Adrian (13 page)

To his surprise, her eyebrows shot up and she grinned. “You think we're mad?”

“Perhaps it's the air here.” He looked away from her abruptly and heard himself trying to explain. “Or the isolation. It oft does strange things to people.”

He looked back at her when she laughed merrily, and saw that she had brought one hand up to cover her lips. Adrian wished she wouldn't—he liked to look at her mouth when she smiled.

“I forgot!” she exclaimed on a chuckle.

“You forgot?” he prompted.

Maisie nodded and stepped closer to Adrian. The sudden closeness of her startled him, but he did not move away.

“I canna do magic, but I can certainly reveal what is right before your eyes. Wyldonna is enchanted, Adrian. So that if any might accidentally find themselves ashore by way of misadventure, they would think themselves to have come upon a barren and desolate place of little comfort. It really is for their protection, as well as ours.” She raised the arm not holding the candle and placed her hand over his eyes.

Adrian didn't duck away. The skin of her palm felt like silk across the bridge of his nose. “What are you about?”

“Tell me what you saw when you looked out the window.”

“Ah . . .” The smell of her skin, the feel of it upon his face tangled his thoughts. “Nothing, really.”

“Nothing at all?”

He cleared his throat. “There isn't much to see in the blasted darkness. The outline of trees. Perhaps the sea at a distance. Rocks. The slope of the cliff. Fog.”

“All right,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Now I shall tell you what is actually there: cottages in the wood, doors to burrows nestled against the hill. Halfway down the cliff is a set of sea caves; you should see the torches of those going about their business on the paths. Beyond that, there are at least twenty crawlers moored in the bay. Are you ready to see them?”

“Oh, certainly,” Adrian said, his answer not sounding at all confident.

Maisie removed her hand, and the first thing Adrian saw was her smile. Then he turned his face toward the window once more. What he saw gave him such a start that he braced both palms against the stone sill and blinked several times.

It was just as she'd described, only . . . so much more than what mere words could convey. The fog still hung in the air, but now it was not the dense, dirty cloud that reflected the bleak landscape but seemed to be more of a mist made of sparkling frost. It hung in the treetops, which were no longer skeletal fingers and stark points of black but boughs laden with crystalline drops of moisture, reflecting the glitter of the mist like tiny jeweled buds.

And below the protective, twinkling canopy, rounded roofs shimmered mossy green over the squat, sturdy rock walls of the cottages, happy columns of smoke drifting lazily up to mingle with the mist. He was too far above for his vision to make out any individuals who might be about, but he did see little sparks of light—the torches Maisie had suggested—bobbing through the gloom that was not so much bleak now as peaceful. The sea glistened silver beyond the cliff; the dark slashes in the water must be the crawlers.

Adrian blinked again several times. What he was seeing was impossible. He had only a moment ago looked out this very window, with his same eyes, and seen nothing. Now a new world had been revealed to him. It could not be sorcery; that was only manipulating facts in order to force someone to believe that which was otherwise untrue. He was being manipulated. Driven mad and manipulated.

He turned to her. “How did you first start?”

Maisie's smile didn't falter, although her eyes crinkled a bit. “Start what?”

“Priming me to believe that Wyldonna was deserted so that my mind would not recognize anything else?”

Now the smile did fall away and was replaced with a frown. “I did nae such thing. I've just now explained to you why you saw things as you did: It was the enchantment. Now you are open to seeing what is truly here.”

“Rubbish,” he bit out. “It's a mind trick. A mental rub-your-tum-and-pat-your-head child's game.
Tell me how you did it
.”

“I didna do anything,” she insisted, and her brows drew farther down. The candle in her hand wobbled. “You're seeing what is there because you know what is there. I told you.”

“Ships, houses don't simply appear out of nothing,” Adrian argued, feeling his blood pound in his veins. Why must she lie? It affected him more than he dared admit.

“They didna appear—they were there the whole of the time. Your mind couldna acknowledge them. Just because you canna see something doesna mean it doesna exist.”

He gave a scornful laugh. “Yes, it does, I'm afraid.”

“Oh, really?” she challenged, setting her hand on her hip. “So if I step out of this chamber and close the door between us, I shall cease to exist because you canna see me? That's rather infantile logic for such a learned man.”

