A Muddle of Magic

by Alexandra Rushe

  “My sisters and mother received an invitation from the Queen,” Mauric continued, not noticing her distraction. “I’ll introduce you to them when we reach the Citadel.”

  “Your uncle, the rowan,” Raine said in a neutral voice. “What’s he like?”

  “Clever fellow and wily as they come, but not the jolly sort. The crown weighs heavy, and it’s no secret that he and my aunt don’t suit. But you needn’t be nervous. As the rowan’s guest, you’ll be treated well.”

  “And Flame?”

  “First dragon in thousands of years, but Flame should be protected by the Oath. One of Kron’s creatures, you know.” Mauric looked thoughtful. “Though, strictly speaking, the dragons were long gone by the time Finn was born.”

  Raven strode over to them. “We’re nearing King’s Bay,” he said. “I thought Raine might like to have a look.”

  “What’s this, a pleasant word?” Mauric opened his eyes wide. “Are you done with the crochets, then?”

  “For now, but I’d advise you not to provoke me.”

  “Ooh, I’m shaking in m’ boots.”

  “Hellion,” Raven said. “You would be, if you had any sense.” He turned to Raine. “Milady?”

  “What?” Raine stirred from her dark thoughts. “Yes, of course. I’d be delighted.”

  Placing her hand on Raven’s muscular arm, she allowed him to escort her to the prow. It was a bitter cold morning, and there was snow in the air. The spring thaw had reached the southernmost parts of Finlara, but, in the northern reaches, winter still clung to the land. The coastline was craggy. Soaring cliffs and snowy mountains rose in the distance. They rounded a tongue of land and entered a wide bay. Ahead of them, an enormous shaft of rock rose from the water, a sea-scoured fist of granite barring their way. An archway had been hollowed out of the island of stone.

  “The first Vigil,” Raven said as they headed toward the huge jut of stone. “There are five in all, one for each Rowan. Ah, the lookout’s seen us.”

  Ah-ooh. Ah-ooh.

  Raine looked up at the deep blare. High above them, a sentry, noticing their approach, had sounded a sonorous warning on a gigantic, curved horn. At Raven’s nod, Gurnst raised a smaller horn to his lips and gave a tinny answer. They were given the signal to pass and the Storm sailed into the shadows of the vast arch and out again, into the wintry sunlight.

  They passed four more stony tors and were challenged at each Vigil by sentries. They negotiated the last watch station and rounded a cliff, and the Citadel came into view. Raine drew in a breath. The rowan’s holdfast was stark and grimly impressive, black towers of stone rising from the top of the escarpment. At the base of the fortress, stone battlements hugged the cliff face, suspended precariously above the lashing sea.

  To Raine’s surprise, the Storm veered away from the Citadel and the ships anchored in the harbor.

  “Why aren’t we docking?” she asked Raven.

  “The spring storms in the bay can be harsh, and I prefer to drop anchor in a more sheltered cove.” He looked down at her. “We must also consider Flame. People will be in an uproar when they see him. I thought it wiser to enter the city by one of the back gates.” His lips twitched in amusement. “Not that he won’t be noticed. Flame is rather conspicuous.”

  That was an understatement. Flame was big and getting bigger every day, his wing span increasing in proportion to his size. Raven had ordered the damage to the cabin wall repaired but had given instructions to leave the hole in the cargo bay, to give the dragon access to his favorite hiding place.

  Chaz was growing, too. The small boy she and Tiny had rescued in the wood had turned into an adolescent practically overnight.

  “Where’s Chaz?” Raine asked, realizing she hadn’t seen the boy all morning. “Have you seen him?”

  “Aye, he’s with Gurnst. The boy’s become his shadow.”

  “Oh, dear, I hope he isn’t making a nuisance of himself,” Raine said. “He used to pester poor Braxx to death.”

  “Captain Braxx? He’s a mean old river dog. Surprised he didn’t dump the boy in the Shara.”

  “I think he was tempted at first, but he came around.”

  “Gertie says you found the boy in the woods?”

