More wood burned down to glowing coals. More time passed. All the while her heart ached to a familiar refrain.
Oh Hamish! I miss you so much!
Deep, wracking sobs broke through. All those platitudes she’s heard over the years, about time healing wounds, did her no good at all. This pain was so fresh and raw.
And time took so darn long to come around.
She missed him so much, she imagined his hand on her back, rubbing slow circles and making everything all right.
“I’m sorry lass, I shoudnae come, but I hadtae see ye.”
It had to be her mind playing tricks. Hardly daring to breathe lest she break the moment, she turned her head.
And felt her heart freshly breaking when she realised the only company she had was her overworked imagination and grief.
WHEN ONDINE WOKE, STARK reality stabbed her heart. Cold ash sat in the hearth where the fire had burned last night. At some point she’d crawled into bed but she didn’t remember. She still wore last night’s clothes. Her bedroom door yawned open as everyday household noises carried up the stairs and down the hall. Regular noises from people going about their everyday normal routine.
As if this were any normal day.
As if the planets hadn’t stopped spinning yesterday when they took Hamish away from her.
A twinge of soreness kicked her ears and throat. A vague headache caught her between the eyebrows. When she swallowed, it felt like sandpaper rubbing her throat. Her nose didn’t work. Sure signs a cold had set in. Normally she’d chew on olive leaves to fight it off but today she didn’t care. Let the virus do its best to make her miserable.
“Ondine, are you up yet?” Ma’s voice carried down the hall.
“Nope.”
Ma’s head poked around the corner, a strained smile on her face. “I need your help in the kitchen, love, can you come down in a minute?”
“No.”
“Right then. It’s not really a request. I need you downstairs because we need a hand.”
“I’m sick.” She pulled the covers over her head.
Her mother’s soothing tones disappeared as she switched to cold steel mode. “Stop moping and get up now.”
Ondine barked from under the blankets, “No!”
Rip! Ma tore the covers away and exposed Ondine, “I know you’re upset, but life goes on. Now get downstairs and get to work!”
This time she screamed, “I said no!” It killed her throat to do it too.
Ma’s voice dropped low and deadly. “I gave you time off work last night because I felt sorry for you. And you repay that with rudeness? Now get downstairs and get to work!”
CRUMPLED CLOTHES, CRUMPLED hair, crumpled heart. Ondine didn’t bother with any kind of morning routine as she shlubbed down the stairs.
“If you fall and break your legs, I’ll make you work in crutches,” Ma said.
Did she have to be so brutal?
“Time’s against us.” Ma grabbed a napkin, dabbed it against her tongue and wiped the sleep from Ondine’s eyes. “Take table four’s order, there’s a good girl.”
“Don’t we do buffet breakfasts?”
“Yes, love, we do. But it’s lunchtime now. Table four, off you go, there’s a good girl.”
It was lunchtime already? Wow, she really had slept in. Ondine poked her head around the corner to see how many people were sitting at table four. Just the one. But it was the one person Ondine never wanted to see again in her life.
Urgh, what’s she doing here? One look at Mrs. Howser seated in the dining room and Ondine wanted to run back upstairs and never come down again.
“Mrs. Howser is being an absolute delight and giving everyone a reading,” Ma said in a too-bright tone.
Ondine kept her voice low. “But she’s mental.”
Ma shook her head and annoyed Ondine with a sage cliché. “While our friends watch out for us, we watch out for our enemies.” [248]
Everyone else is allowed to swan about and have a wonderful life. But not me, no, I get my heart ripped out because of what that witch did to Hamish and I have to keep working. And they expect me to carry on as normal!
“Out you go, there’s a girl.”
Did her mother have to be so . . . annoying? Of all the people in Brugel, why had they let Mrs. Howser into their dining room?
“Can’t we ban her or something?” Ondine asked.
“Only if she gets drunk or rowdy. And she did save your freezing soul yesterday. We should at least be grateful for that. But don’t let Auntie Col hear me say that. Out of all the witches at the convention that could have saved you, it had to be Howser.”