“It's not the same thing in the least,” he argued, drawing himself up stiffly at her gentle insult. “Because you would move to a different location and set a barrier between us. Yonder village did not move.”

“All right then,” Maisie acquiesced. “What about love? Can you see love?”

“A physical manifestation of it, yes,” he replied. “An embrace, a kiss.”

“Ah-ah, but you can have an embrace or a kiss without love, would you nae agree? Either of those in itself is nae actually love. What of loyalty? Can you touch loyalty? Tote it in your satchel?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed.

“So, according to you, neither love nor loyalty actually exist.”

“Those are both . . . emotions. Feelings,” he argued but was a bit alarmed to feel his feet beginning to slide on the terrain of his stance. “You manifest them through a myriad of actions that, while not in themselves solid objects to be manipulated physically, are attributed to and originate from a definite thing.”

“What about pain?” Maisie threw at him. “People doona manifest pain if they've any sanity about them. But you are perhaps one of the best witnesses I've ever known that pain is real. Show me pain then, Adrian. I want to touch it.”

He felt his face heat. She was goading him. “You want me to hurt you? Strike you?”

“Of course nae. I'm only trying to explain: What you saw through the window—both instances—were manifestations of what Wyldonna is. You can call it whatever you like, but I doona think you have been of the habit to deny what you can see with your own eyes.”

His breathing was fast and shallow. This woman was challenging the very meaning of his life: his years of scholarship and learning, honing his mind to a knifepoint, his discernment irreproachable.

“I can see that this is difficult for you to comprehend,” she said more calmly now. “But comprehend it you must. There are things here—beings, enchantments—that you willna be able to explain away with all your extensive knowledge. They just
are
. So you must also understand that what looks like an idyllic woodland beyond these walls is actually very deadly for you.” She paused. “For us both, at the moment. And it's why you must promise that you willna venture outside the castle without me or Reid.”

“That's a clever attempt to prevent me from leaving you and your pathetic people once I've tired of your lies,” he sneered.

“I find myself growing quite tired of your impertinence,” she tossed back, leaning toward him. “I am queen here and I willna have someone accuse me of falsehoods—especially a pompous, ignorant Englishman who doesna yet know a duvenet from an afternhanger.”

Adrian leaned in as well, until their noses where only inches apart.

“Do it again then,” he challenged.

“Do what?” she said through her teeth.

“Show me something I can't presently see with my own eyes.”

Maisie drew herself aright again and stared at him for a moment. Then she set the candle holder on the windowsill. “Fine.” She turned to him and held out her left palm, face up.

Adrian looked down at it and then at her face. “What?”

“What do you see?” she asked in exasperation.

“
Nothing
,” he enunciated.

She pressed her lips together into a line and nodded. “Watch.”

To Adrian's astonishment, a faint glow began to grow in the center of her cupped palm. Soft yellowish light through which he could see her skin. He glanced over his shoulder to be certain the candle was completely behind him and that his body blocked any direct light. Then he looked back to her quickly, unwilling to give her even a moment to commit some sleight of hand.

The glow had grown taller, like the sun rising out of the sea, the yellow now shimmering just around the edges of a circular green ball the size of a walnut—lighter in color than moss, but not the verdant green of fresh pasture. He glanced up at Maisie's face, but her eyes were fixed on him.

“I don't understand,” he began, but Maisie began to speak.

“Malcolm Lindsey,” she said, and no sooner had the words left her lips than the ball in her hand grew slightly. It was now the size of Adrian's fist.

“Wyldonna,” she said next, and the ball seemed to swell again. “Glayer Felsteppe.” Now the sphere was the size of a small squash, and it had a black, inky center.

“What would happen if you said my name?” he asked distractedly, studying closely the way the light moved, the exponentiality of its growth.

She took a deep breath and then whispered, “Adrian Hailsworth.” The green glow exploded between them, filling up the space separating them, Maisie's face only visible now through the wavering black at the center of the swirling green phantasm.

“What is it?” Adrian asked quietly, his eyes taking in the entirety of the phenomenon brought on by the speaking of names. It seemed some sort of energy. Like . . . cholers or temperament, perhaps?

“This,” Maisie said quietly, “is my fear. It is with me all the time. Only you canna see it.” Her last words were barely audible.

Adrian stared at her. His was the last name she'd mentioned, and had been the name that caused the green glow to grow unchecked.

She was afraid of him. Very afraid.

