The days when her father had been on the top rung of her loyalty ladder were long gone. Currently, he was on Rung Four, and Jariel was on Rung Three. She would not violate her promise to the Raven to please her father. Alas, this invitation came too late. Still, he was her father, and she loved him.
Rachel dropped back to the couch and briefly closed her eyes. She sought out happy memories of the time the two of them had spent together. The recollections came in a rush, one following another: riding in front of him as a toddler atop his tall horse, his arms wrapped around her waist, as they paraded down the dusty road that stretched from Gryphon Park through the sheep-dotted tenant farms to town; walking hand in hand between the rows of blooming plants, as they inspected the family’s lavender farm, the flowers’ sweet fragrance perfuming the air; sitting across from him in the Oak Drawing Room as he taught her to play chess, while her grandfather watched from his throne-like chair, making wry observations and calling them “Falconridge” and “Lady Rachel”.
More recent experiences followed: cantering together across the moors, her riding her trusty little Shetland pony, Widdershins, her father on his huge, black, long-maned Friesian, Passelande; dancing together on the town commons last year on Mid-Summer’s Day, he in his ducal finery, she in a lovely green and white dress with a huge bow in the back; picking wildflowers together by the Dart River the day before she left for Roanoke, bringing the blooms back to lay on Grandmother’s and Grandfather’s graves.
After her grandfather died, her father had become the center of her life. Had so much changed? Staring into his puzzled face, so familiar and dear, Rachel resolved that she would tell him anything she could about the Raven and what had happened to her at school, without directly violating the promise she had made to Jariel. She had been willing to tell the dean. Should she not be willing to tell her own father? She would tell him the truth.
He deserved the truth. Then, maybe, he would let her tell him about Beaumont.
She did not dissemble. Instead, she pushed aside her normal caution and strived to put into words what was truly in her heart.
“The w-world was in danger,” she said hoarsely. “Saving it required that I…not be me any more. But that would be better than letting it get destroyed, right? Better me than the world, don’t you think? Only…he would not accept my sacrifice. He gave my life back to me. But everything is different now. As if I have been granted extra time. As if everything beyond the moment of my sacrifice is an unexpected gift.
“So, now I am devoted to protecting the Earth.” The words flowed more joyfully from her lips. “You and Mr. Bridges say I need to concentrate on growing up. But if the Earth is destroyed, I don’t get a chance to grow up.”
She gazed at him hopefully, willing him to understand her.
Her father stared at her, dismay growing more evident upon his features. The muscle in the side of his jaw ticked. A cold chill crawled up Rachel’s spine. She had the distinct impression that he was not hearing her. Her hopes began to sink. Not being understood when daring to share her inmost secrets made his lack of comprehension so much more painful.
“What sacrifice?” Ambrose Griffin voice was clipped. “Of what are you speaking?”
Her body grew clammy. She had promised the Raven never to tell anyone, except Gaius, about the time he had changed her friend’s memories. Had she already said too much? It would break her heart to accidentally betray the Raven. Please let it not be so.
“Please tell me exactly what happened,” he said slowly.
“I can’t,” whispered Rachel, forcing words from her throat. “I gave my word.”
Her father’s voice was as stern as she had ever heard it, “I excuse you from your vow. You are underage and are not legally allowed to make binding promises.”
Wordlessly, she shook her head.
“Rachel, you have known me your whole life. You know I am looking out for you. Why would you trust someone you just met, someone outside our family, over me? That monster is not even human.”
Rachel’s heart, which seemed to be stopping up her throat, constricted in pain. She opened her mouth but no voice came out.
Her father stood. “Give me your grandmother’s wand.”
Icy cold fingers of fear crept up the back of her neck. She could hardly draw breath. Clutching the slender length of silver hanging at her side, she thought of the hours she had spent filling it with spells, of the look of pride in Gaius’s eyes when she had used it to beat Ethan Warhol in a duel at a recent Knight’s meeting. Was her father going to take back the silver wand? Or, worse, destroy it, as Vlad had destroyed Gaius’s old wand after their duel?
