Rowankind (3 Book Series)

by Jacey Bedford

  “They could have saved this whole mess if they’d ridden in like that six months ago,” Corwen whispered.

  Dantin turned his head slightly and glared at him as if he’d heard the remark.

  “Well, it’s true,” I said, as much to Dantin as Corwen.

  The parade stopped. The Council of Seven, each mounted on a magnificent Fae steed, rode forward and halted in a line in front of their honor guard.

  “Have.”

  “You.”

  “Come.”

  “To.”

  “The.”

  “Correct.”

  “Decision?”

  They passed the question between them.

  Someone must have run for Mr. Addington, for that gentleman stepped forward from the crowd and said. “We are disbanding the Mysterium. There will be no more hangings. We have recognized the magical people of this island as equal under the law.”

  “Do you speak for the king?” Lord Dax asked. Although he spoke at normal volume, his voice could be heard throughout Westminster. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it hadn’t been heard across London.

  “I speak for Parliament which makes the laws.”

  Lord Dax nodded, spread the fingers of one hand, and all the members of Parliament hopped about as their feet returned to normal size.

  “I thought the Fae couldn’t enter human cities because of the smog and smoke and filth,” I whispered to Corwen.

  “I think it’s the cold,” he said. “The filth is trapped under the ice.”

  “We will bring back summer,” Lord Dax said. “Your wheat crops will prosper.” I noticed he didn’t say anything about Kentish hops. I assumed they were lost.

  “What about the beer?” someone shouted from the crowd.

  “And the unicorns,” someone else shouted.

  “And the dairy herds . . . ”

  “Don’t presume on our benevolence,” Dax said. “For we have none.”

  A shiver traveled down my spine. He was right. Benevolence wasn’t one of their traits. I looked at the crowd. They’d stopped asking questions and started to look uncomfortable. Even the rowankind and the goblins who were the beneficiaries of today’s vote stood silent.

  “Corwen, Rossalinde,” Dax turned to us. “Your presence is required in Iaru.”

  What now?

  From somewhere toward the back of the honor guard, Dancer and Timpani came trotting toward us, saddled and bridled. I wasn’t sure how they’d escaped from George’s stable, and I wasn’t going to ask. Corwen boosted me into the saddle and mounted Timpani. With a nod to Lily and George, we fell in behind the Council of Seven, with the honor guard behind us. Riding west, parallel to the river, we soon left London’s streets behind. I felt my scalp tingle as we passed through a gate which I’m sure had been created specially and would melt away with the frost. Iaru was blessedly warm and I soon came to regret my winter garments. I unbuttoned my redingote as we rode and saw Corwen had done the same with his caped coat.

  Back at the Fae grove we were able to shrug out of our coats at last. I wondered where David was. Margann was absent, too. The Council of Seven dismounted and crossed to their chairs. Court was obviously in session.

  “I hope they haven’t any more insane tasks for us,” I said to Corwen. “I want to go home and have our babies in peace.”

  “Home sounds good. There’s nothing to stop us going back to Yorkshire.”

  “George and Lily, too. Now he’s out of a job, Lily will be able to introduce him to the delights of being a clothier.”

  Corwen shuddered, “And jolly good luck to him. I can’t think of anything worse.”

  The grove gradually filled up with Fae around the circumference, three and four deep and their gentle chatter filled the air, until suddenly it ceased as if someone had rung a bell. The Council of Seven was ready to begin.

  “Calantha.”

  “Of.”

  “The.”

  “Merovingian.”

  “Fae.”

  “Stand.”

  “Forward.”

  A small disturbance in the crowd allowed Calantha to enter, head held high. David and Margann flanked her. For a moment I thought they were going to make David go through with solemnizing the marriage, but this looked more like a trial.

  Lord Dax said, “Calantha, you are charged with using a sundering curse upon Larien. That it didn’t kill him is thanks only to the fast action of his son, David, and the intervention of Rossalinde, a summoner of exceptional skill for a human. How do you answer?”

  “I did not intend to hurt Larien.”

  The Fae don’t lie, though they can dissemble and allow people to misinterpret their words. I was sure Calantha hadn’t intended the curse for Larien. She’d intended it for David, the husband she didn’t want.

  “Isn’t it true the curse was aimed at David?” Dax asked.

  “I didn’t hurt David.”

  “That’s true, you did not.” Dax nodded. “Rossalinde. Please bear witness. Is it true that you restored Larien’s soul to his body?”

  “I did.”

  “Was his soul subject to a sundering curse?”

  “When I found Larien’s soul, it was still connected to his body by the finest thread, stretched so thin I thought it might part at any time and then I would have lost him. A small gray creature was trying to lead him away by the hand.”

  “How did you free him from it?”

  “I took his hand and held on, even though the thing bit me.”

  “Bit?”

  “I still have the mark.”

  I held up my hand to show the perfect half-circle of teeth marks on the edge of my palm.

  “Describe the creature.”

