“He never allows it to heal. You are fortunate,” she told me. “He might have stripped a piece of flesh from you as punishment. But even the great bloody king can’t harm his own child.”
I sat back on the bed, my stomach churning. Aunt Agnes walked over to my vanity, upon which she’d placed some clothes.
“Here. I made you a new petticoat myself; your old one is simply too filthy to be saved.” Indeed, I was covered in mud and blood. She laid the garments on the bed. One was a simple black gown and one a linen petticoat. Something glinted at the edges of the petticoat.
She’d sewn letters into the hemline. No, not letters, rather…runes. Golden runes, much like I’d once seen on the edges of Mickelmas’s multicolored coat. Hadn’t he told me that my aunt had sewn that marvelous garment? Agnes’s eyes were steel, as was her voice.
“Put it on,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “We’ll talk further.” Then she left the room.
I fumbled out of my soiled clothes. There was some hot water and soap for a wash, so I scrubbed my skin until it was red and tingling. I skirted instinctively around the angry wounds at my shoulder, though I realized that they did not pain me as much. Not since I’d seen Rook, at any rate.
I put on my shift, corset, and petticoat, the golden runes gleaming in the dim cavern light. Once I’d pulled on my gown, I called Aunt Agnes back. She evaluated me carefully. I lifted the skirt to show her handiwork, which pleased her.
“Good. Now I want you to transport yourself back to Mickelmas’s cage. Do you know how to do that?”
“All I have to do is think of a place and go.”
“Careful. Runes carved into a floor are sturdier. With runes in your clothing, it will be like balancing on one foot atop a galloping horse. You must be absolutely certain you know where you’re transporting, and it can’t be too far away. If you aren’t careful, you could end up trapped inside the very walls of this mountain,” she said.
Well. Good thing I hadn’t tried taking off at once.
“Picture the place in your mind. Find at least three things—unrelated to people—that define that particular space. Then wish yourself there.” Aunt Agnes nodded. “While wearing this, you must be careful with how you think. Daydreaming could trigger the runes.”
Wonderful. So they were fantastically dangerous. But what mattered now was freeing Mickelmas and finding Maria.
“Can you open the cage door?” I asked her.
“Yes.” My aunt tugged on a ring of keys hung about her waist. “Now, let’s waste no time.” She hooked arms with me, coming along for the ride. Well, this was further encouragement not to foul anything up.
Three things. I remembered the cruel shape of the cages. There had been a patch of hard, dry earth beneath Mickelmas’s cage. And I couldn’t be positive, but I recalled a great towering pine tree thirty feet or so away.
There was no time to dally. I thought of these things, then wished myself to them.
It felt as though my body were hurtling off a cliff while also remaining still. Agnes had been right; it felt terrifying. Unlike the floor porter runes, this skirt gave the sensation of tipping end over end.
In the half space between one breath and the other, we arrived. The sunlight was shocking after time in the hill. Mickelmas sprang to his feet.
“I’d begun to think you had joined your lovely brother’s side,” he said to Agnes, sounding relieved. She took her ring of keys and began to fit one into the cage’s lock.
“Where’s Maria?” I looked about but caught no trace of her. My stomach contracted in fear. God, could they have taken her? Had Willoughby assumed control?
“Here,” said a voice from beneath the cage. She crawled out from under the wagon, dirt streaked on her face. Her red curls were flattened with mud. “Had to hide when the guards came for an inspection.”
Agnes got the cage open, and Mickelmas leaped to the ground. Together, he and I helped Agrippa out as well, though he came at a slower pace. His body felt fragile as glass. I remembered the man who had played games of chess with me, who had wept with pride when I mastered my magic. This shell could not be him. Agrippa turned his eyes skyward and uttered some nonsense syllables.
“Be careful, sir,” I whispered.
Maria did not attempt to help. She avoided my eyes, purposefully staring at the ground. I could read the fierce set of her jaw and knew she was angry. Maybe not at me, but at the situation.
