Magic of Wind and Mist

by Cassandra Rose Clarke

  And then—

  Distantly—

  Screaming.

  Trystan, I thought. I was flooded with despair. I lifted my head, trying to find him. I couldn’t. I only saw Lord Foxfollow.

  Lord Foxfollow, doubled over one of the thrones.

  He was the one screaming.

  “Trystan?” I pushed myself up on one arm, ignoring the pain. Isolfr frowned at me. “Trystan?” I said, more loudly.

  Trystan stepped into view.

  He didn’t answer because he was focusing on a beam of magic that flowed out of his fingers. It was not the damp gray magic of earlier, but something bright, as if he’d melted the stars and harvested their light.

  Lord Foxfollow’s screams echoed around the room. Trystan’s head was down, his eyes dark and determined.

  “I told you you wouldn’t win,” he said, his voice barely audible over the sound of Foxfollow’s screams.

  I slid over to Isolfr, not taking my eyes off Foxfollow. “Trystan has him held,” I said. “You need to work your magic to help. I can’t, I’m too weak—”

  “So am I,” Isolfr whispered.

  “Well then, we’ll have to combine our power. Like we said. Even just a little—” I grabbed both of Isolfr’s hands and squeezed them tight. He gazed up at me. His skin was washed out and dull. I was sure I looked the same, but it didn’t matter. We had to stop Foxfollow.

  “The count of three,” I whispered. “We just have to give him a little nudge.”

  Isolfr closed his eyes.

  “One,” I said.

  He furrowed his brow in concentration.

  “Two.”

  I lifted my gaze to the throne. Trystan shot magic into Foxfollow’s chest, but he was faltering, stumbling, the magic wavering. I squeezed Isolfr’s hand tight.

  “Three,” I said.

  Magic erupted out of us from the point where our hands clasped. It was only the strength of one person—one human person—but when it threaded through Trystan’s magic a surge of power roared through the room. The monsters wailed and bellowed. I focused on the magic beaming out of me and Isolfr. It was the magic of our world, and when it combined with Trystan’s Mists magic it created a force in the room I’d never experienced before, a shuddering strength of two worlds combined.

  Lord Foxfollow let out a loud, piercing scream. I focused on the magic. My vision was starting to fade, darkness crowding in at the edges, but I didn’t let go.

  Beside me, Isolfr gave a gasp of pain. I squeezed his hand tighter. Lord Foxfollow was still standing—

  And then power rushed through the room and Foxfollow brightened all over, brightened like a star, and he swung his gaze over to me and I saw him, eyes wide, furious.

  And then he turned to light.

  It was starlight, bright and shimmering, and it erupted over the room with a dazzling glare. When the light hit the monsters’ skin they screamed, their voices echoing and unearthly, and shriveled into dust.

  I dropped my magic and let go of Isolfr’s hand and slumped down hard on the floor. Breathing hurt. My heartbeat hurt. My entire body was shaking.

  Trystan’s voice billowed around the room, creating a rhythm like the pulse of the blood in my body.

  “He’s gone,” Trystan said. “He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.”

  • • •

  My eyes fluttered open.

  I didn’t know where I was. The Penelope II? The Annika? The Cornflower, where I’d lived back in Tulja? Except I wasn’t on a ship. The world was rocking back and forth, but I wasn’t on a ship. The space was too big, and the ceiling was coated in a layer of gray residue that left me anxious and unsettled.

  My body burned like I’d been out too long in the cold.

  I sat up, blinking. Slowly memories started coming back to me: Lord Foxfollow laughing as I tried to fight him. His monsters shrieking and scurrying across the walls. Isolfr clutching my hand so tight I thought my fingers would break—

  I was in the palace. The throne room.

  I got to my feet, still shaking. The room was empty, but I didn’t feel any of the strange Mists magic that Lord Foxfollow had cast over the palace. I didn’t even feel the after-effects of magic-sickness, although given the battle it seemed like there should be something.

  I turned, dazed, and stumbled toward the exit. Why was I alone? Why had Isolfr left me here? Or Trystan—

  A pain shot through my heart. I saw an image of Isolfr stretched out on the floor beside me. What if he wasn’t here because something had happened to him? Because he died?

