Bethcelamin’s mouth went dry. If Garen had made her uneasy before, now he seemed to turn her insides to water with fear. She was pinned by the stare, frozen and breathless, until he suddenly turned and stalked away.
Jayden appeared in the doorway, surprised to see his wife and Bashara. “Did he hurt you?” he asked, offering his hand. “Where did he go?”
“Towards the stairs,” Bethcelamin said. She ignored his hand, letting Bashara help her to her feet instead. The pain in her ankle was enormous, and she leaned heavily on the maid’s arm.
“Get back to the room,” Jayden snapped, and headed towards the stairs at a fast walk.
Bethcelamin didn’t watch him go. Her clouded thoughts were clearing, and she limped the short distance back to their quarters as quickly as she could. Her mind raced.
“My Lady, slow down, you’re hurt,” Bashara said as they entered the room. She closed the heavy door behind them. “What is it? Shall I fetch someone?”
Bethcelamin shook her head, though the pain was severe. “There would be no one to fetch, Bashara. My husband has frightened them all away. It is merely a twist in my ankle,” she said, “but did you see? Did you see him?” Her cheeks, pale for days, were now pink, and her eyes glistened to where Bashara checked her forehead for fever as she helped her Lady sit down. “Tell me you saw him.”
“I saw, my Lady, but— how could it be? Do you think he spoke true? Are we trapped here?”
Bethcelamin adjusted her skirt and crossed her leg, examining her sore ankle, but barely seeing it. “In truth I don’t know,” she mused. If Garen could stand up to her husband, if his closest and most trusted friend could betray him … her thoughts refused to line up, but there was something in the swirl, she could feel it.
Bashara looked at her Lady’s foot and clucked her tongue. “That’s swelling something terrible,” she said. “I’ll need to get some cold meat from the kitchen to put on it or you won’t be able to step on it at all.”
The Duchess nodded. “Yes,” she agreed. “Fetch the meat, but would you also find my husband?” She paused, determining the best way to proceed so Jayden would be receptive. “Tell him I was injured, but don’t make him worry. Tell him I’m sorry to bother him, I know he is busy. Tell— no, ask him if he would speak with me when he has a moment.” That should be submissive enough, she thought.
“Of course, Lady.” Bashara dropped her head in an obedient nod. “But … are you sure?” Her forehead was wrinkled with concern.
Bethcelamin smiled. “I will be fine,” she assured Bashara. “This will not be like the last time. I promise.”
She waited patiently, absently rubbing at her ankle. At least she wouldn’t have to pretend to be in pain, Bethcelamin thought, imagining the rest of the conversation. She would be soft-spoken, just as her husband preferred, and concerned for his position in the wake of Garen’s outburst. Her injury would add to his outrage, and spur him into action…
“Dove? Bashara says you were injured?” Korith moved to her side, the cut of meat in his hand.
“She wasn’t supposed to worry you,” Bethcelamin said. “I’m sorry. It’s my ankle, just a twist, but it does pain me…” She trailed off, letting him examine the obviously swollen joint.
“Garen will hang,” the Duke muttered, though Bethcelamin knew it was an empty threat. The Chancellor was most likely gone already.
“I’m sure it was an accident,” she said. “Will you help me to the bed, husband?” Bethcelamin leaned up to allow Jayden to lift her into his arms, and sighed gratefully when he set her down.
“Accident or no, Dove, his behavior is inexcusable.” Korith placed his wife’s sore foot on a pillow, and laid the cold meat on her ankle. “He will be held accountable.”
Bethcelamin touched her husband’s hand, the picture of gentle gratitude. “Please, stay just a moment?”
“Yes, Bashara said you wanted to speak with me. What is it?” His tone was short— he was obviously uninterested in what she had to say, but Bethcelamin didn’t mind. All the more likely he’d believe it was his own idea.
“I’m sorry, husband, I don’t mean to be difficult. I’m simply concerned. Chancellor Garen … he was uninjured, his face wasn’t burned at all. How is that possible?”
