A Ragged Magic (5 page)
Authors: Lindsey S. Johnson
“But Rhiannon is less common,” Connor insists. “Even if her hair is short —”
“And brown. When I’m finished it will be short and brown. And we can shorten her name. In the Indrani language, the word for river is Rhia. I’ve heard the name at court.” She turns to me, her gaze locking on mine. “What do you think? Rhia Wolff fitzWellan. Will it do?”
I raise the bread to my mouth, nibble the edge with the dripping honey. It doesn’t matter what I think. Her lambent gaze mesmerizes us both, and Connor and I acquiesce. Rhia Wolff fitzWellan shall present herself when the princess desires, to be the princess’ new handmaid. She shall be thin, pale, and ill. A bad bargain, indeed.
～
Connor works to ready me for a handmaid. These lessons are so different from my former life. I was a daughter of the guilds, a bookworm, an awkward girl on the cusp of marriage. My mother despaired of my embroidery and told me to stop slouching all the time. Now I am to be a noble lady, ward to an Earl, handmaid to a princess. It’s quite a different path than the one I thought I’d tread.
To be a guildwoman, to marry a man in the guilds, that was my future. Or I could have joined the kirche. Keenan begged me to do just that, but I didn’t want to.
Now, now I understand what Keenan meant, when he said it would be safer if I joined the kirche. I wish I had believed him. But better a handmaid with a future than a witch with none. I walk around the tower room daily until my weak lungs and legs protest in shivers and shakes. I must be strong enough for this role.
I know Connor fears I won’t be. His gaze stabs me with his worry as he drills me in the names and standing of the Wolff family.
The Wolff family was smallish and backwoods. Baron and Baroness Wolff had a son and two daughters, all some years younger than I. But no one here knows that, and they were rather a country cousin to Connor’s family.
He doesn’t speak of the rest of his family at all. He is an Earl; he is cousin somehow to the princess. He seems to think I should know of him, and I haven’t admitted I don’t recognize his name or title.
He’s my only kin in Talaria, he tells me. I don’t know the name fitzWellan, and Dorward is far to the east — but if his family has other, more important titles I would merely have heard the most prominent. I know only the grim way he has of saying “family,” and that dark look in his eyes. I remind myself to investigate the fitzWellans later.
My own family looks darkly at me from their graves. If indeed they have graves; Julianna has not said, and I’m afraid to ask. But I feel a ghost of Keenan’s mind in mine, or want to tell him something interesting that I’m learning, and sharp loneliness stabs me. The silent spot in my head aches; I reach for Keenan and sob in sudden bursts of grief that he isn’t there.
Until I close my eyes. There he stares accusingly at me, with Mum and Da, and they all dangle and twitch as though they’re puppets dancing. Sometimes I don’t sleep.
I cling to the thought that Linnet is safe. She’s supposed to come to Haverston soon, although I’m afraid it’s too dangerous. But there is hardly any staff at the duke’s country estates when he isn’t in residence, and he must bring her back here. I almost look forward to her coming, despite the danger of discovery: I miss her sunny smile.
Chapter Five
A
t last it’s the day Connor will present me to Julianna as his cousin. I lift my head from my blankets with effort. The night lasted an eternity, and my limbs lie heavy. Woozily I reach out for the water goblet on the table. Dawn haze shimmers about the tower room; I hear the gulls cry for their breakfast.
Evil dreams and haunts fill my head from my restless sleep. When my eyes close, I see the ghouls again. They reach their hands for me and I flinch, shudder away.
I reach out for Keenan’s mind, for comfort and reassurance, and again remember …
Sagging back in the bed, I throw my arm over my eyes. I am too tired for today.
Connor knocks on my door and enters without waiting, as usual.
I wonder if he’s this rude to everyone, or just to me. I hear him set something on the table and feel a bundle land on my legs.
“Hurry, I need to get you to the carriage before morning bells.”
I lift my arm and look at him.
