A Ragged Magic (16 page)

Chapter Sixteen

J
ulianna is shaking me. “Rhia, are you awake?”

I see her through a milky haze, prop myself on my elbows. She stands next to my bed, a glowsand lamp in her hand. The shadows from her arm darken and shift, and I blink again.

“What? Um, yes?” My heart pounds and I tremble all over from waking suddenly. I shake my head, suck grit from my teeth. My stomach growls sullenly. I didn’t eat much today. “Do you, um. What?”

“Rhia, what happened to you tonight? Here, don’t wake Linnet, come with me into my chamber.” She helps me to stand and I follow, towering over her like a scarecrow. She sits me on the brocade chair and I slump, licking chapped lips, blinking and shivering in the dim light.

Julianna settles gracefully across from me, her gown rustling. She gazes at me, her left eyebrow raised. I realize belatedly that she waits for me to say something.

“Yes, your Highness?”

“Don’t ‘yes your Highness’ me. What on earth happened tonight? Why didn’t you come back?”

I try to organize my swirling thoughts. I think with a shudder on Orrin’s arm, his gasp, and the runes glowing demon-purple. I want to try to explain about the demons again — maybe if they could understand what I See, they’d realize the danger better.

Connor stands at my side and I jerk, gasp in surprise. My poor lungs labor a moment from the shock: when did he come in? He stands in front of me, takes my hand and examines my gown. “It’s not hard to explain, my lady,” he says. “This gown is covered in wine. You tried to get Orrin alone?” he asks.

I nod. “He, he wouldn’t come with me. And Gantry caught us talking, so Orrin spilled wine down my front. And I — I didn’t know what to do. He, he,” and my throat closes on the word ‘runes’ and I can’t breathe. Tears leak out of my eyes, and I bow my head.

“Oh, Rhia. We’ll figure something else out. But tomorrow. I am so weary.”

Connor clears his throat. “I think we should let you rest,” he says gently.

Julianna lays her head back on the chair and sighs. Creases mar the perfect line of her mouth, and gather on her forehead. “Very well, Connor. See to everything, will you? I think it is past my bedtime.”

Heartily agreeing with that, I stand wearily to help her undress.

Connor starts to exit but I catch his hand while Julianna stretches her arms over her head, her back to us.

He gazes at me, and I get a rush of confusion from him. I See the two of us from his perspective: Julianna, shining and golden and perfect, remote from him as if surrounded by crystal; and me, my eyes wide and clear and my hand warm in his.

I blink, and I see from my own eyes again. His gaze is unchanged, but I draw back my hand and motion to the solar with my head.

He nods, and takes his leave as Julianna turns back.

“Good night, Connor.”

“Good night, my lady.”

Julianna turns to me after he’s gone, and grasps my hands in hers tightly. Dark shadows line her eyes, and she sways a little, as if she were on a boat.

“Poor little Rhia. I wish I could help you more. Things aren’t what you bargained them to be.” Her eyes are so deep and blue; I nearly weep for the weariness in them.

“Please, your Highness. Just go to sleep. I’m all right.”

Julianna shifts to let me unbutton her gown. I help her get ready for bed and bring her a goblet of water from the pitcher on the table. She looks small and pale and ill, now that she no longer has an audience.

I resolve to be more careful of her health in the future as I ease the covers over her. She is nearly asleep already. I douse all the lamps, and walk into the solar.

Connor paces across the heavy carpet by the windows, his hands clasped behind his back. He turns when he hears the door close.

“What is it?”

“Shh, not here. I don’t want to wake them.”

Connor nods, strides to the door and opens it for me, then heads toward the north stair. “This way.”

I follow him closely, and he grabs a lamp from the stairwell and heads up the stairs to the third floor of the castle. Out into the corridor, the lamp swings wide and casts eerie shadows along the walls and statues in nooks, the vases on pedestals. He strides to a door halfway down the hall and ushers me in.

A fire dies in the grate, smelling of pine and chimney-draft. Connor hooks the lamp on the wall sconce and lights other a few more. A large oak bed dominates the room, its burgundy bed covers neatly made and pulled back by some servant or valet to show snowy sheets.

I realize belatedly that this is Connor’s bedchamber, and that handmaid or no, ward or no, I am supposed to be conscious of my honor.

