A Ragged Magic

by Lindsey S. Johnson

  ～

  “Not much longer now. Just hold on,” I hear Connor murmur. The carriage rumbles over ruts; the ride is already too long.

  My mother’s face frowns at me from the darkness. A guildwoman wouldn’t get herself stuck in a chest, she seems to say. The roof of my mouth begins to pound, and my teeth ache. Ah, Mum, a true guildwoman wouldn’t have the Sight, either. Such a peasant’s power. Mum always tried to hide her own mother’s peasant farmer stock. It’s too bad I resemble gran in more than looks.

  I jolt from my daze when the carriage lurches to a halt. Drawing a dank breath, I realize that smell is me: sweat soaks my gown in itchy patches. The chest shifts, moves out into the light and fresher air. A small whiff leaks in from my savior crack of light.

  A seabird cries, and water laps ships and docks under the noise of people scurrying, calling to each other. The chest shifts so I am at a slant on my neck and head, and my spine painfully protests this treatment. My shoulders bunch. I hear the harsh voices of sailors, thumping of feet on wood. A ship? Did Connor say anything about a ship? Panic gnaws my chest and I shake to be out of here.

  The chest steadies, is set down. The voices fade; a door closes. Am I alone? I hear nothing but my own heart, thumping mad in my chest. My shaking turns to fierce pounding. Let me out of here this instant. I rock wildly in my airless coffin, strain with my knees to open and let me out!

  The lid flies free, and I tumble out of the side in a wild rush. A hand touches my shoulder. I throw my arm out, certain doom is near, and twist to scramble away.

  Connor’s cautious face stares back at me, his arms wide and steady. “Easy,” he says softly. It isn’t the first time he has spoken, I realize belatedly.

  My hands shake as I pull at the gown around me, try to straighten my skirts. My stomach twists with fading fear, and I try to control the pain in my chest from straining heart and lungs. I close my eyes a moment, steady my nerves.

  “I’m fine,” I gasp, clearing my throat.

  Connor offers me a hand up, which I accept with shaky aplomb.

  I realize that we aren’t alone, and freeze.

  Implacably, Connor pulls me along and leads me to a seat on a cot.

  I tremble with reaction, try to gather my tattered courage.

  “What have you brought me, my lord Connor?” asks the older man on the other cot in the cabin.

  “Not you, Your Eminence. This is Rhia Wolff fitzWellan. I told you about her. She begins her position with the princess today.”

  The man’s wiry white hair curls close to his head, and his eyes are a brown a little lighter than his skin. He smiles at me, but has questions in his eyes.

  I feel a charge in the air, a slight ruffling inside my head. He’s reading me, I think, but I don’t know what to do about it. I huddle in on myself, try to appear harmless. I don’t understand why there is someone else here.

  “Good day to you, young Rhia. My name is Laurent Robere,” he says.

  I look pointedly at Connor.

  “Cardinal Robere is helping us,” is all he says.

  I continue to stare at him. This is one of those things he might have mentioned before.

  Connor looks back at me, expecting something.

  I close my eyes, try to pull myself together, my body shaking and my breath loud in the creaking cabin.

  “We honor the First Prophet, and give our fear to her for safekeeping,” the cardinal murmurs.

  “General Sherron at the battle of Kiras,” I say, opening my eyes to look at him. Cardinal Robere smiles.

  “You are well educated.”

  I don’t know what I should say.

  “I have always found that speech to be of comfort,” he continues, “when I find myself overwhelmed.”

  I nod, thinking the battle following that quote wasn’t particularly comforting. But I’m sure his sentiments are well-intentioned.

  That ruffling in my mind again. I feel a vision shaping, sharp and painful, but an outside source gentles the magic, and the vision melts open without hurting.

  Be easy, a voice sends to me.

  I See a man who looks like Connor, but older, his face stormy as he listens to papers of a treaty being read. A woman, a queen, shoots him a sharp look, but does not stop the courtier from reading.

  I See messages the man writes, in a language I don’t know, and the presence in my head tightens its focus. I See Gantry, his face dark with fury, and I wince out of the vision, push the magic away.

