by Lucia Ashta
I blushed once my thoughts arrived at the full picture of a married life. I tipped my face.
Sir Lancelot, usually as punctilious in his manners as Mother, would never have inserted himself into this moment or into our travels. But there was nothing usual about today. In fact, the Castle at Irele had not seen usual in a long time.
“Milord, may I accompany you on this journey? I’m certain I can find some way of being of service to you.”
Marcelo smiled and answered, “You may, Sir Lancelot.” But he never took his eyes off me.
Chapter 4
“How’d it go?”
Marcelo had been looking down, running his hands through his hair. Now, his head snapped up, surprised to find me still outside the dining room. But where else would I be? My promise to him obliged me to wait for him. Besides, more than honor made me eager to keep my word. The din from the entry hall carried to the dining room with ease. I imagined it echoed throughout the entire castle.
A particularly loud crash made me, and Sir Lancelot on my shoulder, jump. But not Marcelo. His nerves seemed worn and exhausted. He didn’t flinch.
He just looked at me with tired eyes. “It went all right, I suppose. We can prepare to leave whenever we’re ready.”
A buzzing swarm of pixies preceded Mordecai’s exit from the dining room. What piece of art had they even come from? I had noticed only dark art lining the castle’s many halls, the choice of Mordecai’s predecessors. There had been no idyllic scenes that I could find, and now I couldn’t search for them. The paintings and tapestries hung where they always had, but they were vacant and without apparent purpose.
Mordecai walked over to me, and Sir Lancelot tightened his grip on my shoulder. I winced. “I’m sorry, milady,” he said and loosened his hold, but the relief to my shoulder only lasted a moment. The pixies seemed especially keen to bother the owl. He swiveled to aim his wings at the infringing pixies.
To them it was a game, but not to the pygmy. I could barely hear what Mordecai said with all of Sir Lancelot’s flustered and indignant huffing.
“Marcelo has told me that you will be accompanying him to Bundry to settle his affairs there.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I hope you’ll come back soon. I’ve grown used to having you around.”
I choked back an egg of emotion. This was the closest any father figure had ever come to expressing affection for me, and it was all the more valuable for its unexpectedness.
“I’d like that.”
Marcelo was still running his hands through his hair. The dark strands had seen little peace since the battle. He snapped his arms to his sides, as if suddenly aware of what he’d been doing, and approached Mordecai again. “Are you sure that you’ll be all right without us here?”
“Yes, my son. I’ll deal with all these recreants and return them to their rightful places.” Then, betraying the real sentiment hidden behind stern words, he reached out a weathered finger to the nearest pixie, who climbed on.
I feared we might return to the castle to discover the art refugees still here, settled into the many rooms and floors, a permanent fixture of chaos.
“Are you sure you don’t want me and Clara to help you return them to the art before we leave? We don’t have to go right away.”
“But you should. The Castle of Bundry’s unclaimed. You must go before Count Washur thinks of laying claim to it through your nephew and your false death.”
My eyes widened. I hadn’t thought of Count Washur’s involvement.
“You don’t want to give Count Washur any more reason to kill you than he already has in his misguided and crazy mind.”
I understood Mordecai’s fear; Count Washur had taken his brother from him. He wouldn’t be able to bear it if he took Marcelo too.
Mordecai’s face softened, though I wasn’t sure if it was genuine or just hopeful of a time when happy thoughts could be real again. “Clara, I hope you’ll still consider marrying Marcelo here. It’d be nice to have good memories to replace the bad.”
Even so, I didn’t know if it would be bad luck to start a life together where so many had lost theirs. With her superstitious ways, Maggie would find every reason not to hold a wedding here. But I wasn’t Maggie, and the day when we’d marry was still far off. We hadn’t even spoken of it again since the battle.
“Of course.”
“That’s very good, my girl. Now, I’m off to deal with the miscreants some more.” His eyes glazed over and he left in the fog that followed him everywhere lately.
“I’m worried about him,” Marcelo told me once Mordecai was out of earshot. “He’s not himself at all.”
“I suppose it’s to be expected. After all, how many years of life had he and Albacus shared?”
“Somewhere around three hundred seventeen, I think.”
“What? Really?”
“Something like that.”
“Wow. That’s even more than I’d imagined. That’s incredible, really.”
Marcelo shrugged noncommittally.
“Some day you’ll have to tell me how they did it.”
Three hundred seventeen years was an awfully long time. “Have they always lived together?”
“I think so.”
“Goodness.” I was beginning to understand how deep the loss to Mordecai was. It was no wonder he couldn’t focus on anything other than the trivial. “I feel so much worse for Mordecai now than before I knew that.”
Another shrug. “It’s horrible for him and very, very sad. They might’ve shared another few hundred years of life if Count Washur hadn’t shown up here. But you don’t live all those years without learning some strength and perseverance. Mordecai will pull through it, eventually.”
Eventually could be quite a long time for someone who was over three hundred years old. “I hope so.”
“So do I.” Marcelo sighed again. Our conversations did little to cheer him up lately. But then, the topics of our conversations hadn’t been happy ones.
