Spindle (Two Monarchies Sequence Book 1)

by W. R. Gingell

  “You told me that you’d never met them,” Poly said crossly. “You knew perfectly well when you told me about the Arbiters yesterday that they were my parents!”

  “And very adorable I found you! Didn’t I tell you that I’d answer your questions, no payment required? Admit it, you had no idea.”

  “None at all. They’ve been turning up in such odd places! And what did you mean by telling me you’d never met them?”

  “Strictly speaking, I never did,” said Melchior. “There’s an old oak tree on my estate; an ancient, sprawling thing with a nest of branches. I wanted to climb it the moment I saw it, but my legs weren’t long enough until I was eight. When I made it to the nest of branches, this was waiting for me in a bespelled piece of oilskin.”

  This was a folded piece of paper between his long fingers. It looked old and faded and a little bit fragile. His name was written on the front of it in familiar, blunt handwriting.

  Poly looked at it, frowning. “My father and mother wrote to you. Why?”

  “First, to tell me everything that had ever happened to me, including a few things that no one except myself knew. Secondly, to enlist me in the rescue of their daughter. They went into it quite thoroughly; told me where you were, how to get there, and what it would take to rescue you.”

  “Well, why didn’t you rescue me, then?” demanded Poly.

  “Believe me, it’s a grudge I’ll hold against Luck until my dying day,” said Melchior. “Your parents’ letter instructed me to wait until I was contacted by a group known as Black Velvet: it also went into the details of when and where you would appear in the Capital. I didn’t understand why until I met you yesterday in the Council Hall. They must have known that someone else might get there before me.”

  “And were you contacted by Black Velvet?”

  “Yes: on my sixteenth birthday.”

  Poly gazed up at him curiously. “You kept this a secret for eight years? Even when your schoolfriends were talking about the Sleeping Princess?”

  “Never told a soul,” said Melchior, with a half-smiling shrug. “You were mine, you see. Something special and delightful and secret. I fell in love with you years before we ever met.”

  “It must have been a nasty surprise when Luck was sent instead of you.”

  “Not nearly as nasty as the surprise I got when I realized you’d fallen in love with him instead of me,” Melchior said meditatively. “Hm. If Luck hasn’t told you how adorably you blush, he’s been wasting his time. No, it’s no use protesting, I knew it as soon as I saw you together. It was meant to be me, you know: Black Velvet was pretty sure Mordion was up to his old tricks, and by then I’d managed to worm my way into the Wizard Council.”

  “You’re not really part of the Council,” said Poly, in some relief.

  “Good grief, no! They’re a throat-cutting bunch of vermin. No, I’m there on a purely informational basis.”

  Poly said accurately: “You mean you’re spying on them.”

  “Well, yes. We needed to know when Mordion was going to move. We had a pretty good idea of the spells he used to bind you, and why: Peter mentioned the Frozen Battlefield in my letter as well. I was almost certain that things were coming to a head, and I was just where I was meant to be. Mordion was making overtures to offering me the job and I’d gathered everything that I might need. Then Luck showed up again.”

  “Mordion approached him instead of you.”

  “Only to be expected, I suppose,” said Melchior. Poly thought his voice was a touch bitter. “Why send a wizard when you can send an enchanter? On the other hand, it meant that I was here to see things happen when the truth leaked out to a few influential people.”

  “Someone tried to kill us before we got to Luck’s village.”

  “Yes, it got out faster than Mordion expected. He had me make friends with a few people around the Capital–”

  “More spying?” Poly couldn’t help laughing up at him, and his eyes laughed back at her.

  “Exactly. It turns out that I have a talent for it. I knew that the Old Parrassians were in contact with someone from the village so I set myself to finding the link. I thought that if I couldn’t be there to look after you I could at least try and keep you safe from here.”

  “We found a big piece of communication magic in the village,” said Poly. “Well, Luck did, anyway. It looked like it’d gone wrong somehow.”

  Melchior grinned. “That’s because I sabotaged it from this end. They call it a comm-link. It’s not much good unless you’ve got a spare room to set it up in, but when they work out how to link it all up without the need for so much space, it’ll be the next big thing.”

