by Zoe Chant
Robin gave a great sigh and turned their face away. Were they disappointed? Did they—rightly—think that Ansel wasn’t worthy of a woman like Tadra? A woman who held a quarter of the remaining magic of faery, one of the truest of the crown’s knights.
Then they looked back. “Does she feel the same?”
Did she? Did Ansel imagine the warmth in her eyes or overestimate what was only friendship and affection? “It doesn’t matter,” he said mournfully. He wasn’t her key, even if he might have been. He couldn’t anchor her to this world and allow her to access her power. He couldn’t keep Kevin from draining her to her bones whenever he wanted.
“It matters,” Robin countered softly. “That could be why Cerad can’t enchant you. It could be why Cerad can’t enchant her. Love is its own kind of magic, and it can be stronger and wilder than even the deep magic of faery. It can undo whole worlds. The key spell wasn’t just meant to connect two people magically, it was meant to find people who could love each once they were connected.”
“I don’t want to undo worlds,” Ansel said. “I just want to undo what Kev—Cerad has done. You never said whether I could kill him or not.”
Robin frowned. “I don’t know what harming him would do to Tadra. They are bound together, whether they should have been or not.”
It wasn’t a risk that Ansel could take, and his helplessness made him ache. “Then we find another way to stop him. How do we break the spell he has over everyone?”
“The enchantment he’s using is very simple and requires almost no power; it merely builds on one of the most basic magics of faery. The human brain already tries to fill in gaps—I’m sure you’ve seen those visual tricks where colors don’t actually exist, or read the articles about how witnesses can be influenced.”
“People are sheep?” Ansel supposed sourly.
“Not sheep,” Robin said. “They are complicated vessels of emotion and imagination. Their minds want to protect them from confusion and pain, and it can be easy to lead them to comfort with gentle falsehood. This magic simply makes an easy path for that. You merely blank out the parts you don’t want them to feel or think about and let their own imaginations do the rest. It isn’t the same as controlling them, as manipulating them like puppets, and it isn’t the same as removing their memory. It simply cuts off their will in very particular ways. It is, in some ways, the light side of what dours do, the way that they enhance all the greed and anger without specifically directing it. I suspect that Cerad does not have the power here to do any more than this, or he would be more flagrantly using the knights’ unlocked magic. He, like all of us, is limited in your world.”
That made sense with what Ansel had witnessed. The enchanted knights and their keys slid off any topics that might cause distress, to the absence of caring about anything but each other. They laughed and seemed merry, but it was all dulled by a lack of depth.
“How do we break it?” he asked again.
Robin paced the table, their wings gleaming behind them. “If I had more power, I could do it directly. There was a time I would have been able to do it with a thought.” They looked down at themself with frustrated resignation. “It will have to be subtle, but the spell must have weaknesses. There are topics that won’t allow any purchase—the coming battle, I would guess, and doubts about Kevin himself, possibly even knowledge of their own power. But perhaps we can go in sideways, find a place that is still tender, that will allow us to infiltrate the indifference and get through to the real person behind.”
“While not letting onto Kevin—Cerad—that we know who he is and what he’s doing,” Ansel said wryly. “That’s all. Can he re-enchant you?”
Robin’s dark eyes went flinty. “I know what he’s doing now,” the fable said firmly. “He won’t have luck with that again.”
Chapter 23
The first few times Tadra had come back to Ansel’s strange house from being out in the even stranger world, it felt nothing like a home. Now, with her shieldmates and their keys...and Kevin...Tadra was filled with relief and comfort at the sight of it. This was where she belonged. Not the noisy mall, or the cold streets, but here in the house that was so filled with her memories of Ansel.
Even the sight of the excited dogs gave Tadra gladness and relief.
She couldn’t help but wonder anxiously, had Ansel been able to get through to Robin? Was there any hope that he had been able to crack through Kevin’s enchantment?
Ansel greeted them all with his fake-jovial act and Tadra watched him for any clues that he had genuine good news, hopeful for a sign of optimism or victory.
But they were both hyper-aware of Kevin’s scrutiny and Ansel gave no hint of any thought beyond greeting them and getting the dogs back out of the way as everyone flowed in. He was friendly, offering up the table in the dining room for wrapping gifts and coming to direct the unpacking of the groceries. He was so convincingly light-hearted that Tadra was actually worried he’d fallen under the spell until he signed a quick Play along at her.
“Tomorrow, we feast!” he joked. “You must have bought half the store. Where are we going to put the turkey? I hope you got one that was thawed! Here, let’s put the potatoes in the pantry, they’ll be fine there until we have more room in the fridge.”
He flashed Tadra a thumbs up, but Tadra was not certain if it was meant to be a casual greeting for the benefit of the others or a message that he’d talked to Robin.
Real Robin, not the dazed, distracted version of Robin that was a farce of their real self. She caught Kevin’s suspicious glance and smiled in what she hoped was a compellingly cheerful way. She had the bag with her gifts in her arms, and she clutched it close, like she was trying to hide it.
“Let’s wrap presents,” Daniella invited. “Girls first! Guys out!”
