A Split Worlds Omnibus

by Emma Newman

  “I do faithfully promise…”

  “To honour and obey my husband in all things.”

  They stuck in her throat but she forced them out. Just words.

  “To forsake all others and to bear my husband’s children…”

  Just words.

  “And to strive to please my husband and my new family till death do us part.”

  The tears were rolling freely now. William was trying his best to look encouraging.

  “Do you, William Reticulata-Iris, take Catherine Rhoeas-Papaver to be your wife, in accordance with the wishes of your family and patron?” said Sir Papaver.

  “I do.” Not a hint of reluctance. He was an extraordinarily good liar. She needed to remember that.

  “Then repeat after me. I do faithfully promise to protect my wife, provide for her comfort and defend her honour, until death do us part.”

  He repeated it in one go and Cathy seethed. She’d pseudo-promised to bear children and give up her life altogether and all he had to do was ensure she had somewhere to live and duel anyone who badmouthed her.

  The Patroons turned their backs and looked up at the tree. Two faeries burst out from the canopy, each holding a ring made of oak. As she watched them being dropped into the Patroons’ hands Cathy couldn’t recall ever seeing wooden wedding rings in Society.

  Sir Papaver gave a ring to William, who took her left hand gently, waited for her fist to unclench and then held it at the tip of her finger.

  Following the Patroon’s guidance, he repeated, “With this ring, I thee wed. Let it be a reminder of your vows to me and my family as long as you live.”

  He slid it on easily, despite the clamminess, and she thought for a moment that it was far too large. She enjoyed the thought of being able to lose it easily. But when it reached the base of the finger, it tightened into a snug fit and gave off such a pulse of magic that she physically jolted. As she stared at it, the ring paled and took on a golden sheen.

  Then the other ring was being held out to her for William. “With this ring, I thee wed. Let it be a reminder of your vows to me as long as you live.” He didn’t shudder when it shrank.

  The Papaver Patroon stepped back and let Sir Iris take the centre. “I now declare you man and wife.”

  The hall was filled with polite applause. William lifted her veil and smiled at her, leaning in for a kiss. She stood rigid as his lips brushed hers. They were soft and he smelt of peppermint.

  Imogen waited patiently, holding a new bouquet of brilliant blue irises. “Welcome to the Reticulata-Iris family,” she said with a false smile and thrust it towards her.

  After she took the flowers William extended his arm to her. When she just stood there, too dumbstruck to move, he gently took her free hand, tucked it in place and they set off back down the aisle as the congregation stood, still applauding.

  Soon the din was behind them and they emerged into the Nether. “Are you all right?” William asked quietly, feeling her violent trembling.

  Cathy couldn’t form words in any sensible order. She felt like she wanted to cry and throw up and faint all at the same time. He gently wiped the tears from one cheek and she flinched. “Don’t do that,” she said, disturbed by the intimacy of the gesture.

  “I’m sorry. I just want you to feel better.”

  “I hardly think you’re the one able to do that,” she snapped and then the attendants were offering congratulations and all she wanted to do was push them away and run.

  William used the opportunity to back off from her for a few moments, long enough for her to feel guilty. He’d been forced as much as her, he just dealt with it better. She reached for his hand and when he came closer she whispered, “I’m sorry,” in his ear.

  “Could I have a moment with my wife?” he asked, eliciting excited commentary on the first use of the word. He drew her away. “Thank you. We need to just get through today, all right? Just smile and nod, it’ll pass, then we’ll talk tonight.”

  The conjugal night. Her stomach flipped unpleasantly. “I’ll try,” she said.

  “You really do look wonderful, Catherine,” he said. “I want to try to make the best of this. I hope you will too.”

  She couldn’t stop the tears. He turned her so her back was to the emerging guests, saying soothing nonsense whilst she sobbed as quietly as she could.

  “Catherine, I’m sorry, but there’s an Iris tradition we must observe now. You need to speak in private with my mother, before we can go in for the reception. She’s waiting for you.”

