“Not once, in all these years,” the rowan said. “Here I’ve had my head in a book for damn near a hundred years, searching for a way to help Gwen, and the answer was right under my nose.”
“Nonsense,” Gertie said. “Likely, the curse kept Raven from telling you about Glory. I suspect ʼtwill keep Glory from telling you anything of use, as well.” She paused. “Though she’ll pretend to. Full of sand, that one.”
The rowan’s eyes glittered. “Ah, but things have changed. You told me about Glory, and that means the curse is weakening.”
“Here, now, Lindar,” Gertie said, as he strode for the door. “Where are you going?”
“To break a curse,” the rowan said, and the mirror went dark.
“Holy smokes.” Raine dropped the mirror in her lap. “Raven’s mother didn’t dump him and run off. She was cursed.”
What’s more, the rowan loved her. Loved her so fiercely and completely that he’d amassed an entire library, devoting himself for years on end to finding a way to save her. It was sad and tragic, and romantic in the extreme.
There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Quickly, Raine made her wizard stone disappear once more as the door opened and Drifa rushed in.
“Have you been waiting long, milady?” she asked, wide eyed and panting. “Those of us in the kitchen just received word that the banquet was ended. Is it true what they’re saying?”
“That depends, I suppose, on what you heard.”
“That a band of bloodthirsty Durngesi savages scaled the walls and attacked the guests in the Great Hall,” Drifa said.
Raine laughed. “Nothing of the sort. Two Durngesi guests arrived during the feast—the trivan and a woman named Seratha—but there wasn’t a drop of bloodshed. Glory sang a sad ballad about star-crossed lovers, and the rowan left. That was it.”
“Oh.” Drifa looked crestfallen; then her expression brightened. “Here’s something exciting, and no denying. The roark is scaling the cliffs at first light. Shall I wake you?”
Raine drew herself up. “Absolutely not. The whole thing is…is asinine.”
“If you say so, milady,” Drifa said, clearly puzzled by Raine’s unsporting attitude. “Shall I help you undress?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Hiding the mirror in the folds of her gown, Raine rose and went into the bedroom. While Drifa tended to the fire, Raine slipped the mirror under her pillow.
“There,” Drifa said, rising from the hearth with the warming pans. “We’ll get you out of that gown and take down your hair.”
Drifa placed the warming pans under the sheets and helped Raine out of her gown and slippers. Raine washed her face and rubbed her teeth with a clean linen cloth and a bit of tooth powder made from burnt sage and salt, then sat down in a chair.
Drifa unpinned Raine’s hair and brushed it. “There, no more tangles,” she said, smoothing Raine’s unruly curls. “Is there aught else you require, milady, before I retire for the night?”
“Nothing, thank you, Drifa.”
Drifa nodded and bustled from the room. Raine waited impatiently for the door to close behind the maid. As soon as she was gone, Raine sat up and whipped the mirror from beneath her pillow.
“Now,” she said, rubbing the dingy surface with the sleeve of her nightgown, “show me the rowan and Glory.”
The metal disk remained stubbornly dark.
“Hello?” Raine shook the mirror. “Come on. You can’t show me curses and love stories and leave me hanging. Show me the rowan and Glory, dammit.”
The murky metal surface spun and became lustrous and shiny.
“That’s more like it,” Raine said, settling back against the pillows.
The mirror shimmered and Raine saw the rowan’s powerful figure stalking down a corridor. Pausing at the entrance to a room, he pounded on the door.
“Glory—Madame Seer—it’s the rowan,” he said. “I would speak to you. The matter is most urgent.”
Glory opened the door. Her glorious dark hair was loose, and she wore a green dressing gown. “Your Majesty? To what do I owe this honor?”
“You’re the seer. You tell me.”
A tiny frown marred the perfection of Glory’s brow. “I am gifted with the sight, not omniscient. Now, if you’ll forgive me, it is late, and I am weary.”
The rowan put his hand on the door, preventing her from closing it. “Give me but a moment of your time. I would ask you of Raven’s mother.”
