ELEVEN
Angharad
The palace library was just as grand as Hara remembered, but perhaps a little smaller. The three levels were framed in dark gleaming wood with heavy ladders that glided smoothly down the rows. Hara walked slowly up and down the stacks, searching the dusty titles. She shifted her arms uncomfortably, trying to balance the books she had found on royal lineages.
Gideon was at a charity event involving horses today, and so she was alone to browse and research. It would have been convenient to have another set of strong arms to carry her selections, but then Hara smiled wryly to herself. If Gideon were here there was a very good chance that he’d summon a page boy to carry books for them.
Her eyes passed over a section of books on the history of Corvus’ reign. Most of them had titles like The New Nobility and Majesty Earned. Hara did not feel any particular loyalty to the royal family, but her mouth pulled down at the corners at the blatant propaganda.
One of the titles looked promising. She set down her heavy stack and chose a book called Monarchs of the Mountain Realms. At the end of the row she found a quiet seat set into a stained glass window, and sat down to read.
There was a section with family trees, and she flipped to the page that showed the last generation of the Ilmarinen line.
Hara stared at the small dark blot with the question mark. Gideon said all the Ilmarinen had been executed, but it appeared that was not the case. There could have been a survivor. Seith. The name sounded familiar, but it was difficult to put the name to a face in her old life.
On the bottom of the page there was a key that explained the different magical abilities, and Hara glanced over the unfamiliar terms.
Enchantment: Non-elemental. The ability to charm people and animals either by suggestion or beauty.
Geopotent: Elemental. The ability to control earthquakes and seismic activity.
Menspotent: Non-elemental. Power of the mind, including memory, suggestion, and any influence over emotional state.
Meteorpotent: Elemental. Power over the weather, including temperature, cloud patterns, precipitation, lightning, and wind.
Poor Seith did not appear to have inherited the powerful elemental magic the family was known for. She brushed her fingers over his abilities. Shapeshifting.
The strange otter crossed her mind, and she wondered if it was possible that the lost prince was hiding in the woods near the city after all these years. She frowned at the small black dot and marked her place with a scrap of paper from her notebook.
The next page showed a line of fae royalty, and Hara paused out of curiosity. When she was young she remembered stories about the fae, but she’d never seen one at court. They were known as charlatans who used magic to trick mortals and little else. She knew they lived in the mountains and kept to themselves, but she’d never thought about them having their own royalty.
She flipped to the historical account of the fae and read:
The fae were driven north by sorcerers, and over time, they formed strongholds throughout Montag. They are a naturally suspicious class of being who shy from iron and have an affinity for enchantments involving perception and temptation. While the sorcerer may wield magic directly, the fae depend on magical materials and locations to perform their enchantments (e.g. food, scrying stones, springs, formations in nature). They live for hundreds of years if left undisturbed, but are killed easily with force as any mortal may be. One of the special talents of the fae is their ability to use portals from one location to another. This sophisticated branch of magic allows them to travel quickly and secretly, and often by unexpected means.
The last sentence made something tickle at her memory.
She’d made plans with Gideon to meet after sundown each day, so as not to be seen being too familiar with each other in the daytime. He was adamant that they be discreet in their dealings with one another, and Hara was inclined to agree. He knew the court dynamics, and his father, better than she did. But someone was sure to notice if they snuck into each others’ rooms at night. And meeting in public was risky, so they discussed different secluded rooms or rarely-visited courtyards. If only there was a way they could use portal magic.
Hara closed the book and took it with her as she gathered her things and left the library. She went directly to her room and closed the door, setting her things on a nearby table.
Hara stared at the tapestries in her room.
That funny feeling grew the longer she looked. There was some secret, some droll little trick about them that she could not quite remember. She reached out to run her hands over the fine embroidery, and the leaves and the roots under her fingers seemed to grow waxy and rough in turns.
Traverse tapestry. The words bloomed out of her memory, and Hara smiled. These were created by the fae. Her eyes traveled along the stitched thicket of trees until they landed on a break in the greenery. A thin dirt path snaked its way out of sight, and Hara went to stand before it. Again, she pressed her fingers to the stitching, and her skin met dirt.
With her heart leaping in her throat, she looked about her room and spied a chair. She took it and carried it back to the section of tapestry with the path. Then she climbed atop it, and holding her breath, she raised the toe of her boot to the tapestry. Instead of cloth and stone, her boot sank into air, then rested on hard-packed soil.
As Hara stepped up into the tapestry, memories came flooding back to her. She and her mother would bustle from room to room within the embroidered leaves and branches of these tapestries, the stitchwork birds looking down at them and the berries looking almost real enough to pluck.
Hara walked through the embroidered forest, and every so often, she came upon a fork or a side path that led into other chambers. She could see them through the trees, glowing with fires or empty and dark. Some had occupants sitting unaware, and Hara crept past, unseen.
Finally, she saw a room ahead that had a fallen sapling stitched over the path. She stepped under it, and then she realized that it was Gideon sitting in the large chair before the fire, his profile obscured by his hand. Hara crept forward until she reached the edge of the path, and then she jumped down into his room. Her feet made a soft thud onto his carpet, and Gideon started, leaping out of his chair.
