The Lord of Stariel

by A J Lancaster

  “How cosy you look!” she remarked. “What are you reading?”

  Marius had activated only the lightspells near to his favoured perch, so the rest of the library was shadowed. Lightspells were technomantic creations. The fire risk of the library warranted their use over the gas lamps that dominated the rest of the house, though the spells were expensive, as they had to be recharged frequently. It was terribly old-fashioned; even the poorer parts of Meridon were getting elektric lights now.

  The feathers in the duvet rustled as he shifted. “I’ve just been reading about how we ought to be able to sense the Stone when it’s close, particularly in an unbonded state.”

  Hetta came to sit beside him, and with a sigh he un-swaddled himself and offered her a portion of duvet. She saw that he was dressed as if for a walk, complete with scarf and fingerless gloves, though the library was not, in her opinion, that cold.

  “How close?” she asked, waving off his offer of duvet.

  “Very close. In the same room, or so it says here.”

  Hetta pursed her lips. “Which is only useful if we knew very nearly where it was already! What are we to do if whoever took it merely buried it somewhere and forgot about it?” She sighed and rubbed at her temples. “Last night made me think we shouldn’t stick to Jack’s arbitrary deadline. We need to make a new Star Stone as soon as possible so that Stariel can have a lord to protect it from fae monsters.”

  Marius frowned and closed the book he was reading. “But I haven’t heard back from my friend about where the fake Stone might have been made. That still might tell us something.”

  “Yes, but it might not, and what if there are more draken?” The word felt strange on her lips. “I don’t even know how we survived last night’s one, let alone more!” She told him about how she’d burned the draken with her pyromancy.

  Marius wasn’t as surprised as she’d expected. “It’s probably because you were on Valstar lands. I’ve been doing some more reading, and I get the strong impression that Stariel historically gives a boost to those of us with magic.” As Hetta blinked at him, he smiled and added, “You didn’t really think you were the first Valstar to be magically inclined?”

  “Well, Father certainly managed to keep that out of the family histories he was so fond of telling.”

  “Yes.” Marius’s expression took on a faraway look. “I’m beginning to think Father focussed on very select parts of our great and glorious inheritance.”

  “That’s not exactly a surprising revelation.”

  “No,” Marius agreed. “But it is oddly liberating to know that Father was not…”

  “Not the sole arbiter of the proper way to be a Valstar?” Hetta suggested.

  “Exactly. From my reading, Stariel gets ever more magical the further you go back. It seems to have been ebbing in more recent generations.” He frowned, fingering the edges of the book. “I wonder if the change point correlates to when Wyn’s Iron Law came into being? If being cut off from the rest of Faerie would have that effect?” His eyes took on that faraway look they got when he was chasing a hypothesis down a rabbit hole.

  Hetta shrugged, a little disquieted by the idea that events a realm away might have been affecting her family and estate for years without them knowing it. “Maybe. You’ll have to ask Wyn.”

  The abstracted look snapped out, replaced with one of sobriety. Marius drew in on himself slightly, and she knew he was preparing to say something he thought wouldn’t please her. “I’ve been thinking about who would want you to be Lord of Stariel, Hetta.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re about to reveal whatever dark secret you’ve been keeping from me?”

  She said the words lightly, not expecting the sudden change in Marius’s countenance. He went pale and choked, trying to cover his reaction unsuccessfully. He pulled away from her, and she put a hand on his shoulder, frowning. “Goodness! I didn’t mean to throw you into such a panic. I find it hard to believe that you have any secrets with the power to shock me, after all that we’ve seen lately. Unless you mean to sprout wings and horns and tell me you’re a changeling?”

  Marius gave a weak laugh but didn’t meet her eyes. “It’s—oh, it’s nothing to do with this, Hetta. I did think of someone who wanted me as lord, but he couldn’t have done it.”

  “What makes you think so?” She frowned, feeling she was missing something very obvious.