  When I look up, Robere regards me with an apologetic smile. “I understand terrible things have happened to you, my dear. From all reports, you seem to be a capable young person. And I can see for myself that you are intelligent and composed, and quite strong. Your magic is impressive. I think you’ll do.” He smiles again.

  “Cardinal, you should prepare,” Connor says.

  The cardinal stands and shakes out his brown robes. Not very cardinal-like, I think.

  “I will leave you to recover, Rhia Wolff fitzWellan. I know you are in kinder hands with the princess and Connor than you have been. I wish you success in all your endeavors.” As he steps out of the cabin, he turns and gives me another long, strange look, and then leaves.

  I look at Connor. “You might have warned me,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “It wasn’t as well-planned as it might have been. But Cardinal Robere knows your story, as much as we do. He wanted to meet you. It seemed a provident time.”

  I shake my head, blinking back sudden tears. “You should have told me something. I’m not just some, some game piece on a board.” My hands clench, and I force them open, stare at them. I see him shift out of the corner of my eye.

  He sighs, seems about to take my hand. Changing his mind, he stands and paces the three steps available in the cabin. “It really couldn’t be helped; he wanted you not to know. Now, we’re on the ship Jihansa, and from here out —”

  The door opens and I jump, ready to run, only there isn’t any escape from the cabin. A woman enters, tall, dark, her bright skirts swirling gaily. She smiles, her teeth a startling contrast to her copper skin.

  Connor bows while I stand in a half-crouch, clutching my skirts awkwardly.

  “Connor, it is so good to see you. Bhanu told me you’d arrived.”

  “Mistress Asa Siradhi, please let me introduce my cousin, the lady Rhia Wolff fitzWellan.”

  I bite my lips and curtsey, catch a warning look from Connor as I glance at him. I try to seem poised, aware of my ripe smell, my rumpled clothes and bare feet. All things that were true in front of Cardinal Robere, as well, I think.

  “Please accept our apologies for our hurried arrival,” he continues. “Trader Siradhi is indeed a friend of King Peter to come to our aid.”

  Asa curtseys herself, a graceful movement of layered skirts that float on the slightest breeze.

  I watch, mesmerized by the material and rose color. I have never seen so many different shades of red.

  “The Indrani Crown is eager to promote trade, your Grace, of information as well as goods.” Indrani: of course. The name of the southern empire sinks into my head as I try not to stare. Da promised a trip to Indranah for my honeymoon — as long as I brought back dye. It’s several weeks by sea.

  Her accent bubbles over Talarian words like spring water over rocks. I try to pay attention to her words, but the meaning gets lost in the sound, and Connor leaves with a curt bow before I figure out what’s been said.

  Panicked, I stand frozen as Asa smiles at me.

  After a moment, she looks a little uncertain. “Are you hungry, lady Rhia? Is there anything I can bring you? Your journey must have been arduous. Connor will fetch your trousseau so you can change.” She smiles graciously and gestures to the door. It takes a moment for her words to register.

  My tongue sticks to my lips when I lick them. I think longingly of the wash basin in the tower. “Hot water,” I sigh, “and soap.”

  Asa smiles, bows out of the cabin. Sinking onto t
he cot, I let out a cautious sigh. This all would have been easier if Connor had prepared me. He is so close-mouthed, I complain to myself. And you are so open, Rhiannon.

  I’m afraid to speak of the demons. When I try to even hint, I can’t speak at all. Demon-taint is not tolerated. I’m not sure how anyone can tell — how do you know if you’re tainted? When you run mad? Am I mad already? I think that Bishop Gantry must be, but no one around him in the kirche seems to have noticed.

  When the door opens again I am ready for it, and Asa and three men enter. One man carries a round copper tub of a size to sit in. The other two carry large buckets of water. A bath — I hadn’t expected a bath. The last time I had a real bath …

  Asa directs them and soon the tub is full, steaming in the spring air. Now that I’m not locked in a chest, the sweat drying on my body chills me a little, and I look forward to the warmth. I try to look like a lady, not fidget, and not hunch my shoulders. The sailors leave, and Asa closes the door after them.