Of course, this was the man who had murdered her mother. None of it was easy. Agrippa slumped forward, and Mickelmas grunted as he helped carry the weight.
“He might be more trouble to bring than he’s worth,” Mickelmas muttered, though he kept Agrippa walking. “I assume you’ve a porter circle of your own now, chickling.”
I lifted my skirt to show him the edge of the petticoat. Mickelmas sighed, probably in fond remembrance of his own colorful coat.
“If only I’d remembered the porter runes. It would have saved us a great deal of time in captivity,” he said.
“I warned you to memorize them.” Agnes shook her head. As one, we gathered at the edge of the wagon circle. The area beyond teemed with Familiars, so I closed my eyes and summoned the shadows.
I hated how natural it felt to call them, and how quickly they now answered. Thus protected by the darkness, our group continued toward the forest. Once the trees hid us, I could remove the shadows.
“Are you sure we can’t leave now? Everyone could grab hold of my dress,” I whispered, but Aunt Agnes shook her head.
“I don’t know that we can go together on the strength of one petticoat. Anyone left behind could suffer an unusually cruel fate.”
In that case, we would wait to get to the trees.
I moved first into the forest. Mickelmas and a sluggish Agrippa followed, then Maria and my aunt. All together at last, I lifted my skirt to show off the gleaming runes. “We should write them into the snow. That would be powerful enough, wouldn’t it?” I asked Agnes. To my relief, she nodded. I stood there while everyone crouched down to read my runes and worked together to write them into the ground. “Where should I send us?” I whispered to my aunt.
“It’s dangerous to ask for a place you haven’t seen. But the places you have seen—”
“Are more dangerous than any other,” I agreed. Sorrow-Fell and London were both overwhelmed by R’hlem’s forces. With a pang of horror, I realized that Brimthorn was still a mere ten miles from Sorrow-Fell. I should have begged Blackwood to evacuate the children. I should have…
“What about deeper into Scotland?” Maria asked. “There might be covens still roaming the highlands, especially now. R’hlem’s eye’s fixed on the south of the border, and the sorcerers are no longer a threat. The witches’ll be growing bold.”
And we would need an army to return and take Sorrow-Fell. “All right. Tell me about a place in the highlands. One that you specifically know.” Maria pondered it.
“Whatever we do, we must do it soon. Dear Cornelius is making it difficult to hang on,” Mickelmas grunted, trying to prop Agrippa up against a tree.
There was a pulse in my mind, as gentle as a fleeting thought. But the word was laced with poison.
Master
I dropped my skirt and turned about, searching the shadows. I looked at the camp beyond the trees, my pulse racing.
“You know, if you’re not going to write the runes, the least you could do is be still,” Mickelmas grumbled.
“What is it?” Maria asked.
Master
My eyes widened. “No,” I whispered.
Shadows surged toward us. The others backed away in fear, but I did not move. It was no use.
“Give us your fire,” Mickelmas snapped. Then, with a cry, Maria was yanked away from the group. My stomach fell as Rook materialized out of the darkness, his clawed
white hands at Maria’s throat. He bared his fangs.
“We must talk, Nettie,” he said.
As Rook tightened his grip on Maria, I held up my hand in warning. Flame sparked on my fingers, the threads of blackness still woven through my fire. Rook smirked to see it.
My head whirled, trying to make sense of everything. I’d seen him release those prisoners, yes, but now he was threatening Maria. If he tried to take her away, I would kill them both. Even if firing on him meant harming her, I’d do it. She’d do the same for me, after all.
My gut went cold as I realized that, not so long ago, I’d had the same thoughts about Rook, when he’d landed in the clutches of the shadow Familiars at Brimthorn. Perhaps if I’d opened fire that day, I’d have saved us all pain….
Dimly, I realized that I was having an easier time resisting the urge to call him master and fall at his feet. Even if the desire was still there, it didn’t rule me. Had I become stronger?