His back to me, he pulls a black gown out of a long sack. The gown is wrinkled and some the worse for wear. A dark veil of mourning follows the gown, all tossed on the bed along with a threadbare cloak.
He turns, gestures to the clothes. “Get into these, eat what you can, and hurry.” He strides out, the dim light making him a shadow among shadows. I hear the door close.
My shoulders, cold from the brisk air, ache as I try to draw a full breath. Muscles stiff from poor sleep protest. I slowly lift the heavy covers and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
More thick bread lies on the table, next to a ewer of goat’s milk just as thick. I pour myself a cup of it, although I have always hated milk. It clogs in my throat, frothy and slick, and I shove bread quickly down after it. Connor is right — I mustn’t appear too sickly. I can think of more agreeable ways of fattening me up, however.
I dread getting dressed, dread the day ahead. First Connor will smuggle me out of the castle, so that I can enter through more normal channels. Then the charade begins, and my new life. I owe Julianna my life, and my sister’s as well. I sigh and put on the clothes Connor left.
The black gown hangs loose through the bodice, the wool gaping a little where it should pull tight. Fortunately that adds some length to the otherwise too-short garment. But I suppose I cannot appear in borrowed servant’s clothes and Julianna’s fur slippers. Connor said he was ordering me a wardrobe, but he couldn’t get it into the castle in time. This must be what he could come up with for now.
Fastening the veil takes more time than I thought — short hair makes the process more difficult. I worry the skirts will show the scars on my legs.
Connor strides in again before I finish with the veil. “Good enough, don’t worry about that yet. Get into the chest.”
I try not to shudder as I turn to look at the dark wooden chest. It sits innocuously empty in the corner. The linens that filled it lie on the floor beside it, folded neatly. I fear this next step more than meeting the duchess. I fear hiding in that small space, waiting for Connor.
I try to stall. “Where are you taking me?” A question he has yet to answer.
“Hurry, just get in. I don’t have time to explain,” he orders. I find that’s true of Connor in general.
Pressing my lips together, I gather the skirts tightly in one hand and step into the chest cautiously. I wonder if Connor ever has any time, or if he finds it convenient to never explain.
I wobble precariously and he catches my shoulder to steady me. I turn to look at him, his face no more than a few inches from mine. His eyes blink once, twice, and he looks down. He frowns in consternation.
“You’ll have more clothes to choose from later today. I’ll bring you some shoes, as well,” he says as he helps me down into the chest. There’s just enough room for me if I scrunch small on my back with my knees sideways. A thin pad lines the bottom of the chest. Connor begins to cover me with the sack.
“And stockings,” I add, stalling a little longer. I hold my hands close to my face, keeping the sack from smothering me.
The lid hesitates in its descent. “And stockings,” I hear him sigh. The lid shuts and latches, and I hear straps fastening above me. The only light is through a crack in the seal near my head.
I hold the sack off my face as best I can, keep my eyes on that small splinter of light. Forcing myself to breathe as evenly as I can, I fight off panic that boils through my blood. I am not trapped, this is not a trap, it is a hiding place, I must stay still, I must stay quiet …
I feel the bumps of the uneven floor as Connor pulls the chest out of the tower room. “Don’t move, and don’t make any noise. I’ll let you out when it’s time.”
I hold onto the rough whisper of his voice, put it between my mind and fear. My eyes lock on my sliver of light.
Footsteps thump up the stairs, and the door to the tower room clicks shut suddenly behind me. Men’s voices murmur around me. Shadows pass over my light and I pray silently to Dorei and the Star Lord. Please don’t let them discover me.
My small dark world jumps and tips as the chest lifts. Low grunts as they settle the chest, and I hear Connor direct them to his carriage. It is a long way down out of the castle. The chest thumps into the carriage, with a hiss from someone, and the carriage rocks as Connor climbs in and the door shuts behind him.
