Arcana

by Jessica Leake

  Eliza’s glare digs into my back as I lead her intended victim away.

  I’m prepared to give Robert a strong look to get him to play along, but I needn’t have worried. As soon as we approach, he bows before Penelope like she’s a princess.

  “I believe we met earlier, Miss Hasting.” He smiles his most charming smile—the one that makes his blue eyes look like they’re lit from within. “My sister and I were just saying how lovely you look this evening.”

  Virginia lets out a huff and mutters something to Eliza, and they both stalk off like wolves that have lost their prey.

  “Thank you,” Penelope says with a shy smile, her voice as soft as her demeanor.

  She reminds me so much of Lucy, I surprise her by looping my arm through hers. “You needn’t thank us. We’re glad to have the chance to talk with you.”

  “You’re very kind.” Her eyes flit to my brother’s before darting back to my face.

  I give her arm a little squeeze. “I will repeat the sage advice you gave me earlier today. You can’t believe anything those girls say. It’s their mission to make as many people as miserable as they are.”

  She plays with the edge of one of the pink ribbons. “That’s true. But, I am wearing a lot of ribbons.”

  Robert nearly spits out his drink and laughs.

  She smiles back at him. “It’s my mother’s fault, of course.”

  “Well,” Robert says, “when you have a mother who wears hats like that, you can bloody well expect her daughter to be dressed in an abundance of fabric.”

  “Robert,” I say with a warning tone. Apparently he needs a reminder he’s not with his Oxford buddies.

  He grins at us both impishly, and Penelope basks in his attention. I think even if Penelope were insulted, she’d forgive him anything.

  “Would you honor me with a dance?” he asks in his most formal tone of voice.

  Penelope tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and smiles at him. “I’d love to, thank you.”

  I finish the rest of my cake as I watch them move toward the dance floor.

  “Katherine, the most wonderful news,” Grandmama says as she joins me, her eyes bright with excitement. “Lord Blackburn has invited us to enjoy his box seats at the opera tomorrow.”

  For once, she brings good news. “How delightful. I’ve never been. Do you know what’s playing?”

  “What nonsense,” Grandmama says with an exasperated tone of voice. “No one pays attention to the opera. We’ll be too busy talking with Lord Blackburn.”

  Honestly, does no one take anything but the most frivolous things seriously? “Well, I will be watching the opera. I’ll speak with him at the intermission.”

  “You will do no such thing. Lord Blackburn invited us there to be able to talk to you. It would be very rude indeed to ignore him.”

  I know I’m wearing a dumbfounded look, but really, what do I say to that? Her logic makes absolutely no sense. “I shall hang on his every word then,” I say with mock seriousness.

  “Good girl. Now when your brother finishes his dance, we’ll take our leave. We can’t be seen staying too long as if we have nowhere else to be.”

  I look up at the clock to see it is well after one in the morning. Oh yes, because we have so many other things to do at such an ungodly hour. But I give her a small smile and nod because I certainly won’t argue when given the chance to leave.

  My eyes fall back to the dance floor, and I realize Lord Thornewood is dancing, too. It takes me a moment to find who his partner is, but when I see her, my stomach tightens uncomfortably. Eliza wears a flirtatious smile, and her eyes stay locked on the earl’s. Worse, he doesn’t look as annoyed as he usually does with her. My stomach goes from feeling tight to making me wish I hadn’t eaten so much cake.

  “Lord Thornewood seems to be enjoying himself,” my grandmother says with what I’m sure is the matching frown to my own. “That girl—Miss Grey, I believe—looks entirely too much like you.”

  My eyebrows raise. “You think she looks like me?” I can’t decide if that’s a compliment or not.

  “From the back, especially. Lady Hasting just commented on it earlier.” Grandmama’s eyes scan my body critically. “She is more classically beautiful, but you have the same natural allure your mother had.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur, my attention still riveted on the earl and Eliza. I tilt my head, considering. We are both tall, slender. I’m slender to the point where I think I can pass fairly well for a young man were I so inclined. Robert has mocked me endlessly about this ever since I first started wearing breeches. Our hair is blonde and our eyes are light, though the shades of both are very different. To be told I look like someone with such a hateful demeanor is disconcerting to say the least.