  “I brought some water to drink, as well,” she says, pointing to a pitcher she brought in, and a goblet. “And I can take your gown and air it and brush it out, at least. I have no proper smoothing-iron, but I can get the worst of your travels out of it.”

  I nod, thinking that the dress has fewer travels to smooth out than I do. Asa stands, staring, and I realize she’s waiting for me to undress, so she may take the gown.

  I start to undo the hooks at the neck, and suddenly remember my scars. I hesitate, and she steps forward to help me.

  “No,” I flinch away from her, and she stands still as stone, her expression concerned. I smell the tangy fear-sweat break out on me. My insides tremble in renewed panic. I can’t let anyone see these scars, my disfigured body. I don’t want this beautiful woman to look on me in pity and horror and disgust. I can’t say anything, can’t move. I shudder twice and stare at the floor.

  “My lady, I shall bring a screen, of course, and you can undress in private.” I can’t bear to look at her, but I catch a glimpse of her eyes in the mirror she placed on the bed, with a wooden comb and sweet soap. Her eyes seem worried, and I fear I have acted too strangely already.

  I wait for her to leave before shuddering, look around, reach for calm. The cabin is small with a round window and room for a chest against the wall. The cots are narrow, but the blankets are of decent wool. A painting of a mermaid hangs on the wall. A cabin for a traveling merchant, or maybe a minor noble.

  When she returns again, I stand anxious by the tub, but she merely smiles at me. The screen is a slightly tattered affair, dark wood frame in three sections with coarse linen hung in each panel. Asa sets it up in front of the tub, which leaves very little room in the cabin for much else.

  I remove the musty gown while behind it, almost teetering into the water once or twice, unbalanced by the irregular rocking of a ship at dock. I reach my arm over to hand Asa the gown and hear a sharp gasp.

  “Oh my dear! What happened to your arm?” Dropping the gown I snatch my scarred arm back to me, huddling naked behind the screen.

  “Nothing! I mean, it,” I struggle for an answer. “The fire!” I burst out, remembering my new identity. “The fire did it, when we were trapped …” I leave it at that, hoping she’ll drop it.

  “Of course, my lady. I am so sorry,” she says, her voice subdued. “I will leave you to your bath,” and she closes the cabin door quietly behind her.

  I unclench my jaw painfully and cling to the side of the tub with relief. Picking up the soap and comb and cloth from the bed, I step shakily into the water.

  The bath relaxes me enough to nearly doze. As the smell of my fear washes away I try to believe this may work. I can be a noblewoman, one who is poor and fallen on hard times. I can be a young cousin to a lord, and a handmaid to a princess. I just have to be strong for Linnet, and all will be well.

  I take heart from the thought of little Linnet, alive and unharmed. I need to be strong so she can have a future.

  Sighing, I start to unbind my hair from its braid, and remember — my hair is short now: short and brown. I run the comb through it, snarling it on the short curls. They’re so unruly now they’re cut. Da would throw a fit at a daughter of his with short hair, I think. I bite my cheek and focus on getting the snarls out.

  Sitting with my knees drawn up, I sink until the water laps over my head. I stay submerged, letting the warmth tingle my scalp and listening to the strange language of the water as it burbles around me.

  I soap myself vigorously and rinse, anticipating the return of Asa or Connor. Drying off quickly and wrapping the towel around me, I step around the screen for the shift that fell to the other side.

  Connor enters as I’m leaning over the bunk. My hair drips in my face as I stand frozen, and our eyes meet. His mouth sticks on whatever he’d been about to say.

  I whip back around the screen, mortified. As I huddle, miserable and now hot, now cold with embarrassment, I hear him take a breath to begin again.

  “I brought your wardrobe, lady Rhia,” he says. His voice sounds only a little strained. “I think the gowns should fit, although the princess was right.” I jump a little as a dark gray gown of fine damask slumps over the screen.

  “Right about what?” I choke out.

  “You’ve gained weight in the last week. You no longer look as though you’ve had the Wasting.” Somehow this doesn’t make me feel any better.