  Marius ran a hand through his hair in agitation. “I’ve been thinking back to his reaction when I saw him the day after the Choosing. He would—it would’ve been different if he’d planted an illusionist to choose me.” A memory came to her suddenly, of the blond-haired man who’d watched Marius with such intensity at the Choosing Ceremony.

  Hetta couldn’t help but remember how Marius’s mood had swung from cautious hope to black despair in the twenty-four hours after the Choosing, and a wild suspicion coursed through her. Her first reaction was denial, but it fit. It fit with the blackmail note she’d received, and Marius’s flushed cheeks and refusal to meet her eyes. She squeezed his shoulder where her hand still lay and said, picking her words carefully:

  “I overheard you and Wyn speaking, not long after the Choosing. He offered to help you in some way that involved magic. What was it?”

  Marius had gone very still. It was the stillness of a cornered creature too overwhelmed with panic to act. She’d pushed him too much. She pretended she hadn’t noticed and abruptly changed tack. She felt a little bad for her betrayal of a friend’s secret, but she knew Bradfield wouldn’t begrudge her it at this moment.

  “You know, a lot of people assumed I was in love with Bradfield, my theatre director, or he in love with me.”

  Marius’s frozen panic gave way to confusion. “What?”

  She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’ve known for such a long time how entirely impossible an affair between us would be that I have a tendency to treat such accusations with levity. I sometimes forget that the rest of the world can take a more serious view of such matters than I do. It has always seemed to me that love cannot be controlled by reason, that we don’t get to choose our attractions.” She looked at her brother intently. If her instinct was wrong, she was about to offend him very greatly, but if her instinct was right, then such words needed to be said. She chose her words with care. “Bradfield has always preferred men to women, and I have never thought the less of him for it, nor considered that he is wrong to act on such attractions.”

  Marius’s cheeks flamed red, and he looked at her with a kind of strangled disbelief. “Hetta—”

  She met his gaze steadily, waiting. Her heart raced with sudden relief. She had, she thought, judged correctly. Her calm seemed to allow Marius to take a hold of his emotions. He gave a choked sound and looked out the window, the colour in his face fading a fraction. He took a deep breath.

  “I cannot believe I’m having this conversation.”

  Hetta judged that the worst tension had passed. She gave a little huff of amusement. “No, I imagine not. And I’m sure I should be quite as embarrassed as you if you were to confront me with the details of my own past affairs. Some things one does not wish to discuss with one’s siblings.” She took a more serious tone. “But I cannot have you moping around over something so trivial.”

  “Trivial?” He looked at her sharply, eyebrows raised. “Trivial, Henrietta?”

  She held her hands up defensively. “I meant the matter in general, not whatever specific heartbreak you’ve recently suffered.”

  He glared at her for a second and then made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You’re as incomprehensible as Wyn.”

  “I take it he knows, then?” Hetta tried not to be hurt by that.

  “Yes,” Marius said, shortly. He began to unwind himself from the duvet, and she knew he was thinking of escape. Every line of him declared how desperate he was for the conversation to be over. She had an inappropriate urge to laugh at him, for he did look very ridiculous, his serious expression a
t odds with his bundled-up appearance. Instead of allowing him to extricate himself, she leaned forwards and put both arms around him, pulling him into an embrace. He stiffened, and she hugged him more tightly. Abruptly he relaxed, letting himself be comforted. His arms came up to return the hug, and he let out a long breath of tension.

  When she sat back, he was still flushed, but he met her eyes with a weak smile. “Wyn…helped me avoid a situation that would have been embarrassing for the family.” His eyes grew sad and distant. “It seems I’m not a very good judge of character.”

  Hetta thought of the note and felt a hot spurt of anger towards its author. “Blackmail?”

  He nodded stiffly. “Wyn knew a…a binding to prevent him from naming me.”

  “Ah.” She reached out and grasped his shoulder again. “I’m sorry.”

  Marius gave himself a shake and sat up straighter. “Well. Never mind that.” A thought seemed to occur to him, and he narrowed his eyes at her. “And what do you mean, your past affairs?”

