As I made my way back to the cottage, I could hardly tolerate the thrum in my body and the lightness in my head. Again and again, I returned to the moment he touched my waist and kissed me. By the time I settled in for bed, my head battled with my heart.
This is preposterous—and unseemly, I thought. What would come of such an entanglement, no doubt finite, could only lead to heartache. And he was no ordinary man. There was a limit to the latitude he had over his own life. He was a king, for whom the future was prescribed, including his choice of a wife, not that such a thing was even his intention in my regard.
I also thought of Aoife and Wyl and the ruin they brought. Had Wyl done his duty and married the princess betrothed to him—or if Aoife had refused him—either decision could have altered the events that led to the war, and where we were now. To risk a repeat of that past, in any variation, wasn’t something I wanted to do.
In all the years I’d known Nikolas, I’d never hoped for anything more than his companionship. That alone had sustained me, my trust in it inviolable. Yet if I were truly honest, there had been moments, a gesture, word, or look, when a boundary blurred between us.
That night, he crossed it, and I joined him there.
Although every rational thought compelled me to, I knew I couldn’t turn back.
DIARY ENTRY 29 MARCH /38
Well, then. The plants are fine today, all faculties as they were before. But the animals—now they can’t speak.
I noticed this when I awoke. There was no birdsong. Harmyn was with me when I stepped outside and called out. A fox, sparrow, and beetle came forward. I asked them to turn in a circle, which they did, and when I asked them to call to their own kind, I could see how the fox and sparrow strained, but there was no sound. When Cyril returned from his forage, he had no voice either.
There’s no denying a cycle has begun again. I’m worried, but not yet afraid.
Another cycle has made its turn, too. Old Woman has been telling the Myths of the Four to the newborn animals, as she’s done every spring. It’s a comfort to hear them. The stories enthrall Harmyn as much as they did me when I was little. She listens and asks questions, fascinated by the Great Sleep (What is it? Where is it?) and Egnis (Why was she so wise?) and Azul the Orphan (Who left Azul in the river? Was Azul a human? How did they become so brave?).
DIARY ENTRY 1 APRIL /38
Fourth day. No change in the animals.
I’ll see Fewmany in three days. Harmyn warned me to be careful about what I plan to do. I didn’t tell her, but she glimpsed me (with apologies) and him. She said he’s never been so close, and he truly believes I can lead him to what he desires. Of course I can, I said, but I won’t. She became very grave then. “He’s vulnerable in a way he hasn’t been in many, many years. This is your advantage, but it’s also dangerous.”
4 APRIL /38
ON MY WAY TO MEET Fewmany for the first time since my return, I noticed how subdued the town was. Aside from the usual bustle and clatter, the creatures were as silent as the ones in the woods. The horse who volunteered to carry me made no sound at all, not even a whiffle. I heard no pigeon coo, dog bark, or rat squeak.
I’d left the cottage early so that I could ride the horse into Warrick past my old walk-up. The lights were dim behind drawn curtains, including my former apartment’s. I wondered if the Elgins were having a peaceful night, if Mrs. Woodman had baked her cinnamon buns that morning, if Miss Sheepshank and Miss Thursdale had finished their weekly stack of periodicals, if Sir Pouncelot was trying to decide among the Misses Acutt’s laps.
When I arrived at The Manses, the guards at the main gate and the manor’s entrance greeted me, remarking how long I’d been away. When I reached the house, I hitched the horse and walked up to the front door. My hand slipped into my satchel, reaching for the key, which was no longer there. What the body remembers, I thought as I rang the bell.
“Good evening, Miss,” Naughton said when he opened the door.
“Good evening,” I said.
As I entered, I looked at him—hair thinner, eyes alert, his vest piped in blue. I grabbed his arm and dragged him into the ballroom.
“I know that blue and why you wear it,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me? You’re a spy, aren’t you?”
He gave a slight smile. “A warrior, first and foremost. He had to hire me, of course, but I volunteered for this service many years ago, as he rose and our Elders determined he should be watched. He’s long been considered a threat to the balance of All That Is.”