Korith sighed, and it was clear to Bethcelamin that his head was paining him again. His headaches were near constant these days.
“Magic,” he said. “Some dark power must have tempted him— here, right under my nose.”
“Is what he said true?” Bethcelamin continued, wincing as she readjusted her foot on the pillow. “Are we trapped here?”
“You don’t need to worry about it,” Korith told her. “I will find some way to get us home, to fix this mess.”
“I have faith that you will,” Bethcelamin said with a smile she hoped was sincere. “You are the most determined man I know. But husband … perhaps home is not where we should go.”
Jayden looked at her as though she were speaking nonsense, and checked her forehead for fever as Bashara had. He found none.
“Where do you suggest?” he asked.
“Epidii is home,” she said slowly, as if she were only just working it out. “If the creatures attacking us here are also there, as your messengers say, then should we not move forward? Go north?”
Bethcelamin imagined she could see the muscle beside her husband’s eye twitching with every throb of his headache.
“Abandon our home to monsters, Beth? I should think not. There is nothing north but Estfall, and that damnable Duke Thordike.”
She twisted her fingers in the coverlet, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. “Of course you’re right,” she said quietly. “I was only thinking of how strong a statement it would make, you offering aid to a man who has shown you only contempt. I’m sure Epidii needs you more, though.”
Korith opened his mouth, but closed it again without saying anything. Bethcelamin kept her face calm as she watched him weigh the suggestion she hadn’t made. She shifted again, catching her breath as she flexed her ankle. The restlessness and the pain were real enough, anyway.
“You should rest,” Korith said, patting her hand. His eyes were distant, and Bethcelamin knew he would bring them north as soon as he talked himself into it. “I will send Bashara to you with some tea.”
“Thank you, Jayden,” she said. She would drink it willingly enough, Bethcelamin thought. Better to sleep through the pain than worry that her idea was foolish and impossible. If there was anyone who wanted her husband dead, though, they would be in Estfall. She would do her best to get him there, and leave the rest up to luck.
23
Melody splashed icy water onto her cheeks and the back of her neck, struggling to control the churning of her nervous stomach. She was nearly a week out of Silmirra, and Ravenglass - the town Lianodel had told her about - was just over the next rise. It was time, Melody knew, delaying by the river wouldn’t make her task any easier.
She sat back, taking deep breaths. It was just a town, she told herself. Like Cabinsport, or Foley— no. Not like Foley. She ran her fingers through her unfamiliar hair, drying her cold hands in the curls that had surprised her and Lianodel both when they’d cut the knee-length tresses up to her shoulders. The scent of the herbs Lianodel had used to coax the color from black to copper was still strong, making her anxious nausea even worse.
Swallowing hard, Melody closed her eyes. She could do this. She would go into the town as her dream-self told her she must, and she would find the people who needed her— whatever that was supposed to mean. She wished the other Melody had been more specific about what she was to do, and how to do it. Wake up magic in other people? It didn’t even sound possible.
Melody lost her internal struggle, and had to turn and be sick for the third time since leaving Silmirra. How was she supposed to meet and talk to anyone if she couldn’t manage to stay calm? More water, more deep breaths. Focus, she told herself. Concentrate. Practice.
“I am Nia,” she said softly, keeping a tight rein on the power that wanted to surge forth with her words. “My name is Nia Fisher.”
She paused, then shook her head. Fisher was a good name, but it was Jovan’s. Her dream-self had said Korith sent her description to other towns, that meant the Duke had probably sent descriptions of Jovan and Kaeliph, too. She closed her eyes, trying not to remember the younger brother’s stuttering heart as he bled out in her arms, or Jovan’s white-faced fury.
For not the first time, Melody was tempted to reach for Jovan, wanting to apologize or explain or just feel him in her thoughts again. She stopped herself with one last splash of frigid water on her face.
Don’t think about him, she thought. He is lost to you, you are dead to him. His path is his own, her dream-self had said.