I feel trembles starting in my legs, and I quietly count my breaths in and out, try not to shudder. My lips and mouth slowly parch.
～
“Not much longer now. Just hold on,” I hear Connor murmur. The carriage rumbles over ruts; the ride is already too long.
My mother’s face frowns at me from the darkness. A guildwoman wouldn’t get herself stuck in a chest, she seems to say. The roof of my mouth begins to pound, and my teeth ache. Ah, Mum, a true guildwoman wouldn’t have the Sight, either. Such a peasant’s power. Mum always tried to hide her own mother’s peasant farmer stock. It’s too bad I resemble gran in more than looks.
I jolt from my daze when the carriage lurches to a halt. Drawing a dank breath, I realize that smell is me: sweat soaks my gown in itchy patches. The chest shifts, moves out into the light and fresher air. A small whiff leaks in from my savior crack of light.
A seabird cries, and water laps ships and docks under the noise of people scurrying, calling to each other. The chest shifts so I am at a slant on my neck and head, and my spine painfully protests this treatment. My shoulders bunch. I hear the harsh voices of sailors, thumping of feet on wood. A ship? Did Connor say anything about a ship? Panic gnaws my chest and I shake to be out of here.
The chest steadies, is set down. The voices fade; a door closes. Am I alone? I hear nothing but my own heart, thumping mad in my chest. My shaking turns to fierce pounding. Let me out of here this instant. I rock wildly in my airless coffin, strain with my knees to open and let me out!
The lid flies free, and I tumble out of the side in a wild rush. A hand touches my shoulder. I throw my arm out, certain doom is near, and twist to scramble away.
Connor’s cautious face stares back at me, his arms wide and steady. “Easy,” he says softly. It isn’t the first time he has spoken, I realize belatedly.
My hands shake as I pull at the gown around me, try to straighten my skirts. My stomach twists with fading fear, and I try to control the pain in my chest from straining heart and lungs. I close my eyes a moment, steady my nerves.
“I’m fine,” I gasp, clearing my throat.
Connor offers me a hand up, which I accept with shaky aplomb.
I realize that we aren’t alone, and freeze.
Implacably, Connor pulls me along and leads me to a seat on a cot.
I tremble with reaction, try to gather my tattered courage.
“What have you brought me, my lord Connor?” asks the older man on the other cot in the cabin.
“Not you, Your Eminence. This is Rhia Wolff fitzWellan. I told you about her. She begins her position with the princess today.”
The man’s wiry white hair curls close to his head, and his eyes are a brown a little lighter than his skin. He smiles at me, but has questions in his eyes.
I feel a charge in the air, a slight ruffling inside my head. He’s reading me, I think, but I don’t know what to do about it. I huddle in on myself, try to appear harmless. I don’t understand why there is someone else here.
“Good day to you, young Rhia. My name is Laurent Robere,” he says.
I look pointedly at Connor.
“Cardinal Robere is helping us,” is all he says.
I continue to stare at him. This is one of those things he might have mentioned before.
Connor looks back at me, expecting something.
I close my eyes, try to pull myself together, my body shaking and my breath loud in the creaking cabin.
“We honor the First Prophet, and give our fear to her for safekeeping,” the cardinal murmurs.
“General Sherron at the battle of Kiras,” I say, opening my eyes to look at him. Cardinal Robere smiles.
“You are well educated.”
I don’t know what I should say.
“I have always found that speech to be of comfort,” he continues, “when I find myself overwhelmed.”
I nod, thinking the battle following that quote wasn’t particularly comforting. But I’m sure his sentiments are well-intentioned.
That ruffling in my mind again. I feel a vision shaping, sharp and painful, but an outside source gentles the magic, and the vision melts open without hurting.
Be easy
, a voice sends to me.
I See a man who looks like Connor, but older, his face stormy as he listens to papers of a treaty being read. A woman, a queen, shoots him a sharp look, but does not stop the courtier from reading.
