by Patty Jansen
In the middle of the floor of the gallery was a large plain slab of marble with a carved inscription. Four pillars marked the corners, each with a candle on a sconce. A faint breeze made the flames flap, casting moving shadows over the stone.
Johanna pushed herself away from the window and walked over. The inscription on the marble slab said,
Born from dust, return to dust,
with underneath a name.
At the tender age of nineteen. Our beloved princess Celine Maraina Hestia Carmine de Lacoeur van Leeuwen.
No one ever listed all the royal family’s names and titles. You needed a whole page for that.
Celine, felled suddenly by a deadly infection. Celine, younger sister to Roald. Celine, first heir to the Carmine Throne.
Johanna remembered hearing the news of her death. She remembered the day of her funeral, how queen Cygna had broken down and collapsed on the dais. She remembered the king’s silent and emotionless appearance.
She remembered the talk about Roald and the speculation about his absence.
There had been whispers that he’d been glad she was dead. Some even said that he might have killed his sister. No one understood why he had been passed over for the throne anyway, although the reason for choosing Celine was widely rumoured to be to attract local princes in marriage, influential princes from large kingdoms. But the royal family had never confirmed this rumour. They hadn’t married Celine off as soon as she turned sixteen either. Knowing what Johanna knew now, it all made sense. The Carmines were a dangerously small family and they carried a curse that was worse than that of magic: that of madness. Potential suitors would find out about Roald, and would worry about any children Celine might have. That would have repelled a lot of potential candidates, especially those from other royal families. They’d been marrying each other’s cousins for so many generations that no royal family was unrelated to the other royal families.
Add to that the fact that King Nicholaos had made himself unpopular with the nobility of the surrounding lands by giving the Church of the Triune legal status, and you had a problem. A big problem.
And because of Celine, Johanna stood here. Because of Celine, she had failed her father.
She buried her face in her hands.
A voice behind her said, “Lady.”
Johanna gasped and turned around. “Who’s there?”
“It’s only me.” From the shadows of the porch came the red-haired man she had seen with the king’s guests. He bowed. “Excuse me very much, my lady. I seem to have startled you. That was not my intention. I merely sought the way to the garden. I’m quite hot.” He spoke with a curious accent.
“Oh . . . Down that way, I think.” She pointed half-heartedly to the end of the passage.
From close up, the prick of magic was so strong that it made the hairs on her arms stand on end. What kind of magic was it? Not willow magic because that was much more subtle. Not wind magic or he would follow the way to the garden by the guidance of the breeze. If she was to have any chance of finding out, she needed to touch his bare skin. His arms were mostly covered by long flowing sleeves. His hands were long-fingered, but hands were really not much good for magic transmission. Hands touched too many other things that they easily became contaminated.
His neck . . . She stared at the way the light danced in his hair. Felt that most horrible of feelings creep up on her: a blush. Fortunately, it would be too dark for him to notice.
“I don’t think we’ve been introduced, my lady, my name is Kylian, prince of Gelre.”
“Baron Uti’s son?” Her voice sounded small and immature to her ears.
“The very one.” He bowed.
“I’m afraid I can’t compete with that. My name is Johanna Brouwer.”
“Oh, the famous merchant’s daughter.”
“You know me?” Surely he said that to humour her.
“Who hasn’t heard of the famous Brouwer river barges? They bring spices and tobacco all up and down the inland towns. And you were dancing with the prince just now. Your name was whispered all over the hall.”
“Um . . .” Johanna was going to say not in a good way, probably, but that would lead to all sorts of conversations she didn’t want to have. Also, it made sense that he’d know Father’s ships, important as the river trade was to the inland towns, but she had no idea why he would know her. She wasn’t famous at all. She had been to Lurezia once with her father, but no one knew the Brouwer Company there, except other merchants, whom Father had spent ages talking to. To the fourteen-year-old Johanna, it was nothing but a big, strange city that stank, where no one spoke her language.
In the hall, the orchestra struck up a tune called The Swan that involved a dance where the man held the woman by the elbows from behind and the pair moved across the dance floor in an elegant glide.
He bowed again. “Lady Johanna, I would be most pleased to have this dance.” He held his arms ready.
“Um . . . Isn’t the dance floor in the hall?” Except she didn’t really want to go back there, not to watch the embarrassing spectacle of petrified girls dancing with Roald if there were still any girls left who wanted to try, or to see Roald throw more tantrums, or see Father’s pained face.
Johanna felt like an idiot. She was turning into another version of Nellie, always worrying about this or that and what people thought of it. Nellie never had any fun. And Johanna’s life was not much fun at the moment. What happened to the girl who two days ago danced down the church steps wearing clogs?
Kylian was handsome, and smiled at her with quiet intelligence. Not the predatory look of Octavio Nieland. Not the dumb look of Prince Roald. Not the expectant looks of all the nobles. Or the suspicious looks of anyone who knew about magic.
