Dead Magic (23 page)

"Welcome to Lorant, my wife," the card read. "We eagerly await you in the library."

She smiled again, picked up her luggage and walked briskly into the house. Gremor, Dorian's former servant, met her in the corridor. He stood stiff as ever, his large nose held proudly upward, even when he bent a quick bow at her arrival.

"My Lady," Gremor said by way of greeting and reached for her luggage. "His Lordship is entertaining several guests in the library."

"Yes, thank you, Gremor," she said, handing over her cloak as well. "Are there any nasty surprises I should be aware of?"

"House Witch Caresse Feverrette and Miss Valeda Quinlan are among the guests."

She paused and glanced at the library door. "House Witch Feverrette?"

She'd been expecting Valeda, but certainly not Dorian's sister. There was no question among noble society where Caresse placed her loyalty and support, but Elsie hadn't met with the woman in at least three years. They had mutually decided that they should not stir up the Council while the ark was still under construction. During the interim, Caresse had all but emptied Feverrette lands of its poor and destitute, sending them on the long voyage to Delgora, where they waited to board the ark.

It's ironic that we had to start with the unfortunates of society,
Elsie thought. But those better off had more reasons to cling to the way of the Magnellum Council. They might balk at leaving everything behind unless the threat was literally upon them. And they might gossip until all of Elsie's secrets were revealed. So Elsie had chosen to focus on the poor, the lost, or the abandoned. Those would be the first to enter the ark, and she prayed that guaranteed their survival.

"Well then," Elsie said turning to face the library door, "I will not keep them waiting further."

She opened the door to find another welcoming fire and a comfortably crowded room. Dorian stood and walked around the desk at the northeast corner of the room. His smile was full of relief as he crossed the room to greet her. Elsie barely had time to register the positions of the rest of the party before Dorian took her hand and kissed it.

Bartholomew and Caresse sat on the sofa closest to the fire, a commanding and central presence in the room. They looked completely at ease, both smiling in her direction. Winslow and Valeda stood on opposite sides of the room from each other; Winslow at the fire and Valeda at a wall of books.

"We have some news," Dorian murmured to her, "which we could not relay through a telegram."

Winslow and Valeda were both studiously ignoring each other. And they were both shining in that peculiar glow of the Fated. As pleased as she was to see Winslow alive, Elsie could not shake a sense of foreboding when she looked at him.

"
Opowa Ayate,
" she whispered the spell and looked deeper into the room.

"You see we have additional guests . . ." Dorian was saying, but stopped when she suddenly grabbed his forearm.

She could see the magic in Winslow, the golden glow that identified him as a Witch-Born, but there was something else in him. The deep green of the Wild curled around his person, looping in and through him as intricately as his magic.

"How is this possible?" She breathed the question and walked to Winslow.

Winslow squirmed under her scrutiny and cast his gaze to the floor. "I was sincerely hoping you would know," he said.

"Know what?" Dorian asked from behind her.

Elsie took Winslow's hand and lifted it, running her fingers over his tanned skin, but seeing only the woven patterns of green and gold in him.

"Part Wild?" she said aloud, too shocked to hold it in.

"What?" Bartholomew exclaimed. She heard him get to his feet, but she kept her focus on Winslow. "You said the verue plant subdued your Talent for a time. You didn't say it had become a part of you!"

"Why do you think I didn't want you to heal me?" Winslow shot back. "I had no idea what was going to happen. For all I knew, it could have spread to you."

Elsie looked to Bartholomew and checked, but there was no green in Lord Feverrette. "It didn't," she said.

Winslow relaxed and she let go of his hand. "Fates be praised," he said.

"But it didn't because it wasn't meant for him." Elsie turned to frown at Winslow. "Magic would not have allowed this combination unless it was meant for something. You're Fated, Winslow. You weren't when you left us, but you are now."

Winslow tensed again at this news and she immediately pitied the conflict in his face. For a long minute he just stared at her, pain and panic in his eyes. She wanted to comfort him, but didn't know how. It wasn't like she knew Magic's plans; she just knew the part she had to play. And then he looked past her, in Valeda's direction.

