Maisie nodded. “Aye.”
“But I still have one more question,” he said. “If the people of Wyldonna—the island itself—is so very enchanted, why did you not simply turn Felsteppe into a toad or what have you?”
Maisie gave him a brief smile. “It’s one of the drawbacks of being Wyldonian royalty, I suppose. The rulers of the island canna use magic. Not even to defend ourselves. It wouldna be very fair to have a king or queen who can exert their will on their people through force, would it?”
Adrian looked askance. “Oh, I see. So you won’t be able to conjure up a spell for me to prove your mystical claims.”
“Not while I’m on the island,” she said, knowing he didn’t believe one whit of her explanation by the depth of his smirk. His mouth was remarkably alluring.
“What will you do once Felsteppe is no longer a threat? Concede the throne back to your brother?”
Maisie stood, busying herself with straightening her voluminous skirts and reinserting the chair beneath the trestle. “Ah, nay. I fear I’m saddled with the chore now.”
“Will you marry, then? Produce offspring for the realm?”
She turned to him with a smile. “Are you offering for the queen’s hand, Adrian Hailsworth?”
To her surprise and delight, Adrian grew stiff and flustered. “I’m only curious.”
“Nay, I shallna marry,” she said, taking pity on him but liking the sight of him at odds.
“Why not?”
“There’s none for me to marry,” she said simply. “Malcolm either. We are the last of our kind. Once we are both gone, rule will go to the tribe that is agreed upon by all at the funeral council.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “You can’t marry outside of your . . . tribe. That would create—”
“Piece bloods,” she finished for him. “Who canna survive on Wyldonna, let alone be allowed to rule. So you see, this is much more to me than staving off an aggression from a foreign invader. Saving Wyldonna is the legacy I will leave for Malcolm and for our people.”
“That’s rather . . . dismal,” Adrian finished. “Especially because you seem certain your brother will outlive you.”
She gave him another tight smile and started to turn away. She was surprised when she felt his hand circling the upper part of her arm, staying her and pulling her back to face him.
Maisie looked down at his fingers curled around the fabric of her gown and then up into Adrian’s face with what she hoped was a haughty stare, conveying her displeasure at the idea that he should be brazen enough to lay a hand on her in her own hall.
But what Maisie truly felt was the urge to wrap herself around Adrian Hailsworth’s strong body as she had done last night. She wanted to beg his forgiveness for what she’d done.
He ignored her glare. “Do you believe that? That your brother will survive you to regain the throne?”
“It’s naught but another story to you, Adrian,” she said at last. “You wouldna yet believe it.”
“Yet?” he pressed, and Maisie thought he drew her to him such an infinitesimal amount, he likely didn’t realize he’d done so.
“Stay awhile,” she said, letting her lips curve wryly, a genuine expression at last. “You might learn a thing or two.”
He looked into her eyes a moment longer, and his fingers gentled around her arm. He released her suddenly and straightened his posture.
“I had planned to start with the turrets today. Would you care to accompany me?”
Maisie realized there was nothing else she’d rather do.
They began at the uppermost level of Wyldonna Castle: the eastern turret. Accessing it involved climbing a dizzying amount of spiraling steps, and it seemed to Adrian that they ascended for an hour, him following along behind Maisie’s wide, heavy skirts. Her pace was slow, steady—for his benefit, he guessed—but even though he was winded when they at last reached the arched wooden door at the top of the steps, he was surprised that his fatigue was only perhaps half of what he’d thought it would be.
She struggled with the heavy door for a moment, huffing and throwing her shoulder into it. Adrian winced when he thought of the punishment she was inflicting on her slight flesh.
“Here,” he said brusquely, grasping her elbow and returning the candle she’d bade him carry. “Allow me.”
She looked down at him with a touch of surprise before shuffling aside and then down one step to allow him access to the door.
The latch was a wooden knob carved into the shape of a blossoming flower, and Adrian had to push down hard and heave against the door twice before it inched open with a pair of tight shrieks. Maisie followed him into the room, the candle lifted high, and the chamber was instantly filled with slinking shadows that seemed to cringe away from the light behind listing piles of broken furniture and busted baskets of discarded unknowns.
Adrian pulled the plans from his satchel and stepped into the center of the room, holding the parchments open before him while Maisie held the candle over his shoulder. He turned in a semicircle and then back, forcing the smaller redhead to scurry along at his side.
“I told you,” she said, and the scent of her wafted up like a clutch of blooms. “Nothing up here for ages.” She lowered the candle when Adrian let the parchments roll into his palms.
He walked to the single narrow window and looked out, first in one direction and then the other. Nothing but gloom, and perhaps the distant, flat flash of the gray sea. The bare branches of trees mingled with the arrow points of the pines, comprising the whole of the desolate landscape. Adrian couldn’t see so much as a forgotten leaf stirring, let alone signs that there were any other living beings on Wyldonna save for Maisie and himself.
“Where is everyone?” he challenged suddenly. He didn’t know why, but it had somehow become important to Adrian that Maisie tell him the truth about the island. He had no reason not to believe any part of her tale save for her insistence that Wyldonna was some magical place. If she would lie to him about the very nature of her home, he felt he could not trust her with anything, especially if Glayer Felsteppe was returning to Wyldonna shortly.