Connor closes the door behind me and motions me to sit on his brown leather couch. I hesitate, and he sighs. “No one knows you’re here.”

He’s right. I smile a little, and sit gingerly in my rumpled velveteen. I put a hand to my hair, suddenly aware of how ghastly I must look.

My hair tumbles in knots on my head, and one curl has been in my eyes since I woke up. I push it back behind my ear again, but it’s not quite long enough. I fiddle with it a few moments, trying to work up my courage to try again. I don’t like it when I fail: it hurts when I can’t breathe.

Connor, impatient with my fidgeting, sighs again. “It’s late, Rhia. What is it?”

I clear my throat, unwilling to start.

He sighs more dramatically, the mahogany wisp of hair above his right eye drifting up with his breath. As I begin to wring my fingers, Connor sits next to me and grasps both my wrists in one large hand. Laying them on my knee, he grips my chin with his other hand and makes me look at him.

His bloodshot eyes glare into mine. “What,” he growls.

I pull my chin away and slip my hands out from under his. Slowly edging up my sleeve to my elbow, I expose scars that shine in the lamplight.

“Orrin has these,” I whisper. So far, so good.

Connor stares at my arms, his lips in a thin line.

“They glowed purple when Gantry grabbed him. I was so cloaked from him — I shut down barriers so tight I couldn’t have seen any visions or heard any thoughts, but Orrin gasped in pain.”

Connor stares at me, his eyebrows raised.

“Mine glow green when I See visions, or use magic.”

Connor lifts my exposed arm in his hands. With one finger he traces a rune and I shudder; the strange tickling travels up my back as well. He glances at me from under dark lashes, and away, dropping my arm.

“So your vision was true after all, then. What is it he is doing with these spells, and why did he need you, or Orrin, to do them?” He stands and begins pacing before the dark windows in the west wall. The curtains haven’t been drawn, and the lamplight reflects off the surface in eerie patterns, following his shadow.

“I can’t, I can’t …” He stops pacing and stares at me. “I can’t say it. When I try, the spell — something stops me,” I push out through labored breaths. I grow tense as Connor continues to stare.

He walks to me and grabs my hand, tugs me behind him and I follow helplessly as we traverse the halls again.

“My lord,” I pant, but he strides around the corner, dragging me behind. “My lord!”

He turns his head and holds a finger to his lips, and we wind around to the south side, where Hugh has his rooms. Connor doesn’t bother to knock and we barge into Hugh’s empty outer room. Connor drops my hand and I stumble to a stop on a rich dark carpet while he pulls open the bedchamber door.

“Hugh,” he says, “I —” And he stops abruptly. I catch a glimpse of a man’s bare backside before Connor shuts the door, his face carefully blank.

“Your Grace,” he calls through the door, “we need to discuss something. It is a matter of great importance.”

Muffled curses drift through the door, and after a short while a dark-haired young man rushes out, bare-chested with shoulders hunched, clutching a lawn shirt under his arm. He looks only at the floor as he passes us, and Connor has pushed me toward the far corner, in shadow. Only one lamp burns in its bracket in Hugh’s retiring room.

I blush. I’ve never interrupted anyone’s tryst before. Certainly not a duke’s. I feel the embarrassed flush creeping over me. I’ve never even had a tryst before. I pull my barriers down tighter; I really don’t want to pry.

Hugh joins us after the outer door closes behind his paramour, his face sour. He shrugs into a rich brown silk robe as he walks into the room. It’s the only thing he’s wearing.

I feel my cheeks flush even warmer.

“What the hell is the matter?” he snaps, then his eyes light on me. His jaw drops. Cinching his robe tightly, he stalks to a low couch and sits, arranging the silk haughtily.

Connor shifts in place.

Hugh glares at the both of us. “Well. This should be interesting. Pray, why are you here right now, Connor?”

Connor’s mouth twitches, and he walks over to sit next to Hugh. “I thought you should have some company tonight. Happy Solstice.” Connor shrugs and smirks a little.

Hugh stares at him, then laughs quietly, clapping Connor on the shoulder.

I stand, fidgeting, in the corner.

Hugh looks at me and sighs. “I suppose this has to do with Orrin.”

Connor sobers and turns to me. “Come here, Rhia. Show him.”

