The Last Wizard

by Jane M. R.

  I look over my shoulder. Brine’s back is to me. Would it be too much of an intrusion to ask to put my arm around her again?

  My emotion snakes still rear their heads unnecessarily strong at times they think is appropriate when it is totally not. And I don’t want the snake of Lust to rouse so I have to make awkward excuses why I have to sleep locked in another room in another castle tonight.

  “I washed the blankets in the river with the rosemary soap,” I say, trying to flex my dialect like hers. “I kept waking up with a dust mite infestation. Dost the same happen to ye? Of course not. Ye art not as hairy.”

  She throws a complimentary smile over her shoulder and continues to face the wall. I look at the fire crackling in the hearth. More dreams of my vault on fire. Someday I’ll get over it.

  I exhale, wondering where I will be in fifty years. Still a hairy troll? Hiding in this castle because of the dangers of the church having thought they broke my amulet? Married? Who would want to marry someone who must hide in this castle tucked three layers deep into the Fae Realm? If I don’t hide, then either the church will find out and break my amulet, in turn killing me, or if the church doesn’t find me first, those who have my amulet will, and will throw me back in the vault.

  My stomach aches with these thoughts. I don’t want to see where I will be in fifty years.

  I close my eyes to feign sleep. A shuffling of blankets behind me says Brine is rolling over. The blankets keep shuffling and I jerk unexpectedly as her arm slides over my chest.

  “You lied to me,” she says from behind my neck. “You didn’t sleep at all last night.”

  Maybe my dry, bloodshot eyes gave it away?

  I expect my snake of Lust to rear up and cause me to think unreasonable things, but it doesn’t. Just as dangerous though, Love opens its eyes instead for the first time and while I fight with myself on whether or not I should accept her offer to touch me while I sleep, that’s what I do.

  I fall asleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  BRINELLA

  Is it possible to fall in love with someone’s heart before their face?

  Not, really, that kind of love, because I don’t have the luxury to fall in love with whom I will.

  Just more of a… it feels like something satisfied clicks together in my soul when I’m around you kind of love. Can you love without being in love? I’ve only known Zadicayn less than a week but I already like him so much more than Jaicom. I don’t even know why. But I know it started when he braided my hair.

  My heart whispers dangerous things to me as I feel Zadicayn’s chest rise and fall with every breath. I clear my throat and those dangers don’t go away, but are mature enough to back into a corner and remain quiet.

  It’s been morning for about an hour now. The sun is falling upon my back from the window. But I don’t move. Because Zadicayn is sleeping. And, maybe, perhaps I like the feel of something solid between my arms.

  Stay in that corner, Dangerous Whisperings.

  I only move because the morning is getting older and my parents are expecting me back. I’m careful to slid my arm off of him. His breathing abruptly changes and he shifts a little.

  “Are you awake?”

  He rolls onto his stomach and looks at me. “Methinks ye wast still asleep.”

  I think he’s lying.

  He smiles, lifting his moustache. “The brightest of mornings to thee, troll.”

  “Morning, monkey.”

  “Hayeth now!”

  “Hayeth? That’s most definitely NOT an English word in your dialect.”

  “I continues to heareth ye say it. See what happens when I tries to speaks like thee?”

  “You’re being a nuisance on purpose.”

  “The point beith that calling meself a monkey tis false.” He lounges sideways on his elbow with one knee popped up and runs a hand through his bushy hair. “Ye seeth, I art devilishly handsome. Lastmost one to the river maketh breakfast.”

  He’s dashing off the floor before I have time to process his dialect.

  “Hey!” I run after him, following his white flash of shirt he calls a tunic as he dashes around corners and down stairs.

  He’s faster, perhaps due to him being two inches taller. I’ve never considered myself to be a runner – another thing women are not encouraged to do. I soon lose him completely down a hallway. I emerge outside onto the stairs leading to the river, panting like a forger’s billows.

  Zadicayn is already at the water - in the water - with his old boots off and his pants rolled to his hairy knees. He’s chanting my name with something witty thrown in randomly.

  I finally have some of my breath back as I come off the last step.

  “Cometh into the river! The water tis magnificent!”

  I stand on the water’s edge. It’s really easy to ignore his persistent beckoning. “I don’t think you’re a wizard. I think you are a fish in a human’s body with how much you play in the rain and river.”

  “And I thinketh ye art the loser, and therefore the maker of the breakfast.”

  I stick my tongue out at him. He’s still beckoning me into the river which I ignore, and pick some apples off the tree.

  I have the apples baking in the oven by the time he comes into the kitchen with his boots and socks in his hand. His pants are still rolled to his hairy knees.

  “I don’t know how often I’ll be able to come back,” I say, handing him an apple. “It was really hard to make it here yesterday and I had to lie to my parents. They are going to see through my lies eventually.”

  It’s a long time before he responds, eating his apple with much more grace than his first meal. “Wilt thou still be able to assist meself in reclaiming me amulet after the Ball?”

  “Yes.” I still reserve some hesitation about him claiming to be a wizard, despite the evidence of the circumstances where I found him. I just like to see things before I believe in them. The only person exception to that is God. “I will find out a way.”