“Stone,” she whispered, controlling the power in her voice and willing herself to be as hard as the name she had chosen. Tears would not serve her, and she had work to do. “I am Nia Stone,” she said again, and once more until it felt natural to say aloud.
She stood, leaning heavily on her staff. Between the exhaustion from weeks of travel and the persistent lightheadedness she couldn’t seem to shake, Melody wasn’t confident she’d be able to do much once she reached Ravenglass. She had to try, though. She shifted her bag where it was slung across her chest, grateful there was nothing more in it. Even the slight weight of her father’s journal seemed to drag against her.
Touching her forehead to the staff, Melody prayed. Goddess, please lend me strength. I don’t know how to do this thing, though I know I must. I humbly ask for Your guidance and protection. Blessed be.
Deep green eyes, well hidden in the underbrush, regarded the girl curiously as she continued her journey into town. If his ears could have pricked up, they would have. Even at a distance, he could smell the magic on her - that was enough to warrant a closer look. He followed.
Ravenglass was small even compared to Cabinsport, but it was still too crowded for Melody’s liking. Merchants presiding over stalls full of vegetables and tools in the center square called to passersby, horses were everywhere, and the people bumped into each other constantly as they jostled to get where they were going. At this hour, that was the Inn.
The guards had stopped her on her way into town, asking her name and business, and warning her of the curfew when she said she was only passing through. Strange creatures had been reported near Immthar, they said, and they weren’t taking any chances. The gates would close at dark, so she’d best have a room before then.
Melody was hard-pressed to avoid being knocked off her feet before she made it to the Inn, and she took a moment to catch her breath before venturing inside. Her dream-self had been maddeningly vague about her purpose - waking up magic in other people. What did that mean?
She looked at the people moving through the square, seeing not a single blue aura among them - there was no magic here. How was she meant to bring it? Dream-Melody had said she need to reach more people than she wanted to think about. Her stomach twisted anxiously as she considered speaking to any one of the strangers, how could she reach more?
The sounds of music drifted through the door of the Inn, and Melody’s curiosity triumphed over her fear. She followed a woman and her child into the large common room, and spied an empty table in the back, far from the fire and the man with the small harp and the big smile.
The smell in the room was almost overpowering, but Melody swallowed her nausea as best she could, worrying at the problem of how to bring magic to these people like Attilus would worry at a bone. She missed the dog, she thought, remembering with a pang how reluctant Attilus had been when she sent him from Cabinsport to find Calder. She also remembered using her magic to heal that first time, when Calder had been injured by the rat. In her mind’s eye, one rat turned into many, and she was between Jovan and Kaeliph as they protected her, and she was singing the rodents to sleep …
That was it.
She would sing the magic awake for everyone at once, just as she had sung her lullaby for the rats before. The crowd in the common room was loud, stomping their feet in time and singing along with the song being played. None of them would think her singing was any different than theirs, and though she didn’t know the words, she knew she didn’t need them.
Melody waited for the first tune to end, still struggling with nausea brought by the stench of people and food and fire in such close proximity. When the next song began, she began to sing - humming at first, finding the rhythm, but soon opening the sound and letting the power flow into the room.
She kept her voice as quiet as she could, just loud enough to carry the magic, and imagined her song as a pale blue mist that danced and swirled around each person's face with every stomp of a foot or clap of a hand. Wake, she thought, weaving the intention into the sound. Wake.
She let her voice trail off before the man’s song had ended, confident that she had done what she was meant to do. When the protective bubble of power dissipated, however, Melody was suddenly overwhelmed with sick dizziness. She stood and made her way to the door, even pushing past a few people, desperate for fresh air and space. Once outside, Melody bolted for the narrow alley beside the building— and collided with the man coming out of it, hard enough to knock them both to the dirt.
“Oh, m’lady, I’m terribly sorry, I hope ye aren’t hurt none—"
She ignored him and crawled as far away as she could before the sickness took her. There was little enough to come up, Melody hadn’t been able to stomach food in several days, but the cramps refused to be denied. When they subsided, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve and sat back on her heels.