“Who’s there? Come forward and—Hara?”
he said with bewilderment.
“How did you get in here?”
Hara straightened and grinned at him.
“Traverse tapestries. My mother and I used them all the time in our section of the palace. It looks as though the royal chambers have them, too.”
“But, how . . . what?”
he said again, completely bemused. He wore nothing but a rich velvet dressing gown over his bare chest and trousers, and his hair was standing on end, mussed and damp. He must have just bathed after a day among horses.
“Have people not been using them in all this time?”
she asked.
“I have never heard of anyone stepping into a tapestry, no, Hara,”
said Gideon, coming to stand beside her. He hesitantly reached up to feel the fabric.
“It seems like a normal tapestry to me.”
Perhaps it would not work for non-magic persons. Hara frowned and placed her hand over his, guiding it to the dirt path.
“Try this area.”
Gideon gasped.
“How is this possible?”
“You feel it?”
Hara said, grinning. She removed her hand and let him roam, feeling the textures of the path and the leaves. It seemed non-magic people needed to be shown the trick by magikind; if no witches had been hosted here, it made sense why no one had been able to use the tapestries in twenty years.
“How do you use it?”
asked Gideon.
“Climb up, like this,”
she said, using a small footstool to hoist herself onto the path. Gideon climbed up after her, and his eyes grew large as he looked all about them. A bower of muted green leaves stretched above them, silent and still.
As they walked along the path and caught glimpses of other rooms between the branches, Gideon muttered.
“If my father only knew about this, he’d have his spies set up a permanent camp in here.”
Hara felt a bit of relief.
“Luckily, it seems to have been undisturbed. But don’t you see? This way, we can visit each others’ rooms unseen.”
“Yes. It’s very clever,”
he said.
“I suppose the Ilmarinen family members didn’t get much privacy from one another.”
“These were technically only used by servants,”
said Hara. The vague childhood memories were solidifying the further they walked.
“My mother and I used them as shortcuts to get to lessons. Servants could pass from bedroom to bedroom without having to go through a series of antechambers and salons.”
“We have those in non-magic households, too, you know. Little doors and panels that slide open so servants can take a shortcut,”
said Gideon.
“We have them built into our manses in the city. But these are more pleasant.”
“I don’t imagine you spent much time in the servant passages as a child,”
she said. Somehow, she could imagine him as a vain little lord even then.
“Of course I did. They were forbidden,”
he said with a shrug.
“The scolding I would get if I were caught made it all the more tempting.”
“You cannot resist something you’re not allowed to have, can you?”
said Hara dryly.
“Well it would make everything easier if you’d just give in,”
said Gideon in a low voice. They stopped along the path, and there was nothing around them but densely embroidered trees. Their conversation, light and friendly only a moment ago, had turned close and much too warm.
Hara took a slow step back. His steps followed until she was backed against a tree.
This is stupid she chanted to herself as his hands came up to caress the sides of her neck.
“I was thinking about the other night, when I touched you,”
he murmured, and Hara closed her eyes, trying to ignore the pleasurable chills that trailed after his fingertips as he brushed a strand of hair away from her lips.
“And I thought it was not right that I did that without kissing you first.”
How did he do it? she wondered. She liked kind, honest, hard-working men. So why did this conceited, spoiled cad make heat rush up from her core?
He took another step forward, pressing his bare chest against her front. The heat of his skin drenched her senses, bathing her in his clean, edible scent.
His tongue wet his lips briefly before he brought his mouth to hers. He was soft and slow, patient. Hara couldn’t help the pathetic sound that escaped her, but he groaned back in response and pulled her more strongly against his body.
This was the reason. It was difficult to resist a man who was so inexplicably hungry for her.
What she did not understand was how his hunger persisted even after they arrived back at his home. She fully expected that their attraction would expire, as intense and ephemeral as the snows. He was back where he belonged with his family, surrounded by his coterie of admirers.
But the way he stared at her whenever they were alone together was impossible to ignore. His eyes were heavy with yearning, and held such burning focus that she felt as though her every movement had an audience.
She had never been the object of anyone’s obsession before. She knew how it felt to desire and to be desired, but this intensity was something she’d never before experienced. Gideon would hurt people for her. He already had.
Even if he would deny it vehemently, she sensed that he was desperate to have her favor. Maybe no one had ever challenged him to be good, or expected him to behave decently. Why would they, when his family was the most powerful in the kingdom? Perhaps a man like Gideon found the desire for approval intoxicating.
She had tried not to think about that night they’d been kicked out of the inn, and she’d been rather successful as the splendor of the city distracted her. But the way Gideon’s mouth moved over hers now made it clear that he’d suffered no such distraction.
His hand clutched at the nape of her neck, while the other moved down her back and over her rear, clutching a handful in a fierce grip. Gideon made a small, desperate sound and abandoned her hair to use both hands to hold her. He cradled and squeezed her arse in his palms, and his breaths grew frantic against her lips.
Hara slipped her hands under his robe and felt along the hard muscles of his back. His skin was almost feverishly hot, and she broke from his lips to place open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck.
He ground out a deep moan, and the sound made Hara recall her senses. The tapestry paths were not soundproof, and if they made too much noise, someone in one of the bedchambers was sure to notice. It would be very odd indeed if panting and moaning were coming from one of the tapestries.
