The Wraith and the Rose

by C. J. Brightley

  He swallowed. “Will you bind it before I go to find them?”

  The woman nodded. “It was Elizabeth and Miriam.” She swallowed. “I cannot say there is anything good in this, but if there is a blessing, I suppose it is that they are some of the strongest girls here. They had recovered more than most of the others.”

  Theo looked down at her. “Thank you. Nevertheless…”

  “Nevertheless.” Essie nodded. “Come to the kitchen.”

  He followed her to the kitchen and took off his jacket. When he had put it on that morning, his heart had been so full of hope and joy. He unbuttoned his vest and shirt, exposing the gash on his upper arm.

  Essie squinted. “It’s quite hard to see. Do you have any control over the glamour at all?”

  Theo shook his head. “No. I’m sorry.”

  The woman made a pfft of dismay. “Don’t apologize to me, after you’ve just saved us from that horrible fairy. I’ll do the best I can with what I see, and you tell me what I’m missing.”

  Juniper had focused his efforts on Theo’s skin tone, facial features, clothes, and general build, but had not changed much that would be covered by his clothes. So to Essie, the gash was more or less in the right spot, but the edges were indistinct. It was not as deep as she had feared at first, but the edges were torn; the tip of Lord Willowvale’s rapier had entered cleanly before he had flicked the sword sideways.

  Essie washed the wound, and Theo watched with clinical interest, trying with everything in him not to think of Lord Willowvale’s words.

  Essie patted him on the shoulder when she was done. “It will be all right,” she said quietly. “You’re not alone in this, you know.”

  He nodded once, because it would reassure her. “Let me take you someplace safe. If he knows you’re here, it’s only a matter of time before he comes back.”

  “Where?”

  John and the children stood nearby in a tense little group. Theo swallowed, debating internally, and finally said, “The palace has the best security, and even Lord Willowvale will find it challenging to get in and out.”

  The veil was harder to access near the palace; neither His Majesty nor anyone else knew whether that was the the reason or the result of the fact that the palace had been built in that location. In any case, it was one of the most difficult places in the country to access from the veil. It was not quite as strong an effect as that surrounding the Fair palace, but it was still generally effective to prevent doors from being opened into the palace itself. Theo had practiced, several years before, with the permission of the king, but to his knowledge, no one else either Fair or human had ever entered the palace or the grounds from the veil. Moreover, the palace had a great many guards stationed at the perimeter, and Theo was confident His Majesty would assign more to guard the children once he was aware of the necessity.

  The two caretakers blinked. “How will we get in?”

  Theo smiled bleakly. “That I can manage, though not with enough precision to minimize explanations. You’ll have to brave the veil, though.” He looked at the children, who stared at him in wide-eyed apprehension. “Can you be brave?”

  He glanced up at Essie, who nodded sharply.

  “I’ll do it for the children,” she said.

  Theo’s shattered heart warmed a little at this. “You are truly an inspiration,” he said sincerely, glancing between Essie and John. “I suppose you ought to gather what you want to take with you. I don’t know when we’ll be back again, or how safe it will be to send someone for your effects. So pack quickly.”

  He washed the blood from the slit in his shirt, not because he would wear it another day but because it gave his hands something to do. Then he put it back on and put his vest back on over it. He tugged the vest down and straightened his shirt, then put his coat back on. The jacket was ruined too; only a little blood had seeped through the layers of fabric, but the cut in the sleeve could not be repaired without the mending being obvious. Nevertheless, he washed it and put it back on too.

  He stood at the window in the sitting room while John and Essie helped the children pack one small bag each, full of clothes and a few books. He felt cold and hot in succession, and he told himself it was the burning of the wound, but he knew it was a lie.

  He went outside and took off his horse’s tack, gave it the best rubdown he could with a few handfuls of grass, and gave it water from the well. He closed the garden gate.

  By the time he finished, the children and their guardians had gathered in the room.