“Everyone who?” she asked.
He turned to her, and her eyes were wide, reflecting the candlelight as if they contained all the sparkling stars missing from the bleak sky beyond the window. He gestured toward the same. “The people.” He waved a hand toward the open and shadowed doorway. “The servants. The only persons I’ve seen since coming ashore have been your brother and a single manservant.”
She frowned at him a bit, and Adrian was fascinated by the little crease that formed between her auburn brows. “The servants are about their duties, I’m certain. There arnna many to see anymore, I fear. Everyone else?” She stepped to the window and looked out, drew a deep breath. “They’re down there. In their homes. Helping Malcolm, some of them. Likely as nae in the mountain itself.” She shrugged and looked up at him.
Adrian looked out the window and a feeling of frustration came over him. Why did she insist on playing this childish game with him? “Then why do I not see a single plume of smoke from a chimney? Why do I not hear a dog’s bark? A sheep’s bleat?” He held his hand toward the scene before him. “Wyldonna appears deserted. And I cannot help . . .” He closed his mouth abruptly.
“What?” she pressed.
He looked down at her, but he didn’t see any wariness in her expression, any hint of deception. “I cannot help but wonder if this kingdom is . . . something you and your brother might have constructed. In your minds,” he added haltingly.
To his surprise, her eyebrows shot up and she grinned. “You think we’re mad?”
“Perhaps it’s the air here.” He looked away from her abruptly and heard himself trying to explain. “Or the isolation. It oft does strange things to people.”
He looked back at her when she laughed merrily, and saw that she had brought one hand up to cover her lips. Adrian wished she wouldn’t—he liked to look at her mouth when
she smiled.
“I forgot!” she exclaimed on a chuckle.
“You forgot?” he prompted.
Maisie nodded and stepped closer to Adrian. The sudden closeness of her startled him, but he did not move away.
“I canna do magic, but I can certainly reveal what is right before your eyes. Wyldonna is enchanted, Adrian. So that if any might accidentally find themselves ashore by way of misadventure, they would think themselves to have come upon a barren and desolate place of little comfort. It really is for their protection, as well as ours.” She raised the arm not holding the candle and placed her hand over his eyes.
Adrian didn’t duck away. The skin of her palm felt like silk across the bridge of his nose. “What are you about?”
“Tell me what you saw when you looked out the window.”
“Ah . . .” The smell of her skin, the feel of it upon his face tangled his thoughts. “Nothing, really.”
“Nothing at all?”
He cleared his throat. “There isn’t much to see in the blasted darkness. The outline of trees. Perhaps the sea at a distance. Rocks. The slope of the cliff. Fog.”
“All right,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Now I shall tell you what is actually there: cottages in the wood, doors to burrows nestled against the hill. Halfway down the cliff is a set of sea caves; you should see the torches of those going about their business on the paths. Beyond that, there are at least twenty crawlers moored in the bay. Are you ready to see them?”
“Oh, certainly,” Adrian said, his answer not sounding at all confident.
Maisie removed her hand, and the first thing Adrian saw was her smile. Then he turned his face toward the window once more. What he saw gave him such a start that he braced both palms against the stone sill and blinked several times.
It was just as she’d described, only . . . so much more than what mere words could convey. The fog still hung in the air, but now it was not the dense, dirty cloud that reflected the bleak landscape but seemed to be more of a mist made of sparkling frost. It hung in the treetops, which were no longer skeletal fingers and stark points of black but boughs laden with crystalline drops of moisture, reflecting the glitter of the mist like tiny jeweled buds.
And below the protective, twinkling canopy, rounded roofs shimmered mossy green over the squat, sturdy rock walls of the cottages, happy columns of smoke drifting lazily up to mingle with the mist. He was too far above for his vision to make out any individuals who might be about, but he did see little sparks of light—the torches Maisie had suggested—bobbing through the gloom that was not so much bleak now as peaceful. The sea glistened silver beyond the cliff; the dark slashes in the water must be the crawlers.
Adrian blinked again several times. What he was seeing was impossible. He had only a moment ago looked out this very window, with his same eyes, and seen nothing. Now a new world had been revealed to him. It could not be sorcery; that was only manipulating facts in order to force someone to believe that which was otherwise untrue. He was being manipulated. Driven mad and manipulated.
He turned to her. “How did you first start?”
Maisie’s smile didn’t falter, although her eyes crinkled a bit. “Start what?”
“Priming me to believe that Wyldonna was deserted so that my mind would not recognize anything else?”
Now the smile did fall away and was replaced with a frown. “I did nae such thing. I’ve just now explained to you why you saw things as you did: It was the enchantment. Now you are open to seeing what is truly here.”
“Rubbish,” he bit out. “It’s a mind trick. A mental rub-your-tum-and-pat-your-head child’s game. Tell me how you did it.”
“I didna do anything,” she insisted, and her brows drew farther down. The candle in her hand wobbled. “You’re seeing what is there because you know what is there. I told you.”