With a last brush of her mouth against his, Hara broke away. They were both breathless, and Gideon’s lips were shiny from the kiss. He pressed his forehead against hers as he caught his breath.
“There. I am absolved,” he said.
Hara smiled, and his answering grin matched hers. A curious fluttering sensation entered her chest—he was uncommonly beautiful when he smiled.
“You’re very good at that when your lip isn’t bleeding.” she said.
“Don’t get used to it. People do like to punch me in the face lately; it’s bound to happen again.”
“You’ve been abducting and brawling and robbing people in the short time that I’ve known you, let alone the time before. Perhaps that’s why,”
she said, chastisement making its way into her tone.
Instead of looking abashed, Gideon groaned.
“The scolding. I’m throbbing.”
He was impossible. Hara stepped away from his embrace to continue along the path, and as she did, he reached out and caught her hand. Heat rose to fill her cheeks. It shouldn’t have affected her so, but such an innocent gesture from him felt rare and achingly tender.
They walked to her room, and Gideon held her hand as she lowered herself on the chair that still stood beneath the path.
“Are you sure you can find your way back?”
she asked him.
He smiled warmly.
“I’m sure. No turns until I come upon the bent sapling.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” she said.
“Goodnight, Angharad,”
he said softly, and her skin prickled in pleasure as he used her full name.
“I promise I won’t use the tapestry to watch you undress for bed.”
She whipped around just in time to see his devilish grin disappear between the trees.
Sooner than she would have expected, Hara fell into a routine at the court.
Her days were spent in the records room poring over anything that might point her in the direction of the whereabouts of her mother and avoiding the neverending presence of Geremy Flints.
The record-keeper hovered, always noting which texts she was looking at and striking up conversation. At first she tried to be polite and indulge the old man, but she found that even if she remained silent he would carry on the conversation by himself. She wondered if he was simply lonely, and felt a bit guilty for her unkind thoughts.
Sometimes he would point out that she was in an entirely wrong area that had nothing to do with elemental magic, though she’d not asked for his help. After a few days of his company, Hara decided that she would have to come during the few hours he was away from the room if she wanted uninterrupted time with the records.
The black bead would come alive at predictable times throughout the day with the Recruiters at their outposts giving a report each morning. Hara still did not know exactly where they were located, as they used names lik.
“Region Ninety-Six”
that only Turnswallow seemed to understand. Hara was relieved that most days, there was little activity to report.
Most days.
One evening the bead crackled in her ear.
“Region Forty. Suspicious activity in the Harth mountain tribe. There is talk of tribe members augmenting their senses to better hunt game by way of a potion.”
Turnswallow had departed to deal with the potion-maker. Thankfully Hara was not summoned to go with him, but she couldn’t escape the worry that at any moment she would be forced to help capture a witch. Hara laid awake that night, imagining Turnswallow making the journey into the deep north, and wondering if the witch making the potions knew that they were being hunted.
Hara was surprised to find that most of the Recruiters’ work seemed to consist of the odd jobs a curse breaker, an animal linguist, and a Seer might be needed for.
She spent many long days in the Hall of Justice, helping determine innocence or guilt for thieves and arsonists. Despite the initial grumblings and suspicious glares from the lawmen, she quickly became sought after when they realized that her Sight saved them a great deal of time and trouble. Though they were not exactly friendly, they called upon her often to give accurate accounts of crimes and to sift through truth and lies.
What they did not know was that Hara acted as judge before the accused was even put to trial.
If she saw that they had stolen bread and milk, medicine, or any other necessities for themselves or their children, she would tell the lawmen that the accused was innocent. In a small way, she felt that she was saving her mother with each person she lied for. She only told the truth about the most dangerous and depraved offenders.
Hara needed to get closer to Turnswallow, and each day that he was absent from court her impatience grew. The stronger their association became, the clearer the details of his past would become available to her.
Even if her suspicions were correct and he had shielded his memories to protect Corvus’ secrets, her Sight was strong. With enough time she felt confident that she could work out the mystery of the icy mountain and the memory loop, certain that it had something to do with her mother. Clearly it was something he wanted to hide, and that made her want to See it all the more. She would settle for brushing against his hand in the corridor if she could not form an acquaintance with him.
“I haven’t seen Turnswallow since the day I joined,”
she said to Tamsin on a slow afternoon. They had gotten an assignment to perform vermin-banishing spells on one of the upper floors.
“How long do these excursions usually take?”
“Could be a few days, could be months. He’s often away; gets special assignments from the Commander,”
said Tamsin, toying with her chalk before casting a rune upon the floor.
“What sorts of assignments?”
asked Hara, sketching her own rune.
“He’s able to sense iron-shy creatures, so he is usually sent on special tasks with Dominic to track down witches. He’s the Head Recruiter for a reason.”
“Have you ever helped capture a witch?”
asked Hara, trying to infuse her voice with experience. Several times a day she had to remind herself that she was meant to play the part of a jaded witch hunter.
Tamsin nodded as they passed into the next room.
“Twice, and both times, I had to transform myself into a beast to track them.”
She noticed Hara’s curious glance.
“My shift form is a hound.”
Hara thought of the otter she met on the road.