  The dance ends, and Robert and Penelope join us. I want to immediately ask Robert if he agrees with Grandmama and Lady Hasting, but I manage to hold my tongue.

  My eyes are drawn to Lord Thornewood again as Grandmama makes her good-byes, and I soon wish I didn’t look. Eliza’s gloved hand is on his arm as she leans close to him. He bends down to hear her better, and then his face breaks out into a grin. She smiles up at him, her button nose crinkling ever so slightly, and I feel a dark energy awake in me at the sight of it. Why am I so upset? Why should I care who the earl smiles at?

  But as he offers her his arm, I wonder if maybe Grandmama was right about our similarities. Perhaps the earl finds us interchangeable.

  TEN

  I wake at a more respectable time since it was long after three before I went to sleep. I lie there for a moment, and the sickening sensation that something unpleasant happened the night before assails my mind. Eliza’s hand on Lord Thornewood’s arm, Lord Thornewood leaning in to speak to her, smiling at her, dancing with her . . . I can’t make the torrent of memories stop. With a shake of my head, I dress myself without calling for Mary’s assistance.

  As has become my habit, I glance over at my mother’s journal. The soft glow it emits could not come at a more welcome time. I open it eagerly.

  My dearest Katherine,

  Though I am much older now, I will never forget the moment I first met your father. It was at a ball and yet not, for we met before I even set foot in the ballroom. I had only just come to this realm from my own. The Sylvani nobility required each son and daughter to go on tour in the human world once they reached maturity, so my knowledge of English society was limited, to say the least.

  I was accompanied by a Sylvani guard, one who had much more knowledge of this world. Even with a fellow Sylvani posing as a wealthy Scottish noble, I remember being shaky with nerves, so much so that I stumbled on the manor’s stairway. It is a true testament to my state of mind, for as you know, I never misstep. A strong arm prevented my fall, an arm belonging to the man with whom I would later fall in love. As soon as he touched me, I met his eyes, and the image of him holding an angelic baby with bright blue eyes filled my mind.

  My gift of prophecy is imperfect, but once I saw that beautiful child—your brother—I knew I would do anything to make the image a reality. There is no such thing as love at first sight, but there is instant attraction. And for the Sylvani, we know when we have met the one for whom we were meant. It is the sole reason my mother fought for my chance to leave Sylvania.

  Do you recall the song I always played for you? Though the beginning is mournful, it ends with great joy and hope. Our music always tells a story; that song told the story of my life. Leaving my spirit behind in Sylvania was heartbreaking, but in the end, I was blessed with an even greater joy: the three of you.

  You are half-Sylvan and half-human. The best parts of both me and your father. You may not know the moment you meet the one for you, but you will, in time.

  Never doubt yourself.

  With much love,

  Mama

  I close my eyes as my mother’s music plays in my mind. I knew it told a story, but I never guessed it was hers. Though I cannot say I am ever displeased to
hear stories of my parents’ past, this particular memory only dredges up a deep sadness. Mama knew my father was the one for her during their first meeting. Perhaps, then, the earl isn’t the man I hope him to be. Perhaps his attention to Eliza is a sign I am meant for another—or, my deepest fear, that I am meant for no one. For how would Lord Thornewood react were he to know the truth about me? If he was to find out I am not even entirely human? A flash of my childhood friend Henry’s reaction trickles into my consciousness, and I forcefully suppress it.

  I close the journal. These self-pitying thoughts will not do. Maybe Lucy will help me realize how overly dramatic I’m being.

  I look for her in the room where she usually studies with Miss Watts, but one of the servants tells me she has taken ill. Instead of eating breakfast, I go to her bedroom, worried she is suffering another of her headaches. She’s had them ever since she was little. My mother would prepare a tea to take the pain away, and I remember her telling Lucy she was sorry—like she was somehow responsible for them.