With a soft push in the back, Ondine felt her legs bringing her closer and closer to her nemesis. Old Col must have put her feet under some kind of spell, because no way would she voluntarily go anywhere near Mrs. Howser.
Before she could run back to the safety of the kitchen, she’d reached Howser’s table. Pen and pad in hand, she poised, ready to take her order.
“Sit down, Ondine dear, we need to talk,” Mrs. Howser said. “I see you’ve recovered since your slip in the river.”
It wasn’t a slip, she’d jumped.
“Uh . . . I can’t really fraternise with the . . . I mean, we’re really busy.”
“Yes. I can see that. Not.” Mrs. Howser waved her hand at all the empty tables nearby. With her foot, she pushed the opposite chair out. “Now sit down and let’s talk like civilised people.”
Ondine pulled the chair out a little further and sat.
Mrs Howser raised a brow. “You think I’m going to lay a curse on you?”
Staying out of arm’s reach, just in case.
“You are a smart girl. Smart enough to work out who has the real power here. Smart enough to know you want more from this life than working non-stop for a family that doesn’t appreciate you.”
If Ondine had been the kind of girl to keep a diary, she could have accused Mrs. Howser of reading it.
“Oh Ondine, what are we going to do with you?” At which point, Mrs. Howser made one of those smiles that made her muscles crack.
“I’m fine, thanks,” she lied. Conflicting emotions fought for dominance. The woman could not be trusted, yet she’d saved Ondine and Hamish from a watery grave.
“I am sorry about what’s happening, dear,” Mrs Howser said. “It doesn’t need to be this way, of course. If only people would be more understanding, none of this need happen.”
Why did she have to sound so reasonable?
“You are loyal to a fault,” she continued when Ondine said nothing in reply. “As you should be. Family comes first, and all that. But at some point in your life, all the sacrifices you’re making have to be worth something, don’t they?”
“I’m . . .” Rummage, rummage. Nope, still nothing. “I’m fine, really.”
“And yet, you’re staying at the table. You’re hearing me out. Is it so you can run back to your great-aunt and tell her everything I’ve said?”
“Course not.” Yes, actually. “Ah, do you mind if I ask why you’re here? Of all places?”
“I wanted to check on your welfare. And a woman has to eat. Your chef! He’s magic, that one.”
Speaking of eating . . .
“You’re wondering where Melody is, aren’t you?”
The witch was good!
“She’s resting. Coven Con quite wore her out, the poor love.”
“She looked exhausted,” Ondine said.
“Looks can be deceiving, dear one. Magic is tiring, but I’m not making her do anything she doesn’t already want to do. Nobody’s magic is powerful enough to override free will.”
“Then what happened to Vincent the day before last?” Because he sure seemed to be out of his mind and had no connection with free will.
Mrs. Howser didn’t even blink. In her calming, sing-song voice, she explained, “He was merely giving his deepest wishes free reign. If he looked concerned, it was only because he surprised himse
lf by how powerful his deepest wishes truly were.”
It all sounded so . . . reasonable. That word again. It kept popping into Ondine’s head. Had Mrs. Howser leaned forward and touched her hand or something? No. Had she put another spell on her? Not that either. Ondine shook her head, trying to make sense of it all. If she stayed here talking too long, she’d end up falling under this trance of complete reasonableness.
Disloyal thoughts set seed. Her great-aunt’s magic wasn’t really up to snuff, and her family had ripped Hamish away from her. Maybe Mrs. Howser could teach her some useful magic so that she and Hamish could be together again. “So um, now that you’re here, um, what can we get you?” Ondine picked up her pen and paper.
“Why don’t you surprise me? Bring me out a little of everything. I’m in a sampling kind of mood.” It didn’t seem possible, but the old witch’s eyes tinkled with lightness and merriment. As if nothing untoward were going on at all.
“The soup is good,” she managed.
