Chantress

by Amy Butler Greenfield

  “Of course not.” There was a disdainful edge to Lady Helaine’s voice, as if she were explaining the obvious to imbeciles. “It is the heart that hears Wild Magic. And thus it is the heart that must be protected from the songs of those who would harm us. As long as a Chantress keeps her stone close to her heart, she will be safe.”

  “Er . . . I see.” Sir Barnaby nodded uncertainly.

  Nat and Penebrygg looked as if they would like to ask more questions, but I was the one who spoke first. “I heard singing even before I took off the stone—out in the garden, on the island. How can that be?”

  “That happens sometimes,” Lady Helaine admitted. “Especially when the Chantress is young and powerful and very vulnerable, as you are. When the Wild Magic is very strong—on Allhallows’ Eve, for instance—it may even discover your own desires and use them against you.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “What were you thinking of, the day you heard that music?” Lady Helaine’s eyes glimmered. “Were you thinking of how much you wanted to be home? Or were you, perhaps, wishing for adventure? For excitement?”

  How did she know? I looked away, not liking to be read so well.

  “And the Wild Magic heard you,” Lady Helaine said softly. “It heard you and called you home, and then put you in the greatest possible danger. That is what Wild Magic does. That is why you must wear your stone. If any Wild Magic does reach you—and only the strongest magic will—it will be too weak to do any real damage. It is only if you take the stone off and let the magic into your heart that you can be hurt by it.”

  “Fascinating,” Sir Barnaby murmured.

  Lady Helaine speared him with an angry glance. “You miss my point, sir, which is this: A Chantress who removes her stone and opens her heart to Wild Magic will soon find herself trapped or betrayed—or worse. As Lucy has learned to her cost.”

  I felt every eye come to rest on me.

  “The first mistake was yours, and yours alone,” Lady Helaine said to me. “It came out of ignorance, but it was no less serious for all that. You listened to the wind on Allhallows’ Eve—the wind that sings so sweetly and promises so much. And look what came of that. You were swept from your place of safety, and you lost Norrie.”

  I could not find any words to defend myself. What Lady Helaine said was true: I had bungled things badly.

  “But as if that were not bad enough, these men inveigled you into even worse mistakes. Nor can they have been as blind as you to the dangers.” She fixed them with an icy stare. “Gentlemen, what were you thinking? To listen to the wind is unwise, but to listen to moonbriar seeds, the food of the Shadowgrims—that is folly indeed!”

  Penebrygg and Sir Barnaby looked guiltily at each other. Nat stared at his hands.

  Lady Helaine’s face was dead white in the dark room, her voice rasping yet strangely melodic. “A Chantress who sings a moonbriar song may enter so deeply into another’s mind that she can never find her way back. Her heart will beat with his; she will forget her very existence. And the danger is greatest when the other person has considerable power and intends her harm. In that case, a Chantress may well be destroyed. And even if she does survive, the imprint of the person’s mind often stays with her, making her more susceptible to his influence. And this”—she lifted her hands in the air, almost helpless with rage—“this is what you have done to my goddaughter.”

  I blanched, remembering my last moments in Lord Scargrave’s head, with the ravens cawing and croaking.

  “And that is not all,” Lady Helaine said. “The Shadowgrims can smell Wild Magic being worked, and of all songs, they are most drawn to that of the moonbriar. By encouraging Lucy in her recklessness, you exposed her—and yourselves—to their horrors.”

  “The Shadowgrims know where we are?” Penebrygg exclaimed.

  “If they did, you would already be in the Raven Pit,” Lady Helaine said. “From what Lucy says, she sang only by day, when the Shadowgrims were sleeping—except once, when she walked into Scargrave’s mind at twilight, as the ravens were wakening. By the time they were in flight, the smell of the Wild Magic had subsided, and any traces that remained would have been blown away on the wind.” She added, “Not far enough, though. Didn’t you notice the Shadowgrims circling over the city that evening? Something was stirring them up. Perhaps it was that.”

  “We had no eyes for anything but Lucy,” Nat said roughly. Penebrygg nodded. Both of them looked shaken, however, as did Sir Barnaby. Did the prospect of those circling Shadowgrims horrify them as much as it did me?