  “Yes,” Raine said. “Tiny and I—” She broke off, swallowing. She missed the giant. “We rescued some children from Shaddish soldiers. They were going to sell them, I think.” With a shiver, she remembered the attack of the eaters, ferocious, mindless predators with wings. “We returned the children to their families when we reached the Shara River. All but Chaz, that is. No one claimed him.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Not much.” Raine thought about this. “I don’t think he has a family. Or, if he does, he doesn’t remember them.”

  “The boy’s strange. He’s gone from boy to stripling, practically overnight.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Raine said. “He and Flame seem to be growing at the same rate.”

  “The crew have marked the change in him.”

  “They have?” Raine sighed. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry, Captain Gorne. We’ve caused you no end of trouble.”

  “Captain Gorne? I thought we were friends.”

  “Are we?” She looked up at him with a little frown. “We’ve barely spoken in weeks.”

  “Mauric was right. I’ve had the crochets, but no more. Am I forgiven?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. I’m your guest. What’s more, I owe you my life.”

  Raven grunted in pain and clutched his chest. “Harpooned,” he said. “Now I know how the sea monster felt.”

  Raine laughed and harmony between them was restored.

  As they sailed south along the rugged coast, the wind whistling off the stony peaks was chilly, and Raine pulled up the hood of her woolen cloak. They reached a wide cleft in the mountains and, at Raven’s shouted command, the Storm glided into the inlet. The fjord was nestled in a deep valley between a fold in the mountains. Misty waterfalls cascaded down the escarpment and plunged into the water below, sending ribbons of vapor into the air. Raine stood at the starboard rail, drinking in the view of towering peaks, blue-green firs, and crystalline coves. They passed the occasional cottage at the firth’s edge, one-story homes with thatched roofs and bright shutters. The waterway twisted and turned, winding past one picture postcard scene after another.

  Raine leaned over the rail for a closer look at the water. It was a clear, translucent green. As she gazed into the lucid depths, a huge reptilian creature slithered under the ship with a flip of its long, finned tail.

  Raine stumbled back. “There’s something in the water. Something big.”

  The lake boiled, and a monster surged from the depths at the ship’s bow, water sluicing off its scaly hide in torrents. The thing was huge and fish-belly white, with six arms and a bony misshapen head that ended in a crocodilian snout. Feathery fins framed the nightmarish face.

  Chaz stood at the helm with Gurnst. “What’s that?” the boy shouted, pointing at the scaly behemoth. “It’s a big ʼun.”

  “Lake devil,” Gurnst rumbled. “Watch and learn, boy.”

  Raven stepped onto the forecastle deck and raised his arm. His forearm gleamed with an intricate, writhing pattern of pale streaks. “Greetings, Cetos, warden of the lake. Finlara thanks you for your service.”

  The monster stared at him stupidly for a moment, then slid back into the water with a disgruntled hiss.

  Brefreton strolled up. “Unnerving, ain’t it?” he said. “The first time I saw one of those things, I nearly jumped overboard, which would have been a mistake.”

  “What the hell was that thing?” Raine asked, shaken.

  “One of the fuermyndar. Furies, the locals call them. They roam King’s Bay and the surrounding lochs and protect the Citadel from invaders. They were a gift from Kron to th
e first Rowan.”

  “It recognized Raven’s tattoo.”

  “That’s not a tattoo, girl. That’s the Mark of Finn.”

  “Oh,” Raine said, abashed. “Mauric doesn’t have the mark, and he and Raven are cousins.”

  “It happens that way in some families, even among siblings. One child will have the mark, another won’t. Sometimes, whole generations pass without it. Other families don’t have the mark atall. Finn was a lusty fellow, but he didn’t populate Finlara by himself. He brought his mother’s people with him, and it was a large tribe.”

  “What if no one on a ship has the Mark? How do they get past the furies?”

  “Kron gave Finn a cask of bronze seals stamped with a special signet when he gifted him with the furies. Those ships displaying the proper seal pass unmolested, as are ships under Finlaran escort.” He noticed her wizard stone with a frown. “Your wizard stone is showing. Have I not shown you how to make it disappear?”