  Panic drowned out my disorientation. I jogged forward, flung the door open. The hallway was empty.

  “Hello!” I shouted. “Trystan! Isolfr?” My voice cracked on Isolfr’s name.

  Why had he left me?

  “Hanna?”

  I whirled around, my breath caught in my throat. Isolfr stood a few paces away, balancing himself against the wall with one arm. He lifted his free hand in a wave.

  “You left me!” I shouted.

  “You were asleep.” His eyes were big and guileless. He didn’t look so sickly anymore. “I wanted to let you rest, like I told you to do. Trystan and I were trying to counteract the effects of the magic-sickness. There’s Mists magic that can do that.”

  I sighed with relief. Just wanted to let me rest. Of course.

  I rushed forward and threw my arms around his shoulders and buried my face in his neck. His sweet north wind scent stirred something inside me. Hope.

  “Is he gone?” I whispered.

  Isolfr nodded; I felt the movement against the top of my head. “Yes,” he said. “We—destroyed him. Permanently. He can’t do any more harm here or in the Mists.”

  I pulled away from Isolfr and studied his face. He was so beautiful, so unearthly.

  And he was alive. He was safe.

  “We did it,” I said, and I could hardly believe the sound of my own words. “We did it.”

  “I know.” Isolfr laughed. Then he pulled me into an embrace and kissed me. It was a kiss like the one before we fought, a kiss imbued with love. But this kiss wasn’t panicked and desperate; it was slow and lingering, a celebration of our victory and a reminder that we were still together in this world.

  “Oh, for love of the Mists, stop it.”

  Isolfr and I jumped away from each other. I glanced over my shoulder. Trystan had walked into the hallway. He grinned at us.

  “Just kidding,” he said.

  I blushed. Isolfr looked down at his feet.

  “I’m glad you’re up.” Trystan ambled toward me. He looked ruffled and worn out, and his hair stuck up around his head in spikes. He shoved his hands in his pockets and gave me an oddly shy smile. “What you did for me in there—I would never have killed Foxfollow alone.”

  Killed. He actually said the word. I snuggled close to Isolfr and tried not to think about it, that our magic had killed someone, even if that someone was a monster.

  “The good news is that his fortifications all vanished with his death,” Trystan went on, waving one hand around. “Palace is good as new, save for the problems with magic-sickness. But Isolfr and I should have those fixed up pretty easily.”

  I nodded.

  “We need to go back to the caves,” Isolfr said, “and tell Kolur what happened.” He hesitated. “And see about the queen. I’m hoping that the spell on her broke too, but—” He frowned. “Without a ruler, Jandanvar could open itself to another attack. If Foxfollow had any allies—”

  “Of course he does, although I don’t know if they would move in so quickly.” Trystan’s eyes glittered. “Either way, the queen is our top priority. You’re right. That spell was so complex, I’ve no idea what it might have done to her.”

  His words hung in the air. None of us wanted to say the worst possibility: that she might have died with Foxfollow.

  I thought of Kolur cradling Penelope to his chest, his eyes glistening with tears.

  I prayed to the ancestors that
wasn’t the case.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  We walked back to the caves. Isolfr was too weak to transform into the wind to carry us, and so we made our way on foot through the cold, dim dawn. It took a long time. When we left the palace, a seam of pink light had already appeared in the east, and by the time I could smell the sea again the sun was high overhead. But walking required less energy than magic, and after the battle it was enough to make me feel normal again.

  Eventually, we came to the cave entrance. I’d expected to find a guard there, maybe the ferryman who’d brought us in from the Penelope II, but the entrance was unprotected. Isolfr stopped.

  “This is odd, don’t you think?” he said.

  “Is it?” Trystan pushed past him. “We know Foxfollow’s not here.”

  Isolfr and I looked at each other.

  “He’s right about that, at least.” Really, though, I was just too weary to think about fighting anymore. I followed Trystan into the cave. The veins of light seemed brighter than usual, twinkling in the darkness like stars. I shuffled down the path, Isolfr at my side. I knew I should be more aware. I just didn’t have the energy.