  “Well, whenever the Ball concludes – ye sayeth tis three days from now?”

  I nod.

  “Whenever ye can safely show up after that, we shall begin. Night time wouldst be best.”

  “Night would be easiest.” I agree. I also note how he doesn’t pry into my life outside of the castle. Maybe he knows how we can’t unite completely under the flag of friendship. I also rather enjoy his ignorance of my life, letting me pretend no other life exists outside of these walls.

  His strides are longer than mine but he keeps them short so he doesn’t walk ahead of me on our way to the Fae Gate. He has a particular heavy exhale when he breaths.

  We stop in front of the gate and he knocks ten times for me, willing to bust his hairy knuckles against the rock instead of mine. I’ll let him.

  Goodbyes feel too final, so I don’t say it. I wordlessly walk through. He stands watching with his hands behind his back until the tunnel closes behind me.

  OOO

  I enter my front lawn. I look up to see my mother running toward me, holding her pale blue dress off the ground with one hand. My mood sours.

  “Brinella!”

  And I wish my hated full name was the only reason why.

  She stops beside my horse. “Brinella… Jaicom called to take you for a ride. We told him to come back in about two hours and that was an hour ago! Come quick! You must get dressed!”

  The picture I have of Jaicom right now is us standing together after my violin performance and my confrontation about why he’s courting me if he has no interest in me. He thought his quick peck on my cheek was an answer.

  I’ve decided to just shelve the oddness of his courting me so I can collect them all and eventually piece them together at some point and maybe figure out his motives.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been confusing. Been busy learning my father’s business and traveling to Bristol. I’ll do better from now on.”

  Suppose he’s proving it now. It doesn’t make me any less calm.
Especially since now I only hear the name Whaerin – one of three families who had locked Zadicayn away. I want to doubt that Jaicom is involved. I have to. Because I might marry him. And if I don’t, who will?

  It’s only because of my status that people don’t look more harshly upon my untied years than they should. I don’t want to live alone. I don’t want to be a motherless spinster living on the street.

  Varseena is too occupied with dancing on her toes for joy to notice the distress on my face. On command, I remove my one and only dress that does not tie – because I went to “Madrin’s” house and they don’t have a macramist – and site at the vanity, sponging myself off with water and rose oil.

  My mother works my hair into something fashionable while Varseena’s fingers fly to tie me into my riding dress.

  When I’m ready for the horse show, the two women leave my room. I’m anxious as I look out the window, waiting for Jaicom to ride up. If Jaicom doesn’t marry me, who will?

  I need to occupy my sudden nervous fingers. I begin to unpack my bag I took with me to “Madrin’s” and feel an unfamiliar object in its depths. I pull it out. A pale block of soap. It smells of rosemary. This simple sight calms my heart some. Did Zadicayn snick it in there? The thought of him with his arm around me and his words, “Your hair smells of rosemary” flashes brightly in my mind before it is broken by the knock on my door. I hide the soap under my pillow just as my mother bursts in.

  “He’s here!” she squeals. Seeing my mother’s little girl excitement makes me smile. I follow her out. “He’s so handsome!”

  I come to the top of the steps and look down into the foyer. Jaicom is handsome. His blonde hair is combed flat to the left side as is the current fashion and his clean shave adds the wonderful flavor of youth to his face despite him being mid-eighteen. A long sleeved green shirt under a short sleeve black cardigan back-drops his pinstriped black fedora clutched in his hands.

  He smiles brightly. “Brinella.” I descend the stairs. “You look so beautiful, as always. I was going to ask if you’d like to go for a ride with me, but it appears you’ve already been warned.”

  Something sounds weird with the way he’s talking. Then I realize with some internal disdain that I was expecting Zadicayn’s loved ye, thee, and wast.

  “Sorry to ruin your surprise. My mother can’t keep a secret.” I cast a glance to where I had left my mother at the top of the stairs. I don’t see her, though she is no doubt peeking around the corner.

  “Shall we go, then?”

  We go outside to where both our horses stand ready with the stable hand holding their reins. Jaicom assists me to mount and then mounts his own. We start side by side down the road.

  Jaicom is not a conversationalist, and so I wonder exactly what he wants to achieve on this ride. Funny, with all the times he’s called on me, I still know nothing about him. Then I remember how very little he has called on me.

  “I’ve got some bad news,” he says, and a fear for many possibilities prickle my skin. Is he going to declare he is going to stop courting me, despite I both joy and fear that possibility?

  “The vault has been broken into.”

  This is so much worse. I panic. Does Zadicayn know they are on to him? I should warn him!

  “Thank goodness they didn’t take all the money.”

  Oh. Wrong vault. The theft on the Whaerin vault seemed so long ago that I forgot about it.

  “Jaicom!” I reply with forced disbelief. “That… how did that happen? How much did they take?” I hope he doesn’t see my gloved fingers trembling on the reins.

  He releases a pinched breath. He’s not looking at me. I could believe I’m in the clear. “Twenty thousand pounds.”

  Holy church and all its sinners, Joseara took that much?

