A great fascination came over Ivy. She wanted nothing more than to go back through the entries she had transcribed from her father’s journal, and to delve once again into the history of Waywrend Loerus Dratham. However, such things would have to wait. How she would manage to keep her mind on a party that night, she didn’t know! Only she must.
Ivy sprinkled sand upon the paper to dry the ink, and at that very moment she heard the distant sound of the door in the front hall opening and shutting. Had guests already begun to arrive? Then a moment later she heard the deep sound of a voice, and the thump of boots approaching.
Quickly, Ivy shut the journal in the Wyrdwood box and put it away. Then he stepped into the library. At once everything in the room seemed to shift a bit, as if to accommodate his solid presence, and all thoughts of keys and doors and magicians fled Ivy’s mind.
Who moved more swiftly, she or he, was impossible to say. Within a moment, all distance between them was removed. Neither uttered a word. What could they say that a caress of the cheek, the touch of the hand, and a kiss of the lips could not speak far more eloquently?
“But you are trembling so!” he exclaimed at last.
It was true. A shuddering had come over her, and though she held him fiercely, and he fashioned a circle around her with the strength of his arms, she could not stop.
“Is something amiss, Mrs. Quent?” he said, his voice low with concern. “Are you well?”
“I am well now,” she said, and her trembling began to subside. “You must forgive me. It is only that, since you’ve been gone, there have been … that is, so much has …” She shook her head. For the last quarter month she had wanted nothing except to be able to speak to him. Only now that he was here, words were beyond her.
He pushed her away a little, so he could look down at her, but did not release her from his grasp. “You say you are well, but I cannot believe it! I can see in your eyes there is something wrong, and I would know what it is so I can set it aright. I beg you, Mrs. Quent, tell me what has happened while I was gone.”
“It’s what happened at the Evengrove,” she managed at last.
A heavy sigh went out of him. “The news came to me in the south. By then the Rising had been averted, and other inquirers were already at the wall to make investigations and keep watch. Thus I did not hasten my return and finished my business. I knew from the reports that there was no threat to you and your sisters, that you were safe here in the city.”
“But I was there that day!” she cried, unable to keep the knowledge from him any longer.
“There?” He stared down at her, and his grip tightened on her arms. “Is this true—you were at Madiger’s Wall the day of the Rising?”
She drew in a gulping breath and nodded. “I went there on an excursion with Lady Crayford. We were there when it all happened.”
Even as she watched, his face went gray behind his beard. He released her arms and took a staggering step back. “Did you hear them?” His voice was low and hoarse, and his brown eyes were intent upon her. “Did you hear the trees calling to you?”
A terrible dread filled her, and she started to tremble. Did he think that she had caused the Rising?
“But it wasn’t me!” she gasped, reaching out toward him. “I did not provoke them!”
He shook his head, then his expression of shock became one of anguish instead. In a swift motion, he moved back to her, taking her hands and holding them tight in his own.
“Of course you didn’t! I would never have thought such a thing, Ivoleyn, even if I hadn’t already known what caused the Rising. I read the reports, and I know it was a man who set a fire near the wall that caused the trees to lash out.”
The relief Ivy felt was so acute it was like a pain in her chest, but it was a welcome ache. As they gripped hands, she spoke quietly of how she had come to be at the Evengrove that day, and what took place there—how she had called out to the trees, and they had listened.
“I should have known it,” he said, wonder upon his craggy face. “From the report I read, I knew there was something peculiar about this Rising. Given the size of the Evengrove, the Rising should have continued to grow as more and more trees communicated their fear and anger to the others. Only it ended so suddenly. I had wondered how more people were not harmed. Now I know the reason. It was you, dearest.”
He released her hands and touched her cheek, smiling down at her. Only after a moment his expression grew troubled again, and with a heavy breath he turned away from her, and he leaned upon the back of a chair.
“You protected all those people at the wall that day. And where was I?” His shoulders slumped downward. “You were in grave peril, and I was halfway across the country.”
She went to him, laying a hand on the broad surface of his back. “You were seeing to your duty.”
“I am your husband,” he said, his voice gruff. “My duty is to protect you. How many of them have I labored to keep safe at all cost? I went all the way back to Torland to make certain that she was protected.” He bowed his head. “Yet I left you here, and so did nothing when you were in peril.”
These words filled Ivy with concern. Yet she could not help feeling a curiosity as well. “She? You mean the witch in Torland—the one who caused the Risings?”
“Yes, I mean her.”
“But what protections could she have needed? She is in the custody of the Crown, is she not? You said you captured her.”
“I did capture her.” He turned around to gaze at her, and there was a strange light in his dark eyes. “I captured her, and then I let her go.”
Now it was Ivy who stared, and who staggered a step back. “Why?” she managed to utter.
For a long moment he was silent. “I made a promise to her,” he said at last, and as he spoke his voice grew steadier. “I promised that if she would cease to provoke the Old Trees, I would swear upon the authority granted me by the Crown that no harm would come to her.”