Looking at Rook, his fingers tipped with claws and his mouth sharp with fangs, my heart twisted.
I failed you. The words were on my lips, but I couldn’t speak them.
“We must talk,” he repeated, and the words slithered over my skin. The strength I’d had in resisting his pull weakened. I started to fall at his feet. No. I was no one’s servant.
“Talk of the people you’ve murdered and mutilated?” But of course, I’d made it possible for him to do all that. I hadn’t alerted the Order to his condition, even when I should have. I’d dragged Maria into the entire mess, which had led to Sorrow-Fell’s destruction. In every way, I could see my mistakes as falling dominoes, one striking the other to form an image of chaos.
“Do you hear how I speak, Nettie? I’m human again. Or at least,” he admitted, easing his grip on Maria, “more human than before.”
It was true. The fact he could speak was itself a miracle.
“How?” I asked as Mickelmas and my aunt edged closer to me.
“I believe it is our connection. Once I’d…marked you.” He looked down at the ground as he said it. That was a human gesture, rich with embarrassment. It was a gesture Rook would have made.
“Perhaps.” I drew one step closer to him. “I saw you in the visions. Stephen.”
His mouth relaxed into a smile. “Yes. I saw my family again. My brothers had been lost to me for so long.” Pain seized his features, though he let Maria go. She backed away to join Mickelmas and Agnes. “And look at how you’re speaking, Nettie. I’m forcing myself not to control you.” He winced, as if in concentration. “It’s harder than I would have thought. My very nature screams out to dominate you.”
“But you won’t,” I whispered, warm with relief.
He shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”
Maria and the others were looking between us. They’d be safer if we had this conversation in private. I reached out to put my hands on Rook, and pictured the cavern, and my room within it. The bed, the dollhouse, the bloody collection of parasols. I didn’t relish the thought of a trip back, but it was the only nearby place that I knew absolutely. That feeling of suspension and plummeting washed over me at once, and then we were alone together, holding on to each other in the cavern. The air was chill on my skin, and the place smelled of stagnant water. But we were away from the others…should something happen, they would not be harmed. Nor would Rook.
“Privacy is a fine idea,” Rook mused as I released him.
“Help me save you.” Now that I’d seen and spoken to him again, I couldn’t abandon him. Rook lowered his head.
“I cannot stay in this place any longer. The Skinless Man drives me to despair.” He looked at me with what seemed like hope. “I will follow you from a distance, if I may. A fair distance, so I don’t overpower you, but enough that I may help you. And,” he added in a softer voice, “so that you may free me when the time comes.”
Yes. Yes, I’d find a way to release him from this curse. Rook took my hand in his. His claws traced across the thin skin of my wrist, but he was Rook again.
“Then follow me,” I said. “Let me go back to the others, and we’ll be off.” I was on the verge of picturing that spot in the woods again when Rook held up his hand.
“There’s something you need first,” he whispered. “You must trust me.”
Trust. Even though it was Rook, I still hesitated.
Rook touched my hand, and for a heartbeat the world around us was pitch black and somehow also brilliant with light. Memories crowded about me. Memories, I realized, of our life together. The time we’d found our own private hiding space out in the heather. When I’d nursed him through one of his fevers, bringing him hot broth and begging the cook to keep the fire lit in his corner. The memories bubbled up and then evaporated.
When I’d been inside Korozoth, all those months ago, I had seen visions much like these.
Korozoth and Rook were not mere creatures of darkness. They were creatures of memory and time, of the darkest recesses of the human mind and soul.
Rook had shown me our past to remind me that I could trust him.
I released his hand, and the memories ceased. Putting a finger to his lips, Rook slipped away to the dark corner of the room. “I’ll return soon,” he said, and vanished into shadow.
I waited by the dollhouse, wanting nothing so much as to shove the thing to the ground and watch it break. Seconds later, Rook materialized holding a small figure in his arms. He set the being down on the ground to face me.