  “No. You said it wouldn’t come off.”

  “I said disappear. There will be times in this world when you don’t wish people to know that you’re a wizard.”

  “Like in Finlara?” Raine said.

  “Exactly. Finlars generally have an antiquated attitude toward sorcery. No point in causing a stir. Watch.” Brefreton touched the green stone on his chest. “Depart.”

  His wizard stone wavered and vanished.

  “Now, you try.”

  Raine placed her hand on the brown stone. “Um…go away…please?”

  Nothing happened.

  “Reba’s girdle, girl, you’ve got to be more forceful than that. Try again and be firm. A talisman has a mind of its own, and it’s imprinted on you. Show it who’s in charge.”

  Raine nodded and touched her wizard stone again. “Scram. Beat it. Vamoose.”

  Her wizard stone shrieked in protest and disappeared.

  Brefreton scowled and lowered his hands from his ears. “One command would have sufficed. Moderation, my dear girl, that’s the key to good magery.”

  “Sorry,” Raine said, blushing. “Bree, about the furies. What happens if a ship tries to enter the bay without a seal?”

  Brefreton gave her a steady look and arched a brow.

  “You mean—” Raine gasped. “How awful.”

  “Furies have to eat, same as you and me,” Brefreton said. “We should be safe. Still, I’d keep away from the rail, if I were you.”

  Chapter 6

  A Royal Mess

  They sailed up the meandering inlet and into a sheltered harbor deep in the mountains. Cottages tumbled down the dusky, wooded slopes to the water’s edge. A winding road from the village disappeared into the tree-studded hills. At the lip of the rocky harbor was a wide stone pier. A group of horsemen waited on the dock, their mounts stamping in impatience. At the head of the troop, a tall, heavily muscled man with long, blond hair sat astride a wicked-looking stallion. The rowan—his air of command was unmistakable.

  Gertie stood at the starboard side of the ship talking to Raven. She stiffened when she saw the pale-haired warrior on the fearsome charger and let out a joyful bark. The sound carried across the water, and the rowan jerked in surprise. Raising his hands to his lips, he gave an answering howl. With a happy rumble, Gertie dove into the lake and darted through the water, a wafting flicker of red in the lucent green.

  The troll reached the landing and heaved her dripping bulk onto the wharf. She shook like a wet dog, water spraying from her furry body. The horses nickered in alarm, but the rowan held his steed in an iron grip. He leapt to the ground with the ease of a young man and crossed the quay. The warriors accompanying him got control of their startled mounts and quickly followed suit, engulfing Gertie in a friendly crush.

  “She’s missed him,” Glory said, gliding up to Raine. “She hasn’t been to the Citadel in years.”

  “Why not?”

  “She and Hedda don’t agree.”

  “You mean the scandal? Mauric told me.”

  “There was no truth to it,” Glory said. “A chambermaid and a member of the rowan’s guard were . . . amorously engaged and saw Hedda slip into Raven’s room. Moments later, they were found together. Raven was fully clothed and out cold from drink, but the rumors spread, and the damage was done.”

  “Why would she do such a thing? It must have ruined her marriage.”

  “ʼTwas ruined already. Hedda used the same trick to become queen—waited until the rowan got roaring drunk and seduced him. They were found abed together. Hedda comes from a powerful northern family. There was an uproar and the rowan was forced to marry her, but Gorne Lindar does not yield easily to the bridle. From all accounts, their union is an unhappy one, and has been from the start.”

  Raine puzzled over this. “I don’t understand. She’s the queen. Why create another scandal?”

  “Power. Raven is a warrior of great renown. He had the confidence and loyalty of his men, and the rowan’s ear. With Raven driven to sea by the gossip, Hedda insinuated her kin into the king’s inner circle. More importantly, she drove a wedge between the rowan and Gertie.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Think on it. Hedda is a beautiful woman. Yet, despite her charms, her husband prefers the company of a troll.”

  Gertie said something, and the rowan threw back his head and laughed.

  “He does seem fond of Gertie,” Raine said, observing the exuberant reunion on the wharf. “They all do.”

