Boy of Chaotic Making (Whimbrel House #3)

Chapter 7

March 1, 1847, London, England

Merritt’s ears were ringing. Or was that some sort of bizarre enchantment in the room? He only vaguely picked up Owein’s attention swiveling from his bowl to the company.

“I could move his spirit to a new vessel,” the necromancer explained, moving his hands in undefined loops as he spoke. “In exchange, he would sign a marriage contract with Prince Friedrich’s youngest daughter, Lady Cora.”

Owein came over, rose onto his back legs, and placed his paws on the edge of the table. What?

At the same time, Merritt stuttered, “P-Pardon?”

“It’s possible,” Blightree explained slowly, turning fully in his chair to face Merritt and illustrating with his hands. “With a viable human vessel, that is. I can’t resurrect Owein Mansel’s body—only, perhaps, the very first necromancer would have such power. Even a body a day past wouldn’t work. A living body, yes, but there are ethics to be considered. But the right specimen at the right time, I have the spells necessary, both to keep it viable and to move Owein’s spirit when the time comes.”

Merritt tried to sort through the information but felt like he was hammering puzzle pieces that didn’t fit together. “I ... How? Who?”

“I don’t know. But with your agreement, and Owein’s”—he nodded to the dog—“we would begin searching.”

Owein’s dark eyes lifted to Merritt. A body? A human body? For me? He barked.

Merritt shook his head. “But ... if this is possible ... why would his spirit be worth more than that of the deceased?” He glanced to Owein. “I don’t mean to devalue you, but”—his gaze switched back to Blightree—“isn’t this a little close to playing God? Moving around spirits to keep those with magic in their family line?” He gestured to the Leiningens but didn’t look at them. “Necromancers are healers, aren’t they? Why wouldn’t you just heal the sick or the injured instead of waiting for them to pass so you can use the body for a more suitable spirit?”

Owein’s ears drooped. But, Merritt—

I don’t mean anything by it, Merritt insisted telepathically. Would it feel fine with your conscience to take the life of another kid just so you can have ten fingers and a larynx?

Owein lowered his head and shook it almost imperceptibly.

Lady Helen interjected, “Of course all of that would be taken into consideration, right, William?”

Blightree nodded. “I’ve discussed it with Her Majesty directly, and we would sign a contract with Owein, ensuring everything was acceptable for all parties.”

“Including”—Merritt cleared his throat, shaking off communion effects—“the deceased and his family?”

“Of course.” Blightree spoke with measured grace. “However, such a thing wouldn’t be possible at this time, as we wouldn’t know who the deceased and his family would be.”

“And the party who signs it would be me,” Merritt pressed. “I’m legally Owein’s guardian.”

There seemed no end to Blightree’s patience. Still, he said, “Legal guardianship of a canine is not—”

“It is, and I brought the paperwork to prove it.” Merritt’s tone had taken on a slight edge. He tried to dull it; if Blightree could remain calm, so could he. “And we both know he’s more than just a canine.” Shaking his head, he glanced at Owein. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to speak for you as though you’re not here.”

Owein huffed. I haven’t been able to speak for myself for centuries.

Merritt’s stomach sunk. I’m so sorry. I’m ... I’m doing my best.

“What is he saying?” Prince Friedrich asked.

Merritt ignored him and focused on the necromancer. “How would we know you didn’t just select some random, innocent adolescent off the street?”

“We’re not barbarians.” Blightree’s voice was a little softer. “I promise you that. It could be years until a suitable host is found. It will be handled with the utmost care.”

The hope in Owein’s eyes nearly broke Merritt. And the offer ... Victoria was right. It was irresistible. For Owein to live as a human again—after losing his own body so young and being trapped in that house—why not take the opportunity, if it were to present itself in a moral manner? And dogs ... they didn’t live long. Owein would be gone before Merritt’s fortieth birthday, and he’d last until then only with interventions. Once his dog life was done, he’d either move on or live inside Whimbrel House again, with all the magic of his spirit at his fingertips and all the sensations of the body and words of the mind lost.

