by Anya Josephs
“I think when someone passes a made-up idea along, it becomes like a game of Heard-You-Say. If none of these people had ever really seen an adirit, the story would change. One would hear the adirim called the Fair Folk and think it meant they were blond of hair. This story of them flying would make them winged like bats in some versions, and birds in others, and butterflies in a third.”
I have to concede that she’s made a fair argument.
“Yet when you look at what’s been written about them, even in books by different writers written hundreds of years apart, it’s entirely consistent from one writer to the next. They look like humans, usually taller and slimmer of frame, with long dark hair and golden-bronze skin. Their beauty is unmatched. They are able to use magic with a force we can neither understand nor duplicate. They even use it to fly. They speak only the Old Tongue to each other as a means to keep themselves distant from us, and they are unlikely to approach us at all. They generally live in small groups, living among their sisters and mothers. I don’t even see any male adirim mentioned in this book, or the others I’ve read.”
“So you're saying—”
“I'm saying that if there were really no such thing as adirim, there would be some variation. We wouldn't get the same exact story again and again. The fact that we do means that all of these writers are writing about something. Something real."
“You think so?"
“I do."
“You think there are really adirim out there?”
“I don't think there still are, no.”
“Well, what happened to them then?”
“I think Ricard killed them. Like he did Kariana. Like he essentially did to my parents. Like he does to anyone who disagrees with him or threatens his power,” Sisi says, and there is a silence. It goes on for a long moment while I draw in a shaky breath, trying to wrap my flailing mind around what she’s just said.
“You must be joking.”
“No. I believe it. I think that there were adirim in the Kingdom until very recently. They used to walk among us, in times within living memory. How else would people have written it down? But when the Royal School for magic was finally closed down, and after trade with the pahyat stopped, I suspect that the adirim began to withdraw from the Kingdom. Not completely, not as they have now, but they were no longer living with people, no longer having children with them, no longer a part of society, no longer ruled by our King. Instead, they went back to their own lands, somewhere in the Eastern part of the Earth. After all, it's where the First Queen came from, and she's the one who brought magic into the Kingdom in the first place. I think that makes the most sense. And it’s very rare, but I've seen some letters from hedge witches or farmers in that part of the Earth saying that they'd seen an adirit, or even spoken to one. And then, within our lifetime, even that stopped. And no one I know has even heard a rumor of one, though everyone is as sure as can be that they did once exist. So, I imagine that we need to look within very recent years to see what has changed. And who do we know who runs a violent and very efficient army and has an extreme hatred for magic in all its forms?”
“Now you're just making things up,” I say through my dry throat. The very idea is horrifying—not least because it is extremely easy to believe. I console myself with the fact that Sisi doesn’t have a bit of evidence for what she’s saying.
“Oh, yes,” she admits readily, “But I might still have the right of it.”
“It’s not like you could do anything about it,” I say. Even if she isn’t, as she probably is, making things up wholesale, what power could she possibly have over the Prince?
“I intend to wring a confession from his lips sooner or later. Either he killed them, or he drove them away and made sure they would never return, and we need them. We need magic in this land. You think it's your father's fault that the trees aren't bearing fruit? You think there's any way he could work harder, or care more?”
“Of course not,” I answer, almost offended by her suggestion. My father, for all his faults—and I am quick enough to name them all—would rather die than allow the farm, the pride and sustenance of our family for generations, to begin to wither and fail as it has done.
“Right. Uncle Prinn does all he can. We all do. The fact is that in our great-grandparents’ time, when your grandfather’s father laid his claim to that land and started the farm, no farmer could imagine working without magic. Every part of the Earth had magic! Real magic. Not just the magic of everyday hedge witches like Kariana, who are limited in their ruak, but also a deeper, truer kind of magic. I mean the ruak of the adirim, which I believe tied the Kingdom together in a way that was necessary, and which is gone now.”
I’m staggered by the vastness of what Sisi is talking about, the beautiful tale she’s spinning for me. When I speak, I focus in on the practical, since it seems to be the only thing I can do. “How do you intend to make His Royal Highness confess to this crime that you don’t even know he committed?”
Sisi smiles. “Oh, Ricard will tell me everything. Sooner or later.”
“That’s what you’re trying to do,” I realize as I say it aloud. “You’re hoping you can make him admit to it…”
“Thinking he might turn my head with tales of his power, yes. Or perhaps he really believes he did the right thing, wiping out the ‘wicked’ witches and the unnatural adirim with their so-called blood magic. Who knows? But I do believe that, sooner or later, he won’t be able to resist the urge to boast of it to me. He knows I am clever as well as beautiful, and he knows I am not impressed with his name, or his wealth, or his station. He’ll have to find some way to keep me interested in him.”
“Couldn’t he just…I don’t know, earlier you seemed worried he might…order you to stay.” Force you to stay, I think, but I don’t want to raise the specter of that fear to Sisi unless I absolutely must.
“He could,” she admits, “But I don’t think he will. I think he wants more from me now than he could get by force.”
“Love?” I ask, shocked. “You think he’s in love with you?”
She shrugs. “Maybe. I think he wants my attention, which is near enough as makes no difference.”
