Rosa nodded. ‘It’s easy to get lost in that tiny world. The first time I tried, I sat for a day. I only came out of the trance when it got dark.’
‘What is that thing?’
‘In one sense, it’s just a glass globe. If you drop it, it will break. Look.’ Rosa picked up the ball, pointing to a faint line on its surface. ‘Where I banged it. I’m more careful now.’ She put it down carefully, rubbing her hand across it like a rider quieting a pony. ‘It’s a tool, an agent that allows your thoughts to focus. When I look into it, like you, I see the Kingdom. As you get better at it, you can push your vision out of the window, see things that are happening further away. Sometimes you can see the past, sometimes the future. I think you’ve seen the future.’
I made a face. It hadn’t looked very promising.
Rosa shrugged. ‘Don’t rely on this too much. It’s a bit of an uncertain guide; at the end of the day it is only a glass globe.’
I jumped at a SQUARK! from the window ledge. Rosa laughed, breaking the tension, and I breathed again. Time enough to worry about the future when it happened.
‘Don’t worry. It’s only Finegal.’
‘Finegal?’
Digging into her pocket, she pulled out a small box. Was this more magic? She passed it to me, and I took it nervously.
‘It’s just bread,’ said Rosa. Could everyone in this Castle read my mind? She pointed to the window behind her. ‘You can feed him. He’s friendly. Not harmless, but friendly.’
The crow stirred, tipping his head to one side as he stared at me from a bright black eye.
Rosa twisted stiffly in her chair. ‘And how are you this sunny day, Finegal? Have you news?’
‘Caw,’ said the bird and took the bread from my fingers. His beak was long and pointed. A circle of darker feathers rimmed his eye, making him look masked. Could I stroke his head? No, probably not a good idea.
‘Cawk,’ agreed the crow and took another piece of bread. The church bell rang four times.
‘I should go,’ I said.
‘I’ll see you out,’ said Rosa. She clutched the table, awkwardly lifting herself to her feet. The top of her gown opened. There was a red stain on her chest, directly over her heart.
‘Doesn’t that hurt?’
‘You get used to it.’ Her gown dropped into place as she straightened. ‘But it’s one reason I don’t wear the necklace as much as my predecessor.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ask your father,’ said Rosa. She went over to the door and opened it. ‘It’s time you knew. He can’t keep you in ignorance forever.’ She sighed. ‘Men! Now, be careful how you get down the steps. My guards have lit torches for you, but it’s still steep. And, come back next week. Promise?’
Her blue eyes held my gaze. ‘I promise.’
‘Good. Now listen. You can only come when the clock chimes two, for I will lift the wards. At any other hour you will not be able to find the door.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just what I say, child.’
I walked slowly down the stairs, running my hand along the stone wall. Torches, set in iron holders, guttered and flared. The enormous guard met me at the bottom. I caught my breath and tried not to scream.
‘Alright, miss?’
‘Don’t scare the little lady,’ said a deeper voice. ‘It’s just us, miss.’
Two large men in chain mail squeezed out of the passageway. ‘Hello, miss,’ said one. ‘I’m Gregor. This here is Reginald.’ He chuckled. ‘Greg and Reg. Easy to remember, miss.’
‘Hello,’ I said hesitantly.
The men were smiling — or at least, I hoped they were. All I could see was torchlight glinting off teeth. Like patting boarhounds: the dogs might be well behaved, but you could never be sure.
‘It’s nice you’ve come, miss. We don’t always get a chance to meet the Guardian before her time.’ Gregor turned the iron handle on the door and it opened with a creak. ‘Now, next time, just knock three times and me and Reggie will know it’s you.’
The door closed with a click, and I stood on the step, staring at its battered, ancient wood. What did they mean, ‘before her time’?
18
What Do I Tell Her?
Ask your father,’ Rosa had said. How could I ask him, when I didn’t know the question?
Telling Nurse I was tired, I took to my chamber and started a diary entry — ‘I went to see Aunt Rosa’ — and stopped. How to convey the strangeness of the meeting? The power that crackled about the room, the call of the strange gems. I wanted to see them again, to stroke them, to know their names. What was I thinking? Gems don’t have names.