“Is it a rare gift, shapeshifting?”
“A little. Most rely on potions. I’ve only met one other natural shifter before,”
said Tamsin, sketching a rune to ward off bats on the back wall of a chimney. She dusted her hands and turned to Hara.
“But I’ve never met a true Seer. My Sight is weak at best, and I must concentrate for hours to get vision, if I get one at all. What’s it like for you?”
“It feels a bit like swimming,”
said Hara slowly, trying to put into words something that was unconscious and intuitive. It was rather like describing how it felt to have a sense of smell or hearing.
“Like a vast pool of water that I can slip under at any moment. It’s heavy and immersive. And once I am submerged, I feel for the threads of influence to show me the past.”
“You can control what you See?”
asked Tamsin with awe.
“In a way. But I must be close to the object of my Sight.”
Tamsin turned to place another rune at the foot of the hearth when her chalk snapped. Hara snagged at the opportunity.
“Here,”
she said, tugging the broken piece out of Tamsin’s hand and passing her a whole piece. Their fingers barely grazed, but Hara concentrated on the dry, rough skin and felt the influence stealing through their touch. The weight of it grew heavier each day that Hara spent in her company, but nothing created a lasting connection like physical contact. The brush of Tamsin’s skin made her influence full and almost tangible, like a water skin ready to spill. It was tempting to look now, but it would have to wait until the evening when they had finished their duties and Hara could be alone.
As Tamsin turned away, a sharp rap on the door caused them both to turn. A clerk in black robes stood in the doorway.
“Mistress Tamsin, you’re needed in the Justice chambers,”
said the clerk.
“They need an animal linguist to determine rightful ownership of a purebred charger.”
“At least it’s a horse this time,”
said Tamsin, dusting off her hands as she walked toward the door.
“Cows don’t pay attention to anything.”
Her footsteps faded down the hall, and Hara let out a relieved breath at her good fortune. She went to the window seat and made herself comfortable, resting the back of her head against the stone. The only sound was the dry tick of the clock on the mantel, and she focused on timing her breaths to its rhythm.
When her heartbeat was a slow throb, she lost herself in Tamsin’s past. Hara was surprised at how strongly scent featured in her memories, as many-layered and complex as her emotions. It was then that she realized many of the memories were from Tamsin’s shift form, and Hara had the curious sensation of inhabiting a hound’s body.
She inspected Tamsin’s memories, searching for anyone resembling her mother, a prison, or anything that would suggest she knew where the old court sorcerers had disappeared to.
All her searching was for naught, and Hara surfaced with a gasp. She tried not to let her frustration get the better of her as she faced another dead end. There had to be someone here whose past intertwined with her mother’s, and she would find them. All she needed was time.
It soon became clear to Hara that she had returned to Montag on the arm of the court favorite, and she secretly counted her blessings that Gideon’s shine extended to her as well. Somehow, people learned overnight who Hara was and who she had arrived with, and she was met with polite smiles and guarded glances in turns.
Clementine would wake her with breakfast, chatting away and giving Hara bright smiles. Her blushing maid was eager to share what she heard about the social functions Gideon was attending each day, of which there were many. Hara wondered if Clementine was hoping to glean bits of personal information about him since she knew that Hara had been invited to court as his guest.
The girl’s infatuation amused Hara until she realized that Clementine was not the only one with an interest in him. After only a few days, she noticed feminine whispers o.
“Lord Gideon”
often in the corridors, the dining hall, and even in the public garderobe.
A small flicker of delight mixed with irritation would lap at her insides when she heard his name. She caught herself running her tongue over her lip repeatedly throughout the day, remembering the pressure of his lips against hers in the tapestry. A part of her wondered how many of these women had shared pleasure with Gideon for him to have such a reputation. Judging by his skill with his mouth and fingers, it was quite a few. But she knew that experience alone did not equal skill. It was one thing to sleep with countless women, but it was quite another to be good at it.
A week after Gideon’s return, Hara noticed that the crowds of pastel and bleached pale heads that filled the corridors began to darken as many of the courtiers dyed their hair. Gideon told her that she would understand about the courtly fashion when she saw it, and she quickly realized that his piercings and dyed hair were rather tame. It seemed to be very in style to dust the top portion of the face in an eye-catching color while leaving the bottom unpainted. Most courtiers had several piercings in each ear, weighed with gold and silver and dangling with gems.
Men and women alike were superbly dressed in fur-trimmed capes or in voluminous gowns that fell suggestively from the shoulders. Hara remembered worrying that she would look like a duck among swans, but in truth, she felt like a scorpion.
She still wore her reticule filled with herbs and powders, but her severe black attire and bone knives marked her instantly as a Recruiter and, more shockingly, as a witch. Bustling hallways seemed to part before her in silence, and Hara tried to look imposing and unapproachable. She wondered if any of them could sense that she was an imposter and feared that at any moment, someone would catch her out and yell that she was nothing but a hedgewitch with a plump cat as her familiar.
“Don’t say that,”
said Gideon when she voiced her concerns.
“You were accepted as a Recruiter on your own ability without any strings pulled by me. You’re as legitimate as Markus Turnswallow.”
Hara shuddered.
“What an unflattering comparison. I don’t like to be taken for one of them, as much as I know it helps our cause.”
