A Ragged Magic (3 page)

Chapter Three

I
awake to angry whispers.

“— why you involved Hugh in this!”

“Because you couldn’t do it, Connor. Everyone knows you’re my escort, and people would gossip if you disappeared and came back with a strange girl. Everyone also knows that Hugh collects strays, and the country estate staff will assume she’s from here, and everyone here will assume she’s from there. No one will suspect the Duke of Haverston of kidnapping a kirche prisoner. He can easily hide the girl for awhile. And then he can bring her here.”

I struggle to open my eyes.

“It’s too dangerous to bring her —”

“Ah, Rhiannon!”

I am choking, coughing, blinking through pale morning sunshine and dark blankets.

“You’re awake. Water? Connor, fetch me that pitcher, if you please.” Her voice is quiet but commanding, and Connor walks to the other side of the round room.

A beautiful woman sits on the edge of the narrow bed. The bedclothes are soft and warm, and the tall, thin windows on one side of the round room stream with sunshine. The cloak and blood I wore last have been changed for a shift in white linen that smells of herbs and my sweat.

There are bandages on the deepest of the runes that were carved into skin and muscle, bandages on feet and hands, and a splint on my right leg. My hair is gathered in a long braid and laid across my chest, gleaming orange and red in a strip of sunlight.

Back aching, I try to shift my weight to sit. I choke on air, gasping at the pain, and the lady hushes me, strokes my forehead. Waves of throbbing — muscle spasms wash over me. I stare at the high ceiling through a tunnel of darkness and I hear quiet voices telling me to breathe slowly.

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Slowly air comes back to me, and my sight returns. I blink, and allow an arm to raise me cautiously.

The lady plumps the pillows behind me; her soft yellow hair brushes my cheek in its thick braids, like silken ropes. “I suppose you’re wondering who we are, and why we rescued you, hmm?”

I come out of my daze. “Linnet —” I choke out.

“Your sister is safe, I assure you. How clever of you to have discovered just what Connor and I were discussing. I am Princess Julianna.”

I twitch, feel like I’ve been slammed into a wall again.

Her Royal Highness pours water into a ceramic goblet from a matching pitcher, moisture glistening on the side. Her brown velvet day-dress catches the light and gleams. She smiles a little at me.

“Not the usual sort of hobby for a princess, is it, rescuing witches? Well, I am not the usual sort of princess.”

I blink, try to bow. Her hand on my arm prevents me, which is just as well. I spend a few moments panting in pain.

“This is my cousin, the Earl of Dorward, Connor fitzWellan.”

I look at the dark man in the dark clothes. His gaze is neither kind nor unkind; only ready to toss me out of a window if I prove a threat. I promise silently to pose no threat at all.

“You’re in the north tower of Haverston Castle,” the princess continues. “You know I grew up here, that my brother is the Duke of Haverston, yes? Well, this was my favorite spot in the whole castle when I was young. This tower is isolated from the main stairs and looks out over the sea. I assure you that you are quite safe.”

My head spins, and I sink back into the pillows. The whitewashed room is bright and comforting, with tapestries of country scenes hanging on the walls, and sturdy oaken furniture. The sheets look like very fine linen, indeed.

Her Royal Highness leans forward to help me to drink. The water slides down my throat, and I feel it pool in the bottom of my cavernous stomach.

The Princess of Talaria is nursing me. I know she started a Healing school, hospices all over the country, much to the kirche’s dismay and disapproval. But to do the work of Healing herself! I stare at her, a little stunned, as she takes the water away.

“Now I have told you something, you must return the favor.” Her deep blue eyes catch mine and hold them. “They say you are a witch, Rhiannon. Is that true?”

I look into her eyes unwillingly. A witch. I See things, yes. But I didn’t summon pestilence to the town, or cause boils to form on children, or pray to demons for power, make a man die, as they say I did. Not a witch like that.

“No, your Highness.” I press my lips together until they ache.

“Not a witch? Well, I suppose I should have expected as much from Bishop Gantry. He specializes in false accusations. A pity, though. I could have used a witch.”

My heart beats faster and all my wounds burn more fiercely. Used a witch? The princess’ eyes narrow in an emotion, dark and bloody, and I See.