“Ships, houses don’t simply appear out of nothing,” Adrian argued, feeling his blood pound in his veins. Why must she lie? It affected him more than he dared admit.
“They didna appear—they were there the whole of the time. Your mind couldna acknowledge them. Just because you canna see something doesna mean it doesna exist.”
He gave a scornful laugh. “Yes, it does, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, really?” she challenged, setting her hand on her hip. “So if I step out of this chamber and close the door between us, I shall cease to exist because you canna see me? That’s rather infantile logic for such a learned man.”
“It’s not the same thing in the least,” he argued, drawing himself up stiffly at her gentle insult. “Because you would move to a different location and set a barrier between us. Yonder village did not move.”
“All right then,” Maisie acquiesced. “What about love? Can you see love?”
“A physical manifestation of it, yes,” he replied. “An embrace, a kiss.”
“Ah-ah, but you can have an embrace or a kiss without love, would you nae agree? Either of those in itself is nae actually love. What of loyalty? Can you touch loyalty? Tote it in your satchel?”
“Of course not,” he scoffed.
“So, according to you, neither love nor loyalty actually exist.”
“Those are both . . . emotions. Feelings,” he argued but was a bit alarmed to feel his feet beginning to slide on the terrain of his stance. “You manifest them through a myriad of actions that, while not in themselves solid objects to be manipulated physically, are attributed to and originate from a definite thing.”
“What about pain?” Maisie threw at him. “People doona manifest pain if they’ve any sanity about them. But you are perhaps one of the best witnesses I’ve ever known that pain is real. Show me pain then, Adrian. I want to touch it.”
He felt his face heat. She was goading him. “You want me to hurt you? Strike you?”
“Of course nae. I’m only trying to explain: What you saw through the window—both instances—were manifestations of what Wyldonna is. You can call it whatever you like, but I doona think you have been of the habit to deny what you can see with your own eyes.”
His breathing was fast and shallow. This woman was challenging the very meaning of his life: his years of scholarship and learning, honing his mind to a knifepoint, his discernment irreproachable.
“I can see that this is difficult for you to comprehend,” she said more calmly now. “But comprehend it you must. There are things here—beings, enchantments—that you willna be able to explain away with all your extensive knowledge. They just are. So you must also understand that what looks like an idyllic woodland beyond these walls is actually very deadly for you.” She paused. “For us both, at the moment. And it’s why you must promise that you willna venture outside the castle without me or Reid.”
“That’s a clever attempt to prevent me from leaving you and your pathetic people once I’ve tired of your lies,” he sneered.
“I find myself growing quite tired of your impertinence,” she tossed back, leaning toward him. “I am queen here and I willna have someone accuse me of falsehoods—especially a pompous, ignorant Englishman who doesna yet know a duvenet from an afternhanger.”
Adrian leaned in as well, until their noses where only inches apart.
“Do it again then,” he challenged.
“Do what?” she said through her teeth.
“Show me something I can’t presently see with my own eyes.”
Maisie drew herself aright again and stared at him for a moment. Then she set the candle holder on the windowsill. “Fine.” She turned to him and held out her left palm, face up.
Adrian looked down at it and then at her face. “What?”
“What do you see?” she asked in exasperation.
“Nothing,” he enunciated.
She pressed her lips together into a line and nodded. “Watch.”
To Adrian’s astonishment, a faint glow began to grow in the center of her cupped palm. Soft yellowish light through which he could see her ski
n. He glanced over his shoulder to be certain the candle was completely behind him and that his body blocked any direct light. Then he looked back to her quickly, unwilling to give her even a moment to commit some sleight of hand.
The glow had grown taller, like the sun rising out of the sea, the yellow now shimmering just around the edges of a circular green ball the size of a walnut—lighter in color than moss, but not the verdant green of fresh pasture. He glanced up at Maisie’s face, but her eyes were fixed on him.
“I don’t understand,” he began, but Maisie began to speak.
“Malcolm Lindsey,” she said, and no sooner had the words left her lips than the ball in her hand grew slightly. It was now the size of Adrian’s fist.
“Wyldonna,” she said next, and the ball seemed to swell again. “Glayer Felsteppe.” Now the sphere was the size of a small squash, and it had a black, inky center.
“What would happen if you said my name?” he asked distractedly, studying closely the way the light moved, the exponentiality of its growth.
She took a deep breath and then whispered, “Adrian Hailsworth.” The green glow exploded between them, filling up the space separating them, Maisie’s face only visible now through the wavering black at the center of the swirling green phantasm.
“What is it?” Adrian asked quietly, his eyes taking in the entirety of the phenomenon brought on by the speaking of names. It seemed some sort of energy. Like . . . cholers or temperament, perhaps?
“This,” Maisie said quietly, “is my fear. It is with me all the time. Only you canna see it.” Her last words were barely audible.
Adrian stared at her. His was the last name she’d mentioned, and had been the name that caused the green glow to grow unchecked.
She was afraid of him. Very afraid.
Without pausing to think of a good reason why he would do such a thing, Adrian slapped Maisie’s palm away, causing the glowing green sphere to disintegrate in a shower of sparkling dust before it vanished completely.
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