An Enchantment of Ravens

by Margaret Rogerson

  “He knows,” she said.

  “About my Craft?”

  A quick, dark-eyed glance. “He knows you have broken the Good Law.”

  No, I thought. Then, yes.

  Because suddenly it was quite clear to me that I was in love with Rook, and it had happened as most quiet, perfect, utterly natural things do: without my even noticing. We had stood together in a glade, and I had trusted him enough to tell him my true name. I turned the strange, marvelous thought around in my head. I loved Rook. I loved him. It was the best thing I had ever felt. And it was the worst thing I had ever done.

  I’d doomed us both to death.

  Nothing around me changed, though it seemed there ought to be some tangible proof that everything was about to be over. I didn’t collapse to my knees or cry out. I just stood there breathing as usual, trying to comprehend the scope of what was happening, my thoughts measured and calm.

  Who was “he”? Gadfly? I supposed it had to be. He’d probably seen this coming from a mile away. Despite our history, perhaps he’d even enjoyed watching my mortal folly unfold. The thought gave new meaning to the way Lark and Foxglove and Nettle and the others had fought over me—fought over who would dress me up in the last gown I’d ever wear.

  Quickly as a striking snake, Aster whirled around and seized my arms. Her bony fingers dug into my flesh like claws. Her eyes glittered. “So that is why you must leave the masquerade. Make your entrance, but the moment Gadfly turns his back, you must flee to the Green Well and drink before he catches you. You must. I will help you.”

  I might have only imagined it. But when Aster grabbed me I thought I felt a twinge of alarm that wasn’t my own, a ghostly, faraway sensation shivering across me like ripples spreading outward across the surface of a pond. Rook? I asked, but received nothing back.

  “Isobel,” Aster was saying.

  “No.” I shook my head. “No, I cannot. The story Rook and I told the court—it was a lie. I will never drink.”

  “You must.”

  “If you could turn back time, if you could do it all over again, would you make the same choice?”

  The light left her eyes. Her grip loosened, and she turned away.

  “I could show you a way out of the court that no one watches,” she said. “But no matter where you go, they will find you.”

  Emma. The twins. They would have gotten my letter this morning, never knowing I was to die the same night. I shook my head, over and over again.

  “I can’t ask you to endanger yourself on my behalf for nothing.” A cold fog crept around me. There was one thing left I could do—one thing left to try. “I will attend the masquerade. I need a moment alone with Rook.”

  Aster said nothing. She thought I was already dead, and perhaps she was right. She moved ahead down the aisle, halting in front of one of the last gowns. “This one,” she said, and lifted it from its mannequin.

  I’d never seen a dress like it. Deep red roses were embroidered in lace over its inner layer of nude, faux-sheer fabric. The roses clustered over the bodice and scattered downward across the flowing skirt, coming apart as though swept away by a breeze. On the other side the dress had been left unadorned, creating the illusion of a low-cut back. Once, it might have taken my breath away. Now there was no beauty in the world, no pleasure, that could shake me from the bleak understanding of what awaited me.

  Mechanically, I shed my clothes onto the floor. I stepped into the gown, almost tripping, my body made clumsy and slow by dread. While I crouched to gather the fabric up around my ankles, I paused long enough to brush my hand against my stocking, reminding myself of the ring’s presence. A laughable defense. But it was something.

  I straightened.

  “Oh,” Aster breathed. She took me by the shoulders and guided me to the mirror.

  When I moved, the lace bodice remained stiff and fitted, but the skirt rippled around me in almost impossible swirls, shapes that reminded me of a famous painting of a maiden drowning in a lake at dusk, sinking into shadow as her dress billowed weightlessly after her. Stepping up to the figure reflected in the glass, I almost didn’t recognize myself. I’d been wearing Firth & Maester’s since I’d arrived, but never once had I seen what I looked like in a mirror. The gown’s rich scarlet accentuated my fair complexion and emphasized my dark eyes to a startling degree. I appeared less frightened than I expected. My eyes just stared, and stared, and stared, like pits swallowing up the light, out of a face as blank as the mannequin that had worn the gown before me.