The vision takes me unaware and it hurts this time. Stronger than usual, I feel like fire burns along and under my skin. Knowledge comes with the pictures, and some words, and I try not to drown in it.

I See that the hospices are targets of the Archbishop Montmoore. He and Gantry are attacking anyone using magic outside the kirche. Some have even been burned as witches. I See that several of them were personal students of Her Royal Highness, that the court is divided, that the hospices are not popular. That others are beginning to call her power, magic and otherwise, unholy.

Bishop Gantry points to people and names them witches, calling it the Will of the Lord of Stars. Archbishop Montmoore and others foment rebellion in the courtiers, pitting them against the king, against the princess and her husband the Crown Prince Alexander. They work for the exiled Duke of Torrence, who wants the throne for himself, who promises the kirche more power.

The princess works to curtail the kirche’s power. The kirche is on the brink of declaring her a witch.

I swallow, try to clear a throat thick with fear, to clear my mind, stay afloat within this onslaught. These are things I should not speak of: I have at least learned that much.

Connor, Earl of Dorward steps to my side, grasps my chin with hard hands. “She’s casting a spell; you can see it in her face.” His voice is sharp, cuts my vision in half, and it flutters away in tatters. “What is it, little witch? What spell was that?”

I shudder in his grip, try to turn my head away.

His hand is hard and rough. “She will do you some harm, my lady. You should have left her where she was.”

The princess’ laugh is low and smoky, and Connor drops my chin to glare at her.

“You do not take this seriously enough!”

“You misunderstand, Connor. I take this all too seriously.” She turns to me, and her eyes are more black than blue. “Not a witch, hmmm? Well, I can understand your not wanting to admit it, not after all the trouble it’s caused. But now I know something about you. When you are spelling, your face gives you away. You should try not to gasp and stare at nothing.”

“Not spelling, lady, Princess, your Highness, not really,” I wheeze out, fear shaking my limbs. “I just know things, See things sometimes. I don’t control it, or I would have it go away. I swear to you, I never killed a man or consorted with demons or cursed the name of the Star Lord.” I paw at her sleeve with bandaged, useless fingers, begging her to understand.

“Of course not. Who ever does?” She cuts a glance at Connor. “There is nothing wrong with having magic, Rhiannon. Despite what some people say.”

Connor only clenches his jaw harder. He wants her safe more than he wants to be right. She wants to be right. More knowledge to keep to myself.

The sun catches a gleam in her eye as she turns to me. “Now then, Rhiannon. What sort of things do you See?”

Connor grasps my face again as I turn my head away. My eyes burning, I know Connor is afraid of what I See, afraid I’ll tell her. He glares fiercely into my eyes but I See his heart beating fast, know he loves her quietly, and he would keep it that way. He’s afraid I See more than I do, that I am someone’s tool, that I will get her killed.

“I See —” but Connor’s grip hurts, and I wince away.

“Connor, let her be! She’s not hurting me.”

Connor’s hand tightens, releases, and he turns away. He retreats to the low bench by the table, his lips pressed thin.

“Tell me, Rhiannon, what is it you See?”

“I — your Highness. Sometimes I See things about people: what they want, what they think … what they’ve done. I don’t do it on purpose; I can’t control it. It is not a — comfortable thing.”

The princess smiles kindly, the light glinting in her hair. “No, it wouldn’t be.” Her hand caresses my cheek. “What do you see about me?”

I cannot fill my lungs. Visions pour over me as though willed upon me, and I drown, lost in them. The king, the bishop, men whose names I know without knowing how. A battlefield, a man who smiles too much, secret meetings filled with malice.

My eyes clear to Julianna holding my shoulders, her gaze concerned. I answer as though her grip is the only lifeline in this deluge. Perhaps it is.

“You suspect Bishop Gantry of conspiracy and treason against the king and your husband. You traveled here in secret to try and find out what that conspiracy is. And, and, something about other nobles, and the archbishop …” The princess has a wicked glint of glee in her eye that makes me wary.

Connor stares. In his eyes I also See that she is here without support. The court is angry, they did not want her to marry Alexander. They did not like her late father, and they do not like her.

I bite my lips, aware suddenly that neither of them want me to know that. Those thoughts whisper quietly, inside walls of other, louder thoughts.