“Yes, I’ll have that, with the canapé floaters. And the prawn and avocado salad. And the filet mignon, rare as rare can be. That should make a good starter.”
“Thanks, I’ll get this back to Chef.” Ondine rose from her seat.
Mrs. Howser leaned forward a little. “Is this really what you want to do with the rest of your life?”
For a morbidly curious moment, Ondine wondered if Mrs. Howser might make some kind of offer. Perhaps magic training. Real magic. Perhaps a way to bring her and Hamish together again. Because the only thought that filled her head and made any sense at all at the moment was Hamish.
Would it be disloyal to ask Mrs. Howser what she had in mind? It didn’t mean she was taking sides, or turning her back on her family. Did it?
“I don’t know,” Ondine eventually answered with complete honesty. “All I want is Hamish.” The moment his name left her lips, heat burned behind her eyes and she had to get back to the kitchen before she blubbered like a lost lamb.
In the kitchen the tears sprang free. Wordlessly, she handed Mrs. Howser’s order to Chef before retreating to a corner to blow her nose. The radio was on, as it often was. Through the fog of her brain she registered that Venzelemma International Airport was closed because of too much snow. It made no sense to Ondine, because it snowed every winter and it didn’t look or feel any worse than usual.
The news item finished with the words:
“Authorities are refusing to confirm or deny the closure is related to the spread of a virus that has spread from Brugel to neighbouring Slaegal.”
A hand tapped on her shoulder, startling her. Chef’s voice said, “I made your favourite pudding.”
She turned to see him offering an espresso cup filled with chocolate mousse. “Donwannit,” she sniffed. Silently, like an ungrateful child ready to strike with a serpent’s sting, she started to think she didn’t want anything to do with her family any more.
“I’m really sorry about everything,” Cybelle said, moving in for a hug.
Ondine shrugged off her sister’s advance. Her wrist caught on a nearby tray, sending it, and the tea set that had been on it, flying. A spectacular noise filled the kitchen.
“Look what you’ve made me do!” Ondine yelled. Tears spritzed all over the place and she couldn’t hold them back.
“Calm down all.” Da stuck his head in the kitchen. “They can hear you out front.”
“Don’t care.” Ondine snivelled. Anyway, it was only Mrs. Howser out there, so what did it matter if she overheard?
“Fine. You’ve made your point.” Ma’s hands balled into fists and rested on her hips. “Ondine go back to your room and sulk. It’s all you’re good for.”
It was the first sensible thing anyone had said all day.
Chapter Nineteen
Ondine couldn’t get to her room soon enough. Resentment frothed and boiled inside her as she mentally listed the horrible things her family had done to her. Not just recently, but ever. In the past she’d never questioned working for her family, but she hated it now.
Her parents had grounded her the moment she’d got home from the late Duke’s Autumn Palace.
Then they’d made a pantomime of forgetting her Name Day.
But the absolute worst punishment they’d exacted was in ripping Hamish away.
She could never forgive them for that.
Every bone ached as she flung herself on the mattress. To her continued dismay – and despite her most fervent wish – Hamish did not appear out of thin air. For the next half hour she failed spectacularly to go to sleep. The radio offered no company, it kept reminding people of poor traffic conditions, bad snow, closed airports and pleas for people to not visit overcrowded hospitals except for medical emergencies. Frustrated, she picked up the book on her bedside table. The one Hamish had given her on her name day.
Everything reminded her of Hamish.
As she read about the tribulations of Brugel’s first Grand Duchess, Elmaree, fat tears sploshed her cheeks. Just like Ondine, Elmaree’s heart was set for the shredder.
When Ondine reached the part about Elmaree having to marry the war-mongering Prince Faddei of Slaegal, it became all too real and raw.
Poor Elmaree. Such huge responsibilities at such a young age. Trying to get elder statesmen to take her seriously, while they patted her on the head and told her to be a good girl. Ondine saw plenty of herself in the headstrong Grand Duchess, as Elmaree made her horrible choice: Give up her country or give up the man she loved.