Ivy listened, fascinated, as he described what happened in terse words: how, following hearsay and rumor, he had at last tracked her down to a grove of Wyrdwood deep in Torland, and how he called out to her again and again, until at last she came to the wall to meet him. He came near enough that she might have bid the trees to snatch him up and break him. Or she might have called to the rebels she had been harboring in the grove to bring their guns. Instead, she had listened to him.
“But I don’t understand,” Ivy said when he paused. “Why would she heed your words?”
“I think because something of my reputation proceeded me, and so perhaps she believed she could trust me. But more than that, I think she knew as I did that if the Risings did not end, more would come to harm.”
Ivy shook her head. “More Old Trees, you mean?”
“No,” he said, his voice low. “More witches.”
Slowly, Ivy sank down onto a sofa, sitting on its edge.
“It is not only the work of the inquirers to investigate Risings, and to prevent them from happening,” Mr. Quent went on, pacing before her now. “Much of our effort goes toward finding those women who have heard the call of the Old Trees, and getting them to safety—not only so they do not provoke the Wyrdwood, but so they are not harmed themselves.
“Nor is it only from the ancient forest that they face peril. While the matter of the Wyrdwood—and therefore the matter of witches as well—is under the purview of the lord inquirer, there are those within the government who have made it their purpose to seek out all threats to the Crown, and they have long desired to come into the possession of a witch.”
Ivy shuddered. “You mean Lady Shayde.”
He nodded. “Or more properly, her master, Lord Valhaine. I am loath to even think what they might do to a suspected sibyl who was delivered into their keeping—what methods they might use to try to draw knowledge from her, whether she was truly a witch or not. Thus the inquirers have always labored to be the first to any Rising, or better yet, to reach them before they
can ever have a chance to occur—and before agents of the Gray Conclave can get there themselves.”
Ivy tried to comprehend these words. “So that’s why you went to Torland this time.” She looked up at him. “To free the witch before Lady Shayde could get to her.”
“She was already free. I went only to make sure she was safely away from the Wyrdwood—and in a place she could not be found.”
Ivy felt a thrill that the witch had escaped. Only was that right? Should she not be horrified instead? “But people perished in Torland. And to let her go after what she had done—was it really the only way?”
He gave a grim nod. “It was the only way to achieve an immediate end to the Risings. If they did not cease, and quickly, it was only a matter of time until a woman who was thought to be a witch was brought to harm. And you know what would happen then.”
Ivy thought of Merriel Addysen. It hadn’t been her intention to cause a Rising. It had happened against her will, after she was violently accosted by a pair of vagrant men. And then the stand of Wyrdwood was burned down while she was still within it.
“If she felt anger,” Ivy said softly, “or fear or pain, and if there was a grove of Wyrdwood near, then it would hear her.”
“Yes. And hearing such a thing would only cause the wood to lash out more violently. The witch I met with understood that as well. She had accomplished what she wished, I think—to remind people of the power of the ancient wood. But she knew further Risings would only put other women like her in peril, and so she agreed to depart. So you see, if I had not let her go, the Risings could only have grown worse, until people at last resorted to taking up ax and fire against the Wyrdwood.”
“I can hardly be surprised they would!” she exclaimed.
“Yet at all cost, they must not do so.” He rubbed his thumb over the scar on his left hand—all that remained of the last two fingers. “The more that the Wyrdwood is fought, the more it will resist—and the more women it will call to, summoning them to its aid.”
Ivy could only shudder. How many women would hear such a call, and answer it? Some might be aware of their own natures. But others would not understand. They would listen to the Wyrdwood and heed it without knowing why. And they would find themselves in grave danger.
Just like Merriel Addysen. And just like Gennivel Quent, who had left a party at Heathcrest Hall to run across the moonlit moors—and then perished when she fell from the wall that surrounded a grove of Wyrdwood.
And yet there was hope. For were there not inquirers to keep the Wyrdwood from Rising up and calling to those women who could hear? Ivy knew he had saved Altania in Torland, but now she knew that he had saved her as well—her and other women like her. The cold dread Ivy had suffered was now burned away by a fierce love. She went to Mr. Quent, threw her arms around him, and held him with all her might.
“You did protect me from harm,” she said, pressing her cheek against his chest.
“But I was not with you!” he cried. “Just like that night at …”
His voice trailed off, but he did not need to finish. She understood. How could she not? He had been distracted at the party that night over a dozen years ago; he had failed to protect the first Mrs. Quent. Only he had not known then what he did now.
“You were not here,” she said, holding him more tightly yet. “Only it doesn’t matter. No matter where you go, the work you do protects me. It protects all of us.”
She listened to the beat of his heart. Ten she counted, while he stood there, motionless. Then at last he drew a deep breath, and he returned her embrace, and kissed her.
At last they drew apart, and he looked down at her. “I am hardly deserving of you, you know.”
“On the contrary,” she said, astonished by his words, “you are deserving of far greater rewards! Altania owes you everything after what you have done.”
“Does it?” He shook his head. “Not all would agree with you on that account, I fear. If it came to light that I had struck a bargain with the witch who caused the Risings in Torland … well, some might decide it is not a reward that I deserve.”