Connor still stares, his eyes narrowed. “You came home to Haverston,” he says, “to visit your mother and brother. Or so you informed King Peter. The court believes the king is angry with you.”

“Really, Connor. You know how rumors get started.” She grins, a mischievous glint in her eye. “But you see, that proves it! She couldn’t have known!” Her smile lights the room too bright, and I am forced to look at my disfigured arms, clasped lightly in her dainty hands.

“Now you have proven yourself to me, I shall prove myself to you.”

I look up, confused. “I’ve had to do this in stages, but I think I can complete everything now.”

Her eyes grow focused somewhere on my forehead, and my body becomes all pins and needles. I gasp, shudder as the feeling crawls into my wounds and burrows deep. The air around me grows dim as though smoke or broken bits of night dance around my eyes. My breath roars in my ears; the fever recedes and the tide of pain ebbs.

My eyes clear, as the princess slumps into Connor’s suddenly waiting arms. I stare in alarm at the pair of them.

Connor is glaring again, this time at the princess. She sighs and stirs, and Connor lifts the forgotten water goblet to her lips.

She pushes it away as she opens her eyes. “No, thank you Connor. Not just yet.” Her voice is soft, husky. She lifts herself away from him, and I don’t need the Sight to see how his arms ache without the weight of her.

Connor looks at me, drops his eyes and turns away. He busies his hands with the water pitcher.

“How are you feeling, Rhiannon?”

I startle at her words. I feel stronger now, the pain receding, unraveling, pulled like loose threads from a bad weave.

She unwraps my hands where the burns and shackle wounds are. The bandages come away bloody and soggy, but the body underneath is whole. The princess breathes a laugh as I gawk at skin I thought ruined, fingers I knew to be broken lumps of flesh.

The bandages over the rest of my wounds come off next. Connor leaves the room as she pulls the linen from me, revealing pink winding and jagged scars where the bishop carved symbols. The scars travel the length of my body, from chest to knees. Even my arms down past my elbows are covered with ugly sigils.

Her Highness shakes her head sadly. “There wasn’t any way to prevent those, I’m afraid. Whatever Gantry used to cut them must have been poisonous.” She presses her lips together, as if still thinking of ways to erase the stain of my torture. “I wish I knew what he was trying to do.”

I think of demon teeth and ritual knives, and look away. I try to say “Demons,” but I can’t say anything. Rolling onto my back, I bite back a sob. I may be hideous, but I am alive. I will have to be grateful for that.

Blood flakes off new skin where a scab used to be. I am amazed by my own body, able to lift my arms and move around with no pain. I smell myself and blanch.

Chuckling, the princess calls to Connor to bring water for washing. As she bundles me back under the covers, he steps in and bows sardonically to her.

“I’ll let you in on a secret.” She leans forward, a conspirator against the bowing Connor. He glances up at her as he turns to leave, his brow furrowed with worry for her. “I wasn’t sure it would work this well. I spent quite a bit of my energy this last week, trying to keep you alive.”

Her eyes darken and she grips my shoulder. “I am so sorry for what you went through. Even traitors are treated better. Bishop Gantry is mad. He would never have dared to do this if my mother or brother had been in residence. The kirche may be sovereign to itself, but it does not have the authority to treat Talarian citizens this way.

“Rhiannon, anything I can do to repair damage done to your life, I will do. I cannot bring back your parents, or your brother, but I will make sure you have a life of your own again. That such things could occur in my kingdom makes me ill. I will stop him.”

I had forgotten about Keenan and my parents for a moment. I suck in the chill air of the tower too fast, and cough. Wheezing, I hide my grief behind a need to breathe.

The princess grasps my chin and commands me to breathe slowly. She looks into my eyes and I feel a sliding, a quicksilver presence in my body. I blink and the feeling is gone.

“Damn.” Her lips pursed, she cups my cheek and cocks her head. “I’m sorry, Rhiannon. It seems that I couldn’t Heal your lungs all the way. They’re still damaged: you can only breathe at about half your normal capacity, I’m afraid. I don’t understand why they didn’t heal …” Her voice trails off.

I think of chanting and chittering voices, bael-fire scorching my soul, and I shudder once, my eyes closed. The demon-tainted are burned, too.