  “Luce?” I call softly as I push the door open gently. I try to make as little noise as possible as I go to the side of her bed. The heavy velvet drapes are pulled over both windows, pitching the room into darkness.

  My sister is huddled on her side, one hand pressed on the ridge above her closed eye. “Morning,” she says weakly.

  “Morning indeed. You look as though you are in terrible pain. Is it another headache?”

  She nods once.

  “You should have sent for me, Luce,” I scold gently. “Why suffer when I can help?”

  “I didn’t want to disturb you,” she whispers, her eyes closed again. “I know how draining it is.”

  I wave her off. “Nonsense. Now lie back.”

  I have to give her a stern look for a few seconds, but she does as I tell her, lying back against the pillows and removing her hand from her forehead. I lay the palm of my hand over her forehead like I’m checking for a fever and close my eyes. Since we’re indoors, I don’t have much to draw on except for my own energy, so it’s good I had enough rest—not that I’d admit that to Lucy.

  I concentrate on the haze of red pain centered above her right eye and call my healing white light to the palm of my hand. A tingle shoots up my arm as a soft glow illuminates Lucy’s face. Instead of the warm sunshine smell usually released with arcana, healing energy releases a scent like freshly tilled earth.

  Lucy winces at first, the light bothering her sensitive eyes, but then she relaxes as my power erases her pain. I feel the drain on my body, and it’s like a long night of dancing condensed into seconds. My energy ebbs, and I start to breathe faster.

  Once the red haze of pain disappears and Lucy’s entire body relaxes, I remove my hand. I flop down on the bed beside her, and she sits up.

  “This is why I’m so reluctant for your help,” she says, scolding me now. “I can’t stand to see what it does to you.”

  “Well,” I say between pants, “I can’t stand seeing you in pain. In this, we’re even.”

  She lets out an exasperated snort.

  I force my breathing to slow, but I’m still fatigued enough to consider a nap. “I’ll be fine after a little fresh air. You would do well to join me. A lack of it is probably to blame for your headache.”

  She watches me closely as I wobble a bit when I stand and her expression turns pensive. “What do you suppose would happen if you tried to heal something more serious than a headache?”

  “Arcana always has a cost,” I say, side-stepping her morbid question. The answer is I could drain all my energy, effectively ending my life. But I refuse to give in to my sister’s worrying.

  Her big eyes—so like my own—widen. “Promise me you’ll never try.”

  “I won’t do anything of the kind. If you or Robert or Papa ever needed my help, then I would give it to you without question.” She gets a determined look on her face like she plans to continue this asinine debate, so I say, “Why are you so intent on this?”

  “Because if I don’t worry about you, who will?”

  She has a point. I never give it a second thought. “Isn’t that why we’re here?” I bat my eyes at her and clutch my hands to my chest. “So I can find my Prince Charming, who will adore and worry about me every night?”

  “I wish you would,” she mutters, but a small smile peeks out before she can stop it.

  “I’m doing my best, and believe me, so is Grandmama.” I hold out my hand and help her to her feet. “Shall we walk down to the stables?”

  “Just a moment,” she says and walks to the vanity, which contains drawing materials instead of combs and perfumes. “It would be lovely to draw just for pleasure while we’re there. I haven’t had as much time of late with Grandmama’s schedule.”

  “Yes, how foolish of us to think we’d have time for leisurely pursuits,” I say with a teasing smile.

  She gathers her materials in her arms, but suddenly turns toward me. “Oh, but Wren! In all that has happened this morning, I didn’t ask you about your debut. You must tell me everything.”

  “It was . . . so much better than I had imagined,” I say, a slow smile curving my lips as I think of Lord Thornewood’s surprising chivalry. “But come, I’ll tell you more on our way to the stables.”

  We make our way downstairs, careful to avoid any of the rooms Grandmama might occupy, for I’m certain such an outing is not on our tedious agendas for the day.

  As we walk, I tell her in as much detail as I can remember what it was like to debut before the king and queen.

  “So Lord Thornewood saved you?” Lucy says, a bit dreamily.