“Gertie?” Glory’s frown deepened. “You and the troll are old friends. Ask her yourself.”
“I’m not talking about Gertie. I’m talking about your sister.”
“My sis—” Glory’s eyes widened. “You know?”
“Aye, I but learned tonight. Tell me how to help her. Please.”
“I—I…” Glory said, faltering.
He took her hands in a punishing grip. “Give me her name. Who cursed her? Where does she abide? Be it skelf itself, I will go to her.”
Glory opened her mouth, her lips working. “She’s…she’s…” she managed with a supreme effort. “It’s no use. I cannot,” she cried, her face twisting with frustration. She wrenched her hands free of his grasp. “The gods know, I want to, but I cannot.”
“Arggh.” The rowan threw back his head and howled. The veins stood out on his neck, and his features seemed to shift and move. “That damnable curse. For a moment, tonight, I had hoped…”
“Nay, you mustn’t despair,” Glory cried. “Give up and she is lost.”
“Never,” he said. “The curse will be broken. I have sworn it.”
Her gaze searched his face. “You love my sister?”
His eyes blazed. “With every fiber of my being.”
“Good. She has suffered much.” Glory hesitated. “And if the curse is broken, what of the queen?”
“Hedda is my wife.” The rowan’s throat worked. “When I discover how to break the curse—and, by gods, ʼtwill be done—I will take what happiness I can, knowing that your sister is free.”
“Unselfish devotion.” Glory looked thoughtful. “Not what I had hoped for, but a fair start.”
“Bah, you speak in riddles,” the rowan said. “I am a warrior, madam. Put a sword in my hand, and I am at ease, but this confounds me. I beg you, milady, give me the means to help her.”
Glory laid a hand on his brawny arm. “There is but one thing you can do, m’ lord. Love her. Completely and utterly.”
“I do. I have, since the first moment I saw her.”
“Then all will be well.”
With a serene smile, Glory shut the door in his face, and the mirror went dark.
“Really?” Raine glared at the dull metal disk. “That’s all you’ve got?”
Disgusted, she tucked the mirror under the mattress and flopped down on her pillow, but it was a long time before she went to sleep.
Chapter 16
New Stomps
That night, Raine’s sleep was troubled by dark dreams of Xai, Glonoff’s eyeless vulturine demon. In her nightmare, the fiend pursued her through the endless halls of the fast, striking at her with his cruel beak. Claws scrabbled on stone as he gave chase, his leathery wings stirring up a choking, poisonous wind. She woke long before sunrise, gasping and sweating, still in the grip of terror.
Shaking off the vestiges of the dream, she rose and dressed, donning thick stockings and a simple day dress of cherry-red wool that buttoned up the front. She ran a comb through her long curls and shoved her feet into her battered boots. Lighting a taper with her magic, she went into the sitting room to wait for dawn. The room was cold and dark, but Drifa had laid a fire before retiring for the night.
Emboldened by her incendiary success with candles in the past few days, Raine placed two fingers on her wizard stone. “Burn,” she said to the wood on the hearth.
The logs sparked and promptly fizzled out.
“Damn,” Raine said.
“Burn,” she said again, this time adding a peremptory flick of her fingers.
The logs burst into flame with a loud whoosh. Columns of fire roared out of the fireplace, licking at the walls and stone hearth, and setting a nearby chair ablaze.
Raine grabbed up a rug and whacked at the burning chair. It wobbled and crumpled in a puff of soot.
“Oh, dear,” Raine said, staring at the pile of ashes in horror.
Snatching up the heath broom by the hearth, she quickly swept the mess onto the grate.
She was putting the broom back in the corner when Doran appeared. The ghost’s lips made a faint bubbling sound as they moved, and froth dribbled from his mouth and down his chin.
“For Pete’s sake, Doran, I’m going to give them the medallion, scout’s honor.” Raine lifted her head at the sound of voices. “Now, go away. Someone’s coming.”
The spook dissolved into sea foam as Drifa came in carrying a carved wooden box.