  “Jewelry,” Aster said to herself. “And a mask. I know of a mask that will match, if I can find it . . .”

  She drifted away. A latch jingled, followed by the sound of a chest creaking open. While I waited, my hands rose of their own accord to unfasten my hair and rake through the tangled snarl. Indifferently, I watched myself braid it back up into a messy bun, which I held in place until Aster handed me a pin to secure it. I had the vague idea that if I looked composed—if the fair folk did not sense my fear immediately—I might buy us more time. All I needed was a moment with Rook.

  Aster’s pale fingers descended, placing a delicate circlet atop my braids. It was a slender piece fashioned from gold filigree, studded with tiny leaves. I swept my eyes over my reflection, seeing it anew. Autumn colors. A coronet to match Rook’s. She was being kind, I supposed, in the only way she knew how. Giving me dignity in my last moments, unlike Foxglove or any of the others, who I now suspected would have tormented me like cats with an injured mouse, smug with foreknowledge, before they conveyed me to the ball. Perhaps until I pressed her Aster had hoped to spare me from knowing entirely, to allow me a swift and merciful end.

  As she stood next to me in the mirror, there was a hint of sadness to her distant expression, shivery and faraway, a glimmer of moonlight at the bottom of a deep, deep well. At her waist, she held the stick of a half-mask. A rose mask to match the gown, an expressionless, flourishing bouquet with holes at the blossoms’ hearts for eyes.

  “You look like a queen among mortals,” she said. “You will be the most beautiful person at the ball.”

  I tried summoning a wan smile but didn’t succeed. It was very likely I would never smile again. “The most beautiful human? I can hardly hold a candle to Foxglove.”

  “No. You surpass us all.” Beside me she looked colorless and frail. “You are like a living rose among wax flowers. We may last forever, but you bloom brighter and smell sweeter, and draw blood with your thorns.”

  Carefully, I took the mask from her hands. “I can see how you were a writer once.”

  Aster looked away.

  I lifted the mask to my face, concealing my expression. Gazing at myself, I could only think one thing. I knew Aster was thinking the same. I did look like a queen, but my dress was a funeral shroud. She had made me beautiful to go to my death.

  Seventeen

  WHEN ASTER and I returned to Gadfly’s stair, the throne room had transformed. Spider-silk garlands looped between the branches, their dew sparkling in the moonlight. Night-blooming flowers shivered on every bough, aglow with fairy lights flickering within them like votives. They bathed the clearing in an ethereal glow in which nothing seemed quite real. Not the tables laden with wine, sweets, and fruits, or the musical flocks of songbirds that swooped low before darting back into the canopy. And certainly not the fair folk, who had stepped straight out of a storybook. Moonlight shimmered on the jewels in their hair and set cold fire to the silver embroidery on their coats and dresses. They danced in pairs without music, a strange, silent waltz furling and unfolding across the clearing below, vignettes glimpsed through eyeholes in my mask. And all of them as faceless as I was: birds and flowers, foxes and deer, their smiles sharper than candlelight striking the curve of crystal glasses.

  Everyone was dressed in the pale colors of the spring court, aside from me—and Rook. I picked him out immediately where he stood at the foot of the stair beside Gadfly. Tonight he looked every inch the autumn prince
in a sweeping wine-colored coat trimmed with thread-of-gold. His crown winked from his tousled curls, and a raven mask covered the upper half of his face. Reading his easy manner, his smile and the relaxed set of his shoulders, and noting that his hand didn’t stray near his sword, it struck me with grim horror that he did not know; Gadfly had not told him. I was in love with him, and he didn’t know.

  The realization weighted my feet like shackles. Each step required an effort, even with Aster’s hand supporting my elbow.

  No one noticed us until we were halfway down. Then the entire ball stilled. A hush fell over the clearing. Everyone watched, expectant. I halted, trying to muster the courage to continue. Was this how Rook felt? Always on guard, always trying to hide any sign of weakness that could have the fair folk leaping at his throat in seconds? Without the mask, I would be doomed.

  A rose petal tumbled down the step next to my feet, followed by another. Barely suppressing a flinch, I looked over my shoulder to see where they were coming from. Rose petals were strewn in a path behind me all the way up the steps, scarlet against the white woven birch, but I saw no one responsible for their presence.

