Chapter I.7
Chapter Seven
One Month Before the Wedding, Continued
It took Miria four days to arrange the spell, gather the supplies, and cast all the necessary steps, and she still didn’t know if it would work.
Adaline would have to be available at the correct time and at an appropriate location.
This, Miria reminded herself repeatedly as she worked, was why witches typically stuck to letters like everyone else.
She had, in fact, sent a letter to Adaline, explaining what Adaline needed to do on her end, but while Miria was fairly certain the letter would have been received in time—four days was ample for her network of birds to carry it to the capital—she had no guarantee Adaline would be able to follow the instructions.
All this work, all this energy she’d spent, could be for nothing.
Miria stifled a yawn as she paced in circles around the cottage. It was closing in on midnight, and normally she’d have been asleep ages ago. Even the anticipation of seeing Adaline wasn’t much of a match for the exhausting work she’d been up to earlier.
Candlelight set the walls flickering and bathed the rooms in a golden hue.
If Miria stilled her mind for a moment, she could almost transport herself back to the late nights she’d spent with her nana, working spells that could only be performed during the darkest hours.
During those sessions, Yali would brew them both a fragrant tea to keep their minds sharp as the sun set.
Miria had some of the blend left, part of the last batch her nana had made.
She’d considered brewing it earlier but decided against it.
Without her nana to pour it into the tiny teacups that she kept especially for this brew, the ones she’d painted herself with owls and bats and other nocturnal birds, part of Miria wondered whether the tea would even help.
Was it the leaves and herbs in it that had kept her sharp, or Nana’s stories as she brewed it and the subtle way she’d quiz Miria on her preparations for what was to come?
Was it the desire to prove herself and exceed Yali’s expectations?
Besides, if she brewed the last of it, it would be one more part of her nana that was lost forever. Yali would laugh at her for thinking that way, but it was too easy to be melancholy when the sun set.
Miria shook off these thoughts and returned to the main room. Adaline was where she needed to focus—Adaline and a future that could be changed, not a past that was permanently scribed in time.
The air in here was thick with the scent of the herbs she’d been burning all day in preparation—bay and anise, rosemary and thyme.
She propped open the door slightly to let in an exchange of air and glanced up.
The moon was high, peeking its glowing face through the mottled clouds as they drifted past. It had to be nearly time.
Sure enough, when she returned to the hearth, the last piece of her spell had finished.
Miria drew a finger though the ash left at the bottom of her cauldron.
It should have been hot after smoldering all day, but it was pleasant to the touch as she drew the appropriate symbols through it.
Before she even finished, she felt the ash shift and begin to solidify, and when she was done, what remained was a crude wooden key.
Miria carried it to the scrying bowl, which was filled with the water she’d also prepared earlier, and she twisted the key about in the water like it was a lock.
The key disintegrated, turning to ash once more, and as the ash settled on the bottom of the bowl, the water shifted.
Miria had never cast this spell or any like it.
All she knew was that it was similar to the portal spells witches used to travel, but—for all its complexity—it was still far less intense and complicated than those spells.
She’d expected the water in her bowl to act like it did when she scried, but the change was faster, almost violent in its power.
One moment she saw the bowl’s bottom, the next, it was as though a hole opened in its place, revealing a scene in a room Miria had seen only in visions a couple of times before—Adaline’s bedchamber.
Was the hole a small portal? Could she send something through it? Miria had so many questions, but then Adaline’s face appeared at the other end, and Miria’s desire to experiment vanished along with the bowl’s bottom.
Adaline screamed. Then swore. Then clamped her hand over her mouth, her large brown eyes growing wider as she gazed in astonishment.
Miria couldn’t help but laugh, and her laughter drove away the sleepiness that had been encroaching over her. “If you wake your household and I did all this work for a spell and then don’t even get to explain why, I’ll …”
She had no idea what she would do. Seeing Adaline in real time left her too happy to think, and a grin split Miria’s face in two. Despite all that work, maybe she should have tried to do this on at least one other occasion in the past two years.
Adaline glanced fretfully around her, but her face took up the entire bottom of the bowl, so Miria was in the dark as to anything else going on.
“It’s fine, I’m sure. Everyone retired long ago, and oh, this is amazing.
Miri, I can’t believe I’m talking to you.
Why did you never tell me you could do this before?
Why haven’t we done it? Is this like the portals you told me about?
How else have you been holding out on me? ”
“I haven’t been holding out on you, I promise.
” Miria tucked a curl behind her ear. Leaning over a bowl like this was not ideal.
On the other hand, Adaline’s hair was loose and flowing over her shoulders, and it seemed to be falling toward Miria.
It was so deceptively close, Miria thought she could reach out a hand and touch it.
“I never attempted this before because it’s a lot of work, and I don’t know how long this spell will last. Not long, I suspect.
But I didn’t dare write to you about the wedding. ”
“The wedding.” Adaline groaned. “Don’t talk to me about the wedding. You’re here. Or, well, I can see you, so it’s close enough. I want to talk to you about anything else. Miri, I miss you.”
Miria’s heart skipped. Adaline wrote as much frequently, but hearing her say it was something else entirely. Both sad and sweet, the words filled Miria with warmth even as they made her chest ache.
“I miss you, too,” Miria said, “but I need you to know—I have a plan. I’m going to prevent your wedding.”
Adaline opened her lips—full lips, whose touch Miria was suddenly missing more profoundly than she’d missed them in a while—then she closed them.
Her gaze turned serious as she seemed to contemplate this news.
“I suppose if you’re going to insist on talking about the wedding, that is the way to do it.
I don’t want you to do anything risky, though.