Gideon paused in his pacing. They were in Hara’s room in the middle of the afternoon since Gideon had a gap in his busy schedule. He wore a deep-purple coat with dangling silver pendants and trinkets sewn onto every surface, making him wink in the light like a sugared plum. From what she’d heard, he attended endless ice-sculpture parties, rambling parties, and diplomatic cotillions. He visited factories and ran errands for his father, and it seemed as though he was making up for the lost time he’d spent in Norwen.
Hara watched him as he examined the crystal decanter of wine on her mantelpiece, then flicked her gaze back to the page she was reading as she pursed her lips. She wondered how much time he could be devoting to poring over prison records when he was clinking glasses at a rich courtier’s snow manse.
Hara still searched the records room in the Recruiters’ office, but had found no mention of her mother so far. She was dismayed to find that many of the records were redacted, marked with thick lines of ink as impenetrable as prison bars.
When Geremy was pulled away for an errand, she came across a list of prisoners from the village of Caerwood in Norwen, which was curious. She had helped care for a young group of siblings whose parents went missing when Caerwood was razed, but the children had said it was Lenwen soldiers who had attacked them.
So why was there a record of Norwen prisoners in Montag? These were not magical people of any kind, just village folk. The list made no mention of the fate of the prisoners, but she remembered the orphans’ family name, and there it was on the list: Widderstone. Perhaps their parents lived. If anything, it was a promising find that she could bring back to her village.
Gideon walked back and forth before her hearth, tossing an apple into the air as he did. She would not share this discovery with him. Why would he care? He’d made it clear that he felt no remorse for his part in the war.
“I won’t be able to meet tonight. There is a cotillion I must attend; a distant cousin’s birthday feast,” he said.
“I’m sure you will drown yourself in sparkling alcohol and hate every moment of the attention,”
she said dryly, turning a page of the massive book that lay in her lap.
She had found a large tome on the Ilmarinen family in the palace library, entitled The Rise and Fall of the Last Elemental House. It seemed to be written without the dripping propaganda that most of the historical texts about Montag were saturated with.
Her eyes skimmed over a passage on elemental magic: Unlike other branches of magic, elemental power is purely inborn and cannot be taught. These powers are rare in the general population of magic-kind, but the Ilmarinen line produced consistent elementalists with unusually strong abilities. For a complete list of elemental abilities recorded in the line, please reference appendix B . . .
Gideon fell into the chair beside her and folded his arms atop the armrest, resting his chin on them.
“You sound like you’re bitter about something. Not jealous that a courtly beauty will catch my attention away from you, are you?”
Hara looked up from her book and furrowed her brows at his playful smile.
“You said you would help me research, but it looks as though all you have done since we arrived here is attend parties and swanned about with your admirers.”
“Unfortunately, my return to court has been the most exciting event of the season, and if I decline too many events, my parents will start to notice and complain. My duties as a social butterfly are just that, duties,”
he said, tossing the apple into the air again.
“But I did learn something. Your mother is not currently in any prison in the city. I was able to find time to speak to the chief warden.”
“Well obviously she wouldn’t be in any regular prison,”
said Hara, returning to her book.
“She has magic. She would be kept in a place with iron and magical guards.”
“At least it rules them out,”
said Gideon. He stopped his tossing and turned to her, his expression sobering.
“You are angry with me.”
Hara wished he would leave. She couldn’t concentrate on what she was reading. Gideon left his seat and came to crouch before her.
“I will find time. I’m sorry for leaving you to fend for yourself—I know it must feel as though I’ve abandoned you here. But I’ve not been flirting and drinking and wasting time. I’ve regaled courtiers of my near-death experience and told them of your skill and wit. They all would have rejected you on sight, but now, you are mysterious and heroic. You are almost a celebrity at court.”
“I don’t care about any of that,”
said Hara impatiently.
Gideon’s tone became gentle.
“You say you do not care, but you haven’t seen how bad it could be. I want you to tell me if anyone has treated you unkindly, and I will deal with them.”
Hara considered his words and realized that while her welcome at the Montag court hadn’t been warm, it was at least neutral. Gideon’s influence protected her like an invisible shield. She had been able to walk down the halls without hisses or slurs being thrown her way, or worse.
“I came here to tell you that my mother has set a date for the homecoming celebration. It will be at the end of this month, and she has invited you to dine with her tomorrow,”
said Gideon.
“Your mother?”
Hara said, her irritation at him giving way to nervousness.
“What is she like?”
“She’s easy to please. Tell her how much you adore me, complement her clothing, and act humble.”
His eyes flicked over Hara’s plain black clothing and messy braids.
“She will love you.”
The following afternoon, Hara stood outside of a charming tea house, the deafening rumble of motors and hooves from the streets of Perule at her back. After a blessedly smooth ride in an autocar, Gideon had helped her step down like an attentive footman. He wore a hat with a severely pointed brim and a cloak with a high collar, making him look imposing even in the bright sunshine.
She crooked her hand around his arm, and she hoped he could not feel how cold and clammy it was through his thickly embroidered sleeve. Gideon’s father had so thoroughly subverted her expectations that she was unsure what to expect from his mother. What sort of woman would marry such a cold monster?