  “Stay close to me,” he said. “Hold hands, because it’s dark in the veil. I could make a light, but it’s safer in the dark. John, please take the rear position with your sword drawn. Everyone else, line up in pairs. Hold the shirt of the person ahead of you, and the hand of the person beside you. Essie, please take the middle position. We want to be close together, so please don’t lag behind.”

  This was more children than he had ever taken through the veil at once.

  “You were attacked by the floor before, weren’t you?” he asked one boy standing near John. The boy nodded, pale and frightened, but determined not to cry. “Then you should be here in the front, nearest me.” Theo gave the boy what he hoped was a reassuring smile, though he could not be sure how it looked with his glamoured features.

  “If anything bothers you, tell me immediately. Don’t wait until you can’t speak. We’ll be as quick as we can.” He looked at their terrified expressions, and his tender heart twisted inside him. “Thank you for your courage, dear children,” he whispered. “I’m sorry it has come to this, but I promise you, I will end this, no matter what it costs.”

  Then he opened the door and led them into the veil.

  The palace was not far away through the veil, but it seemed longer to those frightened children and their protectors. Theo kept up a quiet, one-sided conversation as they walked, both to distract the children from their fears and himself from his grief.

  “If you go down that path to the left, you’ll find the west country, all bright green hillsides and craggy cliffs by the sea. But yesterday that path probably led someplace entirely different. Where do you think it might have gone?”

  The children murmured half-hearted, mostly inaudible responses, and he carried on.

  “Maybe it went to the southern coast. Maybe if I had followed it yesterday, I might have found myself at the seashore, playing in the waves. Have you seen the ocean? Have you ever made a sandcastle? If you haven’t, maybe I’ll take you sometime.”

  One of the children whimpered behind him, and he said, “Is something wrong?”

  “No, I’m just scared.” The little whisper tore at his heart.

  “We’re almost there. Think of the sunlight on the waves, and the freshness of the salt breeze in your face. Just a moment more, and here we are.” He opened the doorway with a grunt of effort, and braced himself against the slimy, shivering wall of the veil while he ushered everyone through.

  “Where are we?” asked John with misgiving.

  Theo looked around, pushing aside the vague fuzziness of fatigue. They were in a study that seemed familiar, though he could not remember having been there before. There was a table in the center, and he had an uncanny sense that there ought to be a desk instead, with a different sort of chair. The window was a little too tall. He stepped toward it and looked out, seeing the palace garden from an unfamiliar angle.

  “I’m not exactly sure,” he said at last. “Follow me.”

  This must be one of the rooms he had never before seen, similar to but yet not identical to the study he remembered. He led them into the hallway, and everyone clustered behind him.

  The red-carpeted corridor was empty, and he strode down it confidently, knowing that eventually he would find a room or hallway he recognized.

  At the next corridor he continued toward the sound of voices.

  He rounded the corner to see His Majesty Lance Alberdale conversing with his son, His Royal Highness Selwyn
Alberdale, surrounded by six of the royal guard.

  Theo sighed in relief. He dropped to one knee and said, “Your Majesty, please forgive me for this interruption, but I have great need of your generosity.”

  He blinked when six swords were at his throat.

  One of the guards growled, “Who are you, and how did you get here?” His eyes flicked to the children behind Theo.

  Essie and John had curtsied and bowed deeply, but the children were staring in trembling confusion.

  Theo heard one of the children begin to weep quietly, and said with a little heat, “Edouard! You know me.”

  “I do not.” The guard pressed the sword closer to his throat.

  Belatedly, Theo realized why the guard was so tense. “I’m wearing a glamour. Let me take off my jacket and His Royal Highness can vouch for who I am. I don’t want to say my name in front of the children.” Still on one knee, he removed his jacket, wincing as the movement pulled at his wounded arm.

  The jacket maintained its glamoured appearance until Theo dropped it on the floor. At the sight of the exquisite embroidery on Theo’s wedding attire which he had seen that very afternoon, Prince Selwyn sucked in a breath. “He’s a friend. Let him speak with us privately, if you please.”

