Spindle (Two Monarchies Sequence Book 1)

by W. R. Gingell

  Poly heard someone’s voice calling for a Healer, another howling for everybody to get out; and as Luck’s feet touched carpet again, she heard the sudden, venomous whisper that slithered through the whole assembly: The Old Parrassians have done it again. It’s murder this time.

  “Poly,” said Luck’s voice in her ear. His arms were still wrapped around her, warm and close, and her feet were still on his, arms around his neck. “Poly, we should go now.”

  But he didn’t let go, and he didn’t move.

  Poly said: “Be quiet, Luck,” and listened as hard as she could. Around the room a susurration of voices lapped against each other, and then against her moving hair.

  It’s the Old Parrassians. They’ve taken it too far this time.

  Who would try to murder the Sleeping Princess?

  More interestingly ran a current that said: Well, Mordion’s back. The accidents started very quickly, didn’t they?

  And then Poly heard: “May I be of assistance, Princess?”

  “No, we’re quite all right,” she said, stepping back briskly from Luck. He blinked and seemed to sway.

  Melchior was there, looking very sarcastic. “A little excitement for your first session in parliament, Princess.”

  “Are those men dead?”

  “No, I think not. The healer is with them. We’ll be breaking for the day after this debacle: mind you don’t get caught with the reporters at the front door.”

  “We’re not going out the front,” said Luck, tugging Poly away. “Come along, Poly.”

  “Yes, go along, Poly,” said Melchior, quick and sharp and impudent. “Be a good girl. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Poly meant to give him the icy look she’d been practising, but a smile slipped out instead. And instead of No, she found herself saying: “All right.”

  “Poly, you’re not to encourage the Wizard Council,” said Luck. He had her by the hand and was dragging her down the vast marble hallways of the Council building until Poly had no idea where they were.

  “I wasn’t encouraging the Wizard Council, I was encouraging Melchior,” Poly said. She wondered, for a brief, mad moment, if it was possible that Luck was jealous; and it seemed good to her to stir the coals a little. “He’s very useful for answering questions.”

  “Answering questions is not what Melchior does best,” said Luck. His eyes were all green, without a trace of gold, and very narrow. “Besides, we’ll be going out again tomorrow, so he can’t come to see you.”

  “Well, I like him.”

  “And you’re not to like him,” said Luck irritably, gratifying Poly greatly. “In fact, you’re not to–”

  “Luck, sweeting,” said a husky female voice, interrupting Luck before a highly interested Poly could find out what else she was not to do.

  Luck ceased in his headlong rush and pivoted to greet an occupied doorway. “Melissa. What are you doing here?”

  Poly, who had stiffened at the drawling, intimate greeting, found that Luck had let go of her hand. It left her feeling cold and abandoned, and in no humour to appreciate the beauty of the woman who had accosted Luck.

  She was beautiful, no doubt. Her delightfully proportionate curves were set off by a gown of deep green that cinched tight at the waist and plunged almost scandalously deep at the neck. The skirts of the gown pretended to a fullness at the back, but the cut of it, Poly noticed, was set to brush revealingly against her legs as she walked, and emphasized the curve of her hips. Her hair was gracefully caught up in a series of stately waves in burnished gold, and the heavy-lidded caramel eyes that spoke promises above plump, cherry-red lips only made her appear riper and more mature.

  “I came to see you, sweeting,” said those cherry-red lips. “What, no kiss for your oldest friend?”

  Poly was annoyed but unsurprised to see Luck take a step toward Melissa and kiss her. She was almost certain that Luck meant to kiss the woman on her cheek; but if so, Melissa turned her face so smoothly and naturally that the kiss fell on her lips instead.

  This was who Luck had meant, then, thought Poly, curling the fingers of her antimagic hand into the lace of her glove, when he had complained that not everyone found his kisses distasteful. She felt small and scrubby and school-girlish.

  When Melissa had finished kissing Luck–and did they have to take quite so long about it? thought Poly irritably–she turned her heavy-lidded eyes upon Poly and gave her a curtsey that was deep, and, Poly suspected, entirely mocking. Poly found that she resented mockery from Melissa in a way that she hadn’t when it came from Melchior.