I remembered my mother pointing at an etching of a woman wearing a sparkling stone. ‘That’s the Light of the North,’ she had said, her voice trembling.
‘The lady?’
‘No, silly,’ she laughed. ‘The diamond. It’s the biggest in the world. Isn’t it beautiful?’
I banged the diary shut. I had to see Daddy.
Thinking of the necklace seemed to have swallowed time. Outside my chamber all was quiet with the special hush of night. Not wanting the soldiers to see me, I cut through the side door, into the long gallery. The great chamber was empty, the portraits staring blankly at the moonlight that shone through the stone archways and stroked white lines across the floor. I huddled into the blanket I’d wrapped, cloak-like, around my shoulders and wished I’d worn my slippers. The stone floor was icy cold.
Portraits of elaborately gowned ancestors flowed by as I hopped from rug to rug in an effort to keep warm. I seemed to be travelling back through my forebears: here was my mother, my father. Then my grandfather, red-faced and corpulent.
‘He was a magnificent dresser,’ Mother had said, as though good clothes were a virtue.
He didn’t look that wonderful in the portrait. He wore impractical high heels and a sword that would be no use in a fight. It would tangle in his cloak if he tried to draw it. Here was my great-grand father, who loved pipes and water and heating. Here was his wife.
I passed backwards through time, looking at faces progressively more distant. Had their lives been different from mine?
The faces began to change. Mother didn’t talk about these people, these fine-featured women, the men with the rich cloaks, but sometimes, when she thought I wasn’t watching, I saw her staring at the paintings as though measuring their clothing and jewellery.
The older paintings were created on wood, decorated icon-like in gold leaf so they gleamed. The figures in the paintings wore necklaces. It was hard to see the colours in the bleached white light of the moon, but I could still pick out the shapes, the rich red of the pendant. The necklace looked different in each portrait, yet the ruby was a constant. Despite the cold I paused. What was it? There was something about the necklace, the ruby. I stared at one portrait then another. They looked similar, but not the same. I turned, walking back along the empty gallery, ignoring the chill, reviewing the faces one by one, eldest to present day.
There it was — it was so obvious. With each successive wearer, the necklace grew larger.
At first, the strand was simple; just the ruby encased by two beads on a silver thread. Then a few more beads, strands of gold and pearls, a longer string, becoming heavier and more elaborate with each wearer. Why did the necklace change?
‘Here’s a puzzle,’ I whispered. My voice echoed in the empty air, rustling along the gallery. It almost seemed that my ancestors stirred in the moonlight, joining me in conversational fragments: uzzle, ule, z.
My father was speaking in rough, angry tones. Catching my name, I pressed my ear to the door. If it was about me, I wanted to hear what was being said.
‘You took her there?’
N’tombe answered. ‘You asked me to teach her.’
‘I meant sums, dammit. Languages, weaving, embroidery. The usual things young ladies learn.’ I peeped through the keyhole. Daddy paced across the room. Four steps, then he was ba
ulked by the wall. ‘Knife fighting and wrestling is bad enough. But I draw the line,’ he thumped on his desk, ‘at magic.’
‘She won’t be a girl forever, sir.’
‘Well, she is one now. And I say no. No.’ He shook his head. ‘My little lass, she’ll be terrified. And what about Cyrilla? What do you think she’ll say?’
‘Is this about your daughter, Your Majesty? Or is it about you?’
Shaking his head, my father sat. ‘You’re right,’ he whispered, his voice so soft I could hardly hear. ‘What sort of a man am I? Locking her up in a tower, wasting away while her heart dissolves?’
Suddenly, I was angry. Rosa. How could he do this to his own sister?
‘Your Majesty,’ N’tombe’s tone was conciliatory.
I pushed hard at the door. I misjudged the force; it flew open and banged on the stone wall.
‘Daddy!’ I stood on the threshold, staring at him. I hoped I looked accusing. ‘What did Aunt Rosa mean?’
‘Dana!’ My father scowled at me. ‘Are these the manners you’ve learnt from your tutor?’
‘She said that you would know the reasons she doesn’t wear the necklace as much as her predecessor. She said you can’t keep me in ignorance forever. What don’t I know, Papa?’
