Spindle (Two Monarchies Sequence Book 1)

by W. R. Gingell

  “I never liked that fashion,” said Luck, off-handedly insulting. “Anyway, you look nicer with your hair down.”

  “Maybe so, but I don’t look like an ancient Civetan royal with my hair down,” said Poly. “Are we going now?”

  “Yes. Well, as soon as the little firebrand gets here.”

  “The little firebrand is already here,” said Isabella’s voice, sweetly. She was leaning in the gateway, crossing her thin ankles to display rather delightful green shoes with shiny silver buckles. The rest of her was clothed in green and silver, too, bodiced tight but not in stiff whalebone, and her sleeves were both simple and elegant. Poly looked over her ensemble and felt a pang of bitter envy.

  “You’re very Ye Olde Civet today, princess,” Isabella said. “Elegant! Not my sort of thing– or yours, if you’ll excuse me. But excessively imposing. How long will you have to keep it up?”

  “Just today,” said Luck. “That’s what you’re for.”

  “I thought I was here to entertain a dog-boy.”

  Poly smiled involuntarily at Luck. “Really?”

  “You’d only spend the whole day muttering and glaring at me if I didn’t find someone,” said Luck, but he looked pleased with himself. “The dog is in his room, sleeping. Come along, Poly.”

  “Oh, no you don’t!” said Isabella. She held out her wrist expectantly. “Spell please. If I get lost in that cavernous monstrosity you call a house just one more time, I’ll haunt you from far-flung rooms for the rest of your life.”

  Poly watched curiously as Luck drew a small Navigate spell on Isabella’s wrist, and noticed something rather surprising. "You don’t have magic!”

  “Well, not much,” said Isabella ruefully. “Such a trial! I’ve enough to pick locks and be generally annoying, and just enough so that I don’t attract every magical entity in the land by creating a vacuum, but I’ll never be able to work my own spells.”

  “Oh dear,” said Poly. Isabella was so commanding for such a young girl: it hadn’t occurred to her that the girl wouldn’t be able to keep up with Onepiece magically. “Onepiece likes to play with magic and if he changes into a puppy again–”

  “Oh no, that’s quite all right,” said Isabella serenely. “Children, I can manage. It’s magic I’m no good at. You’ll see.”

  “Yes, I suppose I will,” said Poly. “All right, Luck, I’m coming.”

  Luck was dragging her inexorably away by the elbow, and she had the feeling that if she resisted for much longer, he’d Shift them both bodily into the street. Now that she had enough magic and knowledge of her own to conceivably prevent him from so doing, Poly found that it didn’t annoy her as it once would have.

  The hooped edges of Poly’s skirts swung gaily as Luck pulled her through the alley, threatening to sweep strands of ivy from the red bricks as they passed. Thanks to the inflexibility of the whaleboned corsets, Poly found herself out of breath uncomfortably soon, and greeted the sight of Luck’s horseless carriage with a relieved gasp.

  “Why are we in such a hurry?” she said, once they were seated more or less sedately in the carriage. The stiff dress was still tidy, but Poly felt flustered and hot, and decidedly out of breath.

  Luck said: “Pay attention, Poly. Don’t agree to anything. Don’t smile. Don’t nod. They’ll try to get you to agree to things, especially in the Council Hall itself–”

  “Why?” interrupted Poly, since it didn’t seem that Luck was about to stop for either breath or explanation.

  “One of the Arbiters imbued the Hall with a Binding spell. Makes it difficult to go back on what you agreed to do.”

  Poly felt a touch of panic. “I thought it was just the Council, Old Parrassians, Royalists and Black Velvet! What’s an Arbiter? And why would they let one put spells on the Hall?”

  “They probably couldn’t stop him. Very powerful enchanter, Rorkin.”

  “And who’s Rorkin?” asked Poly in despair.

  “I told you: he’s an enchanter. Powerful. Sneaky.”

  “So Arbiters are enchanters?”

  “Can’t be an Arbiter unless you’re an enchanter. No agreeing to things in the Hall, Poly. No agreeing to things anywhere. In fact, don’t speak at all.”

  “I can’t stand there mumchance, Luck. Who or what are Arbiters?”