  “The dress is enchanted,” Aster whispered, leaning in. “Petals will appear wherever you step. But they aren’t real—watch.”

  A breeze blew, scattering the petals, which vanished like shadows as they stirred. The sight was captivating, and awful. My path through the masquerade would be marked like a wounded animal leaving bloodstains on snow. An appropriate comparison, all things considered.

  I forced myself to continue. Finally, well concealed beneath the gown’s loose, flowing hem, my boots touched the ground. Gadfly took my hand and kissed it while, next to him, Rook studiously tried not to react. For the first time I was grateful for his ignorance. If he’d known, he would have drawn his sword against Gadfly then and there, and it would all have been over before we’d had a chance.

  “What a delight it is to have our very first masquerade with a mortal in attendance,” Gadfly said. His swan mask’s snowy feathers covered almost his entire face, leaving only slivers of his jawline visible, but I heard the smile in his voice. “And what an intriguing dress Aster has chosen for you. Why, you and Rook make quite the matching pair! Of course, it would be a shame if he kept you all to himself this evening. I must insist on having the first dance.”

  My stomach swooped with vertigo, as though I were still descending and had just missed the stair’s final step. I forced a smile over clenched teeth. Gadfly kept talking, but I didn’t hear a word, hoping my polite nods would suffice. Rook shifted impatiently. With so many eyes upon us, I despaired of the chance of speaking to him alone.

  Perhaps there was a way to warn him before Gadfly swept me away. Briefly, I pressed my eyes closed. I conjured up the sensation of cold, clawlike hands wrapped around my throat, squeezing, suffocating the life from my body. Dizziness. Terror. Death. Throughout it all, I didn’t let the smile fall from my face. Hopefully it only looked to Gadfly as though I’d modestly lowered my eyes at one of his flowery compliments. More likely it looked as though I had indigestion.

  When I looked up, I found Rook scrutinizing me. He’d felt it. Framed by the mask’s dark feathers, his eyes pierced me with shock and concern. I watched his expression change. First confusion, seeing there was nothing wrong with me, followed by dawning understanding. He ran his hands down the front of his coat, assuring everyone he’d only gotten a peculiar look on his face because he was worried he’d forgotten something. He patted at his sword belt and checked his sword. No, he hadn’t forgotten his sword after all. There it was! Beaming, he adjusted the lay of the sheath against his leg. God, he was a terrible actor—what did I expect from someone who couldn’t lie?—but his meaning was clear. Message received. He would be on his guard.

  “. . . and that’s how I ended up with the entire wagon of turnips, and Mr. Thoresby was forced to return my second-best waistcoat. But enough carrying on,” Gadfly was saying, quite oblivious, or at least pretending to be, as he admired one of his own cuff links. “I could talk about myself forever, couldn’t I? Let’s take a turn. The night isn’t getting any younger, after all, and it appears everyone is waiting on us.”

  As though I were extending my neck to the guillotine, I held out my hand. I had no other choice. He gallantly took my arm and escorted me to the center of the glade. The other fair folk stood at a respectful distance, having paused the waltz in preparation for their prince’s entrance. He placed his free hand on my waist, and at last I had to lower the mask to rest my own on his shoulder. Skillfully, he swept me into the ebb and flow of movement as everyone resumed dancing together. The courtiers flowed around us with inhuman grace, whispers of muslin and silk in passing, but aside from that—silence.

  “You look very fine this evening, Gadfly,” I said without feeling.

  “Yes, I know,” he replied. “Yet I can’t deny it’s wonderful to hear my suspicions confirmed.”

  Within the holes of his swan mask, laugh lines appeared around his eyes, which I had never seen at home in my parlor. Perhaps they hadn’t existed before now: an artful deception, like that single strand of hair he’d allowed to escape from his ribbon on the fateful day I’d learned of Rook’s commission, or spending years as my patron without ever letting slip to anyone that he was the spring prince. His mask was tied with a pale blue ribbon, so that he could watch my face while I saw nothing of his.

  “I hear you and Aster spoke of the Green Well,” he went on.