  And then I heard music.

  “What’s that?” Trystan stopped up ahead and turned around to look at Isolfr and me. “Do you hear that too?”

  I nodded. The music was coming from deep inside the caves. It was bright and jangling and joyful, and every now and then it was accompanied by an explosion of laughter.

  “What the hell’s going on?” I said.

  “Well, we did just defeat Lord Foxfollow,” Trystan said.

  “But how could they know that?” I looked at Isolfr. “Do you think they had some way of—tracking him?”

  Isolfr frowned. “I doubt it. Any magic those outlaws could conjure up wouldn’t be able to track Foxfollow.”

  “I agree,” said Trystan. “They were probably just drinking off their loss from yesterday and got a bit enthusiastic.” He shambled forward. “I will say this: my idea of a celebration right now is more akin to a nap than a party.”

  I didn’t like this. As far as the outlaws were concerned, they still had a second battle to plan.

  “Should we find out for sure?” I asked Isolfr. Trystan had already disappeared around the bend in the corridor. “You don’t think this is some kind of trap?”

  “Foxfollow’s dead,” Isolfr said. “I know that much.” He reached over and grabbed my hand.” Let’s see what they’re celebrating.”

  And so we made our way into the main room. Everything looked like a party. Magic-cast lanterns floated through the air, casting multicolored light on the gray walls. A trio of outlaws was sitting up at the front of the room, playing the instruments they had used to smuggle their weapons into the palace—I was surprised that they actually worked, and that the outlaws could actually play. The rest of the crowd was dancing and drinking. They didn’t notice us walk in.

  I stared at the party without comprehension. Everyone was laughing, smiling, toasting one another. Mugs of ale slammed into each other. Men whirled each other around in some kind of drunken dance.

  “Well,” Trystan said, materializing at my side, “I guess our efforts didn’t go unnoticed.”

  “But how could they know?” I said. Beside me, Isolfr gasped.

  And then I saw her.

  It was the Queen of Jandanvar. Queen Penelope. She wore the shaggy furs and rough wool of the outlaws, but there was no way to disguise the aristocratic loveliness of her features. She sat at a stone table with Kolur at her side, one hand wrapped around a mug of ale. She leaned in close to Kolur, smiling. Said something to him that made him grin like an idiot.

  The three of us stared at her in shock.

  “When we defeated Lord Foxfollow,” Isolfr said, “it just—broke her spell?”

  “I’ll be damned,” said Trystan. He laughed. “I should have known, though. The spell seemed so complicated, it makes sense that really it was just easy.” Another disbelieving laugh. “Foxfollow. Crafty bastard.”

  Kolur glanced across the party and caught my eye. He stood up, nearly knocking his drink over in the process.

  “Where the hell were you?” he shouted at me.

  “What’s going on?” I shouted back.

  Kolur grinned again, that stupid goofy grin I’d never seen before. He took Penelope by the hand and pulled her to her feet, and she smiled up at him, then smiled at me from across the room.

  “She’s awake,” he said. “And she says Foxfollow’s dead!”

  Dead. The word had a finality to it that at once made me shudder and made me want to sigh with happiness. Foxfollow was dead. We had won.

  “I know!” I called back. “We’re the ones who—who stopped him.”

  Half the outlaws in the room turned toward me. I wanted to shrink down under the weight of their stares.

  “What?” said Kolur, and then he made a swatting gesture at the band. The music slowly clattered into silence.

  The outlaws’ raucous conversation died away. One by one they looked over at me. Looked over at us. Trystan, Isolfr, and me, the ones who had defeated Lord Foxfollow.

  “It’s true,” Isolfr said, stepping forward. “We broke into the palace while you slept. We found him—”

  “I killed him,” Trystan said. “The only one who could do it, you know. Should have saved yourselves some trouble and taken me on the first go-round.” He didn’t seem exhausted anymore. Maybe the attention had rejuvenated him.

  He glided forward and gave a deep bow toward Queen Penelope. “Trystan Llambric of the Llambric lands of the Mists. But don’t hold that against me.”

  Queen Penelope tittered. She glanced over at Kolur, then back at Trystan.

