Magic Under Stone (25 page)

“Get out of my sight!”

Ifra left the room. He stood in the hall, cold sweat breaking out in patches. What if Belin was losing his mind? Ifra had never imagined that Belin would forbid him from speaking.

He heard Belin stomping around the room, and then he heard a door shut as Belin ventured deeper into his quarters. Ifra took a few calming breaths. It could be worse. At least he didn’t have to leave Violet alone or kill anyone. For now. If Belin asked something worse of him tomorrow, he couldn’t even beg or plead.

Some time passed. Belin still hadn’t come out. Ifra couldn’t stand in the hall forever. He didn’t have to be within sight of Belin to protect him.

But he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even ask the servants where Violet had gone, and when he found Violet, he couldn’t tell her anything. If he thought about it too long, his panic started mounting again. Just as a master had never shouted at him before, of course they had never wished for Ifra to be punished himself. The power to speak was one of the freedoms even the lowliest slave enjoyed. Maybe it would only be a day, but what if weeks or months or years went by?

He went downstairs. A servant girl was dusting the carvings. She looked sad, the kind of sad he never saw on fairies outside of Telmirra.

“How is Master Belin?” she asked.

He shook his head, and quickly went out the door, feeling rude. He’d been raised never to leave a woman’s presence without a proper leave-taking, but he didn’t want to go around miming explanations to everyone he passed.

He walked around the side of the palace, nodding when people greeted him, and entered through the courtyard garden, which was now blanketed with snow. Still, fairies would not be kept indoors. A couple lingered under a bower, and children ran about playing a game. Ifra had just reached the palace door when he realized he couldn’t look for Violet. If Belin learned that he cared for her, things would get even worse.

Maybe he could look for Erris. He felt his spirit, teasing at the edges of his sense, and yet—what direction? He couldn’t tell. Were fairies buried? Did the Tanharrows have a grand tomb where they might have hidden his body? He wandered down paths, through
courtyards, past buildings and groves, but he saw no statues or engraved tablets.

How little he still knew of this place, and these people, and yet it was likely he would be here forever, would never see Arkat and Hami again. Even if he was permitted to write his mother letters, Arkat and Hami couldn’t read or write.

His thoughts circled back to Belin’s outburst. He had told Violet that Belin was cruel, and as Belin threw things, he thought him mad. But now that he was off by himself, he started to think that Belin seemed more hurt than hateful.

Was he being naïve again? His tutor had told him not to trust anyone, that everyone everywhere was selfish and merely wanted to enslave others and reach for superficial things, and yet he had encountered kindness everywhere—with Arkat and Hami, with the family who insisted on feeding him and Violet the last of their blueberries, with Keyelle and Etana ... And who was he to Nimira and Celestina? A villain. Maybe it was only a matter of perspective.

He was circling back to the palace again when a woman called, “Pardon me! Ifra? Are you the jinn Ifra?”

“Yes,” he tried to say, forgetting Belin’s command. All that came out was a strangled sound, like trying to cry out in a dream. The fear and anger he associated with Belin returned in a hot rush as he put his hand to his throat.

“Are you all right?” The woman spoke as if she didn’t have time for anyone who wasn’t all right, wiping her hands briskly on her apron.

He nodded, then touched his lips and shook his head.

“You are mute?”

Ifra had no idea how to convey that Belin had forbidden him from speaking. He looked apologetic, but his cheeks were hot.

“Well, we’ve been trying to dress Violet for the king, and she’s locked herself in the privy and won’t come out. She’s calling for you, and I’d rather have her coaxed out of her own free will than find someone with the keys and pry her out.”

Violet, calling for him? She was going to jeopardize their plans and he wouldn’t be able to say a word! Maybe he could calm her down quickly and no one would think much of it. He started to follow the woman, as she muttered, “It’s no way for a queen to behave.”

He followed her to a hall with a gaggle of pretty fairy women—some tall and lean, others with an ample, fertile look—clustered around a door. Ilsin’s wife was there, and she gave him a familiar smile as if they actually knew each other, brushing her dark curls away from her neck. The women all turned to stare at Ifra, quite a few of them flashing winning smiles, one hand actually darting out to touch the gold cuff at his wrist.

