A Ragged Magic (27 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

C
onnor and I scramble into the carriage as it pulls up along the garden edge, out of the line of the others. The lights and noise of the manor quickly fade behind us as the driver urges the horses faster.

I lurch into Linnet as I try to settle myself. The carriage jumbles along toward the castle, and the ride is fraught with bumped foreheads as we all lean together.

“I have a note, and a ledger,” I say, pulling apart the clothing and handing Linnet her cloak. “I found some things in the secret safe. It didn’t look like Aman ever found it.”

“That looks like Da’s handwriting,” Linnet says.

“I can’t read it in here.” The light from outside is too variable, and the ride too bumpy.

“Let me see,” Hugh intones as he plucks them from my hands. He flips through the ledger, squinting. “We’ll have to have a better look in good light, you’re right. But this letter is addressed to Linnet.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Linnet says, her voice quiet.

It’s clear they realize I’m disappointed the letter isn’t for both of us. But we can’t release the spell until we’re back in the castle.

I push away my emotions. “There’s something else,” I say, and I tell them about Montmoore and Aman talking. Connor swears quietly and Hugh sits back, tucking the ledger under his arm.

“If the merchants are already involved, then it’s more serious than I feared. I had hoped they would be more loyal.” Hugh’s face is grim, even with Bhanu’s genial features.

I sense a shift in his mood suddenly, and he looks at me, hope dawning. “Rhia, you actually heard Montmoore admit to treason?” Hugh grabs my arm as I’m jostled off the seat by a rut in the road.

Rubbing my bruised forehead with my other hand, I look at him in the wavering light and sigh at his excitement. “You can’t have him arrested on what I heard, your Grace. I never saw him, only heard his voice. And technically I wasn’t even there: it was Asa. You can’t drag her into this.”

He grips my arm harder, determined. “We don’t have to mention you were in disguise, or that you have anything to do with the Indrani. We need only place you in the court to —”

“They’ll never listen to me, especially since I’m supposedly dead twice: once as a witch and once in a fire. If I go into court someone’s bound to know the Wolff cousins are actually dead. Who am I going to tell, my lord?” I try to sound reasonable.

His grip loosens and he settles back next to Connor, frustrated. Connor leans forward, careful to grip the handle next to the door so as not to fly from his seat.

“I think we should focus more on what he said, or what your Sight told you. Did you See an army? Did you See where, or when?”

“I Saw an army. But I don’t know if it was now, or a possibility, or in the past. It was just a glimpse, my lord. I’m sorry.”

He leans back, sighs. “I’ll have to get back in there somehow. I was close to something, before all the chaos descended.”

“Chaos?” I ask.

“All the people getting sick. It was getting a bit scary,” Linnet says.

The carriage jolts suddenly to a halt, the horses whinnying, and we tumble into a heap against each other. I hear the driver curse.

“What is it?” Hugh calls, his Indrani accent perfect. He tries to extricate himself from the mess of limbs and clothing we have become.

I find myself sprawled across Connor’s thighs, my cheek pressed into his side. Muffled in my wrap and his cloak, the driver’s voice sounds far away.

“The gates won’t open, sir.”

I push myself off Connor’s chest and look up. Hugh pokes his head out the door of the carriage as Linnet struggles to a sitting position.

“Star Lord preserve us,” I hear Hugh breathe. He thrusts open the door and stands staring.

We’re outside the gates, and I can hear shouting. Connor grabs my waist and helps me up, and I push him upright as the carriage rocks from Hugh stepping down. We peek out, and two guards are yelling down to the driver and Hugh.

A guard is marking the gate tower with a black slash in charcoal. I stare in dismay — it’s the symbol people in the town use to identify houses touched by the Wasting: a symbol of plague.

“Oh sweet Dorei, no,” Connor whispers. “Seely Magan,” he yells up to the guards, and they stare down at him in consternation. “Damn your eyes, Seely Magan! Open the gates!” He’s dropped his Indrani accent, and they open the gates reluctantly. Connor and Hugh enter the barbican without the carriage, and Linnet and I follow.

“We’re under quarantine, sir, we aren’t —”

“I can see that, Sergeant. We have people here. We enter willingly. The driver can choose,” he says, and breaks into a run. We all rush through the main gate and into the courtyard.

