Authors: Lindsey S. Johnson
Chapter Twenty
D
espite his words to me after the poison fiasco, it’s apparent that Connor doesn’t trust me any more than anyone else does. I gave him my description of what happened to Queen Cecily, but we haven’t discussed it.
Julianna and Hugh are still furious with me, and stay tight-lipped and coldly civil whenever I am present. Linnet refuses to speak to me at all. When Connor does see me, he shakes his head sadly and says to keep a low profile, stay away from Gantry and Orrin. I’m forbidden chapel services even, and the herbarium. I spend all of my time in the library, avoiding everyone.
Days pass slowly, but it seems the weeks fly past without my notice. Summer is ending, without ever really appearing at all. Everyone talks about how cold and wet it’s been, that it’s the worst harvest in decades.
Duchess Marguerite develops a pinched line on her forehead that never goes away, and the talk is that the hospice is more full than ever. Although none of us go there anymore: Julianna sends her simples by messenger.
Julianna has announced to the castle that she’s pregnant, with her mother’s urging, and everyone graciously pretends that they are surprised. The ladies in the castle gather in her rooms to embroider and sew baby clothes, and exclaim over her.
I sit in the corner and mend stockings, badly. I know the tension between us is noticeable, if only because of whispers about fitzWellan blood are louder. I still don’t know anything about Connor’s brother, but I know he is a villain in their eyes, and so now I understand what they mean. I keep my eyes on my work and ignore everyone.
I miss Keenan, and Orrin, and not feeling like a monstrous mistake. The castle is full of people who ignore or despise me, and I am so lonely and afraid. If they won’t help me, I’m going to have to do something else. Something drastic.
In my spare time, I’m pouring over all of Hugh’s magical texts, mostly left to my own devices in the back corner of the big library room. I’ve found the book of runes Hugh was talking about. The text is very old, and smudged in places. It’s written in ancient Indrani, and I only know a few words.
There’s an incomplete Indrani lexicon, and I translate what I can onto papers of my own, that I keep with me and study later, trying to decipher the meanings. The grammar is the hard part. Indrani sentences are backwards and inside out to ours, and trying to parse what the author meant takes me a lot of time. I don’t ask for help.
But I’ve found two of the runes, I think. One, on my arm, is the rune for silence, with intent mixed in. Another, that appears several times on my legs, calls the magic. I don’t know what any of the others are, yet. Not for sure. I’m afraid to find out.
My dreams at night are not happy. I know they disturb Linnet, too, because she smacks me awake with her pillow. All she says is “wake up, stupid.” Then we both lie in the dark, listening to my harsh breath.
This morning is no different, and I feel more lost than I ever have. Dawn finds me in the library, alone, with a guttering candle and a spent glowsand lamp. The text wavers in front of my tired eyes, but I blink the runes into focus. There. That rune, that rune means free, it opens bindings. It is almost the same as the one for silence. I think — I think I have a plan.
I pad into the kitchen and make a tray as if for an early breakfast. Bread, honey, oatmeal, and I surreptitiously slip a sharp knife onto the tray. The kitchen maids and guards at the back table ignore me but for a few murmured “my lady’s” as I bustle about. I know I look half-crazed lately, and they give me a wide berth.
My pulse tingling with anticipation, I bring the tray up to Julianna’s rooms, and leave it in the solar. I head to the bathing room, taking the knife and the rune text with me.
The room is tiled in a pale green and blue pattern, with suggestions of fish in the tiles. I latch the door, hands shaking. I don’t remember what Gantry chanted: I don’t think I want that spell, anyway. But Keenan had a spell to focus power, and I think I can do that. It is just a little spell, but I don’t want to mess with a big one. I think Keenan would approve.
I take off my clothes and toss them at the hook on the wall. The tub is a tiled rectangle, with thick ledges on the sides. Slender pipes jut out from the wall, coming from below the kitchens, where some symmetry of magic and genius brings water at the pull of a chain.
I sit on the edge, my legs in the tub, the chill tile biting into my flesh. I can’t catch my breath. Closing my eyes, I chant the words of the focus spell in airy puffs, rest the edge of the knife on my right arm. The text is open on the floor next to me.
I feel my runes, my skin, my body fill slowly with power, like waking a hibernating monster. I haven’t used it in the last few weeks. Everything feels sore and rusty, even though not using my power has hurt, as well.