I want to sign it! Owein pressed.

Merritt let out a long breath. “We’re willing to at least look at a ... contract.”

Owein’s tail thumped against the side of his chair.

After taking a deep breath, Merritt asked, “How would it work?”

“We would have to work quickly, to ensure function of the mind. That would deteriorate before the rest of the body, which is what makes finding a suitable host difficult,” Blightree explained. “But just as this boy’s soul was moved from the grave to a house, and then to this dog, it would be moved again. Resituate itself. Owein would understand the method better than any of us.” He met Owein’s eyes. Then, with a small smile, he added, “Might be easier if you didn’t care for the sex.”

Owein’s ears lifted.

Blightree chuckled. “I’m joking, of course. We would need you to remain male to ensure the family line. But age ... I can’t guarantee age. The host might be a ten-year-old boy or a fifty-year-old man. Only time will tell.”

“Yes,” Lady Helen interjected. “My dear Cora. Oh.” She looked over the table, then to the wall, before patting her skirts and retrieving a bell from the thick gathers of fabric. She rang it loudly; a moment later, a footman discreetly entered the room. Lady Helen murmured something to him; he nodded and exited the room. “My Cora dined in her room; she’s aware of the situation, of course. We didn’t want to spring too much on you at once.”

Too much was an understatement, Merritt thought. This all seemed quite too much to him. But he nodded. There wasn’t really a simple way to make such an offer, was there?

“She’s thirteen,” Lady Helen continued. “Fourteen this summer.”

Merritt tried not to cringe at the idea of a thirteen-year-old girl being married off to a fifty-year-old man.

“Quiet child, but very kind, very smart. Well educated, of course,” Lady Helen went on.

Merritt chose not to mention that Owein had only recently learned how to read.

“She’ll be here in a moment,” Prince Friedrich added.

“We’ve four children altogether,” Lady Helen explained. “Cora is our youngest—the contract would include marriage to her, in exchange for what we’ve discussed.”

Merritt whistled. It probably wasn’t polite, but it seemed warranted given the situation. Marriage contract. New body. Are you understanding all of this?

Owein sat. I marry their daughter, and they make me human again.

More or less. You don’t need to make any decisions yet—

Lady Helen continued, “Palmerston and Colin are our oldest, both with estates of their own. Then there’s Briar, who married last year and will be joining us tomorrow. If ... If it wouldn’t be too direct ... what, precisely, does Owein have in his repertoire?”

It took a moment for Merritt to realize she was asking after his spells. It seemed crass considering what they were asking of him ... but he supposed it was no more so than the work done by the Genealogical Society. And well, If we don’t tell them, the offer might be rescinded.

I’m not embarrassed by my magic, Owein retorted.

Merritt shrugged. “Owein”—his voice came out raspy; he pushed through it—“has spells of alteration and chaocracy. We have rough approximations from a scholar back home.”

Lady Helen beamed and clasped her hands together. Prince Friedrich said, “That is good—we have an alteration spell in my lineage, and all our children have inherited it. Mere recoloring, but still. Our dear Queen Victoria must have caught on to that. She’s very bright. Do you, perchance, know his percentages?”

Merritt was not used to such discussions, but at this point, there was no use holding back. He’d focus on what could help Owein. “Supposedly around twenty-four overall.”

Lady Helen put a hand on her husband’s forearm. “That’s very good. Better than we had hoped. Cora, she’d got quite the mix. Alteration, yes, which will make for an excellent combination with dear Owein, and ether manipulation, in the discipline of elemental magic. Hysteria, conjury, augury, and wardship, just one spell each—”

The footman from before stepped into the dining room. “Lady Cora Karoline of Leiningen,” he announced, and stepped aside.

The girl who walked in took after her mother—she was short and well dressed, with a pale complexion and dark-brown hair carefully curled and pinned. She had the slightest bit of childhood left in her cheeks, but the rest of her had started the ascent into womanhood. She held herself well, straight-backed and with her hands clasped before her, shoulders squared, chin lifted. The stance, in all honesty, reminded Merritt of Hulda.