  Cathy turned to see her new mother-in-law waiting nearby, holding a small gift-wrapped package. “I don’t want her to see I’ve been crying.”

  “You’re not the first bride to cry afterwards,” he said. “She’s harmless, go on.”

  Cathy walked unsteadily towards her. William’s mother was smiling, but didn’t exactly look happy. She had the demeanour of someone waiting to inform a relative of an accident, rather than give a gift to a new daughter-in-law. Cathy realised it probably wasn’t far from the truth. She certainly felt the need for commiseration more than congratulations.

  “Hello, Catherine. Come with me.”

  Cathy was led to a nearby building where the reception would be taking place. It was in the same style as the Oak’s hall but on a smaller scale. They entered through a side door and went straight into a small room with two chairs and a table where tea was already laid out.

  “Sit down,” her mother-in-law said.

  Cathy did so, wondering whether her makeup was magical enough to have not ended up in rivulets down her cheeks.

  “Tea? I suggest you take some now, whilst you can.”

  Cathy nodded, worried that if she spoke her voice would crack. William’s mother had the same eyes as her son and a quiet grace. She looked less than five years older than her. It was strange to think she’d borne children and been married longer than Cathy had been alive.

  Cathy took the cup from her and it rattled in the saucer. “Sorry,” she whispered, unable to bring the trembling under control.

  “I understand. I sat where you are now, some years ago, talking to William’s paternal grandmother, and I shook so much she commented on how loudly my teeth were chattering.”

  Cathy smiled as best she could, grateful at the attempt to put her at ease even if it was ineffectual. The tea was strong and hot and, despite everything, comforting.

  “We’re about to have the same conversation I had all those years ago but before we begin, I should like you to call me Mother from now on.”

  “All right.” Cathy cleared her throat. “As you wish, Mother.”

  That earned another smile. “Good. I do understand how overwhelming this is. Your life has changed forever and it will take time to adjust. However, as a bride married into the Iris family, there’s something you need to know about before the reception.”

  She held out the package. Cathy set down the cup and saucer to take it from her. She untied the blue ribbon and unwrapped the gift. It was a pair of long evening gloves, beautifully made from iris-blue silk.

  “Thank you,” she said. “They’re lovely.”

  “They are very important. You may have felt a little flutter when the ring was placed on your finger…”

  “When it shrank to fit, yes.” Cathy looked at the ring again. It was hard to believe it had ever been made of wood.

  “It wasn’t just the adjustment. A Charm has been placed upon you, as on all new Iris brides, Catherine, just as it was placed on me.”

  Cathy’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her heart, which had been settling into a normal rhythm, started to pound again. “What Charm?”

  “Only an Iris man may touch you now. If a man other than William touches your skin, it will leave a mark on you and burn him.”

  “What?” Cathy sounded stupid in her shock.

  “I was just as surprised as you were. Take a moment,” Mrs Iris said, offering her the cup and saucer again. She set it back down when
Cathy just stared at it.

  “What if my brother kissed my cheek?”

  “He must not.”

  “What if…what if the Shopkeeper shook my hand?”

  “He must not, Catherine. You must always attend public functions gloved, and only ever present your hand. The mark, I am told, lasts until your husband chooses to lift it.”

  “This is awful!” Cathy stared at the ring. “Did he know?”

  “William? No, his father will be speaking to him now.”

  But you knew, Cathy thought. She’d only met William’s mother twice, very briefly, and had no idea what she was like. If her own mother was anything to go by Cathy knew it would be best to stay calm and not show any anger. That always closed down the conversation with her mother and set them at odds. Perhaps, if she did things differently right from the start, her mother-in-law could be an ally.

  “I can see it’s a shock but, as my mother-in-law said to me, only a woman who covets the touch of another man would be upset by this.”

  Cathy pressed her lips together, choking on the beginning of a tirade against the patriarchy and how that kind of thinking allowed this barbarism to continue. Could she keep it all in long enough to get through this conversation, let alone the rest of the day? The rest of her life? No, just today, she promised herself, just shut up and get through today and then you can find a way out.

