by Zoe Marriott
“I…” I stopped and swallowed, unable to go on. I felt sick and cold – and yet … I never doubted that what she had said was true. In my heart, I knew that my parents were both capable of what she had said. Hadn’t Mother always talked to me of the good of the land? Hadn’t she always put that duty before her husband – and even her children? And hadn’t my father displayed his faithless, fickle nature in his behaviour after Mother’s death?
No, I knew every word was true. I felt a sharp stab of pity and sorrow that I did not know how to express. I began again, and said the only thing I could. “I’m sorry.” I looked down at her twisted leg, and then back up into her beautiful, bitter face. “I wish—”
Her face hardened and she shook her head fiercely, cutting me off. “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”
Then she reached out – for the first time since the day I arrived at her house – and touched me. Her thin fingers felt like twigs; they gripped my shoulder briefly. Then she withdrew them and turned away, stumping back to the house without another word.
As I gazed thoughtfully at the garden, I saw something which had not been there moments ago. It was a fresh, pale green bud on the thorny bush to my left.
A rose would bloom in my aunt’s garden this spring.
A week later – only two days before the first full moon of the thaw, when I would meet Gabriel again and also celebrate my sixteenth birthday – I sat in the library, staring out over the dunes to the sea.
It seemed like only a few days since I had spoken to him, but at the same time, an age. I wondered what he had done while he was gone. Read books, and experimented with new workings, perhaps. Trained his dogs and his horses. Ridden out to hunt in the daytime, and gone to parties at night. I tried to imagine his home, but he had hardly ever spoken of details, and I could not make the image clear.
What was he doing right now? I closed my eyes and pictured him in my mind. His eyes that bright, deep silver, and his hair untidily ruffled. I recalled the echo of his laughter, and saw him … dancing perhaps, with a tall red-haired girl who pressed her face into his neck, and smiled…
I was jolted from these thoughts by the sound of the door opening. I looked up to see Anne enter.
“Lady, your aunt sent me to fetch you. You’re to go to the yellow salon. There’s people come, from your home.”
“People … yellow salon?” I repeated blankly.
I did not hear another word that Anne said. My heart thundered too loudly. All the hopes and dreams I thought I had banished came rushing back. People from home? My brothers – it must be them! I lifted my heavy skirts and ran past Anne, my kid slippers pattering softly as I flew down the stairs and along the corridors until I reached the yellow salon and pushed open the door.
My aunt turned to look at me as I entered. Her face was as blank as ever, but something in it stopped me dead. For a second my vision seemed to cloud over with darting silver swirls, like the times when I’d stood up too quickly and the blood had rushed to my head. I felt dizzy. Then my spine stiffened until I stood as straight and still as she had taught me. My skirts dropped from my fingers to hang in their proper folds around my feet. I could feel my face going as blank as hers. And deep inside me the hopes that had burst into bloom so briefly withered and died. My brothers were not here. I knew it. She would not look at me so if they were.
She gave a tiny nod, perhaps of approval, and then turned back to look at the two people sat opposite her. “Is it not the custom to rise when a lady enters the room?” she asked frigidly.
The two people – a man and a woman – hurriedly got to their feet. The man bowed deeply, the woman executed a curtsy, but their eyes stayed on me as if they could barely believe what they saw.
I inclined my head slightly, and they stood politely until I had walked, ever so slowly, across the room to take the seat which had been placed next to my aunt’s. Then they sat again, still staring at me. Neither of their faces seemed familiar at first; then I realized that the man was not a complete stranger to me. He had been an occasional hunting companion of my fathers. I had probably spoken no more than a word to him in my life. The woman I was sure I did not know. Why on earth had these two travelled all the way from the Kingdom to see me? What news could they possibly bring?
There was a lengthty silence, during which I allowed myself to examine them as they were doing me. They were both dressed finely, with a great deal of winking gold and silver embroidery that looked rather gaudy beside the restrained elegance of my own and my aunt’s clothing. Since when did the household people wear such ostentatious clothing? I had certainly never worn gold thread on my gowns.
“We beg leave to address the Lady Alexandra,” the woman said.
I blinked at being addressed with such reverence – why did she stare at me so? – but nodded as regally as I was able.
“I am Isolde of the Hall, one of Lady Zella’s women. This is Rother of Westfield, with whom you are already acquainted—”
The man interrupted pompously. “We are come from your esteemed stepmother, Lady Zella, and your father. They have missed you sorely in your absence, Lady.”
I gave him a hard look – I was not oblivious to the precedence he had given my stepmother. He fidgeted and avoided my gaze.
The woman’s eyes had shifted from my face and were now fixed firmly on my feet. “Your parents require your presence, Lady Alexandra. We have been sent to escort you home.”
I stiffened. Beside me, my aunt seemed to straighten too. “I wonder,” she said, with quiet ice, “that no one had the courtesy to give us some leave of this sudden change. But then, considering the circumstances of my niece’s arrival, perhaps we should be grateful that at least this time she is not to be escorted by a stable hand in a rattletrap wagon.”
There was a moment of silence. The pair shifted in their seats and exchanged glances, but made no answer.