It’s hard to keep my hands from shaking, and it’s my off-hand that will do the … the cutting. I take a deep breath, shuddering, and press. After the first resistance, my skin parts, and it hurts, it stings, and I push power into the wound as I try to re-draw the rune.
I’m trying to be careful not to go too deep, but it’s so hard to tell what’s working — if anything is. My arm burns, then all my runes, and sweat runs into my eyes and between my breasts and down my back, and I’m shaking from trying not to shake.
I chant the focus spell again, and I turn the knife again. I part more skin, and tears fall onto my arm and into the tub with my sweat and blood, and I want to finish this. I have to finish this. But I’m afraid I can’t. I turn the knife again.
The door bursts open. Linnet stands in the opening, and I know she’s yelling. Her eyes are wide, her mouth is wide, but I hear only the roaring in my ears, the power in my skin trying to turn, change, pull me forward. I press too hard and the blood rushes over my arm, and I can’t see the runes anymore.
Julianna runs in, her belly a hard ball under her nightgown, her hair a fierce halo of wisps around her head and braid. My hands can’t hold the knife steady, my mind can’t hold the spell, and I shake as she nears me. The spell is too hot. She should not come near me.
Rhia, what are you doing?
Hugh sends me, but I can’t answer. His power slips into mine to hold the spell steady, to keep me from dropping anything else, as my legs give way and I slide down into the tub with the blood and the sweat. Even I can hear Julianna and Linnet cry out, but I manage to not stab myself with the knife.
At impass, Julianna and Linnet stand halfway into the room, unable to come closer because of the focus spell, or the magic I put into it, or maybe shock and disgust, because I am so awful. And I’m not done; I feel the power lurching off-kilter through my body. I was always off-kilter, I realize, always not quite balanced, the spell was always a little wrong. Now it’s wrong in a new way, and a lot.
It hurts, this new way. Or maybe it’s always hurt, and I only now recognize it. I stare at my bleeding arm and feel dizzy. Am I dizzy from blood loss or the spell?
Both. It’s both, honey.
I feel Hugh in my head, see him kneeling next to the tub, and he weaves himself into the spell. He looks down at the book beside him, then at me again, and there are tears running down his face.
Give me the knife,
he sends, and puts his hand over my bloody one, but I can’t let go. He sucks in a breath, nods, and leans forward to kiss my forehead.
Then let me guide,
and my shaking hand follows his lead. He grimaces, his face close to mine. He takes my hand, the knife, and makes the last two cuts to finish the rune. I feel a surge of balance, a blast and release. I cry out, and so does Hugh.
The silence after the roaring is a pressure suddenly gone. The room is filled with gasping and sobs, and I don’t know whose is whose.
“There. We did it,” Hugh says softly. “You can let go of the knife.”
Only I can’t. Julianna walks over, lowers herself to the tub ledge.
“Let Hugh have the knife,” she says, reaching for my hair, to smooth it back, or pet it, or something. I flinch, and she draws back. “Rhia, let me help you,” she says gently, brokenly.
Hugh lets go of my hand and stands back. Maybe he can tell how crowded I feel. He backs up, but then Connor is there. He looks at Julianna with his warning look, but his attention is on my arm. Just my arm. He sits where Hugh was and wraps a towel around it tight.
“Keep pressure on that,” he says to me, and I start to put my hand over his, but I have to put the knife down, first.
I look at him.
“Rhiannon, hold this tight on your arm,” he says again, his eyes on mine now.
I feel my hand spasm, unclench, and the knife clatters into the tub. I grab at the towel, which is beginning to soak through. He nods at me, picks up the knife, gets up. “Let Julianna help you. We’ll be outside.” And he turns and walks out of the room, taking a quietly sobbing Linnet and sober Hugh with him.
Julianna brushes back my hair, places her hands on my shoulders, and I feel more magic moving through me. A quieter magic, I remember how this feels, like pins and needles, like summer sun and campfire smoke, like swimming in a storm.
I open my eyes to Julianna turning the water on. The pipes groan a little, spit out hot water. “Let me take that towel, Rhia.” Her eyes are kind on me, but I can’t look back for long. Her nightgown has blood on it. Her face is wan and tired. And I am broken, again.