“I’ve found the jinn, Lady Violet. Please come out at once,” said the woman.

“Ifra?” Violet called warily.

Ifra looked around helplessly.

“Ifra?” Violet shouted. “Where is he?”

“He’s here. He seems to be mute.”

“What? Ifra isn’t mute!”

Ifra scratched the door, making a plaintive sound he hoped she understood.

She opened the door a crack, revealing a cross face with eyes and cheeks all shining from crying, and when she saw him, she grabbed his arm and tried to pull him in with her, but he wasn’t about to listen to her rant and cry in a privy. He switched his grip to the upper hand and managed to pull her out, past the staring women and into the nearest room, which seemed to be the original
site of her tantrum—clothes, shoes, and fabric samples were strewn across couch and rug.

He shut the door behind them and shook her arm, looking at her fiercely. She twisted from his grasp.

“Ifra, why aren’t you talking?”

After a few moments of confused pantomime, she understood. “Belin forbade you from speaking?”

He nodded.

“Forever?”

He shook his head, then shrugged, but trying to explain was already getting exhausting. That creeping feeling of violation, which any seasoned jinn should have been able to suppress, seemed to well up in full force. He wanted to talk to Violet, console her and yell at her all at once, and instead he could only stare and gesture. For a moment, he felt like he might cry himself, but instead he shoved aside the dresses on the couch and sat down hard.

“Ifra? Don’t cry. Don’t cry.” Violet put her small, cool hands on his, drew them away from his face, and pulled them against her heart. “Ifra? Is there anything I can do?”

Someone knocked on the door.

“Go away!” Violet screamed.

“We need to dress you for the king.” It was the impatient woman again.

Ifra gestured to the door.
You should let them in
.

“They’re cruel to me,” Violet said. “They said I—I was homely. They asked me why I was so skinny and small.”

He smiled faintly and cupped her cheek.

“Papa always said I was lovely like my mother. Was he lying?”

Ifra shook his head. If he could have spoken, he would have told her that it didn’t really matter. Violet might not look like the
girls who would have been called lovely back home, but he couldn’t seem to stop looking at her.

“Belin doesn’t like me,” she said. “I need to act like a queen if he’s going to marry me, but I don’t want to marry him. Neither of us wants to marry the other. It’s stupid.” She put her hand over his again. “Will you stay here? I’ll let them in if you promise to stay here.”

He nodded, and she let him open the door, but he knew he couldn’t stay near her forever.

Chapter 24

Ordorio asked the Lady to remove the spell on Violet so we would not forget our mission, and we set off with clear skies and the faintest hint of spring, as if you could sense the snow loosening up a bit. We skirted around Cernan for obvious reasons, sleeping in unoccupied buildings, managing to find a house most nights. Many people wintered farther south, and with a bit of summoning, Annalie’s spirits could unlock the doors. We were a little giddy and panicked, breaking into empty homes, poking around the dusty parlors of strangers. We didn’t dare light candles, in case a passerby saw a light in the window and wondered, so the rooms were gloomy and spooky. But Annalie wasn’t afraid of the dark, and my heat magic almost tricked me into thinking we had the company of a fire.

After all the talk of the fairy gate, I rather expected something majestic and imposing, but instead the wooden wall was more like a country fort—built about ten feet tall from sturdy logs, with a row of spikes on the top. Two human men in military uniforms
with rifles stood at the gate. Horses were tethered nearby in front of a two-story log house and stable where I supposed the guards lived. On the other side of the gate, we could hear faint music and clanging and clopping, suggesting more civilization on the fairy side of things.

The guards looked a little surprised at our approach. The blond one spoke. “What brings two young ladies on foot and empty-handed to the gate? You can’t be traders. I hope you aren’t chasing fairy husbands. It’s just glamour, you know.” He sounded almost flirtatious—they weren’t much older than we were.

I decided not to grant an answer, I just handed him my letter from Karstor with the ambassador of magic’s seal. The guard looked at it a moment with raised eyebrows, and the darker and quieter guard peered over his shoulder. He held it up to the sun. Then he lifted a horn that hung from a nail in the wall and blew. I looked frantically at Annalie—were we in trouble?

