Still, Dorian couldn't figure out why Rorant had gone to so much trouble.
"Either you're getting clumsy in your old age, Father, or you've been trying to catch my attention."
Rorant's wide mouth twitched at the corners. "Have I?"
"Give it up, Father. I know it was you. Victor has that distinctive half-drowned cat voice and you wouldn't allow Remora stones to be stolen from the office. Now what is this all about?"
"Ironically, this is about a pair of Remora stones that have been stolen from me personally." Rorant pushed his boots under the seat and stripped off his outer coat. "But your confidence in me is quite heartening."
Dorian leaned forward. "But you
were
the one who tried to kidnap me."
"I am," Rorant said and tossed his coat into the luggage compartment. The train jostled but he was steady on his feet, preparing the sleeping car for the night and working around Dorian. "We knew Bart would try to step in, but we thought Winslow was Untalented now. Imagine our surprise when Winslow took chase."
"Our surprise? Where were you?"
Rorant grinned at him. "I was driving."
"Fates alive! You nearly got us all killed!"
"Well," his father paused as though remembering something, then shook his head, "that was not my most brilliant move. But the horses became unaccountably terrified when Winslow hopped on board."
Rorant reached down and tugged on the seat, pulling it out until the headrest flattened down beside it. When Dorian left, Rorant would do the same with the second seat, creating a flat, semi-comfortable bed to sleep on. But Dorian wasn't leaving, not yet. Not until he found out what the blazes was going on.
Sighing, Rorant sat down again, directly across from him, and leaned forward.
"I suppose I did catch your attention," Rorant said ruefully. "I had only meant to make you put up your guard. There are . . . tensions . . . rising in the Houses."
"There are always tensions rising in the Houses."
"But there has not always been an ark on Delgora soil." Rorant frowned as he said it. "Dorian, I've seen pictures of this . . . this . . . monolith. What is it for?"
Dorian paused. "Pictures?"
He'd thought their security was rather good, but if the Warders had managed to get close enough to photograph the ark, then it was possible others had as well.
"Don't look so troubled. I had Gremor take them," Rorant said. He winked and gave an unapologetic grin. "You didn't think your old manservant had just retired and gone away, did you?"
Surprised, Dorian snorted a laugh. Gremor had visited Delgora a year ago, feigning interest in Elsie's health. At the time, Dorian had thought the old servant was checking up on them for Rorant and it appeared that he'd been right. He just hadn't realized how thorough Gremor had been.
"But really, Dorian, what is it for?"
Dorian debated for a moment. There was no real harm in telling his father the truth. The man held half the secrets of Magnellum in his briefcase and hadn't betrayed a confidence before. Still, Dorian didn't like discussing Elsie's secrets. She tended to get very cross with him when he did.
At the same time, she had kept secrets from him; bringing in Valeda Quinlan, recruiting engineers of every sort just to build the ark. She functioned outside of their marriage and it seemed only fair that Dorian be allowed the same liberty.
And there's the other issue,
he thought,
Winslow's tale of the Wild and where Fate came from.
He knew his father had chased down heretics before, so there was a chance Rorant could disprove the whole story.
"It's a sanctuary for the Untalented," he said at last. "For when the Wards fail."
Rorant was very still for a moment. "And does Lady Elsie know the date when this will happen?"
They stared hard at each other. Dorian knew what he was really asking. The tattoos on Elsie's arm were infamous among the Witch-Born. The last vestiges of life of Magic, the man-god, peppered her skin like gold. If the Council had their way, Elsie would have been locked up years ago. But they were equally afraid of her, so they had left her alone.
"No," Dorian said. "But it is coming, Father."
Frowning, Rorant leaned back in his seat. Dorian was struck for a moment by how old his father looked. Dark brown hair suddenly white at the temples, and there were deep lines around the corners of his eyes and mouth. Rorant Orzebet was not only aging, but getting tired, too. Dorian could hear the exhaustion in his own voice as he spoke next.
"There's something else," Dorian said carefully. "About Winslow."
Rorant raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to continue.