  The guard looked up in surprise, then sheathed his sword.

  His Majesty glanced at his son. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Theo picked up his jacket again, and the king led them to the nearest room, which happened to be a spacious sitting room. The guards stationed themselves at the door, which John closed behind them. Essie and John shepherded the children to the far side of the room, giving Theo as much privacy as possible.

  Theo dropped to one knee again and bowed his head. “I’m Theo Overton, Your Majesty. Lord Willowvale attacked the children’s home, and I didn’t know where else to take them.” He looked up, searching the king’s face.

  “Theo?” the king said. “Stand up, my boy. What sort of glamour is this?”

  “A Fair friend made it, so Willowvale wouldn’t be able to identify me yet. I’m sorry.” Theo stood.

  “Did I see blood on the sleeve of your jacket?” said the prince.

  “It’s fine.” Theo let out an anguished breath. “May I leave them here with you, Your Majesty? I know it is much to ask, but he took two girls back to the Fair Lands.” He clenched his hands and steadied his voice. “I do not want to leave them there any longer than I must.”

  His Majesty Lance Alberdale nodded. “Yes. If we can keep them safe, we will.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. Your Royal Highness.” Theo bowed deeply.

  “On your very wedding day,” the king murmured under his breath. “I am sorry, my boy.” He reached out to squeeze Theo’s shoulder.

  “What else can we do?” said the prince quietly.

  Theo sighed. “I don’t… I don’t know. If you have any binding magic, I’ll take everything you can give me.”

  “Binding magic?” said the king. “What will you do with it?”

  “I would rather not say, Your Majesty, but I promise you it will bring no harm to Valestria.”

  The king shot him a shrewd look. “I know you well enough to know that already. All right, I can give you this.” He pressed a little magic into Theo’s hand, and it felt like a flutter of butterfly wings, light and ephemeral, in comparison to Juniper’s fierce strength.

  The prince merely shook his head; he had no binding magic to speak of.

  “Thank you,” said Theo. “If I may, I will bid my friends farewell and leave them here.”

  “Go on then,” said the king. He strode to the door and spoke quietly to one of the guards, who jogged off to fetch a servant.

  A moment later, Theo stepped back into the veil.

  Theo ran headlong through the veil, letting the pounding of the blood in his veins distract him from the pain in his heart. There was little chance of rescuing the girls Lord Willowvale had stolen, but he could not give up without at least investigating.

  When he was too exhausted to run any farther, he slowed to a brisk walk. He trailed his left hand on the wall beside him at times, feeling the different textures of the veil itself. There was little pattern to be learned from the textures; he knew where he was, and where he should go, by the feel of the magic beneath the texture.

  Cedar had asked him about it before, and he had tried to teach his Fair friend, but it seemed the understanding could not be easily taught. Today the slick feel of damp, polished stone indicated that he was near the indigo forests to the northwest of the Fair palace. Tomorrow the same sensation would indicate that he was approaching the roaring valleys of the west. He asked the veil through his fingertips how to get where he wanted to go, and it was more or less obliging. It had been more cooperative of late, and he imagined the binding magic had been a factor. That did not mean various hostile inhabitants of the veil, or manifestations of the veil itself, would not seek to eat him or otherwise hinder his progress, but those incidents too had seemed to decrease in recent months.

  When he had caught his breath, he ran again until his legs and lungs burned. At last, he stepped out of the veil into the indigo forest and collapsed at the base of the nearest tree.

  He pressed half of the magic from Juniper into the ground beneath him, wincing at the burn of the magic. Juniper had said it was like a crimson thread, but Theo had always felt it as a warmth that threaded through his heart and down through the veins in his arm into the ground. Juniper’s magic was so much stronger than any he had felt before, that rather than warmth, it felt like the white heat of the sun. Yet it was not painful, exactly; it was a burn like love, a longing so deep it shook him to his bones.

