Chapter 18 #2
“You made these?” she asked, plucking a flower gingerly from my shaking hand.
I watched tensely as she tucked it into her hair and grinned.
With her bright sundress, the white curls bouncing around her head, her brown skin catching the afternoon sun, she looked quite like a flower herself—the one speck of brightness that had survived the carnage.
“I’m going to need a thousand more, and you’re going to teach me how to make them. ”
With a flick of her wrist, the flowers I still clutched came alive. They wriggled impatiently until I let them go, leaving a trail of gold dust as they floated past and tucked themselves into withered vines and dead stalks.
I could have wept with gratitude for Zora’s kindness.
We spent the midday hours with scissors and paper, honeyed tea and cream cakes in a pair of armchairs tucked into the far corner of the teahouse, where a wide window looked out over the frozen river.
Zora possessed, much like Almira, a talent for talking without demanding much in return and, like Adrik, such warmth that I thawed easily in her presence.
“Adrik said you freed yourself from the vines.”
“Small magics,” said Zora with a gentle smile.
“I’m trained in fire charms. I’m rather good at them too, but it bores me.
I do not intend to fight in a war, nor do a faerie’s wicked bidding.
” She must have noticed that I darkened.
“I do not blame those who have no choice. But I spent long enough among wretched mages in wretched towers to know there are those who sell their powers willingly.” I stared darkly at my hands, calloused and worn but surprisingly unstained from the horror they’d wrought.
I expected, whenever I looked, to find dark veins and a splatter of crimson.
Zora said quietly, “I know Adrik asked you to help us. He did not do it lightly. He shoulders his burdens without complaint, but—”
“It wears on him. I’ve not known him long, I know, but I see it.”
Zora studied me with bright eyes. “You speak fondly of him.” I focused eagerly on shredding the paper in my hands just to escape her keen observance. “He speaks fondly of you, too.”
“He speaks fondly of everyone.”
“Ah, but there is a difference between kindness and fondness. He is kind to everyone. He is fond of few.”
“You know him well.”
“Too well. The little brother I never wanted, he is.”
“Is he not older than you?”
“Yes, but I am much wiser.”
I laughed quietly. It was not difficult to see their alikeness. My gaze slipped from the window, to the cliff where the castle perched like a gold-feathered bird. “Who was king before Adrik came?”
“We’d never had a king or a queen before.”
“Adrik just took the crown?”
“No,” Zora said with a snicker. “No, he was most unwilling. The people thrust it on him after he saved the town. Just passing through, he was. I was still in Kresting when it happened, but Pa says there were at least thirty faeries and mages, Almira claims there were fifty, and Adrik himself says there were a hundred. He defeated them all single-handedly.”
“Of course he did,” I said with a suffering sigh.
Zora eyed me with mild amusement. “He is rather great, is he not?”
“Rather great at showing off.”
“That too,” she said with a laugh. “We’d never had a king or a queen, but a castle had always stood on that hill because, long ago, the people of Wildemire resolved that every town needed one.
Two summers before Adrik arrived, Emond decided that he must forge a crown, and Kalina had the sudden inspiration to sew princely robes.
Pa said they thought she was quite mad for a while, for these robes did not fit anyone in town quite right.
Well, they fit Adrik perfectly. After he saved the town, people were so grateful they could think of no greater honor than crowning him king.
That’s what they claim, at least.” Her voice trailed off, and when I glanced at her, she was staring blankly at the castle.
“I believe that the attack shook them. They felt vulnerable and craved a guardian, someone who’d protect them, should we fall under attack again. ”
“It seems that he protects them not just from attacks but from every minor inconvenience they suffer.”
“Indeed, he’s spoiled them. Too kind for his own good, he is.”
A kind king and a kind people, damned to suffer a fate worse than death. A haven, this place, amid violence and war. A refuge for the battered souls and broken minds. For people like me.
“Please,” I whispered, “Take me to Almira.”
Almira’s home was a crooked thing built like a burrow into the slope of a cat-shaped hill, nestled against the far edge of town.
Over the roof sprawled a thick blanket of moss, and in the garden sprouted wild herbs and pink-blossomed roses. A little to the side, peeking out between the swaying branches of a willow, lay a frozen pond.