Elsie turned again and was surprised to find that Valeda Quinlan had identical markings to Winslow in her. She blinked twice and looked at Dorian, who shrugged.

"I suppose," Valeda said awkwardly, "that means I am meant for something as well."

"No," Winslow said. "She doesn't know how to use her Talent. She can't help."

"And whose fault is that?" Valeda asked heatedly. "You were the one who was supposed to train me."

"Elsie." Winslow grabbed Elsie by the shoulder and squeezed hard. "I won't let her near a battlefield. Please."

Elsie glanced between Winslow and Valeda. She didn't know what to do. Winslow was pleading with her, asking her in his silence to forbid Valeda from fighting. Valeda was just as confused and angry of her current situation-and who wouldn't be? To be thrust from her calm life and into an end-of-the-world scenario where no one could tell her what was going on? Elsie would have hurt someone by now.

Carefully, Elsie covered Winslow's hand with her own. "When all of it comes down, there will be no place she can hide. The battlefield will be everywhere."

"Send her to the ark," he said.

"Very well," Elsie said. "She will accompany us to the ark, then."

She felt her tattoos needle in her skin and knew Magic did not approve. But Magic did not speak to her, which was a relief, and she honestly didn't know what else to say to poor Winslow.

"Hold on just a minute," Valeda said. "I'm not going anywhere until I have some answers."

"I would expect nothing less from you, Miss Quinlan," Elsie said and turned away from Winslow. "With that in mind, I have news from an unexpected source."

There's no helping it,
she thought.
They have to know what they're up against and they have to know now.
So she told them Fayree's story. She knew Winslow was privy to most of it, but when she spoke of Voruke and the origins of the Pillars, even he showed surprise.

"So the Wild is angry about Magic. They want him back," Bartholomew said.

"And they think the only way to get him back is by killing all of us?" Caresse asked.

"For the most part, yes," Elsie said. "But . . . they do seem to be led by a single man. Perhaps they are Timeless, but that doesn't mean they can't think on their own. It's possible some could be persuaded toward peace."

"That hardly seems to matter at this point," Winslow said. "Even if there were people who wanted peace, those who don't would overrun them. Look at where Fayree is."

"He's right," Valeda said. "The peace lovers are not the ones who will invade Magnellum when the Pillars fall."

"However," Bartholomew said before Valeda could speak again. "As we have a limited amount of time today, I suggest we relocate as quickly as possible."

"Relocate?" Elsie asked.

"Yes." Dorian moved to her side again. "It's too dangerous for us to stay here. I received a pointed warning and we must heed it."

Dorian would only take a warning from his father, Elsie knew. So she nodded. "Where shall we stay, then?" she asked.

"Feverrette House has opened its hospitality to us."

Ah,
she thought.
That explains Caresse's presence.

"Let's be off, then," Elsie said. She nodded her appreciation to Caresse.

The younger Witch smiled and nodded back.

***

They left Delgora House in pairs. Bartholomew and Caresse left through the front door, Dorian and Elsie through the back, and Winslow kept Valeda waiting to leave for at least a quarter of an hour after the others. It was, he had said sensibly, a tactic to keep people from realizing where they were going.

He took her on a seemingly aimless walk, weaving through merchant vendors and the tournament grounds, but his focus was always on the people. The mess of tournament swarmed around them, people chatting and laughing as they passed by. Several heated braziers peppered the streets-a gift from the House Witch of Lorant. Engineers could make pot-bellied stoves and warm a house, but out on the street there was little to prevent people from freezing while the tournament went on.

She wondered if Winslow saw something other than a gaggle of people. Perhaps they were being followed.

She remembered how she'd known that Monty was being watched at the train station. If she asked her Talent it might tell her if there was danger. She glanced up at Winslow, who smiled vaguely at her. His eyes reflected more worry than good humor.

Valeda wondered whose idea it was to move in broad daylight. She would have thought the shadows of nightfall would have been better.

"Winslow!" a voice squealed suddenly.