“That’s to let the fairy folk know someone’s coming through on our end,” the dark-haired guard assured me.

Set within the heavy, double-doored gate that was clearly for the passage of carts and carriages was a smaller door, and the guards opened this one for us. I heard one of them whisper something excited about “spies” to the other. My heart was beating at an alarming rate. Ifra’s letter had instructed us carefully:

There is a vast group of people called the Green Hoods in the fairy lands who are waiting for Erris’s return. They use old ballads for code, to know whether a person is friend or foe. If you must follow us, and Violet insists that you will, go to them, and proceed very cautiously—Belin can ask nearly
anything of me and I don’t want to have to hurt you. I’m told that a number of them even guard the gate, so when you pass, look for people in green hoods and say a bit of poetry ...

Would these be the right fairies?

A hamlet sprung up around the fairy side of the gate—the guard house, a general store, and a small inn, all with brightly painted signs and doors. Two guards were waiting, and not just any guards. These men were so beautiful, their hair shining gold and copper, their skin so clear and their eyes so bright, that I didn’t want to trust them.

Just glamour, the human guards said. I had always assumed glamour was for making things more beautiful, but now I understood it could play another role—making things intimidating.

They wore green hoods, however, so when they asked me to state my business, I mumbled, “Ay di day ... we’ll gather up our swords.” The words sounded very silly, especially with two unnaturally beautiful men staring at me.

“What’s that? Speak up, girl.” The red-haired fairy had the rugged bulk of someone who would be comfortable wielding a battle axe, although he only had a sword at his side. I was sure he’d heard enough of what I said the first time that he clearly wasn’t a Green Hood. Or maybe Ifra had led me astray. I wasn’t sure what to do.

“Please, sir,” Annalie said. “Our—our husbands are traders and we’re looking for them.”

“Do you have permits to trade here?”

“We have a letter from the ambassador of magic,” I ventured. Ordorio hadn’t thought it would work for passage into the fairy kingdom, but I wasn’t sure what we had to lose at this point.

“We don’t care about a letter from
your
ambassador.” Even his voice was charming and threatening at once.

As he spoke, a man—also in a green hood—had stepped out of the general store with a sack of potatoes, and now he was walking our way. “Why, is that Nirima?” he said, quite as if he knew me, except that he had my name slightly wrong.

He was a fairy too, of course, but I didn’t think he had any glamour. He wasn’t particularly good-looking, with a cut on his chin, maybe from shaving or maybe from something more ... wild, with a very lean face and a mischievous air. I wasn’t sure if I could trust him, either, but I said, “Yes, that’s me.”

“Are they with you?” the fairy guard said.

“That’s right, my friend.”

“What’s your business with them?”

“I’m escorting them down south to work as teachers.”

“Yes,” Annalie said. “That’s where our husbands work as traders.”

We all nodded, and then I wished we hadn’t
all
nodded—we looked like players in a bad production.

“It’s just a couple of girls,” the blond fairy said. He looked rather bored and had taken a pouch from his pocket, maybe tobacco or snuff—he had the look of someone wishing for indulgence.

“Hmph,” the red-haired fairy said, but he stepped aside and let us pass.

“Let’s be on our way, girls,” the man said, grinning. He led us down the path, past the inn—not much activity there at the moment besides the sign swaying in the breeze and a woman selling pickled vegetables from the back of a colorfully painted carriage.

I had always imagined the fairy lands to be lush and green, but of course even fairy gardens went to bed for the winter, and this
place looked just like Cernan, except that the buildings all had the brightly painted accents, and the fairy clothes were brighter too. The man walking beside us had a red coat under his green cloak.

“How did you know my name?” I whispered.

“I’m one of the Green Hoods, milady Nirima. The word traveled among our numbers that you might be coming.”

“It’s—it’s actually Nimira,” I said, shy at correcting him. “And this is Annalie. Thank you for helping us with the guard.”

“Not at all. My apologies about your name! I’ve always been terrible with them. I’m Rowan, by the way.” He bowed slightly to each of us, without breaking his stride. “I’ll explain more once we’re away from the village. We should move out and off the roads as quickly as possible, but we’ll wait until we’re out of sight and we’ve crossed the bridge.”