  “Yes, Luck got very excited about it. Melchior, where are we going, exactly?”

  The alley was certainly not merely for privacy. Distracted as she was by the conversation, Poly had nevertheless felt the way it squeezed improbably between buildings and turned impossible angles. At one point she had been almost certain that they were walking along the alley walls instead of the floor, and now that they were back on the cobbled ground again, it felt distinctly as though the alley was coming to an end.

  Poly, her hand had slipping instinctively away from Melchior’s arm, only realised that she’d half-unlaced the glove that covered her antimagic arm when his fingers covered her own.

  “I wouldn’t do that in here if I were you,” he said softly. “Not unless you want to crush us both midway between two houses.”

  Poly’s hair spread out questingly and told her what she should have realised much sooner. “It’s your magic. There wasn’t a secret alley: you made it. You made a path.”

  “If you’re going to rescue an enchantress from an enchanted castle, you learn to think about secret doors and magic pathways,” shrugged Melchior. “I had a long time to think about how I’d manage it. It’s about the only thing I can do really well, as a matter of fact.”

  Poly gave a sudden chuckle. “Rather fitting, isn’t it?”

  Melchior grinned. “Being such an untrustworthy and generally sneaky person, you mean? Mind the step, Poly.”

  There was a slight jolt between one step and the next, and then Poly found herself in a small, neat sitting room with street-facing windows.

  “We’ve arrived,” said Melchior unnecessarily. “Yes, that is Luck out on Curzon street. Didn’t I tell you he was up to something?”

  “Luck is always up to something,” murmured Poly. She let Melchior slip the unlaced glove from her hand and waited until he was studying her antimagic arm before she said: “Black Velvet. I’m sure there isn’t a secret organisation dedicated simply to the task of rescuing one bespelled enchantress.”

  Melchior flicked a glance at her. “Charming and exquisitely mystifying as you are: no. Black Velvet has a range of projects. As a matter of fact, I have a range of objectives myself.”

  “Which are?”

  “Do you know, I thought you’d be more interested in what Luck is up to.”

  “I am interested,” said Poly. “But if you will offer me bait!”

  Melchior’s lips curved in a faint smile. Poly had the idea that he was pleased at her interest. “When I was first recruited I thought my only focus would be you. It turns out that Black Velvet has fingers in many, many pies. I will say merely that they wouldn’t be sorry to see the Wizard Council dismantled, Rorkin’s staff found, and a royal on the throne.”

  “Goodness! Very modest in your aims, aren’t you? What is Rorkin’s staff?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like,” said Melchior. “A staff belonging to Rorkin. Legend says it’s the only thing that can choose the next king or queen. It vanished at the same time that Rorkin was said to be assassinated.”

  “You haven’t had much luck, have you?”

  “Not particularly, no,” said Melchior amusedly. “Why do you suppose Luck is visiting a contractual specialist, Poly?”

  “Is that what the shop is? I thought it was a lawyer’s shopfront.”


  “Doctor Shore specialises in contracts magical and normal, with a distinct tendency toward finding loopholes in untenable requirements. Does that sound familiar?”

  “My enchantment was bound with a governmental spellpaper that makes me property of the state,” said Poly slowly. “I haven’t looked at the spellpaper in days: Luck probably pinched it when we got here. And Isabella did say that whatever Luck was doing, it was bound to have something to do with me.”

  “Clever little firebrand,” said Melchior approvingly. “She’s entirely correct. In that case, we can assume that Luck is trying to find a way to make your contractual spellpaper null and void.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I can think of a few reasons. If it was me, I’d be trying to weasel out of the clause that claims you as property of the state. Luck was clever enough to get you to acknowledge him as your champion, which means you temporarily belong to him and that the state has to negotiate through him, but I wouldn’t put it past Mordion to try and have him killed.”

  “Nor would I,” Poly said, and she shivered.

  “Have you told Luck about him?”

  “I tried to tell– well, not really, I suppose. He went out today before I could talk to him.”