“And when is my niece expected to depart?” Eirian continued.
“Immediately,” said Rother flatly.
“As soon as may be possible,” Isolde said quickly, giving him a warning look. “Of course, we will assist with any necessary preparations. But we were hoping to leave tomorrow. Early tomorrow.”
Tomorrow! I bit my lip. What about Gabriel? Curse these people! Why now, after all these months, must they come back and drag me away? It was ludicrous! I looked hopefully at my aunt. She seemed to have taken an instant dislike to Isolde and Rother. Perhaps – oh, please! – she would stop them.
“Very well,” she said, crushing my hopes. “But this is a great inconvenience, and I am seriously displeased. Anne!” Her sudden bellow made the pair jump.
Anne instantly appeared in the doorway; she must have followed my hasty flight earlier. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Since we have less than a full day in which to complete preparations for my niece’s journey – preparations which would normally be expected to take a week – I will require you to begin immediately. Fetch Hodge, as you will need him to bring down the large red trunk and the hope chest from the attic.”
My temper boiled up at the way I was being ignored. I wanted to leap up and shout: “No one asked me!” But why would they? Nobody ever did. Now I was going back … and I would miss Gabriel. It was all too much.
Abruptly I stood and, without looking at any of them, stalked out of the room. Behind me I heard the hurried rustle as Rother and Isolde quickly got up and my aunt’s perfectly composed voice: “Naturally Lady Alexandra will need to supervise her packing.”
Don’t be polite on my account, I fumed silently, my stomach churning with helpless rage. I stormed away from the room, heading upwards – unconsciously making for my favourite room, the library.
My life was being torn apart once more, just as I had started to find some measure of peace. I had resigned myself to never seeing home again; allowed myself to grow comfortable here, to make a true friend – and now I would never see him again. He hadn’t believed that I would be gone wh
en he came back. He had said he would be happy for me, but I knew that was only because in his heart he thought I would still be here. I could see him so clearly – picture him arriving on the shore as night fell. He would be patient at first, but after a while he would get up, fidget, pace up and down beside the waves. He would be worried, then angry, thinking I had forgotten him.
How would I feel if I thought he had forgotten me? I stopped on the stairs, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain that seemed to hollow out my chest. My breath shuddered out, half sob, half sigh. I couldn’t bear it.
“Lady?” Anne’s voice quavered on the word. She stood behind me on the staircase – once again she had followed in my steps. My eyes widened as a new thought struck me, and I turned to look at the little maid.
“Come up to the library, Anne.”
“Lady–” She cast a troubled look backwards, obviously guiltily aware of the tasks she had been ordered to complete. She had probably only come after me to try to persuade me to do what my aunt said.
“Don’t worry about that,” I said impatiently. “We’ll start in a minute. Come on!”
I raced up, with Anne following reluctantly behind me. I entered the quiet of the library – a restful silence that welcomed me, rather than the dead stillness blanketing the rest of the house – and waited only for Anne to step reluctantly across the threshold before I firmly closed the door and leaned against it, cutting off her escape.
“I need you to grant me a favour, Anne. It is very important,” I said carefully. “They’re taking me away tomorrow, and I don’t know if I shall ever come back. But there’s someone I’m supposed to meet tomorrow night someone very important to me. There’s no way I can see him, I know that, but I must get a message to him, Anne. You’re the only one I trust to do it.”
Anne flushed a pretty pink at the compliment, but the troubled look didn’t leave her face. “But … him? Who? And how?”
I understood her meaning well enough, and rushed to reassure her. “He’s a friend. I met him walking on the beach, ages ago; you know I often walk by the sea in the evenings, Anne. He’ll be there tomorrow evening, expecting to see me. I only want you to say that I am all right – that I’m going home and he shouldn’t worry about me. And … and tell him that I won’t forget him. That’s harmless enough, isn’t it? Will you do it? Please, Anne.”
Her worried look faded a little as she realized she wasn’t going to be asked to memorize any impassioned speeches.
“Well … I will try, Lady.”
“Thank you, Anne. He’ll be there at sunset.”
I didn’t want to fluster her further now that I had got my own way, so I turned quickly back and opened the door. “I suppose we had better go and start packing.”
She sighed with relief. “Yes, Lady Alexandra.”
My heart was lighter as I went down the stairs again and walked along the corridor to my room. At least now Gabriel would know that I was all right – and that I had thought of him before I went.
While Anne went to fetch Hodge the footman, I began taking clothes out of the wardrobe and laying them on the bed. I looked at the finely made gowns of heavy wool and light silk, the velvets and the linens. The seamstress had eventually convinced Eirian to allow me one green gown, so dark it was almost black, but most of them were still dove grey, black and dark blue. I remembered, long ago, telling myself that when I left this place I would leave all the new clothes behind. I snorted quietly. I had no choice but to take them now. Not one of the shabby gowns I had brought with me fitted any more – they barely covered my shins or wrists, and the seams strained at my hips and chest while bagging at the waist.