I See messages the man writes, in a language I don’t know, and the presence in my head tightens its focus. I See Gantry, his face dark with fury, and I wince out of the vision, push the magic away.
When I look up, Robere regards me with an apologetic smile. “I understand terrible things have happened to you, my dear. From all reports, you seem to be a capable young person. And I can see for myself that you are intelligent and composed, and quite strong. Your magic is impressive. I think you’ll do.” He smiles again.
“Cardinal, you should prepare,” Connor says.
The cardinal stands and shakes out his brown robes. Not very cardinal-like, I think.
“I will leave you to recover, Rhia Wolff fitzWellan. I know you are in kinder hands with the princess and Connor than you have been. I wish you success in all your endeavors.” As he steps out of the cabin, he turns and gives me another long, strange look, and then leaves.
I look at Connor. “You might have warned me,” I say.
He shakes his head. “It wasn’t as well-planned as it might have been. But Cardinal Robere knows your story, as much as we do. He wanted to meet you. It seemed a provident time.”
I shake my head, blinking back sudden tears. “You should have told me something. I’m not just some, some game piece on a board.” My hands clench, and I force them open, stare at them. I see him shift out of the corner of my eye.
He sighs, seems about to take my hand. Changing his mind, he stands and paces the three steps available in the cabin. “It really couldn’t be helped; he wanted you not to know. Now, we’re on the ship
Jihansa,
and from here out —”
The door opens and I jump, ready to run, only there isn’t any escape from the cabin. A woman enters, tall, dark, her bright skirts swirling gaily. She smiles, her teeth a startling contrast to her copper skin.
Connor bows while I stand in a half-crouch, clutching my skirts awkwardly.
“Connor, it is so good to see you. Bhanu told me you’d arrived.”
“Mistress Asa Siradhi, please let me introduce my cousin, the lady Rhia Wolff fitzWellan.”
I bite my lips and curtsey, catch a warning look from Connor as I glance at him. I try to seem poised, aware of my ripe smell, my rumpled clothes and bare feet. All things that were true in front of Cardinal Robere, as well, I think.
“Please accept our apologies for our hurried arrival,” he continues. “Trader Siradhi is indeed a friend of King Peter to come to our aid.”
Asa curtseys herself, a graceful movement of layered skirts that float on the slightest breeze.
I watch, mesmerized by the material and rose color. I have never seen so many different shades of red.
“The Indrani Crown is eager to promote trade, your Grace, of information as well as goods.” Indrani: of course. The name of the southern empire sinks into my head as I try not to stare. Da promised a trip to Indranah for my honeymoon — as long as I brought back dye. It’s several weeks by sea.
Her accent bubbles over Talarian words like spring water over rocks. I try to pay attention to her words, but the meaning gets lost in the sound, and Connor leaves with a curt bow before I figure out what’s been said.
Panicked, I stand frozen as Asa smiles at me.
After a moment, she looks a little uncertain. “Are you hungry, lady Rhia? Is there anything I can bring you? Your journey must have been arduous. Connor will fetch your trousseau so you can change.” She smiles graciously and gestures to the door. It takes a moment for her words to register.
My tongue sticks to my lips when I lick them. I think longingly of the wash basin in the tower. “Hot water,” I sigh, “and soap.”
Asa smiles, bows out of the cabin. Sinking onto the cot, I let out a cautious sigh. This all would have been easier if Connor had prepared me. He is so close-mouthed, I complain to myself. And you are so open, Rhiannon.
I’m afraid to speak of the demons. When I try to even hint, I can’t speak at all. Demon-taint is not tolerated. I’m not sure how anyone can tell — how do you know if you’re tainted? When you run mad? Am I mad already? I think that Bishop Gantry must be, but no one around him in the kirche seems to have noticed.
When the door opens again I am ready for it, and Asa and three men enter. One man carries a round copper tub of a size to sit in. The other two carry large buckets of water. A bath — I hadn’t expected a bath. The last time I had a real bath …