As the doors opened, Gideon leaned down to whisper.
“Don’t be frightened. You look beautiful.”
Hara wore her hair in thick braids that formed a crown about her head, and she spent considerable time choosing a gown from the selections Clementine brought her. She had decided on a pale green gown covered with a matching silky capelet. As they entered the restaurant, she wondered now if she should have chosen a pale yellow or peach.
Hara felt as though she’d stepped into an airy puff of pink candy floss. Golden sunshine streamed from the tall windows and the walls were covered in pale pink paper. Tall white ostrich feathers fanned from golden vases and patrons were clustered at pinched little tables.
Gideon’s mother greeted them with open arms from a table in the corner, embracing her son first and then turning to Hara.
“Oh, how splendid you look, my dear, how absolutely stunning! I was told you were pleasing to look at but, you are positively gorgeous.”
Hara’s cheeks reddened at the praise as she thanked her. Lady Eleanora only reached Hara’s shoulder, but her elaborately coiffed hair more than made up for her height. She smiled with sparkling blue eyes that matched Gideon’s, made all the more vibrant by the canary-yellow gown she wore.
Remembering Gideon’s advice, Hara said.
“Thank you. Your gown is lovely.”
“Isn’t it? My favorite designer is working again after spending some time in Mycan. They really do favor such slippery fabric—it isn’t suitable for us mountain folk. I’ve always run cold, always needed to bundle up, but the simple solution is to wear the gown and turn up the boilers!”
Eleanora chatted about the unseasonable chill they’d been experiencing while they were seated at the polished wood table. Plate after plate of enticing dishes were laid out for their meal, including a golden tower of cakes topped with sparkling candied fruit.
As they took up their cutlery, Lady Eleanora bridged her fingers so that her chin could rest upon them. She fixed Hara with a thoughtful gaze, and Hara uncomfortably took a bite of her wild-root salad.
“Well, aren’t you simply marvelous,”
said Lady Falk, eyes roaming over Hara’s face.
“You deserve every accolade in the land for your healing skills.”
It was not difficult to be humble at such grand praise.
“Thank you, Lady Eleanora. But Gideon was a stubborn patient. He refused to let his illness hold him down.”
“My Gideon, stubborn? I cannot fathom what you mean,”
said Eleanora with a teasing spark in her eyes.
“Don’t be modest. You must be very talented indeed to have saved Gideon from a wound, a poisoning, and a fever to boot!”
“You are too kind. I’m afraid I am only a second-rate healer, not nearly as powerful as my aunt who taught me.”
“Your aunt must be proud of you,”
said Eleanora.
“She was, yes,”
said Hara.
“But she has been dead for many years now.”
“Oh, how tragic. Do you have any other family?”
Hara carefully avoided looking at Gideon, but she could feel his eyes on her.
“No. I am an orphan.”
“What a pity. I was ready to send more invitations for my little function,”
said Eleanora.
“Speaking of which, you must come dress shopping with me for the ball! I know all the most sought-after designers in Perule and Mycan. With your coloring and height, you could look like a princess.”
“I would appreciate that. I must admit, I’m a bit overwhelmed by the fashion at court. I’m used to homespun and stays.”
Eleanora laughed heartily at this as though Hara had told a witty joke, and Hara took a moment before joining her. She had been serious.
“Very well! Leave it all to me, I will make sure you are the jewel of the evening,”
said Eleanora.
“How are you getting on at court? Very different from what you’re used to in Norwen, I’m sure.”
“Quite different, yes. I don’t know how I will live without instant hot running water again.”
Eleanora chuckled daintily.
“Gideon tells me you are not too fond of our vehicles.”
Hara smiled weakly.
“I find myself needing to perform a spell against motion sickness wherever I go.”
The mood at the table shifted almost imperceptibly.
“My, a spell!”
Eleanora gave a breathy little giggle and raised her brows as she took a sip of her drink.
An unpleasant feeling tickled Hara, as though she’d slipped up and said something embarrassing. For a moment, Hara forgot who she was speaking to. She knew she had no reason to feel ashamed for using magic. After all, it was thanks to her magic that Lady Eleanora was holding a ball for her to begin with. But it seemed like magic was only acceptable if it was ignored.
“There’s no need to take that tone,”
Gideon’s voice broke in at her side.
“What did I say?”
Eleanora said defensively, her eyes wide as though he’d insulted her.
“I’m as open-minded as they come! Why, one of my dearest friends has a daughter-in-law who practices magic.”
“Mother,”
Gideon groaned, and Hara was surprised to see a bloom of red spreading across his cheeks.
“Well, why not? It isn’t as though she has to perform spells at home. They live normally, and their children are normal, too.”
Hara had no idea why they were suddenly talking about daughter-in-laws and children, but the mortification on Gideon’s face gave her an idea. It became clear to Hara as she watched Eleanora and Gideon continue to bicker—it wasn’t Gideon’s father who was pressing him to marry and sire heirs. She scrambled to think of a way to put Eleanora off the idea that they could be a match.
“How fortunate your friend’s daughter-in-law is,”
Hara said wistfully.
“I have always wished I could have children.”
Eleanora and Gideon stopped their squabbling as their attention snapped to her.