What was the harm of one dance? She had danced with plenty of young men at other occasions, albeit none as formal as this one. After tonight, he would go back to the baron’s castle. She would go back to being plain Johanna and she would never see him again.
But there is no one else here, the annoying little voice in her head said.
She forced that little voice to shut up and put her hands in his. His palms felt warm and dry. Pleasant, not at all like Roald’s sweaty hands.
And his magic—whoa! It swept her up in a maelstrom of visions, of his home, the town of Florisheim by the Rede River. She saw the castle high above the roofs of the town, with a forbidding entrance, a fat round tower on which flew the flag of the barony.
He turned her around and took her lightly by the outstretched elbows from behind. They danced, like a pair of silent and ghostly swans, across the vast empty floor of the gallery.
He whirled and whirled, remembering steps and patterns effortlessly, and she felt like she was flying. His magic made her steps light and her mind unburdened. He guided her with confidence, avoiding marble pillars and potted plants without breaking his step or any of the dance patterns. His touch on her elbows was light but sure. His body behind her radiated warmth, but never touched her.
It was all so proper and boring. Deep inside her, she yearned for the warmth of another person’s touch and for something not proper. That’s why she’d come out here, right? That was why she’d agreed to dance with him in the first place. If her stunt with Roald meant that she would remain a spinster for the rest of her life, would it be wrong to have a little taste of what she would miss?
Very wrong, the little voice in her mind said. It sounded like Nellie.
The music was finished, and half-hearted applause rang from the hall. Kylian let go of Johanna’s elbows and warmth lingered in those small spots where he had touched her. She turned around, meeting his brown eyes.
Silence lingered between them as the magic of his touch fled her body.
“Did you like that?” he asked.
“You’re a very good dancer.” She felt her cheeks glowing.
He smiled.
Her heart thudded against her ribs. What was she doing? She should be sensible and go bac
k into the garden room. Father would be looking for her in the crowd. Or King Nicholaos. And all the nobles would be wondering where she was. Run home crying the rumours would go.
She hesitated, but the moment to end this encounter was lost. The orchestra started the next dance, a faster piece.
“Do you want another dance?” Kylian asked.
“Not really, I’m quite hot. I should probably—” Why was she still fighting?
“Come.” He took her arm.
“Where are we going?” Panic clamped around her heart. This wasn’t right. Young women got into trouble this way, and everything about him smelled trouble.
That’s what you wanted, right? It’s your own fault, the little voice that sounded like Nellie said.
“I was on my way to the gardens. Let’s get some fresh air. I’m quite keen to see this fabled gold statue that’s rumoured to be here.”
Johanna still protested. “I don’t really know how to get there. I’m not so familiar with this part of the building. I should go back to the ball—”
If only she could think clearly, but she was hot and cold at the same time and her cheeks glowed like they were on fire.
Kylian laughed. “Oh, those people in there are boring. Were you forced to dance with the prince? Did you know he was an idiot? The king did hide his son well enough, didn’t he?”
He had no right to call any member of her royal family an idiot, but at his words, her anger at her father re-surfaced. For all she knew, she should do something stupid, because . . . because she could. And she would probably be talking about this night for the rest of her life, so she might as well make sure that something good happened. Or at least something daring and not-boring.
Chapter 11
* * *
A SET OF DOORS at the end of the hallway led to the garden side of the palace. Bathed in moonlight, the paving looked grey save where potted plants cast ink-black shadows.
Kylian tested the doors. They opened, letting a chill breeze into the somewhat stuffy gallery. The curtains billowed inward.
She clamped her arms around herself. “Brrr.”
He slipped his jerkin off his shoulders and draped it over hers. It was leather: heavy and rough and imbued with smells of forest, wood fires and something unmistakably male that made her shiver.
They walked onto the forecourt, where the moonlight cast deep shadows of the walls and clipped bushes. Water burbled in a crystal-clear pond. Three young willow trees lined the water, the type from the south that trailed their branches in the water.
“It’s pretty,” he said, pushing away the curtain of willow branches.
“Yes. I guess it’s very different where you come from.” She was babbling and she knew it.
“Very different,” he said. “We don’t have large cities, only small towns by the river, surrounded by wooded hills. This land around here is so flat. Do you know what hills look like?”
“I’ve seen them when going up the river with Father.” Although she hadn’t gone east into the Rede River, but continued to follow the Saar River to Lurezia. She’d seen forest, too, dense stands of trees much larger than any tree that grew in Saarland. The ground underneath was covered in leaves and moss and her footsteps had made not a sound. It was kind of scary not being able to see far or being in such a dim and dark place where evil could jump on her from behind every tree trunk.
He continued, “The forest is magic. It speaks to me of the things it has seen. It breathes life. Do you ever feel like that?”
She nodded, still hearing the whisperings in the forest when the wind raked its fingers through the boughs. There was a smell of mushrooms and rich soil and magic.
“Did you find the forest scary?” His eyes were dark in the low light, and his red hair looked black. When had he come close enough for the male scent of his body to become so overwhelming?