“Wh-why?” She backed away from her father, scooting down the couch.
Ambrose Griffin put out his hand. “Don’t question me. Hand me your wand. Now.”
She felt meek and humbled. She had no desire to rebel, no matter what Laurel might have said. However, she also felt no desire to hand the wand to him, none at all.
She did nothing.
“What part of ‘Don’t question me’ do you not understand?” Her father voice’s snapped like a captain addressing his troops, his hand extended toward her. “Has the school addled your mind? Hand me your wand, young lady. I am not going to ask again!”
Rachel’s shoulders slumped. Slowly, she picked up the wand and forced her hand to extend it towards her father. She had to push her elbow with her other hand.
Ambrose Griffin took the silver wand and hefted it, his face grim. Turning, he pointed it at the corner of his office. A beam of white flame tinged with gold shot across the room, striking the brick wall. Rachel gasped. The wand only had two charges of Eternal Flame left, with no chance of her ever getting another. Her father had just used one of them!
“Endro!” he commanded in a loud voice.
The white flame flared. The bricks it struck distorted. They seemed to elongate and warp, as if the fabric of reality were stretching. Looking at it gave Rachel an odd, dreamy sensation. In spite of her despair, curiosity impelled her to lean forward. What was he doing?
Red lines appeared around the distortion. Rachel recognized them, though she had never seen them. Nastasia had described seeing similar lines during her visions. Illondria had later told the princess that these lines had appeared because the Raven was trying to keep Nastasia from falling into another world.
The red lines grew thicker. The corner of the office warped in a way that was hard for her eyes to follow. Then, everything snapped back to normal. The brick corner was just a brick corner again.
A giant red-eyed Raven hopped on the rosewood desk. Her father turned and looked right at it, as if he had been expecting it. Rachel’s heart frozen in her chest, mid-beat.
What had her father done?
Even worse, what had she done?
The Raven flew off the desk and landed on her grandfather’s rug. Then, he stood up, an eight-foot-tall winged man of inhuman beauty. A ring of brilliant light hovered above him. It shed diligence throughout the brick chamber the way a lamp sheds light. For a split second, Rachel felt entirely resolute, as if she would continue to do her duty with care and without shirking, no matter what. The moment the Raven reached up and pulled the circle from over his head, the outside emotional influence stopped.
The glowing circle turned into a hoop of gold in his hand. The great black wings folded into his back and disappeared. He stood before them, shirtless and shoeless, dressed in a pair of dark poplin slacks, his feathery black hair falling about his head and shoulders.
The Raven scowled, his voice gruff. “That was an inappropriate way to call me.”
Ambrose Griffin glared. “I do not care. Guardian, you have been interfering with my daughter’s life!”
Rachel grabbed onto the couch arm again, suddenly dizzy. Her father had summoned the Raven? After all she had done to protect the world, her father had deliberately damaged it—because she now felt certain that was what he had just done—to draw the Raven’s atte
ntion. To question him about what she had said? Because he thought that the Raven had hurt her?
No!
The color ran out of her world. It was as if everything were drawn in pencil. In some distant part of her mind, she knew that only her perceptions were affected, that nothing had physically changed, and yet, she felt as if she had fallen into a nightmare.
The Raven croaked, “I did not act to interfere with her.”
“You threatened her life?”
“I did not threaten her life.”
The duke looked at Rachel, who nodded. Again, her head bobbed up and down rapidly. She wanted to cry out, to explain, but the thought that Jariel might think that she had made accusations against him—that she had complained to her father—struck her dumb.
“We had an arrangement.” Ambrose Griffin spoke calmly, but Rachel could tell he was extraordinarily angry. “I do not believe you are abiding by it.”
“I have not broken our arrangement,” replied the Raven. “My dealings with her were because of her. I did not seek her out.”