I wanted to ask dozens of questions, about his life and his duty, but there was no time. I suspected there was little he would, or could, divulge.
“When you came here, I was informed who you were believed to be,” he said. “I was told to protect you, but not to interfere with your dealings with him. I failed in my detachment at times, but my allegiances held firm, conflicting as they are. I’ve been told a great change is at hand. You and the King accepted a call. Do you know what’s to come?”
“Not yet,” I said.
He nodded, led us out, and shut the door. I looked ahead to see Mutt scrambling against the marble floor. When I reached down to scratch his muzzle, I felt how much he wanted to speak but couldn’t. My ears instead filled with the sound of a grandiloquent aria, artfully whistled.
“What-ho! A sight for sore eyes. My keeper of tales,” Fewmany said.
My hand reached out before I thought twice. As Fewmany clasped it in greeting, I couldn’t deny—although the admission angered me—I had, in some way, missed him.
He held firm a moment longer than necessary, his gaze exploratory. “How different you seem, almost . . . radiant. Ah, the silver returned!” he said.
“There were few parlors along the way,” I said.
He seemed unchanged—his amber eyes without an extra line, his hair with the same streaks of gray, the pocket of his coat stuffed, the Tell-a-Bell, timepiece, and ring shiny as ever—but the scar under his jaw and chin was swollen and red.
“What happened?” I asked, pointing.
“ ’Tis the result of a nightmare flailing, that’s all. A bottle of your favorite wine awaits. Come.”
Once inside the library, I sighed, unprepared for the way the smell and light and familiar objects made me feel. Content, secluded.
“There’s still time to gather a costume,” he said, whisking an envelope from the table and holding out the ball invitation to me.
As we settled in the high-backed chairs near the fire, he reached to the table between us to pour our drinks. “Quire visited two weeks hence. He asked of you and said he missed your, what was it, ‘attentive and inquisitorial company.’ ”
I accepted the wine he offered and set it aside. “Do give him my regards.”
“So long away without a word. Where have you been?” he asked.
From my satchel, I withdrew his gift. On my open hand, the jeweled brooch sparkled. He plucked it from my palm, bent toward the flames, and pressed his fingertip across the engraved symbol.
“Beautiful, isn’t it,” I said.
“Unequaled by any I’ve ever seen,” he said.
“Nothing you’ve ever heard or read conveys the enormity or splendor of the place where I found it.”
“Then tell me now,” he said.
I heard an undertone in his response, a challenge for a good story but also for proof. I had to feed him, gorge him, whet his appetite for even more.
“Beyond our land, a blue sky consorts with a black mountain, and within the belly of this mountain is a cave filled with the light of the sky,” I said, then described the treasure of a thousand kingdoms. I told of objects meant for war and for home, made with hands which knew the needs for beauty and function. So much gold, silver, copper, and tin; so many emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds. How was it possible for a hoard like this to exist, with still more hidden beyond the glowing mouth of the cave?
“What of the dragon?” Fewmany asked, his tone imparti
al, his eyes searching.
“What makes for good lore isn’t necessarily the truth.”
“No vicious beastie guarding its booty?”
“No. Unless it was away collecting another prize, as it’s said to do.”
“No guards of any kind?” he asked.
“None that I could see.”
“An old woman led you there, to a treasure that vast.”
“The old women know where it is, and no one tried to stop me.” As I breathed calmly, he searched under my skin. “Few would have the courage to make a journey to find it, much less the endurance to reach it.”
He cocked his head, the edge of his teeth visible.
“Remember what motivation I had to persevere. You do recall our agreement,” I said. Finally, I sipped my wine. The dry smoky heat released a wave of pleasure.
“I do. But tell me, after seeing what you saw and taking what you did, why would you return to me and reveal what you have? Why not keep it for yourself?”