Guards rush around, and a few people are saddling horses, trying to leave. The guards are trying to stop them. Orders for plague marker is that no one leaves until cleared, but I can feel panic washing from people in waves.

We run to the castle doors. The front hall is deserted. Noise and voices come from the great hall. Rounding a corner, Connor almost runs Preyasi down. He stops short, and grabs her shoulders as we all stumble to a halt behind him. Preyasi gasps in surprise at our arrival.

“Zelig!” And then comprehension dawns in her eyes. “Quickly, you must change back before someone sees.”

We have to end the spell somewhere. She pushes at Connor and shoos us all before her toward the stairs.

“The princess,” Connor rasps.

“Is fine. This way, now, hurry!”

We run up the main stair and into Hugh’s rooms. Servants rush around, eyeing our own running with alarm.

In Hugh’s rooms, Preyasi urges us to change into our regular clothes. The men are in Hugh’s bedchamber, and we’re in the bathing room. Preyasi stands in the doorwary, facing us.

Linnet calls out to Hugh. “I’m releasing the spell.”

The river of power that runs through me cuts off suddenly, and I stumble, giddy from the backlash of power washing into a dam. I look up, and Linnet looks herself again. Grasping the sides of the bathtub gratefully, I heave a breath and struggle for equilibrium.

“Shortly after you left, my friends and I heard much commotion in the halls. We were left to ourselves in our chambers, as His Grace assured us we would be, but we were concerned that perhaps you’d been found out. After awhile, Bhanu decided he’d better have a look.

“He found everyone in an uproar, with many falling sick and needing help. It came on rather sudden, and so many at once, no one knew what to do.

“The princess has gathered anyone without sickness to help, moved everyone to the great hall to monitor them, like a hospice. Some of the servants have fled. Anyone left who isn’t sick is tending to those who are.”

I rip the gown a little trying to get it off without help. Linnet unhooks the back for me and I shrug into my gray linen. Who is ill, and who has fled? I am glad Orrin is safe, although I feel guilty for thinking it. But now I’m worried — is he alone? Is this striking everywhere? People were ill at the manor, as well.

I hear Hugh cursing as I help Linnet with her shift. I try to breathe slowly and hear everything Preyasi says.

“My countrymen and I are helping as we can. Asa can Heal a little, but her gift is not strong. The princess needs help.” We finish dressing and join the others in Hugh’s chamber.

“Who is ill?” asks Hugh, his face a mask hiding all emotion.

Preyasi breathes deeply once before answering, and I see Hugh’s face pale. “I’m sorry to report, your mother and her ladies seem to be the worst off. I believe a lady named Geneve came down with it this evening first, and your mother was tending her—” but Hugh is gone, rushing out the door without another word.

Connor catches my eye as Linnet and Preyasi follow Hugh, rushing to the great hall.

I hesitate, watching the door close behind Linnet with a thump. I round toward Connor and gasp.

He’s right in front of me, and he hasn’t put his shirt on yet. His skin mesmerizes me for a moment.

I close my eyes and step back.

“What is it?” he asks.

“I, that’s what I was going to ask you.”

I open my eyes, and he’s stepped back as well.

“You should go help the others. I’ll be along in a moment.”

I nod, turn to go.

“Rhiannon,” he starts, and I turn again. “Be careful of Julianna. She will wear herself to nothing. You’ll have to keep her from killing herself to save everyone.”

I look away. He catches my hand as I turn again. “Be careful of yourself, too. Julianna’s not the only one with that habit.”

I open my mouth to protest, and his other hand comes up to touch my cheek. My protest flutters to nothing on my lips. He looks into my eyes a moment, releases me and turns away.

“And keep your eye out for anyone who acts strange,” he adds as he shrugs into a shirt.

“What?” I’m having trouble keeping up.

“Stephen has spies, too.”

Shaking my head, I try to think up reasons why he could be wrong. “Now? Here? Would anyone stay to their posts during something like this?”

He turns and raises an eyebrow. “You are.”

I sputter, shake my head again. “Connor, I, that’s different! Why would anyone stay in this kind of danger to spy on Julianna?”

“You don’t know my brother,” he says darkly.

I have nothing to say to that.

He looks up from contemplating his hands. “Go help Julianna. I’ll be right there.”