That made Rachel feel even smaller. The Raven had not even wanted to speak to her.
Rachel felt utterly mortified. It was as if she were a peasant who, by some astonishing good fortune, had gained the good will of a king, a sovereign who had treated her with kindness far above her station, only to be dragged in chains before this same monarch under an accusation of treason, forfeiting what little trust she might once have earned.
Would he speak to her again, now that his once-in-the-history-of-all-humanity act of kindness—befriending a lonely little girl—had been rebuffed with such ingratitude?
Most likely, not.
“He hasn’t hurt me!” she cried, finally finding her tongue. “He’s looked out for me. He hasn’t done anything!”
She noted, obscurely, that color had returned to her environment, but she still felt as if she were viewing the events from far away.
Her father asked sharply, “How much does she know?”
“She has discovered many things on her own,” said the Raven. “I have not done anything to alter her memory.”
“If she learns too much, won’t she draw Outside forces to herself? She needs time to grow into her power,” the duke insisted. “Her being in danger now does not help us. It does not help you. It does not help anyone.”
“She is just one person,” replied Jariel. “I can shield her.”
That brought a ghost of a smile to Rachel’s lips.
Jariel turned and regarded Rachel. “You may speak to him of anything I have told you. He knows more than you do.”
If the Raven had taken a red-hot iron spear and shoved it through her abdomen, Rachel could not have been more shocked. Her father knew? More than she knew? Why hadn’t Jariel told her? Why had he said that she could only speak to one person?
“Guardian, you know why I am here, and you know why my wife is here.” Ambrose Griffin spoke very sternly. “We cannot raise our family, if you are interfering with them.”
Here? As in on earth?
Did her family come from Outside?
“I cannot control fate,” replied the Raven. “That is not within my power. A convergence of random chances has occurred that was obviously not random.”
“Guardian, I cannot command you,” her father said hoarsely. “I’m not Romanov. But I do not think you would lie to me.”
“I would not lie,” replied the Raven.
Her father sat down on the edge of his desk and rubbed his temples.
“I have broken no agreement.” The Raven grew taller as he spoke. His perfect face was stern, forbidding. “But the same cannot be said for you, Ambrose Griffin. Your disobedience comes with a high price.”
Price? Rachel head jerked up. What price?
Ambrose Griffin nodded slowly, his face grim.
No! A shudder ran through Rachel’s entire body. Something bad was about to happen. She could feel it. She had to do something to stop it, anything!
Like a prisoner on death row begging for her life, Rachel dashed across the room and threw her arms around the Raven’s legs. He was so tall now that she could not reach his waist. Her head came only to his hip. She pressed her cheek against his thigh and hugged his leg as tightly as her arms could squeeze.
“I’m sorry!” The words felt as if they were ripped from her. “I’m so sorry!”
Jariel rested his hand on her shoulder. His fingers felt warm, like the unexpected touch of the sun on a long cold day.
“Child, you have done nothing wrong. I did not ask anything of you.”
“I wish you would ask more,” she whispered, tears stinging her eyes.
He bent down over her, his voice gentle. “You do not yet know what will be asked of you in the future, Rachel Griffin.”
Behind her, she heard a strangled sound. Peeking from under her hair, she saw her father staring at her, his expression odd.
Jariel gently pushed Rachel away. Immediately, she released him and jumped back, her eyes lowered. She felt even more mortified at the thought of staying where she was not wanted. The chill where the Raven’s warmth had just been felt as icy as a glacier. Her body seemed too frozen and stiff to move. Then, the room was empty, except for herself and her father.
He was gone.
If everything of value had been ripped from her life in one violent motion, leaving her an empty husk, it could not have felt worse.