  “This must be the Sleeping Princess,” said Melissa, in her husky voice. “That is a magnificently classic ensemble, Princess.”

  “Sadly outdated, I believe,” Poly said carelessly, but she felt the sting. “I shall dress myself new tomorrow.”

  The caramel eyes lost interest and turned from Poly to Luck. “Why this hurry, Luck?”

  “There was an accident in the session,” said Luck. “Someone Released a painting and tried to trample the Wizard side of the Hall.”

  “Indeed? I hope the princess doesn’t think us all as barbaric as the Old Parrassians.”

  Poly would have answered with another polite court nothing, but it was evident to her that Melissa was talking to Luck, and Luck only.

  “No one is as barbaric as the Old Parrassians,” said Luck. “Come along if you’re coming, Melissa. We have to go now.”

  “At your turn of speed? Certainly not! Dine with me tomorrow instead, and tell me all about everything.”

  Luck’s eyes flicked momentarily to Poly before he said: “All right. Poly’s staying home tomorrow anyway. Out or in?”

  “Oh, in, of course,” purred Melissa. “Since I saw you last I’ve acquired several little knick-knacks you might find interesting.”

  “Tomorrow,” agreed Luck, his eyes bright. “Come along, Poly.”

  It was a rather silent drive back to Luck’s alley. Luck, his eyes bright and green, was unnoticingly deep in thought, and Poly was in no mind to talk. She was cold and sick, and couldn’t quite bring herself to the point of convincing Luck that his Mordion was her murderous Mordion. He hadn’t shown any signs of believing her yet, and Poly didn’t have the energy to try again.

  As they passed through the gate, there was the distant sound of a door slamming, and Onepiece came lurching across the grass to throw himself at Poly.

  “Polypolypoly!” he burbled, in dizzy glee; and though Isabella said: “Well! There’s gratitude for you! You’d think I beat and starved him!” her smile was affectionate.

  Poly, her arms full of skinny little boy and a feeling of lightness dispelling some of the ache in her heart, said: “Yes, I love you too, Onepiece. Luck, am I staying home or going out tomorrow?”

  “Staying home,” said Luck, his eyes glazed and distant. “I have a dinner engagement. I shall not be home until late.”

  “Very well. Do you have any fashion plates, Isabella?”

  Isabella’s eyes danced. “Oh yes. Just a few. Should you like to see them?”

  “Yes please,” said Poly.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was borne in on Poly, some time after Luck left the next day and Isabella arrived, that Isabella’s airy assertion of owning ‘just a few’ fashion plates had fallen very far short of the truth.

  In fact, she seemed to have several hundred.

  “But if you want the very latest,” she confided in Poly: “You need only look at these ones.”

  Poly looked at the fat little pile of drawings and smiled faintly. “That narrows it down.”

  “You mean to say it doesn’t at all!” said Isabella frankly. “Never you mind, princess: you’ll be grateful for them by the time we’ve done.”

  “I’m grateful now,” said Poly. “I’d be more grateful if you’d call me Poly, though. Luck does, and there’s no princesses and kings in New Civet now, anyway.”

  “Not unless the Royalists get their way,” agreed Isabella. “
All right, Poly: would you prefer a fringe or a lace front?”

  “Lace, I think,” said Poly. She studied one of the plates: an exaggerated sketch of a simple enough dress that had a draping, graceful top of lace, a narrow waist, and a full skirt with just the suggestion of a bustle. Then she created one for herself, feeling the familiar whisper of magic across her skin as her clothes changed.

  “Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be able to do that!” sighed Isabella. “I was going to suggest one of the modistes that Aunt Oddu patronizes, but I don’t think I’ll bother. Luck didn’t tell me that you’re an enchantress.”

  “Luck doesn’t tell anyone very much,” said Poly, rather grimly.

  Isabella shot her a knowing look. “Where is Luck today?”

  “Having dinner with an old friend.”

  “Yes, I knew that. Melissa has been looking for him for days. I meant what else is he doing?”

  “Else?”

  “He’s been in a bate for the last two days, ever since he got home: you must have noticed!”

  “Well, yes; but he’s been out all the time.”