  “Gray, about half the height of a man, all arms and legs with a very small body, a large round head, and needle-sharp teeth.”

  The Council of Seven stilled as if they were discussing something no one else could hear. After a couple of minutes during which no one tried to fill the silence, Dax seemed to come back into himself.

  “Lady Calantha, daughter of the Merovingian Fae, the sundering curse used was of Merovingian design. No one here could have executed the curse in quite the same way. What have you to say for yourself?”

  Calantha gave away nothing. Her expression remained calm, serene, even. “I did not intend to kill Larien, and I did not harm David.”

  “So you have said, and we believe you. However, please answer yes or no to this question. Did you create the sundering curse?”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “And was David the intended victim of your curse?”

  “I did not hurt—”

  “Please answer the question, yes or no. Was David the intended victim of your curse?”

  “Yes.”

  No one showed signs of surprise. I watched Dantin, suspecting he might have known all along that Calantha was guilty.

  There was another one of those silences. Again, I watched Dantin because it seemed to me that whatever was being discussed involved him. I simply couldn’t tell what was going on though I was sure something was. Had Dantin planned this with Calantha? Surely, if he had, he would have warned her that a Merovingian sundering curse would be recognizably different from a Britannic one.

  I thought he might have discovered what she’d done after the event and made use of Larien’s incapacity. I didn’t actually think he would have instigated anything that would harm his own brother, but he was Fae. What did I know?

  Dax came into himself again, but the whole Council of Seven delivered the verdict. It went around the council three times.

  “Calantha.”

  “Of.”

  “The.”

  “Merovingian.”

  “Fae.”

  “You.”

>   “Are.”

  “Hereby.”

  “Found.”

  “Guilty.”

  “Your.”

  “Marriage.”

  “Is.”

  “Officially.”

  “Dissolved.”

  “You.”

  “Will.”

  “Be.”

  “Escorted.”

  “Home.”

  “Forthwith.”

  Marriage dissolved. I looked at David. Was that worth almost getting cursed to death for? I saw that it was. Though he looked as though he was trying to retain an impassive expression, a small smile played around his mouth.

  * * *

  After the council had ended and Calantha had been taken away, David bounced up to me with a big grin on his face. “I’m free again, Ross. I can marry Annie.”

  “If she’ll have you,” I said. “She was feeling pretty badly treated when we took her to Plymouth.”

  “Yes, but she must have come back to testify at the Parliament of all the Magics. I bet she’s still in the Okewood. I must go to her straight away.”

  I sighed. “Normally, I’d suggest you are both too young to know your own mind, but if you remain unwed, there’s every chance the Fae will arrange something else for you.”

  David shuddered.

  “Don’t rush in like a puppy,” I said. “Annie needs to know you mean it, and that nothing your father can do will make you set her aside.”

  “Does the new act mean it’s legal for rowankind to marry in church.”

  “I suppose it does.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do. Perhaps your Reverend Purdy will do the honors.”

  “You’ll need a license. You’re both underage, so you’ll have to obtain consent of a parent or guardian.”

  “Annie doesn’t have anyone. Her parents are both dead, and she doesn’t have a guardian, and Larien—”

  “Leave Larien to me,” I said. “He owes me.”

  “We could probably get a signature from her previous employer at the Twisted Skein,” Corwen said. “You can leave that to me.”

  I found Larien in his bower, apparently resting.

  “Forgive the intrusion. Are you quite well, Larien?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes, merely a little tired. I’ve decided to leave it up to Dantin to restore Calantha to her people.”

  I thought he must be mightily tired to even admit that much.

  “Is that wise? Dantin and Calantha—”

  He waved away my protest. “My brother knows where his loyalties lie.”

  “Will it cause a rift with the Merovingians?”

  He sighed. “We were not on good terms before, and we won’t be on good terms after, but even the Merovingians must admit that trying to kill your intended spouse is unacceptable behavior. It’s a storm we can weather.”

  “I came to talk about intended spouses.”

  I explained what I wanted, and why.

  He eventually gave his consent, in writing, though it was obvious he didn’t want to. However, he owed me a favor, and I was glad to use it up for David’s sake. “He’s got a long life ahead of him, Larien,” I said. “Annie will live for—what?—another eighty years if she’s lucky. In a hundred years’ time, when he’s gotten over his grief, you can suggest that David might want to remarry for dynastic reasons. Neither Corwen nor I will be around to object.” I laughed. “Though I don’t guarantee our great-grandchildren won’t take an interest.”

  With Larien’s written permission safely in Corwen’s pocket, Corwen, David, and I rode to the Okewood.

  Charlotte, Henry, and Livvy were packing up some of their possessions and giving away others to friends.

  “We’re going home.” Livvy bounced up to us as soon as we arrived in the grove. “Not to our old home, but to Grandfather’s new parish. Isn’t that fine?”

  “Very fine,” I assured her, and turned to Charlotte. “Have you seen Annie?”

  “Not since the day before yesterday. She went back to Plymouth. Said she had a job to go to.”

  “Did someone take her?” David asked.