I swallow those tumbling mice again and walk slowly forward. Connor holds out his hand for mine. I ignore it, and stand before Hugh, pulling up my sleeve. If I don’t think about it, I can show him. I look away, pull my sleeve higher.

“Your scars? I —” he stands and grabs my arm. “Connor, light more lamps!”

He pushes my sleeve up as far as the thick material will allow and turns my arm over in his grasp. As more lamps add to the light, he grabs my other arm and does the same.

I shiver at the intensity of his gaze.

“I just saw this rune, the one below your elbow. It — this one isn’t finished, I think.”

I stare helplessly at Connor, who stands at Hugh’s side again.

Suddenly Hugh spins me around and pulls at my collar, peers down my neck.

I jerk away from him and turn, panting, to back away. I stumble over the edge of the rug and fall backwards.

Hugh reaches forward and I flinch, warding him off with hunched back and raised arms.

“Please!” I rasp. After a moment, I hear no sound but my heartbeat, and my panicked breath. I lift my head.

Connor stands before me, his hand outstretched and open. Hugh hovers behind him looking worried. I look into Connor’s eyes, and see only calm.

Trying to breathe normally, I slowly accept Connor’s hand, and he helps me to my feet. Hugh stays put, and I feel relieved.

“Rhia, I —” Hugh closes his mouth after a moment.

Connor guides me to the couch. I sink gratefully from my unsteady legs. Connor sits next to me. “She says she can’t talk about them. Something stops her. And Orrin has the same scars on his skin now, which she can see glow with her Sight. Her scars glow when she’s spelling.”

I’m dizzy; I put my head down on my lap.

Hugh says something, and I look up at him. “That rune, the unfinished one — it translates to ‘silence,’” he says.

“What about the others? Do you still have the drawings I made?” Connor says.

My eyes sting and my back prickles with sweat. The fact that drawings exist of these scars makes me feel ill. I do not want them. I don’t want anyone to see them. And I can’t tell if that’s me or the spell wanting that.

“I found a book of ancient Indrani carvings and runes. It’s a book of legends, but it has some of the ones you drew. It would help if I could look at the runes directly.”

I look only at my hands, clenched in my lap.

Hugh sits on my other side, and the musky smell of the two men overwhelms me. I feel smothered and too close to them. Before I can launch myself like a nervous deer to the door, Connor puts a hand on my knee.

I jump and yelp, and he loosely takes hold of my arm. “Rhiannon.”

I clench my hands and stare determinedly at the floor.

Connor tries again. “Rhiannon, look at me.”

I pull my arm from his grasp and stand slowly. Remembering to breathe, I start toward the door. I can’t stop myself, I want to stop but I keep walking.

“Rhiannon, please.”

I stop, gripping the door handle painfully, sobs pushing at my chest.

Hugh tries next. “Rhia, is it the spell now? Does it make you move as well as keep you silent?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper, miserable.

“Talk to me about the weather,” Connor says abruptly.

I breathe in, turn to look at him.

His eyes hold mine. “It’s quite cold for this time of year, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my lord,” I whisper. “And wet.”

He nods, and I let go of the door. He stands and walks toward me. “It’s terrible for the farms. And so muddy.”

I keep my eyes on his, nodding.

“Are your boots warm enough?”

“Yes,” I say.

“And your cloak?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have enough blankets at night?”

“Yes.”

“Does the spell make you report to Gantry?”

“No,” I say, and blink.

“Are you linked to him?” Connor stands in front of me now.

“No,” I whisper. “I don’t think so.”

“Can he control you?”

“No.”

“Can he control Orrin?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe. Orrin didn’t — he refused to come with me. But it was, it was as if he didn’t recognize me. Or pretended not to.”

“Gantry gave you these,” Connor indicates my scars.

I nod, I don’t trust my voice.

“And Orrin. Your vision was true.”

I nod again, sniffling a little.

Connor leans forward a little. “I trust you, Rhiannon,” he whispers. “Trust me.”

I feel tears leaking down my chin. He puts his hand up, brushes some away. “Tell me what the runes do.”

“I — they — he — d —” but I can’t form words again, and it’s too late. There is a green glow around me, and my vision blurs. “No.” My voice is dark with power.

Hugh swears loudly in surprise.

I turn, feeling power course through the air around me, and visions pour through me. I See Orrin on a table, me on a table, Gantry’s flat pale gaze, knives descending again and again.