N’tombe stirred. ‘Your Majesty. She needs to know.’
Daddy jumped to his feet. The air between them seemed to twist and crackle. ‘What do I tell her?’ he shouted. ‘How can I tell her?’
‘Tell me what?’ I stepped into the room. ‘Papa, I’m nearly fifteen! I need to know.’
‘Dana,’ said N’tombe, ‘I will be in your tower when you return.’ She left the room with a rustle of skirts. Her boot nails clattered on the stairs.
‘Papa?’ I was suddenly terribly, terribly afraid. ‘What don’t I know?’
Daddy sat back in his chair and motioned to the seat on the other side of the desk. ‘You’d better sit down.’ He waited until I sat, then jumped up again and began his marching to and fro across the study floor, hands in his pockets. There would be a groove in the rug at this rate. ‘You know about the necklace?’
‘Aunt Rosa showed it to me.’
My father stopped in mid-stride. ‘She did?’
‘She keeps it in a box. It’s really beautiful.’
‘She keeps it in a box?’ He seemed startled. ‘That’s sensible, I suppose. But how can she use it if she’s not wearing it?’
‘She has a terrible sore on her chest, Papa. It must hurt a lot.’ I shuddered, remembering the red, weeping wound.
Daddy resumed his pacing. I wished he’d stop. It was hard to concentrate with all this moving about. ‘The necklace. It’s the most important thing in the Kingdom.’
I nodded. ‘I remember. You told me that once, when I was little.’
‘Did I tell you why it was important?’
‘It protects us?’
‘Yes. Well, not quite. As I understand it, the necklace generates a force which surrounds the Kingdom, stopping bad things entering. Illness and so on. It protects us from bad weather, crop plagues and so forth.’ He rubbed his nose. ‘That’s what I was told when I was a little older than you. The necklace is the reason we have enough food in our bellies, and why we don’t have the sicknesses that so many other places do.’
‘Like the plague? Will’s parents died of the plague.’
‘Like the plague.’ Daddy leant against the doorway and crossed his hands over his chest. ‘It can stop bad people entering the Kingdom; people who want to hurt us.’
‘It must be very powerful.’
‘Yes. But,’ he held up a finger, ‘only one person can use the necklace. That’s the Guardian. Your Aunt Rosa.’
‘So why doesn’t she wear it?’
‘I’m sure she does, sometimes.’
I was suddenly angry with him. ‘How would you know? You never go near her! And she’s your sister!’ I pulled the blanket tight across my shoulders and slouched in the chair.
‘I do see her sometimes.’ His voice sounded weak. ‘She visits me in dreams.’
‘Dreams aren’t the same.’
Daddy sighed. ‘No, they’re not.’ He perched himself on the edge of the desk. ‘You want to know why she doesn’t wear it? Beware of precious gifts, Dana. There’s always a catch. The necklace wounds the Guardian, Dana. You saw the sore over her heart? It sucks away her soul. Eventually, it takes her heart.’
I think I called out. I don’t know what I said. My only thought was the dreamscape: an old woman, weeping guards, a heart that slowly stuttered and stopped. I felt sick. ‘Will that happen to Aunt Rosa?’
Daddy nodded. ‘But not for a very long time, I hope.’
What would it be like to be shut up in a tower, with only crows and guards for company? I remembered something about the guards. ‘The guards said something to me. “It is nice to meet the Guardian before her time.” What did they mean by that?’
He looked away. ‘I don’t know.’
He wasn’t telling me everything. ‘You need to tell me.’
He crouched beside me, lifted a strand of my hair with a finger. ‘Fire-filled,’ he whispered. His breath stirred my cheek. ‘It suits you. We were so happy when you were born.’ He smiled sadly at me. ‘I suppose that Enchantress is right. You have the right to know.’
My voice was shaky, so I whispered, ‘To know what?’
‘The Guardian is the oldest daughter of the king. It’s an hereditary role, passed from aunt to niece. An unbroken line. When the necklace is removed from the old Guardian and handed to the new, the old one dies. Dana, honey, you will be the next Guardian.’
How could he speak so calmly? I could hardly breathe. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock and the distant caw of the crows.
