Ascendant (39 page)

The usual crap.

“Since leaving to help educate the public about the unicorn menace, Lilith Llewelyn’s training duties have been taken over by her niece, Philippa.” Marianna Matheson smiled at Phil. “But Philippa has a new cause, beyond that of saving people from unicorns.” She paused, and nodded at Phil.

Phil smiled sweetly. “Yes. Together with the governments of the world, we are seeking to classify unicorns as an endangered species. With protection, we unicorn hunters can work to remove unicorns to remote and unpopulated locations, places where they won’t be a danger to humans but can live out their lives as the beautiful wild creatures they were born to be.”

“Splendid,” Marianna Matheson said, beaming like a child who’d just gotten a glimpse of a towering gelato sundae. “And we’ll be talking more about that later.” She returned her attention to the camera. “As you can see, there’s a lot more to unicorn hunting than meets the eye. But the life of a hunter is not to be envied. At any moment, they could be killed while on duty protecting humanity from unicorns. And tonight we have a special treat. A mother and daughter reunited. This brave teen has devoted her life and her health to the safety of others. Already a nun at sixteen …”

Seventeen. Not a nun. But really, in the scheme of things this lady was getting wrong …

“… Astrid Llewelyn has been permanently disabled by her service.”

I heard Phil gasp. Lilith’s grip turned suffocating. Was I reacting? I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t tell anything beyond the haze that suddenly clouded my “normal” contacts, the giant ball of wrath that exploded in my throat.

“Her dreams for the future dashed, her hope of ever finishing school or becoming a doctor—her childhood dream—gone forever. Astrid, how do you feel?”

I closed my eyes for a long moment, and then blinked them open. My fake eyes, as fake as the statue of Clothilde in the rotunda. My hair, fake. My dress, fake. How did I feel?

Fake.

I turned to my mother and gave her a very long, hard look. Permanently disabled? Dreams dashed forever? She had arranged this. Did I need to have those words thrown in my face on national television? They already echoed around inside my empty skull day in and day out.

Flayer’s and Bonegrinder’s magic flowed into my body, and I yanked my hand from Lilith’s grasp.

“I’m putting my life back together,” my lips said. “It’s hard, of course.”

“Of course,” parroted Marianna Matheson. Lilith looked concerned, but it was not the expression of parental love she’d so carefully cultivated for this program. Oh, she loved me, all right. Especially when she could get good footage.

Right now, she was very, very concerned about the nature of this footage.

But she hadn’t seen anything yet.

“Especially since the accident claimed the life of one of my dearest friends.”

Marianne Matheson nodded in sympathy. Beneath the frame of the camera, she was waving furiously at her producer, who looked frantically through her notes for any mention of Rosamund.

She wouldn’t find it, of course. Lilith would prefer to be interviewed herself than to give up any spotlight to actual grieving parents, like the Belangers.

“And especially when I wake up every morning to this.” I yanked off both wig and habit.

The producer dropped her folder. “Wait, cut. We’re not doing a reveal; we’re doing a progressive before-and-after—”

“No way,” said Marianne Matheson. “Keep rolling. This is better. We’ll edit it in.” She turned back to me. “Is it difficult for you to see what you’ve sacrificed and still return to your duty every day?”

“Oh, I’m not hunting now,” I said. “It’s far too dangerous to put a weapon in my hands, what with the brain damage I’ve sustained.”

Lilith leaned in front of my chair. “Astrid’s therapy is progressing at a steady rate,” she said. “We’re hoping that she’ll be in hunting shape very soon. She can’t wait to return to her post, slaying unicorns for the good of all humanity.”

Enough of this. I stood and walked nearer to the cameras.

“Do you want to see the rest of my scars?” I asked them. “I’d have to take off my top.”

“Astrid!” Lilith cried.

Marianna Matheson gestured to the camera to keep rolling.

Phil came over to me and put her arm around my shoulders. “Come on, Astrid.”

I looked up at her. “What? Lilith wanted me on TV. You let it happen. Are you surprised I can’t stick to the script? Didn’t you hear her? My life has been ruined. What have I got to lose?”

