Magic Under Glass (20 page)

“I did notice Dr. Greinfern took an interest in the automaton at Aldren Hall,” said a blond man with neatly parted hair and a mustache.

Smollings twitched Erris’s key again, provoking another gasp. “Tell us, Dr. Greinfern. Please.”

Karstor stood, his eyes shooting fury at Smollings. “Yes. I knew. I was in Heinlede, but Garvin wrote me. He had only just discovered the automaton and suspected he was the lost prince. I’m sure he meant to tell the council, once he was sure of what he had, but then he rather conveniently
died
.”

“Oh, yes,” said Smollings. “You brought this girl because you had some far-fetched idea about . . . treason, was it? Please, Miss Nimira, let’s hear it.”

“I—I—that is—” They were all looking at me, the sorcerers, with suspicious or incredulous faces. They didn’t want to believe a word I said.

“Very impressive,” the blond sorcerer quipped. “Perhaps the little savage can’t find the words in our language.”

“If I can’t find the words, it’s because there aren’t words nasty enough in your language!” Damn it all, what did I have to lose anyway? “I’m not the savage.
Mr. Smollings
is the savage. He killed Garvin Pelerine, and he keeps Annalie Parry a captive!”

“That’s ridiculous,” the plump sorcerer said. “Annalie Parry? Hollin Parry’s wife? But didn’t she die a little while back?”

He stopped. The doors were opening. Annalie entered, without her hood, so her hair flowed down her back. Her body seemed lit from within, her eyes a queer blue instead of brown. She was almost terrifying. Hollin entered behind her, rather like an afterthought.

“I am here,” she said, with a voice so resonant that it sounded like two voices speaking at once.

The plump man sputtered. “Isn’t—isn’t that Annalie Parry now?”

“I am Annalie Parry,” she said. “I am also Garvin Pelerine. Two souls, in one body, for this moment, so we might tell the truth.” She stalked forward until she stood between the two council tables. “Let go of the key, Smollings. Now.”

Smollings dropped his hand from the key and stepped back. “You’re not Garvin,” he said.

“Oh, but I am. You
know
where I came from. You have used this girl, Annalie Parry, to speak to the spirits—
dark
spirits—many times. You must have known I would be waiting for you. You thought you could manipulate Hollin Parry because he lived in fear of the council’s reaction if it was discovered that he had conjured the spirit world to save her. . . . And for a while, I despaired that you were right.”

Hollin stood quite still. His gaze had dropped, and now it traveled down the center aisle, toward Smollings—no, toward me. Our eyes met, and I’m not sure I could explain what was exchanged. Was he apologizing? Was he drawing strength from my support? Maybe he only wanted final confirmation that he was making the right decision.

You are.

Hollin spoke then. “I will attest to it. My wife, Annalie, didn’t die of the fever. I tried to save her life using forbidden necromancy. My attempt left her weak, and the spirits seemed to possess her. It also left her able to communicate with the dead. When I told Mr. Smollings, my father’s old friend, he told me he’d cover up my crime, but it was clear he had a motive. Ever since then, he has used my wife to tap into dark magic himself.”

The sorcerers were whispering amongst themselves, and even the ones that had insulted me or expressed suspicions about Garvin now seemed nervous. Annalie was so striking, and she spoke with such conviction, that Smollings had lost his poise the moment she arrived.

Now I could see him fighting to regain it. “And why should we believe you’re Garvin Pelerine? You could tell us you’re anyone, but I see no proof. You’re trying to frame
me
for what Hollin Parry did.”

“You’re pale, Smollings,” Annalie said. “As pale and shocked as I must have looked when you ambushed me that day in the forest. I knew we’d never agree on the fairies or much of anything else, but I couldn’t believe you’d kill a man over politics. You obviously planned this a long time—you anticipated every spell in my repertoire. Since you know me so well, ask me anything, and I’ll tell you. I can tell you, Mr. Fidinch”—she indicated the plump man—“once we were at lunch, discussing griffon hunting laws, and we had a very buxom waitress you had taken a shine to . . .”

“That’s enough,” Fidinch said, getting quite red.

“Exactly,” Annalie said. “What about you, Melsing? I have some stories of our school days I’d be happy to share.”

Melsing held up a hand for Annalie—Garvin—to halt.

“But I also know your sorrows and your hearts,” Annalie said. “Those of you that have them.” She looked at the blond man. “When your boy was so ill, Mr. Favier, I sat up with you, distracting you, talking of philosophy and pastries.”

“It
is
Garvin,” Mr. Favier said. “She might look like Annalie Parry, but she
talks
like Garvin.”

No one seemed to notice Smollings taking out the pistol. I didn’t notice myself, until I heard chair legs screech, and saw Erris launch himself at Smollings and seize him from behind.

The pistol fired, striking not Annalie, but Karstor, who lurched backward, clutching his shoulder, knocking into his chair before slumping to the ground.

“Karstor!” Annalie cried, swooping to his side.