Zora left me at the foot of the hill to attend to the throng of people at the teahouse, and I came to stand forlornly amid the roses. The arched door was ajar, revealing glimpses of moss-draped walls, an earthen stove, a bed cushioned with autumn-gold leaves.
“Hello?” I called.
A wide-brimmed hat appeared amid the roses.
“Watch,” was all Almira said, before she returned her attention to a potted plant at her doorstep.
It was a brownish thing that suffered from a well-meaning owner who had drowned it.
Almira lifted a blood-specked finger to let it glide over the leaves.
“Magic is the river that connects me to the earth. It is a stream, and it carries into the world whatever I feed it. I flood it with anger, and the thorns seek flesh. I flood it with fear, and the blossoms wither. I flood it with life, and it heals. Such is the wonder and the burden of magic.”
“You already know why I have come.”
“The wind whispers.”
I followed her, fear-hearted, into the burrow. “I was wondering—” I began, but I was silenced by a cry of, “Tea first!”
I knew better by now than to argue with anyone in this town about the importance of tea. While the kettle whistled, Almira sat pale-faced in the chair. Her dress hung loosely from her bone-thin shoulders, and when she thought I was unaware, she closed her eyes and drew two hissing breaths.
“I have wild magic."
Almira grinned, that tinge of weakness gone. “I know, girl.”
“Adrik thinks I can learn to wield it.”
“What do you think?”
I laughed bitterly. “I fear he is blind with hope. I think he refuses to see… I was not born with this magic. The spirits cursed me with it.”
“Ah,” said Almira. “I do not think it matters much. Magic is magic, and yours is as wild as mine.” She watched me curiously as I steeped the tea. “What do you know of wild magic?”
“As much and as little as the books told me."
Almira sighed. “Nothing at all, then.” She took the tea glass with trembling hands from me.
“I was born into a coven, girl. I lived for a long time with sisters who wielded the same power. We learned from the cradle how to shape our magic. We learned that it flowed best beneath a half-moon, that it was quick to stir in the spring and that it slept in the snow. We learned to draw it forth, even in the winter, by our blood. To strengthen and guide it through a sacrifice. We lived in gardens of everbloom, amid meadows and moonlight, and we never hungered. I fled here with the wind after a faerie stole my sisters.” Grief flickered in her eyes.
I wished to comfort her, but she said sharply, “Do not pity me, girl. I have lived a good life. I will meet them again Beyond.”
“The books call it an untamed thing,” I said. “A thing of darkness and destruction.”
“It is, if allowed to manifest as raw power. If wielded through blood, it can be whatever you wish, girl.” Almira set the tea with a quiet groan aside, paling as she stood. “Do you wish to learn? Do you wish to wield the tides and the storm?”
I wanted, most of all, to subdue the monster within. I did not care about wielding the tides or growing an orchard. I wanted just enough control to lead this town through the storm and never to suffer another outburst. It seemed like a dull thing to say, so I only nodded.
“Then I shall be your teacher. Come girl, let us walk.”
I followed her as she hobbled from the burrow and I braced her as we descended the slope to the frozen riverbed.
Almira stepped barefooted between the frozen spires.
I slipped from my boots, shrieking when the ice nipped at my feet.
Almira seemed entirely unbothered by the agony of it.
She drew a handknife from the folds of her vibrant rags and slid the blade with a faint smile over her palm.
Warmth swept through the frigid air and carried golden dust over the spiked ice.
Almira raised her arms toward pale-blue skies, painting the skies with swirls and coaxing a string of glistening droplets from the thawing current.
She hung them like pearls around her neck.
For a heartbeat, she looked as regal as an old queen, untouched by age and unburdened by the weight of the storm.
Then her brow tensed, her wrinkles deepened, and her lithe dance turned into something wild. With sharp, clipped motions she drew forth the tide. The river answered with a roar, ice shattering like glass to reveal a riptide, pulling furiously at my feet. Almira eased, and the current calmed.
When she spoke, her voice came from the river itself.
“If I speak in anger, the river answers in kind. If I speak in fondness-” She traced the pearls with a tender smile.
“The wild has a knack for returning that fondness. If you wish to learn, I will teach you the whims of magic, but I cannot control it for you.”
“I want to learn,” I whispered. “I am tired of running.”