Chapter Four
Alma let out a disconcerted meow from where she sat curled up in my lap. It was late, but darkness hadn’t completely enveloped our surroundings. A fine grey mist fell upon us the minute we left the city outskirts and travelled quickly through the workers’ towns that surrounded it. We only stopped once at a small travelling post for a pot of tea and hard travellers’ cake before we went west across vast moorland, heading for a border of dark forest in the distance that soon enveloped us.
The road was craggy and forgotten between the towering ancient trees. The everlasting lamp at the front of the open carriage guided the horse easily across the uneven terrain.
I couldn’t speak feline, but I shared Alma’s meowed concerns as we finally came upon a gravel path almost oVerrun with weeds.
Before us was what once may have been a cottage but was now nothing more than a hulk of crumbling stone. Plaster peeled from walls to show uneven bricks beneath, the thatched roof sitting drunkenly and the window supports sagging with rot. If it wasn’t for the small flickering of light behind the filthy glass of the windows, I would have given up hope completely.
The suspicion I’d been duped was almost overwhelming as I waited for the Council mages to come running out of the surrounding dark wood laughing as William brought the carriage to a stop and jumped down, humming cheerily to himself.
From what rushed research I’d been able to do before leaving the Institute, Blackthorn resided in a grand manor house in the western fields, surrounded by an ancient wood. The family had owned an excess of land before the wars, land that had mostly survived, but the rundown cottage building before me didn’t speak of wealth or the power of a family that possessed such old, magical blood.
Alma let out a growl of unease at my silence. I shook my head and petted her in reassurance.
‘Miss Woodrow?’ William called, holding his hand out as he waited on the path.
Could such a kind and curious creature be involved in such a horrid ploy? Then again, I’d seen everything beings were capable of, so nothing should surprise me.
I took his offered hand. Whatever trap I was in the centre of was bound to reveal itself shortly. There would be no benefit in delaying it for my pride.
‘Transfiguration is fascinating. McDale’s research into it is my favourite,’ he continued effortlessly with our earlier conversation regarding Alma, oblivious to my suspicion. ‘Lord Blackthorn has the original texts on the theory. I’m sure Miss Darcy will find them useful when she returns.’
‘You’re studying?’ I asked as I pushed my art folder neatly beneath my arm. I’d never seen him at the Institute, and I knew I’d recognise another fey, especially in a place like that. Although our conversation on the journey about earth magic, root curses and perilous forsaken weeds should have told me as much.
‘When Lord Blackthorn has time. I’ve passed the majority of my summoning tests. It’s the research element that lets me down.’ He retrieved our bags quickly and turned sharply on his heel in the direction of the decrepit cottage. I rushed to follow, Alma growling cautiously from where she remained on my shoulder.
Blackthorn was teaching William, a fey who hadn’t attended the Institute. The thought stunned me.
‘Come along. I’m sorry about the house, it’s how it’s chosen to look today,’ he called over his shoulder as he made his way down the path at an alarming pace. ‘It’s wary of visitors.’
He juggled our bags awkwardly as he reached the door and produced a key from his pocket. Surely an irrelevant item considering the door was so warped, and oddly hung. I doubted it offered much in the way of defence.
Nevertheless, he unlocked it and stepped inside, giving me no choice but to follow. Alma leapt down from my shoulder to go first, and I tried not to trip over her as we were greeted with the pungent scent of herbs and the tartness of old spells.
I ducked inside with caution, expecting to bump my head on a low-hanging beam, but instead, I straightened easily.
A grand entrance hall opened before us, boasting a sweeping double staircase with checquered black and white flooring. Thick burgundy carpet covered the stairs, held in place with gleaming golden rods that reflected light onto the dark wood-panelled hallway. The passage into the rest of the house was lined with varying doors, painted or stained different colours, differing in size and age. Brass knobs glinting in the light, where others possessed rusted latches or exquisitely carved golden handles.
It had a strange, majestic warmth. Nothing like the Institute or the formal mage buildings I’d been permitted to visit. An opulent chandelier hung above, surrounded by a beautifully carved and arched ceiling. Wooden depictions of wrywings and griffins resting on the beams, peering down with interest at their new guests. Smears of painted figures and flowers marred the walls at a child’s height, flaking with age. Small wooden fairy doors were nailed into the skirting boards – despite the fact fairies hadn’t been seen for centuries.
The house creaked and groaned in greeting, the lights flaring brighter in recognition of our presence. Alma meowed in response and I put my art folder precariously on the side table to pick her up before she went wandering.
‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ William smiled as if the magic had been his personal accomplishment as he shut the now grand door behind me. ‘The first Lord Blackthorn made a bargain with a powerful witch who owed him a debt. Her magic has kept this house hidden for centuries.’
I hadn’t seen anything like it, nor the mess of clutter that covered sideboards and entrance tables. There was also dust, and a lot of it.
‘Is there not a … housekeeper?’ I queried lightly, not wishing to offend William.
‘Lord Blackthorn doesn’t employ many people. He’s rarely ever home.’ William smiled again, swinging his arms with a relaxed ease I found charming. ‘Let’s get you settled into your rooms. I’m sure you’re worn out from the journey. That wind over the west moorlands is vicious.’
He retrieved my bag with a badly concealed groan at the weight and strode down the entryway towards the stairs. I was hesitant to follow, unable to stop looking at the peculiarities that surrounded me, the scent of fire spice to keep unwanted pests away, a sweetness of old incantations, the pungency of dried flowers and the bitterness of book dust.