The dam in her mind that held back the swirl of chaotic emotions and buzzing darkness gave way. Grief swept over her. Sorrow—for the death of her Elf, for the horrors that Zoë had suffered, and for a hundred other things, big and small, that she had thrust aside with her dissembling skills—now returned and battered her. She struggled, striving to gain control of the tide of unleashed emotions. Alas, the misery was too great, and her humble skills too meager.
Rachel’s knees buckled. She collapsed to the floor. Curled in a ball on her grandfather’s rug, she wailed.
Squatting down beside his daughter, The Duke of Devon tried to return the silver wand. Rachel wept, too distraught to pay attention to his actions.
“Rachel, you must stop crying!” her father spoke urgently. “There are things I must say.”
Rachel merely wailed louder.
The duke lifted her off the floor and put her on the couch, sliding the slender length of silver back into her hand. She clutched it to her chest, still weeping piteously.
“Rachel, daughter.” Ambrose Griffin knelt again, until they were eye to eye. He grabbed her by the shoulders. “You need to listen to me. I know that you are upset, although I…You have to look at me and listen. You have to stop crying. Or cry a little more quietly, because I might not have a chance to tell you later.”
That broke through her misery. She tried to stop crying. She really tried. All she achieved was some ragged gulping. This abysmal failure, in comparison to her normal mastery of her emotions, only made her wail more loudly.
Ambrose Griffin sat down beside his daughter and lifted her onto his lap. Pulling her against him, he hugged her, rocking her back and forth. She sank against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. A calming warmth emanated from his body, bringing with it a peace that pushed back against the chaos inside her mind. Her gulping quieted down to soft sniffles.
“Forces Outside are trying to destroy us,” her father said urgently. “A difficult balance is maintained—which I have now disrupted.”
Turning her head, she looked up at him. To her relief, she found that she could focus on what he had been saying. While she felt shaky and miserable, her inner landscape was slowly returning to normal. Pain and agony still swirled deep inside, but the dam that restrained them was reforming.
Her father spoke rapidly, “I broke an agreement just now, when I unveiled the Walls of the world—to get the Guardian’s attention. This did not endanger the world. It did not endanger you. It just endangered me. If I talk about it more now—I’m digging a deeper hole.”
Rachel blurted out hopefully, “Then don’t talk about it!”
His arms squeezed her more tightly. “As to why the Guardian speaks to you…”
“He talks to me because I like him,” whispered Rachel softly.
He frowned at that and smoothed her hair. “You are much more mature, Rachel, than I could imagine someone your age could be. You are very special. You are not a normal thirteen-year-old. Even Sandra is not like you.”
Despite her sorrow, a little smile touched Rachel’s lips. It her whole life, it was the first time that someone had told her she did something better than Sandra.
“I’m not really sure why,” her father continued, “I have my suspicions. But in this case, maturity does not matter. There are things I cannot tell you until you are older. If you don’t believe me, you can ask the Guardian. It will confirm or deny what I have said.”
“Him,” murmured Rachel. “The Raven is a him.”
“It,” clarified her father. “The creature is a spiritual entity, neither male nor female.”
Rachel nodded thoughtfully. That made sense. It explained why, even though Jariel was so handsome, he did not seem—well, like a boy.
“I will not be able to remember this conversation next time we speak.” Ambrose Griffin spoke calmly, but Rachel heard a note of sadness in his voice. “And I do not want the same thing to happen to you. Next time you speak to your friend the princess, please ask her to put in a good word to her father for me.”
What did the princess’s father have to do with anything?
“Can’t you do something to keep remembering?” asked Rachel, urgently.
He shook his head sadly. “Your mother will remember. I think.”
“You’re going to lose your memory?” she gasped. “Because you called the Raven? Because I didn’t answer your questions the way you wanted me to? But! But…”
He nodded, chagrined.
Terror swirled around outrage, catching her in their whirlpool. She clung to the outrage, willing herself not to succumb to the tempest within again. Using her anger to keep herself from weeping, she thrust the pain aside. She could deal with it later.
The Awful Truth About Forgetting (Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 4) Page 30