So much had changed since I came here. My hands left the soft cloth and lifted hesitantly to the coiled weight of my hair, then back out, so that I could look at my freckled, stumpy fingers. Had I changed? Yes – oh, yes, in more ways than the physical. In ways even I did not quite understand. It was too much to hope that the Kingdom and home had not also changed. What would greet me when I returned? My father, the Hall… I frowned, feeling as though I had forgotten something. Something wasn’t right … there was something important…
Blood roared in my ears; my vision crawled with silver things that seemed to nibble at the edges of my eyes, like tiny insects. I swayed and slumped down on the edge of the bed.
Slowly the dizziness faded away, along with the thoughts that had triggered it. I blinked, surprised to find myself sitting on my own clothes. As Anne came back in I got to my feet and shook out the rumbled dress I had crushed, and we worked together in silence to pack everything I would need for the journey.
In the months since I arrived at my aunt’s house, the tides of Midland had grown strong. That last night, the ebb and rush of enaid was stronger than ever – strong enough to lull me to sleep even though worry gnawed at my stomach. I was not entirely grateful for the favour. My slumber, while deep, was restless.
I had dreams that were both strange and vivid. I saw the great birds again, silhouetted black against the sun. The beating of their wings seemed to echo that of my heart, stirring something inside me that struggled to wake even as I slept. It was a memory, buried like a shell in the sands. The ever-present movement of the tide swirled and tugged at it until it was partially uncovered, and the beating wings of the birds overhead urged to me to dig … to look, look, look…
Yet somehow, as often happens in dreams, I could not do what I desperately wanted – I could not see what lay in the sand. It seemed to shimmer with silvery swirls, and my sight would not focus. Eventually the birds flew away, and the dream faded. When Anne came to wake me, just before dawn, my eyes were already open, staring at the ceiling.
As the sun lifted its fiery crest over the horizon, I sat in my room, pushing the last pins into the braided coils of hair at the nape of my neck. All my worldly possessions were neatly folded and packed away. Aunt Eirian, Isolde and Rother waited for me downstairs. In a few minutes I would leave the house, probably never to return.
I looked down at my dark green velvet gown. The rough calluses on my palms caught at the soft material as I lifted the skirts and stood, walking slowly out of the room. Anne followed behind me, holding my soft grey woollen cloak and muff. I seemed to be drifting as I moved along the corridor. From the moment I had awoken that morning, a sense of unreality had enveloped me. It was as if my dreams had knocked my mind out of its proper order. I imagined I could feel everything changing … the world shifting as I moved through it.
I stopped by the window at the top of the stairs and looked out. The two carriages, each with a matched quartet of horses, stood laden with luggage, waiting for me. I thought the images were warped by the thick, bubbled glass of the window, but as I turned to look away, I realized that it was not the glass warping my vision. There was something wrong with my eyes.
I put out a hand against the window frame to steady myself – then quickly withdrew it as the wood shuddered under my touch, like a restless animal. What was happening? What was wrong? I shook my head, turning to look for Anne. I had to tell her I was ill; something was wrong … I couldn’t travel like this…
But you’re going home. The thought was so clear, it was as if someone had whispered in my mind. I blinked again, relaxing. Of course. I was going home. Everything would be all right there.
I had to go home…
The strength of that longing swamped me. I had to get home. I took a deep breath and turned from the window to walk carefully down the stairs. Home…
Silvery things darted across my eyes as my aunt stepped forward to give me a hesitant embrace. The warmth of her hold against my skin made me a little less dizzy; I was able to bid her farewell and return her hand clasp.
Then she released me and I was ushered away. The dizziness came back, bringing the silver swirls at the edges of my sight. Cool air … the sudden light that made me flinch … more movement – a firm hand under my elbow, helping me into the carriage … blessed darkness…
&nb
sp; CHAPTER TEN
I have little memory of what came next. This may be as well. I know my vision was clouded with wavering silver that turned all I looked at into a dim muddle of shapes. The world still churned and twisted around me, probably made worse by the jolting of the carriage.
Things gradually became darker. Finally the lurching movements of the carriage stopped.
I was left there in the back, in the dark and cold. I was uncomfortable, twitching fretfully. The silver fog was surrounding me and pushing out all the air until I could hardly breathe. My own restless fidgeting had exhausted me, and I was so tired. Slowly I slipped into an uneasy sleep.
I opened my eyes to the dawning sun, glowing like a milk opal behind a wash of golden clouds. A tree arched overhead, its branches fluttering with spring foliage; the light rippled over my face like rain. The familiar twisting boughs and knots of bark reassured me. This was the old oak that presided over the gardens of the Hall. Blinking, I sat up, still looking at the sky. Springy flock moss crushed under my palms, filling the air with an astringent scent.
The luminous early-morning gold of the clouds was unblemished, save for three shapes flying in the distance. As I watched, the creatures grew larger and more distinct. They were swans, their snowy feathers shining in the pure light, great wings beating the air in a strangely familiar rhythm. They came closer, closer, until their enormous bodies shadowed my eyes; they wheeled and soared above me, as silent as clouds themselves save for the slow, deep throb of their wings. I craned my neck to look, laughter rising in my throat at the sheer beauty of them.