  “Have we lost already?” I asked. “Have we no hope of defeating Scargrave?”

  Standing before the remains of the fire, Lady Helaine looked more tired than ever. “No, we have not lost. Not yet. I can teach you a safe way to sing. A way to sing with the stone on.”

  A safe way to sing? One that would not land me in Scargrave’s mind? I looked at Lady Helaine with new hope.

  “Tell us more,” Penebrygg said, his bespectacled face brightening.

  “It is secret knowledge, to be shared only among Chantresses.” Lady Helaine waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “All you need know is that it will take time. Perhaps quite a lot of time.” She looked at me. “We must find a safe place for you, somewhere well away from London, as far from Scargrave and the ravens as possible—”

  Sir Barnaby, Penebrygg, and Nat looked at each other.

  Lady Helaine broke off. “What is it?”

  “Bad news, I’m afraid,” Penebrygg said. “Sir Barnaby came here tonight to tell us about the new measures Scargrave put into place against Chantresses today. Something has rattled him—”

  “The mind-reading!” Lady Helaine said.

  “Possibly,” Penebrygg admitted. “In any case, he has ordered that every person who passes in or out of the city must be examined for the Chantress mark.”

  Fear rose like smoke inside me, suffocating and pervasive.

  “No exceptions will be made, no matter how it interrupts trade or business,” Sir Barnaby confirmed. “There will be additional watchers at the city gates and on the bridges and along the river. New Chantress-hunters have been appointed, and the Ravens’ Own are to help them with their work. It will be like the bad old days, when Chantress-hunting was at its height.”

  “The Ravens’ Own?” Lady Helaine echoed. “Are you sure?” When Sir Barnaby nodded, two red spots appeared on her parchment-white cheeks. “And you expect me to keep her safe against those hellhounds? Without magic, without money, without friends—”

  “You have us,” Penebrygg said.

  “But I have no home, no safe place to shield her,” Lady Helaine said. “I am constantly on the move, and even so, I have nearly been caught many times.”

  Nat, Penebrygg, and Sir Barnaby exchanged glances again.

  “What about—?” Nat began.

  “Indeed,” said Penebrygg.

  Sir Barnaby nodded. “Consider it settled.” To Lady Helaine, he said, “I know a place that is as safe as any in this city, one where the walls are exceedingly thick and you will not be overheard. You and Miss Marlowe may stay there, and while you are there, you can teach her what you know.”

  “And then she will put an end to the Shadowgrims,” Nat said.

  I heard the faint echo of those jabbering birds and shuddered. Somehow I must find the courage to face them again. Perhaps with Lady Helaine’s magic . . .

  “No,” Lady Helaine said.

  Nat’s hazel eyes turned cold. “You’re saying you have some other plan?”

  “I am saying that what you ask is not possible,” Lady Helaine said. “I do not have the song-spells for that. The Shadowgrims robbed me of them, and of much else besides. I remember only a handful of songs, and while they will help keep my goddaughter safe, I can assure you they will not allow her to defeat Scargrave.”

  I sagged back in my chair. Was that the best I could hope for—to live a life in hiding, keeping Scargrave at bay?
>
  As I stared at Lady Helaine in dismay, Penebrygg snapped his fingers. “We’ve forgotten the manuscript! Nat, will you fetch it for us?”

  Nat was already on his feet. In a moment, he was back, cradling two sheets of parchment in his hand.

  “Can you read this?” he said to Lady Helaine.

  Lady Helaine snatched at the manuscript. “Where did you find this?”

  “In a library far to the north, several years ago,” Penebrygg said. “A curious case, that. We had heard—”

  “Never mind that,” Sir Barnaby interrupted. “Can you tell us what it says, Lady Helaine? We are quite sure it is important, judging from how well it was hidden. Is it the song for destroying the Shadowgrims?”

  Lady Helaine scanned the pages. “No, it is not.”

  Disappointment, sharp as an awl, struck hard. It was a bitter blow. And then Lady Helaine looked up, her eyes wide and strangely dazed, and said, “It is something even better.”