  “Yes, it isn’t like him at all. Luck doesn’t like–”

  “Going out,” finished Poly. “Or people. He has been spending rather a lot of time at the Council Hall, though. He took me there yesterday for the most ridiculously short amount of time.”

  “What did you do while you were there?”

  “Listened to Mordion talk, mostly. Oh, and I was asked if I would name a champion. Luck told me to nominate him, so I did.”

  “How very clever of him!” said Isabella approvingly. “In that case, whatever he’s doing will have to do with you.”

  “I thought he was going to hand me over as soon as we got here,” admitted Poly.

  “So did I,” said Isabella. She was studying a drawing with great attention. “So did everyone. Curious.”

  “What does it mean, nominating someone as champion?”

  “It means that neither the Royalists nor the Council can claim you. And if I know Luck, the Old Parrassians won’t get a look-in either. It means you’ve set up as your own person, and that any agreements you enter into will be bargained through Luck. No one can claim anything from you.”

  “Except Luck.”

  “Except Luck. It’s a partnership. I’m surprised that Luck thought of it, actually: it’s an old statute that no one has used in decades. The Arbiters put it in place.”

  “Of course they did,” said Poly, with a small, bittersweet smile. She wondered if it had been Mum or Dad who thought of it. For absentee parents, they certainly looked after her very well.

  “Isabella, who is Melissa?”

  Isabella again gave her full attention to the drawings. “A highly intelligent, excessively powerful, and incredibly sticky leech. Enchantress, of course: she’s been around for at least a hundred years. She and Luck were rather close at one stage, I believe.”

  “Allegiance?”

  “Herself, really. But professed to the Council; and, I believe, most especially to Mordion.”

  Poly shivered involuntarily, and found Isabella’s eyes on her.

  “Yes, exactly. He’s very beautiful, but I’ve never met anyone who scared me more.”

  “Nor I,” said Poly. A thread was being pulled somewhere in the house, and she wasn’t surprised when Onepiece stumbled through one of the walls, yawning and muttering. The wall swished back behind him with a leafy rustling, and became solid once again.

  “Oh, it’s just not fair!” sighed Isabella. “You beastly child, you!”

  Onepiece, naturally enough, took this as a compliment, and gave his rusty little laugh. “Belle come play!”

  “Certainly not! I am here to help your mama.”

  “Mum,” grunted Onepiece, and climbed into Poly’s lap. Since he didn’t seem inclined to any other mischief than to make faces at the fashion-plate she was holding, Poly let him stay.

  “You said Melissa and Luck were close,” she said to Isabella. “What happened?”

  “Nothing that I know of. They were close, and then they weren’t. Hullo, is that the hailer? Loud, isn’t it?”

  Poly felt a touch of warmth in her cheeks. “Oh! I forgot! Melchior said he would visit today.”

  “Goodness me!” said Isabella admiringly. “You do have good taste! No, I’ll keep Onepiece here: you go ahead. Despite what Aunt Oddu may say, I am occasionally tactful and I can occasionally mind my own business.”

  Onepiece said: “No!” grumpily when Poly deposited him in Isabella’s lap.

  Poly heard her say: “Ingratitude!” as she left the house, and was both pleased and a little regretful to hear Onepiece chuckle up at Isabella again. It was silly to feel regret, of course: Onepiece must be encouraged to be fond of other people, after all.

  “Did you miss me?” said Melchior through the hatch.

  Poly had found him almost nose-to-nose with her when she opened the hatch, his mouth curled in a half-smile and his hazel eyes laughing at her.

  She said: “Certainly not!” and opened the door. Luck and his orders to keep everyone else out be hanged. It was undoubtedly Melchior, and Luck was out with Melissa, after all. “Do come in.”

  “No, no,” said Melchior. “You’re coming out with me.”

  “Oh, but Luck–”

  “Yes, you’re a very good ComealongPoly and StayathomePoly, but Luck doesn’t own you, after all. Don’t you wonder what he’s up to? I do. That’s what I’m doing today: I thought you might like to join me.”