"He says he met with a Wild creature near the tracks," Dorian said, choosing his words carefully. He didn't want Winslow targeted as a heretic, after all. And he didn't want that mother and child hunted down, either. "They told him Magnellum was created by Magic and Fate to protect the Untalented."
Rorant nodded slowly. "That seems confirmed by several nursery rhymes."
"That was my first thought as well," Dorian said. "But the creature also said that we all come from the Wild. They said Fate was a woman suffering from a curse and that Time has ended outside the Pillars."
"And you're relating this to me because you want to know if any of the heretics followed such a teaching?"
Dorian nodded.
"No," Rorant said. "The heretics we chase are . . . violent. Most claim that, through killing, they can become Fate. There is no real doctrine they follow."
Dorian frowned. He wasn't certain if he was relieved or dismayed by the news. It was difficult to think of those outside the Pillars as having been wronged by Fate. It was even more difficult to think of how close they were to failing their primary task. If Winslow was right, then the Witch-Born were literally made as guardians.
"Dorian," Rorant asked with a frown. "What has happened to Winslow?"
Dorian sighed. This trip was going to take longer than he'd planned. But he told his father everything he knew, every detail of Winslow's story, including the exact wording of Fayree's explanation of the Wild. He figured his father would have told him immediately if anyone was going to get burned as a heretic for it. And he felt better when he was done. Rorant always knew what to do, so he sat back and waited for advice.
"Well that's new," Rorant said after a long moment. "It makes my warning seem silly, actually."
"Warning?"
"Saldorian, son, I know I cannot stop you from whatever you choose to do, but I must warn you." Rorant looked him full in the face before continuing. "You and Elsie must stay away from Winter Tournament."
It was Dorian's turn to frown. "Fate might not be a Deity and you're worried about Winter Tournament?"
"Listen, please. Your stepmother has been watching me very carefully. She and Lady Lorant have spent countless hours in private conference. They are planning something. Something that you don't want to happen."
"Why don't you stop them?"
"Dorian, I have no proof. I think Minne stole the Remora stones from me, but I can't be certain. And even if I were, there are no societal laws for me, the husband, to stand against a Witch."
His father truly was in a pickle. No wonder he'd let Victor stave him off with a gun. The abduction had been a ruse to get him in private without his stepmother knowing. Lifting his fist to his mouth, Dorian closed his eyes and tried to think. He couldn't send a telegram to warn Elsie, they were too easily intercepted. He couldn't get back to her in time to stop her from coming, either. The only thing he could do was tighten the security around Delgora Manor in Lorant.
Maybe we could relocate after she arrived
, he thought.
Sighing, Dorian opened his eyes to look at his father again. "How many stones are missing?"
"Two."
Of course
, he thought.
One for me, and one for Elsie.
***
Elsie sat cross-legged on an old picnic blanket, frowning at Witch-Eater Lake. Just beside her, Mirabella munched contentedly on a honeyed biscuit, cooing her appreciation of the treat. Elsie was pleased the girl was enjoying herself, but was too wrapped up in what Fayree was explaining that she couldn't eat herself. In fact, Elsie was glad she was sitting down. With what Fayree told her about the Wild, she had a sinking suspicion she might have fallen over if she'd been standing. This was why Winslow had sent them here, to get her this information.
She felt suddenly sick under the weight of it all.
Why?
she wondered.
Why hadn't Magic told me?
What else is he hiding from me? Is he running from this Host tree that Fayree described?
It was possible that Magic wouldn't want to return, not after tasting the freedom of a corporeal form. She glanced at her gloved arm, hoping he would speak, but he didn't.
"Where did the Pillars come from? Why was Magnellum created at all?" she asked.
"People do not always react well in times of strife," Fayree said. She lowered her eyes and began picking at the hem of her gown. She looked altogether remorseful, as though the tale itself was too great a burden to bear. "You must understand that as long as Median was there, time kept moving. Several of our young lost their Talent completely. There was a . . . rebellion of sorts. It was led by a man named Voruke who believed the Untalented were a blight on society. He claimed that Median's sickness would continue to spread and suggested the only way to free us all was to kill her.