“Oh? And why can’t you, my dear? You look healthy enough,”
said Eleanora, fluttering a tiny fan.
“I had quite a severe illness as a child, and my healer aunt told me that I would never be able to bear children,”
said Hara.
“Oh, that is such a shame. With your caring nature, you would have made a wonderful mother,”
said Eleanora, her matrimonial hopes visibly deflating. Then she hitched a smile to her lips and said.
“But perhaps it is all the better. Children can be so vexing at times.”
Eleanora shot a glare at Gideon, who quickly turned his grimace into a beaming smile before hastily bringing his fork to his mouth.
“Let us change the subject,”
said Eleanora, snapping her fan shut.
“I hear you have joined the Recruiters! What an exciting line of work. Have you met any interesting colleagues?”
Hara told them about Tamsin and Dominic, and what the offices were like.
“I met some members of the Research and Development group as well—Sarai and Melietta.”
Gideon froze beside her, and Eleanora gave a little cough.
“Do you know them?”
asked Hara.
“Sarai Winthrope and her family are old friends,”
said Eleanora primly.
“I hope she is well?”
“Yes, quite well. She told me about her research—”
“Oh, Sarai, always with her nose stuck in books. She’s got the breeding and the beauty, but she wastes them buried all day in those dungeons,”
Eleanora said, then she fixed her face into a kindly expression.
“Not like you, dear girl. You are doing something valuable.”
Sensing that there was some bad blood between Sarai and the Falk family, Hara diverted them with more observations of the city and how different it was from Norwen. She would ask Gideon about it later.
Eleanora laughed and even touched Hara’s hand throughout their conversation, and at the end of the meal, she embraced her. Hara felt relief loosening the knot in her shoulders. Awkward as it had been, their introduction was now over.
Before she climbed into her waiting autocar, Eleanora grasped Hara’s hands in her own and said.
“We can never repay you for what you have done for our Gideon, but I can promise you that you will always have a second home at our court.”
Gideon
Sunlight spilled across Gideon’s desk, half blinding him. For the hundredth time that morning he rubbed his eyes, willing the pounding behind them to cease.
The previous night, after making the unpleasant rounds to his lost men’s families, he’d finally told his uncle of Harris’ passing. His uncle had insisted that Gideon join him in sharing a bottle of his reserved vintage, and Gideon could hardly refuse. That had turned into four bottles between them, and now Gideon was paying the price.
He rose from his desk and yanked the window shutters down, dismayed that they barely muted the light. He hardly ever used his office in the palace, preferring to conduct his business in wood-paneled taverns where drinks and conversation were easy to come by.
But for this task, he needed privacy.
Hara’s comment about regular prisons being unable to hold magical prisoners stuck in his mind like a burr. He hadn’t considered it before now because in the twenty years since the coup, rogue sorcerers were rare enough that there were not enough to necessitate an entire prison. Recruiters had a high success rate at integrating witches into court. Few would refuse a life of comfort when the alternative was to be hunted and harassed. But for those who did refuse, where did they go? He had a feeling anyone from the Ilmarinens’ inner circle would be there.
Gideon leafed through a dry historial text on the coup. He’d never questioned Corvus and his father’s might and victory when he was a child. Everyone knew that the reason for the uprising was due to the royal family’s stubbornness. Their refusal to modernize made commerce stagnant.
Corvus was only a lowly tradesman, a weapons dealer who made his wealth selling armaments to the warring southern kingdoms. The Ilmarinen considered themselves neutral in the war that raged between Norwen and Lenwen, and they refused to expand the factories and bring work to the people. They lived in the palace like gods on high, refusing to trade or cooperate with neighboring realms while the common people festered with poverty.
With Gideon’s father’s help, Corvus was successful in ousting the Ilmarinen family and all who were loyal to them. They built more factories, dug more mines, and turned the city into a shining jewel unlike any other. Eventually, they even found a place for sorcerers at court. Now, Montag was the wealthiest kingdom in the region, stagnant no more.
But something did not make sense to Gideon.
The Ilmarinen were the most powerful sorcerers in the land with a dynasty that stretched back almost a thousand years, yet somehow, they were overthrown by two non-magical tradesmen and an army of rebels. Corvus had access to powerful weapons that could blast through even the fortified palace walls, but surely the Ilmarinens had put up a fight.
Perhaps Turnswallow and the band of sorcerers that joined Corvus’ cause were enough to defeat them. They were a formidable group, so it was possible.
Gideon closed his eyes against the searing sunlight. Despite her best efforts, Hara was still unable to decipher anything more from Turnswallow’s puzzling memory loop in the snow. Hara said that she tried searching through Tamsin and Dominic’s pasts as well and found that neither had been to any place resembling a prison, other than the inhumane holding cells in the Recruiters’ office.
Gideon ran his hands through his hair. Who else would have knowledge about a magical prison? He shut the book in frustration.
“Bad plot?”
said an amused voice. Gideon looked up to see his father entering the stuffy office.
He would know.
Gideon needed to be careful about this. In no way could he reveal that his questions had anything to do with Hara. If her mother was some poor hedgewitch, he could ask outright. But seeking the whereabouts of a powerful Seer who belonged to the Ilmarinen circle would put a target on Hara’s back.