“Milady, you’re not abed?” Drifa said, halting in surprise.
“I couldn’t sleep. You’re up early.”
“I came to start the fire, but it’s been done.” Drifa eyed the blackened floor where the chair had been. “What happened?”
Raine blushed. “Too much kindling, I guess. What have you there?”
“I found this box at the foot of the stairs,” Drifa said, setting her burden on the table. “Clearly, it’s meant for you, but there’s no key.”
“Hmm.” Running her fingers over the seamless wood, Raine encountered a small bump on the side of the box. “Here we go.”
She pressed the raised spot and the chest popped open. Inside was a bundle wrapped in linen, along with a small scroll. Raine unfurled the parchment. The inscription read Raine in a florid, masculine script, with nothing more.
“That’s odd.” Raine frowned. “The note is addressed to me, but it’s not signed.”
“You’re the rowan’s ward, milady. People will shower you with gifts.”
“You heard that the rowan granted me sanctuary?”
“Aye, it’s all the talk in the fast. The queen is in a rare temper, or so her maids tell me.”
“I know,” Raine said. “The queen isn’t fond of me, I think.”
“The only thing that one’s fond of is her mirror.” Drifa’s mouth rounded in shock. “Kron, I shouldn’t have said that. Sometimes, my tongue runs away with me.”
“I won’t tell anyone what you said about the queen, if you won’t tell anyone about the chair.”
“What chair?” Drifa said, opening her eyes wide.
Raine laughed and they shook hands.
“Now,” Raine said, lifting the linen bundle out of the box. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
Drifa giggled as Raine unfurled the cloth with a flourish. Inside the wrapping was a pair of knee-high brown boots that laced up the front and sides.
“How lovely.” Drifa touched the supple leather. “Soft as a baby’s bottom, they are, and fine workmanship. Try them on, milady.”
Raine hesitated. “I don’t know. It feels weird, not knowing where they came from.”
“More ʼn likely, they’s from the rowan,” Drifa said. “I told you someone would give you boots for Trolach. He can’t have his ward going about in a pair of stomps that look like the dogs been at ʼem.”
Raine laughed. “My boots aren’t that bad.”
“Begging your pardon, milady, but them boots of yours should be pitched in the fire.”
“I don’t know. Somehow, I don’t think the rowan left these.”
“The jargrave’s mam then? No doubt the Lady Asta noticed the sad state of your footwear, being a mam with two chicks of her own, you know. You’ll hurt her feelings if you don’t wear them.”
“You think?” Raine stroked the boots. “They’re very nice. I certainly don’t want to offend her.”
“No, indeed, milady. Try them on.”
Raine sat down at the table and lifted her skirts. Kicking off her old boots, she pulled on the new brown ones and laced them up. She got up and walked around.
“Well?” Drifa said.
“They’re a perfect fit.”
Drifa snatched Raine’s old boots from the floor. “That settles it. These go in the ash heap.”
“No, put them under the bed. You never know. New shoes mean new blisters.”
“If you insist, milady. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll start a fire in the other room.”
Shaking her head, Drifa disappeared into the bedroom.
Dawn was near, and Raine curled up on the window seat to watch the sun come up. The inky darkness gradually lightened, the nascent rays of the new day dancing across a sea of polished steel. To the east, streaks of yellow, orange, and pink bloomed on the horizon. The walls of the castle battlements curved to the north, clinging to the top of sheer, rocky cliffs. At the base of the escarpment was an uninviting strip of rocky beach. The waves of the Iron Sea churned relentlessly against the crags, and a blustery wind made the flags on the ramparts flap and billow. Underneath the noise of the wind and the sea, Raine heard the faint, eerie moan of the Wailing Tree somewhere below the Citadel.
As the sun brightened, a crowd gathered along the parapet in anticipation of the contest. Laughing and talking, the throng milled about. A group of waggish young men pushed through a group of people and climbed on top of the wall. Passing a jug back and forth, they sat with their legs dangling over the edge.