  “Yes, you can. And don’t let anyone touch you, either. Also, keep your glove on.”

  Poly felt her hair stirring in irritation and took a deep breath. “Luck, why would I take my glove off? What are Arbiters?”

  “You’re always doing stupid things. Don’t take off your glove. Don’t accept any gifts. Keep close to me and don’t wander off.”

  “Arbiters, Luck!”

  “We’re here,” said Luck, and darted from the carriage. “Come along, Poly.”

  Poly wrestled her stiff skirts through the door of the carriage, and emerged, breathless and slightly askew, on the golden steps of the Council Hall.

  “Hair, Poly,” said Luck. He charged up the stairs, leaving Poly to attend to her hair and follow in a significantly more stately manner. The Council Hall exuded a potent blend of magics that called to her, and it was rather difficult to keep her hair in the bouffant when every strand of it hummed to reach for the magic. At last, Poly contented herself with form but not stillness, and allowed her hair to move within its bouffant. It wasn’t until the thin little door attendant looked at her with wide eyes and Poly caught sight of herself in the sheen of the glossy marble halls that she realised how very disconcerting the effect was.

  “Well done, Poly,” said Luck, sounding pleased. “That’ll get ‘em talking between themselves.”

  Poly favoured him with a repressive look, and Luck smiled his sweetest smile at her.

  “Yes. Do that look at ‘em, too. Here we go.”

  The door attendant led them into a small antechamber some way down the hall.

  “The Head Wizard will be with you shortly,” he said; and with a last, less than covert glance at Poly and her hair, he hurried back down the hall.

  The antechamber wasn’t empty, to Poly’s dismay. Luck said: “Hullo Melchior. Hullo Pettis. Session not out yet?” and crossed the floor to shake hands with two men in severe black-and-white.

  “Not even close,” said the older of the two. “They’ve been at it since you left. It’s all ‘The Council needs to turn the Royal Personage over to the Guild of Old Parrasians’ on one side, and all ‘The Royal Personage has returned to claim her throne’ on the other.”

  Luck said something dismissive in return, but Poly saw his golden magic stir and sharpen.

  “Well now,” said a soft, amused voice beside her. “Something seems to have annoyed Luck. I wonder what that can be?”

  The younger of the two men had strolled away from Luck and was now standing beside her. Poly turned her head in what she hoped was a stately manner and took in the faintly challenging hazel eyes that glinted at her above a thin, sarcastic mouth.

  “I can see why Luck likes you so much,” said that sarcastic mouth. It wasn’t said sarcastically, however: unless Poly was very much mistaken, those hazel eyes were looking her over with distinct appreciation.

  “I’m Melchior,” he said. “That’s Pettis: he and Luck will talk for hours if left alone. Foolish of him, I think, when he could be whispering in your ear. You do speak, don’t you?”

  “You’re very forward, sirrah,” said Poly. She was pleased to hear that her voice sounded thoughtful and quite cool. “Why are you addressing me?”

  “Four reasons,” said Melchior. “One, I have a great interest in the Sleeping Princess. You’re something of a hobby of mine. Two, your hair is delightfully unusual. Those are spells, I take it? May I touch your hair?”

  “Of course not!” said Poly, ruining her aloof tone of voice with an unfortunate squeak.

  Melchior’s eyes lit with wicked amusement. “Three, you’re quite obviously an enchantress of some power; and four, well, I haven’t seen anything quite like this before
.”

  He was holding her gloved hand in his own, and before Poly quite knew what was happening he had kissed her fingers lightly.

  “Stop that!” hissed Poly, her eyes flying to Luck. He hadn’t noticed, still deep in his conversation with Pettis, and Poly wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or relieved.

  “Why? Because Luck isn’t intelligent enough to do it?” This time there was certainly a sardonic edge to Melchior’s voice. “You must have so many questions, princess: I’m certain that Luck hasn’t answered them all. Allow me to be of service.”

  “He warned me about you,” Poly said bluntly. She was rewarded by a lightning-fast grin from Melchior, and was a little annoyed to find that she felt rewarded.

  “Did he so! Clever Luck. Me in particular?”