Marianne Matheson smiled as the interview descended into chaos. “This is awesome.”

Things fell apart after that. Neil and Phil rushed me off set as Lilith got into a screaming fit with the producers and Marianna Matheson. The last thing I heard was her threatening Neil and Phil for sabotaging her big break.

“Asteroid,” Phil said as she dropped me off in the chapter house with a firm order to stay put, “that was crazy, but crazy awesome.”

“Your mother, however …” Neil began.

I put my head in my hands. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?”

But as soon as they were gone, I realized that when all this died down, I’d never be able to face them. Not the other hunters, who’d been slapped in the face by Llewelyns, en masse, thanks to my mother’s propaganda. Not Phil, since I’d probably forever ruined her chances of getting good publicity for Save the Unicorns. And certainly not my mother.

How could she have done this to me? I’d always known she was crazy, always known she was cruel, but this? This was my life. How could she make me feel so small? So broken?

I thought about France. I thought of how Isabeau had always been giving me books and encouraging me to take more challenging classes at the university. I thought of how there, I’d been free to come and go as I pleased, to lounge in the magic or avoid it. I thought of how there, I hadn’t been special because I was a Llewelyn. Maybe there, I wouldn’t be un-special because I was broken.

I thought of how Brandt had told me he loved me, which was a thing that Giovanni, after flying all the way to Rome to visit the invalid, had never said. I remembered how obsessed Brandt had been with my scars that mirrored his own. I wondered what he’d think of the one on my head.

I wondered what he’d think of me now.

For someone with brain damage, outsmarting the lot of them was appallingly easy. They didn’t shut me in at night. They didn’t hide my phone. They hadn’t gone through my drawers and taken my passport or the euros I hadn’t used since leaving the Gordian château. So that night, while things were still chaotic, I simply called a taxi; stole my alicorn knife and the claymore of Clothilde Llewelyn from the weapons wall in the chapter house; hugged Bonegrinder and breathed deeply of her magic, hoping it would be enough to keep me clear; and walked out the front door.

Magic or adrenaline kept me focused all the way to the airport and past the ticket counter. Waiting for my plane was the worst part, as the sun rose in the sky and I realized that Phil and the others were probably up and looking for me. Even if they did suspect the airport, however, I had a good head start. As long as the plane wasn’t delayed, I’d be fine.

As long as the plane wasn’t delayed, I’d have enough clarity left to make it all the way there.

By the time I arrived in Limoges, the fog was back. It was all I could do to hand a taxi driver directions to the château. I’d written them down in Rome, just in case. I watched the taxi driver load up my suitcase and the long, thin case that could have been a fishing rod but was actually my sword. I think that was all I’d brought. I hoped I didn’t leave any other priceless ancient weapons anywhere along my path.

And then there was the château. The taxi driver took my stuff out and I gave him a big wad of money, which he seemed pretty happy about, and then I walked up to the front door and knocked. It was afternoon now, and late rays of light shone red and violet over the creamy stones in the wall.

After forever, Isabeau answered the door.

“Hi,” I said to her. “I’ve changed my mind.”

Isabeau told me that Phil had already called and asked her to be on the lookout for me, but then she promised that she wouldn’t rat me out. “You don’t have to go back if you don’t want to, Astrid.”

She’d started crying when she saw me, and then she hugged me close. After that, I’d asked her if we couldn’t go out to the enclosure straightaway, because I didn’t think I’d be able to talk to her without some unicorns around.

The first touch of their magic was like a cool breeze in the midst of a heat wave. I breathed deep, and relaxed. Okay, I made it. It worked.

“Did you replace me?” I asked.

“We could never replace you, Astrid. And the Cloisters said they couldn’t spare another hunter after the accident.”

“So what have you been doing?” I looked out over the enclosure. The unicorns were sleeping. Only ten of them left now. I didn’t think it would be polite to ask about Angel. The woods looked different in the spring, all budding green leaves and tiny blossoms nestled in the grass. Off to the left, I saw that the protesters’ tents had sprouted up again like so many spring mushrooms.