  “I won’t,” she said, her voice ringing out strangely in the echo of the cave.

  “I’m always at your service, Your Highness. Your kingdom is practically a part of my world too.”

  She smiled. It was radiant, like sun bouncing off a glacier. “The people of Jandanvar owe you a debt. I owe you a debt.” She lifted her face and looked at me, at Isolfr. “You two as well,” she said. “Come.” She beckoned us with two fingers. “I’d like to speak to all of you. In front of these witnesses.” She lifted one arm and swept it out across the room, and despite the tattered clothes she looked as regal as she had when I first saw her in the throne room.

  The outlaws all stared at her, silent and transfixed. Isolfr was the first to move toward her. I followed, my heart racing. We lined up next to Trystan. Queen Penelope smiled down at us.

  “I owe you a debt,” she said, pressing her hand to her heart. “It would be my great honor if you would agree to an old Jandanvari custom.”

  One of the outlaws shouted, “The Marista?”

  I’d never heard that word in my life. One look at Trystan told me he hadn’t either.

  Queen Penelope nodded. “Yes,” she said. “The Marista.”

  The outlaws erupted into cheers. Isolfr was beaming, his eyes shining. “What’s the Marista?” I whispered to him.

  “You’ll see,” he said.

  “As Queen of Jandanvar,” Penelope said, “I’m authorized—when I see fit—to grant certain wishes. They must fall within reason, of course. That is, they must be things I can do. But rest assured, I can do quite a lot.” She winked. The outlaws cheered again. Kolur laughed. “In exchange for your service, I will grant each of you one wish.” She held up her hand. “You need not choose them now. But I will complete the ceremony on the night of my wedding to Kolur Icebreak—”

  I gaped at Kolur. He shrugged. “I asked, she said yes,” he said. “Figured she didn’t want to waste all those decorations.”

  Frida laughed beside him.

  “Make your decision in a week’s time,” Penelope said. “The lands of Jandanvar thank you.”

  The outlaws cheered again, and then the music kicked up. Queen Penelope turned back to Kolur and he swept her up in his arms and led her out to the center of the room to dance. I
stumbled over to the closest table. Frida appeared with a glass of ale, which she slid over to me.

  “Don’t drink it too fast,” she said.

  I looked past her, over to where Isolfr and Trystan were speaking a few paces away. They were both grinning, laughing. Talking about what wishes they’d have granted, no doubt.

  “The Marista,” Frida said. “That’s an awfully impressive honor.”

  I took a sip of the ale. “I could tell.”

  She laughed and leaned forward. “What wish will you have fulfilled?”

  I looked into the surface of my ale. It was dark and frothy. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve been wanting to go back home all this time.”

  “Is that still what you want?” she said.

  She was staring at me, her eyes sparkling. I swirled my ale around. I thought of the adventures of the last few months. Tulja and the Annika, traveling through the Mists while disguised as a servant. I thought about fighting monsters and bringing Lord Foxfollow to the in-between place. I thought about Isolfr. I thought about magic.

  “I’m not sure anymore,” I finally said.

  • • •

  Just as she promised, Queen Penelope married Kolur a week later. The ceremony was held at the palace, and you couldn’t even tell that a battle had taken place there. The gray mass had vanished, and the palace had returned to the pristine snow-white stone of before. Inside, everything was polished and shining. The carpets were clean, and the tapestries depicted the lineage of the royalty of Jandanvar, rather than bloody hunts. The hallways were bustling with servants and courtiers and performers.

  The ceremony itself was a grand affair. It took place outside in the gardens, heat-globes drifting through the air to keep us warm. Strange trees grew out of the hard, frozen ground, their leaves transparent and sparkling like ice. Isolfr explained to me that Jandanvari weddings always took place outside and at night so that the stars could bear witness to the couple’s new future together. It was a lovely idea, and I threaded my arm through Isolfr’s as we strolled through the garden and wondered what the stars thought of the two of us. We were dressed in complementary outfits—I had been given a brocade dress with fabric the same shimmering white-blue as ice on a lake. Isolfr’s suit was the same color, although shot through with darker blue. I laughed when I first saw him.