  “Tell him as soon as you can. If I read the spellpaper aright, the kind of power he could get from doing this particular spell again will be more than enough to rule New Civet for centuries to come. If he does it right this time.”

  Poly felt the familiar tug of dread at her stomach. “Luck is leaving now,” she said, trying to quell it.

  “No need to follow him, I think,” nodded Melchior. “He’s off to see Melissa: that’s her street he just turned into. Where would you like to go from here?”

  “Does it matter?” asked Poly, a little listlessly. “The things I need aren’t out here, anyway.”

  “I suppose not,” said Melchior, and his smile was rueful.

  “I need the rest of my memories,” said Poly. She had been playing rather absentmindedly with Onepiece ever since Melchior brought her back home, much to the puppy’s satisfaction.

  “I can bite,” said Onepiece. He thought about it, and added: “You. Can bite you. Blood is good.”

  “No, darling, you don’t need to bite me. A nice sharp pin will do the trick.”

  She sighed, and looked wistfully at the gate to the alley. It was almost dark, and Luck still wasn’t back.

  “Time to go in, darling.”

  “Don’t want bed,” grumbled Onepiece.

  Poly, about to tell him that he would have it whether he wanted it or not, caught a faint murmur of movement outside the gate. She sprang to her feet with a lighter heart, reaching out to sense Luck’s magic and– someone else.

  “Go to the house, Onepiece,” she said, and ran to the gate.

  Through the hatch she could see the lit street and a carriage. Luck had already climbed out, but instead of driving on, the coach deposited another passenger. Melissa was dressed in russet today, and as provocative as ever. She said something in Luck’s ear as Poly watched, and he smiled.

  “Come to me tomorrow, sweeting,” she said, this time loud enough for Poly to hear. A whisper of magic accompanied the words, soft and sly and warm.

  Luck said vaguely: “Yes. That will be...nice.”

  “Until then,” Melissa purred. She kissed him, spreading more of the insidiously sticky magic, and to Poly’s dismay, Luck didn’t push away either the kiss or the magic.

  She shut the hatch and went to bed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Luck, I want to go out today,” said Poly.

  Luck said: “Huh,” and looked bemused. Poly wasn’t certain that he’d heard her. She’d been trying all morning without success to detach Melissa’s clingy magic. It felt as though Luck, at some level, was holding on to it.

  “I want to go out,” repeated Poly.

  This time Luck looked up with entirely clear eyes. Then he said: “No,” with such completely unexpected authority that by the time Poly gathered her startled wits, he had left the house.

  She was still fuming when Melchior rapped on the gate.

  “You’d better come in,” she said crossly.

  “Thank you, I’m sure!” said Melchior, greatly amused. “Have you told Luck yet?”

  “No,” said Poly tightly. “Luck isn’t going to be any use.”

  Melchior sauntered through the gate. “Luck’s never any use. I’m surprised that you’re only just discovering it. After all, you have been travelling with him for quite some time now. What happened?”

  “Melissa.”

  “I see. Do you need a shoulder to cry on? Perhaps a comforting arm around your waist?”

  “Not yet,” said Poly. “She had to use magic on him.”

  Melchior gave a soft hiss of laughter. “Very promising for you! Her appeal certainly hasn’t vanished, so I can only assume that Luck has become impervious to her charms. You must have made quite an impression.”

  “Don’t,” Poly said quietly. “I’d rather not hope, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Oh, live dangerously, Poly! So Melissa has been reduced to ensorcelling Luck’s affections. Perhaps I should stir things up.”

  “Help me, instead,” said Poly. “There are still memories I need to find, and Luck–”

  “–is busy elsewhere. Very well. What do you need me to do?”

  “Nothing very difficult. I’ll be...elsewhere...for a little while. Make sure I don’t fall off my chair. Keep Onepiece from worrying. Does blood bother you?”

  “Only if it’s mine,” said Melchior, and followed her into the house.

  Poly settled herself comfortably in one of the leafy chairs opposite Melchior, who held an anxious-eyed Onepiece.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes,” Poly said. Her hands felt cold and clumsy, and she drove the needle further into her finger than she’d meant to. When she reached to pull the second amber bead from her hair it slid through her blood-slick fingers and tumbled to the floor, sprinkling droplets of blood as it fell.