  She gave him a very impish grin. “Are you really going to lecture me on such a head? And do you really want details?”

  His colour heightened again, but he didn’t back down entirely. “I’m still your older brother! Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at Wyn!”

  She couldn’t resist the temptation. “Well, he is a very attractive man.” She gave him a sly look. “Don’t you think so?”

  Marius spluttered. “Hetta!” She only laughed, but his expression sobered. “I don’t want to think this, but I feel I have to mention it…”

  “What?” she asked as he trailed off awkwardly.

  “The Star Stone. It occurred to me that…”

  “Yes?”

  Marius looked wretched. “Well, who do we know that can cast illusions and change their shape and who might have reasons of his own to want you to stay at Stariel?”

  “No,” Hetta said, immediate and fierce. “No, Marius. I won’t think that, and you shouldn’t either.”

  “I don’t want to think it!” Marius said, temper flaring. “But—perhaps, perhaps he ought to leave.”

  “My Star!” came Wyn’s voice from the library door. Marius and Hetta both started as they turned towards the sound, and Marius flushed again.

  Wyn came towards them through alternating bars of light and shadow from the narrow windows. His slippered feet made no sound on the wooden floor. He moved more slowly than usual, the bulk of bandages warping the fabric of his shirt. Hetta couldn’t help imagining the arch of wings filling the space behind him. She wasn’t quite sure what she thought of that. There had been that charged, breathless moment between them in the ballroom yesterday, and she wasn’t quite sure what to think of that either. She tried to read her friend’s expression, but it held no evidence that he was remembering that moment.

  He paused when he caught sight of their faces, unnaturally grim. “I have come to say that I think it might be best if I leave Stariel. That draken last night was here for me. If I am not here—”

  “No,” Hetta said firmly. “Who’s to say they wouldn’t send another one anyway to try and invade us while the boundaries are weak? Gwendelfear didn’t come here for you in the first place, and it can’t be coincidence that someone stole the Star Stone at the same time as your Iron Law came down. You’re the only fae we have on our side, and I’m not giving up that advantage just because you think now is a good time to play the martyr. Plus,” she added, staring down at her hands, “I might not be lord, but I’m not exactly useless at dealing with fae monsters.”

  “Yes, sit down, you fool,” Marius said. “Of course we’re not going to throw you out.”

  Hetta cocked her head at her brother, who had the grace to blush and look at his feet. “Well, if we’re about to be inundated by fairies, I’d rather have one we know on our side.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Hetta—”

  Hetta flicked a hand up to stop him. “Enough. Wyn, Marius spoke correctly. Stop being so foolish, my friend. You said you’d stay until Stariel was safely re-lorded. Are you going to go back on that now?”

  He canted his head to one side, and she could see him weighing factors. “Very well.”

  “Good. Now, do you know where Jack is?”

  When she found Jack, he was engaged in cleaning the weapon he’d used the night before, along with several others, and his aspect was subdued. A strange expression flitted across his face when he saw her.

  “Did Marius say anything more about who might want to see him as Lord of Stariel?” His face was turned towards the metal tools on the workbench. He had a rag in his right hand, and he folded it mechanically into ever-smaller squares, setting it down next to the rest of his kit with exaggerated care.

  “Ah—no.” Hetta decided that this wasn’t her secret to tell, even if she could be sure of Jack’s reaction. She suspected he might not be quite so blasé about it as she was. “I was actually coming in search of you.” She took a deep breath. “I thought the announcement of the mistake at the Choosing to the family would go more easily if it came from the three of us. I don’t think there’s any point in waiting till after the Faire.”

  “No,” Jack said, the word grudging but clear. His hands clenched into fists, rumpling the rag that he’d folded so neatly moments before. “No, don’t do that.” His next words were directed at the floor. “Stariel needs to be united right now, and it needs at least the appearance of having a lord.”