  “Not in particular, no. He did warn me against accepting any gifts, agreeing to any arrangements or allowing people to touch me, though.”

  One of Melchior’s hands spread wide, indicating innocence, but the other didn’t release Poly’s gloved hand. Poly saw a brief glint of magic obscure his hazel eyes like the flash of light across glass, and knew that he was studying her antimagic hand. The magic was obsidian black, but it didn’t frighten her.

  “No hidden costs, princess. Ask, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  “That would be easier to believe if you weren’t using magic to study my hand,” said Poly.

  “You can see magic,” said Melchior delightedly. Poly had the uncomfortable feeling that she’d told him entirely too much without meaning to do so.

  “Tell me about the Arbiters,” she said, taking a leaf from Luck’s book.

  “The Arbiters?” One of Melchior’s brows went up, and his eyes flicked from her hand to her face. “Yes, you were asleep for that, weren’t you? They were all enchanters: Rorkin, Glenna, Peter– I’m sorry, did you say something?”

  Poly shook her head soundlessly, and he continued: “They brokered the peace between Civet and Parras and formed New Civet from the debris that was left.”

  “I see. Luck said something about Rorkin putting spells on the Council Hall?”

  “They all did,” said Melchior, and added with an especially sarcastic twist of the lips: “They seemed to think the Wizard Council might be subject to corruption. Odd, eh?”

  Poly, trying not to hold her breath, said: “What happened to them?”

  “Old Rorkin was assassinated, or so they say. I think the sneaky old goat’s still toddling around somewhere. His staff hasn’t ever been found.”

  “And um, Peter and Glenna?”

  “No one knows,” said Melchior, looking down at her curiously. “Know them, did you?”

  “What makes you say that?” asked Poly, just a shade too quickly.

  A slight curl of the lips. “They were young, but not so young that they wouldn’t have been to court at least once. By all accounts Rorkin was the oldest of them. Funnily enough, he was the only one I ever met: Glenna and Peter vanished long before I was born. There was some talk of seguing through time, but most people don’t believe that.”

  “Yes. Well, it’s impossible, isn’t it?”

  “Mm. So they say.”

  “Might I have my hand back now?”

  “Since you ask so nicely,” said Melchior. His eyes flicked past her to the door, and Poly realised with a fizz of what could have been either fear or excitement, that the big double-doors were opening.

  Three men in blue emerged first, and though there were others behind them, Poly didn’t see them. All she could see was Mordion–her Mordion–not aged a day and smiling as charmingly as ever as he trod across the carpet toward her.

  She heard Melchior suck in a breath between his teeth and realised that she had pinched his fingers painfully between hers. She would have let go immediately, but he curled his hand around hers instead of pulling loose, and Poly hid their linked hands behind the panniers of her gown, allowing herself the dubious comfort of clinging to him.

  “Your Highness,” said Mordion. He bowed deeply, his eyes laughing up at Poly in a way that was horribly familiar. Over his shoulder, she was pleased to see that her marble reflection was cold, calm, and utterly devoid of the panic that raced through her veins.

  She said: “And you are, sirrah?”

  “Head of the Wizard Council, Highness. I am at your service. My name is Mordion.”

  “Is it really?” said Poly, with cool unconcern. There was an indulgent tone to Mordion’s voice that told her he didn’t really expect her to remember him, and that made her furiously angry. Across the room, Luck’s eyes found hers, very green and narrow, and Poly looked away.

  Melchior said: “How goes the session, sir?”

  Poly noted the sir with a sick feeling in her stomach, and looked up to find Melchior watching her with a warning in his hazel eyes. Behind the panniers of her skirt, his hand squeezed hers once and released it.

  “Slowly,” said Mordion, shrugging. “Now that you are here, Highness, perhaps we can come to some kind of agreement–”

  “There you are, Poly!” said Luck’s voice, suddenly and firmly. “It’s time to go in. Mordion. Melchior.”

  He nodded to both wizards and swept Poly into the Hall, where it seemed that a thousand eyes were suddenly upon her. The sedate roar of conversation dropped immediately, leaving Poly to follow Luck with a hideously loud rustling of starched petticoats. The carpet beneath her feet was red with gold trimmings, and ran in nine spokes from a circular centre to the edges of the room. Each spoke was a series of stairs that climbed between tiers of seats until it met double doors: the one that they were currently descending cut through tiers numbered one through thirty.