They stand there, that wall of wickedness dressed in human flesh, watching me lift the quill to sign my life away. The oleaginous diplomats. The serpentine maids-in-waiting. Willing me to give my country and my lifeblood to them for the price of a line of ink on parchment.
Oh cruel fate that has cast me into such depths! What is this thing they call free will, when the only choice I have is whether to lose my heart or lose my country?
For I cannot have both.
Does it make me a terrible person to put my heart first? I am so afraid I do not think a true decision is possible. Why, if we have a heart, are we not free to bestow it to our person of choosing? Why did the maker give us such feelings if we were not meant to use them?
They are staring at me, waiting for me. I dip the quill deeply into the blue ink and lift it, watching the thick drops fall from the nib. The drops remind me of blood. Royal blood that will be spilled no matter how events from this moment unfold.
Follow my heart, I will lose Brugel.
Follow my head, I will lose the only man I will ever love.
I cannot give myself to Faddei. The suitor whose knuckles are caked in blood from dragging them on the cobblestones!
He terrifies me. He towers over me. He ignores me.
He could snap me like a twig.
The decision comes to me, like clear running water washing all away. Clarity of reason says Faddei will destroy Brugel whether we are married or not. If I refuse to sign, he will declare war. If we marry, he will dispose of me and consume my country.
They are holding their breaths, waiting for me to sign. My face gives nothing away as I lower the quill into the ink once again. My heart is racing as never before. I look to Faddei and execute the only weapon in my arsenal before all is surely lost.
That weapon is defiance.
I snap the quill. Dark blue ink spreads over my hand and blots the paper.
The room is in uproar. Everyone is shouting, questioning, crying, gasping.
All except Faddei, who looks at me with his face of stone. He must have known I would refuse. As if he were waiting for it. He will lasso the moon and use it to crush the house of Brugel, of that I am certain. But the act is done. I cannot take it back.
My actions may spell death for everyone in this room and yet it is the only choice I had.
We are all doomed.
And yet.
Somewhere, amongst this noise an
d mayhem, my heart sings.
The story absorbed and frustrated Ondine. She wanted to tell Elmaree to stop being so scared all the time, that things would work out. But then she had to admit maybe she was telling herself that. Every time she came to a scene where Elmaree and her secret lover stole time together, she couldn’t help seeing the characters as herself and Hamish.
It made her ache for him all the more.
Another thing she noticed was Elmaree’s ink-stained hand. It was only a coincidence that Vincent’s hand bore a similar splash of colour. All the same, she couldn’t help thinking they’d inadvertently done Vincent some kind of favour by linking him back to Elmaree.
Eight dirty tissues later, she had to stop reading. It was too upsetting and far too real.
SOME TIME IN THE NIGHT she woke up, her mind racing. As the fuzzy half-world of dreams evaporated, so did her hopes. Hamish was not coming back.
A fresh wave of resentment roared through her like a big roary thing that wouldn’t stop roaring. [249] Somewhere inside, Ondine knew it was wrong to entertain ideas of ditching her family in favour of siding with Mrs. Howser. The trouble was, everything Mrs. Howser had told her made a strange kind of sense. Whereas her family made no sense at all. All they did was punish her.
What had Aunt Col said? Only the witch that laid a curse could remove it.
Therefore, Mrs. Howser had to be the one to remove the mutating magic from Hamish. But why would she want to remove it, when it was working so well for her? A little more instability in the country and both Anathea and Vincent would be begging her for help. Everything was playing perfectly into Mrs. Howser’s hands.
A new idea shone through. Maybe if Ondine sided with Mrs. Howser, she might gain the old witch’s trust. Then she would remove her spell from Hamish and they could be free.
Trouble was, Ondine couldn’t think of a single reason why Mrs. Howser would want to do this.
Self-loathing settled in her heart. She shouldn’t be thinking of abandoning her family, but if her family had been nicer to her, she wouldn’t need to be thinking about joining Mrs. Howser, would she?
The Ondine Collection Page 49