  Mouth dry, stomach in knots, I scrambled for a way to draw things out, to maintain my innocence of my fate, to deny Aster’s involvement.

  “You needn’t lie to me, Isobel. I have a rather unique gift, even among my kind. But you already know that, don’t you?”

  And that was that. There was no use pretending any longer. “Lark told me,” I said, the whispery rhythm of the waltz receding as blood roared in my ears.

  “Just so. None of this was set in stone, of course. The future never is. It’s like a forest, you see, with thousands upon thousands of paths running through it, all branching off in different directions. Some things can change, up until the very end. Yesterday I wasn’t certain whether we would do this version, or the version in which you chose not to tell Rook your true name and returned home none the worse for wear, and then due to the fact that I was dancing elsewhere with Nettle, instead of here, with you, a passing nightingale spoiled my lapel as it relieved itself overhead. Which is why I wore my least favorite suit and still ordered the lemon creams specially, just in case.” He gave a rueful sigh. “Alas. We’ll never get to eat the lemon creams now. But at least Swallowtail will have ruined that offensive yellow jacket of his.”

  A bird trilled sweetly across the clearing. Somewhere among the dancers, a young man gave a shout of consternation.

  “How long have you known?” My voice throbbed with terror and rage, snarled together in a choking tangle. “How long have you been waiting for this?”

  He favored me with a look. You can do better than that, the look said. “I haven’t been waiting at all. I have traveled with you the entire way, lighting your path, ensuring that you selected the one necessary fork in the road out of hundreds. In retrospect do you not find it peculiar that I was your first patron, or that Rook came to you to have his portrait done after so many centuries in hiding?”

  “You utter bastard,” we both said together, Gadfly speaking over me in cool counterpoint. He shook his head, disappointed but unsurprised, and said: “That one was a given.”

  I thought I might be sick.

  Clumsily, like someone reaching out in a dark room, a warm rush of assurance bumped against me. It felt unmistakably of Rook. He was testing the bond between us, aware something was wrong and doing his best to comfort me. He didn’t know, I thought. He didn’t know I’d condemned him to death. Soon, I’d have to tell him. I swallowed, pushing his presence away as best I could, and before the sensation vanished I received one last pang of unhap
py surprise from him, as though I’d slammed a door in his face without warning.

  “You are empty,” I said, my throat working, “and cruel.”

  “Ah. Yes, now that is true. Would you like to know the greatest secret of fairykind?” When I didn’t answer he continued, “We prefer to pretend otherwise, but truly, we have never been the immortal ones. We may live long enough to see the world change, but we’re never the ones who changed it. When we finally reach the end, we are unloved and alone, and leave nothing behind, not even our name chiseled on a stone slab. And yet—mortals, through their works, their Craft, are remembered forever.” He turned us gracefully through the crowd without missing a step. “Oh, you cannot imagine the power your kind holds over us. How very much we envy you. There is more life in your littlest fingernail than in everyone in my court combined.”

  Was that truly all it was? Was that the reason why fair folk condemned mortal emotion—because those few of them who felt it only served to remind the rest of what they couldn’t have? And thus love, the experience they envied most bitterly, became the deadliest offense of all.

  “That’s why you’ve done this?” I whispered. “Jealousy?”

  “I am wounded by your low opinion of me, Isobel,” Gadfly replied, not sounding wounded at all, and in fact sounding as though he cared so little about others’ opinions he might not even recognize what they were upon their delivery to him. “No, I am playing a longer game, a little deeper in the forest, farther along the path. And now I won’t keep you any longer. Time runs short, and I’m certain you’d rather be dancing with Rook.”

  He wove us around the other dancers, steering us toward where Rook stood out like a sore thumb, unwillingly requisitioned into a dance with Foxglove. Gadfly maintained an expectant air, but I had nothing left to say to him.

  “Fear not,” he said to my silence. “This business will be unpleasant while it lasts, but it will be over soon enough.” As his silk glove slipped from my shoulder, he brought his mask close to my ear. “Remember: for all my meddling, your choice is the one that matters in the end. Hello, Foxglove! Rook! May I steal this dance?”