  Her silence was making Mrs Iris uncomfortable. “I suggest you drink your tea. When you’re ready to go to the reception, put on the gloves and I’ll escort you back in.”

  Cathy looked at the silk gloves. The thought of putting them on to go and smile and curtsy after this made her feel sick to the stomach. Holding in the rage and the urge to sob was making her chest ache. Shouldn’t she say something? Wasn’t quiet conformity to this misogynistic farce perpetuating the problem?

  “I didn’t want to marry either,” Mrs Iris said gently. “In fact, I doubt any marriage that has taken place in front of that tree was entered into with a glad heart. It will get easier.”

  “How did you cope?” Cathy asked. “Didn’t you feel angry?”

  Mrs Iris picked up her tea cup and saucer again. “Anger is not becoming in a lady. I knew that pushing against the inevitable would only make it hurt more. Let it go. It’s done, find new friends, find a hobby, bear your children and you will be left in peace.”

  “I’m not like you,” Cathy said, unable to stop her voice cracking. “What if I can’t just grin and bear it?”

  “Then you have to learn, or your life will become insufferable very quickly.”

  Cathy broke down, unable to hold it in any longer. She expected a savage verbal attack, but instead felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “I can see how hard this is for you,” she said, speaking softly, “and I’m not without sympathy. But I know there are plans for my son, and he will need your total support. Don’t make his life more difficult. He’s a kind, loving boy and, if you let him, he’ll be kind to you.”

  5

  Max leaned heavily on the walking stick, doing his best to ignore the terrible aching in his back as he held his position on the other side of the spy-hole. Petra sat beside him, ear pressed to the wall, making notes. Occasionally she shook her head at Mr Ekstrand’s attempts to be sociable with the Master of Ceremonies in the living room on the other side of the wall.

  Lavandula had come straight from his niece’s wedding and had been full of details about it for the first cup of tea. Uninterested, Max picked up on the gargoyle’s occasional bouts of laughter on the other side of the house. He hadn’t realised Wuthering Heights was a comedy. Its foul mood at being unable to help the tainted seemed to have lifted once it realised there was nothing to be done for them without the Chapter to take them in and care for them. If the Chapter was still intact they would have been given a new life, becoming researchers and staff to support the Arbiters. Now they were doomed to be slaves of the Fae, forever.

  “I should imagine that Londinium is quite different without the Rosas,” Ekstrand said, bringing Max’s attention fully back to the conversation.

  “Yes, all scrabbling to decide who’ll be the next Duke, no doubt,” Mr Lavandula said. He was dressed in an oyster-coloured satin jacket and breeches and a lavender-blue waistcoat embroidered with silver and pearls. “Though, between you and me, dear Ekkie, I don’t think things will change too radically. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Rosas remain in control of the domain one way or another.”

  “But the Rosas must have suffered once their actions were discovered?”

  “Oh, yes, the Agency rounded them up quite dramatically.”

  Agency? Petra mouthed to Max. He shrugged. For a moment he thought of the Judd Street talent agency that had snared those blondes. But that was connected to the Rosas, a front for their business interests and a means to lure in the right kind of innocents, not an organisation that would round them up.

  “The ones they could find,” Lavandula said. “That’s the thing about the Rose, pull it up in one corner of the garden and you’ll find it springing up somewhere else. The family is just the same. They have deep roots beneath the surface all over Londinium, nay, all of Albion. Apart from Aquae Sulis, of course.” He sniffed, lifting a lace-edged handkerchief to his face to frame his smile. “My sister and I are certain of that.”

  “Won’t the Agency have a means to find them? Your people have Charms for that very purpose.”

  “The Rosas have wealth; they can afford the very best means of hiding. Mark my words, my sorcerous friend, we have not seen the last of them.”

  “I suppose you aren’t concerned about what happens in Londinium.” Ekstrand poured more tea.

  “Oh, I’m more interested than I used to be. My favourite niece has taken up residence there—the one who helped you to find me—so I’ve made it my business to find a little Londinium bird or two. In fact, just today I heard one of the minor Ranunculus family sons fell foul of an Arbiter in Hampstead. How embarrassing. Tell me, how is your broken Arbiter? Recovering well?”