“I did.” A bit later, she added, in a whisper, “Are there wolves where you live? Bears? Demons?”
“All of those, and more. Ghosts, wraiths, spirits. Magical creatures. Some good, some evil. People don’t belong in the forest. We’re mere guests and live by the rules of the forest.” He sounded almost reverent. His magic was sure to involve forest and trees.
“Sounds scary.”
“It’s not, when you know how to listen, which I’m sure you can.”
There was no point in denying her magic. “I speak to willows. The wood tells me stories.”
His face split into a smile that made his eyes twinkle. “I know. Why else would I single out you, of all girls?”
Had he done that? With just a single exchanged look across a crowded hall?
“It must be quite hard, feeling magic and listening to the Shepherd denouncing all magic as evil.”
“It is hard. But I want to convince the Church that magic can be used for good as well as evil.”
“Bah, good luck with that. You might as well talk to a rock. They will not listen.”
Normally, Johanna would have argued, but after having talked to the Shepherd about Loesie, she resigned herself to the fact that he was right.
The Church wouldn’t listen. The Church had its own agenda, and that involved banishing everything they didn’t understand or couldn’t control. It involved getting money from the royal family that they should be spending elsewhere, or worse, didn’t have.
Worse than that even, King Nicholaos was blind to what was happening.
They walked in silence, side by side. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, a comforting cocoon in the chill of the night.
Via the beautifully paved and maintained path, they came to the far end of the gardens. The king had ordered a grassy mound to be built here, from where you could see over the city. Stone steps led to the top, where there was a circular paved area surrounded by a knee-high wall. The stars were out and light from the moon cast a silvery sheen over the roofs of Saardam.
“Do you know why the Moon has a ring around it?” he asked.
“Because there is mist up there where the Moon is.”
He laughed. “Not quite. The Moon is so far from us that you could put the Saar and Rede rivers end to end and straight up in the sky and it wouldn’t reach the Moon.”
“How do you know that?”
“I study the skies.”
“Do you have a looking glass? I’ve got one, too.”
“We have the best looking glasses available in all of the western lands. My father has also hired a man called Rinius who studies the skies.”
“The one who wrote the book?”
“You are familiar with it?”
“I have a copy.” Father had bought it for her on his travels, knowing her interest in such things. It showed the diagrams of the stars and where planets would be at certain times of the year.
“You better hide that from your priests. Rinius is a wanted man for spreading heresy throughout all the southern lands where the Church has a hold on ruling families.”
“The Church of the Triune is not the same as those southern churches.”
“Tell me honestly that your priests won’t declare the natural sciences heresy and I’ll believe you.”
Johanna said nothing. She couldn’t say anything of the sort. What was more, she believed him. The sciences said many things that were against belief. To some, magic was just another science.
They continued down the mound and came to the end of the laneway, where the longitudinal flower beds gave way to features set in a circular pattern, depicting a rose.
In the middle was a pond in which stood a pedestal and on it the gilded statue of the Triune, silhouetted against the night sky.
“Urgh,” Kylian said, looking up at it. “What a hideous thing.”
“Are you always this rude when visiting strangers?” Not just rude, blasphemous. She had never heard anyone talk like this, not even Father’s merchant friends, none of whom had any love for the Church.
“It
is a hideous thing. Look at the slobbering mouth of the dog, and look at the hollow face. The bearded man looks like a sanctimonious piece of shit. He doesn’t care about the world at all. He just cares about being seen to do good.”
“The statue embodies the fragmented nature of the human spirit. There are three parts. Some of human nature is good, some is indifferent and shackled in tradition, and some is just plain bad.”
He chuckled. “Like magic, huh?”
Unease creeping up in her, Johanna looked out over the harbour, where the boats bobbed on their moorings.
A breeze stroked her skin and brought the sound of barking dogs. Seriously, they weren’t still carrying on about Master Hendricksen’s monkey, were they?
“Your Church says there is no magic and any who say otherwise are evil. Your king does not believe in it.”
Not just the Church—the majority of people in Saardam who didn’t have magic didn’t believe in the few who did. In the past, they had called people with magic witches and drowned them to test it. If a woman floated, she was a witch and would be killed. If she sank, she was not a witch, but she was dead anyway. But that had been in the time of Johanna’s grandmother, and no one in the family had magic then. And there had been no Church.
Kylian continued, “Why let yourself be ruled by this Church? They are nothing but tyrants in disguise. Even the name says it all: shepherds. They expect their followers to be sheep, incapable of thinking for themselves. The Church is run by old men who are scared of magic, or maybe jealous of the ones who have it.”
“They are still our people, our citizens. I do not want to be an enemy of the Church. The Church does a lot of good.”
He snorted. “Some good.”
“It does! It helps poor people. It gives them food and clothes.”
“In exchange for their vows and adoption of their ludicrous beliefs.”
Johanna glared at him. “Are you determined to offend everyone? Or are you so absorbed in your own wealth that you have no idea what it’s like to be poor?”