I anticipated his doubt in the tale’s legitimacy, but not a doubt in me. My lashes dampened. I didn’t speak until I forced back the tears, which gave him a moment longer to notice what I wished I hadn’t felt.
“As I’ve told you before, I have simple needs and wants,” I said. “Your offer was generous—and more than enough. I promised to do my best, and that’s what I’ve done. You once asked for my gratitude, enthusiasm, and fealty, which I believe I’ve given in every manner in which I’ve served you. What else must I do to prove it?”
He leaned toward me. “ ’Twas not a question of your character,” he said softly, perhaps too softly. “You, my bonny archivist, have proven yourself time and again. Surprised me as well, haven’t you?”
My ears heard the hiss of silver, my tongue tasted the ruby of desire, and my skin felt the wet of blood. I pressed my forehead into my hand. Why are you doing this? I asked myself. Why didn’t you stop when you had the chance? In that pause, I surrendered to fate’s long reach. I was never the pawn Fewmany thought I was or I believed myself to be. He never had the power he thought he did. We were echoes through time, with Raef and Aoife’s distant deeds unresolved. This old pattern would somehow, and soon, be altered.
“I’ve been honored to be in your service and by the trust you’ve placed in me, beyond my responsibilities as your archivist. There have been . . . experiences . . . these past years which have revealed me to myself in unexpected ways,” I said.
“Such candor,” he said.
“I want you to know of my appreciation.”
“There’s never been a question about it. But why do I feel as if you are about to drive a blade gently?”
“I don’t intend to return to the library. My work is done. I think you’d agree.”
“A fraction of the collection is cataloged. I’m not mistaken to say you found pleasure in your duties.”
“Let’s not pretend you chose me for that sole purpose.”
His eyes searched me, searched me deep, but what he sought—my fear, my need, my innocence—I cloaked with my certainty.
I stared back. “Your instincts were right about me, after all. You hired me, then gained my trust as I gained yours. Now what you want is within reach, and what I want is within mine.”
“I’m a man of my word, this you know to be true, and what I have promised, I shall deliver, once I claim the boon. There aren’t yet heaps of chalices and blades in my possession, but you will be there to witness when I do.”
I delved into my memory. The library’s collection, my favorite objects from the rooms, and a manor to keep me in luxury all of my days were my rewards for his attainment.
“I will provide you with a map,” I said.
“I asked specifically for your lead.”
I hesitated for the briefest instant. “You didn’t stipulate how I would lead you. That detail wasn’t part of the nudum pactum.”
Fewmany’s brow rippled with tension, his expression confused. “Are you—are you refusing me?”
“Yes.”
Disbelief numbed every feature of his face.
“I’ve violated nothing but your expectations, Fewmany.”
He set down his glass with a slosh and went to stand near the fire. His back was to me as he gripped the mantel.
“That brooch is a token of what you seek. I risked my life and my limbs to obtain it. What more do you want from me?” I asked.
“What could I offer to change your mind?”
“Nothing. For you to honor my compensation when you return will suffice.”
“So confident, are you, I will find it with this map.”
“Yes.”
Then he turned. He stood on the hearth stones, split by shadow and light. He appeared ageless, then ancient. When I blinked, I saw him as he was.
“Secret.”
“Yes?”
“What do you think I would do if I discovered you deceived me?”
His voice chilled my blood, but I wasn’t afraid. “Everything in your power to make certain I never touched a thing I loved again.”
“How right your riddle.” His mouth bowed in a cryptic smile. “How soon do you expect to produce this map?”
“Possibly by the time of the ball.”
“Less than a month.” He sat again, sipped his wine. He reached the brooch toward me like an offering.
I withdrew. “No, it’s yours. I brought it as proof.”
Fewmany pulled it to his chest. “Thank you,” he said with surprise, even suspicion. “You have no desire to keep it?”
“That isn’t what I value,” I said. I looked to the gallery, the books in the closed cases. “I read in a text not so long ago, ‘Gold spent is gone. A tale can be told again.’ ”
“How precious,” Fewmany said as he pinned the brooch to his lapel. His now.
