by Lucia Ashta
“Not yet,” Marcelo said over our continued galloping.
“Why not? We’ve been riding without pause for hours. Surely we’ve lost Winston and his men by now.”
“Winston will begin looking for us as soon as he’s able to reassemble. We must be prudent in our actions. We’ll stop when we find the two horses.”
“Winston’s horses? The horses that ran away?” I was confused. We’d traveled a great distance from Lake Creston already. The horses could be anywhere. But I didn’t say anything more.
I followed Marcelo’s lead wordlessly, until my trust was rewarded. Marcelo slowed his horse to a trot and edged to the side of the road. He was looking for something. When he found it, he led me down a path of trampled grasses. Tree branches reached toward me, snaring my dress and adorning my loose hair with twigs.
We reached a small clearing, and there were the two runaway horses. They looked at us, as if they had expected us.
“I can’t believe it,” I said under my breath.
Marcelo chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“You have inexplicable experiences with fire and water, yet you can’t believe that I, a magician, could locate two horses that ran away because I caused them to?”
Still, I was amazed. I’d been around horses a lot, and I knew that horses that ran from their masters usually didn’t want to return to domestication.
Despite my disbelief, these horses stood still while Marcelo approached them. Their reins hung loose, trailing against the ground, and Marcelo swept up the reins of the chestnut horse and ran his hand along the length of his neck. The horse let him. Marcelo whispered to the horse, but I couldn’t make out what he said.
“How did you do it? Are you a horse charmer?” I’d never met a horse charmer before, or an animal charmer of any sort, but I’d heard rumors of them.
Marcelo was about to dismiss my question, as was his habit, but he was supposed to be teaching me now. After a reluctant sigh, he answered. “When the horses escaped, I was able to put a marker on them, a sort of magical tag, one that only I could see. Once we left, I honed in on that tag and followed it here.”
“That’s incredible.” I’d never heard of such a thing! The idea of being able to do something like what Marcelo had done opened a world of possibilities I’d never considered. “Will I be able to learn to do that?”
“I imagine you will.”
“How did you do it? Was it a spell or something?” Even after reading The Magyke of the Elementes, I still wasn’t clear on how a wizard performed magic. The book didn’t address many of the details, and it didn’t address any of the ways in which I had accidentally done magic.
He looked at me thoughtfully. “I did perform a spell.”
“I didn’t hear you say anything. Did you say the spell out loud?”
“I did, though I spoke softly. I couldn’t allow Winston to realize what was going on.”
I thought I’d observed Marcelo closely through the extent of the skirmish. I realized now I would have to pay closer attention to the minute details if I was to learn exactly how he executed his brand of magic.
“I don’t have the feeling that you’ll be doing magic through spells,” he said, as if he’d read my mind.
“How will I do magic if I won’t be using spells?”
“The same way you’ve already done magic.” Then he turned his attention to the other horse.
I had so much to learn. I didn’t even understand what I’d already done. I blew my hair out of my eyes in a frustrated huff, tried to straighten my dress out, and then dismounted. I’d ridden like a man in a man’s saddle. There was no time for prudence or etiquette; a woman’s sidesaddle wouldn’t have done. We never would have been able to move as fast as we did.
Once my feet hit the ground, my entire body screamed for one moment, and then all that remained were sore thighs and buttocks. I would be hurting for days. I limped gingerly over to Marcelo and petted the chestnut horse.
“What are we going to do now? Are you taking me to Norland?”
Marcelo shook his head. “I fear that if I take you to Norland, your father will hand you over to Winston. From his correspondence, he sounds like a severe man.”
He searched my eyes and found the confirmation he was looking for.
Unlike Marcelo, Father was outspoken about his opinions, especially when it came to those regarding my sisters and me. He would have emphasized my duty as a future wife and the advantages my proposed union could afford our family. I was expected to do as he told me; the interests of the family were to come before my own. Father was unyielding in most aspects of life, and he most especially was when it concerned my duty.
He would have inquired about my health only to determine whether I could meet the Count of Chester’s deadline. His letters to Marcelo would have omitted any evidence of parental affection. Affection was what governesses were for.
I thought I saw a flicker of compassion reveal itself beneath Marcelo’s otherwise tempestuous façade.
“Then where will we go?”
“I haven’t figured that part out yet. Do you have any ideas?”
“No.”
The temptation of allowing Marcelo to whisk me away somewhere that I could be free from the imminent threat of marriage was strong. But I understood how big of a risk he would be taking in helping me, even if he didn’t. If Father ever found out that Marcelo was purposefully interfering with my marriage to Winston, Father wouldn’t stop until he destroyed Marcelo.
I had seen Father do it before. He’d crushed those that opposed him, using the full arsenal of attack available to a member of the nobility: scandal, gossip, accusations of betrayal, and favors.
Devastating Marcelo would be too easy. All Father would have to do was reveal Marcelo’s propensities for magic to the people of whatever town he happened to be in at the time, and Marcelo would be lucky to escape with his life.
I didn’t want to say what I was beginning to think I should say. I really, really didn’t.