I didn’t recognize him at first without the ears, but I soon realized the little hobgoblin in front of me could be no one else.
“Fenswick!” I swept my friend into my arms without hesitation. Back in the faerie realm, Fenswick had attacked a bog troll in order to save our lives. I was certain he’d been killed, but here he was, although dressed in filthy roughspun rather than his customary well-tailored suit. But he’d his four little arms, his bat-turned nose…
And he was missing his ears. They had been beautiful, as large and full as a wild hare’s. Now two stumps were all that remained. Someone had hacked them from his head. He reached one of his four hands up to touch an ear—a gesture he’d been fond of—but flinched when he realized its absence.
“Punishment, you see,” he told me in that high-pitched voice I thought I’d never hear again.
“Show her what you have,” Rook whispered. Then, to me, “He wouldn’t give it to anyone but you.”
Fenswick rummaged in a pocket of his shirt, pulled out something small, and laid it in my hands. It was the bone whistle I’d taken from Ralph Strangewayes’s house in Cornwall. A few mere inches of hollowed-out bone with some crude holes drilled along the length, this was the whistle that had allowed me to subdue Callax, the Child Eater, if only for a moment.
“How did you get this?” I breathed. It was still tied upon a string, and I placed it around my neck. I tucked the whistle down the collar of my gown for safekeeping.
“You left it behind in the Fae tunnels. I felt I should secret it away before someone less savory picked it up,” Fenswick replied. He shuffled his small feet.
“You must come with us,” I said at once. We would need a doctor, and besides, I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him behind in this hellish place.
“I don’t believe the Order would welcome me after what I did.” It was true: he’d conspired in Queen Mab’s elimination of our forces on those cursed Faerie roads. “And I don’t believe you would want me along, considering what I did to our young friend.” His black eyes darted to Rook. Fenswick’s poison had helped lead to Rook’s transformation.
“You shouldn’t blame yourself.” Rook was gentle. “I was past saving.”
No. Never past saving.
“You’re coming with me,” I said, holding out my hand for Fenswick. “Now. We need to move quickly.”
“Are you certain you can make it?” Rook asked.
“I can try.”
“Then—”
“What a delectable surprise,” a woman said, her voice bright with false cheer. Another creature shuffled into my bedchamber. “My little hobgoblin, sniffing out such nasty company.”
The woman before me was short and utterly bald, her face shriveled as an old tomato. She’d pointed ears, which twitched as she beheld me, and her entire body was deformed with scarring. But the voice guided me to her identity.
Queen Mab.
Had Fenswick betrayed me? Or Rook? I was ready to mentally vault myself out of the chamber, alone. But Rook and Fenswick stepped in front of me protectively.
“You will not have her,” Rook growled at Mab. The faerie queen hissed with laughter.
“Oh, I think I might. This little beast has been aching for my special attentions,” Mab cooed, sounding as sickeningly sweet as ever. Rook’s shadows flared at his feet. He was growing angry, and I began to fall into that mass of darkness, giving myself utterly to it.
“Don’t,” I choked out, steadying myself with a hand against the wall. Mercifully, the tightening invisible line between us slackened; Rook had understood.
With the speed of a spider descending upon a fly, Mab snatched up Fenswick. She pulled one of his arms behind his back, twisting it at a cruel angle. The little hobgoblin keened as she ripped into his flesh.
“You marked me like this for all eternity.” She chattered her teeth at me. “I can’t hurt you. Your illustrious father would have me flayed from head to toe, and that would be even harder to live with. But allow this,” she spit, wrenching Fenswick’s arm to a more unnatural angle, “to serve as payment.”
Porridge was in my hand immediately.
“If you don’t put him down, I’ll kill you.” My voice was clear and cold. Unheeding, Mab bit into Fenswick’s neck and spit blood at my feet.
A Sorrow Fierce and Falling (Kingdom on Fire, Book Three) Page 16