Tadra was herded into the dining room with the keys, and she was keenly aware of how different it had been to wrap gifts with Ansel. They chattered merrily, gossiping about what they’d gotten their knights, what they were making for dinner, what they hoped to get.
They did their best to include Tadra, but she could barely converse with them, as much because she didn’t understand their slang and obscure references as because she couldn’t speak. They were all from this world and lived in it effortlessly.
Once she’d wrapped her gifts—they were unimpressed by her hardwon skills with the tape—she slipped back out to the living room with the bright-covered packages in her arms.
Robin was standing on a footstool in the empty room, gazing at the lit tree. All the overhead lights were off, making it glow in the dark space, and Robin was edged in silver and flickering with green and red.
But was it Robin? Had Ansel been able to crack Kevin’s enchantment, or was this only the hollow shell of Robin, moving through the motions of life without their full will?
She must have made some small noise, or perhaps Robin merely sensed her, because they swiveled to see her, and gestured her closer. They glanced behind her, and pressed a finger to their lips—a useless reminder, since she could not speak. Tadra went to the tree and put her gifts with Ansel’s beneath it.
From the dining room, there was more laughter and someone turned on Christmas music. They chattered and scolded each other for peeking.
Tadra turned back from the tree, searching Robin’s face for clues.
“I am myself,” they said quietly, to her crashing relief. “I remember our purpose and know about Kevin’s falsehood.”
Tadra sank down to her knees before them. So worried, she signed, even though Robin wouldn’t know the words. She wasn’t even sure if they were official sign language or words that she and Ansel had made up as they struggled together learning to communicate.
They sighed. “I owe you many things,” they said, in a voice uncharacteristically filled with regret. “Most of all, the truth.”
Tadra looked up at them, confused.
“I always told you that the crown you were meant to protect was broken, bu
t I never told you how, or why...or that I was the vessel of the crown.”
She pointed at them hesitantly and mimed a crown upon her head.
“I was the crown of the kingdom,” Robin said.
Tadra felt that she ought to be surprised. She wasn’t sure if so much had happened that she was merely numb to shock...or if some part of her had always known. There was something about Robin that hinted at greater power, a deeper well of wisdom, and they had always discouraged talking about themself. The crown...had felt like a distant abstract, and Tadra saw with unexpected clarity that the crown that Robin had taught them about was the ideal of themself.
A dozen of their disparaging remarks came into ironic focus.
If she had not already been kneeling, she would have then, so she merely bowed her head. She did not have a sword to raise, so she made the sign for shieldmate and kept her fists crossed across her chest.
“Tadra,” they said warmly. “Tadra, the bravest and most foolish of my knights. In some ways you are the wisest.”
She looked up and caught a smile across their face, a smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes.
“There is more…”
Tadra could not speak and keep her arms crossed, so she released them and shrugged. What else?
Noise from the doorway behind her made them both freeze, but whoever it was moved on to the kitchen without pausing.
Robin sat on the footstool, and speaking quietly, told her a story that was familiar, with new details that changed the truth she’d known completely. Kevin was Cerad. Cerad had been Robin’s companion, and Robin had tried to help him heal from grief and made a terrible mis-step.
“I didn’t understand the power of the heart, or the complexity of human emotion,” Robin admitted with humility. “I had boundless magic energy, but I could not spare him his suffering without changing the basic blocks of who he was...what he was. I told you that Cerad betrayed me, that he wanted power, and that was true, but it wasn’t the truth. I betrayed him, by doing as he asked me to, and he is only trying to fill the void that I left in him.”
Then Robin gave her a sharp look and stopped speaking.
Tadra did not lower her gaze, suspecting a test. How could she express that she did not blame Robin? She could not repeat the vows that she’d made as a knight out loud, but she was not going to cast them aside because she learned new details that didn’t change her loyalty.
Robin went on. “When I realized what I’d done, when I saw how the magic of our world was being tainted by the darkness I’d crafted, I was desperate to save it. I took what was left and divided it into four vessels.” They stopped, glancing again at the doorway behind Tadra but there was no need for them to say more.
Four vessels.
Four knights.
Her magic half was not merely a gift of intangible power to aid in her mission, it was a pillar of their world. When Robin told them that they were the protectors of their kingdom, of the broken crown, they had not meant it metaphorically. Her firebird was a part of the deep magic, one of the last unsullied pieces of her world.
Tadra mimed pulling from her chest, offering her hands back to Robin. Could she give it back? Would she lose her firebird altogether? It was hard to remember a time before the two of them had been one.
Robin’s face softened, and they shook their head. “I do not believe that it would be possible. The power has bled into every pore of your being, like a dye staining wool. If it was taken from you, it would not leave enough to live as merely a human.”
Like when Kevin—Cerad!—drained her of what little magic she had and her human form could barely stand.
Tadra let her breath hiss in her mouth.
Cerad had control of her. And all the knights, if not to the same degree. Which meant that he had access to all of that power that he needed. And his purpose was not different now; he wanted the riches and wealth of this world for his own.