That’s her? Owein asked, peeking around Merritt’s chair.

Merritt nodded. It was easier than working around the tightness communion had left in his throat. Blightree stood, reminding him that he should do the same, and her parents rose as well, all in respectful greeting. Cora curtsied, then crossed to the seat beside her mother. Another footman pulled out the chair for her.

Farm boy married to a princess, Merritt said.

Owein didn’t reply. His eyes watched Cora.

“Cora,” Prince Friedrich said, “this is Merritt Fernsby and Owein Mansel, come all the way from Rhode Island to meet you.”

Cora nodded. “How do you do? Thank you for your time and effort. I hope the trip was gentle.”

“Uh, yes,” Merritt rasped. He cleared his throat again, but it did little to help. “Forgive me, I’ve been using communion.”

With a family so indoctrinated with magic, he needn’t explain further. All of them just nodded with understanding.

“As I was saying,” Lady Helen continued, “we do have alteration in the family line; Cora specifically inherited the ability to alter color, which will mesh very well with Owein’s magic. She also has air movement, infliction of pain—don’t worry, it’s moderate and never used—conjury of stone, luck, and spell-turning. There are actually both alteration and chaocracy further up the family line. Who knows—perhaps they will come about again!”

“Of course,” Cora’s father interjected, “there would be no union until she was eighteen. And until Owein was eighteen, depending on the age of the host.”

Merritt studied Cora’s face as her parents spoke, but her expression remained unaffected. She maintained a demure quietness. Merritt couldn’t blame her. What would he think of all of this, were he in her position? In Owein’s?

The latter was easier for him to piece out.

“The contract could be drafted tomorrow, with revisions as necessary,” Blightree said.

“Perhaps,” Merritt pushed in, raising a hand as though he could halt the procession of wild ideas, “we give it a fortnight. Give Owein, and your family, time to mull over the idea. Ensure the two ... suit.”

“Yes, it’s all a bit to digest, isn’t it?” Lady Helen sounded apologetic. “And after such a long trip, too. But of course, we should see how they suit! This is a large step; all parties need to take it into the deepest consideration. I seem to have exhausted my manners!” She rose from the table. “A fortnight can easily be spared. For now, rest. Let me personally see you to your rooms.”

“The housekeeper can do that, love,” Prince Friedrich said.

She shook her head. “I insist. Unless ... Cora, do you have any questions?”

Cora smiled kindly. “It’s all been explained thoroughly, thank you. It’s nice to meet you, Owein.” She nodded to him.

Owein, head barely able to see over the table, nodded back.

“Excellent. This way.” Lady Helen gestured. Merritt pushed back his chair and followed, Owein slow to copy him. His eyes remained on Cora until he’d passed into the hallway.

What do you think? Merritt asked as they continued to follow Lady Helen.

I want to sign the contract.

Merritt pressed his lips together. The contract would involve you getting married , Owein.

The dog leveled his stare as much as he could. I’ll marry a toad if it means getting my body back. Or a body back.

Merritt rubbed warmth into his hands. Nothing is legalized yet. Marriage is a big—

I don’t want to die.

That sentiment had Merritt tripping over his own heels. “What?” he asked aloud, voice a whisper.

But Owein didn’t respond, physically or through their magicked connection. Merritt reached down for him, stroked the top of his head, but no more words came.

At the top of the main set of stairs, Lady Helen paused. “You know what, I have something better in mind for you.” She turned toward Owein and took on a soft, maternal expression. “If you will be part of the family, and I hope you will, you should sleep closer to us. The rooms I had prepared ... they’re far away. And likely drafty. Let me set you up somewhere nicer.”

Merritt whispered, “It’s no problem—” then coughed.

She gave him a wry look. “I do wonder what you two are discussing.” Then, with a wink, she said, “It’s no trouble at all. This way.”

She led them down a marble hallway lined with Indian rugs, bronze busts, and a few Grecian vases—a part of the house that had not been included on the earlier tour—and Merritt had a feeling they would be staying here far longer than either of them had initially planned.