“Just refreshing my memory,”
said Gideon.
“I was giving some Mycan dignitaries a tour of the palace and I had some gaps in my knowledge.”
“Gaps around what?”
“How you and Corvus formed the new Montag,”
said Gideon.
“I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You were only a child after all,”
said his father, taking a seat in one of the comfortable chairs by the unlit hearth.
“What would you like to know?”
It would be suspicious if he asked about magical prisons outright—that wouldn’t come up in a harmless history lesson with newcomers. He needed to bury the lede.
“How were you able to overpower the family members and their court? Weren’t they powerful elementalists?”
His father placed an elbow onto his arm rest and tapped his lip, recollecting events from decades past.
“We had our ballistic armaments, of course. Trebuchets with exploding projectiles. We drove them out of the palace like rats fleeing a ship, following a path laid by our inside man. When they emerged at the top of the mountain, they were met with a spray of ammunition from one of our ballistic machines. They didn’t have time to react.”
“It was that simple,”
said Gideon, his flesh turned clammy despite the stuffiness of the office.
“But didn’t they have a Seer? Couldn’t they have Seen the attack coming?”
“No,”
said his father with a wry grin.
“Our inside man was a sorcerer. He had a way of erasing memories.”
“So he erased the memories of all the family and their court?”
“No, that would be too complicated. He simply erased the memory of the Seer. Each time she got a vision of the future, he’d work his power over her. He said it made her quite unhinged after a while.”
It could only be Hara’s mother. According to Hara, she was the most powerful Seer among the Ilmarinen circle, the only one able to receive visions of the future.
“And where is this inside man now?”
asked Gideon.
“He had some grand ideas about having a place in the court as the new king, but that was never Corvus’ plan. We offered him a place as a Recruiter, but after a time, he abandoned his position. We have a warrant that has been out for nearly twenty years for his capture. Dead, preferably.”
“Why? He helped you.”
“He was the last living member of the Ilmarinen family.”
“He was . . . he betrayed his own family?”
said Gideon, struggling to take in all this new information. He had no idea that the Ilmarinen were betrayed by their own kin and that it was the key to his father’s success.
“Third in line after his brother and nephew. Thought he’d found a way to bypass them,”
said his father, smirking at Gideon’s shocked expression.
“We weren’t interested in making such a colossal traitor into a king.”
“But then the others at court,”
said Gideon, hoping his eagerness was perceived as interest in the topic at hand instead of excitement that he might have found the answer Hara was seeking.
“What happened to them?”
“They were taken to a secret hold on Mount Herebore,”
said his father, straightening his crisp sleeve. Gideon felt like he could jump up and shout. It was not much to go on, but at least now he knew such a place existed.
“Corvus knows the exact location. I have never been there myself,”
“Why is that?”
asked Gideon.
“The place is sacred to the fae, and we, ah—are not on friendly terms. Let us say there is a good chance I would not return if I ever made the journey up the mountain.”
the Commander said.
Gideon was careful not to reveal his exasperation. His father’s disdain for all magic-kind extended to the fae, too, apparently. There was sure to be a long and storied history of unsavory run-ins with magic-kind that Gideon had never thought to ask about before.
“What is the prison like?”
asked Gideon.
“It is a dismal place, I’ve been told, and treacherous to reach. That’s why I appointed Turnswallow; he handles the unsavory work for me.”
said his father with a chuckle.
Turnswallow was a dead end. He was away on an assignment to the far north, and his memories were protected. But Corvus knew where it was. A plan was already forming in Gideon’s mind to introduce Hara to Corvus when he realized his father was speaking again.
“I wanted to come by and ask how your luncheon with your mother went. She seemed very taken with your guest,”
his father said in a mellow voice.
Instantly, Gideon’s elation waned. It was unlike his father to make an inquiry about a social function, let alone an informal meal with his own mother. Gideon chuckled and said.
“Yes, they got on splendidly. I think Mother wants to help her choose a dress for the homecoming ball.”
“Your mother always does like to shop for an occasion,”
said his father with a tilted smile.
“And the witch did not mind handling the cutlery?”
The question made Gideon’s blood run cold. What an odd thing to ask, and even stranger for his mother to notice and mention it. Gideon tried desperately to come up with some plausible explanation, but his mind was blank.
“They say the only witches who are able to stand the touch of metal are alchemists,”
said his father with an airy curiosity in his voice.
“I don’t remember Turnswallow mentioning that ability when he gave his report.”
“I have not noticed whether she is sensitive or not,”
said Gideon, affecting a tone of ignorance.
“She has only made mention of her Seeing ability and healing.”
“Find out, will you?”
said his father, rising from his seat and moving to the door.
“I’m sure you could persuade her to give up her secrets. You’ve never had trouble getting what you want from women. Court her, flirt with her, bed her if you must, but earn her trust.”
Gideon gave a tight smile and a jerking nod of assent.
Was his own father giving Gideon permission to flirt and sleep with Hara? More than giving permission, encouraging it? So much for discretion.
It appeared his father’s prejudices stopped short when the possibility of a never-ending supply of gold was at hand.
If there was one thing Gideon was certain of, it was that he would send his own mother to the secret mountain hold before he would tell his father that the first alchemist in living memory was under their roof.