I stare at his back a moment, then turn and hurry away. I put my hand to my face, where the brand of his fingers still burns on my cheek. Remember whom it is he loves, and why he’s concerned, I tell myself, and force my mind back to the catastrophe at hand.

If the Wasting did break out so virulently at the manor as well as here this time, then this is a much more dangerous strain. It usually takes days for so many to sicken, and this has only taken hours. If we can’t Heal them, then the dead will add up quickly. If this is a demon spell … I don’t want it to be a demon spell.

The great hall writhes; guards and servants cross in front of me, carrying cots that must be from the guard house, linens, basins of water. Many of the cots have occupants: I see Samuel lying in a knot, clutching his stomach and moaning. And Christine, the kitchen maid, limp on one of the cots. It seems at least a third of the castle is pale and sweating, moaning, vomiting. Guards and servants and the highborn ladies and their retinues, all brought low.

Hugh hurries by me, heading toward the kitchens or the herbarium, Linnet just behind. The rank stink of the Wasting hangs heavy. Julianna bends over a cot near the head table. I make my way toward her, winding my way through people and blankets and stench. “Your Highness,” I call as I near her.

She doesn’t look up, but gestures to me to hurry. I reach her as she grasps her mother’s hand, and I can see how tired they both are. Julianna’s brow drips with sweat, and her dress sticks to her back. The Healing magic flows from her in a thin strand. I put my hand on her arm, worried.

With a start I feel power draining from me in great draughts. Julianna’s power strengthens and she finishes the spell. She straightens, and looks at me.

“I think I’ve caught my second wind. Thank goodness you’re back.”

I worry at how easy it was for her to pull magic from me. Should everyone be able to do that?

“So many became sick so suddenly: I can’t keep the disease at bay.” She takes a breath, smoothing Duchess Marguerite’s hair. “I’m so glad you all are here, and well. I’ve sent to the hospice for help, but no one has come. I’m about to send someone to the Inquisitor’s Building, but I don’t know who will get the message.”

A commotion makes us turn. Archbishop Montmoore staggers into the hall, supported on either side by sweating monks. The room shushes quiet but for the moans of the sick.

“How did he get in the gates?” I ask, but Julianna hurries toward the group. I follow, sending for Hugh in my mind.

“Your Grace, we are in quarantine; you should not be here,” she says, but she motions the monks to help him to a cot. Everyone nearby looks nervous. Hugh is cursing in my head.

“Highness,” Montmoore gasps, “I must ask for your help. It comes to my attention that Bishop Gantry has worked a foul spell, and we cannot control it. I have hope that you and your brother can.”

Julianna looks at me, but I am no less surprised. She looks up at the monks, but they seem frightened and worried. And sick.

I push the shorter one to sitting on an empty cot. His cohort follows suit. I try not to glare.

“A spell, you say,” Julianna murmurs.

Hugh has not told her, I realize. I wish she could speak in minds. I try to hurry Hugh along. Looking around for help, I see Connor entering the hall.

He glances up, his shirt crooked and his hair in a tangle. I wave to get his attention. He takes one look at our tableau and strides over to us.

“How does the archbishop come to be here?” His voice sounds mild, but his eyes bore into Montmoore as though pressing for confessions.

“Your gate guards were good enough to let me in, once I explained I needed the — the good offices of our princess,” Montmoore says, his teeth gritted in pain. “Please, Highness. Time is running out for us all. You should gather all your wit—, your spell workers and try to stop this spell.”

Julianna frowns at him fiercely. “This foul spell you speak of, that Bishop Gantry started. This is the cause of the Wasting?”

Montmoore winces — in pain, maybe. Maybe embarrassment. “Yes.”

I send all of this to Hugh, to Linnet, goad them to hurry.

“And where is Bishop Gantry?” Julianna asks.

“I wish I knew.” Montmoore glares at the ceiling.

I hear running, turn to see Hugh and Linnet rushing in. I can feel a vision trying to break in, trying to wash over me. The magic pulls, and I push at it; not now, not in front of this man. I See a house near the docks, shadows, Gantry’s face. I shove it all away as I feel a hand tug at my sleeve, grab my arm. Power slips out of me like a sip of water, another drain.

“You. You’re the one,” Montmoore says, as I yank free and back away. “I can feel your power now. Where did you get it?” He gasps.