  “Not that I know of. Said she could easily walk it in a day.”

  David turned to me. “I’ve got to go after her.”

  “She should be in Plymouth by now,” I said. “Probably safe at the Ratcatchers with Dan.”

  David stilled for a moment and took a deep, steadying breath. “Yes, of course. She’s perfectly capable of looking after herself. I’ll go and pay court to her there.” He paused, suddenly looking unsure. “Do you think she’ll forgive me?”

  “Calantha was hardly your fault.”

  “I could have handled it better.”

  “You’ve got another chance.”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “Yes, I have.”

  47

  Decommissioning

  WITH LOOSE ENDS to tie up and still no idea about where Walsingham might be, or whether he had his notebook back, we returned to London.

  The deep frost had thawed. The weather was balmy and warm. London’s houses must have been empty and all the people abroad in the streets to judge by the crush across London Bridge. With the warmth, the stink of the city had returned. The locals were inured to it, though Corwen’s sensitive nose may not have been so happy.

  We spotted several goblins walking about freely without their glamour, and though they drew comments, there were no major upsets evident. Then we saw, nailed to a board, a notice that told the people about the new law in simple terms and announced that the Mysterium, from the twenty-first day of June, was no more and that the King’s Commission for the Integration of Magical Personages would be setting up offices all over the country.

  “It’s going to take more than that,” Corwen said. “People are going to be afraid of their new neighbors.”

  “Even though they’ve been living next to them for decades?”

  He nodded. “It’s all about perceptions. Getting people to accept magic and magical beings is going to be a long process, but we’ve started it now. The rest is up to the magicals themselves . . . and their neighbors.”

  We visited George and Lily, first to tell them we were back and then to find out the practical implications of the new laws.

  Two well-dressed gentlemen were leaving as we arrived at the house in Margaret Street and surrendered our horses to the footman.

  “Well, that’s an about turn!” George said as we entered the house. “I seem to have a new position.”

  He still looked a little bemused, but Lily was grinning. “It helps to be the grandson of the King’s Commissioner,” she said. “George is to oversee the disbanding of the Mysterium and the integration of magic across the whole West Riding of Yorkshire, which means he gets to make his office in Wakefield, not twelve miles from home.”

  “How very convenient,” Corwen said. “Congratulations, George.”

  “Thank you . . . I think. I’m still not quite sure what the job entails, but I shall very much enjoy putting the officers from the Mysterium in Sheffield out of work. Once that’s done, I’m not quite sure how to go about the rest. I daresay there may be some feeling of fear that will need to be overcome, but I will have the power to call out the redcoats in support of the magicals if there is any trouble. That makes a change. Everyone, magical or not, will have recourse to the law. I shall appoint rowankind and goblins to my staff, and maybe a witch or two.”

  “I hope the rowankind who fled to Iaru will return,” Lily said. “As soon as we get home, I’m going to talk to the rowankind about using their water magic to keep the mill wheel turning. It would mean we’d have no need to consider a pumping engine, so no dirty smoke and steam. Of course, we’d pay them for their work now that it’s legal.”

  “Pumping water out of mine workings could save a lot of live
s,” Corwen said. “I wonder if the rowankind might be persuaded to use their talents to power all manner of manufactories. It might even ease the problem of the blight bleeding through into Iaru from industrial areas.”

  Lily grinned. “Rowankind power would be so much safer than steam power. There are so many industries it could be used for. And, of course, the rowankind would be in high demand, so they’d be well-treated and well paid.” Her eyes widened. “And witch-power, too. How many witches can make light like you can, Ross?”

  I shrugged, not knowing. “It’s one of the easier magics, so probably a lot.”

  “Then our streets could be lit at night as if it were day. Just think, what a boon. Assembly halls and private houses could run on witchlight.”

  I laughed. “Steady on, Lily. You’ll have the whole country running on magic.”

  “Why not?” she said. “It may not answer every need, but surely inventors and engineers will use what’s available. I read about Mr. Trevithick’s road locomotive powered by steam. What if it were to be powered by magic?”

  I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. Suddenly, we were living in a new age. The government had been shocked into a reversal of two hundred years of law and persecution, and anything was possible.

  “There’s more,” George said. “Mr. Addington has stepped down, and Mr. Pitt is, even now, seeing the king. We confidently expect that before nightfall he’ll be the first minister again.”

  “That is good news,” Corwen said.

  “You know, Mr. Pitt told my grandfather there was a seat in Parliament for someone such as yourself.”

  Corwen raised one eyebrow. “I don’t know much about politics.”

  “But you have a great deal of common sense and a wealth of knowledge about the magical world, not to mention a direct connection with the Fae, should it be required. Mr. Pitt believes we shall soon be at war with France again. Boney is using the peace to rebuild his armies—and we are doing the same.”

  I stored that nugget of information away for Hookey. War with France meant a return to privateering for the Heart. Much as I didn’t wish for war in general terms, if it was inevitable, Hookey might as well make the most of it.