But I felt that I had to.
As unfortunate as my life circumstances were, they were not Marcelo’s fault, and it wasn’t his obligation to extricate me from them. The risk to his well-being was too great to ask it of a man I barely knew.
Still, a part of me desperately wanted to accept his help.
I said it before I could change my mind. “Marcelo, perhaps you should take me to Norland.”
Marcelo’s eyes flashed surprise and confusion. “Do you want to marry Winston?”
“No! Of course not. But I don’t see how this will work out. You can’t just take me. Even if you and I know you saved me, my father won’t see it that way. He’ll persecute you until you return me. And after, he’ll punish you for your actions. He won’t stop until he destroys you.”
“He seems like the kind of man who would do as you say.”
Such a deep sadness plunged through my heart then that I could barely speak. The horse I was touching felt it and nuzzled against my hand.
“I can’t ask you to forfeit your life to save me from what seems to be my inevitable fate.”
“And what fate is that exactly? I thought you said fate had brought magic into your life.”
“Maybe I was wrong. I see no way out of this that doesn’t end badly for you. I was born a woman, and this seems to be the fate of women.”
I gulped, finding the courage to continue. “Please. Take me to Norland. We can tell my father that you saved me from Winston’s violent aggressions and that you thought it best to bring me to Norland. He won’t hold that against you, and you’ll be free to go.”
“And you? You’ll marry Winston? You saw what he was like back at the lake house. I think it safe to say that he’ll beat you if you marry.” Marcelo looked me in the eye to make sure I understood what he meant, “And worse.”
I was still naïve and innocent in many ways of the world, but I did have some idea of how bad it could get when a man wanted to
force himself upon a woman. I would be obligated to beget him children. That would be a requisite part of any marriage contract. I would certainly not be the first, nor the last, girl forced to marry a man she despised and then further obligated to bed him.
“Perhaps it won’t be as bad as we think.” Not a single part of me believed this lie. It was no surprise that I didn’t convince Marcelo either.
“I can’t let you do that. I can’t let you marry him.”
“Marcelo, it isn’t you that’s making me. It’s my parents. I can’t let you sacrifice your life for mine. It might not keep me from this cruel sentence anyway. My father is powerful. He has many resources at his disposal. And he isn’t a kind man.”
The truth of my life as I’d just described it left me dejected.
“Clara, look at me.”
I dragged my eyes up from the ground to meet his, but I couldn’t hold his gaze. He reached over and took my chin. He tilted my head up until my eyes stared into his. “I can’t let you do this. I can’t take you back there.”
I started to protest, but he stopped me.
“I’m going to tell you a story that I don’t tell many people. Only because I think it will help you understand why I have to help you.”
*
“Your assumptions about me are correct. I was born into a noble line. My father is the Count of Bundry, just to the north, outside the borders of this country. It is part of no country. There have been a few attempts to take Bundry over the centuries, all unsuccessful. The land almost defends itself. Bundry is all rocky cliffs and overhangs, and it’s bitterly cold in the winter. The sea beats at the rocks below relentlessly, whipping up an icy wind that rises up into the town.
“That wind can freeze a person on contact. I saw it happen once. An old woman who wasn’t right in the head anymore took a walk along the city walls, overlooking the sea. She wore no coat or shoes though it was mid-winter. Well, that wind froze her standing upright.”
A sympathy shiver ran through me even though it wasn’t that cold; the sun still heated the day.
“As you can imagine, living in Bundry had its challenges, and my father is lord of it all. We have many things in common, you and I.”
We did?
“Like you, I had an older brother who died when he was a boy.”
Had I told him about Charles? I couldn’t remember.
“He died when he was fourteen, when he’d already shown my parents what an exceptional heir he was. He did everything the way they wanted, and they put him on a pedestal. He was uncompromising, like my father, who said it would serve him well for when he ruled over Bundry. My brother died when I was seven, leaving me memories of him that are full of unkindness. He ridiculed my sister and me, and he hit us a lot. He believed mercy to be a weakness, and he didn’t offer either of us any, even though my sister was a girl and I was much younger than him.”
At the mention of his sister, a dreadful feeling spread through my stomach. I waited for the rest of the story, hoping my suspicions were wrong.
“My sister was six years older than me, yet even when I was little, I tried to protect her. My father did nothing to intervene with my brother’s behavior toward us. I wonder if he may have even privately congratulated him for it. My father was a firm believer in ruling with an iron hand. It was the only way to maintain order, he’d say.
“My father was stern with my mother as well. She was a meek woman who did her duty just like any of the servants. She was there to do my father’s bidding, and she wouldn’t intervene with my father or brother to protect her other two children. She never did anything that would upset my father.
“When my brother died from disease, my father became enraged and meaner than ever, and most of that rage landed on me. I would clearly be a disappointment, but it was my duty to do everything that I could to become like my brother. Meanwhile, it was my nightmare to be anything like him. I was secretly relieved that he’d died. And even though she never said it, I know my sister was too.
“Things got even uglier in our household. My father began to beat me, sure that he could force me into submission. It only made me more resolute: I wouldn’t become a monster like them.