“We’ve managed.” She shrugged. “We found a girl—not trained, of course—and she helped us out when we needed it.”

“Oh.” I looked down. “Is she still here?”

Isabeau smiled. “No, she got out of the business.”

That was certainly a popular option these days. But it would never be an option for me. I couldn’t afford to relinquish the magic. It was the only thing tethering me to reality.

“How do you feel?” Isabeau asked me. “Well enough to come inside for dinner, or do you wish to eat out here?”

“I think … I think I feel fine.” I clenched my hands into fists. I could do this. I needed to learn how.

So we ate dinner, and I told Isabeau about everything I had been through, and how difficult the past few months had been. She listened, nodding and saying comforting things at all the appropriate places. I did my best not to cry, but I can’t say I was fully successful.

And then, when we were done, she stood. “Astrid, I want to show you something. Come with me.”

I followed her down the corridor, down stairs and through hallways until we reached the passage that led to the laboratory wing. The second we entered, I could feel him.

Angel.

My breath caught in my throat, and Isabeau turned.

“Please do not be upset, Astrid. Your einhorn is fine. He has borne his captivity quite well, and we are learning so much from him.”

I prodded gently at his mind, but he was asleep, a sleep so deep that not even the unusual presence of a hunter seemed to disturb it.

“And it is good he is here, too,” Isabeau added. “I would like you to feel as comfortable and clear as possible right now.”

She crossed to a desk and sat down. It was nothing like the gorgeous antique in her office. This desk was made of simple metal, with plastic trays for stacking papers, a mug with the Gordian logo filled with pencils, and a clunky computer station. Behind Isabeau’s chair was a filing cabinet and a shelf piled high with files next to a small refrigerator. I sat down in the folding chair across from her.

“As you know,” said Isabeau, “your purpose here was to guard our einhorns. The einhorns’ purpose has been to help us discover a way to re-create the Remedy, which is also why we’ve had Brandt here.”

“I remember all that,” I said. “I don’t have amnesia.”

“But what you don’t know—what you’ve never known—is that we
do
know how to make the Remedy. We can make it in tiny, tiny amounts. Doses so small that they are functionally useless. We can’t even market them. Our task, since before you and I even met, has been to figure out how to solve this problem, how to synthesize the Remedy on a large scale.”

I stared at her. “So Marten was telling the truth,” I said. “He did know the secret to the Remedy.”

She nodded. “Yes. He discovered it last summer. But it didn’t do us any good. We could get a single dose of the compound, perhaps, but we had no way of reproducing it. No attempts to synthesize it were successful. Nothing we tried made a difference.”

“But you can do it!” I whispered in awe.

“Yes.” She folded her hands in front of her. “We are in possession of over one dozen doses of the Remedy.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” All these months, they’d known?

“To know how to make one dose? That is not knowing anything. You as a scientist know that the heart of any experiment is in its reproducibility. We haven’t truly made a discovery until that time. So we were waiting to make a real announcement until we had something to celebrate. That never occurred. We had to keep experimenting to try to figure that part out.”

That made some sense to me. “So how do you make it?”

She pursed her lips. “It’s complicated. And difficult, and very, very touchy. I had hoped that this was something we could produce on a vast scale. I was hoping that the Remedy would be a cure for the masses.” She smiled in self-recrimination. “Barring that, I hoped I could make a luxury drug. Even if we had to charge an exorbitant price for every dose, it would be worth it, to save whatever people we could.”

“But you can’t do that?”

Isabeau shrugged. “No. It is impossible, as rare now as it was throughout history. In this case, the ancients were not hampered by their inferior technology. The Remedy, like the unicorns, like the hunters, is not the product of science. It is the result of magic.”

“Why?” I asked. “Does it take a large number of unicorns to make one dose?” How many must have died to create the one my mother had given Brandt?

“No,” she said. “Nevertheless, its ingredients are incredibly rare. I now understand why it was spoken of with such reverence.” Isabeau stopped and looked at me. “I would like to give it to you.”