Tadra made the sign of a key into her hand and it was universal enough that Robin knew it at once. “Cerad has the connection of your key, the magic that would have anchored you to this world. But he is not from this world, any more than you are, and magic has a different flavor here. I believe that his access to your magic is limited just as the other knights were limited before they bonded with their keys.”
What now? Tadra asked. Stop him.
Robin drew their chin up with determination. “I don’t know how to make everything right again, but I will not let this world fall because of my mistakes with my own. I will find a way to break his power over all of you.”
Tadra felt greatly comforted. Robin was the fable she knew again, her teacher and friend. She trusted that they could do as they vowed.
Then they looked searchingly at Tadra. “Ansel. You have feelings for him.”
Ansel. Even the sound of his name made her feel weak. A knight should not have distractions from their goals, Tadra realized with shame. She gestured to her heart and covered her ears, shaking her head. She couldn’t listen to her foolish heart.
Robin took to the air and touched their forehead against Tadra’s where she still knelt.
“Your heart is the greatest part of you,” they said firmly, taking her face in both tiny hands. “Always listen to it and never underestimate it the way that I did.”
It was hard to focus her gaze on them so close, so Tadra closed her eyes and soaked in the comfort of her mentor...her crown. Her breast burned with mixed feelings.
Robin retreated back to their footstool. Tadra shrugged her helplessness. What should she do next? Cerad had all the power of her firebird at his command.
“Keep on as you have,” they advised, either guessing her question or simply moving to the next logical step. “I do not understand Cerad’s plan yet, to know how best to thwart it. I suspect he is waiting for the time that the veil is weakest, to call over his bleaks for a swift victory.”
Tadra scowled and gave the sign for her firebird, then shook her fists in frustration.
“There is one—” Robin cut themself off as Daniella came sailing into the room with Gwen, both of them laden with gifts.
“Yes, yes,” Robin joked. “I see how it is. All the gifts for the knights, none of them for the fable. Never mind, I’m fine, I know my lot in life. A whole year in Ansel’s odiferous warehouse, I suppose this will still be an improvement over that.”
The keys teased the fable back, saying Robin clearly didn’t need the presents that had been picked out for them if they weren’t going to appreciate the gesture.
Trey and Rez swept in after them, making a show of squeezing and shaking their presents over the protests of their keys.
Tadra pretended to laugh along, but she watched them cover her presents with their own and wistfully wished them back, whole and real again, or not here at all so that she could enjoy this time alone with Ansel again.
Chapter 24
“You aren’t calling your mother?” Ansel asked Gwen, when he caught her alone in the media room. “Daniella and Heather are both off doing their daughterly duty.”
Gwen was playing some kind of zombie shooter game and she looked back over her shoulder at him. “I’ll call tomorrow, when everyone’s in a food coma. Mom is less likely to give me a hard time about wasting my life if it’s Christmas proper, but Christmas Eve would totally be free game.”
Ansel glanced out down the hallway behind him and decided that shutting the door would be too suspicious. He came to sit beside her on the couch, using the excuse of sharing from the open bag of popcorn that she had on the coffee table her feet were propped up on.
“I won’t get butter on the couch,” she promised.
“Clean it up if you do,” Ansel said casually. “Hey, Gwen, do you think there’s something a little weird going on?”
“Weird how?” Gwen asked, grimacing and pounding on one of the buttons with her thumbs. “Weird like flying fables and tiny dogs and what Henrik did to the microwave? Dammit, that’s not what I was tryi
ng to do. This controller is on its last legs; I’m hoping they have a sale on them after Christmas.”
“Weirder than that,” Ansel said more directly. “Like there’s something—someone—messing with our minds.”
Gwen looked at him a moment, confusion crinkling her brow as she seemed to think about it. “Like who?”
“Like Kevin,” Ansel suggested. “Don’t you think he’s a little...off?”
He was watching her carefully and saw the exact moment that he said Kevin’s name and her brain seemed to switch off. “It’s nothing,” she said, shrugging as she gave Ansel a giant, false smile. “It took all of us keys a little while to connect with our knights, you know. It’s no big deal. Don’t push them, it’ll work out.” She turned back to her game in time to make a spectacular save. “Aw, yeah. Eat it, Gamer69.”
Ansel felt like he was witnessing a telemarketer reading from a script.
“Think about it, Gwen,” he pressed. “The veil to the other world is going to be thin at the end of the year. A week away. Shouldn’t we be a little concerned about that?”
Gwen gave no indication that she’d even heard him, concentrating on her game as if she’d forgotten about Ansel altogether. He reached forward and snatched the controller out of her hands. “Listen to me,” he insisted. “I want you to think about you and Henrik, facing off against the superdours just a couple of weeks ago. Remember that? Remember how seriously we were taking everything then?”
She gaped at him, looking shocked by his action, but still not as alarmed as she ought to, just confused. She tried to take the gamepad back, but not with the kind of effort Ansel would expect from her, like all of her reactions were muted and slow. Gwen had always had fighter-honed reflexes, so it was particularly obvious in her motions. He racked his memory for some way to get through to her.
Robin had said that love was a special kind of magic. “Henrik,” Ansel said desperately. “Aren’t you worried about Henrik? What if someone is messing with his brain, trying to control him?”