Sir Lancelot started purring on my shoulder. The pygmy owl was asleep. His chest rose up and down in the peace of slumber that allowed him to forget. It had all been overwhelming for the big personality in the little body.
It had been for all of us.
Marcelo sidled closer to me in the semblance of privacy amid Sir Lancelot’s muted snores. “Mordecai wants us to marry here because he wants me to be his heir. He still wants us to become the Count and Countess of Irele.”
“What happens if we possess both titles?” I knew it was possible to do so, but it wasn’t very common. Estates were usually so large that one was sufficient for most men.
“Nothing, really. They’re too far apart even to consider merging them, and there would probably be no point in it, anyway. When the time comes, we’ll choose which estate to make our home. We can visit the other.”
I couldn’t imagine the Castle of Irele as my home. It was somewhat larger than Norland Manor, but it was infinitely more secretive and sinister—or maybe it made a bad impression on me since I spent my first three years here as a prisoner of an underwater world.
I hadn’t seen the Castle of Bundry. Yet from everything Marcelo told me, I imagined it was more terrible than anything I’d seen here.
I didn’t want to live at either castle.
But then, I hadn’t wanted to live at Norland Manor either, despite its beautiful gardens and some cheerful memories. After all that I’d experienced, I suppose I could lead a happy life even there.
Yet that wasn’t an option available to me. I was dead to Norland. I was a woman without a home, with an offer of two of them.
Marcelo seemed to understand some of what was rifling through me. He didn’t expect more from me.
We stood in quiet companionship, lulled by the deep breathing of the little owl.
Chapter 5
We’d meant to leave much earlier. The sun was high in the sky, so that it was reasonable to stay in Irele and begin the journey the
next day, with a proper early start. But we left anyway.
There was little chance we’d be able to avoid the same delays that had cost us our efficiency in travel today. The pixies monopolized Mordecai’s attention, while the remaining creatures that escaped from every surface of the castle brought havoc to the rest of it. Even Sir Lancelot, desperate as he was to get away from the bedlam, was reluctant to leave Mordecai to it by himself.
“Are you quite certain his lordship will be able to return those most unpleasant little things to whichever ghastly painting housed them?”
We’d barely left the castle courtyard and already Sir Lancelot was sounding more like himself. Before long, he’d be able to think again. I hoped he wouldn’t talk the entire journey. If he did, we’d surely regret his company, regardless of how intelligent his conversation was.
“No. I’m not at all certain that he’ll be able to, not even with Robert’s help. I’m not certain we did the right thing in leaving.”
“We can go back, Marcelo. We can wait until Mordecai is back to himself and the castle is quiet again.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about staying. I didn’t want to remain in the pandemonium any more than Sir Lancelot did, but I wasn’t particularly looking forward to our destination either. I had a bad sense about Bundry.
Either way, I wanted Marcelo to make the decision. It was one that conflicted him a great deal.
“You’re right, Clara, we could go back. But what would that really accomplish? I don’t think Mordecai wants our help. And maybe he’s right. Maybe the distraction and the time alone will be good for him.” But I wondered if Marcelo really believed what he’d just said.
“I don’t think Mordecai will allow us to help him, even though he saw how effectively you returned the satyr to his tapestry.” A note of humor colored Marcelo’s voice. I hadn’t heard that in weeks.
“Was it all right? What I did? I didn’t mean to overstep my place. I know the castle is Mordecai’s, and that I barely know what I’m doing, but that satyr is so despicable. The way he treats that poor, wretched maiden. And he actually licked my ear!” I was starting to get angry again. Just the memory of the satyr sparked the fire within me. I had to tamp it down.
Marcelo actually chuckled. “I’d say you knew exactly what you were doing. The look on that satyr’s face when you forced him into the tapestry was… memorable.”
“Well, none of you were coming to my aid. I didn’t know what else to do. Should I have let him impose his”—an involuntary tremor swept down my body—“disgusting self upon me?”
“Of course not, Clara. I’m telling you. You did the right thing. Truly. Mordecai would have interceded had he been his normal self. He’s never been one to put up with abuse of others. However, I still don’t know how you sealed the satyr into the tapestry. How did you do it?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t think about that. I just, well, I just did it.”
“I see. I can’t wait to see what else you can just, well, do.” Marcelo was playing with me. I didn’t care that his teasing was at my expense. The rascally sparkle in his eye more than compensated for it.
The sun was bright and the smells and sights of spring surrounded us. After the penetrating cold of winter, I couldn’t get enough of them. The pygmy owl was asleep, perched on my horse’s saddle. The rhythmic sway of my horse threatened to put me to sleep as well.
Warm and serene in the monotony of travel, it was almost possible to forget who and what we were.
“I wish it were possible for Maggie to be my lady’s maid once we marry and settle into one of the castles.”
“I wish so too, but I don’t see how it’s possible. The dead don’t usually require lady’s maids.”
“And we couldn’t just tell her, I don’t suppose? Get a message to her and ask her to travel here to join us?”
Marcelo gave me a look, but I already knew the prospect was foolish without it. Maggie couldn’t become part of the life I led now any more than Gertrude could. It didn’t matter how much I might wish it, they would not understand who I was in the process of becoming. Even if they did, it would be much too dangerous for them.