  By the time they were seated in one of the tiers, Poly was feeling decidedly raw. The stares had not abated during their walk, and Mordion had taken his place in the centre of the room, sleek and smooth and handsome. Across the Hall, Melchior winked at her, which made Luck look sharply at Poly, and Poly feel rather naughtily better. After that it was easier to listen to Mordion’s purring voice as he recognised speakers across the hall. As far as Poly could tell, it was all a very polite, very correct fight about who would claim the Royal Personage, which seemed to be herself. After a little while, it even became amusing. Poly would have enjoyed herself if it wasn’t for the fact that, every so often, she would look up to find Mordion’s eyes on her. She was quite sure that he didn’t know she had remembered everything. She was just as sure that she didn’t want him to find out.

  I wonder, thought Poly, chilled and a little elated; I wonder if he was the one who tried to kill us as well? Is that why he sent Luck to get me?

  The noise in the room sank to a mere babble in the background as she thought about it, and it wasn’t until Luck whispered in her ear: “Nominate me as your champion, Poly,” that Poly regained some sense of the room about her.

  She said a startled: “Pardon?”

  The room fell silent. Poly flicked her eyes up and found that Mordion’s eyes were on her, mockingly.

  He said: “Will you have a champion, your Highness? Or will you speak for yourself?”

  “Luck will be my champion,” said Poly carelessly, and had the small, frightened satisfaction of seeing a startled look in Mordion’s dark eyes. He knew her. He’d expected her to manage, independent and alone, as she’d always done.

  She said more clearly: “Luck speaks for me.”

  The babble in the room rose to an immediate roar.

  “Right!” said Luck, surging to his feet. “That’s that, then. Come along, Poly.”

  He flung open the wooden door at the end of their row, thoughtlessly trampling toes and squashing hats on his way, and Poly swept out grandly in his wake.

  They were on their way up the aisle again when something distinctly magical went pop! very, very loudly. Poly felt a huge, warm inrush of air that buffeted her hair and pushed her a step forward, then Luck turned at the top of the stairs, his eyes golden and wide as a pounding of sound bega
n. Poly heard the screams and shouts that broke out above the pounding, but only managed to turn herself halfway around in her ridiculously stiff gown before Luck wrenched her close and pulled her bodily into the air.

  A cacophony of sound and vibration thundered beneath their feet as they dangled in the air: Poly dazedly saw the backs of a herd of lowland cattle that stampeded below herself and Luck. She saw the few, unlucky wizards who had not managed to vacate their seats in time, huddled and bloody beneath the hooves as they trampled, and lifted the rest of the men and women in the hall without thinking about it. Mordion’s dark blue eyes flew to her face in arrested question but Poly was too distracted to feel as sick as she should have felt. She released her hair from its bouffant and let it waft easily around herself and Luck, taking in magic.

  “I’m fine. You can let go now,” she said to Luck.

  “Don’t be silly, Poly,” said Luck, in a reasonable tone of voice. He adjusted one of his arms, but only to pull her closer. “Mordion is looking. Put your arms around my neck and step onto my feet.”

  “What happened?” Poly asked, wrapping her arms around his neck. With the bulk of her skirts it was difficult to get to Luck’s feet, but she managed to get the tips of her toes precariously balanced on his.

  “Someone Released one of the paintings in the hall. Can you keep holding everyone up while I Bind everything back into the painting?”

  “Of course,” said Poly.

  “Good girl. Back you go.”

  The lowland cattle that were milling about below their feet seemed to flicker and become less real. Poly, looking over Luck’s shoulder, saw an imperfect picture through the strands of her hair: golden magic in tiny, hair-like filaments was sticking to the cattle and irresistibly pulling them back toward a canvas across the hall. In their wake, tumbled benches and splintered timber became apparent, as did the few crushed bodies. Poly waited until Luck Bound the painting once more, then gently set down everyone else in the room.

  There was a moment’s silence, then voices burst into wild, hysterical gabble.