by Zen Cho
As it happened, however, Miss Midsomer had withdrawn from the Academy herself. It was her father who had conveyed the message to Prunella. Clarissa’s interest in thaumaturgy had only extended to how it might be employed to enable her brother’s return from Fairy, he said. Since that plan had failed, she had no wish to have anything more to do with the unwomanly practice of magic.
“Yes?” said Henrietta now.
“It was a falsehood,” said Prunella triumphantly. “Clarissa is not on the Continent. She has gone away, but you will never guess where she went!”
Henrietta was distracted, or she would have had too much tact to say, “Is she in Fairy?”
Prunella looked crestfallen. “How did you know?”
“Oh, it was only a guess,” said Henrietta, collecting herself. “It is not really true? How extraordinary!”
But Prunella was not to be taken in. “I hardly need to tell you whom she went with, I suppose! You will have guessed she has eloped with the Duke of the Navel of the Seas.”
Here Henrietta was able to recover for some ground, for her astonishment was unfeigned. She peppered Prunella with questions. How had Prunella heard the news? Were they really married? The Duke must have been sincerely attached to Clarissa after all, though everyone had supposed him only interested in the Virtu.
“It seems he did begin to court Clarissa because of the Virtu, but grew attached to her on her own account,” said Prunella, mollified. “Georgiana told me all. It has occasioned a great deal of talk in Fairy. The Duke and Clarissa mean to settle in Fairy Without, beyond the reach of the Court, for of course the Duke has scarcely endeared himself to the True Queens.”
“No,” said Henrietta. “I suppose not.”
The reference to the Fairy Court seemed to make her thoughtful. She went to the window, standing there, irresolute, before seating herself on a sofa.
She said, without lifting her eyes, “As a matter of fact I have news, too, Prunella. I meant to tell my father and mother first of all, but since you are here . . . You must have seen Mr. Damerell on his way out.”
“Oh yes,” said Prunella, though she had already forgot the encounter. “Did you speak about the lessons he is to give the scholars in necromancy?”
“No,” said Henrietta. She pleated her skirts with nervous hands, refusing to meet Prunella’s eyes.
Prunella said, with growing suspicion, “Why are you so pink, Henny?”
“As a matter of fact, I asked Mr. Damerell to come so we might speak of a—a personal matter,” said Henrietta, adding in a rush, “He has been so good as to agree to marry me.”
It would be an understatement to describe the Sorceress Royal as thunderstruck. Henrietta had never seen her friend at such a loss for words.
“You do not disapprove?” said Henrietta, worried.
Prunella opened her mouth, then closed it. She had yet to recover the power of speech when they heard the tap at the window.
When they looked towards it, they saw nothing but the green patch of garden that belonged to the Academy. After a moment, however, the glass rippled and grew dark. The small figure of a woman appeared in the glass, wreathed in red smoke.
Henrietta recognised the spirit at once. She rose, steadying herself against the back of the sofa. The colour was high in her cheeks.
“I bear a message from the True Queen of the Hidden Worlds for Miss Henrietta Stapleton,” announced the polong. “Is Miss Stapleton at leisure to receive her?”
Henrietta’s flush had faded as quickly as it had come. She was pale, but she said steadily enough, “Yes. Yes, I should be delighted.”
“Which of the True Queens do you mean?” demanded Prunella, but the polong had already vanished. She turned to Henrietta in perplexity, but Henrietta said, with uncharacteristic shortness: “It is plain which one it must be. What reason would the other have to visit us?”
Prunella stared, for this was most unlike Henrietta, but before she could remark upon it, the True Queen herself appeared at the window.
Muna scrambled through the glass as though it were not there. She looked startled at the sight of the Sorceress Royal.
“I beg your pardon,” she said. “The polong did not say Miss Stapleton had company. I would not have interrupted if I had known.”
Henrietta had regained all her colour and seemed to have difficulty making any coherent reply. As she stuttered, Prunella stepped in, saying all that was proper: there was no need for apologies; it was always an honour to receive Her Majesty.
Muna nodded, but her eyes were on Henrietta. “May I speak to Miss Stapleton alone?”
* * *
• • •
MUNA was dressed in what had been her accustomed style since her ascension to the Fairy throne, with her shoulders bare above a bright batik sarong wrapped around her person. Out of the sarong emerged a serpent’s tail, in which blues and greens shifted beneath the light. Stars gleamed in her cloudlike hair, and a soft light shone about her hands.
But her eyes had the same look they had had before—straightforward and a little worried. She had not altered in any important respect.
“You must be cold,” said Henrietta. She reached for her shawl, anxious to be hospitable. She must be natural, for what reason was there to feel awkward at the visit of a friend? “Pray allow me . . .”
“There is no need, thank you,” said Muna. “I do not feel the cold as I did before.”
Henrietta felt foolish. “Of course not. Have you been well?”
Muna said, at the same time, “Have you been well?”