"In his fervor he convinced many of us to attack the Untalented. We were to 'set them free' by murdering them. And we had to kill Magic's body, too. It was to be a purging . . . and he believed it would fix the Host tree. I imagine he still believes it."
But Voruke had forgotten one thing: Median could walk through the future now. She went to Magic and told him what was coming. By then there were several hundred Untalented and Magic refused to allow a slaughter. He and Median drew the boundaries of Magnellum and planted the Warding Pillars. But they knew the Wild would continue to fight and Magic's bodily form was limited in where it could be at any given moment. So, Magic selected thirteen women to act as guardians over the Untalented. He gave them each a portion of himself and commanded that they maintain the Pillars at all costs.
"How can you know that?" Elsie asked. "If the Pillars were up, how could you know of the Witch-Born?"
"Inside the Host tree is still a remnant of Magic," Fayree explained. "It sometimes allows visions of Magnellum . . . mostly in times of extreme strife, when a single Witch expends a large amount of power."
"And the moment the Pillars went up, that's when Time ended for you. Because Fate . . . I mean Median . . . was cut off from you."
Fayree nodded.
Elsie looked at Witch-Eater Lake and took a deep breath. A breeze rippled across the surface of the water, colliding with the natural waves caused by several waterfalls. The lake felt more ominous than ever, churning and waiting for some hapless fellow to fall in. She could imagine thick kelp snagging ankles, dragging anyone into its depths.
She shuddered and forced herself to focus on Fayree again.
"Why are you here in Magnellum?" she asked.
Fayree sighed and leaned back against the tree. "The last great vision was eight years ago. The day Magic's body was killed here in Delgora," she said. "Since his death didn't fix anything, I suggested to Voruke that the whole plan was nonsense. Some agreed with me but the majority have been following Voruke for so long, they don't have a concept of individual thought anymore. I was branded a traitor and sentenced to death."
"But you got away."
Fayree grinned at her. "Yes, I did."
"How did you get into Magnellum?"
"There are some places where the Wards are weak. I imagine that's how the Dellidus got through. But in the end, I didn't have to fight to get in." She smiled again. "Magic has always been fair. That is his one constant. The Pillars were built only to keep your enemies out. As I harbored no ill-will for you, they let me pass. It was almost funny, actually. I ran straight through and they all got stopped at the border."
Elsie could picture Fayree's run very well. Biting her lower lip, she looked over at Mirabella, who was still happily picking at her lunch. As troubling as this story was, as overwhelmed as Elsie felt at the coming war, the little girl and mother gave her hope.
Maybe there could be peace
, she thought.
These two have managed to settle in Magnellum, after all
.
Valeda was more than ready to be off the train. Lord Agoston's taciturn nature had become unbearable. He sat brooding in the corner across from her, only speaking to answer direct questions. His fair hair was tousled from sleep and his fine features were hidden behind a fist as he gazed out the window.
She wanted to scream at him. How was any civilized person supposed to manage twelve hours in a clanky, jostling train with no conversation? Especially when she had so many unanswered questions.
How had she become Talented? Did he believe Fayree's story about the Wild? If he did, what did that mean for Magnellum? How did Fayree's story correlate with Lady Delgora's premonition that the Wild was coming?
Were they all going to die?
Valeda thought of Chuckabee and the children at the Walter's School for Unfortunates and flinched. Wasn't there anything that could be done?
Outside the window the sun was rising. Her heart swelled at the pink and orange hues that swept over the snow-capped peaks.
It's the Wildness of the view that's so captivating
, she thought. The Warding Pillars only covered the length of the tracks and everything beyond was Wild.
"It's just another couple of hours," Lord Agoston said. "Lord Delgora will meet us at the station."
Valeda looked at him and frowned. He seemed tense, his shoulders coiled as though preparing for movement. It took her a moment but she finally recognized his anxiety. She felt like a complete fool. The poor man had been in a wreck recently. No doubt he was uncomfortable, waiting for a similar situation to occur.