  When it hit the floor, Poly found herself in a different chair. This chair, instead of being leafy and a little bit flexible, was cold and hard. Her younger mind was racing, her breath in and out far too fast. It took Poly far too long to realise that her younger self was tied to the chair, palms up.

  Somewhere behind her, Mordion’s voice said: “Useful things, spellpapers. They have the benefit of turning legally binding contracts into magically binding ones.”

  “That’s very interesting,” said the younger Poly’s voice. “But what’s the point of binding me into a legal contract, let alone a magical one? I haven’t got anything of value.”

  “Now, that’s where you’re mistaken. You’re very valuable to me. Try not to move, won’t you? I’d hate to cut off a finger by mistake.”

  Poly felt the shuddering intake of air as her younger self saw the knife in Mordion’s hand. Both incarnations of herself understood the meaning of that. Younger Poly held very still but couldn’t help the gasp when Mordion slit a shallow cut in the palm of her hand and pressed a pearly white spellpaper flat against it.

  “Thank you, darling,” he said.

  “I don’t have magic,” younger Poly told him. There was a burning in her eyes, but she refused to give in to the tears. “You’re wasting your time.”

  “Young enchantresses are always the best. Magic bottled so tightly inside that most of them think they haven’t got any. That’s unfortunate for you, darling, but it’s very helpful to me. I don’t need it to be active, you see. I can draw it out of you like marrow from a bone whether it’s active or not. And this little paper makes it all legal. You’re an asset to the crown, Poly.”

  Poly felt her younger self open her mouth to reiterate wearily that she didn’t have magic, but the thought fizzled away. Something was stirring deep inside of her.

  “You can feel it, can’t you? The tugging? I’m afraid it will be quite painful
for you, darling.”

  It felt as though her soul were being torn from her body. Poly tried to pull away from the pain, but she was hooked fast in the memory, and she suffered along with her younger self. And there, amidst the pain, was a cold, hard thought that she had to do whatever was necessary to stop Mordion. Poly let herself sink deeper into the memory, and became one with her younger self.

  “Are you going to kill me?” she asked, through jagged, painful breaths.

  “Dear me, no! You’d be no use to me dead. You’ll live for a remarkably long time, I’m afraid. You won’t be aware of it, but it’ll be a productive life nevertheless. You can go to sleep with the satisfaction of knowing that you’re the means of creating the most powerful ruler Civet has ever seen.”

  “I see,” said Poly. She was shaking now, in waves of tiny, wracking shivers. Mordion was going to use her, use her magic, as a power source. It was stirring to life, but not quickly enough to be any use: for as it woke, Mordion stole it away.

  Yet beneath it, uncomfortably pushing, was an unfamiliar something that stirred to life with much greater vigour. Poly’s thoughts split distractingly. Her younger self felt the surge of unmagic but didn’t know what it was, and fatalistically waited for that to be noticed and stolen away, too. Poly’s current self knew the unmagic for what it was, and her heart sang. So that was how she’d managed to do the thing!

  She felt her eyes fasten on Mordion. The thoughts that flowed past said: He must have sensed it. Why didn’t he react? and as Mordion busied himself with an egg-sized amber stone, the thought wandered through her mind with a sense of lightness: He hasn’t felt it!

  Poly was pleased to find that her first thought was the question of how this new, unexpected power could be utilised. Both aspects of her could see the way it was curling through her magic; a strong, clear, lacy kind of thing that at once supported and surpassed the blue magic around it. Her younger self reached out tentatively to it, her fingers barely twitching in sympathetic effort, and as it slipped into her thoughts, she knew what to do.

  Older Poly watched the flow of thoughts, her own conclusions leaping to keep up. There was desperation there, because younger Poly knew that, do what she might, she couldn’t escape. A lethargy was already overspreading her limbs, and while her mind was still awake, fog had begun to creep in from the edges. So her younger incarnation didn’t try to escape. Instead, she matched and overtook Mordion’s draw upon her magic, feeding it into something big and terrifying and new.