  “Even better?” I repeated. What on earth did she mean?

  Lady Helaine hesitated and checked the manuscript again. “I saw this manuscript once, a very long time ago. I memorized every note—and then the Shadowgrims drove it from my mind. You are correct: It is indeed a song-spell of the highest importance.”

  “But what is it for, my lady?” Penebrygg implored.

  Lady Helaine’s raspy whisper echoed across the room. “It will destroy the grimoire itself.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  PLANS AND QUESTIONS

  “But what about the Shadowgrims?” I asked. “If Scargrave still has them, what does it matter if we destroy the grimoire?”

  “Once the grimoire is destroyed, its works will go with it,” Lady Helaine said. “Including the Shadowgrims.”

  “You are sure?” Nat asked.

  “Yes. It is how our magic works.”

  The mood in the room lightened considerably. Penebrygg and Sir Barnaby traded hopeful glances.

  “Then we can begin to make plans,” Sir Barnaby said. “Lady Helaine, how long will it take to teach your goddaughter the song?”

  “At least six months, I should imagine. And quite possibly more.” Lady Helaine ran her hand along the long strand of beads that hung around her neck. “Her progress will depend on how gifted she is, and how disciplined. But she is very inexperienced—and what little experience she has is of exactly the wrong sort. So one cannot expect miracles.”

  This withering assessment took the wind out of my sails.

  “Can she sing the song anywhere?” Sir Barnaby asked.

  “No. She must hold the grimoire in her hands.”

  I thought of the book I had seen, bound fast to the wall, when I was in Scargrave’s mind. My hand and his hand, blending . . . No! I must not think of that. I must stay myself, with no blurring at the edges. I forced myself back to the present, to the smoky room, and my godmother’s rasp, and the reassuring bulk of a slumbering Norrie against me.

  Sir Barnaby tapped his fingers against his chin. “So we must find a way to send her into the Tower of London undetected—and into Scargrave’s Chamber in the White Tower, where the grimoire is kept. That will be a challenge.”

  “It will be,” Lady Helaine agreed. “But I may be able to help there as well. Among the few song-spells that I remember is one for concealment.”

  “A spell of invisibility, you mean?” Penebrygg asked.

  “Nothing quite so powerful as that. The song makes it unlikely she will catch people’s gaze, but those who look carefully in her direction can usually see something—a glimmer, perhaps, or even a ghostly outline—and they may be able to track her down. But still, the song will help her, especially if she can be taught to move carefully and quietly and to seek shelter wherever possible.”

  “We’ll have Nat train her, then,” Penebrygg said. “He’s done plenty of work for us at the Tower, and he knows his way around its secret places. What do you say, my boy? Will you teach her everything you can?”

  “I’ll do my best,” Nat said, and for a moment, I saw enthusiasm in his eyes. Had he forgiven me, then, for reading his mind?

  Perhaps not. Before I could respond, the guarded expression returned to his face.

  But why should I have expected anything else? And what did it matter anyway? He wasn’t here to make friends, and neither was I. We were here to win a war. And to him—and to everyone here—I was merely a tool in that war.

  “But, of course, your chief tutor will be Lady Helaine,” Sir Barnaby said to me. “And while you are pursuing your lessons, the rest of us shall be planning a general uprising, to take place when the grimoire has been eradicated.”

  “Destroying the book won’t be enough?” I said, surprised.

  “Not if it leaves Scargrave still alive and in charge of the King,” Sir Barnaby said.

  “It might not,” Lady Helaine said. “Scargrave has used the book’s powers for so long that he’s almost become bound to it. You can hear it in his voice. Destroying it may well destroy him.”

  “A welcome development, if it happens,” Sir Barnaby said. “But we must be prepared to take matters into our own hands.”

  “It does seem a pity that we must destroy the book, though,” Penebrygg said, his face wistful under his floppy cap. “I wish we could at least read it first. Who knows? There might be some good songs in there along with the bad, something worth saving—”

  “No.” Lady Helaine’s voice was rough but insistent. “There is nothing in that book but evil. And the Shadowgrims are the least of it. We will be better off when it is gone.”