They were briefly mired in the exchange of apologies, but when they contrived to extract themselves from this, Henrietta said she expected that Muna had been monstrously busy. Muna confirmed that that was so.
“I could not get away before,” said Muna. “But Sakti has promised to watch over the negotiations between the crocodile spirits and the weretigers—we have hopes that they will soon arrive at a truce—so I took the opportunity to come. I am afraid I ought to have given you more notice. I did not mean to interrupt.” A faint blush tinted her cheeks. “I assure you I overheard nothing.”
“Oh, I never would have suspected—in any case it was nothing I would not tell you,” said Henrietta, flustered. It seemed of the utmost importance that she should not withhold the news, in fact; there was no knowing when she would have a chance to speak with Muna again. She blurted out, “The fact is—I am to be married!”
She could not bring herself to look at Muna as she spoke, but she raised her eyes the moment the words were out, scarcely knowing what she hoped to see.
Muna did not so much as bat an eyelash, to Henrietta’s disappointment (Why should you be disappointed? Henrietta demanded of herself).
“What happy news!” said Muna, quite as though the intelligence made no difference to her at all. “I wish you joy.”
But then she paused, looking far from joyful. Henrietta’s heart leapt.
“Mr. Hobday is reconciled to your pursuit of magic, then?” Muna said. “I am glad of that!”
“No,” said Henrietta. “Mr. Hobday has no desire to take a thaumaturgess for a wife—and I have no more wish to marry him than I ever had. I am engaged to Mr. Damerell.”
This, at least, elicited a satisfying response. Muna’s jaw dropped, all pretence of composure abandoned—for to Henrietta’s great relief, she saw that it had been a mere pretence.
“Mr. Damerell?” said Muna. “But don’t you—doesn’t he—doesn’t Mr. Threlfall . . . ?”
“It is surprising, I know,” said Henrietta. She could not help but derive encouragement from Muna’s discomfiture. It made it easier to explain what she had done and why.
“You see,” said Henrietta, “since our adventure in Threlfall, Mr. Damerell has been saying how very much obliged he is for my efforts—our efforts—to rescue him. I put
him off at first, but he would not give over. He insisted he must discharge his debt, as he called it, and I came to realise I would do him no favours in maintaining there was no debt. The laws of Fairy are extremely strict in this regard, I believe, and Mr. Damerell is subject to them in some measure, due to his connection with Threlfall.”
Muna nodded. “He owes you his life. It is an uncomfortable thing for him, that you should hold that over them. Not, of course, that you would ever exploit it! But he and Rollo will be much happier when they have settled the balance.”
“Yes,” said Henrietta. She gulped, her trepidation increasing as she approached the main point. “I could not think of anything I desired, save to help my father. So I asked Mr. Damerell if he would marry me. He has a cousin who desires to leave him her fortune, only she will not do so unless he is married. Mr. Damerell has an independence of his own and has no need of money, but I do.”
“Oh,” said Muna. She was certainly surprised, but beyond that Henrietta could not tell what she thought.
“You are shocked,” said Henrietta anxiously. “I know no modest female would dream of doing as I have done! But it is not as though it will be a real union—and Mr. Damerell does not mind. He thinks it a clever notion, and says he is just as glad to be able to please his cousin Elizabeth, for she is very old and has no other family.”
“But what will Mr. Threlfall say?”
Henrietta wrung her hands. “That is the difficulty! Mr. Damerell assured me he would explain all, and he vows he did, and I tried to as well. But we cannot seem to make Mr. Threlfall understand.”
“He is distressed?”
“No,” said Henrietta despairingly. “He is delighted! It seems such arrangements are not usual among dragons. They often have more than one mate.” She gave Muna a shy glance. “It is in Threlfall as it is in Janda Baik, I suppose. Mr. Threlfall thinks it a very good scheme, and wonders it never occurred to him before to find Mr. Damerell a mortal wife, for he says he has always wanted—always wanted eggs! And any eggs Mr. Damerell fathered would be his own too.”
Muna was agog. “And will you lay eggs, do you think? I had not thought it possible for a mortal.”
“I shall not,” said Henrietta firmly. “I don’t mean to be a true wife to Mr. Damerell. It will not be that sort of arrangement! He has no desire for a wife, and I—I don’t wish to marry any gentleman. I told you so, you know.”
Henrietta had half-feared that Muna would not remember, but she saw at once that Muna did. Muna did not seem to welcome the reminder, however. She had unbent as they spoke, her reserve falling away, but now it was as though a curtain had descended. She was all stiff courtesy again.
“Yes,” said Muna. “I recall.” After a pause, she added, with an effort, “Because you could not have Mr. Wythe.”
This was Henrietta’s moment—one of those moments that come but rarely, when what one does will set the whole course of the remainder of one’s life. She must speak now or forever hold her peace. She said, hardly able to hear her own voice over the pounding of her heart:
“No! That was a misunderstanding. I never wanted Mr. Wythe. It is true I admired him when I was younger,” she added conscientiously. “But it was only a fleeting fancy—a schoolgirl passion, soon burnt out. I would have told you so, only there was never the opportunity.”