  He sat for a moment afterward to catch his breath. It was too dark to see the indigo trunks and sapphire leaves above him that rustled in the gentle breeze. He let his head fall back against the trunk behind him. Here, alone in the indigo forest, with nothing but a few silent birds for company, he let himself think.

  Lord Selby had carefully, quietly, warned Theo that he had heard Lily and Lord Willowvale speaking of the children. He had heard Lily say that she had seen the children, but he had only just come up, and did not know if that was all she had said, or only all that he had heard.

  Lord Willowvale had certainly made himself as agreeable as possible to Lily. Theo did not think of himself as particularly jealous; he knew that a lady would be obligated to speak courteously to a gentleman, whether she particularly wanted to or not. Yet the tenderness in her expression when she had been sitting, and Lord Willowvale had said something Theo had not quite heard, rankled. Why should Willowvale be deserving of that tender, compassionate look? Any other fairy, but not Willowvale!

  Theo shoved himself to his feet, clumsy with exhaustion, and opened another door into the veil. He jogged for nearly an hour, until he could go no further, and stepped out onto a mountainside dusted in white snow and pink flowers unlike anything in the human world. He fell to his knees and pressed the binding magic deep into the ground. The burn was deeper this time, and he let out a soft, pained breath before the sensation faded. He kept his hands pressed to the ground, coaxing the magic deeper.

  He looked south toward the capital and caught his breath. In the Fair night, lit by a thousand thousand alien stars and a bright blue sliver of moon, the Fair city was so far distant it could barely be identified as a warm glow half-hidden behind a hill.

  He opened another door into the veil. This time he walked, and at last, he let the tears fill his eyes. Still holding his sword, he used the back of his right arm to brush at the tears; his left hand felt the quivering warmth of the wall, like the exposed muscle of some great animal, and he grimaced. The silk of his sleeve and the texture of the embroidery rasped at the tender skin around his eyes, and he blinked angrily.

  He stepped into the Fair Lands again only a short distance from Lord Willowvale’s manor.

  This stretch of the garden was not one Theo knew particul
arly well, but he could imagine the general shape of the land. Behind him was a gentle hill covered in a labyrinth of fairy roses. Their blooms were faded and the petals were drying on their stems and upon the ground, but the faint scent of remembered sweetness filled the air.

  To his left was a large, mossy clearing which contained a number of stone benches around a central ring of stones. Theo had never seen this area in use; he had speculated that it was the site of either bonfires, or some sort of ceremony relating to the ring of stones.

  He had emerged from the veil by stepping out of the trunk of an enormous tree, and although he could feel that Lord Willowvale’s manor was near, he did not see it until he looked to his right through the thick hedge of some variety which name he did not know.

  Theo began to cautiously approach the house, though he had no plan to enter it yet. When the nearest door opened in a splash of golden light, Theo was momentarily blinded by the brilliance that surrounded the silhouettes. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to avoid being entirely night-blind, and pressed himself to the nearest tree and hunkered down in the shadow.

  The door closed, and the three fairies trooped gaily to the open area, passing by him without noticing. Theo lowered himself still further, feeling on the ground for any sticks or dry leaves that might betray his presence with a sound.

  The fairies flung themselves on the stone benches nearest the ring of stones.

  One of them spoke, and Theo realized with surprise that it was Lord Willowvale.

  “The Rose was there,” he said thoughtfully. In the blue moonlight, Theo could barely see him raise a glass of golden wine high. The fairy was sprawled bonelessly on the bench, his head resting against the back and his glass lifted up above his head, as if he were looking through the liquid at the brilliant stars above. Theo could not see his face clearly, for he was facing away from Theo’s hiding spot at an angle, but his posture looked nearly as tired as Theo himself felt. The thought gave him a perverse sense of satisfaction, which he immediately squashed. It felt ungentlemanly, if not outright unkind, to be so satisfied by the fatigue of his opponent, however detestable he might be.