurd. The revenge of Lucus the Witch-King is a story, Master Miles. An entertainment. Grace, I knew you were too young to take on the responsibility of the Voice, but not even a moony schoolboy would believe this.”

  “What I tell you is true.” I let my voice fill the room, but I didn’t shout. Shouting was for the powerless. “But even if you need more proof, can you afford to ignore my warning? At least tell the Queen and increase her protection—”

  He chopped his hand sideways, his face red. “I said that’s enough.”

  Every one of the Invisibles who knew averted their eyes from me, shook their heads. One bit her lip and stood up.

  “We should look into this,” she said. “Sir Percy, I have the trick he’s talking about. I’ve seen what he described.”

  “Did your Station leader ask you to speak, Dame Joan?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Are we in formal attendance? I thought this was an emergency meeting.”

  “I can see it too.” Another Invisible stood up, beak-nosed and long-faced. “And I’ve read the papers. Every one of those killers was a soldier, back from the war. Sir Christopher might be mistaken, but I don’t believe he’s lying.”

  More voices murmured.

  Sir Percy rolled his eyes. “Are there any more Links with Secondary tricks who believe this Secondary’s story?”

  Grace stepped up to stand beside me. “I can see them too. I believe my brother. He’s seen thousands of soldiers with the condition he reports. We can’t afford to ignore him.”

  Voices stilled as one of the men in the heavily embroidered robes of a Station stood up. “This Secondary ran away from his responsibility, joined the army under a false name, and had to be dragged back to his duty.” Johnathan Blake was a tall man, and the gathering turned their attention to him in silent respect. “How do we know he’s not inventing a threat to make himself important? He clearly doesn’t know his place.”

  I went cold. Grace’s future father-in-law had risen to question her. The ground crumbled out from under us.

  My sister answered him with a steady voice. “My brother is an accomplished healer and a war hero. His choice to make the most of his gift is the only reason we have advance warning. Without him, this attack would be a complete surprise.”

  Sir Johnathan took on a considering look, and opened his mouth to speak again.

  “Enough! We’re late for the ceremony.” Sir Percy raised his fist, making something inside it click.

  Clicks answered him, double handfuls of fists clicking. Not beads.

  Voting balls.

  “I have no confidence in Dame Grace Hensley’s competence to stand as the proxy Voice of the Invisibles,” he said. “I move we vote.”

  Johnathan Blake rose to his feet. “There’s no time to vote. The ritual—”

  “—Is too important to leave in the hands of someone we can’t trust. I thank the stars she never had a chance to learn the Cabinet’s true secrets. We vote, and we vote now.”

  Sir Percy marched to the black glass bottle, and his vote fell in with a plink. His followers crowded the bottle before he’d settled in his seat, smug as he watched the First Ring file to the bottle and drop their votes inside.

  It was done in under two minutes. Some of the Ring wouldn’t even look at her when they cast a ball inside. Sir Percy nodded toward the bottle, unable to keep the triumph off his face.

  “Count.”

  Grace’s mouth was thin as she picked up the bottle and upended it.

  A shower of black balls. A flash of white. But not enough. Not nearly enough.

  Sir Percy spread his arms wide. “Dame Grace Hensley is no longer the Voice in proxy. By custom, she is demoted to a Link in the Third Ring, if there is a place for her. Does anyone have one?”

  No hands went up.

  It was over.

  * * *

  Grace stood motionless as everything she’d worked for burned to ashes. The First Ring filed out of our family suite—was it even ours anymore? The Hensleys had centuries of power behind them, measured in the permanence of this suite’s decoration. Portraits of my father, my grandfather, and my great-grandmother stared down at us from the walls.

  I had expected argument, but I hadn’t expected Sir Percy would be so petty he would ignore our warning—

  My warning. Grace had let me do the talking and stood aside. That wasn’t what Invisibles did with their Secondaries. Maybe Father had realized what a wealth of tools the Invisibles had discarded, but the others didn’t share his insight.

  Grace had been completely ousted from the Circle. She wouldn’t even be in the lowest-ranking position there was. I put my jacket back on, leaving the robe crumpled on the floor.

  Grace still hadn’t moved.

  I came closer. “Grace. We have to figure out what to do.”

  She blinked, still looking at the portrait of Fiona Hensley.

  “Grace.” She couldn’t crack on me now. We had a massacre to stop. “The Queen is here.”

  Now she looked at me. “No.”

  “Grace, she’s in danger.”

  A muscle in her jaw jumped. “But now, you don’t have to ever attend the major rituals. You don’t have to marry anyone. The Hensley legacy is broken. And that works out in your favor, Miles.”

  Her words drenched me in cold. It did. She was right. “This is a disaster, Grace. Do you hear me? I didn’t do this. Why would I?”

  “Your freedom,” Grace said. “We took your freedom. This is your revenge.”

  “Grace. It’s
not. This is the last thing I wanted. I should have insisted you speak to them. Of course they wouldn’t listen to a Secondary.”

  Grace tilted her head and watched me.

  “I wouldn’t let Aeland burn because you bound me.”

  She breathed again, letting it out in a shaky sigh. “You wouldn’t. You only think of yourself after taking care of everyone else. What do we do?”

  I headed for the door. “We tell the Queen.”

  “They won’t let us anywhere near her,” Grace said, but she followed me to the door and across the wide corridor where white-robed Secondaries gobbled selections from the buffet. They eyed us, muttering to each other as we passed.

  Word had already spread.

  I kept going around to the north end of the hall, opening the doors to the summoning chamber where we had danced only the night before.

  We made five steps across the ornately inlaid floor before Invisibles stood in our path.

  “You’ve been ousted. Please leave.”

  I burned to say something, but I’d already made that mistake. I looked toward the throne, where Queen Constantina spoke to Sir Percy. I stared at her, wishing I could Speak into her thoughts. She wore a dove gray silk gown, diamonds draped over her collarbones like snowflakes caught permanently in the light. They dazzled from across the room.

  Please look at me. I repeated it in my mind. I used my will to push the thoughts out to her. You’re in danger. Please look at me.

  “You’re ignoring a mortal threat to the Crown.” Grace kept her voice down. I wished she would shout, but she’d never break the fa çade of control. “Defending the Queen stands above all. Sir Percy may have forgotten, but I haven’t.”

  Sir Percy spoke, tucking his hands into his robe, then letting his hands fall to his side as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Queen Constantina didn’t quite sigh, but she flicked her gaze away and it skipped over the crowd, landing on me.

  One eyebrow rose. She cocked her head, intent on me and my sister, the only people besides her not in ceremonial garb. I made the most pathetic entreaty of my face, and prayed for her curiosity. Sir Percy followed her gaze to me, and his face darkened.