  “Oh, my, yes,” Glory said with a touch of asperity. “Everybody loves Gertie, with a few notable exceptions. She’s ugly and foul mouthed, irascible and rude, she drinks and smokes to excess, but people adore her, though it’s a mystery to me why.”

  Raine shot Glory a look of dislike. . “Here’s an idea. Maybe people love Gertie because she’s not a joy suck and a know-it-all.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You’re so smart. You figure it out.”

  Glory drew herself up, her eyes blazing. “Ungrateful brat, I should have left you to drown.”

  She turned and stalked away, twitching like an angry cat.

  Raine gaped at her for a moment, then started after her. “Glory, wait!”

  But the Storm had reached the wharf and the gangplank lowered with a creak. Radiating fury, Glory left the ship with Brefreton, striding ashore without looking back.

  Stunned, Raine watched the seer depart. Glory had saved her from the river? Raine’s thoughts spun back to the night her parents had died. She’d been four years old, and they were returning home from the county fair. Raine sat in the backseat nursing the beginnings of a tummy ache from too much cotton candy. The drone of her parents’ conversation was pleasant, and her eyelids drooped. Her mother’s scream had startled her awake. A tall, leathery figure stood on the bridge in front of their sedan, gaunt and black as a crow in the headlights. The thing unfurled its huge, skeletal wings and the windshields shattered, covering Raine in bits of glass. The heavy car was lifted like a toy and slammed into the guardrail. With a rending screech, the metal gave way and the front end of the car teetered over the edge. It hung there, suspended for a sickening moment, then plunged into the river.

  The car sank, and the dark water had rushed in, hungry and rapacious, washing over Raine and tossing her small body about. Suddenly, the interior of the sedan was filled with a glimmering light, and Raine was yanked from the submerged automobile to the surface of the river. She emerged, disoriented and crying, and gasping for breath. The same unseen force towed her ashore, where she crawled onto the sandy bank, whimpering and shivering.

  “Hush, child, it watches still.” The soft, musical whisper came out of the velvety blackness. “I will tell you when ʼtis safe to stir.”

  Sometime later, an elderly couple had found Raine sitting in the middle of the bridge, wet, muddy, and suffering from exposu
re and shock. The river was dragged, and her parents’ bodies were recovered.

  “Had to ʼuv been driving like a bat outta hell to go through the guardrail like that,” the sheriff had pronounced at the funeral the following week. “And with a kid in the car, reckless sumbitch.”

  Raine had tried to tell them that her daddy wasn’t reckless. She’d tried to tell them about the crow and the angel who’d plucked her from the river, but no one would listen.

  The ‘crow,’ hadn’t been a crow at all. It had been a demon named Xai, sent by the Dark Wizard to kill Raine, and her rescuer had been Glory, not an angel, as she’d imagined. If not for Glory—insufferable, grandiloquent, priggish Glory—Raine would have died along with her parents.

  A noise from the pier drew Raine from her thoughts. Brefreton and Glory had reached the dock and were speaking to the king. Upon closer inspection, Raine’s initial impression of the rowan was confirmed. Tall and broad shouldered, Gorne Lindar was a handsome man in prime physical condition, his only concession to his reputed eight hundred years the silver streaks in his blond locks.

  Gertie was talking excitedly. She waved a paw, and the rowan turned to look at the Storm. Even at a distance, the Finlaran king exuded disapproval. Raine was suddenly cold to the bone. She was the political equivalent of naphtha. What if the rowan handed her over to Glonoff, or tossed her in a dungeon and threw away the key? What would become of Chaz and Flame?

  Mauric strolled up carrying an armload of dragon skin. Setting down his burden, he produced a length of twine and began to wrap it around the bundle. “Why so woebegone, lass?”

  “I’ve never been to court,” Raine said, drawing her cloak closer around her shoulders. “We don’t have lords and ladies where I come from. I don’t even know how to curtsy.”

  “Eh, you’ll do fine. Lulu and m’ mother will soon have you up to scratch. Depend upon it.”

  She looked around. “Where’s Chaz?”