‘Dana?’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’
Finally, my shoulders lifted, my stupid body working automatically. Breathe in, then out. Even if you don’t want to any more. Even if your world has just crumpled, creasing into nothing. I stared at the floor. The slate was scratched from the chair leg. Daddy should get a new chair.
‘You knew,’ I said to the marked floor. ‘You’ve always known.’
‘Yes,’ said my father. ‘I’ve always known.’
I reached for his hand, a point of certainty in a world that spun, changing and fragmenting around me. ‘Mother?’
I felt him nod.
I looked at him, but he was staring at the desktop and I couldn’t see his eyes. ‘When did this happen? To Rosa?’
‘She was about your age. Twenty, twenty-five years ago.’
I let go of his hand. ‘I think I’ll go now.’
Daddy reached out his fingers towards me, palm up. His voice sounded thick, as though he was trying to speak around tears. ‘My father told me: “Keep your daughters away from your heart.” He only saw Rosa when he had to. State occasions, banquets, ceremonies. Never in private. I couldn’t bear to do that. I hope I did the right thing, Dana.’
I stared up at him. His eyes were wet, and even as I watched, tears rolled down his cheeks. They pooled on the desktop like pearls. Numbly, I thought: I’ve never seen him cry before. He must really love me. I gave him what comfort I could.
‘I guess you did the best you could, Papa.’ I reached for him and we clung to each other, as though we were drowning.
19
The Impermanence of Beauty
Seated in front of the mirror, Mother surveyed her face. I hated mirrors, only viewing my reflection if forced, but Mother could stare at herself for hours. Sometimes it seemed that the reflected image was actually Mother’s true self and the flesh-and-blood woman a faint, pale reflection.
Positioning the candles carefully, she turned her head from side to side, inspecting her skin for imperfections. Putting her fingers to her cheeks, she lifted the skin. Stroking her temples, she pulled the scalp back, removing the wrinkles around her eyes.
Numb, feeling like an invisible ghost, I watched unseen fr
om the doorway. It seemed that all around me was make-believe, a mummers’ play, beside the grim reality of my future.
I couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it. It was fiction, I was a heroine in a novel and soon someone would come to save me. So I huddled beside the doorframe and gazed at Mother in the candlelight as a thirsty man watches water.
I’d never wanted to be like her. Rebellious, caring naught for how I looked or how others thought of me, I could not have imagined a worse fate than that of ornamental figurehead. But now, staring at her, I thought: here is company and warmth. And I wanted it. How I wanted it.
Ruth, Mother’s dresser, bustled backwards from the wardrobe, carrying a gown across her crooked elbows.
‘Are you alright, my duck?’
‘I have wrinkles,’ Mother spoke in a faraway voice.
‘Bless you,’ Ruth patted her on the head. ‘Wrinkles, you say! Your Majesty, look at my face.’ She put her head next to Mother and in the mirror were two women, one smooth-faced, beautiful, the other homely, plain but somehow comfortable. Mother swallowed and pushed her servant away.
‘You don’t have your portrait hanging from the walls,’ she said petulantly. ‘You don’t have to meet with courtiers who like nothing better than gossip. I can see it now, Ruth. They’ll look at my picture then at me, and behind their fans they’ll chatter about how old I look.’
‘And what if they do, my lady?’ said Ruth, placing the gown carefully across a chair. ‘Everyone gets older. You are still the queen.’
‘You don’t think age matters to the king? It does, Ruth. My father was a king too,’ Mother’s head nodded as Ruth began to brush her hair. ‘With a mistress.’
‘Tsk tsk,’ muttered Ruth, her expression unchanging as Mother continued. She’d probably heard it before.
Mother fidgeted with a comb. ‘My mother, replaced by a servant!’ She smiled, an uplifting of lips without humour. ‘When she died my father didn’t even have a proper mourning for her. He had a ball instead.’
Ruth brushed Mother’s hair with determination. ‘That ball, duck, was where you met the king. The prince, as he was then.’ She paused for a moment, staring into space. ‘Ah, how happy he was to have met you. I still remember the pride in his voice.’
A Necklace of Souls Page 15