Without pausing to think of a good reason why he would do such a thing, Adrian slapped Maisie's palm away, causing the glowing green sphere to disintegrate in a shower of sparkling dust before it vanished completely.

They held each other's gazes for a pair of heartbeats, and then Adrian began to have that familiar sensation of his chest constricting, his breathing becoming labored. He felt trapped in the turret room with this woman. This beautiful, enigmatic queen who was afraid of him and at the same time manipulating his mind and emotions so that he could not tell reality from fantasy.

“I want to search alone,” he said, fighting to control his words and hide the wheeze from her.

“You have my leave to go where you would anywhere within the castle,” was all she said, although her eyes were sad now.

And again Adrian was surprised at her.

He only nodded sharply and then turned on his heel to exit the turret room without bothering to take the candle. It didn't matter. Once he was afoot on the long spiral stairs, he fairly flew down them, his breath clawing at his chest for freedom, the dank air between the stones pressing coldly at his nostrils, seeking an entrance that was not to be had.

He stumbled onto level flooring and kept going, turning left and right, heedless to the maps of the place that were tucked into his satchel, until he found himself in the long narrow hall once more. He strode through an aisle between the tables, his hand shooting out to steady himself once before plunging into the darkness of the doorway through which Malcolm had escaped earlier.

He found himself in a tiny vestibule lit by twin torches to either side of a tall wooden door, and Adrian knew at once it was the door he'd seen at his approach through the woods. He wrenched at the handle and swung the door wide.

Adrian stepped into the darkness outside the castle.

A
drian stumbled through the archway, and after the heavy wooden door bounced off the interior stone wall, it began to swing closed slowly behind him while he stooped in the dooryard, his hands braced on his knees. His breath tore into and out of him, his chest like a bellows. His satchel hung down from around his neck, swinging like a lazy pendulum with every gasp. The air was thick and cold and sweet, rich with the smell of the sea and damp rocks nestled in soil. After several moments the fragrance had revived him so that he could stand aright and survey his surroundings.

At the level of the castle foundation, he could only see the cusp of the cliff and the fall of the wood rushing over, the gloom belying the hours until sunset. Still the mist prevailed, softening the edges of the tree line even further and deepening the sparkling shadows. But when he turned to face Wyldonna Castle, the light of the fog seemed to be reflected in the stones—no longer glowing blue—and his vision improved so that he could make out the shape and detail of the structure quite well. Adrian went to one knee and retrieved the plans of the castle from his satchel.

He began to walk deosil around the palace, moving off toward the wood from which he'd first emerged with Maisie Lindsey and to the left of the main door that was now closed to him. Adrian didn't care. At the moment the last thing he wanted to think of was the woman who was somewhere within those walls. She confused him, smothered him with her myths, her illusions. The castle was only stones and mortar—things he knew well, things he could touch and study and understand.

The more he studied Maisie Lindsey, the less he knew.

He looked from the plans up along the walls, noting that there were several holes on the western wall of the castle—the opposite side on which his own chamber was located—that did not correspond to the drawing in his hand. A chill raced up his spine, and the sudden fright of it caused him to stop in his tracks.

Adrian shook his head to clear it of the ridiculous sensation that he was forgetting something important. He hadn't been here long enough to forget anything. He looked back to the plans.

Yes—here. He ran his finger along the parallel lines of a long corridor that appeared to extend between the southwest and western tower. Then he looked up at the wall again. Four openings, so small they might be nothing more than symmetrical pockmarks in the mortar, save that they were evenly spaced. Large weep holes? He flipped through the sheaves again, locating the floors above and below the corridor, and then looked back up at the windows. A gallery, perhaps?

No, the marks were too high on the wall to belong to the corridor. The openings should be somewhere within the royal wing of the castle.

Adrian dropped again to one knee and riffled through his bag, seeking the tightly wrapped parcel of his inkpot and quill. It took him several moments to undo the numerous layers of soft waterproof skins around the corked bottle, but then he set the open pot atop one corner of the parchment unrolled on the stiff grass and edged his knee onto the other side while he brought out a blade to refine his quill. He dipped the tip into the dark liquid and began to sketch on the drawing.

On the corridor of the plan, he made markings to indicate the windows, and then above and below the space; his lines superimposed on the drawing, he quickly added the features of the exterior wall between the towers. He gave his additions several moments to dry, checking and rechecking his sketches, before carefully rerolling the parchment and returning it and his tools to his bag.