“No one can know what you’re capable of. You know that as well as I do, Clara. Even knowing you’re alive would be sufficient to endanger Gertrude.”
There was a part of me that always entertained the idea of Gertrude discovering I was alive. “Why would simply knowing I’m alive harm Gertrude?”
“You forget that Gertrude’s no longer an eleven-year-old girl. How old would she be now? Fifteen? And you’ve told me she’s like you. At fifteen, if you found out the sister you loved weren’t dead but alive after all, would you do nothing to try to find her, especially if your parents didn’t know?”
“Would it really be that awful if she did find me?” How could I completely give up on the sister that meant so much to me? It seemed an unreasonable sacrifice.
Marcelo gave me another look that said: Why are you asking questions you already know the answers to?
“Winston might not be after us anymore, but others worse than him are. Or have you already forgotten about Count Washur and my nephew? Certainly they’re looking for us now, or at the very least, they’re plotting the eventual way to get at us. And I doubt Count Washur’s fond of failure. He’ll be planning a way to hurt us that takes into account both my powers and yours.”
Suddenly, the sun didn’t feel bright but exposing, the open road unprotected instead of serene. I looked around as if I could spot the invisible threat that—Marcelo was right—formed somewhere with us as its target.
“Is it a good idea for us to travel out in the open like this? If you’re right, and Count Washur is plotting against us, isn’t this dangerous?”
“Of course it is. But with Count Washur after us, anywhere is dangerous. He doesn’t need an open road to get to us. Hidden in a fortress wasn’t enough protection. We may as well go about our lives without worrying about when he’ll come to us. I doubt we’ll see him coming. Or maybe you will.” He hadn’t forgotten the visions I had warning of the enemy’s approach. Neither had I.
“Shouldn’t we work on my magic while we journey then? I still haven’t had the chance to prepare properly. It seems that I should since it’s my life—and yours—that’s threatened.”
Marcelo sighed. His reaction to teaching me magic hadn’t changed, despite the perils we’d faced together, the time we’d shared, and the love that had grown between us. “We should.” Reluctance colored each word. “Our journey to Bundry will take several days. It’s the best thing we can do with the time.”
“How should we go about it then? So that, well, it’s safe?”
“I’m not certain we’ll ever find a way to make your magic completely safe. I suppose we should just hope for the best. Because you’re right, you know. The more you prepare, the better able you’ll be to face whatever comes against us. It won’t be Winston, but it’ll be bad. For now, begin with small things and learn how to control them. That way you’ll minimize the danger, and you’ll learn how to be more precise in your magic.”
I nodded, but the melancholy nodded with me. I didn’t know what was going on with me.
“All right. What should I do?”
“Clara, why are you crying?”
“I don’t know. But forget about it. Just tell me where to start so I can stop being a burden to all of us and start helping to protect us from Count Washur.” My voice had grown low with sudden anger, and Marcelo, alarmed, looked at me.
Neither he nor I were used to this display of emotional imbalance.
“What’s going on?”
“I told you, I don’t know,” I snapped. But instead of looking wounded or angry himself, he began to look around, leveling his gaze with the ground beneath the surrounding tree lines.
Marcelo brought his horse to a halt and stilled himself. Master and horse put their ears to the task of alertness; the stallion drew his ears away from his head.
“What is it?
Do you see something?” I whispered without knowing if there was reason to.
Marcelo didn’t answer. I would have thought he hadn’t even heard me if I couldn’t tell that he was listening to every possible sound.
Then I heard something. The snap of a fallen branch.
Marcelo turned his horse to face whatever was coming, and all I could think was that my magical training was doomed never to happen.
My emotions had picked up on the threat. I wasn’t mature enough yet as a witch to know how to interpret the many things I felt. The disturbance in the elements translated to agitation of my feelings instead of a useful warning of the menace that advanced on us.
Even once I noticed that Marcelo was turned the wrong way and that the real threat was coming up from behind him, I didn’t do anything for that fateful second that sealed our luck.
Of all people, it couldn’t be him.
Chapter 6
The arrogant flamboyance he’d displayed in our last meeting was absent. However, it wasn’t because he was no longer arrogant or had suddenly become pleasant; it was because he knew he had to act fast.
And I froze. Just as I did when Marcelo’s nephew stood in front of me in the courtyard of Irele’s castle with those dark, menacing eyes that told me exactly what he planned to do with me. It was only a few moments, but it was enough. By the time I reacted, Winston had bound Marcelo and was fastening the rope around me.
The rope tightened down on my chest after Winston flung it at me with crude yet effective magic. There wasn’t enough slack for full lung expansion, and my breaths came in uncomfortable, shallow rasps. But the rope didn’t scare me. I seemed to be exempt from the rule that constricted all other magicians; I’d untied myself once before.
I couldn’t stop staring at Winston. What was he doing here? Why didn’t he think me dead like everyone else?
He looked the same as he did last time I saw him on my way to Irele when he nearly killed Marcelo. He had the same malicious glint in his eye. He looked back at me with the same leering hatred.