“When his violence didn’t work on me, he threatened to beat my sister until I agreed to behave as he wished.” Marcelo looked down now, as if ashamed. “I couldn’t allow him to beat her, so I relented. I pretended to be like my brother. My father even started calling me Patrice sometimes, my brother’s name.
“Then my father decided it was time to marry my sister away. She and I both wished so hard that he might choose a kind man. After the home we lived in, there was a good chance that wherever she went would be better than there.
“But it wasn’t. My sister, Clarissa, was married to a man much her senior. One who was very wealthy. Very powerful. He had… ways of getting people to do as he wanted.
“He’d already been married twice before. Both of his past wives had died from accidents within the estate. Clarissa and I knew what that might mean, but we continued to hope for the best. She was only fourteen and I was eight. We didn’t know what else to do. She was married and sent to live a town away.
“My father wouldn’t allow me to visit her, but five months later I got away on a clever excuse and paid her a visit. I didn’t care if my father would beat me for it later; I had to see if she was all right.
“But she wasn’t. When I saw her, she was with child, and her face was as swollen as her belly. Her husband beat her. She was certain he’d end up killing her just as she knew he had his last two young wives.
“She tried to say goodbye, to tell me how much she loved me, but I wouldn’t let her. I promised her that I’d find a way to save her, although I had no idea how. I was just a boy still, even though the circumstances of my life led me to feel much older—I was accustomed to handling responsibilities much beyond those of my age. In our house, it was a matter of survival.
“I asked Clarissa to hold on until I could come for her. She said she would, but her eyes told me that she didn’t know if she’d be able. I raced home, crying all the way, allowing my horse to navigate. I was torn to pieces, and even after the three-hour journey home, I still had no idea how to help Clarissa.
“One day, I was in the servants’ quarters when one of the servants ran into the kitchen, out of breath, her arms bundled with foods from the market. She’d heard a rumor in the market place.
“There was a magician traveling through Bundry. Well, not much of anyone traveled through Bundry. It wasn’t the kind of place you came to unless you had a very good reason or you were stuck there. We thought that it might be a sign, and I resolved to go find him immediately.
“It took me the rest of the day to find him, but I did by nightfall. At first, the wizard wouldn’t take me seriously. He kept dismissing me, saying I was just a young boy, to leave him alone. But after a lot of convincing and the little bit of wealth I could come up with, he agreed to help me. I wore him down.”
A half-hearted smile formed across his face. “He told me that he’d never had anyone pestered him so much to get his way, and that if I was this stubborn about it, perhaps he should just go ahead and teach me. He said it took a lot of persistence to learn magic, and I’d already shown him that I had that.
“Despite his reluctant agreement to teach me, he said he couldn’t intervene on behalf of Clarissa. All he could do was teach me to do so myself, he said.”
I knew Marcelo’s story didn’t have a happy ending. This was not an exciting story about his beginnings in magic. It was the tragic story of his cruel beginnings, and he was right: They were similar to mine.
“I snuck out to see the magician as often as I could. He taught me and I proved to be an apt student, more gifted than most. The magician was pleased with me. But no matter how quickly I learned, it wasn’t fast enough. We received news of Clarissa’s ‘accidental’ death three months later.”
I gasped even though I suspected this was how M
arcelo’s story would end.
“According to her husband, Clarissa fell down the stairs, clumsy with her big belly.” Marcelo spit the words out.
My hand at my chest, I searched for something to say but found nothing.
“My mother mourned in her own quiet way. But not my father. According to him, it was a sad accident and just the way of life. He moved on, although I’d be shocked if some rumors of how Clarissa’s husband treated her hadn’t reached my father’s ears. After all, he controlled the whole area.”
“What did you do?” I asked. How could he recover from that kind of heartbreak?
“I ran away. I begged the magician to take me away from there, to take me with him. He was worried about taking Bundry’s sole surviving heir. He knew that to be a serious offense, and he refused for so long that I thought I’d be stuck in Bundry forever.
“But he knew what my life was like at court there, and he felt sorry for me. Finally, once I convinced him that I wouldn’t change my mind, he agreed, as long as we hid my location. I haven’t been back since.”
“Marcelo, I’m so, so sorry.” There were no words that could fix it.
I watched him brush the starts of a tear away and compose himself immediately. Had I not known, I wouldn’t have been able to tell that he’d been upset at all. His steely resolve came from years of practice.
“Now do you understand why I can’t take you back to Norland? It would be subjecting you to the same cruel fate as Clarissa. I was unable to help her then, but I can help you now. It won’t make up for what happened, but it’s the right thing to do.”
I nodded. I still didn’t want him to put so much at risk for me, but I did understand now. And secretly, in the part of me that was terrified of a life with Winston, I was grateful. I could use his help. I had no one else to turn to.
Plots, Plans, and a Destination
“Is Albacus the magician who taught you?”
We were moving again. We’d switched horses to give the ones we’d ridden so hard from Lake Creston a break. The tired horses trailed behind us, their reins tied to our saddles.