DIARY ENTRY 5 APRIL /38
The din this morning—chirp bellow grunt howl croak whir—because the creatures can speak again, but they cannot hear. Cyril crept toward me as I stood listening. When I picked him up, he stared into my eyes. He confirmed what Reach told me. The sickness came through the water.
Nothing is spared the need of water.
We will sicken as the plants and creatures have. They’ve been our warning.
Old Woman and Harmyn know now. We had a talk. I asked Harmyn what she’d seen in town of late. She said people’s shadows are becoming darker and there are more of them. (Mine are, too, she told me.) She still has shadows, but they aren’t the same for her. What she drank from the vial forced them out, she doesn’t have as many, and they’re light, like veils; she can see through them. Old Woman, she said, has light shadows, and that hasn’t changed at all. Why? I asked. Because Old Woman was born among the Guardians; that makes her different somehow.
So, at the moment, we assume the shadows will get worse, and the sickness will affect them.
As for when the sickness will strike us, I don’t know for certain, but I think there are clues connected to cycles. I was told to release the vials within a moon month. The first sign came on the first day of spring. The illness has lasted for fixed periods. At worst, we might become ill right after the animals, less than two weeks. At best, with mercy, a few months. The start of summer.
Now I must tell Nikolas.
THE NEXT DAY, I CHOSE to walk to the castle rather than accept an escort from the horse grazing outside the cottage. I didn’t go alone, however. Through the woods and across the green, a fox ran ahead. Once I reached Rothwyke’s edge, a mastiff loped at my side.
As I passed through the wards, I watched how people treated the animals—horses, mules, cats, dogs—all of them deaf, most of them confused and afraid. Some people tried to soothe them with kind voices and caresses. Several ignored them with stern faces. Others screamed at or struck them, furious that the creatures wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t behave, wouldn’t be quiet. When I found an animal alone, I waited for a sign of welcome and gave it a reassuring touch, all I could give.<
br />
At the castle, a guard brought me to the Great Hall and told me to wait. Nikolas and I hadn’t seen each other since the night we kissed. Under other circumstances, I might have been more nervous, expecting an awkwardness between us, but then, my worry was for greater matters.
Half an hour later, he arrived with a guard walking a few paces behind. Nikolas looked commanding in his dark blue coat and trousers and green damask vest. His smile suggested he was glad to see me, but it faded the closer he came.
“This isn’t a social visit,” he said.
“It’s not.”
He led us through the Great Hall to a crossroads among hallways. I recognized it immediately. I’d been there the night of Nikolas’s fourteenth birthday. I’d slipped away from the scavenger hunt, crept through the gold-gilded corridor lined with oil lamps, and peeked into a private chamber where King Aeldrich sat alone. This was his son’s office now.
One wall was still covered in weapons, the shelf with the gold sword still there. To the right of that was a large window, the casements open. Inside was a desk decorated with marquetry and an imposing carved chair behind it; near the fireplace, four upholstered high-backed chairs in a semicircle with a low table in front.
Nikolas leaned against the desk. “What’s happened?”
I explained what I’d witnessed among the plants and animals. He’d noticed how quiet the stables were the week prior but hadn’t given it much thought. I said they couldn’t hear now, and within a few days, they wouldn’t be able to move.
“The people will suffer, too. The Plague of Silences—” I paused. I had named it. “The Plague of Silences won’t spare us.”
Only then, although I’d read it several times, did I grasp the prophecy Aoife recorded in her manuscript. Sisay, the ancient Voice who trained Wei, had told Aoife: “In an era yet to be born, you will speak to a grandchild. With this child, and others whose time has come, beginning in the land of your exile, a great hush will force a reckoning between lies and truth. The future will depend on those who survive.”
I sighed, unable to comprehend the whole of it.
“A plague unleashed to fight a pestilence,” Nikolas said as he moved to the window. “Well, no wall can stand to that.”
The Plague Diaries Page 24
