Stray (12 page)

“You know the headmistress won't like that.”

“What do you want me to do?” Cecily responded. “Make something up? Is that what you do?”

“I don't need to.” Thea shook out her sleeves. “I have plenty to tell Madame Moira.”

“I'm sure Princess Reata's book is as thick as she is,” Cecily said, lifting her lip in a sneer.

“At least Princess Reata comes from a good family,” Thea said, her eyes sliding over to Aislynn. “Unfortunately that's not the case with all the students here.”

Taking her bowl, Aislynn left the table. Her fingers were cold, her heart like a lump of snow, and she wasn't hungry anymore.

The bell rang, and the hallway, which had been silent and still only hours before, became a bustling mass of girls and giggling. Just like Nerine, the academy echoed with the footsteps and gossip of its students. Aislynn waded through the crowd looking for the monarch princess, who was standing calmly outside the dining hall. There was barely enough room to curtsy, but Aislynn managed, and the two girls set off for Linnea's first class.

Everyone moved less like a group of young women and more like colorful schools of fish, darting in and out of classrooms, until only a sea of purple remained. Each time Linnea was delivered to one of her classes, Aislynn silently joined the rest of the fairy godmothers for her own lessons at the other end of the academy.

There were breaks for meals, as well as the usual hour for reflection and personal study, and it wasn't until she found Brigid waiting for her in the kitchen after dinner that Aislynn realized she had hardly spoken more than a few sentences all day. The servant girl smiled, and Aislynn felt some of the cold within her recede, if only for a moment.

“I thought,” Brigid said, filling the sink with water, “I thought we could talk about Linnea.”

Aislynn had never heard a house servant use a royal's proper name. Even Tahlia had referred to Aislynn as “my lady.”

“I mean, her royal highness.” Brigid paused. “I thought we could discuss her preferences and schedule.”

“Such as how much milk she likes in her tea,” said Aislynn moodily. She popped a bubble rising out of the hot water.

“She doesn't like milk. Only sugar. Two cubes. She has a bit of a sweet tooth. If she's upset, a dish of sugared fruit will cheer her up. The cook keeps them in the pantry. Ask for cherries or cranberries.” The plate she was scrubbing was clean, but Brigid didn't seem to notice. “If she's sad, fix her a cup of elderberry tea with a plate of shortbread biscuits. She likes her gowns laid out the night before, and any letters should be placed on the small table next to her yellow chair. She prefers her bathwater warm, not hot, and if she decides that she doesn't want to eat in the dining room—which is often—the headmistress should be informed immediately.”

“Does Linnea have ‘a book'?” asked Aislynn as soon as the other girl took a breath. “The other fairy godmothers were talking about them this morning—”

“Perhaps you should ask them.”

“I don't think that will get me any answers,” Aislynn said wryly. “Do you know what they were talking about?” From the way Brigid looked away, it was clear that she knew exactly what Aislynn was referring to.

“The book is where a maiden's magical occurrences are recorded.” Brigid dried her hands and turned to Aislynn. “The headmistress maintains it, and it is passed on to the girl's husband once she marries. He keeps track of any continuing events after the wedding.”

Aislynn knew, of course, that fairy godmothers were expected to report any instances of magic, but she had never imagined that it was done in such a meticulous way. Words in a book were so permanent, so damning. . . .

Had Tahlia contributed to the volumes that must have been created about her? Aislynn quickly dismissed such a thought. Of course she hadn't.

“The headmistress asks for reports once a week,” Brigid said, returning to the dishes.

“Has there been anything to report about the monarch princess?” asked Aislynn hesitantly, noticing how the other girl's jaw tightened.

“Nothing.” But it sounded like a lie. Brigid thrust a wet bowl into Aislynn's hands. “We should hurry.”

“Of course.” Drying the dish dutifully, Aislynn wondered what else she didn't know about the responsibilities of a fairy godmother. She desperately hoped there would be no more surprises like this one. “Brigid?”

“Mm-hmm?”

It was clear that Brigid did not want to continue the current conversation. So instead Aislynn asked, “Why are you being so kind to me?”

Brigid gave her a small smile and passed her another dish. “Because you remembered my name.”

B
y the time she had completed her month of dishwashing, Aislynn knew more about Linnea than she did about her own parents. Brigid finally conceded all responsibility for the monarch princess to Aislynn, though she made it perfectly clear that she was available if there were any questions.

There was a part of Aislynn that was disappointed to leave her sessions with Brigid behind. Most of the time, the servant girl was the only person that Aislynn spoke to, except for the increasingly brief exchanges she had with Linnea.

The monarch princess was warm and open with Brigid, but once Brigid returned to her regular post in the kitchen, Linnea's temperament shifted, and she began to behave toward Aislynn as a royal maiden was expected to act toward her fairy godmother: largely indifferent.

She asked for details about the balls once or twice but for the most part was undemanding, which allowed Aislynn to focus on her own studies. While Linnea was curled up in her yellow chair with her needlepoint, Aislynn was free to read and reread her fairy godmother manual. Though she never attempted any of the spells, she soon had them all memorized.

One evening Aislynn was trailing behind the rest of the fairy godmothers as they headed to the dining hall to retrieve their wards.

“There's a reading tonight,” she heard Cecily say to Juliana. “Three pages. Princess Sibyl has a very articulate suitor.”

“We'll be up all night,” said Thea. “Doesn't he know that any maiden would prefer a proposal over poetry?” Cecily, who was Princess Sibyl's fairy godmother, only shrugged.

It was common practice for the princesses to share the letters they received from their suitors, often staying up past midnight to judge the quality of poetry and prose. The library would be filled with sugar cookies and tittering. Linnea never attended.