Erris kept his grip on Smollings, who had gone strangely limp.

Hollin reached inside his own jacket and pointed his pistol at Smollings. “Drop your weapon.”

Smollings opened his hand. The pistol fell. A queer smile slashed across his face.

“I hope you’re happy, Parry,” Smollings said. “You’ve secured a victory for that which is dark and godless. I see the door closing on Lorinar’s golden age. At least I can say
I
fought to the last.”

I sensed hesitancy in the room. No one wanted to cheer for Smollings—not at this moment—but some eyes were suspicious. Some hearts agreed. Moments ago, the sorcerers had been under Smollings’s thumb.

“It’s only his shoulder,” said one of the sorcerers who had knelt to help Karstor. “But he needs a doctor.”

Annalie stood, obviously reluctant to take her attention from Karstor. Her breath came heavy. “You’re wrong, Smollings,” she said. “Lorinar’s golden age is just beginning. What you call our golden age has been a time of war and intolerance. It isn’t the place of mere men to judge who is godless, but rather, our duty to be the world’s keepers and protectors—a job at which we have, thus far, failed.”

She took a step back, clutching her head. “I can’t stay much longer . . .” She dropped to her knees. Karstor struggled to rise.

“Greinfern, don’t, you’re injured!” said the sorcerer who had been tending to him.

“I have to say good-bye!” He touched Annalie’s back. “Hang on, old friend. Hang on. Don’t go, don’t leave me.”

“I have to go . . . ,” Garvin whispered with Annalie’s voice. “It has taken great effort, for me and for Annalie Parry, to be here today. You must stay . . . help our country find a peaceful resolution with the fairies . . . I know you have it in you.” Annalie’s hands reached for Karstor, drawing his ear to her, where she whispered something.

Karstor’s eyes welled.

“Good-bye,” Annalie said. The luminous presence that had entered seemed to retreat, and she became Annalie of the shadows again, drawing her hood over her hair with one slender, trembling arm.

Karstor clutched his wound, obviously in pain as he shuddered with soundless grief.

The doors burst open. The police stormed into the room, their coat buttons gleaming. Someone must have called them.

“Please, everyone—stay seated,” one of the policemen shouted, in vain.

A number of the police were halted in their tracks, staring at Erris. “What—what is this thing?”

My ears burned to hear it—like he had no name. This was the man I loved!
This thing.

Even I had to admit, it was hard to see his humanity through all the exposed clockwork. I didn’t know if he could be fixed. But behind the gears and metal, I saw his soul, vibrant and living. For one precious moment, it all melted away, and I remembered the words of the Queen of the Longest Night when she had told me to take care of Erris.
You have all the strength you need.

“He isn’t a thing,” I said. “He’s Erris.” And I took his hand.

32

Erris was neither human nor fairy, and all my love could not change that fact.

Smollings’s home was searched that evening, but they found no evidence of skin, and even if they had, how would we have reattached it? The illusion of life was broken.

“It was just . . . a glamour,” Erris told me, looking very serious. It was late by this time, and the day had been an exhausting round of police questioning and confusion. We had our first moment alone in a room of the massive New Sweeling police station.

“How does a glamour work?”

“An animation spell gives this body life . . . but the glamour tricks us into believing I’m real again. I know what fairy magic is capable of. We might be able to find a sorcerer to put up the illusion again, but . . .”

Panic scattered my thoughts. He would want to leave me. He wouldn’t want to live like this. “What can we do?”

He squeezed my hands. He was dressed in a suit again. He looked like anyone else. “I really don’t know. I’m not going to do anything rash . . .” Erris made a fairly ineffective attempt at a reassuring smile.

A policeman opened the door, admitting Karstor. His wound, thankfully, had been largely superficial.

“You’re both free to go,” Karstor said. “You can come home with me.”

“We are?” Erris said. The prospect of freedom seemed almost to frighten him.

“You have diplomatic immunity, Mr. Tanharrow,” Karstor said. “We can’t just hold a member of the fairy royal family. Come on. I imagine you both need rest. Later we’ll discuss what the next step will be. I’m sure you want to go home, but even that is hardly a simple matter with a king already on the throne.”

“What about Hollin and Annalie?” I asked, rising to walk with him.

“Hollin’s punishment will not be terribly severe,” Karstor said. “In light of the circumstances.” He looked at us, quite serious. “After Smollings, I have the highest rank on the council. I’m the Ambassador of Magic now. Not a responsibility I expected to inherit this quickly, if ever.”

“I know how you feel,” Erris said.

Karstor nodded.

A carriage brought us back to Karstor’s elegant apartment, where the well-intentioned cook plied us with baked goods the moment we sat down. This was not a house like most, where a maid brought food out from the mysterious realms of the kitchen. Karstor’s cook, apron-clad and dusted with flour, proudly displayed a towering pile of apple tarts and slender slices of chocolatey things topped with lattice and powdered sugar.