  “Yes,” Ekstrand said with a nod, handing over a refilled cup. “It’s good to know the Sorcerer of Essex is keeping London safe.”

  “Mmm.” Lavandula sipped his tea. “It’s certainly good to know that the hapless Buttercups are as harmless as they ever were. And may I congratulate you on the delicious drama you effected upon my return; it quite distracted those at the ball from my…condition. Why, not a soul has commented upon the fact my cravat was missing, nor the state of my clothing and general struggle to be conscious, let alone erudite. They were all looking at you being so magnificent. It was so thoughtful of you, Ekkie dear.”

  Ekstrand made an attempt to smile graciously. “I’m glad you’re recovering so well.”

  “Indeed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, seeing as we’re all caught up and can put that terrible business behind us, I need to get back to putting the Season in order again.” Lavandula finished his tea and set the cup and saucer down gently. He stood and held out his hand to Ekstrand. “I do appreciate the understanding we have. It puts the other cities to shame. Why no one else has such an understanding in their domains I have no idea.”

  “Perhaps they have more to hide,” Ekstrand suggested.

  “Perhaps the other Sorcerers aren’t as charming as you.” Lavandula patted the top of Ekstrand’s hand as they shook. “Axon will see me out, ta-ta!”

  “Taddles!” Ekstrand waved awkwardly.

  Max waited for the front door to shut before following Petra into the room they’d been spying on. Ekstrand was flopped in his armchair, exhausted. At the sound of them entering, he opened one eye and looked at his librarian.

  “You did very well, Mr Ekstrand,” she said, helping Max sit comfortably. “Just one thing: it’s ‘toodles’, not ‘taddles’.”

  “I thought it was toodle-pip or not at all,” Ekstrand said. “It’s most confusing and by the end of our meetings I’m so tired.”

  “But we have the inform
ation we need,” Max said. “The London Arbiters are still policing the other families, so it seems they had a deal with the Rosas in particular.”

  “And we know the Roses have either been rounded up or are hiding,” Petra added. “Mr Ekstrand, do you know anything about this ‘Agency’ Lavandula mentioned?”

  “Not a jot, and I’m not happy about it,” Ekstrand said, alert once again. “I knew I should have stayed to see what the Censor did with them. Maximilian, I want you to find out more about this Agency. If the puppets have developed a group to administer justice in the Nether, I want to know about it. And we need to interrogate a Rosa. If this Agency has them, we have to find it.”

  “Or we could try and find one of the Rosas in hiding,” Max suggested.

  “That may be less complicated,” Ekstrand replied. “I don’t want to get tangled up with an organisation I’ve only just heard about. Why has no one told me about this?”

  Max spread his hands. “I think the puppet who helped us before should be approached. Sam said she knew more about Mundanus than they normally would. The puppets don’t usually let their daughters travel in Mundanus, or learn its ways. Only the wealthiest sons do that, from what I understand. I’m wondering if she has some insights into staying hidden. She may know more about this agency too.”

  “Good idea. I’ll prepare an Opener, so she can come to us, and ask Lavandula to get it to her,” Ekstrand said. “He’ll enjoy the intrigue.”

  Will unlocked the door of the penthouse apartment hoping their cases had already arrived and the champagne supper he’d arranged was waiting for them. Catherine hadn’t said a word since they’d left the reception. He was glad that his father had arranged for a temporary Way straight to the building. If he’d had to sit in silence with her all the way from Bath to London it would have been unbearable.

  “In Mundanus the groom carries the bride over the threshold,” he said as he pushed the door open to the scent of fresh iris flowers.

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “After you then.”

  The apartment was in the centre of London within walking distance of practically every famous landmark. He’d almost forgotten what the constant rumbling of a city’s background noise was like, and the smell of the polluted air. The sound of sirens and car horns took him back to his Grand Tour. He looked forward to exploring the city again.