‘Is Lord Blackthorn home?’ I asked, cautious he might materialise out of thin air as Alma squirmed for a better view in my arms.
‘He’s occupied today,’ William replied apologetically. I couldn’t say I was surprised. It was quite apparent from the cobwebs that Lord Blackthorn didn’t have regular guests.
William led us up the carpeted stairs. On the first landing was a grand portrait of a woman, her bright blonde hair scandalously unbound, the fashion she wore luxurious as she sat before a great hearth. Her smile was playful, and her eyes a silvery blue, with a knowing glint that made me feel watched.
Alma’s mutterings of Blackthorn being born of a witch came back to me with disturbing clarity.
‘You’re welcome to wander about the house. Lord Blackthorn mostly keeps to his study.’ William continued to throw comments over his shoulder, and I had to focus on trying to remember the path and not to stop and look at every item en route, whether it was a discarded spell book, a ward against dark magic or a bunch of dried flowers intended for healing – all items fey used for their spells, tools to assist with old magic before the Council took ownership of it.
I’d seen mortals collect trophies before, items of curiosity used to brag about conquests. They made a habit of displaying taxidermy of ancient beasts, turning their flesh into masks or trinkets. The Mage King was famous for holding grand balls where guests wore fey-fleshed masks and danced in celebration of his victories. The Council had a collection in their archives. A room I avoided for the horrid feeling of the unfortunate creatures, how they still suffered now, calling out endlessly just as they had been when they’d been killed. How those cries sometimes followed me into my dreams.
However, these items remained peacefully silent, quite content to exist in this old house.
Blackthorn’s specialty was the occult and crimes of dark magic, caused by monstrous creatures who lingered in the world after the great war, feasting off the chaos of misery. He’d somehow given himself the role after the war and had written numerous laws, which had been placed in the peace treaty of Elysior under Accord Seventy-Four. What he was doing offering me a partnership and helping me graduate from the Institute was beyond me.
Many disregarded the need to study dark magic despite dark anomalies still littering the countryside and villages, blaming the nearest fey for causing trouble and instead just getting on with their lives. Breaches of dark magic were on the rise – if the papers and gossip sheets were to be believed – but so was fey persecution.
I’d studied the occult in depth, mostly because the history of the Verr was linked so closely with the history of the Kysillians. My history. Through a bloody rivalry that had spanned centuries. Two sides of a very tumultuous coin. Of darkness and chaos – ending when the Verr were finally trapped beneath the earth. Nothing but myth now, but with most Kysillian histories destroyed and not having any other connection to my people, the sodden books from the ruins were the best I could get.
‘This will be your room,’ William announced, pulling me from my confused thoughts to see he was holding open a set of mahogany doors polished to a high shine.
The space was vast, bookcases heavily stacked beside a large fire and writing desk. Ornate windows consumed most of the north wall. The Blackthorn Forest loomed beyond, like a dark shadow in the distance.
In my surprise Alma slipped out of my arms and trotted into the room.
‘I’m sure you’ll need time to get settled.’ William huffed as he placed my bag down by the bed. A stunning monstrosity with thick curtains embroidered with foliage and wildlife to conceal the bed itself, which was covered in an ostentatious counterpane of velvet depicting a woodland scene in vibrant colours.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I replied, a little breathless.
I had worried about being stuffed in the maids’ quarters, knowing the bed would be too short, but at least I’d be with Alma. Besides, any maids’ quarters in a Lord’s residence would be better than my Institute dorm.
‘This is the best room I could freshen up at such short notice.’ William smiled, running a hand over the curtains as if they weren’t straight enough. ‘Blackthorn had me deliver some books to read. He said these are all the papers you’ll be needing. I argued you should have time to settle but he was adamant.’
Argued? The word startled me. I’d never heard of anyone arguing with a lord – well, apart from myself, and I had the lash marks and the sour disposition to prove it.
‘I took the liberty of starting the bath. The incantation should have kept it warm enough,’ William continued as he strode to another door by the desk, revealing a tiled room with bright copper pipes. Lavender-scented steam was released.
The grandeur stunned me, my lips parting, but William was moving again.
‘Miss Darcy’s room is attached.’ He opened a small door between two bookcases that led into another, smaller room that looked no less comfortable. ‘I’ll deliver dinner to you later.’
With that, he bowed and vanished as quickly as he had appeared, leaving me stunned in the centre of the room.
It couldn’t be real.
Alma meowed from where she sat perched on the bed, tail swishing from side to side irritably, probably equally suspicious.
I pulled off my heavily repaired gloves, touching the desk and feeling nothing but the solid wood beneath my fingertips. Enchantments on objects left a residue, one too subtle for mortal touch, but it sang to the magic in my blood. Almost taunting it. However, no such enchantment existed in the room. No trap or illusion made to cause me any embarrassment. It was just a room. Alma mewed sorrowfully once more to catch my attention. Of course, she’d abandoned me to her feline form.
‘It’s not your fault.’ I smiled, bending to kiss the top of her furry head. The magic of transfiguration was so lost to us that I couldn’t help her through it, and I hated that helplessness.
Unwilling to allow myself to dwell on the strangeness of my situation any further, I was left no choice but to begin the laborious job of unpacking.
‘We’ll figure this out,’ I whispered to myself, wishing it didn’t sound so much like a lie as I unbuckled my travelling bag. Somehow … I’d figure this out.