It was as good a start as any. Now he would be able to compare the exterior and interior of that space, as soon as he found his way to the corridor between the towers. He stood and looked up at the wall again. It was the side of the castle where the queen's chambers lay, and he thought briefly of the set of steps that had brought them to the corridor leading to her room the night before. It had to have been the western tower, although Adrian was sure that was one Maisie had claimed led nowhere. It certainly had led to the corridor of the royal wing, but he couldn't recall that the steps had continued on past the entrance hidden behind the tapestry.

He looked all the way up to the top of the tower. A turret similar to the one he'd just escaped loomed in the mist. Adrian then searched the shadows for the side entrance through which he and Maisie had entered the castle. But the wall where it should be was conspicuously blank.

He frowned, one more of crossness than confusion. He'd have to walk around to the front of the castle now, and he wasn't at all sure how to get back around to the western wing. The vestibule had led only to the east and to the hall.

Adrian turned to his right to begin the trek when a rustling in the underbrush behind him caused him to halt. He looked through the dark stripes of the trees but could see nothing except the continuous fog.

He began walking again only to stop almost instantly when the rustling sounded once more, this time more insistent and closer, louder.

He turned fully toward the wood and for a moment wished he'd thought to grab one of the torches in the vestibule. He peered into the darkness, his eyes straining.

“Who's there?” he called out. He took a step closer to the fringe of wood.

The rustling was now a crunching, interspersed with the snapping of twigs—like the sound of hunting dogs rolling on a scent.

Or a much larger animal boldly shuffling through the underbrush toward him.

Adrian heard a breathy snort, and then the rumblings of a low growl. It grew louder but deeper, like bubbles escaping a victim trapped far below the surface of the water. He began backing slowly away from the wood, his eyes never leaving the dark shadows, but the growls seemed to advance toward him even as the rustling stopped.

And then darkness launched itself from darkness with a scream, and a large, long mass streaked into the castle dooryard toward Adrian. He stumbled and fell to his backside as the shadow landed and stilled—a shadow with two shining yellow eyes—and then he scrambled backward and gathered his feet beneath him once more. He hesitated against turning and running, exposing his back for the kill, but he did take a cautious step away.

The shadow took up its hair-raising growl once more and closed the short distance Adrian had created with one slow, graceful step. Adrian paused.

The shadow halted. It was long and low, like a big cat, but its color was unfathomable in the gloom. Its head was wide and squat and the pointed shadows near the sides of its head gave the indication of ears folded back. A long waving tail swept the grass behind the thing's haunches like a thick rope. Another yawning scream showed gleaming fangs in the mist and the sight of them brought a sick hollow to Adrian's stomach.

Adrian didn't know what manner of beast he faced, but he decided in that moment that it wasn't absolutely necessary for him to know the details to understand that the creature meant to pounce—and soon. He didn't dare glance behind him to gauge the proximity of the castle door. He wished he had some sort of weapon in hand. Even his quill could have been rammed into an eye.

An identical shriek called from the black wood, answering the scream of the beast in the dooryard. Perhaps in the next moment there would be two of them. Adrian instantly conjured the dark image of himself being ripped to shreds between the pair, his body like an old rag amongst hounds.

He thought he was nearly at the southwest corner. If he turned and sprinted as hard as he could, he might make it as far as the door. He knew he didn't have much chance, but it was better than standing there, waiting to be devoured.

The beast must have sensed him tensing to move for it crouched lower, the burbling growl erupting from it like hot lava.

Adrian slid his left foot backward.

The beast slunk toward him with its right paw.

Right foot . . .

Left paw . . .

Placing his weight on the foot behind him, Adrian turned and erupted into a run. The castle door appeared tiny, so far away it might as well have been the gates of London. He had gone perhaps five strides when he heard the soft thuds of pads on the grass, like the earth whispering, and then he was struck on his shoulder blades with what seemed like two hot anvils and pitched forward onto his satchel, the breath going out of him.

The paws slid off to either side of his body and Adrian twisted on the ground, dragging his bag up to guard his face even as the beast swiped at him, its long claws ripping through the soft leather and shredding the contents within. He felt the thing's hot breath as it lunged forward and its jaws clamped down on the satchel. He noted faintly the sound of crunching glass and crinkling paper.