“Thank you, Birte,” Karstor said rather absently, sinking into his chair. He spoke to her in what must have been their native tongue, something kind but dismissive.

“You eat and you will feel better,” she said, lifting a tart onto a plate, and placing it on his lap whether he liked it or not. She clearly intended to serve Erris next.

“No, thank you,” Erris said.

“It’s very good,” she said. “I know you’ll feel better also. People say my tarts are as good as magic.”

“I can’t
eat
,” he said.

“Once you taste it—” She put another tart on a plate.

“Birte, he means it,” Karstor. “I’ll explain later.”

As she bustled from the room, Erris buried his face in his hands.

“Erris—,” I began.

“There is nothing to say.” He got to his feet and rushed to the bedrooms, and I felt so powerless. I could fight dark spirits for him, fight Smollings for him . . . but even I couldn’t fight this.

“He needs time to grieve,” Karstor said, probably speaking of himself as much as Erris.

I reached for a tart, and hoped they really were magic.

But I could never forget what Erris was. Every morning, I wound him. I didn’t want to wind him; I feared he would start to resent me. But someone had to do it, and better myself than any other.

I felt awful when he caught me crying on my bed, my head pressed into my pillow.

“Don’t be sad,” he said.

I summoned up my false smile. I’d been making good use of it. “I’m not.”

“I was thinking, I should give you a concert,” he said. “I haven’t played a real song in years and years. I see Karstor has a piano.”

“Oh, I would love to hear you play.”

The piano was tucked into a cozy corner in a room full of books. Erris picked up a chair from the side of the room and plopped it in the center of the rug, facing the piano.

“Have a seat, milady.”

I sat, arranged my skirts, and folded my hands expectantly. Erris took the piano bench, flipping his coat out behind him.

I had always loved music for the way it heightened my emotions and lifted the veil to other worlds. As Erris played, his music grew more bold and strange, and he started to lose himself in it. He might have forgotten I was there, with such intensity he played.

This, then, was fairy music. I think I understood what fairies were, for the first time: not the tricksters or the dainty creatures of Lorinar’s tales, but people tied to the earth. In Erris’s melodies I heard the slow strength of trees, the fragility of flowers, and the ache of dreams. He carried me into them, and showed me where he had come from, as much as any picture or story.

Erris finally sat back, blinking slowly at the ceiling.

“Erris, that was beautiful.”

“I’m out of practice,” he said. “But I’ve missed it more than I knew.” I heard something new in his voice—a desire for the music he had missed. Maybe even for the land he had left behind. I was glad. If he was to stay with me, he would need something more to live for.

I went to stand beside him. He clasped my hand against his shoulder.

The door was open, but Karstor still knocked on the frame before he entered.

“A letter for you, Nimira,” he said, holding it out.

“It’s from Hollin,” I said, breaking the seal with my thumb. I read aloud.

Dear Nimira,

The opportunity to travel was the first desire of my
youth, and to become a sorcerer the second, but my
taste for magic has dimmed somewhat, in light of
recent events. I have agreed to a yearlong position in
New Guinnell, a Lorinarian colony rife with heat,
insects, and adventure. They need sorcerers of my
caliber to keep the region stable and explore new
territory—and local forms of magic. I’ll help our
government in lieu of the usual penalty for using
forbidden magic.

Annalie is going home to Vestenveld. It’s what
she wants, so don’t worry for either of us. We’ve
agreed that maybe time apart is what we need. She
urges you to visit whenever you wish.

There is more, however. You and Erris have been
ever on her mind. She has been spending every free
hour in communication with the spirit world, and
they have given her a message. There is a sorcerer
named Ordorio Valdana—indeed, I have heard of
him, and I am sure Dr. Greinfern will know his
name as well. He was once on the council, one of
the greatest necromancers of the last century, but
after the war he became a recluse. No one knew why.

The spirits told Annalie he was once married, to
a fairy woman, Melia Tanharrrow. Erris’s sister.

If anyone knows how to help Erris, it might be
Mr. Valdana. He lives near the fairy gate, in the
northern mountains. I hope you can find answers
there.

Nimira, I’m sorry I drew you into the tangled
web that has been my life these past couple years, but
I must thank you for helping me to do what I did. When I was surrounded by falseness, yours was the
voice of truth that helped me find my own. I wish
you all the best.

Sincerely,

A. Hollin Parry

“Valdana! Yes,” Karstor said. “I met him once, when I was just a student. He came to the academy. A rare sort of man, with such power you could nearly see it rising from him like smoke.”

“And he was married to flighty old Mel?” Erris said.

I folded the letter with the slightest sigh. I hoped Hollin would find the adventure he’d hoped for in New Guinnell. I wished he could have had a happier ending with Annalie. As misguided as his actions often were, I knew it had all started with his love for her. Maybe a year abroad would be what he needed to heal.

“What do you think, Erris?” I asked. “Should we go find Mr. Valdana? I’d like to see mountains again.”

“I think, Nim, that you should pack your coat,” said Erris. “There could be hope for us yet.”