I didn’t ask for your help because I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you while you tried to help me. ”
Miria waved off Adaline’s concern before realizing that Adaline probably could not see her hands, just as she couldn’t see Adaline’s hands. “You don’t have to ask. My motivations aren’t entirely selfless, you know.”
Actually, they were less selfless than Adaline was likely to imagine.
Adaline laughed, but her humor was clearly strained. “I hope not. I would be very upset if you weren’t jealous of me marrying someone else.”
Jealousy. The word hit Miria like a stone dropping into the water, an intruder disturbing the stillness.
It was funny, but Miria hadn’t spent much time feeling jealous.
That Adaline would have to marry someone else one day had always been a given, a fact as immutable as the sunset.
She and Adaline had never really discussed it, because what was there to discuss?
It was only a topic that could sadden and infuriate them both, and Miria had never really considered what marriage would mean beyond that it was unfair to force Adaline into a situation she didn’t want to be in.
But now she did think, and worse she imagined. Someone else kissing Adaline’s soft lips. Someone else running their fingers through those long, brown waves of hair. Someone else’s fingers tracing the contours of Adaline’s silky skin.
Miria dug her nails into her palms. It wouldn’t just be some nameless, faceless someone else if she failed, either. It would be her brother.
Fury overpowered the jealousy in her gut. Miria wasn’t sure if that was any better. In retrospect, Adaline had been in the right to not want to talk about the wedding. Miria would have rather rejoiced in seeing Adaline’s face.
“Miri?” Adaline’s voice returned her to the moment. “Are you all right?”
Miria realized she was scowling. “I feel more anger than jealousy,” she admitted. “It’s not as though you want to marry someone else.”
Adaline made a horrified expression. “Heavens, no. And I’m sorry. I’m only teasing you because it takes my mind off everything. When I dwell on the situation for too long …”
She cried. Miria had noted the tear stains on Adaline’s last letter, but she wouldn’t bring them up.
“I’ll have the situation in-hand by your arrival, I promise,” Miria said instead. “I’m working on a plan. I just needed you to know so you could stop worrying.”
Adaline made a skeptical noise. “As amazing as I believe you are, I’m not sure you possess enough magic to make that happen. But it does make me feel better to know you’re scheming. As long you do nothing that will put yourself at risk.”
“I can’t promise, but I’ll do my best.”
Adaline sighed heavily. “Fine. I’ll accept your help in that case, but only because I really do not want to get married.”
“Oh, do not let me force my help on you.” Miria snorted. “Perhaps you already had a plan for getting out of it?”
“Well, yes.” Adaline adopted her most haughty voice, the one she used when entertaining Miria with stories of the ladies at court.
“Since you mentioned it, I was thinking of this play I once saw. The princess in it disguised herself as a boy and ran away to join a ship’s crew in order to avoid marriage.
The ship got overrun with pirates, so she became a pirate herself, and eventually she captained an entire pirate battalion and overthrew her own family. What do you think? Should I try it?”
Miria thought of Adaline teaching her how to use a sword and of Adaline fighting with her parents to be allowed to spar with her father’s guardsmen.
But she also thought of all of Adaline’s very feminine curves that she couldn’t see in the bottom of her bowl, and she pretended to examine Adaline’s long lashes and delicate chin.
Then she shook her head solemnly. “I think you would very much enjoy being a pirate, but you would make a terrible boy. You’re far too pretty. ”
Adaline’s face fell, but she couldn’t contain a smirk. “True. It is a challenge being so beautiful.”
“And modest.”
“Also true. Humility is one of my many virtues.”
Miria’s attempt to keep a straight face finally failed, and her laughter made Adaline laugh as well.
She’d missed all the stories Adaline knew, and the way she’d mock the ambitious and backstabbing people she had to deal with at court.
But mostly, she’d missed the easy way Adaline could make her laugh.
“This is the part where you’re supposed nudge me in the side or give me a light shove,” Adaline said, “and I’m supposed to throw myself at you and kiss you until we’re not laughing anymore.
” As she said it, her smile faded. “I take back what I said earlier. Seeing you but not being able to touch you might be worse than just exchanging letters. It’s too strong a reminder of what I can’t have. ”
For a second time during this conversation, Miria’s cheerful mood slipped away.
“Considering the effort I went through …” Then, seeing Adaline start to apologize, she quickly continued.
“No, I’m not being serious. I know I could have put everything I wanted to say in a letter, but I was too impatient to see your face again after the news. ”
“And I’m so happy to see yours, even if it also makes me sad.”
“Don’t be sad. I’ll see you in a month when you will not be getting married.”
Adaline took a deep breath. “Right. We will make it so, or not make it so. Now stop bringing up my wedding-that-will-not-happen, so I can enjoy this time with you. You can put your plans in letters, and we can scheme together. Your birds are very discreet, and I’m very good at keeping them safe. I promise. No one has found one yet.”
Miria glanced at the saltcellar down the table, and despite her alleged reasons for this spell, she buried her intentions to explain more. Adaline was right, and she knew it. There would be time later to tell Adaline about who her intended groom was. She should enjoy the moment.
“No more wedding talk then,” Miria agreed. “Tell me about anything else you’ve left out of your letters. I’ve missed your voice. Your stories.”
“You may be the only person to miss my voice,” Adaline said, perking back up. “The rest of my family constantly tell me to be more quiet and demure. It’s no wonder I miss you so much.”
Miria closed her eyes for a moment to fight back the tears that suddenly threatened, the pain as sharp as Adaline’s sword tip in her chest. But she opened them quickly, not wanting to waste a second when she could be drinking in Adaline’s presence.
“I would never,” Miria said, and she happily let Adaline fill the conversation with more pleasant topics until the spell fizzled out.
When her eyes closed for the night, she laid her head down with the sound of Adaline’s voice in her ears, and she slept, clutching the bowl close.