  I laugh. “He saved me from embarrassment, yes. Although, I’m sure I would have eventually remembered to curtsy.” My mind chooses that moment to play back our exchange in the dark palace corridor, and I feel a blush sneak up my neck.

  “Describe the palace for me again. Was the throne room outrageously beautiful?”

  I struggle to recall the minute details of the palace’s design elements, though I am nowhere near as observant of such things as Lucy. As I describe them, she jots notes on her sketchpad. She is so gifted that I know my paltry descriptions will be later transformed into a perfect rendering of the palace.

  “I simply can’t wait to see the photographs,” Lucy says as we reach the stables.

  Warmth and the smell of hay greet us as soon as we enter. The grooms are hard at work mucking stalls at the other end of the stables, so we slip into Orion’s stall.

  “I didn’t realize Papa sent Orion here,” Lucy says, giving the stallion a pat on his neck.

  “It was a surprise, I think,” I say with a smile as I touch my forehead to Orion’s. He snuffles into my hair, and I laugh. “We’ve come to visit with you,” I tell him, “so make yourself comfortable.”

  In answer, he folds his legs under him and lies down on the newly changed straw. Lucy and I join him on the ground, leaning back against his warm side.

  Lucy balances a small sketchpad on her lap and begins to draw. With the soft sounds of charcoal on paper beside me, I close my eyes and open myself to Orion’s thoughts. As though I have suddenly submerged myself underwater, all other sounds and sights apart from those sensed by Orion become muffled and dim. He turns his head to look upon Lucy and me, our figures shining brightly with light.

  I remember being frightened the first time my pony revealed how I appeared to him. Instead of the child’s body I expected to see, my pony saw me as a girl-shaped being of golden light.

  I ran to my mother with tears streaming down my cheeks. “Why do I look like that, Mama?”

  She hugged me to her and stroked my hair. “Animals see us as we really are, darling. It’s nothing to be frightened of.”

  “But why am I so bright?” I asked.

  She pointed to the sun hidden behind a cloud. “Because the sun is bright. It’s the sun’s energy that lives inside us, giving us the power for our special abilities. The same ability that allowed you to communi
cate with your pony.”

  I splayed my hand over my navel, fascinated. “I have sunshine inside me?”

  Mama laughed, the sound like the clear ringing of bells. “You do, my darling. My little ray of sunshine.”

  I smile as the memories play in my mind, mingling with Orion’s thoughts. Lucy and I are almost too bright for him to look at; the energy within us flows into him like the warmth of the sun. His eyelids droop, and I absently rub his velvety nose.

  I glance down at the sketchpad on Lucy’s lap. Her drawing has taken shape: a stately ballroom with ladies lined up for a dance. She adds musical notes in the top corner and smudges them with her finger. When she catches me watching her, she says, “I’ve been experimenting with my arcana. May I show you?”

  “Please do,” I say.

  She touches her finger to the smudged notes, and the sound of violins fills the air. Orion jerks his head in surprise. The music continues a lively Scottish tune, one we’ve danced to many times. The sound is so clear, it’s hard to believe an orchestra isn’t performing in Orion’s stall.

  “Luce, this is amazing,” I say.

  “Thank you,” she says with a wide smile. She touches her finger to the notes again, and the music fades away.

  “Truly, your ability in weaving arcana into your artwork is remarkable. Mama would be so proud.”

  She hugs the sketchpad to her. “Do you really think so?”

  “I do,” I say. “Her love for music was second only to her love for all of us.”

  The stall door rolls back, and one of the grooms takes a step back when he sees us curled up next to Orion. Lucy and I share a look, and I have to bite down on my lip to keep from laughing at the poor man’s expression.

  He gapes at us open-mouthed for a moment as all three of us stand. Lucy and I brush the straw from our skirts, and Orion shakes out his long mane.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, misses,” he says, his bushy red eyebrows still raised. “I didn’t realize Orion here had company.”

  Lucy giggles, and I smile. “He did indeed,” I say, “but we were just leaving.”