Which was why Aislynn was surprised when the monarch princess left the dining hall and began following the other girls to the library. She seemed more ready for battle than an evening of listening to the meandering rhymes of Sibyl's suitor.

“Can you imagine?” Princess Rochelle said, glancing over her shoulder. “Such an embarrassment.”

“After what her aunt's done—” Lady Ellyn replied.

“I can't believe she'd show her face.”

Linnea inhaled sharply and stopped in her tracks. Then, pivoting on her heel, she took off toward the staircase. Aislynn had to rush to keep up. They wove silently through the corridors to their rooms. Linnea slid through her door and quickly blocked Aislynn's path.

“I'm feeling rather tired,” she said.

“Why don't I help you get ready for bed?” Aislynn offered, but Linnea shook her head.

Aislynn tried again. “Would you like some sugared cherries? Or a cup of elderberry tea?”

But there was no response. Linnea had already shut the door.

The walk to and from the rose garden was a small piece of freedom for Aislynn, nothing but the grass beneath her feet and the sun against her face to keep her company. There were even moments, if she closed her eyes, when she was able to forget who and where she was.

On those days, even Thackery's childish behavior couldn't irritate her. His new tactic was to ignore her completely, but Aislynn had stopped trying to understand why and instead kept reminding herself that she shouldn't even care.

But today she had overslept. Rushing down the stairs, she practically collided with a gaggle of fairy godmothers just outside the kitchen. Annoyed at herself for being late, Aislynn had no choice but to follow the others, imagining how they probably appeared to Thackery, an enormous, gossiping purple wave sliding over the landscape.

“The headmistress should make him wear gloves,” Thea said as they drew closer to the small cottage. Thackery's back was toward them, his head bowed over the flowers. “It's unseemly.”

“They're so rough,” said Juliana, causing several heads to swivel in her direction. “His hands,” she clarified.

“You've touched them?”

“He touched me,” Juliana was quick to correct, her chin jutting out defensively. “I think he did it on purpose, too.” There was a sharp intake of breath from the other girls.

“He's such a beast,” Cecily hissed. “His kind shouldn't be allowed near the academies. You know they can't control themselves.”

Though most of
The Path
's chapters on commoners were dedicated to the dangerous and wild nature of the women, there were the occasional passages devoted to the unsavory tendencies of peasant men. It was considered best to keep them at a safe distance.

“He's much better suited for the fields,” said Thea. “And that scar.” She shuddered. “It's so hideous.”

Aislynn hoped he couldn't hear them. Though he had been rude and childish to her, she didn't think he had earned such treatment.

But as they approached, the faint blush that stained his cheeks made it clear that he had heard. When he looked up, his eyes found hers. The disgusted look on his face made her stomach twist.

The summer air, which moments ago had been clear and fresh, now felt thick and stifling. Thackery handed out the bouquets in silence, and it seemed that even the birds were too ill at ease to sing. Aislynn waited for the other girls to depart, watching them hurry across the lawn, uniforms fluttering. For some reason it was very important to her that Thackery know she did not agree with the other fairy godmothers.

Too embarrassed to look at him, Aislynn reached out for her bundle of roses. Thackery's fingers brushed hers as he gave them to her, and then, in a whisper so quiet she almost missed it, he asked, “Too rough?”

Surprised, she looked up. “No,” she said, wrapping her hands tightly around the stems.

He gave a small shake of his head, almost as if he was laughing at her. Then he bowed deeply, and she was sure he was laughing at her. But she liked it better than being ignored, so she didn't say anything as she curtsied low and turned away. Crossing the lawn, she forced herself not to look back.

As the cool air of the castle embraced her, she was reminded of her responsibilities and of the unhappy princess who waited for her upstairs. She headed for the pantry. Linnea hadn't wanted any comforting treats last night, but perhaps she would appreciate them this morning.

Brigid, tying up her apron, entered the kitchen as Aislynn was steeping the elderberry flowers.

“What happened?” Brigid asked, looking at the tea.

Aislynn recounted last evening's encounter outside the library. When she had finished, Brigid scooped a handful of sugar cookies from a jar and placed them on a plate.

“Why don't you bring her the tea and cookies, and I'll bring up breakfast? I doubt she'll be dining with the others this morning,” Brigid said, and Aislynn nodded, grateful the other girl knew Linnea so well.

The roses tucked securely under her arm, Aislynn took the tray and squeezed out of the now-bustling kitchen. She entered Linnea's room quietly, and as usual, it took her eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness. When they did, she was surprised to see Linnea kneeling on the carpet next to her bed, wrists crossed over her chest.

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” Aislynn placed the tea and cookies on the vanity and moved to the windows to open the curtains.

“Wait!” Linnea cried, but it was too late. Light sprang into the bedroom, spilling onto the sheets and blankets that Linnea was frantically trying to shove into the corner. When Aislynn had made the bed the day before, the linens had been pure white – now they were completely red, as if they had been dyed during the night.

The scene was so familiar that it made Aislynn breathless. On her first morning at Nerine Academy, she had awoken to find her ivory nightgown had been transformed to a sapphire blue. The punishment had been severe, but had done nothing to keep her from ruining her carpet in a similar fashion the following evening. It had been years since those occurences, but Aislynn could still feel Linnea's shame and fear as if they were her own.

“I'll take care of it,” Aislynn said immediately, even though she had no idea how. Gathering the sheets in her arms, she pushed open the door adjoining their rooms and dumped them onto her own bed. When she returned, she found that Linnea had curled up in her large daffodil chair, looking even smaller and paler than usual.