  Hetta froze. The urge to ask him to repeat himself was strong. “I’m surprised to hear you say that. Especially after last night, which for me rather highlighted the need to acquire a new Stone as soon as possible, since Marius and I have hit only dead ends so far trying to find the old one. I would assume the search for raw star indigo would go easier if we could search for it openly.”

  But Jack was shaking his head again, mouth twisted bitterly as he did so.

  “After last night, I think it’s bloody necessary we have someone here to scare off fairies if need be. And you…what you did last night. Bloody hell, Hetta, I didn’t know you could do that.” Jack turned away from her again. “I’ll keep looking. You and Marius keep inquiring. After the Faire, if we still haven’t found the Star Stone…but it does no good to air our dirty laundry for all to see in the meantime.”

  Hetta hadn’t known her cousin had this deep vein of duty in him. His dislike of the situation was tangible, yet here he was holding it in check for what he saw as the greater good.

  Hetta reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off impatiently.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. He merely grunted, and she took that for the dismissal it was.

  As she opened the door, he said suddenly from behind her:

  “You did well last night.”

  Hetta paused on the threshold but couldn’t think what to say. She left without speaking.

  35

  The Frost Faire

  Despite Jack’s words and Hetta’s intentions, they were no further along when the day of the Frost Faire dawned, with a truly impressive frost colouring the world white. A thin layer of ice crusted the shoreline of Starwater, but the sky was cold and clear, and the pale sun began to work at melting it away as soon as it rose.

  In Meridon, winter faires sprang up along the banks of the river in the weeks before Wintersol like so many elaborate mushrooms. The Stariel Frost Faire on the first of December was necessarily a much smaller affair, but it was also a more intimate one. Hetta remembered, vividly, her first Wintersol away from home and how she’d felt both fiercely lonely and overwhelmed by the crowds. The years had turned the great city from stranger to friend, but she’d still felt the distance from her family in that season particularly.

  Wyn was a veritable dervish of activity, both supervising, easing fraying tempers, and lending a hand where needed. Boards were put down on the village green to prevent the passage of feet from churning it to mud. Braziers had to be installed. Stalls wer
e set up as per the plan laid out on a great sheet of paper propped up at the entrance. Cook prepared a mountain of toffee apples, all carefully wrapped in wax paper. These were transported alongside boxes of sloe gin and sloe jelly, the specialties of Stariel House.

  Hetta’s offer to use her illusory powers for the occasion had been cautiously accepted by the village council. She supposed they could hardly refuse such an offer when it came from their lord. Sweet Mother Eostre knew what they would think when the truth came out after the Faire, but she didn’t much care. The satisfaction of showing off the full glory of her magic in her home village at least once was worth it. She knew the sceptics were in for a shock; they were judging her based on the lowliest of her profession. The isolated North had never seen a trained master illusionist of Hetta’s calibre.

  I have quite outdone myself, Hetta thought as she looked upon what she’d wrought. The village green had taken on the appearance of a great frozen lake, only without the cold or slipperiness of real ice. She’d based the stalls on those she’d seen once at a Meridon faire: the exteriors fashioned from rough-hewn wooden logs and icicles entwined with holly hanging from their A-frame roofs. Thickly furred spruces shed coloured snowflakes at intervals between the stalls. Around the whole floated magelights disguised as old-fashioned lamps, hanging unsupported in mid-air. She had, she admitted privately, perhaps gone a trifle overboard in her efforts to impress.

  The locals were wary at first, tentatively placing their feet on the fake ice as if expecting an explosion. Some grumbled about this not being quite what they were used to, but they weren’t immune to the charm of the scene. She caught one of the most vocal critics smiling with innocent wonder up at a floating lamp, though his expression quickly changed to a frown when he saw her watching.

  The children were the most rewarding audience—but also the most demanding. They poked the floating lamps with long sticks and exclaimed when their attempts went straight through without so much as a ripple. They tried to catch the snowflakes in their fingers and laughed when they burst into clouds of green sparks on contact. Hetta smiled, pleased she’d thought to add that touch.