  Poly gazed at him for a long, silent moment, while Melchior gazed back mockingly. She could see his obsidian magic tucked away neatly inside him; and, partly to shake his mocking smile and partly to see what would happen, Poly let her hair waft forward and wrap lightly around his wrist.

  The smile vanished from Melchior’s lips. “Now that’s very interesting,” he said. He’d gone quite white.

  “I shall come with you,” Poly said. Melchior’s magic was strong, but it wasn’t enchanter strong. He was a wizard, nothing more.

  “I wish I could think it was for my charm,” said Melchior. “But I have the distinct feeling that you’ve just found out that I’m no threat to you. Oho, did Luck leave you with a nursemaid? Well met, firebrand!”

  “Yes, hullo,” said Isabella. “Here to make mischief, are you?”

  Melchior winked at Poly and murmured: “Of a kind. Shall we go, princess?”

  “Do try to be back before Luck gets home,” said Isabella. “He’ll only sulk at me, and he’s very tedious when he does that.”

  “Luck is always tedious,” said Melchior, seizing Poly’s hand and pulling it through his arm. “However, if we can annoy him at all I won’t feel the day wasted.”

  When they were strolling down the street arm in arm, Melchior said: “I really must congratulate you, princess. Your ensemble is up to date and entirely delightful.”

  “I was spurred on to modernise myself,” said Poly, entirely truthfully.

  “Yes, I heard that you’d met Melissa,” said Melchior. He paused: looked up the street, then down it.

  Poly, much amused, said: “No one is around to hear. Besides, fashion is hardly a state secret, is it?”

  “Not at all,” said Melchior, with one last look up and down the street. And, seizing her by the waist, he whirled her right through the solid wall they’d been strolling beside.

  Poly blinked rapidly in the suddenly half-light and found herself in a cold, narrow corridor with Melchior’s arms snugly around her.

  His voice murmured in her ear: “Much better!”

  “So it’s not just Luck rearranging the city allies,” said Poly. Melchior had neatly pinned her arms across her chest, and it was a little difficult to move. “Are you going to let me go?”

  He gathered her closer. “I was just trying to make up my mind.”

  With more interest, Poly inquired: “Are you going to kiss me?”

  “Not yet,” said Melchior; and, regretfully (
it seemed to Poly) he released her.

  “Why are we in a hidden ally?”

  Melchior pulled her hand through his arm and nudged her into a stroll. “I felt the need for privacy.”

  “Oh. Why?”

  “I’m going to tell you a story.”

  “Oh,” said Poly again. “Why?”

  “Will it help if I tell you that I’m quite certain you’re not really the Sleeping Princess?”

  “Not really,” sighed Poly. “It seems to be the worst kept secret in the whole of the three– that is, the whole of the two monarchies. Is your story an adventure?”

  “No: a romance. It begins fifteen years ago, when I was a boy of eight or nine.”

  “Started young, didn’t you?” observed Poly. “Not very surprising.”

  Melchior’s hazel eyes glittered. “Do you recall me saying that I wasn’t going to kiss you yet?”

  “Clearly.”

  “If you keep that up, I won’t be able to help myself. Picture me, a child of eight or nine; charming as ever, and on the cusp of being sent away to one of the best boarding schools in New Civet. Every young schoolboy knows the story of the Sleeping Princess, of course: we all dreamed that one day we would be the ones to wake her.”

  “Then how did Luck end up with the job? You can’t expect me to believe that he dreamed about rescuing me too.”

  “I’ve never been sure that Luck does dream,” said Melchior, his lip curling. “As a matter of fact, I got the distinct impression that he doesn’t sleep at all. I assumed that he draws energy from free magic like a rather eccentric vampire. However, to continue my romance: by the time I left for school, I wasn’t nearly as ignorant as the other boys when it came to the Sleeping Princess.”

  “Do you mean the real princess, or me?”

  “Well, that’s the crux of the matter. By then I knew that you weren’t the princess at all.”

  “That was clever of you,” said Poly politely. “Considering no one else but Mordion knew.”

  “Ah, yes, but I had an informant– in fact, I had two.”

  Poly stopped and wheeled to face him. “My parents told you?”

  “Does Luck know that your parents were both Arbiters?” enquired Melchior.