“Let’s clean you up,” she says, and she dips a washcloth in the water, hands me soap. I look at my arm when she takes the towel away. The wound is a shiny scar now, under the blood. As she wipes it clean, the scar shows white on my skin, like the others. Pinker, newer, a little ragged. But it is a scar, and not a wound. The skin feels burned, and I hiss when she rubs soap on it.
“I know. It’ll be tender for a few days. You remember.” She bites her lip, hands me the washcloth. “When you’re clean, why don’t you drain the tub and refill it, have a soak. I — I’m just going to sit over in the chair, and wait. I’ll help you out when you’re ready.”
“I won’t drown myself,” I whisper. “I didn’t do it to hurt myself, or anyone. I did it so I could tell — could tell you —” I try to talk about the demons. But it didn’t work, the rune didn’t work, and I still can’t speak. I don’t know what I just did to myself, but it didn’t even work. Sobs wrack me and I just lie there and let them. All of that, for nothing.
Julianna kneels by my side and hugs me, rocks me while I cry.
～
Connor and Hugh are waiting when Julianna and I emerge from the bathing room. The solar looks the same as I left it; the forgotten breakfast tray sitting on the table, the lamps half lit and the fire crackling the morning chill away. I guess it is still morning. It seems as though days have passed.
Julianna leads me to the chaise and then heads back to her chamber for a robe. It should be me doing that for her, I think as the cushions engulf me. My limbs feel as if lead lines my marrow, and I sink into the soft corner, staring at nothing.
Hugh gingerly takes a seat next to me. “How are you feeling?” he asks. I turn my head to look at him, and it hurts to do it. He has the grace to grimace. “I mean, the spell; did it help you? Did it do what you wanted?”
I squint to keep from crying again. My eyes burn enough already. I shake my head slowly, keep silent. I don’t trust my voice.
“What did the spell do, then?”
I don’t know. I shrug, turn my face to the cushions. Nothing. I accomplished nothing. Again.
I feel Hugh take my arm and I flinch, gasp. He lets go at my glare, holds his hands up. “May I take a look at the rune again, Rhia?” I close my eyes for a moment, then pull up my sleeve to show him.
He examines without touching this time. “This rune is for release, peaceful works, or unbinding, I think.”
I nod, shrug, shake my head. Maybe. Maybe it is. He traces in the air above it. “I believe it is. Did you think the other runes were binding you to something? To Bishop Gantry?”
I take as deep a breath as I can. “To d —, d —, silence,” I manage, but the roaring in my ears and my own gasping show them my failure as much as my words. But it doesn’t show them enough, and I slump back in my seat, defeated.
“There’s something else,” Connor says, breaking in. “Something we need to know, something about Gantry. Something immediately dangerous.”
I look up at him, nodding — maybe he will guess. But who would guess demons? Who would guess any of this? Only a madman would call demons.
Connor paces in front of us. “Gantry poses an even greater threat, somehow, than you’ve been able to say. You have information that means our imminent danger. That’s what you’re so desperate to tells us.”
I nod again, close my eyes.
“That spell is danger enough,” Julianna says from the doorway. “Whatever he wants all that power for, we know it can’t be anything that will help us.” She sighs and moves to stand by the window. Her voice, usually melodic, sounds rough, and her hand rests on the roundness of her belly under her robe. “I’ll write to Alexander and King Peter,” she says.
“And the cardinal,” Connor says.
I roll my eyes. “He doesn’t know anything,” I mutter, my voice a rough rasp.
“Then he will find out,” Connor snaps.
I cover my face with my hands and lean forward until my head rests on my knees.
“So those marks, those are scars?” I hear Linnet say.
I sit up with a start.
Linnet stands just inside the room, holding onto the wall, her face half covered by her hair. “All those marks, all of them are scars.”
I look helplessly at her, at Hugh next to me. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Who did that?”
I feel my mouth weld shut with emotion, maybe with the spell. I cannot answer her.
Julianna answers for me. “Bishop Gantry gave your sister those scars after he had her arrested, Linnet. He wanted to use her in a spell, and when he made a mistake, he left her for dead.” She says it flatly, but her face is kind.
I stare at Linnet, but Linnet won’t look up. Her hair moves as she nods several times. Hugh grips my hand with his, a warm offer of support.