  “I’ll agree with that,” Nat said emphatically. “But it’s a wonder to hear a Chantress take such a stand against magic.”

  I bristled. “You think we don’t know bad magic when we see it?”

  “Do you?” Nat said, and I was taken aback to hear more worry than antagonism in his voice.

  “Of course we do,” Lady Helaine said. “This book is beyond redemption. It must be expunged. And in any case, there is no room in the song for half measures: It is all or nothing.”

  “Very well, then,” Penebrygg said. “We have our answer.”

  “It is settled, then.” Lady Helaine fixed her glowing eyes on me. “I will teach you how to sing safely, goddaughter. And you will destroy the book.”

  I nodded.

  Lady Helaine turned to Sir Barnaby. “Now conduct us to your refuge, so that we can begin our work.”

  † † †

  The place Sir Barnaby had in mind turned out to be a set of rooms in the labyrinthine cellars of Gadding House, some distance from the chamber where the Invisible College had met. But it was too late to go there that day; it was past curfew, and although Sir Barnaby had a pass that allowed him to travel almost anywhere he liked, the rest of us were too big a crowd to slip through the streets unnoticed. We set up makeshift beds for Norrie and Lady Helaine in the attic, and we agreed that we would leave the next morning instead.

  When I woke, it was still dark, and I was sure I would be the first one down to the kitchen. Yet when I wandered down the stairs, I smelled porridge. I opened the kitchen door and saw Norrie at the hearth, stirring the pot.

  At the sound of my footsteps, she spun around, hand on her heart. “Lucy!”

  “Did I startle you? I’m sorry.” I gave her a gentle hug and reached for the porridge ladle. “Let me do that.”

  On the island, Norrie would have shooed me away. Here she surrendered the ladle without another word and settled on the kitchen bench.

  “You shouldn’t be cooking for us,” I said. “It’s too much to ask. Especially when you’ve only just arrived.” I gave the thickening porridge a good paddle.

  “I thought my mind might be easier if my hands had something to do,” Norrie said quietly.

  I shunted the pot away from the fire and came to kneel beside her.

  Even after a night’s sleep, she looked a good ten years older than she had on the island. Her skin was dull; her eyes were
buried in wrinkles. But what upset me the most was how lost she looked. But why shouldn’t she? I had taken her away from her home.

  “I’m sorry,” I said awkwardly. “I’m sorry for dragging you here.”

  “Hush, child.” She shook her head with weary kindness. “The time had come. I see that now. And probably it’s for the best. Though I admit I do miss my garden. It’s not a very green place, London. I’m glad we’ll be leaving for the country soon.”

  She had been asleep when we’d made our plans last night, I realized. “Norrie, there’s something I should tell you . . .”

  As I explained how we would be living in the Gadding House cellars, Norrie paled. “We’ll be living underground?”

  “They think it’s the safest possible place.”

  “Maybe so. But I’m not much of a one for cellars, child. Or for caves, or anywhere under the earth. Gives me the creeps, it does.”

  “Oh, dear.” I couldn’t bear to be parted from her again, especially when we’d only just found each other. “They thought it was the best place, you see. A regular house is too dangerous, and they don’t think they can get us out of London. Though if it were you alone, perhaps—”

  “No, no. I want to be where I can watch over you.” Norrie patted my hand. “Never you mind me. I’m tired, that’s all. It’s been quite a while since I ever was in a cellar, so perhaps I’ll feel differently this time. And this is quite a large cellar, didn’t you say?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And there will be lights?” Her voice quavered.

  “Of course.”

  “Then I’m sure I’ll be fine. You’re not to worry about it.” She gave my hand a last tremulous pat and stood up. “Now, how about some of that porridge?”

  For a brief while, it was like being on the island again, just the two of us sitting on a bench together, eating our breakfast. By the time we finished our porridge, Norrie looked stronger and more herself, I was glad to see. Strong enough to put up with a question or two? I wasn’t sure, but I thought it was worth testing the waters. There was still so much that I didn’t understand.