  “But that’s not to say there isn’t so much more left,” he rushes, as if I might look down at him for the loss. “In fact, we are surprised the thief didn’t take more.” The piece of the key… did they notice the fake piece of key swapped for the real? “Everything else is accounted for.”

  I release a breath. But only halfway. Jaicom wouldn’t tell me about the key even if they discovered it was fake. And if they know it’s a fake they are going to tell Brocen and…

  A gentle hand on my wrist forces me to calm. “It’s okay, Brinella. The business is stable and there is so much money left. It is only proper that I tell you, because goodness knows how this estranged small minded hamlet talks.”

  I need to keep him talking, because while he’s talking he’s not look at me to read that I hired the thief to break into their vault.

  Then I remember that Joseara said the key to the vault was hanging beside the vault door. I’m surprised Jaicom is surprised that it was robed, even given the vault is under their house.

  “It’s got to be that thief that keeps robbing places in town,” he continues. “The dress shop, the jewelry shop. My father is now actively working with the Chief Constable to lure the thief into the open.”

  “Wonderful!” I lie. “I hope we catch him.” Maybe if the town is still illusioned to think the thief is a man, Joseara won’t be targeted. I’m also still marveling that Jaicom has said so many words so close together. I like him better when he talks.

  After I’m returned and I bed down under the sheets Varseena warmed for me, I’m bubbling from the pleasant hints the day provided. Jaicom actually showed some real interest in me. We actually had a conversation. I actually wanted to act like a tied lady for him. I had to have been wrong about what I saw between him and Crisy in his foyer. For the first time since Jaicom showed up at Durain’s funeral, I’m finally settled with the thought that I could marry him.

  I fall asleep with the scent of rosemary lingering on my pillow.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  ZADICAYN

  I admire myself in the looking glass… not at the hair, mind you, but at my charming charisma and dashing wit. No more the man who throws up everything he eats and cries when he had to throw away his mother’s moth eaten dress. No. Looking back at me is the man who had a girl put her arm around him.

  Something tells me I should not be so overly proud of this, but I push out my thin chest anyway. I just hope I smelled somewhat decent last night. Throughout the night, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to sleep – since I finally could – or if I wanted to lay there awake and just feel.

  So I did an intermittence of both. And I still slept better than the previous nights. With as much sleep as I got, I feel like I could conquer the world. Who knows what might happen if I actually get a full night’s rest?

  Is it too soon to ask her to marry me? Is courting still the same today as it was back in… what did she call it? The Middle Ages? I need a shave first. Because hairy men with benevolent hearts are the men you toss a shilling at as they beg on the street. A shame human’s look at a face before the heart. If I knew the words to that spell, I’d speak it. I have to have my amulet to do anything.

  But my amulet will have to come second. I have something else I need to do first.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  BRINELLA

  The dress had been fashioned weeks in advance – unbeknown to me. My mother lost the secret when her and my father came home with a thick paper box. “It’s a dress for you to wear to the anniversary!”

  My father looks askance at his wife, lips pressed disapprovingly beneath his moustache as he hands it over to me. I open the lid, expecting a fancy saddle and gold bridle.

  The dress is sleek and does not bulge at the hips like most of the others. Of course it is still tiable, but this design hides the weave of leather cord and knots inside the dress, which makes tying and untying it all the worse. The innermost layer of fabric glitters white; microscopic bits of glass adhered to the fabric all about the skirt. Over the white baseline is a second layer of red netting in a floral pattern massed at the sweetheart neckline which then cascades down both arms to the wrist and the bodice and skirt, thinning out considerabl
y at the bottom hem.

  “There are going to be a lot of girls there tonight. We wanted to make sure you were not second best for Jaicom.”

  “Mother, Jaicom wouldn’t court me for this long only to be swayed away at the last minute by a prettier girl.” I look at the dress. It’s a prettier bird cage than most.

  “Your mother is right. A pretty girl does change a man’s mind.” My father smiles at my mother, putting a long arm around her shoulders. “So let’s get our daughter shining tonight. Consider this your final show.”

  Final blow into my freedom, you mean.

  OOO

  It’s still six hours until the anniversary starts, and by all the Seven Deadly Sins, Varseena and my mother are going to take all of them.

  The holy ritual starts with an hour soak in the cold, rose oiled water to engrain the scent into supple, dewy skin. Then wrapped in soft, oven warmed towels, Varseena declares war with the calluses on my feet, armed with a pumice stone and copious amounts of skin cream. I do my best to act oblivious to Varseena’s questions about why the soles of my heels are so hard and dry. (“I don’t know. Maybe it’s from all my dreaming where I am running away?”)

  Simultaneously, my mother forces cream into my hands, filing down my nails and buffing them so I can almost see my reflection ten times.

  It takes both women to yank at the strings on my corset and only stop when I’m ready to pass out because I can’t breathe. (“Don’t fret. You’ll figure out how to breathe.”) I know they tied it that way so I couldn’t run away, even in my daydreams.

  Now they are pulling at my hair. Ceramic hair rollers heated by candle flame spin my hair into coils all the way to my scalp. A little makeup too, just enough to rouge my cheeks and brighten my hazel eyes.