They both tensed, scanning the crowd again for danger. A moment later, a scrawny, blonde-haired girl fairly tackled Winslow. Valeda was forced to release his elbow and step back, but there didn't appear to be any immediate danger. Winslow huffed a surprised laugh.

"Jemima," he chuckled, embracing the girl. "You gave me a fright."

"I gave you a fright?" Jemima pushed back from him and socked him in the arm. "I'm not the one getting into train accidents, you sod!"

"Jemima!" A new, more refined voice scolded the girl. Valeda looked up as this newest interruption emerged from the crowd, her oval face scrunched into a severe frown. "You are a gentle lady of noble birth. You do not strike people on the street and you most certainly do not call them a 'sod'."

Valeda recognized at once the family resemblance. These, she knew, were Winslow's sisters. The elder was due to become House Witch of Agoston next year. The younger, Jemima, was second born and destined only for a political marriage in her lifetime. Of the two, Valeda found that she preferred the exuberant Jemima over her elder.

"Collata," Winslow greeted. He cleared his throat and looked supremely uncomfortable for a moment.

This might have amused Valeda, but Collata's attention swerved to her and she immediately wanted to hide. Collata Agoston portrayed an icy sort of beauty. She had round features that could have been charming if she permitted herself to smile, and a nose that looked too small for her face. Her lips set into a thin, unhappy line as her dark eyes inspected Valeda from head to toe.

When Collata's attention lingered on her riding pants and boots, Valeda saw a flash of contempt in the woman's gaze. It wasn't unnatural for select women to wear pants, but even Valeda knew that most Witch-Born females did not. Except, of course, for Elsie Delgora. But Elsie had lived half her life in the guise of an Untalented, and her sense of what was proper might be skewed.

"Mother wants to see you," Collata said, turning back to Winslow. "Now."

"What?" Winslow asked, clearly startled. "You mean she's here?"

"Yes, of course she's here. She's been trying to reach you since you lost your Talent." Collata gave them both an ugly smile. "I'm sure she'll welcome your commoner friend, considering the circumstances."

"Will she?" Winslow said flatly.

Valeda couldn't decide what bothered her more: the snarky comment on commoners from Collata, the idea of visiting House Witch Agoston, or the very feral look on Winslow's face as he stared his sister down. She wasn't the only one nervous, either. Jemima shifted from foot to foot, creeping closer to her brother as the seconds ticked by.

Finally, Collata looked away, feigning boredom. "Come along then, little brother. I'm sure this will liven the day," she said. She made several disparaging remarks about the commoners crowding the street and began to lead them away.

"We could always run for it," Valeda said under her breath.

Winslow chuckled and proffered his elbow. When she'd taken it, he crooked the opposite elbow for Jemima, who beamed up at him. They took up pace behind Collata, who led them toward Agoston House. There were no side trips, no pauses to chat with another passing noble, and Valeda found herself suddenly climbing the steps of a tall manor house.

The door opened for them and Winslow drew her inside. Jemima and Collata dumped their coats with the front doorman and proceeded into the drawing room. Valeda almost reached for the buttons on her coat, but Winslow stopped her.

"We won't be here long enough to warrant that," he whispered to her. "Keep silent if you can and follow my lead."

His words immediately alarmed her. She nodded, which seemed to please him because he smiled and winked at her. She smiled back, albeit tremulously, and allowed him to escort her into the front drawing room.

Agoston House was very different from Delgora House. Where Delgora had many flowery patterns gracing the walls and furniture, Agoston was clean white. The only colors in the room were the deep mahogany of the furniture and the flickering red of the fireplace. The House Witch herself wore a creamy white gown with lacey sleeves. Her blonde hair did little to dispel the image of frost in the room, and her eyes were so dark a blue that they bordered on black.

Collata and Jemima wore gold and blue, which made their every movement more pronounced against the plain backdrop. Valeda tried to shrink behind Winslow and out of view, but his grip was steadfast and she couldn't.

"So," Lady Morgana Agoston said from her seat beside the fire, "my son is still alive."

"It would seem so, my Lady," Winslow replied.

What sort of family required the mother to be addressed so formally? What sort of childhood would that bring? Valeda felt her heart break for the man beside her.