“But how could they question it? What you did was done with the authority of the Crown, and it caused the Risings to cease. Besides, if you do become the next lord inquirer, I am sure such persons will be in no position to do anything against you.”
She spoke this adamantly, and at last he gave a nod. At that moment, the old rosewood clock let out a chime.
“The party!” Ivy exclaimed, remembering what was to occur in just a little while. “Lily has been fretting for your arrival.”
All at once he let out a deep laugh, and the sound was like that of a bell, resonating upon the air and clearing it of all dread and worry.
“I have no doubt that she has!” he roared. “Well, I am sorry to have caused her distress. I will go to her and let her know I’ve arrived, then ready myself. I suspect you must do the same.”
She did. And while before she had had plenty of time, now she would indeed have to hurry. They proceeded upstairs, enjoying this brief moment together, for she doubted they would have much chance to be with each other once the evening’s affair began. All too soon they reached the third landing, and with a kiss they parted ways. He went off to find Lily, and she proceeded to her dressing room, humming a song to herself as she did.
Only then some unknown instinct caused her to glance out the window, and the music perished on her lips. The light was dying outside, and his black garb merged with the shadows in the garden below. It was too dim to fully make out the expression on his black mask. It was, she thought, a grimace, like an expression of pain.
Before Ivy could wonder more, she heard his voice as if he were standing in the room beside her, and his words were no less queer than the means of their conveyance or his sudden appearance.
You must conceal Arantus, he said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
THE STARS WERE beginning to appear in the purple sky as Lord Baydon’s four-in-hand made its way down the length of Durrow Street.
“Mr. Baydon, set down your broadsheet!” Mrs. Baydon said to her husband on the opposite bench. “We are nearly to the party.”
“That’s precisely why he is reading so furiously,” Rafferdy said. “As he is about to be subjected to all manner of amusements and pleasantries, he must absorb as much dreariness and tedium as possible. If he does not take care to gird himself, he might find himself overcome with merriment.”
Mrs. Baydon was overcome herself at this, and she laughed.
“Have no fear, Mrs. Baydon,” her husband said, folding up his newspaper. “I assure you I will endeavor to be the most cheerful and insipid being at the party. I will think nothing of all the grave troubles that beset our nation. Instead, I will speak only of the weather and how I am certain everything I have bought of late cost less and is of superior quality to anything that anyone else has bought.”
“Perfect,” Mrs. Baydon said with an affectionate smile, and reached across to straighten his collar.
He gave her a confounded look, but by then the carriage had halted. Rafferdy climbed out, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Baydon, and as the carriage departed another pulled forward to take its place before the gate, with more lined up.
“So many carriages!” Mrs. Baydon exclaimed. “I would my father-in-law could see this. He would find it greatly amusing, I think.”
While Lord Baydon’s condition had improved somewhat of late, he remained too ill to leave the house. According to Mrs. Baydon, though, he had encouraged her to go to the party, and he had told her not to be surprised if, upon arriving there, she found him already dancing.
“It is very thrilling so many are coming to see the Miss Lockwells presented,” she went on. “Or at least, I am thrilled. I am sure you can only be bored with the prospect of a party, Mr. Rafferdy.”
Usually that would be the case. But then, usually when he went to a party she could not be expected to be encountered there. True, it was likely
he would not in fact encounter her tonight, as she was certain to be occupied with all of her other guests. Yet even to glimpse her across the room for a moment was a reward for which he would willingly suffer through an entire evening of drab conversations or tedious party games.
Besides, even if he did have a moment with her, what would either of them say? They would not be at liberty to broach the one topic he knew they would wish to discuss. How captivated she had been last year when he had demonstrated his ability with magick for her! Yet he was not the only one with a power, was he? And while the city seemed thick with magicians these days, hers was a far more remarkable ability.
It was an axiom that the more commonplace a thing was, then the less interest it held for Rafferdy, which explained why, for the last quarter month, nothing had fascinated him more than thoughts of what he had witnessed at the Evengrove.
He could vividly recall the way she had taken up a twig and, by some silent command or thought, caused it to wriggle like a living creature and loop around her finger. Yet it was more than merely a twig whose bidding she had commanded that day. He had watched as she threw her arms about one of the trees and called out for them all to cease their violence.
And they had done so.
Rafferdy was not so ignorant of history that he did not know what this meant concerning her nature. While a year ago he would have scoffed at the suggestion such beings had really existed, now he knew better than to question the veracity of old legends. For a while after that day, he had wondered if that was the real reason his father had not wanted him to have an association with Ivoleyn Lockwell. Had he known what she had the capacity to do?
Perhaps. Or perhaps it was simply as his father had said, that he had not wanted his son to become entangled with the family of a magician. Either way, there had to be some imperfection in Rafferdy’s understanding of the histories, or in the histories themselves. Were not witches supposed to have incited the Wyrdwood long ago and caused the Old Trees to lash out at men? Yet she had done no such thing. Instead, she had accomplished what all the soldiers there with their swords and buckets could not.
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