The man was still there, watching her with concern. “Are ye all right, m’lady?”
Melody took his offered hand, trying to follow the rush of the man’s words and navigate his thick accent at the same time.
“I didn’t mean to run into ye, miss, but I hardly had time to get out of the way. Up ye go, then.” He pulled Melody to her feet with uncommon strength, and she found herself stumbling into him before she could catch her feet or her breath. He balanced her, never slowing his speech.
“In truth, ye came out so fast I thought someone might be chasin’ ye. Weren’t anyone followin’, though. I still hate ye fell, dirtied up yer dress. Here, let me help.”
Melody blinked. The eager man who had helped her to her feet and was now brushing the dirt from her skirt shimmered lightly in her sight with an aura of palest blue. He favored one leg, she noted as he circled her, and he kept stopping to push the hair out of one warm gray eye so he could see what he was doing.
“Yer not hurt none, are ye miss?” He thrust out one hand that was nearly as dirty as the street dust he had finally stopped trying to clean. He noticed the dirt and quickly pulled his hand back, rubbing it on his trousers. “I’m Brody,” he said with an engaging smile that begged returning. “Brody Douglas.”
Melody was opening her mouth to assure the good-hearted man that she was unhurt, just a bit dizzy, when another man stepped forward. The newcomer practically shone with an aura of magic— had he been in the common room when she sang?
He glanced at her, then looked the talkative stranger up and down before returning his deep evergreen eyes to Melody.
“Is this man bothering you?” he asked.
So intense was his gaze on Melody that it was as if nothing in the world existed but her. She shook her head up at him, Brody Douglas nearly forgotten.
This new man was nearly as tall as Jovan, though not as broad. Pale brown hair curled carelessly past his shoulders, and his well-worn shirt strained over the muscles of his chest. He was clearly expecting an answer, though, and she managed to find her voice.
“No, I was just surprised,” she said in the careful, measured tones she had practiced. “I appreciate your concern.”
He nodded at her, taking a step backward. There was something odd about this whole situation, he thought. The girl he had followed from t
he river seemed ordinary enough apart from the magic he could practically smell on her, but the man with the limp was more than he seemed, though he pretended to be less. Why?
“Ye can speak?”
Melody turned her attention to Brody Douglas, trying to hide her curiosity. Why would her speaking surprise him? Did he know her?
“Excuse me?” she said, keeping her tone calm and even. The gray-eyed man seemed momentarily taken aback, but recovered quickly enough that Melody doubted her first reaction. Of course he didn’t know her, she thought. How could he?
“Well ye hadn’t said nothing, miss, I thought maybe ye had bit yer tongue - had me worried, ye did.” Douglas glared at the long-haired stranger, waiting for the unwelcome addition to take the hint.
The stranger grinned at him, an unreadable smile that made Brody’s insides feel like water, and then bowed deeply to the redheaded girl.
“I shall leave you to your business then, miss.” His voice was smooth and warm, like a promise. “Should you have need of me, my name is Aggravain Pike. Perhaps we will meet again.”
Brody Douglas glared at Aggravain Pike’s back as the man departed, forcing himself to swallow the uncharacteristic anger that was threatening to overwhelm him. This was not how he had imagined their first meeting.
He stepped around to stand in front of her. “Have ye a name, m’lady?”
Melody brought her attention back to the eager Brody Douglas. “Yes, of course,” she said. “I am Nia. Nia Stone.”
Douglas’ smile never shifted, but everything in him was protesting. This was not right. Nothing was going as it should. She was not supposed to speak. Her hair was supposed to be black, not this riot of red curls. She was supposed to recognize him instantly and fall into his arms - as he had dreamed of her doing every night of the journey he had made to find her.
A voice inside him seemed to laugh at the way things were going, and Brody forced that voice back with all the strength of his anger. The smile remained fixed on his face, and he nodded his head towards her in a halfhearted bow.
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