That’s wrong. Love isn’t wanting to possess and control another person as Lord Ricard wants to do to Sisi. Nor is it simply wanting them around. It’s something else, something more.
When I look at Sisi, I see how beautiful she is. Of course I do—everyone does. But I see, and feel, so much more. There’s fondness, and frustration, and admiration, and adoration, and a thousand other feelings I am too ignorant to have words for. What I feel for Sisi… that’s what love is.
I want to say as much to her, but I’m afraid. Afraid she’ll just smile and call me a dear little bird or something else equally tender and patronizing. I’m afraid that she won’t understand that when I tell her I love her, I mean I love her as much as I believe anyone can love. As fiercely as she hates Lord Ricard, that’s how much I love Sisi.
Enough that I want things that two girls could never share.
These thoughts have been coming to me more and more often in recent days, and as always, I push them aside. I know that Sisi wouldn’t understand. Maybe she’d even be horrified, if I told her I want more from her than a friendly, sisterly love.
So, I say nothing about it. Instead, I ask, “What will you do, then? Once you’ve extracted this confession from Lord Ricard?”
Her smile is gentle, and a little bit sad. It’s the most beautiful smile in the Kingdom. Not because of the poreless perfection of her night-dark skin, or the luscious redness of her lips, or the even, pearly whiteness of her teeth, or the dimples in her round cheeks. But because it’s Sisi’s smile. “Then I’ll figure out a way to bring the magic back.”
“You don’t take things easy on yourself, do you, Sisi?” I ask with a rueful smile of my own.
“I do not. And why should I?”
Why should she, indeed. If you ask me, I think there’s nothing on this E
arth that Sisi could not do if she set her mind to it.
So she’s going to bring down the evil prince and save the Kingdom, with nothing at her side but a fifteen-year-old girl and a pile of old books. I still believe she can do it.
I love her, I think to myself, and the words hurt. I’ve said them aloud plenty of times, but I mean something very different by them now. I mean: I’m in love with her.
I’ll never say as much to her. I wouldn’t dare.
But it’s a relief, after a lifetime of wondering why I was so different than everyone else, to finally have an answer, in the privacy of my own thoughts, as to why I’ve always known I’ll never marry, never have an ordinary life. I’m in love with my best friend. I’m in love with another girl.
I’m in love with Sisi.
Chapter Fifteen
Midwinter almost sneaks up on us. An evening of dancing and the delights of the City seems so unimportant now. The real purpose of our visit here has nothing to do with any invitation Lord Ricard extended, and it’s easy to forget that we—that Sisi—were summoned to be an ornament at a party.
We’re deep in study when Karili, our unfortunate etiquette tutor, comes bustling into the parlor. Sisi quickly shoves the book she was reading, Magicks of Bloode and Earth, into the couch cushions.
“My lady Sisi, Mistress Jeni, are you not dressing yet? The maidservants should have brought up your gowns half an hour since!”
“Haven’t seen ‘em,” Sisi says, turning to put her feet up on the edge of a chair.
Karili tries valiantly to hide her wince. Part of me wishes that Sisi wouldn’t do so much to provoke her—she seems a good enough woman, if somewhat silly. “I’ll go inquire at once, by your leave, Lady Sisi.”
Sisi gives her an imperious nod. When Karili is gone, she turns to me. “Will you help with my hair? None of the maids here do it quite like you do.”
I’ve been helping Sisi with her curls since I can remember, so I’m no doubt better at it than the palace servants. Most folks here in the City seems to have straight or wavy hair, which goes along with the paler skin of this central region of the Earth. Sisi’s hair requires careful shaping to keep it healthy and puffs up into a beautiful cloud around her face when it’s not contained.
While servants bring up our gowns from Mari’s workshop, I set about my task. I shape her curls into a high bun atop her head, decorating it some with small, jeweled pins—another gift from Ricard.
We whisper while I work.
“I can’t believe I’m finally about to meet him,” I admit.
“You sound almost excited.”
“Of course I am. He’s the Second in the Kingdom. One of the most important men alive. And I’ve spent the last few months helping you obsess about destroying him every waking second.”
Sisi laughs at that, but also shushes me. “I’m eager to know what you make of him,” she admits. “He is… an interesting man.”
She hasn’t told me much about what Lord Ricard is like personally. For all that I’ve learned about his place in the Kingdom, his vendetta against magic and those who use it, his relationship with his brother, his attempts to seduce Sisi, I still don’t even know what the man looks like beyond Sisi’s description. “I guess I’ll tell you later tonight.”
“I look forward to it.”
The maidservants have returned, making it impossible for our conversation to continue in any productive way, so I take my leave and go to my own chamber to dress.
Two maids I’ve never seen before help me into my gown. It’s the most beautiful garment I’ve ever laid eyes on, lovelier even than the dresses that Sisi has worn for her dinners with Lord Ricard.
“You look so pretty, Miss Jeni,” one of the maids says.
I know that’s not true. I’ve spent enough time around my cousin, the great beauty, to be all too conscious of the fact that I am no such thing.