Apparently the beast did not have a taste for the satchel, for it reared up slightly on its haunches, a scream of frustration ripping through Adrian's eardrums. Another swipe of paw completely severed the strap around Adrian's neck, and the tips of sharp claws caught the gusset of his shirt, ripping it open cleanly and exposing the whole of his chest and abdomen to the mist and the castle stones and the beast towering over him that would soon end his life.

But then the creature suddenly twisted and squealed as if stuck with a hot poker, falling backward over its own haunches and fighting awkwardly to get its legs beneath its muscled bulk. It scrabbled away at least two lengths from Adrian's prone body and crouched there hissing, its ropelike tail snaking between its rear legs and curving up to its chest.

Adrian raised up on his elbows and then scrambled to his own feet, the remnants of his satchel falling away and his shirt hanging from him by only its sleeves and one shoulder. The animal crouched lower and hissed again before taking a sidling step away from him.

He looked over his shoulder. There was nothing, no one, behind him. No giant Reid to come to his rescue; the castle door remained closed. His eyes flew back to the animal hugging the ground ten paces from him.

Adrian's mind clicked and whirred. He took a single step toward the beast. It cringed and whined at his movement.

He steeled himself against the logic that was screaming at him to dash to the castle and bolt himself inside. Then he held his arms out from his sides and marched toward the animal with a roar of his own.

The beast gave a sharp yelp and sprang from its crouch, but away from Adrian. It ate up the ground in the dooryard with its long, graceful lopes and dove into the black wood, directly over a pair of identical yellow eyes. In a flash, those eyes vanished too, to the fading sounds of a swift retreat through the underbrush.

Adrian stopped in the sudden stillness of the yard, feeling a blast of power come over him as his heart hammered his hot blood through his veins. The hush of the waves beyond the cliff were echoed in his own breaths, and he felt as if he were expanding, growing. Perhaps it was the elation of escaping death, perhaps it was part of his ego that would have him believe there was something powerful about his person that had frightened the beasts away. Whatever it was, he closed his eyes, felt it fully, reveled in it while the salty cool air of Wyldonna rushed into him.

“You're a bleedin' idiot.”

Adrian's eyes snapped open at the sound of the man's voice, and his searching eyes caught a small red glow grow and then dim along the side of a shadowed tree.

“Malcolm?” he asked, squinting toward the gloom.

“Aye, lad.” Then the shadow pushed itself away from the tree that it had been leaning against—one leg propped, smoking a long, thin pipe no less—and revealed itself to indeed be the displaced king of Wyldonna. One hand was tucked up in his armpit, the pipe held masterfully intertwined in the fingers of his other hand. “'Tis I.”

Adrian's brows lowered. “Were you watching me the whole time?”

“I was,” the bearded man continued around puffs from the stem. His next words were accompanied past his lips with white smoke. “I'd marked you for dead, certain as the sea meets the shore. Would have inconvenienced Maisie more than a mite when her champion was eaten in her own dooryard, nae even a full day after coming to her rescue.”

“You were just going to stand there while I was mauled by those . . . those . . .” Adrian's words failed him.

“You were warned,” Malcolm cut in, but his tone was neither condescending nor smug. In fact, he seemed rather surprised. “There was naught I could have done to save you, be certain. I've nae more power here now than you.”

Adrian's eyes narrowed. “The queen says there are more loyal to you than she. That they hid you, are even now helping you plan a war.”

“Does she now? The queens says . . .” Malcolm shrugged, and Adrian noticed that the man's eyes were studying Song's marks, now laid bare by the beast's swiping claws. He puffed at his pipe again and then suddenly gestured over his shoulder with the stem as he turned toward the wood. “Come on, then.”

Adrian looked over his shoulder at the castle. It could have been deserted for all the movement he saw. “You want me to go with you?”

“You're eager to ken what I'm about, are you nae?” Malcolm paused inside the fringe of trees.

“I am,” he answered. “But what about . . . those beasts? Are there more of their kind where we're going?”

“Oh, aye.” Malcolm chuckled. “And some even stranger still, to your virgin eyes. But if afternhangers flee you, you have little to fear from the rest of our folk.”

Adrian's eyebrows rose. Those beasts had been the afternhangers—the Cat Sìth—Maisie had warned him about?