  I put on the gown, relieved Connor took the time to gather me a trousseau before we set off for the castle. Julianna had Connor arrange it last week, so I wouldn’t arrive with nothing.

  The gown is finer than I am used to, although my mother often wore this style: a full skirt and high neck with lace at collar and cuffs. It fits well enough; Julianna’s measurements were thorough. Black bands of mourning adorn the sleeves, and a black shawl follows.

  “I picked out boots and stockings as well, so you won’t have to appear barefoot. I’m sorry they weren’t ready earlier.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” I say, as I shrug into the gown. My damp body makes the material stick to my arms.

  “Just hurry, we haven’t much time. We need to get out of here soon, before most of the crew comes back from leave.”

  “Just what does Mistress Asa — do the Indrani know about me?” I ask.

  There’s a pause, and I pull up my stockings a little firmer before tying the ribbons on my garters.

  “The Indrani believe you to be my cousin Rhia, family lost in a fire and on the run from an enemy. They’re helping me because the Indrani family who owns this ship is … a friend to the royal family. The Indrani sovereign is close to our King Peter, and when Hugh was caught in a difficult situation helping the Indrani with something … sensitive last year, Asa’s family made sure he got home safely.”

  “Oh.” The boots fit a little snugly, and I’m dressed and dry but for my hair, but I don’t want to come from behind the screen just yet. “Were you working on that something sensitive as well?”

  “Extremely unofficially.”

  I stand still, collecting my courage in wisps.

  Connor goes on, perhaps just to fill silence, although that’s not his usual habit. “Officially, I was sent away from court for awhile. In fact, I’m usually not in favor at court. They —” he hesitates.

  “They what? Why not?” I realize I have broken in too soon, and his brusque manner returns.

  “Just get dressed. We leave at the shift bell.”

  When Asa returns to bid us farewell, she has some information for us. “Bhanu saw a man following your coach past the dock, who questioned your driver, and tried to question a crewmember of ours. None of our crew, of course, understand a word of Talarian,” she smiles slyly and shrugs her shoulders. “He seems to have drifted over to the fish market. Bhanu is keeping an eye on him for you.”

  Connor presses his lips together as he peers out of the window. “It’s time for us to be going, Rhia. The spy will believe you docked here on the Jihansa
.” He turns to Asa and bows. “Again I’ve trusted you with precious cargo, and again you’ve repaid my trust tenfold. I thank you and your family. The goods we discussed will reach you soon.”

  She smiles. “Our honored guest continues his journey with us to Fanthas, then?”

  “I would count it a great favor,” Connor says.

  “We are happy to oblige, your Grace. I’m sure we will have goods for you when we dock again.” Asa curtseys deeply as we leave the cabin.

  The ship is strangely quiet around us: the slap of water and cries from the fish market sound loud to my ears. The crew bustles around us without seeming to notice us. Connor hurries me to the carriage.

  The gown rustles beneath my shaking hands. I step off the gangplank and the carriage driver bows as Connor helps me into his sleek black carriage. Soon the jolting progress of traffic at the docks becomes the rhythm of half-trot through the town of Haverston.

  Staring out the window, I try to calm nerves suddenly screaming to run from here. The streets seem quieter than they should be for a market day, and more black slashes of charcoal, signs of pestilence, mark doorways than before. More priests move purposefully from business to home, as well.

  I force myself not to flinch from view. I am supposed to be Rhia Wolff fitzWellan, and nobility does not shrink from windows of carriages. Nor do they carry scars of torture.

  We pass the town square and I jerk back. The gallows are gone, but I still see them as they were. I ball my hands into fists in my lap and stare at nothing, fighting anguish. My mind whispers in my mother’s voice, a lady does not gape out windows or fidget, either. My stomach roils.

  Connor lays his hand on mine. I look up into eyes dark as night, and he squeezes his hand lightly over my clenched ones.

  “It starts. You will not fail the princess,” he says. His tone is kindly, and perhaps it is kindly meant, but I take no comfort.

  Julianna saved my sister and myself. But only to this point, and from here I must fly or sink.

  I fear greatly that I shall sink like stones.