But when I’m done feeling the tiniest bit bitter about that, and though I’m having a hard time walking in the tight skirt and heeled shoes, I totter over to the large silver-backed mirror and look at myself.
My hair is down my shoulders, dark and straight, only the very front of it pulled back, but there are pearled beads strung into it. The shimmering lightness of the pearls makes my hair look as black as night. Against that, my skin looks, not sallow as I have often been told, but pleasingly golden. The lavender gown I wear, tight and uncomfortable though it is, shows off my plump figure, while its high neckline and narrow skirt do something to disguise the fact that I, as of yet, have no womanly shape to speak of. The bodice—I hadn’t noticed before—is carefully embroidered in a pattern of dense triangles, no doubt to further hide my disappointingly rectangular shape. The tightness of it forces me to take small, ladylike steps, so that even when Karili’s repeated exhortations to walk carefully and put one foot in front of another are forgotten in the excitement of the evening, I won’t be able to do much else. I’ve been transformed into someone I don’t even recognize. The girl in the mirror doesn’t look like the quiet little bird I’ve been all my life, unseen and unnoticed. For once, the words Miss Jeni don’t seem like a polite fiction: when I look into the mirror, that lady is what I see. A lady of the very court I am working with my cousin to destroy. The irony brings a faint smile to my lips.
Aunt Mae is already sitting in the common room when I go out. “It takes them less time to dress me. There’s not much that can be done to fix up an old woman,” she says, but I shake my head.
“You look lovely, Auntie.”
And so she does. Her thick hair is up, braided in an intricate crown around her head. Unlike me, she has been allowed quite a bit of makeup, outlining her dark brown eyes in blue and dusting her cheeks with blush. Someone’s even drawn a beauty mark on her cheek. Her gown leaves her neck bare, showing a lovely choker of beaten gold, inset with a ruby. The fabric swathing her from collarbone to toes is the color of autumn leaves, a rich maroon with hints of gold that show when she moves. It fits more loosely than my gown, especially in the skirt.
“I told them I wasn’t wearing a corset,” she explains. “Mari didn’t like that too much, but there’s no other way for me. I’m just too old and set in my ways to go around tying myself up like a leg of lamb ready to be roasted. I teased her into agreeing to it, anyway, saying that if she was any good at her job, she’d find a way to make me look at least presentable even though I’m an old maid with a thick waist. And I think she did it.”
“She certainly did. You’re beautiful, Auntie.” I look around. “Shouldn’t we go?”
“We have to wait for Sisi. It could be a while.”
“What does one do at a ball anyway?” I ask.
“Dance, I believe. Although neither of us is likely to be asked. I think little girls and old women like us mostly pick delicately at canapés and stand around watching people admire Sisi.”
I don’t know what a canapé is, but I say, “Luckily I have a great deal of experience in the area of standing around, watching people admire Sisi.”
Aunt Mae laughs. “I am sorry for that. You ought not spend so much time in her shadow.”
“I don’t know where else I would be.”
“You may have to figure it out.”
Those cryptic words unsettle me. “You think—”
“I think it is very unlikely that your cousin will be returning to the farm with us after the ball. Or ever again.”
“Oh.” I can’t say I’m surprised. A part of me knew, has always known, that this trip meant everything was changing for good. I think of Sisi, trying to make me promise to leave her behind.
Aunt Mae is looking strangely at me. “You’ll always have a home with us, though. Both of you,” she says.
I’m not sure why she bothers to say that. I’m not like Sisi. I have nowhere else to go. Here in the palace, I am no more a part of life than I was back at my father’s farm. I am just as much on the outside, tolerated here because Sisi is used to having me in her shadow, exa
ctly as they put up with me at home because they’re used to having me around.
The thought saddens me too much for words, so I say nothing, just close my eyes. It’s going to be a long night, full of such loneliness. I shouldn’t wear myself out with these thoughts too soon, or I’ll weep and ruin my lovely appearance.
The distant, heavy chime of the palace bell breaks through my thoughts. I’m grateful for it, until I count the eight chimes and realize the late hour. “Isn’t this when the ball is supposed to begin?” I ask, a hint of panic in my voice. “Where’s Sisi? We’re late already!”
“Calm down,” Aunt Mae says. “I remember when I was a girl, though I know that might seem rather too long ago for you to imagine now. Back in those days, it was quite normal to arrive late. All the most fashionable people did it. It was a means of drawing attention to yourself. No one wants to walk into an empty room.”
“But someone has to,” I say, confused, and my aunt laughs.
“Yes. Someone has to. But not the most beautiful girl in all the Four Corners of the Earth. She’ll arrive ‘stylish and late,’ as we used to say, and all eyes will be on her as she makes her entrance.”
“Ah.” That makes sense, and I feel a bit sheepish over my previous outburst of nerves. Besides, we don’t have to wait too much longer. As the clock sounds the quarter-hour, Sisi pokes her head out from the door.
“Are you two ready?”
“Waiting for you.”
“All right. We can go soon. Just tell me if I look all right. I’m a little, well…” she trails off nervously, laughing a bit. “This isn’t exactly the sort of thing I usually wear.”