Henrietta raised her chin. She was terrified, but she would see this through, whatever came of it.
“In truth,” she said, “it is because I could not have you!”
A dusky glow rose in Muna’s cheeks. Henrietta met her eyes—only for a moment; then Henrietta was obliged to look away again, embarrassed and delighted in equal measure by what she had seen. Her courage was rewarded; her gamble had paid off. Henrietta would have dared far more for that exquisite moment of understanding, when she had seen all her own feeling reflected in Muna’s dark eyes.
She would have asked for no more, brief as the moment had been. Muna was a Queen of Fairy now. There was no reason they should have anything more to do with each other. Yet more was to be given to her.
“Then maybe . . . !” Muna stammered.
To Henrietta’s astonishment, Muna took Henrietta’s hand and pressed a kiss to it. Greatly daring, Henrietta bent her face towards Muna’s.
For a time there was no need for conversation.
Eventually Muna disentangled herself, patting down her hair, which was somewhat dishevelled by their activity. She cleared her throat.
“I came to ask if you would come to us in the Palace of the Unseen—the Fairy Court, I mean,” she said. “I very much regretted the necessity of terminating my studies in English thaumaturgy before I had made any progress. And Sakti would like to understand it better as well.
“We would reward you for your service, of course,” she added hastily. “And you could learn more of our magic too—the magic of the Unseen.”
“Oh!” said Henrietta.
For a moment she was transfigured with joy, but then the weight of all that bound her to her life came down upon her.
Her realisation that she must reject the offer must have made itself evident in her face. She had said nothing, but Muna released her hand, stepping back.
“You need not feel obliged to agree,” said Muna.
“No,” said Henrietta in a stifled voice. “It is such an opportunity as every magician dreams of. And to go to you—!” She cut herself off before she could say anything unwise, but already Muna’s face was brightening. Henrietta hated to snuff out that light, but she compelled herself to go on:
“I could not leave my family. I hope I do not seem ungrateful, Your Majesty . . .”
“I beg you will call me Muna,” said Muna, looking relieved. “Of course I did not mean you should leave England, or your family. I know you could not be spared for long, but when the girls go home, in the summer, could not you come to us for a month or so? You could return to England when the new term began—and come to us again the next year, if you wished. Sakti and I are not in the habit of detaining anyone who does not wish to stay in the Palace.
“It has freed up a great deal of space,” she added. “You would not know the Palace if you saw it now! We have liberated the imps held captive in the lamps, and the trees in which you and I were imprisoned. Most of the trees have returned to the woods to which they belonged, on the edge of Fairy Within, but a few have chosen to stay in the Palace gardens. They are flourishing—Mak Genggang says she has never tasted such fruit. I should like you to see them.”
Henrietta stared at Muna, disbelieving—but it could be done. A month in the summer, perhaps even two . . . her family would not object to that. Even if they did, their objections could easily be overcome with Prunella’s support—and Prunella would certainly be in favour of a scheme so calculated to improve relations with the Fairy Court.
“That would be wonderful,” breathed Henrietta. Yet still she hesitated, not daring to trust that she could enjoy such happiness. “But would not you rather have the Sorceress Royal, or Mr. Wythe, or Mr. Damerell? They know far more of thaumaturgy than I do.”
“I would not rather,” said Muna decidedly. “Having experienced your style of instruction, I must be trusted to know my mind, and I should prefer you to any other. Will you come?”
Henrietta smiled. Having started she could not seem to stop, and there seemed no call to try, for Muna smiled back.
“I should like it of all things,” said Henrietta.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For their hard work on behalf of this book and the last, I am grateful to Caitlin Blasdell, Rebecca Brewer, Bella Pagan and Diana Gill, as well as the wider teams at Ace and Pan Macmillan.
Thank you to Martin and Bernadette Auger for the Tate membership. A room to write in has a sort of talismanic power, and the Tate Modern Members Room was the birthplace of much of the matter of this book.
Whi
le writing, I complained to a great many people, including Aliette de Bodard, Tade Thompson, Victor Ocampo, Vida Cruz, Mia Sereno, Kate Elliott, Cindy Pon, Maxine Lim, the Concordians especially Tai Cheh Kuan, the Idlers by Bamboo, and my family. I am indebted to them all for their unfailing patience.
Thanks are due above all to my husband, Peter Auger, for everything, and to Rachel Monte, for being this book’s earliest and best friend. This book would not exist without their love and support.
Photo by Darren Johnson/IDJ Photography
Zen Cho was a finalist for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer, and her short story collection Spirits Abroad was a joint winner of the William L. Crawford Fantasy Award. Her debut novel, Sorcerer to the Crown, won a British Fantasy Award for Best Newcomer and was a Locus Awards finalist for Best First Novel. She lives in the United Kingdom.
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