Drifa came back out of the bedroom and peered out the window at the rowdies. “Fool-born and sheep drunk,” she said. “Serve them right if they tumble into the sea.”
“There’s Chaz,” Raine said, pointing out the dark head among a group of fair-haired boys running along the battlement. “I can’t get over how much he’s grown.”
“Aye, he’s a fine-looking lad,” Drifa agreed. “Sprouted, has he?”
“Yes.”
Flame and Chaz had undergone an amazing metamorphosis in the past few months. Could dragon magic be behind the remarkable change in the boy? she wondered.
“Drifa, do you know if the rowan has any manuscripts on dragons in his library?”
“I couldn’t say, milady. I don’t read. You could ask Sadek.”
“Sadek?”
“The Citadel librarian, milady.”
“Ah,” Raine said, nodding.
She was making a mental note to find the library and introduce herself to the caretaker, when she saw Chaz sheer away from his friends and make a beeline for the group of rowdies on the wall.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Raine knelt on the cushions and flung open the window. “Don’t even think about it, young man.”
Heads turned as her voice rang out, clear as a trumpet.
Chaz paused, one leg raised to climb the wall. “But, Rainey—”
“I mean it, Chaz.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Giving her a sullen glare, Chaz rejoined his friends.
“The very idea,” Raine said, lifting her fingers from the wizard stone lying, unseen, at her breast.
She turned to find the maid regarding her in astonishment. “You’ve a hearty voice, milady,” Drifa said.
Raine blushed. “I come from a family of loud mouths.”
The tower door opened and Mauric sauntered in like a tawny young lion.
“Did no one teach you to knock?” Raine said, scowling at him.
Mauric gave her a lazy grin. “I knew you’d be awake. Told Bree you’d be watching the climb.”
Raine folded her arms. “Personally, I think it’s moronic.”
Brefreton strolled in wearing a brown tunic and breeches, his scuffed boots, and tattered cloak. “What’s she on
about?”
Mauric shrugged. “Raine doesn’t approve of the climb.”
“What? Don’t be a killjoy. It’s all in good fun.” Crossing the room, Brefreton looked out the windows. “You had the right of it, Mauric. This is an excellent vantage point.”
“Told you. Bird’s eye view.”
“If you wanted a bird’s eye view, why didn’t you just—” Raine flapped her hands at Brefreton.
“Fly, in this wind?” Brefreton turned to stare at her, aghast. “Why in rebe would I do that, when I can watch the whole thing from the comfort of your rooms?”
Drifa cleared her throat. “Begging your pardon, milady, but shall I have breakfast brought up for you and your guests?”
Gertie prowled into the room. “Nay, don’t bother, gal. We’ve been invited to dine with the rowan this morning. You can join the other servants to watch the climb, if you like.”
“Thank you, Blessed Mother.” Drifa turned to Raine. “Milady?”
“What?” Raine said. “Oh, yes, go. By all means.”
Drifa curtsied and hurried out.
A few minutes later, there was a shout from the crowd outside.
Raine looked out the window. “There they are,” she said, pointing. “Raven and Alden are on the beach.”
Shirtless, their breeches tucked into their boots, the two men stood on the narrow strip of sand at the base of the treacherous cliffs. The Durngesi wore his long hair in a braid, and Raven’s black locks were tied at the nape of his neck with a strip of leather. Despite the chill and the bitter wind, they seemed impervious to the cold. The Durngesi had a knapsack slung over one shoulder.
“By Tro, Raven’s a cool fellow,” Mauric said. “He’s pointing out the tricky spots to the Durngesi.”
“And rightly so,” Gertie said. “Raven’s been climbing those cliffs since he was a lad. He has the advantage, and he’s sober.”
“Sober?” Raine whipped her head around to stare at the troll. “Are you telling me he’s climbed those cliffs drunk?”
“Drunk, sober, and everywhere between.”
“No one told me,” Raine said.
“You didn’t ask.” Gertie’s ears stood up. “Look. They’re about to start.”
A Muddle of Magic Page 21